Last Saturday morning over coffee at a campground north of Santa Barbara,
my friend Kiki and I had a great caffeine-feuled conversation about call-out culture, that is, the tendency to tell people they are "doing it wrong", specifically, when white folks appropriate the fashion and music of people of color. This is a conversation I have been having for a few years now, specifically with my wildly creative, women-identified artist friends. As a dedicated anti-racist and aspiring artist, I'm trying to make sense of the following questions: who gets to wear what? Listen to what? Where is the line for what I - a white person - get to wear/make/say/create/draw attention to? How does this fit in with the practice of free speech? Do my intentions count?
Since writing this piece, I've been fairly radical on the issue of cultural appropriation in fashion. I no longer felt so comfortable donning some of my favorite things: my large gold bamboo hoops and nameplate necklace (even though I grew up amidst a culture that wore them), the Native American silver and turquoise ring my father bought my mother while completing his dissertation on the archaeology of the Southwest (even though it is the only other artifact besides me from their marriage), the embroidered huipiles from the Yucatec (even though I studied Spanish there) or any of the other gorgeous examples.
At a certain point last summer, I adopted a uniform I did feel comfortable calling "mine"; Levis and white t-shirts. This is what my people have contributed to the fashion vernacular (and let's be honest, though I take them for granted and though they pale in comparison to the more outlandish peacock-like finery I've worn since the mid 90's, they are pretty spectacular contributions.)
In my militant American uniform, I inelegantly called a few people I would identify as white for wearing things that "didn't belong to their culture". My perspective on this is
One stepping stone on this journey toward understanding is the following article Kiki shared with me, where Asam Ahmad makes the point that
"Call-out culture can end up mirroring what the prison industrial complex teaches us about crime and punishment: to banish and dispose of individuals rather than to engage with them as people with complicated stories and histories." In other words, its important to be conscious and intentional about HOW we practice. If we don't like the master's house, let's not use his tools to dismantle it.
So for now, I've concluded that:
1. I can engage with the folks in my life who are not yet anti-racist in a way that doesn't replicate the shame and trauma of white supremacy (read: racist/misogynist/homophobic/Trans-phobic/xenophobic/Islamaphobic/anti-semitic/classist) culture.
2. I can model empathy and non-judgement for those who, despite unearned racial advantages, have little understanding or experience of being treated humanely themselves. This is NOT something I would expect or ever ask a non-white person to subject themselves to (though many do, at great risk to their mental health and well-being, every day).
3. Perpetuating white supremacy culture by shaming/blaming/calling out is not creating the world I ultimately wish for us all. AND that's easy for me -- a straight, cis, white, US citizen to say.
Since writing this piece, I've been fairly radical on the issue of cultural appropriation in fashion. I no longer felt so comfortable donning some of my favorite things: my large gold bamboo hoops and nameplate necklace (even though I grew up amidst a culture that wore them), the Native American silver and turquoise ring my father bought my mother while completing his dissertation on the archaeology of the Southwest (even though it is the only other artifact besides me from their marriage), the embroidered huipiles from the Yucatec (even though I studied Spanish there) or any of the other gorgeous examples.
At a certain point last summer, I adopted a uniform I did feel comfortable calling "mine"; Levis and white t-shirts. This is what my people have contributed to the fashion vernacular (and let's be honest, though I take them for granted and though they pale in comparison to the more outlandish peacock-like finery I've worn since the mid 90's, they are pretty spectacular contributions.)
In my militant American uniform, I inelegantly called a few people I would identify as white for wearing things that "didn't belong to their culture". My perspective on this is
One stepping stone on this journey toward understanding is the following article Kiki shared with me, where Asam Ahmad makes the point that
"Call-out culture can end up mirroring what the prison industrial complex teaches us about crime and punishment: to banish and dispose of individuals rather than to engage with them as people with complicated stories and histories." In other words, its important to be conscious and intentional about HOW we practice. If we don't like the master's house, let's not use his tools to dismantle it.
So for now, I've concluded that:
1. I can engage with the folks in my life who are not yet anti-racist in a way that doesn't replicate the shame and trauma of white supremacy (read: racist/misogynist/homophobic/Trans-phobic/xenophobic/Islamaphobic/anti-semitic/classist) culture.
2. I can model empathy and non-judgement for those who, despite unearned racial advantages, have little understanding or experience of being treated humanely themselves. This is NOT something I would expect or ever ask a non-white person to subject themselves to (though many do, at great risk to their mental health and well-being, every day).
3. Perpetuating white supremacy culture by shaming/blaming/calling out is not creating the world I ultimately wish for us all. AND that's easy for me -- a straight, cis, white, US citizen to say.
June 2016
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