UU 102: Mirror, Mirror: Cultural Misappropriation Bites Me in the Ass (Part II)

It’s so easy to be fooled, as irrevespekay found out:

It is only now, in the midst of this frame around cultural borrrowing and misappropriation, I am now noticing *myself* in the mirror.  I found this poem online (which should have been my first clue that something could go awry).  SHIT-WHITE-GIRLS-SAY-2It was attributed to someone named Bee Lake who was described an Aboriginal poet.  I loved the imagery and the theology and thought, sure, not that I know much, but it seems to exude Aboriginal. Whatever that means.

But:

Turns out that Bee Lake is a fictional character, created by a white American woman named Marlo Morgan, who spent four months in Australia and wrote a book:

We’re very open to the world, and that’s good, but that doesn’t mean we should consider the world open to us like a candy store. It is open to us–just not in that way, like someplace where we pay a little cash and take what we want.  It’s more open like the open road.

UU 102: The (next) President of the Unitarian Universalist Association

Tired of elections? Sorry–you have another one coming up, for presidency of the Unitarian Universalist Association. Tony Lorenzen has some thoughts about what’s needed in the next president. There are three items on his list:

1. A person under the age of 50  2. A person with a deep sense of spirituality  3. A person who has a deep sense of mission and who will help Unitarian Universalists articulate our mission is in a way that speaks to our culture.

What do you think? (Be sure to see Tony’s response to a comment. It clarifies his thought considerable.) Is 40 more reasonable? 45?

UU 102: A VOICE IN THE PULPIT: Or, Why This Preacher is Happy to Advise People on How to Vote their Faith

Rev. James Ford has just thrown down:

Pretty much since our Republic was formed, actually from well before, we are that old of a congregation here, on the Sunday ahead of national elections, our ministers serving here at the First Unitarian Church in Providence, Rhode Island, have climbed into the high pulpit and have recalled us to our deeper principles, to remind us of our ideals, our hopes and our aspirations – and to ask that we take those principles, hopes and aspirations with us in our hearts as we walk into our voting booths. I have no doubt for much of that time names were named, and endorsements were made or withheld.

Doesn’t sound all that radical? Read to the end and marvel. It’s not clear whether this was given from the pulpit or not, but still.

P. S. I may not take his advice, but I don’t live in Rhode Island, either.

The Favor of Spitting Directly Into My Face

No one does bitter like Van the Man.

Some compliments take time and discernment to understand and accept. One of those came my way recently and I just now got it.

For the last five years, I was heavily involved in the governance of an organization, and I had one thing I desperately wanted to pursue. I’d made a fairly detailed plan for doing it and kept getting told “No.” No discussion, no communication, just crickets till the final public “No”.

Now that I no longer have any influence in the organization, my plan is being put into action, sort of. The content of it is now either watered down or replaced with something lesser, but the structure is mostly the same.

At first, this hurt, and it still does some, but this weekend, I came to the realization there was a compliment in there. I wasn’t being simply ignored or blown off. People were waiting to override my values with theirs and follow my tactical plans for their purposes.

On the one hand, that’s not a very nice way to treat someone. On the other hand, it’s recognition (of a sort) of my hard intellectual labor.

What brought this home was a request that I go out and gather information about one of these project to other folks so they can make decisions about it. I’m sure that was meant well, but it felt like catching a load of spit in the face. Know your place, Johnnie.

This is the sort of unthinking disrespect that nice people show to people who, like me, aren’t–let’s face facts now–all that nice. It’s especially hard on me, because I’m trying to be good, which is a hell of a lot harder than nice and a hell of a lot better to boot.

And so I’m doing it. People, nice and otherwise, are shaped by their upbringing and their surroundings, and when you upset their environment, they react to it. Kind of human, just like me. That’s no excuse for me not to put my effort into a good cause.

And if I’m so damned good my own self, then it’s my job to try to communicate over the differences. If I’m the only one who sees them, then I have to make them more visible. If that upsets people, you can’t blame them for it. You have to learn to deal with them.

No one does transcendence and new beginnings like Van the Man.

Unitarian Universalism 102: A series

For over a year, I’ve been teaching a class called Unitarian Universalism 102. I’ve tried a variety of formats, and the one that’s done the best has been to pick an article or two from the current UU World and open it up to discussion. I’ve got another in December.

Here, I’m going to do a different thing, a daily series. Every day I’ll post some item by, about, or for Unitarian Universalists and Unitarian Universalism. It’ll be the single most compelling current item I know of.

It’ll be tagged under the category UU 102, as will items for and from my class, and other pertinent items. And what makes an item pertinent? I’m focusing on new ideas and practices of the post-merger era, from 1961 through the foreseeable future.

Doing this was part of why I decided to blog again. Here’s the piece which triggered my decision:

Who Are My People? A Black Unitarian Universalist on Selma and Ferguson

Kneeling in front of Rev. Reeb’s marker drove me—to tears, and to an understanding of history’s importance. Finally, after ignoring the race problem for years, we showed up in Selma. But fifty years later, if we UUs show up in Selma in 2015 but not in Ferguson right now, and not for all those black and brown victims of police violence in the sadly inevitable future, we will not have learned from our past.

The harrowing truth is that I could be the next Mike Brown. My household had two parents. I have a college degree and a job. My pants don’t sag. When I’m out protesting or canvassing, though, none of that matters. I cannot opt out of blackness, and I do not want to. In the wrong situation, though, my respectable nature may not save me—from a racist police officer or citizen, nor from the ensuing character assassination. I would go from the decent, reasonably friendly guy some of you know to a mentally deranged (I have depression) Harvard dropout who was “no angel” and deserved what he got.

Read the whole thing, and visit Kenny Wiley’s blog, A Full Day.

How young are you? How old am I?

This weekend, I attended the Arkansas Unitarian Universalist cluster meeting. My group focused on social action and legislative ministry. It was a good discussion, but what most interested me was that I was neither the youngest nor the oldest person in the room.

Isn’t that odd? Here I am, smack dab in the middle of middle age, yet when I’m in a social action context, I’m often the oldest or the youngest there. More often, I’m the youngest. This time, there were a couple of people younger than me. It was refreshing.

A Simple Guide to Official Lies about the First Amendment

Are their lips moving? Then they’re lying. According to Jack Gillum and Joan Lowy of the Associated Press:

WASHINGTON (AP) — The U.S. government agreed to a police request to restrict more than 37 square miles of airspace surrounding Ferguson, Missouri, for 12 days in August for safety, but audio recordings show that local authorities privately acknowledged the purpose was to keep away news helicopters during violent street protests.

It’s not always that way, just like the race is not always to the swift or the battle to the strong, but it’s the way to bet.

“Hello world!” is the traditional greeting of my people

This is the fortieth anniversary of three pivotal events in my life: I took the SAT a year early, I bought my first mimeograph machine, and I lost my virginity in the basement of the Garfield County post office, on the carpeted floor of the room where the draft board met.

A big day! So this anniversary seems a propitious time to continue my long blog slog. I’ll get archives up when possible–Real Soon Now.