04.18.24
Advisory Summary
Teaching & Learning
In our third meeting, Yoon Soo shares that she feels hopeful about the future again after reading the packets Meghan and I send her, and I can instantly relate to this feeling as my own students are often a big source of hope for me. As a mentor I've had funny feelings, though, riding the wake of the earnest radness of my students. A little bit of guilt comes with that feeling; there is a fear that I am breathing in their fresh air without replenishing the harvest.
Yoon Soo's words assure me that when it comes to the psychic pool of hope I am putting back what I have taken out. It also reminds me how a mentor's feedback can be so affirming. Working with both Yoon Soo and Silas Munro has made me feel seen. While this happens often in work and professional settings, it is an experience I haven't had working with a mentor since I was in undergrad at OTIS working with Ana Llorente, Jessica Wexler, and Lorenzo Hurtado Segovia While I know I am intentionally pouring into the pool of affirmation within my teaching spaces, I've forgotten how good that affirmation feels.
I’m learning so much about the symbiotic relationship between Teacher/Student by being in the seat of the student again. This experience is so valuable where I am at, in this moment.
SciFi, Fantasy & Historical Fiction for the people
I've started reading "Dawn" by Octavia Butler on Yoon Soo’s recommendation. I've wanted to read her work for a long time but haven't yet. Is BIPOC Sci-Fi/Fantasy a recognized genre yet? It definitely should be! I loved "Underground Railroad" by Colson Whitehead, and despite Neil Gaiman being English, his books "American Gods" and "Anansi Boys" are favorites of mine for their inclusion of characters from demographics that are severely underrepresented.
In the “expansive” world of historical fiction, sci-fi, and fantasy, there's an abundance of content centered on PWI narratives and histories. Knights, kings, gnomes, hobbits, Norse gods, and Vikings dominate the landscape—if there's ever a person of color, they are often portrayed as an exotic brute or a commodity to be exploited. In the movie Elysium, Matt Damon plays the great white savior for marginalized people (predominantly POCs) of the “earth ghetto.” One scene in the film depicts a group brown people illegally immigrating from Earth to the great white bougie space station—and as their vessel breaks through the Earths atmosphere and reaches space—we see particles of trash within the vessel begin to float in zero gravity. Cheif among those pieces of garbage are Tecate Beer cans. People in the theater laughed. I blurted out “What the Fuck?!” I've never seen Hollywood include the Latinidad in Sci-fi and Fantasy in a way that honors and respects the Latinidad. The first time I saw N’Amour in Black Panther 2, I cried. I want more.
Last semester, I began a first draft of a story that imagines a scheme devised between two gods of the Aztec Pantheon to produce the 1531 vision of Guadalupe experienced by a Chichimec Native on Tepeyac Hill, inspiring the construction of the now-famous Basilica. I’ve wanted to go back to it and develop it some more—and Yoon Soo’s feedback and reading “Dawn” have inspired me to go back to that NOW.
After my advisor meeting, I found another piece of affirmation in finishing "Braiding Sweet Grass" by Robin Wall Kimmerer. This book blends memoir with native histories from various First Nations and indigenous civilizations, from Alaska to pre-Hispanic Mexico. Delightfully, the last chapter is entirely Potawatomi Fantasy.
This specific piece of writing illustrated to me that engaging with our identities in this way is a powerful exercise in healing. It creates a space for our stories and histories, addressing a wound of historic neglect. By portraying our people and ways of being as heroes, we empower ourselves and affirm the value of our cultures. And in a humorous twist, embracing my inner nerd publicly contributes to breaking down monolithic ideas about who we are. Unlike some other non-white demographics, Mexicans don't often get labeled as "Brainy/Nerdy." Even within our culture, those who showcase their intelligence are setting themselves up for a good roasting. Creating sci-fi and fantasy from within our cultural perspectives is worth continued exploration as we reshape perceptions and celebrate our multifaceted identities.
In and Out of Rabbit Holes
Context is an aspect of presenting this work that I have grappled with. How much should I give? Who benefits from it? If I over-explain the cultural shorthand, members of those cultures might feel that this was not made for them—that the work is centered on educating outsiders. While some of the elements go so deep into certain subjects that someone who could connect to a part of themselves they haven’t explored yet might miss it.
There are opportunities to create portals for understanding that previous versions of myself would have benefitted from. There are parts of my work that I have shared with my students that have moved them to tears. I want to provide enough context that those who want to be on this journey with me, feel accommodated. The concept of hospitality comes up here again. I’m exploring the balance between gate-keeping (bad) and spoon-feeding (also bad).
After reading Seth Godin’s take on presenting work for feedback, he says that one may discover that the negative or apathetic feedback is coming from people who aren’t interested in going where you are going—and that is okay. But he also reminds us to take a moment and consider who we want to take with us, and what they might need along the way. “Your work is looking to connect with SOMEBODY, not EVERYBODY.”
MARRIAGE!
I found my visual solution for the wedding cake in the advisory conversation about marriage. I’ve felt that something was missing from this image, an extra layer of information that signifies that this is not another “broken” marriage trope. I’ve avoided the broken wedding cake topper, I purposely kept the cake intact but covered in hazardous glass…but something was still missing. Yoon Soo helped me figure out the missing part of the story. Marriage is something we choose. We choose the day we commit, we choose it when we don’t run away middle fingers up, and we choose it without even thinking about it when the days are good. It’s the element of choosing that was missing!
04/21/24
La Reina de Mexica
+•+•+ACT ONE+•+•+
The most-visited Catholic shrine in the world is in Mexico City, a city built on what was once the capital of the Aztec Empire. The shrine is dedicated to an apparition of the Virgin Mary who appeared in the year 1531 to a Chichimec peasant and his uncle—Juan Diego and Juan Bernardino—whose story was documented in Nahuatl—a pre-colonial language belonging to the Aztec/Mexica people and later translated to Spanish.
According to the legend, a Marian apparition appeared before Juan Diego at the top of Tepeyac Hill, speaking to him in Nahuatl she identified herself as the “mother of the very true deity” and instructed him to build a shrine to her honor in that place.
Juan Diego agreed to fulfill her wish and sought the help of the Archbishop. However, his vision of the holy mother was met with skepticism. The Archbishop did not believe Juan, instead, he instructed him to return to the site of his vision and ask her to validate her claim in the form of a miracle.
Juan returned to the site and encountered her once again, upon relaying the request of the Archbishop, she agreed to deliver a miracle and instructed him to return the following day. Unfortunately, Juan’s uncle (also named Juan), became very ill and required his care, and Juan could not return to receive the miracle as instructed. Uncle Juan Bernardino ‘s health declined so rapidly, that Juan Diego decided to head to Tlatelolco in search of a priest to hear his uncle’s final confession. The simplest route would have taken him directly through the site of his apparition, but consumed in shame Juan Diego decided to choose a longer route that would not require passage through Tepeyac Hill.
As Juan Diego was making this walk of shame, the holy mother appeared to him, chiding him for not trusting her she said: “Am I not here, who is your Mother? Are you not under my protection? Am I not your health? Are you not happily within my fold? What else do you wish? Do not grieve nor be disturbed by anything.” She told him that she had cured his uncle, and instructed him to return to the path of her miracle at Tepeyac Hill. As Juan reached the summit he saw the hill which was usually barren during this time of year, was now covered with flowers, specifically red roses—a flower not native to Mexico. There the Holy Mother met him and stuffed his tilmàtli (garment) full of flowers, and instructed him to take them to the Archbishop.
Juan obediently returned to the Archbishop to deliver the miracle and to plead once again for a shrine to be erected in her honor. As he approached the Archbishop, Juan opened his cloak, and the flowers fell to the floor, revealing the divine image of his apparition on the fabric. In the image, she stood brown-skinned, heavily pregnant, and surrounded by golden feathers. Her mantel was covered with all the stars of the heavens, and her hands pressed together in prayer. The archbishop was convinced, but the miracle was not yet complete.
Upon his return home, Juan found his Uncle Juan had fully recovered from his illness. He had been visited bedside by the spirit of the Mother, and she had instructed him to tell the story of his miraculous recovery to the same Archbishop—adding that she wished to be called by the name Guadalupe.
Upon receiving the miracle from Juan Diego, and witnessing the miraculous recovery of Uncle Juan—the Archbishop ordered a basilica be constructed in honor of Santa María de Guadalupe at the site of Juan Diego’s vision on Tepyac Hill.
Each year, the anniversary of the vision of Guadalupe is celebrated by people who make pilgrimages to the holy site where they dance, pray, and lay flowers and candles out as an offering. For the diaspora, who have settled too far to make the annual pilgrimage, shrines covered in flowers and lights are erected in homes and neighborhoods where people devote prayer and song to her honor.
+•+•+ACT TWO+•+•+
On a mountain, above the first nine levels of heaven, the divine siblings Xochiquetzal, the mother of all humans, and Xhochipilli the Flower Prince have waited hopeful and patient for the Spanish Conquistadors to retreat from the land of the Anahuac Valley so they may return to their people and restore the fading flower world.
Xochiquetzal sits before her obsidian mirror, applying colorful make-up to the lower half of her face. She switches her gaze from her own image, to the reflection of her brother Xochipilli. He stands behind her pruning flowers from the morning glory vines that cling to the trunk of the tree that runs through the center of the flower realm.
“Another Panquetzaliztli, and no festival. It’s been ten years since those pinche Spaniards stepped off those boats and destroyed the temple of Huitzilopochtli. The pendejos even burned our libraries to the ground—once we are forgotten by our people—they will have wiped us out completely!”
Xochipilli clicks his tongue. “Tsht. I see they’ve even got you using their swear words.”
“They don’t deserve to be cursed in our tongue.” she quipped. “Don’t you miss the festivals?”
“I do. I miss their dancing the most.” Xochipilli lets out a heavy sigh, as another flower falls into his basket and his eyes stare off into distant memories. “With my gifts, they could dance from sunset to sunrise.”
“Who could dance draped in all that heavy fabric they wear now?!” Xochiquetzal rolls her eyes up toward the 13th heaven.
“HIDEOUS!” Xochiplli quickly replies. He lets out a fake wretch of disgust, his tongue extended toward the floor, where a coral snake has begun to curl itself around one of his feet for warmth.
“No dancing, no flowers, barely any altars left to place an offering. And even if they wanted to, the conquerers have forbidden our people from practicing their devotions.” Xochiquetzal was now standing and pacing the floor.
“Have you seen those monstrosities they’ve constructed from the rubble of our great temples? What God demands that devotion be practiced indoors?! With hushed voices? While sitting completely still!” Another flower falls into the basket, as Xochipilli turns his pruning focus toward the earth.
“Brother, we are in our final days. Chalchiuhtotolin has warned us of a coming plague, and without an altar or offerings, we will not have the power to save our people.” She began to twist the fabric of her huipil in her hands.
“I know this sister, I’ve thought about this too. If we can’t save our people, we will also die along with their memories.”
“We have to think of something. How can we save them? How can we save ourselves? You are the trickster in our family, you must have some clever idea?!” Xochiquetzel taps her finger on her brother’s head.
Xōchipilli sits down with his basket in his lap and turns his head toward the sky. “We need a new temple, one our people won’t abandon and the Spaniards can’t tear down.” He plucks a mushroom from the floor and slowly twirls it between his fingertips and as he drops it into the basket he begins to giggle. “It has to be a temple that we know belongs to us, but the Spaniards think belongs to them.”
“YES! BRILLIANT!” Xochiquetzal leans down and playfully slaps both his cheeks at once.
She takes a beat to think. Suddenly skeptical she asks, “How will we know it belongs to us?”
“We will instruct our people to make the top of Tepeyac Hill the site of our new temple, and we will know it stands in honor of our once great empire,” Xōchipilli began to explain his plan “The Spaniards will think it belongs to them because they are going to build it.”
“The Spaniards are going to build a temple dedicated to us?! You’re mad! Have you been eating out of your own basket again?” Xochiquetzal cocks her head to the side, eyebrows raised and suspicious.
Xochipilli is now standing, his skin is glowing and giant golden petals are beginning to emerge from his crown. This only happens when he is feeling his power.
“Yes! This plan is crazy—but all genius requires a little crazy. Right?” Xochipilli stuffs a single flower into his mouth. “Do you trust me?” he asks as he chews the purple bloom into a gummy paste.
“You are my twin, we are the same spirit, of course I trust you.” she plucks a flower from his basket and stuffs it into her mouth.
Xochipilli looks back at his sister, a big grin slowly stretches across his face, and his eyes begin to sparkle. “Do you still have your pregnancy belt?”
“The black one? I only wear that when I am called to protect a mother in childbirth. It’s been so long…but I am sure it is here somewhere.” Xochiquetzal begins sifting through her garments in search of the belt.
“You are going to need it for this performance.” Xochipilli begins sifting through the pile of garments with his sister as he continues to share his plan “We’ll also have to remove your makeup, and cover you from head to toe in fabric.” He explains as he pulls out a dress she has never seen before.
“Oh no!” she says, as he holds it up to her shoulders. “Not unless I get to pick the color.”
“Of course you need to pick the color.” he says as he drops the garment over her head.
As the dress falls over Xochiquetzal, the fabric becomes as red as the earth and is covered in a golden floral brocade.
“RED!? You are a testy one sister!” Xochipilli laughs and pulls his sister’s celestial mantel out of the pile, he drapes it over her head and shoulders. He takes his hands in hers, lifts them to her chest and presses her palms together. He spins her back toward her mirror and they both burst out laughing.
“Oh Girl, you look just like her.”
“But better!” Xochiquetzal smiles as she fixes the pregnancy belt around her hips and her belly blooms into a large round dome.
Xochiquetzal looks at her brother suddenly serious “I don’t think I can do this alone.”
“Oh, no boo. We’re going together,” he assures her as he transforms the contents of his basket into a fine powder and pours it into a small leather pouch. “as one.”
He embraces her, and as he becomes her, and she him they begin to glow like the sun.
For a moment Xochiquetzal looks relieved, but still not confident. “Do you think they will celebrate us the way they used to? With flowers, and dancing and food?”
Xochipilli begins to apply a tiny bit of pink cream to his sister’s cheeks and lips“Yes, but no more auto-sacrificial offerings. We can’t afford to lose any more of them, and it really freaks out the Spaniards.”
“I agree. But, this can’t be just for us, how will we include all of the others? Tezcatlipoca? Chalchiuhtlicue? Tláloc?”
Xōchipilli thinks it over for a moment, and reassures her “Well, since all of us have shared our dominion over the serpent, we will tell them to call us “‘Coatlaxopeuh (pronounced Quahtl-a-shoo-peh)”
----
Context
Aztec is often used to describe several Nahuatl-speaking peoples, especially the Mexica, of the postclassic period of Mesoamerica who had established a hegemonic empire in Tenochtitlan (modern-day Mexico City). The origin of the word Aztec is debatable but is mostly rooted in the field of Anthropology. The people of pre-Hispanic Mexico did not broadly refer to themselves as Aztec, the more common word is Mexcia.
The Aztecs/ Mexica kept meticulous records, maintaining libraries of books that documented their spiritual practices, governing policies, and genealogies. The Catholic priests who followed the arrival of the Spanish conquistadors in 1519, began their conquest to convert the Mexica people by burning entire libraries to the ground. Only two pre-Hispanic codices survived. The conversion of indigenous Mexicans is the largest Christian conversion event in the history of the religion.
Tepeyac Hill was a pre-Hispanic devotional site dedicated to encountering the maternal aspects of Teōtl (gods) which included the goddesses Tonantzin, Coatlicue, Cihuacóatl, Xochiquetzal.
Xochipilli (flower prince) and Xochiquetzal (precious flower feather) are two of the oldest deities in the Aztec pantheon. Their identities are tied to one another, and in various stories, they are presented as brother and sister, husband and wife, sometimes they share a body and are the same person at the same time. The duality expressed in each iteration illustrates that these two very special beings exist as aspects of the same thing, not opposite ends of a spectrum. Together they illustrate a relational attachment so deep that the place where one being ends and the other begins becomes blurry.
Xoxhipilli is the God of flowers, summer, pleasure, love, dance, and creativity. Xochipilli is also the God of homosexuality and protector of male escorts. He is the caretaker of hallucinogenic plants and serves as an eager guide to those who choose to visit to the Flower World.
Xochiquetzal is the Goddess of glamour, beauty, pleasure (specifically sexual pleasure), and pregnancy. She is the mother of all humans. Xochiquetzal is also the patroness of artists and artisans. She is often depicted wearing a feathered crown, and surrounded by flowers.
The epidemic of cocoliztli that began in 1545 nearly decimated the Mexica people killing up to 80% of the native population of Mexico.
05/01/24
A running list of rabbit holes of knowledge to support
Imago DEIsign teaching practices
Making space for students to write themselves into the curriculum.
When it is and isn’t imposter Syndrome.
Consent.
Time poverty.
How can specific identities be tied to specific traumas?
Positionality as the first line of contact for students at all times.
Hospitality as an act of Inclusion.
Maslow’s hierarchy.
What safety nets does your institution provide?
What do you wish you had as a student?
Building lending libraries as an act of resistance/resilience.
Workshops & Community Building (how are friendships formed?)
Primary care-taker status.
Invisible labor.
What point in the history of the discipline are you starting from?
What bridges can you build to close gaps to success?
Documentation.
Loop closing.
Removing requirements of “excellence” as currency
Dori Tunstall’s three assessments in hiring (of the culture, connected to culture, work includes the culture.)
Martyr syndrom.
Vocational Awe.
Funds of knowledge, and other currencies beyond the dollar.
Positionality
05/05/24
A Choice You Make Every Day.
When I share the story of my marital implosion, I do so to raise awareness of how our maladjusted coping skills and generational trauma can sneak up on us in our adult lives. The most frequently asked question in response to this story is, “Why did you choose to stay?” When it comes to infidelity, we wrongly assume that the choice must be “stay” or “go.” In truth, choosing what to do after discovery is complicated, especially when you have kids. You can see this illustrated in the advice people like me will often receive from friends and family; “you should leave their ass and find someone new,” or you should “bury your hurt and stay for the sake of your children.” There are more than just two choices. In certain circumstances, you may not have to make any big decisions while simultaneously free-falling through the unrecognizable twilight zone that was once your life. You can make your big decisions in stages.
Any decision you make after discovery this is 100% yours and valid. Deciding to peace-out may be quick, clear, and easy for some. What is true, is that when it comes to infidelity, your partner has already made some big choices for you—without you. They may have already decided they want out of the marriage but lack the courage to say it. If they blame you, refuse to give up the cheating partner, and will not seek repair through therapy or counseling, they are forcing you to make the big choice for them—it’s time to accept their decision and leave. If the infidelity is accompanied by emotional and physical abuse, it’s time to go.
Here’s how making decisions happened in my case.
To be sincere and vulnerable, the first aspect of myself to respond to the discovery was the traumatized seven-year-old version of me. She sprang into action and did what she knew best—she went on a full-fledged campaign to “earn” back a sense of safety and loyalty through “good behavior.” When that plan failed, my righteous anger/rage pulled me out of seven-year-old survival mode. The wise adult stepped in and finally took over. She said, “Boo, this was not your fault. You are plenty good enough and worth loving, which means you have no power over this man to get him to ‘act right.’ Choose yourself.” I finally accepted that my marriage was over and that it was time to say it out loud.
I took off my wedding rings, handed them to Jay, and told him I would never wear them again. Our marriage was over; he had ended it, and I was no longer pretending it was salvageable. In that moment, I chose to leave the marriage, but I also chose not to break our family apart. I offered us an option to protect our kids from the chaos of decisions made by two people at their absolute worst. Instead of a scorched earth approach, we agreed on a plan that would give us both a chance to get healthier and make decisions from more stable mindsets. I defined my terms for “not leaving right now,” which included getting spiritually right with God, cutting off all communication with the unhealthy people who had enabled him, going to therapy, joining an accountability group, and getting sober. I made it clear that this part of my decision was about getting healthy. I still held on to the option of separating our lives and moving toward building a co-parenting plan. He agreed to take the opportunity to get healthy.
Next, we recognized three major casualties: the one he caused me, the one he caused himself, and the death blow that ended our marriage. We both agreed that any relationship is only as healthy as the people in it, so instead of trying to repair the relationship, we went in separate emotional directions to work on ourselves. We each went to individual therapy, found our own communities for healing, did our own share of emotional labor, leaned into our faith, and sought support only from healthy helpers.
*A note here, you can tell who your healthy helpers are because they won’t load you up with their moral judgments or campaign in favor of you doing one thing over the other—unless you are putting your health and wellness at risk. In that case, they will offer you actual assistance, and not just advice. Learning who my truly healthy helpers were during this time was extremely painful. I learned who I could no longer have deeply vulnerable relationships with—which included my parents—one of whom immediately blamed my lack of “biblical womanhood.”
While we learned the true meaning of grace and supported each other’s health, we also learned how to live together and parent together interdependently instead of codependently.
While I am glad that we kept our family united under one roof, our performance as parents during this time was not ideal. My husband’s infidelity tore open every wound I thought I had healed. Childhood traumas, an eating disorder, racial, and gender traumas were all hemorrhaging again. I was plunged into a season of severe depression and grief, and Jay was trying to heal his intergenerational trauma*—add to all of this that it was early 2020 and the entire world had just entered a pandemic shutdown that would last two years. I am sure that someday, my children will have things to say about this particular chapter in their lives (in many expensive therapy sessions).
*It’s also worth noting that the intergenerational trauma that both me and my partner carry is identical. I just happened to go through it at a younger age. In my case, the path that the rage and depression forged for me—led to many bad decisions and ultimately getting arrested. When my partner was in it, I was bearing witness from a place of first-hand knowledge and a ton of enmeshed empathy.
After a year or so of individual work, we started couples therapy to explore whether it was wiser to try and build a new relationship that held marriage potential, or get legally divorced. We learned some big lessons in that space. There is no magical band-aid for healing from infidelity, and there is no return to the innocence of that first marriage.
One of the most valuable lessons we learned in therapy is that marriage is a daily choice. You wake up in the morning, and you get to decide if you want to stay in that marriage, and if you don’t, you get to choose to leave it—responsibly. While this concept was hard for me at first because it seemed to run in opposition to the whole fairytale “til death do us part” thing—it eventually sunk in. If we both start each day making a conscious decision to choose our marriage, we are more likely to be mindful of how that marriage can be harmed, and more likely we are to invest in providing as much safety and stability as we can.
Nothing connected to the human condition is guaranteed for life, even if you say it out loud, knock on wood, wish for it as you blow out candles, jump over a broom, or stomp on a wine glass. Learning to accept the uncertainty of human relationships, and live with it is hard for people like me. I have spent my whole life scanning for danger, which makes me feel like I am in control. It tells me I can stop the train from crashing—when I’m not the only person driving the train. Being in relationships with other humans means giving up control. The best I can do is pick people who can prove through their behavior that they are not deliberately or subconsciously trying to crash tour train. the best I can do is give myself grace and know that I will show up for myself better now.
In the Summer of 2022, on the day that would have been the 10th anniversary of our first marriage, we chose to start a new marriage. We chose a new starting point that values honesty above everything else, contains more respect, and is more pragmatic. It’s very different than the precious shiny thing we thought we were cementing in time on the first go-round. Our relationship is still going through growing pains, and healing is not a process that has a clear end point. Sometimes we still walk with a limp. Sometimes we are still very much like little kids, wearing blindfolds, and stepping in potholes that were dug in by previous generations. What we’ve gotten better at is not turning potholes into bottomless pits of despair. In our second marriage we know that avoidance is not going to protect our relationship, and admitting there is a problem when there is a problem is key to supporting and protecting the ever-evolving thing that is “us.”
05.10.24
An Expansive Decolonial
Positionality Statement
The standard definition of a positionality statement is “An identity or reflexivity statement that enables an author to describe their group of identities, such as their gender, class, race, or other self-identifications, experiences, and privileges. This statement is often included in grant proposals or journal submissions and is common in certain social science fields.”
A positionality statement is for the author and the community they choose to share it with. No one is entitled to your history, pedigree, or positionality. Positionality statements acknowledge our subjectivity, and that the same experiences or information may mean something different for someone holding a different set of identity lenses.
An Expansive Decolonial Positionality Statement recognizes that societal identities, as defined by Marx's categories of race, gender, class, ideology/religion, and sex/sexuality, often come with prescriptive and restrictive definitions. These definitions are used as tools to create power imbalances and enable exploitation. In colonial projects and empires, individuals who deviate from these strict social norms are viewed as threats to the project's success, leading to disproportionate experiences of injustice, oppression, and exploitation.
This statement acknowledges indigenous people and land as foundational, followed by an individual's position within colonization and empire structures. It expands to honor identities beyond systems of oppression, including connections to spirit, land, and community. Expansive aspects of identity may also include generational history, health, disability, and primary caretaker status.
As with traditional positionality statements, their is an illustrated awareness of positionality, but also an understanding of how positionality informs work, behavior, and values, as well as how one addresses biases that may arise from their unique positionality.
My Expansive Decolonial Positionality Statement
Positionality for me sounds like:
First and foremost, I am a living soul in a body for a brief and undetermined amount of time. My name is Shannon Doronio Chavez. I am a proud Chicana, a word that describes all at once my ethnicity, my gender, and my relationship to time and place. You can Google it. I am a proud Chingona, a word that describes my identity as a feminist within my Mexican culture (see also “Sin Vergüenza”). I am a cis-het woman. At the time of writing this, I have lived a little over 44 years.
My father is Mexican, and my mother is Scottish, Prussian, and broadly Northern European. In America, she is identified as “White.” My Big Nana is full-blooded Mexican Indian, and my great-grandfather on my mom’s side was a Scottish Freemason. I spent a lot of time with both of them before they passed on. I often like to imagine my ancestors meeting each other within my DNA and being stunned to find themselves sharing that space. Racism and colorism are oppressive ideologies that exist in both of my cultures. My skin color transitions throughout the year from light-skinned in the winter to a reddish olive complexion in the summer. I have brown eyes and dark brown hair that is artificially highlighted and transitioning to gray. My friend Hazel, who has similar coloring, described our cultural experience perfectly when she said, “Everyone thinks I’m white except for white people.”
I was born in Southern California in 1980 on land that was stolen from the Mexica, the Tongva, and the Tataviam people, who are all still here. My home is positioned on a plot of land that was terraformed to suit the needs of a “uniquely” American and Southern Californian idea of post-industrial utopia (see also “William Mulholland”). My car is my primary mode of transportation within this suburban sprawl.
Both of my parents were raised Catholic, and I grew up in Catholic and Evangelical churches. My mom was often pulled aside by church leaders who felt the need to share that I was defiant and on “the wrong path” because I asked a lot of questions. I currently identify as a follower of Christ. For me this statement describes that I have a model for spiritual living, and a way of accessing a relationship with my creator and their creations. This statement liberates me from the aspects of big box “Christianity” that always agitated my holy spirit. I don’t believe that there is one TRUE RELIGION. I teach my kids that all earthly religion is a portal for people to connect to GOD, and we respect the beliefs of others. I teach my children that Love is Love, and can be known by the fruit it bears, anger can be righteous and call us to advocate for justice, every aspect of life is divine, and our highest calling is to care for each other.
My family is made up of many diverse people, my husband is Filipino, my brother is Jewish, I have black cousins, nieces and nephews, as well as Chinese and Japanese family members. The family BBQ looks like a United Colors of Benetton Ad. My mom is a wheelchair user, and my youngest sibling has Autism. Among my family members there are police, teachers, fire-fighters, retail workers, stay-at-home parents, computer programmers and more. There are queer folks across multiple generations. Their shared collective experiences are always expanding my lenses of understanding. I have a baby cousin, who lost his life to the criminal justice system. He got police when what he needed was a bed in a mental health facility—there were no beds left.
I have ADHD and a thyroid disorder. My ADHD makes me a high-volume communicator who enjoys searching for and connecting patterns. Migraines, exhaustion, body aches, and intolerance to cold environments are a few ways my thyroid disorder manifests in my physical body. My propensity to dive into ADHD-fueled rabbit holes, combined with my thyroid dysfunction, means I deal with a lot of burnout and need ample recovery time.
I am an artist with aphantasia, which means I cannot form detailed images in my brain; most of what is in there is visually rudimentary at best, and my ideas are primarily language-based. I use writing, drawings, and mood boards to create visualizations that help me produce images that I cannot generate in my own head.
Here are some ways that understanding my positionality informs my work, behavior, and values, as well as how I address biases that may arise from my positionality.
In terms of race and ethnicity, my positionality illustrates opportunities to unmake some of the messes and harms that were inflicted on my indigenous ancestors by my colonizing ancestors. My Mexican self, can see how the white self is also harmed by colonial thinking, and can imagine ways for them to decolonize their minds as well.
In quiet and personal ways my indigenous ancestors are leading me through decolonizing myself, and inviting me to come back and pick up what my family was forced to put down in order to participate in “America”. One way this shows up is through gardening. I have torn out invasive species and grass, and have planted native plants on every property I have lived on. One at a time, I am returning land to the plant ancestors. I love my garden, and it loves me back. We are deeply connected. Many of my plants have spoken to my spirit, saying “Take me with you!” and when I research them—I have discovered they are native. The more I learn about them, the more I understand how my life, their life, and my ancestor’s lives are connected. This practice has brought me an even deeper understanding of how humans, plants, animals, and elements are interdependent, and when one part of the body is suffering, that suffering will spread to all parts of the body.
Awareness of my positionality helps me see where I have power and privilege and instead of feel shame, learn how I can use that power to share power and dismantle power. In louder and more collective ways, my positionality motivates me to listen when people are crying out for justice, and to be responsible for learning how to advocate for that justice. Restorative justice is a core value, that is expressed through supporting giving land back to indigenous stewardship either directly (see “NoCanyonHills”), or through trusts of reciprocity. My awareness motivates me to push back against continuing injustices that are being committed against people who are my indigenous cousins by people who are my colonizer cousins.
My health issues and neurodivergence allow me to see social and systemic barriers, in places where I have a lot of power, I can work to remove them completely. In broader social spaces I can raise awareness and advocate.
My positionality as a light-skinned cis-het woman has made me aware of the ways I have been able to access all sorts of resources and opportunities more easily than others. With this information, I am able to be an ally and an advocate for connecting more people to resources and opportunities without the burden of disproportionate labor. Witnessing and experiencing inter-cultural colorism also illustrates how the Latinidad has also been groomed to do the labor of White Supremacy.
When I find biases, I give myself grace and recognize my “feel bads” are a normal response—but shouldn’t be my only response. The better I’ve gotten at this, the more excited I feel when I notice a bias. Grace views bias like a splinter. I didn’t put it there, and life will be better once I pick it out and recalibrate my thinking when it shows up again. I don’t see it as looking for what is wrong with me but looking for what I can do better.