white privilege

Spiritual Appropriation and White Privilege

/ Lauri Ann Lumby / 2 Comments

Today I write with a question for our community. It is a question about which I welcome and invite your response. The question is about spiritual appropriation and white (colonizer) privilege. When seeking definitions related to this topic, I found Google to be the most succinct:

Cultural appropriation is the adoption of elements from a minority culture by a dominant culture in a way that is disrespectful, exploitative, or that strips the cultural element of its original meaning. A key factor in identifying appropriation is the power imbalance between the dominant and minority cultures, where the dominant group benefits from something that the marginalized group may be mocked or punished for. 

Key Characteristics

  • Power Imbalance: 

The act often occurs when a dominant culture borrows from a marginalized or minority culture, leveraging its power to gain benefits from the culture it is borrowing from. 

  • Disrespect and Exploitation: 

Elements are taken without understanding their significance, which can strip them of their original meaning or turn them into a stereotype. 

  • Lack of Credit or Compensation: 

The dominant group may profit from or receive credit for cultural elements, without acknowledging their source or providing compensation to the marginalized group. 

  • Reinforcing Oppression: 

The act can reinforce harmful stereotypes or contribute to the oppression of the marginalized group. 

I have seen examples of this throughout my spiritual journey – from people of white, European descent taking on rituals and practices of indigenous people or adopting devotional practices that originated in West Africa and arrived here through slave-trade. I have admittedly been somewhat guilty of this myself as my spiritual journey guided me toward teachers and scriptures, rituals and practice that are not of my own Catholic, Western European ancestry.

Appropriation becomes a difficult question, especially for descendants of colonizers who in the melting pot of the United States, Australia, New Zealand, and Canada, find ourselves in cultures without a culture. In the journey of trying to find ourselves, we are also looking for what defines us and speaks to us as a culture. In this exploration, it is natural to seek outside the (mostly Christian) traditions that were handed down to us through our ancestry.

But in exploring these non-white, non-Christian traditions, beliefs, and practice, when does it become appropriation?

In responding to this question, I can only speak for myself, and the answer comes several-fold:

  1. The first part of my response is in the fact that in every “other” tradition/practice I have explored, I was always brought back to what I already know and which I can authentically claim as part of my own ancestry. In exploring, I have found truths and teachings that mirror and deepen what I have learned through my own Catholic/Christian contemplative practices. Through Eastern wisdom literature, for example, my adherence to Jesus’ teachings on oneness, love, etc. has only become more sure.
  2. Fact: the Catholic Church is one of the first and worst colonizers of indigenous people.  Catholic rituals have their roots in Judaism, Hellenism, the Roman culture, and the existing pre-Christian communities of the Mediterranean basin, and Western Europe. In its march west and north, the Catholic Church gobbled up (appropriated) the traditions and practices of the people they sought to subjugate. As my Celtic/Irish ancestors were one of those most targeted, I feel entitled to reclaiming these rituals and practices for myself without apology. If the frame drum (bodhran) and Irish female Shamanism is a part of my ancestry, then I feel it is not only my right, but my duty, to reclaim it.
  3. If, in the context of my professional work, I find myself sharing a practice or ritual from a culture outside my own (which is rare), I give credit along with the name of those from whom I learned the practice and/or was given permission to share.
  4. I really, really, really try to stay in my own lane. Hence, the use of primarily Judeo-Christian contemplative practices, Judeo-Christian scripture (canonical and otherwise), and Judeo-Christian or Irish ritual practices. If it’s not from my ancestors, or the tradition in which I was raised, I don’t feel I have a right to it.
  5. Now, there are two roads for me where walking the fine line of spiritual appropriation as a person of white European ancestry gets a little tricky.  Yoga and Pre-Christian/Jewish mysticism (ie: the Kabbalah).  I practice yoga. I have studied Vedic teachings and thought. I have been trained in chakra theory. I participate in Vedic chant and kirtan. From original source material, I have been a devoted student of Kabbalah and have utilized both the Practical and Mystical Kabbalah for my own spiritual development. I, unfortunately, have not had access to the guidance of a Rabbinical teacher of Kabbalah. Neither have I studied under the guidance of an Indian Vedic guru. These latter two points are probably a good thing as I could never become so arrogant in either field as to claim expertise. As I openly say to my students and friends who have explored these topics with me, “I don’t even know enough to get myself in trouble

Again, I bring this topic forward for community discussion and exploration. For me, I think the line between spiritual appreciation and spiritual appropriation lays in questions of ancestry and use. For me, ancestry is clear. Use is maybe a little less clear. Am I financially benefiting from something I learned from another culture? Maybe. Sometimes. Am I giving proper credit to the origin of what I share?  Hopefully always!  Am I causing harm to the originating culture in the sharing and use of these practices?  I sure hope not.

As a person of white, European, colonizer ancestry, I feel it is critically important that we ask ourselves these questions. I will also admit the answers are sometimes unclear and we might make mistakes along the way.

I welcome your thoughts and reflections on this topic! 

Thank you!

With love,

Lauri

What Privilege Taught Me to Believe

/ Lauri Ann Lumby / 1 Comment

and how those beliefs were undone

I didn’t grow up wealthy, but I did grow up privileged. I was born white to middle class parents, raised in a predominantly white third-generation neighborhood of white-collar professionals and tradesmen. In most of the homes around us, the men worked, and the mothers stayed home. The children were feral and unsupervised, only because everyone believed we were safe. We had a roof over our head, three square homecooked meals a day, new clothing (unless you were a younger sibling), and a basement full of toys. We enjoyed piano and dance lessons. Our parents sent us to private school.

Life was good and in that state of perceived safety and abundance, we believed in the promise of “The American Dream” – a good education and hard work was the path to success and the harder you worked, the more successful you would become. We were also taught that welfare was for lazy people and we should judge them and treat them accordingly. There was a clear dividing line between us (hard workers) and them.  And a not-so-subtle dividing line between us (white people) and them (people of color).

All of this happened along side a devout Catholic upbringing. God was the old man in the sky. We were undeserving of God’s love. God’s love had to be earned and could be taken away. And abortion was a mortal sin. We were even invited to join the school’s “Pro-Life” club from whom we would get a bright shiny silver bracelet marking us as “soldiers of Christ” in the war against abortion (this was all on the heels of Roe vs. Wade). As a young adult, I volunteered at a pro-life “clinic” for women facing unexpected pregnancies.

In addition to all of this: we were raised Republican. We were told Republicans were good and were looking out for the good of the people and that Democrats were communists – and that was bad! I remember knock down drag ‘em out fights between certain family members who (gasp) belonged on different ends of the political spectrum. The Democrats were good people, but clearly delusional – at least that’s what we were led to believe.

In college (YES!  I attended university, which was mostly paid for by my parents – another privilege), I joined a sorority (more privilege), continued attending mass and attended adult faith formation classes. I voted for Ronald Reagan, and later, for George H. W. Bush.

Other than being a brunette, I was the stereotypical white girl of privilege.

But then, life happened.

My previous stance on abortion was the first thing to go. In the volunteer position, I witnessed first-hand the violent tactics often used by the Pro-life movement in dissuading women from seeking an abortion. There was no compassion shown, only judgment, accompanied by violent and graphic images of late-term abortions. There was a reason I wasn’t allowed into the “counseling” room at the clinic. Additionally, with over 40% of pregnancies being unplanned, I was bound to eventually meet a young woman, likely a friend, who would have to face a sometimes-difficult choice. As statistics would have it – I did – come to know of several friends who at one time had to face an unplanned pregnancy. Further, I knew of several who had no choice but to seek the termination of the pregnancy for medical issues related to either the baby, or their own survival. Abortion, it turned out, wasn’t so black and white.  How could I judge a woman (or a couple) who was having to face the most difficult decision of their life – one that would stay with them their whole life. The decision to terminate a pregnancy (no matter what the circumstances) is a wound that does not heal.  It changes, but the pain will always be there on some level. Compassion told me to put myself in the others’ shoes and support them through a very difficult decision. And to understand that at any point, I could find myself in a similar position forced to make a similar difficult choice.

The second thing that went was my belief in the American Dream. The first of this leaving happened in my own professional journey. Sheepskin in hand, I went out looking for work. And this is a FACT – not once in my 40 years of being in the post-college workforce have I made more than $26,000 per year.  NEVER.  Not once.  This was not for lack of effort, work, skills, or abilities. Now at a ripe almost 60, it is not for lack of education, experience, or expertise. The universe has imposed some sort of invisible ceiling between myself and money – never even surpassing (which was also the big privileged promise) the salary of my father.

Hard work and a college education, as it turns out, is NOT a guaranteed path to wealth.

No matter how much someone else wants to tell you otherwise.

Then I experienced poverty. Thankfully not poverty of the sort that far too many suffer, but I have faced an enduring period of financial struggle – the likes of which has had me utilizing some of those so-called “communist” programs. I have received rental assistance and energy assistance. I qualified for Food Stamps and could have been using the Food Pantry (I chose to use neither, but at a grave consequence to me financially – eventually leading to bankruptcy). I have enjoyed the profound benefits of the Affordable Healthcare Act – in fact, my life depends on it. Finally, I am on an income-based repayment plan for my graduate school student loans (if anyone wants to argue with me about student loan forgiveness, DON’T!!!!!  I will direct you straight to Matt Taibbi and his expose’ on the criminal nature of the student loan industry!!!!!) 

Beyond my own personal experience, I have witnessed hundreds, if not thousands struggling with similar or much worse circumstances. I have seen, through clear eyes, that the so-called “American Dream” is a lie and that there are, indeed, systemic obstacles to Americans realizing that dream. This fact of reality breaks my heart and inspires me to share my own journey beyond the lies that come with privilege.

As it relates to Catholicism.  This may be the biggest irony of them all. I have always been a woman of faith (whatever that means). I was a devout Catholic until the local Church made it clear I was no longer welcome. Jesus is my teacher and Mary Magdalene has become a guide. I sometimes pray the rosary and turn to Michael the Archangel in times of anxiety. I cherish my Catholic upbringing – for good and bad – but mostly, for what I learned about social justice:

Jesus calls us to love.  Period. And he was quite clear about what love looked like:

  • Judge not lest ye be judged.
  • Love your neighbor as yourself.
  • Everyone is your neighbor.
  • Welcome immigrants and foreigners.
  • Feed the hungry.
  • Set prisoners and captives free.
  • Clothe the naked.
  • Heal the sick.
  • Give sight to the blind.
  • Welcome “the other” to your table.
  • If someone asks for your cloak, give them your shirt as well.
  • Love one another.  Period.

As it turns out, it is my faith that has called me to depart from the politics in which I was once immersed and toward a political stance that supports the needs of the all. As my own life has shown me, even privilege does not guarantee that life will provide us with what we need. It has also shown me that by our own efforts, our own needs may not necessarily be met. There’s a little story in scripture that seems to provide a solution to this quandary:

All who believed were together and had all things in common; they would sell their possessions and goods and distribute the proceeds to all, as any had need. (Acts 2: 44-45)

If a sharing among the common good was good enough for Jesus and his earliest disciples, then it’s good enough for me. This is what love has taught me.