Cultural appropriation is so full of both/and. All cultures are, in some way, both in flux and formed in relationship.
Last fall I took Bayo Akomolafe’s course, We Will Dance With Mountains | Into the Cracks, in which twice we have met and been instructed by his friend Nega Duda in Brasil. She taught everyone in the course to make abayomi dolls, a tradition that survived, was born of, and continues to live from The Middle Passage. They are rag dolls, yes, but they are so much more. And to learn this tradition from Nega Duda felt like I was being entrusted with something sacred, even among the usually 400-500 people on Zoom. Abayomi is protection, amulet, resistance, community, a turning point. Abayomi delivers a piece of one’s self to another who needs strength.
Nega Duda’s offering to us students was given from the deepest parts of herself, her traditions, her strength and hope and community.
And so, I happily made the dolls above alongside her. And because Abayomi are meant to be shared, I sent dolls to two people in particular who have been severely harmed by our sector and had recently reached out to me for support. I hope these dolls will give them strength, and when I sent them, they learned of Nega Duda, her tradition of making the dolls, and the teaching I received while I made them.
You see, the context and connection matters in the making and sharing. Cultural appropriation happens when reverence is missing to something’s origins and meanings. And it matters particularly in our capitalist system, where we are being told it’s ok to consume…everything.
As global development professionals, we are often interacting with cultures that are not our own. When people from a dominant or privileged group “use” or “borrow” from other peoples – particularly those who have been historically oppressed – there is a particular power dynamic to which we must pay careful attention. As people who have learned practices, teachings, or traditions from other parts of the world, we ask ourselves: From whom have you learned them? And who is benefiting?
How might we invite accountability and repair for practices or traditions or labor or wisdom that we may have profited from in the past?
In our practices at Healing Solidarity, we are committed to not trivializing anyone’s collective trauma, nor do we want to share others’ work and wisdom without questioning or dismantling injustice. Here’s what we’ve recently shared on this subject:
“The first way forward for Healing Solidarity is to honor the traditions and rituals that have been taught to us personally by our families or communities. Let us ground ourselves in the people, land, and lineages that shaped who we are.
“The second way is to share important context around any of the practices that have origins outside our own personal relationships and experiences. Let us honor our teachers and those who shaped our practices by bringing specifics – their names, their places, their lineages – into all our sharing of these practices.
“The third way is to make space for collectively exploring these complex issues. We are forever affecting and influencing each other. Making space for joint discernment invites us to challenge assumptions – to listen and see the bigger context, and not get caught in our own personal dramas. Let us ensure we are not following into false binaries of ‘good’ and ‘bad,’ and let us not ignore the depth of shared understanding needed about how white supremacy and patriarchal capitalism have violently seized and destroyed many facets of culture around the world over generations.“
In so much as no one can ever really ‘own’ a sacred practice, no one should be allowed to ‘find’ something and claim it as theirs. Nor should we be allowed to think that addressing these issues are something we can quickly “fix” or tick off as done. In fact, sitting with the tension surrounding cultural appropriation may be the practice of a lifetime.
So is it strange for a white woman in the middle of Nebraska to make and share Black dolls? I suppose it could fall under many “no no” areas of race relations in my context. But what offers meaning in this case (I hope) is that it’s contained in relationship and respect, and the knowledge of how corn husk doll-making is also a complicated part of my lineage. Nega Duda offered her practice with love, generosity, and without reservation to us. When I look at the dolls above, I see her and her teaching within the creation we made from my old blouse, t-shirt, pajamas, and scarf – now a part of me I’m glad and grateful to share with someone else.
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