On the first day of class, we were asked to make a list of attributes of our culture. At the end of the term, we wrote an essay connecting our initial impressions of our culture to what we learned.
"My culture… as what?
- White American
- Female
- Heterosexual
- Married
- Parent
- Non-believer/athiest
My culture is under personal examination at the moment. These are the attributes of my culture that come to mind when prompted. Having spent some time contemplating race and identity, I’ve determined that both of these come down to dominant culture more than anything else. I see this as an opportunity for redefinition."
Reflection:
I did not start this class embroiled in a deep love affair with my culture. When asked to reflect on it on the first day of class, these were the words that came to me. I didn't identify myself as a writer or reader, as a student, as a lover of random and inappropriate things. Nor did I identify myself as a fan of beer, music, or of the History Channel. I didn’t mention that I like to travel -although I worry about its implications for the places being visited- or that I am perhaps unreasonably preoccupied with matters of race. There was no idiosyncratic culture in my initial description. Instead, I identified myself by skin color, broad geography, gender, sexual orientation, basic kinship and my lack of religious affiliation. The reason for the broad overview was fairly simple, and remains true: when I think of culture, I think of society around me, not my own personality traits. I think what I was trying to say was that I’ve inherited the culture of a white middle class American female, but it doesn’t fit.
I suppose this class was largely an exercise in connecting the dots among all my favorite subjects studied during my long haul through community college. When I identified myself as a white American, I was admitting my benefit from a sad history for which I have no direct responsibility, yet feel compelled to acknowledge. This history is written by the economics of industry, centralized government and a little institution called Christianity, which gave supernatural approval to social stratification and oppression. That’s the white part. It is a history written through the frequent overlapping of insanity and ideology, and one that guarantees my right to offer my criticism and own a gun. That’s the American part.
But as the quarter unfolded, I was really struck by the naïve realism I had regarding the female gender. I have issues with American women because I think many of our cultural traits are a bit silly. For instance, some American women will simultaneously talk about how strong and capable they are, while looking for a man to carry a 15 lb. box from one end of a room to another. Some American women “get their nails done”, a process that involves mixing ghastly chemicals together and gluing them to one’s finger tips, in the name of being pretty. I was neither raised, nor did I grow to be this type of woman. I was raised to be capable, intelligent, strong and self-sufficient. Therefore, I tend to think that all women possess these traits and any glorification of those traits through cultural means is really unnecessary.
While the idiosyncratic cultural traits listed above are representative of some American women, one cultural trait I think we may all share is that of taking for granted the fact that we are American women. I’ve never studied the social movement of feminism, because I’ve never had to contemplate my own marginalization based upon my gender, especially because of my race and nationality. There have been plenty of times in life when I’ve felt the sting of being discounted on the basis of my gender. However, I’ve never been relegated to the level of unwilling participant or traded commodity.
I found myself responding strongly to the description of Taiwanese family life in Margery Wolf’s ethnology. Having recently married and joined a new family myself, I can relate to some of the challenges presented. But my challenges have been nothing like those for a Taiwanese woman. Through my American eyes, it looks as though a Taiwanese female is told from birth, “you’re no one, really. The only use we have for you is through the sons you bear.” There is no sense of belonging that I see, although I do have to entertain the notion that perhaps these women don’t feel that way about the process at all. After all, it doesn’t appear to occur to American women to feel collectively dismal about the pursuit of marriage through love, a concept that has its obvious drawbacks for anyone who has ever undertaken the task. It’s just the way it’s done.
Another cross-cultural connection I saw through the eyes of gender was that of motherhood. The role of motherhood is one that I am, as an American, supposed to fulfill with a mix of tender nurturance and territorial ferocity. Yet I represent neither of those attributes. My children are raised equally by myself and my husband, my children’s father and his wife. Although I birthed these two amazing little creatures, I raise them as part of a team. We are all part of a truly blended family. When considering the different types of kinship structures, I was amused to find that none of them really described the pattern followed by my family. It has been a challenge to find the right combination of holding on and letting go while incorporating all of the dynamics of our group. This American challenge is almost rendered invisible however, when compared to the women found in Nancy Scheper-Hughes ethnology about the women and infants of Alto do Cruzeiro. Due to profound poverty, these women did not fight what they saw as natural selection. Their relationship with life changed at some point, while they attempted to find the right combination of holding on and letting go. Most American women will never be faced with a situation like that faced by women of the Alto.
The challenge I ran in to was maintaining cultural relativism. While evaluating the matrimonial and social state of the Taiwanese woman or the laying aside of starving infants by the women of the Alto, I was repeatedly struck by how much I would not want these things for myself. And a rather guilty sense of gratitude came into my perspective that, barring some colossal change, I would never have to know these realities of varying injustice because I’m an American woman.
I started this class feeling culture-less in a sense because American culture is like a never ending commercial for something I'd never be able to afford, even if I wanted to buy it. The trappings of a post-Industrial culture hold little interest to me. In fact, I tend to think that if whiteness was an economic commodity, I wouldn’t be able to afford it, either. The myopic push of capitalism and the assigned meaning of occupational identity seem to lack any redemptive value if one doesn't wish to become a home owner or a boat owner, or work toward expanding their shoe collection. In fact, I'm largely unconcerned with my status or acquiring personal property, in general.
But I’m still an American woman, and that means that I can do what I want. I get a say in who I am and what role I fulfill. I can be educated, own property, choose to be partnered or unpartnered and have a full say in the manifestation of either concept. I can get married, I can get divorced, I can have a baby by myself or with a partner of either gender. I can use birth control to avoid becoming pregnant. I can vote. I do not worry about being raped on my way to the grocery store. Not only can I do all of these things, these choices are mine by birthright. These are all attributes of being American that I do like, and I do value. At the beginning, I was looking for a redefinition of my culture. I didn’t find it. But I did find a sense of redemption in my rights as a female to exercise choice. Those rights are a direct result of my American culture.
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