This is the sixth draft of this post. I was having a very uncomfortable feeling and I knew I needed to write about it, but I couldn’t get at the heart of what I wanted to say. I finally realized the problem was that I don’t know what I want to say. But that’s important too. I know this uncomfortable feeling has something to tell me, and I know that eventually it will. I know this because in the past few weeks I have been rereading some of my LiveJournal archives, and in retrospect I can see very clearly that my most important insights are months or years in the making. So I’m not going to try to draw conclusions here; I just want to record this process of feeling and thinking and seeking.
—–
Over the weekend, in between packing and giving away our belongings, I read (and listened to) an inspiring interview between my IWL friend Sarah and poet Matt Blesse. Finding out more about Matt brought me to the blog of Lisa Marie Rollins, whose final reading at VONA 2010 moved me very much (I never caught her name, so I am really glad I’ve found her now). I spent hours reading the entire archive of Lisa Marie’s blog, and I talked about it to Erik afterward, I was so rocked by what she wrote.
As I read, I could feel Lisa Marie’s and Matt’s words and thoughts resonating through me like dreams that tell the truth. I was filled with gratitude for their teachings and their work. But soon I realized there were also uncomfortable emotions moving through me: shame, sadness, fear, resistance. I’ve had these feelings before, when I’ve encountered other powerful work, and this discomfort is the heart of what I’m writing here. What is it all about?
Some of the feelings are easy enough to analyze and understand. I’m comparing myself with others, and not liking what I see; their words make me feel bourgie, reactionary, sheltered, and privileged.* Not that I shouldn’t try to be otherwise, but the reaction is fear, childlike and instinctive: I’m afraid I am not good enough and people won’t like me. I try to let go of the fear because I know — I’ve been training myself — I can grow without needing to apologize for who I am or where I come from. On a related note, thoughtful, intelligent critiques bring me face-to-face with the narrowness of my own assumptions and my too-often complacency. I’m forced to think new thoughts. This is a really good thing, even if it hurts. I can accept these uncomfortable feelings without needing to question them.
But there’s another kind of discomfort at work here, and this is the one I have most trouble with. These writers are sometimes angry. They’re forceful. They express strong thoughts in strong language, and that makes me uncomfortable. Why? They are right to be angry. There is much to be angry about. But… I don’t like it.
A few days ago, I think Friday night, I was reading a magazine and found a quote from Diablo Cody. She’d said,
I’ve learned that you absolutely cannot create anything without offending somebody. Like ever since everyone on Jezebel discovered the term “privilege” in a textbook, suddenly anybody who’s not like a destitute amputee isn’t allowed to write a book because they’re privileged. And it’s like, look, ladies, you’re privileged, too. I’m just saying, I give up. I’ve stopped caring.
Taken in context (from this interview), the quote makes sense, but when I read it by itself I had a strong reaction to it — two strong reactions, in fact. As an artist — in the sense that art can be this thing unto itself that stands alone and apart from the world — I say “Yes! Go for it! You tell ’em!” As artists, our job is to preserve our self-integrity, to do what we need to do in complete disregard of what others may think. An artist shouldn’t care, an artist shouldn’t give an inch to anyone. But as a person — particularly as a person in community, particularly as a marginal person — I want to shake her and yell, “But it is precisely because of your privilege that you can say that!” We’re all here at the expense of someone else; we all bump up against each other in ways that are hurtful, offensive, damaging. But does that mean we accept it? Does campaigning to right some wrongs give us permission to forget that by our existence we create suffering for others?
Obviously at this point I’m no longer saying anything about Lisa Marie or Matt (or any of the other artist friends whose work — or Facebook updates — sometimes gives me that unpleasant feeling), but am now writing from who I am and the way I respond to other people. Lisa Marie writes, in one of her most popular posts, that her love for her family does not stop her from critiquing them. Well, it does me. Is it because I’m Chinese? I have a very, very hard time reconciling love with critique. Not that I don’t say plenty about the people I love, but I bite my tongue too. People don’t even know the half of it (which is, alas, integral to my ongoing identity crisis with my parents).
Whenever I read a scathing, self-righteous response to an ignorant remark, even if I want to throw my first in the air and shout, “right on,” I always want to cringe too. I think of my own flubs, my own moments of ignorance (and there have been some really appalling ones), and I plead compassion. Lisa Marie says intent doesn’t matter. I agree with her, and yet… I don’t. It seems to me that even if intent doesn’t fix bad choices, it should count for something — not excuses, not permission, but something. As someone who’s been on the flip side, I’m sure it matters somehow.
I think, to be honest, this is something I started thinking about at VONA and then even more with IWL. I have a lot of friends who are politically and socially apathetic. VONA and IWL have brought into my life a wonderful, energetic community of artists of color who are also politically and socially aware, radical, and activist. I read or hear their words and I’m filled with pride and love and support — but sometimes I’m also ashamed, timid, nervous, and uncomfortable (for the reasons I named above). Sometimes I’m thinking of myself, and sometimes I’m thinking of those other friends I love equally dearly — the ones who shop at big-box stores and never read the news, the ones who don’t vote and only carry reusable bags because they’re chic right now — or of my relatives who still think “sex” is a bad word. I understand that too, because that was me, and maybe, depending on the situation and who you ask, is still me.
It could be that what this comes down to is what kind of person I want to be, and — since to me it’s the same thing — what kind of artist. When I compare my work to that of a Staceyann Chin or a Suheir Hammad, I just feel so insignificant. But maybe it’s quite simple: maybe some people are just more comfortable being warriors, doing what must be done, at risk to themselves and sometimes at the expense of others. Maybe what I’m learning is that I am not one of those, and if so, I should make my peace with that. What I do is needed too; the world is not always soft and nice, but I am, and I believe that takes courage of a different sort. We can’t all do things the same way. Could be that my discomfort is just telling me, This is not your way.
—–
Okay, I thought this was going to be one of those posts in which I came to no conclusions because this was something that would be figured out later. Turns out it’s a different kind of post: the other side of the room. Half a year ago I decided I was authentic enough; this is another riff on that.
*Footnote: If I’m not going to apologize for myself, I might have to accept my bourgie-ness. Is it too stupid to claim it as part of my heritage? Because if I’m fully honest, it is; at least, it’s a part of the heritage I know from my parents and grandparents. I come from bourgie people. We all know it. Maybe that’s okay, as long as I never cease to be mindful about it.
satsumabug.com | Lisa Hsia 
First, I’m like… honored that you’ve found my blog and connected to it!! I also find it totally, utterly nuts that just today I re-posted the “Negotiating” writing again to share with folks, without knowing at ALL that you had written about me and my work. I also find it synchronicitous (can I make up that word?) because in addition to just sharing the post, I was partially posting it because today is a day that I am filled with self doubt about myself as an artist/ academic/ activist person / warrior / leader. Your post resonates SO powerfully with me – I find myself afraid to push myself ALL the time. I talked about this fear in that interview I did with Kevin on Land of Gazillion adoptees. I’m currently doing artist applications, sending out my press kit to people, trying to assemble my poetry manuscript and preparing to write a book proposal for my memoir. gah! I’m riddled with ‘am I good enough?’ !! and at the same time — I’m constantly inspired by these women vocalists / musicians that I’ve been watching for the past 5 years, watching them ‘find their voices’, but also just simply growing strong in just ‘doing their thing’. Its a cheesy phrase, but the phrase ‘do you’, has clicked with me, because as I watch these women, they couldn’t be more different in the way that they sing, hold stage presence, and rock the house – but the key is that they keep doing it, and they continue to rock the house. I’m fully inspired by the tenacity to believe that I can just ‘be me’ and all of us, we as artists – can just listen to our own voices and what we have to say and offer is meaningful to people, and that us listening to the voices in our heads and taking the act or writing or speaking out has transformational power to change the world. in solidarity and love – LM
Lisa Marie!! Thank YOU so much for reading, responding, and most of all for being who you are in the world and writing about your experience. Synchronicitous is totally a word in my book; I’m pretty sure I’ve used it too. I should have guessed that the strength of your writing would come from understanding vulnerability too, that the power I find on your blog has to come struggling through a lot of self-doubt and fear too. Applications, proposals, press materials — those all have so much influence over our self-belief, even though they shouldn’t. Solidarity and love to you too. Be you.
‘What I do is needed too; the world is not always soft and nice, but I am, and I believe that takes courage of a different sort. We can’t all do things the same way. Could be that my discomfort is just telling me, This is not your way’ I think this is a very powerful statement. Have you thought, in our world today and in your age group, that It may take more courage to be soft and nice than it does to be a warrior?
Thank you, Carla. Sometimes it’s hard for me to accept the value of soft and nice when I see that there are still so many women and girls who are socialized to see that as the be-all (“nothing bad happens to good girls,” etc). But I’m learning that it’s possible to be soft and nice without having to compromise integrity or critical thinking… and that it’s equally possible to be loud and determined without giving up on compassion.
This is the second post I’ve read today (after being curled up with knots for so long) that’s resonated with me. It resonates because although we come from different kinds of families and backgrounds, I too worry about somehow not being ‘good’ enough and not being a warrior with the words I write. I worry that when I do try to talk about hard issues, I don’t realize that I’m not being like the courageous people whose work blows me away; I may only be whining about my own life. I don’t usually let the pain shoot out of me like bullets, so it has a veneer that simultaneously feels like truth told with respect for myself and my friends’ and acquaintances’ sensibilities, and like the misleading tip of an iceberg, like a fire without heat.
I don’t know any other way to be, or to write, except to be the person I am with the voice I was born with and still have, despite all I’ve seen and heard in a life that feels less and less comfortable. I struggle to accept this. Who am I without the freedom to accept myself as long as I know I work hard to be better and do better with each day I live? Who am I without the personal freedom to just be? I’m trying to find a balance between the me who can only be free in her mind (and doesn’t even feel that now) and the me who has precious little freedom within the sea of others who set so many requirements I haven’t been able to meet.
Ré, everything you’ve written here resonates with me. That feeling of simultaneous truth, respect, and “fire without heat” is one I know well. I thought of you a lot while I was writing this post, because I see you as someone who — like myself — struggles a lot with the balance between kindness and fight. Thank you for your being and your writing, always.
I hope the knots are easing out of you. Wish I could be there with the skill of a massage therapist to knead you into a good place. 🙂
[…] reaching a clerk or an official who can tell me what I need to do, I read this from Lisa K., and this from Lisa H. Their posts, along with words from friends and my feelings today of weariness and […]
I believe the internal struggle to be yourself in a world that throws up it’s own force fields is universal. We all wrestle with it in our own way, our own interpretations, and at certain stages of our lives. This is an excellent thought provoking post, Lisa.
This morning I posted a political comment on my Facebook status. Then, took it down again 20 minutes later. This is me struggling with whether I should express my fear and anger amongst my friends or pull back for fear of the perception that I’m sounding off again. My political stance is well known – I don’t need to advertise it to them. But then again, I think, I should sound off. No-one else seems to be. But it can wear people down so I now consider when to supply my salvos.
At some stage in our lives we may, and I hope we all do, feel that sense of freedom to be who we are inside. I came from a poor working class background. I worked hard at school and tried to make the right decisions. But not always. I stuck at a career and now in my 50’s I live in one of the wealthiest parts of England. I’m comfortabe and beginning to feel I can be myself. Those around me describe me as a “Champagne Socialist”….the sharpest barb they think they can throw. My “comfort” was never “designed”. I have landed here. Inside, I’m still yelling for the underdog, and outside too when necessary. I’m beginning to accept that I can’t change the world. That I don’t have the guile or deceit to be a politician. (I did consider that world once.) But now, if I can drop a pebble in the pond, I will. And if I can inspire someone who does have that instinct to fight for right then I’ll gladly hand over my faltering torch.
It has to be acknowledged that a certain level of comfort allows for that freedom. How often does it all come back to Maslow’s Heirarchy of Needs ? I would encourage anyone to aim to be themselves and feel free to express themselves without fear of reprisal. Consideration for your fellows is not weakness – it is sensitivity. My regret is that I didn’t maintain that philosophy in my own life……and who wants a life of regret.
Thank you so much for the good words, Alan! I love your comment — I didn’t know this about your past and it’s so interesting to get your take on your choices. Gad, I feel you on the putting up of political posts and then taking them down. I don’t post so much about those things on Facebook, but I could show you files and files on my computer of political blog posts begun and then abandoned before posting.
I’m beginning to think that there’s a mistaken but widespread belief — in politics, art, whatever — that we must know everything, or be 100% sure of ourselves, before we can have anything to say. Otherwise we have to be ready for a fight. One beautiful thing I’ve discovered from the feedback to this post of mine is that actually, there are many of us who are searching or conflicted or embarrassed, and that very intelligent and thoughtful discussion can come out of that.
And thank you for the reminder of Maslow’s hierarchy. I’d forgotten about that and it’s so true.
I found my way over here from Sparks in the Shadow, and I want to thank you for such a thought provoking post. I am struggling with my own powerless voice lately, or is it voiceless power? I recognize that I come from a place of privilege, yet that doesn’t mean I don’t have struggles (inward and outward). Yet, I am afraid of sharing my story. I’m afraid of not being strong enough. I’m afraid of not being worthy enough. I’m afraid of not having the right to speak. But, I also know that fear comes from comparing myself to others; people whose stories seem so much more important or valid than mine. But my story is the one I have, and the only one I can tell. My perspective differs from many, and I am the only one who can share it. I feel like kind, caring, respectful voices get lost in the yelling, but they need to be heard.
Lisa
I appreciated your post, too, Lisa (the one Ré linked). Thank you for writing and for coming over here to read and comment! I agree with what you’re saying, and I feel it too. I was talking with a very thoughtful friend after I wrote this post and she said everyone’s pain scale is individual, only we can decide the validity of our pain/suffering. I think that’s true, and a good thing to remember when we can. Who doesn’t suffer? (And if anyone thinks they don’t… is that not a terrible thing, in itself?) And life is so uncertain, too; who’s to say that today’s comfortable person isn’t going to be in dire straits tomorrow? I think all we can do is be who we are, but reach as much as we can in the direction of understanding others… and never think that we know anything, or that we’re more or less worthy. We are all worlds unto ourselves.
This is a powerful post and so are the comments. I think the gem in your words is when you ask if your discomfort is telling you this isn’t your way. That, to me, was the ‘aha’ moment. That inner instinctual voice that most people ignore seems to have just prodded you. And it does take more strength to be this way, as Carla says above. That strength, to me, is because you have to submerge self in order to empathize, which is where that kindness comes from. I think, anyway, but what do I know. I’m still enjoying slamming doors and cussing at the moment.
Thank you so much, Lisa. Yes — that was my big gleaning from it too, realizing that that instinct is valuable and okay.
I don’t know if I think I exactly submerge myself when I empathize. I can be quite the egotist and I don’t know if I think that ever goes away. ;b But maybe it does and I just forget afterward!
Do your slamming and cussing with pride! I’m so well-behaved I’m usually restrained even when I do want to demonstrate anger, so I think yours is a healthy outlet to have!!
[…] ones (allowing, of course, for some people who can fit into both camps); I alluded to this a little here, when I mentioned that I have friends among whom I am the most radical and other friends among whom […]
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