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Transcending Time: The Storytelling of Weeksville Heritage Center

Weeksville Heritage Center based in Brooklyn, NY, is revitalizing old and new African American history through its diverse storytelling approaches. Founded in 1838 by James Weeks, Weeksville became a safe haven and refuge for African Americans before and after the Emancipation Proclamation. Today, it stands in remembrance of the communities and individuals that resided there, many of whom are lost, but never forgotten. Operating as a cultural institution, museum and community center, Weeksville transcends time. The open, light-filled, modern architecture of the museum space stands merely meters away from the Hunterbutterfly Road houses, modeled after the original homes of neighborhood residents representing three different decades of life at Weeksville.

A deep dive into living history had us thinking about the importance of space, oral communications, and art as tools for storytelling. In stumbling across the Oral History Collection of the Weeksville website, I discovered a treasure trove circa 2006 of stories of New York and Brooklyn residents told from their own perspective, in their own voice. In listening to the unique anthology, I felt the heart and soul of each storyteller, connecting to their many wisdoms collected over their years in NYC. I could only imagine them as ancestors, laying the foundation for so many succeeding in their path. Additionally, in remodeling the Hunterbutterfly Road houses so that visitors can walk through and feel what it was like to live in Weeksville back in the day, the Heritage Center is doing what so many tried to suppress for so long: keeping the memories and stories of African Americans alive, and making it more present than ever. Lastly, in collaborating with Black artists, musicians and dancers, Weeksville shows that their history is not only alive but thriving- despite and because of their past and current hardships. Weeksville Heritage Center is demonstrating that storytelling comes in all shapes, and is fundamental in finding freedom.

Source: Weeksville Heritage Center

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Faith and Social Justice: Can they work together?

Can faith be used as a model for social justice?

For a long time, I would have said no. Considering that White, Anglo-Saxon religious institutions are the foundation of the ideologies which caused many of the social justice issues we are currently facing today, it’s hard to imagine that a faith-based approach could also contribute to decolonizing these issues. However, Andrew Kang Bartlett and his work through the Presbetaryan Church USA’s Hunger Program on food justice might be turning this idea on its head. As someone who does not subscribe to any religious institution and has many negative associations with “service” through “the church” (colonialism, voluntourism, exploitation, saviorism), I was surprised during Bartlett’s presentation to find a BIPOC empowerment centered approach to food sovereignty. Many of the people, organizations, and concepts the Presbetarian Hunger Program (PHP) work with, mentioned during his talk I had already familiarized myself with through my own research on the empowerment of Black, Indigenous, women of color through food systems in the United States.

Even though religious institutions and values have been used to perpetuate a lot of harm, I also recognize that they can be used to perpetuate good as well. But, it’s about how faith is being used, who it serves, and who it centers in its message. In many cases, such as that of Biorock Indonesia (who I was meant to intern with before the pandemic hit), faith is an important aspect of communicating issues to the public and making it so they find it more relatable and connect with it better. This is why through coral restoration and communicating the urgency and effects of the climate crisis on our oceans and livelihoods, Biorock uses key concepts of Hinduism to build coral structures and get the community more involved in connecting with the work.

So… I accept that to further spread the message of social justice, especially to areas least affected by food insecurity, faith can be used as a tool. However, the voices of those most disadvantaged and marginalized by the issue must remain at the forefront. Additionally, for true faith-based social justice, religious institutions need to acknowledge the historical role they have played in creating these disadvantages. True change cannot be made without accountability, and ultimately reparations.

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Freshkills Park: Pushing the boundaries of what is "natural"

Freshkills Park, which was once the biggest landfill in the world accepting up to 29,000 tons of waste daily and containing 150 million tons of trash, has now become a place of resurrection and revitalization of Staten Island, NY’s pre-colonial ecology. A discussion with its educators had me thinking back to the fundamental question of our “Innovative Encounters with Nature and Knowledge” course in Australia… What is “nature/natural”? The site which once used to be an eyesore for many Staten Island residents has now become a living classroom. It houses woodland and freshwater wetland ecosystems as well as the largest grasslands on the East Coast of North America second only to Canada, a critically endangered environment.

The park, of course, is completely artificially made. Burying mounds of trash underneath multiple layers of plastic below its green hills inhibits the presence of trees due to the necessity for their roots to grow deep and wide. Yet, it has become a home for many creatures endemic to the area, who have no idea what lies beneath. So this raises the question, could this be considered “natural”? The wetlands are just as real as the animals who rely on them for shelter and survival. Landscape architect James Corner believes that starting with nothing, and building rich soil on top of a sterile foundation is how ecosystems grow (Sullivan, 2020).

Quite possibly, Freshkills park is reimagining the idea of what exactly an ecosystem is, and pushing the boundaries of our conceptions of “natural”.

Sources:

“Homepage - Freshkills Park Alliance.” (2021). Freshkills Park, freshkillspark.org/.

Sullivan, R. (2020). “How the World's Largest Garbage Dump Evolved Into a Green Oasis.” The New York Times, The New York Times, www.nytimes.com/2020/08/14/nyregion/freshkills-garbage-dump-nyc.html.

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The Man Question and Machismo

The Man Question: how does masculinity play in people's lives? How do we learn manhood? How can masculinity lead to isolation and violence? How can it lead to joy?

In a discussion with Man Question co-founder Micheal Wilson, we unpacked the hegemonic masculinity experienced in our society, culture, communities, and even in our own homes.

Machismo is rampant across Latino communities, and though I was lucky enough not to experience it in my own home, it is something highly tolerated and exacerbated by men and women in Latino culture. Specifically, it leads to a surge in domestic abuse, violence against women, and femicide.

However, masculinity does not have to be toxic. When celebrated and embraced, men through safe communal spaces can learn exactly what masculinity means to them, and the fact that how they define it within themselves is infinitely more valuable than how society defines it for them.

We discussed the trepidation of the binary, how one can not be ‘man enough’ or ‘woman enough’, and what that means for those who don’t feel either- or feel both. What it means when one identifies with stereotypically ‘male’ attributes such as power and control but also wants to nurture and feel emotional.

I’ve always felt connected to my femininity, to the point of divinity. I embrace what it means to be a woman inside and out. I’ve never had to fight for that aspect of my identity, unlike many men, who have to constantly prove themselves to be ‘man enough’ or ‘masculine enough’, oftentimes by suppressing their vulnerability.

I’ve attached a TEDxTalk by Alejandro Jimenez because I feel in his words he embodies the Man Question. He teaches us that toxic masculinity and machismo, don’t only affect women, but men as well. In exploring his immigrant past, dissecting his family dynamic and his personal identity in relation to the patriarchal stereotypes surrounding Latino culture, he dives deeper into the beauty that is masculinity, and the good that it can do in fighting against toxicity.

Sources: Man Question, Tedx

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FCNL Spring Lobby Weekend

The murder of George Floyd by former Minneapolis Police officer Derek Chauvin during March of 2020 revealed to much of the United States that systemic racism is a founding principle of this country which alters the perception of Black people as inferior and others Blackness in a society constructed on white supremacy.

This weekend, guided by two FCNL spokespersons, Jose Santos Woss, Legislative Manager, and Kameryn Point, FNCL Fellow & Program Assistant, Global students were launched into the FCNL Spring lobby weekend to urge state and county representatives to co-sponsor the Justice in Policing Act.

The four reforms we were lobbying and asking for support with were: banning choke holds, banning no-knock warrants, reforming the 1033 Pentagon Transfer Program, reforming qualified immunity, and banning chokeholds and no-knock warrants, more specifically requiring de-escalation techniques.

As a non-Quaker, a non-supporter of the bill in its entirety, and a non-constituent of the county and state I was lobbying for, it's safe to say that I was not comfortable throughout the process. I witnessed people recount personal experiences of their encounters with the police and brutality multiple times, to aides and assistants of the representatives. I also experienced pushback from some aides who seemed to believe that simply because their representatives supported the bill, it meant that we were wasting our time with them and should focus our efforts on their republican counterparts. One point brought up by one of my colleagues is one that really stuck with me, and that’s that the communities for which we were lobbying, were not being well represented in the lobbying process itself.

The issue of white saviorism is a big one, and to be speaking for communities who were not overwhelmingly present as someone who has never personally experienced police violence or brutality, felt somewhat inappropriate. In the future, I hope to see opportunities such as this made more accessible to communities on the frontlines of this issue.

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The Concept of the Caged Bird in "The New Jim Crow"

In “The New Jim Crow” by Michelle Alexander, the author uses the analogy of a caged bird to reflect on the systemic injustices and oppressions African Americans face in the United States. In speaking on mass incarceration and the era of Jim Crow, Alexander explains that these movements served to define the meaning of race in America. Where the comparison to the caged bird comes in, is in explaining the complexity of the system which Black people in the U.S. are born into, inherently trapped in an invisible cage. Alexander says, “only a large number of wires arranged in a specific way, and connected to one another, serve to enclose the bird and to ensure that it cannot escape… any given wire of the cage may or may not be specifically developed for the purpose of trapping the bird, yet it still operates (together with the other wires) to restrict its freedom” (2010, p. 179). This passage greatly reminded me of the infamous poem by Maya Angelou, “I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings”. In Angelou’s poem, she says, “but a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams, his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream, his wings are clipped and his feet are tied, so he opens his throat to sing.” According to Alexander, there is the literal cage of incarceration that Black Americans are conformed to, and then the invisible cage, also known as the second phase of former control and in many ways far worse, as it serves essentially as a life-sentence of invisible punishment. This phase is one of management and control of the dispossessed (Alexander, p. 183). The only long-term solutions to the new racialized stigma of the shame of the “criminal” and the problems associated with crime is job creation, economic development, educational reform, and restorative justice programs.

Source:

Alexander, M. (2010). The New Jim Crow, The New Jim Crow: Mass incarceration in the age of colorblindness. The New Press, New York, 173 - 208.

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The erasure of the Black diaspora in religious spaces

The perspective of a Global student is one like no other, and Aaleah Oliver is no exception. A recent Global grad and poet, now working for the Caribbean Cultural Center African Diaspora Institute (CCCADI), walked us through her personal journey as a highschool and then Global student navigating her identity, the world, and self-discovery. She shared a poem with us she had written after visiting the Cartago Basilica in Costa Rica, in which she states “the mouth of this church, dripped in Arabic conquest fashions, doesn’t tell that story of appropriation right quick… when the conquistadors took land in the name of gold, the son of God became the sons of greed, and no one really separated the two.” The feeling she expressed through her words was one of “otherness”. As the daughter of an archpriest, raised with Christianity, religion and spirituality, Aaleah saw a structure drenched in those very concepts, yet couldn’t see herself or her personal experiences reflected within it.

This longing sentiment to see her diaspora better reflected in the institution can be paralleled with that of photographer John E. Dowell, whose series ‘Cotton’ hangs on the walls of the very place where Aaleah works, CCCADI. With his piece “Sending the Message” (2018), Dowell wants to do just that. The hauntingly beautiful overlay of cotton in one of New York City’s churches is mean to represent “the physical violence of the harvesting practice and lived experience of enslavement, the psychic violence of dehumanization that extends past life into deaths marked by mass graves, [and] the hypocrisy of churches and parks associated with a public good—[which] all haunt these cherished, seemingly innocuous public spaces.” In spaces such as these, Dowell sees the erasure of the very real brutalities which built them up, similarly to Aaleah, and wants his art to reflect them. This tale of censorship, especially within religious organizations, is one as old as time itself, now, Black artists and poets are taking a stand to communicate what they and they’re ancestors have always seen, and always known. Aaleah ends her poem expressing, “someone must have told them the God we agreed on enjoyed these bits and pieces, I know it wasn’t me.”

Source:

Dowell, J.B. (2017-18). Cotton. Race, Myth, Art and Justice, The Caribbean Cultural Center African Diaspora Institute (CCCADI). https://artsandculture.google.com/exhibit/race-myth-art-and-justice/8AJiIqLEFB34Jw

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Our Current State of Immigration: Lessons learned from the Arab American Association of New York

When looking at the state of immigration in the United States 60 years ago in comparison to today, it feels overwhelmingly apparent that not much has changed. In reflecting on the Tenement Museum’s stories of working class immigrants to the lower East side of Manhattan, New York and the stories of Arab Americans in the city today, a fundamental question remains: Has the state of immigration truly improved? Or have more measures been taken to feign the resemblance of change under a new political climate? According to Zaynab Tawil, the domestic violence and mental health program manager for the Arab American Association of New York, the city still does not have the resources to support someone who does not, or cannot work. Additionally, the system is set up in such a way that it can take years for new immigrants to get work authorizations. Similarly in the 1950s, working class immigrants were considered an asset to our country based on their laboral contributions to society. Unfortunately, we’re still not seeing a prioritization of immigrant stories, reasons for leaving their home country, and most importantly: mental health. While many (not all) immigrants face a treacherous and emotional journey coming to America, the government still places precedence to what they bring to the table. In fact, the entire immigration system remains greatly disorganized with regulations varying from state to state. According to The Marshall Project, “some 26,000 immigrant children who claim abuse, neglect or abandonment must remain effectively undocumented for years, despite being eligible for green cards”, and access to mental health facilities in the meantime are rarely government funded and hard to come by. It is clear that in our approach to immigration, we need to stop asking what they can do for us, and start asking what we can do for them.

Sources:

Calderon, Andrew R. “These Young People Were Told They Could Stay in the U.S. They Might Get Deported Anyway.” The Marshall Project, The Marshall Project, 28 Jan. 2021, www.themarshallproject.org/2021/01/28/these-young-people-were-told-they-could-stay-in-the-u-s-they-might-get-deported-anyway.

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The Tenement Museum

On February 23rd, our virtual visit to the Tenement museum saw us taking a virtual walk through of a 1950s Puerto Rican home on the Lower East Side of Manhattan. The home, run by single mother of two and matriarch Ramonita Saez, displayed key cultural and traditional elements of immigrant life in New York City 60 years ago. The tour, guided by a white museum educator, was not only reflective of the Saez-Velez family’s lifestyle, but of the structure of the museum itself, heavily rooted in colonialism and the model minority myth. From microaggressions presenting themselves in the form mispronounced names, to a lack of knowledge surrounding Afro-Puerto Rican immigration, the guide exemplified the Tenement Museum’s white savior complex, disguised under the rouge of diverse and equitable performativity. Looking back at the physical structure of the building and its history, as reflected on their website, we see a white woman named Ruth Abram, credited for “discovering” the building and gentrifying it to tell the stories of poor immigrants of color in a digestible way under the museum’s majority white board of trustees (Tenement Museum).

Through the stories told in the tour, we only see a shallow overview of the hardships immigrants of color were up against in the face of a heavily racialized United States, failing to acknowledge the many government strategies and schemes created to forcefully assimilate foreigners at the time. A deep dive into the rich history of the colonization of Puerto Rico by the United States fails to acknowledge the role of U.S. colonizers in pressuring locals to leave the island. Instead, the narrative shared is that of immigrants who made it to New York, worked hard in a low-wage job for 30 years to make a living and support their family, and who valiantly advocated for workers rights, shaping the America we know today. In the case of Ramonita Saez, joining the “International Ladies Garment Workers Union to fight exploitation by factory bosses and owners” (The Tenement Museum). The productive member of society trope is heavily present and perpetuated in the museum, which thanks the descendants of these immigrant families while providing no reparative financial compensation. In addition, while the museum published it’s anti-racism commitments at the height of the pandemic and the Black Lives Matter movement back in June of 2020, 50% of the staff laid off due to the coronavirus were staff of color, and the current staff remains 57% white (The Tenement Museum). While disappointing, but not surprising, this Tenement Museum experience goes to show that until more immigrants and people of color are paid reparations and given a proper seat at the table, the United States can only begin to scratch the surface of their stories.

Sources:

Tenement Museum, 2 Mar. 2021, www.tenement.org/.

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National Museum of the American Indian

At the National Museum of the American Indian - an ill named colonial structure made to represent Native Americans all around the so-called “United States”, there is more to be seen than what meets the eye. Containing items mostly collected by George Gustav Heye, Elnu Abenaki tribe member and museum educator Vera Longtoe Sheehan virtually walked us through the space, explaining that the way it has been set up, there is no beginning or end, there is only a beginning and a beginning. This can be seen as reflective of the story and history of Native Americans in this country, having been present since before the age of colonization, and having never been wiped out as colonizers intended. The resiliency of Indigenous communities in North America has gone to show that there will be no end in sight to their culture, traditions, or language, no matter how hard the government has tried to erase them. This circular concept is seen reflected in the Washington D.C. museum building, constructed with Native consultation, the space has no sharp edges, and has been designed with a circular model in mind. 

What stood out to me of all the amazing artwork shown, was the final piece. Titled “The American Indian” by Fritz Scholder (1970), depicting a Native American man standing with the flag of the United States draped around him. With a feather in his head, a crooked smile on his face, a bone plate resting on his chest, and an axe in his arms, the man’s pose is a proud one. The colors of the red white and blue flag bleed together at the feet of the man, likely symbolizing the unity of his identity. I found this piece interesting, as considering the history of erasure and genocide committed against the Native Americans all done in the name of that flag, I wondered how Indigenous peoples find pride in their dual-identities, or if they even consider themselves “American”.  Sheehan seemingly led two lives, as she (most likely, subconsciously) stated, “in my other life as an indigenous person and an artist”, compared to her more “American” life as an educator. I saw pride in the final painting, pride in a blended identity, yet I do not see that reflected in Native American peoples. Do they feel pride in their Americanism? Or resentment? Hatred? At what point do they embrace their blended identity and at what point do they reject their coloniser ancestry? Why embrace what is trying to erase you? On speaking of the erasure of Indigenous peoples, Sheehan seemed to get emotional, and at one point requested for the recording of the call to end, so they could comfortably speak more to this. I saw this request as another form of erasure and silencing of Native voices. 

Sources: 

Scholder, F. (1970). The American Indian. Smithsonian, National Museum of the American Indian, New York, NY.

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Te Māra A Tāne

This Thursday, November 29th, 2019, We traveled to Te Māra A Tāne also known as Zealandia, the world’s first fenced-in urban ecosanctuary located in the heart of Wellington, New Zealand. The idea behind Zealandia was to re-create the environment that existed in Aotearoa (New Zealand) prior to the arrival of humans around 800 years ago. Since the creation of Zealandia, working alongside Māori custodians, the project has successfully reintroduced over 20 species of native wildlife back into the area, some of which had been absent from New Zealand’s mainland for over 100 years. The ecosystem which had become quite unfamiliar to most New Zealanders prior to 1999 is one which had been destroyed by humans and the mammals they introduced, for before them Aotearoa was an expansive land made up of varying flora and fauna and mostly birds, fish, amphibians, and reptiles. Unfortunately, most of the native and unique flora and fauna from over 800 years ago had been lost, and the project is slowly working towards restoring those as well. As we walked through the park, listening to the symphony of rare birds and water streams all around us, our guide explained that the vision for Zealandia was one that stems from Māori culture surrounding environments, which is as people pass on, the land remains. When I heard that I thought about a saying I had heard a lot growing up, leave things the way you found them. I found it ironic that this saying, philosophical to the Māori and a daily reminder to most, had not been placed in the context of environments in my life before. Don’t get me wrong, I see the signs stating that very thing when I walk into a national or public park, or in a kindergarten classroom regarding craft supplies, but it seems like the Māori were the only people put that fundamental concept in terms of the world after we leave it. Not after we walk away from a specific space, but after we leave this physical Earth and its environments. I thought that if all of humankind had this mindset as we entered the Anthropocene, urban environments would look very different today. If we manage to subdue the effects of the climate crisis, it is expected that in the next 500 years there will be a full canopy over Zealandia, and the environment will be 100% restored. 

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Reading at my shady spot on the creek

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Finding my Uncomfortability in ‘Nature’ at Black Rocks

This past weekend we traveled to Black Rocks National Park. This camping trip admittedly came at what felt like a bad time in my life. I was feeling very stressed out and overwhelmed, and the thought of being without wifi for four days was only making me feel more stressed. The harsh environment of Black Rocks did not help. The air was extremely dry and hot, with little to no humidity. There were flies constantly and incessantly bothering me, and whenever I felt a breeze it only made me feel sweatier. I spent most of my time reading and relaxing by the creek, an area which felt about five to eight degrees cooler than our main campsite. On my first day, Uncle Roy took me on a canoe down the river, and as I was paddling under the hazy sunlight in the silence of the bush, with the salt of the river staining my legs and arms, I wondered how people lived in this type of environment. I realized that the different environments I grew up in greatly shaped my perception of ‘nature’ and my relationship with nature. I loved camping, but in 100-degree heat, with smog covering the sky from the nearby bushfires I could not find the activity enjoyable. I reflected on Aya Hayashi’s Finding the Voice of Japanese Wild and her predictions that geography and climate play a large role in people’s view of nature. She explains that in the context of the desert, an objectively more jarring environment than others, “the people who lived there looked at nature as harsh and separated nature from humans in order to survive” (Hayashi, 2002, p.35). I was lucky enough to experience many different ‘natural’ environments in my lifetime, but all of which I found to be nurturing. Three years in the Bahamas helped me build my connection with the ocean, and feel that it was not something that needed to be fought but protected. I thought about how the first residents of this land, most likely might have felt a similar way about ‘nature’ as those born in the desert area of the Middle East. With temperatures rising to over 100 degrees Fahrenheit with 0% humidity, I wondered how people from the land found their place in it. Despite what I said before about my canoeing experience down the river making me imagine how people lived there, it also answered my question at the same time. Eventually, I overcame my overwhelming sense of discomfort as a strong current kicked in and slowly pushed me back towards where I came from. For a minute, while I sat under the sun on the river in silence, I felt the peace, and bliss in isolation, and expanded my concept and love of ‘nature’ in the new environment. 

Reference: 

Hayashi, A. (2002). Finding the Voice of Japanese Wilderness. International Journal of Wilderness, 8:2, pp. 34-37.

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Coogee to Bondi: Defining ‘Nature’ in Urbanization

On October 28th, Our class travelled to Coogee beach in Sydney to do a coastal 6 km walk to Bondi beach. This walk was unlike others of the past, we were in a city. I felt oddly disconnected from the environment around me in relation to “nature”. We began with a discussion in a small green space, with the grass perfectly mowed in a rectangular shape on the ground, and strategically planted trees surrounding the shaded seated regions. In the past when considering our debates around the concept and structure that is “nature”, it has always been in what I consider to be a wilderness, an environment less (obviously) untouched and manipulated by people. Since being in this class that very concept was turned on its head for me, but I was reminded of it once again when it started to rain, and the group collectively ran under a concrete and metal structure in the middle of this park, there to provide shelter from things like rain or sunshine for those visiting. We analyzed what “nature” means in cities, and discussed the concept of aesthetic “nature” brought up by Olaf Kühne in Urban Nature Between Modern and Post Modern Aesthetics: Reflections based on the social constructivist Approach (2012) as a form of creating a landscape for the process of socialization. This was extremely relevant to this space, where it was clear that it was made to be used for recreational activities. There were picnic tables allowing for people to come and have a picnic and look at the trees and listen to the birds, and a man sitting across from us reading a book. For many urban residents, green spaces serve as a place to escape and admire. I delved further into the concept of admiration of “nature” as we began the walk on a perfectly carved trail along the coastline, overlooking the Pacific, the rocks that have been carved by erosion and water, and the trees outlining the landscape. The placement of this walking trail was in no way unintentional. I thought that if people were given a choice to walk through the tall stark and grey buildings of the city of Sydney, or along the coastline, lined with cool winds and engaging sounds and sights, most would choose the ladder. I found that I personally find comfort in the aesthetics of “nature”, and reflected on a hypothetical situation where I was staring at a blank wall or a tree and where my emotions were much more elevated and captivated by the look of the tree, rather than the look of the blank wall. This is because there is an embrace for objects that are alive, and as Kühne explains, “the neat city...produces a distance not only towards one’s own human nature, but also towards exterior nature” (Kühne, p.65). There is a cognitive psychological connection people make with what they consider to be natural and human, that allows them to appreciate “nature” aesthetically. My thoughts on nature being used for its aesthetics continued as we came across the sculpture by the sea exhibit, where artists had come together to create pieces to either fit or stand out on the walk. There were certain pieces such as a giant pencil going through a rock, to pottery made to fit perfectly in the holes of another rock. One certain piece stood out to me, and unsurprisingly to most other people as that was the one that had gathered the biggest crowd. It was a large box with a mirror in it, which reflected the water hitting the rocks of the cliffs below to those which looked into it. It brought the ocean into the sky, and forced me to raise the question… is “nature” the art or the canvas, or neither or both? I felt that the entire concept of putting these sculptures in this space was glamorizing “nature” for aesthetic purposes, but not really creating an appreciation or understanding of the meanings and true purposes behind it. I believe the answer to that question to be both in this case, but I’m not sure how I feel about it. With further internal exploration and understanding surrounding the psychological construct of “nature”, I hope to be able to find out.

References

Kühne, O. (2012). Urban Nature Between Modern and Postmodern Aesthetics: Reflections Based on the Social Constructivist Approach. Quaestiones Geographicae, 31(2). doi: 10.2478/v10117-012-0019-3

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Analyzing Ecofeminism at Protestors Falls

This trip felt like the most personal trip I’ve been on in this class. This past Thursday, October 24th, we traveled to Protestors falls at Nightcap National Park. When we began the walk, it was just like any other, we walked in silence through the rainforest on relatively flat terrain. The environment was not much different from that of the other parks we’ve been to. We were supposed to be going to a waterfall, but once again just like at Minyon Falls the drought plaguing Australia dried most of it up, leaving only small pools of water on the rock where the river should be flowing. We learned that this location was named Protestors Falls because of a major protest that took place in the 70s to protect the trees, where people used their bodies to physically blockade the bulldozers from cutting them down. During most of the short walk, I thought about the significance that trees have in people’s lives and the lengths people will go to to protect them. My mindset changed when suddenly, we took a break in a dried part of the imaginary river and our professors told us that the walk was ending for the men there and only the women could continue onto the falls, for it was an ancient sacred birthing ground. I was taken aback and pleasantly surprised. I thought that there weren’t many spaces in the world exclusively for women, and it felt nice to have this, almost like a small win. I reflected on our readings regarding ecofeminism and women’s relationship with nature. When I first read them, I felt that Plumwood’s (2004) pervasive use of the word ‘gynocentric’ was not only exclusive in nature but transphobic as well. I personally have always felt a connection between my femininity and the environment but not exclusively for the organs that define my sex or my ability to create life. Simply watering down women’s connection to the environment through a ‘gynocentric’ lense does not acknowledge those women who are physically unable to have children, or who were born with different reproductive organs. I believe that there is a special connection with women and the environment but I think that connection is individualistic and may not exist for many women who do not have access to environment. Although, at this particular location it was hard to rationalize this argument when the only reason women were allowed there and had a connection there was because it was where they went to exercise their reproductive purpose, to have birth. I thought that if this were not the case, this site would not be exclusive to women. Although as Ariel Salleh (1984) explains in Deeper than Ecology: The Eco-Feminist Connection, using women’s reproductive abilities as the only solution to their connection to the environment “cuts right back into the nub of male dependence on women as mothers and creators of life-another grab at women's special potency, inadvertent though it may be” (1982, p.340). The dependency created is toxic, and completely dismisses women’s connection to culture and knowledge and their other abilities.

I also want to acknowledge that Plumwood’s reading specifically on Gender, Ecofeminism and the Environment speaks of the dualism in reasons/nature that “have shaped Western culture” (p. 44). I believe it is dangerous and exclusive once again to only connect women and nature in terms of Western culture when in reality this connection began long ago with the first indigenous women to walk the earth who gathered for food and continued into today’s modern-day and age with women of color all around the world. Especially being at this site sacred to indigenous women, it was hard to only acknowledge women’s connection to the environment through a western lens. Not only was it hard, but it would be incorrect. Eco-feminism inherently is crucial in my opinion but also needs to acknowledge women in all forms and the individualistic connections women have to the environment in relation to their own definition of femininity. 

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view from above and below, Vanua at Tavoro Waterfall hike