Some weeks ago at a party supply store, I saw a Halloween costume kit themed "island". Had I seen this assortment of flower-patterned dresses and fake hibiscus flowers in another part of the world, I probably wouldn’t have paid attention. After all, "tropical paradise" is a profitable marketing gimmick. But seeing the regular apparel of most people who live in Tahiti being sold here as a costume didn’t sit well.
I wasn’t entirely sure what I felt about it. Of course, the crass capitalism was upsetting. Imagine selling fake hibiscus on the island where you can just step out and pluck 10 off the nearest bush. But it also seemed exploitative, like the exoticisation and compartmentalisation of a place into a postcard of beaches and martinis, and by extension, stereotyping its people as laid back, lazy and simple.
But it’s also on this same island that I see people offering expensive yoga retreats, chanting Sanskrit mantras without having any idea of its meaning and what it encapsulates. Also, I once saw a man dressed up as 'Arabic' at a costume party. If my French was good enough, I could have asked him more about his costume but I’ll give him the benefit of doubt and not presume he was dressed up as a 'terrorist'.
To deconstruct these experiences, it seems like a good idea to understand what cultural appropriation is. So that’s what we will do in this week’s The Global Tiller. What are some ways to look at this increasingly contentious issue. What makes a culture and who guards its practice?
I may be a little rusty on what I learned in A-level Sociology but cultural appropriation is defined as "an act of illegitimate taking, acquisition and transformation by members of the mainstream society of ideas, images and art styles originated by indigenous peoples and other minority groups".
While an old concept in academic circles, cultural appropriation has become a part of everyday lingo thanks to its popularity in the media. Sometimes for good reason and sometimes as mere gotcha journalism, the label of cultural appropriation can easily mean the end of your popularity, credibility and even, moral standing.
Labels of cultural appropriation are given out across a whole spectrum of violations: from the Canadian prime minister wearing blackface at an Arabian Nights party in 2001, singer Selena Gomez wearing a bindi at an awards show performance, a US company taking off all Chinese symbols from their mahjong sets and Asian musicians accused of appropriating hip hop, to innocuous acts such as a teenager wearing a qipao in Utah.
What makes one act cultural appropriation and not another boils down to the power dynamics at play. Who is cherrypicking aspects of another culture, how much are they misrepresenting it and how much are they profiting from it? And because each situation will have multiple answers to those questions, it is not sufficient to generalise one rule for every time someone borrows from another culture.
Cultural appropriation, and culture for that matter, is complex. Our culture, in itself, is not static and is made of so many different influences that it is hard to draw a line and fix one version of the culture as the ultimate one. The internet exposed us to a wide variety of cultural practices, why not use the same tool to learn more about those rituals, and the people who practice them?
While it may be asking too much of our algorithm-driven social media to understand the nuances of cultural exchange, growth and appreciation, it rests on us humans and our own complex brains to ponder on these ideas. If we start with genuine curiosity, we can learn about each other in a way that perpetuates kindness, not exploitation.
Don’t get me wrong. Our economic systems have exploited diverse cultures for their own profits. So when it comes to businesses and cultural appropriation, the outrage is justified. But it should be directed towards the systems — colonisation, imperialism and capitalism — that pit one human against the other.
So the next time a Halloween costume rubs you the wrong way, ask yourself what am I really mad about? Is it the company that makes millions off of a community that’s starving? Is it a person who’s reduced a culture to one accessory? Or is it just someone trying something new they discovered? How can we create spaces where mistakes are allowed to happen and people are encouraged to grow from them?
Until next week, take care and stay safe.
Hira - Editor - The Global Tiller
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Yoga teachers of Indian origin weigh in on its ‘western’ adaptation:
…and now what?
I recently read a quote somewhere that really resonated with me. "You judge people for their attitudes but you judge yourself for your intentions.” Here is a short and efficient way to explain so much of the misunderstandings we see in our world.
I know exactly why I do what I do. I know when I mean good or not. But other people don’t. So if I don’t try to be clear and explain my intentions, then obviously all the people can do is to assess my attitude. And this happens even more so when my attitudes can be easily connected to a history of similar attitudes that we know came with bad intentions.
In a world where diversity is omnipresent, we live in a context where attitudes are read through many lenses, many points of view. When reality is complex, it falls upon us to make sure that we bring clarity and understanding so we can interact with people in a kinder way.
That’s what I’ve learned from having lived in Tahiti since more than 20 years. That’s what I learned from being married with someone from a different culture. Clarify your intentions, act accordingly and make sure along the way people are not judging you on your attitude.
It’s not the perfect recipe, I admit, and unfortunately, sometimes you make mistakes, sometimes you lack sensitivity and perspectives. Or sometimes people judging you don’t want to make the effort to learn more about you. It has happened to me many times when, while coming from good intentions, I’ve been judged not on the basis of my attitude but on the basis of my looks, my origins.
This begs an additional question: can you legitimately claim or consider that a culture, which you were not born into but one that you have lived in for some time, become yours? If yes, when can it be? If no, why not? This question in itself can become complicated, depending on who’s asking.
Here in Tahiti, a recently published book is asking similar questions. In his book, Bruno Saura — a researcher in sociology at the University of French Polynesia — has written about the relationship between Tahitians and the French culture.
For those who may be unaware, Tahiti is still a French territory that is autonomous but not independent. Unsurprisingly, given this history, the French culture is quite predominant in the daily life and has been imposed over the population at the expense of the Tahitian culture.
Saura analyses how the French culture has been so infused in the local life that Tahitians can act, think and live more as French than as Polynesians. Does that mean they should be considered French? What happens to the Tahitian culture if more and more locals identify as French? Who is making this choice, and who gets to be called one or the other?
There’s no easy answer to all these questions. There’s an individual aspect to it which is to let everyone find out where they belong. There’s also a collective aspect to it which requires us to acknowledge a context that is complex as a consequence of history, past traumas and unhealed prejudices. And there may be a future aspect to it which calls upon each of us to clarify our intentions but also to be mindful of our attitudes.
Our future demands we find ways to navigate efficiently in a world of diversity, mixed and fluid identities. These challenges need to be solved now and they require a lot of shared understanding, respect and conversations to make cultural sharing a process that promotes and preserves identities while making sure we can still learn from each other through our shared and diverse knowledge.
Philippe - Founder - Pacific Ventury