Within Humanity: Toward a Healthier Ethnic Identity for Ancestrally European People

A little while ago, I was speaking with a friend about the racial tension issues surrounding the 2016 election in my country, the United States of America. He reacted strongly to the national tension by veering further “left” politically than me, whereas I have become more cautiously moderate. In this conversation I expressed my anguish about becoming separated from beloved friends over these divided politics, especially friends like him. We were talking about the issue of perceived “whiteness” in America, and he felt strongly that White people might be historically redeemed by wiping away this stain of self-identified “whiteness” by no longer identifying as “white”, but instead by reclaiming their roots as ethnically Dutch, Irish, Norwegian, French, Russian, Italian, and so forth. I told him why I take issue with this: “Tell me,” I said, “which am I? Am I French or German or Danish? Am I Scottish or Swedish or English? I do not know which section of my DNA is more worthy of my recognition, in order to be pardoned from a cultural guilt which I have no responsibility in creating.” By trying to uplift the cultural experiences of non-white Americans, he was ignoring and devaluing his own simultaneous reality that White people in America tend to identity as White for a very good reason. They do not belong to only one of these disparate ethnic European groups, but an ancestral admixture of many of them. The story of gradually becoming White in America was not some sinisterly ordained plot worked out in advance from the Mayflower. It was a multi-century, organically evolving experience of blending into a new cultural group of pan-European American people, which eventually resulted in us having only one box to check on the census: “White/ Caucasian”. This blending of ancestries was not some malicious conspiracy to make all ancestrally European people immediately the top of the social hierarchy, though this happened for a multi-generational period due to being the majority population with its own set of complicated values and age-old human problems. This is a story of a people’s multi-generational diaspora, and it isn’t very remarkably different from every other migration story in the history of humanity.

I want to participate in my own ethnic European-American “tribe” the same way other tribes are openly permitted to do so in my country without all the shame and blame to follow. At the same time, I do not accept any supremacist attitudes from anyone, regardless of their “race”. I put the word “race” in scare quotes because I follow the scientific conclusion that there is no biological evidence for the distinct categories we call “races”. There are varying genetics, haplogroups, phenotypes, and distinctive cultures, all of which result in the many ethnic groups of the world, but there is no evidence in reality for such a thing as “race”. Looking at this desire to wholly belong to and participate in the communal life of a human tribe, I view my own need for this cultural identity and cohesion through the same evolutionary and anthropological lens that applies to all in our Human species. I place my own pan-European and American ancestry within that global, million-year-old Hominid story.

Part of the ongoing problem of colonialism’s legacy is that the “privileged” groups tend to unconsciously feel that they will only ever have their privilege to identity with, or else their utter shame and self-hatred in response to it. They forget their own normal humanity that holds the same needs for a semblance of peaceful cohesion as does any other ethnic group. A healthy ancestrally European identity could begin as one which does not assume the blank slate of normalcy for all that is culturally “white”, while marginalizing all non-white people as the Other. Instead, it would claim the beauty and humanity of its Western ancestry, influenced by many peoples over many centuries, while acknowledging the parallel normalcy of everyone else’s accomplishments and subsequent centrism in their own ancestry.

One of the ironies of the politically “progressive” White-guilt complex is the blindness to it’s own ability to be so deeply self-critical as a group of self-identified White people. If White people were so hopelessly irredeemable for the sins of history, we wouldn’t be repenting on our knees through the desert in sackcloth and ashes like we are. The alarming part of this is not a peoples’ willingness to be self-critical, but rather a peoples’ willingness to eagerly self-destruct their own culture in hopes of redeeming itself through a sacrificial offering. The sick religious connotations I draw are intentional. The proclamations on the part of white people who wish to culturally beat themselves and their progeny into submission in reparations to people with more melanin in their skin is sadistic, unacceptably emotionally self-mutilating and will never change the past. It will only put a stain on the wellness and relationships of the generations of the future, whatever their skin colors.

Some contemporary people of European ancestry are trying to creatively re-envision an ethnic identity not automatically tied up in the colonial slaughter of the past five hundred years as their founding mythology. It is appropriate to acknowledge the pain of the victims of colonial history without relegating our own European ethnic heritage to the two worst options: either crippling, self-hating ancestral guilt or inexcusable White supremacist ideology. Neither of these can ever be healthy and I look forward to the future demise of each.

We do damage to upcoming generations when we give them only the consistently despairing accounts of history, without pairing them with the equally true and powerful stories of inter-ethnic friendship, cooperation and acculturation to each other. To only speak exclusively of historical despair –hoping to heal the wounds of history by emotionally flogging the children of the future– only perpetuates conflicts that do not belong to the future. Each of us are born to be the living recipients of history, and so we are the ones qualified to talk back to it. The greatest wisdom of the elders should be to let their warfare die with them.

 

 

The Obelisks

 

Now falls the city streets’ grey weight and shaking
on the modern heart –their shouts persist,
the crowds of angry angel-apes,
so far to fall again to waking,
falling on my ears, the sounds,
the anger of the obelisks:
brooding, menacing their eyes of spears,
the red-crazed mob resounds.

Is wisdom gone? Is she not here,
but risen to where humans step beyond
the riot’s fray of fear,
and once again will listen?
–Listen!
Our every harrowed heart,
our grasping minds that seek,
be calm this obfuscated day:
lay down your bloody weapons
in the ground
and walk unarmed away.

Come quicker, Evolution’s inmost sight,
come orient our primetime agony tonight.

 

 

image source: public domain

Mammal Fur is More Fun Than Differences

 

Lately I’ve been working with kids at a school this summer switching off between restorative outdoor playtime (our much-loved extended care program) and more structured day camps. All kinds of magic can happen in these places. Today I had the honor of talking with a little five-year old boy out on the playground about mammals, and how they are different from reptiles, birds and other families of life. I used a big word, characteristics, and he stumbled over the pronunciation rather adorably. But through more discussion he got that big word in his hands and started playing with it (this is how we humans learn!), saying “a characteristic of a sheep is fluff,” and, “a zebra has a characteristic like a horse. Is a hippo a mammal? What about a lion? Hey, do any mammals lay eggs? I think a hippo and a lion have a fur characteristic.”

Whenever I get to share knowledge about the animal kingdom, I am brought back to my similar love of anthropology; how our human family tree echoes the branches of greater groups of life reaching out to species and kingdoms. It was during a lull in our conversation when the boy, staring into the big sky and thinking really hard about all this stuff, asked about human characteristics. Sometimes we educators feel awkward when talking about how human groups are different in some ways, but actually more deeply the same in others. And so I turn to anthropology, a way to track our shared human story’s characteristics so that the science of who we are need not be intimidating nor divisive to us.

Anthropology is the study of human cultures, a telling of our ancestral developments which influence us even today. I first became excited about the study of anthropology when I began exploring some of the technologies used by indigenous hunter-gatherer groups: making fire by friction, edible wild plant medicines, and the tracking of animals. Later, I took an introductory anthropology course during college which further illuminated the academic modes of study for this topic. Let me introduce you to a few of those pathways. See if you can imagine how these modes of study can help you better understand our human family, the one you see all around you.

There are four fields of anthropology as recognized by formal scientific study: the cultural, biological, linguistic and archaeological foci. Cultural anthropology studies the cultural aspects of people in groups, such as their social, religious, and moral practices. Biological anthropology studies the physical and evolutionary parts of our human physiology as distinct from our cultural practices. This includes studying near-humans, our fellow primates and our shared fossil records. Linguistic anthropology tracks the patterns of languages across cultures, giving clues as to our ancient movement over time and geography (as well as how the earth’s environments have influenced the development of our many languages). Archaeological anthropology studies cultures of the ancient past, in particular the preliterate cultures making up the mammoth mass of our unwritten history. Techniques used in this field are similar to the research methods used in paleontology, and extends to include paleo-zoology and other interrelated fields.

A smile lit up his face, the child who wanted to know more. “And we humans have characteristics that make us mammals?” It’s good for the heart to encounter this, a child’s preoccupation with needing to know that humanity is related to mammals -that we are mammals- more than any need to worry about the differences among us. When held up to the light of our nonhuman relatives, we all look very much the same. Studying anthropology is a delight for the mind. It serves to inspire in us a deeper joy in our fellow human beings.

 

 

Image © Gentle J. Pine. All rights reserved.

The Anthropology of Princess Mononoke

The much-loved 1997 film Princess Mononoke, directed by Hayao Miyazaki and produced by Studio Ghibli, is a profound entryway into understanding modern humanity’s hunger for our ancient roots in nature and animistic spirituality through the lens of one culture, Japan. The culture of the “land of the rising sun”, as it is famously called, began as every culture did: foraging hunter-gatherers arrived in their current homeland in a seemingly mythological age of long ago, a time when the earth was ruled by pristine wilderness and the land enchanted by the spirits of animals undomesticated by humans. Though this legacy is, in part, a somewhat nostalgic and simplified view of humanity’s “primitive” past, it is nevertheless important to honor the spiritual, cultural and psychological meaning of this pan-human yearning for communion with the ancient spirits of the wild.

Princess Mononoke explores these dynamics well. Japan is, today, one of the most technologically advanced, democratic, modernized, and industrialized of the world powers and has become a poster child for Asian success in the global market. Yet Japan retains a living link to it’s ancient roots, particularly through the beautiful animistic religion of Shinto, wherein a rich cosmology of nature-spirits called kami interact constantly with the human world through an innate aliveness perceived in all of existence. This offers a unique opportunity to study the relationship between a modernized country and it’s animist origins, a relationship which is sometimes harder to discern in Western countries where Abrahamic religion and subsequent Enlightenment-era thought have largely obscured most clear signs of continuously intact “earth-based” spirituality and culture. But Japan, like every other modern country, has itself passed through an era of rapid and alarmingly destructive deforestation and destruction of nonhuman lifeforms. The country has since increasingly come to realize it’s spiritual lifeline in nature as well as it’s practical need to conserve natural “resources”.

There is a difference between seeing nature as innately alive and animate with feeling and worth in it’s own right, as opposed to merely a dead object which we harvest to put on shelves at our whim, for our exclusive disposable use. Japan, a country which is 75% forested mountains, now officially preserves 5.4% of its total land area as protected national parks (there’s room for improvement, compared to New Zealand, for example, which protects 11.5% of its land, but this is progress nonetheless) (Knight, 2015). Increasingly the Japanese people feel, along with much of the developed world, a growing desire to be in relationship with the spirits of the land as their ancestors were. Communities are discovering the need to dial down the unhealthy consumerist excesses of modern life which pull a dull smog over the senses, contributing to depression, suicide and emotional isolation.

And so we see that nature and culture are not and need not be separate: the origins of human culture were, in fact, inseparable from their sacred surroundings in the earth. The modern yearning to rediscover that connection is necessary for the wellbeing of the whole world. In the words of Motohisa Yamakage, author of The Essence of Shinto: Japan’s Spiritual Heart, “It is important, therefore, for the Japanese people to rediscover their spiritual essence and their cultural roots, and to make these a force for the good of humanity as a whole.” (Yamakage, 2006)

Princess Mononoke opens with a scene of trouble in paradise. A giant boar the size of a house, one of the myriad kami, has become crazed with possession and rampages into attack on a small feudal Japanese village. Prince Ashitaka, the story’s protagonist, fights the boar-god, and defeats it, but only after the demon’s poison wraps around his right arm in the struggle, wounding him severely with an unnatural curse. The medicine woman of the village emerges after the boar is fallen to bless the animal-god and ask its forgiveness for whatever grudge it bears against humans. But the boar is full of rage, and dies swearing that the humans will suffer as it has suffered. The people of the village hold a council and decide that the village is no longer safe with the curse upon Prince Ashitaka’s arm in their midst. He is then sent away, regretfully, to discover a cure that may save him as well as an explanation for the violent unrest of such a formidable kami.

Ashitaka journeys a while and encounters a wandering monk, Jiko-bo, who tells him that he can help him find the Great Forest Spirit, Shishigami, who can save him. They wander together and come upon the settlement of Iron Town, a place commandeered by Lady Eboshi, who is at war with the forest and all it’s spirits over the iron it contains. She desires to decapitate the mountains and the Great Forest Spirit with them so that her metal-making endeavors will not be restrained by the needs or limits of nature. With the head of Shishigami in her hands, she would present it to the emperor of Japan in exchange for his protection and support, and her supposed immortality, or so the legend goes. But the Wolf Clan and their adopted human, San (Princess Mononoke herself), are throwing all their efforts at stopping the works of Iron Town. San is furious that her forest is being destroyed.

What follows from here is the conflict between the animal clans of the forest as their anxiety is heightened due to the tension put upon them by humans; the wolves, boars, monkeys, and more cannot agree about how to combat this destruction. At the same time, Eboshi catches Shishigami at the one vulnerable moment when he turns into his Nightwalker form, a majestic deer-man figure who is so large that he towers even over the mountains. She decapitates him: poison pours forth from the body of the creature who was to be the eternal lifeblood of the mountains themselves. The corruption flows through the grieving forest, killing many kodama,the numerous small and childlike ghostly kami who populate the sacred groves. The monk, Jiko-bo, becomes a traitor and steals the god’s head from Eboshi for himself, but San and Ashitaka pursue him into Iron Town to retrieve it. Shishigami’s head is returned, and eventually harmony is restored to the sacred wild. Ashitaka’s curse from the boar’s attack is lifted, and the mother-wolf of the Wolf Clan bites of Lady Eboshi’s arm. Humbled, she accepts the lesson of respecting nature, and Ashitaka helps rebuild Iron Town with the understanding of the need to live in harmony with the earth. The forest recovers.

It will appear obvious to those in tune with the environmental movement, and especially the growing popularity of nature-based spirituality, that Princess Mononoke is a spiritual and environmental epic. Japan’s origins dwell in the mystery of the earth: the islands of the nation are said to have been created by the sun goddess, Amaterasu, along with the ill-fated lovers Izanami and Izanagi. Izanami is a rather Lillith-type character, in particular: unlike the shining and admirable Amaterasu, she becomes the goddess of death, the Dark Mother and ruler of the underworld after she dies giving birth to the god of fire. Izanagi, her lover, parts ways with her once she becomes the goddess of death, vowing to give life to more humans than Izanami devours. Creation stories such as these signify an awareness on the part of ancient peoples of the power of nature to be both live-giving and death-bringing, both gentle and fierce, but always powerful beyond comprehension. This belief in the intermixed goodness and unpredictability of the natural and spiritual worlds is reflected clearly in the first part of Princess Mononoke when the old medicine woman speaks a prayer of honor and forgiveness over the body of the rage-filled boar.

The first people to arrive in Japan probably set foot on the islands around 40,000 years ago, though the exact phenotype or culture of this ancient group is unknown. We do know, however, that the Jomon people were the indigenous group of the islands that are recognizable today, the minority Ainu population being their closest living successors. The Yayoi people, originators of the current dominant group comprising 98% of Japanese people, probably arrived from the Korean peninsula around 300 BCE It was around this time that rice farming also took hold in Japan, as the knowledge of it arrived with the Yayoi. This allowed the people to settle down into fixed villages with storages of rice, no longer reliant on hunting and gathering for subsistence. A population boom soon followed, and many of the Jomon group are thought to have been either assimilated or defeated. Not long after, written language was imported from China, what is now known as the kanji script of Chinese characters altered to fit the Japanese language. With both writing and agriculture, Japan soon became a more complex, hierarchical society (Dolan, 1994).

The story of Princess Mononoke takes place during the Muromachi period (1333 – 1568 CE) during the deterioration of the medieval social system. It is significant because the era marks the onset of the societal transition in Japan from an agricultural society to a nation increasingly unified, militarized and urbanized. The realm of the gods was felt to be at odds with this new direction society seemed to be heading in. Shinto, a religion native to the country and older than time itself, saw the mountains and forests as sacred, mountains in particular having long been ascended in reverence throughout Japanese history as a means to attaining spiritual purification. Now, the mountains were seen as selfishly withholding the treasure of their iron ore, instead of enchanting the people with their spiritual treasure that was the beloved kami. The relationship of the people to their mountains and forests was suddenly warped, strained, and severely tested (Wright, 2004).

Modernization, spirituality and gender are three anthropological themes of particular note in the film. Japan has traditionally been a country highly suspicious of outsiders, and perhaps for good reason at times in their past: they knew of the strength of China and the Mongols and wished to hold them at bay. Later, upon meeting Europeans, they realized they did not want to end up another version of the colonized Philippines, hence the subsequent and dizzyingly rapid modernization. But this response only shows that influence from the outside world to some degree is inevitable. Japan experienced a first major shift in religious thought with the introduction of Buddhism to the islands in 538 CE. Shinto, the indigenous religion of the land, had not as yet so much as a name for itself, as there was not enough of anything that wasn’t nature to distinguish itself from. Shinto was forced to adapt to this new religion’s more complex, ethereal doctrines which emphasized transcending or overcoming nature more than connecting intimately with it. The sudden need to see nature as something other, separated out from the rest of life, was a major shift in worldview. Shinto adopted the Buddhist practice of building large temples and establishing an ordered priesthood. The nation adjusted, as well, to new monetary systems of accounting and foreign trade with the mainland inevitably brought along with Buddhism. Princess Mononoke follows the trail of these changes continuing to play out socially hundreds of years later in the lives of common Japanese people of small towns and villages who were likely not literate, and so retained a more “primitive” lifestyle compared to the day-to-day baseline of the Emperor’s court where the influence was most clearly felt. The Muromachi period was the turning point when the Pandora’s box of modernization began for the whole of Japanese society, not just the elite, brining along with it all the complicated advantages and losses that modernization involves.

The role of women in Princess Mononoke, and many of Hayao Miyazaki’s movies overall, is of interest to understanding the historical and evolving place of women in Japan. Many contemporary Japanese animations portray women as cute, weak and passive, but Miyazaki’s female characters have long been more dynamic and real than the infantilized schoolgirl trope. In Mononoke, the main female protagonist, San, who is Mononoke herself, is a wild human who is extremely capable of defending herself, her homeland and her animal family. Prince Ashitaka (who, as the main male protagonist, is in fact not hyper-masculinized to the point of unfeeling, macho brutality) recognizes that he finds her beautiful, and the story suggests that they form an intimate partnership after the film’s conclusion, but this romance is in no way definitive of San’s character or purpose at all in the story. Ashitaka demonstrates impeccable respect toward San’s strict boundaries and dislike of other humans, allowing her time to decide to trust him as she sees fit. Their eventual romance is a sweet afterthought, and a very natural one, but it is not the defining quality of San’s female role. Their partnership is of importance more because it grows upon the foundation of striving together for justice toward the forest, and their romance is secondary to the story in which neither male or female partner is overly sexualized or defined by their romantic interest. San is, as well, visually presented not as a “sexy” character but as a very natural “tomboy” type, with no particular emphasis on her body’s sexuality. Unlike it would be in many anime films, she is not given a large bust, large sparkly eyes or anything else absurd to her role as a forest creature.

Chizuko Ueno, a household name in Japan who is one of the best known contemporary feminist critiques of Asian patriarchal culture, asserts that the stereotypical image of the submissive Japanese woman is a more recent invention in Japanese history which grew upon the rapid urbanization of the country and was imposed by the hierarchical values of the elite. Harkening back to the legend of Izanami, the dark mother goddess who is anything but a demure, delicate geisha and far more of an ancient creatrix of pre-civilized matriarchy, there persists to this day a buried archetype of the wild woman of Japan, uncontrolled and fierce in her natural power (this is a good thing). As Schnell and Hashimoto write in the The University of Iowa’s article Revitalizing Japanese Folklore, we can see how Miyazaki’s portrayal of a different kind of female character demonstrates a search for Japan’s feminine and natural roots:

Folklore is particularly adept at supplying “the people’s” point of view. As sociologist Chizuko Ueno… has noted, “historical research based on written texts often ends up being about the ruling class and its ideology.” Folklorists, therefore, with their emphasis on fieldwork and oral tradition, must preserve what historians gloss over or ignore—the attitudes and experiences of peasants, fishermen, wage laborers, and small entrepreneurs (in other words, the vast majority of the population). Ueno herself relies heavily on… documentation of pre-industrial village life in challenging the “traditional” image of Japanese women as being subservient. Her work demonstrates that much of the subordination occurred with the transition to an urban-industrial context, when the values of the elite samurai were adopted by (or imposed upon) the masses (Hashimoto & Schnell. 2003).

The film’s antagonist, Lady Eboshi, is also not an exact image of pure evil as is often the case for antagonists in western media. She is at war with the forest and it’s kami, but she is doing so with the intention of using its resources to help many common people who have been otherwise rejected or abandoned by their communities. She takes under her wing several lepers who would have nowhere else to go, giving them shelter and work to survive. She also fosters a group of former prostitutes whose lives, in the words of the women themselves, are of a far better quality communally working the bellows and furnaces of Iron Town, unbothered by the men and given as much food as they hunger for, compared to the demeaning and disempowering brothels of their previous situations. The lives of these women stand out in the film as a further comment upon the complexity of Japanese women’s history, a legacy of subjugation and sharp divisions of social class which increased with the growing dominance of the warrior cults who came to rule the country.

Oct. 24, 1999 Los Angeles Times profile of Miyazaki, Charles Solomon, in his October 24, 1999 profile of Miyazaki in the Los Angeles times, speaks to the complexities of Eboshi’s actions as they reflect Japan’s struggles to modernize.

“Eboshi is not a straightforward villain. Like the Japanese people after World War II, the workers in Iron Town are trying to survive in a troubled world; they don’t mean to destroy their environment. ‘If you portray someone who’s evil, then you off him, what’s the point?’ Miyazaki asked. ‘It’s easy to create a villain who’s a maniacal real estate developer, then kill him and have a happy ending. But what if a really good person becomes a real estate developer?'” (Solomon, 1999)

Thus, the Japanese consciousness around the dual necessity and environmental cost of modernization is a mature one. It is able to integrate cherished Shintoist beliefs about the simultaneous simplicity and complexity of nature, culture, and life, seeing the mysterious kami in the persistent beauty of the landscape into the present day. It is able to reflect its ancient roots in its modern media art, a relationship reaching across time which other modern countries strive to do as gracefully. Japan’s collective imagination is one for the aliveness of the land, the power of the feminine and the uncertain mechanizing of the future. It is increasingly well aware -and regretful- of the loss of wilderness which modern society demands, yet it is understanding of the need to reach equilibrium with nature in order to maintain a society which is able to support itself, defend itself, and fulfill its potential on a new global scale.

References

Yamakage, M. (2006). The Essence of Shinto: Japan’s Spiritual Heart. Tokyo: Kodansha International.

Knight, C. (n.d.). Natural Environments, Wildlife, and Conservation in Japan. Retrieved April 7, 2015, from http://japanfocus.org/-Catherine-Knight/3292

Van Zoelen, P. (2012, December 13). Hayao Miyazaki: Recovery of Japanese Cultural Values. Retrieved April 7, 2015, from http://culturevisuelle.org/introtovc/archives/727

Dolan, R. (1994). Japan: A Country Study (5th ed.) (R. Worden, Ed.). Washington, D.C.: Federal Research Division, Library of Congress.

Wright, L. (2004, February 3). Wonderment and Awe – the Way of the Kami. Retrieved April 7, 2015, from http://refractory.unimelb.edu.au/2004/02/03/wonderment-and-awe-the-way-of-the-kami- lucy-wright/

Hiroyuki, H., & Schnell, S. (2003). Guest Editors’ Introduction: Revitalizing Japanese Folklore. Iowa Research Online: The University of Iowa’s Institutional Repository, Department of Anthropology Publications. Asian Folklore Studies. Retrieved April 8, 2015, from http://ir.uiowa.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1007&context=anthro_pubs

Solomon, C. (1999, October 24). At the Head of the Pack. Retrieved April 23, 2015, from http://articles.latimes.com/1999/oct/24/entertainment/ca-25527

 

 

Image © Gentle J. Pine. All rights reserved.

Testing for Stress

 

When I took the test, my Holmes and Rahe stress score was about 300 (pretty high). I didn’t take the student version because I didn’t identify with most of their questions about typical student life, because I don’t live a typical student life of an on-campus dorm kid.

What stood out to me about these tests was how frustratingly limited, how dully mainstream and worker-bee predictable the questions offered were about. They assumed a standard of normalcy that is only real for a certain percent of the population. I’m sure a lot of the situations offered to be officially recognized as stressful certainly do cause a lot of stress in real lives (loss of job, divorce, etc). Yet, I couldn’t help but wonder, with some anger, why the following type of questions were missing:

“Have you suffered the loss of a beloved animal lately (check: on-par with losing a human family member)?”

“We recognize that there are a lot of intimate relationships beside the strictly legally married ones: have you lost a beloved mate? This includes, but is not limited to, formal legal divorce.”

“Is one or both of your parents still living but are basically deteriorated into a state of violent, zombified walking dead strangers thanks to mental illness and poverty and now you’re an orphan?”

“Have you experienced a loss of a beloved community, a severing of ties with a cherished identity/tribe/lifestyle which was a foundational support to your wellbeing?” Why, yes, community actually matters as much if not more than biological family even though Americans are the only people in the world too fucking arrogant and solipsistic to even acknowledge that in their formal psychology.

“Have you been deprived of an important right of passage, the rejection from participation in ancient human life events? Are you suffering an inexplicable feeling of a lack of purpose and recognition of what matters in the world around you? In fact, is your whole society falling a part?”

“Are you suffering flashbacks of abuse and neglect?”

“Are you coping with the impending death of a family member, maybe the only one with whom you have a parental bond?” Grieving ahead of time is natural and a healthy way to cope with loss.

“Have your homeland and native ecology been devastated?”

“Have you experienced a decreased amount of time spent exercising or being in contact with nature or your understanding of the Divine? If so, this might kick your ass.”

Yeah, Christmas was a thing to be stressed about, but not separation from non-nuclear family. I’m not persuaded by much of standard psychology.

 

 

 

Photo by Sharon McCutcheon on Unsplash