The Appropriation of Ethnic Identities aka Why I Hate St. Patrick's Day

I could never stand St. Patrick's Day. It always pissed me off, because it emphasizes an element of American culture that, somehow, has always angered me. Although everyone is American, everyone also claims that they are "Irish" or "French" or "Greek and Polish and Italian and British and Spanish and German and ...."  I understand that, as a country that prides itself on being multi-ethnic and is created through a history of immigration, it's important for people to acknowledge their heritage. I understand how this is especially important for people of Irish or Italian (etc.) heritage, who's ancestors might have historically faced discrimination in the United States. However, it's not heritage that Americans claim: they don't say "Kiss me, I am of Irish heritage" or "Kiss me, my grandfather immigrated from Ireland".  No, it's "Kiss me, I am Irish".  The thing is, you're not Irish. Chances are, you know nothing about what Irish culture is like, nor do you even have any clue what it means to be Irish.  You're an American, fully assimilated into American culture, melted away into the melting pot until we can no longer tell where you came from.

It's especially frustrating when, upon telling people I was born in Russia, they respond with "Cool, I am half-Russian". You and I have nothing in common. I've am bilingual and bicultural. I speak Russian, read Russian poetry, eat Russian food, discuss Russian politics; I know what it's like to live in Russia, to breathe Russia, to suffer Russia and enjoy Russia.  You are an American. If, every once in a while, your grandma cooks borscht, that's fantastic! We can discuss Russian cuisine and maybe even Russian grandmas. Still, chances are, you are not Russian. My children will not be Russian. They will be American, because I don't know how too cook Russian food, because I don't embody much of Russian culture, because I, their mother, more than anything else, am an American.

Pay attention to how I talk about my ethnicity and heritage. You won't hear me say "I am Russian" or "I am from Russia". Instead, when someone asks me where I am from, I carefully and consciously phrase it: "I was born in Russia".  I identify as an American, and only recently, as I've been working on self-pride, did I begin occasionally being comfortable identifying as Russian-American, or, rarely, even Russian.  I have an accent. My name is Russian. No matter how hard I try, I can't escape this. People know I am Russian. And, you know what? I hate it.

It started in second grade. Our teacher read us a children's story about a Russian man (he was a famous artist or musician or author, but I don't remember who specifically he was) who felt homesick after moving the to US. The kids looked at me and asked : "are you homesick?" No, I am not homesick, I answered. I wasn't, and I hated the attention. I hated being different, being singled out, having to defend myself. No, I am not homesick, I said over and over again, and they all looked at me and said, "You're homesick." This was right before recess, and I had an Aspie breakdown, I hid myself in the corner and tried not to cry, and I hated myself, and I hated being Russian, and I hated being associated with some stupid story that had nothing at all to do with me.  That was the first time, but not the last.  I know people identify me by my heritage. I know they speak of me as the "Russian girl" or "that girl with the Russian (or sometimes they don't even know it's Russian, and name some other random European country) accent".  And it bothers me.  I hate it when people associate me with other Russian people, when, chances are, we have nothing in common. I hate it when people attribute my behavior to my ethnicity. And, oh, it happens. I've often had people say that I do something "because I am Russian", or, when my behavior or words are deviant, they say "you Russian people are crazy".  I feel like people look right past me. For a long time, I avoided telling people my name. I avoided speaking around people who'd never heard my voice. I avoided this because I knew that, if they found, out, they would think of me as "the Russian one". I hate that every time I speak, every conversation I have, every time I say my name (although my new name of "Kae" has done something to liberate me), the conversation, without fail, always goes to "Where are you from?"  I feel like everyone looks right through me, right through my words and their meaning, and they can only hear the voice saying those words. And, somewhat rebelliously, I identify as American. I envy my sister. Two and a half years younger, and she has no accent; her name is Sasha, unique yet simple, easy to pronounce.  She has friends that didn't know she was Russian until they met me and she said "this is my sister".  "I didn't know you were Russian," they say. "I am," she answers, she proudly says, "I am Russian".

But I am proud of being Russian. I love my experiences with Russian culture, the opportunity I have to speak two languages and to know two different lifestyles. I love that I have an experience that so few have, an experience of infinite value.  I love telling people about Russian culture, telling them the ways in which it's different. I love discussing Russian politics, and trying to get other people to understand it (I also love discussing it with people who already know a lot about it, possibly more than I do myself).  In fact, I feel like I have more pride than my sister. Sure, she's never consciously tried to hide her heritage like I have, but sometimes, I feel like she sees herself as "Russian"  in the same way as all the other "Russian" people that live in the US.  Whenever she says our last name, she pronounces it the way most American's pronounce it - [k l ɛ p I ts k a j a] with an accent on the first "a" - rather than how it's correctly pronounced - [k l jɛ p i ts k a j a] with an accent on the "i". (Wow, I put a lot of work in to this IPA, I hope it's correct; I suppose it's a good thing I'm a linguistics minor.)  I see how that's convenient, especially when someone else needs to spell it. I even understand her saying it to a friend when the friend is curious to know what her last name is, although I wouldn't, because that's not my last name. But, at times, I've heard people ask her to say her last name because they want to hear what it sounds like, and she still says it in the incorrect way that English-speakers pronounce it. Now come on - that's just disrespectful, they want to hear how it's really pronounced! Perhaps it's hypocritical of me to complain about the attention I receive for being Russian and identify as American, and then insist on pronouncing my name correctly all the time. Maybe that's true, but I can't stop: it's part of who I am. I am an American, but I also have a Russian name, and I also lived much of my life in Russia.

I don't see anything wrong in having pride in your ethnicity. I don't have a problem with celebrating other cultures. I think that's a wonderful thing! But Americans, going out and getting drunk because they are "Irish" - I just think that's ridiculous. Everyone is Irish. You know why you're Irish? Because you're AMERICAN. Because, in this country, people of different ethnic backgrounds intermarry. That doesn't happen as often elsewhere. It seldom happens in Russia. I am not Irish because I actually am an immigrant, and actually might have had some of the same experiences your Irish ancestors have had. (However, I want to be careful here not to appropriate discrimination - I definitely think that some of the experiences I described in this blog are disadvantages, but not nearly as serious as the things immigrants from Southern and Eastern Europe have faced in the past.)  Yet, although, chances are, as an American, you have some Irish blood in you, the chances of that being true for someone who immigrates to the US from elsewhere in the world are very, very low. And no one celebrates my Russian heritage! No one celebrates immigrants that still come today from all over the world, adding spice to American culture. (That's what I really want - a day to celebrate immigrants of all national origins and races in today's US.) No one cares - everyone just appropriates St. Patrick's Day, because everyone is Irish. Goddammit, yes, it makes me jealous, yes, it makes me feel left out, and yes, it makes me pissed.

Now, this was a significant rant, and, before I end it, I think it's essential that I acknowledge my white privilege. I have the privilege to call myself an American, despite the fact that I was born outside the country. Right here in our nation, in our state, people of color - specifically Latino/a people - are singled out as immigrants and non-American, even if they've lived in this nation all their lives.  It is unfair and discriminatory, and they face arbitrary traffic stops and arrests, teasing, and physical harassment and beatings. No matter how long their ancestors have resigned on this land, people of color still don't have the privileges that I have today. Sure, I have the right to complain, but I can't do so without first stating that I have it much better off than most.

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But, hey, I do enjoy wearing green, and I even left a splatter of green in this blog entree. Hope you guys have a fantastic St. Patrick's Day and - BE SAFE.

Why I love the queer community.

Saturday night, Alex and I went to the Red Party, a party hosted by Boulder Pride (evidence pic; don't I look queer?).  We were perhaps the only ones under the age of 30 at the entire party (although we ran into Lynnette there, and that was especially exciting).  It was a really great party, themed after the Seven Decadent Sins, dominated by older lesbians. And it was amazing. Old gay people are probably my favorite people ever. There were so many cute couples, dancing and having fun like no one else, and it was really inspirational and powerful.

And it really got me thinking: all these people - at least ten years older than myself, and many much older than that - all these people have lived through so much, seen so much. Imagine the homophobia that must have existed ten years ago, when some of these people were in college. How about twenty years ago. Thirty. Imagine how much they must have seen, how much they must have endured.  Yet here they are, today, dancing. Dancing for love.

So here's why I love the queer community:
1. It's a culture of activism. It's a group of people fighting, acting, bringing about change. And it really works. Sure, it takes time, but we've made so many strides, and we keep moving forward!
2. It's a culture of having fun. Of making the most of life. It's a culture where, as you make these strides, you party. Party with the one you love.
3. It's a culture of love. Love is what we fight for, love is what matters.
4. It's a culture of being yourself. And not just being yourself, but being proud that you're you.

Someday, I'm going to be one of those amazing, crazy old queers.

How did I get here?

My family ridicules me for having so many queer friends. They criticize the fact that most of my friends are queer. They insist I need to branch out, that I'm limiting myself. Once, my mother even told me that the reasons so many of my friends are queer is because I struggle with making friends, and that gay people do too, so I get along with them. I told my mom she knows nothing about gay people. These things really get to me.  Often, I feel ashamed; often, I feel like this isn't good enough. I notice that my friends, even my queer friends, have straight friends, as well, and I feel awful that the vast majority of my friends are not heterosexual. To tell you the truth, the only reason I am not branching out beyond my current queer group of friends is because I don't know how: I struggle with meeting people, and I found (and am still working on finding) my place in Boulder through clubs like GSA and QI and through the people I met at those clubs.

Only I shouldn't feel ashamed. Recently, I visited an old friend at Northwestern University. She told me all about her friends, and how much fun she has. Most of her friends are band people, and she met them through the college band. And she was so happy - she went on and on about how cool they are, about their band inside jokes, about how happy she is. So I began to wonder - what's the difference between that and my friendships? Most of my friends are queer, and I met most of them through queer organizations. And I could go on and on about how awesome these people are, about our inside jokes, about how happy I am. I'm attracted to the gay community, I love the gay community, and that's why I befriended queer activists!

Often, I wonder how different my life would be if I hadn't come out last summer. Before summer, although I admitted that I had some attraction to women, I primarily identified as straight. Occasionally, I would tell people I am questioning or bi-curious, but by the end of the day, I was straight (and turned down many girls in highschool because I was straight).  To tell you the truth, until I met the right woman to pull me out of the closet, my sexuality was not a major concern in my life. Even now, I still believe I lean primarily towards men, and I even consider myself hetero-flexible at times.  Thus, if I hadn't met that woman, if I hadn't come out, I would have identified, acted, and felt straight - and I would have been fine with it.  Still, I think I would have ended up in the same place I am now. Before coming out, before seriously questioning my sexuality, I was already active in the GSA at my highschool, and I proudly wore an "I am an Ally" pin on my backpack. I had already looked up the GSA and the GLBTRC, and I was already planning to get involved in the gay community at CU. If I was straight, I would have joined the same clubs, met the same people. Even my love life would be essentially the same - except for a few casual make-outs, all my significant physical and romantic partners since starting college have been men. I probably would have still cut my hair. If I were still straight, I would look, act, and interact in much the same way as I do now.

So how did I get here? I got here because this is where my passions lie. Because this is something I believe in. I got here because I love friendly, kind people, because I love unique individuals, because I love change and activist. I got here not because of my sexuality, but because of my personality.

Feeling a little queer.

I'd like to talk about myself at the moment.

I'm feeling a little queer today.  Here's a picture I took, and I am really quiet proud of me.  First, my hat.  Back when I had long hair, I would put all my hair in this hat when I wore it.  Granted, I didn't wear it very often, but when I did, I would stand in front of the mirror, and I'd think that, with most of my hair gone, I look quiet a bit like a boy.  It was good to know that there really is very little difference between men and women.  As a result, I always wore the hat on days when I was feeling especially masculine, and I still do.

The tie.  Sure, it's a clip on, but I still feel really cool.  Also, it's my best friend CoCo's tie.  She gave it to me when I was taking her to the Yule ball, so that I could be "the man". Ironic, right, that I borrowed my tie from my woman? I still have to give it back.  Someday, I will get myself a tie.  I've always been intrigued by beautiful ties that are practically works of art, and I've always thought that it seems very fun to be an adult man in the business world, dressing up an otherwise plain suit with an attractive, stylish, somewhat colorful, creative tie.

The pin. The QI is going to do Day Without Gender, in which we will turn the bathrooms in the UMC gender neutral for a day.  I am on the committee planning it, and we just made these pins today.  The symbol on my pin (right, sorry it's crooked, but who likes things straight, anyways?) is the gender neutral bathroom sign.  I am a huge proponent of gender neutral bathrooms, and they are a big step towards a world beyond the gender binary.  They simply make life easier for us all.

We all have these queer days once in a while.  I've just been having them a lot lately.

National Equality March

Last weekend, I went to Washington DC to participate in the National Equality March (Evidence Pic). It was such an amazing trip and a great opportunity.

Going to DC over the weekend wasn't easy. The trip was 30 hours one way. We left Friday afternoon after we decorated our vans. On Sunday at about 2AM we arrived at our hotel. We woke up early Sunday morning, ate breakfast, took the metro to DC, and marched. That afternoon, we left for Colorado. At about 2AM Tuesday morning, we finally arrived. It was a long and tiring trip, but it was definitely worth it.

The march itself was so amazing! It felt so good to be in such an amazing place surrounded by so many amazing people fighting for something that's so important! The official count was 200,000 to 250,000, though the media keeps saying "tens of thousands". The signs, chants, and people impressed me and blew my mind. The speakers were beautiful and touching. Just being in the amazing city of Washington DC was a great experience. I have so much hope for this country. Soon, it will be our chance to shine. The rights we deserve will be ours. There is hope.

Fuck homophobia.

These made me laugh a lot. I watched them over and over and over.
Fuck You! by Lily Allen

The Big Fat Gay Collab!


French (are hot).


Hungarian actors and writers.


Brazilians.


Manchester pride.


Kiwis.


Another Brazilian one.


Who's down to make one? Let's DO IT!

Pride.

It's time for me to be proud.


Time to be proud of my heritage. I was ashamed of it for most of my life, but I refuse to be ashamed anymore. I'll proudly tell others that I was born in Russia, I'll proudly speak with an accent. I'll proudly tell you what Russia was like and what it was like to live there. My heritage makes me different, it makes me special, it makes me unique. And I'm proud of it.

Time to be proud of my body. I will no longer look for faults with it, no longer complain about the little things as everyone does. I will no longer fall into the trap the media built for women, I will be proud being just the way I am.(about the image: John Lennon and Yoko Ono on the cover of their album Two Virgins. The idea was to depict natural human form.)


I will, from now on, be proud of my sexuality. I've hid it for so long, denied it for many years. I couldn't be myself when I was living with my family, when I was scared of the truth, when I refused to be proud. No more hiding. No more sleeping with men despite the fact that they never once satisfied me. From now on, I am proud to be gay.

Proud to be myself, and everything it entails. I am unique and an individual. I will stand out, I will say what I want. No longer will I remain silent because I'm scared to say something that will make me seem "weird". I am not afraid to stand out, I am not afraid to be judged by others. After all, I am only myself, and no one else is me.