Decompiling Oppression #152
Sam McVeety
A few Saturdays ago, I had the opportunity to attend a noncooperation training, aimed at building the networks and practices necessary to meet the acceleration of authoritarian rule in the United States. While we spent much of the time grounding ourselves in the history of similar movements and the fundamentals of strategy (likely topics for future newsletters!), we also did something that might seem very different: we sang together.
It was a simple song, taught briefly, and yet there was so much in this gesture that resonated with me. As part of the care with which the facilitators offered this practice, they named the possibility that some people might feel shame (perhaps a memory of "you have a terrible voice") or trauma (recovering from a patriarchal religious upbringing, say) around ritualized singing, and the possibilities it offered. It made me think about how meaningful rituals like singing can be, and what we deny ourselves when we let the actions of others deny us access to these vital practices.
I've been thinking about ritual a lot over the course of this year (perhaps more so than any year since 2020), and what rituals can offer us as individuals and movements. There is a duality to ritual: it can be imposed or liberatory, mundane or deeply felt. When we inherit rituals from our culture and ancestors, we may feel like we don't have a choice in the matter, that we must either observe them rigidly or reject them altogether. Some of these rituals may be a source of joy, but others may be sites of trauma. We may feel that, for the latter, if we don't reject them, we are letting others (individuals, institutions) continue to control us.
Of course, there is a third way: to view ritual as an invitation to presence and specificity, as a thread connecting us into the past and towards the future, one that is up to us, to continuously define and redefine for and between ourselves. We may adapt old rituals or invent new ones, recognizing that there is deep wisdom in these practices, whether that wisdom is offered generously to us, or obscured by distortions of power.
One particular ritual that I've found deeply meaningful has been the growing observance of havdalah within our family, originally observed to mark the end of the Jewish sabbath. As with many such observances, there is singing and candlelight, but havdalah also invites us to taste the richness of wine and smell the pungence of spices, to feel the heat of the candle's flame and watch it dance in our eyes. It invites us, across all of our senses, to be present for the transition that is upon us, from a time of rest to a time of work. It is this vibrant core, of aliveness to the moment and intentional gratitude for ease, that feels so important, whether we are observing the ritual on a Sunday night (rather than the traditional Saturday), whether there is wine or grape juice, whether the stars are visible in the sky or lie hidden between clouds.
The idea of communal rituals also has me thinking about what it means to practice unity, within communities and movements. I think there is a fundamental challenge in many progressive circles regarding the cognitive dissonance we might feel around ritual and unity: that ritual can be so often associated with power over others, that calls for unity can be used to stifle the voices of those furthest from power. These are real concerns, associated with real harm, and, in (rightly) rejecting these abuses of ritual and unity, we deny ourselves the deeper wisdom and strength that they can offer. At a time of existential crisis, we deny ourselves the vital power of unity against a regime that views us all as disposable.
For a start: what would it look like for organizing spaces to make a practice of collective song and recitation? To do so with care for those who might feel the trauma of the past ("this feels like the conversion therapy church I fled"), to name how movements led by Indigenous people, by people of color, have practiced the wisdom of ritual since time immemorial. To engage in the practice of unity, to acknowledge the commonality of so many of our values, while still holding space for the infinite ways that we are all different.
As with the training above, ritual is already happening in some places; I feel it needs to happen in many more. I suspect that many of us are under-practiced at navigating the dynamism of unity, unused to the feeling of being in solidarity with someone while simultaneously knowing that we might disagree about a host of things. Among the many tools we must use at this moment, ritual offers us the opportunity to practice and grow through this tension, to ground ourselves in who we are, and who we are to each other.
Here are this week's invitations:
Personal: What is a ritual that you practice? What makes it meaningful to you?
Communal: Where and how might we create rituals to practice unity?
Solidarity: Support the Jewish Coalition for Immigrant Justice NW and their work to realize a world where everyone’s needs are met, and we live in safety, peace, and power together under laws that are just and humane.
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