Goodness, Whiteness, Healing

STUCK

i made a mosque in the mouth of

a white girl when i was seventeen

deserted myself to worship her

word already familiar with the violent

silences, or are they absences

that come after prayer

i snuck past her sleeping mother

climbed fences and crawled

through awning windows

prostrated onto her skin

as if it were velvetine janamaz

when she stopped leaving

the window unbolted

i’d stare at the mihrab of her pale back

through the only hole in the picket fence

my left eyeball is trapped

i walk around with one empty socket

This poem is by Sanah Ahsan, who along with writer, “embodiment facilitator and movement artist” Camille Sapara Barton and musician anaiis curated a collaborative event called “Giving Up Goodness” in Brighton Festival last Saturday. This included readings of several of Ahsan’s magnificent poems from their debut collection “I cannot be good until you say it,” which I bought after the show. The poems are at times fierce, at times tender, often dark in theme and always powerful, combining the influence of hip-hop, Arabic, Islamic and in particular Sufi poetic traditions.

There is a clear link between the title of the poetry collection and the idea of “giving up goodness”: both are (at least in part) meditations on the project of trying to be “good enough” for the (colonial, ancestral, religious, familial, erotic) other, deferring thinking of oneself as good until that other grants their approval. They are also reflections on the kinds of psychological damage undergone by marginalized individuals and groups: by women, by those who identify as queer and non-binary, and by those ethically othered. And both the book and the event reflect and represent attempts to assuage this damage and effect some kinds of restitution, reconciliation and healing. Here, this was presented in the context of somatic mindfulness and gentle meditative music, starting with an invitation to a few minutes of body-based mindfulness, moving into spoken word accompanied by gentle guitar and piano chords, flowing into mellifluous vocal music from anaiis, back to the spoken word and finally to a general discussion.

I loved this event, and there were many elements that I connected with in the discussion, and many things I learned from it, as well as enjoying the music, reflections and especially the poetry. One thing in particular was resonant for me personally: Having discovered a precious resource in mindfulness and meditation techniques, it always troubles me that when you attend a meeting or retreat either in person or online you will find yourself surrounded by white faces from privileged and relatively comfortable backgrounds. These meetings also tend to be led, with some important exceptions, by middle-aged, white, cis-gendered heterosexual men from comfortable backgrounds, and they struggle to attract people of the global majority. As a middle-aged, white, cis-gendered heterosexual man myself I find this particularly troubling. After all, the origins of these techniques lie in non-European cultures, most especially in ancient India, so it’s deeply ironic that as these techniques have been appropriated and adapted for a Western sensibility, ethnic minorities have effectively come to be excluded from their use, including many for whom they could be highly beneficial.

So to hear the techniques of Westernized somatic mindfulness reclaimed by and for marginalized groups is heartening. As was discussed in this event, very particular kinds of wounds are incurred by those who identify in ways that are opposed to and in tension with the norms of what Ahsan refers to in published work as “Whiteness:” a cultural complex of domination and control which is not wielded or upheld solely by those who identify as racially Caucasian. The marginalized are led to feel radically incomplete. I found it inspiring to realize the ways in which some of those mindfulness techniques can be deployed towards healing those wounds, towards finding wholeness. Whatever a cliché it may have become to iterate the phrase “you are enough,” it is vitally important to appreciate what it is for someone in a marginalized position to feel, in a deep way, that they are not enough. Just to sit and feel the sensations of the body, without judgement, can be a surprisingly powerful way to get a sense that in fact nothing is missing. Of course other things are needed, since this alone is not going to cure deep injuries: other kinds of therapy, and other more active engagements and confrontations – but there is surely also a place for this kind of way into healing.

What is the value of me attending such an event as a white man, and writing about it? Shouldn’t such an event, and such poetry, be primarily a way of offering a raft for others in similar positions, discriminated against ethnically or on a gender basis? Maybe, but what art is uniquely capable of doing is making the perspective of another available in some way: reading Ahsan’s poetry gives me a mind-blowing insight into what it is to be a queer young person growing up in an Islamic family, white at the same time it remains true that I have absolutely no idea what it is to be a queer young person growing up in an Islamic family. That is the paradox of the arts and of life in general, where we both can and ultimately cannot stand in the shoes of others. Making that empathic jump - what does it lead to? Who knows in terms of practical results, but at least there must be a chance that it might enable me to be, to those who occupy such a different position in our culture, a better ally, or a better friend.