Walking the Tightrope of Cultural Appropriation

Our nomadic, worldschooling family walks a tightrope when it comes to cultural immersion and cultural appropriation. I fretted about cultural appropriation well before we started our round-the-world journey. It started back in California when our Kindergartener, the fashion-creative Sashay started talking about designing a Native American-inspired dress, received the cool gift of a length of leather-looking shammy fabric from her favorite art teacher, and then drew and (with my help) brought to life an amazing dress that she wore and loved. Seeing the picture and story, a dear and well respected friend of ours, who was also Sashay’s former preschool teacher, pointed out that we should be careful about cultural appropriation. Now, immersing myself in various cultures has been one of my lifelong passions; I have devoted my career to empowering human beings (especially marginalized people in developing countries); and I care a lot about affirming cultural and racial equality, as well as teaching my kids appreciation for diversity. So that friend’s warning launched me into a tailspin of self-doubt and dilemma.

What exactly is cultural appropriation? When does learning and exchange cross the line into exploitation? Is letting my 5-year-old create and wear a dress inspired by a culture that is not her own really a bad idea? How do I explain cultural appropriation to my children, or perhaps better yet, make sure to model the opposite? As we travel the world (whether from the comfort of our living room, or literally roaming, exploring and forging relationships with people worldwide), how do we allow ourselves to feel a part of new places and communities and embrace different ways of life, without unwittingly stepping into the quagmire of cultural appropriation and exploitation?

The best definition of ‘cultural appropriation’ I have found so far is from Maisha Johnson in Everyday Feminism (and I found it via an NPR article by K. Tempest Bradford), and it goes like this:

“Cultural appropriation is when somebody adopts aspects of a culture that’s not their own.... A deeper understanding of cultural appropriation also refers to a particular power dynamic in which members of a dominant culture take elements from a culture of people who have been systematically oppressed by that dominant group. That’s why cultural appropriation is not the same as cultural exchange, when people share mutually with each other – because cultural exchange lacks that systemic power dynamic.”

People who are sensitive to race, heritage, cultural diversity and identity—a group to which I generally consider myself to belong—have raised awareness, and sometimes raised hay, about things like Halloween costumes on college campuses, the “borrowed” hairstyles and get-up of famous pop stars raking in cash at least partly on the basis of their “style,” and white-owned hipster restaurants, or my own husband’s alma mater, Oberlin College, earning notoriety and profits by serving up “ethnic” food that is not their own (this last link from my old pal Supriya, whom I greatly admire—I have not stopped paying attention since our many insightful conversations too many years ago).

Our family comes from the melting pot USA, where some of our European ancestors used genocide to wrest control of a vast land that they happened upon in a boat, while others showed up at Ellis Island a generation or two ago to pursue a new life, and where pizza, hamburgers and burritos are every bit as American as corn on the cob and apple pie (wherever that dish originated). According to Big Eyes’s much wished-for Christmas gift of DNA analysis last year, our collective heritage includes strains of: English, French, German, Greek, Hungarian, Irish, Italian, Norwegian, Polish, Romanian, Scottish, Swedish, Welsh and Ukranian. But none of us feels any more claim on the traditional garb of Hungary or a plate of Swedish specialties (places where we have heritage but have not yet visited), than we do on donning an Ecuadorian embroidered blouse and fermenting a kick-ass South Indian dosa batter (places where we have lived, breathed and loved).

We consider ourselves first and foremost citizens of the world—a family of curious and open-minded mutts on a mission to experience and appreciate the wondrous diversity of humanity, flora and fauna. We have spent years traveling, settling in and immersing ourselves to learn about the different and equally valid ways people live, converse, eat, connect, govern, play, dance, celebrate, worship and support one another in various corners of the world. When talking to Big Eyes and Sashay about current events, war, racism and sexism, I have felt gratified-startled-humbled-proud to witness their innocent indignance and sheer inability to comprehend how anyone could view any other human being as “less human,” “less worthy,” or “less important.” I think that at least some of our kids’ reaction also stems from their rich experience of getting to know people, languages and lifestyles all around the world.

Everywhere we go, we strive to be travelers, and when we are lucky, perhaps “guests,” rather than tourists. We eschew bucket lists in favor of every feasible opportunity to integrate ourselves into the fabric of authentic, local daily life and to build friendships with local people. For instance:

• In Costa Rica, we organized a homestay for two weeks with a local family in a rural village to kick-off our visit, and then enrolled the kids in a local elementary school.
• In Nicaragua, we spent three weeks at a language school where we were immersed in Spanish, local crafts and livelihoods, and national history.
• In Ecuador, we lived on an indigenous farm for two weeks, where we tried to help out with chores and get into the rhythms of life in the Andes.
• In Peru, the kids enrolled in local extracurricular classes to meet some peers and apply their language skills.
• In Europe, we stayed in the homes of locals, shopped for local and seasonal food to cook our renditions of local meals, and spent time at parks to meet and interact with local kids and their caregivers. On a few occasions, we’ve also enrolled in camps and workshops to get a crash course and readier interaction with local people.
• In India, the kids attended a local school, we hired a cook so that I could learn to prepare local food, and some of us embedded ourselves in a community of Indian classical dancers, including a daily, traditional and modest yoga practice.
• In Japan, we stayed for a (too-short) time with a family who spoke English and had children of similar ages so that we could get as much insight as possible into the culture and lifestyle during our short visit there.
• In Nepal, we made our home base with a sweet family outside the main tourist area (and unfortunately ended up weighing all-too-heavily on them as we battled parasites for 10 days).
• In the Philippines and in Mozambique, we visited and stayed with existing friends, both for the pleasure of seeing them and also so that our children could get a feel for the life and culture in those places, from the perspective of peers and good friends who live there.

We are extraordinarily fortunate to have often had the time to stay put long enough to let the novelty wear off and little local habits set in—like awaking to dawn yoga practice, always covering our legs, and eating “pure veg” in India; sticking around long enough to piggyback Smiley up a mountain in high altitude Peru without breathlessness; and eating multiple small meals each day (and well into the night) in tapas-favoring, nocturnal Spain. But experiencing the local culture also extends to things like cooking, dressing and spiritual practices. We have loved learning to prepare and eat local food (I try to learn new dishes and techniques everywhere we go and use them regularly, and alas probably rarely with real fidelity to the authentic dish). We often see a culture in a new light and get a warmer reception from people when we don local fashions (how I adored wearing Indian clothes and have enjoyed having African dresses tailored to wear over the years; Sashay has gotten to try out Indian henna and African braids). We develop a deeper appreciation for different cultural values and perspectives through learning and practicing local spiritual traditions (like reading and discussing the Bhagavad Gita together as a family in India, practicing yoga with Ama, and engaging in Buddhist-inspired mindfulness at the monastery of an exiled Vietnamese monk in France).

I daresay that the learning and orientation that I see in my children so far display the exact opposite of what I understand to be the ills of cultural appropriation. But as a privileged, white-skinned, American with the ability to move on anytime I choose, I am sure there are pitfalls I fail to appreciate. When is delving into different cultures OK, and when does it exploit or cause harm? How can we take care to embrace, immerse and feel a part of the places and cultures we visit without reinforcing injustice? And how can we protect against cultural appropriation when we are unable to travel and immerse ourselves, instead exploring from afar? To me, the answer is about intention, a sincere effort to learn and appreciate with an open mind, a refusal to profit from something on which we have no claim of ownership, and a commitment to continued vigilance about feeling and showing respect for other people’s customs.