Yoke by Jessamyn Stanley

Author:Jessamyn Stanley
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Workman Publishing Company
Published: 2021-05-19T15:37:59+00:00

A few years ago, I was invited to speak on a panel hosted by the National Museum of African American History and Culture. Our discussion topic was cultural appropriation in the worlds of yoga and hip-hop. I was in conversation with an Indian DJ who blends hip-hop and Bhangra. I was extremely nervous because not only was it my first time speaking at a Smithsonian museum, but the other panelist seemed highly critical of American yoga as disseminated by Jessamyn Stanley, a non-Indian Black woman.

My Virgo rising did all she could to prepare, but I had a sneaking suspicion that this panel would end up being atonement by public firing squad for my own cultural appropriation. I felt I was deserving of every inch of judgment that could be thrown by my fellow panelist because I’ve committed oh so very many culturally appropriative atrocities over the years. I mean, I regularly end my classes by saying the word namaste, and I can (sort of) read and write in atrocious Sanskrit. I used to own a yoga mat with a goddamn OM symbol on it. Backstage, I was sweating straight through my Spanx, certain the guillotine was gonna drop at any moment.

But then something weird happened. And that’s that absolutely nothing bad happened. The panel ended up being one of my favorite public dialogues—my fellow panelist and I openly interrogated our feelings and theories about cultural appropriation, and I walked out digesting a lot of food for thought. She and I talked about the difference between appropriation and appreciation and how appropriation is usually the result of an absence of respect for cultural heritage. We talked about what it’s like to work in industries that are rooted in cultures that are not our own, and it felt really nice for me to connect with someone who has such a specific understanding of my internal conflict and contradictions.

It was really the type of conversation I’d been craving in that Jivamukti screening back in YTT. Truly, it was the kind of conversation that all American yoga schools and media outlets should undertake at every opportunity. Instead of talking about bullshit alignment tips and the best place to get leggings for fall, we should be talking about the hard shit. The shit that can’t be accepted without first feeling shame, guilt, embarrassment, and sadness. What it means to appropriate and appreciate a spiritual practice that’s based in a culture not native to your own. It doesn’t mean beating yourself up about it. It just means being yourself, all of yourself, even the parts you don’t like.

That reminds me of this time my ex and I were invited to tour Indonesia as guests of the Indonesian US embassy. Everywhere we went, they and I were asked to pose for photos with groups of strangers solely because we’re both Black. It became totally normal for locals to approach either us or our Indonesian hosts, gesturing with camera apps and blazing smiles. We’d pose awkwardly, sandwiched shoulder

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