The Oxford English Dictionary defines cultural appropriation as: “the unacknowledged or inappropriate adoption of the practices, customs, or aesthetics of one social or ethnic group by members of another (typically dominant) community or society.”
Often, the concept of cultural appropriation involves white people “borrowing” (though it’s likely more correct to say “outright stealing”) from) the culture of Black, Brown, and Indigenous peoples. Everything from Halloween costumes to sacred ceremonies can become part of this disrespect and theft.
Cultural appropriation isn’t always a question of color and race, however.
As an American who studies Celtic mythology and Irish folklore and then reshapes these stories, I always need to be aware that, even when I’m working with material that’s in English, I am working at the level of translation. Though my ancestors were Breens, Donovans, Kellys, and Russells, centuries in North America have crafted my perspective and my inheritance.
And yet, of course, there’s the soul-deep knowing that reaches beyond contemporary boundaries and has little to do with the nation that issued your passport. It’s an energy that comes before the modern divisions and migrations.
This sense of being bound to what came before, even if it’s largely unknown, is what keeps the Irish diaspora connected to “the old sod.” This is also why you may be pulled to a particular culture or part of the planet, even if you can’t find evidence that your family tree was planted there.
There’s a tremendous risk of romanticizing the old world, locking a beloved place in nostalgia and forgetting it is full of the bustle and bruises of real, contemporary life. Real folks living real lives that have just about nothing to do with your imagination and projection.
History without modern context, reviving folk practice without awareness of who lives on the land now… The work of “reviving” old traditions is rendered meaningless if you’re not curious and cognizant of today’s native residents and practitioners.
So then, how do we avoid picking up cultures, rituals, and practices and turning the ancient truth of a place into fodder for a narcissistic collage of half-understood beliefs and hobbies?
Ultimately, the way to healthy cultural appreciation is in education and exchange. It’s in respectful listening and even more respectful speaking. It emerges when we open to wonder about all that’s known, all that’s been recorded, and all that’s been lost. It’s about establishing a nourishing reciprocity between those who are born and live each day upon the land and within culture, and those from “away.”
In this moment on the planet when multinational corporations shape tastes and trends and almost nowhere is further than a commercial airline can reach, we’re all coping with dislocation of one kind or another. We’re all called to weave the ancient wisdom with the modern. We all must merge the local with the global.
We’re all called to hold the infinite truth that’s embedded in the earth and the language beside the lightning-fast communication and bottomless well of information (that may not necessarily yield useful knowledge).
This Week on KnotWork Storytelling: Michael Newton tells a Scottish Gaelic Story, “The Man Without a Story”
Michael Newton himself has countless stories, and he also has his PhD from University of Edinburgh and many books and scholarly articles to his name. He brings tremendous depth of knowledge and sensitivity to this story, and to all of his work.
Like me, Michael is an American who was called back to the land, stories, language, and culture of his ancestors. He has founded the Hidden Glen Folk School of Scottish Highland Heritage, which is dedicated to reclaiming and revitalizing the authentic native culture, history, and traditions of the Scottish Highlands and its diaspora.
Part of his mission, as a scholar, teacher, and community leader, is to explore “social (in)justice and decolonization from Gaelic perspectives.” These ideas came to the fore in our conversation as we followed Michael’s story into a conversation about toxic masculinity and the way Celtic symbols and Highland culture have been co-opted by white supremacist groups.
These ideas lurk at the dark corners, existing at the opposite end of the spectrum from beliefs that Celtic culture is all about Aran sweaters and Highland games. It might be tempting to ignore “those people” and the way they’ve twisted their perception of a “rebellious warrior culture” to suit an ideology of hate, but we need to reckon with all aspects of the tradition: the hidden, the beautiful, the ugly, and the emergent.
Oh, and our conversation did take us to that other cultural phenomenon, begun by an American: The Outlander books and tv series. (Spoiler alert: Jamie Fraser is an example of the full humanity of Scottish Highlander, rather than the one-dimensional warrior stereotype that equates the wielding of broadswords with what it means to be “real men.”)