Symbols
Symbols are a visual representation of historical baggage. If pictures speak a thousand words, symbols contain novels. Given this, the cultural significance of symbols is a complex one, as was my own decision to get a tattoo combining the Zia and Om symbols. As someone who perpetually straddles a double identity, struggling with the ability to fuse them, I thought it would be helpful for me to articulate some personal opinions on cultural symbolism.
I. My symbols
The Zia symbol of New Mexico represents the first home my parents made in this country and the first land I ever knew. The original meaning connotes balance, and the twin obligations to oneself and others. The “Om” symbol is the chief spiritual symbol of multiple Indian dharmas, including my Bengali Hindu heritage. One part of my identity cannot exist without the other, and I never want to forget either aspect of my roots, nor the philosophies they embody. A unique, rich history runs in my veins, and I want a constant reminder of that as I travel elsewhere and even move to a completely new country.
That said, neither symbol has a completely pure origin even within my personal history. The Zia symbol has become the face of my beloved home state (plastered now on every piece of state memorabilia, license plate, and authentic restaurant sign), as a result of decades of violence, oppression, and theft from indigenous cultures. So much of New Mexico (the architecture I grew up loving, the prevalence of the Spanish language, the reservations that I genuinely believed were completely normal) is a direct result of colonial exploitation. It was years before I realized that my elementary schools (Montezuma, Zuni), the street I live on (Comanche), the state I’d move to for college (Massachusetts) were all named after various indigenous tribes or figures in a hollow homage to this country’s history, without any reconciliation of the ongoing violence we all participate in. On the other hand, the Om symbol has been utilized in discriminatory Hindu nationalisms which neither I nor my family represent. Symbols are continuously co-opted and warped, but that does not erase their histories or original meanings.
II. Appropriation
Cultural appropriation is broadly defined as the adoption of certain cultural elements by a member of another culture. Yet it is not synonymous with all types of cultural exchange or even commodification. To me, appropriation is primarily:
· Defined through the lens of a privileged group viewing “the other”
· Used as an accessory devoid of original symbolism
· Exploited as a trend by powerful groups
The second point may seem obvious: it is generally harmful to popularize a symbol or accessory without acknowledging its original meaning. The primary arguments against the “accessorizing” aspects of cultural appropriation seem to focus on this lack of awareness. However, the third part seems to be far more insidious: even when there is common knowledge about a certain object or practice, it only becomes popularized when utilized by a dominant group. Many white women pull off the bindi as a hip fashion statement, whereas I made it a point to never dress in Indian clothes for fear of being called a “Fob” and perceived as inferior. The outrage against cultural appropriation in some progressive spaces focuses all too often on the educational aspect, without challenging who should be doing the educating. Until the very groups who are being appropriated have the means and cultural capital to educate others, the cycle cannot break. Rather than telling celebrities to look things up, we ought give platforms to those who can convey cultural importance in the context of their daily lives. We all need to stop consciously or subconsciously shaming those who visually practice their cultures, especially those who do so at the expense of practicing the mainstream.
III. Cultural Exchange
Globalization makes it impossible to keep cultural practices wholly separate. I see myself as a living fusion of two societies; despite the problematic origins of the Zia symbol’s popularization, it has come to hold a near and dear meaning in my heart, a representation of the home away from home that my parents broke an ocean to make. Wearing the Om is, for me, a rejection of the years of shame I felt in my childhood as a bilingual, as a Hindu, as someone who was raised listening to Rabindranath Tagore and watching Satyajit Ray movies instead of Green Day and Clint Eastwood. As migration, Internet, and general cross-cultural exchange will only expand, the question no longer becomes how to effectively police cultural appropriation, but rather how to morph it into constructive cultural exchange.
With the given that marginalized groups can gain the agency to spread awareness and education, this process becomes a lot clearer. I have often heard that it is not “the job” of marginalized individuals to educate others. While this is often the case, I find that the opposite is true in my personal experience with appropriation. Now that I live in a largely progressive environment, and have outgrown the era in which stereotypes fueled a cycle of bullying, shame, and internalized racism, I leap at the opportunity to share my background, language, and culture with peers. My hope is that my children will have that same environment from the day that they are born, in a world without the current stigmas borne from racism.
This climate can only ever be achieved if cultures are no longer viewed as “other,” but “distinct,” not “exotic,” but “interesting.” Maintaining distinctions, and not resorting to constant cultural “fusion” preserves authenticity and prevents appropriation. Yet it is precisely the belief that solely original groups can fully appreciate their cultures that causes otherization. The boundary is thin, but it is vital to appreciate and learn from cultures that are decidedly different from one’s own while acknowledging and embracing the common — the parallel histories, similar mythologies, and the humanity that we share.
I am an unapologetic cultural guard: I roll my eyes throughout Selena Gomez’s entire “Come and Get It” music video, freely judge the many white women who don bindis at Coachella, and walk up to henna stands manned entirely by white people to ask pointed questions. I will not stand for the exploitation or commodification of my culture. Yet I have proudly donned the Zia symbol, a visual that will always stay with me. I respect the many non-Indian individuals who have taken it upon themselves to learn more about my culture than I have (and the many who probably respect the deep philosophy behind the Om more than I do). Ultimately, I am not a guard, and I am not here to police. I am an ambassador, and I am here to educate. Most importantly, I am here to learn.