Intersectionality

Last week we were thrilled to welcome my sister, her children, and my aunt for a visit.  The week was full of food, laughter, and swimming and culminated in a special moment -- Little Man receiving his Hebrew name.  In the age of COVID the ceremony looked a little different; it took place in our home, only family was present, we were masked, and members of Husband's family who couldn't make the trip joined us via Zoom.  While we didn't get to celebrate with the Jewish community as we normally would, it was just as meaningful (as evidenced by the happy tears I subtly tried to wipe away throughout).  This moment was the first real opportunity to build on a component of Little Man's identity other than his race.

This bringing together of elements is known as intersectionality.  The concept can be traced back to Japanese-American activity Yuri Kochiyama.  A survivor of interment and an activist who worked alongside Malcolm X, Kochiyama promoted solidarity across races.  In 1989 Kimberle Crenshaw refined this idea and gave it a name -- intersectionality.  Initially, she coined the term to describe bias and violence against Black women; over time, the term evolved.  In an interview in 2017 Crenshaw noted:

Intersectionality is a lens through which you can see where power comes and collides, where it interlocks and intersects. It’s not simply that there’s a race problem here, a gender problem here, and a class or LBGTQ problem there. Many times that framework erases what happens to people who are subject to all of these things.

A few years later, in 2020, she explained further:

It's basically a lens, a prism, for seeing the way in which various forms of inequality often operate together and exacerbate each other.  We tend to talk about race inequality as separate from inequality based on gender, class, sexuality, or immigrant status.  What's often missing is how some people are subject to all of these, and the experience is not just the sum of its parts.

In other words (perhaps overly simplistic ones), she defined the impact of the overlap of one's different social identities; in the same interview in 2022, she noted, "Intersectionality is simply how certain aspects of who you are will increase your access to the good things or your exposure to the bad things in life."  The relevance of that concept has continued to grow in the wake of the Me Too movement, Black Lives Matter, attacks against Asian-Americans in the wake of COVID, the shooting at Pulse Night Club and other acts of violence against the LGBTQIA+ community, anti-Semitism (including the shooting at the Tree of Life Synagogue)...the list goes on and on.  While one's identity can be empowering and meaningful, it can also highlight differences among us -- in both positive and negative ways.   

A important goal in any adoption -- transracial or not -- is the maintaining of the child's identity.  Even the strongest of relationships in an open adoption cannot mitigate that there has been loss, grief, and trauma.  There is overwhelming evidence that one of the best ways to support adopted children is to embrace their identities through the celebration of culture and history.  We are committed to creating a community for Little Man that provides him racial mirrors, which in turn extends into our own choices.  One outcome of the Black Lives Matter protests was an increased focus on Black-owned business, and I've started to look more closely at how I can show my support.  Husband asked me to consider if we would do this because it is performative or because we truly want to do right by Little Man.  My response was, well, yes.  However, I don't see it as performative if it serves a true purpose.  Trying to more fully rely on those resources isn't for show; it's to demonstrate to Little Man that someone who looks like him can be a doctor, or a barber, or a store owner, or an artist, or anything else.  Stepping further into this part of Little Man's identity is more than an act and creates an intersection of our own.

That being said, it's important to not overlook the entirety of intersectionality.  For a white person it looks a whole lot different than for a Black person.  To simply say I am a heterosexual woman, a sister, a daughter, a Jew, etc. ignores the core tenet of Crenshaw's point.  I am all of those things, and therefore life is bound to inherently be a whole lot different (and likely easier) than it will automatically be for Little Man because of something he genetically didn't choose.  So is that it for him?  The pessimistic view is yes -- the pervasiveness of systemic racism can't be overlooked.  However, I have to maintain some optimism that there are ways to make his identity more than that. 

From there, then, how does his identity develop?  Choosing to raise him in the Jewish community was a conscious decision because that is part of my own identity, one that is passed l'dor v'dor -- from generation to generation.  My hope is not to choose or change his identity; rather, it's for him to decide what's important to him by exposing him to what all life has to offer.  He may choose to delve further into Judaism; he may decide to take a completely different path as he gets older...and that's ok.  He could decide to be Catholic or Buddhist or agnostic.  He could be gay or straight or gender fluid (and therefore not be a he at all).  He can decide how best to amplify his voice as a Black individual.  There are elements of his identity that will always be there that we will teach him to celebrate, but we will also encourage him to explore what makes him feel settled and comfortable in his own skin.  Of course we always want him to experience the good things in life while avoiding the bad ones, but that's not always possible.  To think we can out-identity any sort of inequality or discrimination he will face is naive at best.  Instead, we hope to give him the support needed to navigate whichever comes his way.