Oral History, Black Lives Matter and Chewing the Fat, A... History of Italian Foodways from Fascism to Dolce Vita
"Are you seriously going to try to connect Oral History to Black Lives Matter with a book -- Chewing the Fat, An Oral History of Italian Foodways from Fascism to Dolce Vita?" my readers may ask... Well, yes, in fact, that's exactly what I'd like to do.
Very recently, my Italian cousin had the brilliant idea of starting a book club. He gathered cousins most of whom have the same common place of origin: Nardo di Pace, Calabria. Our first book club book via Zoom was Chewing the Fat by Karima Moyer-Nocchi.
Since this post is not a book review, I'll just point out that most of this nonfiction text consists of interviews with then (2015) 80+ and 90+ year old women who lived during the height of Fascist Italy. This book can, indeed, be filed under "oral history" among other headings. And I must say, not to take away from the interviews and the very informative research, my favourite chapter was Moyer-Nocchi's chapter on oral history. For me, it was an important reminder on the importance of one's personal experience in shaping one's world view. It was also reminiscent of a collection of Massey Hall lectures by Thomas King, entitled The Truth About Stories, a Native Narrative.
Over the last few years, I've had several converging points that have all fed into the same learning curve: along with the above mentioned writers of oral history, my three year stint as a secondary school consultant -- much of which was spent helping educators with assessment and evaluation -- have taught me the importance of listening.
From an instructional perspective, one needs to be reminded of a few key ideas. Evaluation is judging. It's post mortem. It does the learner very little good. He or she receives a grade -- a number or a letter -- and very little, if any, learning or growth ensues. Assessment, on the other hand (from the Latin word Assidere which means "to sit beside”), requires two parties. It involves feedback which involves listening which, if there's any hope of it being done well, necessitates humility.
Given all that's gone on recently with the protests surrounding anti-black racism, specifically George Floyd’s death, it occurs to me that most people are far more interested in evaluating (judging, which again, is a one-way street, a pronouncement given by an expert, requiring no feedback and no listening) than they are with assessing (sitting beside and listening).
Don't get me wrong -- and here's how what I'm about to say might seem contradictory. I'm not saying that both sides have equal value. If you can hear this nuance: I'm saying that Black Lives Matter, and that, yes, some of the rioting has gotten ugly... but these things are nowhere near equal. Responding with "Yes, but..." to Black Lives Matter is not helpful. It's not listening.
I'm sure most of you have seen the memes regarding Black Lives Matter/All Lives Matter. The gist is this: yes, all lives matter, but, at this particular point in history, we're highlighting 100s of years of racial injustice.
At best, the inability to hear, and empathize with, Black Lives Matter (and feeling the need to qualify and footnote it), is ill-informed and privileged. At worst... well, the thing is, if we really know what "at worst" means, we're not having this conversation and the world becomes a better place. If we don't know what "at worst" looks like, then my prayer is that if we start listening; if our default becomes humility -- ie. how/what can I learn? -- then there's hope.
Another thought has struck me recently. Let's follow the rabbit trail of logic. George Floyd was killed. It was brutal, it was wrong, and it wasn't an isolated incident. Let's expand from police brutality and racial profiling to racism in general. Most reasonable people can agree that it's a problem and has been for a very long time. Then why, when someone wants to turn a spotlight on it, do people react with all the lame rebuttals and deflections? Why can't people simply say, "Yes, this is horrible and has been horrible for years -- centuries -- please teach me... how can I make things better? I'm listening."
My wife and I recently moved from Niagara-on-the-Lake, Ontario to Kitchener, Ontario. While in Niagara, we attended a church in St. Catharines who decided we were going to be more interested in loving well than knowing well. Among other issues of justice, we decided to humbly ask, How can we make things better for the LGBTQ community?
Some congregants, especially the younger ones said, "Duh. You think? Why is this even a debate? It took you long enough!" Others, to put it crudely, lost their minds. They blew a theological gasket. I know I'm super condensing what has been a decade-long journey, but one of our biggest takeaways when we were trying to understand the religious backlash was this: justice for the marginalized feels like injustice to the privileged. In other words, albeit and probably subconscious, when a spotlight is turned on an injustice perpetrated on a marginalized group, and when something positive is being done to help, privileged people default to a fixed, finite, economic sort of thinking. I believe this is mostly subconsciously rooted in years, sometimes centuries, of unexamined cultural formation -- the thinking is that there is a fixed amount of justice or happiness or wealth to go around. Let's say there are a hundred units. And let’s say people A have 70 units, while people B have 25 units and people C have 5 units. Well, if we want people C to have more -- let's bump them up to 25 -- where are the extra 20 units coming from? People A feel inherently threatened.
If we, on the other hand, as Richard Rohr and many other spiritual and moral writers have suggested, switch our thinking from a conservative model to a multiplying/abundance model, then everything changes.
The irony is this: the majority power/wealth holders think and/or feel that making things better for the underprivileged makes things worse for them. The truth is -- and I remind my Christian friends that this is a clear and recurring biblical idea -- that making things better for others makes things better for everyone. "Do unto others as you would..." Sound familiar?
Even if you're a conservative/capitalist, you'd have to agree that if, as a society, we tried to fix systemic poverty, in the long run, we'd save a considerable amount of money on policing, healthcare, education, the court system, welfare and the list goes on.
_________________________________________________________
To make the point very personal, I recall two instances in my own life that highlight some of what I'm trying to communicate. The first: when I was in my fourth year of my Honours English program in the mid-80s, I took a course in literary criticism. A quarter of this course dealt with feminism. I'm ashamed to say that I was uncomfortable during most of this module. I skipped a lot of those classes. I recall the professor straight up asking, "Most of the males in this course have been conspicuously silent... it'd be good to get their thoughts." I remember stumbling through something like, I don't get why it's such a big deal. I don't consider myself a misogynist. I'm all for equal rights. Haven't we gotten past all this? The whole time while answering, I remember feeling very subconscious. Am I coming off as a doofus? A male chauvinist? Is there something I'm totally missing here? Maybe I should've done the readings...
The second similar but different incident was going to an LGBTQ bookstore as part of a Senior English Specialist qualification course in 1987. As above, I was very uncomfortable and didn't say much. Didn't ask anything. Wasn't really open to listening or learning.
If I were kind to myself, I'd say a couple of things regarding the above. I'd say, firstly, I wasn't a bad person. I cared about people; in my own broken dysfunctional way, I even wanted the world to be a better place. I just didn't know what I didn't know. I was a product of a lot of variables that went into creating 26-yr-old me -- variables that I was unaware of and that I therefore had little control over.
The second thing I'd say is that incidents like these -- along with many others along the way -- paved the way for me to change.
___________________________________
As I've been thinking about writing this, I've reflected on several of my favourite writers: two dead white guys... oops.
I asked my wife just this morning, do people ever really change like Charles Dickens' Scrooge in A Christmas Carol (you know, go from a greedy, selfish curmudgeon to "[one who]... became as good a friend... and as good a man, as the good old city knew.")? The short answer is no. It's pretty rare.
More often, it's like the case of Victor Hugo whose famous novel Les Miserable ends with one of my favourite lines in all of literature: "To love another is to see the face of God." Over the course of Victor Hugo's life, he changed his "position" radically on all things political, religious and economic. I'm pretty sure this change didn't happen overnight after having dreams about France past, present and future. This "conversion" happened over his lifetime as he observed systemic poverty and the abuse of power.
So back to Chewing the Fat. For me the book reinforced two things: firstly, truth is a dialectic. Secondly, it requires listening. The author, Moyer-Nocchi, wasn't didactic in her writing. She simply listened and chronicled the experiences of some similar and some wildly different experiences during 1930s and 40s Fascist Italy. Through listening and not judging, through synthesizing seemingly disparate stories, a clearer picture of a particular time in history emerges.
If I can draw parallels between Fascism/Mussolini and our current situation, here they are: yes, Mussolini was a bad person. Yes, racism is bad. Yes, there was a crisis/urgency that led to Mussolini being assassinated. Yes, there's an anger and an urgency today surrounding a dire crisis that must be attended to; it's long overdue. But in order to live together going forward, good people, whose experiences are wildly different from one another, need to listen to each other.
Here's a great example of what I'm talking about:
http://goodblacknews.org/2016/07/14/editorial-what-i-said-when-my-white-friend-asked-for-my-black-opinion-on-white-privilege/
I know that my own ignorance and white privilege has been/is part of the problem. And I'm glad that when I was in my 20s, people were kind and patient with me. I’m glad that as I still muddle through issues of injustice that people are still patient and kind with me.
Finally, I held off on writing this for a couple of reasons. The irony of my topic largely being about listening probably isn’t lost on you given the fact that, well, this is mostly a platform for speaking, not listening. To that end, I want to listen. I know that there are people out there who are way more informed than I am and people who have painful, lived experience. Feel free to comment. If I’m being unfair or uninformed, please let me know.
Secondly, my thinking was, Do we really need to hear from another white guy? I’ve heard from several anti-black racism spokespeople in the last few days who would answer this with a resounding yes.
By definition, any problem of injustice or marginalization becomes the problem not just of those who suffer the injustices and marginalization. History has shown us that change usually happens when those in power, those with privilege, co-own the problem, listen and endeavour to co-create a solution.
I leave your RIchard Rohr’s “Contemplation on Racism” and once again invite you to comment. I’m listening.
https://cac.org/am-i-next-2020-06-07/#gsc.tab=0
At best, the inability to hear, and empathize with, Black Lives Matter (and feeling the need to qualify and footnote it), is ill-informed and privileged. At worst... well, the thing is, if we really know what "at worst" means, we're not having this conversation and the world becomes a better place. If we don't know what "at worst" looks like, then my prayer is that if we start listening; if our default becomes humility -- ie. how/what can I learn? -- then there's hope.
Another thought has struck me recently. Let's follow the rabbit trail of logic. George Floyd was killed. It was brutal, it was wrong, and it wasn't an isolated incident. Let's expand from police brutality and racial profiling to racism in general. Most reasonable people can agree that it's a problem and has been for a very long time. Then why, when someone wants to turn a spotlight on it, do people react with all the lame rebuttals and deflections? Why can't people simply say, "Yes, this is horrible and has been horrible for years -- centuries -- please teach me... how can I make things better? I'm listening."
My wife and I recently moved from Niagara-on-the-Lake, Ontario to Kitchener, Ontario. While in Niagara, we attended a church in St. Catharines who decided we were going to be more interested in loving well than knowing well. Among other issues of justice, we decided to humbly ask, How can we make things better for the LGBTQ community?
Some congregants, especially the younger ones said, "Duh. You think? Why is this even a debate? It took you long enough!" Others, to put it crudely, lost their minds. They blew a theological gasket. I know I'm super condensing what has been a decade-long journey, but one of our biggest takeaways when we were trying to understand the religious backlash was this: justice for the marginalized feels like injustice to the privileged. In other words, albeit and probably subconscious, when a spotlight is turned on an injustice perpetrated on a marginalized group, and when something positive is being done to help, privileged people default to a fixed, finite, economic sort of thinking. I believe this is mostly subconsciously rooted in years, sometimes centuries, of unexamined cultural formation -- the thinking is that there is a fixed amount of justice or happiness or wealth to go around. Let's say there are a hundred units. And let’s say people A have 70 units, while people B have 25 units and people C have 5 units. Well, if we want people C to have more -- let's bump them up to 25 -- where are the extra 20 units coming from? People A feel inherently threatened.
If we, on the other hand, as Richard Rohr and many other spiritual and moral writers have suggested, switch our thinking from a conservative model to a multiplying/abundance model, then everything changes.
The irony is this: the majority power/wealth holders think and/or feel that making things better for the underprivileged makes things worse for them. The truth is -- and I remind my Christian friends that this is a clear and recurring biblical idea -- that making things better for others makes things better for everyone. "Do unto others as you would..." Sound familiar?
Even if you're a conservative/capitalist, you'd have to agree that if, as a society, we tried to fix systemic poverty, in the long run, we'd save a considerable amount of money on policing, healthcare, education, the court system, welfare and the list goes on.
_________________________________________________________
To make the point very personal, I recall two instances in my own life that highlight some of what I'm trying to communicate. The first: when I was in my fourth year of my Honours English program in the mid-80s, I took a course in literary criticism. A quarter of this course dealt with feminism. I'm ashamed to say that I was uncomfortable during most of this module. I skipped a lot of those classes. I recall the professor straight up asking, "Most of the males in this course have been conspicuously silent... it'd be good to get their thoughts." I remember stumbling through something like, I don't get why it's such a big deal. I don't consider myself a misogynist. I'm all for equal rights. Haven't we gotten past all this? The whole time while answering, I remember feeling very subconscious. Am I coming off as a doofus? A male chauvinist? Is there something I'm totally missing here? Maybe I should've done the readings...
The second similar but different incident was going to an LGBTQ bookstore as part of a Senior English Specialist qualification course in 1987. As above, I was very uncomfortable and didn't say much. Didn't ask anything. Wasn't really open to listening or learning.
If I were kind to myself, I'd say a couple of things regarding the above. I'd say, firstly, I wasn't a bad person. I cared about people; in my own broken dysfunctional way, I even wanted the world to be a better place. I just didn't know what I didn't know. I was a product of a lot of variables that went into creating 26-yr-old me -- variables that I was unaware of and that I therefore had little control over.
The second thing I'd say is that incidents like these -- along with many others along the way -- paved the way for me to change.
___________________________________
As I've been thinking about writing this, I've reflected on several of my favourite writers: two dead white guys... oops.
I asked my wife just this morning, do people ever really change like Charles Dickens' Scrooge in A Christmas Carol (you know, go from a greedy, selfish curmudgeon to "[one who]... became as good a friend... and as good a man, as the good old city knew.")? The short answer is no. It's pretty rare.
More often, it's like the case of Victor Hugo whose famous novel Les Miserable ends with one of my favourite lines in all of literature: "To love another is to see the face of God." Over the course of Victor Hugo's life, he changed his "position" radically on all things political, religious and economic. I'm pretty sure this change didn't happen overnight after having dreams about France past, present and future. This "conversion" happened over his lifetime as he observed systemic poverty and the abuse of power.
So back to Chewing the Fat. For me the book reinforced two things: firstly, truth is a dialectic. Secondly, it requires listening. The author, Moyer-Nocchi, wasn't didactic in her writing. She simply listened and chronicled the experiences of some similar and some wildly different experiences during 1930s and 40s Fascist Italy. Through listening and not judging, through synthesizing seemingly disparate stories, a clearer picture of a particular time in history emerges.
If I can draw parallels between Fascism/Mussolini and our current situation, here they are: yes, Mussolini was a bad person. Yes, racism is bad. Yes, there was a crisis/urgency that led to Mussolini being assassinated. Yes, there's an anger and an urgency today surrounding a dire crisis that must be attended to; it's long overdue. But in order to live together going forward, good people, whose experiences are wildly different from one another, need to listen to each other.
Here's a great example of what I'm talking about:
http://goodblacknews.org/2016/07/14/editorial-what-i-said-when-my-white-friend-asked-for-my-black-opinion-on-white-privilege/
I know that my own ignorance and white privilege has been/is part of the problem. And I'm glad that when I was in my 20s, people were kind and patient with me. I’m glad that as I still muddle through issues of injustice that people are still patient and kind with me.
Finally, I held off on writing this for a couple of reasons. The irony of my topic largely being about listening probably isn’t lost on you given the fact that, well, this is mostly a platform for speaking, not listening. To that end, I want to listen. I know that there are people out there who are way more informed than I am and people who have painful, lived experience. Feel free to comment. If I’m being unfair or uninformed, please let me know.
Secondly, my thinking was, Do we really need to hear from another white guy? I’ve heard from several anti-black racism spokespeople in the last few days who would answer this with a resounding yes.
By definition, any problem of injustice or marginalization becomes the problem not just of those who suffer the injustices and marginalization. History has shown us that change usually happens when those in power, those with privilege, co-own the problem, listen and endeavour to co-create a solution.
I leave your RIchard Rohr’s “Contemplation on Racism” and once again invite you to comment. I’m listening.
https://cac.org/am-i-next-2020-06-07/#gsc.tab=0
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