At the No Kings rally on October 18th, Anishinaabe elder Ricky DeFoe affirmed to the gathered crowd that “the natural response to oppression, ignorance, evil, and mystification is wide-awake resistance.” Such resistance, he claimed, calls for an “ethic of risk.” I was immediately struck by his use of the term, paralleling feminist theologian Susan Welch’s A Feminist Ethic of Risk.[i]Returning home, I picked up my copy and found many of the same points DeFoe had articulated.[ii] Both asserted that an ethic of risk recognizes that “to stop resisting, even when success is unimaginable, is to die,” and by this they meant not only the threat of physical death, but also “the death of the imagination, the death of the ability to care.”[iii]
During the last week of September I had the opportunity to spend a few days in solitude in a place that is my soul’s home. I spent part of my time reflecting on questions posed by ecotheologian Mary DeJong to mark the autumnal equinox. The first question was “What is a desire you carry into the autumn season? What are you seeking?” After much contemplation, the words that came were, “I wish for a change in government – to be rid of Trump and company – for freedom, equality, respect, for the dignity of all, for an end to the suffering in Gaza and the reign of terror of ICE in this country – the horrors of those being abducted and imprisoned – for an end to cruelty. Yes, for an end to cruelty everywhere. Why is this country so cruel? I do not understand cruelty. Where does it come from? Why would anyone want to be cruel? How could anyone even stomach the suffering of another? How does that happen? Yes, I desire an end to cruelty.”
A few days after writing those words, on October 1st, scientist, environmentalist, and humanitarian Jane Goodall passed away in her sleep, prompting me to re-read her book, Reason for Hope. There I found her words echoing my own, “To me, cruelty is the worst of human sins. . . “[i] And while she had not set out to study human cruelty, how we become cruel and how we might move beyond our worst impulses, her work with chimpanzees eventually would lead her to this.
As I paddled the lake this morning, I found myself thinking this is what the end of the world looks like. The sun was rising red through smoke from Canadian wildfires and a smoky haze engulfed the lake to the point I could barely see the not-too-distant opposite shore. I was paddling by the state forest, where the March ice storm had stripped the tall pines of their upper branches, bent the birches, and uprooted and sent out to sea the largest of the trees. The camping spot at the spring was inaccessible so covered was it by downed trees and branches. All was bent, broken, and dying and the forest itself appeared to be weeping. Adding to the surreal aspect of this moment was the plethora of motorboats pulling skiers and jet skis bouncing along on what would otherwise be a quiet, calm lake – oblivious to or simply not caring that they were frivolously burning the very fossil fuels that had fueled this environmental crisis and catastrophe. It was as if I were watching an Octavia Butler dystopia play out with the rich and privileged burning up the last of the fossil fuels with disregard for the earth and disdain for earth’s advocates.
I began going to this lake in northern Michigan when I was two. Every year my mother would comment on how blue the sky was, how clear the air – such a contrast to northeast Ohio where we lived with its rubber factories, making the sky a hazy gray, even on the sunniest of days. We would marvel at the depth of the blue. This visit I never once saw a blue sky, nor even across the lake. I have hundreds of photos of the beautiful vista from the hill upon which our cabin sits, simply because of the stunning blues, but this year I took not a one.
Living as I do in the midst of both Finnish immigrant and Anishinaabe cultures, and where the two merge in the many here who identify as “Findians,” I was intrigued by the description of Kaarina Kailo’s book, Sauna, Culture, Sweat and Spirituality, as a comparative exploration of Indigenous sweat lodges — madoodiswan in Anishinaabemowin — and Finnish saunas.[i] As an outsider to both cultures, I have no ancestral or traditional knowledge of either saunas or sweat lodges and I wanted to learn more about both. Kailo’s book did not disappoint. What I hadn’t expected and was delighted to discover was that Kailo connects both with ancient goddess religions, contemporary feminist spiritualities, and ecofeminism.
Kailo’s book is a widely and deeply researched cross-cultural comparative study of the elements, practices, intentions, and spiritualities of sweat cultures ranging far beyond various Native American sweat lodge practices – Delaware Great Houses, Anishinaabe sweat lodges, Pueblo kivas – and the Finnish sauna,to Iberian/Galician saunas, Irish sweathouses, and Old Europe. As Kailo herself says, the value of such cross-cultural studies is the way they help to expand our thinking, enabling us to see things we might not have otherwise. She repeatedly says that she is looking for the “affinities” among these various sweat cultures, rather than focusing on their differences, and she finds many. In the process, she reveals the role of sweat lodges, sweat houses, and saunas as sacred spaces of healing, restorative balance, connection with the spirits, rebirth and regeneration, women-centered spirituality, and Great Bear religions. Infiltrated throughout are her reflections on how reviving the widespread use of sweat cultures and saunas, and the woman and life-centered spiritualities at their heart, would provide an antidote to the current economic, ecological, and political threats to the world.
When I signed up to staff the voter registration table for Duluth Indivisible at our local Pride Festival, I hadn’t anticipated it being such a reunion of old friends. What a pleasant surprise when it was – friends and colleagues from work, the Women’s Coffeehouse, feminist activism, trainings, and former students. With all the hugs and smiles and glad tidings all around, it felt like a love fest. It seems appropriate because Pride is at its heart a festival of love and acceptance.
The first Pride parades took place in June 1970, to commemorate the one-year anniversary of the Stonewall uprising[i], and since that time, June has been Pride Month. But here in Duluth, the annual Pride celebration takes place over Labor Day weekend, a sort of last hurrah of the summer. Its stated mission is “to serve the people of the Duluth-Superior area community’s diverse sexual and gender identities by organizing safe and inclusive events that celebrate equality and self-expression.” The atmosphere was indeed one of joyous self-expression – a celebration of each person’s unique and precious being, and also of deep acceptance and connection. The bright colors of the rainbow were in evidence everywhere as were the radiant smiles among the festival goers.
I went to the lake this morning, seeking the peace, sustenance, and perspective it so often provides. I had been particularly distressed and distraught the day before after watching the documentary on Christian Nationalism, “Bad Faith.” It was chilling to say the least. Among other things, the film demonstrates the longevity of Christian Nationalism in this country, dating back at least to the Ku Klux Klan, founded in 1865. However, the central theme of the documentary is the staggering influence of conservative political operative Paul Weyrich, who orchestrated the merger of conservative Evangelical Christians with the Republican Party in the 1980s. He founded the Moral Majority with Jerry Falwell, the Heritage Foundation which authored Project 2025, the American Legislative Exchange Council, and the Council for National Policy – all of which seek to undermine democracy in order to bring about what these organizations and their followers call a “Christian nation,” by force if necessary. But as former Republican strategist Steve Schmidt states in the film, there is nothing “Christian” about this movement. It is pure nationalism, a striving for power requiring the dismantling of the institutions of democratic government as we know them. These extremist Republican strategists found a powerful base of voters by tapping into Evangelical Christians and manipulating the messages they received to fill them with fear, and found just the puppet they needed in the charismatic and amoral figure of Donald Trump. As we’ve seen in recent years, they have been quite successful in the destruction of government. After filling the Supreme Court with their chosen nominees during Trump’s first term, getting Christian Nationalist Mike Johnson installed as Speaker of the House, and getting Trump elected a second time despite the January 6th insurrection, or perhaps because of it, they are now successfully dismantling or otherwise destroying the Departments of Education, Health and Human Services, Energy, Defense, Agriculture, Justice and more along with the Environmental Protection Agency, the Food and Drug Administration, the Social Security Administration, the Federal Regulatory Agency. . . the list goes on. It’s all part of the plan to fulfill the “Seven Mountain Mandate” of dominionism[i], which seeks to impose its beliefs in seven spheres of influence: religion, family, education, government, media, arts and entertainment, and business. As one of the Christian Nationalists interviewed in the film proudly said, “It’s the Christian Taliban.”
It’s been over a week now since I first heard the news on MPR that four people had been shot in their homes near a golf course in Brooklyn Park where my son once lived. My first thought was that I was glad my son was no longer living there. A little while later I learned that this was not a random act of violence, but rather political violence targeting two Minnesota lawmakers and their spouses. Gradually the details came in. The lawmakers were Democratic lawmakers, former Speaker of the House Melissa Hortman and State Senator John Hoffman and their spouses. And then came the tragic news that Hortman and her husband had been killed. As I drove to pick up a friend to attend the “No Kings” protest downtown, I listened to the news reports of warnings not to attend the protests out of an abundance of caution, with the shooter still at large, as well as the voices of protest leaders saying the tragic events of the morning only strengthened their resolve. In the first few moments of the protest, we observed a moment of silence for Hortman and her husband, and for the recovery of Hoffman and his wife. The entire rally felt like a strange mix of grief and rebellious revelry.
As the identification and eventual arrest of the suspected shooter became known, the tragic events took on an even more ominous tone. The suspect, Vance Boelter, is a far-right Christian nationalist extremist who had preached against abortion and gay rights. He was schooled in his religious beliefs at the Christ for Nations Institute in Dallas, Texas[i] and was aligned with a charismatic Christian movement whose leaders, in the words of The Atlantic columnist Stephanie McCrummen, “speak of spiritual warfare, an army of God, and demon-possessed politicians.”[ii]
“A child’s world is fresh and new and beautiful, full of wonder . . . . If I had influence with the good fairy who is supposed to preside over the christening of all children I should ask that her gift to each child in the world be a sense of wonder so indestructible that it would last throughout life . . . .”[i] – Rachel Carson
When I flipped my wall calendar on May 1st, the accompanying photo was of a waterfall. My two-year-old grandson noticed it immediately, and said “waterfall!” I asked him if wanted to go see waterfalls, and ever since then we’ve been hiking local trails along rivers and streams in search of waterfalls. Fortunately, we live in a city and surrounding area with a wealth of waterfalls, many within a few minutes of our home. Each one is unique and changes with the volume of water as it varies from day to day.
I was lucky enough to be raised by parents with a love of waterfalls, so they were a staple of my childhood. We lived near waterfalls on the Cuyahoga River, where we would sometimes go for picnics and hikes, and our family vacations when I was young were often to visit waterfalls – Bridal Veil Falls in Yosemite, Tahquamenon Falls in the UP of Michigan, and of course, Niagara Falls.
Hope is the thing with feathers . . . Emily Dickinson
Chickadee
I awoke this morning to bird song, and for a moment I was lifted beyond the despair that has caught me in its grip — despair for the country, for the earth, for loved ones whose lives are increasingly tossed into the chaos, for the future The disappearance of persons into labyrinths of prisons in this country, Guantanamo, and the tortuous CECOT prison complex in El Salvador has broken what was left of my spirit. Then this morning I heard a report that the State Department has changed what it considers to be human rights abuses in order to align with recent Executive Orders, deleting critiques of such practices as retaining political prisoners without due process of law, restrictions on free and fair elections, violence against LGBTQ persons, threats against people with disabilities, restrictions on political participation, coercive medical or psychological practices, and extensive gender-based violence. Ostensibly these changes are to lift restrictions on sanctions toward other countries, but I fear they portend clearing the way for such abuses in the US as well.
My heart is heavy in ways I have not previously known, so I am grateful for that brief moment of delight in the early morning. Later in the day, I found myself wondering whether those who suffered and died in concentration camps, whose despair certainly was beyond comparison with my own, found any solace in the sight and sound of birds who flew freely over the walls of the camps in ways they could not. The daughter of survivors of Auschwitz, Toby Saltzman, recalled that her mother, who often suffered bouts of despair over the Holocaust, found her spirits lifted by the songs of birds. When Toby later visited Auschwitz, she was greeted by flocks of birds. Upon her return, she reflected, “I left Auschwitz feeling a surge of triumph that my parents survived, and gratitude to the birds that gave my mother spiritual sustenance and hope.” We are sorely in need of such sustenance in these times.
“ . . . the uprising of [our] nature is but the effort to give to [our] whole being the opportunity to expand into all [our] essential nobility.” – Sarah Grimké [i]
It wasn’t the first time I had stood in protest on that street corner. I’m sure it won’t be the last. But the gathered crowd was by far the largest I’d been a part of there, covering not just the plaza on the western corner of Lake Avenue and Superior Street, but all the other corners as well, and up and down the sidewalks for half a block. We were a motley crew, from young people perhaps at their first protest to the many well-seasoned grey-haired. Though I met a few indigenous friends there, I was struck by the overwhelming perceived whiteness of the crowd. I imagine Black and Brown people were more reluctant to join a street protest where they might be targeted. Indeed, on my way home I heard a report that the number of “driving while Black and Brown” traffic stops has increased in recent days.
Standing in the wet snow, chanting, “This is what democracy looks like!” and “What do we want? Democracy! When do we want it? Now!,” the atmosphere was more of a party than of a wake.[ii] Yet, when the chants began, I found myself near tears, wanting to sob rather than shout. As some report seeing their lives flash before their eyes when facing imminent death, I saw my protest life flashing before my eyes – all the anti-war marches – from Vietnam to Iraq to the recent Israeli attacks on Gaza, the marches for the ERA, the Take Back the Night marches, the MMIW marches, the Standing Rock and Line 3 protests, the Women’s Marches, the march for science, the vigils after school shootings and nightclub shootings and the murder of George Floyd, the rallies to protect trans rights, . . . the list goes on and on. And I felt like weeping, for all these efforts to bring peace and justice and equality to this land were being trampled on and were under threat of being destroyed.
Feminism and Religion 