The Importance of Being Proud of Your Identity

Identity is ideally a source of community, which can provide connection, support, and joy, both in and out of the classroom. Leaning into our identities allows us to bring this energy into our work, our relationships, and our journey through life. Coming of age in the 90s, the nexus of identity and community was the source of inspiration for many of my friendships, aspects of my study in school, and my cultural life outside of working hours as a young adult. In some ways, it still is.

Looking into the cultures that gave rise to some of my own identities, I see stories of resilience and creativity, connection and love. I see, for example, the story of the Jewish diaspora, of a people who overcame the threat of extinction many times and who reinvented a tradition so that it could carry them to different empires, countries, and continents across millenia without losing a shared connection. They also cultivated an ability to creatively and continuously reinvent their relationship to this tradition and draw on it to contribute to the different societies in which they lived.

I also see the stories of queer ancestors who, at some times, were told that their desires or their bodies were illegal, immoral, or even nonexistent. I see the many ways they found each other, created community, and experienced joy, some of which have trickled into present-day American mainstream media and culture. I also see the intersection of different stories and identities. The late 20th century, for example, represented the beginning of widespread acceptance of LGBTQI people within mainstream Judaism, and I got to be part of some early queer Jewish organizations that helped me open doors of connection and energy between these two particular identities.

My work with students at Approach more than anything else has given me pride in my identity as an American. While I don’t forgive my country any of its crimes, I have come to see myself as the beneficiary of a government that functions more effectively than some others and has, at times, balanced the demands of vastly diverse and sometimes fundamentally opposed constituencies. The education that was available to me, the robust culture of civic engagement, the access to diverse cultures and experiences, and stability of my and my family’s journey across the generations feels more and more like a gift as I grow older.

Identity can also be risky. It can lead us into political commitments and conflicts; it can lead us to express ourselves in ways that make others uncomfortable. Some people also have more experience than others at creating a pluralistic culture at the explicit intersection of different identities. Students and teachers are often hesitant to share some of their multiple identities because they know it could bring them into tension with their peers. Some students recognize that some of their religious convictions or political views are less accepted in the United States or in the greater Boston area than in their native countries. Teachers also walk this line; some of us, including myself, have never worked with quite such a diverse group of colleagues in terms of national origin, educational background, and life path.

Still, one of the most interesting and vital parts of my work with students and faculty has been learning more about their identities. In more trusting moments, faculty have shared perspectives on international and domestic events that are deeply informed by their international experience – about polarization in the US or about the experience of living with long-term war, for example. Many students, influenced by their native cultures, bring a disposition toward togetherness that is refreshing and comforting to my American individualism. Their readiness to take care of each other, family orientation, and enjoyment of large group activities all bring a lot of warmth and energy to our learning.

Examples of specific exchanges abound. Some of our students’ familiarity with the Bible has also been a resource in learning about the religious foundations of the American civil rights movement, for example, and helped us to explore the histories of terms like American gospel music. Students have shared personal details of well-known events from their native countries, from historic World Cup matches to particular protests from the Arab Spring. Students sometimes bring a pessimism about their native countries that is heartbreaking even to me, despite my own cynicism about what is possible in my native country. But this is also a resource for learning, particularly in courses on the American political and governmental system. Students have also raised questions that fall outside of mainstream Boston discourse, such as critique of particular human rights protests, or to take a more dramatic example, deep investment in particular conspiracy theories. While these moments of encounter can range from delightful to surprising to difficult, creating space for them has largely enriched our relationships, trust, and understanding. I wouldn’t have it any other way.