Yale


I am sitting at Yale Divinity at the moment…about ready to leave. For the day, for the semester, for the year, for good.

It is high time that I do so. I no longer believe in this school, even enough to love it into change. I spent many words here in criticism, but I’m leaving them behind now. I have a generic hope that others will stay invested in this place, but it’s crystal clear to me that it is not my role to do so. There is little virtue in defending this choice, but I will say just this…

I tried.

The anger you have seen on these pages reflected my willingness to invest myself into the conflict, an urge to be opaque, disruptive, and transformative in the community. But when a community is so riven by parochial concerns, pecking orders, micro-competitive urges and most of all, a leadership dedicated to stasis…

They aren’t all bad. And I’m not entirely innocent. But somewhere along the line, I lost the urge to make this place better. So it’s time for me to leave. Unless I can be invested, there’s no point in presence.

I do not leave angry. Anger would imply a frustrated ambition. I do not leave broken. Brokenness would imply that this place has definitional power.

I leave with wonderful friends, invaluable connections, and a shiny piece of paper.

I shall endeavor to do my best with them.

Elsewhere, in other times, on my own terms.

-sly

The tale of one my classes, taken primarily to satisfy distribution requirements. I was at least somewhat interested in the subject matter, and learned some cool stuff. But let’s not get it twisted. I wouldn’t have spent a class on this unless otherwise motivated…my time is a commodity, and i try to be careful with it.

Anyhow. Midterm grade, after trying to take the midterm while having a panic attack:

Failing.

Final grade, after given the chance along with the rest of the class to double the final exam:

Honors.

Wtf? It makes sense. I wrote a pretty decent paper, and I was much better prepped for the final. And i think the prof might have learned the hard way about what kind of material students could be reasonably expected to retain. Chapter numbers…not one of them, for instance.

Seriously. If you are a professor or teacher…it is a trick question to ask what the theme of chapter nine was in an anthology. I didn’t read them in order…and was reduced to deductive guessing. Oddly, I did fairly well on the multiple choice section of the midterm (I have seriously uncanny, possibly unholy abilities to read multiple choice exams for clues) but bombed out the identifications because I had no idea how long to write them. I could have asked…but…

Panic attacks have a funny way of having deleterious effects on academic performance.

Regard me as being glad that things worked out.

-sly

The following should be considered a composite conversation, undertaken with many at Yale Divinity School. The quotes that follow are not verbatim, nor to be understood as to be the product of any one individual.

“The funny thing about Yale is that it gives you just enough to make a show of it, and then asks you to be grateful for the crumbs.”

A few friends gathered around a dinner table…beers, wine, and coke all went up to lips and back as the conversation grew more animated. The cork was out, and the sentiments flowed freely.

“It happens with everything. Representation of people of color in faculty and students…feminist voices,

“Did you know we have faculty committed to opposing women’s ordination?”

Who, we wondered…and a few names bubbled up. No wonder this was so fucked up…

“hey…weren’t you chairing the sub committee on…”

I hung my head slightly…i know…i really meant to get that together, but you’d never know how crazy things get. And after an intitial bout of emails, interest seemed to taper off. I left the work undone…and the institution did it’s magic once more. By delegating what should be institutional tasks to the student body, YDS effectively mires reform efforts in an uphill battle. We turn over every 2-3 years, we’re over worked, and with scarce time to meet. Even booking a room is often a challenge.

And it came together for me. There was that which I was personally responsible for doing, and not doing. And there was that which I had been teased into thinking was possible, or already done. What caught my gall was the way in which the very real problems of this place were continually made invisible by such posturing, and dismissed as the oversensitivity of a few discontents.

And in that moment, I felt slightly bitter.

“Guess that means that you could really screw with them if you took them at face value.”

A friend broke my reverie. She was charting out a new course…one of a jaded sincerity. And the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. It’s not that I hate the place…indeed, i have many dear friends, whose love is like a drawing band. Why not be faithful to that, and mock the artifice that has come between that which we love and that which we must hold to be true?

You may be tempted to read this as a rant against my school. And there is some truth in that. I finish my second year feeling betrayed by an institution that claims a place of progress and transcendence, but still struggles with so much. But it is also a love letter to my fellow rebels and discontents…students, staff, faculty, who see the place not as it is, but as it might be in Christ’s love.

caritas,

-sly

Dear Fellow Yalies Who Are Coming to My Humble Blog After Searching for Marquand Chapel:

Please consider dropping a comment, or even saying hi in person. I’m flattered by the interest, really, but it’s vaguely unnerving to know my classmates are reading this silently. I know, I’m paranoid, but I’ve also been really happy to hear from some of the folks who’d been reading.

As stated in the contact page, free drinks available to loyal readers who contact me in a bar.

-sly

This morning, Marquand Chapel was led in a service of memory, grief, and healing for the divisions caused by bans on the ordination of queers and of women.

I am by any measure too overwhelmed to deliver more commentary that that, but the following is the script for my homily. I am tempted to wait until I can see the video and make a transcript, but I feel that it was pretty close.

I can accept the idea that I may lose this fight. But I can’t stomach the idea that they could make me afraid enough to not even try.”

I said that on my way out to YDS almost two years ago. Writing to a friend after a particularly shocking encounter with homophobia, I was filled with resolve to press for ordination in a tradition that is still struggling to come to terms with the calls to ministry of queer Christians.

And now, those words are not true. I have gotten too embroiled in the conflict to see a way out, or even a way to begin. I still have a letter to my regional committee still unsent. Despite a deep feeling of call, the unswerving support of my home church, and the care of many witnesses, I am no longer seeking a recognized ordination.

I realized that I became afraid that if I heard “no” from them for their reasons…that I wouldn’t have a church anymore, that it would be too painful, that I could lose everything.

Yet, even before any verdict, I stopped going to church at all, so I wouldn’t be reminded. I told myself I’d get a PhD instead. I told myself that it wasn’t a consolation prize.

I keep circling this altar. I know that grace calls me to respond to grace by showing grace….to answer God’s love by witnessing to God’s love for the world. And I believe that there is nowhere that is more powerfully known than in the mystical gift of the Body and the Blood.

I keep circling this altar. And I know I have choices. There are denominations that will receive me. But I cannot bring myself to leave home. Not in that way, not like that. I claim a heritage of soul freedom, the disestablished church, of country gospel, of the believer’s baptism, and the priesthood of all Christians. I’m Baptist. Perhaps an odd one. Perhaps even a queer one. But I am a Baptist. And, for me, it would be a dishonesty to simply pack up for greener ecclesiastical pastures. It would be against what I feel about my denomination, and perhaps most of all, it would ignore the grief I feel for the whole church in these days.

So I shall journey. And I shall seek. I am looking for companions, to share bread and wine. I am going north, back to Galilee, where the risen Christ promises to be. I leave in that expectation of Easter, seeking my calling anew. My heart is still heavy, and I mourn. But I leave in hope.

-sly

And it’s almost here.

For over a month, a service focused on barriers to ordination and the restrictions on who may preside in Marquand Chapel is going to go live in just a few days.

I’m still writing my bit…and oddly, waiting to hear who is going to preside. It’s a long story, really…but we just have to see what happens.

One of the tougher bits has been working out my dissapointment with what we’re going to do…not because it’s a bunch of crap, but because it’s really good, almost perfect in a lot of ways. And it’s that near brush with my vision, as mediated by a bunch of other people who care about this and their concerns. Committee work always has this side to it, and i can shrug off most of it. But part of me is really thinking about going militant during my homily.

Because the church is in a bad way right now…and i get a vibe too often from folks that they think about queer ordination as kind of a inevitable march of progress. They think their mainline denomination “will come around” and some of the more conservative ones will remain so. It’s not. And if something is really unjust…it’s not some sign of tolerance to leave it unopposed in another segment of society.

-sc

If you don’t already know from the lack of posting, the boy is in town for the weekend.

I’ve been rather busy in anticipation of that, and I’ve been savoring the election win. Now, i know that my elation may soon fade as I realize that many of these folks we elected aren’t half as liberal as they ought to be…but c’mon. We have a little while before the 110th Congress is sworn in. Enjoy it.

On Thursday, we attended a discussion of the movie “Crash” hosted by CORE, an anti-racist group at YDS. And because we take intellectual reflection (and copyright law) seriously…Profs. Tricia Rose and Andre Willis led the conversation afterwards. Briefly, I have to say this. I was at long last relieved to be in a discussion of this movie where I was not the only person who thought it was terrible. As Prof. Rose put it, it was a movie that tries to play on and manipulate people with genuine interest and good will. But with flat stereotypes, nameless characters (think back, and try to figure out if you know them at all, except by the actor’s name), and a theory of race that comes down to “individual acts of meanness, not in invisible systems conferring dominance on my group.”

The gender implications are gawd-awful as well. Thandi Newton’s character describes the sexual assault which is perpetrated against her as an insult to her husband, and questions why he didn’t stop it. And the movie none too subtly implies that even the most sophisticated black woman, given the chance and some booze, will run her mouth to the point of provoking a racialized sexual assault. And if that’s not bad enough, in each of the “redemption” scenes…both of them depend on the racist assholes who did this in the first place. “Saved” by white men who don’t apologize or acknowledge their wrong doing, the choice between life and destruction is put on them…as if they have to chose to not be bigoted in order to live. Oh, noes.

And so Prof. Rose broke it down, and we got to talking about what it would mean to have a movie, or a narrative that actually was serious about systemic racism. There was a real challenge in naming a positive agenda, at least one that could fit into two hours and a Hollywood set. Most interestingly for me, we talked about truth-telling, and the limits thereof. Even while many narratives of race in America are anything but truthful, and disguise, downplay, and dissemble about the magnitude of racism… Rose challenged us to understand the ways in which America was also addicted to the truth-telling as a never ending process, a stuck point of rehearsal and repetition of the pain. With no forward momentum, starting the process becomes a delay tactic when the “process” gets started a new with frightening regularity.

Prof. Leslie added that in models of forgiveness and healing in pastoral care, that the intermediate step between truth-telling and happily-ever-after is change. With the new knowledge one has, something has to change. And right now, one of the things I’m working on changing…is the conversation.

Overall, I was happy for the turnout, that we’d headlined an event with decent turnout and good discussion. One of the things I’ve worried about is making sure we’re not a “do-nothing” org, but rather having the feeling of momentum. But as it’s been raised, it’s extremely important to have extended conversation, one in which the next steps are chosen by consent.

-sly

I’m actually returning to a post that I said I’d write.

It’s not so much that I don’t have ideas like this that require follow up, but more that I’m easily distractible. And this week has been distracting. As of today, by the end of business, I should be caught up. Yikes.

Anyhow. To the post. I was asked in comments if it would actually be better for the school to shut down debate on Marquand. I started my answer as follows.

But there is a strong interest on the part of the leadership of Marquand to change the format of how these disagreements are taking place. Being used as the punching bag for a generalized conflict over the institutional identity of YDS isn’t exactly anybody’s idea of fun. And she’s right, and if Chapel continues to be the focus of ideological conflict here, it will become an extremely difficult place to be in.

The long and the short of it…it won’t be possible to shut down debate on Marquand. Perhaps the best exhibit is the Common Room from 10:20 to 11. The school has cliques, and folks know who their allies are…and people are going to talk. Where the classroom has the aura of authority to shield it from some of the harshest criticisms, we’re by and large church folk. Sniping at the inadequacies of church services comes naturally to us.

I think the most productive avenue is to directly contest what Yale Div is supposed to look like, and channel fewer of our frustrations through criticism of chapel. As i blogged earlier, i simply don’t think many of the charges are born out by facts, and must be read as reflecting a broader discontent with the school. So let’s get to it…and talk about what we think YDS as a whole ought to look like.

Here’s my saying more. I don’t think we can, or ought to, shut down debate on Marquand. And if you put the question directly to Siobhán or Patrick, it would really surprise me if they said yes. And that’s not just being cynical about an expected level of honesty.

But I think what we see here is an attempt to perform a pretty radical transformation of how critique is being carried out. If response to Marquand means sending emails or setting up appointments, it means that the primary and sole audience is the Chapel Team, or a representative thereof. Where as really, a Dear Theo isn’t so much about going to the powers that be, as much as it is seeking to form and identify a community of agreement around some of these issues.

I still hear the phrase “they don’t let you say Lord in chapel” all the time, and to be honest, it’s starting to really get to me. It’s fine to issue a sustained critique of practices there, but misrepresentation is a different ball game. I don’t even go very often, and I can tell you that’s hogwash. But it’s phrases and ideas like that that serve as identity formation. For someone who affiliates with that language, “They Prefer If Lord Is Not the Sole Address of God” is just not as catchy in forming a community. It lacks the fire and zeal.

So what you have is a Chapel Team that more or less wants to respond honestly to issues involved in ecumenical worship, and to do so privately and under their system…and groups of students, seeking to define themselves at an institution at which they feel to some degree alien…

I don’t need to tell you this is at cross purposes. A private meeting with Siobán doesn’t help produce community affiliation around evangelical/conservative liturgical aesthetics.

So. As I hinted above, I don’t think that the solution is a shut down of dialogue, but rather an expansion to cover issues that we may be trying to exorcise through Marquand. We need to get honest about curriculum, admissions, hiring, and other institutional questions that have been backgrounded for various reasons. It may be more comfortable to discuss this in terms of liturgy, because we all feel a certain sense of authority in that sense. It may be that the sense of offense is all the sharper for being from church. But I just can’t imagine that all of this drama is really just about Marquand.

But there are things worth talking about, and worth talking about in community. For one, my consistent peeve with the “Chapel is student led, so be the change you want to see in the service” meme is that we’re freaking busy. In order to have diversity in chapel, it appears that representatives of groups (who are already taxed by their efforts to provide safe space, maintain community, represent their group in other formats, and just get their own damn work done…) need to put those things on hold and help plan a service. Now, I’m not charging that the chapel is performing whitewash by being demanding, but that we need to question where the default is…that for the sake of imagination, we assumed that the chairs of YBS, YKA, Coalition, Women’s Center, etc…were all really busy for a while and didn’t plan any services…

What would the chapel look like? What concerns, styles and voices would still be present, because of proactive leadership of the Chapel? What would be lost?

Student led worship is a fine idea. But it is not a neutral one when the world, and Yale in particular is already so demanding, especially of certain students. The burden of representation is not a light one.

-sly

…dropping some of the other issues I write about, and really focusing on disabilities blogging. I don’t feel like I spend enough energy on those issues, or have as strong of connections with that community as I’d like.

So consider this a bit of amends.

I’ve spoken about this before, but I want to return to the idea of the subaltern as provisional. Ze exists on the permission, and ultimately the caprice of power. While the powerful would love nothing more than to be credited with being generous and to receive love for these remarkable acts of toleration, the subaltern is often ungrateful. Why wouldn’t they?

To exist by permission is to constantly know that status is revocable, temporary, and dangerous. The provisional identity always looks to the possibility of loss and disaster.

I was asked once i got to the ill-lit, poorly marked, and hard to find Disabilities Office at Yale, what previous arrangements had be made for me. And if I had documentation for that.

Once again, Sly enters the Kafkaesque world of the medical establishment, relying on doctors to prove to Yale that I’m actually sick. This of course, includes the inept who proscribed the wrong medications, the deceitful that violated my trust, and the plainly unperceptive who I manipulated into getting the medication I actually needed. Between a hospital a thousand miles away that hasn’t seen me in years, and a Doc here that’s seen me once…

Somehow that’s going to be the record by which I will pass into officially recognized disability and out of the “informal” provisions that have been made in the past.

So why is it, as I scramble for medical records that mean nothing to me, that it feels like I’m asking permission all over again? That I’m still a provisional person at Yale?

-sly

I’ve previously discussed Dear Theo submissions without using actual quote or identifying authors. Today, I’m excusing myself from said ad hoc ethics policy because a faculty member has written in, and her piece may shed some light on what I was discussing in the previous post. I think it’s fair to treat this material as an official publication of YDS, written by a faculty member in their capacity as Dean of Chapel. So, with student names removed…

Dear Theo,

I would like to respond to the two recent letters about the daily ecumenical worship program in Marquand Chapel, with gratitude to [names redacted] not just for their courageous remarks but also for their regular participation in chapel, their personal witness to its significance in their spiritual lives and their commitment to the project of ecumenical worship.

During BTFO each year, Patrick and I meet the incoming class to talk through the balancing act that is ecumenical worship in Marquand. A large part of this time is spent emphasizing that we rely on individuals and groups in this community to come to us with ideas for services. Chapel does not provide a program of services; it is an ensemble of services created and led by many, many people, reliant on the good will of leaders and congregants alike.

We also emphasize that we need to hear from members of the community about their reactions to worship. We have a roundtable discussion twice a semester. We give everyone a copy of the Guidelines for Worship in Marquand it is also printed in the handbook for incoming students) and in this document we emphasize that we need to hear your reactions to chapel. We do the same in the weekly Marquand Reader, and if the number of emails and meetings we have each week is any barometer, then most people here feel able to approach us with both ideas and criticisms.

While we wish to cultivate such reflection on chapel and what we learn there, we cannot do this work via Dear Theo. If you were a member of a parish and you had a concern about worship, your first line of conversation wouldn’t be the parish newsletter. If you were in a class and wished the syllabus included additional subjects, you wouldn’t write to Yale Daily News before talking with the teacher. Chapel is like both a congregation and a class, and so Dear Theo is not the best venue for this conversation. However, I think it is important to write on this occasion because there are people who read Dear Theo who may not have realized the other existing points of access for remarking about chapel. Or who might mistakenly think that the “implicit assumption” behind what goes on in chapel is in fact as described in previous correspondence.

There is an explicit statement that chapel strives to be as safe and welcoming a place as possible for all members of campus who would wish to be part of this worshipping community. It has to be safe space in a context in which so much of church life and campus life is not safe space. It has to be safe for people whose history is not told here as a matter of course, who are always in a minority here (such as racial and ethnic minorities); it has to be safe for people who may have been told they don’t belong in church (such as openly LBGT people); it has to be safe for people who have been told their leadership is not valued in church (such as women in some denominations). It has to be safe for these people because YDS admits large numbers of them and affirms their theological education and their desire for ministerial work.

However, given that default, most of our time is spent making sure that the chapel is “safe” as Christian worship — theologically, ethically, pastorally, and most of all liturgically — for as many people as possible in this particular community. A good example is the 23rd psalm to which [Name redacted] refers. We chose this setting because it is the work of a contemporary African American man that contributes to the current theme in sung morning prayer, exploring how the theology of music informs our understanding of favourite old texts of the church. Bobby McFerrin chose to set this Psalm in an Anglican-chant style, with feminine nouns and pronouns for the shepherd supplementing the opening naming of “Lord”. In the context of a service in which we also name God many times as Lord, King, and Father, Bobby McFerrin’s setting offers his own naming of God – Marquand leaders made only one variant from McFerrin’s setting, and it is in the Gloria.

McFerrin’s original is “Mother, Daughter and to the holy of holies”, and after much conversation we changed “Daughter” to “Redeemer” because we knew it would just be too great a stretch for too many people in this community to sing of the second person of the Trinity as Daughter. Given that God was addressed or referred to as Father 11 times, and Lord 45 times, and King 3 times in that week, and only as Mother and “she” on this one occasion, I think the more conservative among us have at least equal access to the debate. I also do not think it is for us who are from traditions that claim apostolic authority to tell Bobby McFerrin and others that their words, based in their communities’ interpretation of tradition, are less faithful.

The most expanded-language version of The Lord’s Prayer that we sing in Marquand is the setting by Mark Miller, our Gospel Choir Director, and a widely published composer, church musician, and faculty member here and at the Drew Theological School. Contrary to popular myth, he did not use non-gendered language in this setting for Marquand, but because he knows there are many churches and faith communities seeking expanded-language versions of The Lord’s Prayer. It is one of the three main versions of The Lord’s Prayer we have sung this year (the other two have completely traditional language), and it is the version in which most students have hands raised, eyes closed, and fervent prayer engaged. It would seem in this circumstance that many evangelical students are praying very authentically using evolving language.

I do not claim to use “inclusive language” in Marquand. Not in the Guidelines, not in the Reader, not in conversation. The phrase connotes such different things to different people. The subject of naming God in worship is extremely complex, we treat it in numerous varied ways, and if the community would like it, we can lead a community conversation, as we have in three of the last four years, about it. The basic guide we use is described in the Guidelines (see Marquand on the ISM website) and our goal is to generate a palette of ways of naming God and referring to God that is both faithful to tradition and responsive to the evolving needs and experiences of the churches.

Five principles direct our worship planning and are implicit in all the above: hospitality, diversity, inclusivity, participation and ecumenism. Each is too complex in both its theological and practical characteristics too go into in a Dear Theo, but I would be happy to talk more about them, make them less implicit and more explicit. We could, for example, print more explanations of why we made the choices we did at the end of the bulletin to help with this.

What happens in Marquand is Christian worship. There is a big debate as to what constitutes Christian worship in an ever-evolving church. We draw the line in what for others would be a fairly conservative way — we make sure that every day we pray in the name of Christ, that every day God is worshipped with Trinitarian words and images, that scripture is used every day (and only exceptionally and with good reason is it not the NRSV) and that only ordained/authorized people celebrate communion. So far so good, if you’re anywhere on the spectrum from moderate to conservative; but if you are Unitarian (the Trinitarian rule) or feminist (the NRSV rule) or alienated from ordination by virtue of your sexuality or gender (the presiding rule), then you have to make a lot of compromises to even come through the door. To characterize worship as “liberal” without acknowledging those many, many liberal people on campus who cannot attend, or who attend at great personal cost, is to miss a big part of the work of Marquand.

It is important to note that, unlike many worshipping communities, in Marquand, we have no expectation that everyone will assent to or be willing to participate in everything that happens on any given day. I’m there on the front row: nearly every single day there is something I cannot sing or say or assent to. You will see me with my mouth closed if I can’t own the theology in a line of a hymn; you might see me sit when others stand if I can’t assent to what’s going on; and several times I have decided not to receive communion. None of this is “protest”. Many other folks negotiate what they can and can’t bring themselves to: I see a student praying with her eyes tight closed, feeling every word as she sings; another student reach out her whole arm to wave her hands as the prayer or the song lets her give praise, even if she’s the only one doing so; someone standing for the Eucharistic Prayer when all around are sitting; someone else making the sign of the cross during a Trinitarian greeting when everyone else is stock-still from the neck-down; yet another bows to the cross as she comes in and finds her seat when few other people even noticed the cross, etc., etc. And occasionally I see folks walk out, the service just having asked too much of them or having offended them too deeply. This is the main thing we emphasize during our orientation session each year: we are in the space together, and when there are things we cannot assent to, we sit in prayer knowing that words that one cannot say or sing are deeply moving and prayerful to another whom we want to be able to pray authentically. This is the only way we can be both an ecumenical community and faithful to our own individual traditions.

There is concern that worship in Marquand doesn’t suit the needs of every member of the YDS community. Unfortunately, there’s no possible way it could, but many more people are worshipping daily in Marquand than at any other point in living memory. And Evangelicals and African Americans and Catholics and LGBT folks and Unitarians and all denominational backgrounds are there in ways they haven’t been before. We want to have as many people able to worship in Marquand as possible, but the tension in which we hold our unity in Christ and our individual traditions is fragile. It is important to have feedback, but is very important that daily worship not become a political football – if people feel they’re walking into a worship space that is charged with community conflict, they will simply stop coming – so please research your criticisms before making them and think hard about the forum you choose for offering comment.

And please be considerate of the chapel ministers. They are not “staff” but interns, just as other students intern in a church or a community organization. It is hard enough learning about the great range of worship traditions here and in the world; talking to faculty, students and staff about worship-planning for several hours a week; then learning how to host all the many and various people who lead in chapel as well as the congregation, without also having to field concerns about and advocate for the program with their peers. Please direct your concerns and ideas to Siobhán and Patrick, who are responsible for the directing the program.

I end with my most heartfelt point: people say that what happens in Marquand is “creative” and indeed it is. But it is also absolutely faithful, both in its meta (liturgical year) and micro (ordo of each service) ways. It is never free of a tradition, because no authentic Christian worship can be. If you can’t discern what traditional form we are drawing on on any particular day, just find me in coffee hour and I’ll tell you. You see the point is not to create new worship; the point is to learn how to do the old stuff in relevant ways, in ways that honor the contexts and diversity of peoples of faith. The point is to learn to do the old stuff with people who are not like you, with people who don’t understand you, who don’t necessarily like your ways of worshipping. With people who are on this journey with you for this time in this place.

We welcome the participation and leadership of all members of the YDS-ISM-BDS community. The doors to the chapel are open and you have a standing invitation to email us, phone us or talk to us in coffee hour. If you have specific ideas for a service, a hymn, a way of praying, of doing Eucharist, of liturgical action, of procession, or concerns or critiques of something that happened in Marquand,, please let us know. For those of you who read Dear Theo but rarely have a chance to make it to Marquand, I reiterate what we say at BTFO. You are very welcome here.

With all good wishes,
Siobhán Garrigan

There’s a lot to unpack there, so I’ll come back around and write about Siobhán’s implicit assumptions about community conversation and the role of Dear Theo, as well as some more remarks on cultural negotiation.

-sly

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