Stories, and the art of sharing them with others, are vital to sustaining humanity. This may seem like a bit of a stretch; on the surface, stories may seem like another shallow mode of small talk, or a fun silly interaction you share with loved ones. And yet, all of the readings from our class discussions have centered heavily around personal stories. The stories of Clare and Houska, even more dense academic writings of authors like Halberstam and Freeman, have been the driving points of conversation during each class. It is experience, example, and emotion that allows us to learn about the workings of humanity. It would be nearly impossible for a person to gain a wider worldly perspective without first understanding and listening to the experience of others. We learn about queer diversity and sustainability through Clare’s struggle with queerness in a rural childhood environment- about connections (and separation) between humanity and the earth through the intimate struggles and battles advocated by Houska- and the psychology of queerness, structural binaries and restrictions synonymous with the “ideal way of living” through the meticulous exploration of personal views, ideas of identity, and the organization of one’s self in the writing of Freeman and Halberstam.
The very end of Stones in my Pockets, Stones in my Heart by Eli Clare details a sort of metaphorical utopia, in which Clare finds comfort and belonging not in one certain label, identity, hometown, or outfit, but in a space dedicated to storytelling. “…people of many varieties and trade stories long into the night. Laugh and cry and tell stories. Sad stories about bodies stolen, bodies no longer here. Enraging stories about false images, devastating lies, untold violence. Bold, brash stories about reclaiming our bodies and changing the world” (Clare, 159-160). The kinds of stories Clare describes are for the most part unpleasant, something that, in theory, shouldnt be something you wish for in daydreams; however, these somewhat depressing stories (which are impossible to shy away from in any genuine reflection and recollections of a person’s life) do not shy away from sharing the very worst parts of being alive. It is these stories that produce connection, these stories that bring people together through good and bad to understand one another’s emotions and experience even if it may seem to be completely unfamiliar. Houska notes in her essay Sacred Resistance that too many conversations about progression center around a flat language meant to draw in everyone, and touch no one simultaneously. That humanity shouts for change but screams over each other trying to be the one to say “I know what we need”. Perhaps through a bit of genuine reflection, empathy for ourselves, others and the environment we share, we would be able to actually speak to one another. Sharing stories is imperative to sharing the earth with one another (cheesy, but seemingly true from what I have read these past few weeks).
I agree wholeheartedly with the idea that sharing stories can be a very powerful way to communicate and problem solve. Storytelling is often overlooked as a mode of communication, but it can be just as effective as mandating that someone take a class or having them read a textbook. Sometimes, to get your point across to someone and allow them to understand your perspective, you must tell them a story. Today, during her Rose-Walters Prize lecture, Tara Houska told personal stories of protest in between questions. For me, her story of getting through to a police officer while protesting the Dakota Access Pipeline was the most engaging part of her talk. I found that her ability to relate to someone by asking them about their personal interests was a great asset, and her story perfectly displayed this. That is why Clare, who told stories in his essays, likely did the same thing. Because sometimes stories are more effective than logic and facts.
I had the same thoughts when reading that last part of Eli Clare’s “Stones in my Pockets, Stones in my Heart.” It really struck me that after everything that he talked about, his idea of what he wants in his future was this description of stories. I think that it’s really a testament to his appreciation of history and roots, calling back to his hometown and rural working class upbringing. He seems to really value connection, and interpersonal relationships. This reminds me of Written on the Body, weirdly, because of the way the narrator narrates. The trail of consciousness format reminds me of someone sitting down and sharing an oral history, where you forget things sometimes, skip over sections, hop around in the timeline, and are biased by your own emotions and perception. It felt really personal when reading it, like you were looking into someone’s brain. And I think that kind of understanding of a person (which is kind of as close as you can get to really being in someone’s head) is the same idea that Clare is getting at. Which is that you can’t truly connect with people through anything other than good old messy, unreliable, realistic, difficult-to-hear storytelling.