This week's newsletter is a little on the short side and the late side. In large part, this is because my own well of energy, focus, and the ability to “do all the things” is running dangerously close to dry. Because I think of my work as both flow and fabric, I’ll bravely mix the metaphor and say that the typical family-work-creative life tapestry feels tugged and tattered as some new concerns arise and the already complicated weave requires just as much attention as it ever did. I’m a bit weary and feeling ready to sleep in a puddle of spring sunshine.
And, I will admit that I feel challenged by this week's podcast episode. In a good way.
I am so grateful for the stories that my guest Michael Newton came to share, and I learned so much in our conversation that followed, but both take me a bit outside of my usual comfort zone.
In part, that's because our guest tells stories from Scotland, which, though it has much in common with Ireland–you can see one shore from another on a clear day–it is still a deeply distinct country with its own culture, history and resonance.
I realize that the vast majority of what I think I know about Scotland was mediated by James Fraser. The Outlander books are well researched, but they only take you so far when you’re chatting with someone who has a PhD in Celtic studies!
The focus of this week’s stories, the Gaelic language and surprising instances when the language is spoken by people of color on Turtle Island, also feels outside of my usual scope.
First, the language catches me off guard because Scots Gaelic is a near sibling to the Irish I only barely know. I get caught in a longing for the connection to a great-great-great grandmother from Speymouth, and frustration that the language from both nations still eludes me.
And then, there is the issue of race and how I write about the stories of people of color as a white woman in America. This is when I still prefer to listen than to speak. This is when I remember that the silence is deafening and cowardly when it goes on too long. And this is where I recommit to bringing more diversity to my podcast and stop trotting out the old excuse that there just isn’t possible on a show that focuses on the Celtic world.
As Michael says on this week’s episode, “The Gaelic world has always been diverse.”
And yet, there are factions within white supremacist groups that have co-opted the Celtic and Gaelic symbols, as well as Scottish and Irish identity, in support of their hateful cause. (The fact that the Anti-Defamation League needs to list the Celtic cross in their hate symbol database is heartbreaking and enraging.)
Michael’s stories counter—and gently obliterate—the limited, broken narrative that would equate “whiteness” with the history, culture, and language of the traditional Gaelic world. These stories, passed through generations, erode the myth of homogeneity that feed contemporary delusions about racial purity and superiority.
He brings together three tales from across the continent, from Antigonish in Nova Scotia, gold rush Alaska, and the Cape Fear River in North Carolina. Though they emphasize skin-deep difference, they are all rooted in hospitality and connection. They show us how expectations that come with perceptions of race can be blown down with a few words shared by the same tongue.
Our Guest
Dr Michael Newton earned a Ph.D. in Celtic Studies from the University of Edinburgh in 1998 and was an Assistant Professor in the Celtic Studies department of St Francis Xavier University in Nova Scotia. He has written a multitude of books and articles about Gaelic culture and history and is a leading authority on Scottish Gaelic heritage in North America. In 2018, he was recognized with the International award at the annual Scottish Gaelic awards. His most recent book is called Into the Fairy Hill: Classic Folktales of the Scottish Highlands.
Read Michael's scholarly articles.
Join Michael's online learning community, the Hidden Glen Folk School of Scottish Highland Heritage.
Hear Michael's story from season 1 of KnotWork Storytelling, The Man Without a Story.