“Don’t go chasing waterfalls” sang TLC in 1995, the chorus of which has been running through my mind this week. You see at the start of the week I had the opportunity to visit Bua Thong Waterfall in Chiang Mai, Thailand, also known as the ‘Sticky Falls.’ They get the name sticky falls becuase the rich calcium mineral deposits on the rocks mean that you can climb up the waterfalls, and climb I did.
While I was climbing, I was thinking of all the lessons I have learned over the years about how wet rocks can be treacherous, and that climbing waterfalls is dangerous even when they look safe. This, combined with my fear of heights, meant the experience of climbing was interesting to say the least.
I have been in Thailand to meet with the council for the Asian Women’s Resource Centre for Culture and Theology. This group runs workshops all over the Asia region addressing regional issues through the lens of feminist theology. As an Australian, it is easy to forget that we are part of Asia. In fact for much of the history of colonial Australia, the threat of being invaded by Asians has been the reason for enacting racist policies that specifically exclude anyone who is not white.
While in Chiang Mai, I met with a Pasifika colleague. We discussed the place of Australia within Pasifika contexts where many of the scholars are from small islands like Samoa, Tonga, Fiji, Tuvalu, Solomon Islands etc. Australia as a nation has often been willing to participate in extractive practices within the Pacific, while holding themselves apart and above. Australian’s often don’t see themselves as Islanders in this context, even though we proudly boast that we live on the world’s largest island (and smallest continent).
Back to TLC. Apparently the song Waterfalls is about dealing drugs and promiscuous sexual activity leading to HIV. The waterfalls are a metaphor for the high one gets when engaging in risky behaviour but which are ultimately incredibly dangerous to climb, which can lead to falling and dying. My adrenaline was definitely pumping as I climbed the waterfall, and the view from the top was beautiful. However, I only climbed it because I knew it was (relatively) safe). And I would never think to try to climb other waterfalls without knowing that that they too were safe. I can safely appreciate their beauty from the top, or while swimming in the pools at the bottom.
In a similar way, doing theology in Australia gets my adrenaline pumping at times. As a feminist, I know the words I am speaking will not be recieved well by everyone. There are church spaces where I am definitely not safe – those that insist that feminism is a cultural cancer that is antithetical to Christianity. And, those that prioritise respectability and making nice over meaningful movements towards justice. But yet, I have not once feared that I will be killed by an opponent. The fear is more about closing off opportunites to speak, write and work in the future. I take calculated risks about what I choose to say or not say, when to speak and when to hold my tongue. I can do this because as a white woman I have social and cultural privilege that protects me, even when my words are received as provocative. If I fall and lose all capacity to earn a living through doing theology, I can go and get a job at KMart (as my friend and I often joke when we are bewailing the lack of job opportunity and security for graduates in theology and related fields).
If I stuck to the ‘rivers and streams that I am used to’ I would only speak about safe topics that don’t upset anyone, that preserve the status quo, that reassure Christians that Jesus loves them and they don’t have to do anything differently in the world. This might be an easier life, but it is not in my nature. I don’t really think of myself as a thrill-seeker, but when that call settles on my heart, telling me that I need to speak up, I feel the fear and do it anyway. (And then overthink whether I really did do the right thing). As much as I feel afraid to speak up, I know that the relative cost to me as a white, middle-class, cis-straight, able-bodied woman is much lower than it is for my Asian, Pasifika, queer, disabled peers. And really, I am just choosing to climb the sticky falls which might look and feel scary, but which ultimately are fairly safe.
Leave a Reply