Remixed and Reimagined: Innovations in Religion, Spirituality, and (Inter)Faith in Higher Education [1 ed.] 9781975500801, 9781975500788

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REMIXED AND REIMAGINED

Culture and Society in Higher Education

Pietro A. Sasso and Joseph L. DeVitis, Editors Culture and Society in Higher Education is a book series that analyzes the role of higher education as an incubator, transmitter, and transformer of culture. While examining the larger social, economic, and political connections that shape the academy, it seeks to revivify American colleges and universities and to re-explore their core purposes. In so doing, the series reaffirms our social contract and the common public good that should ideally drive the policies and practices of contemporary post-secondary education. Prospective book topics include, but are not limited to, such themes as the purposes of higher education, the worth of college, student learning, new forms of liberal education, race matters, feminist perspectives, LGBTQ issues, inclusion and social justice, student mental health and disabilities, drug-related topics, fraternity and sorority life, student activism, campus religious questions, significant legal challenges, problems of governance, the changing role of faculty, academic freedom and tenure, political correctness and free speech, testing dilemmas, the amenities “arms race,” student entitlement, intercollegiate athletics, technology and social media, and distance instruction. Books in the Series: Student Activism in the Academy: Its Struggles and Promise (2019) Generally Speaking: The Impact of General Education on Student Learning in the 21st Century (2019) Supporting Fraternities and Sororities in the Contemporary Era: Advancements in Practice (2020) Foundations, Research, and Assessment of Fraternities and Sororities: Retrospective and Future Considerations (2020) Remixed and Reimagined: Innovations in Religion, Spirituality, and (Inter)Faith in Higher Educations (2020) Joseph L. DeVitis is a retired professor of educational foundations and higher education. He is a past president of the American Educational Studies Association (AESA), the Council of Learned Societies in Education, and the Society of Professors of Education. He is the recipient of the Distinguished Alumni Award from the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign. Pietro Sasso is faculty program director of the College Student Personnel Administration at Southern Illinois University Edwardsville. He is the recipient of the AFA Dr. Charles Eberly Research Award from AFA and is the ACPA Men and Masculinities Emerging Scholar-In-Residence for 2017–2019. He serves on the board of the Center for Fraternity/Sorority Research at Indiana University.

REMIXED AND REIMAGINED



Innovations in Religion, Spirituality, and (Inter)Faith in Higher Education

EDITED BY J.T. SNIPES AND SABLE MANSON

Gorham, Maine

Copyright © 2020 | Myers Education Press, LLC Published by Myers Education Press, LLC P.O. Box 424 Gorham, ME 04038 All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying, recording, and information storage and retrieval, without permission in writing from the publisher. Myers Education Press is an academic publisher specializing in books, e-books, and digital content in the field of education. All of our books are subjected to a rigorous peer review process and produced in compliance with the standards of the Council on Library and Information Resources. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data available from Library of Congress. 13-digit ISBN 978-1-9755-0079-5 (paperback) 13-digit ISBN 978-1-9755-0078-8 (hard cover) 13-digit ISBN 978-1-9755-0080-1 (library networkable e-edition) 13-digit ISBN 978-1-9755-0081-8 (consumer e-edition) Printed in the United States of America. All first editions printed on acid-free paper that meets the American National Standards Institute Z39-48 standard. Books published by Myers Education Press may be purchased at special quantity discount rates for groups, workshops, training organizations, and classroom usage. Please call our customer service department at 1-800-232-0223 for details. Cover design by Mike Medina Visit us on the web at www.myersedpress.com to browse our complete list of titles.

Dedication

“To Elise Carolyn Manson, who first instilled in my heart a desire and curiosity to explore something greater than myself. You are the foundation of everything great in my life.” —Sable “To my brother Jason Snipes, who continually encourages me to embrace, examine, (re)imagine, and (re)create our world.” —J.T.

Acknowledgments

We would like to thank the following individuals for supporting us in the creation of this very special volume. First and foremost, we want to thank Chris Myers and the whole of Myers Education Press for supporting and believing in the importance of our work. We would also like to thank series editors Pete Sasso and Joseph DeVitis for inviting us to be a part of this thriving series on culture and education. To our chapter authors, Gordon Palmer; Kate Curley, PhD; Issac M. Carter, PhD; Adonay Montes; Beatriz Gonzalez, PhD; Zandra Wagoner, PhD; Nancy Reyes, MEd; Veronica Escoffery-Runnels, PhD; Suzanne E. Schier-Happell; Kari E. Weaver; Jodi L. Linley, PhD; e alexander; Musbah Shaheen; Mary Ann Bodine Al-Sharif, PhD; Shima Hassan Zadeh; Costin Thampikutty; Michael Steven Williams; Ekaete E. Udoh; Amand L. Hardiman; G. Preston Wilson; Ayesha Yousafzai; Carrie Reisner; Thalia M. Mulvihill; Gordon Maples; Annemarie Vaccaro; Barbara M. Newman; Ezekiel W. Kimball; and D-L Stewart, thank you all for being a wonderful community in which we could challenge, support, and transform our collective thinking around religion and spirituality in higher education. We want to give a special thanks to Michael Williams, Gordon Palmer, Kate Curley, Mary Ann Bodine Al-Sharif, and Shima Hassan Zadeh for being willing to stretch themselves and their work as well as creatively challenge the process of traditional scholarship. We look forward to continually being informed by your work. Last, we would like to thank D-L Stewart for his insightful afterword to this book. We truly appreciate your support and help in expanding this important area of scholarship.

Additional Acknowledgments Sable— I am fortunate enough to have been enriched by a kinship of scholars, who I also cherish as dear friends. Dr. Keon McGuire and Dr. Jannet I. Cordoves have been full supporters of this volume; I look forward to our future explorations of #digitalfaith. I must also acknowledge Dr. Vanessa Monterosa’s foundational role in #digitalfaith. I am so grateful that what started as a conference presentation continues to be reimagined in new ways. Finally, I would like to thank Dr. Michelle Castellanos and Dr. Ji Zhou for their support in my doctoral program and beyond. I am eternally grateful for the ways my heart and mind have been stretched by your friendship. J.T.— I also want to acknowledge Sachi Edwards and Lisa Davidson for their groundbreaking work on reimagining religion in higher education studies. Working with the two of you over the past year has indelibly shaped the construction of this text. I’m excited to see the work that you two are producing and I’m grateful to call you both friends.

Table of Contents Introduction: An Invitation to (Re)Imagine

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Unit 1: New Methodologies and Frameworks Chapter One 1 Genealogical Histories and Emergent Births: An Epistolary Dialogue on Critical Possibilities in Religious, Secular, and Spiritual Studies in Higher Education Kate Curley & Gordon Palmer Chapter Two 29 Critical Interfaith Praxis in Higher Education: The Interfaith Collective Isaac M. Carter, Adonay Montes, Beatriz Gonzalez, Zandra Wagoner, Nancy Reyes, & Veronica Escoffery-Runnels Chapter Three 45 Waking Up in the Classroom: Buddhist Epistemologies as a Path Toward Decolonization of Higher Education Suzanne E. Schier-Happell

Unit 2: Emerging Narratives Chapter Four 57 Queering Spirituality: A Conceptual Exploration of Spiritual LGBTQ+ College Students’ Ecological Systems Kari E. Weaver & Jodi L. Linley Chapter Five 71 Embodied: Afrocentric Spiritual Identity Development of Black Femme Students Attending Predominantly White Institutions e alexander Chapter Six 89 Creating My Borderlands: Queer and Muslim Identity Development Through a Scholarly Personal Narrative Musbah Shaheen

Chapter Seven 105 A Tale of Two Sisters: A Phenomenological Study of Religious Conversion Mary Ann Bodine Al-Sharif & Shima Hassan Zadeh Chapter Eight 123 From the Outside Looking In: Personal Takeaways for Student Affairs Professionals Supporting the Christian Indian American College Student Life Cycle Costin Thampikutty Chapter Nine 135 (Re)Defining and (Re)Designing a Black Male Christian Identity Michael Steven Williams, Ekaete E. Udoh, Amand L. Hardiman, & G. Preston Wilson Chapter Ten 151 Narratives of Muslim International Identity Performance on College Campuses in the United States Ayesha Yousafzai Chapter Eleven 169 Understanding Atheists, Stigma Management, and Christian Privilege Within University Environments: New Imperatives for Higher Education Leaders Carrie Reisner & Thalia M. Mulvihill Chapter Twelve 187 Black Secular College Students: An Exploration of Margins J.T. Snipes & Gordon Maples Chapter Thirteen 197 College Students Narrating the Intersections of Disability and Their Religious Selves Annemarie Vaccaro, Barbara M. Newman, & Ezekiel W. Kimball Afterword D-L Stewart 213 Contributors’ Biographies 217 Index 223

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Introduction: An Invitation to (Re)Imagine Nearly 20 years ago, scholars Patrick Love and Donna Talbot (1999) authored a propositional article about spiritual development in student affairs. In the piece, they contended that although scholarship in higher education and student affairs had thoughtfully considered many aspects of the experiences and identities of college students, the majority of scholarship failed to theorize students’ spiritual development. The examination of spiritual development among college students was the integral and missing component of effective student affairs work. Love and Talbot issued a call, challenging scholars to produce more empirical work that explicitly considered the spiritual development of college students. A decade later, Eboo Patel and Cassie Meyer (2009) would extend the call, specifically inviting scholars and practitioners to consider not only the religious and spiritual development of students on college campuses but also religious pluralism, or student engagement across lines of religious and secular difference. Over the course of 20 years, scholarship in higher education and student affairs has given increasing attention to students’ religious and spiritual development. However, the bulk of the scholarship takes an unidimensional analysis of religion and scholarship in higher education. Few texts have looked at religion, spirituality, and (inter)faith through an intersectional lens. This volume seeks to once again take up the call of building and expanding on the conception and application of religion, secularity, spirituality, and (inter)faith (RSSI) in student affairs and higher education. Our goal is to center innovation. As we envision it, innovation is predicated on the idea of reconceptualizing the categories of religion, spirituality, and faith. For this kind of intellectual reconceptualization, we draw on the framework of complex subjectivities, or embodied/lived religion (Pinn, 2003). This theoretical frame has allowed us to reposition RSSI scholarship beyond strict, categorical constructions of religion and spirituality embedded in physical structures such as churches or written text. Instead, complex subjectivities offer an anthropomorphic rendering of religion that is fluid, contextual, and humane. By leveraging this framework, RSSI becomes much more dynamic, inclusive, and, most important, innovative. In addition to our theoretical core of innovation, the following three tenets undergird our work. First, this volume is unequivocally committed to social justice and equity. Contributors to this volume unpack issues of equity and social justice as it relates to RSSI in higher education. Contributing authors explicitly explore concepts such as White supremacy, Christian privilege, Islamophobia, and other forms of systemic injustice in higher education within the United States. Second, this volume investigates RSSI through an intersectional approach. Foundational texts (see Astin, Astin, & Lindholm, 2011; Chickering, Dalton, & Stamm, 2006; Rockenbach & Mayhew, 2013) have constructed RSSI

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unidimensionally, often rendering invisible minoritized religious and secular perspectives, practices, and identities. Third, this volume centers the experiences and voices of the religiously minoritized. Too often, White Judeo-Christian perspectives dominate the literature in higher education and student affairs. This text looks beyond those familiar Christian narratives to expand the borders of RSSI. By shifting focus beyond traditional articulations and constructions of RSSI, this volume highlights the innovative scholarship happening in higher education and student affairs. As an entreé into the new imaginative space we seek to create, we begin this volume paradoxically by looking back. Like the Sankofa bird, we hope by excavating our past we find wisdom and guidance for the future. In this next section, we individually share brief reflections on the genesis and importance of the work shared in this volume. After providing our reflections, we share the outline and structure of the volume, ending with an invitation to join us in this ever-expanding work.

J.T.’s Reflection This book is the product of the past few years of my life. It all started with my dissertation project. I had already put into motion a plan to meet with the dean of my school to discuss the merits of a project exploring how campus leadership within schools of education grappled with the declining popularity of traditional teacher education programs. One day, on my way to campus, I was listening to NPR and heard the story of Alix Jules; he was the chair of Dallas/Fort Worth Coalition of Reasons’s Diversity Council. He was being interviewed by Michel Martin, and in their exchange, Martin asked him about the exacting social cost of identifying as a Black atheist. The story he shared was heartbreaking. He said, “I don’t have a relationship with my mother or my cousins. My extended family has turned their backs on me and that’s a lot of the fear that some of the people that we know that are out there have.” When pressed on the ubiquity of this problem, Jules shared that his inbox is often flooded with emails from Black people in the process of disclosing their new identity to family and loved ones. He shared the sobering fact that many people “don’t know if [they] can do this . . . [they] can doubt but as soon as [they] use the term atheist, it becomes very difficult. [They] become an apostate.” He then asked the rhetorical question that would become the animating core of my dissertation study: “Why would you want to come out as an atheist?” Needless to say, studying Black atheists became the focus of my dissertation project. And although exploring leadership in a time of crisis was important, studying Black atheists felt prescient and potentially revolutionary to me. Within Black communities, as Alix Jules pointed out, atheism was and is something that “Black folks don’t do”; it is undoubtedly a sociocultural taboo. But a new ethos was on the horizon as emerging forms of Black secularism had begun to blossom within Black American cultures and specifically on some college campuses. In Chapter Twelve, Gordon Maples and I discuss in detail some of the challenges and promises of emerging Black secularism on college

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and university campuses around the nation. However, the work felt isolating and lonely, beyond the community I built with secular organizations and my study participants. I struggled to find a scholarly community with which I could connect and innovate. Fortunately, around this time, I met a few colleagues in the field who shared my interest in religion, spirituality, and secularity in higher education; two of those colleagues were Drs. Sable Manson and Keon McGuire. At the time, they both held the position of research coordinators for NASPA’s (Student Affairs Administrators in Higher Education) Spirituality and Religion in Higher Education Knowledge Community. We connected instantly. Both Sable and Keon provided a safe and supportive space for me to dream about what our work related to religion and spirituality could look like and what could be our contributions to the field of higher education. In our initial conversations, we discussed the current state of religion and spirituality in higher education. Sable had just submitted a thoughtful and provocative article to Patheos encouraging practitioners to move beyond analog constructions and practices of religion to embracing a concept that she called #digitalfaith. Talking with her expanded the possibilities for our work. The digital world represented for me a new space ripe for exploration and discovery. Very few programs in higher education and student affairs were discussing religious and/or spiritual development in digital spaces. We presented our initial findings at a NASPA conference and began the work of producing a manuscript on #digitalfaith. In the process of working on the manuscript, I was invited by my colleague Dr. Pete Sasso to submit a proposal for the book you are now reading. For me, Remixed and Reimagined: Innovations in Religion, Spirituality, and (Inter)Faith in Higher Education is a labor of love to our burgeoning academic community. In some small ways, this book represents the first step toward the realization of one of my wildest dreams: to consider anew the study of religion and spirituality in higher education. For so long, the literature in the academy in general and higher education and student affairs in specific, has failed to explore in great depth the religiously minoritized and secular worldviews. The authors contributing to this volume are not only helping to expand traditional academic literature the scholarship related to a critical area of inquiry but also building a burgeoning community of scholars dedicated to the transformative RSSI work in higher education.

Sable’s Reflection Although this book represents the culmination of the past few years, in many ways my professional experiences have only built on an interfaith foundation established in my upbringing. I was baptized at my grandmother’s Episcopalian church with Jewish godparents, later going through catechism to be confirmed Lutheran. I attended Protestant Christian middle school and then Roman Catholic high school, where my best friend came out to me as an atheist. While at Loyola Marymount University (Jesuit Catholic) studying

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television and film production, I was also enriched by learning about Ignatian spirituality, world religions, and social justice. And I believe it was the Jesuits’ emphasis on education and reflection that helped lay the foundation for me to discover a new vocation in higher education after letting go of my plans to be a music video director. My new path would lead me to the University of Southern California, where I pursued a master’s in student affairs administration and later was able to study interfaith engagement in higher education through my doctoral and professional work. These formative experiences demonstrated to me not only the importance of interfaith engagement in my own development but also the opportunity institutions of higher education have in the exploration of RSSI identity. As colleges and universities continue to diversify, there has been greater consideration of the experiences of religious minorities, challenges of White Christian privilege, as well as the call for the greater inclusion of secular and nontheistic worldviews. These dynamic shifts have also been coupled with the proliferation of digital technology and globalization, which have created new tools, spaces, and platforms for RSSI engagement. My work with #digitalfaith explores the ways in which individuals use the Internet, social media, and digital tools for identity development and to seek community. One of the key takeaways I have observed is that as much as technology is often characterized as antithetical to religious and spiritual development, digital tools and platforms are facilitating RSSI innovation. Individuals are less often creating whole new religious or spiritual experiences and communities as they are using digital tools, mediums, and devices to explore the intersections of their identities. In these digital spaces, individuals are able to transcend physical space and traditional structures to express the embodied/ lived experiences of their faith and their intersectional identities. I have continued to investigate the complex subjectivities of RSSI identity, so when my good friend and colleague Dr. J.T. Snipes approached me to work on this edited book, I immediately recognized the opportunity to extend our advocacy of diverse stories and voices. As we began envisioning the goals of the book, we recognized that acknowledging histories of our authors and the depth of their stories was important. Individuals engaging the tension at the intersections of their identities is not a “new” concept, but the stories shared in this book can offer new insight and perspective on RRSI for educators. In Creative Quest, The Roots’ drummer Questlove puts it like this: “Stories are not always new, but in the retelling, they serve a different purpose . . . the stories are commentaries on themselves, opportunities to present and analyze. . . . Think of them as a remix.” (Questlove, 2018, p. 11). The stories discussed in Remixed and Reimagined: Innovations in Religion, Spirituality, and (Inter)Faith in Higher Education offer opportunities to present and analyze our understanding of RSSI identities. This edited book showcases RSSI narratives that we hope to create more inclusive spaces and honor the multifaceted nature of our lives. Our goal is to model the authenticity we hope to cultivate in our students by boldly sharing our stories and exploring the rich complexities at the intersections. Think of them as our remix.

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Outline and Structure of this Volume We have consciously broken up this volume into two units. The first unit we have titled “New Methodologies and Frameworks.” In this first unit, we sought to begin the process of remixing the methods and frameworks related to RSSI inquiry in higher education. We believe these emergent and established frameworks help move RSSI inquiry forward. In the second unit, the authors invite readers to see how these emergent frameworks are enlivened and embodied through the various lived experiences of the larger campus community. Following are the authors’ brief abstracts of their works. Consider this a sneak peek of what is ahead in the volume.

Unit 1: New Methodologies and Frameworks In Chapter One, “Genealogical Histories and Emergent Births: An Epistolary Dialogue on Critical Possibilities in Religious, Secular, and Spiritual Studies in Higher Education,” Gordon Palmer and Kate Curley propose a move toward a critical analysis of RSSI studies in higher education by calling on intellectual histories to deconstruct hegemonic structures and reimagine a more fluid conception of RSSI. Palmer and Curley suggest new conceptualizations, emergent births, and applications in higher education research, policy, and practice as they relate to RSSI experiences, identities, systems, and communities. In Chapter Two, “Critical Interfaith Praxis in Higher Education: The Interfaith Collective,” Isaac M. Carter, Adonay Montes, Beatriz Gonzalez, Zandra Wagoner, Nancy Reyes, and Veronica Escoffery-Runnels highlight students’ reflections on their experience of interfaith engagement to elucidate a new theory for critical interfaith praxis. Critical theories and methodologies, such as a Community Cultural Wealth and mestiza/margin consciousness, are used as heuristics to analyze students’ interfaith praxis alongside the multiplicity of their identities. In Chapter Three, “Waking Up in the Classroom: Buddhist Epistemologies as a Path Toward Decolonization of Higher Education,” Suzanne E. Schier-Happell champions Buddhism, a nontheistic tradition (neither confirming nor denying a higher power), as uniquely positioned to provide an epistemological framework compatible with both religious and secular ways of knowing within higher education but without disproportionately privileging any particular religious affiliation. Furthermore, Schier-Happell discusses how Buddhism’s emphasis on using evidence to test belief while affirming the validity of spiritual experience, as well as its inclusion of compassion, right intention, and personal responsibility supports an inclusive educational model.

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Unit 2: Emerging Narratives In Chapter Four, “Queering Spirituality: A Conceptual Exploration of Spiritual LGBTQ+ College Students’ Ecological Systems,” Kari E. Weaver and Jodi Lindley explore the ecological systems and contextual influences on spiritual Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, and Queer (LGBTQ+) students, including accounts of resistance to heteronormativity and the role of intersectionality. Insights from this study illustrate the complex, nuanced way spiritual LGBTQ+ students make meaning of their lives and develop spiritually. This analysis centers heteronormativity as an oppressive and alienating narrative to examine how it was experienced and resisted by LGBTQ+ students. In Chapter Five, “Embodied: Afrocentric Spiritual Identity Development of Black Femme Students Attending Predominantly White Institutions,” e alexander employs Yoruba Tradition Indigenous Epistemology (James, 2017) and Optimal Theory Applied to Identity Development (Myers et al., 1991) to critique existing student development models, including ways in which they do not account for the development of Black femmes at the intersections of racism and sexism. e alexander uses these critiques to propose a new model for Black femme student spiritual identity development. In Chapter Six, “Creating My Borderlands: Queer and Muslim Identity Development Through a Schohlarly Personal Narrative,” Musbah Shaheen presents a scholarly personal narrative that centers his experience as a queer Muslim to examine the development of queerness in conjunction with religiosity and spirituality. Using Abes’s (2009) multiple paradigmatic perspective approach, Shaheen offers multiple epistemological and ontological perspectives on identity development, thereby illuminating different implications for research and practice through different paradigmatic lenses. In Chapter Seven, “A Tale of Two Sisters: A Phenomenological Study of Religious Conversion,” Mary Ann Bodine Al-Sharif and Shima Hassan Zadeh detail their personal experiences of conversion, one from Islam to Christianity and the other from Christianity to Islam. These two sisters of faith find a unique commonality in their lived experiences due to their unique identities, their religious histories, and their unique religious experiences and philosophies, as well as their overall conversion experiences. Duoethnography is used to explore the intersectionality and fluidity of identities within these two individuals’ unique cultural, structural, and social contexts, giving voice to not only their differences but also their sameness/similarities. Findings reveal areas within their religious identities where they are both empowered and marginalized through their conversion experience. In Chapter Eight, “From the Outside Looking In: Personal Takeaways for Student Affairs Professionals Supporting the Christian Indian American College Student Life Cycle,” Costin Thampikutty uses his own personal and professional experiences to explore religious identity development of Indian Christian college students. This chapter identifies key takeaways for understanding Christian Indian American students’ choice, acclimation, and persistence through college.

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In Chapter Nine, “(Re)Defining and (Re)Designing a Black Male Christian Identity,” Michael Steven Williams, Ekaete E. Udoh, Amand Hardiman, and G. Preston Wilson examine Black male Christianity in higher education by taking an intersectional approach to analyzing the personal narratives of Black men with nonnormative identity intersections. Although participants share a common identity as Black men, they diverge in our roles (i.e., professor, doctoral student, master’s student), Christian denominations (i.e., Catholic, Baptist, Mormon), sexual orientations (i.e., heterosexual, gay), and other identity markers that allow the connection between our identities and our experiences in higher education to be an exciting space for inquiry. In Chapter Ten, “Narratives of Muslim International Identity Performance on College Campuses in the United States,” Ayesha Latif Yousafzai examines Muslim international women’s personal narratives to understand their Muslim identity performance (ways in which they act, engage, interact, behave, and situate themselves) in their various environments inside and outside the United States. Despite the diversity of religiously homogeneous environments the participants hailed from (Kuwait, Malaysia, Morocco, Oman, Pakistan, and Saudi Arabia), their experiences on American college campuses were characterized by heightened identity consciousness and hinder engagement. In Chapter Eleven, “Understanding Atheists, Stigma Management, and Christian Privilege Within University Environments: New Imperatives for Higher Education Leaders,” Carrie Reisner and Thalia M. Mulvihill interrogate and analyze the lived experiences of atheists through the theoretical perspectives of stigma management and Christian privilege. Their findings indicate that an individual’s comfort in his or her identity, the context of the workplace environment, and the influence of campus leadership throughout their campus supervisor acted in combination to create a layered experience of working within higher education as an atheist. In Chapter Twelve, “Black Secular College Students: An Exploration of Margins,” J.T. Snipes and Gordon Maples explore the existing research and literature on both Black-identifying college student experiences and development and secular/nonreligious-identifying college student experiences and development. Insight into how these identities intersect to influence Black secular college student experiences are discussed to help guide student affairs practitioners looking to better ways to serve this student population. In Chapter Thirteen, “College Students Narrating the Intersections of Disability and Their Religious Selves,” Annemarie Vaccaro, Barbara M. Newman, and Ezekiel W. Kimball examine the personal narratives of 59 college students with disabilities about spirituality and religion. Findings from this chapter demonstrate the complex ways that students with disabilities made meaning of religion and spirituality during college and offer insight into the ways these narratives can inform higher education and student affairs practice.

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Conclusion We hope that you will take time (re)reading this rich and multilayered text. The authors have invested deeply into this work, providing expansive theorization of RSSI. The work has been rendered in new ways that offer innovative and inventive approaches to engaging these topics. The contributors to this volume have also provided intimate glimpses into the lived experiences of college students as well as personal insight into their own lives as campus educators. As the editors, we see this text not as the final definitive or declarative word on RSSI in higher education but rather as a new point of departure that builds on the innovation already present within and beyond the field of higher education and student affairs. So we close this chapter with an invitation. The invitation begins with a call to remember, to reflect on the 20 years of scholarship that has preceded this volume. We draw on Ghanaian culture, specifically the image of the Sankofa bird. It is an apt image and metaphor for the work of RSSI and moving our field forward. The Sankofa is a bird that moves forward by first looking back. The spirit of the past is always with and before us. Without acknowledging, reflecting, and challenging the past, we cannot move forward. It is critical that we hold on the essence of our past as we collectively remix and reimagine what RSSI will be in the 21st century and beyond. The authors have adeptly drawn on the past to both honor it and re-create something new in light of it. Finally, we invite you to join this burgeoning community of scholars examining RSSI in higher education. Reach out to the authors directly. Challenge and respond to the work presented in this volume. Through this work, we hope to build a new generation of scholars interested in working together to create something new. So join us on the journey.

References Abes, E. S. (2009). Theoretical borderlands: Using multiple theoretical perspectives to challenge inequitable power structures in student development theory. Journal of College Student Development, 50, 141–156. Astin, A. W., Astin, H. S., & Lindholm, J. A. (2011). Cultivating the spirit : how college can enhance students’ inner lives. San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. Chickering, A. W., Dalton, J. C., & Stamm, L. (2005). Encouraging authenticity and spirituality in higher education. San Francisco, CA: John Wiley & Sons. James, S. (2017). Indigenous epistemology explored through Yoruba Orisha traditions in the African Diaspora. Women & Therapy, 41(1–2), 1–17. Love, P. & Talbot, D. (1999) Defining spiritual development: A missing consideration for student affairs, NASPA journal, 37(1), 361-375, DOI: 10.2202/1949–6605.1097 Myers, L. J., Speight, S. L., Highlen, P. S., Cox, C. I., Reynolds, A. L., Adams, E. M., & Hanley, P. C. (1991, September/October). Identity development and worldview: Toward an optimal conceptualization. Journal of Counseling & Development, 70, 54–63.

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Patel, E., & Meyer, C. (2011). The civic relevance for interfaith cooperation for colleges and universities. Journal of College and Character, 12(1). Pinn, A. B. (2003). Terror and triumph: the nature of Black religion. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press. “Questlove” Thompson, A. K. (2018) Creative quest. New York, NY: HarperCollins Publishers. Rockenbach, A. B., & Mayhew, M. J. (Eds.). (2013). Spirituality in college students’ lives: Translating research into practice. Routledge.

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GENEALOGICAL HISTOR IES AND EMERGENT BIRTHS

CHAPTER ONE

Genealogical Histories and Emergent Births:

An Epistolary Dialogue on Critical Possibilities in Religious, Secular, and Spiritual Studies in Higher Education Kate Curley and Gordon Palmer

An Introduction to Imagining Dear Reader, We want to invite you in the middle of a dialogue we are having about our hopes, dreams, and fears related to religious, secular, and spiritual studies in higher education. This epistolary dialogue is striving to be a collective imagination where we ask you to jump in and explore with us. The following pieces are a series of letters to make transparent the grappling, struggling, and imagining work involved in remixing and reimagining what we term as the religious, secular, and spiritual (RSS) in higher education. Through this process, we call on intellectual histories that acknowledge and deconstruct hegemonic structures toward a more fluid conception of RSS experiences and identities in higher education. This epistolary tapestry has tenets from critical race theory, queer theory, and transfeminist theory as possible genealogical lineages that levies conceptual critiques on current RSS inquiry in higher education. Before we get to that, we should probably speak about who we are and why we do this work. For me, Curley, I do this work because religion was one of the first spaces where I “trans-cended” boundaries of a “cis-tym” and explored the liberation of gender identity and empowerment. I learned how to challenge a system within a cistym to survive and create a space to imagine outside of polarized views and identities—good and evil or man and woman. Gordon here. For me, the work that we all do around the RSS in higher education is intrinsically tied to the ways people make meaning of the world. More specifically, I am interested in this work because of the ways that these identities, and the systems and structures that either reify or marginalize them, are related to how we make meaning of or imagine freedom and liberation. And, as a Black man, imagining what freedom looks like for all of us is one of the

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most important things to me. We both try to live lives centering marginalized peoples, their voices, and their stories. Equally as important, however, is the centering of liberation in our theorizing, practice, and praxis. Collectively, we choose to think about liberation in the context of RSS identities and systems. To help guide you in this collective invitation, we have subheadings in each part of our conversation. We start by establishing common definitions. Then, we invite you more deeply into our own personal histories and positionalities and how those frame our thinking and finish with an invitation for collective imagining. More than anything, we focus on our collective belief (pun intended) that it is high time we intentionally bring critical, energized, and intellectually humble minds to these topics that are so near and dear to so many of us. We will not exhaust these ideas—because how can we—but we hope we can begin to think through how we might go forward. —Gordon and Curley

Setting the Context for RSS Work in Higher Education Hi Gordon, This sounds great. I’ve been thinking a lot about our conversation at the coffee shop last week—you unable to sit down in excitement and me swinging my legs at the high-top tables outside. I am thankful for our friendship for a lot of reasons, but I am particularly thankful for the way we unravel and think about the study of RSS in higher education. I want to pick up where you left off—particularly thinking about context and definition. In the leadership class I teach, we talked about the pervasiveness of the Pledge of Allegiance in U.S. public school systems. The Pledge, which looks strikingly similar to the morning prayers done every day in the Protestant seminary universities in the past, is one representation of how American Nationalism sounds, looks, and often acts like a religion. And is it? And if so, why is it so closely tied to Christianity and “In God We Trust”? These are not particularly novel thoughts. The complexity of what label and definition should be used to describe religion and spirituality is widely debated (e.g., Ammerman, 2013; Orsi, 2007; Schlehofer, Omoto, & Adelman, 2008). There is not one usable definition of religion or spirituality that does not also exclude wanted, often unbounded, concepts such as Atheism or include unwanted concepts such as American Nationalism (Martin, 2012). Nye (2008) even describes how the current conception of religion can be divided into four different categories: (1) religion as a noun and a universal aspect of culture or (2) a particular group or tradition; (3) religious as an adjective to describe a thing, behavior, or experience; and (4) religioning as a verb or action of doing something religious.

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What are we studying when we say we study religion in higher education? I often feel estranged from the other “religion” scholars at conferences. (Me, in real life at conferences: *Internal screaming* “Wait, so you are saying that tribalism accounts for all divisions between religions?”) Descriptive and conceptual, active and passive, religion is a word that can be used in several different ways. To attend to this spectrum of experience, I use the acronym RSS (religious, secular, spiritual) to highlight that one’s RSS identity is not a universal experience but instead a specific group. And yet, religion is at times a descriptor that is universally part of culture even in its absence (areligious) or more of an action than a thing itself. People perform religion in similar ways that West and Zimmerman (1987) argue that people “do gender.” RSS almost feels too stationary a concept to capture our area of study. Perhaps we should not attempt to capture and control it at all? At the same time, I feel the need to use some concrete phrase in these studies and in conversation, because if our goal as academics is not to make the invisible visible, what is it? So, I use RSS to point to the ambiguity, imperfections, and complexity of these concepts to be captured in a term or phrase acceptable to everyone. This makes the student affairs practitioner inside me happy, as well, because RSS is the placeholder phrase that comes from the Council for the Advancement of Standards in Higher Education’s (CAS) standard (Council for the Advancement of Standards in Higher Education, 2017). Using RSS is interesting; each letter pressed together in a forced conglomerate of disparate experiences. The CAS standards draw this phrase from the three distinct “religious” types found in Kosmin and Keysar’s (2013) study on American college students: religious, secular, and spiritual—which each have their own set of theological, philosophical, political, and scientific implications. Interestingly to my scholar self, in their 2013 study, Kosmin and Keyser also found that each “religious” type constitutes roughly a third of the U.S. population. This prompts several questions, not least of which being who was counted. Answer, from the report: “to assure diversity, the main random sample was supplemented with random samples drawn from lists of email addresses belonging to students with the top ten most common surnames for each of three minority groups” (African Americans, Hispanics, and Asians; Kosmin & Keyser, 2013, p. 5). Never fear, diversity assurance is here! Thank goddess and all things sacred and sacrilege they figured that one out. The second question that comes to mind is, How did they create these divisions? Among other deciding factors, Kosmin and Keysar (2013) found that these three groups differ significantly in their beliefs in god(s), creationism and evolution, public policies on what they call the status of homosexuals or LGBQ (lesbian, gay, bisexual and queer) and women’s rights, in their orientations toward religious and spiritual institutions, and in their political leanings

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as a whole. So, according to Kosmin and Keysar (2013), the R, S, and S groups of RSS-identified people think differently about if I should have rights as a queer person and who knows when it comes to being genderqueer. The take-home from this is that RSS identities function differently in society and in how one behaves, votes, and views the public sphere. This feels incredibly significant to me. It is also one of the main reasons why I do not wish to use the term more common to higher education research: worldview. In higher education research and praxis, a worldview is a “guiding life philosophy, which may be based on particular religious tradition, a non-religious perspective, or some combination of these” (Rockenbach, Mayhew, Kinarsky, & Interfaith Youth Core, 2014). Therefore, a worldview—such as Shia Islam—is something one holds and a worldview identity—such as being a Shiite Muslim—is an affiliation with the social group tied to that particular worldview. There are some components of this language I really like. For a while in higher education, we were predominantly focused on religion and spirituality and not including those who were more secularly inclined. Studies have shown that U.S. students who identify as not religious avoid disclosure of their secular identities (Goodman & Mueller, 2009) and report feeling excluded from higher education discussions on “interfaith dialogues,” “religious diversity,” and “spirituality” (Fairchild, 2009). Worldview (like RSS) attends to this exclusion and invites the secular, but consequently, the differences are also erased. Although not intentionally blind to power dynamics, worldview came from interfaith cooperation and religious education initiatives and, thus, centered on the equality of and similarities between all RSS beliefs (van der Kooij, de Ruyter, & Miedema, 2013). This mirrors some of the same erasure that can result from Eck’s (1993) definition of religious pluralism: All worldviews are equal and one can achieve a sense of oneness across all the diverse religions. To this, my gut reaction that often manifests in stress-induced acid reflux is how in the world can we study RSS with words that purport that systemic power differentials in terms of religious identities do not exist? I remember reading an article about how the White, self-identified Christian cis-male smirked and pleaded not guilty after reporting that he was doing God’s work when he lived out his anti-immigration manifesto and killed 51 Muslim people at three different mosques in the Christchurch area. The mission was an act of hate and the accused was enthralled by historic clashes between Muslim–Christian conflicts. He must have felt that violence and hatred toward Muslim people are both normative and acceptable. Although not perfect, what I like about RSS is that RSS acknowledges the sociohistorical and political power structures embedded in RSS studies and is connected to contemporary critiques on the study of religion using critical theory (Nongbri, 2013). Rather than directing ourselves toward equality, using

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RSS bends us toward equity. As a manifestation of doing so, I also use RSS to mirror the current standards in higher education and to acknowledge Christian hegemony in the United States that shapes the way RSS engagement and identity operates (Council for the Advancement of Standards in Higher Education, 2017; Kimmel, Ferber, Kimmel, & Ferber, 2017). The reality, however, is that there is no definitive consensus in the field. So what do we study, and how should and can we talk about it? —Curley

Personal Histories and the Inseparable Need to Use Critical Race Theory and Acknowledge Racism Dear Curley, I am really thankful for that coffee shop. I know the ownership won’t admit it, but it’s become a sort of sacred space for folks. The deities worshiped there may differ, but it is a place where strangers gather, connections are made, some engage in particular rituals, and many leave friends. I am similarly very grateful for our friendship. You’ve allowed me to be the person that I miss in the PhD journey and the freedom to speak freely about RSS stuff has been liberating. Speaking of RSS, I like the way you’ve come to that as a descriptor. I have found it sometimes hard to wrestle with what religious, secular, or spiritual mean, how we engage these descriptors and identities. Capturing it, to your point, feels impossible. It’s like trying to catch a powerful river in your hands. There is so much history, so many narratives, so much freedom, yet so much oppression, all tied up in each of those words. This is why I also agree with your stance on worldview and erasure. None of this is perfect precisely because RSS understandings and identities aren’t perfect. Theologies, cultures, experiences, beliefs, and so on are so varied, but it is also what makes this intellectual space so interesting. The understanding that RSS function differently in society and in that this may also vary in relation to other identities is important to me. Perhaps selfishly, these really matter to me as a Jamaican immigrant, Black, cisgender, heterosexual, always-questioning Christian man. I say curiously Christian because I am often perplexed in thinking about the role of Christendom in the collective journey of Black people globally. Being an immigrant and moving to the United States forced me to encounter versions of faith life that were inherently racialized. Suddenly, there were segregated places, all with racialized histories tied to the nation-state. In coming to understand how race and ethnicity come together with my own RSS identities, I have been forced to question the role of White supremacy and settler colonialism in the way that

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faith/religious systems are shaped, how those then, in turn, augment systems of domination, and then how those are made manifest in the mundane and day-today lives of folks. This questioning and curiosity have led to some pretty intense moments of doubt, but what is doubt if not the flipside of the coin alongside faith? I have wrestled, and continue to wrestle deeply, with a faith system that seems so completely enmeshed in the fabric of White supremacy that I wonder if there is genuinely room for us all to engage in communal and shared rites, greetings, and collective worship. This is probably why I love certain books of the Bible (e.g., Job and Ecclesiastes) so much. As I think about this more, one part of my lens here comes from orientation to RSS informed by religious study in my undergraduate career, spirituality being a key focus in my work, and a curiosity in what we all do or do not hold as sacred in our lives. My positionality here, then, forces me to question the ways that particular RSS identities are legitimized and taken for granted alongside White supremacy, how those narrow confines prevent a fuller humanity, and how race and racism are intertwined with other forms of domination in my own understanding of RSS identities. It is out of this that I explore the ways that RSS identities show up for students in higher education. How are you coming into this conversation? How are you showing up in the sacred, the spiritual, the secular, and the religious? Before we even get to higher education, can we talk about just how enmeshed race and religion are in this conversation? I think that any examination of RSS identities needs to be necessarily deeply historical in its grounding. For me, this conversation begins with race, which you already know. I am thinking back to last week when I said that you do not have religion without race in the United States (or much of the West really). Race and religion (and I am using religion broadly here) are strange and mutually enforcing bedfellows in the production of what we have come to think about as the modern world. Nelson Maldonado-Torres (2014) argues that race and religion were and are mutually constructed and that these are central concepts in the geography of humanity in the modern world. That is something I think about a lot when I think about chattel slavery and Christianity in the United States. His overall argument is one made toward understanding the relationship between modernity and coloniality, and here I just want to lift one of his many arguments to historicize RSS identities in higher education, race, and racism. Maldonado-Torres (2014) shows how, for settler-colonial nations in the “Age of Discovery,” one of the key understandings of coloniality was that the “other” was without religion and consequently soulless. Those without a soul could not be human and, therefore, a new subhuman categorization was reified. Nelson Maldonado-Torres (2014) writes:

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The New World and the torrid zones of Africa became markers of sub-humanity, and the religious/non-religious, and soul/non-soul divides gradually turned, by virtue of the secularizing and fundamentally colonizing turn of the time, into various divides, most notably the divide between White and Black or Native. Secularism and colonization worked together in the production of “race” as a category. (p. 701)

I think this is really powerful, right? When we strip people of the capability of holding a soul, of the capability of holding life, we can make them less than human and commit incredible dignity robbing atrocities. I am struck by this and would love to take that up with you at some point, and I would love to chat about how this shows up among other marginalized bodies. Anyway, one of the central lines of argument Maldonado-Torres (2014) makes that is key to some of our conversations here is his use of and further theorizing around W. E. B. Du Bois’s conceptualization of the color line. Famously, Du Bois (2015) declared that “the problem of the twentieth century is the problem of the color-line” (p. 5). Maldonado-Torres (2014), often citing Sylvia Winter, expands on this color line to show that Du Bois’s color line is indeed “the heart of the binary code that sustains the modern Western social classificatory system, but also to the fundamental character of the question about the existence of being without souls” (p. 710). It is this historical tie between race and religion that is of great importance. If the color line is indeed based on colonial understandings of race, humanity, and souls, then racism is inherently the belief that “others” are soulless beings not worthy of the dignity of humanity. This dichotomy of the soul-filled versus the soulless is also then made manifest in other forms of domination (e.g., transphobia) and “serves as a blueprint of the ongoing division of humankind” (Gordon as cited in Maldonado-Torres, 2014, p. 698). In other words, we need to recognize the way that race, religion, and coloniality are formative in how those forms of oppression come together through intersectionality (Crenshaw, 1989) wherein “subjectivity is constituted by mutually reinforcing vectors of race, gender, class, and sexuality . . . underscored by the ‘multidimensionality’ of marginalized subjects’ lived experiences” (J. Nash, 2008, p. 2). I am sometimes unsure of what this means then, you know? I think it means that interrogations of RSS identities, both inside and outside of higher education, need to consider the ways in which religion and settler colonialism are formative parts of the conceptualizations of race and racism. To explicitly connect this to RSS experiences, identities, groups, and systems, our conversations have to elucidate the ways that race and racism color the understanding of RSS identities. We could think about this through examining how critical race theory in education can be used to highlight the hold White supremacy has on

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our understanding of RSS identities and how we might elicit new, restorative, and more imaginative understandings of these identities through counter stories. I get that’s only one piece, however. What are your thoughts here? –G

Critiquing Whiteness and Introducing the Trans-ing of RSS Work Gordon, I have experienced how whitewashing is often (sometimes stealthily) applied to RSS work in an area I sought out interfaith community engagement when I moved to my current location. My experience can perhaps be best captured by a story of my friend who was hired to do interfaith work. And, by interfaith—I mean, a bunch of White Christian, loosely Christian, or Christian-raised liberals wanting to prove that they do interfaith work. She was all but forced out, however, by this White Christian community when she (attempted to) engage them in dialogue with a predominantly Black Christian church on combating racism. I cannot remember the exact words, but the sentiment would have gone something like “Why are we talking about race? We aren’t the problem here.” Then, tears. So many White tears. What these dialogue attendees wanted was not to do the work of unpacking privilege but instead to go home and tell their friends about all the great new Muslim friends they have made. Interfaith functioned as a badge to wear that absolves all guilt in other areas of privilege. One of the reasons it irks me, however, is that it is exactly how I used to be and something with which I am always and will always internally wrestle. Or perhaps it is better described as an archeological uncovering of my White, Episcopalian (which I still misspell to this day) upbringing. I vividly remember the day that I asked my babysitter at age 7 or 8 if she was “Chreeshun” or “Jooish” (literally how I spelled them in my diary entry) and how my kindergarten crush told me they could not be with me because I am not, again, “Jooish.” I knew it was divisive, but I did not know why. Before I even could write my own religion, I knew there were differences and I went to a homogenous Christian college, self-righteously rolling my eyes when a person in my orientation group said they had never met a Jewish person before. Because, well, I had Jewish friends. I had been to countless bar and bat mitzvahs, could start a prayer in Hebrew, loved going to Seders, and had countless conversations with Jewish people about the Israeli–Palestine conflict. Talk about interfaith mingling! I checked all the boxes! This was interfaith: appreciating differences. I was an appreciation pro. Picture Oprah in front of a room

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awarding everyone love and understanding—to you, and you, and you! (No shade, Oprah, I love you.) But, then, so what? Friendships and relationships are great, but what of systems of friendships and sociopolitical systems surrounding them? I am still White, still privileged in terms of class and education, and I still could be described as Christian passing for all intents and purposes. My RSS identity is invisible and personal, and this holds both power and isolation. Fast-forward to later in my undergraduate career: I was first introduced to the opportunity of what I call the trans-ing of RSS identities and studies. During an undergraduate spiritual leadership retreat, our lead facilitator used the word god and asked us to treat the world as a placeholder for whatever we wanted: Shiva, Mother Earth, Allah, or even cheese if that was what was giving us life. I affectionately called this “Mad-lib god” after the childhood game pastime. Although I am likely not the first to think of such a phrase, I found it revolutionary in giving both the structure and fluidity I needed to describe my religious and spiritual identity in a way that coalesced and advocated for my gender identity. This imagery stuck with me so much that three years later completing the phrase “I believe” at a Unitarian Universalist gathering in graduate school, I wrote: “I believe in the Mad Lib god where one can fill in the blanks as wanted/needed: I believe in _________ (noun/s) and I _________ (verb/s) and_________ (verb) to feel _________ (adjective) personally and promote a more loving, _________ (adjective) and just world for all.” Allowing for fill-in-the-blank responses reminded me of survey questions that allowed for “gender: _________” or “sexual orientation: _________.” I could fill in my personal identities as genderqueer and queer like I could fill in my beliefs as a Unitarian Universalist pagan. I was able to trans my religious and spiritual identity in a way that allowed for both the trans community and RSS community to understand my fluidity even if they did not agree with it. In doing so, I also trans-ed the divisions between RSS belief systems and practices that are often steeped in Christian assumptions of what makes a religion “true” (Martin, 2012). I find spirituality in drag shows, on top of mountains, and at spoken-word protests. It is at this intersection where I have both grappled for visibility and invisibility in these communities at various times. Ignoring power structures and insisting sameness in RSS studies in higher education feel like an erasure to my experiences of how RSS related structures and systems within higher education have been used to negate my existence and make it more difficult to be my full self. RSS systems have caused both the most pain and the most wholeness in terms of my gender and sexuality. Without a recognition of the interlocking systems of privilege and oppression, the trauma I have experienced and the resilience I have built lose meaning and legitimacy. My positionality, therefore, inherently questions the way we define legitimacy in RSS higher education research, and it is through this critique and dissonance that I approach this work.

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And how have we defined legitimacy in this work? Even as I write this, I know someone will critique us for not citing the “foundational texts” in RSS higher education research. And where is the soul in this? If, as Maldonado-Torres (2014) describes, the lack of a soul was a means to characterizing someone as subhuman, what does it mean that I identify as nonreligious as a White person who has benefited from settler colonialism? I am also curious about embodiment and gender; settler colonialism enforced a binary of genders to be more proper and “right.” Decolonizing gender and, thus, also decolonizing RSS would also mean trans-ing RSS to be inherently nonbinary. Is the nonreligious/religious divide even what we should be talking about anymore? —Curley

A Deeper Dive Into Settler Colonialism and Racism as They Relate to RSS Dear Curley, You know, I think a lot of us wrestle with past selves and the incongruencies that pop up when we critically reflect on past thoughts and actions. I think it’s part of the process of becoming the people we need to be to do the work we are called to do. I think about this a lot in our conversations on faith, gender, and race. I am so thankful for your nudges in thinking more critically about how I come into conversations on gender and the fact how I show up for folks matters. Coming to the last part of the letter; yeah, ignoring intersectionality or minimizing it to “interfaith” does seem simplistic. I don’t know, once you figure out that power is a part of the equation, it is so hard to forget that, you know? As we think through all of this, I think we need to make sure we do justice in that respect. How are we making sure not to flatten the ideas we’re writing about, and speaking about, as we think about RSS in higher education? I want to hear more about how you are connecting decolonization and gender and then decolonization and RSS. I am here for the trans-ing of RSS and for a real, honest conversation about what decolonization in RSS looks like for us, what that demands, and who we need to bring in to the conversation. I’m only saying this because I am wondering about how we’re thinking about settler colonialism, slavery, and Tuck and Yang’s (2012) astute commentary that there is a “lack of fluency in land and Indigenous sovereignty” (p. 30) when it comes to understanding each other’s stories and struggles. Personally, I am trying to figure this out in a couple ways, but I am mostly thinking about myself as an immigrant and the lack of fluency that Tuck and Yang write about in their work.

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This is something that I often think about with some of my friends in divinity school, and we often note that these conversations prompt us to think about ourselves in history and prompt us to wrestle with our sociohistorical selves. How do I, and should I even, as a Black immigrant from a country where settlers violently removed Indigenous peoples and enslaved my ancestors, come into conversations and scholarship on decolonization while practicing (allegedly) the same faith of those colonial masters? One way that I am coming to this is through some critical race theory (CRT) and some understandings there and particularly thinking about land and whiteness. CRT scholars write that the United States is a nation built on property rights and those rights were based on race (Ladson-Billings, 1999). In other words, Whiteness and U.S. citizenship go hand in hand. I am again really cognizant here about how we might also be thinking about land and indigenous peoples come together in conversations around decolonization, race, and RSS. There are explicit intersections in the United States when it comes to our thinking about race, religion, and property rights. As Tuck and Yang (2012) remind us, “it is no accident that the U.S. government promised 40 acres of Indian land as reparations for plantation slavery” (p. 29). I’m thinking here about my own faith practice and the privilege afforded to me in that there are Black churches on land that is now owned by Black people. Part of these conversations necessarily involves me thinking about what it means to be a part of the mix as a practicing Christian arguing for the critique Christocentric understandings of RSS in higher education. When we think about the fact that Indigenous peoples’ land was not only stripped away but was also promised to others in the name of faith, the CRT understanding of Whiteness as property is even more nuanced. These racist behaviors are seen as natural and ordinary, and I think it’s easy to miss how race/racism shape our institutions and our thoughts about who can occupy them (Lopez, 2003). This order influences and shapes the ways that racism is made manifest. When we begin to think about the ways that race and racism may be unknowingly shaping the collective conversations on RSS identities in higher education, we have to interrogate the meandering ways that race and racism influence how we think about RSS identities, including the ways that race and racism influence who counts as having RSS identities, which RSS identities are valued for particular racial groups, and we may also interrogate the ways that we think of RSS identities enabling students of color to resist and overcome racist campus environments. How might we begin to decolonize our racialized understandings of race, property, and RSS? How do we begin to think through the ways that the settler colonial project just really messes this up? Coming back to the U.S. educational context, Whiteness as property serves to influence curriculum as the de facto property of White students (Chapman,

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2013). How many times have we been taught that the United States is a Christian nation and how much more do we see this thinking play out in racist ways on college campuses? It makes plain the fact that guarantees certain rights as citizens. Here I think about my own journey in higher education. Ong (1999) speaks about the making of non-White immigrants into “cultural citizens” in Western democracies as the process of an “ideological whitening or blackening that reflects dominant racial oppositions and an assessment of cultural competence based on imputed human capital and consumer power in the minority subject” (p. 262). I cannot tell you how many times my own Christian faith, full of animism and other little Jamaican quirks, came under fire in college. Whiteness gives certain rights and makes people of color cultural citizens, and it is important to understand how these varying forms of citizenship influence how RSS identities are understood for people of color, especially in using the color line (or immigrant citizen line or the gender line) as a metaphor for analysis. Could we use a CRT lens in concert with critical and liberatory epistemological stances to be better able to understand the naming, performance, and theorizing around RSS identities in higher education? I am again drawn to trans-ing RSS. I know I got off tangent, but I want to understand your perspective here. —G

Grappling With One’s Role as a White Christian-Passing Colonizer in RSS Conversations and the Introduction of Trans Ways of Knowing Hey Gordon, Thank you for your vulnerability and depth in your letter. I agree that race and the history of giving indigenous land in the name of faith for slavery reparations is a history we cannot ignore. And it is also inevitably more nuanced, as you say. So, then, how can we be responsible stewards of this knowledge in RSS higher education research? How can RSS research contribute to the struggle for sovereignty without further erasure? In addition to your calls to higher education researchers, I would like to add the need that we may perhaps have to look at the ways race disrupted RSS sovereignty in the United States and how that shapes RSS identities and communities now. Because, also, when we talk about RSS research, it is not just individual identities, but community identities and understandings. As I contemplate my own racial history in this work, I ask myself: How do I come into this work as someone who has benefitted from settler colonialism? Where your ancestors were enslaved, mine (predominantly Spanish/Irish immigrants

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in the early 1900s) colluded with colonial masters. Being White, I benefited from the assumption that I owned the (often invisible or hidden) RSS curriculum in higher education. Being Christian passing, I was left unquestioned throughout my time in college—instead engaging in endless arguments where I defended LGBTQ+ rights with Christian doctrine—a religion I only pretended to have to make things easier in my current environment. But I was afforded this choice because of my Whiteness, and throughout my life I have played and fluctuated between invisibility and visibility to fight bigotry and feel safe. I feel a sense of resonance with Nicolazzo (2017) when she talks about how “coming out may not be a good choice for many depending on identities and contexts, which says less about our pride in our trans* identities, and more about the current state of systemic oppression in which we are embedded as people” (p. 17). In college, visibility did not feel safe in the face of religion, but I also think I have some responsibility based on my privileges to make the invisible visible. Perhaps, at one level then, the work for me as a colonizer is to make obvious how I have personally and collectively benefited from settler colonialism. Can I lift decolonization, attempt to decolonize the mind without claiming it? How do I give back and intentionally unclaim the land and yet concurrently claim and interrogate the privilege from which I benefit? I cite two-spirited people in indigenous ways of knowing to often prove that the intersection of RSS and trans/nonbinary (trans/NB) identity is not new and saying so is an act of settler colonialism (Cameron, 2005). Trans-ing-RSS therefore would be an act of decolonizing my way of thinking, but is that enough? It is a step, but my journey of decolonizing the way of entering into this work must be and should be so much more. Citing is representation, but representation is not social justice. Citing is not reparations. How can I engage in reparations in decolonizing RSS research in higher education specifically? For me, this means interrogating the way that settler colonialism is bolstered by “the normalizing and privileging of patriarchal heterosexuality and its gender and sexual expressions” (Driskill, 2011, p. 19). It is not the end game, but it is a step. And in my lifetime, taking steps toward collective liberation and decolonization is perhaps all I can do. Another one of your questions has been a source of meditation for me recently: How are we making sure we do not flatten these ideas? Because, flattening is nothing short of an epidemic in our field—“intersectionality” has become a buzzword rather than a systemic overhaul on our ways of knowing and being. Rather, as Stewart (2019) states, “If we are to build a socially just movement we must attend to the -isms within the -ism that may be our focus” (p. xiii). To me, this trans-ing RSS therefore means attending to the compulsory hetero-genderism and transphobia within religious oppression and the systemic power structures of RSS within transphobia and compulsory hetero-genderism. It is

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a sense-making exercise on RSS-related systems of oppression through a trans way of knowing. Trans ways of knowing are often embedded in the trans experience but are not necessarily intuitive or definitive. Rather than a monolithic narrative, trans ways of knowing are inherently multiplicitous. Although there are many trans theorists, one of the first illustrative cornerstones I typically use to connect to RSS in higher education is Nicolazzo’s (2017) work on trans epistemology 1 that I have previously mentioned in terms of visibility and invisibility. As Nicolazzo (2017) aptly states, “We all experience our trans*ness differently as a result of our varied, intersecting identities” (p. 7). Each of these unique intersections or what we will call social locations carry also their own unique interlocking systems of power and privilege. The social locations, therefore, are not simply societal positions but also societal positions that have sociopolitical and historical systemic reverberations. In another tenet of trans epistemology, Nicolazzo (2017) states, “In and through community with each other, we have the power to heal and remake ourselves as trans* people” (p. 7). This kinship building is not only healing, but it also helps gather a sense of meaning and power in trans people—components often reserved for the RSS parts of our lived experiences. What if instead we see trans kinship building as secular gathering belief spaces rather than something “counter” or “other than” or “opposed to” RSS spaces? Trans-ing RSS study in higher education, therefore, means pushing the boundaries of what is included. I think it is as Stewart (2019) says, looking at the -isms within the -isms and also, I would argue, the -isms, and -isms within that ad nauseam. Trans-ing RSS, to me, means imagining the infinitely possible, and I cannot help but place that alongside Driskill’s (2011) work on queer indigenous studies that opens with an invitation: “This book is an imagining” (p. 1). So what are you imagining? I want to hear more about CRT’s imaginings in RSS and the counterstories integral to this work. As always, thank you for your thoughts and openness. I appreciate your willingness to emotionally invest in this work. Because, perhaps, is there any other way to do it? —Curley

Extending Trans Ways of Knowing to Connect Decolonization, CRT, and RSS Through Counterstories Dear Curley, The connections among decolonization, CRT, and RSS are sure to be fruitful avenues for future research and conversations. I am still meditating on our collective journeys of understanding a space/or not space in decolonization. It is 1 I remove the asterisk here, although used by the original author because of the way “trans*” has been used to exclude me and others I hold in kinship from academic conversations on trans-ness.

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still a very humbling mind space to be in, and I hope we can talk more about this in the ways that we are coming to this, especially in how we are thinking about RSS in higher education. Reading your notes on trans ways of knowing was, as always, lovely. When you wrote about societal positions, I felt the deep and bodily reverberations that come with these sociopolitical and historical understandings. Understanding that social locations are inherently historic, and therefore capable of change, is something that we need to explicitly call out in higher education curriculum. Some scholars who examine teaching practices and curriculum in higher education note that these elements privilege certain epistemologies and practices rooted in Western conceptualizations of teaching and learning. One such critique comes from Giroux (1992), who questions if this focus “enables or silences the differentiated human capacities that allow students to speak from their own experiences, locate themselves in history, and act so as to create liberatory social forms that expand the possibility of democratic public life” (p. 90). In writing these back and forth to each other, I wonder just how many of these positions and understandings came about after my undergraduate experience. Challenging the framing of curriculum to include the voices of marginalized peoples and epistemologies is certainly a part of this conversation. This then changes how we understand and frame explorations of RSS in higher education. I was caught by this question, “What if instead we see trans kinship building as secular gathering belief spaces rather than something ‘counter’ or ‘other than’ or ‘opposed to’ RSS spaces?” I guess this caught my eye because I was wondering how trans kinship building is, or could be, intentionally opposed to RSS spaces (and maybe identity) in pursuit of justice. How are these messages construed, who sends them, and how do we collectively resist them? And in responding, because trans ways of knowing are multiplicitous, the ways of resistance, healing, and care are as well. Honestly, one of the things this brings up for me is anger or my wrestling with anger. I often wonder why we have to resist all the time and what it means for our work. This anger is tough, but I have some hope. Tatiana de la Tierra (2013) captured my own sentiments in her essay “Aliens and Others in Search of the Tribe in Academe.” She says, I have found that our deep-seated anger, a response to being belittled and virtually erased, is the fuel that ignites our work. . . . Yet I realize that we have to evolve beyond our eternal rage. We have to survive, be functional, stay out of prison, dream, dance, live in peace, know beauty. (de la Tierra, 2013, p. 366)

In turning our lenses on RSS in higher education, I think we might need to challenge the dominant narratives in RSS in higher education. One of these ways

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might be through counter storytelling in and about RSS spaces and identities in higher education. Counterstorytelling “aims to cast doubt on the validity of accepted premises or myths, especially ones held by the majority” (Delgado & Stefancic, 2001, p. 144). These narratives allow us to highlight the narratives of oppressed peoples and elicit silenced evidence in order to fight more readily for social justice. Counterstories also allow oppressed peoples to reveal and challenge the ways race and racism have affected their own journeys. I think it’s this use of counterstory that I connect to the ways that I would love for us to imagine what is possible in the RSS and higher education space. I think we can use our own counterstories to (re)imagine the ways that we exist in these RSS higher education spaces and to (re)imagine how our identities collectively exist alongside RSS. Through using counterstories in research and practice around RSS identities, we may be able to build a wealth of cultural practices, lenses with which to view the world, languages, stories, and styles with which to expand our understanding of the multitude of RSS identities. I think that part of our task in imagining is the formation of a new language, or maybe, we need to adapt language that currently exists to fit our own needs. I think that in (re)imagining this we might not only recognize the sociohistorical and changing nature of social location but that we see this as an asset, that (re)imagined reverberations of future RSS identities shake not only the shackles of the past but also ring in potential celebrations in the future. Through these stories of resistance, reclamation, and liberation, we may be able to collectively imagine how the field moves forward, and moves forward in a way that recognizes the dignity implicit in our collective and variously defined notions of RSS identities. —Gordon

The Case for Centering Power and Privilege in RSS Work Hey Gordon, I do want to believe that the power of our counterstories can dream a beautiful tapestry of sorts among trans epistemology, CRT, RSS, and higher education. I think a big part of this multidimensional endeavor for me is doing intersectionality in a way that surpasses the reductionist approach of just welcoming all RSS identities. Critical trans politics (CTP) lifts many tenets that can be applied to inspire change within the system of higher education. One of these assertions of particular note is that we need to stop just focusing on minimizing discrimination but instead move toward the transformation of systems to

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be more trans-inclusive (Spade, 2015). Pluralism orientations are intrapersonal qualities that seek to minimize discrimination but do not necessarily transform systems. To illustrate, even if everyone at a college or university holds a personal attitude and belief that all RSS identities should be able to coexist with one another, the historical and political privileges of Christian identities—such as something as blatant as the creation of the academic calendar—will not be de facto removed. The goal of pluralism and understanding (e.g., R. Nash, 2001; Patel, 2012; Rockenbach et al., 2017) or developing a sense of meaning (Astin, Astin, & Lindholm, 2010) as the primary goals in RSS studies in higher education do not explicitly acknowledge the power dynamics inherent in RSS differences. Beaman (2003) argues that pluralism itself is a myth. Religious pluralism purports that America is a religious marketplace, driven by consumers who make decisions about faith products based on rational choices about their needs, and the relative benefits and costs. There are two corollary assumptions that accompany this story, at least according to the current or “new” paradigm of thinking about religion in the United States (and to some measure Canada). The first is that such a marketplace is possible because there are no state-endorsed religions in America. The second is that the plethora of churches available to the Jamisons, and to the rest of us, represents religious diversity. (Beaman, 2003, p. 311)

However, as Beaman continues to argue, this “free-market” capitalistic view of RSS pluralism is impossible with the systemic privileging of Christianity (particularly mainline Protestantism) and that the United States may not be as “diverse” as we proclaim. It is only through the transformation of systems as Spade (2015) describes, therefore, rather than the minimization of discrimination, that RSS equity in the United States can be achieved. Historically and contemporarily, the way we do research on trans/NB people pathologizes and further marginalizes trans/NB people (Serano, 2016; Stryker, 2017). In higher education specifically, trans/NB people are often characterized as a “problem to be solved” (Marine, 2011, p. 1182). I think that is why to this day I still find myself apologizing for the difficulty of accommodating a nonbinary person and avoiding correcting others misgendering me during interviews. The body of knowledge on RSS identities and experiences, therefore, in higher education are inherently regimes of cis-normativity and gender oppression and must be interrogated to dismantle compulsory oppositional sexism and hetero-genderism. It is because of this position that I must actively disagree that privilege and power cannot and should not be the primary focus in interfaith work as other scholars have suggested (Patel & Meyer, 2019). In other words,

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we cannot blindly accept all the traditions and bodies of knowledge on RSS studies in higher education without also recognizing and challenging the way this “knowledge” may have served to enforce the gender binary and White supremacy. In not making privilege and power the primary focus, we are instead simply reinforcing the current inequities. The most prominent RSS ideologies in the United States (as defined by Pew Research Center, 2014) do not recognize anything outside of biologically male or female sexes, and two completely separate genders: man and woman (Bockting & Cesaretti, 2001; Kidd & Witten, 2008). This binary feels all too similar to the religious and spiritual vs. secular binary. Not surprisingly, the RSS identities of trans/NB individuals have not readily aligned with most current RSS research conceptualizations (Kidd & Witten, 2008). Kidd and Witten (2008) demonstrated that trans/NB people struggle with the “standard” (as in widely used and dominant) RSS surveys centered in Christian approaches to belief systems and rituals. Perhaps due to the way researchers study this intersection and instances of discrimination in the RSS community itself, trans/NB identified members are found to weaken their ties to formal religious institutions (Bockting, Knudson, & Goldberg, 2006). I know this was true for me—even today as I identify with the often explicitly LGBTQ+-affirming RSS communities such as Unitarian Universalism and Paganism, I have struggled to find a space in person or virtually that fills me. The sacred then becomes mountains, becomes queer/trans poetry readings at local coffee shops, and yes—the sacred even becomes dancing in the face of anger at a queer bar among chosen family after #PulseOrlando. Because as I feel de la Tierra (2013) describes, the sacred can be resistance, and the sacred can even be spaces of unbelievable survival because sometimes even just going to a gay bar is a revolutionary act. I find myself returning again to this idea of trans-ing RSS categories. Since I and many trans/NB individuals are not bound to a formal RSS association, we are challenging the false religious/secular and religious/spiritual binaries in RSS groups as seen in Ammerman (2013). If I am describing trans-ing RSS as breaking these binary conceptions to trans, or move beyond the bounds of, the RSS categories themselves, then what if we also trans the way we think about social location? What if using CTP, trans-ing RSS can also mean recognizing the sociohistorical power structures embedded in the study of RSS in higher education? Trans-ing RSS, therefore, to me, means looking beyond intersecting identities and foregrounding the systems of RSS privilege and oppression and the resulting dance of all those people carving new spaces in resistance to the dominant narratives. I do not think this necessitates imagining and creating exactly but instead uncovering—and, can I say decolonizing?—these counterstories into the foreground of the way we frame RSS in higher education. In

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trans-ing RSS categories, therefore, I would seek to open and make the study more fluid in its conception and less regulative in terms of what “truly is” RSS related—which is often to say those things that think, look, and act like Christianity. But is this enough? Or perhaps that is not the right question; is this at least the right direction? —Curley

Moving From Thinking to Action by Transforming Systems and Our Foundational Knowledge Curley, As I glance back through these notes, it seems like just yesterday we began this journey and, in some ways, it feels like this is a conversation we will need to continue having as we move forward. I am left with far many more questions than answers, and this troubles me. We have both mentioned when we are together and actually written down “what-if ” statements. I think we need to move from the “what-ifs” to “this needs to happen.” This brings me back to CRT and the tenets of CRT. One of these, the critique of liberalism, aims directly at notions of incremental change in favor of transformational sweeping change to address racism. Let me flesh this out a bit. CRT critiques liberalism through interrogating three pillars of liberalism: “the notion of colorblindness, the neutrality of the law, and incremental change” (DeCuir & Dixson, 2004, p. 29). I am going to focus on a couple of these here: the notion of color-blind racism and incremental change. I am going to start with color-blind racism first and then link it to and incremental change. Bonilla-Silva (2006) describes color-blind racism as an ideology through which “whites rationalize minorities’ contemporary status as the product of market dynamics, naturally occurring phenomena, and blacks’ imputed cultural limitations” (p. 2). This iteration of racism serves to silence those it marginalizes without naming this silence; it also does not showcase those that it privileges. When we turn this understanding to our work with RSS identities in higher education, CRT prompts us to think about the ways that our work silently marginalizes people of color, marginalizes people of color with nondominant RSS identities, and privileges White Christian identities. It’s important, I think, that we think about our work as silently marginalizing people. CRT also critiques notions of incremental change because addressing racism requires sweeping change and liberalism has now a good way of producing those changes (Ladson-Billings, 1999). Additionally, notions of incremental change aim for equality and not equity, which is not

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sufficient when it comes to addressing the ills of racism in the United States. When we turn this lens onto RSS identities in higher education, we are pressed to examine the ways that out aims of equality (e.g., interfaith orientations, worldview, etc.) need to be reimagined as aims for equity. CRT demands that we move from constructions of RSS identities, theorizing, and practice steeped in liberalism to more sweeping and transformative work. This brings me to how you frame and think through the pluralism, not actually transforming systems. Our understandings of pluralism are not driven by a desire based on equity but simply a desire to minimize what wrong we think we are doing by normalizing the status quo. I again think this is where we can begin to think through counterstory. In writing, listening to, and otherwise engaging with counterstories, we can expand our understanding of RSS identities in higher education. Through these stories of resistance, reclamation, and liberation, we may be able to collectively imagine how the field moves forward, and moves forward in a way that recognizes the dignity implicit in our collective and variously defined notions of RSS identities. I also think this is how we get at your point of also recognizing sociohistorical power structures that are foundational to the actual study of RSS in higher education. When we use narrative, we key into some important parts of the human condition. Narrative methodology and narratives are ancient ways to communicate vital parts of the human experience. A narrative methodology pays attention to and transcends “temporal, contextual, cultural, and social boundaries” (Huber, Caine, Huber, & Steeves, 2013, p. 216). Time, context, culture, and social location matter in narrative in that through them we can highlight the particular slices of life (read: the temporal, contextual, cultural, and social boundaries of the matrix of oppression) that make up RSS identities. Narratives are temporal in that we make sense of how past events have been endowed with meaning as they change with time. Narratives are cultural in that there is an interaction between the individual and the larger cultural makeup of a society. Narratives are contextual in that there are specific contexts in which experiences are imbued with meaning (Clandinin & Connelly, 2000). The temporal, contextual, cultural, and social aspect of narratives (e.g., counterstories) means that we can use them in our work to uncover the base of the work. We can historize the way we have thought about racialized and gendered RSS identities in higher education, we can uncover the ways that higher education and the campus context have marginalized and silenced folks outside of its “traditional” populations, we can look to see how larger cultural narratives and myths have oppressed particular racial and gender identities in RSS studies in higher education, and we can transgress the social boundaries in these things. It may not be pretty, but I do think it is necessary if we have any hope of making higher education context one that does not reproduce inequity and, harkening back to Giroux (1992), expands the possibility of democratic life.

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Your last points are where I am prompted to write more forcefully than I guess I have so far. I don’t know if what we’re are proposing so far is necessarily enough. I guess we need to communicate, and communicate it powerfully, that the study of RSS identities needs to be radically reimagined if we are to have any real hope of changing how we study RSS in ways that mirror higher education generally and the United States more broadly. I think reimagination is the absolute baseline in trying to figure out ways that we can shift focus from Christian hegemony to understanding how RSS engagement and identity operates for a broader range of students in higher education temporally, contextually, culturally, and socially. Additionally, we need to figure out ways that we can find out more about within-group differences (as some scholars are already doing beautifully; see Drs. D-L Stewart, J.T. Snipes, and Keon McGuire work, for example) in RSS practices. Through doing this kind of work, the field is better equipped to understand a diversifying student population, better equipped to address the needs of a variety of students, and, hopefully, better able to engage in necessary and difficult conversations that spur the action needed to improve the RSS lives of students on campus. The actions necessary in this would likely involve opening the definition of what “counts” as RSS and how we then study and make meaning of RSS in higher education. —Gordon

A Call to Action: Trans-ing RSS Categories Can Be Both Political and Systemic Gordon, Yes; I wrote that question rhetorically and somewhat facetiously, but I do not think it is enough either. And also, how can we completely reimagine in such a way that people in all their stories can be enough as humans while concurrently also interrogating what is. This requires a radical and—I would argue—oftentimes nonrecognizable transformation instead of the incremental change to which we are accustomed and socialized in the academy of higher education specifically. At best, the transformative reimagining will also be unrecognizable to the postpositivist academic lens and dominant ways of knowing in higher education. I liken it to the experience of my father making me watch every other Titanic movie ever made before watching Leo and, consequently, telling everyone I hated everything about that movie except for how well they depicted the ship sinking. Part of trans-ing the categories in RSS and what “counts” in higher education RSS research necessitates examining the temporal, contextual, cultural, and

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social aspects of narratives at play. In addition to the scholarship you name, I also want to add scholarship outside of higher education that interrogates the way that the study of queer RSS identities and experiences can also been used at times to support White supremacy and how we can reimagine new roots of knowing. RSS experiences are shaped significantly by race and ethnicity in such a way that the decolonization of RSS understandings is critical for working with trans/NB communities of color, including RSS communities with origins in people of color’s lived experiences (Henderson-Espinoza, 2013; Johnson, 1998; Phillips & Stewart, 2008; Smithers, 2014). In his discussion on queer identities and the Black Church, Johnson (1998) highlights the queering of the sacred and secular as a means of reconciling church doctrines and queer identities. Nightclubs where DJs intermingle church gospel music and more traditional club music can emerge as sacred spaces for queer Black Christians. Not only does this practice trans and break the secular/spiritual divide, but it also begins to challenge the dominant Christian morality of the divide between the sacred and the erotic. Outside of instances seen in Christianity, Tinsley (2018) uses the Vodoun spirit of Ezili Freda to challenge and decolonize the way one thinks about RSS and queer studies. Tinsley (2018) argues that in the Vodou tradition, different and new expressions of Black, queer genders are sacred manifestations. Johnson and Tinsley not only challenges hegemonic RSS practices but also offer the critique that the embodiment itself of queer people of color can be sacred. These narratives are contextual, cultural, and social. This is a part of what Muñoz (1999) termed disidentification: the practice of queer people of color (specifically and to all queer people more broadly) to disidentify with parts of cultural norms while not totally discarding particular parts of that culture altogether. This type of study not only attends to within-group differences but even within individual temporal and contextual differences. This negotiation results in queer people transforming their culture’s norms. Disidentification allows for a nuanced affiliation and identification with a specific RSS belief system for those on the margins of sexual, gender, and racial dominant cultures to push back (Muñoz, 1999). The result is an act of resilience and the transformation of systems about which both Nicolazzo (2017) and Spade (2015) talk. Muñoz’s (1999) concept of disidentification invites the possibility of interrogating the ideological confines of RSS studies without abandoning the beliefs, practices, and ideologies of that specific RSS component altogether; allowing narratives to be enough while concurrently fighting against the colorblindness of pluralism and inequitable pushes for equality. Also matching your more directed language, the alternative, dominant RSS frameworks in higher education—unintentionally and often unconsciously—reify RSS inequities through the focus on beliefs and doctrines that are central to dominant denominations of Christianity and ignore other aspects of religion and spirituality to the category of “cultural”

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experiences. This relegation of experiences and categorization erases racial and gender nuances to one’s religious and secular experiences. This may include more secular, and/or humanist, understandings, such as spiritualities outside of normative Christianity, or alternative understandings, as exemplified through the making of sacred spaces within drag-and-ball-scene culture(s; Schippert, 2011). By othering those experiences and identities as cultural rather than RSS related, I believe we risk creating false representations of sameness in RSS higher education research. As we wrap up this dialogue for now, I am energized by this tapestry of thought and multimodal investigation of RSS research and scholarly inquiry in higher education. I am also drawn particularly to the suggestion of better infusing critical religious thought into this inquiry. Critical religious thought looks at the functionalism of RSS and one’s hermeneutics of suspicion (Martin, 2017). Essentially what Martin (2017) and the field of critical religious studies are researching, therefore, is how RSS identities function in society; how much RSS identities shape what people think, say, and do; and to what extent does one believe other RSS identities to be wrong or less than one’s own. As I think about capturing this quantitatively (a place where I often wrestle), I think about measuring these metrics regarding RSS in higher education. Categories are value-laden and without challenging numbers and normative constructions of knowledge, we will never be able to dismantle the power structures in higher education (Gillborn, Warmington, & Demack, 2018; Nicolazzo, 2017; Spade, 2015). Through weaving narrative with quantitative inquiry, I believe we can collectively wrestle with the historical foundations of this work and the ways the history is presently affecting the ways in which we theorize and imagine RSS identities in higher education. The collective work and critical quantitative inquiry, therefore, is not a passive recognition of settler colonialism, racism, and the multiplicative metaphorical manifestations of the color line (e.g., transphobia, ableism, etc.); it is the active intervention against and resistance to these forces. Critical RSS quantitative inquiry is not letting numbers speak for themselves and is using the temporal, contextual, cultural, and social aspects of narratives and numbers to develop methods, analyze, and interpret stories. In this way, RSS identities are no longer monolithic outcomes in themselves but instead are social locations attached to a system of power that has sociopolitical implications. The rethinking of RSS is no longer religious pluralism and sameness nor necessarily interfaith orientation, but an investigation into how systems of power and privilege related to how RSS identities and communities play out in the social sphere and within groups. In so doing, a critical RSS theory of higher education, again, concurrently lifts the importance of RSS belief systems while not preferring one type of belief or practice

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or doctrine (since even the importance or existence of each varies across RSS groups) over another (King, Goldstein, & Boyarin, 2018; Martin, 2017). I think this third space (invoking both Bornstein, 1994; Soja, 1996) holds considerable promise for the future of RSS higher education research and praxis. Cheers to collective imaginings! I now simply want to shout around higher education conferences inviting people to come play in this metaphorical sandbox. Come play with me? We will likely take the sand out in the grass or question the utility of sand altogether. Crash the Titanic! Too soon? Sounds fun, amiright? —Curley

Concluding Thoughts Dear Reader, The centering of privilege and power in RSS research, theory, and practice in higher education is at the nexus of decolonization, CRT, CTP, queer theory, and trans ways of knowing. As we have written these notes, we have realized that this requires us to wrestle with our current terminology and definitions to seek out the ways that our language marginalizes folks. Frankly, we are still concerned with how we name these ideas. Even more so we have come to personal conclusions and wrestling that make us question our own roles in this process as scholars and practitioners. How does systemic oppression influence the way we have and will make sense of RSS identities, communities, and systems in higher education? What and who is included as valid in U.S. normative discourses on the RSS in higher education? And, if we need to challenge this as we argue, then what does a CRT trans-informed study of RSS in higher education need to build on? What are the foundations and what are those assumptions and structures that we need to decolonize and critique before we build? We need to examine the historically oppressive legacies that make up our epistemological standpoints. We have to face the ways in which we are individually and collectively complicit in marginalization and then strive to connections between decolonization, CRT, and RSS that liberate our thinking. The functional, social, and emotional implications of RSS identities and communities can and should not be ignored nor collapsed into Euro-Christian narratives focused on beliefs and doctrines and the space between them and the dominant ways of being religious based on White, biblical, settler-colonial, cis-normative beliefs and practices. Centering these norms and comparing those different to it creates a false dichotomy and erases the experiences of marginalization due to RSS identities and systems. These questions we pose are only the beginning of transforming this work toward collective liberation. It is also a necessary

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emergent (re)birth. We invite others to (re)build and (re)think what we have always thought as given truths and solid foundations. Then, moving the necessary step further: What are the ways we can operationalize this research and praxis into actions of collective liberation? This radical reimagination also requires radical action; we hope you come join us and play. With a whole lot of critical love, Curley and Gordon

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Martin, C. (2012). A critical introduction to the study of religion. Bristol, CT: Equinox Publishing. Martin, C. (2017). A critical introduction to the study of religion (2nd ed.). New York, NY: Routledge. Muñoz, J. E. (1999). Disidentifications: Queers of color and the performance of politics. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Nash, J. C. (2008). Re-thinking intersectionality. Feminist Review, 89(1), 1–15. Nash, R. J. (2001). Religious pluralism in the academy: Opening the dialogue. New York, NY: Peter Lang. Nicolazzo, Z. (2017). Imagining a trans* epistemology: What liberation thinks like in postsecondary education. Urban Education. https://doi.org/10.1177/0042085917697203 Nongbri, B. (2013). Before religion: A history of a modern concept. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Nye, M. (2008). Religion: The basics (2nd ed.). New York, NY: Routledge. Ong, A. (1999). Flexible citizenship: The cultural logics of transnationality. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Orsi, R. A. (2007). Between heaven and earth: The religious worlds people make and the scholars who study them. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Patel, E. (2012). Sacred ground: Pluralism, prejudice, and the promise of America. Boston, MA: Beacon Press. Pew Research Center. (2014). Religious landscape study. Retrieved from Author website: http:// www.pewforum.org/2015/05/12/americas-changing-religious-landscape/ Phillips, L., & Stewart, M. R. (2008). “I am just so glad you are alive”: New perspectives on non-traditional, non-conforming, and transgressive expressions of gender, sexuality, and race among African Americans. Journal of African American Studies, 12, 378–400. Rockenbach, A. N., Mayhew, M. J., Correia-Harker, B., Dahl, L., Morin, S., & Associates. (2017). Navigating pluralism: How students approach religious difference and interfaith engagement in their first year of college. Chicago, IL: Interfaith Youth Core. Rockenbach, A. N., Mayhew, M. J., Kinarsky, A., & Interfaith Youth Core. (2014). Engaging Worldview: A Snapshot of Religious and Spiritual Climate. Part I: Dimensions of climate and student engagement. Retrieved from https://www.ifyc.org/resources/engaging-worldview-snapshot-religious-spiritual-campus-climate Schippert, C. (2011). Implications of queer theory for the study of religion and gender: Entering the third decade. Religion and Gender, 1(1), 66–84. Schlehofer, M. M., Omoto, A. M., & Adelman, J. R. (2008). How do “religion” and “spirituality” differ? Lay definitions among older adults. Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion, 47, 411–425. Serano, J. (2016). Whipping girl: A transsexual woman on sexism and the scapegoating of femininity (2nd ed.). Berkeley, CA: Seal Press. Smithers, G. D. (2014). Cherokee “two spirits”: Gender, ritual, and spirituality in the native south. Early American Studies: An Interdisciplinary Journal, 12, 626–651. Soja, E. W. (1996). Thirdspace: Journeys to Los Angeles and other real-and-imagined places. Cambridge, MA: Blackwell. Spade, D. (2015). Normal life: Administrative violence, critical trans politics, and the limits of law (Rev. ed.). Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Stewart, D-L (2019). Foreword. In D. Mitchell, J. Marie, & T. L. Steele (Eds.), Intersectionality & higher education: Research, theory, and practice (2nd ed., pp. xi–xiv). New York, NY: Peter Lang. Stryker, S. (2017). Transgender history: The roots of today’s revolution (2nd ed.). Berkeley, CA: Seal Press.

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Tinsley, O. N. (2018). Ezili’s mirrors: Imagining black queer genders. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Tuck, E., & Yang, K.W. (2012). Decolonization is not a metaphor. Decolonization: Indigeneity, Education and Society, 1(1), 1–40. van der Kooij, J. C., de Ruyter, D. J., & Miedema, S. (2013). “Worldview”: The meaning of the concept and the impact on religious education. Religious Education, 108, 210–228. https:// doi.org/10.1080/00344087.2013.767685 West, C., & Zimmerman, D. H. (1987). Doing gender. Gender & Society, 1, 125–151. https:// doi.org/10.1177/0891243287001002002

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CHAPTER TWO

Critical Interfaith Praxis in Higher Education: The Interfaith Collective Issac M. Carter, Adonay Montes, Beatriz Gonzalez, Zandra Wagoner, Nancy Reyes, and Veronica Escoffery-Runnels

Introduction Religion plays a significant role in our college campuses, as ethnicity and religion are axes within the intersections of the matrix of domination (Collins, 2009). Violence targeting faith communities and interreligious conflicts concerning race, gender, sexuality, and nationhood spur tensions within multiple-faith communities. Interfaith work is both a response and a remembering of the role of faith in the pursuit of life, liberty, and happiness. Interfaith studies is a growing field of interdisciplinary study in higher education that supports dialogue and direct action on our campuses and in our communities. Essential to the framework for this chapter are the concepts of being critical and praxis. Being critical is a reflexive process that confronts normative and dominant modes of thinking as well as seeks liberation from current oppressive power relations. Collins and Bilge (2016) assert that “critical means criticizing, rejecting, and/or trying to fix the social problems that emerge in situations of social injustice” (p. 39). Critical theory includes theories such as Black feminism, critical race theory, and intersectionality (Leavy, 2017). In our study, the term praxis draws from Freire’s (1970) Pedagogy of the Oppressed and describes the term as the intentional actions that people take to transform our society. A critical interfaith praxis is hybrid and intersectional, possessing the power to navigate one’s faith traditions, religious doctrine, and multiplicity of identities without statically privileging one identity or belief or another. In this chapter, we explore and identify the components of students’ critical interfaith praxis.

Emerging Narratives in Interfaith Studies The current strategies and methods for interfaith engagement in higher education have been significantly developed by Interfaith Youth Core (IFYC) and its founder, Eboo Patel (2013, 2016, 2018; Patel & Meyer, 2009, 2011). Drawing on the work of Alexis de Tocqueville

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(2018), David Campbell (2000, 2012), and Robert Putnam and David Campbell (2012), Patel and IFYC have foregrounded the practices of association in American civil life and the important role interfaith engagement has played in building social networks, social cohesion, and social capital. Patel’s and IFYC’s method is centrally informed by the social science research conducted by Putnam and Campbell (2012), which shows that having a positive relationship with someone from a different religious group significantly correlates with having not only positive attitudes about that religious group, in general, but also positive attitudes toward people of many different religions. In addition, Pew and Gallup data (Pew Forum on Religion and Public Life, 2010), suggest that those who know information about a particular tradition have a more favorable attitude toward that religious group. Taken together, Patel and IFYC have developed a method for interfaith engagement that highlights the importance of developing appreciative knowledge, meaningful relationships, and positive attitudes across religious identities, which alleviate prejudice and increase understanding. At the heart of this method is increasing one’s interfaith literacy (developing appreciative knowledge about traditions, interfaith histories, and ethics/theologies of interfaith cooperation) and employing strategies of bridge building, association, working together on common actions, and finding shared values in the service of deepening pluralism and social cohesion. This relational, civic, and bridge-building practice has significantly influenced and cultivated interfaith movements in higher education. As it has taken root, student affairs professionals, academics, chaplains, students, researchers, and practitioners are deepening, expanding, and questioning its methods and strategies. For example, student affairs professionals developing standards for religious diversity offices have aligned best practices with their profession’s commitment to equity and diversity (Kocet & Stewart, 2011). In a recently published handbook for student affairs, Kathleen M. Goodman, Mary Ellen Geiss, Eboo Patel, Cindi Love, and Kevin Kruger (2019) distinguish between the social justice approach of student affairs and the relational approach of interfaith cooperation. The work of Burchell, Lee, & Olson (2010) do not make this distinction and argue that authentic religious engagement is impossible without explicitly addressing issues of power and privilege. Additionally, recent training developed by student affairs and religious life professionals note that interfaith literacy must include an understanding of the historical and contemporary interconnections among religion, culture, politics, and social life. Promoting equity requires a complex understanding of worldviews as inherently nuanced, internally diverse, embedded in culture, and implicated in power relations (Ennis, 2017). Likewise, the burgeoning field of interfaith/interreligious studies is beginning to articulate the necessity of critical pedagogy for a transformative discourse that serves all persons in a multiracial, multireligious America. This includes careful attention to the weight of America’s history as a White Christian nation (Allocco, Calussen, & Pennington, 2018; Hill Fletcher, 2019; Jones, 2018; Mikva, 2018.). Allocco, Calussen, and Pennington (2018) argue that students must not only be able to recognize and explain religion and interreligious encounters as embedded within cultural, political, and economic systems

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but that they must also consider “the roles of Western colonialism and Christian missions in establishing the very racial, ethnic, national, and religious identities that structure the contemporary social order and the interfaith movement itself” (p. 47). It is rare for intersectional issues and identities to openly surface in interfaith encounters. As an interdisciplinary field that seeks to have a practical application, the development of an interfaith space where people do not need to ignore important parts of their identities to participate is needed. The necessity of employing a critical praxis to interfaith contexts so that students are adept at noticing and critically analyzing how race, class, gender, sexuality, theology, colonialism, nationality, and history have an impact on the makeup of interfaith spaces (del Vecchio & Silverman, 2019; Mikva, 2018). To foster a critical interfaith praxis, not only considering the current trends and methodologies but also exploring the margins are important. Who is being left out of the discussions, and why? Who are leading these developments, and why? What are the theoretical models needed to comprehensively address the needs of emerging interfaith scholarship and practice? In this chapter, we foreground the narratives of students engaged in interfaith projects to begin to consider these questions and develop new modes of inquiry and analysis in connection with critical theory and praxis.

Theories and Methods of a Critical Interfaith Praxis Critical theories and methodologies serve as models of inquiry and analysis necessary to explore the intersecting elements of “power relations,” “religious belief and practice,” and “marginalized identities” influencing students’ of color interfaith practices in higher education institutions. Exclusive of a critical lens, the absence of people of color (POC) at interfaith leadership table reinforces systems of oppression by supporting White privilege (Eichler, 2011). The lived experiences and narratives of the rapidly approaching new majority must be prioritized; otherwise, the spirituality of marginalized groups and communities of color are silenced or rendered invisible as a result of historical and contemporary colonial arrangements of race, gender, class, and sexuality. A critical interfaith praxis acknowledges how systems of oppression impact educational structures, practices, and dominant narratives and aims to reestablish cultural ways of knowing to foster self-determination and authentically engage in social justice projects.

Decolonizing Methodologies Our first task toward a critical understanding of an interfaith practice begins with research. Linda Smith (2012), in Decolonizing Methodologies, critiques Western modes of classification and categorization of people, places, and social phenomenon. Instead,

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she articulates a need to research back, in the community with the traditions of talking back and writing back (Smith, 2012, p. 7). Researching back is a “recovery of ourselves”; it is a recognition of our past(s), locally and globally. Researching back is resistance to marginalization and the binaries of the West. Researching back is the articulation of counternarratives that are repeated and shared among a chorus of diverse populations intent on improving the current conditions of society. The concept of researching back is foundational to our study as the participant demographics of our interfaith students differ greatly from national data of students engaged in interfaith work. The students in our study included Latina/o (50%), African American (21%), White (14%), Asian American (7%), and Arab American (7%) students. For comparison, in a national study (2016 Interfaith Diversity Experiences & Attitudes Longitudinal Survey IDEALS), of more than 20,000 interfaith students, 60% of participants were White. Smith’s (2012) Decolonizing Methodologies challenges the Western modes of research, arguing that Westernized research regulates the rules of disciplines and scientific inquiry in support of dominant, hierarchical hegemonies. Therefore, the criticality involved in documenting interfaith praxis begins with the research methods utilized and how we write academically about research. Smith (2012) asserts that research and writing are a nonneutral affair, as they frame our approaches, priorities, and relationship between Western society and the other. The relationship between Smith’s concept of decolonizing methodologies contextualizes the significance of the need to decolonize not only methods in the exploration but also writing narratives from interfaith populations to not inscribe Western modes of knowing and being on underrepresented populations doing interfaith work. This chapter features student narratives outside dominant systems of knowledge production by foregrounding the voices of marginalized interfaith community members and their lived experiences.

The Margins Besides decolonized methods of research and writing, having a shared language is also important for critical interfaith praxis. bell hooks (1989), in “Choosing the Margins as a Radical Space for Openness,” sites “language as a space place of struggle” (p. 16). hooks (1989) argues that oppressed people must take language seriously, as words and thoughts inform our actions. Furthermore, “The oppressed struggle in language to recover ourselves, to reconcile, to reunite, to renew. Our words are not without meaning, they are an action, a resistance. Language is also a place of struggle” (p. 16). Providing a voice and language for the marginalized is another core component of critical interfaith praxis. The margins from hooks’ perspective is a vantage point with a distinct advantage for marginalized groups. hooks (1994) reflects on her life growing up on the other side of the tracks in her small Kentucky hometown:

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We look both from the outside in and from the inside out. We focused our attention on the center as well as on the margin. We understood both. This mode of seeing reminded us of the existence of a whole universe, a main body made up of both margin and center. (p. 20)

Again, critical theories are important in creating a common language or common tongue to develop a shared language of repression and resistance. Being marginalized is a complex space that produces hegemonic and counterhegemonic discourse, knowledge, and ways of being (hooks, 1994, p. 20). Prioritizing the cultivation of a critical common language is another key element for developing critical interfaith praxis. Furthermore, critical theories and methods inform self-reflection and aids in reconciling the incongruences prompted by the hegemonic subordination of POC and other oppressed groups in higher education and society at large.

Critical Theories Equipped with holistic insight from the margins and an understanding of the need for shared language, critical theories inquiry and analysis inform a critical interfaith praxis. Both critical race theory (CRT) and Intersectionality in education, offer a common heuristic and linguistic frameworks to speak about and challenge oppression. “CRT is conceived as a social justice project that works towards the liberatory potential of schooling” (Yosso, 2005, p. 74). Intersectionality is a form of inquiry, analysis, critique, and actively seeks to understand the complexity of the world, including how the organization of power shapes the multiple identities of the human experience (Collins & Bilge, 2016). Thus, CRT and intersectionality reject the dominant ideologies professed by Whiteness, coloniality power, and privilege by the centering of counternarratives and lived experiences of students of color (Solórzano & Yosso, 2001). Singer (2019) emphasizes the need to decenter Whiteness in interfaith work to build solidarity among the religious diversity of POC: For interfaith engagement to become a norm in American higher education, historical systems and structures that privilege White religiosity must be exposed, dismantled, and replaced with new systems and structures that are developed in solidarity with People of Color. (p. 77)

Within educational complexes, critical theories examine how interlocking systems of oppression affect the educational experiences of both students of color and other marginalized groups. Critical means “criticizing, rejecting, and/or trying to fix the social problems that emerge in situations of social injustice” (Collins & Bilge 2016, p. 39). Power is an axis point in critical analysis that spans across four domains: structural (financial

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and educational institutions), disciplinary (legal system), cultural (mass media) and interpersonal (power and privilege), and multidimensional aspects of identity. CRT and Intersectionality centers the experiences of POC and provides a language to examine the complexities of identity, relations, and power toward the realization of social justice commitments. The student narratives in our study demonstrate how interfaith students resolve the tensions regarding race, religion, and other forms of oppression.

Internal Struggle Racial and religious bias is extensively studied in higher education and reflects the inequities in our larger society. Sandoval (2000), in Methodology of the Oppressed, shares that “all social orders hierarchically organized into relations of dominance and subordination create a particular subjective position within which the subordinated can legitimately function” (p. 54). However, she also avows that once recognized, the position of subordination can be transformed into sites of resistance. Gloria Anzaldúa (1999), in Borderlands/La Frontera, reminds us that the struggle and resistance to dominant society may be outward-facing, but it is the inner struggle we must reconcile. Anzaldúa (1999) states that “nothing happens in the ‘real’ world unless it first happens in the images in our heads” (p. 109). Mestiza consciousness is the term used to describe the inner struggle that promotes recognition of one’s subordination. Similar to hooks’ concept of “the margins,” the mestiza consciousness takes an inventory of the baggage one has inherited, then works to deconstruct and transform one’s conscious into one that is empowered and oppositional to domination (Anzaldúa, 1999, p. 104). A mestiza consciousness is inherent to critical interfaith praxis as it implies and informs a new mode of subjectivity developed under conditions of multiple oppression. Anzaldúa’s (1999) concept of mestiza consciousness mirrors the diversity and inclusivity goals of a critical interfaith praxis: “We come from all colors, all classes, all races, all time periods. Our role is to link people with each other-the Blacks with Jews with Indians with Asians with whites with extraterrestrials. It is to transfer ideas and information from one culture to another” (pp. 106–107). A critical interfaith praxis must attend to the internal conflicts to be the best versions of ourselves in the world. The internal conflict fuels the fight for justice in our society because interfaith practitioners are not immune to systematic discrimination. Critical interfaith praxis focuses its attention both inward and outward in ongoing reflective practice toward interfaith understanding and cooperation. Understanding that the internal struggle is not just an individual struggle but is also a collective struggle is important. The collective nature of the internal struggle supports the realization of assets shared among marginalized and communities of color. Yosso (2005) defines Community Cultural Wealth (CCW) as “an array of knowledge, skills, abilities and contacts possessed and utilized by Communities of Color to survive and resist macro and micro-forms of oppression” (p. 77). Yosso’s model of cultural wealth

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challenges traditional interpretations of cultural and social capital. CCW shifts the lens away from a deficit view of communities of color and centers the aspirational capital of POC. Yosso’s (2005) definition of aspirational capital is as follows: Aspirational capital refers to the ability to maintain hopes and dreams for the future, even in the face of real and perceived barriers. This resiliency is evidenced in those who allow themselves and their children to dream of possibilities beyond their present circumstances often without the objective means to attain those goals. (pp. 77–78) Aspirational capital is in accord with both the insight from the “margins” and “mestiza consciousness.” The ability to conceive the world beyond one’s current condition or the community’s conditions drive the efforts of critical interfaith praxis. CCW also includes linguistic, familial, social, navigational, and resistant forms of capital and aspirational capital weave together each form into a dynamic multidimensional cultural capital that POC can leverage and transform their experiences, as well as interfaith communities. Yosso’s (2005) findings assert that the intersections and overlapping aspects of forms of cultural wealth are crucial to navigating oppressive barriers.

Toward a Critical Interfaith Praxis A critical interfaith praxis emerges from what has been left out, marginalized, or silenced through both academic research methodology, as well as interfaith initiatives that have excluded POC from leadership within these spaces. CCW is an indispensable framework for analysis and action that gives voice to the intersectional interests of colonized and marginalized communities engaged in interfaith work. A critical interfaith praxis embraces multiplicity and finds comfort even among contradictions and ambiguities; it expresses a willingness to wrestle with the internalized paradoxes and the external forces of power. Criticality necessitates uncomfortability and the use of critical theories and funds of knowledge to navigate all spaces present in higher education agencies. Figure 2.1 illustrates the integrated relationships of decolonizing methodologies, critical theory, mestiza/ margin consciousness, and CCW. Bringing these various theories together, in this way, to articulate what is a critical interfaith practice is intentional. A common positionality is central to each Figure 2.1. one of these vital theories. CRT shares a

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lineage with intersectionality; the mestiza, with the margins; and decolonizing methods, with CCW. All can be said to have a shared critical feminist origin, influenced by priorities such as lived experience, radical subjectivity, spiritual agency, dialogue, interconnectedness, and multiple identities. A critical interfaith praxis is both a continuation and a remembering of ways of knowing and being outside of Western and colonial constructs that seeks to bring together people and cultures together by respecting their heterogeneity and fostering mutuality. The narratives we feature demonstrate the innate and applied use of critical theory and community cultural wealth in interfaith engagement.

Students’ Critical Interfaith Praxis University campuses of the 21st century are no longer characterized by religious homogeneity. Students, faculty, and staff across campus hold many beliefs and faith commitments (Puett, 2005). This heterogeneity affects the spiritual and religious dimensions of campus climate (Bryant, 2008) and can complicate student development initiatives due to the complex nature of higher education’s relationship with religion and spirituality (Chery, Deberg, & Porterfield, 2011). The intersections of religion, spirituality, and interfaith in higher education have significant implications for how we approach student learning, how we sustain student development, and how we support their thriving in colleges and universities. The student narratives for this chapter originate from a larger research project on interfaith work within higher education. These narratives provide insight into the learning opportunities interfaith engagement provides for students to engage in critical interfaith practices. Higher education environments exemplify the landscape students need to engage and contribute to a diverse world, allowing students to explore other dimensions of difference. The student voices in our project display the impetus for engaging in critical interfaith work and its connection to the respondents’ imperative for social justice, the validation of familial sociocultural backgrounds, and the motivations for more generally contributing to society and demonstrating success. These narratives provide insight into the significant critical learning spaces interfaith engagement provides in support of developing a critical interfaith praxis. By using critical frameworks, we understand students’ spiritual growth and agency in the service of helping students find meaning in their quests to establish a critical praxis reflecting personal authenticity that integrates family, community, race, and local/global connectedness and access communal cultural wealth. These three elements of interfaith practice are explained next in greater detail through samples of students’ lived experiences.

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Margins/Mestiza Consciousness First, a critical interfaith praxis necessitates a critical consciousness as students search for and development of a sense of self outside of dominant structures. It is an examination of their identity and cultural history, as well as their acknowledgment and appreciation of their intersectional identities as they process their spiritual growth. For instance, the following student quote illustrates personal authenticity is informing the development of critical consciousness: So I don’t know like parts of ways like I feel like as a Black person who knows like any history at all about Black people it’s kinda hard to be like I’m a full hearted Christian but my people wouldn’t have been Christian if it had not been for like Europeans and our influence and our action and so like for me for a long time I was like ehhh I don’t know like if it wasn’t for slavery I wouldn’t be a Christian but Black people would be a lot better off so like I don’t know like I had struggled with that but then I feel like now like I feel like you kinda just gotta chalk it up to like if God wanted Christianity to get to Africa he was gonna get it there whether it was by the whip of a White man or whether it was by his own intervention and so I feel like for Black people race and religion like Black people and Hispanic people as well people who have experienced any sort of like mass negative influence from an outside race or religion or anything (coughing) I feel that religion has to be a big deal in our lives. . . . So I feel like in the Black community religion is like the superglue that holds an entire race of people, who would have gone crazy without it together because I know many Black people who if they not have found out they’d be dead, doin’ whatever like who knows what. I feel like race to Black people is like their superglue to where even if you don’t believe in God you know somebody who does that you’ll turn to when you need a prayer in that moment, that’s how I feel.

The importance and influence of the interpersonal, social, and cultural context of students’ development as they explored their connectedness to others in their social spheres in light of their spiritual selves allow for an exploration of their identities and connectedness to self and others through grounded relationships (Mayblin, Valentine, & Andersson, 2016). The internal conflicts created by dominant ideologies is directly linked to the development of what Anzaldúa (1999) called mestiza consciousness and of what hooks (1989) called internal and external insight and is a product of the social context and many complex relationships. The internal conflicts each individual may experience in a critical practice of interfaith is managed through their original set of funds of knowledge along with their cultural capital and wealth. Interfaith development and practice allow for the individual to sort through their cultural inventory and baggage as they engage with others in an array of diverse and intersectional environments.

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The narrative demonstrates an understanding of the Black Church historically and politically and the student’s connection to its history in the current day, as well as an understanding of how religion has shaped the experiences of Latinos in America and abroad. Through the framework of intersectionality (Collins & Bilge, 2016), the ability to identify and understand social context as particular historical, cultural, and political arrangements, as well as the complexity of these relationships, reveals how intersectionality helps with understanding the development of a student’s sense of self. Also, this excerpt conveys the importance of religion and how the intersections of race and religion are dynamic and continuous in struggles against racism.

Global Connectedness Second, the practice of global connectedness reflects the reality that the individual is not the sole actor in the drama of human development. It is an acknowledgment that no single relationship can satisfy the casting needs for the drama of our becoming (Mayblin, Valentine, & Andersson, 2016). As such, the importance of the quality of interaction between the self and the social world is significant. The following quote illustrates the theme of global connectedness relative to the development of a critical interfaith praxis: I was working with ELD population. ELD stands for English Language Development, so essentially, I was working with immigrant youth, most of them from Latin American countries, most of them refugees, although our country refuses to acknowledge that label. That’s a different conversation. It was interesting because I had this like misconception, or this perception of them, as all having Catholic backgrounds being from Latin American countries, and would kind of like buddy up to them like, “Oh I know about Catholicism too,” like kind of use that as a point of relation to them, like a way to relate to them, and a student said, “What are you talking about? I’m Mormon,” like a little Salvadorian boy, and I was like, “What?” I didn’t even know Mormonism existed in El Salvador and it’s not like I’m completely ignorant to El Salvador, like I’ve been there. I’ve been to El Salvador and my mom was married to a Salvadorian. My brother is half-Salvadorian, like I know a thing or two about Salvadorian culture and I mean I’m not an expert and it’s not my culture to claim but I was so thrown, and it was like a moment of . . . like umm, oh yeah I can’t just like, this knowledge I have gained in college is applicable everywhere like you can’t just make assumptions about anyone in any space no matter what you think know about them unless they confirm that for you so umm, yeah. It was awakening for sure.

This student’s narrative investigates the reflections and lessons learned when working with immigrant populations. Furthermore, it reveals the necessity of being open

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to having one’s beliefs challenged and the importance of community in cultivating knowledge. Examining the student’s narrative of connectedness exposes the reflective process of understanding one’s various social identities relative to their corresponding communities, including local, familial, and global communities, and their engagement leads to opportunities to understand self within the context of local and global imperatives. CRT develops anti-essentialized systems of knowledge and action, emphasizing no attribute or experience can be used globally to describe a group of people (McCoy & Rodricks, 2015). Critical interfaith engagement calls for participants to not only embrace the multiplicities of identities but to also embrace differences and heterogeneity without the need to arrange them into binaries or hierarchies.

CCW Third, the practice of CCW reflects students’ acknowledgment of the various forms of capital they have gained and possess through the connection to their home communities. Also evident is an appreciation for the cultural wealth that has affected their views, feelings, and actions relative to the growth of their spirituality. The following quote illustrates the importance of this theme: I found myself thanking my grandma for raising me in the [Catholic] tradition that she did, the only tradition that she knew. It was my inheritance, and we were so giving, our family growing up like if someone needed a place to live, we would house newly immigrated folks. We just had a room for them; we fed them; it was like we were always serving the church. I learned to serve through her; I learned to host through her; I learned to make people feel welcome, to give people back their humanity through her, and there are no words to really grasp the depth of that, but it’s something that I learned to see. I don’t know why I’m so emotional right now.

These interactions spoke to the student’s acknowledgment of connections to cultural wealth through familial capital, and from these kinship ties, we learn the importance of maintaining a healthy connection to our community and its resources (Auerbach, 2001, 2004; Elenes et al., 2001; Lopez, 2003; Reese, 1992; Yosso, 2005). These interactions also promote a complex understanding of the world and the power relations that inform these relationships, in this case, new immigrants to the United States joining both a church and an ethnic community (Collins & Bilge, 2016). Using CRT, the student’s narrative illustrates a critical understanding of place and the use of the geographic tactic, counterspace, to create a community for new immigrants while navigating the dominant group’s place (McCoy & Rodricks, 2015). A critical geographic place is related to how new immigrants often lack the power or resources to create spaces of empowerment and community for themselves, although the church community and individual families cultivated a counterspace for new

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immigrant (oppressed) populations within the confines of dominant group structures and institutions. Insurgent- and asset-based modes of inquiry, analysis, and action ground the development of critical interfaith practices and bode well in countering the dominance of Whiteness and property rights in relation to building community.

Future Implications and Recommendations In American higher education today, many assumptions exist as to the level of student interest and engagement in interfaith work. Commonly, at secular universities, some cite the separation of church and state as grounds for not fully addressing issues of interfaith. Others may assume a dearth of interest on the part of students to discuss interfaith work. However, multiple scholars have demonstrated the presence and importance of spiritual development and its connection to personal student empowerment/social activism and connections to students’ communities. (Astin, Astin, & Lindholm, 2011; Morgan-Consoli, Delucio, Noriega, & Llamas, 2015; Patton & McClure, 2009). Interfaith practices provide students with the much-needed intersectional conditions to critically explore aspects of their identities otherwise unvalidated and devalued by homogeneous dominant scripts. A few recommendations for the creation of interfaith spaces of success include, but are not limited to, the development of student learning outcomes that include critical theory, CCW, and decolonizing methodologies. That students adopt a mode of thinking, being, and reflection that is critical and asset-based is essential. Second, interfaith spaces working with students to identify social justice opportunities on their campuses and in their communities is important. Fostering dialogue and interactions is a traditional approach to interfaith programs and services; however, absent collective action and reflection, the potential impact of interfaith work is limited. A third recommendation is to build research and scholarship into interfaith programs. Interfaith is developing into an interdisciplinary scholarly practice, and promoting continued research that is decolonized and intersectional is important. As practitioners dedicated to holistic student development, we have a recognition that spirituality is fundamental to students’ lives (Astin, Astin, & Lindholm, 2011) and that their arrival to college is a necessary time for the development of spirituality (Bryant, 2008). Most important, students are aware of their various social identities and how those identities have had an impact on their view/ orientation/motivation and interaction in a new and evolving local and global society.

References Allocco, A. L., Calussen, G. D., & Pennington, B. K. (2018). Constructing interreligious studies: Thinking critically about interfaith studies and the interfaith movement. In E. Patel, J. Howe Peace, & N. Silverman (Eds.), Interfaith-interreligious studies: Defining a new field (pp. 137–146). Boston, MA: Beacon Press.

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Anzaldúa, G. (1999). Borderlands: La frontera. San Francisco, CA: Aunt Lute Books. Astin, A. W., Astin, H. A., & Lindholm, J. A. (2011). Assessing students’ spiritual and religious qualities. Journal of College Student Development, 52, 39–61. http://dx.doi.org/10.1353/ csd.2011.0009 Auerbach, S. (2004) From moral supporters to struggling advocates: reconceptualizing parent involvement through the experience of Latino families, paper presented at annual meeting of the American Educational Research Association. San Diego, CA. Auerbach, S. (2001) Under co-construction: parent roles in promoting college access for students of color, unpublished doctoral dissertation, University of California, Los Angeles. Bryant, A. N. (2008). Assessing contexts and practices for engaging students’ spirituality. Journal of College and Character, 10(2). DOI: 10.2202/1940-1639.1074 Burchell, J. A., Lee, J. J., & Olson, S. M. (2010). University student affairs staff and their spiritual discussions with students. Religion & Education, 37, 114–128. Campbell, D. (2012). The Disappearing God? Religion in the 2008 Presidential Election. Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion, 51(1), 195–196. Campbell, David. (2000). Social Capital and Service Learning. Political Science & Politics, 33(3), 641–646. Chery, C., Deberg, B. A., & Porterfield, A. (2001). Religion on Campus. Chapel Hill: The University of North Carolina Press. Collins, P. H. (2009). Another Kind of Public Education. Boston: Beacon Press. Collins, P. H., & Bilge, S. (2016). Intersectionality. Malden, MA: Polity. de Tocqueville, A. (2018). Democracy in America. Retrieved from http://tocquevillefoundation. org/overview/ del Vecchio, K., & Silverman, N. J. (2018). Learning from the field: Six themes from interfaith/interreligious studies curricula. In E. Patel, J. Howe Peace, & N. Silverman (Eds.), Interfaith-interreligious studies: Defining a new field (pp. 137–146). Boston, MA: Beacon Press. Eichler, H. (2011). Interfaith dialogue, structures of discrimination and call. Retrieved from http://www.stateofformation.org/2011/01/interfaith-dialogue-structures-of-discriminationand-call/ Elenes, C. A., Gonzalez, F., Delgado Bernal, D. & Villenes, S. (2001) Introduction: Chicana/ Mexicana feminist pedagogies: Consejos respeto, y educación. International Journal of Qualitative Studies in Education, 14(5), 595–602. Ennis, A. (2017). Teaching religious literacy: A guide to religious and spiritual diversity in higher education. New York, NY: Routledge. Freire, P. (1970) Education for critical consciousness. New York, Continuum Publishing Company. Goodman, M. K., Geiss, E. M., Patel, E., Love, C. & Kruger, K. (2019). Educating about religious diversity and interfaith engagement: A handbook for student affairs. Sterling, VA: Stylus Publishing. Hill Fletcher, J. (2018). The promising practice of antiracist approaches to interfaith studies. In E. Patel, J. Howe Peace, & N. Silverman (Eds.), Interfaith-interreligious studies: Defining a new field (pp. 137–146). Boston, MA: Beacon Press. hooks, b. (1989). Choosing the margins as a radical space for openness. Framework: The Journal of Cinema and Media, 36, 15–23. Retrieved from http://www.jstor.org/stable/44111660 Interfaith Youth Core. (2019a). Bridge. Retrieved from https://www.ifyc.org/bridge/library Jones, R. P. (2018). The challenge of pluralism after the end of White Christian America. In E. Patel (Ed.), Out of many faiths: Religious diversity and the American promise (pp. 113–132). Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.

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Kocet, M. M., & Stewart, D-L (2011). The role of student affairs in promoting religious and secular pluralism and interfaith cooperation. Journal of College and Character, 12(1) DOI: 10.2202/1940-1639.1762 Leavy, P. (2017). Research design: Quantitative, qualitative, mixed methods, arts-based, and communitybased participatory research approaches. London, England: Guilford Press. Lopez, G. (2003) Parental involvement as racialized performance, in: G. Lopez & L. Parker (Eds) Interrogating racism in qualitative research methodology (pp. 71–95). NY: New York. Peter Lang Publishing. Mayblin, L. l., Valentine, G., & Andersson, J. (2016). In the contact zone: Engineering meaningful encounters across difference through an interfaith project. Geographical Journal, 182, 213–222. McCoy, D. L., & Rodricks, D. J. (2015). Critical race theory in higher education: 20 years of theoretical and research innovations. ASHE Higher Education Report, 41, 1–117. Mikva, R. S. (2018). Six issues that complicate interreligious studies and engagement. In E. Patel, J. Howe Peace, & N. Silverman (Eds.), Interfaith-interreligious studies: Defining a new field (pp. 137–146). Boston, MA: Beacon Press. Morgan-Consoli, M. L., Delucio, K., Noriega, E., & Llamas, J. (2015). Predictors of resilience and thriving among Latina/o undergraduate students. Hispanic Journal of Behavioral Sciences, 37, 304–318. Patel, E. (2013). Sacred ground: Pluralism, prejudice, and the promise of America. Boston, MA: Beacon Press. Patel, E. (2016). Interfaith leadership: A primer. Boston, MA: Beacon Press. Patel, E. (2018). Out of many faiths: Religious diversity and the American promise. Princeton, MA: Princeton University Press. Patel, E., & Meyer, C. (2009). Engaging religious diversity on campus: The role of interfaith leadership. Journal of College and Character, 10(7), 1–8. DOI: 10.2202/1940-1639.1436 Patel, E., & Meyer, C. (2011). The civic relevance of interfaith cooperation for colleges and universities. Journal of College and Character, 12(1), 1–9. Patton, L. D., & McClure, M. L. (2009). Strength in the spirit: A qualitative examination of African American college women and the role of spirituality during college. Journal of Negro Education, 78(1), 42–54. Pew Forum on Religion and Public Life. (2010). U.S. religious knowledge survey. Washington, DC: Pew Research Center. Puett, T. (2005). On transforming our world: Critical pedagogy for interfaith education. Cross Currents, 55, 264–273. Putnam, R., & Campbell, D. (2012). Amazing grace: How religion divides and unites us. New York, NY: Simon & Schuster. Reese, L. J. (1992) Ecocultural factors influencing the academic success of young Latino students, unpublished doctoral dissertation, University of California, Los Angeles. Rockenbach, A. N., Mayhew, M. J., Correia-Harker, B. P., Dahl, L., Morin, S., & Associates. (2018). Best practices for interfaith learning and development in the first year of college. Chicago, IL: Interfaith Youth Core. Retrieved from https://www.ifyc.org/sites/default/ files/resources/IDEALS_20182.pdf Rockenbach, A., Riggers-Piehl, T., Garvey, J., Lo, M., & Mayhew, M. (2016). The influence of campus climate and interfaith engagement on self-authored worldview commitment and pluralism orientation across sexual and gender identities. Research in Higher Education, 57, 497–517.

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Sandoval, C. (2000). Methodology of the oppressed. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Singer, K. (2019). For interfaith engagement to succeed, White religiosity must seek solidarity with people of color. Journal of College & Character, 20(1), 77–83. Smith, L. T. (2012). Decolonizing methodologies: Research and indigenous peoples (2nd ed.). London: Zed Books. Solórzano, D., & Yosso, T. (2001). Critical race and LatCrit theory and method: Counter storytelling Chicana and Chicano graduate school experiences. International Journal of Qualitative Studies in Education, 14, 471–495. Yosso, T. (2005) Whose culture has capital? A critical race theory discussion of community cultural wealth, Race Ethnicity and Education, 8(1), 69–91. DOI: 10.1080/1361332052000341006

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CHAPTER THREE

Waking Up in the Classroom: Buddhist Epistemologies as a Path Toward Decolonization of Higher Education Suzanne E. Schier-Happell It is the readiness of the mind that is wisdom. —Zen Master Shunryū Suzuki, in Zen Mind, Beginner’s Mind (1970/1995, p. 115)

Christian Privilege and Religious Pluralism on Campus In spite of U.S. colleges and universities being more religiously and spiritually diverse than they ever have been before (Seifert, 2015), religious pluralism remains a challenging topic to navigate in educational settings for a number of reasons: •

The potential for conflict

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Insufficient training among faculty and staff in skilled facilitation of nontheological discussions about religious belief and religious difference

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An increasingly polarized religious and political landscape in the United States

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A commitment to secularism—or at least neutrality—at many institutions, especially those that are public

Although interest in promoting “diversity” in our institutions has been growing, until recently, these discussions have focused primarily on race, ethnicity, gender, sexuality, and socioeconomic status while limiting their focus on religion (Beckerman & Zembylas, 2017; Small, 2015). In the introduction to Making Meaning: Embracing Spirituality, Faith, Religion, and Life Purpose in Student Affairs, Small (2015) makes a direct appeal in response to the limited attention historically paid to religious pluralism on college campuses: “Both as contributing members of society and as leaders of social change, higher education professionals have a responsibility to engage in this discussion” (p. 1).

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Over the past 10 to 15 years, there has been a shift in the scope of available literature on the plurality of students’ identities and experiences, and scholarship regarding religion and spirituality in higher education has grown (Small, 2015). This recent uptick in the scholarship related to students’ religious and spiritual identities certainly marks a step forward in the field of higher education, but the legacy left by prior decades of scholarly neglect remains. Inadequate attention to the role of religion in our institutions has left the dominance of Christian worldviews underexamined compared to other forms of social privilege, leaving the widespread entrenchment of Christian privilege in higher education underchallenged (Edwards, 2018). The dominance of Christian paradigms is understandable when the majority culture is so overwhelmingly scaffolded by Christian worldviews. The Religious Landscape Study conducted by the Pew Research Center (2015) reports that a whopping 70.6% of Americans self-identify as Christian. After accounting for the 23.4% who are either unaffiliated or “don’t know” how they self-identify, 5.9% remain in the “Non-Christian Faiths” category, 0.3% in “Other World Religions,” and finally, 1.5% in “Other Faiths” (which includes indigenous spiritual traditions). On the surface, this study confirms that Christianity is, of course, the religious identity claimed by the majority of Americans—but also consider the organization of the report. The religions described in the findings are divided into “Christian,” “Non-Christian,” and miscellaneous “Others.” In this organizational structure, Christianity remains centered as the primary named referent, while everything else is relegated to marginal status—literally “others.” This hierarchical positioning of center and margins, with the Christian majority situated at the center in a way that feels natural while minoritized others reside in the margins, directly reproduces the power dynamics associated with settler colonialism and provides a key illustration of how Christian privilege acts in the public sphere. Christian privilege in higher education may be easily identifiable in certain areas with high visibility: building university holidays around the Christian calendar, communal religious spaces being marked with Christian symbolism, the weekly class schedule’s accommodation of the Christian Sunday sabbath, or prayers at university ceremonies being offered in Christian language (Mutakkabir & Nuriddin, 2016). McKinney and Zannoni (2015) identify “structures, systems, curricula, and relationships” as potential sites of religious conflict in schools (p. 3). As such, it may be tempting for the majority to avoid conflict by turning a blind eye to religious bias, tacitly accepting the status quo. However, Mutakkabir and Nuriddin (2016) argue that to combat Christian privilege in our educational institutions, “textbooks must be revisited [and] public education curriculums must reflect the growing diversity of the American public” (p. 12). Although such suggestions are indeed important and necessary, they are not enough. Institutional attempts to resist openly centering Christianity are not the same as actually dismantling Christian privilege. Decolonizing our educational institutions requires more than merely expanding curriculum, changing textbooks, bringing in speakers, or acknowledging a wider range of religious holidays. Although such initiatives do succeed

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in bringing visibility to a greater number of religious identities—which is certainly valuable—they are also problematic in that they create the appearance of inclusion but one that remains only at the surface. Is acknowledging the existence of belief systems beyond Christianity enough to promote religious equity? The problem with initiatives such as curriculum expansion or textbook revision is that they still only work on a conscious level. The most influential forms of privilege are not in the places we can easily see; this is what makes them so powerful. We cannot simply combat them with isolated training and activities. Well-intentioned initiatives, such as diversity training, release participants back into the world feeling “woke” enough that they no longer see themselves as part of the problem—effectively confusing bias with privilege and misidentifying individual open-mindedness as the remedy. Rather, we must expose hidden privilege and then seek to dismantle the colonially produced paradigms that support and maintain those hierarchical structures—a task which is beyond a simple workshop or a single individual (Mohanty, 2003). As such, the work that must be done to bring greater religious equity in higher education resides at the structural level, beyond the firewall of textbooks, training, and cultural events. Critical race theorists argue that the most persistent and pervasive forms of social privilege are not overt but rather lay quietly buried beneath what appears to be normal, seemingly benign day-to-day life (Delgado & Stefancic, 2000; Gillborn, 2015). As such, being “not racist” is different from being antiracist, because the not-racist person still accepts the status quo, while the antiracist challenges it. In this sense, the invisibility and implied neutrality of social structures that support and sustain racial privilege actually end up serving to protect them and ensuring their continuing influence (Heilig, Brown, & Brown, 2012; Lopez, 2003). A similar dynamic exists with regard to religious privilege as well; being “open-minded” and “inclusive” does nothing to expose the systems of privilege in which we are embedded and, as such, permits the ongoing dominance of the majority. But gaining access to the hidden gears that drive religious privilege is not a simple task. Such deeply embedded privilege is often difficult to see precisely because it is so deeply embedded. This begs the questions, then: How can Christian privilege be made apparent? How can that which is invisible be rendered visible so that it may be seen, acknowledged, and then (hopefully) addressed? This is especially challenging on the epistemological level, as we must become aware not just about what we know but also about how we know what we know and then somehow identify the ways that Christian paradigms condition that knowledge. The college classroom is a natural site in which fields of knowledge may be contested. In her discussion regarding “pedagogies of dissent,” Chandra Talpade Mohanty (2003) writes: Radical educators have long argued that the academy and the classroom itself are not mere sites of instruction. They are also political and cultural sites that represent accommodations and contestations over knowledge by

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differently empowered social constituencies. Thus teachers and students produce, reinforce, recreate, resist, and transform ideas about race, gender, and difference in the classroom. (p. 194)

I argue that an effective way to expose this epistemological privilege is to shift the frame of reference away from that of the dominant group and then to replace it with a competing religious framework which challenges the majority’s way of seeing the world. As such, in this chapter, I engage Buddhist epistemological frameworks that challenge normative assumptions about teaching, learning, and knowing in mainstream U.S. college classrooms, ultimately revealing areas of unrecognized Christian privilege at the epistemological level. Prinsloo (2016) argues that the decolonization of higher education will require scholars to “confront the dominance of the Eurocentric canon in the academy and their complicity in marginalising epistemic traditions that take [indigenous] context[s] seriously” (p. 164). To transform our institutions, teachers, researchers, and other higher education professionals must take seriously multiple ways of being in the world, viewing competing systems of knowledge as equally authentic as Eurocentric forms.

Decolonizing Higher Education From Christian Paradigms At first glance, an observer may question the value of merely replacing one religious epistemology with another, even as an exercise. Would that not merely shift the locus of privilege from one tradition to another? Although this concern is reasonable, this entire question shows the way Christianity has conditioned cultural assumptions about the way all religion works. Buddhism and Christianity are not analogous systems, so a mere replacement is impossible. The terminology itself—even the use of the word Buddhism or the idea of Buddhism as a discrete entity—is a colonial product. The entire question is flawed. The term Buddhism is not, in fact, a word generated by Buddhists themselves but, rather, a term coined by Europeans; internally, the tradition merely describes itself as a broadly accessible path to knowledge, not a limited, self-contained “-ism” at all (Rinpoche, 1999). This insider–outsider naming phenomenon is not unique to Buddhism; for example, using the word Hinduism to refer to traditional Indian spiritualities has only been in use since the 1820s, when British colonizers needed a single word to describe a wide range of unique, vibrant, geographically specific spiritual traditions (Flood, 1996). In their work on subalternity and indigeneity, Byrd and Rothberg (2011) discuss the problem of “incommensurability,” referring to the ways Western scholars have used colonially produced lenses to understand phenomena among marginalized groups. The categories used to build knowledge, then, are often inappropriate and incompatible with indigenous ways of knowing, rendering the entire body of colonially produced knowledge inaccurate and inauthentic. In the case of religion, there is incommensurability present not only in the way the majority culture thinks and talks about religion but also

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even in the way that culture names religion in the broadest and most basic terms. As such, one could argue that even using the word Buddhist is problematic and remains tied to colonial bias. However, this problematic terminology should not be a deterrent. Rather, when acknowledged, this incommensurability becomes generative. The absence of neat and tidy lines preventing us from aligning Christian and Buddhist traditions well enough to effectively compare them is precisely the point. The spiritual world does not operate within the parameters set by Christian paradigms. Assumptions of universality, of comparability, of compatibility between “other” religions and Christian worldviews, are an expression of Christian privilege and confirmation of epistemological dominance. However, there are many ways to know, many ways to learn, and many ways to define what knowledge means. Buddhist traditions offer an ideal framework through which to reexamine, expose, and, consequently, decenter Christian privilege in our academic institutions for several reasons. As a nontheistic spiritual tradition (neither confirming nor denying a higher power), Buddhism is uniquely positioned to provide an epistemological system that is compatible with both religious and secular ways of knowing, thereby creating space for the sacred without actually requiring it—and without endorsing any particular religious worldview. Additionally, as a nonexclusivist tradition (meaning that Buddha did not claim his path as the only way to attain enlightenment), Buddhism also creates space for multiple ways of being in the world as there are multiple points of entry for meaningful truth-seeking, as the essential truth is “beyond language and culture” and “beyond tradition,” even as it “relies on culture, on language and tradition for its preservation and transmission” (Rinpoche, 1999, p. 54). As such, multiple identities, experiences, and means of communication are vehicles that are all equally capable of carrying students toward understanding and awareness, which means many ways of being are equally legitimized. The monotheism (“there is only one God”) and exclusivism (“there is only one correct way to believe”) that mark Christianity implicitly shape ideas about how knowledge works and what can be known. These beliefs give rise to a paradigm in which one way is right, to the exclusion of all other possibilities. Therefore, a hierarchy of knowledge is created in which power and privilege are assigned to that which conforms to the dominant narrative. This contrasts with the inherent pluralism of nontheistic epistemologies, which allow for multiplicity and decentralization in a way that monotheistic epistemologies find difficult to accommodate.

Knowledge, Objectivity The assumed objectivity of Western scientific knowledge serves to suppress and delegitimize ways of knowing based in other systems, according to Hamilton, Subramaniam, and Willey (2017). They argue that Western scientific inquiry is rooted in a racist and imperialist

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epistemological framework, allowing colonially produced knowledge about the world around us—including the ways we organize that knowledge—to be taken as both natural and neutral. As such, scientific knowledge is not merely descriptive but actually prescriptive as well. It encompasses not only what to see but also how to see—and what is even capable of being seen. In presenting such imperialist frameworks as objective and self-evident, science actively constructs and reproduces colonial ways of knowing about ourselves and the world we inhabit—and also dismantles the authority of competing systems of knowledge. Hamilton et al. (2017) explicitly tie Christian privilege to this overall dynamic: Indeed, as Ramón Grosfoguel argues, “epistemic racism and epistemic sexism” buttress modern civilizational logics, which characterized non-Western people as closer to animality, as intellectually inferior, and as incapable of rationality. In this sense, we can think of colonial Christianity as participating in both an “epistemicide” and a “religiouscide” as colonial logics lead to the extermination of non-Western spirituality and ways of knowing. (p. 616)

In Decolonizing Educational Research, Patel (2016) echoes the harmful effects of presumed objectivity in Western scientific study, as “these referents of objectivity and neutrality . . . are nestled in settler logics” (p. 49). In contrast to the principle of connectedness—and interconnectedness—that underlies not just Buddhist but also a number of indigenous worldviews, traditional Eurocentric research methods position the researcher outside of that which is studied, creating a subject–object dynamic. If there is “good information,” then the identity of the researcher is irrelevant, and the data should be replicable by any other skilled researcher. The significance of the knower lies in their training, technical skills, and precision—not in who they are or how they are as a human being—and the goal of researchers is to gain knowledge about something outside of themselves. To Patel (2016), a significant aspect of decolonization lies in rejecting the principle of neutrality and personal separation from that which one wishes to know. Denzin, Lincoln, and Giardina (2006) refer to a brand of “methodological fundamentalism” that characterizes many Eurocentric research models, in which objectivity and empiricism are valued over that which is personal and relational—in effect, privileging quantitative over qualitative research and embracing the supposed dichotomy of “hard” versus “soft” science. Researchers in this vein often refer to the elevation of socalled evidence-based research as the “gold standard” in the Eurocentric academy as a means of discrediting alternative methods and epistemologies, as the direct implication is that all other research (particularly qualitative) lacks hard evidence and therefore lacks validity—“a strongly political and non-objective stance” (Denzin et al., 2006, p. 770). This privileging of the quantitative and its supposed objectivity reinforces existing power structures within the academy while also discrediting the relational ways of learning and knowing on which decolonization is dependent. In only legitimizing data-driven

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quantitative research, this perspective “ignores the contexts of experience. It turns subjects into numbers” (Denzin et al., 2006, p. 772), resulting in a dehumanization of the other—a dynamic upon which power and privilege depend for their continued survival. In contrast to this external focus, Buddhism frames the pursuit of knowledge as a journey inward. The Dzogchen Ponlop Rinpoche (1999), a Tibetan Buddhist teacher, describes Buddhist education not as a practice of turning outward to objectively describe external phenomena but, rather, as a means by which students may direct their learning inward to recognize their “true nature” (p. 52). In fact, even the idea of an objectively knowable external universe is incompatible with Buddhist ways of knowing: “The objects that we perceive as being outside of us are actually closer than they appear. They are not appearances outside of us, but instead reflections of our mind” (Rinpoche, 1999, p. 52). In Buddhism, the physical world that we perceive with our senses is limited, illusory (maya), a reincarnational prison, the locus of brokenness and suffering. To mistake this temporary world for what is ultimately real and to imagine that truth can be captured within the limited construct of language is to remain asleep.

The Commodification of Knowledge Although Patel (2016) notes that “the pursuit of knowledge in racist capitalist settler societies . . . is intricately tied to market forces” (p. 53), Rinpoche explicitly places Buddhist educational systems outside of the transactional capitalist model that increasingly pervades our educational institutions. There are many ways in which economics and education are intricately tied to one another in Eurocentric environments, including the cultural commodification of education. In higher education, as tuition rises and student debt increases, knowledge becomes a (high-priced) good to be bought and sold; hence, the acquisition of knowledge assumes a transactional quality. Knowledge is a “land” to be occupied by elites, a resource whose acquisition should result in upward social mobility, a greater attainment of material wealth, and a consolidation of social hierarchies, given the inequity of access to higher education. In fact, students themselves often become resources to be harvested, as they become the objects of a disciplinary “land grab” to claim majors and minors. Freshmen constitute unclaimed space as departments stand ready to plant flags in their soil. The Christian language of evangelism and conversion pervade much of the discourse on winning over students for one program or another. Neoliberal underpinnings of present-day higher education serve as an extension of colonial worldviews, with resource acquisition being the central priority (Mohanty, 2003). Buddhist teacher Rinpoche (1999) actively rejects a capitalist consumerist educational model, clarifying that “we are not paying institutions to buy wisdom or to buy knowledge. Knowledge and wisdom can’t be bought. They are not outside; they are already within us” (p. 55). The view of knowledge as an external commodity is directly

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opposed to traditional Buddhist understandings, which situates knowledge within the realm of experience and egolessness. The Second Noble Truth in Buddhism states that suffering and brokenness stem from the attachments we form to the material world around us, as the impermanence of the physical world causes grief and sorrow. The Dhammapada, chapter 14, verses 186 and 187, read: 186–187. Not even with a shower of gold coins Would we find satisfaction in sensual craving. Knowing that sensual cravings are suffering, That they bring little delight, The sage does not rejoice Even in divine pleasures. One who delights in the ending of craving Is a disciple of the Fully Awakened One. (Fronsdal, [Trans.], 2006, p. 50) As such, the path to wisdom, compassion, and awareness lies not in the acquisition of social status or possessions, but rather in the ability to source our happiness from within us, not from outside of us, and to release our craving for material wealth. In the release of craving, true wisdom may arise in the form of compassion for and connection to all beings. Therefore, Buddhism presents a decidedly anticapitalist model for the goal of education and disrupts the neoliberal justification for education strictly as a means to a professional and/or financial end. It also stands in opposition to the individualism and egocentrism that so deeply pervade a capitalist orientation. By ceasing to focus strictly on paradigms that privilege capitalism and individualism, the resulting awareness becomes accessible to all people, not just the elite. Chapter 8, verses 100 to 102, of The Dhammapada read: 100. Better than a thousand meaningless statements Is one meaningful word, Which, having been heard, Brings peace. 101. Better than a thousand meaningless verses Is one meaningful line of verse Which, having been heard, Brings peace. 102. Better than reciting a hundred meaningless verses Is one line of Dharma Which, having been heard, Brings peace. (Fronsdal, [Trans.], 2006, p. 27)

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By shifting the focus from how much one knows to how well one knows—sincerity and intention gaining key importance—elitist hierarchies are leveled; every person gains equal access to the opportunity to “wake up” and emerge from ignorance. This principle is deeply compatible with the goal of creating more justice-centered classrooms in which students of all backgrounds, abilities, and statuses are equally valued and equally capable of high achievement. .

Prajñāpāramitā: Intuitive Wisdom Patel (2016, p. 50) makes a distinction between research and knowledge, highlighting not only what we do/can know but also what we do not and cannot know. This idea can be placed in conversation with Buddhist distinctions between knowledge (jñāna) and what English speakers may imperfectly refer to as wisdom (prajñāpāramitā). Although knowledge is associated with the head—with an intellectualization of increased awareness—prajñāpāramitā, rather, lies in the heart. “Wisdom,” Rinpoche (1999) writes, is “compassion; it is genuine love, genuine caring” (p. 55). Venerable Tripitaka Master Hsuan Hua (2002) describes prajñāpāramitā in this way: What is meant by “prajna paramita?” “Prajna” is often referred to as intuitive wisdom. Prajna awakened or realized is “paramita,” which means “reaching the other shore.” Intuitive wisdom transcends all the dialectics and analytical processes of reasoning, characteristic of our discriminating mind. Intuitive wisdom goes beyond the world of the senses and the intellect . . . [and] perceives the whole instead of being distracted by the parts. (p. xx)

The ultimate goal of prajñāpāramitā is the transcendence of self and an awareness of interconnection, a rejection of the siloing of knowledge and of the need to describe all understanding with language and logic. In educational settings, how well are intuitive ways of knowing validated or even encouraged? As we consider our means of learning assessment, how comfortable are we with metrics that are not easily quantifiable? In Epistemologies of the South: Justice Against Epistemicide, Santos (2014) argues that all forms of knowledge which cannot be easily described and communicated (“intuitions, emotions, affections, beliefs . . . the world of the unsayable”) are discounted as “unimportant or dangerous,” even an “illusion,” in such imperialist epistemological systems (p. 5). Referring to “imagination,” “introspection,” “questioning,” and “spiritual practice,” Buddhist teacher and activist Joan Halifax (1999) writes: But what does our society do? Certainly not acknowledge these experiences as initiation or education! In fact, most often these chaotic experiences are avoided. And if by some miracle they do arise, they are controlled or suppressed. (pp. 175–176)

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In Buddhist contexts, emptiness is a very positive thing. Emptiness denotes an absence of obstruction. However, in Western educational settings, “not knowing” is equated with failure, ignorance, and ineptitude. Empty spaces—and empty minds—must be filled, denoting an educational version of horror vacui. In art and design, the term horror vacui refers literally to a “fear of emptiness” marked by a need to fill all negative and ambiguous spaces, wherein the “dominance of fullness becomes logical” (van Eenoo, 2013, p. 2). Empty space, in settler colonial logics, is space to be penetrated, claimed, populated. In contrast, space which remains open remains available, accessible, uncolonized. Empty space is egalitarian. Empty space is full of possibility. The empty space, says, Cedric van Eenoo, “is the underlying foundation for the art to emerge” (2013, p. 2). In the documentary Moving From Emptiness: The Life and Art of a Zen Dude (Richards & Hartleben, 2014), Zen calligrapher Alok Hsu Kwang-Han insists that true creativity is not about actively populating the canvas but, rather, about letting go, about getting out of the way so that the art can authentically emerge in the space that is cleared. Individualism, self-authorship, and independence play key roles in many ego-driven student developmental metrics. In contrast, the central Buddhist concept of anattā offers an alternative as a foundation for students’ identity formation. Anattā, usually translated into English as “nonself ” or “no-self ”—is one of the Three Marks of Existence in Buddhism, and this refers to the absence of a discrete self that can be separated from the rest of the universe, the absence of an independent existence. Huston Smith and Philip Novak (2003) define anattā as “empty-of-own being” (p. 62). The outcome of recognizing anattā should be an awareness of our inseparability from one another. Ultimately, this connection should lead us to live in a state of compassion (karuņā)—which is the greatest marker of having attained the perfect wisdom of prajñāpāramitā. As such, some educators may find the language of anattā, of nonself, to be perplexing, even disconcerting, if it is used to describe a potential goal of student development. However, using the lens of anattā to view student growth may be helpful if it causes a reenvisioning of student development as less building-yourself-into-who-you-want-to-be and more revealingwho-you-truly-are. Adding does have value, but so does subtracting. There is significance in clearing, release, emergence, and discovery. What if student success and achievement were marked by a growth in humility and a reduction of ego, as well as an increase in awareness of one’s interdependence on others? What if student development were to be viewed as a collective process rather than an individual one? This shift would denote movement away from dominant paradigms of individualism and competition, and would clear space for a model of student growth and development based on a different set of principles to emerge.

Moving Forward A few summers ago, I visited an old-growth forest in Alaska, and I was surrounded by a dense population of trees that were impossibly tall, strong, healthy, and growing. Standing

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amid the trees, looking up from my tiny spot on the ground, the trees were so tall that I could not even see where they ended and the sky began. Then, much to my amazement, my guide pointed out that this forest was growing on top of what was mostly stone. There was nowhere for the roots to implant in the ground. Individually, a single tree would struggle to survive in this environment. However, the trees—all the trees collectively—survived by supporting each other. Their roots had grown together and were intertwined, deeply, intimately, forming a thick latticework of mossy brown angles and curves. They were literally holding each other up—and significantly, they were inseparable. There was no way to distinguish one tree from another. Their trunks may have been distinct, but their life was collective. There was no separate self. No-self. They were one. How would our practice as educators and student affairs practitioners change if we envisioned our students with roots intertwined? If we saw our own roots intertwined with theirs? If part of our job was to help them see this, too? If nonself, not-knowing, intuitive wisdom, emptiness, and openness were honored as valuable components of a well-lived college experience? Education need not be an invasion, a colonial filling (and claiming) of space. Education can be a clearing of space—an emergence of a mind always ready to learn—as well. Buddhist epistemological frameworks have the potential to transform higher education by broadening our awareness of multiple ways of knowing and being in the world, beyond the colonial systems of power and privilege that have traditionally shaped our educational institutions. Whether or not we choose to incorporate these principles into our professional lives, the simple awareness that there are other ways to practice and to envision our work has the power to create an intentionality that is itself transformative, as we are no longer asleep to the range of possibilities. No. We are awake.

References Beckerman, Z., & Zembylas, M. (2017). Engaging with religious epistemologies in the classroom. Research in Comparative and International Education, 12, 127–139. Byrd, J. A., & Rothberg, M. (2011). Between subalternity and indigeneity. Interventions, 13, 1–12. doi:10.1080/1369801X.2011.545574 Delgado, R., & Stefancic, J. (2000). Introduction. In R. Delgado & J. Stefancic (Eds.), Critical race theory: The cutting edge (2nd ed., pp. 1–14). Philadelphia, PA: Temple University Press. Denzin, N. K., Lincoln, Y. S., & Giardina, M. D. (2006). Disciplining qualitative research. International Journal of Qualitative Research in Education, 19, 769–782. doi:10.1080/09518390600975990 Edwards, S. (2018). Distinguishing between belief and culture: A critical perspective on religious identity. Journal of College and Character, 19, 201–214. Flood, G. (1996). An introduction to Hinduism. Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press. Fronsdal, G. (2006). The Dhammapada: A new translation of the Buddhist classic with annotations. Boston, MA, & London, England: Shambhala.

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Gillborn, D. (2015). Intersectionality, critical race theory, and the primacy of racism: Race, class, gender, and disability in higher education. Qualitative Inquiry, 21, 277–287. Halifax, J. (1999). Learning as initiation: Not-knowing, bearing witness, and healing. In S. Glazer (Ed.), The heart of learning: Spirituality in education (pp. 173–181), New York, NY: Jeremy B. Tarcher/Penguin Press. Hamilton, J. A., Subramaniam, B., & Willey, A. (2017). What Indians and Indians can teach us about colonization: Feminist science and technology studies, epistemological imperialism, and the politics of difference. Feminist Studies, 43, 612–623. Heilig, J. V., Brown, K. D., & Brown, A. L. (2012). The illusion of inclusion: A critical race theory analysis of race and standards. Harvard Educational Review, 82, 403–424. Hua, H. (2002). The heart of Prajna Paramita Sutra: With ‘verses without a stand’ and prose commentary by Venerable Tripitaka Master Hsuan Hua (Buddhist Text Translation Society, Trans.). Burlingame, CA: Buddhist Text Translation Society. Lopez, G. R. (2003). The (racially neutral) politics of education: A critical race theory perspective. Educational Administration Quarterly, 39, 68–94. McKinney, S. & Zannoni, F. (2015). Religion, conflict, and education. Journal of Theories and Research in Education, 10, 1–12. Mohanty, C. T. (2003). Feminism without borders: Decolonizing theory, practicing solidarity. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Mutakabbir, Y. T., & Nuriddin, T. A. (2016). Religious minority students in higher education. New York, NY, & London, England: Routledge Press. Patel, L. (2016). Decolonizing educational research: From ownership to answerability. New York, NY: Routledge Press. Pew Research Center. (2015, May 22). America’s changing religious landscape. Retrieved from https://www.pewforum.org/2015/05/12/americas-changing-religious-landscape/ Prinsloo, E. H. (2016). The role of the humanities in decolonising the academy. Arts and Humanities in Higher Education, 15(1), 164–168. Richards, S., & Hartleben, J. (Directors). (2014). Moving from emptiness: The life and art of a Zen dude [Motion Picture]. United States: Mother Tree Films. Rinpoche, D. P. (1999). Buddhist education: The path of wisdom and knowledge. In S. Glazer (Ed.), The heart of learning: Spirituality in education (pp. 51–59), New York, NY: Jeremy B. Tarcher/ Penguin Press. Santos, B. D. S. (2014). Epistemologies of the south: Justice against epistemicide. New York, NY: Routledge Press. Seifert, T. A. (2015). What’s so funny about peace, love, and understanding?: Or, why higher education is finally talking about faith, belief, meaning, and purpose. In J. L. Small (Ed.), Making meaning: Embracing spirituality, faith, religion, and life purpose in student affairs (pp. 58–80). Sterling, VA: ACPA—College Student Educators International. Small, J. L. (2015). Introduction. In J. L. Small (Ed.), Making meaning: Embracing spirituality, faith, religion, and life purpose in student affairs (pp. 1–15). Sterling, VA: ACPA—College Student Educators International. Smith, H., & Novak, P. (2003). Buddhism: A concise introduction. New York, NY: Harper Collins. Suzuki, S. (1995). Zen mind, beginner’s mind. New York, NY, & Tokyo, Japan: Weatherhill. (Original work published 1970) van Eenoo, C. (2013). Empty space and silence. Arts and Design Studies, 15, 1–5. Retrieved from https://pdfs.semanticscholar.org/242d/266a1463be0e43280332c93a50e5fa087b18.pdf

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CHAPTER FOUR

Queering Spirituality: A Conceptual Exploration of Spiritual LGBTQ+ College Students’ Ecological Systems Kari E. Weaver and Jodi L. Linley In the United States, there is a declining but high percentage of people with religious affiliation (Pew Research Center, 2015), particularly among religious traditions that promote heteronormative and transphobic narratives (Bozard & Sanders, 2011; Sherkat, 2002). The prevailing rhetoric is that lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer (LGBTQ+) identities are incompatible with religion (Anderton, Pender, & Asner-Self, 2011; Lease, Horne, & Noffsinger-Frazier, 2005), providing the impetus for researchers to explore how individuals reconcile and integrate their sexual and spiritual identities (e.g., Bozard & Sanders, 2011; Dahl & Galliher, 2009; Gold & Stewart, 2011; Love, Bock, Jannarone, & Richardson, 2005). LGBTQ+ individuals, like others, are often raised in a religious tradition and enter college actively exploring their identities, including spirituality (Patton, Renn, Guido, & Quaye, 2016). Influenced by a broader society in which religious institutions play a major role, collegiate spaces are often heterosexist and genderist environments (Rankin, Blumenfeld, Weber, & Frazer, 2010; Woodford, Kulick, & Atteberry, 2015). Thus, understanding students’ complex spiritual identity development situated in the collegiate ecology is imperative for higher education scholars and educators. Contemporary student development research seeks to understand students’ meaning-making about their multiple, intersecting identities within a variety of contexts (Abes, Jones, & McEwen, 2007; Patton et al., 2016). Yet higher education researchers often neglect an analysis of the contextual, ecological factors that affect LGBTQ+ students’ identity development by focusing exclusively on how students make meaning of their identities interpersonally and with others who share their identities (e.g., D’Augelli, 1994; Dillon, Worthington, & Moradi, 2011). However, some researchers have begun to explore the intersection of spiritual development, sexuality, race, and gender. For example, Stewart (2009) found Black and African American students in a qualitative study engaged spirituality as a filter through which they understood their multiple identities. Gold and Stewart (2011) noted that outside forces influenced some spiritual LGB college students to experience arrested development. For example, they described some LGB

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participants in their study who stopped exploring their spirituality altogether. With holistic student development, a central tenet of the student affairs profession (Evans & Reason, 2001), the need to better understand the interconnected development of spiritual, sexuality, racial, and gender identity development and the complex ecological systems in which students develop, is crucial. Limited examinations of contextual influences on LBGTQ+ individuals’ spiritual development exist within the scholarship focused on campus spiritual climate. Bryant, Wickliffe, Mayhew, and Behringer (2009) developed the Campus Religious and Spiritual Climate Survey (CRSCS), a quantitative instrument, focused on assessing interrelated climate dimensions relative to spiritual, religious, and worldview diversity in higher education. Scholars have used the CRSCS to evaluate the religious and spiritual climate for specific student populations, including LGBTQ+ students (Rockenbach et al., 2015; Rockenbach, Lo, & Mayhew, 2017). For example, Rockenbach and colleagues (2017) found LGBT students perceived their campuses as less supportive of their spiritual expression compared to their heterosexual and cisgender peers, despite LGBT students being more engaged than those peers in formal and informal interfaith experiences. Although these studies are informative about the campus climate and LGBTQ+ students’ spiritual exploration on campus, due to their focused scope, these studies lack the ability to elucidate the complex ecological systems in which LGBTQ+ college students explore, make meaning of, and, in some cases, practice spirituality. The purpose of this chapter is to theoretically explore the ecological systems of spiritual LGBTQ+ college students from a poststructural paradigm. Poststructuralism provided us with a lens to understand the ways dominant narratives operate, how they oppress, and thus how we might challenge them. An ecological examination allows us to account for social and cultural forces in addition to individual experiences, including those that happen outside of the campus environment. This approach is particularly useful in the pursuit of the questions that guide a specific line of our research: (1) What are the experiences of college students who identify as spiritual and LGBTQ+, and (2) how do these students work to challenge norms of both religion and heterosexism? We sought to honor a broad definition of spirituality, including religious identity as well as other ways students sought to make sense of their inner lives through self-described beliefs, including their use of the term spiritual. This expansive definition allows for a more inclusive range of belief systems and searches for authenticity and values and aligns with contemporary studies of college student spiritual identity (e.g., Dalton, Eberhardt, Bracken, & Echols, 2006; Mayhew, 2004). The use of an ecological model in pursuit of our questions illuminates the normative forces stemming from social, cultural, and historical macrosystems and the ways these narratives are both enacted and resisted in multiple microsystems. Our research and the model we propose in this chapter add critical perspectives by overlaying an ecological framework (Bronfenbrenner, 1979; Renn & Arnold, 2003) with a queer theoretical lens (Jones, Abes, & Kasch, 2013) and intersectionality (Crenshaw, 1991). The queered ecological framework allows us to explicitly name and interrogate heteronormativity and

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other systems of oppression. This naming adds a critical lens to our ongoing investigation of macro-, exo-, meso-, and microsystem influences on LGBTQ+ students’ identity development, and provides insight on opportunities to foster LGBTQ+ students’ spiritual identity development.

Author Positionality Our identities as researchers inform the ways we examine data, lead us to ascribe importance to particular issues and identities, and guide our meaning-making. Therefore, we find identifying our positionality in relation to the topic at hand and asking ourselves why we feel we can and should address the experiences of queer, spiritual college students to be essential.

Kari I have struggled with my intent and ability to write on this topic. I hold many majoritized identities (White, cisgender, temporarily able-bodied, heterosexual) and did not seek to find a welcoming religious space or traditionally spiritual community during my years as an undergraduate student. Also, I have never identified as queer. However, I have struggled with my body and my gender identity in ways that required me to be vigilant in monitoring myself within relationships and contexts. Since childhood, I have experienced misalignment of my body and female identity within many social spheres, including the Methodist Church and my own deeply religious family. These issues have led me to an interest in gender performativity and liminality as well as to a deep-seated personal interest in fostering a sense of belonging by disrupting hegemonic narratives. In my research on LGBTQ+ students, I was immediately drawn to the accounts of participants who appeared to be in the process of resisting hegemonic narratives of religious experience and environments. In this work, I have aimed to honor their personal accounting, highlighting what I saw as their power in pursuing and shaping religious and spiritual spaces. This work was shaped in dialogue and co-writing with individuals who hold both salient queer and spiritual identities to collaboratively challenge our assumptions and expand our perspectives.

Jodi Childhood and adolescent memories of my spiritual development are all intertwined with Sacred Heart Catholic Parish in a rural, White, mostly farming community in Iowa. I loved church—from signing the cross as we entered the sanctuary to running around unsupervised with my church friends while our parents were in fellowship after Mass. The messages about gender and sexuality I remember receiving from the parish were not explicitly trans- or homophobic, but they were certainly (cis)genderist

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and heterosexist: Women could be nuns but not priests, no sex until marriage, and so on. Despite these limitations of the church environment, I sought ways to be engaged in my church community because I knew the narratives were expectations, not hardand-fast rules. For example, when I was in elementary school, we got a new priest who announced that any girls who wanted to serve at the altar would be welcomed, pushing the gendered boundaries of the traditional “altar boy” role in Mass. In another example, I knew plenty of Catholic grown-ups whose first children were born just a few months after their weddings. I figured the power of confession and repentance must be real. Yet it did not seem right to me that anyone should need forgiveness for who they are. The internal struggle to make meaning of heterosexism started with my first real crush on a girl, the summer between fourth and fifth grades at Catholic church camp. J. F. was a bunkmate who was spunky, athletic, and adorable, and I just wanted to be near her the whole week. How could that feeling of pure joy and excitement about another human constitute sinful feelings? I never did “confess” that crush to a priest; if I had, I am pretty sure I would have been given more than the standard “10 Hail Marys.” I stayed involved with Catholicism through my first year of college and started actively exploring my spirituality as a college sophomore. Not yet out as queer myself, I had a handful of queer friends, and we talked late into many nights about religion, spirituality, God, and sexuality. I knew almost nothing about other faith traditions or atheism and had a lot to learn. I quit attending Catholic Mass except on Christmas with my mom. My senior year, a close friend who is a Black lesbian asked if I wanted to find a welcoming church to go to Easter service with her. She was raised Church of God in Christ (COGIC) and had a similar fondness for her church community as I did. She had heard from another lesbian about the Unitarian Universalist (UU) society, and we went to the UU service on Easter Sunday. Instead of messages about “He is Risen,” the UU minister (a woman!) preached, “The daffodils are rising!” The service was about the coming of spring and our need to love, respect, and care for the earth. I was thrilled to feel entirely welcomed and affirmed as my whole self and was surprised when my friend expressed a different feeling. She appreciated the sermon, the smiles extended to us as young, queer women, and the fair-trade coffee served during fellowship after the service. She did not appreciate, however, the ways the White liberal congregation members flocked to introduce themselves to her after service. That day was pivotal to my understanding of aversive racism and the ways people of color may experience environments I find affirming as oppressive. As a White queer woman, I did not experience that particular UU as a racialized space because of my epistemology of White ignorance (see Mills, 2007). That was my first realization that queer people of color and White queer people experience supposedly queer-affirming spaces differently, and after brief embarrassment for not realizing my friend’s discomfort, I sought opportunities to learn more about racism and why I had missed it. I pursue the line of inquiry and theorizing discussed in this chapter with this important memory at the forefront of my mind.

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Conceptual Framework We developed the conceptual framework proposed in this chapter to frame a study we did about LGBTQ+ college students’ spiritualities. The framework brings together three theories: (1) Renn and Arnold’s (2003) adaptation of Bronfenbrenner’s (1979) Process– Person–Context–Time (PPCT) ecological systems theory, (2) queer theory (Jones et al., 2013), and (3) intersectionality (Collins, 2015; Crenshaw, 1991). First, Bronfenbrenner’s (1979) PPCT theory delineated four nested systems that make up a person’s ecology: microsystems, mesosystems, exosystems, and macrosystems. An individual is influenced by multiple microsystems, with each microsystem viewed as an immediate environment. In the context of higher education, microsystems might include classes, roommates, social groups, and jobs (Renn & Arnold, 2003). The mesosystem comprises the interrelated influences of microsystems on the person’s development. The exosystem includes contexts that influence the individual but are out of the person’s control (Bronfenbrenner, 1979), such as institutional nondiscrimination policies and federal financial aid policies (Renn & Arnold, 2003). All other systems are nested within the macrosystem, which involves cultural and social forces that influence how a person interacts with the other levels of the ecological system, including heteronormativity (Bronfenbrenner, 1979). Second, queer theory unveils the ways LGBTQ+ people experience, are complicit in, and/or resist heteronormativity and gender and sexuality performatives. Queer theory emerged in the 1990s out of French poststructuralism (i.e., Derrida, Foucault) and poststructural feminism (i.e., Sedgwick, Butler) as a framework by which to interrogate “normalness” (i.e., straightness, femaleness, maleness). By emphasizing the ways meaning and norms related to gender and sexuality are “only and always culturally and historically constructed, therefore lacking objective or value-neutral truth and knowledge” (Jones et al., 2013, p. 197), queer theory destabilizes the ways those meanings and norms marginalize some people for the benefit of others. The tenets of queer theory that informed this analysis were heteronormativity, performativity, desire, and becoming. Heteronormativity promotes a binary in which heterosexuality is normal or superior and any variation is abnormal and thus inferior (Warner, 1991). In other words, heterosexuality is always already the default sexuality and to not be heterosexual is to be divergent. Performativity is a fluid process of expressing social identities (i.e., gender and sexuality) as actions rather than as fixed identities (Butler, 1990). Genders and sexualities are associated with individuals based on repeated patterns of performative behaviors that we recognized to belong to particular groups. For instance, someone who is a man yet holds a limp wrist is deemed feminine and gay because society tends to associate this behavior with femininity/ queerness. Desire is the compelling force behind gender and sexuality performatives that challenge heteronormativity (Sullivan, 2003). Finally, becoming is the ongoing process of developing one’s own identities while resisting social norms and rejecting heteronormativity (Butler, 1990). Becoming emphasizes how identities are never complete but, rather, continue

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to develop over time. These perspectives allowed us to examine spiritual LGBTQ+ students’ ecological systems and how students reinforce and resist societal norms. Third, intersectionality extends the focus of the study beyond viewing the participants monolithically by minimizing their experiences to singular analyses on their identities. Rather than seeing students’ development of their (gender, racial, ability, social class, spiritual, and sexual) identities as separate, intersectionality purposefully draws attention to the ways students develop these identities in conjunction with one another in a way that cannot be separated out. Intersectionality also allows us to examine the systems of power, privilege, and oppression (e.g., Whiteness, Christian hegemony) and the institutions (e.g., the U.S. African American Church) that affect students’ multiple identities. To better narrow to a succinct understanding of intersectionality, we use Patricia Hill Collins’s (2015) cogent conceptualization: “The term intersectionality references the critical insight that race, class, gender, sexuality, ethnicity, nation, ability, and age operate not as unitary, mutually exclusive entities, but as reciprocally constructing phenomena that in turn shape complex social inequalities” (p. 2). Collins’s definition was best for this study because it acknowledges the mutuality between peoples’ multiple identities and their ecological contexts such that both influence each other with a holistic perspective of students. Importantly, the theoretical lens of intersectionality allows us to perceive and describe experiences of multiple and intertwined oppressions such as those we witnessed for queer students with minoritized racial and religious identities. We combined the aforementioned theories and frameworks to develop the Queered Ecological Systems Model (see Figure 4.1). The poststructural roots of queer theory are essential to the critical function of this model in two central ways. First, although poststructuralism disputes universal and objective truths, the paradigm also accounts for how particular types of knowledge and related ways of being become customary and normative (Sullivan, 2003). By acknowledging these “grand narratives” (Lyotard, 1984) and the power they seek to uphold

Source: Adapted from Bronfenbrenner (1979) and Renn and Arnold (2003)

Figure 4.1. Queered Ecological Systems Model Figure 4.1. Queered Ecological Systems Model

Source: Adapted from Bronfenbrenner (1979) and Renn and Arnold (2003)

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and reify, we can begin to recognize how they operate, how they oppress, and thus how we could challenge them. However, how we choose to deconstruct these dominant narratives is subjective (Abes, 2016). This second essential element of poststructuralism contributes to our model by keeping us from looking for ways that we believe individuals should enact their identities. As poststructuralism rejects the belief that individuals are unified, self-knowing, and fully autonomous (Sullivan, 2013), it positions us to better meet students where they are in their ongoing process of identity development. The Queered Ecological Model delineates a number of the forces on LGBTQ+ students’ spiritual development. At the macrosystem level, students are influenced by hegemonic heteronormativity, homophobia, transphobia, genderism, and heterosexism, in addition to other cultural and social forces such as racism, sexism, ableism, classism, and creedism. Exosystem forces include the policies, practices, and committees of faith organizations, as well as state, federal, and institutional policies. Students’ mesosystems are the interacting systems of their social, spiritual, family, and academic lives. Microsystems are the students’ immediate environments, which include friends, family members, employers, and local faith organizations. At the center of the model are the student and their development as intersectional and incorporating the Queer Theory concepts of performativity, desire, and becoming.

Framing Research With the Queered Ecological Systems Model: One Study’s Findings We employed the Queered Ecological Systems Model to analyze qualitative transcripts from a longitudinal study of LGBTQ+ college students at a single institution. The interview protocols did not explicitly ask students to discuss spirituality, yet many students engaged reflection and meaning-making about spirituality throughout their 4 years in the study. Our analysis identified ways heteronormativity permeated all levels of spiritual LGBTQ+ students’ ecological systems. This heteronormativity influenced students’ desires and performatives, which they constructed in response to and in rejection of this limiting worldview. We share three key findings that illustrate intersectionality in the ways our participants’ spiritual and LGBTQ+ identities mutually developed. These include (1) an explicit awareness of the heteronormativity of religion, (2) the influence of heteronormativity on identity performatives, and (3) the relationship of privileged and minoritized identities to barriers and belonging.

Heteronormativity Through Religious Practice in Multiple Systems The students with salient spiritual identities each noted awareness of heteronormativity as it was imposed through religious contexts and religious practice. Their

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experiences of heteronormative messages included an outright renunciation of homosexuality 1 by religious figures and internalization of the religious rejection of LGBTQ+ identities. For our participants, macrolevel heteronormativity operated at a conscious level and was perpetuated within their meso- and microsystems. In other words, these messages of religious rejection of queerness were taken for granted and repeated between interacting systems such as family, religious spaces, and social life. Even when heteronormativity was enacted on an individual level, the participants associated the statements with omnipresent societal heteronormativity instead of attributing it to the specific individual expressing heteronormativity. For some students, these microsystem-level messages of heteronormativity were described as reasons they disconnected from spiritual identity and communities.

Gender Performatives and Desire The heteronormativity of religious contexts also influenced expectations of intersecting identity and identity performativity for our study participants. The queer theory tenet of performativity, mentioned earlier, is the enactment of identity in a fluid and generative manner (Jones et al., 2013). Within the confines of heteronormativity, social identities are bounded by stable constructs. These constructs perpetuate a binary conception of gender as male and female, which would be performed in particular manners, such as through masculine and feminine dress or mannerisms. Some of our students were pressured to align with social expectations of gender to be accepted within their religious communities. These pressures were met with varying reactions, including resistance against heteronormativity by describing how clothing choice should not interfere with one’s relationship with God. This example shows agency in developing an identity that is both accepted and personally authentic, which aligns with the queer theory concept of desire (Jones et al., 2013; Butler, 2004). For the participants who hold salient spiritual identities, this desire allows them to seek belonging and work against the heteronormativity of religion, but it may be compromised when their mesosystem is lacking supports for the performance of their intersectional identities.

Illuminating Privilege Similar to the queered developmental narrative illuminated in a past study of lesbian student development (Abes & Kasch, 2007), our participants described a state of fluctuation regarding their formerly stable spirituality identities. This fluid state is described in other queer theory literature as “becoming” and refers to an unfolding of identity that is composed of both changing and coherent structures (Jones et al., 2013). In multiple interviews, two students expressed how they were seeking support for their Christian and 1 We use this word only to reflect the vernacular of the heterosexist environments experienced by students in our study. We acknowledge the harm associated with the term and apologize for its potentially triggering effect.

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queer identities that allowed themselves and others to perform in authentic and accepted ways. Yet these two students’ exploration of various microsystems clarified an absence of truly inclusive micro- or mesosystems. They each indicated a deep desire for spaces where they could perform their salient identities in integrated ways, yet their search for these spaces differed. Although both identified as Christian, one student held multiple privileged identities (gay, White, cisgender male), and the other held multiple identities minoritized by society (lesbian, student of color, female) and experienced church as a context that connected her ethnic and spiritual identities. The White student did not consider his racial or ethnic identity when seeking a religious space and described an assumption that all religious spaces are available to him. This assumption is an example of White entitlement, or ontological expansiveness (see Cabrera, Franklin, & Watson, 2016), and allows him to consider multiple religious spaces as places for identity exploration. Although both students described barriers to their sense of belonging regarding their spiritual and queer identities, their rationales differ in broad ways. The student of color listed various personal reasons for her feelings of disunion, while the white student rejected these spaces as a gesture that demonstrates his care for others and their feelings of acceptance. Due to his own struggles for an integrated identity performative within these spaces, he has started to understand how these spaces could be alienating to others, but he is unable to describe and deconstruct Christian hegemony and does not consider how racial or ethnic identities could interact with a sense of belonging. In comparison to his privileged experiences, the student of color struggled to find affirming spaces connected to her multiple marginalized identities. Within her mesosystem, the lack of acceptance or other representations of her own intersecting identities leads her to feel that she has to keep her identities separate.

Discussion The use of a queered ecological model to investigate and describe these experiences helped to illustrate how participants challenged, translated, and perpetuated the heteronormative macrosystem that devalued their LGBTQ+ identities within multiple microsystems and mesosystems, such as interactions with their peers, religious leaders, and family members. Two key concepts, heteronormativity and intersectionality, are central to the utilization and comprehension of the model.

Heteronormativity In his book on queer theory in the academy, Tierney (1997) explained that “if we can understand how signifying systems operate, we have the potential to disrupt the system and provide a voice for those who are silenced by the norm” (p. 22). The signifying system to be disrupted in queer theory is heteronormativity. Our findings described how participants

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recognized evidence of heteronormativity in multiple microsystems, exosystems, and the larger macrosystem, including the broader, historical rejection of LGBTQ+ identities along value-based structures such as religious systems.

Intersectionality Ecological models help connect an individual to the groups they associate with and then connect those groups and individual experiences to the larger society. These connections and their relationships to structures of power help with understanding the intersectional nature of our participants’ identities. The use of queer theory within an ecological model is particularly useful in understanding intersectionality; it explores the complexity of identity and recognizes how variations from what is assumed to be normative are often ignored or essentialized (Dill & Zambrana, 2009). Our analysis using this model necessarily demonstrated complexity in the experiences and identities of LGBTQ+ spiritual students and positioned them in relationship to structures of power. This helps to challenge the idea that affinity groups with converging identities (e.g., queer Christian organizations or LGBTQ+ students of color groups) will meet the needs of the greater spiritual, queer student body. This was evidenced by a specific student’s work to find belonging and representation, which resulted in repeated experiences of marginalization across multiple microsystems. Her struggle to find supports as a student with multiple marginalized identities, compared to other participants with more privileged identities, demonstrates the importance of understanding the intersectional nature of identity.

Implications Our findings begin to illustrate the complex, nuanced way spiritual LGBTQ+ students make meaning of their lives and develop spiritually. The Queered Ecological Systems Model helped to center heteronormativity as an oppressive and alienating narrative to examine how it was experienced and resisted by LGBTQ+ students. The research findings discussed briefly earlier demonstrated how the processes of recognition and resistance were not linear for our participants, nor were they congruent and consistently done with a full awareness of the manifestations and implications of heteronormativity. Regarding practice, comprehension and repeated naming of heteronormativity in multiple spaces are needed. This can be done by any member of the higher education community, thus supporting the disruption of this narrative within the campus mesosystem. This study also supports the call for interfaith spaces and communities found in other studies (Kocet & Stewart, 2011; Rockenback, Lo, & Mayhew, 2017; Rockenbach & Mayhew, 2014; Rockenbach, Riggers-Piehl, Garvey, Lo, & Mayhew, 2015; Stewart, Kocet, & Lobdell, 2011). Additionally, these spaces need flexible structuring to meet the

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needs of students with multiple marginalized identities. Of importance in these efforts is the ability of practitioners to facilitate dialogues that challenge structures of power and dominance within affinity groups and other campus spaces. For example, queer Christian groups that fail to acknowledge racism are complicit in White supremacy. Findings also call for awareness of religious stigmatization, particularly within spaces that support LGBTQ+ and other intersecting identities. Future research should include a greater range of religious affiliations to deepen an understanding of the needs and values of spiritual LGBTQ+ students. This research should also be ongoing, as both individuals and contexts are continually changing, bringing new challenges, information, and opportunities for support. One addition that should be considered in advancing the criticality and applicability of this model is the integration of Quare theory (see for example, Johnson, 2001; Means, 2017). As Quare theory works to examine the lived experiences of Black individuals by centering intersectionality, performativity, and resistance to systems of oppression, it is essential to understanding how agency and experience intersect with race, gender, and sexuality regarding spirituality identity (Means, 2017). Finally, a Critical Whiteness framework could help to further investigate how students understand their access to spiritual spaces differently based on White racial identity.

Conclusion This chapter illustrates how the search for spiritual development and support is made more complex for LGBTQ+ college students by multiple directives of heteronormative influence. Through the use of a queered ecological model, we were able to examine both individual narratives of resistance as well as spaces and systems that can support or impede spiritual development. This model builds on past research of spiritual identity development regarding community support (Parks, 2000) and spiritual climate, particularly for LGBTQ+ students (Rockenbach et al., 2015, 2017), while avoiding comparing and essentializing the experiences of these students across a binary. By adding queer and intersectional theoretical lenses to ecological systems theory, we were able to unveil the persistence and prevalence of heteronormativity across all levels of spiritual LGBTQ+ students’ ecological systems and examine students’ performatives, desires, and processes of becoming. This framework advances a critical perspective on college student development that challenges social norms (Abes, 2009) and shines a light on the complexities of LGBTQ+ collegians’ ecological systems. We are grateful to Dr. Kristen A. Renn, Professor at Michigan State University, for providing us access to the data described in this chapter and for authoring an empirical manuscript with us about that analysis.

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Gold, S. P., & Stewart, D-L (2011). Lesbian, gay, and bisexual students coming out at the intersection of spirituality and sexual identity. Journal of LGBT Issues in Counseling, 5(3–4), 237–258. Johnson, E. P. (2001). “ Quare” studies, or (almost) everything I know about queer studies I learned from my grandmother. Text and Performance Quarterly, 21(1), 1–25. Jones, S. R., & Abes, E. S. (2013). Identity development of college students: Advancing frameworks for multiple dimensions of identity. San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. Jones, S. R., Abes, E. S., & Kasch, D. (2013). Queer theory. In S.R. Jones & E.S. Abes (Eds.), Identity development of college students: Advancing frameworks for multiple dimensions of identity (pp. 191–212). San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. Kocet, M. M., & Stewart, D-L (2011). The role of student affairs in promoting religious and secular pluralism and interfaith cooperation. Journal of College and Character, 12(1), 1–10. Lease, S. H., Horne, S. G., & Noffsinger-Frazier, N. (2005). Affirming faith experiences and psychological health for Caucasian lesbian, gay, and bisexual individuals. Journal of Counseling Psychology, 52(3), 378–388. Lyotard, J. F. (1984). The postmodern condition: A report on knowledge (Vol. 10). Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Mayhew, M. J. (2004). Exploring the essence of spirituality: A phenomenological study of eight students with eight different worldviews. NASPA Journal, 41(4), 647–674. Means, D. R. (2017). “Quaring” spirituality: The spiritual counterstories and spaces of Black gay and bisexual male college students. Journal of College Student Development, 58(2), 229–246. Mills, C. W. (2007). White ignorance. In S. Sullivan & N. Tuana (Eds.), Race and epistemologies of ignorance (pp. 11–38). Albany, NY: SUNY Press. Parks, S. D. (2000). Big questions, worthy dreams: Mentoring young adults in their search for meaning, purpose, and faith. San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. Patton, L. D., Renn, K. A., Guido, F. M., & Quaye, S. J. (2016). Student development in college: Theory, research, and practice (3rd ed.). San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. Pew Research Center. (2015, May 12). America’s Changing Religious Landscape. Retrieved from http://www.pewforum.org/2015/05/12/americas-changing-religious-landscape/ Rankin, S., Blumenfeld, W. J., Weber, G. N., & Frazer, S. (2010). State of higher education for LGBT people. Charlotte, NC: Campus Pride. Renn, K. A., & Arnold, K. D. (2003). Reconceptualizing research on college student peer culture. The Journal of Higher Education, 74(3), 261–291. Rockenbach, A. N., Lo, M. A., & Mayhew, M. J. (2017). How LGBT college students perceive and engage the campus religious and spiritual climate. Journal of Homosexuality, 64(4), 488–508. Rockenbach, A. N., Riggers-Piehl, T. A., Garvey, J. C., Lo, M. A., & Mayhew, M. J. (2015). The influence of campus climate and interfaith engagement on self-authored worldview commitment and pluralism orientation across sexual and gender identities. Research in Higher Education, 56(7), 1–21. Rockenbach, A. B., & Mayhew, M. J. (2014). The campus spiritual climate: Predictors of satisfaction among students with diverse worldviews. Journal of College Student Development, 55(1), 41–62. Sherkat, D. E. (2002). Sexuality and religious commitment in the United States: An empirical examination. Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion, 41(2), 313–323. Stewart, D-L (2009). Perceptions of multiple identities among Black college students. Journal of College Student Development, 50(3), 253–270. Stewart, D-L, Kocet, M. M., & Lobdell, S. (2011). The multifaith campus: Transforming colleges and universities for spiritual engagement. About Campus, 16(1), 10–18.

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Sullivan, N. (2003). A critical introduction to Queer Theory. New York, NY: New York University Press. Tierney, W. G. (1997). Queer theory as cultural politics. In Academic outlaws: Queer theory and cultural studies in the academy (pp. 19–45). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. doi:10.4135/9781483327877.n2 Warner, M. (1991). Introduction: Fear of a queer planet. Social Text, (29), 3–17. Woodford, M. R., Kulick, A., & Atteberry, B. (2015). Protective factors, campus climate, and health outcomes among sexual minority college students. Journal of Diversity in Higher Education, 8(2), 73–87.

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CHAPTER FIVE

Embodied: Afrocentric Spiritual Identity Development of Black Femme Students Attending Predominantly White Institutions e alexander This chapter discusses theoretical considerations for understanding how Black womxn make meaning of their spiritualities through embodied experiences of race and gender while attending predominately white1 institutions (PWIs). This chapter is based on analyses of a study corpus2 that I conducted in the spring of 2018, using African Diasporic frameworks of spirituality and personal development to explore Black femme spiritual development in these campus environments. I use femme and womxn to acknowledge and include nonbinary colleagues in my work. The analyses did not disaggregate students by level of study. I begin with my positionality, literature review, and conceptual frameworks. I then brief my study findings and interrogate epistemic incongruencies between Diasporic spirituality and student development models. Next, I introduce my original model for Black femme spiritual identity development; I then critique select development theories— based on my frameworks, model, and study findings. I conclude with recommendations for future research.

Positionality Statement My positionality is underpinned by a strengths-based worldview that is reflected in this chapter and is consistent with concepts such as community cultural wealth (Yosso, 2005). I am a multiethnic Black queer womxn from a matrilineal family with origins in Louisiana and Texas. Family discourse has always included Ancestors,3 the Dead, spirits, and juju/energy. My socialization came through Elders who raised me to be unapologetically Black. I consumed Black history, political thought, literature, and media; participated in Black community events; and spent time in homes of other Black families. My mother 1 I lowercase white, western, and other related terms as a means of decentering what is commonly taken to be the dominant cultural group and civilization against which nonwestern groups and civilizations are evaluated for legitimacy and generalizability. 2 A study corpus is a collection of texts to be studied as a body of secondary data and is typically qualitative. 3 Reflective of the epistemic aims of this chapter, I capitalize words that hold spiritual significance based on Indigenous worldviews.

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taught me that “Black is Beautiful.” In all this, she exposed me to positive representations of Black womxnhood, and we interrogated misogynoir that exists in various realms of Black life. These lessons were reinforced in my early professional life. I spent this time in a region wherein all my mentors were Indigenous or people of color who knew their colonial histories. They introduced me to decolonial thought: We examined malaise in the African Diaspora as a product of white imperialism and studied grassroots resistance movements. My mentors viewed Blacks as Indigenous peoples whose contemporary issues result from colonial violence that disrupted spiritual connections with Ancestors. Cumulatively, my socialization instilled in me self-love as a Black womxn in a white supremacist and patriarchal world. I was not immune from negative self-conceptualizations when I experienced misogynoir. However, I was reminded that the deficits that enabled my harm lied within white supremacy, elitism, and patriarchy—not within myself. I learned to combat oppression through understanding how it seeks to position poorer nonwhite and nonfemme peoples as inferior through policy, public discourse, and force. I married lessons from childhood and adulthood to protect and nurture myself through practices that align with this chapter’s conceptual frameworks.

Review of Literature The review of literature places Black Diasporic experiences of spiritual development in conversation with higher education literature that explores the same topic across student groups. I provide sociohistorical contexts of Black American spirituality and praxis, giving attention to its underpinnings in African indigeneity and the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade.

Spirituality, Religion, and Worldview in Higher Education Astin, Astin, and Lindholm (2011) define students’ “spiritual development” as “mak[ing] meaning of their education and their lives, how they develop a sense of purpose, the value and belief dilemmas they experience, as well as the role of religion, the sacred, and the mystical in their lives,” and, “intuition, inspiration, creativity, and sense of connectedness to others and the world” (p. 40). This juxtaposes definitions of religion, which emphasize institutionalized sets of beliefs and behaviors, as a way to connect to “the ultimate” (Burke et al., 1999). Astin et al. (2011) identify indicators of religiousness: (a) belief in God; (b) prayer; (c) attending services; (d) discussing religion/spirituality with family and friends; (e) having beliefs that provide strength, support, and guidance; and (f) following teachings in daily life. Majority of first-year students in the study of Mayhew et al. (2016) identified family and traditions as factors that impact their worldview most. Mayhew et al. (2016) attribute the prevalence of these factors to students’ stages of development, in which they “rely on

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authority figures . . . to help them define truth and make meaning of the world” (p. 5). Astin et al.’s (2011) multi-institutional longitudinal study supports Mayhew et al.’s (2016) prediction that students shift on whom they rely for meaning-making. Astin et al.’s participants had expectations of college in helping students to develop spiritually regarding (a) self-understanding, (b) responsible citizenship, (c) development of personal values, and (d) emotional development. Data from their study also revealed that students have high levels of spiritual interest and involvement, and many engaged in “spiritual quests.” Spiritual questing is “interest in the meaning/purpose of life, finding answers to the mysteries of life, and developing a meaningful philosophy of life” (Astin et al., 2011).

Black American Diasporic Spirituality in Context Spirituality—regardless of religious affiliation—has historically been prominent in identity development for members of the Black American Diaspora (Constantine, Wilton, Gainor, & Lewis, 2002; Riggins, McNeal, & Herndon, 2008; Stewart, 2009; Stewart & Lozano, 2009; Watt, 2003). Stewart and Lozano (2009) emphasize Diasporic spirituality as linked to culture in ways that are similar to those of First Nations peoples. Black Americans have retained African beliefs that sensory and extrasensory material are unified; from that, they acknowledge interconnections of human and spiritual networks (Bynum, 1999). In Afrocentric worldviews, spiritual growth is a communal experience, not an individualized one (Aiken, Cervero, & Johnson-Bailey, 2001; Myers et al., 1991; Stewart & Lozano, 2009)—a contrast to assertions of both Mayhew et al. (2016) and Astin et al. (2011). Throughout “the Americas,”4 Black Diasporic spirituality developed as a site of collective resistance against racial oppression during the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade. In antebellum “North America,” slaves formed churches as offshoots of their masters. They used Christian scripture to justify liberation and equality while also using Christianity’s rituals to veil the preservation of African spiritual practice (O’Brien, 1978; Takagi, 1999; Wade, 1964). Through African churches, slaves (a) accumulated wealth (O’Brien, 1978; Takagi, 1999; Wade, 1964), (b) created political and social welfare organizations to care for destitute slaves and free Blacks (O’Brien, 1978; Takagi, 1999), (c) created networks (O’Brien, 1978; Wade, 1964), (d) governed behaviors of congregation members (O’Brien, 1978), (e) harbored runaway slaves (Buchanan, 2004), and (f) purchased slaves’ freedom (Takagi, 1999; Wade, 1964). Masters were unaware of the degree to which these churches developed infrastructure that allowed them to function as apparatuses of empowerment (O’Brien, 1978; Takagi, 1999; Wade, 1964). In 1865, 3,000 former slaves organized through churches, marched to Washington, D.C., and demanded reparations from the president (O’Brien, 1978). In African spiritual traditions of “South America,” leaders—who were womxn— assisted each other in escaping slavery, bought each other’s freedom, and formed 4 I acknowledge that “America” is the western/non-Indigenous name for the Land that non-Indigenous peoples collectively occupy as settlers.

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terreiros—or “underground” spiritual centers that also functioned as hospitals and schools (James, 2017). In support of Diasporic spiritual work, these groups of womxn included mãe-de-santo (higher priest) in the Candomblé tradition and Irmandade da Boa Morte (Sisterhood of the Good Death), an organization founded by enslaved Fon and Ewe womxn in Cachoeira, Brazil. Irmandade da Boa Morte is the oldest organization for African ascendant womxn (Okpalaoka & Dillard, 2012) in “the Americas” (James, 2017). During slavery, these groups masked African spiritual practices through Catholicism, provided sanctuary to freed slaves, and maintained legacies of language, music and dance, ritual and divination, and spoken and plant medicine (James, 2017). Terreiros are now in apartments, backyards, basements, and other private spaces. They are officiated by leaders and function as homeplaces (hooks, 1991) in which African ascendant womxn practice Ancestral veneration and solidarity healing and African spiritual traditions.

Black Student Spirituality Development Understanding spiritual journeys of Black students is imperative, given spiritualty’s importance in their communities. Rennick, Smedley, Fisher, Wallace, and Kim (2013) disaggregated data from the University of California System’s 2008 Undergraduate Experience Survey, collected from 63,528 students, to ascertain involvement in religious and spiritual activities by race and gender. Their findings indicate that Black students are the most religious/ spiritually active racial group on college campuses and are the only group for which majority of participants engaged in spiritual activities weekly. Those findings support previous studies’ implications: (a) Black students’ college experiences are strongly connected to spiritual activities (Constantine et al., 2002; Riggins et al., 2008), (b) religion/spirituality has higher salience for Black students than for white ones (Hunt & Hunt, 2001; Walker & Dixon, 2002), (c) Black students may receive the most benefit from spiritual activities regarding psychological well-being (Rennick et al., 2013), (d) they are more likely to seek health support from faith communities than white students (Ayalon & Young, 2005), and (e) they have better academic performance in positive correlation with spiritual/religious participation (Walker & Dixon, 2002). Stewart’s 2009 study indicates that spirituality is a lens through which Black students understand themselves holistically and spirituality gives them rationality for multiple aspects of the Self and the creation of synergy among them. Stewart’s participants also talked about their social identities as manifestations of their spiritual Selves connected to their pasts. Citing Myers (1993), Stewart (2002) asserts that identity development for Black womxn involves shifting self-definitions from external to internal. Watt (1997) suggests that spirituality is foundational in that shifting—because of its relationship to self-esteem, racial identity, and womxnist identity. Weddle-West, Hagan, and Norwood (2013) found that Black students attending PWIs were more likely than those attending Historically Black Institutions to report higher levels of spiritual practice—likely because these students use spirituality more often in coping with their campus environments.

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Stewart and Lozano (2009) remind scholars that students of color who identify as Christian, or the “worldview majority” (Mayhew et al., 2016), may not view their religious identities as sources of privilege but as a source of power in their collective struggles against racism. They cite an example of racial oppression undercutting religious privilege through the story of a Black professor at Calvin College. Although the school required her to worship at a Christian Reformed church (which has Dutch origins), she unsuccessfully requested to worship with a predominately Black denomination—as not to be racially “othered” during religious practice (Redden, 2008). This case illustrates non-Black collegians’ ignorance of ways that race informs spirituality within the Black American Diaspora.

Conceptual Framing of the Chapter This section introduces three frameworks that I used to conduct my study and critique student development theory. Yoruba Tradition Indigenous Epistemology (YTIE; Model 1)—a term and shorthand that I created to refer to the work of Susan James (2017); YTIE informs my literature review, the development of a corpus, and the narrative inquiry. I also developed the corpus using Cynthia Dillard’s (2006) endarkened feminist epistemology (Model 2). Optimal Theory Applied to Identity Development (OTAID; Myers et al., 1991; Model 3) originates with the work of Linda James Myers (1988) and her associates (1991); I use it to conduct a theoretical analysis of my corpus narrative. YTIE and OTAID center ways of knowing, understanding, and personal development that are socioculturally West African. They are unlike Black Feminism, Critical Race Theory, and others in that they do not frame Black people as existing relative to other peoples with regards to social power or worth. Both frameworks also reframe those of contemporary social justice discourses because they are based on Ancestral traditions that existed before, and irrespective of, those discourses (Walker, as cited in James, 2017). YTIE and OTAID reject the notion of a person’s spiritual growth as being detached from their holistic development because spiritual and material matters are unified in Afrocentric worldviews (Myers, 1988; Myers et al., 1991; Parajuli, 2012). Both frameworks depend on the embodiment of knowledge: truth being subjectively defined and produced through a person’s actions within and interactions with their environments (i.e., social, physical, geohistorical, etc.; James, 2017; Myers et al., 1991). No knowledge is “common,” even that which claims to be, because people must embody knowledge for it to have meaning. Endarkened feminist epistemology centers Black womxn’s forms of knowledge production, as well as cultural contexts and lived experiences of Black womxn that inform their knowledge production. Dillard’s (2006) intention is to legitimize epistemologies that have routinely been excluded from education scholarship, with the understanding that what is considered “knowledge” should depend on consensus from the community in which research is grounded. Endarkened feminist epistemology diverges from YTIE

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by acknowledging sociohistorical oppression of Black womxn by other peoples, as informing ways in which Black womxn create knowledge. However, it is consistent with YTIE with regards to centering Black womxn as embodiments of knowledge. YTIE exemplifies endarkened feminist epistemology by centering African and First Nations femme knowledges in academe’s outputs.

Epistemology: Yoruba Tradition Indigenous Epistemology (YTIE) YTIE is a Pan-African spiritual system that formed in “the Americas,” based on traditions from the Yoruba, Ewe, Fon, Kikôngo, and Dahomean tribes that survived the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade. Anchored in leadership of African ascendant womxn, it promotes knowledge production through relationships with Land, Ancestors, and Orisha. YTIE incorporates the Sacred into all facets of scholarship and praxis. James (2017) defines “Sacred” as welcoming Ancestors into a space, and Okpalaoka and Dillard (2012) define it as honoring and embracing work that is being carried out with reverence. YTIE is inherently restorative, asset-focused, and resistance-oriented. Practitioners reject western norms of producing knowledge about African ascendant peoples that considers traditional cultural practices to be primitive or superstitious or that focuses on trauma, humiliation, and violation. Practitioners also reject the idea that all cultural knowledges should be accessible to or through western academe (James, 2017). James (2017) discusses YTIE as part of her work with Trade/itions, a symposium that the Caribbean Cultural Center African Diaspora Institute (CCCADI) hosted at City University of New York in 2016. Trade/itions brought together Orisha practitioners and novices to explore social activism, cultural arts, and Orisha/Orisa/Orixa/Oricha traditions across Brazil, Cuba, Haiti, Puerto Rico, Trinidad, and the United States. Reflective of her involvement, James (2017) asserts that Indigenous and African Diasporic communities have maintained embodied customs as ways to retrieve information through aforementioned Sacred relationships. She borrows Nishanaabeg wisdom from Leanne Simpson (2011) to describe these ways of knowing as integral to praxis: In order to access knowledge . . . we have to engage our entire bodies: our physical beings, emotional self, our spiritual energy and our intellect. Our methodologies, our lifeways must reflect those components of our being and the integration of those four components into a whole. This gives rise to our “research methodologies,” our ways of knowing, our processes for living in the real world. (p. 42)

To reconcile discordance between Indigenous and western academic ontology, James (2017) cites Aymara sociologist Simón Yampara’s (2011) concept of comovivencia: a system of intra-connection between different worlds based on mutual respect. Or people from different cultures and backgrounds “co-live” with partial connection that is mutually

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understood to never be complete. Unfortunately, de la Cadena (2015) asserts that settler communities create barriers in achieving comovivencia by refusing to grant equity of ontologies and epistemologies through denying their existence at all (as cited in James, 2017).

Theory: OTAID OTAID is a psychological development theory that brings together belief systems from diverse spiritual origins. Myers et al.’s (1991) use of the word optimal calls back to Myers’s (1988) assertion that systemic oppression is possible because people conceptualize themselves as “parts” that are fragmented between spirit and material matter—and, therefore, as less than whole. They argue that this conceptualization is “suboptimal” and leaves people feeling insecure about their self-worth; consequently, people seek external validation. OTAID asserts that all life is the unique manifestation of infinite spirit, through which humanity is unified (Myers et al., 1991). Within OTAID, people exist to gain deeper understandings of who and what they are as spiritual expressions; in doing to, they experience “identity development.” OTAID is neither linear nor categorical. It does not focus on acquisition of new knowledge but on deeper understanding of one’s contextual embodiments. Not everyone experiences all of OTAID’s phases, and some people simultaneously experience multiple phases (Myers et al., 1991). There are seven phases of OTAID: (0) absence of conscious awareness, (1) individuation, (2) dissonance, (3) immersion, (4) internalization, (5) integration, and (6) transformation. In Phase 0, individuals lack awareness of their own being and pass no judgment; this is usually infancy. In Phase 1, they lack awareness of worldviews outside of the ones to which they are initially exposed. Their families inform their personal identities, and they may not be aware of the “parts” of themselves that society devalues. In Phase 2, individuals become aware of the “parts” of themselves that society devalues. Resulting, they experience anger, guilt, and conflict between self-concepts and how others perceive them. They may attempt to disassociate from the “parts” of themselves that others devalue. In Phase 3, individuals find community with others who share the devalued “parts” of themselves. They may participate in the culture of that community and become distrusting of people who do not share that “part” of who they are. In Phase 4, individuals develop a sense of worth about this “part” of themselves and integrate it into their whole selves as one facet of who they are. They also become more tolerant of others and recognize that others also have many “parts.” In Phase 5, individuals feel a deeper sense of security in who they are and have more peaceful relationships because they understand others beyond their fragmented “parts.” With this shift, they begin to understand that systemic oppression is contingent on how individuals view and treat each other. In Phase 6, individuals define personhood holistically, including Ancestors, those yet unborn, nature, and community. They understand the interrelatedness and interdependence of all things—including culture and history—and value them as contributing to the greater good (Myers et al., 1991).

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Study Findings and Theoretical Considerations Here, I illuminate existing challenges in reconciling African Disaporic epistemologies with western ontologies that guide development theories. I first brief the overarching concerns of epistemic incongruence in scholarship and disembodiment through theory and discuss my study findings using Jones and McEwen’s (2000) Model of Multiple Dimensions of Identity (MMDI) to illustrate the incongruence.

Epistemic Incongruences in Spirituality Scholarship Scholars who use positivistic ontologies will be challenged by my conceptualization of spiritual development. Indigenous ontologies treat existence as infinite and embodied; their epistemologies treat emotions as knowledge independent of cognition. African Diasporic epistemologies also treat spirituality as a collectivistic practice used to resist social oppression—challenging understandings of students’ identity development as individualistic. Furthermore, western understandings of faith and the legacy of the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade create opportunities to conflate spiritual and religious practice, specifically around Christianity, which obscures the separate functioning of each in the Diaspora. Western scholars may not understand that under the duress of slavery, religion—even that which was forcibly given to slaves—acted as a sociopolitical space through which slaves preserved African spiritualities and practices. This trap of misunderstanding is easy for education researchers to fall into because (a) they may not know history scholarship, which discusses how (b) slaves used white religious rituals to cloak and perpetuate their own. Also (c) the womxn in my study who affiliate with a religion happen to identify as Christian, which may reinforce education scholars’ misconception of Black spirituality as individualized (as is the case of religion). However, these womxn represented less than one third of the corpus and spoke of spirituality separately.

Disembodiment Through Student Development Theory Black Diasporic frameworks, including YTIE and OTAID, are incongruent with western epistemologies that inform development theories, because they reject the notion of a person’s spirituality as being detached from the rest of who they are (Myers et al., 1991; Parajuli, 2012). Furthermore, such frameworks do not conceptualize individuals as “parts” who develop over time but as whole manifestations of spirit that discover deeper realms of themselves based on contextual embodiments. As both the literature and my corpus illustrate, members of the Diaspora conceptualize their spiritual Selves as either the core or an integral facet of who they are—through which other realms of the Self manifest, originate, or have meaning. This framing of spirituality juxtaposes student development theories that fragment students into “parts”—defined as social identities (i.e., race, gender, etc.)—in attempts to understand their postsecondary growth.

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Where embodiment treats people as whole manifestations of spirit that contextually define and produce knowledges, I use disembodiment to refer to the process by which people become fragmented into aforementioned “parts” of themselves—such that they cannot define or produce contextual knowledge as whole beings. Disembodiment is what Myers et al. (1991) call “suboptimal” as antithetical to OTAID and is the consequence of western attempts to make knowledge universal by removing it from local contexts. Mignolo (as cited in James, 2017, p. 2) calls these attempts “zero point epistemology”: “the ultimate grounding of knowledge, which paradoxically is ungrounded, or grounded neither in geo-historical location nor in bio-graphical configurations of the bodies.” The lack of contextual grounding for Black womxn in PWIs leads to insecurity and need for external validation of their worth. Student development theories fragment people, creating “steps” through which students “progress” to become more actualized in different “parts” of themselves. In doing so, these theories become sponsors of disembodiment because they treat students as less than whole. Although Black femmes may appear fragmented to themselves during OTAID’s dissonance and may experience disembodiment, OTAID asserts that they are always whole. Clarifying that OTAID uses the language of “parts” with understanding that individuals experience oppression because society fragments them into “parts” (Myers et al., 1991) for (de)valuation is important.

(Suboptimal) Discussion of Study Findings Using the MMDI The MMDI acknowledges theories’ inabilities to fully capture student experiences but still disembodies students by fragmenting them into “parts” as social identities. Bearing this limitation in mind, the model represents how individuals make sense of themselves and has three components (see Figure 5.1). The first component is the “core” of a person, consisting of personal attributes, characteristics, and identity. The second component consists of intersecting circles that represent asPWI pects of a person’s social identities, as Mental Health (context) (raced and gendered) well as a metric for how salient those social identities are to a person’s core; distance from the person’s core indiRaced Gender cates the salience level of a particular Sociocultural SPIRIT social identity. The MMDI’s outer layer views: raced faith (core) Raced/gendered sociocultural views represents contexts in which a person understands themselves, such as Network of Self-definition family, sociocultural conditions, and Spiritual Support lived experiences. To brief my findings, I offer a visual representation of the MMDI for Black femme students’ FigureFigure 5.1. Revised ModelMMDI Model 5.1.MMDI Revised spirituality development.

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Four themes emerged from the study analyses: (a) Divine intervention on behalf of Black womxn; (b) Black womxn acting as agents of the Divine and spiritual practice among Black womxn (c) in community with each other and (d) as mechanisms for coping with their PWI environments. The womxn in the corpus discuss spirituality as both their core and the primary way through which they understood their Selves. Their discussions suggest that their self-concepts existed prior to attending PWIs—a notion that is consistent with Diasporic epistemologies. Through spirituality, the womxn made meaning of their (a) raced gender as Black womxn; (b) networks of support, which always aligned with their spiritual practices; (c) sociocultural views, both in terms of race-informed faith and raced gender; and (d) journeys through self-definition. Journeys of self-definition focused on mental health and were tied to raced gender. One womxn framed self-definition around morality and another around being queer; no womxn discussed ethnicity, nationality, or class with regards to spirituality.

Theoretical Critique Through a New Model This section introduces my framework for Black femme students’ spiritual identity development, critiques relevant development models that inform postsecondary scholarship, and uses the new framework to respond to the model critiques.

Model Discussion I used Astin et al. (2011), James (2017), and my study to create a framework for Black femme students’ spiritual identity development. The model accounts for sociohistorical roles of spirituality in the Diaspora, and the positioning of Black womxn as spiritual leaders in their communities who are simultaneously devalued in certain contexts. It infuses YTIE’s tenets into OTAID’s framework and maintains the Afrocentric belief of unification between spiritual and physical matter. The model is cyclical and focuses on one’s deeper understanding of who and what they are as a unique manifestation of spirit, at PWIs. The model phases are (0) initial embodiment, (1) cultivation, (2) fragmentation/disembodiment, (3) seeking safety, (4) initial healing, (5) emerging reembodiment, and (6) embodiment revival. An individual can experience these phases throughout his or her life cycle and in different contexts; I present it specifically in a postsecondary context, in accordance with this volume’s purpose. In Phase 0, the future student emerges into existence as a whole being. From this moment, they are a unique and infinite manifestation of spirit (Myers et al., 1991). In Phase 1, the future student spends time prior to college in their spiritual community. Their community shapes their understanding of themselves, including a sense of self-worth regarding their race and gender as manifestations of spirit. They may face discrimination based on race and gender but do not internalize it because their broader

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community supports their growth as a whole being. In Phase 2, the student arrives at their PWI and realizes that the environment devalues them because of their raced gender and gendered race. Their PWI fragments them into “parts” of themselves—not seeing or treating them as a whole being. They receive poor treatment that undermines the positive self-concept that their spiritual community cultivated in them prior to college—and they consequently feel anger, depression, anxiety, social isolation, and confusion. They become insecure and unsure of how to make sense of (or create truth in) the PWI context—and become disembodied. In Phase 3, they look for sense of worth through spiritual practice—religious rituals, faith/spirituality communities, mentoring and peer relationships, and so forth—with others who share their race and gender. They may become distrusting of people who are not Black femmes and/or supporting of their spiritual practice. In Phase 4, they work with and through other Black femmes to make sense of who and what they are in their PWI environment. They explore how they will embody a “truth” in this context, remembering that they are still a manifestation of spirit. In Phase 5, as the student comes to understand their current embodiment, they support fellow Black womxn in doing the same. They incorporate actions into their spiritual practice that support the alleviation of anger, depression, anxiety, social isolation, and confusion. In Phase 6, the student continues growing with other Black femmes. Within the PWI context, they feel a deeper sense of security in who and what they are as a Black person, femme, and manifestation of spirit. They may or may not choose to associate with collegians who are not Black womxn but have more peaceful interactions with all individuals because they can now embody the truth of what and who they are in their new setting. The student’s embodiment comes through their chosen spiritual practices, in communion with others—which also function as protections against future disembodiment. They progressively understand that the felt loss of self-worth for Black womxn comes from external forces that render them devalued “parts” of themselves, namely, their race and gender. As the student continues to explore themselves, they experience “identity development.”

Critiques of, and Responses to, Development Theories Fowler’s (1991) Stages of Faith. Fowler’s model, consistent with western frameworks, is linear with six “steps” through which people “advance” in faith development. He references and utilizes cognitive and moral development models that include Erikson (1963) and Kohlberg (1981). Watt (2003) identifies two limitations of the model. First, it engages spiritual development as a cognitive process, whereas Black Americans are apt to develop spiritually through emotions by way of speaking to Ancestors, feeling spirits, and so on (Locke, 1992). Watt argues that cognition might inhibit spiritual knowledge that comes from emotions; in the context of Black womxn, she advocates for more weight to be given to ways of knowing that are not cognitive. Second, the model does not account for ways in which race and culture inform faith development.

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As an extension of Watt’s (2003) critique, I worry that western constructs of cognition inhibit embodiment. Fowler’s stages are too prescriptive to align with Diasporic epistemologies because they rely on religion and cognition while excluding spirituality and emotion. Black womxn who belong to faith communities may learn stories (primal stage), accept symbols (intuitive-projective stage), and seek to conform (mythical-literal stage) throughout their spiritual journeys, external to the Self, but these experiences are not imminent for individuals within or outside of any faith. Furthermore, cognitive processes that occur in these stages suggest that faith authority exists outside of the Self, insinuating that disembodiment is part of everyone’s spirituality development—even within a faith community. I also question how Fowler would reimagine his model to account for Black womxn’s spiritual development—given that embodiment is informed by experiences of both racism and sexism and African Diasporic spirituality is collectivistic in practice. My questioning comes from two concerns. First, although the latter stages of his model depart from direct reliance on external authority, they do so linearly. This linearity suggests that Fowler conceptualizes individuals as less than whole when they enter existence. For example, Fowler (1991) discusses the conjunctive stage as a static point of arrival in one’s development. Herein, a person embraces and integrates their “opposites or polarities” (Fowler, 1991, p. 40)—masculine and feminine, constructive and destructive, and so on. This understanding of people presents existence dualistically, not holistically or contextually. His individuative-relative stage prompts critical analysis of rituals and symbols in the model’s first three stages, with a goal of making commitments to values. Fowler discusses this commitment process, again, as static and required before “advancing” to the conjunctive stage. Second, Fowler treats spiritual development as individualistic, although in response to interactions with others. The synthetic-conventional stage is one in which a person desires a personal relationship with God as a reflection of fostering deeper interpersonal relationships. This framing of spiritual understanding removes divinity from people themselves, such that they are not manifestations of spirit matter. New model’s response to Fowler (1991). The model accounts for experiences of race, gender, racism, and sexism as part of Black womxn’s spiritual identity development while also neither identifying fragmented forms of development (i.e., cognitive, social) nor conceptualizing development as linear. Consistent with Diasporic epistemologies, the new model conceptualizes both community and spiritual growth differently from Fowler. Because everything and everyone are manifestations of spirit, one’s total environment is their spiritual community. With this, the role of community is not to legitimize one’s faith but to support people in cultivating deeper understandings of themselves. This begins in initial embodiment, and continues throughout life. Cross’s (1991) Black identity development. Cross supports colonial white supremacist views of Blackness and ignores ways that gender impacts embodiment of Black identity development. It also positions Black people’s sense of self-worth relative to non-Black others and denotes Blackness as a “part” of Black people that does not necessarily converge with other

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“parts” of themselves. For example, Cross (1991) discusses race as separate from religion, where Diasporic frameworks conceptualize race and religion as manifestations of unified spirit matter. Cross assumes that Blacks do not come into early racial self-awareness positively. He also presumes that they internalize western ideologies as part of self-concept, which then inform their need to later redefine their Blackness as part of his model. These views are discordant with Diasporic epistemologies. Although Cross’s (1991) encounter, immersion/ emersion, and internalization stages are comparable to OTAID’s dissonance, immersion, internalization, and integration phases, these models differ in what they accomplish because of their differing ontologies relative to colonial power structures. Cross explores how Blacks develop racial identity where they may not have had any previously. OTAID explores how people regain a sense of wholeness through immersion, internalization, integration, and transformation—following incidents of dissonance. New model’s response to Cross (1991). The model removes racial identity development from western contextual perceptions of Blackness. It also acknowledges that gender informs embodied Blackness, and Blackness informs embodied womxnhood. Phases 0 and 1 position Black womxn’s sense of self-worth as existing in and of itself—not relative to non-Blacks and nonfemmes—and as “part” of all other “parts” of one’s Self. The model presumes that Black womxn come into early self-awareness through generative experiences, encounter fragmentation on entering antagonistic spaces in new environments (Phase 2), and then must recover positive self-awareness by seeking out new Black/femme spaces (Phases 3 onward). This model also distinguishes Black femmes’ negative self-concept in response to racism or sexism, from their overall existential worth as unique expressions of spirit while honoring both as embodied truths. Belenky, Clinchy, Goldberger, and Tarule’s (1986) Women’s Ways of Knowing. Belenky et al.’s (1986) framework is incongruent with African epistemologies, wherein all truth is embodied. Their subjective knowledge is most congruent with embodied truth but departs from it in two ways. First, where subjective knowledge assumes itself to be superior to other ways of knowing, embodied truth assumes itself to be the only way of knowing. Second, Belenky et al. (1986) assert that not all womxn experience subjective knowledge whereas Diasporic epistemologies assume that everyone embodies knowledge as the only way to produce truth. Belenky et al. (1986) also construct their epistemic typology so that womxn receive either external or internal knowledge but not both. Embodied truth depends on individuals internally making meaning of interactions that are external, yet also spiritually tied, to their Selves. Belenky et al. (1986) assume that womxn who are silent are mindless and obedient, not willingly disengaging from discourses to create their own counterdiscourses in safer environments (i.e., terreiros). This oversight suggests that Belenky et al. (1986) do not engage intersecting oppressions or (de)colonial contexts that impact Black womxn’s behaviors and meaning-making and use only western epistemic frameworks to (a) conceptualize behavioral norms and (b) understand how womxn create and enact knowledge. New model’s response to Belenky et al. (1986). The model decenters western frames of womxnhood, accounting for factors that impact Black femmes’ meaning-making

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processes. It also allows for all Black womxn’s experiences to hold legitimacy in informing their understanding of environments. The model conceptualizes all knowledges as what Belenky et al. (1986) call constructed knowledge. Belenky et al.’s (1986) stages of received, subjective, and procedural knowledge suggest that womxn progress into trusting themselves over external authorities; the new model asserts that upon coming into existence, Black womxn embody, produce, and trust their own knowledges. Black womxn also make meaning of anything that is external to themselves through their spiritual connections with it.

Looking Forward To conclude, I offer challenges in and implications for supporting Black femme collegians: research expansion, epistemic inclusion, and locating group-specific knowledge.

Limitations and the Need for Research Expansion My model presumes that Black womxn arrive to college at the cultivation stage of development based on my corpus, but I recognize that many may arrive in initial embodiment. Future examinations should explore how these students develop in college from initial embodiment, as well as from other stages of the model. The model also presumes that students enter college with cultural capital that has fostered positive self-concepts regarding race and gender. Expansions should explore development for Black femmes with negative self-concepts by interrogating where Cross (1991) and Belenky et al. (1986) make warranted claims about raced and gendered oppression—as well as how where their models interact with phases of this new model. The model can also be applied to Black femme professionals and Black masculine students and professionals to explore their embodiments across postsecondary settings.

Epistemic Inclusion Western academe must expand its repertoire to understand ways that Black femme students’ embodiments are rooted in Diasporic histories. That understanding requires recognition of the role that the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade has had in emerging Diasporic spiritualities. Spiritual practices of the Black American Diaspora are expressly political, and Indigenous epistemologies are intentionally context-specific in ways that rejects western scholarship’s aspiration of generalizability; both characteristics are strengths in their ethnocultural framings. Until academe is willing to (a) acknowledge itself as political and contextual, (b) give value to embodiments that subvert its epistemologies, and (c) accept the spiritual as political within (de)colonial contexts, it will continue to misunderstand and neglect Black femme collegians.

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Locating Knowledge Although a limited number of postsecondary studies center Black femme voices, a plethora of data about their experiences exist through spaces in which Black womxn create, manage, and participate for and with each other (i.e., friend groups, blogs, associations, etc.). These spaces act as modern terreiros or slave churches—creating safety for healing and development. The contrast in western scholarship that centers Black womxn, and spaces beyond academe that belong to them, suggests that postsecondary researchers must grow beyond western framings of “the academy” to locate Black femme knowledges. Research collaborators can do this by giving Black womxn leadership roles in designing studies that showcase their expertise on their own lives, and reflect their embodiments (Collins, 2000, 2015; Dillard, 2006).

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CR EATING MY BOR DER LANDS

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Creating My Borderlands: Queer and Muslim Identity Development Through a Scholarly Personal Narrative Musbah Shaheen I am queer, and I am Muslim. I was born and raised in a Muslim family in Syria and knew since I was a child that being Muslim was a big part of my life. I attended the mosque frequently, memorized passages of the Quran, prayed five times a day, and fasted during Ramadan. My world tossed and turned when I realized that I am queer because all around me, I saw messages of rejection: at school, at home, in the media, and in the mosque. I grappled with religion and sexuality throughout my upbringing and sought ways to liberate myself and live authentically. I chose to study in the United States because I thought that here I could finally be openly queer and live my life the way I wish. Throughout the years I spent in the United States, I explored my identities and came to accept myself as a queer Muslim. Such acceptance came through an intense and ongoing process of reflection on myself, my relationship with my past, and my hopes for the future. As a scholar of higher education, I am drawn to the study of student development theory because it allows me to broaden my perspective on the meaning of identity. I found the application of critical paradigmatic perspectives especially liberating as it allowed me to rethink identities as functions of social systems, not as mere categories. I accepted myself as a queer Muslim by critically exploring the role of systemic power and privilege, and transcending the categorization of identities to occupy unique spaces informed by my experiences. I am inspired by the writing of Gloria Anzaldúa (1987) in Borderlands/La Frontera: The New Mestiza. Anzaldúa described her experience as a lesbian woman of color living in the borderlands, where she created a new consciousness based on multiple subjectivities (Khalil Hammad, 2010). As a queer Muslim living in the United States, I created my own borderlands, where the multiple realities of my identities could exist and prosper. Through the discovery of these borderlands, this chapter was born. In this chapter, I tell my story using a scholarly personal narrative (SPN) approach (Nash, 2004), centering my experience as a queer Muslim to examine the development of queerness in conjunction with religious identity through the lens of a critical paradigm. The SPN approach relies on storytelling as a means of scholarly exploration. I chose to write this chapter

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because, in my study of identity development literature, I did not see myself reflected in any major scholarly works. The intersection of queerness and Muslim identity creates unique circumstances for people like me, trying to situate themselves within religious doctrines that sometimes oppress queer people in the name of Allah or other higher powers. Therefore, this work elevates marginalized voices by bringing in my Muslim identity to challenge Christian hegemony (Schlosser, 2003) and my Syrian identity to provide a cross-cultural perspective and critique the Western ideals of the study of identity development. The process of writing and rewriting my story as an SPN has helped me reach new levels of understanding that have broader implications for research and practice. I begin by providing an overview of critical paradigmatic epistemologies, with an emphasis on feminist, intersectional, and poststructural perspectives. After the theoretical background, I tell my story through deeply personal and sometimes painful stories, and then I examine how a critical paradigm can explain how my identities were shaped by sociopolitical systems. Following the critical reflection, I pay homage to Gloria Anzaldúa’s borderlands by highlighting areas of connection between my story and Anzaldúa’s conceptualization of the borderlands. Finally, I end this chapter by presenting some implications and lingering thoughts for research and practice.

Critical Paradigms in Student Development Theory Research Student development theories interpret and explain how college students grow and develop (Patton, Renn, Guido, & Quaye, 2016). Despite the existence of literature on religious and spiritual identity development, the topic remains stigmatized in many academic circles (Dunn et al., 2015; Love, Bock, Jannarone, & Richardson, 2005). Rockenbach, Mayhew, Davidson, Ofstein, and Bush (2015) attribute such stigmatization to the highly individualistic nature of religious and spiritual identities. Although I agree that these areas of research are stigmatized in the academy, I see that it is due to the individualistic approach scholars take to such research. Acknowledging and exploring how organized religious affiliation influences individuals and communities, not just how spirituality shapes the individuals, are important (Shahjahan, 2010). Although religious beliefs can be very individualistic, there are implications for having a shared religious identity or affiliating with similar religious systems. Religious influences are prevalent in the academy and in everyday life in the United States, including religious holidays, the academic calendar, and university mottos (Schlosser, 2003). In summary, ignoring the topics of religion and spirituality is a disservice to everyone, especially those with marginalized religious identities. Research on sexual identity development, particularly about queer students, has yielded many stage-based models of development (e.g., Troiden, 1989), lifespan models of development (e.g., D’Augelli, 1994), and a unifying model that includes heterosexual identities (Dillon, Worthington, & Moradi, 2011). Scholars came to see the limitations

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of development theories in accounting for the complexity of identities and the roles of social institutions in shaping such identities (Denton, 2016). Developmental models often portray identities as fixed and fail to account for the fluidity in identities throughout the lifespan. Most developmental models also view identities in silos and neglect to examine the interconnectedness between identities that creates complex realities (Abes, 2012). As a queer Muslim who grew up in Syria, I did not see myself in any research about queerness, let alone queerness and religion. Critical perspectives, however, revolutionized how I viewed identity because they added layers of complexity through systemic power and privilege and acknowledged the intimate relationship of my identities with the sociopolitical environment I occupied. Applying a critical paradigm in reflecting on my narrative with religion and sexuality helped me understand more holistically how my queer and Muslim identities have shifted throughout my lifetime and contexts. In the next section, I summarize the key points in the critical paradigm and related perspectives. My goal is not to offer an in-depth analysis of such perspectives but to provide the reader with the theoretical underpinnings of the stories and reflections I share in subsequent sections.

Complicating Identity Through a Critical Paradigm Theoretical paradigms embody different outlooks on the nature of being, knowing, and truth-seeking (Patton et al., 2016). The theoretical lens through which we examine identity and experience has a significant impact on how we conceptualize identity (Guido, Chavez, & Lincoln, 2010). A critical paradigm is a family of theories that “consider how power, privilege, and oppression influence and constrain experiences, meaning making, and the ways in which individuals manage these social forces” (Hernández, 2017, p. 205). In the context of social identities, a critical paradigm accounts for systems of power and privilege in shaping individual concepts of identity (Hernández, 2017). In other words, a critical paradigm shifts the focus from the individual meaning-making process to the relationship of the individual with larger societal systems (Biddix, 2018). Following the example of Denton (2016), the critical frameworks that I use to understand my religious and sexual identities are feminism, intersectionality, and poststructuralism. Feminist scholarship is concerned with centering the subordination of women and revealing the dominance of men over women (hooks, 2000). Feminism highlights the role of the patriarchy, a system of dominance that asserts the superiority of men and their power over women, in shaping the experience of those with marginalized gender identities. The feminist movement has gone through multiple waves and expanded to include the intersection of gender identity with other social identities, such as race, sexuality, and religion. Although I intend to examine my queerness as a sexual identity, a feminist analysis is important for two reasons. First, it reveals how patriarchy and male dominance influence how people view nonheteronormative sexualities and how they

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influenced my relationship with Islam. Second, a feminist approach allows me to acknowledge my relationship with the patriarchy and illuminates how I, as a man, benefit from male dominance in how I navigate oppressive and exclusionary environments. In addition to feminist scholarship, I also draw on intersectionality. Born out of critical legal studies and critical race theory, intersectionality was used to advocate for Black women and asserted that the intersection of race and gender results in unique experiences for Black women socially and politically (Crenshaw, 1991). Intersectionality acknowledges the diversity within social groups and challenges the notion of a unified experience by transferring the attention from individual meaning-making to group interactions with larger societal powers (Mitchell, Simmons, & Greyerbiehl, 2014). I applied an intersectional analysis to my narrative because I wanted to examine how I encounter oppression through my multiple intersecting identities. Given that the status of my identities as dominant or marginalized shifted when I changed my geographic location, I was curious to see where these identities intersected and how such intersectionality shaped my concept of queer and Muslim identities. The final framework I draw from is poststructuralism. This framework challenges the categories of identities (Abes & Kasch, 2012; Sullivan, 2003) and reveals identity as performative and fluid (Butler, 1990). By destabilizing, deconstructing, and reconstructing identity categories, poststructuralism resists dominant definitions of truth and reality (Hernández, 2017; Patton et al., 2016). For example, a poststructural lens on gender showcases the performativity of gender identities, which are enacted in everyday life, not predetermined (Butler, 1990). Poststructuralism resists and destabilizes the dominant narratives and adds a nuanced perspective to the systems and structures that push individuals to perform identities as if they were fixed categories. Poststructural theories provided me with a new meaning of identity and uncovered aspects of my experience that were performative. I wanted to understand how some of my identities, especially Muslim identity, were painted as predetermined and fixed when they could have been fluid and flexible and how the discovery of such fluidity allowed me to reclaim the Muslim identity. In summary, a critical perspective accounts for the role that oppression, power, and privilege play in shaping the experience of a group and therefore the day-to-day interactions of individuals (Abes & Kasch, 2007). Critical perspectives expand the notion of identity and complicate (Dill & Zambrana, 2009) identity development discourse. These perspectives have been crucial for deepening my understanding of my queer and Muslim identities and provided me an opportunity to construct my own narrative. The next section is a recounting of my story that is influenced by my exploration of the critical paradigm as a way of thought.

Telling My Story Through a Critical Paradigm I was born in Syria to a Muslim family, and since I was a child, I learned that two things about me are unquestionable: I am a Muslim, and I am a man. I went to the mosque with my father and memorized sections of the Quran. My relationship with

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Islam became complicated when I realized that I was gay. I knew that the people in my community did not accept (or even acknowledge) the validity of nonheteronormative people or relationships. As I was trying to figure out how I was going to live my truth as a gay man in an environment that was explicitly homophobic, I needed to evaluate my relationship with Islam. People used Islam, citing passages from the Quran, as a tool to demonize queer people. I learned that being gay was antithetical to being Muslim and that I could not pick and choose which teachings of Islam I want to follow. Therefore, I was faced with an ultimatum: I could either be a true and full Muslim who is not queer or be queer and renounce my identity as a Muslim. The more I interacted with the religious doctrine, the more I felt disconnected from Islam and from the Muslim community. I remember a sermon I attended at the mosque one Friday afternoon that talked about the evil of the “sexually degenerate and aberrant.” I remember sitting at the mosque next to my father in deep shame. I knew that I was gay, and I knew that it needed to remain a secret. In Arabic, there are no words to describe being gay that are not derogatory, so I often heard about my sexuality as a problem that needed to be fixed. My queerness was of utmost salience to me. It felt right, and I had no doubts in my mind that I was queer, so I decided that I will not associate myself with a religion that refuses to acknowledge my true nature. Through others’ rejection, I lost my connection to Islam. Openly, however, I still did everything I was expected to do: I went to the mosque, I prayed, I fasted, and I recited the Quran. But in my heart, I felt estranged from the religion and later resentful of it. The narrative about queerness that I experienced in Syria was deeply connected to masculine ideals and gender hierarchy. My dad paraded me in different male spaces because I am his firstborn son, telling me ahead of time the proper way to greet the men: “Say Assalamu Alaikum loudly and firmly.” I often felt as though I was not man enough for multiple reasons. I was soft-spoken and timid, I smiled and laughed too much, and I enjoyed spending time with the women in my family. My grandmothers and aunts had a significant impact on me because their spaces were genuine and welcoming. I sat through their conversations about trouble with their husbands. They taught me how to cook. They taught me how to knit because I asked them to, and whenever my mother would take me to visit my aunts, I felt joyful. Meanwhile, in men’s spaces (which were often separate from women’s), I felt as though I were a mistake. The men in my life spoke about men who have sex with men as submissive and feminine. They told jokes about people they met whom they believe to be shawath (which means “aberrant” in Arabic). In that environment, being gay was my deepest and darkest secret because if it were to be known to others, I would become the butt of the joke. To blend into my societal and familial homophobic contexts, I needed to be as masculine as I could be. I followed the directions my father gave me, and I tried my best to stay out of sight during social gatherings. I was desperate to liberate my mind and my body, which propelled me to seek out my education in the United States, where I thought I could flourish and be able to live my life openly and unapologetically queer.

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I moved further away from Islam while living in the United States because I had no reason to continue practicing the religion. I met people from various religious traditions and was involved in an interfaith student organization, which helped me learn more about world religions and illuminated the difference between religion and spirituality. I saw spirituality is the internal sense of connection with the universe and conceptualized religion as a set of practices and traditions. Thinking about spirituality was much less constricting than thinking about religion. Thinking about myself as connected to a universal sense of fate and committing to the service of others made me a more wholesome person and allowed me to make peace with things that were out of my hands. Religion, on the other hand, meant oppression to me. Throughout my time in college, I did not see a reason to adopt a religious label because such a label was, for the most part, no longer essential for my survival. I even went to a local mosque during my senior year of college with a group of students and staff but left very abruptly. When I was in a mosque, everything around me reminded me of the times I felt scared and ashamed of my queerness. The experience was extremely triggering, and it made me realize that my experience of oppression through Islam was embedded in my consciousness. I did not identify as a Muslim; I felt as though I would forever be associated with the system that drove me away from my home and made me feel the worst about myself. Although my connection to my Muslimhood suffered, my relationship with my queerness flourished. At my undergraduate institution, I engaged more openly with my queerness through involvement with the queer student support office and student organization. However, by engaging with a large queer community primarily composed of White men, I became increasingly aware of my racial and ethnic identities, especially given that many romantic and sexual partners fetishized my Arabic background. Once again, I found myself faced with a masculine ideal. White men wanted me to embody their vision of the Arabic man as mysterious and strong. I struggled to define myself racially because although I saw myself as Middle Eastern, my complexion and features allowed me to pass as White in some contexts. I experienced much confusion as I tried to navigate White spaces and spaces for people of color (POC), sensing that I belonged in neither. I know that I am not Black or Brown, which made me question whether my presence in POC affinity spaces could cause harm to others. Because I was escaping the traumatic experiences that I had in Syria, I alienated myself from my Syrian heritage and lost ties with my family and friends. I refused to be around anyone who spoke Arabic because I wanted to put that part of my life behind me and focus on the present. I am not White, I do not share the same experience as many POC in the United States, I am not American, and I did not want to feel Syrian. I felt stuck somewhere in between. The shift in my thinking happened as I navigated the chilly political climate in the United States that affected those who came from Muslim countries, including Syria (i.e., President Trump’s Travel Ban, Executive Order No. 13769, 2017). I realized that I needed to have a more robust understanding of who I am and that I cannot ignore my connection to Syria. As a means of resisting the erasure of my heritage, I started thinking about how

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I live out my Syrianness and safeguard it for future generations. Never before had I felt the need to have Syrian culture in my life, yet as my cultural identity became in jeopardy, I realized my need to rediscover my Syrian heritage. I started to play more Arabic music, which sounds like a minor change in my daily routine, but it had such a profound effect in bringing back memories of people and places I left behind. I sought out the store that sold Syrian bread, a staple in our household, and re-created some of the food and drinks I had as a child. These outward expressions of Syrian culture helped me realize that I could be Syrian while living in the United States and that these elements of culture brought me a sense of comfort. They reminded me of the positive things that I miss about my upbringing that I may never experience again due to international politics. I started to view my Syrian culture as an asset that brings richness and flavor into my life. I did not want to lose that side of my personhood. The biggest realization I had was that being Muslim was, in fact, a big part of being Syrian. One morning, I was having a phone conversation with my mother, who was telling me about my dad’s health, which was deteriorating. The conversation made me very emotional, and I cried afterward (and for the most of that day). I also recalled a verse from the Quran: Your Lord has decreed that you worship none but Him and that you be kind to parents. Whether one or both of them attain old age in your life, say not to them a word of contempt, nor repel them, but address them in terms of honor. (17:23)

I felt deeply ashamed of being in the United States and not with my family. I felt selfish because I wanted to live my life authentically; meanwhile, my parents, who have contributed so much to who I am, had to navigate old age on their own. For the first time, I missed being in Syria and felt like I was indeed a stranger in the United States. I knew that I could not travel to see my parents, so I looked for a way to feel connected with Syria. That week, I carried a rosary that my dad had given me. Rosaries in Syria are religious and cultural artifacts. Men often carried rosaries that they used to pray and as a general accessory. It epitomized the masculine ideal I learned when I was a child. This time, I felt the need to carry it around to remind me of who I am and where I came from. I realized that I could not separate being Syrian from being Muslim, and the conflation that used to bother me to no end became one of my most salient points of revelation. As I thought about it more, I realized that many of my ways of being and knowing have been shaped by my Muslim upbringing. I recalled one of my favorite Arabic expressions, one that my mother used to say often: Insha’allah, which means “God willing.” Through Islam, I learned to let go of things beyond my control. There have been many obstacles in my journey, but I always tell myself that I will do what I can, do that well, and leave the rest up to the universe. I realized that this way of seeing the world is an aspect of faith that I learned through prayers and teachings I learned as a Muslim. I am not a spiritual or religious person in the traditional sense, but I am a Muslim because Islam is an integral

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part of how I live out my culture. I need my culture to give me strength and purpose, so I need to be Muslim. I vividly remember many of the ways that people I grew up around used Islam to hurt and disparage me, but to protect my cultural belonging and family values, I needed to connect myself to Islam. I reached a critical point in my religious understanding, where I saw religion a set of personal convictions rather than allowing others’ actions to define it for me. To many in Syria, including my parents, being gay excludes me from being a real Muslim. To me, it makes perfect sense: I am queer, Syrian, and Muslim, and these three identities are at the core of my being. I have not come out to my family, but queerness is still extremely salient to me. I can respect where my family is at in terms of their lack of language and context to understand what being queer means. The fact that I must hide my identity from my family, although upsetting at times, does not hinder me from cherishing and honoring my queerness in my own ways. Maybe one day, I would be able to share this story with my parents. But for now, I would rather preserve our relationship because, through my family, I connect deeply with my Syrian identity. In a world that is dominated by Whiteness and Eurocentric cultures as the norm, my religious and cultural belonging need to be preserved.

Expanding My Consciousness Through Critical Paradigmatic Reflection A critical paradigm interrogates how systems of power, privilege, and oppression shape individual identity development and links the individual with larger societal forces (Hernández, 2017). This section is not intended to be a detailed analysis but a reflection on the connections I found in my story with aspects of the critical paradigm. It is worth noting that the process in which I wrote this chapter was cyclical and dynamic. It involved reading critical scholarship, applying such scholarship to my narrative, and then revisiting critical scholarship for further understanding, followed by more in-depth reflection. I hope that by highlighting the connections I made through my process, I demonstrate the liberatory potential of critical theories.

Prevalence of Male Dominance At first, I did not intend on using a feminist lens to reflect on my identity development but after writing my story and dissecting different aspects of it, I realized that patriarchy, sexism, and homophobia were intertwined in shaping my queerness (Jones, 2009). The people around me in Syria rationalized their homophobia by connecting it with gender roles. Their issue, as I understood it, was not being queer per se as a sexual identity but its implications on masculinity. Anything that was not masculine was considered inferior, which implies that similar opinions exist either consciously or subconsciously about women. This points to a universal system of patriarchy (hooks, 2000) that marginalizes

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the experiences of women, trans, and gender-nonconforming individuals. Islam, in that context, was used as a tool of the patriarchy. Muslim feminist scholars have contextualized and reinterpreted Islam’s teaching to promote the concepts of equality between the genders (Saadallah, 2004). That is, Muslim feminist scholars contend that Islam in itself is not oppressive to women, but the ways in which Islam is practiced in some contexts reinforce male dominance. Systems of male dominance were crucial in how I internalized queerness as antithetical to Islam and how such systems were detrimental to my identity development in Syria. However, through a Muslim feminist lens, the exclusion I experienced as an implication of my embodiment of masculinity is separated from Islam itself. My experiences were not a result of Islam’s teaching per se but of how male dominance enforces these teachings to undermine the power of other genders. On the other hand, I enjoyed the privileges of masculinity in many ways. One major theme that emerges throughout my narrative is the idea of passing as masculine. Although I was keeping my queerness a secret, I was able to protect myself from the consequences of being revealed as queer by adhering to the rules of masculinity. I blended into the same masculine ideal that damaged my self-perception, which highlights the prevalence of male dominance as a system of oppression. I straddled various spaces: I acted in a socially acceptable way in male-dominated spaces, which allowed me to pass as straight, and I enjoyed the community associated with the women’s spaces I encountered. Not to say that the experience was pleasant. I hated that I had to act like someone I was not, but the fact that I could act in accordance with the masculine expectations is important to highlight. I am part of the patriarchy regardless of my sexual identity, and that affiliation with privilege, although frustrating at times, was a positive driving factor in my experience of sexuality.

Accounting for Intersectional Marginalization Intersectionality is a critical perspective that uncovers how marginalized identities interact to create unique experiences (Crenshaw, 1991; Dill & Zambrana, 2009). Intersectionality explores the ways that diverse identities interact and shift to create a nuanced and complex experience for different communities (Lather, 2006, p. 50). In Syria, I was of the racial, ethnic, religious, and gender majority. The population in Syria includes a majority of Muslim Arabs despite the presence of religious minorities through pockets of Christian and Jewish communities and ethnic minorities (such as Kurds) in some geographic regions. The concept of race and ethnicity in Syria is very different than that in the United States. In that social ecosystem, I did not see myself as different in aspects beyond my sexual identity, which is why my queerness was extremely salient and why I did not need to explore other aspects of my identity that complicated my experience in the United States. In the United States, on the other hand, my status of dominance and marginality shifted significantly. I became part of a racial, ethnic, and religious minority, in addition to my queer sexual identity, which is also marginalized, albeit to a different extent, in this

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country. The amalgam of all these social group dynamics made for a challenging circumstance that pushed me further along my journey of self-understanding. Within the queer community, I felt as though my experience was unique in many ways. I did not relate to many White queer people who lacked the context of racial marginalization and the exoticization I navigated as an Arab, similar to queer people of color who find racism and marginalization in White queer spaces that often do not provide intersectional inclusivity (Mitchell, Simmons, & Greyerbiehl, 2014). Within communities of color, I felt conflicted between wanting to belong to these communities while simultaneously holding my ability to pass as White. On one hand, I felt that my identity and experiences as a Syrian person were erased and ignored. I understood the unique space I hold as a light-skinned person. Even within queer communities of color, I found a shared experience of race, ethnicity, and sexuality, but our experiences diverged due to my international perspective. At the core of the disconnect is my struggle to define myself racially given the variation in understanding race, racism, and racial equities between different geographical locations. In addition to race and ethnicity, I navigated citizenship status as an additional layer of intersectionality that influenced my experience. My immigration status as a non-U.S. citizen affects not only some of the logistical aspects of living in the United States, such as employment and education, but also my broader sense of belonging. The political system that controls citizenship and the political attitudes toward foreign nationals solidifies the sense of loss I experienced. The same system propelled me in my understanding and acceptance of my identities. Feeling as though my Muslim identity was under attack and at constant risk of erasure caused me to reevaluate what being Muslim means to me. It challenged me to find my own connection to Islam and to reimagine what being a queer Muslim might look like. Jones, Kim, and Skendall (2012) referred to these experiences as “troubling authenticity” (p. 707) to indicate how navigating intersecting systems of power and privilege complicate one’s self-concept and require a new vision of authenticity. My marginalization as a queer Muslim is entangled with my national status, which explains why I did not find affinity in any single community to which I belonged and needed to create my own unique understanding of my identities in the U.S. context.

Deconstructing Identity Categories Poststructural perspectives defy categorization and destabilize identities by highlighting the performative nature of social identities as a way of resisting systems of dominance (Patton et al., 2016). Nonheterosexual relationships were not represented or talked about in Syria, which established heterosexuality as the norm and created conflict as I experienced attraction to other men. I needed to identify as gay, although internally because belonging to a category gave me legitimacy and allowed me to discover more about my sexuality. I performed queerness by not outwardly performing queerness, motivated by the homophobia I encountered. My not-queer queer performance was

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through gender performance consistent with societal expectations. Consequently, having to perform heterosexuality solidified my sense of queerness because I was aware of the performance and compartmentalized my behavior as performative. In the United States, being gay was no longer strictly correlated with masculinity but a separate entity that I needed to understand independently from gender. I broke out of confinements of gender and masculinity and was, therefore, able to see myself as a queer Muslim. Although a poststructural perspective has been applied extensively to gender and sexuality (Butler, 1990), it could also add a richer understanding of other dimensions of identity (Abes, 2009; Hernández, 2017), especially concerning performing religion and culture. Living in Syria as a closeted gay person experiencing oppression through religion, I needed to perform Islam as a behavior, not necessarily as a system of beliefs. Being Muslim felt antithetical to authenticity and, therefore, only manifested when I needed to perform Islam as others saw fit. Living in an environment where I did not need to perform Islam in a particular way and sensing the need to safeguard my Muslim identity opened up space for me to deconstruct and reconstruct my own version of my Muslim identity. The new construct fits into the other dimensions of my identity, particularly my queerness. Learning about poststructuralism as a critical paradigm emphasizing the role of power structures in essentializing identities (Butler, 1990) was helpful and gave me the agency to create a Muslim identity that is congruent with my queer identity. The performance of my Syrian heritage emerged more strongly when I felt the possibility of losing my connection to my culture. The ways in which I brought Syrianness back into my life was symbolic. It was through tangible elements of culture, such as food and music. These elements helped me formulate a new image of being Syrian, one that I could live out authentically in my new U.S. context. I have an emotional need to connect with my past and live authentically. I found a liminal space between two separate truths: the Syrian and the American (Abes & Kasch, 2007). Poststructuralism allows me to destabilize identity expectations and to process the changes in my behaviors as performances rooted in systems of oppression. Rather than feeling lost and confused, I achieve a more sophisticated level of understanding that led to self-empowerment in the creation of a unique space where all my identities exist in harmony, which Gloria Anzaldúa (1987) referred to as the consciousness of the borderlands.

Creating My Borderlands My readings and reflections about critical theories led me to seek out scholars who have embodied the coalescence of multiple theoretical paradigms. In my search for intersectional scholars, I found Gloria Anzaldúa’s (2012) Borderlands/La Frontera: The New Mestiza, which gave me a new language to describe my experience with queerness, Islam, and my culture. Anzaldúa’s search for a home as she navigated multiple identities that were, at times, conflicting resonated with me. Anzaldúa (2012) stated describing the woman of color:

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Alienated from her mother culture, “alien” in the dominant culture, the woman of color does not feel safe within her inner self of her Self. Petrified, she can’t respond, her face caught between los intersticios, the spaces between the different worlds she inhabits. (p. 42)

Straddling the Mexican and the American cultures while navigating being a lesbian woman of color, Anzaldúa envisioned the borderlands as a space of “multiple subjectivity” (Khalil Hammad, 2010, p. 304). She defined it as “a third element which is greater than the sum of its severed parts” (Anzaldúa, 2012, pp. 101–102). Anzaldúa’s “process . . . of breaking down binary dualism and creating the third space, the in-between, border, or interstice that allows contradictions to co-exist” (Khalil Hammad, 2010, p. 304) allowed me to make sense of my story. I feel as if I am also caught in the space between different worlds, wholly belonging in neither. With the Atlantic Ocean between me and the land where I was born, raised, and lived, I am a stranger in this country. To my parents and family who are fundamentally opposed to my truth as a queer person, I am a stranger. I seek acceptance in the United States, and I find it, only to discover exclusion through a different system or different people. In my path toward wholeness and liberation, I created my own third space and built my own borderlands. In these borderlands, my queerness does not preclude me from being Muslim or being Syrian. In these borderlands, I reconcile the oppression I experience in my queer identities, the oppression that drove me away from my home and culture, with my need for my culture to survive. In these borderlands, I am whole yet searching for meaning and constantly reimagining how I live out my identities. I have made peace with the fact that my realities may be conflicting at times and that identity and belonging are never neatly organized into boxes. These realizations came through the study of identity development and critical paradigms. I did not anticipate what I approached at first as a purely academic endeavor to have such a significant impact on myself as a person first and then as a scholar. One of the most prominent implications of writing this work has been transforming the way I see theoretical frameworks. I reflect on what bell hooks wrote in 1994: “Theory is not inherently healing, liberatory, or revolutionary. It fulfills this function only when we ask that it do so and direct our theorizing towards this end” (p. 61). Theories and developmental models have often come short in reflecting the experiences of the marginalized (Jones & Abes, 2017). That is how people like me have been left out of the theory books. However, scholars, such as Gloria Anzaldúa, bell hooks, Kimberlé Crenshaw, Audrey Lorde and many other critical writers, have been challenging dominant narratives of theory and research in their writing. They provide an intersectional outlook on topics of identity and oppression and should become mandatory reading for all those who wish to uplift marginalized communities. Not only is the content important, but so, too, is the lens through which these scholars view their truth and the world.

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Critical reflection illuminated the systems of oppression that have been present throughout my life and impacted how I see and interact with the world. However, I am reminded of Paulo Freire’s (2002) words: “Liberation is praxis: the action and reflection of men and women upon their world in order to transform it” (p. 79). Action and transformation can take on multiple forms. For Anzaldúa, it was through the written word that she found transformation for herself and illuminated it for others. In describing writing and the writer, she said, “the ability of story . . . to transform the storyteller and the listener into something or someone else is shamanistic. The writer, as shape changer, is a nahual, a shaman” (Anzaldúa, 2012, p. 88). Evident in the power that Anzaldúa’s writing gave me to reflect, liberate myself, and share my narrative with others is the possibility of praxis through critical writing. As stewards of higher education, we have the responsibility of transforming people and communities to promote justice and liberation, which we can do through intentional scholarly work and practices. As researchers and scholars, we must direct our studies and writings toward elevating the voices of those who are consistently left on the margins. We must continue to ask ourselves: Whose story is being left out? Does my work reflect the needs and wants of the communities I address? Does my work build on the previous work of other scholars, especially those who are marginalized or minoritized? What do I hope the impact of my work to be, and how do I want it to evolve?

Conclusion Writing a personal narrative was difficult because it required that I relive and rethink some critical moments of my life. I was driven by the observation that my story is not mirrored in most of the scholarly work that I encountered in my study of higher education. I want to see people like me who are grappling with Islam and queerness, and I want to find affinity, even a literary one, that tells me that I am indeed not alone. More scholarship should be devoted to minoritized voices, particularly those who sit on the intersection of multiple systems of oppression. In Anzaldúa’s (1987) words, The future depends on the breaking down of paradigms, it depends on the straddling of two or more cultures. By creating a new mythos—that is, in the way we perceive reality, the way we see ourselves, and the way we behave. (p. 102)

I am thankful for these words because they bring me direction and give me the peace I need to accept and empower myself.

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References Abes, E. S. (2009). Theoretical borderlands: Using multiple theoretical perspectives to challenge inequitable power structures in student development theory. Journal of College Student Development, 50, 141–156. Abes, E. S. (2012). Constructivist and intersectional interpretations of a lesbian college student’s multiple social identities. The Journal of Higher Education, 83, 186–216. Abes, E. S., & Kasch, D. (2007). Using queer theory to explore lesbian college students’ multiple dimensions of identity. Journal of College Student Development, 48, 619–636. Abes, E. S., & Kasch, D. (2012). Queer theory. In S. R. Jones & E. S. Abes (Eds.), Identity development of college students: Advancing frameworks for multiple dimensions of identity (pp. 191–212). San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. Anzaldúa, G. (1987). Borderlands/La Frontera: The new mestiza. San Francisco, CA: Aunt Lute Books. Anzaldúa, G. (2012). Borderlands/La Frontera: The new mestiza (4th ed.). San Francisco, CA: Aunt Lute Books. Biddix, J. P. (2018). Research methods and applications for student affairs. San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. Butler, J. (1990). Gender trouble: Feminism and the subversion of identity. New York, NY: Routledge. Crenshaw, K. (1991). Mapping the margins: Intersectionality, identity politics, and violence against women of color. Stanford Law Review, 43, 1241–1299. D’Augelli, A. R. (1994). Lesbian and gay male development: Steps toward an analysis of lesbians’ and gay men’s lives. In B. Greene & G. Herek (Eds.), Contemporary perspectives in gay and lesbian psychology (Vol. 1, pp. 118–132). Newbury Park, CA: Sage. Denton, M. J. (2016). Critical and poststructural perspectives on sexual identity formation. New Directions for Student Services, 154, 57–69. Dill, B. T, & Zambrana, R. E. (2009). Critical thinking about inequality. In B. T. Dill & R. E. Zambrana (Eds.), Emerging intersections: Race, class, and gender in theory, policy, and practice (pp. 1–21). New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press. Dillon, F., Worthington, R. L., & Moradi, B. (2011). Sexual identity as a universal process. In S. J. Schwartz, K. Luyckx, & V. L. Vignoles (Eds.), Handbook of identity theory and research (pp. 649–670). New York, NY: Springer. Dunn, M., Glassmann, D., Garrett, J. M., Badaszewski, P., Jones, G., Pierre, D., . . . Correll-Hughes, L. (2015). Faith and sexual orientation identity development in gay college men. Journal of Student Affairs Research and Practice, 52, 374–386. Exec. Order No. 13769, 3 C.F.R. 8977-8982 (2017). Freire, P. (2002). Pedagogy of the oppressed (30th anniversary edition) (M. B. Ramos, Trans.) New York, NY: Continuum. (Original work published 1970) Guido, F. M., Chavez, A. F., & Lincoln, Y. S. (2010). Underlying paradigms in student affairs research and practice. Journal of Student Affairs Research and Practice, 47(1), 1–22. Hernández, E. (2017). Critical theoretical perspectives. In J. H. Schuh, S. R. Jones, & V. Torres (Eds.), Student services: a handbook for the profession (pp. 205–219). San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. hooks, b. (1994). Teaching to transgress: Education as the practice of freedom. New York, NY: Routledge. hooks, b. (2000). Feminist theory: From margin to center (2nd ed.). London, England: Pluto Press.

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Jones, S. R. (2009). Constructing identities at the intersections: An autoethnographic exploration of multiple dimensions of identity. Journal of College Student Development, 50(3), 287–304. Jones, S. R., & Abes, E. S. (2017). The nature and uses of theory. In J. H. Schuh, S. R. Jones, & S. R. Harper (Eds.), Student services: A handbook for the profession (6th ed., pp. 137–152). San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. Jones, S. R., Kim, Y. C., & Skendall, K. C. (2012). (Re-)framing authenticity: considering multiple social identities using autoethnographic and intersectional approaches. The Journal of Higher Education, 83, 698–724. Khalil Hammad, L. (2010). Border identity politics: The new mestiza in borderlands. Journal on Interdisciplinary Studies in Humanities, 2, 303–308. Lather, P. (2006). Paradigm proliferation as a good thing to think with: Teaching research in education as wild profusion. International Journal of Qualitative Studies in Education, 19, 25–75. Love, P., Bock, M., Jannarone, A., & Richardson, P. (2005). Identity interaction: Exploring the spiritual experience of lesbian and gay college students. Journal of College Student Development, 46, 193–209. Mitchell, D., Simmons, C., & Greyerbiehl, L. (2014). Intersectionality & higher education: Theory, research, & praxis. New York, NY: Peter Lang. Nash, R. J. (2001). Religious pluralism in the academy: Opening the dialogue. New York, NY: Peter Lang. Nash, R. J. (2004). Liberating scholarly writing: The power of personal narrative. New York NY: Teachers College Press. Patton, L. D., Renn, K. A., Guido, F. M., & Quaye, S. J. (2016). Student development in college: Theory, research, and practice (3rd ed.). San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. Rockenbach, A. N., Mayhew, M. J., Davidson, J., Ofstein, J., & Bush, R. C. (2015). Complicating universal definitions: How students of diverse worldviews make meaning of spirituality. Journal of Student Affairs Research and Practice, 52(1), 1–10. Saadallah, S. (2004). Muslim feminism in the third wave. In S. Gillis, G. Howie, & R. Munford (Eds.), Third wave feminism (pp. 216–220). London, England: Palgrave Macmillan. Schlosser, L. Z. (2003). Christian privilege: Breaking a sacred taboo. Journal of Multicultural Counseling and Development, 31(1), 44–51. Shahjahan, R. A. (2010). Towards a spiritual praxis: The role of spirituality among faculty of color teaching for social justice. The Review of Higher Education, 33(4), 473–512. Sullivan, N. (2003). A critical introduction to queer theory. New York, NY: New York University Press. Troiden, R. R. (1989). The formation of homosexual identities. Journal of Homosexuality, 17(1/ 2), 43–73.

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CHAPTER SEVEN

A Tale of Two Sisters: A Duoethnographical Study of Religious Conversion Mary Ann Bodine Al-Sharif and Shima Hassan Zadeh Higher education provides the opportunity for students, faculty, and staff to meet a broad array of individuals from diverse backgrounds and identities. Through the higher education experience, we, Mary Ann and Shima—the researchers and participants of this study—were introduced to and learned of our unique shared experience in religious conversion. Shared experiences and spaces help create a sense of community and belonging in the university environment (Cooper, 2009; Hurtado & Carter, 1997; Hurtado & Ponjuan, 2005; Pascarella, 1984). A sense of belonging is not automatically created based on one’s location of birth but is developed through the actions and interactions that we have within our environment and with others (Antonsich, 2010). Schlossberg (1989) noted that students need to feel that their presence on campus matters to others—peers, faculty, staff, family, and the like. In higher education, there has been much discussion about the different constructs of identity in terms of diversity, but these discussions have only recently acknowledged the need to be inclusive of identities related to religion, faith, and spirituality despite the importance they have to the meaning-making process (Astin, Astin, & Lindholm, 2018; Small, 2015). With this in mind, we found that our lived experiences of religious conversion provided a shared sense of belonging within our roles (faculty and student) in higher education, and our experiences matter in such a way that they should be examined and shared with the greater academic community. Therefore, the purpose of this duoethnographical study is to collaboratively share our own historical narratives to provide a deeper understanding of the religious conversion experience. Specifically, our study seeks to explore our conversion experience from one religion to another and how this experience informs the way(s) in which we make meaning of our identities.

A Review of the Literature Religion, spirituality, and faith are all terms that are difficult to define within the literature, and although the terms are often used interchangeably, they each hold their own unique significance (Newman, 2004). This lack of consensus on an academic definition for the term

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religion (Bergunder, 2014; Beyer, 2006; Momen, 1999) has created a history of “controversy within the social sciences and religious studies as to what religion is and how it is to be observed” (Beyer, 2006, p. 62). Therefore, the definition remains subjective, relying purely on how it is utilized and interpreted. Steiger and Lipson (1985) refer to religion as “a social institution in which a group of people participate rather than an individual search for meaning” (p. 212). Momen (1999) noted that religion is in and of itself “a culturally bound concept” (p. 25). Astin et al. (2011) defined religion as a system of practice including “membership in some kind of community of fellow believers and practitioners, as well as participation in ceremonies or rituals” (p. 5). Aldridge (2013) stated that “any attempt to define religion is an act of power and all definitions provoke counter-definitions” (p. 3). As we explain in the following, religion as a form of power is important because how power is distributed matters.

Religion as Power We recognize that “debates about the definition of religion carry ethical and political implications for society and for people of all faiths and none” (Aldridge, 2013, p. 3). Religion maintains a sense of power in that it is often used to provide a distinction between what is to be considered good and what is to be considered bad (Aldridge, 2013). We define power as one’s ability to influence or hold authority over the behavior of others or a series of events. Therefore, religion as a form of power can provide peace and create war; it is “threatening, inspiring, consoling, provocative, a matter of reassuring routine or calls to put one’s life on the line” (Mendieta & VanAntwerpen, 2011, p. 118). Without doubt, religion in all its messiness provides power (Aldridge, 2013; Mendieta & VanAntwerpen, 2011; R. L. Wood, 2003); how that power is used—good or bad—is bound by the cultural norms of the religious environment (Momen, 1999). For example, the events of the September 11, 2001, terror attacks in the United States changed the way non-Muslims viewed Islam (McGiven, 2019). Following the event, quickly educating citizens about Islam was needed to counter any negative stereotypes and encourage religious tolerance. Unfortunately, negative attitudes toward Islam and acts of oppression toward Muslims have persisted since the event and have had an impact on many Muslims’ daily lives (Bodine Al-Sharif & Pasque, 2016). As we reflect on our religious beliefs of Christianity and Islam, we jointly define religion as a system of practice that each individual utilizes to express his or her spiritual beliefs; it is an outward expression of an inward relationship with God. Power within our religious identities is defined by our environments—relying on the context of our immediate physical and social spaces and those with whom we share them.

Religious Conversion Religious conversion is the process by which individuals move away from one set of religious beliefs while committing to the beliefs of another (Snook, Williams, & Horgan, 2018; Stark & Finke, 2000). Contemporary observations on religious conversion view it as a

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process that occurs through a series of events as opposed to a onetime experience (Gooren, 2007; Iyadurai, 2015; Rambo, 1993; Snook, Williams, & Horgan, 2018; Tippet, 1992). Rambo (1993) noted that religious conversion is a multifaceted process of change that involves both cultural and social factors—contexts as well as a crisis to be resolved that lead to a quest for understanding and fulfillment. Once an encounter with another individual(s) who acts as an advocate for the new religion occurs, the interaction, if positive, can lead to a commitment or conversion experience but not without consequences. The consequences often differ from individual to individual and can be both positive and negative depending on the convert’s environment and systems of support. Without a doubt, there is no one-size-fits-all definition of religious conversion (Hood, Hill, & Spilka, 2018). Although the process leading to conversion has no set timeline and is dependent on the individual’s own life experience, converts are also active participants in their own conversion experience as they seek to “develop meaning, personhood, and self-identity within their social and societal contexts” (Snook et al., 2018, p. 2). Therefore, religious conversion has the ability to transform an individual’s sense of who they are and how they belong in social situations, as well as how they perceive the rest of society and their place within it, hence creating a change of worldview (McGuire, 2008). Likewise, the study of conversion is historical and interdisciplinary in nature addressing issues of growth and innovation, costs incurred, and freedoms gained (Gooren, 2016). Historically, religious conversion is found within the context of societal change brought about by instances of war, colonization, and modernization (Nunn, 2010; Okon, 2013; O. Woods, 2012). It can be found within the studies of a variety of disciplines—psychology, sociology, anthropology, literature, history, geography, and more (Stelling, 2017; Gooren, 2014; O. Woods, 2012). Individual costs and freedoms often depend on which religion one enters or leaves and one’s perception based on educational levels, societal norms, and, in some instances, governmental religious restrictions (Stark & Finke, 2000). However, there is a taboo nature to the discussion of religious conversion that should not be silenced within this conversation. The act of conversion in some cases challenges social norms and ideology which can lead to negative and sometimes hostile reactions within the convert’s social environment (Iyadurai, 2011). Nonetheless, “converts often endure hardships to hold on to the conversion experience” (Iyadurai, 2011, p. 518). These were choices that we both made to embrace our religious freedoms and conversions.

Christianity and Islam In relation to this study, we present two religions—Christianity and Islam. Shima is a Christian who was raised within a predominantly Islamic culture in Iran; she found her place within the Christian religion after immigrating to the United States. Her journey to religious conversion evolved alongside her access to religious freedom and the positive changes that Christianity made in the life of some of her family. Today, Christianity

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provides Shima with a sense of pride and empowerment. Mary Ann is a Muslim who has always had the privilege of religious freedom due to her American citizenship. After becoming a Muslim, she began to better understand the true meaning of that freedom. Her journey to religious conversion evolved out of life events and the desire to belong. Today, Islam provides Mary Ann with a sense of belonging and balance within her life. In the following, we share a brief overview of the basic beliefs of both religions but are cautious to note that under the umbrella of each are multiple denominations and/or sects, all with a unique diversity of beliefs and ideologies; therefore, the descriptions we provide of each religion are cursory, not all-inclusive.

Christianity Christianity is the largest religion in the world with an average of 2.3 billion Christians worldwide which is right at 32% of the world’s population (Pew Forum, 2017). There are three major branches of Christianity: Orthodox—12%, Catholic—50%, and Protestant—38% (Pew Research Center, 2017; Smith, 2005). Christianity arose from the teachings of Jesus Christ, who was born around 4 bce (Momen, 1999). Christians believe that the Bible is God’s word; that there is but one God in three persons—God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost; that there is the deity of Jesus Christ; that there will be a day of rapture and a day of judgment; that forgiveness occurs through repentance and faith in Jesus Christ; and that baptism is utilized as a public display of repentance (Grudem, 2005). To become a Christian, one must be saved, and salvation comes from hearing the word of God in the Bible, asking for forgiveness of one’s sins through Jesus Christ, professing one’s belief, and living by God’s word as found in the Bible (Grudem, 2005).

Islam Islam is the fastest-growing religion in the world with an average of 1.8 billion Muslims worldwide, which is 24% of the world’s population (Pew Forum, 2017). Islam is divided into three major branches: Sunni, 80% to 90%; Shia, 10% to 15%; and Sufi, 5% (Koenig & Al Shohaib, 2014). Islam is based on five pillars, including shahada, the creed of belief; salah, daily prayers; zakat, giving to the poor; sawm, fasting during Ramadan; and Hajj, the pilgrimage to Mecca (Koenig & Al Shohaib, 2014). There are six articles of faith in Islam, which include the belief in God, the prophets, the Divine Books, a day of judgment, angels, and destiny/fate (Koenig & Al Shohaib, 2014). In addition, there are four central practices of Islam: daily prayers, zakat—giving to the poor, fasting for Ramadan, and participating in Hajj (Koenig & Al Shohaib, 2014). To become a Muslim, one must recite the shahada (the first pillar of Islam), which is the statement of belief in Allah and Mohammad as the messenger of Allah (Koenig & Al Shohaib, 2014).

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Theoretical Lens Intersectionality has predominately been used in studies focused on race, class, and gender (Castiello-Jones, Misra, & McCurley, 2013; Crenshaw, 1989, 1991; Walby, Armstrong, & Strid, 2012); however, contemporary interpretations of the term intersectionality have evolved around a more expansive concept of identity including, but not limited to, such areas as sexuality, religion, ethnicity, and the like (Castiello-Jones, Misra, & McCurley, 2013; Jones & Abes, 2013; McCall, 2005). In addition, the intersectionality of identity is influenced by the context of the environment, which is bound by intersecting systems of power and pertinent to the meaning-making process (Jones & Abes, 2013). For this reason, the intersectional model of multiple dimensions of identity has been selected as the theoretical lens for this work in that it recognizes “the presence of both micro (individual) and macro (structural) levels of analysis” (Jones & Abes, 2013, p. 162). The micro level recognizes the presence of multiple intersecting identities, a core identity and the fluidity between and among social identities, as well as a filter that aids in the meaning-making process. Meaning-making is thus impacted by contextual influences—social norms, peers, family, and the like. At the macro level, an individual is depicted within intersecting systems of power—racism, sexism, heterosexism and so forth. Situated between the macro and micro levels is a meaning-making filter aiding the individual as he or she interacts with ever-changing contexts and environments (Jones & Abes, 2013). Noticeably, “situating the individual within power structures illustrates how the micro and macro are inextricably connected” (Jones & Abes, 2013, p. 162). We selected the intersectional model of multiple dimensions of identity for this work because it allows us to explore the intersectionality of the multiplicity of our identities within the context of our conversion experiences.

Methodological Approach We have selected a qualitative methodological approach for this study. According to Creswell and Poth (2018), qualitative research seeks to address “the meaning individuals or groups ascribe to a social or human problem” (p. 42). Emphasis is placed on understanding how individuals construct meaning within their natural setting to understand phenomena and the meaning individuals ascribe to them (Denzin & Lincoln, 2011). Therefore, qualitative research focuses on creating knowledge grounded in the human experience (Sandelowski, 2004).

Duoethnography Duoethnography was selected as the specific methodological approach to this study due to its collaborative form of research in which two or more researchers utilize their own narratives and histories to provide a deeper understanding of a social phenomenon

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from each of their unique perspectives (Norris, Sawyer, & Lund, 2016). In this sense, it shatters any preconceived views or ideals about a particular event or experience, allowing for a multiplicity of perspectives to evolve in the research process. This dialectic process allows for a multivoiced text to evolve and is transformative for the writers in that it also provides “us with a research language to (a) expose and engage internalized scripts, (b) present[s] these revealed scripts to other people as a basis for their reconceptualizations of thought and action, and (c) reconceptualize[s] and restor[ies] our own narrative perspectives” (Norris, Sawyer, & Lund, 2016, p. 289). Through this process, we began to see ourselves not so much as teacher and learner but as dual educators and friends. We evolved through the process recognizing that we both had so much to learn from one another and that our relationship was not based on an educational hierarchy as one would find in the classroom but much more like family. We saw each other as equals and were able to forgo formalities to more comfortably critique and unpack each other’s narrative. Therefore, it should be noted that duoethnographers write papers together, utilizing themselves as the point of research while also taking “an ethical pedagogical relationship with one another, entering into an ethics of caring” (Norris, Sawyer, & Lund, 2016, p. 21). Through this relationship and the juxtaposition of our shared experiences, multiple understandings evolved (Norris et al., 2016; Sawyer & Norris, 2013). Duoethnographers enter the research process as equals not seeking to create change in each other but instead creating a system of trust that allows each to take the position of teacher-learner (Norris et al., 2016). As a methodology, duoethnography is emergent in that as content develops, so does the approach to each unique research journey (Norris et al., 2016).

Data Collection For this study, data were collected utilizing written semistructured interview questions that we developed after several meetings and discussions about what we would like to know about each other’s conversion experience. Once our questions were developed and organized, we chose to gather our responses in a written format allowing each of us the opportunity to critically and reflectively pause in thought as we responded. In this sense, the use of reflective writing helped us capture not just our stories/narratives but also consider our own cultural and social limitations. Jasper (2005) noted that reflective writing helps: To develop the writer’s critical thinking and analytical abilities, contribute[s] to their cognitive development, enable[s] creativity and unique connections to be made between disparate sets of information, and [can be used] to contribute to new perspectives being taken on issues. (p. 247)

Probing or follow-up questions were added as needed to gather more depth and/or understanding of each other’s lived experience as we completed the work and viewed our responses (Adams, 2015; Wodak & Chilton, 2005).

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Analysis For the purpose of this study, a thematic analysis was conducted. Thematic analysis is a method for identifying, analyzing, organizing, describing, and reporting themes (Braun & Clark, 2006). Thematic analysis allowed us to examine our religious conversion experiences to recognize our similarities and differences as well as to acknowledge any unexpected findings (Braun & Clark, 2006). We chose thematic analysis due to its flexibility in allowing us to focus on the data in multiple ways— across the entire data set or by focusing on just one particular aspect of a phenomenon (Braun & Clarke, 2012). By focusing on meaning across the data set, we were able to make meaning of the collective shared experience, and by focusing on just one particular aspect of a phenomenon, we were able to gain a greater depth of understanding of our lived experiences (Braun & Clarke, 2012).

Our Stories In alignment with the principles of duoethnography (Norris et al., 2016; Sawyer & Norris, 2013), we want to start by sharing a bit about our relationship to one another along with our individual narratives through personal letters written to share our first impressions and encounters with each other, revealing our religious journeys and how we came to this work. Then, we provide a critical reflection of our work as duoethnography promotes researcher engagement in self-reflection as well as social change (Sawyer & Liggett, 2012).

The Sisters As the researchers for this study, we find ourselves in a very unique relationship. We know that “duoethnographers study and write about themselves: They are firmly situated within their work” (Norris, Sawyer, & Lund, 2016, p. 289). We position ourselves within this study as two sisters with very similar yet different religious histories, experiences, and philosophies. We both relate to one another as sisters (although not in a biological sense) in that we have found a place within our higher education experience to create a familial bond based on our own religious conversions, even though we walk very different religious paths. We gladly embrace this relationship to one another and to the work in hopes of providing a richer and more candid understanding of the lived experience of religious conversion from our multiple perspectives to broaden others’ views on conversion and reduce the taboos associated with those who convert.

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Reaching Out: A Letter to Shima Shima, Do you remember the first time we met in the elevator at the college? As we briefly chatted, I shared that my husband was from Saudi Arabia trying to find some sort of common ground. You asked me straight out if I had converted to Islam. I was taken back and immediately felt the need to justify my conversion. I felt a tinge of awkwardness as I stepped out and the doors closed on the elevator between us. You had no idea how many times amongst Americans and Middle Easterners I have been asked that question which tends to lead to conversations where those same individuals question my authenticity as an American and as a Muslim. I’m often perceived as not patriotic enough, not Middle Eastern enough, not Arab enough . . . just not enough. Our elevator encounter was brief, and I felt that perhaps the only encounter we would have. Then, the chair of the department came to me about a student who needed to take an independent study class, and it was you! You quickly eased my concerns when you sat in the chair across from me and began to discuss your own experiences and how your identity had transformed as you had converted from Islam to Christianity. I felt like someone had captured my own private thoughts and personal narrative and given them voice as your words flowed into the empty space of my office! I knew then that we were going to have a great experience working together, and I do hope that was true for you, as well. This past weekend was Easter, and in about a week Ramadan will start. The holidays are often difficult for me with family. I wonder is it the same true for you? My family are all Protestants, but each of different religions. Though I was raised with exposure to different religions, my initial encounter with religion and the need to believe or have a relationship with God came after a serious car accident when I was only 17. My injuries were severe enough to leave me in a wheelchair for a temporary extended period of time. I was introduced to a local church through a friend and the pastor and a few of the churchmen visited our home after I had attended. My family was presented the Gospel at that home visit and we were all saved. As an adult, this changed for me. I spent some time abroad as a Christian missionary and I learned a lot about the politics of religion, a woman’s place, and the value of a woman. Retrospectively, I can also see where I learned a lot about entitlement/ privilege, judgment, and condemnation. Over time, I began to realize that I did not really believe in or hold to the guidelines and politics of the religion. I realized that I needed to belong to a religion that had a space for me. I also realized that I needed to do my homework and learn about religions in general. I reminded myself that religion is not about individuals’ influences/politics, but my faith—belief in God and how I wanted to participate in worship and the fundamental ways in which I wanted to live my life. Perhaps you had a similar experience?

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I had some additional things to think about. Prior to my conversion, I had just gone through a divorce and I was a single mother with three sons to raise. I often felt abandoned and as if there was no one who understood or cared for me. I was also struggling to make ends meet. Surprisingly, it was the very people whom I had proselytized within the Muslim community that stepped up to my assistance. I came home one day to bags of diapers and fresh food on my doorstep. Just an act of kindness I was told, but this act had a very profound impact on my life. Ultimately, I find this act of kindness was the cornerstone to my decision to convert. It wasn’t a decision that I took lightly. I was searching for a place to belong and found it in Islam. I came to Islam. It did not come to me. I made the decision on my own and intentionally. The most challenging part of converting to Islam for me has been helping others to understand my choice, and that it was a choice I had based on religious freedom—a privilege not everyone has. I wonder if you have faced similar issues? It has been very difficult for me at times. I have faced some harsh judgment from family and friends. I have also experienced a unique shift in how others perceive my identity. I have not stopped being who I am, and I feel so much more centered in life. However, because I chose to convert to a religion that is not mainstream in America, I believe that others see me differently. Before my conversion, I often had a voice at the table. Now, I find I am many times silenced. This is especially true when Americans perceive me to be a foreigner because I am Muslim. At first there is what I perceive to be a sincere desire to know me, but once they realize that I am American and that I willingly converted to Islam there is a distancing that occurs. I often find solace with other Muslims, but even then, there are struggles. They often ask me if I converted when I remarried because my husband is Saudi as if his nationality requires a conversion experience for marriage. What I really think they want to ask is if I am Muslim or just Muslim in name. I can only imagine what this experience might be like for you? Perhaps your conversion to Christianity may in some ways be a form of empowerment? I find that empowerment for me depends on where I am, who’s in the room, and how they perceive me. Moving from a point of privilege to a point of marginality has been difficult, but it has also taught me many valuable lessons. I certainly do look at life differently because of it, and it has changed the way I see others. I am keenly aware of the damage that power can do when left unchecked. I hope that you had a great holiday this past weekend, and I look forward to hearing from you soon! Mary Ann

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Responding Back: A Letter to Mary Ann Mary Ann, Of course, I remember the first day when we met in the elevator. When I first saw you, I thought to myself you are from Lebanon. When I talked to you about my religious conversion and you told me you had the same experience, I was surprised. Then you told me your husband was from Saudi Arabia and the first thing that came to my mind was that you converted because of your husband, but when you told me you converted long before your marriage I felt like, I really wanted to know why you did that and what happened in your life to make this decision. I came to the Education Department to do an independent study, and I talked to a department chair. He asked me what my research interest was, and I said, “I want to work on identity development.” He told me there was a professor who has the same research interest and she also had a religious conversion. I remember I shouted, “Oh, I know her. I saw her the other day in the elevator, but we had a brief discussion.” I was so excited to meet you, talk to you, and know more about your individual experience of religious conversion. At that point, I felt like I finally found somebody who I can share my struggles and challenges, somebody who I can trust and who understands me very well. You are not only a perfect mentor for me but also a sister who I can share my very personal and confidential issues with. As you know, my mother was a devout Muslim and my father was for quite some time not associated with any religion until he converted to Christianity late in his life. My father hated Islam, he never let us go to any religious ceremony, and because my mother is a devout Muslim, she obeyed her husband. My father was a nominal Muslim (in name only) till the age of 55 when he converted to Christianity. He met a Christian friend who helped to change his life and view of religion. They went to an underground church I think every week. In addition, I have a twin sister, an older sister, and one brother. My twin is not religious at all, my brother is a nominal Muslim, and my older sister also converted to Christianity. My older sister converted to Christianity because she had access to the book about Jesus Christ, which was inaccessible for people in Iran. My father was so concerned with the danger of us knowing too much about Christianity that he never advertised or talked about what being a Christian looked like. So, he had no role in my decision or my sister’s decision to convert to our faith. However, I cannot underestimate my father’s role in dedicating his life to Christ in such a scary environment like Iran. Although I was born and grew up in a Muslim country, I did not feel that I lived in a religious environment. Being a Muslim is not a choice that you choose. In fact, when you are born in a Muslim family, you are a Muslim no matter what.

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If you want to convert to another religion, all the people, even your family, are against you, because they think this is a big sin even if you do not practice Islam. In my country, you are going to be sentenced to death by the government if you convert from Islam to any religion. Because my mother was religious, she tried to take me and my twin sister to Quran classes that did not have a good interpreter. The teacher just gave us some wrong beliefs. At that time, my father was Atheist, and whenever me and my twin explained whatever we learned in Quran class, he became very angry and mocked my mother and prevented her from taking us to classes again. Because of these challenges and the punishment that exist in my country, I never dared to think about conversion. Therefore, I remained a Muslim until I turned 29 years old and came to the United States. When I came to the States, I felt like I had more freedom to think about which way and which faith is right, and I started to read more about religions, and I decided to convert when I felt safe in the States. Although I knew it would make my mother very disappointed, I had to tell my mother and my family in Iran. I told my older sister immediately after I decided to convert, and she was so supportive because she was a follower of Christ at that time. I knew that she would be happy. My twin sister had a different reaction. she was neutral to what I did, but afraid for me if I decided to go back one day and be persecuted. I think your family’s reaction was different. However, we had some experiences in common. You and I both had exceptional environmental support from our Muslim and Christian friends who led us and impacted us to make our decisions to convert. My conversion experience was started when I met a very nice devoted Christian lady in the United States. I told her I wanted to know more about Christianity, and we started to meet every week and read some parts of the Bible together. After three months of reading a Bible, one night I had a dream of my father. He came and told me “do whatever you think is right.” I woke up and found a piece of plastic from my grocery shopping that was exactly lying like a real cross in the middle of my room. At that time, I thought, These are signs, and this is a time to convert. When I think about my journey to religious conversion, I feel like though my father did not share his personal conversion experience with us, he was the most important influence on my religious identity development as well as my older sister. Indeed, my father was already a good man, but once he converted, he dedicated his life to helping the needy. He had no fear of being arrested. He attended Bible schools in underground churches. My father was in a boss position in a governmental bank and he gave low-interest loans to needy people to make their lives better. He financially supported as many needy children as he could. We did not know his generosity until it was fully revealed at his funeral. We found out

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about this when we met thousands of unknown people who attended his funeral ceremony to show appreciation for his support. I have learned from my father that humanity is something different. Humanity and justice are two things that you know when you believe in God . . . I am a devoted Christian who has a new life in Christ, who knows more about spirituality and ethics, who does not just follow something without knowing about it, and who did not follow something just because of the fear of ending up in hell! The other thing that had an important impact on me was that I saw how much people sacrifice to follow Jesus Christ. I saw my father’s generosity after his faith conversion, my sister’s and brother-in-law’s sacrifices to follow Christ while they had to flee their own country because of their faith. One of the challenges that I faced in making the decision to convert to Christianity was the danger that I would face if I returned to Iran. I was thinking about my 93-year-old grandma who is so dependent on me, and I knew how hard it would be for both of us not seeing each other anymore. Despite all of this, my older sister was the only supportive person when I converted and was happy for me. My other family members were not very supportive and some of them were very neutral. Living in the United States, I feel like it is a privilege for me to convert to a religion that most people do not have judgment about. I always think about you when I hear some people label the Muslim population as terrorists or not good people. I always think about how you deal with such problems. How do you explain to others to understand that it is your choice, not your husband’s, and you love to be a Muslim even with all those wrong beliefs that exist about Muslims all over the world? I always think about you when you said you must be silent, and you lost your voice because of your journey and how you are still happy about your choice. My experience is totally opposite. I feel like my religion empowers me to have a voice, empowers me to talk and be one of the family members of White Americans. I am proud when I talk about my faith conversion in front of White Americans but not in front of Muslims. I live in an environment surrounded by Christians, and I feel safe and proud. For me the movement was opposite. I moved from a point of marginality to a point of privilege and I am proud of this change. I really miss you. Hope to see you again soon. Shima

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Our Reflections As we reflected on the findings of this study, we discovered that we both experienced childhoods that provided an awareness of different religions, but neither held a close affiliation with any particular religion. Jones and Abes (2013) speak to the contextual influences that aid in the meaning-making process and how our environments can have an impact on our awareness of the other or in this case, religion. In addition, we both experienced events in our lives that were life-altering and gave room for pause and reflection. These pivotal moments in the process—crossroads or turning points— by themselves were not the cause of our conversions but instead were the catalysts for self-reflection and desire for change. Our study further confirms the work of Gooren (2007), Iyadurai (2015), Rambo (1993), Snook et al. (2018), and Tippet (1992), who all speak to the conversion experience as a process that takes place over time as opposed to an isolated event, as well as a time of reflection in which an individual begins to make meaning of their quality of life and identity as they relate to the person’s social contexts. Our identities are complex. Although we both have experienced a religious conversion, identify as women, are White, and have familiarity with the other’s religious identity, we do not share a similar national or cultural identity. This not only made our study unique but also our religious conversions in that we both ultimately converted to religions outside the norm for our individual social contexts, changing the balance of power within our lives. We know that religion can provide a source of power (Aldridge, 2013; Mendieta & VanAntwerpen, 2011; R. L. Wood, 2003). However, what has not been addressed is how that power can shift based on social context and the environment. Jones and Abes’s (2013) intersectional model of multiple dimensions of identity considers the power dynamic. Identifying with the normed majority in terms of our whiteness provides a source of power; however, other varying aspects of our micro levels of identity, such as gender, ethnicity, culture, nationality, and religion, are more fluid in terms of power based on the context of our environments. Therefore, when all aspects of our identity intersect, power is distributed based on the contextual influences of our environments and is ultimately given or taken by those who control that environment—the normed majority. Therefore, we noted that we were both challenged with understanding who we are, what we believed as individuals, and how we fit into the world around us. This led to a time of self-discovery and empowerment as we took control of our religious identities, searching and educating ourselves on what we believed. In addition, we had to learn to renegotiate our environments to create space for this self-discovery. McGuire (2008) noted that questioning one’s place within society in the process of religious conversion can lead to personal growth and the development of a different worldview. We both experienced a shift in our worldviews; however, despite our awakenings within this process, we also faced unique forms of oppression. Iyadurai (2011) noted that converts may at times experience negative and/or hostile reactions due to their decision to change

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religions. As single women at the time, we were challenged in the decisions that we made. Knowing that you are a single woman who may never be able to see your family again because of your religious choice while being within another nation and culture can be a frightening experience. Likewise, choosing to be a single woman and mother who has walked away from not only a normed belief system but also all financial and emotional support to embrace religious identity is not an easy task. As Iyadurai (2011) noted, these challenges become even more complex when compounded by feelings of rejection and isolation from those within the social contexts of one’s environment. Fortunately, we both found individuals who not only acted as religious facilitators or agents, guiding us as we traveled through our religious journeys (Iyadurai, 2011), but who also provided us with support systems. These individuals were extremely important to our conversion experience in that they became our surrogate families, friends, and confidants. As we grew in our knowledge of religion and moved closer to the conversion experience, we both found confidence in who we are within our respective religions and empowered by our religious choices.

Implications for Future Studies Much research needs to be done on understanding the experience of religious conversion. Our hope is that more individuals will share their conversion experiences in an effort to provide a greater understanding of the impact that environment has on one’s religious choice and religious identity. Likewise, religion is bound by issues of power—it can produce power and oppress. More research is needed to look at this aspect of religious constructionism and how it has an impact on society as a whole, as well as individual spaces such as higher education. In addition, this study paid particular attention to the intersectionality of identity as related to religious conversion in Islam and Christianity. Future studies that represent other religious identities and intersections are needed.

Conclusion The results of this study show the unique lived experiences of religious conversion at the intersections of multiple cultural, social, and religious identities. Higher education provided a space for exploration and aided in creating a familial bond—a place to belong. Our hope is that through higher education, mores spaces can be created to build interfaith friendships, a sense of belonging, and an acknowledgment that differing religious identities matter.

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From the Outside Looking In: Reflections for Student Affairs Professionals Supporting the Christian Indian American College Student Life Cycle Costin Thampikutty The numbers of Indian Americans have grown rapidly in the past five decades (Zong & Batalova, 2016)—now composing the second-largest immigrant community in the United States. However, the aggregation of Indian Americans into the category of “Asian” renders them intersectionally invisible and contributes to limited attention in higher education literature (cf. Mayhew et al., 2017; Patton, Renn, Guido, & Quaye, 2016). Consequently, student affairs professionals have scarce literature to draw upon when working with Indian American college students—a significant gap when considering the high rates of college-going among this population (Zong & Batalova, 2016). Notably, one knowledge gap about Indian American college students concerns their spirituality: Public perceptions of Indian spirituality focus on the sizable supermajority who practice Hinduism—although sizable minority populations practice Islam, Christianity, and a variety of other religious faiths (Keay, 2011). In this chapter, I address this gap by intersecting the narratives of Christian Indian American college students participating in Christian student organizations (CSOs) with my own journey navigating faith in similar educational contexts. As I proceed to intertwine my own journey with the Christian Indian American college students who I had the pleasure to learn from, my hope is that fellow student affairs professionals will have opportunities to reflect on their roles in both understanding and supporting the students of my subculture. I am both an outsider and an insider of this community as I explain throughout this chapter. In some ways, the narratives that students shared with me reflect my own. However, being allowed to learn from their experiences proved to be enlightening, introducing me to nuances of the experience I had not yet understood or realized. Now, as I continue my own professional journey, I realize that my peers and I have a long way to go in battling assumptions made about our student populations. In the same way we have begun to divorce ourselves from deficit-based approaches when working with other students of color, I challenge my peers to

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begin disassociating Indian American college students from common misconceptions, stereotypes, and stigmas associated with the model minority myth (Museus & Kiang, 2009). If I let the virtually nonexistent amount of scholarship available tell our story, you may believe that Indian American students’ academic achievement proves them to be without challenges in college. Allow me to provide a counternarrative.

Historical Roots for Indian Students and CSOs Historically, higher education has long been a space of spiritual development for Indian immigrants. After the United States Immigration Act of 1965, Keralite Christian students from South India arrived in waves to further educational opportunities, social mobility, and religious freedom. As the number of these students grew and they desired to satisfy their social and spiritual needs, they began to look for ways to organize and build community. The earliest recorded Indian Christian gathering on a college campus can be traced back to a 1977 Kerala Catholic fellowship on the grounds of Loyola University Chicago, a Jesuit university. Here, these students created and participated in social, recreational, and cultural activities that preserved their cultural and religious identities. As more immigrants arrived and campus groups were outgrown, these young Keralites soon began meeting in churches, starting families, and establishing their own congregations in suburban Chicago. However, these churches were not solely for worship. According to Raj (2008), the church served as a social, cultural, and religious epicenter. Members, who were pioneers in the United States, were able to create traditions and opportunities that were not found outside of their churches. These houses of worship served as developmental spaces, where members were encouraged to claim their Indian and Christian lifestyle while reconciling the duality of both identities. Decades later, for their American-born children, CSOs still play a pivotal role in their college experience.

Overview The participants I had the privilege of interviewing were members of national parachurch organizations including InterVarsity Christian Fellowship, Cru (formerly known as Campus Crusade for Christ), and part of historically student-run organizations, such as Indian Christian Fellowship. My semistructured interviews with 15 Christian Indian American students nationwide provided practical reflections on the dynamic roles CSOs play in the Christian Indian American college life cycle. Transitioning from congregations to college campuses, Christian Indian American students heavily place CSOs on the scale when weighing their college options. Whether or not their anticipated experiences come to fruition, these expectations inform their college decisions. This process occurs naturally as they are predisposed to CSOs through friends, family members, and others in their largely

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monoethnic religious communities. Once these students join, CSO involvement being their sole avenue for campus involvement is common. After all, the national resources and mentorship CSOs benefit from help retain students and provide an outlet for growth. Whereas spiritual and social development were expectedly observed, lesser anticipated outcomes, including emotional wellness, can also be credited to CSO involvement. The following reflections exemplify these outcomes and invite you to negotiate your role in supporting the Christian Indian American college student life cycle.

Reflection 1. Faith Sets Expectations Early in the College Choice Process Throughout my college application process, the moment I remember most vividly was finding the cost of attendance. I wish I knew what we who work in higher education refer to as the “sticker price” back then as that would have saved me a lot of stress. Although I stared at the five-figure yearly estimate, I remember simultaneously staring at the cross on the Catholic college’s website, desperately praying that my attendance was meant to be. I was apprehensive because as opposed to my peers at our church in the Bronx, going away to college was not as accessible for me. They lived outside the Bronx in better funded school districts, safer neighborhoods and many of their parents were health care professionals, business owners, and state workers, varying in their college education. As opposed to the majority of my friends from school with whom I shared similarities, my peers at church also came from nuclear families with both parents sharing a combined income. In comparison, my mom was a few credits shy from completing her associate’s degree at Bronx Community College before she left. Her job prospects later in life were not very lucrative and would not pay enough for a single mother to cover both her sons going away to college. I stared at that cross for a while. In the middle of my senior year of high school, I was accepted to the Catholic college I had my eyes on. This was great news, but I was more concerned about how I would afford my education. Due to my family’s financial situation and my academic achievement, however, I was given a mix of financial aid and merit aid that covered most of the cost of attendance. Although figuring out the financial aid process alone was difficult, it proved to be worthwhile. For the duration of my time in college, I came up with the out of pocket cost through more scholarships, savings, AmeriCorps grants, summer jobs, and child support. As I recently started paying back my loans, I considered the value of my college experience. Although I made the most out of my time, I did not enjoy college in the ways I initially expected. Reflecting on the admissions open house, when I got to visit the campus with my brother, I remember the president welcomed us and told about the school’s values. As he was a friar, I connected with his spiritual ethos and felt I found a place where I could express myself. Unfortunately, this would not be the case as the politics of Catholic higher education prevented me from freely practicing my faith. In particular, my CSO involvement felt like a covert operation. One day early in my freshman year, I got an email from the Volunteer Ministry Club inviting me to a weekly

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meeting. Although I was not looking for any service opportunities at the time, I figured it would not hurt to meet some like-minded students. To my surprise, going to my first meeting ended up being a pivotal step in my spiritual development. When I arrived in the classroom on the bottom floor of the library, I ended up taking part in a Bible study hosted by the club president. Although I do not remember what passage we studied, I remember feeling dumbfounded because this experience was not what I was expecting. I figured this meeting would consist of various ways to serve the student body and the local community. Instead, it felt like the Wednesday Bibletalk meetings my brother hosted back at our home church. It felt familiar. As I continued going to meetings, I learned that the Volunteer Ministry Club was a front for students who wanted to gather and grow in their faith together apart from the Chaplain’s Office. As the semester passed and I continued conversations with the club president, I learned that the group had unsuccessfully tried to reestablish as a Cru chapter for a few years prior, but the constitution change was repeatedly rejected. By the end of that year, I witnessed the downfall of the Volunteer Ministry Club. Although the outgoing president aimed to leave a parting gift, the administration once again rejected his changes to the constitution. This time, however, things went differently. We lost club status, email access, and funding. During our interview, Shelby 1 and I shared our struggles in navigating our Christian Indian American identity on a Catholic campus. For Shelby, the nuances of growing up Protestant in an Indian Brethren church, similar to me, presented comparable institutional barriers at her Catholic college. She lamented the lack of institutional support given to her and her unrecognized Cru chapter. Although her unofficial student organization was initially allowed a space to congregate weekly, the university prohibited student activity funds to be disbursed to the organization. Additionally, the organization was not given an official email for means of communication. Student leaders would pay out of pocket for expenses, including refreshments and marketing materials. With these institutional barriers in place, Shelby and her fellow students continually choose to meet. In a follow-up conversation, Shelby reported that the Cru chapter had been removed off campus and now meet in a local pizza shop. She stated that although the move originally felt like a setback, membership had since grown. Although Shelby and I could not have foreseen these challenges during our initial college choice process, these difficulties illustrate the expectations we arrived with to our campuses.

Reflection 2: CSOs Can Provide a Pipeline to Campus Involvement When college students returned to my church during their holiday breaks or used social media to document their activity, I looked from the outside in to form an idea of what college could be like. Even though I did not know much about the New Jersey Institute of Technology, I knew some of the happenings of its InterVarsity chapter thanks to Anna’s Instagram posts. Even at home, my brother permanently borrowed an InterVarsity sweater 1

Not all participants chose to use pseudonyms.

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from his friend who served as the Stonybrook University chapter president. Just as insider information, including which professors to take and which residence halls to live in, get transmitted from matriculated students to prospective students, information about CSOs are similarly communicated. When asked whether or not there was anyone who encouraged her to explore CSOs during the college choice process, Hephziba responded, There was this one chechi2 at church who was part of her InterVarsity. I’m not sure where she went to school, but she told me about Basileia, and she told me about her experience, and I was like, “Oh, this sounds so awesome and exciting, so I’ll definitely go look it up.”

At the time of our interview, Hephziba served as her InterVarsity chapter’s Worship Leader and spoke about the professional development she experienced due to her involvement. Throughout the study, the majority of participants revealed they both heard of specific CSOs and planned to join prior to arriving on campus. This can be largely accredited to experiences similar to Hephziba, in which an older relative or church member predisposed the prospective student to opportunities in which they could practice their faith in college. Similar to students who arrive on campus with intentions to join specific Greek organizations based on their friends and family members’ past experiences, many of my participants were very deliberate about their involvement opportunities. This was largely due to influential figures in their lives who passed on information about CSOs. Although I would not label my participants as legacy members per se, many of them continue a legacy of CSO involvement within their Indian American families, churches, and communities back home. Information sharing between Christian Indian American students is no coincidence. Once Christian Indian Americans are predisposed to campus life and opportunities for religious development through their networks and influences, their college choices reflect these expectations. As student affairs professionals critically analyze the expectations students come into college with, we can better address both these students’ needs and our campus cultures. Hephziba’s reflection also serves as an example of how the church serves as a network and information hub for first-generation Christian Indian Americans applying to college. As more student affairs professionals prioritize precollege experiences and alumni in the traditional college student life cycle, Hephziba’s story serves as a reminder of the impact alumni can have during the college choice process. Rightfully so, universities are increasingly turning to storytelling strategies for alumni engagement. Although research endeavors and internships are commonly publicized, we ought to also highlight spiritual development resulting from campus involvement. Yes, students come to college primarily to get a degree and find employment, but their co-curricular experiences supplement their ambitions too. 2 This term refers to an elder sister, or female peer who is not necessarily related.

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Reflection 3: CSOs Provide a Sense of Campus Community for Commuter Students Before graduate school, I was not privy to challenges commuter students faced. However, I did experience how a lack of reliable transportation affected my faith in college. After the Volunteer Ministry Club was shut down, I heard from a professor that the chapel would organize rides for those wanting to go to church off campus. When I approached the chaplain with our request, I was denied. His justification was that the chapel did not have the capacity to provide us transportation because they would then need to provide transportation to every other religious group at school. Neither my faith nor I felt welcome at school. We were left with no club and no hope. At the University of Massachusetts Amherst, I simultaneously became a commuter student for the first time and started a graduate assistant role in Off Campus Life. I was suddenly tasked with supporting a population that I did not yet understand, so my early personal and professional experiences were a shock. Although I was excited to study at a university with quite a selection of CSOs, I quickly realized the graduate student schedule was incompatible with many co-curricular activities. I worked during the day and took classes at night, so I rarely made it to CSO gatherings. Ironically, the institution offered an abundance of opportunities to practice my faith, but I was once again looking from the outside in. By the end of my time in Amherst, I gained a lot of perspective on the commuter lifestyle through both experience and observation. I learned that in student affairs, we habitually center residential students in our work. I grew to root for commuter students constantly battling an isolating routine and lifestyle. Among my commuter interviewees, I found CSO participation was often their sole avenue for student involvement. When asked how her college experience as a commuter would be different if her InterVarsity chapter ceased to exist, Jocin specifically remarked on the social repercussions: I would definitely feel more bored on campus and I would know less people. Because I would say the only people that I know on campus are people who I have class with and people that I know from InterVarsity because I’m not really involved in any other club, so I would definitely be less social on campus.

Jocin’s candidness reveals a commonly understood sentiment for those of us who work at colleges and universities with a large commuter population: Commuter students do not have an easy time building support networks on campus. However, Jocin’s statement should also inspire us to intentionally facilitate campus involvement opportunities for commuter students because just one outlet for participation can make or break college students’ involvement experiences. As student affairs professionals, we know that students generally do not stick with every student organization they join during their first year of college. Initially, students feast

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on a buffet of extracurricular opportunities and later create their own menu as they further matriculate. Considering all but two of our participants joined a CSO as first-year students and continued their involvement and responsibilities therein, I explored the reasons for what exactly kept students engaged throughout the duration of their college career. Overall, CSOs helped provide a connection to the larger campus community for commuter students who may not have engaged otherwise—especially if CSOs were their sole source of co-curricular campus engagement. Therefore, as Kodama (2015) recommends, it is crucial to advocate for identity-based spaces on campus as commuter students of color often find their homes in such spaces. Although the research (Cezero & Chang, 2013) Kodama leans on specifically explored the role of cultural centers for Latinx students, my participants’ experiences assert CSOs and their shared religious identities provide alternate communities on campus for commuter students of color as well. We often attempt to take a short-cut and look at commuter students from a deficit mindset. Instead, we should acknowledge that commuter students may be looking for quality, not quantity.

Reflection 4: CSO Professional Staff Can Work Collaboratively with Campus Life One spring afternoon during my freshman year, a regional Cru staff member met with myself and everyone left from the discontinued Volunteer Ministry Club. The handful of us discussed the future of the group and how to best move forward. By the end of the discussion, there was a divide within the group. After the Cru member gave his input and presented his vision for the group’s future, it seemed that we would embark on a journey to unofficially start a chapter on campus. I knew how this would end. Although I appreciated his zeal, I had worked hard to get to college and was not looking to cause trouble on campus. My alternative suggestion moving forward was to continue as an informal Bible study group. Sure, we would not have club privileges, but at least we would not have to hide. I believed that if the group was meant to grow and attract members, the right doors would open. Not everyone agreed. Ultimately, our group split and experienced varying levels of success. The Cru group slowly built a community and enjoyed resources afforded to them while the Bible study I led lasted a few months at most. Along with challenges including a lack of attendance, funding, and low morale, there was a wide range of doctrinal beliefs to navigate, and I decided that I was not fit to lead. In the process, however, I felt that my faith was challenged like never before, and the relationships I solidified have lasted me until today. When my fiancée and I first started dating a few years later, she let me know how beneficial the group was toward her own spiritual journey. Although it took a few years, realizing the group had had an impact was validating. Both InterVarsity’s and Cru’s national resources allow for their chapters to benefit from dedicated regional staff members placed strategically to support local chapters. Whereas my interactions with a CSO staff worker in college seemed to be an outlier, the majority of my

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participants described fruitful relationships. Regarding a family emergency that took place during college, Sneha described the crucial role her chapter’s staff worker played: My staff worker actually scheduled an appointment to come meet with me and talk everything out with me, pray with me and let me just vent. And that meant so much that I had that extra support from InterVarsity, you know? That was a time that I will never forget.

Students never forget. Whether it be through motivational interviewing or helping skills, both CSO staff workers student affairs professionals often find themselves using micro-counseling skills in situations in which listening is key, and Sneha’s example serves as an example of how these skills reverberate. As Sneha found support in her InterVarsity staff, this insight gives us a better understanding of how CSO staff workers function outside of traditional student affairs roles. As school administrators must learn to walk a fine line and keep professional boundaries with their students, CSO staff workers are able to fill in a unique gap for their members and are not subject to the same institutional restrictions. This leads us to question how involved student affairs professionals should be with CSOs. Whereas scholars disagree on the degree of administrative involvement and collaboration with CSOs and parachurch organizations deemed ethically and legally appropriate (Glanzer, 2011; Magolda, 2010), we must acknowledge that CSO staff workers offer a wealth of knowledge in regard to religious and spiritual development. During my first National Association of Student Personnel Administrators (NASPA) national conference in 2018, I stopped by the exhibition hall and was surprised to see that InterVarsity had booked a table. During my brief conversation with a few InterVarsity employees, that they saw the value in being present in our world was evident. Sure, it represented their best interests professionally, but there was a genuine curiosity about the student affairs field. As campus staff workers and regional leaders serve and mentor their student chapters, we owe it to our students to foster healthy working relationships with these folx as well. As we see varying pieces of the puzzle in terms of spiritual development, collaboration may play a key role moving forward.

Reflection 5: CSOs Can Create Safe Spaces to Discuss Mental Health Before I submitted my college applications in 12th grade, I wanted to be very straightforward with my mom about my intentions to go away. One night after family prayer, I sternly told her that I was going to do everything I could to go away to college. As expected, she was upset, but a few moments later, she told me that she understood and that I needed to get out of our house. Back then, I honestly thought we were just all stressed, but in retrospect, the symptoms of a complex migration story and intergenerational trauma were evident. Although my ammachi3 prayed more than anyone I have ever met, her prayers 3 This term refers to a grandmother.

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could not make that house feel like a home by the time I was applying to college. Like many first-generation college students, I felt guilty for leaving. But to this day, my mother’s response keeps me grounded and reminds me of why I work in student affairs. I am not naïve, and I understand very well that higher education is rooted in systemic inequity. Still, I also know that sometimes, a change of scenery can benefit students who grew up like myself. Going from an uncontrolled, chaotic environment to a safe, educational space in which independence was fostered felt immensely rewarding. For many of my participants, dealing with mental health issues was also a reality. All my participants happened to be science, technology, engineering, and/or math majors, and a common sentiment among them was that stress was a very pertinent mental health issue. However, only one participant mentioned receiving formal treatment. This comes as no surprise as scholarship has found that although South Asian college students have specific mental health needs, they hold stigmatized views toward mental health treatment (Loya, Reddy, & Hinshaw, 2010). Specifically, Keralite Americans, the majority of my Indian American participants, who identify closely with Christianity, are more likely to maintain negative attitudes toward seeking help for mental health issues (Narikkattu, 2017). This is problematic considering Indian American students report feeling increased stress from their parents, communities, and higher education institutions’ academic expectations of them (Khalon, 2012). Therefore, a significant finding was that CSO involvement had positive mental health outcomes for my participants. Notably, participants insisted that CSO involvement remedied stress and strengthened their emotional wellness. Describing a perceived link between psychological growth and spiritual growth, Acsah spoke on her experience combatting emotional challenges with her faith using CSO involvement: She [a peer in CSO] pushed me, not aggressively pushed, but encouraged me to go the student counseling and psychological services. It was really because of her that I was able to better understand my social anxiety and where it stems from. I have actually experienced a lot of spiritual growth because I was able to understand the physiological and psychological symptoms that I was dealing with. The counselors there really do help you and tackle whatever it is your dealing with.

Acsah’s story specifically highlights that although Christian Indian American students may be aware of mental health treatment available on campus, these services are not always utilized. Based on Acsah’s tone, although she was initially hesitant to get help, that she was surprised by the positive results of her counseling is clear. To be clear, I do not blame Acsah for her reluctance. In our community, mental health is a taboo topic. Admitting something is wrong is admitting imperfection, which does not sit well in what can feel like a shame-based culture. Whereas it feels slow, evidently there is progress in our community. At the beginning of my first year as a residence hall director, I

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was able to find an Indian American mental health professional for myself. Due to mental health issues within my family growing up, I learned early on that our minds are extremely fragile. Even though I was able to leave for college, the childhood trauma I faced for years was starting to take shape in my life as an emerging adult. If I grew up in an earlier generation, I am not sure if I would have been able to find a therapist that looked like me and shared so much of my identity in upstate New York. For student affairs professionals who work with wellness issues, please remember how representation matters for minoritized communities. I hope that in the same way I saw myself in my therapist, others can find themselves in Acsah’s story and be encouraged to take care of their own mental health.

Looking Forward Moving forward requires of us continual conversation on how to best support these students. We must ask what it does to students when they are prohibited from religiously organizing at a Catholic University. If we are so often the “administration” our students refer to, we owe it to our campus communities to rethink how we navigate students’ religious endeavors and meet their expectations. If upperclassmen and alumni are so eager to share their college experiences with younger peers and create informal pipelines, we need to contemplate how CSOs better engage with these bases. What do we do for Christian Indian American commuter students, who have rich campus involvement experience but are limited to sole participation in one club? In terms of co-curricular activities, do quality and quantity have to compete with each other? If CSOs have access to their own professional staff, we must think carefully about how to best build relationships with these folx. Balancing institutional identity may prove difficult. If mental health issues are stigmatized, how do we respectfully challenge students to grapple with cultural barriers? Although I cannot answer all these questions, I implore my student affairs colleagues to wrestle with them in an effort to better support these the Indian Christian student population. Yet, the most important question is the question of my colleagues’ willingness to challenge myths surrounding Indian American college students. Yes, Indian American college students are generally high-achieving in academia, but they are not without their set of struggles. Let me make this clear—Christian Indian American college students are not subjected to the same turmoil and same degree of systemic oppression as other students of color. Still, they struggle with distinct issues that clash with the model minority myth. In Understanding the Coconut Generation: Ministry to the Americanized Asian Indians (George, 2006), the college campus is referred to as a “battlefield” with regard to how children of the Indian Christian diaspora must navigate multiple cultural identities during their studies. If we perpetuate Indian Christian students’ invisibility, we perpetuate their struggles and rob ourselves of their significant contributions to the student body.

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As my fiancée, Michelle, and I plan our Christian Indian American wedding, we find that our multiple identities do not always harmonize with our vision for the big day ahead of us. Constantly, decisions and details force us to wrestle with our beliefs. How do we reconcile cultural customs when they seemingly compete with our faith and vice versa? Even between us, as much as we share ethnic and religious backgrounds, we come from two different socioeconomic backgrounds regardless that we grew up 15 minutes away from each other. If we both had not attended the same college, I wonder if we would have ever met. Although our immigrant subculture is largely unified, nuanced differences can keep our community stratified. This chapter explored the campus communities that children of this Christian Indian American subculture have co-created in spite of these barriers. Consider this piece as a love note to those navigating their Christian Indian American identity as well as to the student affairs professionals that have been responsible for supporting these individuals’ development.

References Cerezo, A., & Chang, T. (2013). Latina/o achievement at predominantly white universities: The importance of culture and ethnic community. Journal of Hispanic Higher Education, 12(1), 72–85. doi:10.1177/1538192712465626 George, S. (2006). Understanding the coconut generation: Ministry to the Americanized Asian Indians. Niles, IL: Mall Publishing. Glanzer, P. L. (2011). Peter Magolda’s proposal for an unholy alliance: Cautions and considerations regarding collaboration between student affairs and faith-based student organizations. Journal of College and Character, 12(3), 9. https://doi.org/10.2202/1940-1639.1779 Kahlon, A. (2012). Great expectations: narratives of second generation Asian Indian American college students about academic achievement and related intergenerational communication (Doctoral dissertation). Retrieved from Oalster. (edsoai.ocn847288201) Keay, J. (2011). India: A history (2nd ed.). New York, NY: Grove. Kodama, C. M. (2015). Supporting Commuter Students of Color: Supporting Commuter Students of Color. New Directions for Student Services, 2015(150), 45–55. https://doi.org/10.1002/ss.20126 Loya, F., Reddy, R., & Hinshaw, S. P. (2010). Mental illness stigma as a mediator of differences in Caucasian and South Asian college students’ attitudes toward psychological counseling. Journal of Counseling Psychology, 57(4), 484–490. Magolda, P. (2010). An unholy alliance. Rethinking collaboration involving student affairs and faith-based student organizations. Journal of College and Character, 11(4), 1–5. Mayhew, M. J., Rockenbach, A. N., Bowman, N. A., Seifert, T. A., Wolniak, G. C., Pascarella, E. T., & Terenzini, P. T. (2017). How college affects students: 21st century evidence that higher education works (Vol. 3). San Francisco, CA. John Wiley & Sons. Museus, S. D., & Kiang, P. N. (2009). Deconstructing the model minority myth and how it contributes to the invisible minority reality in higher education research. New Directions for Institutional Research, 2009(142), 5–15. doi:10.1002/ir.292 Narikkattu, C. (2017). Religiosity, acculturation, and help-seeking behavior among Indian Christian Americans (Doctoral dissertation). Retrieved from ProQuest. (10622140)

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Patton, L. D., Renn, K. A., Guido, F. M., & Quaye, S. J. (2016). Student development in college: Theory, research, and practice. San Francisco, CA: John Wiley & Sons. Raj, S. J. (2008). New land, new challenges: The role of religion in the acculturation of syro-malabar catholics in chicago. Jacobsen, K. A., (Ed.), South asian christian diaspora: Invisible diaspora in Europe and North America. (pp. 183–196). Aldershot, England, & Burlington, VT: Ashgate. Zong, J., & Batalova, J. (2017). Indian immigrants in the United States. Washington, DC: Migration Policy Institute. Retrieved from https://www.migrationpolicy.org/article/indianimmigrants-united-states

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CHAPTER NINE

(Re)Defining and (Re)Designing a Black Male Christian Identity Michael Steven Williams, Ekaete E. Udoh, Amand L. Hardiman, and G. Preston Wilson In 2017, Lecrae—a Grammy award–winning rap artist whose Christian faith shines through his music—came under fire from comments in an interview with the podcast Truth’s Table during which he voiced frustrations with White evangelicalism’s failure to address issues related to social justice. His vocal departure from White evangelicalism, coupled with his decision to speak out about racism—particularly issues affecting Black Christians—came with an acknowledged cost. In the interview, he shares: I spoke out very frequently throughout 2016 in many different ways and it affected me. I went from a show that may have had 3,000 there to 300, but that was the cost. But those 300 people were people who I knew loved Lecrae, the Black man, the Christian, all of who Lecrae was, not the caricature that had been drawn up for them. (Lecrae, 2017)

Lecrae referenced “loosening the ties” to White evangelicalism to demonstrate the negative impact that Western Christianity has had on the Black church for quite some time. Further, he discussed how traditional notions of Christianity requested that he “lay all that [Blackness] aside for Jesus” (Lecrae, 2017). What does it mean to be Black? What does it mean to be a Christian? What does it mean to be a man? What does it mean to be a Black Christian man? Why is examining the intersections of these identities important? This chapter explores these questions with some foundational acknowledgments. First, a sense of identity is inextricably tied to social and psychological health. Next, religion and spirituality matter. Christianity has been a dominant organizing framework for Blacks, particularly those in Western contexts, for centuries. Finally, although the human experience forces a continual identity development process—we are constantly being made and remade in response to our circumstances and experiences—this process can be particularly perilous for Black men across the globe. Expanding our understanding of Black male Christians as raced, gendered, religious, and spiritual beings is a valuable step toward supporting their

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well-being and achievement in the various spaces they navigate—academic and beyond. Lecrae’s recognition that White evangelicalism does not serve his needs around racial and social justice does not make him any less of a Christian. However, it does evoke 1 Corinthians 13:11 of the Bible—“When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I gave up childish ways” (English Standard Version). In the spirit of evolution that passage reflects, we hope to add our voices to those who strive to create a more just world through an understanding of the Black male Christian identity.

Naming and Claiming Preston, a Black male doctoral student at the University of Missouri (Mizzou), reflects on his evolving perceptions of religion, offering, “I feel that Christianity is used as a control or policing apparatus.” For Black men in America, feeling as though they are being watched is not new. However, the almost-immediate introduction of power and control issues into a conversation about religion is thought-provoking. Preston continues exploring this relationship, offering additional insight about his development as a Black Christian male: When I was younger, I didn’t really challenge things. . . . Challenging God or God’s Word was akin to sin. As I matured, I realized that the people I looked up to for answers regarding my faith did not have the answers, and they used religion to shame me for inquiring. I also learned that religion is steeped heavily in interpretation, furthering the idea of control. Now as an adult, I stand in an interesting place. I love Jesus and His daddy, but the theology of some of His children is flawed and antithetical to the true intent. . . . People only understand what they want to understand and Christians use the Bible to fit on what they are willing to understand. So as a Black man who grew up looking at books that display Jesus as a blue-eyed, blonde-haired savior—I no longer subscribe to that. I do not subscribe to White saviors. Especially when research reveals his potential geographic locations, heritage, and activity. Jesus was not a skinny Caucasian man.

Here, Preston exercises a personal power. The power to define himself and his God— in direct opposition to normative discourses. Refusing to be controlled by narratives that fail to fit his developing worldview, Preston resists on multiple fronts. He resists those that would shame him for asking questions. He resists manifestations and interpretations of Christianity that exclude or marginalize. He resists representations of central figures (i.e., Jesus) that do not fit with his understanding of the world. This process of resistance, definition, and redefinition became a central interest as we collectively explored the nexus of

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religion, race, gender, and sexuality. After reviewing relevant literature, what follows is an account of how we (a) attempted to make sense of our1 intersecting identities, (b) explored power and knowledge, and (c) explicitly and implicitly exercised agency to reconcile our Black male Christian identities with the various spaces we occupy.

Literature Review To appropriately serve Black collegians, we need to know more about how their social locations shape their lives. Critically reconsidering and extending scholarship on the needs and experiences of Black collegians are acutely imperative now because the election and presidency of Donald Trump have reinforced what critical scholars have known all along—the United States is far from postracial. Given the purpose of this chapter and to situate our work in broader discussions about the role of religion and spirituality for Black men in college, we synthesized literature with an eye toward connecting identity development and academic achievement. In his seminal work, The Souls of Black Folk, W. E. B. Du Bois (1903) offers two analytical concepts—the veil and double-consciousness—that can be used to understand the lived experiences of Black Americans. The veil represents three things. First, it refers to the darker skin of Blacks, an inescapable marker of difference in a White-dominated society. Next, it refers to White American society’s inability to see Black individuals as “real” Americans. Finally, it refers to Black people’s inability to depart from the subordinate and subhuman roles assigned to them by White society. In other words, the veil clouds the judgment and visions of Black possibility for both Blacks and Whites. The result of this veil is a double-consciousness. DuBois (1903) offers the following: It is a peculiar sensation, this double-consciousness, this sense of always looking at one’s self through the eyes of others, of measuring one’s soul by the tape of a world that looks on in amused contempt and pity. One ever feels his twoness—an American, a Negro; two souls, two thoughts, two unreconciled strivings; two warring ideals in one dark body, whose dogged strength alone keeps it from being torn asunder. The history of the American Negro is the history of this strife—this longing to attain self-conscious manhood, to merge his double self into a better and truer self. In this merging he wishes neither of the older selves to be lost. He would not Africanize America, for America has too much to teach the world and Africa. He would not bleach his Negro soul in a flood of white Americanism, for he knows that Negro 1 We use the collective terms our and we throughout this chapter to refer to the experiences of the three Black male Christian authors. However, this chapter would not have been possible without the leadership of the second author, Ekaete E. Udoh, who identifies as a Black Christian woman.

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blood has a message for the world. He simply wishes to make it possible for a man to be both a Negro and an American, without being cursed and spit upon by his fellows, without having the doors of Opportunity closed roughly in his face. (pp. 2–3)

Although written more than a century ago, Du Bois’s words hold contemporary resonance for Blacks in American society, generally, and for Black men in higher education, in particular. The twoness that Du Bois refers to has another specific application. Understanding what being both Black and male means is an essential skill for Black men navigating college campuses where they are routinely stereotyped as lazy, underprepared, out-of-place, frightening, scary, and menacing (e.g., Harper & Davis, 2012; Jackson & Wingfield, 2013). Ideas about masculinity and gender performance come from myriad sources for Black college men (e.g., Goodwill et al., 2018; Harris, Palmer, & Struve, 2011; McGuire, Berhanu, Davis, & Harper, 2014). For example, in a recent study, Goodwill and colleagues (2018) explored how college-aged Black males construct understandings of manhood and masculinity through the strategic adoption and rejection of popular culture and media representations of Black manhood. The men participating in their study were critical consumers of the masculine ideals on display by social movement leaders, professional athletes, and entertainers and made distinctions between the ideas that fit their developing beliefs and value systems (e.g., leadership, a focus on contributions to family and community, physical strength) and those that did not (e.g., a lack of empathy, infidelity, promiscuity). Despite the emergence of important scholarship that considers Black male collegians as gendered persons, few studies point to the connection between religion and Black masculine ideals. For generations, religion and spirituality have been highly influential for Black communities in the United States. Some argue that the Black Church was among the most influential socializing institutions for Black American communities (Barrett, 2010; Giles, 2010; Salinas et al., 2018; Woodson, 1945). For Blacks in the 19th century, the church was paramount for providing hope and strength as bolsters against an oppressive and racist society. Prior to the Emancipation Proclamation, the Black Church was also one of the few places where it was safe for Blacks to interact. The practice of Christianity was one of the few respites from the harsh social, psychological, and labor conditions, particularly in the South. Blacks went to church to recharge, to uplift one another, to bond with friends and family, and even to find spouses. Many Blacks learned how to read and write in the church and used these skills to strategically liberate others in bondage. That the Black Church has been at the center of numerous social justice movements in the United States is no surprise. The link between the Black Church and Black educational achievement and advancement is also important to explore. In higher education, in particular, many Blacks attribute their academic accolades and successes to their relationship with God (e.g., Barrett, 2010;

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Harper, 2012; Salinas et al., 2018; Strayhorn, 2011). For example, participants in Harper’s (2012) study on Black male success in college overwhelmingly (a) identified as Christian and (b) attributed the work of God to divergent indicators of success, including scholarship awards and positive mentoring relationships. Despite growing interests in religion and spirituality, masculine identity development, and sexual identity development for Black collegians, respectively, few studies (for notable exceptions, see McGuire, Cisneros, & McGuire, 2017, and Means, 2017) attempt to bridge these areas of inquiry. None connect these areas while centering the experiences of Black men in graduate school and beyond. Herein lies our contribution.

Theoretical Considerations To understand how we made sense of our respective and collective experiences, outlining the dual frameworks that influenced our approach to this book chapter is necessary. One framework—intersectionality—was in place as we began to negotiate the larger project. The other—a Foucauldian exploration of the relationship between knowledge and power—was a resonant analytical lens to examine the data we collected. Our blended theoretical approach explores narratives in a way that would have been impossible otherwise and encouraged us to think differently about what we had to share.

Intersectionality Rooted in the scholarship of Black theorists such as Anna Julia Cooper and the aforementioned W. E. B. Du Bois, intersectionality has been explicated and expanded by contemporary Black feminist scholars such as Kimberlé Crenshaw and Patricia Hill Collins. Crenshaw (e.g., 1989, 1991) used the term intersectionality in her work to demonstrate how interlocking systems of oppression (i.e., racism and sexism) could create unique and compound experiences of discrimination for Black women navigating the U.S. legal system. Beyond the way that multiple social identities influence and complicate each other, her work suggests that we must pay close attention to the influence of history and context. Each of our intersecting identities has ideological systems, myths, stereotypes, and assumptions about the relative worth of individuals that operate through structures of power and privilege to influence our lived experiences. Similarly, Collins (2000) contends that interlocking systems of oppression created a structure that facilitates inequitable outcomes. Her work identified three central ways to utilize an intersectional lens: (a) to explore background, issues, conflict, and debates; (b) to determine how social justice initiatives can deliver social change; and (c) to explore how social institutions perpetuate social inequities. Overall, intersectionality demands a response resistant to oppression (Collins, 2015).

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Power/Knowledge As Foucault (1980a, 1980b) explores the connection between power and knowledge, he encourages us to think about the ways that they concomitantly support and confine each other. His poststructural notions of subjectivity see the “self ” as unstable— constantly being constructed and reconstructed through relationships with others and through daily practices (Jackson & Mazzei, 2012). Identity categories (e.g., religion, race, sexual orientation) do not stabilize or essentialize a person’s subjectivity because their ways of existing can shift depending on the context. Here, context refers to both social (e.g., the people one finds him- or herself around) and material (e.g., the places one finds him- or herself) conditions. For example, a Black Christian heterosexual man may have a certain sense of himself and a particular behavioral repertoire when surrounded by other Black Christian heterosexual men. However, if he is in the company of people who identify differently, that sense of self and ideas about behavior may shift depending on the demands—real or perceived—of this new space. In this way, the “self ” is constantly transforming, creating new knowledge about itself and its world within relations of power. We were particularly interested in the power to define ourselves in different contexts by choosing how to act and the power of different contexts to prompt shifts in the way that we interact and behave. Choosing what information is available for people to know and understand us is illustrative of the intricate relationship among power, knowledge, and the self.

Methodological Choices Although Black male Christian authors are the analytic focus, data shared in this chapter are drawn from multiple sources. The authors met on multiple occasions with the initial intention to develop an interview protocol that explores the role of religion in the lives of Black college men for a larger study. First, we worked together to brainstorm questions. Then, we tested our initial protocol on ourselves, separately. We refined the protocol and explored the viability of our revisions by conducting a focus group among ourselves that we audiotaped, transcribed, and analyzed. We used these data to explore the ways that we negotiated our Black male Christian identities in light of the social and material contexts we navigate.

Positionality Given the central role that our respective identities played in the generation and interpretation of the data, we felt it necessary to consider our positionality in this study.

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Michael Steven Williams I am a cisgender heterosexual Black Catholic man who is a co-parent and a father of two children. I am Catholic by marriage—I went through the Rite of Christian Initiation of Adults as part of the premarital process—and despite being divorced from my children’s mother, we agreed to raise our children Catholic. As a military brat who lived all over the United States and practiced numerous denominations of Christianity at different points while growing up (including, but not limited to Baptist, Jehovah’s Witness, and African Methodist Episcopal), I have always seen religion as important, if not central to my life. My exposure to various forms of Christianity as a child coupled with my exposure to non-Christian religious and spiritual traditions as an adult contribute to my sense that no belief system is inherently perfect or imperfect. Like the theories I use to organize my thinking around race, education, and society as a scholar of higher education, I believe there is value in understanding and connecting across real or perceived boundaries. I am comfortable raising my son, Maximilian, and my daughter, Makaria, as Catholics, with the knowledge that I will not only allow but also encourage them to explore whether Catholicism serves their needs as they develop and mature.

Ekaete E. Udoh I identify as a Black Christian heterosexual cisgender woman. Although not extremely religious, growing up church and faith were a mainstay in my house. I was the young girl who always gave my life to Christ each vacation Bible school because I wanted God to remember I am his child. My undergraduate years were the most formative for my faith as a part of a collegiate para-church organization. I was challenged to not only trust Christ but also trust that he could handle my difficult and scary questions. As a student leader, I was encouraged to deepen my faith through exploration, and I was blessed with a strong, critical, and diverse Christian community that was equipped to study the Bible—I honestly have not experienced anything like it since. I was informed that women could preach and that social justice was close to God’s heart. I eventually became a campus staff worker for this organization, and through this role, I grew to realize the importance of a relationship with Christ that would feed my faith rather than a focus on religion and piety that would only aid my self-righteousness. As a Christian, I am fully aware that Christianity has been utilized to oppress and subjugate people. As a Black Nigerian, I come from a people who have been stripped of history and oppressed in the name of salvation, yet I believe my faith operates from a place of awareness. My faith informs my value for my people, my value and heart for those who face adversity as a result of societal stigma and norms, and my deep conviction in seeing the Black community overcome the results of slavery and colonization (e.g., anti-Blackness, identity crisis, prison industrial complex, and misogynoir).

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Amand L. Hardiman I identify as a Black heterosexual cisgender male who is a member of the Church Jesus of Christ of Latter-Day Saints. Born and raised in the Midwest, I was initially raised as a Baptist religious worshipper. However, my legal guardian allowed me to exercise my desire to discontinue my fellowship as an adolescent. As a result, I was able to question my spirituality through Christianity while evolving as a young Black male in secondary and postsecondary education. Being granted the space to explore my spirituality eventually led me to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints during my undergraduate studies. My constant reflections on my salient identities and experiences coincide with our Power/Knowledge framework. I recognize that in each environment I enter, I am a minority of some sort. Whether the minority by race in a predominantly White congregation or the minority by faith in a primarily Black social environment, my experiences have helped me develop a listening ear and a receptive heart. I strive for consistency no matter the setting.

G. Preston Wilson I identify as a Black gay male born and raised in North Carolina in a Christian household. Church was always a part of my life, especially since I played the piano and I sang. But like many others, my religious upbringing was fraught with many questions as I explored my identity and sexuality and recognized that they were different from the norm. The examples of Black Christian men I had did not speak to my existence. So, for many years, I lived a lie—not a double life but a life that was not open and authentic. My hope was that this would please God and secure my space in heaven. As I have grown and matured, my views of Christianity and God have evolved. My faith has grown, and I now have various models of what it means to be a Black man who loves God. I now see God as a God of love and compassion, not the God of vindictive retribution. I can freely ask questions and explore topics such as Christianity and homosexuality that have traditionally been seen as taboo in concert.

Our Team Identity It is worth noting that as a research team, our interrelationships also serve as a form of data. Beyond the written and recorded responses to the protocol that we developed, we have established rapport and friendships that allowed the conversation to focus (and drift) in ways that may not have been possible with another group of people. Michael is a tenure-track assistant professor. Ekaete is a first-year doctoral student. Amand is a master’s student. Ekaete and Amand work together as members of Michael’s research team. Ekaete provided administrative leadership for the larger data collection and facilitated the focus group. Although this chapter focuses on the Black male Christian identity, Ekaete’s participation enhances the

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trustworthiness of our work. Her identities and dedication to social transformation helped us explore Blackness, Christianity, and masculinity in ways that would have not been possible without her involvement. Preston is a doctoral student that identifies as a Black nondenominational Christian gay man, and although his departmental home is different from the other three authors, he is a team member and research collaborator. In the following sections, we present findings related to our Black male Christian identities, explore them with an intersectional lens, and probe for the relationship between power, knowledge, and self in the university and religious contexts and beyond.

Findings As we reflected on the ways religion and spirituality contribute to our lives as Black men in the academy and beyond, a number of themes emerged. However, rather than limit the ideas we explored through more traditional themes, we have decided to share key excerpts that illustrate how our conversations inextricably intertwined ideas of religion, spirituality, Black masculinity, sex, sexuality, and family. These topics are rarely explored together in the broader discourse around Black men, and the comfort and connection we have with each other enriched our data.

Meaning Making: Religion and Spirituality We examined our data to explore how we—individually and collectively—shifted our subjectivities and exercised agency to push, pull, and otherwise do battle with our intersectional identities. The struggle to create space for our lived experiences within religious and spiritual frameworks influenced our very definitions of religion and spirituality. The following exchange offers a window into how we made sense the connection between the two: Amand: Spirituality to me is your connection to a higher being. Religion is how you practice that connectivity and how you learn more about connecting to your spirituality. Michael: So like religion is a bridge to spirituality? Amand: Yeah. Michael: I think I think something similar because I’ve always put spirituality higher than religion. Religion to me is a set of practices and ideas about how you connect everything in your world, and so it’s difficult for me to not think about the etymology of the word . . . if you have a religious tradition . . . I mean, to me, most religious traditions suggest the same things about like humanity and connection and higher power. . . . It’s funny thinking about it in the context of Blackness and

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spirituality because to be Black here, on this plane, means that you subscribe to [the idea of] race when we know that race is kinda trash and was created to discriminate and keep us people with darker skin at the bottom . . . and spirituality is about transcending that and recognizing that no matter what they do to you here, there is something bigger and better where your humanity and your soul is recognized . . . there is something aspirational to me about religion and spirituality, but particularly religion as a bridge to spirituality because you aspire to get to that next level. To love people. To see people. To recognize people in their full expression of themselves regardless of what they look like or what their denomination is . . . because religion in its best expression leads everybody to the same place. Amand: That’s interesting to me because I’ve always looked at it like this . . . religion is practiced. Like with basketball there’s practice. There’s structure, there’s the drills, there’re things, and you practice . . . life is the game and then spirituality is the individual improvement you [get] from your practice. You win, you lose, you evaluate, you come back to practice, you sharpen your skills consistently and so I’ve always looked at it as personal.

Accepted and Rejected Notions of Black Masculinity Ideas of religious and spiritual development also overlapped with (a) conceptions of Black masculinity and (b) family as socializing agents in interesting ways. The following exchange was of particular significance: Michael: Most [of] my messages about masculinity come from being raised by a Black single mother. . . I think masculinity is service. You know the best expression of a man is a man who serves. Your work is to serve; your work is to protect; your work is to uplift; your work is to lead. Amand: I was about to say we’ve got the “three P’s” in our church to provide, preside, and protect. That’s how I look at masculinity. Michael: Yeah and if you’re not doing those things for the people you love and the people you’re committed to, or that you should be committed to, then you’re not a man . . . it’s important for me to teach my son about manhood not only in the example I set but in the way that I treat other people, the way I treat his mother, the way I treat my daughter, the way I treat my wife . . . it’s that the greatest expression of your manhood is in being a good person to the people you care for. And to find ways to extend the people you care for . . . But yeah, my son’s name literally, his name is Maximilian Serge. Maximilian means “the greatest.” Serge means “servant.” The Greatest Servant. It’s a life mantra in a name. If he lives up to his name, he’s gonna be the ultimate man.

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Preston: My masculinity was shaped by what not to do. Don’t wear flashy clothes, your clothes can’t be too tight, fix your walk, put some bass in your voice, cut your hair, don’t break your wrists, don’t be so smart. . . Being called gay in the Black community was the worst thing to be called. . . I think that is why I found such comfort in Black women. I never wanted to be a woman, but that was the community that accepted me.

Dating and Christianity Our individual responses to the initial interview protocol revealed additional resonant examples of the interconnection among religion, spirituality, sex, and family. For example, Preston shares the way religious dictates shaped his collegiate dating experiences despite identifying as a gay male: I got involved with a young lady and we dated for the majority of my undergraduate and graduate career . . . we were even engaged to marry for a year. I felt like this was the right thing to do and I would bring honor to my God and family outside of my musical and educational accomplishments. Needless to say, that relationship did not work.

Conflict reconciling a Black Christian male identity with dating life was also apparent for the heterosexual identified men. For example, Amand shares his attempts to reconcile his family, masculinity, and behavior: I did not have much guidance or counsel from my family on how to live through religion. Although my uncle was a deacon of a church, I was not comfortable talking to him about this situation because it was not something we discussed in my house. But [with] the pressures to validate my perceived identity with my peers I began drinking, partying, and entertaining women as a part of what I considered validation of my own self-worth. . . But deep within, I always felt the behavior I was exhibiting was morally wrong.

In the next section, we close by (a) discussing the preceding excerpts utilizing our interpretive frameworks and (b) offering implications.

Discussion Consistent with the tenets of intersectionality, our findings suggest that Black Christian men experience contexts differently based on the interlocking systems of privilege and oppression connected to their social identities (Collins, 2000; Crenshaw,

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1991). Consistent with our Foucauldian framework, we each took up different subject positions depending on power and knowledge negotiations in specific contexts. This pattern provides a window into the conflicts that arise when the rigidities of religious expectations collide with the realities of Black manhood. Taken together, our frameworks allow us to acknowledge power, privilege, and oppression while simultaneously honoring our agency within oppressive systems to redefine and redesign our Black male Christian identities. We are not impartial, dispassionate researchers detached from our focus, nor do we wish to be. Although sharing our stories and engaging in self-critique can leave us feeling vulnerable, acknowledging the ways we are connected to our work is an invaluable and necessary part of our research process. Who researchers are cannot be disconnected from what they research. We see our reflexivity as a bridge between the individual and the system. Our ability to comprehend, empathize, and critique is enhanced because our questions are connected to our daily lives, not just conjectural notions of social justice. We are not just using the theories—we are also living them. First, definitions matter. Our intellectual recognition that the normative expression of Christianity privileges White cisgender heterosexual men naturally creates cognitive dissonance for us as Black male Christians. Our narratives illuminate two distinct strategies for negotiating this conflict: (a) rejection and (b) redefinition. For an example of the former, recall the opening narrative and Preston’s outright rejection of White Jesus and White saviors. The ability to identify and unsubscribe from White supremacist interpretations of Christianity offers a valuable form of psychic protection. We can point out the flaws of the way Christianity manifests in opposition to our identity locations while maintaining fidelity to Christianity as a religious tradition. Similarly, although defining religion as “a bridge to spirituality” may sound like a rhetorical trick at first blush, perhaps it would be better understood as an act of resistance within the broader framework of religious oppression for Black Christians. Shifting the focus from religion (i.e., Christianity) to spirituality (a deeply personal connection to a higher power) is an agentic move that allows us to make room for constructions of ourselves (and our morality) as Black Christian men that defy typical White supremacist, hegemonic masculine, and heteropatriarchal expectations. If religion is “practice” for the “game” of life, then spirituality as a site of personal agency and improvement is the vehicle we use to bring our preferred version of our “self”—constantly negotiated and renegotiated through our daily practices, contexts, and relationships with others—to the game. Related, “Black male Christian” does not mean heterosexual (McGuire et al., 2017), although the unexamined expectations of heterosexuality within Christian religious traditions are fertile ground for exploration. Religion informs and is informed by normative notions of race, gender, and sexuality. Reflecting on our dialogue about the connections between masculinity, family, sexuality, and religion makes clear how difficult it can be to enact an anti-oppressive, unified identity while subscribing to broader Christian beliefs. For example, beyond intersecting identities as Black male Christians, Amand’s and Michael’s additional alignment as heterosexual males is a useful space for examination.

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Here, rather than exercise agency through rejection, Amand and Michael do so through acceptance. Left unexplored, religiously mediated masculine notions of familial service, protection, and leadership such as “provide, preside, and protect” can undermine the aforementioned use of spirituality as a tool to craft an anti-oppressive self. Paying attention to power, privilege, and subjectivity in concert means recognizing that beyond racism, the Christian Church perpetuates inequality through heteronormativity and heteropatriarchy. Thus, acceptance of Christian frameworks that position the (presumably) heterosexual male as the head of the household marginalize in at least two ways. First, and perhaps most important given our data, it forecloses the possibility of those roles being fulfilled by women. This is in stark contrast to our lived experiences as all three of us depended and continue to depend on the women in our lives (e.g., Michael’s mother, Amand’s grandmother, Preston’s women friends, Ekaete’s role in this project) to serve as leaders and protectors, not just as supporters. Next, it silences and excludes Christian men that do not identify as heterosexual. Michael’s discussion of role modeling manhood for his son Maximilian through the way he treats people, but more specifically, women—“the way I treat his mother, the way I treat my daughter, the way I treat my wife”—has heteronormative undertones that may not have been as readily apparent to us had they not been juxtaposed with Preston’s understanding of Black gay male Christian masculinity as things not to do. Although part of parents’ role is to provide a model for their children, paying attention to what is spoken and unspoken is important. In this case, our (Michael’s and Amand’s) refusal to endorse homophobic and hypermasculine gender performances is complicated—and potentially compromised if engaged thoughtlessly—by our privileged comfort with some of Christianity’s heteropatriarchal dictates. We also must recognize how this privileged comfort extends to dating life. In the Black Christian community, the stigma and shame a male heterosexual fornicator faces pale compared to that of even a celibate gay-identified male. Preston’s and Amand’s respective responses to social expectations drive this point home. In the next section, our Black woman author extends our discussion by offering her perspective on our findings.

Ekaete’s Reflection: A Black Woman’s Thoughts Black male Christian identity development is important to unpack, especially as it relates to the complex relationships between Black men and Black women. The pervasive nature of Western, whitewashed Christianity allows forms of toxic masculinity to pass as healthy. The notions of Black masculinity propagated through various forms of media suggest that manhood is about domination—sexual, physical, social, and otherwise. To be a man is to be virile, violent, aggressive, emotionless, and straight. These social dictates leave little room for the development of a more progressive masculinity. Despite common refrains about how Black women courageously shoulder the burden of Black racial uplift, the contributions of Black women continue to go unacknowledged. Although acknowledging the heteronormative and heteropatriarchal contradictions referenced in

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our analysis, as a Black woman, I want to see more of the “three P’s” Amand referenced— provide, preside, and protect—on a societal level for Black women, Black children, the Black elderly, the Black disabled, and the Black lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer community. Instead of using Black women as targets of derision—there is no shortage of Black Christian propaganda telling Black women how they can be better, prettier, less angry, and ultimately more deserving of love—I would love to see Black men uplift and protect Black women without it being seen as pandering, weak, or a threat to both their masculinity and Christianity.

Implications As we explore the implications of this chapter and the work to come, we are reminded that intersectionality calls us to consider ways to deliver social change. We add our voices to scholars that call for intentionally introspective social justice work that acknowledges and dares to reimagine the intersections of race, religion, spirituality, sexuality, and masculinity for Black collegians (McGuire et al., 2017; Means, 2017). In this chapter, we extend work in this area in at least three ways. First, we cover new ground by extending this conversation to graduate students and faculty. Our findings demonstrate that the different life experiences and sensibilities of Black men beyond the traditional age of undergraduate students open a fruitful space for investigation. We encourage future researchers to join us as we engage with the way additional aspects of the intersectional identities of Black male Christians (e.g., age, parental status) impact the ways they negotiate power and knowledge in various contexts. Next, we demonstrate the potential complementarity of intersectional and Foucauldian analytic approaches. Our frameworks helped us critique systems while paying attention to the way people define, refine, and restrict power within those systems. The recognition of the agentic possibilities for Blacks within and despite oppressive systems is a crucial aspect of supporting and sustaining meaningful change. Finally, our work calls for an ongoing critical engagement with what it means to be a Black male Christian. Christianity can be a guide for how we want to live, but we must pay attention to the ways that it has been interpreted to support misogynist, heteronormative, homophobic, and otherwise limiting beliefs. For Black men to work out strategies is necessary so that they can survive and thrive within unfair systems with discourses that intentionally marginalize them. To this end, we want Black men to see themselves as powerful subjects rather than simply subjects of power.

Conclusion Recall the opening where Lecrae and Preston challenge traditional notions of Christianity by redefining and redesigning the way they see, question, and interact with their

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individual religious communities as they matured. Preston continues by explaining where he sees himself now after the sum of his experiences, both positive and negative: Now, after all my experiences, I can live knowing that God loves me fiercely. There was a time I didn’t even think God liked me. I am a firm believer that He orchestrated every life event to bring me to a place of contentment and peace in His ability. And while my Christian upbringing was not totally bad, the general consensus is that the theology was trash. It was very restrictive and your worth was governed by a checklist. I now know that my relationship with God is most important, not the interpretations of who I am to church folks.

We hope to exhort and inspire Black men to use religion and spirituality, along with personal power and knowledge, to productively organize their lives, to fight racism and sexism, to challenge homophobia, to dismantle heteropatriarchy, and to establish anti-oppressive identities. Indeed, we believe that proper stewardship of a Christian faith identity requires just that. “He has told you, O man, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?” (Micah 6:8, English Standard Version).

References Barrett, B. D. (2010). Faith in the inner city: the urban Black church and students’ educational outcomes. Journal of Negro Education, 79, 249–262. Collins, P. H. (2000). Black feminist thought: Knowledge, consciousness, and the politics of Empowerment. New York, NY: Routledge. Collins, P. H. (2015). Intersectionality’s definitional dilemmas. Annual Review of Sociology, 41, 1–20. Crenshaw, K. (1989). Demarginalizing the intersection of race and sex: A Black feminist critique of antidiscrimination doctrine, feminist theory and anti-racist politics. University of Chicago Legal Forum, 1989, 139–167. Crenshaw, K. (1991). Mapping the margins: intersectionality, identity politics, and violence. Stanford Law Review, 43, 1241–1299. Du Bois, W. E. B. (1903). The souls of Black folk; essays and sketches. Chicago, IL: A. G. McClurg. Foucault, M. (1980a) The History of Sexuality: Volume 1. An introduction. New York, NY: Vintage Books. Foucault, M. (1980b). Power/knowledge: Selected interviews and other writings: 1972–1977. New York, NY: Pantheon Books. Giles, M. S. (2010). Howard Thurman, Black spirituality, and critical race theory in higher education. Journal of Negro Education, 79, 354–365. Goodwill, J. R., Anyiwo, N., Williams, E. D. G., Johnson, N. C., Mattis, J. S., & Watkins, D. C. (2018). Media representations of popular culture figures and the construction of Black masculinities. Psychology of Men & Masculinity. http://dx.doi.org/10.1037/men0000164

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Harper, S. R. (2012). Black male student success in higher education: A report from the National Black Male College Achievement Study. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania, Center for the Study of Race and Equity in Education. Harper, S. R., & Davis III, H. F. (2012). They (don’t) care about education: A counternarrative on Black male students’ responses to inequitable schooling. Educational Foundations, 26, 103–120. Harris III, F., Palmer, R. T., & Struve, L. E. (2011). “Cool posing” on campus: A qualitative study of masculinities and gender expression among Black men at a private research institution. Journal of Negro Education, 80, 47–62. Jackson, A. Y., & Mazzei, L. A. (2012). Thinking with theory in qualitative research: Viewing data across multiple perspectives. New York, NY: Routledge. Jackson, B. A., & Wingfield, A. H. (2013). Getting angry to get ahead: Black college men, emotional performance, and encouraging respectable masculinity. Symbolic Interaction, 36(3), 275–292. Lecrae. (2017, September 30). “Facts about Lecrae” [Audio blog post]. Retrieved from https:// soundcloud.com/truthstable McGuire, K. M., Berhanu, J., Davis III, C. H., & Harper, S. R. (2014). In search of progressive Black masculinities: Critical self-reflections on gender identity development among Black undergraduate men. Men and Masculinities, 17(3), 253–277. McGuire, K. M., Cisneros, J., & McGuire, T. D. (2017). Intersections at a (heteronormative) crossroad: Gender and sexuality among Black students’ spiritual-and-religious narratives. Journal of College Student Development, 58(2), 175–197. Means, D. R. (2017). “Quaring” spirituality: The spiritual counterstories and spaces of Black gay and bisexual male college students. Journal of College Student Development, 58, 229–246. Salinas Jr., C., Elliott, K., Allen, K., McEwan, D., King, C., & Boldon, C. (2018). The role of spirituality for Black male community college students. Community College Journal of Research and Practice, 42(7-8), 504–518. Strayhorn, T. L. (2011). Singing in a foreign land: An exploratory study of gospel choir participation among African American undergraduates at a predominantly White institution. Journal of College Student Development, 52(2), 137–153. Woodson, C. G. (1945). The history of the Negro Church. Washington, DC: The Associated Publishers.

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CHAPTER TEN

Identity Performance of Muslim International Women in Campus Microsystems: A Narrative Inquiry Ayesha Yousafzai I say I’m Muslim, and they’re like, “Oh really? Tell me more.” So they all just assume, “You’re Muslim—there’s a head scarf!” But Muslim women are much more diverse than a head scarf. —Haden

Muslim and international students continue to add to the diversity of the student body at institutions of higher education. In recent years, the number of international students in the United States has increased by 1.5% (10,094,792) from the previous years (Open Doors, 2018). Among these diverse international populations, there has also been an increase in international undergraduate students coming from Asia (758,076), the Middle East and North Africa (91,375), and sub-Saharan Africa (39,479) (Open Doors, 2018). All these regions have several countries with Islam as the predominant religion. Therefore, assuming that good portions of international students from these regions are Muslims is logical. Currently, no fewer than 100,000 Muslim students (domestic and international) are enrolled at colleges and universities in the United States (Open Doors, n.d). As the numbers of Muslim and international students continue to increase, understanding their experiences on college campuses in the United States is important. Learning about their experiences and hearing their voices will allow faculty, staff, administrators, and policy makers at all levels of an institution to provide intentional support, programs, and services. Thus far, research highlighting the voices and experiences of international students who simultaneously possess multiple identities (international, Muslim, and woman) are scarce in the United States. The purpose of this chapter is to provide information about Muslims and the religion Islam, as well as explore the prescient issues of Islamophobia and gendered Islamophobia in the West. I focus on a research study I recently conducted regarding the identity performance narratives of eight Muslim international women (MIWs) on two college campuses in the United States. The study revealed that MIWs faced heightened identity consciousness, stereotypes, and burdens of representations, limited religious engagement, and persistent challenges to academic and social well-being in the United States.

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Islam and Muslims Islam is the second-largest religion of the world, with approximately 1.8 billion followers. Islam is an Arabic word that means “surrender” or “submission,” and followers of the religion Islam are called Muslims. Similar to Christianity and Judaism, Islam is a monotheistic religion (Lipka, 2017). The Muslim populations are extremely diverse and represent a range of cultures, languages, ethnicities, and countries. A general misconception, in the West, is that most Muslims are Arabs or come from the Middle East; in fact, fewer than 15% of all Muslims are Arab. The majority of the Muslims live in the Asia-Pacific region, and the top five countries with Muslim populations are Indonesia, Pakistan, India, Bangladesh, and Nigeria—about 62% (Diamant, 2019). Despite the diversity among Muslims, all Muslims are required to follow five fundamental practices: Shahada (profession of faith), Salat (prayers, five times a day), Zakat (obligatory donation given to less fortunate, charity), Sawm (fasting from sunrise to sunset during the month of Ramadan), and Hajj (pilgrimage to the holy city of Mecca in Saudi Arabia, once in a person’s lifetime; Armstrong, 2007; Haddad & Esposito, 2000). Additionally, Muslims are expected to abstain from practices deemed harmful (haram), including gambling, alcohol, fornication, adultery, and carnivorous animals (S. Ali, Liu & Humedian, 2004). In the same way that observant Jews only consume kosher foods, Muslims only eat halal (beneficial) foods (S. Ali & Bagheri, 2009). In terms of dress, differences in clothing are influenced by nationality, ethnicity, and culture within the country. However, religiously, both men and women are expected to dress modestly (Cole & Ahmadi, 2010). Based on one’s cultural context, modesty for women could mean different attire including abaya (cloak), hijab (head covering), niqab (face covering), or other forms of modest dress (S. Ali et al., 2004). In the last several decades, misinformation concerning Islam and Muslims has dominated news, media, and politics both nationally and internationally. A lack of understanding of Islam and Muslims has created assumptions, stereotypes, biases, and Islamophobia toward this population. The subsequent section delves deeper into widespread Islamophobia and gendered Islamophobia in the United States.

Islamophobia The most widely used term to describe a fear of Islam and/or hostility, dislike, or prejudice toward Muslims is Islamophobia (Shryock, 2010). Both in politics and academics, it has become a “catchall” term that ranges from xenophobia to antiterrorism (Helbling, 2010). Moreover, it is a form of racism that incites hatred, targets religious beliefs and cultural traditions, and casts Muslims as potential enemies (Esposito & Kalin, 2011). Despite what people think, Islamophobia did not suddenly start after the events of 9/11. Unfortunately, it has deep historical roots in the West; however, the tragic events of 9/11 exacerbated Islamophobia toward Muslims both nationally and internationally (S. Ali & Bagheri, 2009; Shryock, 2010). In

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the United States, the Patriot Act, passed after 9/11, brought additional scrutiny toward Muslims and the disproportionate government policing and surveillance further cast Muslims (Americans and internationals) as others (Ahmadi, 2011). In 2005, the Council on American Islamic Relations reported approximately 2,000 civil rights violations, an increase of 29.2%, against Muslims in the United States. Over the years, the Muslim popularity has continued to decrease; in 2017, a Pew Research Center survey exposed that Americans gave Muslims the lowest rating (48) of any religious group on the 0–100 scale, where 0 was the coldest and 100 the warmest (Lipka, 2017). Another 2019 Pew Research survey revealed that 50% of Muslims shared that it was becoming difficult to be a Muslim in the United States due to Islamophobia (Masci, 2019). Consequently, Muslim Americans and Muslim international students became reluctant to participate in Muslim student organizations on campus and mosques in their communities (Ahmadi, 2011). In recent years, since the executive order signed by U.S. President Donald Trump, banning Muslims from certain countries to the United States has once again fed into the existent anti-Muslim rhetoric and brought negative attention to this population.

Gendered Islamophobia In the United States, both Muslim women and Muslim men have reported facing Islamophobia however, they face it in distinct ways. Gendered Islamophobia, which includes extreme social and political discrimination, hostility, dislike, or prejudice targeted toward Muslim women, has also been on a rise (Zine, 2006). It is rooted in systematic oppression, stereotypes, and negative media portrayals of Muslim women in the West and often constructs them as exotic others, regardless of their backgrounds. Women generally are vulnerable and are oppressed based on their gender, race, ethnic, racial, and religious positions (Crenshaw, 1994). Muslim women increasingly are vulnerable as these women occupy additional identities such as nationality, immigrant status, and dress (Perry, 2014). Muslim women who wear religious or cultural artifacts, such as veil or hijab, are especially exposed, identifiable, and perceived as submissive and oppressed (Cole & Ahmadi, 2003; Kwan, 2008; Zine, 2006). These perceptions and stereotypes make Muslim women an easy target of gendered Islamophobia. Consequently, gendered Islamophobia forces some Muslim women to rethink their visibility. It also encourages some women to alter their religious and gender performances in accordance with Western ideals as acting outside of the norm incites fears of personal safety and decreases levels of belonging, (Kwan, 2008; Perry, 2014). Islamophobia and gendered Islamophobia are not just prevalent outside institutions of higher education in the United States. Unfortunately, in the last decade, Muslim students across the United States have reported blatant acts related to Islamophobia on campus. Federal Bureau of Investigation hate crime statistics suggest that since 2016, campus hate crime rates motivated by biases of race, national origin, ethnicity, and

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religion have increased. Due to such crimes, Muslims of all genders have suffered great consequences in the forms of violence, verbal and physical abuse, discrimination, and hate crimes on college campuses. Additionally, literature on gendered Islamophobia indicates that Muslim women increasingly face prejudice and gender discrimination. In the next section, I discuss a recent study regarding the identity performance narratives of eight MIWs on two college campuses.

Research Study The purpose of this study was to uncover stories of identity performance, as narrated by MIWs on their college campuses in the United States. The concept of identity performance was adopted from Goffman’s (1959) sociological perspective and Butler’s (2004) feminist perspective. In this study, identity performance was defined as the ways in which MIWs engaged, situated, behaved, and acted in their various environments on their college campuses. Therefore, the study aimed to answer one research question: How do undergraduate MIWs describe their experiences of identity performance inside college environments?

Literature on Muslim and International Undergraduate Women Muslim college students are highly diverse and represent various cultures, nationalities, genders, and ethnicities. Research on experiences of Muslim students continues to increase, yet the voices of Muslim international students, particularly MIWs, are limited. The literature on experiences of MIWs focuses on their classroom experiences, media misrepresentations, visual profiling, and serving as religious ambassadors. One of the first studies prior to 9/11 on experiences of Muslims students’ experiences in the classrooms was by Speck (1997). This study highlighted that Muslim students described several problems that influenced their classroom learning and development. Professors’ lack of knowledge of their religion, the use of textbooks and media bias toward Islam, a lack of reasonable religious accommodations, and failure to intervene when others misrepresented Islam were problematic. Since 9/11, other studies have investigated experiences of Muslim students within residence halls (Calkins et al., 2012), mental health (Peek, 2005), and campus support systems (Ahmadi & Cole, 2015). Other studies revealed that Muslim students often felt forced to create new Muslim identities born out of a quest to assimilate, or belong (A. Ali, 2014), or due to being constantly depicted as the “other” (Mir, 2007). Muslim misrepresentations in the popular Western media, political speeches, and other outlets (Hollywood movies, popular fiction, and television shows) continuously demonize Muslims (Nacos & Torres-Reyna, 2007; Peek, 2005; Shammas, 2009), which feeds into the depiction of Muslims as “others.”

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Another set of literature focused on Muslim undergraduate women and visual profiling. Consistent with gendered Islamophobia, Muslim college women who wear cultural or religious identifiers experience scrutiny (Cole & Ahmadi, 2003; Perry, 2014; Stubbs & Sallee, 2013) and are highly visible (Nasir & Al-Amin, 2006). Visual profiling had a negative impact on their college experiences and increased feelings of isolation (Cole & Ahmadi, 2003). Additionally, Muslim women shared instances of stereotyping that adversely impacted their well-being (Cole & Ahmadi, 2015). Research on experiences of Muslim women on campus revealed that Muslim women served as ambassadors or representatives of all Muslims (S. Ali & Bagheri, 2009; Mir, 2009; Mubarak, 2007). Due to these burdens, they felt coerced to modify their appearances or religious practices to avoid stereotypes, unwanted exposure, judgment, and conflict (S. Ali & Bagheri, 2009; Mir, 2009; Mubarak, 2007). Some Muslim women modified their dress (Mubarak, 2007), and others removed their hijab (Cole & Ahmadi, 2003).

Methodology Qualitative research involves a systematic approach to exploring and gaining the richness, complexity, and depth of a phenomenon (Creswell, 2014). Narrative inquiry is one type of qualitative methodology and is based on understanding experiences through storytelling. Connelly and Clandinin (1990) explain that individuals lead storied lives and that they tell stories based on their belief systems, assumptions, and values. Therefore, researchers methodically gather, analyze, and retell the participants’ stories (Clandinin & Huber, 2010). Three common places are unique to narrative inquiry: temporality (past, present, future), sociality (cultural and social conditions), and place (physical locations; Connelly & Clandinin, 2006). Therefore, researchers simultaneously explore all three dimensions as they add complexity to understanding participants’ lived experiences (Clandinin, Murphy, Huber, & Orr, 2009). Narrative inquiry was ideal for this study as it allowed me to focus on stories of identity performance grounded in MIWs’ beliefs, values, and assumptions.

Site Selection and Participants Two institutions were purposefully selected (one private and one public) for this study. Both had a high number of international students, provided prayer spaces, had a Muslim student association (MSA) and provided other specialized services for international students. Additionally, the private institution provided a Muslim student center (MSC). At both institutions, participants were recruited through a number of gatekeepers (MSA presidents and international offices). All selected participants were on an F-1 or J-1 visa status (government classification for international student status), self-identified both as Muslim and as women, had completed their K–12 education in

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their home country, and were sophomores, juniors, or seniors. The final sample consisted of Table eight10.1 MIWs, whose demographics are described in Table 10.1. Participant Demographics Home Name* Country Visa University Level Haden Saudi Arabia F-1 Private Junior Amber Pakistan F-1 Private Junior Rose Pakistan F-1 Private Sophomore Julia Morocco F-1 Private Senior Arianna Malaysia J-1 Public Junior Zainab Kuwait F-1 Public Senior Razan Oman F-1 Public Sophomore Sarah Malaysia J-1 Public Junior nameswere werepseudonyms pseudonyms selected by participants **All All names selected by participants.

Major Political Science Biology Political Science Mechanical Engineering Chemical Engineering Chemical Engineering International Relations Chemical Engineering

Table 10.1. Participant Demographics

Data Collection and Analysis I conducted two interviews with each participant to collect data. Interview questions were open-ended and each interview lasted approximately 45 to 60 minutes. Data were analyzed throughout the data collection process (Connelly & Clandinin, 2006). I wrote analytical memos throughout the data collection and analysis processes to thoroughly capture the meanings behind each shared story. I conducted four iterations of coding while attending to temporality, sociality, and place. The four iterations of coding were narrative coding, refining narrative codes, pattern coding, and theming the data (Saldaña, 2015).

Positionality Throughout the research process, for me, ref lecting on my own positionality was important. During the design/early phase of research, through intentional ref lections and journaling, I recognized that my various identities (Pakistani, woman, Muslim, and international student) coupled with international, national, and campus-specific events inf luenced the ways in which I performed my Muslim international identity in the United States. For example, after the tragic events of 9/11, while I was in my undergraduate studies, I started to focus more on blending in with the dominant culture rather than standing out; consequently, I started to adopt more Western attire as opposed to Pakistani clothes that I frequently wore. To build rapport and trust and to create an open environment, I shared personal stories and my various identities (when appropriate) with my participants during data collection. I recognized that by being vulnerable and sharing my stories of Muslim international identity performances, it allowed my participants to feel comfortable and encouraged them to share rich stories.

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Findings At the conclusion of data analysis, several themes pertaining to the identity performance of MIWs on their college campuses emerged. The themes presented here are a subset of a larger study. They are heightened identity consciousness, “What are you?,” burdens of representations, and religious engagement on campus.

Heightened Identity Consciousness You know I’m a Muslim by just looking at my appearance. I’m not shouting that I’m a Muslim, but they just know because I’m wearing a hijab, I must be a Muslim. —Sarah

All Muslim women shared stories of hyper-visibility at one time or another on their college campuses. For some women, hyper-visibility was imposed by the hijab (Arianna, Zainab, Razan, and Sarah) that marked their bodies as religious bodies, and for all MIWs, it was due to intersections of their various identities (race, ethnicity, nationality, and gender). Similar to the opening quote by Sarah (a junior from Malaysia at the public institution), Razan (a sophomore from Oman at the public institution) shared, “My hijab kind of tells others about me being a Muslim. I don’t even have to tell because I feel like nowadays people know that.” All hijabi women realized that their clothing took away their choice in disclosure of their religious identity. Additionally, all hijabi women revealed that they often observed people “staring” at them. Zainab (a senior from Kuwait at the public institution) disclosed that she was always aware of her presence and understood that it was also because of her international identity: I sometimes notice people staring at my hijab, or me, in class or out on campus. I think on campus it is more about me being international. They kind of think . . . I don’t really know much, and they need more effort to explain stuff to me. Sometimes they avoid talking to me.

Zainab, along with other women, recognized that hyper-visibility (due to her hijab and her international status) made connecting with others socially difficult. Similarly, Arianna (junior from Malaysia at the public institution) shared that due to her visibility, she learned to “cope” and “to not be bothered” by the “stares” or unwanted gaze from peers, visitors, and others on her college campus. She was becoming “used to it” and did not want to react negatively as it would “also make other Muslim women look bad.” Other experiences of hyper-visibility were inside the classroom with professors and peers. MIWs who were not hijabi recognized having a choice of disclosing their religious identity; however, they were still visible due to their other identities. In the classroom,

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most were aware of their professors’ lack of awareness and prejudices toward Muslims. Thus, this awareness had an impact on their identity performance. Haden (a junior from Saudi Arabia at the private institution) shared: I had a class called “Radical Islam.” The name itself is so problematic but I was like, I’m gonna take the class, because it was studying all these terrorist groups, their history, and politics. So me and another woman were the only Muslims in that class. The other woman was head scarfed and one day she missed class. So the professor was talking, and he was trying to explain how these groups don’t represent Islam as a political ideology, and he was like, “I really wish the Muslim student was here to listen,” so I raised my hand, and I was like, “Actually, that’s not the only Muslim student here.” Yeah well, I’m Muslim too, and turns out there was another girl who also was Muslim. But it just went straight to their head that we are not Muslim, just because our names don’t show it and neither do our appearances. It was an interesting experience, because the students and the professors were confused. And once again, if you don’t wear a head scarf people are not gonna know if you’re a Muslim woman or not.

Similar to other women in Haden’s story, hijabi women recognized that they could not “hide” or “miss class.” They always were under a microscope. Sarah (a junior from Malaysia at the public institution) said that if she missed class, others would say, “Oh, the hijabi girl is not here.” Additionally, MIWs shared that hyper-visibility made working with peers on group projects difficult for them. These women shared experiences of rejection and exclusion from peers that added to a lack of meaningful relationships in various environments. Zainab acknowledged that her international status coupled with her religious identity created various barriers: I don’t know why, but every time there’s a group project and you have to choose your partner, I end up working alone. Eventually you get stuck with the same person and they get to know you better and we are friends now. Making friends was a difficult time at first. But I think the ones that actually approached are mostly international people. I think because they actually feel and understand me. At first I was insecure about my English, but with international students, their English is similar to mine.

Besides challenges with group work, other MIWs had difficulty socially engaging with peers. These women lacked social capital and were perceived as “unapproachable” and “unfriendly.” Razan believed that peers were “careful” around her because of her hijab. Additionally, she did not like the attention the hijab imposed on her, and she did not like to

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“stand out in an uncomfortable way.” Arianna also had difficulty with social connections and often felt left out as her “classmates and coworkers didn’t include” her in outings. MIWs shared experiences of heightened consciousness in several environments. They were hyper-visible either due to their clothing or their other identities. Therefore, identity performance at times meant learning ways to cope, “not to be bothered,” internal awareness, and thinking about ways to become approachable. Another aspect that influenced their performances was related to being stereotyped.

“What Are You?” Because I wear a hijab, some people actually ask me, “What are you?” I’m like, “Oh, what do you mean?” And then they ask me, “Where are you from?” And when I tell them, “I’m from Malaysia.” . . . Because some people assume that Muslim people are from Middle East only, and they’re like, “Where’s that? Is it somewhere in Middle East?” I’m like, “No, Southeast Asia.” Sometimes when I tell them I’m from Asia, people often respond, “But you don’t look Asian,” because they think Asians are like Chinese, Korean, and Japanese. —Ariana

All MIWs shared narratives of facing stereotypes on their college campuses. Stereotypes often were related to intersections of their religious, ethnic, national, and/or gender identities. Stereotypes also stemmed from their clothing not fitting the Muslim stereotype (those who did not wear a hijab) in the West and being seen as exotic bodies and nationalities. These women recognized that one way or another their behaviors, presence, and actions were scrutinized, at times inward reactions and other times outward by their peers. Stereotypes had an impact on their identity performances and made them cognizant of their various identities. In the section-opening quote, Adriana highlighted a few frustrations when others asked her questions about her appearance and ways in which she was racially, nationally, and religiously stereotyped. Moreover, she shared an important misconception in the West that the majority of Muslims are Arab or from the Middle East. Similar to Arianna, other MIWs shared that they often did not fit the various stereotypes. Haden disclosed that people were often confused when they found out she was Muslim: Just by looking at me, most people never really find out. People see me and think I’m visibly woman, but what is the identity of that woman? It’s hard. People always act so shocked; they’re always like, “How?” Because they’re very confused when I say something about Islam, because I show up in a crop top or something, most people can’t even tell what I am? So they just assume I’m a woman of color. But then I say I’m Muslim, and they’re like, “Oh, really? Tell me more.” So they all just assume, [if] you’re Muslim, there’s a head scarf! But Muslim women are much more diverse than a head scarf.

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MIWs understood that people around them failed to see the diversity among Muslims and had a dichotomous image of them influenced by their clothing. Hayden recognized that Muslim women were diverse not only in their dress but also the way they practiced their religion and presented their nationalities, ethnicities, and other identities. Her religious identity was not reduced to her clothing. She had agency as a Muslim woman, which also meant having choices in the way she defined and performed her religious identity. Besides stereotypes related to one’s religion, other MIW faced stereotypes when people made assumptions about their country and ethnicity. Rose (sophomore from Pakistan at the private institution) shared that she faced differential treatment from some of her peers because of her skin color, which made her aware of her presence in various spaces: I don’t think it’s about me being a Muslim. I do see there’s a difference in the way they treat me, but that’s based on my color, or where I’m from. My Indian friends and I talk often that some White people treat us very differently because it’s a Brown thing. Some of my closest friends are Whites, and they treat me really, really well, but the majority of them, for example, they tell me themselves, “Oh yeah, my parents often think that Muslims are really weird, or things like that,” and I told them recently, “That’s not true.”

Similar to Rose, other MIWs acknowledged that due to their intersecting identities they were at times treated differently and faced discrimination from their peers. As a result, they became aware that they were outsiders and different. They also recognized that whether they liked it or not, people made assumptions about them based on their various identities. Thus, identity performance was related to heightened self-awareness imposed by internal as well as external factors in various spaces. MIWs recognized that people made assumptions about their various identities and that they were constantly stereotyped. Thus, identity performance was related to being cognizant and conscious of their various identities on their college campuses. Another reason for this awareness was that they felt that they were always representing their religion, gender, nationality, and/or culture whether they liked it or not.

Burdens of Representation While on their college campuses, all MIWs accepted that their identity performances were weighted. They were not seen as individuals but had more of a collective identity. These women sensed that they were always representing their religion, culture, country, and/or gender, and sensing this had an impact on their identity performance. Sarah shared that she often used disclaimers such as “This is just me” to emphasize individual actions not to be associated with others who shared a similar religion, gender, and ethnicity.

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Similarly, Rose became mindful that people often associated her actions and behaviors with all others from her country and religion. Therefore, she became intentional in bringing up national or religious examples so she could control her own individual narratives and would say, “This is what my religion says . . . Just to portray or put forward that good image of the religion.” Furthermore, she became conscious of her performances and wanted to showcase the positive aspects: I realize that every action that I do, or every word that I say is weighted. And so I think before I do those things, things that will impact other people or that will create an image of me, as a Muslim woman. So it’s more like, not common things, like, “Oh she sings bad, or something.” But more like, the way I treat people, the way I talk to people. The way I talk about people, all those things are influenced by my Muslim identity, and the fact that I represent that and my country makes me conscious.

Becoming mindful and proactive also translated into fears of misrepresentation. Julia and Arianna became perceptive when others associated their actions with other Muslims. Arianna highlighted the following: “I have to be careful of what I say, because what if they think, Oh, all Muslims are like this?” Last, Zainab recognized these burdens and was cautious about her Muslim identity because she was not only representing herself but also the “whole religion”: Whenever I do something in my home country, people understand that this is not related to Islam. This is just my own decision, my own beliefs. Here, people relate everything you do to Islam. They think all Muslims do it, but it’s not quite true. So, you have to think about what you’re doing, so you don’t give a bad idea about the whole religion for something bad you do.

MIWs also unveiled stories related to burdens of representation within the classrooms. They recognized that both their peers and professors at times stereotyped them and would ask them to represent their religion, culture, and/or country. Razan shared: My religions professor, he knows that I’m a Muslim, because of course, he’s a religions professor and I wear a hijab. He was more interested in knowing my opinions about other religions, simply because of my own religion. He said that Christian people in the U.S., or the students in his class at least, do not know how to express what they believe in, because they haven’t been taught their constitutional religion unlike the Muslim students in my class, and he was referring to me and my friend.

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Razan became aware that due to her hijab, she could not hide her religious identity in the classroom. She along with a few other Muslim women shared that their professors often asked them to serve as representatives of their religion, nation, or culture, which further fed into the fears of misrepresentations. Thus, the burdens of representation were not just intrinsic but also imposed by others. Similar to Razan, all MIW, at one time or another, felt the burdens of representing others who shared the same religion, ethnicity, or culture as them. Consequently, Muslim international identity performances meant different things to these women, including feelings of fear, cautiousness, and becoming intentional, careful, and conscious of their various identities and performances.

Religious Engagement on Campus In addition to facing stereotypes, and feeling burdens of representation, all MIWs shared experiences of identity performance related to their religious engagement on their college campuses. These women disclosed that although their universities provided public prayer spaces, these spaces were at times underutilized. Some of the reasons they shared were a lack of privacy, inconvenient locations, a sense of security, and being alert of their Muslim identities. Zainab (along with a few other women) shared that “prayer space on [her] campus [was] far away” from her classes and that it had an impact on the use of these spaces. Besides the location, other women shared their apprehensions of performing their religious practices in public. Amber (a junior from Pakistan at the private institution) revealed that she felt “uncomfortable” praying in front of strangers: I don’t know what preconceptions people have. I don’t know how it’s going to affect them, or what people are going to think when I pray. And it’s a hassle once you’re done to tell them everything and to clarify, so I don’t want to do it over and over again. So praying is more of a private activity for me. I’m just not very used to people watching when I pray.

Similarly, Julia did not like drawing attention to herself as a Muslim woman. For her, it was more about “safety and security”: Coming back to Muslim identity and just being more cautious whenever you’re trying to do something—that is more Muslim related in a public space. I feel like whenever I am outside and I need to pray, I can’t just stop and go to a room and be like, “Okay, I’m gonna pray now.” I always wait until I get to my room to actually pray, which is not very convenient.

Besides prayer spaces, both institutions had an MSA. MIWs shared that they were either highly engaged (Haden, Rose) or partially engaged (Amber, Julia, Sarah) with their

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MSA. These women shared a desire to connect with other MIWs but were disappointed in the demographics of the MSA on their college campuses. Sarah attended MSA events but “stopped going because international people don’t always join MSA. All the people there are Americans or from this state.” Therefore, a lack of MIWs influenced her participation. Julia hoped to be more involved in her MSA but was discouraged because she felt like she did not “belong” there. She discovered that most of the members of MSA were “Muslim Americans, and they grew up in the U.S. It just felt that sometimes, maybe some of the things do not apply to me.” Similarly, Arianna was enthusiastic about meeting “diverse people.” She started going to the local mosque because “most people are international Muslims there.” Additionally, she shared: You know how Muslims are different in every country, like how they practice and how they have different cultures. So now that I’m here, I try to find people like me. I did not join the MSA group; I try to find other Muslims to explore and understand more about how other Muslims are, and not just from Malaysia. Because back home you just follow what others are doing. When I meet other Muslim friends, I am able to ask questions about the religion and why we do certain things and it helps me with my Islamic practices.

Other than the lack of international Muslims at the MSAs, other women shared that the physical location of MSAs impacted their engagement. Amber (and a few others) stopped participating with the MSA. She shared, “I hate to say it, but this part of the university is the slums. You don’t want to go there, seriously. It’s so out of the way.” Other women at the private institution shared similar sentiments about the physical locations of MSC. Haden appreciated that she “could be [her]self ” and had “a very comfortable space for Muslims,” but she was disappointed that the MSC was “put in such a marginal location. It’s so far away, it’s underfunded, under-resourced. It’s not just enough to have a space; it has to be central to the university mission of diversity and inclusion.” Similarly, Julia echoed her concerns about the location and shared, “I hate having to be cautious about it just because it might compromise my safety.” MIWs unveiled stories of limited religious engagement (prayer spaces, MSAs, and MSCs) on their college campuses. For some women, a lack of privacy had an impact on their Muslim identity performance. For others, it was marginal physical locations and a heightened sense of safety, and for yet others, it was related to lack of other MIWs.

Discussion and Implications The purpose of this research was to unveil stories of identity performance as narrated by MIWs on two college campuses in the United States. Consistent with literature on experiences of other Muslim women, gendered Islamophobia, and visual profiling

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(Cole & Ahmadi, 2003; Nasir & Al-Amin, 2006: Perry, 2014; Stubbs & Sallee, 2013), MIWs in this study shared experiences of hyper-visibility in the form of “staring” and a lack of choice in disclosing their Muslim identities to others. Moreover, they realized that they could not “hide” from peers, others, and faculty on their college campuses. Consequently, these women learned to cope with heightened identity consciousness. Additionally, MIWs shared stories of facing stereotypes and fears of misrepresentation and felt burdens of representing their religion, ethnicity, and/or culture at one time or another. These stereotypes made them psychologically aware, conscious, and careful of their various identities. Additionally, these women realized that they were constantly fighting battles not to misrepresent others who shared similar identities with them. These findings affirmed the depiction of Muslim women as “other” by Mir (2007). Stereotypes and burdens were also reflective of the larger gendered Islamophobia literature on negative media portrayals and a lack of understanding of the diversity among Muslim women. Both peers and faculty failed to recognize the diversity among MIWs. These women shared stories of discrimination, harassment by stares, and discomfort in certain environments. A lack of religious engagement was another aspect that had an impact on the college experiences and identity performance for these women. MIWs shared that they had a lower involvement in activities related to their religion. For some women, religious engagement with MSAs suffered because of the demographics of the MSAs. These women valued religious connections with other MIWs, as it allowed them a deeper understanding of their religion. For other women, marginal physical locations of the MSC and MSA instigated increased fears about their safety. Further, Muslim women shared that public prayer spaces were underutilized as they were not private and they valued privacy. Last, MIWs shared narratives of persistent challenges with social and academic engagement. Within classrooms, not only were they stereotyped and served as representatives of their religion, culture, and/or ethnicity, but they also shared feelings of rejection and exclusion. These women faced difficulties working with peers due to the intersections of their various identities, especially on group work. At times, they lacked social capital and struggled to create meaningful relationships with peers because of their visible identities (race, ethnicity, gender, religion). They were seen as “unapproachable” and “unfriendly,” particularly, Muslim women who wore a hijab. All these experiences created a psychological awareness of their various identities and influenced performances in various contexts on their college campuses. The study on the identity performance of MIWs has several implications for research. First, environmental contexts inside the college campus were important to this study as it was conducted at two types of institutions (private and public). Future studies might also focus on other institutional types, for example, religious institutions, community colleges, and/or minority-serving institutions. Different environmental contexts will provide additional depth regarding Muslim identity performance experiences at different types of institutions. Second, MIWs are diverse and represent various languages, cultures, ethnicities, nationalities, and identities. The eight women in this study

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were from six different countries. Future research might also focus on other MIWs from different countries. These narratives will expand literature and add depth to the experiences of MIWs. Last, MIWs shared a heightened fear of safety and security on their college campuses. An exploration of this topic will provide deeper understandings about experiences with safety and security and add to the literature on experiences of MIWs. This research has several implications for future practice. First, as Muslim populations continue to increase on campuses across the United States, faculty, students, university administrators, policy makers, and other constituents need to invest in intentional efforts for understanding Muslim international populations, the diversity among them (national ethnic, religious), and the differences between one’s religious practices and cultural practices. More specifically, student affairs administrators working with campus housing should consider creating meditation and prayer spaces for all students (not just Muslim students) within the residence halls. For Muslim students, this would provide private, convenient spaces to practice their religion without fears and concerns of safety, security, and judgment. Furthermore, creating such spaces within the residence halls will enhance diverse peer interactions, which was important to MIWs in this study. As institutions of higher education continue to make positive strides in establishing cultural centers and providing spaces for meditation and prayers for all students, being intentional about the physical locations on these spaces is pertinent. Providing spaces is not enough. Administrators must conduct formal assessments to ascertain whether these spaces are meeting the intended needs of the students. MIWs in this study shared that due to fears of safety and security and the marginal locations of the MSCs and prayer spaces, they were not able to take full advantage of these services. Thus, conducting environmental assessments and surveying students about the use of such spaces can inform administrators if the intended needs are met and how best they can serve these students. Moreover, administrators in all functional areas on college campuses, including residence life, orientation, international services, and student engagement, must create and provide cultural and religious competency training for student leaders, staff, administrators, and faculty. This training would allow individuals to confront their own biases, develop personal sensitivities, increase their knowledge, and understand the needs of various student populations. Such intentional training would also provide various constituents with practical tools to create and promote inclusive and welcoming environments for all students, especially MIWs. Another area of focus needs to be on reducing stereotypes and removing social barriers for this population. MIWs shared the challenges of being stereotyped and experiences of lacking social connections with peers. Student affairs administrators must create social and cultural events that will not only expose the diversity among Muslim international students but also provide avenues for social connections. This research also has implications for faculty members. Faculty must be cognizant of the changing classroom dynamics. They must confront and resolve negative learning experiences within the classrooms and encourage intellectual dialogue around cultural

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and religious sensitivities. Faculty members need to confront their own biases and must avoid putting students in the spotlight based on any of their identities (gender, religious, sexual, racial, and/or ethnic) or ask them to serve as representatives of their race, religion or other identities. Additionally, they must pay attention to the classroom dynamics particularly when assigning group projects. One strategy would be to preassign students into groups, at least for early parts of courses until students are able to develop their own relationships. Last, faculty should develop interpersonal relationships with their Muslim international students. Developing mutually beneficial relationships will allow both students and faculty members to learn and grow. Additionally, these relationships will allow faculty to seek intentional feedback to help improve their classroom and teaching practices so that they are inclusive and welcoming for all students. This research also has implications for chaplains and administrators working in religious life. Chaplains and administrators must create intentional support groups for MIWs. These support groups will provide social, emotional, and religious avenues for these students as they navigate college life. They must also collaborate with other experts (faculty in religious life and other religious experts on campus) to create and promote intentional programs and experiences, including interfaith dialogues, teach-ins, and educational opportunities around Muslim women’s experiences and cultural and religious experiences, and to clear up misconceptions about Muslims. Finally, they must conduct formal assessments and survey all Muslim students to determine if their religious, emotional, educational, and social needs are supported and met at their institutions. Most important, through assessments, they can seek opinions and ideas on how best to serve them. Last, this research has implications for higher education and student affairs graduate programs. As higher education and student affairs graduate programs across the United States continue to train the next generation of university professionals and faculty, they must incorporate diversity and cultural competency curriculums as part of formal training. These curricula should focus on instilling awareness, knowledge, and values centered on creating inclusive and welcoming environments for all students. Additionally, these graduate programs must encourage practical training in all functional areas, including religious life.

References Ahmadi, S. (2011). The erosion of civil rights: Exploring the effects of the Patriot Act on Muslims in American higher education. Rutgers Race & the Law Review, 12, 1–56. Ahmadi, S., & Cole, D. (2015). Engaging religious minority students. In S. J. Quaye & S. R. Harper (Eds.), Student engagement in higher education: Theoretical perspectives and practical approaches for diverse populations (3rd ed., pp. 171–186). New York, NY: Routledge. Ali, A. I. (2014). A threat enfleshed: Muslim college students situate their identities amidst portrayals of Muslim violence and terror. International Journal of Qualitative Studies in Education, 27, 1243–1261. doi:10.1080/09518398.2013.820860

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Ali, S. R., & Bagheri, E. (2009). Practical suggestions to accommodate the needs of Muslim students on campus. New Directions for Student Services, 2009(125), 47–54. doi:10.1002/ss.307 Ali, S. R., Liu, W. M., & Humedian, M. (2004). Islam 101: Understanding the religion and therapy implications. Professional Psychology: Research and Practice, 35, 635–42. Armstrong, K. (2007). Islam: A short history. New York: Modern Library Chronicles Butler, J. (2004). Undoing gender. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Calkins, A., Callahan, A., Houlemarde, M. E., Ikpa, J., Jones, C., & King, C. (2012). Muslim student experiences in the residence halls: A qualitative analysis. Journal of the Student Personnel Association at Indiana University, 22–37. Retrieved from https://scholarworks. iu.edu/journals/index.php/jiuspa/article/view/1936 Clandinin, D. J., & Huber, J. (2010). Narrative inquiry. In B. McGaw, E. Baker, & P. P. Peterson (Eds.), International encyclopedia of education (3rd ed., pp. 436–441). New York, NY: Elsevier. Clandinin, D. J., Murphy, M. S., Huber, J., & Orr, A. M. (2009). Negotiating narrative inquiries: Living in a tension-filled midst. The Journal of Educational Research, 103, 81–90. Cole, D., & Ahmadi, S. (2003). Perspectives and experiences of Muslim women who veil on college campuses. Journal of College Student Development, 44(1), 47–66. Cole, D., & Ahmadi, S. (2010). Reconsidering campus diversity: An examination of Muslim students’ experiences. The Journal of Higher Education, 81, 121–139. Connelly, F. M., & Clandinin, D. J. (1990). Stories of experience and narrative inquiry. Educational Researcher, 19(5), 2–14. Connelly, F. M., & Clandinin, D. J. (2006). Narrative inquiry. In J. Green, G. Camilli, & P. Elmore (Eds.), Handbook of complementary methods in education research (pp. 477–487). Mahwah, NJ: Erlbaum. Crenshaw, K. W. (1994). Mapping the margins: Intersectionality, identity, politics, and violence against women of color. In: M. A. Fineman, & R. Mykitiuk (Eds.), The Public Nature of Private Violence (pp. 93–118). New York, NY: Routledge. Creswell, J. W. (2013). Research design: Qualitative, quantitative, and mixed methods approaches. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Diamant, J. (2019, April 1). The countries with the 10 largest Christian populations and the 10 largest Muslim populations. Retrieved from https://www.pewresearch.org/fact-tank/2019/04/01/ the-countries-with-the-10-largest-christian-populations-and-the-10-largest-muslimpopulations/ Esposito, J. L., & Kalin, I. (Eds.). (2011). Islamophobia: The challenge of pluralism in the 21st century. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Goffman, E. (1959). The presentation of self in everyday life. Garden City, NY: Doubleday. Haddad, Y. Y., & Esposito, J. L. (Eds.). (2000). Muslims on the Americanization path. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Helbling, M. (2010). Islamophobia in Switzerland: A new phenomenon or a new name for xenophobia. In S. Hug & H. Kriesi (Eds.), Value Change in Switzerland (pp. 65–80). Lanham: Lexington Press. Kwan, M. P. (2008). From oral histories to visual narratives: Re-presenting the post-September 11 experiences of the Muslim women in the USA. Social & Cultural Geography, 9, 653–669. Lipka, M. (2017, February 27). Muslims and Islam: Key findings in the U.S. and around the world. Retrieved from http://www.pewresearch.org/fact-tank/2017/02/27/muslims-and islamkey-findings-in-the-u-s-and-around-the-world/

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Masci, D. (2019, May 17). Many Americans see religious discrimination in U.S. – especially against Muslims. Retrieved from https://www.pewresearch.org/fact-tank/2019/05/17/ many-americans-see-religious-discrimination-in-u-s-especially-against-muslims/. Mir, S. (2007). American Muslim women and cross-gender interaction on campus. The American Journal of Islamic Social Sciences, 24(3), 70–91. Mir, S. (2009). Not too “college-like,” not too normal: American Muslim undergraduate women’s gendered discourses. Anthropology & Education Quarterly, 40, 237–256. Mubarak, H. (2007). How Muslim students negotiate their religious identity and practices in an undergraduate setting. Retrieved from http://religion.ssrc.org/reforum/Mubarak.pdf Nacos, B. L., & Torres-Reyna, O. (2007). Fueling our fears: Stereotyping, media coverage, and public opinion of Muslim Americans. Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield. Nasir, N. I. S., & Al-Amin, J. (2006). Creating identity-safe spaces on college campuses for Muslim students. Change: The Magazine of Higher Learning, 38(2), 22–27. Open Doors. (2018). Retrieved from https://www.iie.org/Research-and-Insights/Open-Doors/ Fact-Sheets-and-Infographics/Fast-Facts Peek, L. (2005). Becoming Muslim: The development of a religious identity. Sociology of Religion, 66, 215–242. Perry, B. (2014). Gendered Islamophobia: Hate crime against Muslim women. Social Identities, 20(1), 74–89. Saldaña, J. (2015). The coding manual for qualitative researchers. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Shammas, D. (2009). The effects of campus friendships and perceptions of racial climates on the sense of belonging among Arab and Muslim community college students. Los Angeles, CA: University of Southern California. Shryock, A. (Ed.). (2010). Islamophobia/Islamophilia: Beyond the politics of enemy and friend. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Speck, B. W. (1997). Respect for religious differences: The case of Muslim students. New Directions for Teaching and Learning, 1997(70), 39–46. Stubbs, B. B., & Sallee, M. W. (2013). Muslim, too: Navigating multiple identities at an American university. Equity & Excellence in Education, 46, 451–467. Zine, J. (2006). Unveiled sentiments: Gendered islamophobia and experiences of veiling among Muslim girls in a Canadian Islamic school. Equity & Excellence in Education, 39, 239–252. doi:10.1080/10665680600788503

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CHAPTER ELEVEN

Understanding Atheists, Stigma Management, and Christian Privilege Within University Environments: New Imperatives for Higher Education Leaders Carrie Reisner and Thalia M. Mulvihill The most current research on the religious identities of Americans indicates that the number of people in the United States who identify as nonreligious is on the rise (Cox & Jones, 2017). The percentage of people who are classified as religiously unaffiliated has steadily risen since the 1990s from 6% to 24%. This group includes those who are religious but do not claim a particular religious denomination (16%), as well as those who identify as secular (58%), atheists (14%), and agnostics (13%). Although only 3.1% of Americans identify as atheist, experts expect this trend to continue to grow as those who identify as atheists tend to be younger, including more generation Xers and millennials than baby boomers (Pew Research Center, 2015). The decline in religiosity and shift toward nonbelief can be attributed to a variety of factors, including a shift in social norms associated with religious participation, contradictions within and disengagement from religious teachings, decreased participation in religion as children, perceived hypocrisy in religion, and a sense that religion is less relevant to the problems of today (Hunsberger & Altemeyer, 2006). The definition of atheism is complicated as it is intertwined with religiosity and spirituality (Pew Research Center, 2015). Some individuals are not religious, but they may still believe in God, while others do not believe in God but still consider themselves spiritual. Even among atheists is a difference in opinion about the basic definition of atheism, with some insistent that it is a lack of belief in a god, while others contend that it is, in fact, a belief that there is no god (J. M. Smith, 2013). Additionally, although some may align with either of those definitions, they may not use the term atheist as a means of identification. Instead, individuals may use terms such as nontheist, humanist, freethinker, and even agnostic, which contends that one can never know if a god exists, instead of atheist. This chapter discusses a research study conducted in the state of Indiana. As such, in terms of the historical and social contexts of the study, atheism is defined as the denial of the existence of the Judeo-Christian God.

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Purpose and Research Question Empirical research about atheists in higher education is growing but still fairly limited. Atheists are a marginalized minority group in the United States, and although institutions of higher education tend to be more accepting of diversity than some other workplaces, atheist college employees may still feel that they cannot divulge this aspect of their identity to supervisors, coworkers, faculty, or students. The current literature about atheists in higher education focuses on how students experience the atheist identity in college (Bowman, Felix, & Ortis, 2014; Bowman, Rockenbach, Mayhew, Riggers-Piehl, & Hudson, 2016; Rockenbach, Mayhew, & Bowman, 2015), but this study was designed to focus on how college and university professional employees experience their atheist identity. The primary research question was, “How do professional staff members who identify as atheists experience that identity in the higher education workplace?”

Literature Review Literature regarding stigma, stereotype, and discrimination provides a framework for understanding the complexity of the atheist identity and how it is navigated in social and professional situations. This study took place in the state of Indiana, which is in a highly Protestant Christian region of the United States. Literature about Christian privilege also guided the study and provide context for understanding the institutional and cultural environment in which the participants work.

Atheist Stigma, Stereotype, and Discrimination The atheist identity in the United States is one that is marred by stigma. Stigma is a social construction of identity based on distinguishing characteristics that serve to devalue an individual (Dovidio, Major, & Crocker, 2000). Goffman (1963) distinguished between individuals’ virtual social identity, which society places on them through stereotypes, and their actual social identity, which is a set of characteristics they actually possess. The attributes assigned to someone’s virtual identity make others view him or her as less human. Stigmatized identities may be visible to others through physical characteristics or abnormalities or invisible to others, such as mental illness, addiction, or religion. The rejection of a religious identity most often forms the atheist identity and is considered an invisible stigmatized identity. Our culture perceives the atheist identity as one that an individual has chosen for him- or herself through the rejection of the religious norm and is potentially dangerous to others because of the cultural assumption that religion is necessary for morality. Stigmatized individuals use disclosure decisions as their primary stigma management strategy. This includes nondisclosure, when the individual keeps the stigmatized

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identity completely secret; selective or partial disclosure; or full disclosure, which may be used in an attempt to fight stigma (Poindexter & Shippy, 2010). Fitzgerald (2003) identified specific strategies that atheists in the United States use to manage their stigmatized identities, such as passing as Christian, identity substitution (choosing a less stigmatized identity, such as secular humanist), label substitution (choosing a less stigmatized term, such as spiritual), and telling half-truths (e.g., saying that they are just not religious). Stigma serves as a means of creating and perpetuating stereotypical descriptions used to influence how we think, feel, and react to others (Biernat & Dovidio, 2000). And conditions of stereotype threat (Steele, 1995) and spiritual microaggressions (Hodge, 2019) exist for this population. For example, compared to other minority groups in the United States, researchers cite atheists as second to Muslims for not sharing the same vision of American society, as not being welcome as potential sons- and daughters-inlaw, as being considered self-interested elitists who value material wealth or criminally dangerous individuals, and as posing a threat to the common good (Edgell, Hartmann, Stewart, & Gerteis, 2016). The atheist identity in the workplace. Compared to those who identify as religious, those who identify as atheist or agnostic report significantly higher instances of discrimination in the workplace, which can easily be camouflaged by other explanations (Cragun, Kosmin, Keysar, Hammer, & Nielsen, 2012). Slander is the most common form of discrimination that atheists experience, followed by coercion; social ostracism; denial of opportunities, goods, and services; and anti-atheist hate crimes (Hammer, Cragun, Hwang, & Smith, 2012). Garneau (2012) found that atheists experienced discrimination in the workplace in the forms of being held to a different standard than Christian colleagues and the loss of opportunities, such as promotions, while Pond (2015) noted that individuals reported being fired for their atheism. Hammer et al. (2012) also found that those who are most open about their atheist identity are more likely to experience discrimination. Atheist stigma and discrimination in higher education. Colleges and universities are not exempt from the risk of discrimination for atheists. Religious college students have labeled nonreligious students with derogatory terms such as immoral, evil, ignorant, shallow, and self-centered (Harper, 2007). A phenomenological study of atheist students found they needed to be selective about to whom they were out regarding their atheism and were cautious of engaging in religious dialogue on campus (Mueller, 2012). Current trends are moving toward the creation of multifaith campuses to be attentive to the varied religious and spiritual identities that students bring to campus and to attend to the holistic development of the student (Patel & Giess, 2016; Waggoner, 2016). However, this may not be beneficial to students who identify as atheists. Goodman and Mueller (2009) claimed that colleges and universities exclude atheism from the spectrum of religious diversity that is supported on campuses, furthering the stigmatization of this student group, and suggested that institutions should do more to make atheist students feel included.

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Christian Privilege in Higher Education McIntosh (1988) described privilege as an “unearned entitlement” (p. 10) that a dominant group receives strictly by nature of their membership in that group, which results in an “unearned advantage” (p. 10) over others. Christian privilege can therefore be defined as “an invisible, unearned, and largely unacknowledged array of benefits afforded to Christians” (Blumenfeld, Yoshi, & Fairchild, 2009, p. vii). It is characterized by statements such as the following: •

It is likely that state and federal holidays coincide with my religious practices, thereby having little to no impact on my job and/or education.

•

I can talk openly about my religious practices without concern for how it will be perceived by others.

•

If I wish, usually I can be exclusively among those from my religious group most of the time (in work, school, or at home).

•

I can assume that my safety, or the safety of my family, will not be put into jeopardy by disclosing my religion to others at work or at school. (Clark, Brimhall-Vargas, Schlosser, & Alimo, 2002, pp. 54–55)

Like other forms of privilege, this perception leads to the oppression and marginalization of minoritized groups or individuals. Institutions of higher education are not immune to the pervasive nature of Christian privilege, which can be seen in both formal structures and informal norms of an institution (Fairchild, 2009). Although the academic calendar ensures that Christian students, faculty, and staff will not have class on their high holidays, Christmas and Easter, those from other religions cannot be assured of the same. Holy observances, such as Ramadan in the Muslim faith and Rosh Hashanah in the Jewish faith, frequently fall within the academic year, often forcing students to document their faith to be excused (Schlosser & Sedlack, 2001; Seifert, 2007). Native American and other students whose mourning and burial traditions differ greatly from Christianity may find resistance from professors during their time of bereavement (Seifert, 2007). Faculty, staff, and students whose religious observances require a fasting period may find that campus food services are not provided at appropriate times. Additionally, most campuses do not offer kosher meals on a daily basis. Finally, many athletic coaches make it a practice to use prayer before and during games, forcing non-Christian student athletes to choose between speaking up or remaining silent and feeling marginalized. These examples serve as evidence of the power that Christianity has over a wide range of policies, practices, and norms on college campuses for those in the religious minority. Christian privilege has a significant effect on those who identify as atheists on campus as well.

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Methods The purpose of this institutional review board–approved study was to examine the lived experiences of atheists who work in higher education by using Interpretive Phenomenological Analysis (IPA; J. A. Smith, Flowers, & Larkin, 2009). The research question was, “How do professional staff members who identify as atheists experience that identity in the higher education workplace?” Procedural strategies such as thick, rich descriptions; peer debriefing; and reflective and procedural journaling were employed to ensure trustworthiness within the methods (Lincoln & Guba, 1985).

Participants A combination of purposive and snowball sampling (Savin-Baden & Major, 2013) was used to recruit participants within the state of Indiana to help derive a homogeneous sample as recommended by IPA (J. A. Smith et. al., 2009). Ten individuals participated in this study. All the participants were professional staff members employed in public four-year institutions in the state of Indiana. The participants represented five different campuses ranging in size from small (25,000 students). They are employed in a variety of functional areas, including student affairs, advancement, library sciences, and information technology. The participants grew up in a variety of religious backgrounds, including Protestant Christian, Catholic, and none/atheist/secular, and ranged in age from 27 to 58 years old. All the participants were White except one, who reported being biracial. With the exception of one gay male and one participant who identified as nonbinary, all the participants identified as straight and cisgender. (The nonbinary participant disclosed that she is still exploring this identity and still uses female pronouns; as such, female pronouns are used in this chapter.) The participants had variation in their educational attainment, with some possessing bachelor’s degrees Table and 11.1 others possessing master’s and doctoral degrees; however, all reported income ranges that situate them within the middle class (see Table 11.1). Participant Information Participant

Age

Race

Gender

Sexual Orientation

Educational Attainment

Angela Carl

58 38

White Biracial

Female Male

Straight Straight

Master’s Bachelor's

Daniel Erin Gwen Patrick Samantha Sarah Sherlock William

27 40 48 33 43 36 40 51

White White White White White White White White

Male Female Female Male Female Female Nonbinary Male

Gay Straight Straight Straight Straight Straight Straight Straight

PhD student Bachelor’s Master’s PhD Bachelor’s PhD Master’s Master’s

Job Category

Institution Type

Library Advancement Information Technology Advancement Student Affairs Student Affairs Advancement Student Affairs Library Advancement

Mid-sized public Small public

Table 11.1. Participant Information

Large public Small public Large public Large public Large public Large public Small public Small public

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Data Collection and Data Analysis A semistructured interview protocol was used for 60- to 90-minute interviews for each participant focusing on four primary areas: family and religious background, philosophy and experiences related to atheism, professional background and workplace environment, and workplace experiences related to the participants’ atheist identity. The interviews were transcribed, and pseudonyms were assigned for each participant as well as his or her institution and all other identifiable persons. Data analysis, using IPA (an iterative approach to data analysis), resulted in a total of 413 unique codes. Patterns were identified that resulted in themes, and themes were further categorized into three primary categories: comfort in identity, context of workplace environment, and influence of campus leadership in the religious environment. Codes and themes related specifically to stigma management and Christian privilege were also noted due to their pervasiveness across transcripts.

Findings The analysis resulted in three primary findings: comfort in identity, context of the workplace environment, and influence of campus leadership in the educational environment. The first finding, comfort in identity, was developed by synthesizing several emergent themes across participants related to religion in their family backgrounds, the development of their atheist identity, and the degree to which they were out in this identity.

Comfort in Identity Some participants were completely out in their atheist identity, while others were out to some people but not to others. William, however, was the most protective of his atheist identity in the workplace. William has worked in two different institutions of higher education. Early in his career at a mid-sized public institution in Indiana, he was very vocal about his atheism and would playfully tease religious colleagues when they would speak about their faith. At the time, these colleagues were peers, but later, William was promoted to a management position and these colleagues became his direct reports. His teasing over the years suddenly became problematic as the colleagues now felt threatened by him. When one employee’s work performance became problematic, William was put in a position where he felt that she would use his previous behavior against him in retaliation: Her work really tapered off, and I actually at one point wanted to reprimand, like basically do a verbal warning to her for her performance. And my boss at the time said, “Well, you know all the stuff that she’s stacked up to use against you about all the times you guys talked about religion. And she knows you’re

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an atheist. And you know she’s a Christian.” So, he basically told me, “I would not go down that path unless you want all of that to be heaped on the table.”

In retrospect, William was regretful that he was vocal about his atheism and realized that what he viewed as playful teasing was taken seriously by his colleague. When he transitioned to a new position at another institution in Indiana, he decided to keep his atheist identity a secret and has only disclosed it to a handful of trusted colleagues. Like William, Samantha is also protective of her atheist identity in the workplace and has worked at two different institutions in Indiana (both large and public) but was more comfortable in her atheist identity at the first one. Since moving into her new role, she has kept this identity hidden from those who are her direct reports, citing an incident with one staff member in which she made an offhand comment about the Bible to which the staff member took exception. Samantha is more concerned with offending her direct reports than she is of their perceptions of her as an atheist. Sarah and Patrick are open about their atheist identities to coworkers, friends, and some family members, but not all. The remaining participants were explicitly out in their atheist identities. Sherlock noted that her office décor is composed of images and quotes from well-known nonbelievers. Erin and Carl are openly supportive of atheist students and are active in the Secular Student Alliance (SSA) on campus. Carl hosts a podcast about atheism, started a freethinkers’ organization in his community, and posts about atheism on social media. Angela also started a freethinkers’ organization in her community, has moderated an online forum about morals and religion, and has served on a panel discussion at her university that featured individuals of different faiths. The participants were all aware that Christians and other believers viewed atheists as a stigmatized identity. These perceptions differed, however, among participants. Sarah noted that people simply cannot understand nonbelief: I think that the perception of atheism is mostly really confusing. I think people just can’t wrap their brains around someone not believing in God, so some of the animosity . . . comes from that confusion where people are just like . . . what do you believe?

Sarah is also a strong feminist and believes that atheists are perceived to be “angry” because of the vocal group of New Atheists who attract media attention, such as Richard Dawkins and Sam Harris. She likened this perception to that of feminists who have also been portrayed as outspoken and angry. As a feminist and an atheist, Sarah believes that being open about these identities to reduce the stigma associated with them is important. She spoke about using her privilege as a White middle-class woman to break down the stereotypes associated with both identities. Other participants felt that the stereotypes of atheists are more extreme. Angela felt that people think atheists are “possessed by the devil,” while Erin commented that people

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think atheists “are baby eaters.” She went on to share that she and Carl find comfort in the humor about these perceptions with other atheists in their freethinkers’ group. Others were more wary of the stigma of atheism, sensing that it could be detrimental to their personal or work lives if people were aware of this identity, and feared the repercussions of the harm that could be done by disclosing this identity. William’s fear of repercussions stemmed directly from his experience at his first institution of higher education, where his ability to effectively manage his outwardly Christian staff was hindered because of the conversations they had about their religious differences. He wanted a “clean slate” at his current institution to avoid this type of conflict. However, he further fears repercussions at his current institution because of his outwardly Christian supervisor and several other colleagues. He envisions a subtle form of discrimination if his atheist identity were known, believing that opportunities at work would be taken away or not be offered to him in the future. Carl and Erin, who work in advancement, both commented that they feared that the Christian students at their institution may not be receptive to working with them on projects if they were to know about their atheist identity. Carl also recalled a story about a Facebook post that his supervisor commented on which caused him to be concerned about possible repercussions: I made the point that the holiday of Christmas has morphed over the years, and before it became Christmas it was something else. She [his supervisor] didn’t like that very much and she made a comment about it and said, “It is about Christ.” . . . My whole holiday break I was worried about what my first day back to work was going to be like.

He noted that nothing ever came of the incident, but it did instill a sense of fear about what the alternative outcome could have been. Angela recalled feeling scared when she received an unknown package at her house after participating as an atheist panelist for an interfaith event: Shortly after being a panelist a box got delivered to my door accidentally, and it had nothing on it and so I called the police because I was afraid it was a bomb, but it was actually just food. . . . But yeah, so I’d say I’m comfortable, but I still think, Oh my, someone wants to bomb my house.

The fear of repercussions that the participants described stemmed from both concrete experiences they had as a result of expressing their atheism and innate fears they held from their knowledge about how atheists can be treated in society. Because of these fears, some participants utilized stigma management techniques to avoid negative experiences stemming from their atheist identities.

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The participants who were most protective of their atheist identity employed stigma management techniques in the workplace. William, who was the most closeted of the participants at work, often chooses a form of indirection (Fitzgerald, 2003), telling a half-truth, by saying that his family is Catholic if asked directly about his religious beliefs. His wife is a nonpracticing Catholic, so he is not lying, but he is only telling half of the truth by not disclosing his atheism. Similarly, Patrick, who was confirmed Catholic, will tell people that he is Catholic if he is pressured. In other situations, he may tell people another half-truth, that he does not go to church or pass as a practicing Christian by attending church when he is home for visits. Erin also recalled times when she used indirection as a way to avoid using the atheist label when she first began in her position at the university, commenting, “I can remember times of describing myself as ‘nonspiritual’. . . or ‘I don’t really go to church’ . . . ‘I’m not really a spiritual person.” Finally, as discussed earlier in this theme, several participants actively worked to dispel the stigma around atheism through various means. Carl’s, Angela’s, and Erin’s involvement in activities such as freethinker’s associations, the SSA, podcasts, interfaith panel discussions, and online forums are all evidence of disclosure decisions that they use to actively reduce the stigma associated with being an atheist.

Context of Workplace Environment The context of workplace environment theme became clear as several of the emergent themes indicated that the nature of individual departments and institutions, as well the communities in which the institutions are located, all contribute to the ways that atheists experience this identity in the workplace. The participants in this study felt more or less comfortable in their atheist identity depending on the religious makeup of their colleagues and how they presented their beliefs within the department. Most participants knew that there was a mix of religious and nonreligious people in their departments, but aside from casual mentions of church activities, most do not discuss religion. However, William and Samantha, who both work in the field of advancement, felt that their religious colleagues within the department set the tone for their ability to feel comfortable in their atheist identities. Their current departments employ several individuals who are outward about their Christianity, so they choose to not disclose their atheist identities to their colleagues. Although several participants commented that their departments were liberal in nature and accepting of nonbelief, they noted that other departments on campus present a more religious culture, such as the field of health care, which included departments such as nursing and public health. Carl specifically noted the use of the Nightingale Pledge in the nursing induction ceremony. Reiterating that the participants in this study are employed at public four-year universities is important. The context of the institutional environment was important to the participants at the large research institution, the nature of which seems to set the tone for how religion is experienced by the campus community. They believe that the liberal and scientific

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nature of the institution tends to marginalize religion so that nonbelievers are perceived to be the majority. Gwen commented that she believes that the Christian colleagues she knows tend to downplay their beliefs to fit in among the nonbelievers on campus. The secular nature of the large research institution is something that Gwen, Patrick, Daniel, and Sarah all value, and they intentionally choose to work there because of it. The participants who work at the large research institution described the surrounding community as a “liberal bubble” and believed that the community is not very religious. The nature of the university has likely permeated the surrounding community. The remaining participants, however, describe their surrounding communities as conservative in nature and highly influenced by Christianity. Participants in the conservative communities noted that a common question people will ask upon meeting someone is which church he or she attends. Patrick commented, “People go up to you, ‘Where do you go to church?’ . . . That’s the first or second thing out of their mouth.” William noted that his current supervisor asked the staff in the department where they attend church on his first day on the job. A common theme across participants was the acknowledgment that support staff on campus tend to be more conservative and religious than faculty and professional staff. Most attributed this to be reflective of the community, as support staff tend to be born and raised in the local community whereas faculty and professional staff may come from outside the area. Angela stated: I think in higher ed . . . there is kind of a class distinction between the professionals and the professors who are likely to have come from somewhere else and be much more likely to be atheist. . . . And then the lower level clerical staff positions that are drawn from the local population and are going to be . . . more provincial.

Even at the large research institution, the participants agreed that the support staff who live in the rural communities surrounding the campus tend to be more conservative and religious than those who live within the city in which the institution is located. The various contexts of the department, institution, and community all have the ability to influence how the participants experience their identity in the workplace. For those who are employed at a large research institution in a primarily secular community, the atheist identity is part of the norm. For those who work in more conservative departments in religious communities, however, the atheist identity is outside the cultural norm. As such, it is something that needs to be managed accordingly.

Influence of Campus Leadership in the Educational Environment The influence of campus leadership in the educational environment is the final finding. Religious beliefs of department supervisors and campus leaders, as well as how religious diversity was addressed on campus, emerged as common themes across

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participants. The role of direct supervisors highly impacted the ability of the participants to feel comfortable in their atheist identity in the higher education workplace. Sarah, Gwen, and Matthew, who work in different departments but have the same supervisor, commented that their supervisor never talks about religion and that they personally have no knowledge of which religion she practices, if any. Sarah commented: I think it depends a lot on your department makeup and how your supervisors set the tone . . . our supervisors are pretty professional. That kind of stuff doesn’t come into department conversations. I think that they’ve set a good enough tone that it’s a pretty collegial department in general and people tend to be pretty respectful.

Carl was unsure about disclosing his atheist identity to his supervisor at first, but after a personal discussion, she commented, “You’re nicer than most Christians I know.” Her reaction immediately put him at ease about this identity, and it “opened up the floodgates” for him to be more comfortable about being himself and expressing his views in the workplace. Conversely, William’s current supervisor is a devout Christian and very conservative. He hired several religious staff members since starting in his position a few years ago. William feels that this dynamic has had a large influence on his ability to feel comfortable about his atheism and liberal values in the workplace. William feels threatened by this divisiveness and fears discrimination by his supervisor. Outside of the participants’ immediate supervisors, other campus leaders were also influential in how atheists experienced their identity in the workplace. Erin and Carl’s division head is Jewish, which they believe is critical in setting the tone for how their division views religious differences. They also both commented that having a Muslim student activities director helped bring awareness to religious differences through her traditional religious attire and interfaith programming, which broadened the campus community’s education about individuals of different faiths. For others, however, a lack of attention by leadership toward religious diversity influenced the participants’ experiences. Some of those employed at the mid-sized and small institutions commented that their campus does little to address religious diversity. Because their campuses serve primarily White Christian students, religious diversity is not prioritized on their campuses. This lack of attention toward religious diversity suggests that Christian privilege is present on these campuses. Specific instances of Christian privilege were identified at the individual, departmental, and institutional levels. Sherlock recalled a story in which she was part of a hiring search committee where another committee member favored a less qualified candidate who was a member of her church. The use of Christian prayer in a mandatory ceremony in the nursing department, as described by Carl, indicates the presence of Christian privilege at the departmental level. Sherlock expressed frustration that her campus dining services neglect of the dietary needs of religious minorities. Finally, nearly all the participants mentioned that either their campus decorates for Christmas or hosts a “holiday

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party.” They noted that these parties are Christmas parties that have been secularized in title for the sake of inclusion but do not represent all faiths. The findings suggest that Christian privilege does influence the religious environment of the campuses in which the participants are employed and the smaller campuses in highly Christian communities could do a better job of addressing this power.

Discussion In phenomenological research, the goal is to describe the essence of a particular phenomenon. Several factors converge to create unique experiences for each individual; however, three types of experiences can be described. Some participants were very comfortable in their atheist identities and chose to work at an institution and live in a community that reflects their values. For these participants, their atheist identity as part of the cultural norm in their daily lives, and they do not experience this identity negatively in the workplace. Another group of participants were also comfortable in their atheist identity, and their departments or institutions tended to be more liberal and respectful of religious difference, including nonbelief. They may be cautious about disclosing this information at times but typically do not feel that they need to be protective of this identity on a regular basis. The final group of participants are much less comfortable in their atheist identity at work. The Christian context of their workplace environment creates a situation where they feel protective of their atheist identity to avoid stigmatization and discrimination. As such, they unconsciously utilize stigma management techniques to mitigate the risks associated with this identity. All the participants used stigma management techniques for various purposes. Some used complete disclosure (Fitzgerald, 2003) to educate others and dispel stigma. Others passed as Christians if necessary, used nondisclosure, or told half-truths (Fitzgerald, 2003) to avoid disclosing their atheist identity to colleagues. Although none of the participants experienced any direct discrimination because of their atheism, that the potential for discrimination weighed on several of their minds was evident. Consistent with Garneau (2012) and Pond (2015), the atheists in this study were most likely to use nondisclosure decisions (Fitzgerald, 2003) if they felt that their jobs would be in jeopardy, if they wanted to avoid uncomfortable interactions with coworkers, or if they wanted to avoid being judged unfairly in the workplace. However, in contrast to Hammer et al. (2012), who found a relationship between the extent to which an individual is out in his or her atheist identity and perceived discrimination, the participants in this study who are the most out in their atheist identity fear discrimination the least. Several factors may contribute to this sense of security. First, the participants seem to understand their rights as atheists, with several participating in forms of atheist education and activism, finding a network of other atheists through which they gain a sense of comfort and a sounding board for their experiences. Second, because the participants are

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nearly all White, middle class, and highly educated, their privilege from these dominant identities also serves as a protection for their marginalized identity. Finally, atheism is not stigmatized in the geographic region of the participants who worked at the large research institution, and most participants who are out in their atheist identity also work at institutions or in departments perceived to be secular in nature, making the probability of discrimination less likely. The role of the supervisor was most influential in shaping the norms relative to how atheists experienced the workplace. Gifford (2009) examined the effects of stigma in the workplace and found that “individuals who experience negative interpersonal behaviors believe organizational policies do not provide adequate protection and/or experience internalized negative feelings about himself or herself will have a lower quality relationship with the supervisor” (p. 100). The participants who perceived their supervisors to be secular or accepting of atheism felt much more secure in their atheist identity than did those whose supervisors were outwardly Christian. Some participants had no idea what their supervisor’s religious beliefs were, which helped set the tone for how their departments addressed religion. The absence of attention toward religious diversity on the participants’ campuses was notable. Only two participants, who work at the same institution, commented that their campus has made some effort toward interfaith programming which they felt was influential in helping nonbelievers feel welcome on their campus. Although the participants at the large research institution are possibly not aware of the religious programming that takes place, they did not feel that it was a priority of their campus. Several other participants noted that their institutions’ overall diversity efforts were lacking and attributed that to the predominately White Christian student demographics. The lack of diversity in the composition of the students served to perpetuate the absence of religious diversity programming on campus, which reduced the opportunities to improve the climate toward religious diversity and acceptance of atheists. Although Goodman and Mueller (2009) attribute interfaith programming and a focus on spirituality to the isolation of atheist students on campus, a lack of religious diversity programming on campus can possibly also serve to perpetuate Christian privilege on campuses.

Implications for Practice The findings indicate that the participants’ comfort in identity, the context of the workplace environment, and the influence of campus leadership in the educational environment are influential in how they experienced their atheist identity in the workplace. The implications for leaders are many once awareness and understanding of atheists as a marginalized population within higher education working environments are increased. Atheists who work in higher education must first consider how comfortable they feel in their atheist identity when determining if an institution is a good fit for them. The

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atheists in this study indicated that they would not seek out employment opportunities at religiously affiliated institutions; however, they were all employed at public institutions, and their comfort in their identities in this environment differed from one institution to another. Choosing to work at a public institution may seem like a logical choice to an atheist, but it may not be enough to ensure the acceptance of nonreligious identities in the workplace. How pluralism operates within higher education spaces needs to be further considered. If pluralism is part of the espoused belief system of an institution of higher education, then how can campus leaders work to broaden ideas and practices related to ensuring a more welcoming and equitable campus environment? Although many campuses in the country are increasing their interfaith educational programming in an effort in achieve religious pluralism (Goodman & Mueller, 2009), most participants in this study did not see evidence of this at their institutions. Campus leaders should incorporate religious diversity, including atheism and other nonreligious worldviews, into the campus diversity mission and develop programming to support religious minorities. They should encourage atheist and other nonreligious faculty and staff to share their worldviews through campus programming events, such as interfaith dialogues, which can be an effective tool to bring awareness of the power and privilege of Christianity on college campuses (Larson & Shady, 2012) and to reduce the stigma of marginalized religious minorities. However, also providing programming about atheism separately from interfaith programming is important so that atheists have a safe place to share their experiences and perspectives (Goodman & Mueller, 2009). Finally, campus leaders should also examine which contexts and dynamics are helping to improve the campus climate for atheists and which ones are furthering the sense of marginalization. A needs assessment or a campus climate survey can help to achieve this goal (King, Gulick, & Avery, 2010). Preparing leaders to better address religious differences is critical for public institutions that value democratic pluralism as part of their diversity and inclusion mission. Supervisors can directly influence the dynamics of a department or their relationships with employees by remaining neutral toward religion, being supportive of religious differences, or creating an environment where religious differences make employees feel threatened; therefore, it is important for supervisors to be trained to identify their own biases. Workplace diversity training programs can bring awareness of racial, ethnic, cultural, and other types of differences. Best practices from workplace diversity training programs involve “visible upper-management and organizational support, requiring management participation, rewarding attempts to promote diversity, embracing a broad organizational definition of diversity, making training a part of a larger strategic diversity management initiative, and conducting long-term training evaluations to ensure training transfer” (King et al., 2010). By ensuring that supervisors have training on issues related to religious diversity and are held accountable for promoting diversity within their departments, atheists will feel more secure in their workplace setting.

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Limitations of Study and Future Research Phenomenological research is limited by its nature as it is necessary to have a small sample size to examine a topic in depth. Therefore, the experiences of 10 individuals are not representative of all people who identify as atheists. The study was also limited to the state of Indiana to obtain a more homogeneous sample. The results of this study may not be applicable to atheists who work in higher education in other states or regions of the country. The study was also limited by the lack of diversity in the participants and only captured the experiences of atheists at five of the 14 public four-year institutions in the state of Indiana. Future research on atheism in the higher education workplace should explore the intersection of atheism and other identities, different institution types, and different geographic regions of the country. Further research can help college and university leaders develop a deeper understanding of the experiences of atheists and provide welcoming work environments for nonbelievers.

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Fairchild, E. E. (2009). Christian privilege, history, and trends in U.S. religion. New Directions for Student Services, 2009 (125), 5–11. doi:10.1002/ss.302 Fitzgerald, B. (2003). Atheists in the United States: The construction and negotiation of a nonnormative identity (Doctoral dissertation, State University of New York at Albany). Retrieved from http://worldcat.org/oclc/54444303 Garneau, C. (2012). Perceived stigma and stigma management of Midwest seculars (Doctoral dissertation). Sociology Theses, Dissertations, & Student Research, Paper 22. Retrieved from ProQuest Dissertations and Theses. Gifford, G. (2009). Stigma in the workplace: Testing a framework for the effects of demographic and perceived differences in organizations (Doctoral dissertation, The University of Nebraska– Lincoln). Retrieved from ProQuest Dissertations and Theses. Goffman, E. (1963). Stigma: Notes on the management of spoiled identity. New York, NY: Simon & Schuster. Goodman, K. M., & Mueller, J. A. (2009). Invisible, marginalized, and stigmatized: Understanding and addressing the needs of atheist students. New Directions for Student Services, 2009 (125), 55–63. doi:10.1002/ss.308 Hammer, J. H., Cragun, R. T., Hwang, K., & Smith, J. M. (2012). Forms, frequency, and correlates of perceived anti-atheist discrimination. Secularism and Nonreligion, 1, 43–67. doi:10.5334/snr.ad Harper, M. (2007). The stereotyping of non-religious people by religious students: Contents and subtypes. Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion, 46, 539–552. doi:10.1111/j.1468-5906. 2007.00376.x Hodge, D. R. (2019) Spiritual microaggressions: Understanding the subtle messages that foster religious discrimination. Journal of Ethnic & Cultural Diversity in Social Work. doi:10.1080/ 15313204.2018.1555501 Hunsberger, B., & Altemeyer, B. (2006). Atheists: A groundbreaking study of America’s nonbelievers. Amherst, NY: Prometheus Books. King, E. B., Gulick, L. M., & Avery, D. R. (2010). The divide between diversity training and diversity education: Integrating best practices. Journal of Management Education, 34, 891–906. doi:10.1177/1052562909348767 Larson, M. H., & Shady, S. L. (2012). Confronting the complexities of Christian privilege through interfaith dialogue. Journal of College and Character, 13. doi:10.1515/1940-1639.1824 Lincoln, Y. S. & Guba, E. G. (1985). Naturalistic inquiry. Newbury Park, CA: Sage. McIntosh, P. (1988). White privilege and male privilege: A personal account of coming to see correspondences through work in women’s studies (Working Paper No. 189). Wellesley, MA: Wellesley Centers for Women. Retrieved from https://www.wcwonline.org/ Publications-by-title/white-privilege-and-male-privilege-a-personal-account-of-comingto-see-correspondences-through-work-in-women-s-studies-2 Mueller, J. A. (2012). Understanding the atheist college student: A qualitative examination. Journal of Student Affairs Research and Practice, 49, 249–266. doi:10.1515/jsarp-2012-6439 Patel, E., & Giess, M. (2016, January/February). Engaging religious diversity on campus: The role of student affairs. About Campus, 20(6), 8–15. doi:10.1002/abc.21223 Pew Research Center. (2015). America’s changing religious landscape. Retrieved http://www.pewforum.org/2015/05/12/americas-changing-religious-landscape/ Poindexter, C. C., & Shippy, R. A. (2010). HIV diagnosis disclosure: Stigma management and stigma resistance. Journal of Gerontological Social Work, 53, 366–381. doi:10.1080/01634371003715841

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Pond, J. L. (2015). Living without God: Female atheists and stigma management in the south of the United States (Doctoral dissertation). Theses and Dissertations—Sociology, Paper 25. Retrieved from ProQuest Dissertations and Theses. Rockenbach, A. N., Mayhew, M. J., & Bowman, N. A. (2015). Perceptions of the campus climate for non-religious students. Journal of College Student Development, 56, 181–186. doi:10.1353/csd.2015.0021 Savin-Baden, M., & Major, C. (2013). Qualitative research: The essential guide to theory and practice. Milton Park, England: Routledge. Schlosser, L. Z., & Sedlacek, W. E. (2001). Religious holidays on campus: Policies, problems, and recommendations (Research report) College Park: University of Maryland. Retrieved from https://eric.ed.gov/?id=ED456681 Seifert, T. (2007, May). Understanding Christian privilege: Managing the tensions of spiritual plurality. About Campus, 12(2), 10–17. doi:10.1002/abc.206 Smith, J. A., Flowers, P., & Larkin, M. (2009). Interpretative phenomenological analysis: Theory, method and research. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Smith, J. M. (2013). Creating a godless community: The collective identity work of contemporary American atheists. Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion, 52(1), 80–99. doi:10.1111/jssr.12009 Steele, C. M., & Aronson, J. (1995). Stereotype threat and the intellectual test performance of African-Americans. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 69, 797–811. Waggoner, M. D. (2016). Spirituality and contemporary higher education. Journal of College and Character, 17, 147–156. doi:10.1080/2194587X.2016.1195752

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CHAPTER TWELVE

Black Secular College Students: An Exploration of Margins J.T. Snipes and Gordon Maples According to demographic surveys, only 18% of Black Americans identify as secular, atheist, agnostic, or otherwise religiously unaffiliated—the lowest of any racial identity group in an era of increasing secularization (Pew Research Center—Religion & Public Life, 2014). Likewise, only 9% of religiously unaffiliated Americans are Black (Pew Research Center—Religion & Public Life, 2014; Withrow, 2016). Partially as a result of the small representation and marginalization in each population, the histories and lived experiences of Black secularists are often neglected in both secular spaces and Black spaces (McNeill, 2016; Pinn, 1998; Snipes, 2017). Much has been written about the tremendous influence and importance of the Black Church in the Black community and its potential contribution to the invisibility of the historic religious diversity of the Black community, which includes nonreligion, atheism, and secular humanism (Demby & Meraji, 2017; Pinn, 1998; Snipes, 2017; Welch, 1978). Additionally, a degree of stigma is reported within the Black community toward Black atheists, as if the rejection of religious belief is a partial rejection of Black identity itself (Demby & Meraji, 2017; Fonza, 2013; Withrow, 2016). The American nonreligious population, specifically the population of atheists and agnostics, is overwhelmingly White. As of 2014, 78% of identified atheists were recorded as White, along with 79% of agnostics (Pew Research Center—Religion & Public Life, 2014). Social commentators have written about the organizations of these highly White communities acting as stepping-stones toward White supremacist ideologies (Hutchinson, 2017; Lee, 2019; Stedman, 2018; Torres, 2017). Racism within the White-dominated nonreligious community and from its leaders is not uncommon (Fishlock, 2012; Klein, 2018; Ringo, 2014; Snipes, 2017). Although there are certainly a handful of acclaimed Black voices in the organized community of atheists and agnostics, such as Mandisa Thomas and Sikivu Hutchinson, they do not have the visibility of the vastly White, vastly male population of the key figures of the field, such as Richard Dawkins and Sam Harris, which has further perpetuated the coding of atheism as White and male (Smith, 2013; Snipes, 2017; Withrow, 2016). Secular college students are regarded as a stigmatized and marginalized population on campuses and are thus often not visible, which contributes to it being a traditionally difficult

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population to study (Armstrong, 2017; Cragun, Blyde, Sumerau, Mann, & Hammer, 2016; Goodman & Mueller, 2009; Liddell & Stedman, 2011; Mueller, 2012; Welch, 1978). In the instances where these populations do visibly organize on campuses, they are typically predominantly White, which further contributes to the White perception of the demographic and makes engaging with campus secular student spaces for Black secular students somewhat difficult (Snipes, 2017). Secularists are a population that frequently defies accurate tracking or assessment, as marking “nonaffiliated” or “none” (frequently used demographic alternatives to “atheist” or “agnostic”) on a form could indicate not an expression of nonbelief but a general vote of no confidence in religious institutions (Goodman & Mueller, 2009; Pew Research Center—Religion & Public Life, 2014; Taylor, 1998). Similarly, someone who ascribes to religious practices but not beliefs—such as an agnostic Catholic or secular humanist Jew— could be forced to inaccurately reflect their identity on a conventional demographic survey, which typically assesses religious identity in mutually exclusive terms (Maples, 2018b). Unfortunately, most academic studies of secular college students have implicitly centered White experiences through racially homogeneous sampling, due, in part, to the aforementioned difficulties in sampling from the population (Armstrong, 2017; Bryant & Astin, 2008; Mueller, 2012). Secular students as a whole are understudied, although there has been a growing body of scholarship since Dr. Robert Nash (2003) publicly pointed out the scholarly negligence of the population. In more recent years, professional practitioners who have worked specifically with secular college students have begun contributing to the body of literature on the topic, adding a degree of breadth to the understanding of this group (Liddell and Stancato, 2019; Liddell & Stedman, 2011). Regarding Black secular students, Dr. J.T. Snipes’s (2017) dissertation on the topic has been the most narrowly targeted, descriptive, and detailed exploration of the group. Notably, other findings have indicated that nonreligious students particularly value “connection to others,” which could be a point of internal conflict for Black secular college students who may have to bear microaggressions to maintain perceived connections around their secular and Black identities (Rockenbach, Mayhew, Davidson, Ofstein, & Clark Bush, 2015). For Black secular college students in a critical time frame for their identity development, being on the respective margins of both of these key identity communities undoubtedly has an impact. The dissonance for Black secular students could impact their ability to achieve full immersion in the Black community due to the perceived incongruence of their faith identity with their Black peers. This difficulty with immersion could have implications for Black identity development, as this is a key step in Black racial identity development as described in Cross’s (1971) nigrescence model. This is further complicated by the proposed concept that, among Black college students, their spiritual identity is often the core framework through which they interpret their other identity elements (Stewart, 2009). Although Stewart’s 2009 work included a “not religious” participant that concurred with proposed spiritual core framing, the ambiguity of the “not religious” label and the sample size leave significant questions as to how Black atheists, agnostics, or other

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nonreligious or religiously unaffiliated may generally perceive of the proposed concept in general, as “spirituality” is not universally applicable for the full scope of the nonreligious umbrella (Maples, 2018a; Maples & Stancato, 2016). Given that racial and religious identities have been known to subsume each other and that spirituality has been cited as a means of coping, resistance, and support for Black people, the experiences of secular Black college students merit exploration due to the potentially unique dynamics of the interactions and development of these identities within the population (Snipes, 2017; Stewart, 2002, 2009; Stewart & Lozano, 2009; Tisdell, 2003; Watson, 2006; Watt, 2003; Withrow, 2016). For many years, the lack of literature and studies on this particular subgroup of both the secular and Black populations has been noted time and time again, but the small population and low identifiability have made studying the group difficult for researchers (Gasman, Nguyen, & Kalam, 2013; Smith, 2013; Snipes, 2017; Stewart, 2013; Welch, 1978). It is worth noting that, as with the greater population, youth is associated with higher rates of religious nonaffiliation among Black Americans, which could indicate not just a higher rate of nonaffiliation but also a relatively lower degree of religious pressure from peers for Black secular college students, particularly when compared to religious pressure from elders (Demby & Meraji, 2017; Pew Research Center—Religion & Public Life, 2014; Taylor, 1988). However, microaggressions aimed at Black secular college students from both racial and secular peers are reportedly commonplace and, in particular, need to be explored for their effects on Black secular college students (Snipes, 2017). The rest of this chapter is dedicated to the exploration of the various forms of microaggressions levied at Black secular college students and the means by which the students dealt with them.

Navigating Religious Microaggressions Black secular college students attempt to navigate a culture of fundamentalist religious hegemony and hyper-religiosity throughout their lives (Snipes, 2017). Snipes’s (2017) dissertation outlined a number of reported strategies that Black secular students have employed to preserve their Black secular identity in a Christian-dominated culture: silence/avoidance, direct challenges, and the creation of secular-inclusive communities.

Silence and Avoidance Snipes (2017) refers to silence as an “effective strategy . . . to avoid potential conflicts” (p. 156) through both the illusion of conformity and a general conflict avoidance regarding the incongruity of Black secular college students’ secularism in the dominant Christian cultural ethos. In particular, this strategy has been cited as a tactic for dealing with potential family tensions around religious affiliation, which can ultimately have dire, isolating consequences if directly addressed (Demby & Meraji, 2017;

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Jacobsen, 2018; Snipes, 2017; Withrow, 2016). As previously mentioned, this strategy is not uncommon for nonreligious students on the whole, which is part of why the population has been difficult to study over the years (Armstrong, 2017; Cragun et al., 2016; Goodman & Mueller, 2009; Liddell & Stedman, 2011; Mueller, 2012; Welch, 1978). However, there are indications that this behavior has negative consequences on the psychosocial well-being of atheists, despite the perceived social benefits of silence and avoidance (Abbott & Mollen, 2018). Regarding the question, “What church do you belong to?”—an awkward, frequent microaggression faced by secularists in social situations—one of Snipes’s (2017) respondents revealed that she typically lies as a means of avoiding social strain for her nonreligious identity. Likewise, another respondent indicated that he deliberately concealed their nonreligious identity based on social context to “keep peace,” which includes the toleration of casual religious microaggressions (Snipes, 2017). This context-based tendency to employ avoidance and silence could contribute to some unfavorable stereotypes about the nonreligious, such as the lack of religious conviction during crisis, as implied by the aphorism “there are no atheists in foxholes.”

Direct Challenge Direct challenges to religious microaggressions and assumed Christianity can manifest in a number of ways. Perhaps the most visible of these are outwardly and publicly identifying as an atheist and actively engaging in resistance to Christian hegemony by owning the stigma associated with the label (Snipes, 2017). One of Snipes’s (2017) Black atheist college student respondents indicated that he chose to be an outspoken atheist because he was “willing to endure the negativity for the sake of clarity” (p. 154) and wanted to be a visible representation of the existence of Black atheists. Several of Snipes’s (2017) respondents noted that their outward identification was partially motivated by a desire to challenge “the narrow Christian boundaries prescribed to Blackness” (p. 154). Both of these statements allude to the social perception of the minimization and marginalization of religious diversity within the Black community due to the power, visibility, and influence of the Black Church, despite a religiously diverse reality and history in the community (Pinn, 1998; Snipes, 2017). Another cited means of resisting microaggressions for Black secular college students is through advocacy for religiously pluralistic and nonreligious-inclusive campus and curricular policies. This could include grand and controversial gestures, such as challenging mandatory campus church services at a religiously affiliated institution, or small-scale gestures, such as requesting conscientious, inclusive language changes of peers and professors in a classroom (Snipes, 2017). Direct challenges could also include challenging the cultural assumptions of atheist immorality, through either moral-based activism or attacking the paired cultural assumption of religion being associated with morality (Snipes, 2017). Unlike the strategy of

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avoidance, the tactic of direct challenge—in whatever form it takes—has the potential to effectively raise consciousness, although it has no guarantee of measured success.

Secular-Inclusive Community A key means of coping with cultural hyper-religiosity and religious microaggressions is engagement with a community of fellows who are dealing with the same challenges. For Black secular college students, these communities are typically in the form of interfaith groups or atheist affinity groups—Secular Student Alliance chapters, online communities, or communities dedicated specifically to Black atheists and nonbelievers. Interfaith groups. Interfaith groups offer a community to Black secular college students that is already centered on religious pluralism and conversation and cooperation across differences. These spaces foster deep personal connections and friendships across identity lines with an open expectation and awareness of difference (Snipes, 2017). The communities offered by interfaith groups could counter the othering experiences and potential identity developmental hindrances that Black secular college students face as marginalized members of either the White-dominated secular community or the Christian-dominated Black community. However, Snipes’s (2017) respondents all indicated a desire to connect explicitly with other nonreligious individuals—something that interfaith communities cannot necessarily provide and that has meaningful psychosocial value (Abbott & Mollen, 2018; Snipes, 2017). Online atheist communities. The Internet is a crucial introductory tool for burgeoning nonreligious individuals to explore religious doubts, theological debates on YouTube, or their growing secular identity (Snipes, 2017; Zuckerman, 2016). For young Black secular students, it is also an opportunity to explore the intersection of their race and religious affiliation and potentially expose them to the wider reality of Black religious and nonreligious diversity (Pinn, 1998; Snipes, 2017) Likewise, the Internet is a hub for niche communities, such as Facebook groups and subreddits, through which Black secular students could connect, potentially anonymously, with fellows along any number of identity or ideological lines for a “reprieve” or “refuge” from the cultural hyper-religiosity they face in the greater outside world (Snipes, 2017; Zuckerman, 2016). Secular student communities. As previously mentioned, the past 15 years have seen a dramatic shift in the prevalence of secular student communities on college campuses (Liddell & Stancato, 2019; Liddell & Stedman, 2011). Although still certainly marginalized, they are notably less invisible than they have been in the past—the Secular Student Alliance claims as many as 300 chapters on campuses across the country today (Armstrong, 2017; Cragun et al., 2016; Goodman & Mueller, 2009; Liddell & Stedman, 2011; Mueller, 2012; Welch, 1978). A number of Black secular college students interviewed by Snipes (2017) indicated that they participated in or led Secular Student Alliance chapters. However, as with the rest of the nonreligious community at large, secular student communities tend to be largely White, which brings with it race-based microaggressions and occasionally

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inhospitable conditions for Black secular college students to find a comfortable community (McNeill, 2016; Pew Research Center—Religion & Public Life, 2014; Snipes, 2017). Black secular communities. Scattered throughout the United States are a handful of secular communities that specifically cater to Black secular individuals, such as Black Nonbelievers of Atlanta (Demby & Meraji, 2018; Fonza, 2013; Jacobsen, 2018; Maples, 2018c; Snipes, 2017). These groups, although sometimes small and infrequently active, provide an ideal community for Black secular college students to connect with supportive people along both their secular and Black identity lines, and avoid the marginalizing pitfalls of solely secular-based or solely Black-based spaces (Snipes, 2017). However, these organizations, although growing and expanding, are currently only active in 14 cities throughout the United States and could easily not be accessible for students outside of those specific metropolitan areas (Black Nonbelievers, Inc., n.d.).

Navigating Racial Microaggressions As has been previously mentioned, Black secular college students face more than just microaggressions based in the hyper-religiosity of their cultural surroundings and their assumed Christianity in many Black spaces—they also face race-based microaggressions in the predominantly White secular communities on top of the racism regularly faced in their everyday lives (Snipes, 2017). Whether in person or online, these microaggressions might occur in the form of jokes about the lack of diversity in secular spaces directed at Black secular college students, expectations for Black secular college students to represent the perspective of the Black community at large, or “whitesplaining,” when White people attempt to explain the experiences of people of color to other people of color (Elder, 2015; Snipes, 2017). The commonality between these is that they are often the result of obliviousness and ignorance without ill intent but are nevertheless a grating and exhausting byproduct of secular spaces being overwhelmingly White that impacts the overall experience of Black secular college students seeking community (Snipes, 2017). As with religious microaggressions, Black atheist college students have developed strategies for dealing with racial microaggressions in secular spaces. Snipes’s (2017) respondents indicated tactics that included correcting microaggression behaviors, setting clear expectations that racist behaviors would not be tolerated, and using leadership powers to promote literacy around issues of racial justice and diversity.

Conclusion Black secular college students, as a group that exists on the margins of two communities, face myriad challenges—not the least of which are a flurry of microaggressions that come from society at large, their racial identity communities, and

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their nonreligious communities. Various Black secular students have found strategies for treading in these convergent margins: openly and defiantly taking on stigma and potential pariah status, building and seeking more welcoming niche communities, avoiding conflict through silence and concealment, accepting the burden of correcting behavior, and many more among them. This population, which is rarely studied and seldom served, deserves the attention of practitioners and advocates on campuses, as well as scholars seeking to close gaps in our understandings of the college student identity development experience. Future research should seek to model the development experience of this population with further qualitative data to create a clearing picture of how Black secular college students navigate their identities through the developmental process. Likewise, secular student communities merit study for the overall effects of their predominantly White demographics on the experiences of members—the further marginalization of racially minoritized members through microaggressions and the sheltering of White identity in majority-White and largely racially uncritical spaces among them. There is also much to explore regarding the dynamics of nonreligious identity with other racial identities in the developmental process, such as Latinx and South Asian college students.

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Ringo, A. (2014, September 17). The atheist movement needs to disown Richard Dawkins. Vice. Retrieved from https://www.vice.com/en_us/article/jmbayk/the-atheist-movementneeds-to-disown-richard-dawkins-999 Rockenbach, A., Mayhew, M, Davidson, J., Ofstein, J., Clark Bush, R. (2015). Complicating universal definitions: How students of diverse worldviews make meaning of spirituality. Journal of Student Affairs Research and Practice, 52, 1–10. Smith, J. M. (2013). Comment: Conceptualizing atheist identity: Expanding questions, constructing models, and moving forward. Sociology of Religion, 74, 454–463. Snipes, J.T. (2017). Ain’t I Black too: Counterstories of Black atheists in college (Doctoral dissertation). Retrieved from ProQuest Dissertations and Theses database. (ProQuest No. 10603722) Stedman, C. (2018, April 2). Too many atheists are veering dangerously toward the alt-right. Vice. Retrieved from https://www.vice.com/en_us/article/3k7jx8/too-many-atheistsare-veering-dangerously-toward-the-alt-right Stewart, D-L (2002). The role of faith in the development of an integrated identity: A qualitative study of Black students at a White college. Journal of College Student Development, 43, 579–596. Stewart, D-L (2009). Perceptions of multiple identities among Black college students. Journal of College Student Development, 50, 253–270. Stewart, D-L (2013). Complicating belief: Intersectionality and Black college students’ spirituality. In T. Strayhorn (Ed.), Living at the intersections: Social identities and Black collegians (pp. 93–108). Charlotte, NC: Information Age Publishing. Stewart, D-L & Lozano, A. (2009). Difficult dialogues at the intersections of race, culture, and religion. New Directions for Student Services, 125, 23–31. Taylor, R. J. (1998). Correlates of religious non-involvement among Black Americans. Review of Religious Research, 30, 126–139. Tisdell, E. J. (2003). Exploring spirituality and culture in higher education. San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. Torres, P. (2017, July 29). From the Enlightenment to the Dark Ages: How “new atheism” slid into the alt-right. Salon. Retrieved from https://www.salon.com/2017/07/29/from-theenlightenment-to-the-dark-ages-how-new-atheism-slid-into-the-alt-right/ Watson, L. W. (2006). The role of spirituality and religion in the experiences of African American male college students. In M. J. Cuyjet (Ed.), African American men in college (pp. 112–127). San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. Watt, S. K. (2003). Come to the river: Using spirituality to cope, resist, and develop identity. In M. F. Howard-Hamilton (Ed.), New Directions for Student Services, Vol. 104. Meeting the needs of African-American women (pp. 29–40). San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. Welch, M. R. (1978). The unchurched: Black religious non-affiliates. Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion, 17, 289–293. Withrow, B. (2016, November 20). Double minority: What it’s like to be Black and atheist. The Daily Beast. Retrieved from https://www.thedailybeast.com/what-its-like-to-beblack-and-atheist Zuckerman, P. (2016, January 7). Secularism and the Internet. Psychology Today. Retrieved from https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/the-secular-life/201601/secularismand-the-internet

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CHAPTER THIRTEEN

College Students Narrating the Intersections of Disability and Their Religious Selves Annemarie Vaccaro, Barbara M. Newman, and Ezekiel W. Kimball

Introduction There is a long history of interconnections between disability and religion. Yet, very few contemporary writings focus on the intersections of disability and religion/ spirituality for college students. In this chapter, we draw from rich data collected in a multi-institutional qualitative, grounded theory study about the process by which 59 college students with disabilities developed a sense of purpose. In a prior work (Vaccaro, Kimball, Moore, Newman, & Troiano, 2018), we explicated how “narratives of self ”—or purpose development—was an identity development process shaped by social contexts and intersecting social identities (including religion and/or spirituality). In this chapter, we delve into student narratives about the intersections of religion/spirituality and disability not included in that prior work.

Background

Intersections of Religion and Ability Religion and disability have long been intertwined in the minds of philosophers, theologians, and scientists (e.g., Blanks & Smith, 2009; McDonagh, 2008; Stiker, 1999; Wickam, 2013). Within Abrahamic religious traditions, this thinking has most often been viewed through what theologians call the “theodicy” problem (e.g., Blumenthal, 1993; Ehrman, 2008; Peterson, 2011; Pinnock, 2002). Put briefly, theodicy is an attempt to explain why a god depicted in scripture as all-knowing, benevolent, and omnipotent permits the existence of human suffering—particularly as the product of evil acts inflicted without seeming repercussions by other human beings (Blumenthal, 1993; Pinnock, 2002; Stiker, 1999). Historically, attempts to address the theodicy problem have often resulted in attempts to justify human suffering by assigning blame to human beings who fail to live

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up to religious ideals (Ehrman, 2008). Although the assignment of blame can easily be accomplished in cases where one human being causes another to suffer, suffering without a clear etiology has most often resulted in blame being assigned to the individual—either due to their own prior bad acts or their inability to bear a divine burden with appropriate grace (Blumenthal, 1993). In the case of people with disabilities, this theological reasoning has often resulted in the suggestion that their disability reflects some deeper moral failing (Schumm & Stoltzfus, 2011; Stiker,1999). That is, the intersection of religion and disability has often led to the stigmatization of people with disabilities in a way that justifies their ongoing societal mistreatment and absolves able-bodied, able-minded people of responsibilities for addressing these inequities (Charlton, 1998; Nielsen, 2012). More recently, however, societal approaches to disability have moved beyond the aforementioned theological-moral paradigm and have increasingly embraced social, environmental, and diversity perspectives (Blanks & Smith, 2009). Within the United States, religious communities have often played a key role in the provision of support for people with disabilities (Nielsen, 2012)—albeit sometimes in ways that could most charitably be thought of as a form of benevolent paternalism. As people with disabilities have become increasingly powerful self-advocates (Charlton, 1998), religion has become less central to social thinking about disability (Blanks & Smith, 2009). However, it remains an important way that people with disabilities understand themselves and influences the way that some able-bodied, able-minded persons view people with disabilities (cf. Stein & Stein, 2017). Although few studies have explored the intersections of disability and religion in the lives of college students (Evans, Broido, Brown, & Wilkie, 2017), broader studies of both college students (e.g., Mayhew & Bryant Rockenbach, 2013; Small & Bowman, 2012) and people with disabilities (e.g., Johnstone, Glass, & Oliver, 2007; Selway & Ashman, 1998) suggest that religion is likely an important way that at least some students with disabilities develop their self-understanding during college. Indeed, this literature suggests that disability, religion, and purpose may intertwine in important ways during college (cf. Astin, Astin, & Lindholm, 2011; Vaccaro et al., 2018). Before proceeding, defining religion, spirituality, faith, and purpose is important. Although these terms are often used interchangeably or in tandem, higher education scholars (Astin et al., 2011; Rockenbach & Mayhew, 2013) have focused on the subtle differences. Astin et al. (2011) explained: Spirituality has to do with the values that we hold most dear, our sense of who we are and where we come from, our beliefs about why we are here— the meaning and purpose that we see in our work and our life—and our sense of connectedness to one another and the world around us. . . . We see religiousness as involving adherence to a set of faith-based beliefs (and related practices) concerning . . . the origins of the world and . . . involves membership in some kind of community. (pp. 4–5)

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Although we explore purpose in greater depth in the next section, it is important to note that many scholars have described intricate relationships among purpose, religion, spirituality, and faith (Parks, 2011). For instance, Parks (2011) described the desire for spirituality as rooted in “an acknowledgement of soul is rooted in a longing for ways of speaking of the human experience of depth, meaning, moral purpose” (p. 23). In this chapter, we explore connections between religion, disability, spirituality, and purpose. Our interview questions asked about the intersections of ability and religion. However, some students responded by talking about spirituality or faith or multiple concepts interchangeably. We honor direct quotations from students who frequently used the terms religion, spirituality, and faith in ways not always consistent with definitions provided in the literature. This chapter uses an intersectional lens to explore disability, spirituality/religion, and purpose as described by 59 college students. Early writings about intersectionality came from Black women who explicated the simultaneity of racial, gender, and class oppressions (cf. Combahee River Collective, 1977/1995; Crenshaw, 1989). More recently, intersectionality has been adopted to examine the ways other marginalized and privileged identities (Museus & Griffin, 2011; Shields, 2008)—such as religion and ability—shape the lived realities of people of varying backgrounds. In 2008, Shields noted that intersecting social identities are “organizing features of social relations, [that] mutually constitute, reinforce, and naturalize one another” (p. 302). A key element of intersectionality is attention to the ways social structures, power, and privilege shape the way individuals acquire resources, traverse inequitable social systems, and develop a sense of self in contexts of oppressive norms, values, and ideologies (Hill-Collins & Bilge, 2016). In 2011, Museus and Griffin suggested higher education scholars adopt intersectional paradigms to consider how “the confluence of one’s multiple marginalized and privileged identities is an interaction that creates a unique experience” (p. 8). Yet little research has addressed how students with disabilities (a marginalized group) simultaneously navigate unique intersectional realities of privileged or marginalized religious and/or spiritual identities.

Purpose as Identity Development Purpose has been simultaneously viewed as a developmental process and a higher order belief system that gives direction to life. In the college student development literature, purpose is one of Chickering and Reisser’s (1993) seven vectors of psychosocial development, which includes “an increasing ability to be intentional, to assess interests and options, to clarify goals, to make plans, and to persist despite obstacles” (p. 209). For Parks (2011), purpose is inherently intertwined with faith. She contends that purpose, as a form of faith, helps a person make meaning of their “Why?” in this world. Parks (2011) suggests purpose is rooted in moral intent and “intimately linked with a sense of vocation” (pp. 16–17) as college students figure out how to become adults in a complex global world. Within positive psychology, purpose is viewed as a developmental asset; it provides direction, stability, and

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motivation and is associated with health, happiness, and well-being (Benson, 2006; Bronk, Hill, Lapsley, Talib, & Finch, 2009; Burrow, O’Dell, & Hill, 2010). In the face of adversity, one’s commitment to a sense of purpose allows people to survive and thrive (Frankl, 1959). As such, purpose can be a valuable asset for individuals who experience marginalization because of their disability and/or religion. Due to his work connecting both purpose and personal identity, we have chosen to situate the data for this chapter in the work of Erik Erikson. Erikson’s (1963) psychosocial theory provides a theoretical framework for conceptualizing the intersection of religion and personal identity as they contribute to an emerging sense of purpose during the college years. Three aspects of Erikson’s (1959, 1963, 1978) psychosocial theory have particular relevance as sensitizing concepts for our exploration of how students with disabilities make meaning of religion and spirituality during their later adolescence: the psychosocial crisis of later adolescence, the idea of primary developmental virtues or prime adaptive ego qualities, and the structure of identity. Erikson (1963) identified the psychosocial crisis of personal identity versus role confusion as the focus of personal and interpersonal transformation during later adolescence. This crisis results from the enormous difficulty of pulling together the many components of the self, including changing perspectives on one’s beliefs and values, as well as new and changing social demands, into a unified image that can propel the person toward positive, meaningful action. Personal identity is an integration of past identifications, contemporary interests, talents and abilities, and a vision of valued life goals into a meaningful sense of a purposeful self (Erikson 1959, 1968). To resolve this crisis, Erikson (1959) believed that the person needed to engage in a process of role experimentation, including opportunities to participate in meaningful activities, and to have time for reflection and introspection with freedom from undue pressures to make commitments before having had opportunities for exploration of alternatives. Erikson (1978) connected primary developmental virtues with each stage of psychosocial development. These ego qualities emerge from the positive resolution of each psychosocial crisis, providing resources for coping with the challenges of the subsequent stage, and shaping the interpretation of life experiences. The ego strengths support resilience in the face of stressors and position the person to make effective choices as they face new societal demands. With maturity, the ego strengths accumulate and become integrated into a worldview, shaping the way a person makes meaning of life experiences. Through his study of culture and his important psychosocial biographies, especially those of Martin Luther, Gandhi, and Thomas Jefferson, Erikson (1958, 1969,1974) described the interconnection of identity processes and the articulation of developmental virtues. He thought that many of the principles of the world’s religions assisted in the support of these virtues, thus, operating as reinforcements for the emergence of moral and ethical values. In Erikson’s (1978) theory, the primary developmental virtue or adaptive ego quality of later adolescence is fidelity to values, “the ability to sustain loyalties freely pledged in spite of the inevitable contradictions and confusions of value systems” (p.

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28). Fidelity incorporates the trust and hope of infancy and directs it toward a belief in values and ideologies. Fidelity may be fostered by identification with inspirational role models or by participation in meaningful institutions (such as religion). It is also achieved as a result of new cognitive capacities that permit self-reflection, relativistic thinking, and insight. For many college students, the intellectual and interpersonal features of college environments support these cognitive processes. Fidelity to values provides evidence of a reflective process in which the person has taken time to examine opposing views and identify those that coalesce with their personal convictions (Waterman, 1992). The emergence of fidelity to values provides a channel for guiding strong passions and drives toward the achievement of meaningful goals. At the close of later adolescence, young people who articulate specific values and goals, such as making a contribution to their community, gaining new levels of expertise in their chosen field, or establishing a loving relationship, are more likely to experience a sense of subjective well-being as they take deliberate steps toward goal attainment (Bauer & McAdams, 2010). Fidelity to values strengthens one’s ethical resolve, especially in the face of the pressures and temptations of adult life. It also creates a bond of belonging with others who share the same loyalties. Erikson (1959) believed the structure of identity has two components: content and evaluation. The content includes what one thinks about, cares about, and believes in, as well as the traits or characteristics by which one is recognized and known by others. Erikson (1959) suggested that the content of identity was achieved by finding one’s sense of commitment with respect to salient roles and values, sexual expression, gender roles, interpersonal values, and political and religious ideologies. The evaluation reflects the significance one places on each of these various aspects of identity content. Even though most people play many of the same roles, their identities differ, in part, because they place different salience on some of these roles. Both the content and the evaluation of content domains can change over the life course, suggesting some fluidity in the nature of personal identity. The literature on personal identity development during the college years has drawn heavily on Erikson’s (1959) conceptualization, especially consideration of the extent to which students have undergone a process of exploration, questioning, or uncertainty around the content areas, their current level of commitment to particular values and goals, and their openness to examination or reexamination of alternative views (Berzonsky, 1993, Kroger, 2012). Content areas that have been most extensively studied include career goals, gender identity, and ethnic identity. Comparatively, little focus has been given to religious/spiritual content, possibly because research suggests that religious values are less salient for students’ personal identity work and that students are less involved in the exploration of religious values than in the other content areas (Marcia, 1993, 2007). College students with disabilities in our study offer nuanced perspectives on purpose as identity work in the context of religion and spirituality that begin to fill this gap in the literature.

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The Study This chapter was gleaned from a multi-institutional qualitative, grounded theory study (Charmaz, 2014) about the process by which 59 college students with disabilities developed a sense of purpose. Our sample included volunteers from three public and one private historically White universities in the northeastern United States. The main research question for our study was, “How do college students with disabilities describe the process of developing a sense of purpose?” Our second question was, “How salient are students’ social identities as they develop purpose?” Through intensive grounded theory analysis, we developed a model of purpose development that can be found elsewhere (Vaccaro et al., 2018). That model showed how purpose development was influenced by intersecting social identities (e.g., race, gender, sexuality, religion, social class, ability) and social contexts. This chapter shares previously unpublished data regarding the complex ways disability and religion/spirituality intersected to shape students emerging purpose and self. Our participants’ disabilities can be summarized as specific learning disabilities, 23 (39%); attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder (ADHD), 16 (27%); mental health diagnoses, 14 (24%); physical disabilities, 9 (15%); autism spectrum disorders, 3 (5%); deafness, 2 (3%); blindness, 2 (3%); a traumatic brain injury, 2 (3%); or “other” health impairment, 4 (7%). These percentages do not sum to 100% because 42% of our sample self-identified as having more than one disability. Throughout this chapter, we honor the self-selected disability identities by using the specific terminology participants used to describe their disability. Our demographic form did not ask students to self-report a religion. Therefore, we cannot report overall statistics for the sample. However, students talked about their religious and/or spiritual identities (or lack thereof) when prompted during the interview. The religious/spiritual terms participants used are also included in this chapter. For the study, we used intensive semi-structured individual interviews—a common data collection technique for grounded theory methods (Charmaz, 2014). Our interview protocol included questions about purpose, disability, and other social identities, such as religion. Audio-recorded interviews were transcribed and then subjected to multiple levels of grounded theory coding (Charmaz, 2014). We used constant comparative analysis (the iterative grounded theory process) to move back and forth between collection, analysis, and emergent findings. Emergent categories related to the intersections of religion, ability, and purpose as identity development are presented in this chapter. Other study findings can be found elsewhere (Kimball et al., 2018; Kimball, Moore, Vaccaro, Troiano, & Newman, 2016; Newman, Kimball, Vaccaro, Moore, & Troiano, 2018; Vaccaro et al., 2018)

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Student Narratives During our grounded theory constant comparative analytic process, we came to see patterns in the ways students talked about religion/spirituality, ability, and their emerging purpose and sense of self. We do not claim to describe all the ways religion and spirituality were (or were not) meaningful to participants. Instead, we have chosen to focus on four broad ways religion and ability intersected to shape college students’ sense of self and purpose. We’ve termed these categories (1) compartmentalization, (2) searching, (3) commitment, and (4) suppression. In the following, we share rich student narratives in these emergent categories.

Category 1: Compartmentalization As we listened to narratives about the intersection of religion/spirituality with disability, hearing students talk about these domains as unrelated to each other was not uncommon. Students who fall into this first category, called compartmentalization, are those who had not taken opportunities for meaningful reflection related to the explicit intersection of religion and ability (Erikson 1959, 1968). Students in this category described religion/spirituality and disability as being unconnected or non-intersectional. For instance, when asked, “How is it being someone who’s Jewish and also having OCD [obsessive-compulsive disorder]?” Alice responded, “I really don’t see that much of a relevance towards each other. I think it’s just like religion and OCD.” Similarly, Kalani noted: I have my beliefs, I mean, I don’t publicly express them all that much from back when I was younger I did a lot more. It [religion] doesn’t really affect my life here, my academic, so much because I’m not faced with religious situations . . . I don’t know . . . I have my faith, I have my religion, but it doesn’t define who [I am]. . . . My disabilities and classes and religion don’t conflict with each other.

In this case, Kalani noted how religion was part of her identity—although it did not “define” who she was. And, unlike her disability, which influenced her academic experiences (e.g., needing accommodations), she felt religion had no place in academe. Hence, her religious and disability (as well as academic) identities were compartmentalized and, thus, not intersectional.

Category 2: Searching Participants in this category were actively seeking purpose and a sense of self that integrated both their religion and ability. For some, this meant wrestling with the “theodicy” problem (e.g., Blumenthal, 1993; Ehrman, 2008; Peterson, 2011; Pinnock, 2002) as

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they questioned why and how higher powers allowed people to have disabilities. Other students who were searching did not necessarily experience the “theodicy” problem but were engaging in reflection and introspection as they reconciled values or other social identities (e.g., sexuality) with religious teachings. Most participants in this category also talked in ways that signified active efforts to develop a sense of self and purpose that integrated both their religion and ability. Some students were wrestling with an intersectional “theodicy” problem (e.g., Blumenthal, 1993; Ehrman, 2008; Peterson, 2011; Pinnock, 2002) as they questioned why God (or some higher power) could give them a disability and/or allow them to be in disability-related pain. Betsy, who had a traumatic brain injury and limited mobility after being hit by a drunk driver, said, “I know that before the accident I really was a believer of God.” Rebekah also shared her experience of questioning how God could allow her to experience many difficult life events, including being diagnosed with a rare disease (Scheuermann’s Kyphosis): We’re Catholics. I don’t think that like I made the choice of religion at 7 years old. Like some kids totally can and like are totally okay with it. And then, all this stuff kept happening to me and I’d be like, “Oh, why me?” And I kinda like was like, “God doesn’t exist” for a while. I’m trying to work my way back into it [religion]. . . . I think the struggle I’m having with religion is kinda like the struggle I had with my like sense of self anyway. So, it’s just like it’s all kind of a thing. It’s like I’m going on a mission trip with the Catholic center. So, hopefully that helps enlighten me on either like how I feel one way or the other . . . I’m not really comfortable going to church right now. . . . Sometimes I feel like He doesn’t exist. Sometimes it’d be like even if He did like he’s doing it to spite me so why should I believe in someone that does that? And so I see like that is a huge part of who I am. It’s like trying to figure out like what I believe in.

The intersection of ability, religion, and purpose-related identity was illuminated when Rebekah conveyed how her struggle to make sense of her faith was inseparable from “who I am” and “what I believe in.” Julia, who identified as a person with a physical disability, also wrestled with the intersections of her disability and religion. She shared: So, I went to church every Sunday. I went to, like, religion school outside of regular school. I got my first communion. I did confirmation. I have a saint name. But when I got sick I refused to go to church. I had this really big problem with how could I believe and put love into someone that causes people pain. At one point I thought it was a punishment and then my mom yelled at me, saying that “God doesn’t punish.” But then I was like, “Okay, then why do I have this?” It was like this big fight. So, they let me not go to

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church. And I haven’t been to church since. But, I do feel like something’s missing from my life and it is faith.

Purpose and faith can give meaning and direction to life (Chickering & Reisser, 1993; Frankl, 1959; Parks, 2011). It seemed that Julia was actively trying to reconcile the many components of herself and her belief system as an adult—free from undue pressures of family (Erikson, 1959). Many students with disabilities described how they struggled to incorporate religion into their sense of self when religious doctrine or religious leaders espoused sentiments they disagreed with—especially perspectives that marginalized social identity groups such as the lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer community. This dilemma can be understood via Erikson’s (1978) concept of fidelity to values. Scholars have noted that fidelity to values and ideals often result from reflection and wrestling with opposing views that lead to personal convictions which align with values and ideals that feel authentic (Waterman, 1992). Wrestling with religion that presents positions that do not align with their values or intersecting social identities can complicate the search process. Justice, who had multiple intersecting marginalized identities (being Christian, depression, anxiety, undiagnosed chronic illness), discussed how religion and sexuality shaped their emerging sense of self: I identified as bisexual. . . . And so everybody is like, “No, no, no, no, that would be un-Christian of you.” Because at this point I was still like, “I feel very spiritual, and my family is Christian, so I guess I must be very, very Christian. That’s the only explanation.” And so everybody was like, “No, you can’t be very, very Christian if you like people of the same gender. You can’t do that. That’s not allowed.” So I was like, “Oh, great.”

Like Justice, students in this category seemed to be engaged in the complex process of trying to figure out who they were as religious people with disabilities. For students such as Justice, the search for purpose and identity was further complicated by other intersecting and oppressed identities, such as sexuality. Doing purpose-related identity work involved making meaning of contradictions, challenges, and a struggle to reconcile their personal identities and convictions with religious doctrines.

Category 3: Commitment The third category, called commitment, includes students who considered themselves deeply religious and shared narratives that highlighted deep intersections of their ability, religion, and deeply held (and solidified) value systems. For instance, Cassia, who had multiple surgeries related to her disabilities (lupus, fibromyalgia, avascular necrosis in hips), described how religion and her religious community were very important to her sense of self.

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I’m a Christian, so in that sense it shapes me. . . . I just have morals different than what other people do. . . . I don’t think it’s necessarily a fun idea to go out and be stupid and drink. . . . It’s just I know the right and wrong. . . . It’s clear for me—it’s more defined. And, I think that also just has to do with my disability. I know what it’s like to be under anesthesia and I didn’t like that feeling and I know drinking and smoking is gonna give me that same feeling.

Delilah, who experienced extensive bullying from peers, discrimination from employers, and a lack of support from teachers because of her disability (nonverbal learning disorder), believes that religion gives her strength to persevere. In the following quote, she describes how her deeply held values shape her experiences and reliance on faith: I am a Baptist, which is a form of Protestant. I’ve always had my faith in God. I’ve always had my trust in God. I dress more conservatively than most people, and I get a lot of comments about that. I’ve had people ridicule me for it. They say, “You’re only dressed that way because of your faith.” Or like they yell at me because if people find out I’m still a virgin, they’re like, “Oh, it’s because.” I’m like, “No, I just feel like I want to wait until marriage. That’s my personal point of view.” Everybody always brings it back to my beliefs, and they’re like, “Oh, it’s just because [of] that.” No, my beliefs just hold me strong when I’m going through rough times. It gives me something to hold onto. . . . And that’s where my religion comes in. . . . God tells us to forgive, even if someone hurt you so bad that it’s unimaginable. He tells you to forgive and move on.

Aurelia described how her passions for helping people and animals intersected with both her religion and disability (three bulging disks in her lower back and hypoglycemia). She explained: I’m on the executive board for our Christian community here, so I guess that shaped me because I go to Nicaragua every year to help disabled orphans. So, since I’m kind of disabled, I feel like I need to give back to those who are worse than me, if that makes sense.

Many student narratives in this category exemplified purpose-related identity work as situated in the context of religious and/or spiritual values which they drew upon to cope with life challenges (including disability-related hurdles). This is not surprising as scholars have noted how fidelity to values can strengthen resolve in the face of challenges (Bauer & McAdams, 2010). Students described how religion and/or spirituality offered “calm” and support when they faced challenges related to their disability. Bree, a Roman Catholic with generalized anxiety and bipolar disorder, among other health issues, shared:

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I feel like if I weren’t religious, like if I didn’t believe in God and have all my faith in Him, I feel like I would be so lost, especially not seeing a therapist weekly here. I would be just so disoriented. I don’t know where I’d be right now because, in my opinion, my religion is something that helped me enormously, like the greatest part of my life probably. I feel like it plays a big role because if it weren’t for that, then my disability would consume me, like, take over.

Liza also explicated the intersections between her disability and religion. She explained how the mindfulness associated with Buddhism was incredibly helpful in managing anxiety and the effects of posttraumatic stress disorder. Liza, who experiences depression, anxiety, and posttraumatic stress disorder, stated: I’m more spiritual than religious, and in the past year, I’ve really connected with Buddhism. I’m not big on preaching it and like even doing a lot of the practices that they do, like dances and etc. But, it is something that I try to reflect on, especially to help calm me down. Buddhism has a lot with mindfulness and even just having more peaceful thoughts about other people and happier thoughts. I really try to remind myself of that, especially when I’m anxious, or like driving and someone cuts me off. Instead of “I hate you. Go die,” it’s like, “I hope you get to your appointment on time.” It’s not something that stands out, and not everybody knows it about me, but it impacts me internally a lot.

Similarly, Olive drew on Bible verses to cope with the effects of anxiety and depression. She explained: At times of, like, complete anxiety, I typically, like, go and I read my Bible. I’m a Christian, so . . . I’ll find different quotes to kind of calm me down . . . and then go back to work.

Tessa also explained how faith helped her persevere when she was hospitalized for sickle cell anemia and missed classes: I have faith in the Lord and I look to the Lord for guidance, comfort . . . things that I can’t give myself, I look to the Lord for. I would say that faith carries me a lot of the way, especially when I’m in the hospital [crying] and when I’m having tough times at school.

In sum, students in this category identified not only as deeply religious or spiritual, but they also communicated how disability and religion were mutually constituting (Shields, 2008) intersectional aspects of their emerging sense and rooted in their deeply held values and beliefs.

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Category 4: Suppression Some students experienced religious marginalization and discrimination. They could be characterized as having multiple oppressed identities. As a result of exposure to hostile comments, religious prejudice, or social pressure to abandon certain religious practices, these students did not feel free to fully explore if, and how, religion and ability intersected to shape their sense of self (Erikson 1959, 1968). Instead, they were focused on safety and coping in the face of religious oppression. For instance, a number of Jewish students detailed instances of antisemitism on and off campus. Autumn explained how she was socialized not to publicize her religion out of fear of antisemitic violence. Autumn, who has OCD, shared: I know people have anti-Semitism, like I hear Jew jokes all the time. . . . If I know [someone] is kidding, like a friend, I don’t care at all. . . . But, one time I was at a party and someone said something like, “I’m going to be like a Jew for Halloween,” and I didn’t say anything. I would never say anything, but it was really awkward. . . . And like that whole Israel and Palestine war, it’s like when people have opinions and it’s just, like, not cool. . . . I was told not to say anything like that because there’s crazy people in the world. . . . My mom just said, “Don’t advertise that you’re—” not hide and say you’re not Jewish, but if people are talking crap about it, I’m not going to just be like, “Hi, I’m Jewish.” That’s just setting myself up for bad things. . . . I don’t go to synagogue here. I don’t go as much as I did when I had my bat mitzvah, but I randomly go to Hillel. I’m friends with a lot of Jewish people here. Yeah, I’ve been to Israel twice.

Landers, who has dyslexia and speech apraxia, also noted the pervasiveness of anti-Semitism and his propensity to avoid or ignore bigots. He shared: Well, I’m Jewish. . . . It’s just that it depends on how much you are into it. . . . There’s always crazy people about Judaism, like the stuff that’s happening today in Jerusalem. . . . I kinda just ignore people like that, unless they really get—they really start talking stuff. Usually, I just walk away or just ignore them.

Students with other religious identities also talked about keeping their faith and religion to themselves out of fear of ostracism. For instance, Althea, who has attention-deficit disorder, explained, “Sometimes it’s hard for me to . . . I’m kind of shy about speaking about my faith, because just, I feel like people can reject it so harshly sometimes and it feels like a personal rejection.” In these cases, we wondered if students did not explore the intersections of religion and ability because they were in a self-protective survival mode and, thus, suppression mode.

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Conclusion and Implications for Higher Education Our participants offered nuanced perspectives on the intersection of their disability and religious/spiritual identities as components of their sense of purpose and emerging personal identity. The four grounded theory categories that emerged from their narratives, compartmentalization, searching, integration, and suppression, illustrate various points in the continuum of identity work typically observed among college students. Erikson (1959, 1974) suggests that the process of resolving the crisis of personal identity versus role confusion requires a process of unconstrained role experimentation and reflection to form a meaningful integration of one’s various roles that coalesce into a vision of the self, moving forward toward a valued future. Students in Category 1, compartmentalization, have not found ways to integrate the religious and disability domains of their personal identity. Their identities were compartmentalized versus intersectional. In contrast, students in Category 2 (searching) are actively engaged in reflection and examination of the implications of their intersecting religious or spiritual and disability identities. They are struggling with moral inconsistencies, questioning some moral positions emanating from their religious institutions, and, at the same time, striving to preserve valued components of their religious identities. Students in Category 3 (commitment) illustrate Erikson’s (1978) concept of prime adaptive ego qualities or developmental virtues. Students provide evidence of how their moral values relate to their experiences with disability and particularly how their disability may be inspiring them to commit to certain developmental virtues. This idea is related to the potential benefit that fidelity to values, particularly moral/ethical values, contributes to personal well-being. Students in commitment clearly communicated the intersections of their religion/spirituality and disability. Students in Category 4 (suppression) remind us of the overtly oppressive features of the college environment. Compared to the literature on racial, sexual, or disability, relatively little attention has been given to the religious biases that operate on college campuses. Students such as Delilah, Cassia, and Aurelia may be confronted with multiple forms of oppression based on ableism and religious prejudice. In this context, the process of unfettered exploration, reflection, and examination may be thwarted. From our limited time perspective, we cannot know if these students will suffer impediments to their identity work as a result or if exposure to religious microaggressions and/or oppressive religious environments will produce a personal identity characterized by greater social and political awareness and compassion. Our participants remind us of the dire need for inclusion programming, services, and training on campus. These efforts must focus on ability and religion/spirituality, as well as the intersections between them. We also recommend that programs, services, events, and curricula help students recognize, and reflect on, how intersections of religion/spirituality and ability shape their emerging sense of self. Many students described religion, spirituality, and/or faith as essential sources of support that fostered resiliency and enabled them to

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persevere through personal, academic, and disability-related challenges. With the exception of religiously affiliated schools, most higher education institutions do not focus on religious/spiritual/faith development. Institutions should be sensitive to secularized campus climates that might hinder or diminish the development of student religiosity, faith, and spirituality and, by default, jeopardize key sources of support for students like Bree, Liza, Olive, and Tessa. Although the quotes in the suppression section reveal overt forms of oppression, other students (largely in compartmentalization) also noted more subtle forms of religious/spiritual marginalization on campus and from peers. They described features of the campus that “othered” students as they adhered to religiously inspired behaviors (e.g., no drinking, virginity, Sabbath observance). Student narratives suggest that the secular climates on college campuses can force students to defend what might be considered non-conformist collegiate behavior—and feel marginalized as a result. Many campuses have supportive resources for students from some religions, such as Hillel, mosques, Buddhism centers, or religiously focused student groups. However, how much work takes place to help students explore the integration of their religious identities with other aspects of their identity—especially disability—is unclear. Developmental research on purpose (e.g., Erikson, 1959, 1978; Chickering & Reisser, 1993) suggests that students need to engage in meaningful activities and reflect on those experiences. As such, campus resources must offer individual, group, structured, and unstructured time for students to delve deeply into their religion/spirituality/faith, disability, purpose, and connections among them. Campus organizations, such as Hillel, mosques, Buddhism centers, or religiously focused student groups, could do more to critically examine the religious or spiritual climate of their institution. As developmental experts, student affairs professionals are ideally poised to partner with campus centers to assess climate as well as create programs and services that encourage students to engage in meaning-making about the intersections of religion/ spirituality and ability. We hope that the four categories presented here offer religious and student affairs professionals useful ideas for creating climates, programs, and services that support students in very different places of intersectional identity development.

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Afterword D-L Stewart In Remixed and Reimagined: Innovations in Religion, Spirituality, and (Inter)Faith in Higher Education, Snipes and Manson have compiled a set of chapters that seek to broaden and reinvigorate the conversation about religion, spirituality, and secularism in higher education and student affairs theory and practice. The authors in this volume build on a conversation that can no longer be described as recent. Foundational discussions of the religious, faith, or spiritual identities of individuals across the life span (Fowler, 1981), during the liminal years of young adulthood (Parks, 2000), relative to cognitive development (Love, 2002); applied to college students by race and ethnicity (Stewart, 2002; Watt, 2003); and for college students of nondominant faith traditions in the U.S. (Goodman & Mueller, 2009; Small, 2011) span 20 years and informed more recent scholarship, including that included in this volume. Work on the religious, spiritual, and secular lives of college students and colleges’ responsibilities to facilitate them has been contributed by Astin, Astin, and Lindholm (2010), as well as Rockenbach and Mayhew (2012). Literature focused particularly on the religious, spiritual, and secular engagement of college students and the role of student affairs professionals entered the conversation also in the early 21st century. Love and Talbot (2000) and Nash (2001) broached the relevance of spirituality for the developmental dimensions of college students’ experiences and for discussion in the academy generally. Concerns about the First Amendment, specifically the separation of church and state in public universities quickly arose, prompting Lowery’s (2004) consideration of the twin halves of the First Amendment: separation of church and state and the right to the free exercise of religion. Kocet and Stewart (2011) would later answer the need for student affairs professionals to have guidance on how to engage students in conversations during which matters of religion, spirituality, and secularism may arise. Stewart (2015) then overviewed the previous 15 years of scholarship on religion, spirituality, and secularism in student affairs and higher education literature. At the time, the literature heavily centered Christianity and Christian students’ religious identities, the growing distance of college students from religiosity as they moved toward less dogmatic spiritual expression, and how to promote interfaith dialogue. Over the now 30 years of scholarship in higher education focused on religion, spirituality, and secularism, I have noticed that four sets of central issues are raised consistently, either directly or indirectly. These considerations are also evident among the chapters in Remixed and Reimagined. The first consideration is whether religious literacy is sufficient to decenter Christian hegemony and promote religious pluralism on campus and in U.S.

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society. This is taken up by Schier-Happell in Chapter Three. Knowing the history, beliefs, and demographics of multiple faith traditions does not mean individuals’ attitudes about the supremacy of Christianity are inherently disregarded. Moreover, institutional systems and structures supporting religious hegemony are not dismantled by information. Unlearning bad information and becoming less ignorant of others is essential and can lead to building genuinely transformative relationships. However, literacy is not the driver. Rather, one must move past knowing another’s holy days and sacred rites to valuing the equal legitimacy of that person’s faith and philosophy. Moreover, committing to and holding the intention to dismantle policies and practices that demonstrate the devaluing of traditions and belief systems that are not Christian are necessary. Second, power and hegemony within and across religious traditions are also central considerations throughout the higher education literature on religion, spirituality, and secularism. Individual and systemic investments in racism, patriarchy, homophobia, transphobia, and ableism within religious traditions have created minoritized communities within larger faith communities. In addition, people who have both minoritized religious and minoritized racial identities confront the intersections of racism and religious hegemony (Stewart & Lozano, 2009). Also relevant in this second set of questions is recognizing the faith traditions and social groups that are continually left out of the discussion of religion, spirituality, and secularism. The chapters in Unit II of this volume engage many of these questions. The third set of considerations concerns how we resist positioning either religious, spiritual, and secular traditions or their adherents as monoliths. For instance, no tradition is represented fully by just one set of doctrinal statements and liturgical practices. Rather, the shorthand labels we use for religious, spiritual, and faith traditions—for example, Atheism, Christianity, Hinduism, Islam, Judaism, Paganism—are actually just umbrellas for a vast array of diverse and sometimes internally conflicting theologies, views, and communal practices. Too often, one iteration of a tradition is made the only/true face of that tradition. This is perpetuated both by adherents who want to push their version of the tradition as its only one/true face and by those outside the tradition whose interactions are limited to just those who represent that face. This is not an issue of numerical majority versus minority sects. For example, in the United States, White evangelicals and their beliefs are made the face of Christianity and dominate conversations about religion and politics; however, they are just one quarter of the nation’s Christians (Pew Research Center, 2019). How would our (inter)faith conversations change by challenging ourselves to acknowledge not only the breadth and depth of faith and secular belief systems but also the breadth and depth of the beliefs within those systems? Fourth, each of these three discussions leads to the most urgent consideration: What does religious pluralism really mean, and how is it reflected in policies, practices, and the lived experiences of campus communities? Religious pluralism in the public discourse often is understood and even visually depicted as the coexistence of a diverse faith community. After reading Remixed and Reimagined, I encourage readers to turn to their own

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campus communities and review whose faith traditions are visible on campus and whose are invisible. Moreover, tepid interactions among campus ministerial professionals are not “coexistence,” which is itself a very low bar for engagement. Coexistence can be fulfilled by mere tolerance—I acknowledge your existence and will refrain from open bias, but I do not need to respect, celebrate, or support you. Religious pluralism, like diversity and inclusion, needs to move beyond coexistence—a nontransformative framework— to embracing religion, spirituality, and secularism as central to discussions of not just diversity and inclusion (Patel, 2013) but also equity and justice (Stewart, 2017). As Snipes and Manson and their authors have convincingly demonstrated, the time has come for innovating our discourse and practice about religion, spirituality, secularism, and interfaith engagement. I believe the outcomes of these innovations will be threefold. One, they will encourage the fullness of people’s lives to be a part of their campus experiences as students, staff, and faculty. Two, they will also lead to dismantling the dominance of singular perspectives on inner growth, relationships with others, and transcendence. Three, these innovations can push campus communities to greater and broader equity. Engaging in these conversations is important for fulfilling the promise of colleges and universities as transformative and transformational spaces for learning, growth, and becoming.

References Astin, A. W., Astin, H. S., & Lindholm, J. A. (2010). Cultivating the spirit: How college can enhance students’ inner lives. San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. Fowler, J. (1981). Stages of faith: The psychology of human development and the quest for meaning. New York, NY: HarperCollins. Goodman, K. M., & Mueller, J. A. (2009). Atheist students on campus: From misconceptions to inclusion. Chronicle of Higher Education, 55(21), A64. Kocet, M. M., & Stewart, D-L (2011). The role of student affairs in promoting religious and secular pluralism and interfaith cooperation. Journal of College and Character, 12(1). https://doi.org/10.2202/1940-1639.1762 Love, P. G. (2002). Comparing spiritual development and cognitive development. Journal of College Student Development, 43, 357–373. Love, P. G., & Talbot, D. A. (2000). Defining spiritual development: A missing consideration for student affairs. NASPA Journal, 37(1), 361–375. Lowery, J. W. (2004). Understanding the legal protections and limitations upon religious and spiritual expression on campus. The College of Student Affairs Journal, 23, 146–157. Nash, R. (2001). Religious pluralism in the academy: Opening the dialogue. New York, NY: Peter Lang. Parks, S. D. (2000). Big questions, worthy dreams: Mentoring emerging adults in their search for meaning, purpose, and faith. San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. Patel, E. (2013). Sacred ground: Pluralism, prejudice, and the promise of America. New York, NY: Beacon Press.

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Pew Research Center. (2019). Religious landscape study. Retrieved from https://www.pewforum.org/ religious-landscape-study/ Rockenbach, A. B., & Mayhew, M. J. (2012). Spirituality in college students’ lives: Translating research into practice. New York, NY: Routledge. Small, J. L. (2011). Understanding college students’ spiritual identities: Different faiths, varied worldviews. New York, NY: Hampton Press. Stewart, D-L (2002). The role of faith in the development of an integrated identity: A qualitative study of Black students at a white college. Journal of College Student Development, 43, 579–596. Stewart, D-L (2015). The role of professional associations in advancing spirituality, faith, religion, and life purpose in student affairs. In J. Small (Ed.), Making meaning: How student affairs came to embrace spirituality, faith, religion, and life purpose (pp. 82–96). Sterling, VA: Stylus. Stewart, D-L (2017, March 30). Language of appeasement. Inside Higher Ed. Retrieved from https://www.insidehighered.com/views/2017/03/30/colleges-need-language-shift-notone-you-think-essay Stewart, D-L, & Lozano, A. (2009). Intersections of race and religion. In S. Watt, E. Fairchild, & K. Goodman (Eds.), Intersections of difficult dialogues: Religious privilege and student affairs practice (New Directions for Student Services, No. 125, pp. 23–31). San Francisco, CA: Wiley. Watt, S. K. (2003). Come to the river: Using spirituality to cope, resist, and develop identity. New Directions for Student Services, 104, 29–40. https://doi.org/10.1002/ss.105.

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Contributors’ Biographies e alexander is a doctoral student in higher education and student affairs at the Ohio State University. Her scholarship interrogates academia as a global neocolonial project— through Black womxn’s standpoints and counterspaces within it as neocolonial subjects. Her doctoral work centers manifestations of White supremacy in higher education through policy, leadership, institutional culture, and socialization, as well as Black femme collegians’ critical resistance therein as professional and spiritual praxes. e’s methodologies are rooted in transatlantic Indigenous epistemologies, transnational feminism, and queer womxnism. Her fields of knowledge broadly include policy advocacy, community development, community-driven service leadership, therapeutic intervention, and postsecondary administration; they engage their work in all realms as labors of love and spiritual praxis. Dr. Mary Ann Bodine Al-Sharif currently serves as an assistant professor of higher education at the University of Alabama at Birmingham. She completed her BA in religious studies at Randall University, her MA in English at the University of Central Oklahoma, and her MEd and PhD in adult and higher education at the University of Oklahoma. She has prior administrative experience working within student affairs and services in the areas of advising, admissions, recruitment, first-year experience, student success, and international student services. Her research focuses on the ways in which individuals make meaning of their lives and define themselves as living between worlds across issues of ability, race, ethnicity, religion, gender expression, and the like. She can be reached via email at [email protected]. Dr. Issac M. Carter is an assistant professor and the program chair for the Social Justice Higher Education Administration Program at the University of La Verne. He also teaches in the Honors Program and Terry Deal Leadership Institute. Dr. Carter’s research interests are grounded in Black feminist thought, intersectionality, and critical race theory. The goals of Dr. Carter’s decolonizing praxis are to empower student success, support institutional transformation, and foster community engagement. Dr. Kate Curley is a learning and development consultant at HealthPartners, a faculty member in higher education at St. Cloud State University, and a researcher practitioner who studies critical methods and theories in education and the intersection of trans/ nonbinary and religious, secular, and spiritual identities and experiences. As an interdisciplinary scholar, her research agenda aims to recenter marginalized stories in education through critical quantitative inquiry and engaging trans ways of knowing to the study of religion, secularity, and spirituality. Dr. Veronica Escoffery-Runnels is an associate professor and the program chair of the Educational Counseling and School Psychology program. She has more than 20 years of experience serving within the PK–12 educational system addressing issues of

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advocacy, intervention, collaboration, and psychoeducational assessment in both general and special education contexts for youth in urban, suburban, and ethnically diverse schools. In conjunction with her colleagues, she trains future educational counselors and school psychologists to be highly skilled, informed, and compassionate advocates for children. Dr. Escoffery-Runnels’s research interests include preservice training of school psychologists serving minority populations in culturally responsive ways and recognizing the role of spiritual beliefs/practices and its impact on professional and familial interaction in the school setting. Dr. Beatriz Gonzalez is the chief diversity officer, vice provost, and professor of counseling at the University of La Verne. Her role underscores a unified approach to the retention of students, faculty, and staff with an intentional focus on diversity, equity, and inclusion. Dr. Gonzalez directs the Faculty Diversity Program and is a licensed mental health counselor. Her scholarship examines leadership, culture, and gender through the lens of intersectionality. Amand L. Hardiman is a master’s degree student in the Department of Educational Leadership and Policy and Analysis at the University of Missouri. His research interests center on leadership in postsecondary educational contexts. Specifically, he is interested in the relationship among leadership style, satisfaction, and retention of faculty, administrative staff, and students. Dr. Ezekiel W. Kimball is an associate professor of higher education and the associate director of the Center for Student Success Research at the University of Massachusetts Amherst. An expert on the postsecondary success trajectories of students with disabilities, his publications have appeared in the Journal of College Student Development, Journal of Diversity in Higher Education, and Higher Education: Handbook of Theory and Research. Dr. Jodi L. Linley is an assistant professor of higher education and student affairs at the University of Iowa. Dr. Linley’s scholarship broadly focuses on minoritized collegians’ experiences and supports. More specifically, she studies college student meaning-making about campus culture and campus diversity messaging, minoritized college student success, and higher education socialization. She teaches graduate courses on college students and their development, teaching and learning, issues and policies in higher education, and critical qualitative research methods. Gordon Maples is a Ph.D. student in educational leadership, policy, and human development at North Carolina State University. He currently works as a research associate for the Interfaith Diversity Experiences and Attitudes Longitudinal Survey and a graduate assistant for the Higher Education program at North Carolina State University. He also serves on American College Personnel Association (ACPA)’s Commission for Spirituality, Faith, Religion, and Meaning and the board of directors for the interfaith advocacy organization Convergence on Campus and is the former Senior Campus Organizer for the Secular Student Alliance. He holds an MEd in higher education administration from

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Vanderbilt University’s Peabody College of Education. His research primarily focuses on the religious, secular, and spiritual identity development of college students. Dr. Adonay A. Montes is an associate professor of education in the Educational Counseling Program and is the director of the Bi-lingual Concentration Program at the University of La Verne. He also teaches university values course and serves as a diversity fellow at the university. Dr. Montes is a critical educator and advocate who seeks the development of aspirational blueprints of K–12 students, parents, and graduate counseling candidates. Dr. Thalia M. Mulvihill is a professor of higher education and assistant provost for faculty leadership development at Ball State University. She serves as the director of the Certificate in College & University Teaching and the director of the Certificate in Qualitative Research & Education. Her research interests include qualitative methodologies, issues in higher education, faculty development, and innovative pedagogies. She can be reached by email at [email protected]. Dr. Barbara M. Newman is professor emeritus in human development and family studies at the University of Rhode Island. She is a coauthor, with Philip R. Newman, of Development Through Life: A Psychosocial Approach (13th ed.) and Theories of Human Development (2nd ed). Her research focus includes parent–adolescent relationships, factors that promote success in the transitions to high school and to college, and the sense of belonging in early and later adolescence. Gordon Palmer is a doctoral candidate at the University of Michigan. His work aims to understand how the spirituality, personality traits, and motivations of Black people manifest sociopolitically in what higher education scholars have understood as activism, critical consciousness, and resistance. This work aims to understand how Black collegians’ spirituality informs their desire to be meaningfully connected with others and how those beliefs and connections inform their quest to both critique injustice and pursue justice. Dr. Carrie Reisner is the assistant vice chancellor for student engagement at Indiana University East, where she previously served as dean of students and executive director of University College. She is an accomplished student affairs professional with leadership experience in areas that include student success and retention, the first-year experience, orientation, student conduct, academic advising, career services, campus life, and online education. She can be reached at [email protected]. Nancy Reyes is the associate dean of the Learning, Innovation & Teaching Office and the director of the Title III Grant at the University of La Verne. In this role, she oversees the Academic Success Center, Accessibility Services, Center for Teaching & Learning, Career Center, and the Office of First Generation & Peer Mentoring. Suzanne E. Schier-Happell is a full-time visiting instructor of religion and philosophy at Otterbein University in Westerville, Ohio, and is also a full-time PhD student in educational studies, specializing in higher education and student affairs at the Ohio

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State University. She earned a BA with high honors in religion and culture and a minor in anthropology from Emory University in 1998 and an MA in history and critical theories of religion from Vanderbilt University as a Harold Stirling Vanderbilt Fellow in 2001. She also completed one year of additional graduate-level course work in Sanskrit and South Asian religions at the University of Wisconsin–Madison. Her current research focuses on the experiences of students with marginalized religious identities at primarily White Christian-affiliated institutions. Musbah Shaheen is a PhD student in higher education and student affairs at the Ohio State University. As a queer Muslim hailing from Homs, Syria, his research interests include queerness, religion, and spirituality in higher education with a particular interest in Islam and queer identities. Musbah earned his MEd in higher education and student affairs administration from the University of Vermont, and his BA in molecular and cellular biology and music from Vanderbilt University. Dr. J.T. Snipes is an assistant professor of educational leadership at Southern Illinois University at Edwardsville. Prior to his faculty appointment, he worked for more than 12 years in higher education administration. Most recently he worked for Interfaith Youth Core, the largest interfaith organization in America. Currently, his research interest focuses on religion and spirituality in higher education, African American collegiate students, and critical race theory in education. He recently completed his award-winning dissertation titled “Ain’t I Black Too: Counterstories of Black Atheists in College.” It explores the narratives of secular African American students in college. Dr. D-L Stewart (proper gender pronouns of reference: he/him/his and they/them/ their) is professor in the School of Education and co-chair of the Student Affairs in Higher Education programs at Colorado State University. D-L is a scholar, educator, and activist focused on empowering and imagining futures that sustain and cultivate the learning, growth, and success of minoritized groups in postsecondary education. He is the author of over four dozen journal articles and book chapters, as well as the editor, co-editor or author for four books covering multicultural student services; gender and sexual diversity of U.S. college students; the historical experiences of Black collegians in northern liberal arts colleges in the middle of the twentieth century; and rethinking student development theory through critical perspectives. Costin Thampikutty is a residence hall director at the University at Albany–State University of New York. His research explores the religious, cultural, and racial development of Indian American college students by exploring campus ministry involvement. Through scholarship, he aims to increase Indian American representation in higher education research. Through practice, he intends to disrupt exclusionary models of campus ministry. Prior to his current role, he worked as a graduate assistant for Off Campus Student Life at the University of Massachusetts Amherst while completing his master’s in higher education administration. His previous work can be found in Innovative Higher Education.

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Ekaete E. Udoh is a PhD student in the Department of Educational Leadership and Policy and Analysis at the University of Missouri. Her research explores the connection between intersecting identities (e.g., race, national origin, religion) and college success outcomes for Black collegians. Dr. Annemarie Vaccaro is a professor in the College Student Personnel Program at the University of Rhode Island. Her research examines the intersections of student social identities and how those identities shape developmental trajectories and student experiences with, and responses to, exclusion. She is the coauthor of three books and has published widely in peer review journals. Dr. Zandra Wagoner is the interfaith chaplain and an assistant professor at the University of La Verne. She is an ordained minister in the Church of the Brethren and directs the multireligious Office of Religious and Spiritual Life. Dr. Wagoner also teaches for the Philosophy and Religion Department, including courses in the areas of gender/sexuality, contemporary theology, interfaith cooperation, and the environment/animals in the study of religion. Kari E. Weaver is a doctoral candidate at the University of Iowa who centers her work on diversity and multicultural education, teaching and learning practices, and manifestations of power, privilege, and oppression in different campus environments and interactions. Her current research focuses on conceptions of diversity knowledge by faculty of diversity and inclusion courses. Dr. Michael Steven Williams is an assistant professor in the Department of Educational Leadership & Policy Analysis in the College of Education at the University of Missouri. His research program broadly focuses on inclusion, diversity, and equity; the social-psychological development of students; and institutional excellence in American postsecondary education. Specifically, he centers his inquiry on two aspects of higher education: (a) interpersonal relationships, particularly socialization, mentoring, and belonging for students, administrators, and faculty and (b) the institution, with a focus on organizational improvement and accountability through multipronged assessment and evaluation. He is committed to translating his research to inform policies and practices that promote social justice and student success in higher education. G. Preston Wilson, Jr. is a PhD student in music education at the University of Missouri. A classically trained musician, he examines trends in Black Church worship. He is particularly interested in the evolving contemporary relevance of the Black Church given the current sociopolitical landscape and the role of secularism in the lives of Black Americans. Dr. Ayesha Latif Yousafzai currently serves as the Special Assistant to AVP for Operations and Administration for Student Affairs at Virginia Polytechnic Institute and State University (Virginia Tech). In her professional career, she has worked both in academic affairs and student affairs. Her research focuses on experiences of Muslim international women, gendered Islamophobia in the U.S., and marginalized religious identities.

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Shima Hassan Zadeh is a recent graduate of Texas Tech University’s interdisciplinary master’s program. She also holds a master’s in women’s studies with undergraduate work in the social sciences. Her research focuses on how parental divorce affects children’s lives, mentoring next-generation students, and how people make meaning of their lives based on their lived experiences and the multiplicity of their identities—gender, race, ethnicity, religion, and the like.

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Index #DigitalFaith, xv, xvi A ability/disability (intersection with religion), xix, 197–210 academic/classroom, xvii, 45–55, 154, 157, 164–167 Afrocentric spirituality, xviii, 71–85 Sankofa Bird, xx Yoruba Tradition Indigenous Epistemology, xviii, 75–77 atheist, xix, 169–183 identity, 174–178, 180 marginalization, 170, 178, 181–182, 187, 190, 191, 192, 193 stigma, xix, 170–171, 175–177, 180–182, 187, 190, 193 Also see Black atheist/ Black secularism B Black American diaspora spirituality, 73–75, 78 Black Student spiritual development, 74–75 Black atheist/ Black secularism, xiv, xix, 187–193 Black femme identity development, xviii, 71–85 borderlands, xviii, 34, 89–90, 99–101 Mestiza consciousness, 34, 37, 89, 99 Buddhism, xvii, 45–55, 207 C campus leadership, 178–180 Campus Religious and Spiritual Climate Survey (CRSCS), 58 Christian/Christianity, 108 Black Christian male, xix, 135–149 Christian hegemony, 5, 21, 62, 65, 90, 190, 213 Christian paradigms, 46, 48–49 Christian privilege, 45–48, 49, 50, 179, 182 Christian privilege in higher education, 172 Christian Student Organizations (CSOs), 123–133 Christian Indian American, xviii,123–133 White Christian privilege, xvi, 8–9, 12–14, 17, 33 colonialism, 5–8, 10–12, 13–14, 31 decolonization, 24, 31–32, 40 decolonization of Higher Education, 45–55, 50 college environment/campus life, 123–133 Community of Cultural Wealth (CCW), xvii, 34–36, 39–40, 71 counterstorytelling, 14–16, 20 Crenshaw, Kimberlé, 7, 58, 61, 92, 97, 100, 109, 139, 145, 153, 199 Critical interfaith praxis, 29–40, 35–36 students’ critical interfaith praxis, 36 critical paradigms, 90–91, 100–101

critical race theory, 7, 11, 14–16, 18–20, 33–34, 39, 47 critical trans politics, 16–18 D ability/disability (intersection with religion), xix, 197–210 Du Bois, W.E.B., 7, 137–139 duoethnographical study, 105–118 duoethnography, 109–111 E ecological systems, xviii, 57–67 Erikson, Erik, 81, 200–20, 203, 205, 208, 209, 210 F femme, 71–85 feminist scholarship, 75–76, 91–92, 97, 154 Fowler, Stages of Faith, 81–82 G global connectedness, 36, 38–39 grounded theory, 202, 209 H hegemony, 189, 214 Also see Christian hegemony heteronormative/heteronormativity, xviii, 57, 58, 61, 63, 64–66 hooks, bell, 32–33, 34, 37, 74, 91, 96, 100 I immigrant, 5, 10–12, 38–40, 124 indigenous, 10–12, 13, 48, 50, 72, 75–76, 78, 84 innovation, xiii, xvi, xx, 215 interdisciplinary, 29, 40, 107 interfaith, xvii, 8, 16–18, 29–40, interfaith on campus/programming, 40 Iterfaith Diversity Experiences & Attitudes Longitudinal Survey (IDEALS), 32 Interfaith Youth Core, 4, 29–30 interfaith literacy, 30 intersectionality, 13, 29, 33–34, 36, 38, 58, 61–63, 66, 91–92, 97–98, 109, 118, 139, 145, 148, 199 intersectional marginalization, 33, 66–67, 97–98 intuitive wisdom, 53–54 Islam, 108, 151–152 Muslim identity development, xviii, xix, 89–101 Muslim international women, xix, 151–166 Islamophobia, xiii, 152–154 gendered Islamophobia, 153–154 Also see Muslim International Women

224 K knowledge commodification, 51–53 location, 85 objectivity, 49–51 power, 140 L LGBTQ+, xviii, 13, 18, 57–67 M masculinity, 96–97, 99 Black masculinity, 138, 144–148 marginalization, 24–25, 97–98 identity, 30, 65, 90–92, 199, 200, 205 people of Color (POC), 2, 7, 15, 19, 24, 34, 100 Also see intersectional marginalization, atheist/ secular marginalization N narrative methodology/narrative inquiry, 20, 151–166 National Association of Student Personnel Administrators (NASPA), xv, 130 O oppression, 9, 31–34 optimal theory, xviii, 77–80 P Patel, Eboo, 17, 29–30, 171, 215 performativity, 61, 64 Pew Research Center, 18, 30, 46, 57, 108, 153, 169, 187, 188, 189, 192, 214 phenomenological approaches, xviii, 173, 183 pluralism (religious), xiii, 17, 20, 22–23, 30, 46–48, 49, 182, 191, 213–214 Prajñāpāramitā: intuitive wisdom, 53–54 privilege, 8, 64–65 power and privilege, 14, 16, 23, 24, 30, 34, 55, 62, 89, 91, 96, 98, 139, 146, 147 Process– Person–Context–Time (PPCT), 61 Also see ecological systems Q “Questlove” Thompson, Ahmir Khalib, xvi qualitative methods, 63, 109, 155, 197, 202 quantitative methods, 23, 50–51 quare theory, 67 queer, xviii, 57–67 queer ecological model, 62–63 queer and Black, 22 queer and Muslim, xviii, 89–101 queer spirituality, 57–67 queer theory, 61

R EMIXED AND R EIM AGINED R racial microaggressions, 192 religion/religious/religioning, 2, 106, 143 religion as power, 106 religious diversity, 181–182 within the Black community, 187, 190–192 worldview diversity, 58 religious conversion, 106–107 religious literacy, 213–214 religious marketplace, 17 religious microaggressions, 189–192 Rinpoche, D.P., 49–53 S scholarly personal narrative, 89–101 secular, xiv, xv, 1–7, 187–193, 214 humanist, 23, 169, 171 inclusivity, 191–192 Also see Black atheist/Black secularism social justice, xiii, 13, 16, 30–34, 40, 75, 135, 138–141, 146, 148 Stewart, D.L., 13, 14, 21, 30, 57, 66, 73–75, 188, 189, 213–215 student affairs, xiii, xv, xvi, xix, 30, 45, 123–133, 169–183, 213–215 professional workplace, 169–183 National Association of Student Personnel Administrators (NASPA), xv, 130 T trans/transgender, 13, 14, 16–17, 22, 57, 148, 205 non–binary, 10, 13, 17–18, 61, 71, 173 trans ways of knowing, 12–14, 14–16, 24 U Unitarian Universalist, 9, 18, 60 W western society, 32 ways of thinking, 15, 32, 49–50, 54, 76, 78, 81–84, 85, 90 Whiteness, 8–10, 11–12, 33, 40, 67, 96, 117 White supremacy, xiii, 5–8, 22, 67, 72, Womxn, 71–85 Z Zen, 45, 54