The standard definition of a positionality statement is “An identity or reflexivity statement that enables an author to describe their group of identities, such as their gender, class, race, or other self-identifications, experiences, and privileges. This statement is often included in grant proposals or journal submissions and is common in certain social science fields.”
A positionality statement is for the author and the community they choose to share it with. No one is entitled to your history, pedigree, or positionality. Positionality statements acknowledge our subjectivity, and that the same experiences or information may mean something different for someone holding a different set of identity lenses.
An Expansive Decolonial Positionality Statement
Recognizes that societal identities, as defined by Marx's categories of race, gender, class, ideology/religion, and sex/sexuality, come with prescriptive and restrictive definitions. These definitions are used as tools to create power imbalances and enable exploitation. In colonial projects and empires, individuals who deviate from these strict social norms are viewed as threats to the project's success, leading to disproportionate experiences of injustice, oppression, exploitation, and death.
Acknowledges Indigenous people, land, and the individual's relationship to/with both.
Honors identities beyond systems of oppression, including connections to spirit, land, and community, and broadens the scope of positionality to include more holistic and culturally significant aspects of identity.
As with traditional positionality statements, there is an illustrated awareness of positionality, an understanding of how positionality informs work, behavior, and values, and how one addresses biases that may arise from their unique positionality.
My Expansive Decolonial Positionality Statement
As of August 2024 My positionality statement reads:
First and foremost, I am a soul living in a body for a brief and undetermined amount of time. My name is Shannon Doronio Chavez. I am a proud Chicana, a word that describes all at once my ethnicity, my gender, and my relationship to time and place. You can Google it. I am a proud Chingona, a word that describes my identity as a feminist within my Mexican culture (see also “Sin Vergüenza”). I am a cis-het woman. At the time of writing this, I have lived a little over 44 years.
My father is Mexican, and my mother is Scottish, Prussian, and broadly Northern European. In America, she is identified as “White.” My Big Nana is native Mexican, from Pénjamo—land connected to the Purepecha people. My great-grandfather on my mom’s side was a Scottish Freemason. They never met each other in this world, but I spent a lot of time with both of them before they passed on. Sometimes I like to imagine my ancestors meeting each other within my DNA, stunned to find themselves sharing that space. Racism and colorism are oppressive ideologies that exist in both of my cultures. My skin color transitions throughout the year from light-skinned in the winter to a brownish-red complexion in the summer. I have brown eyes and dark brown hair that is artificially highlighted and transitioning to gray. A fellow Chicana friend of mine once said: “Everyone thinks I’m white except for white people.” and we both laughed.
I was born in Southern California in 1980 on land that was stolen from the Tongva, Tataviam, and the Mexica/n people, who are all still here. My home is positioned on a plot of land that was terraformed to suit the needs of a “uniquely” American and Southern Californian idea of post-war utopia (see also “William Mulholland”). My car is my primary mode of transportation within this suburban sprawl, and my stomach hurts every time I look at the LA river.
Both of my parents were raised Catholic, and I grew up in Catholic and Evangelical churches. My mom was often pulled aside by church leaders who felt the need to share that I was defiant and on “the wrong path” because I asked a lot of questions. I currently identify as a follower of Christ. For me this statement describes that I have a model for spiritual living, and a way of accessing a relationship with my creator and their creations. This statement liberates me from the aspects of big box “Christianity” that always agitated my holy spirit. I don’t believe that there is only one TRUE RELIGION. I teach my kids that Jesus was a liberator of the oppressed, religion is a portal for people to connect to GOD, and we respect the beliefs of others. I teach my children that Love is Love, and can be known by the fruit it bears, anger can be righteous and call us to advocate for justice, every aspect of life is divine, and our highest calling is to care for each other.
My family is made up of many diverse people, my husband is Filipino, my brother is Jewish, I have black cousins, nieces and nephews, as well as Chinese and Japanese family members. The family BBQ looks like a United Colors of Benetton Ad. My mom is a wheelchair user, and my youngest sibling has Autism. Among my family members there are police, teachers, fire-fighters, retail workers, stay-at-home parents, video game programmers, and more. My family is blessed to have queer folks across multiple generations—we have Queer Elders. The shared experiences of my collective family are always expanding my lenses of understanding. I have a baby cousin, who lost his life to the criminal justice system. He got police when what he needed was a bed in a mental health facility—there were no beds left.
I have ADHD and a thyroid disorder. My ADHD makes me a high-volume communicator who enjoys searching for and connecting patterns. Migraines, exhaustion, body aches, and intolerance to cold environments are a few ways my thyroid disorder manifests in my physical body. My propensity to dive into ADHD-fueled rabbit holes, combined with my thyroid dysfunction, means I deal with a lot of burnout and need ample recovery time.
I am an artist with aphantasia, which means I cannot form detailed images in my brain; most of what is in there is visually rudimentary at best, and my ideas are primarily language-based. I use writing, drawings, and mood boards to create visualizations that help me produce images that I cannot generate in my own head. My iteration process is LONG.
Here are some ways that understanding my positionality informs my work, behavior, and values, as well as how I address biases that may arise from my positionality.
In terms of race and ethnicity, my positionality illustrates opportunities to unmake some of the messes and harms that were inflicted on my indigenous ancestors by my colonizing ancestors. My Mexican self, can see how the white self is also experiencing harm from colonial thinking and has fun imagining ways to decolonize the white mind as well.
In very personal and profound ways my indigenous ancestors are leading me through decolonizing myself, and inviting me to come back and pick up what they were forced to put down in order to survive. One way this shows up is through my gardening practice, it is a small way of giving the #landback every day. Some of my ancestors live in this garden, others visit often. I love my garden, and it loves me back. We are deeply connected. Many of my plants have spoken to my spirit, they say “Take me with you!” and when I research them—I have discovered they are native. Did you know that one in every ten plants on Earth is native to Mexico?
The more I learn about my plantitas and the ecosystems they support, the more I understand how my life, their life, and my ancestor’s lives are connected. This practice has brought me an even deeper understanding of how humans, plants, animals, and elements are interdependent, and when one part of the body is suffering, that suffering will spread to all parts of the body.
Awareness of my positionality helps me see where I have power and privilege— and instead of feeling shame, embarrassment, or getting defensive—I use that discomfort to motivate me to learn how I can share that power and/or dismantle that power. My positionality motivates me to listen when people are crying out for justice, and learn how to be a responsible advocate for that justice.
Restorative justice is a core value, that is expressed through supporting giving land back to indigenous stewardship either directly (see “NoCanyonHills”), or through trusts of reciprocity. My awareness motivates me to push back against continuing colonization and injustices that are being committed against people who are my indigenous cousins by people who are my colonizer cousins.
My health issues and neurodivergence allow me to see social and systemic barriers, in places where I have a lot of power, I can work to remove those barriers completely. For example, I do not require my students to acquire a diagnosis and special paperwork to access academic accommodations, and my teaching spaces are always evolving toward total access as a starting point.
My positionality as a light-skinned cis-het woman has made me aware of the ways I have been able to access all sorts of resources and opportunities more easily than others (including previous generations of my family). With this information, I can be an ally and an advocate for connecting more people to resources and opportunities without the burden of disproportionate labor. Witnessing and experiencing inter-cultural colorism also illustrates how the Latinidad has been groomed to do the labor of White Supremacy (in addition to all the other exploitative labor we already do).
I am still finding blind spots and biases, which is why the role of grace (for myself and others) in this process is so important. I give myself grace and recognize my “feel bads” are a normal response—but shouldn’t be my only response. The better I’ve gotten at this, the more excited I feel when I notice a bias. Grace views bias like a splinter. I didn’t put it there, and life will be better once I pick it out and recalibrate my thinking. I don’t see it as looking for what is wrong with me but looking for what I can do better.