Fear of Bats

As an eternal fan of a scary movie type thrill, you’d think I would've been more into the bat cave exhibit I frequented annually on school field trips and then later dates with boyfriends at the Albuquerque BioPark Zoo. There were amazing animal sights to behold there, and I remember even as a youth thoroughly enjoying peering into these enclosures and seeing a living, breathing, visceral creature looking back at me. Of course, with the hindsight of age and deeper knowledge of the conflicted nature of zoo enclosures for wild animals, that wonder is dimmed just a bit. But wow, back in the day, I loved going to the zoo.

Maybe it was the family connection I felt to that space, my Grandma Creel’s sister Barbara June, worked at the Sedwick County Zoo in Wichita, and I feel like in my childhood warped memories of her she was always in a colonial safari khaki get up, eager to talk about her work with the chimpanzees. I could probably write an entire essay on the experience of visiting with a chimpanzee in my Grandmother’s house, but I’m here to really write about the bats. Let’s just say, I was really enthralled with the zoo, I loved the idea of animals growing up, like most young girls of my generation I wanted to grow up and be a marine biologist. There’s an essay in there I’m sure of that too. But again, I digress.

The bat cave at the Abq BioPark was an eerie place. Mostly because of the jarring sensation of leaving a bright sunny day and entering night. The lights were low in the bat cave, and a dim red light shone from under a plexiglass path that led you through to two large windows flanking the walkway where your eyes continued to try to adjust to the dark to make out the sleeping bats. On a good day, you might catch them hanging from a plastic-looking human-made stalactite, but I remember feeling very anxious in that space. Like a bat could come flying out overhead, dive bombing you while you were unsuspectedly gazing in on a completely non-plussed bat. I always wondered if the nocturnal creatures came alive at the real nighttime, and how they would ever know it in that cave that it was time to be out and about. I also really wanted to get out of there. Going into the bat cave was like watching a scary movie, something you sat through mostly to get to the exhilaration of safety on the other side.

I’ve spent a good amount of my adult years trying to be in better relationship to the bats. Trying to train myself to not fear these creatures. Learning to be in wonder of their swarms in the wild. There are a few other New Mexico bat stories that I hold dear to my heart, like the one time my mama and my hermana came with me to a MALCS conference in Las Cruces, and as we left a campus building on our way to find something to eat, the bats were flying at dusk. It was the first time I’d seen a bat in the wild. “Ooooh no! Creepy!” Mama yelled when they’d catch our attention in our peripheries. Or on another trip back to the Land of Enchantment when Vaimo and I sat in the amphitheater outside of Carlsbad Caverns waiting for the bats to emerge from the cave. I’d become a pro at spotting bats coming out of structures after a couple of summers at the ChicFinn Cottage, and I will argue with anyone there that I was the first to begin spinning my pointer finger around like the park ranger told us to when the bats began exiting the mouth of the cave. The thrill of all those bats leaving to eat mosquitos and do their important pollinator work helped me come far on my fear of bats journey. I wonder how I would face the cave today if I ever make it back to the BioPark.

And yes, my dear closer-reader you likely honed in on third to last sentence in the preceding paragraph. The ChicFinn Cottage, has bat friends who live here with us. No amount of sugar coating to say, we’ve had a bat “problem” since we moved into this country home. I’ve been awoken by a bat whipping around the sanctuary of our bedroom… MORE THAN ONCE. Sorry to yell, but that just is an experience I’d rather not have more than the one time. Vaimo and I have honed systems on how to knock a bat into a bucket to escort it outside. And we wonder as we do the extractions over and over if we and the bucket catch the same bat or different bats each time. Neither scenario brings comfort. The best part is when a bat enters the living space through some small gap of human made construction elements and tools around our home only to disappear down the stairway to the basement area. They are surprisingly good at camouflaging. I’m certain they are just as unhappy about the scenario as the befuddled humans are. We, all three, seeking peace in the form of a winged mammal not flapping dangerously close to our heads. Have you felt the wind of a bat wing flap on your face? Absolutely terrifying stuff there folks. 

And yet, is it? Is it only scary because I’ve been told it’s scary? I keep trying to reframe to only the love of bats, as opposed to the love/hate relationship I currently have. I have a lot of compassion for these creatures, who are the victims of human-led environmental destruction. Whose existence is threatened by ours. Have you heard of white nose syndrome? And for some reason I cannot get Sara Ahmed’s voice out of my head. In her book On Being Included: Racism and Diversity in Institutional Life (2012), this kick ass WOC philosopher traces the many ways in which “problems” in institutions are managed via power. Really, any of her work would do to try to make some claims here. From a phenomenological perspective Ahmed makes the case that the connection between words and bodies are intimately linked, especially in diversity work. As her work proposes, the associations we make with words, and they ways we try to use words to shift policy and practice in institutional settings requires our deeper understanding of affect - how past associations connect to the ways we even engage with the topic at hand. “The diversity practitioner, rather like the feminist killjoy, is heard as an obstacle to the conversational space before she even says anything. She poses a problem because she keeps exposing a problem” (pp.62-63). I am the king of making big leaps between disparate sources, and given the length of this essay I will save you the meaty work of drawing all the comparisons and simultaneously acknowledge a bat is and is not a diversity practitioner… but is the bat a problem because she’s been named the problem? Is her problem that she exists? And thus, becomes a human problem? Ahmed’s philosophical questions will haunt you, like they do me. I’m not doing her brilliant theories much justice here, all I'm reflecting on here really is how often, when one names a problem, one becomes the problem when we're looking at large social issues of injustice and change within institutions. And on a micro-level, what happens when I'm naming a problem that I am also somewhat complicit in the problem's existence and I have a vested interest in the solution meeting my needs (not the bat's)?

Anyways, perhaps like the last three issues of the newsletter my metaphors and analogies have been stretched too far. Perhaps I have been unsuccessful in making this connection clear enough for the average reader. Perhaps I haven't spelled out enough of why I'm linking anti-racist institutional change work and my bat problem. Wouldn't it be great if you could just read my thoughts on this without me needing to massage them into this form for your consumption? But I also started this project to write what I want, so I will make you fill in the blanks for yourself, Ahmed's Living A Feminist Life is a great starting point. All I know is that I shrieked loud and with the force of a bang jump-scare in a scary movie last weekend when I was vacuuming up bat shit in my attic crawlspace wearing an N-95 mask for a non-Covid protection purposes and I came upon a bat carcass. Is the bat a problem? Or am I? 

What I’m Reading

Embrace Yoga Roots by Susana Barkataki

I’m about a third of the way through this text. I’m visiting Barkataki’s words and journaling prompts after my asana practices on my yoga mat. The premise of the text calls attention to the way that Western practitioners of yoga have further colonized the practice by disconnecting it from its South Asian roots. The chapters are short and written in an accessible language, and her connections between systems like white supremacy, colonization, and capitalism to frame deeper understandings of the harmful effects of disconnecting yoga from its roots, powerfully demonstrate the need for reassessing our relationship to the practice. It’s been an enlightening and informative book so far. I am looking forward to the second half of the book that focuses on healing and how to foster more unity through the practice. I wish every yoga teacher would read this book, and that every yoga practitioner would too.

Artist Offerings

• This write up on Divya Mehra’s work brings to light the power of visual art in challenging expectations around race and power with a touch of humor,
• This round up of 40 Emerging Texas artists with a digital exhibition of their work as well as some interesting broader context for the Texas cultural scene led me to new IG artist connections!
• I loved this article on Pamela Council’s Blaxidermy and the discussion around aesthetics of her work, and lastly
• A friend sent me this article about Helen LaFrance’s “memory paintings” honoring her life with her recent passing.

Creative Ritual

Vaimo threatened to barricade herself in front of my painting, forcing me to take a break. She did not want me squeezing in painting sessions around my two day board meeting I was a part of earlier this week (which accounts for why this newsletter is hitting your inboxes a day later than usual). I’m grateful for the pause, though the changing landscape is daunting given that is a significant element of this current painting. As promised, please check out the Queerly Collective: Found Family Digital Exhibition, it’s live now, and I have one painting in the show! Up next for me, I’m really looking forward to a two week vacation I am going to force myself into - though I am really not sure if I will be able to handle idle hands!

Questions to Ponder

What's your bat problem? 
How has naming a problem moved you into the space of being seen as the problem? 
What have you learned about yourself as to how you face your fears?
What does fear feel like to you? How do you overcome it? 
What do you need to feel more safe and less fear? 

Thanks for journeying with me. I hope, as always, that you take what you need and leave the rest for someone else, or for another time. 

-KCF
PS: Feeling generous? Support the work to keep it accessible for anyone.