In 2018 Ernestina and I went to a cannibalism exhibit in San Diego.
Most of the exhibit was about how cannibalism, as depicted by European explorers, is a myth.
It was made up to justify the exploitation, harm, and genocide of different indigenous populations by people like Christopher Columbus.
A story made up to serve a purpose.
In one room, there is a giant painting of the ocean on the wall, and a life raft made out of wood, like what they would’ve had on a Victorian era British Navy ship.
Written on the wall was the phrase “ decide who dies.” The exhibit explained that in the late 1800s, European sailors used to draw straws to decide who would get eaten in the absence of rescue, as they ran out of food.
This part of the exhibit invited you to pick whom, of the people you had entered the museum with, would live and who would die, if you were shipwrecked.
Just like the title said.
Ernestina turns to me solemnly.
We have to decide right now. She says. Just in case.
Let’s be honest with each other.
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Once I sent a picture of a part of some gothic novel, maybe Wuthering Heights, to a friend and captioned it “ haha isn’t this gay? “
Here’s the part I’m talking about:
You teach me now how cruel you’ve been-cruel and false. Why Haha, gay, right? did you despise me? Why did you betray your own heart, Cathy? I have not one word of comfort. You deserve this. You have killed yourself. Yes, you may kiss me, and cry; and wring out my kisses and tears: they’ll blight you-they’ll damn you. You loved me-then what right had you to leave me? What right-answer me-for the poor fancy you felt for Linton? Because misery and degradation, and death, and nothing that God or Satan could inflict would have parted us, you, of your own will, did it. I have not broken your heart-you have broken it; and in breaking it, you have broken mine. So much the worse for me that I am strong. Do I want to live? What kind of living will it be when you-oh, God! would you like to live with your soul in the grave?’
I meant it was emotionally intense, treating Love as a power struggle.
Honest about the complicated boundaries between love and other more painful feelings (hate, fear, rage, etc).
Telling the truth.
They texted back: Dude. That’s fucked up.
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As we left the museum exhibit we saw a video, an interview with the curator of the exhibit.
She had on glittery two toned eyeshadow.
When she spoke, her hands move in sharp focused gestures.
“ I wanted to make this exhibit because I was interested in the function of story,” she said in the video.
“ How does power shape what true and not true? “
“ Haha, she’s gay,” I whispered to Ernestina.
“ Definitely,” she said. “ So gay. “
Originally published at https://notesonfeednet.substack.com.
