I want to reflect on a man who found himself in a situation where he was distressed upon learning others saw him as a cat. But first…
Yesterday I went to the State of the Hive 2021 meeting (HiveNYC.org). As one of its founding members in 2009, I’ve always taken comfort and found inspiration among this community. Hive describes itself as “a city-wide learning laboratory for educators, technologists, and mentors to design innovative connected educational experiences for youth.” Which is to say, it’s a space for after-school professionals across sectors (school-based, libraries, museums, community centers, etc.) to connect as one broad youth-serving community and advocate in one voice for youth (usually through digital media programming). They currently operate as a self-described anarchist collective, and are powerful: when NYC suddenly cancelled the Summer Youth Employment Program last spring (which serves 75,000 teens), they claimed partial credit in how the city brought it back.
I have not been to a Hive meeting in perhaps 8 years, but in my current situation of revisiting my professional past I wanted to reconnect. Many of my old professional friends were there, creatively tackling how to deliver youth programming during the pandemic. But what struck me the most was how this space – youth development – truly grounds itself in its commitment to those they serve. It opened with two students, taking time away from school to attend, reading poems they had written. Two young people of color held our attention, riveted, as they shared with us their struggles and their dreams. One opened with their preferred pronouns and focused on identifying as non-binary and their efforts to conceal how their body presents so they can be viewed as they truly see themselves.
Preferred pronouns. Non-binary. Terms like these, and other terms on the front-lines of genderqueer expression, were mostly new to me until a few years ago. But as is often the case, the youth are paving the way. In our New Year’s Eve Zoom-based party a few months ago, I noted within the breakout room for the kids, most had preferred pronouns appended to their names, and not just the more common he, she, or they: pansexual, agender, “no pronouns”, ace boi.
Last week my family and I watched the jaw-dropping filmed production of In and Of Itself. I saw this production in NYC twice in person (3 times, actually, but that’s a different story) and could write reams about it. It describes itself as a story that “reveals the illusion of one’s identity.” Without any spoilers, the show “begins” when audience members arrive at the theater and are confronted by a board filled with tags that read “I am…” followed by a specific role. You must pick one, then hand it in before taking your seat. In a variety of ways, the show explores how people often try to define us, we often try to define ourselves, and how the show offers a crucible for us each to explore our struggles to claim our own multifaceted identities.
So what does all this have to do with a man whose card would have been “I am not a cat”? I had seen the video the day before, but with news coverage I continually returned to it after the Hive meeting. Perhaps you saw it. If not, watch this :42 clip that went viral within the hour it occurred:
When I first watched it I couldn’t stop laughing, and I shared with all I could. Let me break this down into four beats, so I can use this hilarious bit of Zoom silliness to reflect on what it might teach us about our current age of Zoom and identity fluidity.
Beat 1. The Judge says: “Mr. Ponton, I believe you have a filter turned on in the video settings.”
Beat 2. Mr: Ponton: “Augggh,”
Beat 3. Mr: Ponton: “I’m here live. I’m not a cat.”
Beat 4. The Judge: “I can see that.”
In the first beat, Mr. Ponton learns that someone else is viewing him in a way he does not view himself. Zoom allows him to see it as well, as Zoom is a praxis for allowing us to view how others view us.
In the second beat, he shares how he feels about this, “augggh.” As one Youtube commenter wrote, he is a man who “sounds terrified about being trapped inside his new cat form.” Now that Mr. Ponton is aware that he is being viewed as something he is not, he does not like it, nor know what to do about it.
Then he realizes what we can do. He can’t change how he is being viewed (his assistant is working on it, he assures the Judge) but he CAN tell the judge that he, himself, does not view himself the same way. That brings us to the third beat. What was originally funny, him desperately, absurdly declaring, “I am not a cat,” I now saw as painfully tragic, like the young nonbinary person I heard earlier in the day describing efforts to flatten their chests to not present as female. He is saying, in effect, “I am not who you see me as.”
Then, the judge in the fourth beat. After a pause, he says to Mr. Ponton, “I can see that.” Originally, this had me in stitches, highlighting the absurdity of Mr. Ponton declaring that he was not a cat. But now, I heard it in a different way. I heard it as the Judge saying, “It’s all right. I know you are aware that you are presenting as something you are not. But I want you to know, I am not confused. I see you as who you are. I affirm your self-identification.”
And that isn’t hilarious. That is touching and, like the end of In and Of Itself, threatens to bring me to tears.
