September 18, 2015 - 17:14
I am Irish step dancing in a service at my church. I am on the last step in the sequence that I chose; it is one of my favorite steps, and my favorite part is approaching. I will jump off my right foot and kick my butt with each of my feet in succession, all while making a three-quarter turn. The music is fast; I am caught up in dancing and have lost much of the control that is so essential to form. I have done the step many times before and am hardly thinking about it now, when suddenly, as I start to jump, I slip. I recover quickly and proceed with the step, but the turn is sloppy. Many people in the audience, who are unfamiliar with proper Irish step dance technique, do not notice. I, however, am startled, shaken, and embarrassed.
Although most of the time I can dance without mishap, several factors made my slip on this occasion not just possible, but likely. I was out of practice, but also complacent. I was not paying enough attention to my technique. The soles of my shoes are designed to allow my feet to slide easily, especially on a wood floor like the one at my church. Slipping is a risk I am well aware of in dance, but that does not mean I feel prepared for it when it happens. Similarly, “slippages” often occur in our conversation and in our behavior toward others. Despite our best intentions, if we do not think carefully about what we are saying, if we are not in control of our thoughts, manifestations of our unconscious prejudices may “slip out” (Dalke). When we realize this has happened, we are generally shocked or embarrassed at our own actions. And while other people without a particular sensitivity to those prejudices may not notice, we cannot—or should not—try to cover up our slippages; instead, we must take responsibility for them and learn from them. As Gan and T’Gatoi discover in Octavia E. Butler’s “Bloodchild,” facing our slippages is the only way to bring about a productive dialogue.
“Bloodchild” describes a colony of humans, or Terrans, living on another planet. In a reversal of our traditional idea of colonization, the Terrans are dominated by the native Tlic, very long creatures with many pairs of legs who must implant their eggs into a “host” in order for their young to develop (Butler 13). Gan, a young Terran man, has been raised to be the host for T’Gatoi’s children, a fate he readily accepts until he is forced to help T’Gatoi remove the grubs from another Terran (Butler 8). Confronted with the sight of the procedure he will soon face, Gan begins to question whether he wants his body used to nurture T’Gatoi’s children, and whether she has any affection for him other than as a “host” for her progeny (Butler 13).
With their emotions heightened and the differences between them accentuated, Gan and T’Gatoi both let their prejudices slip out (Butler 13). Probably neither was even conscious of these prejudices until then, especially Gan, who was raised by T’Gatoi, but the influence of their cultures as well as the disparity in power between them gradually instilled prejudiced ideas in their minds. In a very tense conversation, they use their slippages, the revelations of their distrust of each other’s species, to build a deeper, stronger trust between them. T’Gatoi asks Gan if he wants to have her eggs implanted in him, demonstrating a much greater respect for him and acknowledging his autonomy for what is probably the first time (Butler 13). Gan at first refuses, but then changes his mind as he realizes that he is more than a host animal to T’Gatoi, and she is more to him than an owner. At the end of this discussion, she tries to confiscate his family’s gun, but he persuades her to leave it, saying, “There is risk, Gatoi, in dealing with a partner” (Butler 14). By letting go of it, she creates a kind of pact between them: Gan will fulfill his responsibilities to her, and she will accept him as an equal. Their slippages, which almost destroyed their relationship, gave them the opportunity to talk through the feelings that must have been hiding just below the surface of their consciousness, and together they repaired all the cracks in their relationship that would otherwise have torn them apart someday.
There are two ways to approach the slippages that we all make every now and then. We can try to hide or justify our own, and take offense at others’; or we can use them as the start of a mutual learning process, coming to a greater understanding of ourselves, our societies, and everyone with whom we interact. By choosing the latter, Gan and T’Gatoi gained a better understanding of each other’s needs and strengthened their relationship, rather than starting its deterioration. This example holds true in real life: through dialogue, we can transform prejudice and mistrust into understanding and compassion.