Seditious Intuition: Functional Containers and Bodies of Engagement

William Amado Syldor-Severino

“On a daily basis I fear for my culture, my future, and at times my very life. So I then began to ask the question, ‘if I fear them, and they fear us, how will we ever come  together to understand each other,’ a question it seems that would haunt me even to this  day.”

—Marc Thompson

Two key principles guide this piece. First, the critical importance of anchoring your discernment process through “Seditious Orientation” when determining every possible variable that can be acted upon within the context of developing and executing a tangible experience, such as an agenda, curriculum, training, etc. Second, that Seditious Orientation becomes seditious during and after application; never before. My body or somatic existence knows how to delineate the line or realm between institutionally safe and unsafe more precisely than my consciousness can. I identify the realm through feeling fear, and this fear often delineates the boundary that sedition is engaged with through crossing. It is within the process and review of application—executing the plan/process you have attempted to develop via Functional Containment—through which Functional Containment and Seditious Orientation is confirmed. Functional Containment is before praxis, articulated through praxis, but not praxis itself.  

Marc Thompson

In September 2014, Marc Thompson was murdered in Butte County, California. He wrote the lines quoted above about a month before his death (Garza-Withers, 2015). Marc was shot multiple times and found in his burning car, located in a clearing off of the main road (Apodaca, 2021). His murder remains unsolved to this day. At that time, we were both 25 years old, and initially bonded over our shared histories as black men from similar neighborhoods, and passions. We met as cast members in Lee Mun Wah’s If These Halls Could Talk, and outside of those intensive multi-day sessions, we were able to see each other a few more times, often spending most of whatever day and night we connected, together. It’s difficult for me to describe why Marc was one of the few people I trusted, who I could be my whole self with. Marc was someone who meant a great deal to me because I felt safe with him in ways I did not with virtually anyone else, and because he was daring, brilliant, caring and his impact on me and so many others cannot be overstated nor can the gravity of his loss. I hope this work honors him in at least a small way, and I also apologize and seek accountability for whatever harm may come.

In this article, I use the ephemeral traces of my understanding of and experiences related to Marc’s murder and its impact on me, to imagine a framework towards pedagogical and professional seditious engagement. Through chaos, Functional Containers came into being: a framework for finding ways to embrace and survive that chaos of coming undone while supporting others in feeling more whole.

Conflicting Temporalities

I was in my kitchen when my partner called me over to the laptop in our bedroom. They asked me to read an email from Lee Mun Wah, which indicated that Marc had been missing for days and that something may have likely happened to him, which was further underscored when his car was later found burning with a body inside. The body could not be immediately identified—it took a few days to confirm it was Marc—but I knew it was him, as I believe others knew as well. After reading the message, I texted, called, and messaged Marc through social media. I remember vividly expecting him to respond and knowing he wouldn’t. In those moments, he was alive and dead at the same time. Berlant (2011, p.10) writes of “[t]he ordinary as a zone of convergence of many histories, where people manage the incoherence of lives that proceed in the face of threats to the good life they imagine.” At that moment, Marc existed in an unstable stasis. Marc was my “object of desire,” and the “cluster of promises” he represented revolved around a perceived future I thought we would have (Berlant, 2011). I formed and reformed multiple and conflicting worlds with rapidity, each one representing different attachments, desires, and performances concerning the impact and perceived reality of his violent death.

I was at once with him and without him, believing that he was alive but knowing he was dead at the same time. Linear time became a dangerously restrictive limiter; I was ripped from linear time and in that outside place I felt a terror of time being fundamentally different from what I had known up to that point. It was an unwilling descent into temporal chaos. This is why a critical element of this seditious framework is the queering of time and embrace of a temporal non-linearity that makes space for Functional Containment, Seditious Intuition, and people who experience time as fluid, where sometimes the present is the past, and the past is the future. 

With these contradictory worlds taking form, my sense of linear time collapsed into itself as debilitating and destructive trauma that would severely persist as PTSD (Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder) for three years, manifesting in regular and unexpected breakdowns, alongside an aggressive progression of mental disabilities I was not fully aware I had. His murder and my grief colored the entirety of my Master’s program—he died the first week of my program, a few days before it was slated to begin—and my subsequent employment at various colleges. While I’m much more stable, it has never truly abated to this day. Hence the feelings, moments of brief but intense grief, and exhaustion that come up for me every time I read and revise this article.

Black Death, Slow Death

Initially, as time passed, the grief I felt concerning Marc’s death intensified. I understand it now as a reaction to “black death,” or a web of circumstances, mostly structural, that leads to Black people—specifically in the US—dying “prematurely” (Smith, 2016), which is a prematurity not based solely on a projected futurity that prescribes a life past the moment of death. The prematurely I prescribe evokes Berlant’s slow death: “the physical wearing out of a population in a way that points to its deterioration as a defining condition of its experience and historical existence” (2011, p. 95). bell hooks writes of a “‘special’ knowledge…black folks have…of whiteness gleaned from close scrutiny of white people” (1997, p. 165). This “special knowledge” posits whiteness as terror in the black imagination (hooks, 1997, p. 172), or, as Iyko Day states, conceptualizing antiblackness as a “terror formation” (2015, p.115).  

The same year Marc’s burning car was found, a white man was sentenced—arrested and tried before Marc’s murder—to life in prison for the killing of three African Americans in Butte County. He murdered Roland Lowe (age 15), his mother Colleen Lowe (age 46), and Richard Jones Jr. (age 17) (Olson, 2014). In 2013, Butte County had 13 homicides. Three of those murdered were African Americans found in burning cars like Marc (Garza-Withers, 2015). This is in a county where roughly 2% of the 224, 241 residents are Black (United States Census Bureau). 

Ephemera as Evidence

I use the ephemeral traces of my understanding of and experiences related to Marc’s murder to imagine a framework towards Seditious Orientation. I pull from José Esteban Muñoz’s (1996) “ephemera as evidence,” or that which “does not rest on epistemological foundations but is instead interested in following traces, glimmers, residues, and specks of things” (p. 10). 

While my life leading up to my time as an undergraduate student was filled with loving parents, affirmations, friends, and mentors who came into my life in critical moments, my life is also one of abuse, anxiety, relentless self-hatred, and a constant sense of isolation even when I’m surrounded by people. I eventually found some solace as an undergraduate and graduate student, in spaces that centered critical pedagogy. More specifically, a liberatory pedagogical technique called Intergroup Dialogue (Zúñiga et al., 2007). Within these spaces, I was able to explore and begin healing different experiences connected to my sociopolitical identities, such as being Black, mentally disabled, or queer. While finding a sense of liberation in these spaces, I also often felt pain and isolation, and I could not understand why. 

In the fall of 2010, during a session of an undergraduate course that engaged with critical pedagogues such as Paulo Freire and bell hooks, we had just finished reading hooks’ Representing whiteness in the black imagination (2007). We went around the room of nine undergraduate students and two undergraduate student facilitators to share “key learnings”. One of the students wrote them down on flipchart paper taped to a wall—a practice we engaged in every session. When my turn came, I shared that my key learning was: whiteness is terrorism, which is something that bell hooks actually writes in the article. There was an awkward pause, and then the student at the flipchart wrote down something else entirely different from what I had said, and very, very far from “whiteness is terrorism”. We continued the round without acknowledging what happened. This occurred in the first undergraduate course that exposed me to the theories and ways of being/teaching that I have since dedicated my life to. Still, I remember nothing from that class or fall semester as clearly as I do those few minutes when my existence was quietly and politely erased. That moment 14 years ago acted as the onus for the way I operate in my professional role and as a facilitator/consultant. I became obsessed with moments and variables, the said and the unsaid, and how every second held the capacity for spectacular moments of possibility and destruction.

In those 14 years since, I’ve encountered thousands of students, staff, community members, and faculty, on journeys to lessen the pain and suffering of erasure and social violence, yearning for deeper and more healing understandings of harm, trauma, and presence. Like myself, sometimes those participants encountered spaces—some that were developed and facilitated by me—that provide some of that healing experience and understanding, while also being harmful, either through manifestations of oppressive tendencies like racism, ableism, and cis-sexism, or an approach that does not meet or even try to meet their access needs. For many, not all, of those participants, experiencing anything other than the more explicitly oppressive classrooms and environments they were usually accustomed to, felt essentially beneficial, i.e. less harmful, even while leaving some of those spaces with significant harm. Functional Containment, Bodies of Engagement, and Seditious orientation are responses to that tension between affirmation and dismemberment. 

Seditious Orientation

Functional Containers and Bodies of Engagement are tools for discernment; frameworks through which discernment is refined and applied “before the before”. To understand Functional Containment as defined by this article, it is necessary that this discernment process is thoroughly guided and anchored via Seditious Orientation, which is defined and determined against the specific institutional context through which you’re applying Functional Containment, i.e. the institution of higher education you are currently a student, staff, or faculty in or are acting within as an outsider (alumni, consultant, facilitator, artist in residence, community member, etc.).

I’ll expand upon “before the before”. The first “before” is mostly conscious, and captures the root or even soil-level actions and processes determining the development of plans and agendas such as a curriculum for a course or agenda for a workshop. It also captures what informs that root and soil-level process, and this form of engagement, in my experience, often requires extensive study and praxis, preparing ourselves to navigate and respond to the myriad of variables, and the context/history of those variables, impacting the process of developing more just, humanizing, and less traumatic curricula, agendas, classroom environments, work cultures, etc., with a particular focus on always reaching towards the eradication of oppressive tendencies related to socio-political identities such as race, ability, gender identity, sexuality, class, etc. The second “before” is subconscious, articulated via external limiters applied to such a degree as to be rendered almost invisible i.e. natural, necessary, and predetermined, such as Community Agreements/Intentions/Guidelines, etc., and what it may mean to control a space via a stated communal outcome that is not communal, and does not include everyone in that space, even if every participant is individually given the opportunity to share/contribute; how destructive and sometimes traumatic that can be, to be told you’re involved in a communal process you are not involved or wanted in. The second “before” is the space where questions are answered before they are imagined or asked, and conclusions are determined prior to the process of planning toward specific conclusions. 

Discernment, “before the before,” and towards the purpose of seditious engagement, requires an intentional orientation, or an anchor of sorts to ground and guide your discernment process. In the particular context of these frameworks and this article—which pertains primarily to educational institutions but can be applied to other spaces as well—sedition means striving to successfully undermine and render obsolete an institution that you’re a part of/acting upon and within. It is important to underscore that there is a primary tension within this definition of sedition between working to render your institution obsolete, while concurrently working and hoping to remain at that very institution. 

For me, being terminated, or forcefully removed from employment, would be potentially disastrous for myself, my partner, and my child. At the same time, I regularly take risks that I know my institution does not allow, and that threaten my employment. To reiterate, I’ve only come to understand what is seditious to my current institution of higher education by regularly and intentionally acting in spite of, and directly in response to the fear of disciplinary action, or termination; the unknown known which informs that fear—the realm between institutionally safe and unsafe—that my somatic existence knows how to delineate best. I cross that boundary beyond my fear, hoping to survive but not really knowing if I will, review that potential survival and cross/threaten that survival again, and again. After surviving multiple crossings, the realm between safe and unsafe has slowly become more tangible and identifiable, and seditious engagement is now more strategic, intentional, and efficacious. it’s about getting better at identifying often-hairline fractures and cracks in an institution’s apparently concrete and impervious foundation, coming to know, through practice, when to erode and expand upon that weakness via drops of water, a gentle stream, a chisel, a pickaxe, or a jackhammer.

Sedition, in this and other definitions, is necessarily illegal—which pertains to law and also what’s institutionally sanctioned—when it comes to the parameters essential for an institution to maintain itself as such. I assume that most institutions are inherently and eventually hostile, focused more on survival—which is the very purpose of people organizing others and themselves into institutions in the first place, i.e. I doubt that your college or university is doing everything it can to undermine itself and its financial, economic, and—in the context of the United States—its capitalist interests on a fundamental level for the liberation of the people within it, regardless of your institution’s stated intent. While this hostility may be more clear in assessing institutions such as a prison defined via the United States’ legal system, or a U.S. high school organized on similar architectural, environmental, and guiding principles as said prison, it may be less clear for those institutions of higher education that purport to be the opposite of hostile, or dehumanizing. Perhaps there’s a mission statement that mentions antiracism, or degree opportunities focused on social justice, critical pedagogy, etc. Maybe there’s a rich and extensive history of resistance, and ground-breaking accomplishments that authentically shift the possibilities inherent in “social justice work” on spectacular and global levels. Still, at least in my direct experience, there is always a line, or a point of regression to base and aggressive survival mechanisms.

Structural and Functional Containers

“Undoing invasion in my own life has called me to question how appearance and identity are tricksters, ki’kwaju (wolverine), the illusion of safety…We get distracted by ki’kwaju who keeps us tangled in cycles of coping with invasion rather than using our humongous creative forces to transform landscapes, inside and out.”

—Louis Esme Cruz, Medicine Bundle of Contradictions

In my Buddhist practice, which specifically pertains to Vipassana as taught by S.N. Goenka, a common metaphor that’s used to mention the chaotic rapidity and consistency through which change occurs, is a person in a river. Imagine you’re in a river, with your head above the water. You dip your head under the surface for a second, and reappear. The river you have emerged from is fundamentally different from the one in which you were just submerged: the water around you, the riverbed beneath you, the atmosphere surrounding you, the riverbed’s edges; the very reality of the river itself is one seemingly constant, but always changing on a fundamental, and often imperceivable, level.

Moving towards employing either Functional or Structural Containment, we stay in that river which changes chaotically and continuously. We—the people in positions of power to determine the essential nature and formation of spaces and experiences through actions such as developing agendas, setting environmental expectations, or with the institutional authority to discipline or hold people accountable for transgressing against said expectations or institutional requirements—need to engage with a particular part of the river, like one needs to engage with a classroom, curriculum, workshop, training, semesters, etc. To the best of my knowledge, it is generally understood, especially when attempting to create humanizing and less traumatic development opportunities, that some kind of containment is necessary to clarify a point of focus, or the parameters of the realm in which engagement will occur, since the overall context is too chaotic for us to do much of anything in the amount of time and resources we’ve been allotted. 

We take a spherical container, with a solid boundary, in two parts, and we submerge and then close that container in the river. This is a Structural Container. The river changes rapidly and at the same time, everything in the Structural Container remains essentially the same. It has been completely disconnected from the river, and no longer responds to the river’s rapidly shifting existence and context. Even if the container is removed from the river entirely, the water inside will essentially remain consistent and will not react. Possibility is prescribed and stifled by the container’s inherent content, and any changes—no matter how diverse, complex, multifaceted, or seemingly full of novel practices and manifestations—are eventually restricted by the container itself, regardless of whether this harms, traumatizes, or dehumanizes participants and/or facilitators. Structure before function; function always subservient to a predetermined structure. 

For example, take Mia Mingus’ (2011) concept of Access Intimacy, or “that elusive, hard to describe feeling when someone else ‘gets’ your access needs.” If a person in your space is told that your space is accessible, but has needs that are not included in your definition of accessibility, then the question of functional versus structural arises. The point is not how you respond, but what you’ve done before. Did you give participants an opportunity to share access needs ahead of time? Have you worked on your own internalized ableism, and how it has impacted every element of your space? Are you accounting for other elements of access, such as antiblackness, misogynoir, or transphobia? How much did you believe, even in spite of that person the space is inaccessible to, that you understood what equitable access meant for the people in your care that you couldn’t possibly fully understand? How does this dissonance disguised as consonance impact how participants approach sharing their access needs when they’re not compatible with your definition of access?

For Functional Containment, we take a spherical container, with a boundary checkered in holes, in two parts, and we submerge and close the container. Yes, we have defined a point of focus, and yet as the river changes, so does the water inside said container, quite simply because of the water flowing in and out of the holes (which can be altered in terms of diameter and frequency). It has not been completely disconnected from the river itself, and so in many ways, it still shares and can access some of the changing nature of the river. If the container is removed from the river, then the water will spill through the holes, rendering the container essentially dysfunctional. Our process, while restricted by the container for purposes of practice and utility, is tied to the river’s process. Function before structure; structure subservient to function. Functional Containers are fluid, generative, and in flux. Functional containers are always in dialogue with what’s outside.

A Functional Container seeks to make room for the erotic realm (Lorde, 1984) as it makes sense of and utilizes the disruptive, irrational, and powerful, as a basis for engaging in why and how we feel. Functional Containers can change and respond to the potentialities their participants bring, imagined through the fluid and responsive restraints and possibilities of our bodies. At the same time, it must have some structure that may be able to survive the rigors of existing in a large and sometimes hostile institution, or a river that rages.

Muñoz (2010) writes of two forms of time: “straight time”, and “queer time”. Muñoz (2010) defines straight time as “an autonaturalizing temporality…Straight time tells us that there is no future but the here and now of our everyday life” (p. 22). Whereas, “Queerness’s time is a stepping out of the linearity of straight time. Queerness’s ecstatic and horizontal temporality is a path and a movement to a greater openness to the world” (p. 25). Functional Containers operate closer to what Muñoz (2010) marks as “queer time”. They encourage instructors/facilitators and students to move away from the often restrictive linearity of straight time. There is no fully prescribed futurity, despite forced institutional linear temporality. Future is repeatedly defined through the bodies and experiences in, out of, and through the container. This move to “queer time” enables a different and queerer construction of “we” (Muñoz, 2010). Muñoz (2010) states that “the ‘we’ is not content to describe who the collective is but more nearly describes what the collective and the larger social order could be, what it should be” (p. 20). Functional Containers create the awareness that always responding to the changes in relationship and context, on micro and macro levels, supports those in said container to move towards a more radically inclusive conception of community, membership, and identity. 

An example: Let us look at The University of Massachusetts, Amherst, my alma mater for both my Bachelors’ and Masters’ (Social Justice Education) degrees. In May 2024, UMass set the University of Massachusetts Police Department (UMPD) upon students protesting against Israel’s genocidal and especially brutal campaign in Gaza. That decision to use UMPD is not an aberration, but the overriding and eventual ideology that controls or at least influences nearly every second in that institution. In a Structural Container, the act of dragging a student protester across a lawn, exists via and is beholden to the same parameters as a Restorative Practice Circle, or a Community Agreements exercise before a dialogue or social justice-oriented workshop. Instead, to orient towards sedition, is to orient towards each other, regardless of the institution you find yourselves in. Seditious Orientation speaks to Martin Luther King’s concept of “creative maladjustment”, or “practices of refusal or resistance against socialization into a pathological system that [is] antithetical to long-term individual and collective well-being” (Adams, Salter, Kurtiş, Naemi, & Estrada-Villalta, 2018, p. 338).

Bodies of Engagement

“Bodies of Engagement” is essentially an overarching method to structure and navigate facilitation, intervention, and curricular manifestation of seditious spaces, in order to maximize the utility of, and yet also responsively retain, to a certain extent, intense emotional engagement and seditious function; or carefully scaffolding and layering the development of Functional Containers, acknowledging the distinct arenas through which Functional Containment often must be applied simultaneously. Flesh refers to the development of the initial Functional Container, focused on making room for the varied lived experiences and expectations of the participants you’re caring for at that time. Bone refers to a seditious adherence to rigid and often immovable structures and limitations, and Heart refers to the constant and living attempt to center principles and values directly or indirectly, and seditiously and consistently invalidating the institution you’re operating within. Bodies of Engagement are comprised of Flesh, Bone, and Heart, with each layer existing distinctively and in essential relationship, to maintain the act of living, or creating environments that actively respond to what’s happening in the room.

The More I Bleed 

Marcos and Taibo state: “ [s]ome wounds just don’t heal even if you talk them out. On the contrary, the more you dress them up in words, the more they bleed” (2010, p. 17). Being deeply traumatized by Marc’s murder intensified my sensitivity to those moments in my graduate experience in which I felt that critical aspects of myself and others were rendered incommensurable to the dominant pedagogical and interpersonal approaches at hand. Even though I and others used a host of “radical” and “social justice” driven critical pedagogies, authors, and practices, there was little to no engagement with “before the before,” leading to prescriptive, disconnected, and sometimes harmful approaches and experiences rendering us as incommensurable, while concurrently ensuring those incommensurables that they are included, and it is a fault of our own for not feeling included. This matters to me because of the people lost in between, who were often queer, disabled, and BIPOC (Black, Indigenous, People of Color). Their exclusion was at once unacceptable, incomprehensible, denied, defended, and by design. Those unexamined Structural Containers and processes run the risk of creating cruel experiences by naturalizing, replicating, and retaining destructive assumptions. If the original formation within a Structural Container does not allow for the flourishing of certain parts of who a student/participant is, then that person exists in that Structural Container metaphysically dismembered. The struggle of existing through dismemberment is collapsed into the struggle to change the terms of the often-oppressive values in which their life-making activity has been cast (Berlant, 2011). The student/participant works towards a structurally prescribed future of dismantling systems of oppression, while navigating, supporting, and often unintentionally condoning their own dismantling in the process. My consistent experience of metaphysical dismemberment and years of debilitating grief and isolation in spaces I deeply loved and could not do without fuels my attempt to support other, more Functional approaches. 

Towards the end of my graduate program, a faculty member scheduled us to attend  an evening community viewing of Fruitvale Station in a neighboring city. This was over two years after Marc’s murder. There was a discussion scheduled after the film. After watching the film, something broke within me, and I had to leave the room as the discussion began. Outside, I cried in a way that felt uncontrollable, curled up under a tree when I wasn’t pacing back and forth, chain smoking cigarettes and calling my mother because I didn’t know what was happening or what to do. I was outside for the entire discussion, which could have been ten minutes or two hours long. Time once again collapsed into itself, and once again I felt the world shatter into incomprehensible and jagged edges, cutting me as I tried to breathe and remember myself. Breeshia Wade, Grieving While Black, best captures how I felt and sometimes still feel, and what I hope Functional Containment can support participants through. (2021, p. 29). Wade quotes Haruki Murakami’s reflection on experiences of grief and trauma manifested as separation from his community: “They are up there, on the face of the earth; I am down here, in the bottom of a well. They possess the light, while I am in the process of losing it…Down here there are no seasons. Not even time exists” (2021, pp. 29-30).

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References

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Mingus, M. (2011). Access intimacy: The missing link. Leaving Evidence.

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Smith, C. (2016, July). Racism, stress, and black death. The New Yorker.

US Census Bureau (n.d.). ACS demographic and housing estimates (Butte County, California).

Wade, B. (2021). Grieving while black: An antiracist take on oppression and sorrow. Berkeley, CA: North Atlantic Books.

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Suggested citation:

Syldor-Severino, W. A. 2024. “Seditious Intuition: Functional Containers and Bodies of Engagement.” In eds. José Manuel Santillana Blanco, Kidiocus King-Carroll, Naimah Zulmadelle Pétigny, and Kong Pheng Pha in collaboration with AGITATE! Editorial Collective. Seditious Acts: AGITATE! Special Volume with CRES: https://agitatejournal.org/article/seditious-intuition-functional-containers-and-bodies-of-engagement/