Am I the only one?

I've seen a lot of talk recently about performance-enhancing drugs taken by generally healthy people.

And it absolutely infuriates me.

I've felt the same in the past about people taking painkillers for pleasure; it's no different with the various concentration-type drugs (ritalin, etc.) that are growing more popular with the teen and 20s set by the day.

Again, "appropriation" doesn't feel the right word. But I can't think of quite any other. When I try to dig down to the root of my feelings on this, it comes down to: I have to take this shit every day just to be able to get by, to be able to do half the shit you do and still be in a fuckload of pain. And you're seriously going to sit there and take it to get high? Or, worse, to make you perform better than you already do?

You stupid fucks, can't you just fucking appreciate what you have?

I don't know if that's entirely rational. I know there is some ableist bullshit in there (i.e. how the abled default is centered as the good and perfect with the differently-abled as deficient) but at the same time, I really, honestly think there is something problematic about it. Not necessarily inherent in the act of using these substances itself, maybe just in the lack of recognition that these people are already incredibly advantaged and privileged and they just refuse to see that.

I don't know. Does this make sense to anybody else? Do you feel the same way or am I being ridiculous? What do you think?

Proposed Moratorium, The Third

GODDAMMIT, PEOPLE.

"Psycho" is not a stand-in for "bad person."

It is used by people who want to Other a person who is behaving in an unfortunate way, predictable or not.

"Crazy" and "insane" are similar words, but the connotations of those are so generic by now as to be less harmful.

But psychotic, schizophrenic, and other actual mental illnesses should not be appropriated by right-thinking people to mean, simply, Shoot! Someone Is Being Mean To Me Again.

I mean. Just. Fuck.

Inspired by the recent prevalance of people referring to Hillary as "the psycho ex-girlfriend." Of course, this particular stereotype combines ableism with sexism to reach grand new levels of insultingness. To these people, I can only say: FUCK OFF.

Blogging against disablism

Jill(?) writes:

Accessibility is not and should not be just about ramps and elevators (though these things are certainly a lifesaver for me personally), but it should also be about addressing mental needs, emotional needs, spiritual needs.

I.

Our society, right now, is structured around the needs and expectations of a young (but not too young), white, cisgender, male, heteronormative, fully abled person. When issues of accessibility present themselves, the defense is: "We couldn't have expected a sick person would try to" use this service, be in this place, pursue an education, seek elected office, petition its government for fair treatment.

Put another way, the majority people are abled in pretty much every way, and even the disabled as a whole are not disabled in the exact way that each individual disabled person is -- so of course individual institutions, from the largest to the smallest and most localized, could not have prepared for [insert whichever specific disability the person trying to access has].

The same concept comes into play when a city has installed a wheelchair ramp some place, somewhere, and a person with a disability is petitioning for access in some other way. Well, we already do this much for you -- what more could you people possibly want?!

What an unfortunate and narrow view of the world! How small a world these people experience. We are closing off contact from a great many people who have so much to add. As we restrict access to institutions and continually narrow our performed roles, we lose more and more richness and depth in our individual lives.

Things could be different. We could recognize that a person can have something to contribute even as sie benefits from support and assistance that most do not require. We could recognize that it would be in our own benefit! to provide that support and assistance, and that even beside that, these people deserve to be included by merit of their personhood.

Right now, though, for a good many people, the fundamental personhood of the disabled is a hard pill to swallow. Maybe someday.

II.

There is an all-too-common attitude across the population. Simplified, it says: Don't make me feel uncomfortable, thinking about your differences.

Ew, you bleed from a hole between your legs? And it happens every month? That's gross! Don't make me feel uncomfortable!

You say your voice as a person of color is systemically silenced in favored of white persons? That's ridiculous! That would mean that the due given to my voice is unmerited and that I should change how I speak to make way for people of color -- that's too much for me to deal with! Don't make me feel uncomfortable.

Prosperity is solely a matter of motivation and effort. You say that I was privileged by my birth into a stable middle/upper class family? But I've worked so hard, and that would mean that what gains I've realized weren't the result of my hard work. Don't make me feel uncomfortable!

And so forth.

As I've insisted in the past, it even manifests in more progressive persons. Consider the argument that periodically crops up when a person is told that no matter what they do, they still bear some culpability: but that means that I can't make it go away by saying the right words or joining the right groups or buying the right things! Don't make me feel uncomfortable!

Well, bully for you, because guess what? We live that "discomfort" every single day.

It takes various different forms for various classifications in various sets of people. Some seem far more innocuous; some bear that evident stench of bigotry. Neither is any less problematic. Both dismiss the experiences of members of the historically oppressed group, simply because they aren't pleasant to think about.

Which is why women are reminded to smile by men who regard them as decorative elements and don't want to be bothered by the thought of their personhood. Which is why sick people are urged to "lighten up" and to "learn to see the silver lining" and to "think positive" by people who think of sickness primarily as either the death of the person inside the body. Which is why people of color are told to stop being so angry by people who actually think it is possible to be "colorblind." And so forth.

Wouldn't want to make someone uncomfortable, after all.

Let's put a death to this, shall we?

Trying to turn around a situation so that it is about race instead of sex. (Or what have you.)

"If somebody said such-and-such about a black person..."

Cut it the fuck out. You are playing on the narrative that racism is dead in our society, which is a back-breaking load of rancid shit.

I understand the desire to try to communicate to people who might not otherwise understand how serious something is. But please find a way to do it without making things worse for our brothers and sisters living every fucking day as a gay person, trans person, person of color, person with a disability...

These systems of oppression are incomprehensibly large and they operate in different ways for different classes of persons. They are equally reprehensible, but that does not mean they all operate the same way, and that if something problematic about [x class] is not tolerated in society, [x class] must not have it so bad after all.

Check your privilege.

Wherefore art thou feminist?

It seems to be a common question these days.

I remember the first time I visited Nezua's site and admired his serious design skillzzz.* And scrolling down his sidebar, I hit upon this image:


and stopped.

It seems particularly appropriate now.

Why am I a feminist? Because I don't know how else to describe, concerned with issues of gender. Of course, gender is not the end-all-be-all oppression, as we all know. Thus, the genius of whomever thought up the term intersectional. But an intersectional approach has been around and widely practiced for quite some time now, and yet we find ourselves in this same rut. Concerned with issues of gender -- for people who are white, het, cis, abled, etc. Concerned with issues of gender -- for people who are dominant in every other way. Concerned with issues of gender -- for those who have no other concerns to be concerned about.

But when so many of us live at those intersections, “intersectional analysis” can’t simply be a tool in feminism’s toolbox that gets whipped out to take care of us every now and then. It has to be the place that feminism lives at. Holly

So, I understand those who have become disillusioned with feminism after it has time and time again demonstrated itself to be on the side of the oppressor in any case where gender is not the only concern. What good are our words, our promises to do better, to try, next time!, when those promises are so quickly forgotten?

Myself? I have found an incredible community of women who are working to better the lives of those disadvantaged and battered down. I will continue to learn from them. And I will continue to explore outside my little privileged corner here, and learn from communities of persons who are working to better the lives of those disadvantaged and battered down in other ways. Whatever they call themselves. Because I think they're worth listening to, learning from, and working with either way.

I think it would do us all well to take another look at that image up there.

*Of course, his writing is sublime, but my brain does not always allow me to process such rich text, as it were. So I would visit his site on occasion, but sometimes my brain is running a 3.2ghz cpu, and sometimes it's running on 0.8ghz. In any case, dude's a talented dude, and you'd probably be better served reading his artful writing than my half-baked babbling.

You know.

In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends.

I haven't written on the recent dustup. A lot of people have. (See Cara for example.)

And I feel those words. And I don't want to be silent.

But at the same time, I don't know that anything I say is what's going to matter, in the end.

One funny thing I’ve noticed lately is that amid the constant clamor of honky chick “allies” enjoining unenlightened honky chicks to “listen” to women of color, it is harder than ever before to hear much of anything except honky chicks clamoring at other honky chicks.

So. Rather than involving myself again in this fight that will not die -- I'm going to shut the fuck up, and start (and continue) reading what women of color have to say. And though I have no up to lift their voices, I'm going to let them do their own talking.

I've said it before: I have a lot to learn.

Consider

And it doesn’t matter how much you may *think* you support women of color; you can’t self-proclaim yourself an ally. That’s for the oppressed group to decide. Ico

This rings true, circumstances (and particular social class) regardless.

Word

Nobody’s ever defended themselves against assault charges by claiming “it doesn’t hurt when I punch me,” and you’d presumably think it pretty ridiculous if they had.

Conversation

This has been on my mind lately, as I slowly page through the vast material on disability rights, activism, social model...

Are there privileges within disability?

I speak as someone with "invisible" disabilities. I know that because of this, I am afforded more access to society than persons with visible disabilities, in multiple ways. Doors, walkways, and seats are designed for my body (at least in purely spacial terms; many seats are untenable for my sore bones). Counters are built at a height that approximates convenience for me. And in purely social terms, people do not look at me and think "disabled." (Neither do they look at me and think "abled" -- as an abled body is the default body, it requires no thought at all.) Thus I am treated as though I were a full person. Any condescension directed my way tends to be because I am young and female. And, at least in my experience, I am still more of a person in most eyes as a woman than I would be if I were instantly identifiable as handicapped.

I am tenderly aware of this condition. And I wonder whether other pwd, those challenged in different ways, see this condition as one of privilege. And I worry, when I talk about disability, about appropriation. About using words that pwd have used for themselves for ages, even though ostensibly they do not apply to me. About taking up a banner that has been carried throughout the years by people who do not have the advantage of being able to blend in, to pass.

And I figured I would put this out, as a request for the thoughts of those who approach the world from an atypical place.

I do want to clarify that I still do suffer barriers to participating fully in society. There is a reason I quit study, twice, even though I miss college dearly -- no matter how I have attempted to adapt, I cannot read physical, printed-on-paper text at length; it inevitably triggers my disabling migraines, which I go to great lengths to prevent. There is a significant degree of cognitive impairment from the fibromyalgia to begin with, and when you add the medications I require to function day-to-day, my ability to concentrate and process thought is considerably decreased. I can never stop being aware of my physical capacity; if I go out on a walk, I have to keep in mind how much energy I have in reserve -- after all, I have to be able to make it back home. If I value my health, I can never stop thinking about it.

This is to explain the place I am coming from. I do detect a defensive tone on re-read, and I apologize for it. Know that it is not directed at pwd or progressive allies; it is a reflex built up by years of fighting a system that assumes that because I look "healthy," any complaints (of personal pain or of societal barriers) must be overblown.

What are your thoughts? Where are you coming from? What barriers do you face? What privileges do you see? What do you think we can do to address these?

(I am very nervous about putting this one out there -- please do offer criticism if you have any, but please be gentle. Keep in mind I am relatively new to all this.)

You don't have to be normal.

...the person who believes 'I will be real when I am normal' will always be almost a person, but will never make it all the way.

Eugene Marcos (via, via)

We have been told all our lives that to be accepted, to be successful, to be a whole person, we have to be "normal."

And so we strive to change ourselves such that we resemble normalcy.

But it is a rare bird that can adapt itself to living in the water -- or fish that can adapt itself to fly.*

Respect your body and your mind. They operate how they operate, and there is no need to change that, not for anyone's sake. It is not a deficiency. It does not make you lesser. It is not deviancy. It is what you are, and it is good for you.

People on the outside will be uncomfortable with the implications of such a weird and different body (mind) being a good thing, because we have all been indoctrinated into the cult of dominance, where what dominates is Good and Right, and anything that is not the same is Bad and Wrong. It manifests itself in so many different ways even for the same differences. But that is the root of it.

To outsiders, the idea that what you are is definitionally good, because it is good for you, a different person, is disturbing. To outsiders, it says that then, what they are must be bad. And those who think that way will therefore reject you as a person, differences and all.

But there is a different way. There is a way built, fundamentally, on respect. On allowing one another to be what we are, and finding joy in what results. On knowing that when a person falters trying to live in this society, it should not be chalked up to the fact that they are different, but to the fact that society has failed to plan for anything but the dominant, and will then fail in trying to accommodate anything else.

It rests on, again, seeing a person and thinking not: burden, but: potential.

On seeing that person, and recognizing them as a person.

We should all be prepared to accommodate differences, even when it means a change or an extra effort. We should be prepared for this, because we expect as much already from those we are failing to accommodate. We already expect them to change their very being to be able to accommodate how we operate. So we should not protest when we are called upon to open our minds, to change how we think, to change what we do. After all, at least we are not being asked to change what we are.

*I hesitated with this metaphor. I was afraid of the implications. The usual stuff, that pwd are of an entirely different species, that pwd are animals, that pwd are at base un-understandable and therefore nobody should even try. ("We are nearer still when we know we don't have to understand somebody to know he is real.") But at the same time, I don't want to shy away from the implication that we are not all the same. That is what we are pushing to accept. Everyone approaches the world in hir own way, and that is ok, and we don't all have to come from the same place to be able to travel together.

At the same time, I am just taking my first tentative steps in this direction, and I know I will fumble at times. So I invite all thoughts and criticism, so that we can all understand better.

this is new to me. this idea that i should love my body. not hate it.

it's funny, because i was about to say "this isn't a post about body image." but it is, isn't it?

let's cut to the point. i'm not talking about beauty standards.

i'm talking about my body. this physical thing.

i need to stop hating that physical thing.

it works differently. it doesn't work like your body.

but that doesn't make it bad.

this is hard to grasp. i don't like this idea.

but maybe it's better that i respect my body, and how it functions, than malign it, and Other it, and see myself as working against it.

maybe i need to see my body as that physical thing that is trying to help me be everything i want to be.

maybe i need to understand that i just have to interact differently with my body to accomplish that.

and that is not bad. that doesn't make me Less Than. that doesn't even make me different -- or it shouldn't, anyway.

maybe the problem is that i have been so indoctrinated into this culture that i can't even see myself as just being -- it's always how different i am from the "normal" "healthy" body.

you know what, dammit, my body is "healthy." my body is damn well fucking "normal" for me. when i understand how to work with it? i live a pretty damn nice life.

but the culture i live in doesn't allow for that view. the culture i live in says that my body is not only different, but different in a bad way, because it doesn't let me live my life like a normal person does.

fuck that.

i have a lot to work on, here.

revelation: i wouldn't have such a hard fucking time learning how to work with my body if my culture hadn't taught me to expect to be The Norm. if my culture hadn't taught me that if you look like you're fully-abled, then you must be. if my culture hadn't taught me that if it doesn't show up in the bloodwork or the ultrasound then it doesn't exist. if my culture hadn't taught me that my pain is simply pathology. if my culture hadn't taught me about welfare queens and "milking the system." if my culture hadn't taught me that disability is both scary and pathetic.

in the meantime, i need to go take my weekly shower, so my gynecologist isn't put off by my oh so gross body when i get my Lupron shot tomorrow.

...maybe i just need to understand that this is how my body works and damn it all, there shouldn't be anything wrong with that -- the fact that there is anything "wrong" is a sign of a fucked up culture -- not of a fucked up body.

Words to be heretofore stricken from the English language.

"A racist."

As in, "That person is a racist."

There is no such thing as "a racist." This suggests a person is unique in practicing race-based bigotry. In fact, every single one of us both practices racism and benefits from a racist societal structure.

This can take the form of "overt" racist actions (using "the n word") or "subtle"/"passive" racist actions (picking a house in a "good" neighborhood; avoiding certain routes when walking to work; contributing to a matching 401(k); attending a prestigious university; eating a balanced, "healthful" diet). After all, a white person's ability to do any of these things does depend, in part, on hir benefitting from white privilege, from having had generations of stable family life, from living in an area with access to fresh foods and having the time and energy to prepare them.

It does not matter whether you chose something purposefully (or whether it is entirely out of your control), or whether you intended it to work against persons of color (or whether you were oblivious to its effects or even has nominally positive intentions). These actions, behaviors and attitudes still feed into the racist system.

Racism is not a quality that individual people hold; racism is a structure upon which we are all built and into which we all feed. Racism is a description of actions, behaviors and attitudes, not of people.

I will keep pounding this point for the rest of my days. And it holds steadfastly true as well for sexism, for classism, for ableism, for homophobia, and for all other sorts of bigotry and discrimination.

Effect, not intent, is what matters in the end.

Therefore, if you give a shit about making a difference, maybe you should stop getting so hung up over your (or anyone else's) intent, and start directing your concern toward the effect your life has on our situation.

Maybe if we would all start looking at things this way, we could affect some actual change.

How To Be A Feminist Boyfriend

I've always had trouble translating my ideas into words with any consistent level of accuracy. It's not often that writing and speaking come easily to me, and I feel like I am expressing myself effectively. Most of the time, I am fumbling around, trying to shape a vague image of what's going on in my head, by trial and error. And I often end up frustrated because it's obvious that the idea I'm apparently communicating with my words is not the idea I was trying to communicate when I put those words together.

All of which is a clunky introduction to the fact that I feel like I was misunderstood here:

So I opened the comments and immediately found that I was disagreeing vehemently with the first comment:

Deference is a privileged person’s best friend.

I would have no patience with someone flopping around acting all guilty and deferential to me. It’s happened before, and I hate it. I want respect, and deference is not respect.

That comment was mine.

Amanda goes on to make an argument that is very much what I was trying to get across.

By "deference" I meant:

• Know that her opinions come from experiences you have not had, and can never fully understand.
• Do not use this as a reason to dismiss her opinions; use this as a way to attempt to understand them.
• Give more consideration than you normally would when you are in a situation where you are the privileged one. No, this isn't "special treatment." It's attempting to compensate for the fact that, like it or not, you have been socialized to unconsciously devalue the opinions of those who are not like you. So take a step back, and think really hard about it. We're talking about your girlfriend, anyway; you should be affording her special consideration in the first place, because you respect her enough to want to be her partner -- right?
• You can still disagree. Privilege doesn't mean that your opinions and experiences must be erased, or that they cease to be valid.
• However: step carefully. If you think over things carefully, and decide that you know what, you just can't agree with what she's saying: make sure you are very careful in how you express that. Because, again, in our society, men are taught not to treat women as equals, but to dismiss them as hormonal, emotional, overreacting, irrational, etc. Even if you aren't thinking those words, you may be communicating them to her when you huff, roll your eyes, fold your arms, smirk, etc. (And she has been taught to be very sensitive to those words or the implication of them, so trust me, she will catch the slightest hint of them, whether you intend to give that hint or not.) Your inflection and body language, and even words outright, may be telling her that, basically, you don't give a shit. And a lot of the time, men actually don't give a shit. So she may not be wrong when she gets that vibe from you. And depending on any number of factors, she may call you on it -- or she may bury it inside, because she knows that if she reacts to it, you're going to shoot her down, because most people honestly don't want to admit that they don't care about their partner's feelings and opinions -- even when they really don't.
• SO: think hard before you open your mouth. And watch your body language when you are in an argument. You may be angry, but you need to make an effort to show that even though you two are not happy with each other right this minute, you still care about her.
• DON'T just say "OK" to anything she says, either because you are trying to compensate for privilege or because you're trying to get her to shut up (trust me, she knows it -- you'd be better off being honest on that matter, so she can call you on your disrespectful bullshit). That's not respect. Quite the opposite. That's failing to consider her argument at all -- just bypassing it altogether. And that shit is just madmaking, and I wouldn't blame her if she dumped your ass if you practiced it regularly.
• Remember that you are not in a contest. You are in a discussion. You are trying to work WITH your partner, not AGAINST her. When it's a straight-out fight, you are trying to understand each other's sides, and come to an agreeable conclusion for the both of you -- which won't happen if you're just trying to "win." When it's a topical conversation, you're sharpening your thinking and communication skills, working on understanding each other's viewpoints, learning from one another, etc. -- again, it's not a contest you're trying to "win." It's a conversation. Treat it that way.
  

All this is, as far as I can tell, basically the argument Amanda was making. I just didn't communicate that correctly -- I chose my word(s) poorly.

For the women:

*The side note to women, I suppose, is that it’s important to fight on the small things, even if the effort doesn’t initially seem worth it.

This is important to any relationship. Don't just let things go. Bring them up. Try to have a sense of perspective, certainly, but don't follow the patriarchal imperative to ignore any wrong your man does, because you're just being nitpicky/naggy/whatever. When you let something go unremarked-upon, you are building a mountain of anger, frustration and resentment, one sock on the floor at a time. And that is not healthy -- not for you (who suffers the stress), not for him (who isn't challenged to be a better partner, but becomes lazy and sloppy about the relationship), and not or your relationship as a whole (which will become strained at time due to unresolved conflicts he doesn't even know about).

That does not mean, however, that the weight is on the women's shoulders. Men: do your best to pay attention to this shit. If she seems put-off, ask her what's wrong, in a concerned and respectful tone of voice. She may laugh because nothing's wrong at all. She may say "nothing" in a flat or even annoyed tone of voice, in which case there is almost certainly something wrong -- whether it's something you did, or just that she's worried about a friend, or whatever -- and you need to tease that out. (Make it clear that it's ok if she doesn't want to talk, but make yourself open and approachable so that she can if she wants to.) And she may just say it up front, in which case, again, you need to step back, take a minute to think carefully about what she's saying, and then respond -- don't immediately step into defensive mode.

And try to pay attention when it comes to domestics. Try, one day, just watching what she does. You may not notice that she puts your coat away after you fling it on the chair, or straightens out the shoes, or replaces the cat's water every night, or wipes down the sink after use, or notices when you're getting low on toilet paper, or whatever. There's a lot of small things she does, silently, that you are probably not attuned to. And she would probably appreciate some help on some of that invisible work. And maybe if you stop, and pay attention, you can pick up on some of those things yourself, instead of waiting for her to get frustrated about it and open up on you for it.

Anyway: hopefully this makes my thoughts a little bit more clear. Certainly if any of this doesn't make sense or seems problematic, point it out to me in comments.

Sixteen Maneuvers to Avoid Dealing with Racism

Holly at Feministe is fighting the good fight against a rather strong current of opposition.

The Bootstrap Myth
“Racism is a thing of the past… this is a free country, and anyone who works hard can make it in America.”

The Backtrack
“Hey, wait a second, that’s not what I meant… I mean… you took my words out of context, don’t make it try to sound like I’m racist!”

The Remove the Right To Be Angry
“You’re too sensitive… if you weren’t so aggressive, vocal, hostile, angry, or upset, people would listen to you and you wouldn’t get in trouble!”

The Utopian Eye-Gouger
“I’m colorblind, personally… why can’t we all just ignore race, it’s not like it’s even real… it’s not like I tangibly benefit from being white every day or anything! Can’t we all just get along?”

Turning the Tables
“You’re being just as racist against white people, you realize. You’re being racist against me right now, you reverse-racist hypocrites!”

The Good White Person (not like those obvious racists!)
“Whoa, that guy over there is SUCH a racist, unlike me… I know exactly the right things to say and I’m never racist. By which I mean overtly offensive about it. Hold on, I think I’m going to go spit on that guy. I hate him.”

The Unblemished Family History
“Hey, my family never owned slaves, so it’s not like I, as an individual, get any benefit from racism!”

The Bending Over Backwards (makes you look flexible, but accomplishes little else)
“You people of color are so right. I agree with everything you say. Because you’re right, of course… not just because I’m guilty and white and wrong!”

The Personal Justification
“But a black person, Mexican, mean old Asian lady, or Native American once cut in front of me in line, said something stupid, mugged me, or took my hubcaps! So as far as I’m concerned, they proved all of my prejudices!”

The Loophole of Escape
“I can’t possibly be a bigot or a racist… I’m part of the oppressed due to the fact that I’m a woman!” (or gay, poor, young, trans, etc.)

The Culture Appropriator
“Damn, bro! You know I’m down with the homies, I ain’t no wack racist cracker, shiznit.”

The Lean On You When I’m Not Strong
“Teach me, help me. I’m just a white person, so I need your wisdom as a person of color to show me how not to be racist. Wait, is what I said earlier racist? How about this shirt I’m wearing? Can you come with me to this party, so they know I’m not a racist?”

The Pause for Applause
“Unlike all those other white people out there, I’m an anti-racist.” (…) “I do anti-racist work and I try to educate other people about anti-racism.” (…) “Wait, did you hear me?”

The Smoke and Mirrors
“I totally agree. Racism is one system of oppression among many interlocking ones, that specifically awards more privilege and power to all white people, whether they like it or not, and serves to keep the existing power structure in place. Oh… what? You want me to volunteer in a community organization, contribute money, do security for your protest march? Uh… yeah maybe next time, I’ve got to wash my hair tonight. And walk my dog, see the latest episode of Lost, manage my stock portfolio…”

The Penitent Paralysis (will not truly absolve you)
“Oh my god… that is so awful. I’m so sorry. Sorry. I can’t imagine what it must be like… I’m sorry. That’s so awful. I feel so bad for you. Sorry.”

Whipping Out Your Best Friends
“Hey, I’m not a racist, OK? Some of my best friends are black. See?”
Best Friend: “Yeah, I’ve known him since we were kids, and he’s never said anything racist to me!”

…and one bonus one for all your folks of color out there.

It Doesn’t Matter What Comes Out of My Mouth, Just Look at My Skin
“What? I can’t possibly be racist. I AM a person of color. How can I be racist against myself, huh? No, I haven’t heard of internalized racism, and I still think affirmative action is reverse racism!”

The people in comments are doing a hell of a lot of maneuvering, too.

People seem to be taking this rather personally, because it doesn't offer an out for the "good" people. The non-racists. It implicates everyone, even those with a heightened awareness of racism.

Thing is, those non-racists? There is no such creature.

Holly continually points out that looking at the situation this way is dangerous. When we frame racism as the actions of individuals, as a character judgment, this is where we end up: we can't own up to an attitude or behavior as being racist because, you know, it's not dressing up in white gowns and forming a lynch mob. It allows us to separate out us good people from those nasty racists, who are way over there, nowhere near us, nuh uh. It allows us to absolve ourselves of any responsibility for our participation in the institution of racism.

We need to make this clear: Racism is not a character trait. Racism is a SYSTEM.

Racism is the tea in which we are all steeped as children. No person can escape it. Racism is clutching your purse when a black person walks by; racism is managing your investments in Quicken. Racism is mocking a person as stupid by affecting an "ebonics" voice; racism is sticking to the safe neighborhoods when you take your children out trick-or-treating. Racism is hiring a Mexican maid or landscaper under the table for low wages; racism is staying at a hotel that employs same. Even if you didn't know it and didn't intend it.

Makes you feel squirmy and defensive, doesn't it?

You cannot escape this system. And the fact that you think you can bespeaks your white privilege in itself: no black person can escape the system where the taxi passes them on the street. No Latin@ can escape the system where they are assumed to be dumb and illiterate until proven otherwise. No person of color can escape the system where their resumes are passed up because of the explicitly ethnic name at the top -- where research proves that employers would rather hire a convicted felon with white skin than a person of color with a clean slate and the exact same resume.

The fact that you think you get to escape that system, just by saying the right things, is, frankly, an insult to the people who struggle against that system every day.

Don't take this as saying "therefore, you are a Bad Person." Because this isn't about who is Good and who is Bad. We all breathe the same air; you aren't bad because you take in some random gases along with the oxygen when you inhale.

But there is hope. Because when you stop viewing racism as an individual character trait, and as an all-encompassing system that none of us can escape, then you start to see how things can change -- really change.

You start to see that even though you do contribute to that racist system, you can reduce your contribution as much as possible.

You can start examining that privilege you've got.
You can monitor your language for slurs and dogwhistles.
You can attempt to change the latent attitudes you didn't even know you had.

And you can start taking action. Knowing that this isn't because you're some saintly Good Person, but because it's just the proper thing to do.

I myself use plenty of those Sixteen Maneuvers. We all do, really. It doesn't mean one of us is worse than the other. It just means we all grew up in the same world. And maybe, then, we can stop turning it into a holier-than-thou competition, and start working together to make things better.

On resolving open questions

I stopped at the scale, put down my purse and slipped off my shoes. "So you know what to do," the nurse laughed. "I've been to plenty of doctors in my time" was my reply.

When she asked me if I knew how to do a clean catch when sending me for a urine sample, I responded in the affirmative, and repeated as I walked to the bathroom: "I've been to plenty of doctors in my time."

And that I have. I have myriad health problems, and have had since childhood. As far back as I remember, I missed no less than 10-15 days of school per year -- and that before puberty kicked in and I found myself unable to sit upright on the first day of menses. I was always getting "sick." Thing is, I rarely had a sniffly nose, an upset tummy or a fever. Usually, I was just exhausted.

My doctors struggled to come up with an explanation for this bright but languid child. I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia at twelve mostly because my mother began specifically asking about it. (I was diagnosed with a 20/200 left eye at the same time -- no one had ever discovered my impaired eyesight.) I did a lot of doctor-hopping throughout my childhood and teenagehood. I found out that most of the doctors in my area were fairly ignorant as to my condition and had no real help to offer. I didn't get effective treatment until I started traveling four hours to Beverly Hills to see the rheumatologist who shared the office with my mother's, who is world-renowned for his work with fibromyalgia patients, but wasn't accepting patients as young as I at the time.

That office watched me grow up. I traveled with my mother every 2-3 months for her appointments with Dr. Silverman, and then I started traveling down there every 2-3 months for my own appointments with Dr. Silver. The nurses were well familiar with me. They watched me grow from a lanky barely-pubescent child, always silent and hiding in the corner with a book, to a tall, lanky young adult, growing more confident and certainly more talkative.

And they took care of me. They listened to what was going wrong with me, and they understood, and when they told me what they thought, they knew what they were talking about. Dr. Silver was never afraid to explain recent research to me when I would bring it up. We could have a two-way conversation without me feeling condescended to. And largely, he recommended treatments that actually made a difference in my quality of life.

That kind of doctor is rare. I've spent more time in the offices of doctors who had poor communication skills, little knowledge of the condition at hand, and poor bedside manner than I have in the offices of doctors who were understanding and accessible and had relevant advice.

There was the doctor who dismissed my concerns about endometriosis as PMDD, primarily a mood disorder, when the only symptoms I had presented were physical, and so severe as to be disabling for the full week every month. There was the pediatric rheumatologist who would poke and prod at my tense and tender shoulders, repeatedly, every visit, exclaiming how tense they were. There was the county psychologist who marked me down for substance abuse when I listed Vicodin as part of my prescription list, even after I explained my disorder and offered to have her call my doctor for confirmation. There was the Pennsylvania doctor's office who consistently denied me prescription refills or otherwise put obstacles in my path, and whose doctors I had to lecture on what fibromyalgia is because they were still relying on information from decades ago. There was the rheumatologist who yelled at me for a full forty-five minutes about how fibromyalgia is actually depression and the medical community was conspiring to put him out of business, and then felt me up ("just checking your liver" -- which has what relevance, exactly?) before I actually ran out of the examining room, grabbed my dozing husband and broke into tears outside of the office.

And then he charged my insurance just short of $400 for the visit.

And that's just a sampling.

These experiences make me all the more grateful when I finally have a positive encounter with a medical professional.

***

I asked my husband to come with me to my appointment yesterday. I remembered sitting alone in that dark, closet-sized room for twenty minutes waiting for the doctor to examine my sonogram results and tell me whether the lumps I had in my breast were cancer. It was excruciating, and I didn't particularly feel like going through it again.

And when we walked out the door, I sighed to him, it feels so good to have someone actually take care of you.

I have been seeking diagnosis and treatment for my dysmenorrhea for four years. I've been suffering it for about a decade now. And now, only just now, I have someone actually doing the tests required to find out what is causing it.

My gynecologist listened to me while I described my symptoms. She asked questions to clarify. She explained her thoughts to me without condescension.

We're going to rule out infection first, she said, and then if everything comes back negative, we can schedule you for a laparoscopy to check for possible endometriosis.

I can't begin to describe that overwhelming sense of relief that hits you when you hear those words. Someone understands, and they want to make sure you are taken care of. They aren't looking for ways to dismiss you or pass you off to someone else. That pain you've been going through for all this time, and all those other doctors who just shrugged their shoulders and showed you the door -- someone is actually taking you seriously, and believing you when you describe your symptoms, and caring enough to follow through and make sure that it is correctly diagnosed and treated.

Someone is doing their damn job.

We scheduled a laparoscopy for next Friday. It is, thankfully, a fairly minor surgery. But hopefully, by that afternoon, we will have an answer.

Boot straps

I cannot insist strongly enough that you read this post from Resist Racism: Playing at Poverty

via tigtog

Melissa said it best: the best possible world for a straight, white, able-bodied, wealthy male is not the best possible world for everyone. Such traditionally privileged specimens might like to imagine they exist on a level playing field, but a broader look reveals that their lane is the only one constructed in such a manner.

The next person to invoke the fabled boot straps are going to feel the sting of my boot straps on their ass.

Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes

All I can do is share this, because it made me smile.

When my daughter was born premature and I looked at her with a feeding tube and nasal canula in a plexiglass box, I trained myself not to say she was little or pretty. I trained myself to say she was my big strong girl, because I thought that for her to make it in the world, she would need me to see her that way.

It was in the context of raising feminist daughters, but it works just as beautifully in the context of eliminating ableist privilege.

Thank you, Thomas.

(Small bit of irony: Firefox's spell check does not recognize "ableist" and instead recommends "ablest.")

Mind, body, self

Hot water rolled down my spine, dripped off my face. I was bent over my plastic chair, fingers gripping the handles, back parallel to the ground, losing consciousness in the steam of the shower.

***

I often find myself stuck in uncomfortable positions. I face a conundrum: it would cause more pain to move than it would to stay—and I wouldn't be guaranteed a comfortable position were I to move anyhow. So I remain.

And the specific circumstance is awfully reminiscent of my earlier years. Back in high school, when I relied solely on the occasional acetaminophen to soothe my pain, I would find myself lost in the shower. The water heater was as old as the house—sixty-some years—and probably was showing the same cracks the walls did. But I would turn the hot water all the way up, and gradually, as my aching body grew acclimated to the increasing heat, the cold water all the way down. I would lean against the side of the shower, unable to stand upright, the ambient heat pulsing through my tense muscles, momentarily letting go of the fear of the very visible mold under the caulking, or the fist-sized spiders that occasionally showed their faces on the ceiling.

And I would lose myself. Unable to move.

Eventually my knees would protest in pain, or I would find my back too weak to stay where I was—and I would sit down on the bath tub bottom, undoubtedly cleaned no less than two months previous—or just shut off the shower, so fucking what I only had the energy to wash my hair, everyone will just have to deal with my merely rinsed-off body for the next week, until I find the strength to step back in.

It hasn't been that bad since I began actively treating my condition. Shower frequency is, pitifully, a rather accurate measure of health in my case; I find myself able to soap up two or three times a week now, rather than my previous two or three times a month. And while I normally feel some weakness and trembling after my shower, I am normally able to get through my scrubbing routine unimpeded.

***

I have a relatively complicated relationship with my body. I suspect the same of many pwd.

I inevitably find myself attributing agency to my body wholly separate from the mind: the squishy, palpable lump of physical stuff versus the spiritual, incorporeal being. Whatever it is that "I" am, as a person, exists in the latter, and resides in the former. I am my mind, stuck in my body.

This is not so much a rational theory, but it is a rational reaction. When you struggle, day by day, to complete routine, rudimentary tasks, and the solitary obstacle is your own physical body—you may find yourself facing that same mind/body split.

You cannot turn over in bed at night; you hurt too much to so much as shift your arm, which is in searing pain in its current position. You are due for your medication, but it lies beyond arm's length, and you are so sapped of strength you cannot muster the power to force your tired bones into such a position as to reach the bottle. You find yourself trembling and unable to stand, and therefore unable to put together a small and simple meal to feed yourself. Depending on your condition, you may find it even more difficult to muster the appetite.

It hits at the heart of the concept of privilege, doesn't it? Most don't even have medication to take, much less having to break down all the little steps involved in taking it, and think over each one, and how to overcome one's limitations to achieve it. That even ignores other forms of treatment, from acupuncture to physical therapy. As glurgy as spoon theory is, Christine nails the dilemma when she says:

... everything everyone else does comes so easy, but for me it is one hundred little jobs in one. I need to think about the weather, my temperature that day, and the whole day's plans before I can attack any one given thing. When other people can simply do things, I have to attack it and make a plan like I am strategizing a war. It is in that lifestyle, the difference between being sick and healthy. It is the beautiful ability to not think and just do. [emphasis mine]

It's hard not to feel that you are constantly fighting your body when every breath, every step is a struggle.

And so I've thought for years now: ever since I came to the slow realization that I was not normal, that none of the other children felt the routine pain I felt, day by day, that there was a reason I was having trouble keeping up with my peers in phys ed. That moment, when that elusive concept first became obvious to me—though I continued to struggle with my former delusion, day by day—that was the day I learned to hate my body. That was the day I came to know my body as the enemy.

After all, I still existed in there, somewhere—all the same thoughts, hopes, feelings, fears, and dreams of that blossoming young child that had been there yesterday—but I suddenly became aware that my body was not working with me in those things. And it never had been.

And so it became my adversary.

When I first began receiving failing grades on my high school progress reports, shattering my former 4.0 record: my body was my adversary.

When fell so behind in school after a particularly awful flare-up that I was still making up tests on the day before my graduation ceremony: my body was my adversary.

When I had to drop out of college only six weeks after I'd begun, because I had so overworked myself that I was bedridden for weeks, and housebound for months afterward: my body was my adversary.

When I had to drop out of college two years later, having successfully completed fifteen of the forty-five units I'd attempted, not in so bad a physical state but knowing I soon would be if I continued: my body was my adversary.

It has been a consistent theme throughout my short life. No matter what I seek to do—even when it's something that will make my physical self better on the whole—I must consider how my body will prevent me from doing that, and, if possible, how to overcome it.

***

My eyes found a vague reflection in a splash of water on the floor. I was breathing heavily. Stuck. I stared at the wavering reflection, cream and grey on white, and searched out the shadow of my eyes, while a similarly blurry thought formed in my mind.

My body isn't the enemy, I realized.

It's not my physical self that creates all my problems.

It's all the external expectations of it.

Disability isn't the result of individual defects, deviations from the able-bodied norm. Disability is the result of a society that fails to accommodate these differences.

What if we saw these differences as variation, not deviation? After all, we fully expect our children to be born with any number of different eye colors. Why is it any less when it comes to physical and mental abilities?

Can you shape a world in your mind where there is no norm? What does it look like? How does it differ from the world you live in today? What do you expect of people as a whole in order to support those currently disadvantaged?

The more I think, the more confused I become. It seems impossible to structure society so that everyone is brought to a similar level of ability across the board. But it does seem possible to structure society so that those fully-abled work to make up for those straightforwardly lacking, and everyone works with each other in full expectation of a wide range of ability across the populace, and all of this is seen not as hassling and burdensome, noble and heroic when someone takes it on—but as mundane, everyday, simply expected, no different from separating out your recyclables or driving on the right side of the road: something that everybody does, because it isn't that hard to do, and it benefits yourself as well as those around you, so it's stupid and even outright reprehensible not to.

That is the world I want to live in.

For now, maybe I can make peace with my body. Maybe I can come to understand that my body is not working against me, but that I—the singular person, from cerebellum to nerve ending—am simply working against a set of expectations that are stacked against me from the beginning.

Life isn't fair

As though you weren't given the toy you hoped for in your Happy Meal.

As though you caught all the red lights home.

As though you got a few bad letters after your turn at Scrabble.

Isn't that exactly it, too? You were dealt a bad hand, after all. It's just a game.

It's easy for it to be just a game when you never so much as feel the fallout from your own bad decisions -- after all, you've already been sheltered from feeling the effect of any act God could throw at you.

Sometimes, life isn't fair -- for the rest of us.

Consequences

Has anyone perhaps thought that this, rather than being an example of something wrong with laws intending to protected the (severely) disadvantaged, is an example of something wrong with our societal attitude toward disability?

Every day I encounter some small new stone in the foundation for a social model of disability.

Perhaps if we would see people and think, not:

"burden,"

but:

"potential,"

we would reach a place of balance in this world.