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About Chally

Chally is the world's scariest feminist. She has a certain fondness for Doctor Who, cake, all things theatrical and making the world a better place. You can also find her at Zero at the Bone and Feministe. View all posts by Chally →

Talking down disability while talking down to young people

23 December, 2009media and pop culture, representationsbooks, disabled characters, media and pop culture, pop culture, young adult booksChally

Contains spoilers for A Darkling Plain, so be warned!

I’ve just finished up Philip Reeve’s Hungry Cities books. They’re really good, and I’d recommend them to any young adults reading, or anyone else who is into YA. Mortal Engines, Predator’s Gold, Infernal Devices and A Darkling Plain are full of complex female characters in a well-realised world, engaging with lots of ethical meatiness. The story is essentially about a future time in which there are mobile cities that move around finding smaller cities to “eat” for resources. Anti-Tractionists, meanwhile, live in static settlements and fight against the Municipal Darwinists. I have a few problems with the books, but I’ll keep it brief and address the rather irritating disability fail that starts off in Infernal Devices and runs through A Darkling Plain.

General Naga is the head of the Green Storm, which is the dominant Anti-Tractionist force for a good portion of the series. He has sustained war injuries and now an exoskeleton-type device allows him to move around. It’s emphasised that he’s a good and honourable man, gracious to all and working for peace. Well, up until he thinks Lady Naga has been working for the other side, at which point he is violent towards her, imprisons her and turns back to war. Almost inevitably, there is disability fail. To focus on the last book, (because that contains most of the references to General Naga, and because that’s the only one I have to hand!) alarm bells were ringing for me on page 35. Here is what goes through the mind of young Anti-Tractionist Theo Ngoni as he converses with General Naga’s wife, Lady Naga (aka Dr Oenone Zero):

‘He had seen Naga; a fierce warrior who clanked around inside a motorized metal exoskeleton to compensate for his lost right arm and crippled legs. He could not imagine that Dr Zero had been in love with him. It must have been fear, or lust for power, that had made her say yes.’

At this point, I thought, of course not. It’s going to turn out that she really loves him and married him for who he is, and this is just to set up breaking down that perception of unlovableness, right? Wrong. ‘She did not love him. She was just grateful for his protection, and glad that the leadership of the Great Storm had passed into the hands of a decent man. That was why she had been unable to say no when he asked her to be his wife.’ Naturally, a woman marrying for security. Part of my mind says that plays into the complexity of the relationships in these books, and it’s good to read something written for young people in which the happily ever afters aren’t really. Another part is thinking about how this sort of thing happens over and over again in popular culture, you know, where a disabled character isn’t being loved despite their being disabled or something.

And it goes on much like that, really, with lots of references to the crippled man! with his unrequited love! and he’s ‘half a man, wrapped up in clanking armour,’ according to one character, did we mention?

General Naga sacrifices himself in the end for the greater good, which frees young, unblemished Lady Naga from her horrid situation (tripping the sarcasm detector there). This “the cripple must die” dynamic that comes up so much in popular culture is really troubling, because its prevalence is just another betrayal of the societal view that disability is totes the worst thing ever and how can you live like that and why won’t you die and stop messing up my pretty world?! At the same time, he dies a hero, saving the people of London, following an illustrious career. Which is not exactly nice, but something.

What stories like this do is assume an abled readership. At least, I hope so, because consciously putting all this stuff onto young disabled people is a bit much. If a good part of writing fantasy/SF/spec for young people is to assist them in escaping and building up their imaginations and experiences, where are disabled youth to live out fantasy lives? Disabled youth are quite as deserving of an imaginative playground in which to develop their minds and thought as anyone else. In fact, I think it’s particularly vital that people so marginalised in the world be given opportunities to work at rich internal lives. What stories like this do is present full worlds and characters, contrasted with a bundle of cliches making up the one stock disabled character, and in doing so put disabled readers in their place: not deserving of anything more than that, and aren’t you glad you got represented at all? (Hello Doctor Who!) Which is not to mention that one dimensional characters represent another way of talking down to younger people. Younger people are quite capable of relating to characters outside of tired stock character types.

And at the end of the day, I find that these representations take me out of a story and just distract me. It’s poor storytelling, often inconsistent with the quality of the writing otherwise. It’s insulting to the audience, disabled and abled, young and old and in between.

[Cross-posted at Zero at the Bone]

Poetry!

1 December, 2009creative workpoetryChally

I’ve been thinking a lot about disability and creativity. Harnessing our energies and letting them into the universe, finding ways to express our experiences. I wanted to share a few poems I’ve found by disabled women.

“Naked, at 45” by Tracy Koretsky

Like pampas grass, whose blush fades, whose reeds
desiccate and snap, or like the house left to weather,
sinking, soft edges fraying…there is no fresh metaphor
for my body, aging. An ordinary body.

(Read the rest of “Naked, at 45”)

“You Get Proud By Practicing” by Laura Hershey

If you are not proud
for who you are, for what you say, for how you look;
if every time you stop
to think of yourself, you do not see yourself glowing
with golden light; do not, therefore, give up on yourself.
You can
get proud.

(Read the rest of “You Get Proud By Practicing”)

“every morning at 9 am,” by cripchick

i wrap my hand around her
skinny denim thigh
preparing myself for what will
come next

(Read the rest of “every morning at 9 am,”)

Do you have a favourite disabled poet or poem about disability?

Some Thoughts on The Time Traveler’s Wife

29 November, 2009media and pop culture, representationsbooks, characters with disabilities, movies, pop cultureChally

This post contains spoilers for the book and the film.

The other day I went to see the film version of my favourite book, Audrey Niffenegger’s The Time Traveler’s Wife. I was expecting a more gooey version of the book, and was a little apprehensive about the treatment of disability, but I wasn’t expecting what I got.

The time traveller of the title, Henry, travels due to a genetic condition called Chrono-Impairment. He experiences this as inconvenient and unpleasant: he is pulled out of his daily life and often to quite painful times in his past.

In the book, part of the way Henry convinces geneticist Dr Kendrick that his time travelling is real by giving the latter information about his son, who is soon to be born. One of these details is that the son, Colin, has Down Syndrome. And just about everything said about him is along the lines of what Henry says just after the birth: ‘I’m sorry about Colin. But you know, he’s really a wonderful boy.’ Dr Kendrick’s reaction to his son’s ‘abnormality’ is less pleasant.

But Colin doesn’t appear in the film. There’s a part of my mind that was glad we missed what would surely be a nasty mix of okay and fail. But with his exclusion, we also missed the presence of half the disabled characters in the novel. And I know you have to make changes for film adaptations, and that’s fine. Though it’s curious how all the queer characters and most of the non-white characters were taken out for the film version, too… (Which is, again, good on the one hand because you miss all the painful stereotypes, but bad on the other as, you know, there are few non-white or queer people.)

But I said half the disabled characters, so let’s address the other one: Henry.

In the book, Henry gets hypothermia when he ends up time travelling to a park in winter. He loses his feet and spends the rest of the novel in bed, then in a wheelchair. In the film, only one of Henry’s legs is affected, and he keeps it. Both Henry and Dr Kendrick emphasise that he’s not going to be in the wheelchair for long, If it had just been Henry saying that, I would have thought, okay, that’s a reference to his knowledge about his premature death. But as Dr Kendrick says the same, and as Henry never stops using the wheelchair until his death, there’s no point in saying it at all. Except to reassure the viewers that Henry is not one of “those people” and this is just a temporarily blip, that is. It’s okay, everyone, don’t panic; Henry isn’t disabled.

Henry learns about his upcoming death (oh, time travel) not long before getting hypothermia. I am not a fan of the emotional line formed here; to me the emotional message, if not the letter of the thing, is that disability is a stage in dying, that disability is a kind of pre-death. Which, come on. Henry isn’t dying up until he is killed. In the book at least the particular importance of Henry’s needing to be able to run is explained (it has often been a matter of survival when he is thrust about in time) (though it actually isn’t in any of his travels following the loss of his feet). In the film, we just have abled to disabled to dead. It leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

But what I found most strange in the discrepancy between the book and the film was Henry’s attitude. In the book, Henry is largely miserable once he loses his legs. In the film, Henry is a Good Cripple. It’s a pretty big contrast, and again the film takes out emotional complexity and loses the opportunity to highlight the marginal.

But now we come back to Henry’s time travel, and here we hit some more complexities. Can we call our chrono-impaired hero disabled? Within the world of the text(s), Henry doesn’t appear to treat it as such, as best I can recall from both texts. But irrespective of whether Henry or those around him understand him as disabled, as viewers and readers we can draw out a fair few messages about disability. There are all sorts of nebulous ideas in my head on time travel as impairment, and Henry’s search for a cure, and the issues with Clare and Henry having a baby. To be honest, I haven’t settled my feelings on this. But here are some ideas in Time Traveler’s that slot into popular ideas about disability…

Let’s make it a super power!
Long suffering partner
Should we have a kid with this condition? Or would that be unfair?

… and some of the difficulties Henry faces…

His impairment isn’t known about or dealt with in everyday society and he has to keep it a secret. In fact, he is scared for his job. Scary invisible disability?
He is repeatedly arrested because of a lack of understanding of his condition.
He struggles to find appropriate medical care.

What else can you think of?

So the novel and the film versions of The Time Traveler’s Wife have problems in different respects. But I’m finding the differences between the novel and the film the most interesting of all.

Disability History Education Video

18 November, 2009Uncategorizedself-advocacy, videoChally

I wanted to share this Disability History Education video by the Disabled Young People’s Collective. The DYP is based in North Carolina, USA, and is made up of people between the ages of fifteen and twenty-eight. See the DYP website for more.

The video is mostly captioned, but the captions can be a bit difficult to read at times, so here’s a video description.

[A group of people sitting on stairs call out, one at a time.] The following are stereotypes of people with disabilities: special, begger, psychotic, crazy, mongoloid, lazy, needy, handicap, disgusting, retard, insane, incapable, slow, helpless.
[Written out on the screen] The following are shocking facts from disability history.
[Individuals say the following]
[On an exercise machine, a person says] Did you know that 70% of people that are blind or visually impaired are unemployed?
[A person walks up stairs then pauses to speak] Did you know that disabled people were sterilized during the eugenics movement?
[A person is watching TV and says] Did you know that disabled people were killed in the Holocaust?
[A person walks closer to the camera to say] Did you know that disabled people were required to stay inside because they were considered ugly?
[A group is sitting in a parking lot, blocking a car, which honks at them. One of them says] Did you know that Section 504 was the longest sit-in ever in a federal building?
[Standing in a doorway, a person says] Did you know that disabled people had their teeth removed, because institutions didn’t want to pay for their dental costs?
[A person using a motorised wheelchair is in a parking lot with ‘another inaccessible sidewalk’ and so moves along beside the sidewalk, saying] Did you know that 92% of parents abort children who have the possibility of having Down Syndrome?
[A person signs with speech voiceover] Did you know that students at Galludet University staged a protest by hotwiring buses to block campus gates in order to get the first Deaf President there?

You can find the words to the Self-Advocacy Rap, which is at the end of the video, in the sidebar of the YouTube page.

Thank you to @cripchick for tweeting about this video.

Question Time: Assistive Devices

16 November, 2009Question Timeassistive devicesChally

Question Time is a series in which we open up the floor to you, commenters. We invite you to share as you feel comfortable.

What are your assistive devices, if any? (‘Assistive device’ defined as broadly as you like.)

The Disabled Label

1 November, 2009identitybut this is about me, chronic illness, identity, invisible disabilities, labellingChally

I’d been diagnosed with my first chronic illness for a good ten years before I took the label on. This was partly because I didn’t make a connection between chronic illnesses and disability. That’s an experience I share with a lot of “invisibly” disabled people. Disability is all deafness and wheelchairs and that sort of thing, right? Not so much. I also didn’t take on the label for so long partly because I didn’t experience my condition as disabling for most of that time. A bit annoying, sure, but it wasn’t that bad until a patch about four years ago, and then it increased last year, and then my health got shot all to hell again this year. It’s only been in the past couple of years I’ve been able to approach myself as disabled.

So what changed? To gain access to some services, I had to fill in some forms marked “disability”. That was cool, I could handle being lumped in with disabled people, oh wait maybe that means this qualifies as a disability, oh no I’m one of them, stop being a bigot they’re disabled not monsters from the black lagoon – hey. Maybe I am disabled. Maybe that describes what I’m going through. Maybe this will allow me to explore opportunities and internal spaces I’ve been shutting off. And that’s okay.

Before I got there, I had to overcome a few things. As any “invisibly” disabled woman will know, there’s an idea of the “whiny woman” in your way. The “whiny woman” is that silly broad who always complains about her aches and pains, but who we all know is just looking for attention. The idea of this imaginary woman is put on to us, used to delegitimise our voices, our experiences, our pain. When I ask for disability-related help, I am keenly aware that whoever I am asking may well be thinking of me as a fluttering fusspot, not a person with needs. I did not want to be that whining woman, I did not want to make a fuss. And isn’t that just typical? Women are so often told, implicitly or explicitly, that we shouldn’t draw attention to ourselves but should go about things quietly, carry on, don’t demand anything for yourself. This is, of course, on top of the disability stigma: disabled people are subhuman, better off dead, unlovable, disgusting. Which hasn’t been the case for a single PWD I’ve met, or anyone, in fact. It’s nasty lies, it’s some people’s horrible perceptions.

I came through all that and accepted what I’d always known, always thought about other PWD but couldn’t yet apply to myself: those things aren’t true, we are all wonderful people deserving of life and love and whatever we want for ourselves. And when I finally took on the disability label, it was a relief. Here were a term and history I could apply to my experience. It was liberating.

I came to realise that nobody could force that identity on or away from me. No matter what anyone else thinks, whether they see me as disabled, whether they think I’ve been faking the whole time, this is my label to claim or discard as it suits me. If, one day, I find an identity of ‘disabled’ no longer suits me, no longer applies to my experience, I can let it go.

How do you relate to the label of ‘disabled’? Did you grab it with pride, wear it with shame, are you considering claiming it, do you reject it for yourself?

Ableism and the Aussie Battler

28 October, 2009social attitudesableism, australiaChally

I want to talk about how Australia’s ideas of the ideal Australian exclude people with disabilities. But first I have to explain a little about the Australian national myth.

The ideal Australian figure is known as “the Aussie battler”. Essentially this is an ordinary man working hard to get by and support his family without complaining. I guess it’s a bit like “the little guy”. I’m going to paraphrase how Queen Emily explained it (as we discussed this on Twitter with its 140 character limit): ‘It’s an idealisation of (implicitly working class) struggle, self-sufficiency. You work hard and get paid fairly – but not well. I think it’s different from the US rags-to-riches story, because it doesn’t imply that hard work produces social mobility.’

I’m not sure how to convey to you how ingrained the idea of the battler is in the Australian consciousness, but it really, really is. It’s everywhere from our popular culture to our political discourse. Our previous Prime Minister, John Howard, drew on it a fair bit. (In fact, in 2007, US President George W. Bush referred to him as a battler at the Asia-Pacific Economic Cooperation forum, a moment which caused a few raised eyebrows.) Our current PM, Kevin Rudd, doesn’t do so quite so much, but it is still very noticeable.

There’s a whole culture around cheering on the underdog and tall poppy syndrome (tearing down high achievers). But the Australian idea of the underdog – the “Aussie battler” – isn’t really who is at the bottom of the kyriarchal pile. If white, abled men represent the struggling Australian, that’s a pretty warped idea of hardship. It’s not about valuing the real battlers. A lot has been said about the racism and misogyny coded in the battler legend, and I could say a lot about the assumptions regarding family (structure); today we’re talking about the ableism.

The Aussie battler ideal is about a person working hard to get enough money for the family to live on. Every feminist knows how problematic it is to set up paid work as the only sort of real work. After all, women’s work in the home, raising children, running the household – the second shift – has been devalued in Western society as a matter of course. It also is very ableist. Many disabled people cannot fulfil the paid work requirements to be a battler, or not consistently, because those standards are designed to fit abled people, to privilege what they can do over what people like us can do. It would seem that only particular kinds and amounts of contribution to family and society will do. Setting up “typical” as “best” is just about always problematic, and there is no exception here.

And if you must be disabled, there’s a battler’s way to do that, too. Complaining is not the Australian way, you must be stoic and soldier on. Never admit that you need assistance, because not being able to do everything on your own is weak. Having to rely on anyone else is a matter of shame. If the Aussie battler must be self-sufficient, and a source of strength and support to those around them, then what of those people who require that support? The Aussie battler idea devalues those the battler is actually working for: wives, children… disabled friends and relatives, perhaps. It’s not that those people are valuable and worth fighting for, it’s that the battler gets to prove their toughness and reliability. For whichever group, it doesn’t leave a lot of room to just be human: needing help, giving help, everyone deserving of love and support regardless. That’s what archetypes do: set up impossible tasks and cut out those on the margins. It’s okay to lend a hand to a mate as a one-off, but you better get back on your feet straight away. Assuming you have that hand, and you are able to get back on your feet, of course (oh, bodily metaphors, how much you do assume).

In an effort to keep this less than novel length, I’m not going to explain any more about Australia’s notions of ideal citizenship, but if you’re interested, you can try looking up larrikins, the ANZAC spirit and mateship.

Do you have specific cultural features like the battler ideal that make life a bit tougher when you’re disabled?

Disability and Sexuality 101, or, Do disabled people have sex?

25 October, 2009101, bodies, sexualitymyths, sexChally

Of course! That is, some of us do, but there’s nothing about disability that means we don’t ever have sex. As with any other group in society, some of us are sexual and some of us are asexual. Some of us are celibate, some of us are in steady sexual relationships, some of us like a one night stand. Which is to say, we’re far from being a sexual monolith! (… as it were.)

The reason PWD aren’t considered as sexual – particularly “visibly” disabled PWD – is that the idea of “the perfect body” as the only sexual body dominates popular discourse. Additionally, we have the stereotypes of PWD as pathetic or stoic, far removed from the sexual. Not to mention the fact that disabled people tend to be shoved away from the general public. This idea is not due to some inherent aspect of disability that negates sexuality, it’s just bigotry. The lack of recognition for PWDs’ sexuality has meant, less so in recent years, that a lot of PWD aren’t given appropriate sex education. Without proper sex ed, it’s harder to take charge of one’s own sexual life and body. This lack of information has its role in enabling the high rates of abuse against PWD. There is a lot of horrific policing of the bodies and sexuality of disabled women in particular, as you’ll read about on this blog in less 101-type discussions.

When those PWD who are sexual are seen as such, it’s often to the exclusion of many modes of sexuality. Remember, disabled people, like non-disabled people, have all sorts of sexualities that can change throughout life. We can be queer and straight, poly and mono, kinky and vanilla (which is not to say that all of those are exclusively sexual identities, either). Not everyone is into or can have PIV intercourse, and all kinds of sexual activity are as legitimate as the participants consider them to be. And, of course, implicit in the question ‘Do disabled people have sex?’ is the question ‘Do disabled people have partnered sex?’ As such, that’s the question I’ve been answering, but it’s best not to forget that masturbation is fun, too!

There’s another myth that PWD only have sex with other PWD. This is based on the assumption that no one “normal” would want to have sex with someone who doesn’t fit into rigid norms. Sex isn’t just for young, white, abled, straight couples, no matter what TV tells you. Of course, the idea that sex with disabled people isn’t ideal means that it’s sometimes harder for disabled people to find sexual partners. To which I say, people with that kind of bigoted attitude are missing out on some really great sex.

Disability often influences a person’s sex life, as it does many other aspects of life. (Not to mention framing disability as this overarching barrier to sex obscures the fact that, you know, other factors have their role in how and if a person is sexual.) Pain or fatigue or physical features, for instance, can have an impact, but that doesn’t mean PWD are never sexual. Because there are so many different types of disability – and some people have multiple disabilities – there are lots of different changes PWD and their partners might make to make sex possible, easier or just more fun. This could include clear communication when a partner has an anxiety disorder, assessing which positions are most comfortable with a particular body shape, adapting sex toys for people with limited motor control and a whole range of things.

Disabled people’s sexualities exist, and are quite as varied and wonderful as those of non-disabled people.

FWD/Forward

FWD (feminists with disabilities) for a way forward