Ableism and internalized ableism

So what is this ableism business all about?

It’s pretty simple, it’s like racism except towards disabled people. Ableism is the set of social practices that I am met with when I venture outside the door of my home. It is not something most people would admit they adhere to, it is much more subtle than that. I am automatically met with a number of assumptions – very often unconscious ones – that lead to me being treated in a way different from everyone else. And the kicker here is that these assumptions are based both on my actual disability as well as presumptions about my disability that only live in their head. And I am not just talking about non-disabled people here.

A great deal of my disabled friends hold onto the idea that we are fundamentally different from non-disabled, they see how we have built a world that is not created for disabled and how difficult it would be to change that world. By doing this they fail to see the more subtle discriminations, the attitudes and the unwillingness to make things easier for us. So therefore we must be fundamentally different, we are not able to live and participate fully in the societies we are (somewhat) part of.

Meanwhile there is no concrete definition of what ‘disability’ is. Disability is a continuum from the able-bodied Miss Universe type of person to the obviously disabled blind, double amputee paraplegic with a twitch. Many people are living in bodies that at one moment are perceived as ‘able’ and the very next as ‘disabled, all depending on their circumstances.

When I try to tell my disabled friends about the obvious practices of discrimination they quickly point out physical barriers and how they are not something we can do anything about. There is very little interest in discussing the non-physical barriers and I can only assume that they are not willing because it will force them to look at themselves in an entirely different light; a light where they are human beings with equal human rights and not as victims to their circumstances, a light where they would have to look past the disability to look at themselves as merely human beings with the same human needs as others. But by refusing to see ourselves simply as people we are implying that we do not deserve to be treated as equals.

Many (dare I say the majority?) choose to see themselves as ‘other’, marginalized and unworthy. There is a large contingency who subscribe to the view that the impairment itself is something inherently tragic, an ‘otherness’ so horrible that it is the reason for the poor treatment they receive and therefore also the reason for all the problems they encounter – forgetting that other people might have similar problems despite their obvious lack of any disability that they can attribute it to.

Thus the disability becomes the reason for an inferiority complex. This inferiority complex becomes the foundation for that person’s self-image and their overall understanding of disability as a concept, something they are victim to.

These practices are all part of what I call ‘internalized ableism’. A practice where disabled people internalize the ideas and prejudices of society that see disability as ‘other’, as something undesirable, as tragic and as something to be shunned if not pitied. This in turn results in the disabled person loathing themselves and their bodies. They inherently see themselves as lesser human beings and they dislike others in their group because they are the mirror image of that self-loathing. I know quite a few people who will claim how they hate other cripples – I have even been one of them myself for a while when I was younger.

This way they end up blaming themselves for the oppression they experience. Deborah Marks has explained it rather aptly in her book, “Disability: Controversial Debates and Psychosocial Perspectives” She says:

Internalized oppression is […] the result of our mistreatment. It would not exist without the real external oppression that forms the social climate in which we exist. Once oppression is internalized, little force is needed to keep us submissive. We harbour inside ourselves the pain and memories, the fears and the confusions, the negative self-images and the low expectations, turning them into weapons with which to re-injure ourselves, every day of our lives.

As Marks says, this self-degradation makes it really easy to for the norm to remain status quo. The disabled person who subscribes to this view can lean back and say to him/herself:

“Disability is something horrible bestowed upon me so how can I be expected to act normally and live a satisfying life?” And I am hard pressed to tell them that they are wrong. It is extremely difficult to tell someone they are wrong when everyone and everything around them confirm their belief.

Disability is a great excuse for wallowing in a misery that in other people might simply be called sadness. Or if it is really serious, depression, a psychological state that is expected to be dealt with and overcome within a foreseeable timeframe. But for the disabled it is not necessarily so. They are living tragic lives and in our oh-so-sympathetic understanding we forget to care for it. Misery is an existential condition for the disabled and they have an inherent right to feel so by the tragedy they represent for us.

And that view serves us disabled well. We get a great deal of attention by playing the victim role. We get empathy and care from those around us. Many end up acting so pathetic that they can’t differentiate between the care that is actually needed and a treatment that is nothing but pampering and degrading, others hate it but are not able to escape their self-inflicted victimization, thereby becoming the poster image for the ‘bitter cripple’.

The care and attention is a kind of paternalism that only perpetuates the oppressive relationship between disabled and non-disabled. It allows the non-disabled to show a profound and sincere compassion and sympathy for us while we are kept in a position of social subordination and gratitude.

It keeps us in a state where it is all right for ourselves and others to view us as dependent, helpless, innocent victims who through our physical limitations are unproductive and often a burden. We are at our most acceptable if we sit down, shut up and act as if we didn’t exist as human beings.

So what do we get out of it? By ‘buying’ the ableism idea we get the opportunity to be lazy. We become the mute and mindless receivers of charity and well-meaning. To a certain extent some might even agree with those (radicals) who say we are oppressed and that we need to point out inequalities in our lives. But nobody can expect to change our surroundings so that they are accessible to all groups of disabled. And since we can’t change our environment so we can get around without some form of aide, why even bother thinking about it? At the end of the day everyone knows that disability is all about physical impairment and not about discrimination. I mean, who would discriminate against those who everybody pities?

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I am such an inspiration

My whole life I have been an inspiration. Oh, I am so incredibly great and I am so amazingly able to do all kinds of things all by myself. I don’t need all the help that I seem to need. I know, because people have told me this my whole life. From certain members of my family over people I know from different walks of life to total strangers. They all tell me basically the same thing, ‘you’re such an inspiration’ and there seems to be no need for them to explain why that is so, it just is.

I particularly like the guys on the commuter train who pat me on the head and tell me how great it is to see someone like me and what an incredible inspiration I am to them… because total strangers know these things. I usually tell them that it’s good to see someone like them and how glad I am that they made it out of bed, and when they stare at me baffled I tell them that I know how hard it is for someone like them to perform such a difficult task. Most of them walk away either shaking their head or with a scared expression on their face that I so far have been unable to decipher.

But back to me, that is what this is all about.

I am categorically a brave soul. I touch on all these people lives – or should I say, hearts – merely by being alive and by going about my daily living, going to the store, eating out or taking the local commuter to where I need to go – or when I perform the amazing task of using a lift to get into my van, after all it does have several buttons (and to those who know me it’s no secret I don’t always manage to push the right one)

I bring a smile to people’s faces as I pass them in my daily routine – if I could only get paid for being so heroic and valiant.

But what I lack in income from this awesome life I lead, I get back as attention. People look at me with that smile that to some might seem condescending, a smile that I know they think is a gesture of friendliness and gratitude. Not so much because I am me, I don’t think most of them care who I am as a person. But I do know what I am to them, I am such an inspiration – not just an inspiration, but such an inspiration.

So why do I think their smiles are gestures of gratitude? I know because it is human nature. Aren’t we all grateful for who we are when we see those less fortunate than ourselves? Don’t we feel just a little bit better about ourselves when we are able to mirror our own life in their misfortune? Guilty as charged, I do. I just can’t help it, or maybe I can but it takes a lot of willpower and personal strength. No matter how I lok at it, I am still happy I am not a sub-Saharan African, deaf, gay woman with AIDS and a serious limp. I admit it, I feel thankful for not being her. I am glad to have my crippled life where I can go out in the world and be an inspiration.

I know you want to ask now. Do I know a sub-Saharan African, deaf, gay woman with AIDS and a serious limp? No, I don’t. And if I did she I would never call her an inspiration to me. I mean, what had she done to deserve it just by being a sub-Saharan African, deaf, gay woman with AIDS and a serious limp? If she had done something amazing then, yes, I might consider admiring her. But then I would admire her for what she’d done, not for who she is. What she’d done is above and beyond her being disabled (or gay or a woman or sick, for that matter) If she had created a living for herself and she now owned a thriving business, I would say ‘good for her’ but not because of, or in spite of her obvious difficulties, but because she was an amazing person who had accomplished something for herself, regardless of the hand she’d been dealt by fate.

Why should I look at that woman through her difficulties instead of looking at her as a fellow human being? Suddenly she disappears and what I am looking at is her circumstances. She becomes a symbol, an object that I can use to mirror my own life in and feel good about myself. She becomes reduced from being a person with a disability to being her disability.

She becomes the inspiration for me, an inspiration that lives outside of me, an inspiration that takes on its own life in my thoughts and my actions. Suddenly she is no longer a person but some sort of representation of how I would like to live my life in a perfect world – except I really don’t want that, because that would mean that I also would have to bear the cross of her disability. And despite my elation about being an inspiration, I know that is not what I want.

So instead she becomes a beacon of hope that things are good in the world. I have my quiet little life that I can live without too much trouble and thank God it’s not me who is that sub-Saharan African, deaf, gay woman with AIDS and a serious limp.

But at the end of the day, who am I to know whose life is more or less difficult than mine? And that is what really curdles blood when I hear: “Dear me, you are such an inspiration to me!”

ETA: I just found this that puts the subject in a more serious light:

http://badcripple.blogspot.dk/2013/04/shane-burcaw-laughter-is-not-always.html

I have to say that ‘Badcripple’ is one of my great inspirations and it was fun to beat him to a subject. I don’t think that is going to happen too often.

Going shopping

So I went to my local supermarket today and it is not just any odd convenience store. No it happens to be the biggest supermarket chain in Denmark, NETTO, which happens to be owned by the wealthiest company in the country, Maersk, which also happens to be the largest shipping company in the world. A company that apparently is too poor to accommodate their disabled customers in a decent and worthy fashion.

I just wanted to buy some groceries and what do I see to my dismay – the one – yes ONE – parking space they have at their store has been invaded. This time not by any of the usual suspects; shopping carts, bicycles, strollers or unauthorized vehicles. No, as a celebration of the coming spring the store has decided to let it be invaded by a floral display. A floral display of all things!

This is the parking space for disabled
This is the parking space for disabled

Not as in a sudden exclamation of peace, love and happiness – after all we’re talking about a commercial outfit that is not necessarily known for their sense of aesthetics. So they are exhibiting the pretty flowers that they are trying to sell at inflated prices to their customers.

What adds insult to injury is that there are about 50 non-disabled parking spaces, most of them completely empty all around this display of cheerfulness. Spaces that could easily have been converted into flower stands if they had so chosen. But that would have meant that the entrance to the door would not have been blocked – and who in their right mind want to see where to enter the store they are going to?Yes, the floral arrangement was in fact so large that it not only blocked the entire disabled parking space as well as the sign for it (God forbid anybody was going to see it and complain) it also blocked the entire entrance to the store.

Now, in their own understanding they did afford some replacement parking. On my way out I saw one of those ‘the floor is wet’ sandwich signs. [check out the pictures] With a tiny little piece of paper saying ‘handic  ap  space’ (yes, it’s true, the paper was so small that they found it wise to divide the word up into ‘handic’ and ‘ap’) This sign was conveniently placed up against some of the flowers in the back and not even close to any of the alternative parking spaces.

Notice the disabled parking sign behind all the shelves
Notice the disabled parking sign behind all the shelves

Ok, I am no idiot, I am certain the little sign had sat close to one of the other parking spaces. But that only makes it even more moronic. First of all, who but the most goodie-goodie old ladies are going to respect such an amateurish attempt at reserving a parking space for others. And secondly, and by far worse, those spaces are not wide enough for anybody with a wheelchair to get out of their vehicle. I own a van with a lift on the side and there is no way in hell I can get out if I try to squeeze into one of those.

So NETTO and Maersk, You better do better. I have decided to spend the next few weekday afternoons at your store, parked right in the driveway that goes by that parking space so your other customers will have a hard time getting past me. I plan on arriving around 3.30 when traffic really picks up and I can easily spent a good 1½ hour browsing your store and end up buying a pack of chewing gum – if I can find one cheap enough.

The 'new' type of signage, hidden away amongst the pretty flowers
The ‘new’ type of signage, hidden away amongst the pretty flowers