Links to previous installments in this series:
Part 1: Revisiting the Dark Ages
Part 2: Obvious Definitions of Ableism
Part 5: Is "Overcoming" Worth It?
Part 8: Immaturity or "The Blog Post Where I Have a Meltdown"
We have unpacked a lot about ableism in this series, and it's only natural that it took a large number of posts to do so. It is a very broad topic with a lot that deserves examination. There is much more I wish I could have covered: For example, what's the difference between a variation in brain function and a disability in brain function? Is it all a matter of opinion? Should it even be defined? And are there limits to accommodation, let alone "reasonable" accommodation? These are endless conversations, and maybe I will tackle them sometime. However, I hope that I managed to elucidate a number of other issues that I feel are overlooked when discussing ableism. I also hope that I have raised your consciousness in the kinds of things that could be classified as ableist. However, it is here that I would like to urge you to be cautious when labeling attitudes or actions of people as ableist-- let alone people themselves as ableist.
Ableism is a complicated, nuanced issue, whether it's about how it relates to autistic people or people with other disabilities. As I've alluded to in this series-- and in a recent post, "Can We Stop Alienating Each Other?"-- I feel that "ableist" and "ableism" are words that, while they have their place, are unfortunately overused to the point where they feel more like a thought-terminating cliché than a complex concept worth examining. I see this a lot in autism groups on Facebook and in social justice circles in general. What has become apparent lately is that there seems to be a kind of orthodoxy in these groups. That is, there has to be a universally-agreed-upon definition of what constitutes ableism that cannot be questioned unless that person wants to be stamped with a scarlet letter of sorts.
I see accusations of ableism hurled around when, God forbid, someone in an autism group says that they prefer the word "Asperger's" instead of autism to describe themselves. One reason this upsets so many people is that "Asperger's" is a word used to describe someone on the autism spectrum who is considered "high functioning." People who object to the use of "Asperger's" often tell the person that they feel superior to "lower-functioning" autistic people, whom they want to distance themselves from. They accuse the person of ableism, internalized ableism, and all-around bigotry. Whether or not there is any truth to this is a discussion worth having, but it's not going to work unless the discussion will be civil.
Right now I can hear objections to my comments about "civil discussion" in the form of accusations of ableism: What about people who have been traumatized when they were classified as "low functioning" and therefore "hopeless"? One or more of those people might have PTSD and cannot help but have an angry response. How dare I demand a particular ability that they might not have?
Again, a discussion worth having... and it's important to note that not everybody has experienced that kind of trauma or, if they have, they might not have PTSD from it. People who can handle the discussion should have it, but the people who can't might do well to turn off notifications for the thread. Is that an ableist statement?
What about the common accusations of internalized ableism?
Is it internalized ableism for me to be glad I've never had sensory issues and to wish I didn't have prosopagnosia? Is it internalized ableism for me to say I'm glad I don't need to use a wheelchair? What about someone who needs a wheelchair and wishes they didn't? Years ago, my mom, a retired teacher, told me a story about how one of her students, a wheelchair user, wrote about how he often had dreams about being able to run down a football field. He was always devastated when he woke up from these dreams, as he didn't know what it was like to be able to run, or even walk. Is he guilty of internalized ableism? I think not. But if you think so, then probably every one of us-- including people with disabilities-- is guilty of internalized ableism on some level. And at that point, the term ceases to have meaning. In any case, in none of these situations am I-- or my mom's former student-- making declarations of inferiority to people without these disabilities. We just prefer we didn't have them.
I have even heard stories about people who have confessed to being worried that some activity they do will lead to an accident that will make them need a wheelchair. Then they feel guilty because they think it's a form of internalized ableism. I'm sorry, but that's absolutely ridiculous. It's nice to be able to walk. What's ableism is looking down on people who can't!
What if the late astrophysicist Stephen Hawking (who likely wished he hadn't become paralyzed and had to use a wheelchair, but that's a different point than the one I'm about to make), had gotten into an accident that affected his cognitive function? Let's say his nonverbal IQ score, which was apparently an unbelievable 160, dropped to 102. IQ isn't everything, but 102 is not enough to handle something as intellectually demanding as astrophysics. When I was a kid, my nonverbal IQ score was actually measured at 102 (I have nonverbal learning disability, like many of us on the spectrum). And guess what? I wouldn't blame Hawking for being devastated if this happened to him, and I wouldn't consider it ableism, internalized or otherwise. Because you know what? It sucks to be able to lose the ability to do something, especially if that ability was important to you.
There are some truths that we can't pretend don't exist. Like it or not, every interaction that we have with one another assumes some level of ability. By writing this blog post, I am assuming that you can see and that you can read. Or, at least I'm assuming that if you can't do one or both that someone-- or something, like the voice function on your device-- is reading it to you. I'm also assuming that you know how to turn on your device. I also assume that your reading comprehension is within typical or near-typical limits. Otherwise, you might not be able to understand the blog post. Is it ableist for me to make these assumptions?
Maybe in the Facebook groups where people shout "ableism!" like it's going out of style, they're also assuming that everybody in the group can read. How do they know there isn't someone in the group who can't read for some reason and is just there because they like looking at the color scheme in the group, and just being there makes them feel like they belong? Nobody knows for certain that this isn't happening.
We may be wrong sometimes when we make assumptions about other people's abilities, and that's okay as long as we are open to learning. For instance, someone might have a knee-jerk reaction when witnessing a ten-year-old having a meltdown in the store because his parents won't buy him the toy he wanted. She might assume that the kid is spoiled and has parents who normally cater to his every whim. She might turn to her friend, an adult on the autism spectrum, and say, "That kid is throwing a tantrum! He wasn't brought up right!" The friend might say, "That's possible-- or it could be that he's autistic. Maybe he's having a meltdown because he's been overly invested in this toy for months, and he's devastated now that he is learning that he can't get it. If you think this is hard for you to witness, think how hard it is for him to experience it." If she is open to what her friend tells her and is willing to learn from her insight, then that's a good thing!
What about ableist language? I've heard arguments that saying, "This movie is stupid," is ableist because of the word "stupid." I don't think so, because, as I stated in Part 8, this is a word that is used to describe actions or attitudes when a person with average or above average intelligence was doing them clearly knew better-- or, in the case of a movie, the word just means it was badly written. It's not a medical term, and most people understand that it's lousy to use it to describe someone with an intellectual disability. "Retarded," however, is a different matter, because it has been a medical term in living memory.
There is no limit to what we could consider ableist. Maybe it's ableist to not drink during pregnancy because the alcohol could cause the baby to have an intellectual disability. Hell, by extension it means that the mother is ableist for valuing intelligence and wanting her child to not struggle in school. You see how ridiculous this sounds?
And one more thing that I want to point out is that none of us have 20/20 foresight. There are many things that parents, teachers, camp counselors, and peers said to me in the '90s that would be considered ableist with a 21st-century awareness and understanding of autism and other conditions. As I've said, I believe that the appropriate application of the label of "ableism" is contingent upon the person knowing that a disability is present, and therefore I have to let some of these people off the hook. We as a society are learning more, and this is a sign of progress. There is no doubt in my mind that we are-- hell, I am-- saying things today that will be considered ableist in twenty years in light of a disability that hasn't been identified yet.
I am open to having my mind changed on this post-- hell, on all of the posts in this series. I might look back at this series in a month, a year, a decade and realize that there are holes in my arguments and that maybe there would be a better word than "ableism" to describe the overarching theme of this series. And just like with the book that I talked about in Part 4, I might end up cringing at some of what I have written.
People evolve and their perceptions evolve, and we have to let them.
No comments:
Post a Comment