dodgingwndshlds

I've been feeling pretty sad lately... It's not like me, and I am sorting it out. In thinking about it all, trying to get to the bottom of the issues at hand, I have come up with some more ideas around the issues of identity that constantly haunt me, and how I use them to my advantage in dealing with illness and impairment and the identity politics of Disability.... It's not a full idea yet... I'm still mulling them all over... But it seems to me that I am saddened at times by my impairment, and what it means to me as an individual. Not as a member of society, with all the barriers and the like, but what it means to my own psychology: I am saddened, at times, at the things I will not do again.

And I think that's ok.

I can still be a proud and loud member of the Disabled community, because even from this dark place, it's still about my identity, not my impairment. My impairment is merely the thing that brought me here.

As I said.. It's not a full thought.. I am still mulling it over.... Ideas, anyone?

I admit, I am addicted to information. This age of the internet is the perfect time and the perfect place for the existence of someone like me: I am the opposite of anachronism. My iPhone has four news apps, and I check them for up-dates obsessively. With my iPhone, I am also constantly connected to my email, Facebook, LiveJournal, AOL Instant Messenger, Weather Bug, Wikipedia, YouTube and everything else via Google, complete with maps and GPS. The Ruling Reddcub says my nose is constantly in my iPhone.

I don't know about anyone else, but this ability to be anywhere on the planet where there is news almost instantly has made me more sensitive to witnessing atrocity. When everything and everyone one the planet can be streamed to my cell phone, I lose my American-made skill of hiding behind my little piece of the hegemony shield.

I grew up watching sterilized moments on television news, shot through the rose-colored lens of corporate media and censored by the need to sell advertising. If we show the true, horrific images of the end results of our endless political turmoils, people get overwhelmed and turn away, missing the commercials for the products that make our lives better. Peaceful. Comfortable. It's not the over-exposure to violence on TV that makes us callous to it, it's the sanitizing of it.

So because of this sensitivity, I have to spend time to steel myself before I can face what I perceive to be my duty of bearing witness. Until tonight, at two thirty in the morning, when I can't sleep and move out the couch in the living room, so as not to disturb my honey, until this time when I finally felt ready, I had not witnessed the YouTube video of Neda dying on the street in Tehran.

I searched YouTube and found several versions, including one from TV news in which her face was digitally obscured, and the video edited and looped.

I am sad to say that I watched that one. Perhaps I am not steeled enough, but I could not look Neda in the face as she died: a young woman killed by a system so much infinitely bigger than her.... Even now, I tear-up at the thought that in her face I would recognize surprise. I am terrified that what I would see in her un-obscured face on video would be an utter disbelief at the fact that righteousness was not, after all, a shield. And then I think that my naive faith in righteousness probably stems from viewing the world through the filters of a privilege of censorship, and berate myself for failing to know that someone else, somewhere else in the world probably knew better than to believe that Disney crap and I think: "Maybe Neda's face didn't show surprise."

And then I become even more afraid.

This tandem handcycle starts at $7500.00... Single person ones start at around $2000.00...Also interesting to note, there are no tandem handcycles available for two riders who crank by hand, only with the foot pedals in front and the handcycle in back....

I get so weary of it all.....

On Friday evening, I am facilitating the first of what I hope to be many workshops/professional discussions of the issues facing Disabled interpreters. I’ll be honest: the real point is to have a discussion about Disability Paradigms 101 for the non-disabled, and less about the “issues” that the Disabled interpreter has to “face.” Those of us that are, in fact, Disabled interpreters have (at least every one that I have met has) already worked out the issues for ourselves. The same way we have worked out the issues in the grocery stores, sidewalks, office buildings, schools, buses, you name it. When these experiences aren't successful, it's normally not because of us. We are nothing if not resourceful.

I write it out as a speech just to order my thoughts, it will not be read and may not get delivered in anything even remotely resembling this….( Read more... )

And then comes the real part, the discussion... This is the part that you gotta attend to get, and this is where all the good stuff will happen.

Wanna attend? Visit: The Language Door's website and click on "Educational Opportunities."

In the days since the travesty in California, I have not seen any news reports regarding the protests that are happening. (Now, to be fair, I don't watch TV, nor do I read a traditional paper newspaper. I get news feeds from the Associated Press and ABC News on my iPhone.)

What I have seen is:

1) A story about the horrible oppression and violence against gays in Iraq (Wednesday).

2) A story about the horrible oppression and violence against gays in Afghanistan (Thursday).

3) A story about the horrible practice of "corrective rape" perpetrated against lesbians in South Africa (Thursday).

4) A story about a teenage gay boy in LA winning Prom Queen at his highschool and congratulating the school on being so "tolerant"--No kidding... the story contained the word "tolerant" a few times. (Today).


I sense a message... Don't you?

I am pretty sick right now. Some of you who are in contact with me on a daily basis know this. It's a rough time: the sort that is familiar to anyone with a chronic illness. And while I know, on some level, that this too shall pass, this knowledge makes it no less miserable nor intolerable. I am in horrendous pain, and it is all I can do to keep myself drugged so that I can loosen the pit-bull clench of my jaws long enough to get a couple of hours of fit-full sleep until the narcotics induced paranoia dreams wake me and leave me sweaty and cranky and barking at the poor Ruling Reddcub.

I describe this not for pity, but for a baseline so that you, dear reader, will know how serious I am... How inspired I am to forge the fog of self-centered, inward focus that suffering brings to tell you that what occurred today in California can only be described as horrific. There is no silver lining, and while I rejoice in relief that 18,000 lucky couples that had the ability to do so in time "get to" keep their marriage labels, this fact alone is not a victory.

I have read reports written to be soothing that the decision is more that it appears on the surface. That really, it's just a loss of the word, and not the right to relationships recognized by the state and the rights and privileges that such recognition brings. Reports that go so far as to insinuate that the folks that wielded Proposition 8 like an indiscriminate weapon of mass destruction, the religious extremists who hijacked California's constitutional process and crafted it into a missile-weapon to take out as many infidels soddomites as possible, that these Mujahideen of Morality may have actually been the ones who lost in the long run. And they have a point: the decision clearly spells out a process by which a "separate but equal but for the word" system can be set up, guaranteeing the LGBTQ communities the rights and protections and recognition under the law that we want.

Except for the word.

But see, we didn't lose the word. It's still there. We just lost the ability to use it.

The name of a thing is its core identity... Things are what we call them. And what just happened was that THEY just told US what we can NOT name our relationships. If we can't call them by the name that our society has deemed the valid term, then they don't have to see them as real. They don't have to see them at all. Sure, we can pass laws that legislate their behavior--laws that make them act right in public--but what they just told us today, my friends, is that they still don't have to like it one single bit, and before we forget ourselves, they are in power. They are in so much power that we can legislate their behaviors and make them act like decent beings in public all we want; it's not a threat to them, because they can control what our lives get called.

For this, I come out of myself in this time of illness to explain why MS may suck, but it does not suck as much as the California Supreme Court does.

ARRRGGGG!!!! It's the Wheelie Giant!!! ARRRRRRGGGGG!!!!

As we lay here tonight, ready to drift off into peaceful slumber, my precious boy turns to me, and gazing with his big brown eyes, he sighs and says: "I don't know who to level up next... My priest or my shaman..."

Me: "Nice! Obsess much? 'OH WOE IS ME!! I DON'T KNOW WHO TO LEVEL UP!! ME PRIEST OR MY SHAMAN! AND I DON'T KNOW IF I SHOULD EQUIP MY HELM OF THE MONKEY BUTT!!!'"

Ruling Reddcub: *pout*

Me: "Oh come on, honey!! What are you getting mad at!?"

RRC: "Oh nothing!! You're only making fun of me!!" *pouts harder*

Me: "You make fun of me all the time!!"

RRC: "Yeah, but you're a cripple."

I've been watching The Corporation over the last few days... It's long, and many parts bear repeating...It's amazing.... If you haven't seen it, it's $9.99 at iTunes and worth every penny....

Ok.. So I haven't yet posted my opinion of the bathroom sign with the wee little wheelchair dude.... I'll get around to it...


In the meantime.. Here's another one to discuss...

“…the moral test of government is how that government treats those who are in the dawn of life, the children; those who are in the twilight of life, the elderly; those who are in the shadows of life; the sick, the needy and the handicapped. " ~ Last Speech of Hubert H. Humphrey

We have all heard the above quote or its ilk. It is a variation on the “The true measure of a society…” adage that is so ubiquitous as to be credited to many people. Gandhi said it, Hubert Humphrey said it, my sophomore Social Studies teacher said it. It’s a nice sentiment and it is a prime example of the medical/rehabilitative paradigm of disability: Disabled people are afflicted, and need to be taken care of in order for the non-afflicted caretakers to be deemed “civilized.”

And before I go any further, I want to reiterate that this sentiment of caretaking is pandemic. It is so ingrained in the sociological consciousness of almost any society that I can think of, that to think of this in terms of blame is an exercise in futility. We are all, Disabled and non-Disabled alike, victims of this mindset. No one needs to be berated for this, least of all the progressive, compassionate thinkers who read this blog. This is an exercise in consciousness raising, not education or correction. I submit these thoughts to you as a peer, recognizing that what we always talk about when we discuss these matters is perspective and opinion. I want no one to feel shamed; I want everyone to feel the same joy of discovery that I feel when I observe these hidden truths. Being conscious of inequities gives us the power and ability to change them if we so chose. It’s a joyful thing.

So here’s my two cents about it all…

Being ill can be defined as being in a state of abnormal health. People who are ill need care, and I do believe that it is the duty of society to care for the ill. However, if illness is a state of abnormal health (and I am including injury as a state of abnormal health), then it is by definition temporary. Given enough time, plain mathematics and the laws of averages makes the illness the “normal” state of health for the chronically ill. When this happens, it is my contention that the person leaves behind the realm of illness and enters the realm of Disability.

This changes things. At this point, in a perfect world, this person would be supported in redefining their life to accommodate this dis-ability. At this time, focus would be on reaching capacity along with—or even, dare I say, instead of—the goal of reaching recovery. In a perfect world, it would be common knowledge that the ill and/or the Disabled do indeed have goals and aspirations that have nothing to do with their health, and that they have the same rights and duties as everyone does to pursue those goals not only for their own self-fulfillment, but indeed for the betterment of the society in which they live.

The problem is that the truest measure of a society is how it cares for its “weak and infirm.” There is a real interest in keeping the Disabled infirm so that the non-Disabled can prove their mettle. And anybody deemed “weak or infirm” is then subject to every individual in a society’s desire to prove his or her own worth. It’s a blitzkrieg of “help” in a toxic dose. It’s not a conscious thought, it’s not an intent, people don’t mean to, it’s just there.

As proof, I offer the example of those that were born Disabled. I think we can all agree that for these people, “normal” is whatever their “normal” is. Given the skill in adaptation that we humans have, the only barriers preventing these people from reaching their full capacity, whatever that is for each of them, are external and imposed. True, a person born with no legs may never be a runner, but how many billions of people born with legs will never be runners, either? A person’s capacity is individual and cannot be measured by comparison. We look at people who are Disabled and see only what they CANNOT do, ignoring the enormous range of things they CAN do. We not only see what they cannot do, we lament it and feel that it is virtuous to try to fix it. But to do this, we first have to make them “abnormal.” It’s an artificial construct. What is more “normal” than the way someone is born? For that matter, does “normal” have to remain static throughout someone’s lifetime? What was abnormal for me two years ago is now just another day for me. As I have said before, when I dream, sometimes I am upright, walking, but my gait is smooth and rolling as if my feet were wheels. What does that say about my default state? It says that it is in transition, yes, but that means that there is a point B as well as a point A, and who’s to say they aren’t equal in their normality?

So great! That explains THEM, but why should I let THEM get ME down? Why can’t I just let THEM have their stupid ideas of worth-measurement and just go on about my daily life just being assertive?

Well, because incumbent on their ability to demonstrate saintliness is my willingness to play the part of the weak and infirm. If I adapt to my illness, or my ability to jog up some stairs being replaced with effortless gliding downhill, if I don’t need help…. Well! Then I am screwing with society’s ability to measure its worth and it becomes more than a slight to an individual. Now, I am truly beyond the pale: I am messing with THE WAY THINGS ARE. Now, they say, I am being unreasonable.

It’s when this happens that I am faced with the fact that the shuttle from one campus to another can no longer accommodate me because the lift is broken, and frankly, it’s gonna be a while before it gets fixed since there is not much call for it…this, after weeks of struggles with it and promises of repair. And even though I am already on the bus, the lift is stuck now, making everyone else late, so would I mind getting off the school shuttle and taking the public bus, which takes an hour longer and would make me late for work? Why am I the only one who has to get off? Because, I am not even on the right shuttle. This shuttle was going to make a detour (out of the kindness of the obviously worthy driver’s heart) and drop me off where I need to go, because the shuttle that goes where I need to go has a… you guessed it... broken lift. And yes, the lift is broken, so I have to drag myself to the door with my embarrassing and awkward, gimpy stride, going from seat back to seat back, in front of all the passengers who are already pissed off at me for “making them late” and get myself down the wet, muddy stairs on my ass to the bottom step to wait for my wheelchair that the driver can’t get off the bus for me for “liability reasons.” But hey! That’s ok! It just opens up an opportunity for a passenger to help out and prove his measure, too.

And then I get to feel like I should be afraid to post this for fear of sounding like I am bitter and unfair to the poor, well-intentioned non-Disabled folks who just wanted to help.

And then I just feel sad that it took me this long to express what I could have expressed simply by asking the question: “Why the fuck do we have stairs, anyway?? I mean, everybody can use a ramp.”

I am fascinated by the layers of meaning in this sign... As I am sure you can imagine, I have ALL SORTS of opinions about it...

But... I want to read what you think about it....








Discuss.

So during the "Incident" at work today, my friend and co-worker--with whom I had been having lunch--and I were locked into a small, dark office belonging to a guidance counselor. Come to think of it, with everything that was going on, she was a remarkable host... Anyway, there was another guy in there who was WAY talky (even more than me!!) and was Mr. NO BOUNDRIES! Within the first twenty minutes, we had discovered that he had tried to kill himself five times and his mother had an affair with his therapist... Yup... And we were locked in an 8x8 room with him. Weeeeeeeeeeee.

So then he turns to me and asks: "So... If you don't mind me asking," (Oh-oh... Here it comes) "Why are you in the wheelchair?" (Yup... I knew it)

My friend J's jaw dropped, and then she looked over at me with that grin that read "Here it comes.... And I got a front row seat!!"

Bug: "Because I can't walk."

Mr. NB: "Ha. Ha. That's a good one... But really... Why?" (At least he didn't ask what was WRONG with me)

Bug: "Well.... That's a little personal."...Long pause......"But mostly, I'm in it for the parking."



*BTW: There are still conflicting stories, but it sounds to me like the student may not have had a gun. He said he did, but no one saw one, at least not before the police cleared the area. Still, I am just grateful no one was hurt.

At the community college where I work today, an alarm went off; an alarm that means that there is an "active shooter" on campus and we are to lock the doors, turn off the lights and hunker down.

It was not a drill.


About 20 or 30 minutes into it, an email was sent out (which I got on my iPhone and was able to share with the people I was with in a small office) that there was a student in front of the bookstore (presumably with a gun) and that the student was threatening suicide, but had not shot anyone.

We were barricaded in that office for about an hour. The student was not successful in hurting himself or anyone else, thank God.

With all the economy related violence that has been going on recently, that was more than a little scary.

I love this!!!

I am taking a workshop this weekend called "The Intersectionalities of Social Identity and Interpreting"

The lecture tonight was basically a "Social Identity 101" course, put together beautifully and presented well by the instructor. The homework for tomorrow's session is to think of our own social identities and how they impact our interpreting...

It harkened me back to a thread from THIS entry between myself and dothearn, an amazing interpreter and interpreter educator that I am fortunate enough to be working with/learning from on a rather exciting project. She and I were discussing a variety of topics that started with how community is defined and expanded to include academia, Wabi-Sabi and identity.

I know... Weird... You can see why I am excited to get to know Dot better. Her blog: The Writing Vein

Anyway... I think I may just turn this in for my homework tomorrow...It's a reply to comment she made where she talked about academia and what it values and Wabi Sabi in one brilliant swoop...

It is said that the ultimate authority, the true measure of an evolved person is the personal: the knowledge that the work of one's life is ultimately measured by the review of value from the self same person. My life is fulfilled only if its met goals are ones related to my happiness, right? It's a "school" of one. The review of my own life and work is the ultimate academia.

And yet the academy is focused on the consensus of the paper holders. The value then becomes the collection of individual reviews. Mind you, I think that's a grand and beautiful thing, but by losing the individual review in the stamp of the academic, it can take on the essence of a weapon: used to force one out of a line of thought or a collection of work, rather than used to encourage one's contributions to it.

It's a very Wabi Sabi-esque idea! The value of the thing is intrinsic to the thing itself. It is not only simply because it is, but also because it was made as such.

There is a story that I heard once during a lecture on Wabi Sabi:

In Japan, there is a Shinto temple that contains 10,000 sacred objects. This temple and its objects are cherished and cared for with a kind of reverant zeal. And until recently, every 20 years, the temple and all 10,000 sacred objects in it were completely destroyed and rebuilt.

This was not meant to be a lesson in the fleetingness of life, nor an effort in to instill an idea that materialism is less than holy (although both of those ideas are rather Zen), but rather, this practice was meant to ensure that craftsmen skilled in the creation of sacred things would always be around; that traditions of art would be passed from generation to generation.

The teaching of a craft is a sacred duty, but we teach individuals, and if we focus our attention on valuing the academia of it all, we may forget that individual who may be the one who must later step up to teach the succeeding generation. Progress is honorable, and its honor will always be built upon the backs of those that come before. I can think of no greater pleasure than to pass on the knowledge of making something, so that the THING can live on, almost independent of its creators.

That you, in your comment, speak of wabi sabi on the same virtual page as academia... I quiver at the brilliance of the idea! The craft you teach is no less profound than teaching the crafting of sacred objects. Perhaps even more so, as tea pots are tools of a community, and as such probably don't add to the evolution of a culture as much as serve as milestones of said evolution.

The diversity of my community is the same as my priorities of identity, and changes just as often. On any given day, I am 10,000 different sacred objects, and while some stay the same (Queer, Disabled, Feminist, Writer, Interpreter), their priority in the hierarchy that is my identity shifts. If that identity is the temple that houses these objects, perhaps I should consider burning it down every now and again, just so that I never lose the knowledge of how to create it.

I've been having trouble with one of Rex's tires... Last week, I ran over a staple in the carpet of the office and got a flat.

I called Cripple A. They were no help. So I changed the tube myself.

(That was a joke.. There is no such thing as Cripple A)

But, every morning, I would wake to find it completely flat again. A slow leak that let me know there was something going on with the tire itself. I searched and felt and searched and found nothing....

So yesterday, we called the wheelchair repair place and I made an appointment to have installed two new 24" x 1 3/8" grey bicycle tires and two new tubes.

The woman on the phone asked who my insurance company was.

WTF?? For BIKE TIRES???

I told her I would be paying out of pocket, and asked her how much it would be.

Are you ready for this?

Two HUNDRED and fifty dollars

I told her to forget it, went to a bike store, got the EXACT SAME TIRES, better tubes, plus rim liners (hush) and had all of my spokes overhauled and tightened in about 15 minutes for $50.00.

But today, I don't get to go out and show off my shiny new tires cuz it's freaking snowing again!

My second workshop, Interpreter Plus: A Discussion of the Issues Facing Interpreters with Disabilities was also accepted for presentation at the 2009 RID conference in Philadelphia in August.

I am trying not to let it go to my head.

My new crutches came today....






What? I'm sorry?

Why, yes... They are pink... Thankyouverymuch.