Sunday, February 17, 2008
Against Stigma
Over at Writhe Safely, Flawedplan says what I have been thinking about the liberal response to incidents like the NIU shooting in WaPo Good, Huffpo Bad.
Saturday, February 16, 2008
Bleah
My neck has been squeaking all day. And thus my head has been hurting all day and my gut upset. I had hoped it would get better but it seems to be getting worse. God, I hate the noise of squeaky neck.
Grandma
My birthday was Valentine's Day. I spent the day with my daughter, who took me shopping. It was a great day, with my favorite companion and I both us finding jeans that fit and her not having any notable seizures, and both us our legs holding out much longer than usual. Because I spent the whole day with MD, I didn't get to spend any time with my parents until today. Mom was quite eager to give me a gift, but I didn't imagine it would be so wonderful.
First, she made sure I read the card: "Everytime I say or write [your name], I am reminded of my mother. Your grandmother loved you more than she could ever express and that is why I am giving you this gift. She would be most pleased and happy."
The gift is a necklace of crystals and silver that needs to be restrung. My grandmother wore it when her children were young, so my mom and her brothers slobbered all over it, tarnishing the silver. That makes it even better, I think.
I was named after my mom's mom, and miss her greatly though she died over 20 years ago. It was years before I stopped crying abruptly every day. Grandma was the pillar of our family.
Grandma wasn't always a pillar, of course. Her childhood and young adult years were hard and her choices not always the best. Her mother was an un-enrolled Cherokee; her father a teamster home long enough only to father another child. At twelve, Grandma was set out to work in the houses of better-off townsfolk. She became something of a groupie, leaving her hometown to be on the road with a vaudeville musician. She married her vaudevillian, but after 2 kids, he ran off, leaving her, a flapper and a stranger, in a small town. My grandfather was taken by her exotic looks and, an orphan himself, eager to step in as father to two small boys. My mom came along shortly after they were married.
Grandma kept her thoughts and feelings to herself. She didn't hug or kiss more than the expected hello and goodbye. But she was a never-ending fount of pies, cakes, home-made clothes, and wonderful summertime visits. I would spend a week with her and Grandpa, all by myself. I spent the time reading, daydreaming, and poking about. I'd help hang out the laundry on the line or ineffectually assist in her constant gardening. I'd try on every outfit in her closet--she never threw any of them out. She was order without rigor, standards without rejection. She traded plates of food with her neighbors at holidays, pumpkin pies and chocolate cakes in exchange for tamales. I am not sure that a day ever passed without dishes being returned or picked up--and no dish was ever sent or returned empty. Anyone who had any business with my grandparents came to the backdoor. Only strangers came to the front, and there weren't many of those.
Grandma had chronic health problems. Her doctors were way too eager to cut into her without really knowing what was wrong. In midlife, she lost both breasts and much of her back and chest muscle to a double radical mastectomy, but turned out not to have had cancer at all. Much of her bowel was resected, for reasons I never knew but that I suspect were due to prolapse and attempts to repair previous botched surgeries. She was prepared to die many times, but hung on, I felt and still feel, because we needed her so much. When she had been very poorly for many months, she asked when I would come see her. I made a point of going then, and she and I sat in chairs on her lawn. We talked a bit, but mostly shared time. I told her I loved her. Shortly after, her condition worsened. She refused any further surgeries and, having already said goodbye to her grandchildren, died. She was 85. Life came apart then, but I think that we've all put it back together pretty well.
There is no marker where her grave is. There is, instead, my mom. I'm nearly 50 now. Someday, it will be on me to be the marker she is. I hope I will be as good a neighbor, as nonjudgmental, as perservering, as wise, as my mom and my grandma.
First, she made sure I read the card: "Everytime I say or write [your name], I am reminded of my mother. Your grandmother loved you more than she could ever express and that is why I am giving you this gift. She would be most pleased and happy."
The gift is a necklace of crystals and silver that needs to be restrung. My grandmother wore it when her children were young, so my mom and her brothers slobbered all over it, tarnishing the silver. That makes it even better, I think.
I was named after my mom's mom, and miss her greatly though she died over 20 years ago. It was years before I stopped crying abruptly every day. Grandma was the pillar of our family.
Grandma wasn't always a pillar, of course. Her childhood and young adult years were hard and her choices not always the best. Her mother was an un-enrolled Cherokee; her father a teamster home long enough only to father another child. At twelve, Grandma was set out to work in the houses of better-off townsfolk. She became something of a groupie, leaving her hometown to be on the road with a vaudeville musician. She married her vaudevillian, but after 2 kids, he ran off, leaving her, a flapper and a stranger, in a small town. My grandfather was taken by her exotic looks and, an orphan himself, eager to step in as father to two small boys. My mom came along shortly after they were married.
Grandma kept her thoughts and feelings to herself. She didn't hug or kiss more than the expected hello and goodbye. But she was a never-ending fount of pies, cakes, home-made clothes, and wonderful summertime visits. I would spend a week with her and Grandpa, all by myself. I spent the time reading, daydreaming, and poking about. I'd help hang out the laundry on the line or ineffectually assist in her constant gardening. I'd try on every outfit in her closet--she never threw any of them out. She was order without rigor, standards without rejection. She traded plates of food with her neighbors at holidays, pumpkin pies and chocolate cakes in exchange for tamales. I am not sure that a day ever passed without dishes being returned or picked up--and no dish was ever sent or returned empty. Anyone who had any business with my grandparents came to the backdoor. Only strangers came to the front, and there weren't many of those.
Grandma had chronic health problems. Her doctors were way too eager to cut into her without really knowing what was wrong. In midlife, she lost both breasts and much of her back and chest muscle to a double radical mastectomy, but turned out not to have had cancer at all. Much of her bowel was resected, for reasons I never knew but that I suspect were due to prolapse and attempts to repair previous botched surgeries. She was prepared to die many times, but hung on, I felt and still feel, because we needed her so much. When she had been very poorly for many months, she asked when I would come see her. I made a point of going then, and she and I sat in chairs on her lawn. We talked a bit, but mostly shared time. I told her I loved her. Shortly after, her condition worsened. She refused any further surgeries and, having already said goodbye to her grandchildren, died. She was 85. Life came apart then, but I think that we've all put it back together pretty well.
There is no marker where her grave is. There is, instead, my mom. I'm nearly 50 now. Someday, it will be on me to be the marker she is. I hope I will be as good a neighbor, as nonjudgmental, as perservering, as wise, as my mom and my grandma.
Saturday, February 09, 2008
To Boldly Limp Where No One Has Limped Before
Incited to embrace my geek self by Emma (so blame her), I'm going to write a bit more about Star Trek and disability. I brought it up earlier, talking about "Is There in Truth No Beauty?" (ITITNB) in reference the the blind acupuncturist story.
Emma mentions Geordi, the blind engineer in Next Gen, asking how his situation compares with that of Miranda Jones. I'm not all that hep on TNG, so be ready to flame me with the hot coals of Trek wrath for my faulty knowledge on that score. But as to Miranda Jones in ITITNB, I will dare to speak.
Jones is introduced as an anomaly, a telepathic human who went to Vulcan to learn how to shut out the voices and emotions, both hers and others', that invaded her consciousness, as well as getting a respite there by being around people who knew how to keep their thoughts to themselves. She went on to become a psychologist, a profession in which being able to read other's thoughts might be an advantage. She's on board the Enterprise to assume a post as ambassador among a species that only communicates telepathically. That species, the so-called Medusans, are said to be so ugly that looking at them induces insanity. This is pretty unbelievable, since when Kollos, the Medusan ambassador to the Federation, is shown (to the extent that it is), it appears to an energy creature that can hide in a box. Maybe there's some sort of optical trigger that gets set off in corporeal minds, that is understood by those dealing with the unfortunates who had been exposed as "ugly." That I could buy, coming as I do from a personal background of migraines and seeing MD's seizure troubles; there's nothing like a bad flicker to make life unpleasant and painful.
OK, where was I? Oh, yes. Miranda Jones. Seems she was second choice for the job, which was originally offered to Spock. And seems she is feeling that others think she must be inadequate to the task if she was second choice, so one of her fashion accoutrements is a giant chip on her shoulder. The other is a fantastic web-like lacey affair that she wears over all her other clothes. It's quite lovely. I want one. And it is what makes Miranda Jones like Geordi LaForge. With it, she can sense the physical world around her, even being able to read heart rates and body temperatures. Seriously, why isn't everyone wearing one of those things? Looks great and beats the heck out of LaForge's plastic hair accessory. The other fashion accessory introduced is the IDIC, a piece of jewelry that Spock describes as representing Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations. Jones thinks he's wearing it rub in her face that he's a better telepath than she is. Whatever his reasons, the idea of IDIC plays throughout this episode.
Back to our story. The sensory features of Jones's fashion statement are not revealed to the command crew until well into the episode. Before then, she gets the opportunity to jilt a lover, who decides that he can change Jones's mind if he shortcircuits the mission through murdering Kollos. Bad Decision Dinosaur would approve, for the obvious result is bwahahahahaha madness (not your garden variety mental illness, but the kind common only in Gotham City). In his agitation, loverboy Larry overcomes the entire engineering crew, navigates the ship to some unknown place outside the galaxy, and conveniently dies. The Big Three decide that their only option to finding their way home is for Spock to mindmeld with Kollos, since the Medusans have mad skillz in interstellar navigation. Jones would try to stop Spock, so Kirk decides to try his own loverboy routine on Jones in order to distract her.
With Jones and Kirk alone in the ship greenhouse, we learn that Jones went to Vulcan not just to get telepathic training, but to get away from human emotion, of which the worst, she says, is pity. Totally convinced of his own irresistable charm, Kirk yammers on about how she's going to miss being with her own kind, seeing and touching other humans. He moves in to close the deal he's making, inadvertantly exposing his thoughts to Jones. Too late, she races to stop Spock. Kollos has agreed to the plan (Spock having worn some sort of red filter that makes chatting with Medusans no problem whatsoever for Vulcans). Jones protests that she could learn all about navigation intantly and that it would be less dangerous for everyone if they let her do it instead. It's at this point that McCoy spills the beans about her blindness, telling her that piloting a starship is not among the things that her accessability device allows her to do. Spock and Kirk marvel at her overdress, Spock obviously geeking out on the tech. Seriously, if circumstances were different, Spock and Jones could completely hang together. They're both aloof, intelligent, annoyed by emotional display and willing to take chances. Spock asks why she thought it was necessary to conceal her blindness, what with it being so handy in dealing with the Medusans. Kirk, who previously had been baffled by her comment about pity being the worst of all human emotion, now buys a clue into the social model of disability, completely seeing her point that there were people who not let her succeed on her own merits if they knew she was blind.
Kollos, in its box, is brought to the bridge and placed behind a temporary divider. The meld goes smoothly, the ship gets safely home, and Spock/Kollos forget to put the red filter glasses back on. Thus the unmelding results in a dangerously agitated Spock, who gets put down with a phaser and dragged off to Sick Bay. Kirk and McCoy implore Jones to mindmeld with Spock, in hopes that she can bring him around. She reluctantly agrees but after several hours, there is no improvement. McCoy is resigned to Spock dying, but Kirk wonders if Jones is actually trying, what with her being professionally jealous of Spock. He barges into Sick Bay, where he finds that Jones has removed her webbing thing. He doesn't mention it, but picks it up, looking at her as she keeps asking who has entered. He glowers in fury, taking her relative state of undress for indifference. He then launches into her, saying that he thinks she's a cold-blooded jealous bitch who doesn't care about anyone but herself, and that if Spock died, it would be her fault for not giving a rat's ass. He storms out, leaving Jones standing like someone just hit her in the face with a particularly smelly mackerel. Kirk tells McCoy that he wasn't sure he did the right thing, seems confused and troubled by her being actually blind: "She was blind. Really blind. Really in the dark." Or is he referring to her not understanding her own feelings? But Jones shows that she can take criticism, deciding that she really wasn't trying very hard. And how does she show this? She puts on the lacey overdress, right? Nope. She leaves it where it was, and turns around to put her heart into getting Spock back to his usual self.
With Spock restored, Jones and Kollos prepare to leave the ship. Before departing, Jones thanks Kirk for the chewing out, saying that it enabled her to understand herself. After all, she had made it a point to block out her own feelings, so she really had become unaware of the scope of her motivations.
What did this episode really have to say about disability? Blindness was never presented as a hindrance to Jones in anyway. It was, in fact, a useful characteristic because it allowed her to deal with the Medusans directly. The disabilities she faced were societal (pity, and a lack of accessibility) and the usual individual ones that cut across the whole of humanity (jealousy, lack of personal insight).
Now, how does that one episode compare to the many in which Geordi figured? Well, Geordi doesn't feel a need to hide his blindness, so there's obviously been some progress. And for both, there is never a question among the humans about their right to existence as people with disabilities. I guess that's one of the lessons learned from the terrible Eugenics War of the 1990s. But I like that, for Jones, blindness is a trait that can be good, part of the entire package which makes her ideal for her job, and is otherwise no more important than the color of her hair. I don't remember Geordi ever being in a situation where being blind was an actual good, though I do remember a couple of episodes where it made him the weak link in the chain. I don't include having tech as part of the actual good. Jones being blind was good whether or not she wore the lacy thing. Geordi being blind was good only when being able to hack the banana clip was useful.
TOS took a similar approach to disability in "Plato's Stepchildren." There it turns out that Alexander's dwarfism is actually a good thing, because it has saved him from the fate of being an Insufferable Prick. He's the one that, as a viewer, you are expected to identify with: The little guy (both figuratively and physically) being pushed around by powerful interests mostly concerned with increasing their own standing. Kirk assures Alexander that, when he leaves the planet with them, that there will be plenty of other people of short stature and that being a dwarf wouldn't be any barrier to him. Even though showing rather than telling would be more effective, we are supposed to assume it is true. Probably that Eugenics War legacy, again. What I really like in "Plato's Stepchildren" is that Alexander--when given the choice--makes a conscious choice to identify as disabled in a society in which the only disability that matters is lack of telekinesis.
When offered the drug that would counteract his "biochemical deficiency" also responsible for his dwarfism:
Look at that. By himself, Alexander had adopted his society's disablism. But when he had the chance to bond with other non-telekinetics, he came to respect himself and understand the social model of disability. Isn't disability culture a beautiful thing?
Of course, not all is sweetness and light for folks with disabilities in the TOS generation. Despite all the progress made on other fronts, medical care for veterans injured in the line of duty remains grossly inadequate. Just ask Capt. Pike.
Emma mentions Geordi, the blind engineer in Next Gen, asking how his situation compares with that of Miranda Jones. I'm not all that hep on TNG, so be ready to flame me with the hot coals of Trek wrath for my faulty knowledge on that score. But as to Miranda Jones in ITITNB, I will dare to speak.
Jones is introduced as an anomaly, a telepathic human who went to Vulcan to learn how to shut out the voices and emotions, both hers and others', that invaded her consciousness, as well as getting a respite there by being around people who knew how to keep their thoughts to themselves. She went on to become a psychologist, a profession in which being able to read other's thoughts might be an advantage. She's on board the Enterprise to assume a post as ambassador among a species that only communicates telepathically. That species, the so-called Medusans, are said to be so ugly that looking at them induces insanity. This is pretty unbelievable, since when Kollos, the Medusan ambassador to the Federation, is shown (to the extent that it is), it appears to an energy creature that can hide in a box. Maybe there's some sort of optical trigger that gets set off in corporeal minds, that is understood by those dealing with the unfortunates who had been exposed as "ugly." That I could buy, coming as I do from a personal background of migraines and seeing MD's seizure troubles; there's nothing like a bad flicker to make life unpleasant and painful.
OK, where was I? Oh, yes. Miranda Jones. Seems she was second choice for the job, which was originally offered to Spock. And seems she is feeling that others think she must be inadequate to the task if she was second choice, so one of her fashion accoutrements is a giant chip on her shoulder. The other is a fantastic web-like lacey affair that she wears over all her other clothes. It's quite lovely. I want one. And it is what makes Miranda Jones like Geordi LaForge. With it, she can sense the physical world around her, even being able to read heart rates and body temperatures. Seriously, why isn't everyone wearing one of those things? Looks great and beats the heck out of LaForge's plastic hair accessory. The other fashion accessory introduced is the IDIC, a piece of jewelry that Spock describes as representing Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations. Jones thinks he's wearing it rub in her face that he's a better telepath than she is. Whatever his reasons, the idea of IDIC plays throughout this episode.
Back to our story. The sensory features of Jones's fashion statement are not revealed to the command crew until well into the episode. Before then, she gets the opportunity to jilt a lover, who decides that he can change Jones's mind if he shortcircuits the mission through murdering Kollos. Bad Decision Dinosaur would approve, for the obvious result is bwahahahahaha madness (not your garden variety mental illness, but the kind common only in Gotham City). In his agitation, loverboy Larry overcomes the entire engineering crew, navigates the ship to some unknown place outside the galaxy, and conveniently dies. The Big Three decide that their only option to finding their way home is for Spock to mindmeld with Kollos, since the Medusans have mad skillz in interstellar navigation. Jones would try to stop Spock, so Kirk decides to try his own loverboy routine on Jones in order to distract her.
With Jones and Kirk alone in the ship greenhouse, we learn that Jones went to Vulcan not just to get telepathic training, but to get away from human emotion, of which the worst, she says, is pity. Totally convinced of his own irresistable charm, Kirk yammers on about how she's going to miss being with her own kind, seeing and touching other humans. He moves in to close the deal he's making, inadvertantly exposing his thoughts to Jones. Too late, she races to stop Spock. Kollos has agreed to the plan (Spock having worn some sort of red filter that makes chatting with Medusans no problem whatsoever for Vulcans). Jones protests that she could learn all about navigation intantly and that it would be less dangerous for everyone if they let her do it instead. It's at this point that McCoy spills the beans about her blindness, telling her that piloting a starship is not among the things that her accessability device allows her to do. Spock and Kirk marvel at her overdress, Spock obviously geeking out on the tech. Seriously, if circumstances were different, Spock and Jones could completely hang together. They're both aloof, intelligent, annoyed by emotional display and willing to take chances. Spock asks why she thought it was necessary to conceal her blindness, what with it being so handy in dealing with the Medusans. Kirk, who previously had been baffled by her comment about pity being the worst of all human emotion, now buys a clue into the social model of disability, completely seeing her point that there were people who not let her succeed on her own merits if they knew she was blind.
Kollos, in its box, is brought to the bridge and placed behind a temporary divider. The meld goes smoothly, the ship gets safely home, and Spock/Kollos forget to put the red filter glasses back on. Thus the unmelding results in a dangerously agitated Spock, who gets put down with a phaser and dragged off to Sick Bay. Kirk and McCoy implore Jones to mindmeld with Spock, in hopes that she can bring him around. She reluctantly agrees but after several hours, there is no improvement. McCoy is resigned to Spock dying, but Kirk wonders if Jones is actually trying, what with her being professionally jealous of Spock. He barges into Sick Bay, where he finds that Jones has removed her webbing thing. He doesn't mention it, but picks it up, looking at her as she keeps asking who has entered. He glowers in fury, taking her relative state of undress for indifference. He then launches into her, saying that he thinks she's a cold-blooded jealous bitch who doesn't care about anyone but herself, and that if Spock died, it would be her fault for not giving a rat's ass. He storms out, leaving Jones standing like someone just hit her in the face with a particularly smelly mackerel. Kirk tells McCoy that he wasn't sure he did the right thing, seems confused and troubled by her being actually blind: "She was blind. Really blind. Really in the dark." Or is he referring to her not understanding her own feelings? But Jones shows that she can take criticism, deciding that she really wasn't trying very hard. And how does she show this? She puts on the lacey overdress, right? Nope. She leaves it where it was, and turns around to put her heart into getting Spock back to his usual self.
With Spock restored, Jones and Kollos prepare to leave the ship. Before departing, Jones thanks Kirk for the chewing out, saying that it enabled her to understand herself. After all, she had made it a point to block out her own feelings, so she really had become unaware of the scope of her motivations.
What did this episode really have to say about disability? Blindness was never presented as a hindrance to Jones in anyway. It was, in fact, a useful characteristic because it allowed her to deal with the Medusans directly. The disabilities she faced were societal (pity, and a lack of accessibility) and the usual individual ones that cut across the whole of humanity (jealousy, lack of personal insight).
Now, how does that one episode compare to the many in which Geordi figured? Well, Geordi doesn't feel a need to hide his blindness, so there's obviously been some progress. And for both, there is never a question among the humans about their right to existence as people with disabilities. I guess that's one of the lessons learned from the terrible Eugenics War of the 1990s. But I like that, for Jones, blindness is a trait that can be good, part of the entire package which makes her ideal for her job, and is otherwise no more important than the color of her hair. I don't remember Geordi ever being in a situation where being blind was an actual good, though I do remember a couple of episodes where it made him the weak link in the chain. I don't include having tech as part of the actual good. Jones being blind was good whether or not she wore the lacy thing. Geordi being blind was good only when being able to hack the banana clip was useful.
TOS took a similar approach to disability in "Plato's Stepchildren." There it turns out that Alexander's dwarfism is actually a good thing, because it has saved him from the fate of being an Insufferable Prick. He's the one that, as a viewer, you are expected to identify with: The little guy (both figuratively and physically) being pushed around by powerful interests mostly concerned with increasing their own standing. Kirk assures Alexander that, when he leaves the planet with them, that there will be plenty of other people of short stature and that being a dwarf wouldn't be any barrier to him. Even though showing rather than telling would be more effective, we are supposed to assume it is true. Probably that Eugenics War legacy, again. What I really like in "Plato's Stepchildren" is that Alexander--when given the choice--makes a conscious choice to identify as disabled in a society in which the only disability that matters is lack of telekinesis.
They were treating you the same way they treat me, just like me only you fight them. All the time, I thought it was me, my mind that couldn't move a pebble. They even told I was lucky they bothered keep me around, and I believed them. The arms and legs of everybody's whim. Look down. Don't meet their eyes. Smile. Smile. Those great people... they were gods to me. But you showed me what they really are. Now I know. Don't you see? It's not me or my size. It's them! It's them! It's them!
When offered the drug that would counteract his "biochemical deficiency" also responsible for his dwarfism:
You think that's what I want? Become one of them, become my own enemy?
Look at that. By himself, Alexander had adopted his society's disablism. But when he had the chance to bond with other non-telekinetics, he came to respect himself and understand the social model of disability. Isn't disability culture a beautiful thing?
Of course, not all is sweetness and light for folks with disabilities in the TOS generation. Despite all the progress made on other fronts, medical care for veterans injured in the line of duty remains grossly inadequate. Just ask Capt. Pike.
Thursday, February 07, 2008
The Short Bus, prologue
I'm currently reading Jonathan Mooney's new book, The Short Bus. I've decided to post reviews as I read it. Meaning, not only post for each part of the book, but in the manner in which I read. This means that there may be a lot of digression. Have you any idea how many good books I never finish because I get stimulated to think of something else with every sentence? Of course, you don't, because I have never told you before now. I'm intent on not getting distracted, so putting out my thoughts as they come to me should help. And afterward, I'll assess the book as a whole. If you are also reading this book, please feel free to throw in your own comments. (Full disclosure: Mr. Mooney gave me a copy to read, for the purpose of sharing my opinion.)
So, we get to begin with my favorite part of any book, the prologue. It's my favorite because I get a sense of what to expect. I'm a great one for reading the beginning of a book and then getting restless part way through and skipping to the end. And then reading the middle if I liked the end. I don't know if this will be one of those books that I get so restless I can't read straight through. From the prologue, I think the Mooney's writing style is inviting enough that I might be able to contain myself to see how the story plays out on his terms. Or maybe it will be so inviting that I just won't be able to help myself. We'll soon see, won't we?
Probably anyone reading this blog knows what a short bus represents. That's the half-size bus that the designated "special" kids ride, rather than have them ride with the "normal" kids. There might be a reason for having a separate bus pick up some kids. Goodness knows that your average school bus is barely accessible to your average, homogenized kid. You might think that the short bus should thus be representing inclusion and acceptance. But not every kid on the short bus needs special transport. No, there's something else going on there, and right away, Mooney gets to the heart of it by climbing back on the short bus. What the short bus represents is segregation and stigma, a singling out and demoralization of those who are different. But maybe it can also represent community and identity under adverse circumstances?
As a boy, Jonathon Mooney was diagnosed as having learning disabilities, and spent most of his early education in anguish. Mooney talks about his feelings going to the special classes, and his frustration, to the point of suicidal despair, with the insistance of the system that he "try to be normal." I can see this is going to be a book exploring how ideas of normality are used to degrade those who just won't be homogenized. He admits that the message finally became his goal, that he sought to become normal, to avoid the "freaks" lest he share their taint. He thought he had accomplished this after his graduation with honors from Brown and the publication of his first book, Learning Outside the Lines. He had pretty much acheived supercripdom, being introduced on his book tour as having "overcome" his serious learning disability. But while he's on his book tour, encounters with children and adults who have not "overcome" bring him around to accept the part of him that he had been running from. The process of acceptance leads him to buy the very symbol of his difference and stigma, a short bus, to take on tour throughout the United States. To do what? To celebrate his release from the constraints of The Normal? To seek out others like him? He had thought it would be Afterschool Special material, but having shaken off that notion, went ahead with his road trip. Ooh, good prologue. I know to expect an interesting tale of adventure, but not what that adventure will bring.
______________________________
Digressive thoughts I'm willing to share:
By the by, this whole short bus thing is somewhat later than my own childhood experience. Back when dinosaurs walked the earth, there were no learning disabilities. You were either "normal" or you had "retardation". Everyone who went to school, went to the same school as everyone else in the neighborhood, and we all walked. If you couldn't walk, you didn't go to school. Of course, there was still segregation and shame attached to learning disability, whether it had a label or no. Kids with Down syndrome were in a separate part of the building and had separate recess (I really don't remember any kids in that class not having Down syndrome, but that might be a trick of my memory) and we were given the distinct impression that they were somehow under quarantine. Kids with less pronounced learning disabilities were mainstreamed by virtue of not having resource to the modern panoply of labels. Though they did get to enjoy the segregation enforced within the classroom of being made to sit or stand in the places of shame, or spend a great deal of one on one time with the principal, and if any of them had masochistic tendencies, they were in luck, for there were all sorts of interesting techniques of humiliation and pain available to the educators of yore.
Troublesome students nowadays seem to get labeled autistic and sent to the resource room. There wasn't much in the way of "resource rooms" as they are now known. But they weren't unknown, either. Without my parents' knowledge, I was sent to the resource room equivalent for reasons that were never revealed to me as a child but that my parents finally divulged not too long ago. Seems my stutter and tendency to write things backwards, and some picture I drew in second grade, did not meet with approval, so for two years, I was pulled out of class to go play Uncle Wiggly and Candyland with a couple of other weirdos. Well, that's all I remember doing there. Childhood was very confusing. Oh, wait, I think there may have been phonics and flash cards. At any rate, they succeeded in mostly replacing my stuttering with speech hesitation and overpronunciation of consonants. And really pissing my parents off, who put a stop to it when they finally found out. Oh, I should say, I never heard it called a resource room back then. It was the "counselor's office," and only quiet oddballs ended up there.
So, we get to begin with my favorite part of any book, the prologue. It's my favorite because I get a sense of what to expect. I'm a great one for reading the beginning of a book and then getting restless part way through and skipping to the end. And then reading the middle if I liked the end. I don't know if this will be one of those books that I get so restless I can't read straight through. From the prologue, I think the Mooney's writing style is inviting enough that I might be able to contain myself to see how the story plays out on his terms. Or maybe it will be so inviting that I just won't be able to help myself. We'll soon see, won't we?
Probably anyone reading this blog knows what a short bus represents. That's the half-size bus that the designated "special" kids ride, rather than have them ride with the "normal" kids. There might be a reason for having a separate bus pick up some kids. Goodness knows that your average school bus is barely accessible to your average, homogenized kid. You might think that the short bus should thus be representing inclusion and acceptance. But not every kid on the short bus needs special transport. No, there's something else going on there, and right away, Mooney gets to the heart of it by climbing back on the short bus. What the short bus represents is segregation and stigma, a singling out and demoralization of those who are different. But maybe it can also represent community and identity under adverse circumstances?
As a boy, Jonathon Mooney was diagnosed as having learning disabilities, and spent most of his early education in anguish. Mooney talks about his feelings going to the special classes, and his frustration, to the point of suicidal despair, with the insistance of the system that he "try to be normal." I can see this is going to be a book exploring how ideas of normality are used to degrade those who just won't be homogenized. He admits that the message finally became his goal, that he sought to become normal, to avoid the "freaks" lest he share their taint. He thought he had accomplished this after his graduation with honors from Brown and the publication of his first book, Learning Outside the Lines. He had pretty much acheived supercripdom, being introduced on his book tour as having "overcome" his serious learning disability. But while he's on his book tour, encounters with children and adults who have not "overcome" bring him around to accept the part of him that he had been running from. The process of acceptance leads him to buy the very symbol of his difference and stigma, a short bus, to take on tour throughout the United States. To do what? To celebrate his release from the constraints of The Normal? To seek out others like him? He had thought it would be Afterschool Special material, but having shaken off that notion, went ahead with his road trip. Ooh, good prologue. I know to expect an interesting tale of adventure, but not what that adventure will bring.
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Digressive thoughts I'm willing to share:
By the by, this whole short bus thing is somewhat later than my own childhood experience. Back when dinosaurs walked the earth, there were no learning disabilities. You were either "normal" or you had "retardation". Everyone who went to school, went to the same school as everyone else in the neighborhood, and we all walked. If you couldn't walk, you didn't go to school. Of course, there was still segregation and shame attached to learning disability, whether it had a label or no. Kids with Down syndrome were in a separate part of the building and had separate recess (I really don't remember any kids in that class not having Down syndrome, but that might be a trick of my memory) and we were given the distinct impression that they were somehow under quarantine. Kids with less pronounced learning disabilities were mainstreamed by virtue of not having resource to the modern panoply of labels. Though they did get to enjoy the segregation enforced within the classroom of being made to sit or stand in the places of shame, or spend a great deal of one on one time with the principal, and if any of them had masochistic tendencies, they were in luck, for there were all sorts of interesting techniques of humiliation and pain available to the educators of yore.
Troublesome students nowadays seem to get labeled autistic and sent to the resource room. There wasn't much in the way of "resource rooms" as they are now known. But they weren't unknown, either. Without my parents' knowledge, I was sent to the resource room equivalent for reasons that were never revealed to me as a child but that my parents finally divulged not too long ago. Seems my stutter and tendency to write things backwards, and some picture I drew in second grade, did not meet with approval, so for two years, I was pulled out of class to go play Uncle Wiggly and Candyland with a couple of other weirdos. Well, that's all I remember doing there. Childhood was very confusing. Oh, wait, I think there may have been phonics and flash cards. At any rate, they succeeded in mostly replacing my stuttering with speech hesitation and overpronunciation of consonants. And really pissing my parents off, who put a stop to it when they finally found out. Oh, I should say, I never heard it called a resource room back then. It was the "counselor's office," and only quiet oddballs ended up there.
Monday, February 04, 2008
Blind acupuncturist
A woman in Austin is trying to get licensed as an acupuncturist. She was turned down the first time, despite passing her classes and test, for the simple reason that she is blind.
My first impression, gathered from the article I read, was that the state licensing board was acting out of prejudice:
Good grief. A blind acupuncturist might cause bleeding? Heck, my sole experience with acupuncture was with a sighted acupuncture student, who seemingly mistook me for a voodoo doll. I have complete confidence that a blind person couldn't do any worse, and might potentially do something novel, like pay attention to what they were doing. I would sooner try it again with Ms. Cumbo.
But maybe I'm just being silly. Maybe, like piloting a starship*, acupuncture is one of those things that blind people just can't do.
But, no, apparently my first impression was the right one. Google Book Search brings me Understanding Acupuncture, by Stephen Birch and Robert Felt. In Box 3.2 on page 96, they relate Birch's "good fortune" in studying with a blind acupuncturist. Perhaps the Texas licensing board should buy themselves a few copies of this book.
There's a whole tradition in Japan of acupuncture being done by blind practioners. Some fellow named Waichi Sugiyama invented the insertion tube for the needles way back in the 1600s. Did I mention he was blind? He then went on to found acupuncture schools to teach the craft to others who were blind. Both the Kiiko and Toyohari acupunture styles were developed by blind acupuncturists, though also taught to those who have the misfortune of being distracted by vision. A third of all Japanese practioners are blind.
I'm now seriously wondering about the credentials of the Texas acupuncture licensing board if they don't know this history already.
edited 2/9/08 when I finally remembered the wording I was going to use
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*Star Trek, Original Series, "Is There in Truth No Beauty?" Dr. McCoy reveals Miranda Jones' blindness when she demands to be taught to navigate the ship. I rather like the episode overall--McCoy felt that her blindness was nobody's business up to that point. Maybe few writers in the 1960s just could imagine adaptive technology well enough to consider that perhaps blindness might not be the barrier they thought it must always be to driving anything? Aside from that, the message of the episode, that pity is inappropriate and serves to hinder the person objectified with pity, is well done. Jones has the regular assemblage of human failings, which drive her relationships and behavior, but among them is not her blindness. If she has a "handicap," it would be her telepathy--the superhuman sense she has--because it makes her extremely uncomfortable around other people. But that, too, is accepted as just part of "infinite diversity." OK, enough geeking out. Well, for the moment.
My first impression, gathered from the article I read, was that the state licensing board was acting out of prejudice:
Meng-sheng Lin is the licensure committee chairwoman, and the Dallas acupuncturist said she's inclined to repeat her vote against [Juliana] Cumbo's application.
She said she's trying to fulfill her duty to protect the public.
Lin said acupuncture can lead to bleeding that if unnoticed could pose a contamination risk.
Good grief. A blind acupuncturist might cause bleeding? Heck, my sole experience with acupuncture was with a sighted acupuncture student, who seemingly mistook me for a voodoo doll. I have complete confidence that a blind person couldn't do any worse, and might potentially do something novel, like pay attention to what they were doing. I would sooner try it again with Ms. Cumbo.
But maybe I'm just being silly. Maybe, like piloting a starship*, acupuncture is one of those things that blind people just can't do.
But, no, apparently my first impression was the right one. Google Book Search brings me Understanding Acupuncture, by Stephen Birch and Robert Felt. In Box 3.2 on page 96, they relate Birch's "good fortune" in studying with a blind acupuncturist. Perhaps the Texas licensing board should buy themselves a few copies of this book.
There's a whole tradition in Japan of acupuncture being done by blind practioners. Some fellow named Waichi Sugiyama invented the insertion tube for the needles way back in the 1600s. Did I mention he was blind? He then went on to found acupuncture schools to teach the craft to others who were blind. Both the Kiiko and Toyohari acupunture styles were developed by blind acupuncturists, though also taught to those who have the misfortune of being distracted by vision. A third of all Japanese practioners are blind.
I'm now seriously wondering about the credentials of the Texas acupuncture licensing board if they don't know this history already.
edited 2/9/08 when I finally remembered the wording I was going to use
__________________________________
*Star Trek, Original Series, "Is There in Truth No Beauty?" Dr. McCoy reveals Miranda Jones' blindness when she demands to be taught to navigate the ship. I rather like the episode overall--McCoy felt that her blindness was nobody's business up to that point. Maybe few writers in the 1960s just could imagine adaptive technology well enough to consider that perhaps blindness might not be the barrier they thought it must always be to driving anything? Aside from that, the message of the episode, that pity is inappropriate and serves to hinder the person objectified with pity, is well done. Jones has the regular assemblage of human failings, which drive her relationships and behavior, but among them is not her blindness. If she has a "handicap," it would be her telepathy--the superhuman sense she has--because it makes her extremely uncomfortable around other people. But that, too, is accepted as just part of "infinite diversity." OK, enough geeking out. Well, for the moment.
Saturday, February 02, 2008
Isn't Yahoo in violation of the ADA?
According to Yahoo's service agreement, there is no recourse for people who have seizures from exposure to their blinking ads except to stop using their service:
A SMALL PERCENTAGE OF USERS MAY EXPERIENCE EPILEPTIC SEIZURES WHEN EXPOSED TO CERTAIN LIGHT PATTERNS OR BACKGROUNDS ON A COMPUTER SCREEN OR WHILE USING THE SERVICE. CERTAIN CONDITIONS MAY INDUCE PREVIOUSLY UNDETECTED EPILEPTIC SYMPTOMS EVEN IN USERS WHO HAVE NO HISTORY OF PRIOR SEIZURES OR EPILEPSY. IF YOU, OR ANYONE IN YOUR FAMILY, HAVE AN EPILEPTIC CONDITION, CONSULT YOUR PHYSICIAN PRIOR TO USING THE SERVICE. IMMEDIATELY DISCONTINUE USE OF THE SERVICE AND CONSULT YOUR PHYSICIAN IF YOU EXPERIENCE ANY OF THE FOLLOWING SYMPTOMS WHILE USING THE SERVICE: DIZZINESS, ALTERED VISION, EYE OR MUSCLE TWITCHES, LOSS OF AWARENESS, DISORIENTATION, ANY INVOLUNTARY MOVEMENT, OR CONVULSIONS.
This is ridiculous. It would be a simple matter for them to include a preference for non-blinking, non-strobing ads and backgrounds. Shame on Yahoo.
A SMALL PERCENTAGE OF USERS MAY EXPERIENCE EPILEPTIC SEIZURES WHEN EXPOSED TO CERTAIN LIGHT PATTERNS OR BACKGROUNDS ON A COMPUTER SCREEN OR WHILE USING THE SERVICE. CERTAIN CONDITIONS MAY INDUCE PREVIOUSLY UNDETECTED EPILEPTIC SYMPTOMS EVEN IN USERS WHO HAVE NO HISTORY OF PRIOR SEIZURES OR EPILEPSY. IF YOU, OR ANYONE IN YOUR FAMILY, HAVE AN EPILEPTIC CONDITION, CONSULT YOUR PHYSICIAN PRIOR TO USING THE SERVICE. IMMEDIATELY DISCONTINUE USE OF THE SERVICE AND CONSULT YOUR PHYSICIAN IF YOU EXPERIENCE ANY OF THE FOLLOWING SYMPTOMS WHILE USING THE SERVICE: DIZZINESS, ALTERED VISION, EYE OR MUSCLE TWITCHES, LOSS OF AWARENESS, DISORIENTATION, ANY INVOLUNTARY MOVEMENT, OR CONVULSIONS.
This is ridiculous. It would be a simple matter for them to include a preference for non-blinking, non-strobing ads and backgrounds. Shame on Yahoo.
Insomnia
It's 1 AM. Every damn joint hurts. I dislocated a pinky trying to get up from my chair. Why did I think it was unnecessary to get splints for my pinkies? (Note to self: Next go-round on replacement splints, get pinkies armored.) It's a good thing there is a backspace key, because I am having quite a time of it trying to hit the right letters with enough force to make the keyboard work but not much that I dislocate the other fingers and half the time I hit the wrong letter or hit a letter and nothing happens. I really hate that--expending force to no effect other than my own discomfort. It makes me feel like I am out of phase with this dimension, going through the motions of a human body, but unable to have any proper impact on my physical surroundings. I should go take something so I can go back to sleep, but that would mean that I'd have to get up again and I'm not sure I have the will to face that again. Oh, and my muscles are spasming.
On the bright side, I'm in a good mood. I don't remember when the last time was that I slept through the night, but at least I've gotten four to six hours of sleep every night the past couple weeks. Beats the hell out of the previous two weeks, in which I was going 24 and 48 hour without sleep, and then maybe crashing for the usual four hours.
I've had a nice week all in all, even making gluten-free bread twice! And my kitchen is relatively clean despite it. I realize this is why I am aching so much. Standing to cook is exhausting, and my kitchen is not very me-friendly and can't be made to be so. So I over-extended myself this way (bwah ha ha. Sorry. EDS joke). And a friend is coming over tomorrow to help me clean house.
I'm currently reading Oliver Sack's Migraine. I'm taking an historical approach to it as an artifact of attitudes toward invisible disability. He wrote it back in the paleolithic era of 1968 and his revision was in 1992, so I have to keep in mind that he is representing the best in medical thought at the time. Otherwise, his depiction of migraine, as well as epilepsy, as partly psychogenetic would have me screaming in anger so loudly you wouldn't need me to blog to know how I feel about that attitude.
So. Will returning to my reading help me sleep? Or will it just get me riled up? Perhaps I should just fire up Joost and look for the most boring program they have available. There is one show that I know will always put me to sleep, but, alas, I don't know its name, and I am sure it isn't on Joost. It's about the Nazi fire bombing of London. While the subject is interesting, the presentation consists of a lot of flame images and sounds, with a soothing, even narration of the sort normally employed to quiet small children. If anyone knows what it is, and where I can get a DVD, I'd appreciate it. Sleep on demand will be mine at last!
On the bright side, I'm in a good mood. I don't remember when the last time was that I slept through the night, but at least I've gotten four to six hours of sleep every night the past couple weeks. Beats the hell out of the previous two weeks, in which I was going 24 and 48 hour without sleep, and then maybe crashing for the usual four hours.
I've had a nice week all in all, even making gluten-free bread twice! And my kitchen is relatively clean despite it. I realize this is why I am aching so much. Standing to cook is exhausting, and my kitchen is not very me-friendly and can't be made to be so. So I over-extended myself this way (bwah ha ha. Sorry. EDS joke). And a friend is coming over tomorrow to help me clean house.
I'm currently reading Oliver Sack's Migraine. I'm taking an historical approach to it as an artifact of attitudes toward invisible disability. He wrote it back in the paleolithic era of 1968 and his revision was in 1992, so I have to keep in mind that he is representing the best in medical thought at the time. Otherwise, his depiction of migraine, as well as epilepsy, as partly psychogenetic would have me screaming in anger so loudly you wouldn't need me to blog to know how I feel about that attitude.
So. Will returning to my reading help me sleep? Or will it just get me riled up? Perhaps I should just fire up Joost and look for the most boring program they have available. There is one show that I know will always put me to sleep, but, alas, I don't know its name, and I am sure it isn't on Joost. It's about the Nazi fire bombing of London. While the subject is interesting, the presentation consists of a lot of flame images and sounds, with a soothing, even narration of the sort normally employed to quiet small children. If anyone knows what it is, and where I can get a DVD, I'd appreciate it. Sleep on demand will be mine at last!
Monday, January 21, 2008
Almost
I regularly read Octopus Pie, and for a brief moment, I thought that it might be going to slip in some disability awareness. But not this time, apparently.
When Hannah complains about being a cripple "doomed to society's mediocre scraps and reassuring backpats," and then Eve actually gives her a reassuring backpat, I expected the rest of the strip to follow through. But instead, Hannah storms off and Marek and Eve, respectively, excuse her anger on account of being disabled and deny her right to be angry.
Maybe in the next intallment? Not that there's any guessing. I read it in part because the storylines don't have a particular point to them, though they do have an arc.
When Hannah complains about being a cripple "doomed to society's mediocre scraps and reassuring backpats," and then Eve actually gives her a reassuring backpat, I expected the rest of the strip to follow through. But instead, Hannah storms off and Marek and Eve, respectively, excuse her anger on account of being disabled and deny her right to be angry.
Maybe in the next intallment? Not that there's any guessing. I read it in part because the storylines don't have a particular point to them, though they do have an arc.
Friday, January 18, 2008
Question from a reader
Louis Estrada posted in the replies to "Quadrapoligic" a question searching for help for an acquaintance. To improve the chance that someone who can give Luis an answer sees his question, I'm posting it here.
A young man of 20 years of age was shot several times in last year as is now a quadrapoligic and suffers daily of nerve and muscle pain on his legs. USC county hospital considers him a frequent flyer becuase of the many x's be calls 911 to pick him and deliver him to the emergency ward for sever leg pain. They say he comes in just for the pain meds because of his addiction to them. Regardless of the severity of his intake of pain drugs (hopefully he doesn't overdose), the hospital should provide some type of planned program and hospitalization for his pain; and addiction? I'm calling several doctor's and instituents on his behalf but many say they don't work with Medical.
Any free advise on doctors' who work with young ex-gangmembers now sadly disabled because of their previous lifestyles. Any information would be greatly appreciated. Tha[n]ks. Louis Estrada.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Meme pile-up
Via Kay at Gimp Parade: By the end of 2007, I will send a tangible, physical gift to each of the first five people to comment here, so long as each of those five people are willing to make the same offer in their own LJ or blog.
Be sure to email me at worldzend at gmail.com with your snailmail address so I can actually send something. I'm going to wrap for posting this week, and then send randomly. This holiday season, you can have the gift of something completely out of the blue.
Be sure to email me at worldzend at gmail.com with your snailmail address so I can actually send something. I'm going to wrap for posting this week, and then send randomly. This holiday season, you can have the gift of something completely out of the blue.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Support All the Troops
Jeffrey at TopatoCo has a great T-shirt for sale. The shirts have the slogan "Support All the Troops," with the wheelchair emblem stick figure wearing a military cap. A dollar from each shirt goes to Fisher House, which provides living space for family of injured troops.
Orders are only being taken until November 17, so don't dillydally!
Thursday, October 04, 2007
Monday, September 24, 2007
Sunday, September 09, 2007
Disability in Science Fiction
From the Valve, a question about the appearance of disability in Science Fiction, leads to a generous response in the comments. Looks like a lot of books and short stories have just made it on to my "to read" list.
Sunday, August 12, 2007
How to put up an Easy-Up canopy
Part One
- Go to garage
- Search for large wheeled bag that you had left conveniently by the door last fall.
- Find large wheeled bag on shelf in back.
- Remember that the Helpful Relatives who put it there did so during a Very Necessary reorganization of Heavy Things that you weren't ever going to do.
- Try to ignore that most of those heavy things belong to said Helpful Relatives.
- Drag large wheeled bag out to the yard.
- Marvel at how the conveniently wheeled bag insists on twisting over to its non-wheeled side.
- Open bag.
- Dump everything on your feet.
- Rest for an hour.
- Go back to the yard.
- Stand metal framework up on its legs.
- Try to remember how to expand it. Oh, yeah. Pull on the sides that say "open."
- Remember that this part takes two people.
- Go inside until you can recruit a helper.
- Contact Friendly Neighbor who owes you several favors.
- Meet Friendly Neighbor in yard.
- Pull from different directions.
- Watch Friendly Neighbor casually slip locking devices into place without any struggle at all.
- Control envy.
- Say thanks.
- Go inside to get ready for bed.
Part Two
- Go to garage.
- Search for huge blue canopy that you weren't able to stuff into the wheeled bag last fall.
- Find it on top shelf.
- Remember to think nice thoughts about Helpful Relatives.
- Bring large blue canopy to yard.
- Unfold the canopy.
- Drag the canopy over the framework.
- Align velcro strips.
- Feel satisfied that this part is going well.
- Close velcro anchors.
- Curse as one velcro anchor rips out of the fabric.
- Fetch Spray Adhesive Guaranteed to Bond Anything Permanently.
- Spray the Adhesive.
- Hold for a few moments as you feel your fingers bonding together.
- Watch the velcro anchor fall off immediately.
- Rush into the house as you realize that what is being bonded together permanently are your plastic finger splints.
- Grab the Acrylic Nails Remover that you mistakenly bought a few years back.
- Liberally douse hand with Acrylic Nails Remover.
- Take a moment to feel gratitude toward people with acrylic nails as your fingers now separate from each other.
- Grab the duck tape.
- Return outdoors.
- Apply duck tape liberally mostly so you won't lose the velcro anchor.
- Promise yourself that you will think of a permanent solution later.
- Realize you need Friendly Neighbor again to extend the legs of the gazebo.
- Return indoors to recover.
- Catch frightful sight of yourself in mirror. Note to self: Remove mirrors.
Thursday, August 09, 2007
Another happy update
After BEAT's campaign to get AirAsia to truly live up to its motto, "Now Everyone Can Fly," the airline has announced sweeping new plans for inclusion. I especially like the frank manner in which AirAsia has admitted that it was wrong: A banner hung at the venue of the public announcement has the international symbol for disability access and a reworked slogan, "Now Everyone Can Fly, including the Disabled Guests." Congratulations, BEAT, and way to go, AirAsia.
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
Happy Update on Pedro Guzman
You may remember Pedro Guzman, the Californian picked up on charges of criminal trespass and deported under the assumption that he is an illegal alien. Turned out that he is, in fact, a native-born citizen, and a man with a learning difficulty which, according to his family, makes it hard for him to provide correct answers to questions. Anyway, Guzman had simply been dumped across the border, unable to speak Spanish in any fluent way and completely unfamiliar with the culture and area. His one cryptic call to his family was that he didn't know where he was. The US government to this day denies that it did anything wrong in deporting a US citizen with mental difficulties.
OK, the update? His family found him and they're bringing him home. Guzman family, congratulations on your success in finding your lost son. May all families looking for their lost loved ones be as fortunate.
OK, the update? His family found him and they're bringing him home. Guzman family, congratulations on your success in finding your lost son. May all families looking for their lost loved ones be as fortunate.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Mobility Impaired
The news from Malaysia is that AirAsia is pioneering new depths of discriminatory behavior. While using the slogan "Now Everyone Can Fly," Air Asia has a policy of refusing to sell seats to anyone who may require boarding assistance. Apparently, Air Asia uses old fashioned steps on the tarmac instead of jetways. I can see that, in less developed regions, jetways may not be feasible immediately. But not being able to get on a plane without help shouldn't mean not having to fly at all or, as AirAsia suggests, paying for and bringing along your own care provider.
AirAsia comsiders anyone who can't climb stairs to be "completely immobile." That is ridiculous. I can't get up and down stairs easily (Yeah, I can do it, if no one has anywhere to go the rest of the day) and I can't even traverse a jetway under my own power in the seconds set aside for boarding. But I am not completely immobile. I can even mow my own lawn, in small sections over several days. But apparently I couldn't fly AirAsia. Most people with disabilities are not "completely immobile," but AirAsia is doing its level best to redefine "needs a bit of help" to mean "cemented in place." Way to exemplify the social model of disability!
Fortunately, Malaysia's Barrier-Free Environment and Accessible Transport Group (BEAT) is fighting the discrimination, pointing out that AirAsia's rules keep pregnant women and senior citizens, as well as people with mobility impairments, from being able to fly AirAsia. Best of luck, BEAT!
AirAsia comsiders anyone who can't climb stairs to be "completely immobile." That is ridiculous. I can't get up and down stairs easily (Yeah, I can do it, if no one has anywhere to go the rest of the day) and I can't even traverse a jetway under my own power in the seconds set aside for boarding. But I am not completely immobile. I can even mow my own lawn, in small sections over several days. But apparently I couldn't fly AirAsia. Most people with disabilities are not "completely immobile," but AirAsia is doing its level best to redefine "needs a bit of help" to mean "cemented in place." Way to exemplify the social model of disability!
Fortunately, Malaysia's Barrier-Free Environment and Accessible Transport Group (BEAT) is fighting the discrimination, pointing out that AirAsia's rules keep pregnant women and senior citizens, as well as people with mobility impairments, from being able to fly AirAsia. Best of luck, BEAT!
Sunday, July 08, 2007
Put your oar in
I took a look at Disapedia today. It's got that whole Web 2.0 thing happening which means, well, I'll let webmaster Peter explain:
I can't say as there's a whole lot at the site right now. But there will be if you go put in your oar.
What makes Disapedia special? Why should anyone spend their time visiting or, more importantly, contributing to a site when there hundreds if not thousands of sites ostensibly dedicated to the same cause. The answer is control. The community controls its destiny on the website not just in name, but in actual physical control. For so long the battle for the disability community has been over the ability to gain control of their lives. Why should their communities and forums be any different?
So, just as the advent of the internet allowed the disabled community to cover the world and find individuals who shared the same struggles and joys of being disabled, the next shift in the internet, Web 2.0, has the potential to have just as big of an impact on the disabled community. In an era of collaborative efforts and such project as Wikipedia, MySpace, or Diggit, we have a chance to create a place that reflects our own desires. Many sites have tried to do it in the past, but because they were started by just an individual or a small group of people, they failed, or the project was abandoned and eventually became out of date. With a community though, there are thousands to make sure that Disapedia will always remain up to date and the best resource for disability on the internet, no matter what the subject.
I can't say as there's a whole lot at the site right now. But there will be if you go put in your oar.
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