Blog for Choice Day 2010

Have you ever participated in the stigmatizing of pregnncy, childbirth and childrearing when the parent, child, or both have, or could have or obtain, disabilities?

Have you ever participated in the cultural narratives that say:

• Older women should not have children because their children are more likely to have a disability
• Women with disabilities should avoid having children because their children might also have a disability, and it would be wrong, unjust and cruel to give birth to a child that is not in perfect health
• Women with disabilities should avoid having children because only temporarily-abled women can properly parent a child, or being a mother with a disability would somehow deprive the child of necessary experiences or put a burden on the child
• Women with disabilities should avoid having children because they are more likely to be poor and need public assistance, and their children would also be more likely to use public assistance in the future, resulting in a drain on temporarily-abled taxpayers
• Women with disabilities would be selfish to have children, and to do so would contribute to environmental destruction, economic decline, and even degradation of the human species, and they and their children would be less valuable members of society because of their lack of perfect health
• It would be a tragedy to have a disabled child, disabled children are less desirable than temporarily-abled children
• Life with a disability is inherently worse than life without one; life without a disability is the baseline by which all life should be measured, so of course to have a disability would be a negative and would make a person’s life worse
• Disabled children are a burden on their temporarily abled parents, more so than any other child would be, and this is because of the child’s disability rather than because of the lack of support and affirmation throughout all levels of society for PWD and their loved ones
• Of course it is more desirable for a child to be perfectly healthy than to have some sort of medical imperfection, and those medical imperfections are a big stress and hassle on the temporarily abled people around the child, and there is something wrong with the child for failing to meet an impossible standard of perfection
• Health and ability are objective concepts and our current cultural wisdom on them are completely right and the medical industry that puts them forth is infallible; our ideas about health and ability are the only right way to look at things and can be universally applied
• To violate those cultural ideas means that you are inherently flawed
• The answer to all of this is to go to excessive lengths to avoid ever having, or being around someone who has, health problems, up to and including letting the least healthy die off or be terminated before they can live at all

You know what? I’ll bet you’ve all done it. Even the most radical disability activist has participated in some of these cultural tropes at some point in their lives.

But I’ll bet the vast majority of people “blogging for choice” would never think of disability as related to “choice” issues, and if they did, it would be for the right of temporarily-abled higher-class white Western women to terminate a pregnancy that has a more-than-minute chance of resulting in a less-than-perfectly-healthy child.

This is why the “choice” framework fails. It fails all of us, but it particularly fails those of us who fail to meet society’s idea of the optimal person: the pale, thin, beautiful, and financially comfortable picture of perfect health. The person who never relies on others (no!), is “self-sufficient,” and isn’t likely to end up a burden on the important people.

The rest of us can “choose” to stop existing.

Do you really trust women? Or are you perfectly willing to override their choices if you feel they threaten your comfortable position in society?

And you expect me to think you’re any better for my rights and needs than pro-lifers, why?

(Cross-posted at FWD/Forward.)

Rush Limbaugh isn’t exactly a sympathetic character. His politics are vile and he makes a career out of escalating white male resentment into white male supremacy. And that causes real harm to real people who don’t meet the requirements to be part of Limbaugh’s He-Man Woman-Haterz Club.

How did he end up abusing prescription painkillers? I don’t know. Was he taking them for legitimate pain due to injury, surgery or a medical condition, and the usage got out of hand? Was he consciously using it as a recreational drug? I have to say I am still somewhat bitter about people who use the stuff I need to be able to get on with my daily life as a quick and easy “high,” ultimately making it harder to access needed medication. (But that is argument from emotion, mostly; I would posit that the real problem is a medical field and larger culture which does not take seriously the needs and concerns of chronic pain patients and is eager to punish people who step outside accepted boundaries.)

But even if he was just out for a high, I still feel unease when I see people use that angle to criticize him.

Because, here’s the thing… the same narrative that you are using to condemn this despicable figure is the narrative that is used to condemn me.

You are feeding, growing, reinforcing the same narrative that codes me as an abuser, that makes me out to be a good-for-nothing low-life, that makes it difficult for me to access the medication I need to be able to live my normal daily life.

When you laugh, joke, or rant about Limbaugh’s abuse of narcotics, you are lifting a page from the book of people who would call me a malingerer and interpret my behavior (frustration at barriers to access, agitation and self-advocacy to try to gain access) as signs of addiction. People who would, in the same breath, chastise me for “making it harder for the real sufferers.” (See why my bitterness about recreational use isn’t actually serving the right purpose, in the end?)

Maybe you don’t really think this way. But maybe the people laughing at your joke do.

And maybe, you just made them feel a little bit safer in their scaremongering about “addiction” and deliberate attempts to make life harder for us.

Scoffing at Limbaugh’s hypocrisy is one thing — but when your scoffing takes the form of a very common, quite harmful cultural prejudice — even when you don’t mean it to — it has real effects on real people’s lives. Sort of like that casual incitement that we hate Limbaugh for.

(Cross-posted at FWD/Forward.)

Every big feminist-inclined blogger who has shown such urgency and import about Stupak and abortion-within-healthcare-reform. Every feminist blogger who has used their standing, their wide audience, to urge people to do something to change this bad thing that is going to happen to people like us.

You’ve been there for all the women with functional reproductive capacity.

Where have you been for all the women stuck in nursing homes and institutions and all the women who are managing to live independently who will have their services taken back from them and be forced to move into nursing homes and modern institutions?

Because this is just as urgent an issue. And just as timely: it is being considered in the current health-care reform package. This one. This same one with Stupak (or analog). This same one you are fighting to improve for the sake of women.

Where have you been for years on the Community Choice Act?

We are talking about policy that is cheaper than subsidizing the cost of placing someone in a modern institution (nursing home, “senior living,” “care home” and the like), that allows women to have independence, autonomy, and self-determination. We are talking about a policy that gives women control over their bodies and the direction of their lives.

Just like access to affordable abortion.

We are talking about policy that lets disabled and elderly people live out in their own communities, with home services that allow them to get by on their own.

We are talking about fighting modern institutionalization, which is alive and well and still just as horrific as the stories from those old abandoned state buildings you’ve all heard about.

We are talking about saving people from being corralled, shepherded, and treated like livestock. Saving people from abusive situations, from sexual assault, from neglect and starvation.

This affects women.

Why aren’t you there with them?

Why don’t I see this addressed with nearly the same frequency or urgency? Nearly the same sense of importance, immediacy?

Because it is quite immediate to quite a lot of people. People who do not have the power you hold in our political system. (Oh, you may hold less than your male-identified young, abled, financially-privileged counterparts. But you still hold a great amount of power compared to many who are not in such a position.) People who need allies to fight with them. Let me spell that for you: N-E-E-D. They cannot see progress for as long as their younger, more abled peers continue to ignore them.

This is your chance to do something that makes an enormous difference.

If you aren’t familiar with this issue, I suggest you make yourself familiar with it. Learn about ADAPT. Read about the CCA and the arguments for it. Look into your local Independent Living center and see about opportunities for volunteering. Whether it’s high-minded political activism or low-status work doing the caring and cleaning and cooking.

Read up about disability activism, and read up about today’s institutions. Force yourself to confront reality.

And, maybe, use that platform you’ve got to share your new knowledge with others.

We need you.

Today’s roundup brought to you by oh look a feather toy!

An acquaintance of mine shared a post that linked to Peter Singer’s latest piece in the NYT Magazine, “Why We Must Ration Healthcare.” Most of the article focuses on the fact that health care is currently rationed in the U.S., whether by price or by less tangible factors such as ER wait times. I don’t disagree with that part; that’s nothing more than a clear-eyed look at the reality that the American health care system has barriers to accessibility. Where Singer goes off the rails for a demonstration of Able-Bodied Privilege 101, however, is when he discusses how to put a value on human lives as a precursor to putting a value on health care. In order to demonstrate the utility of quality-adjusted life-year (QALY) in rationing health care, he uses the example of how an able-bodied person reacts to a hypothetical situation in which they become quadraplegic, and how their desire to live changes. He then goes on to present a situation in which persons with disabilities (PWD) are damned if they do and damned if they don’t: he suggests that if a PWD is happy with their life, they don’t need any treatment that would improve their lives, and if a PWD is not happy with their life, then it would be wasteful to spend money on treatment that would improve their lives.

I consider this a must-read for anyone who is new to disability rights. Pizza Diavola does an excellent job showing where Singer’s logic simply falls apart, and in fact his arguments do not make sense without assuming the supremacy of the able body. But disability is not an inherently bad experience; it only becomes this phenomenon of tragedy and suffering when society refuses to provide support for people of all sorts, rather than upholding the narrow and unstable health ideal.

Following Singer’s logic, we would pretty much never seek to improve our lives in any way because to do so would admit that we were not happy with our lives beforehand, and if we were happy with it, then it would be useless to do anything to change it. How this is seen as a rational analysis of New York Times caliber, I’m not sure. But apparently Peter Singer hates the wheel, the microwave oven, cotton fabric (admitting that life wasn’t good enough without versatile and insulating body covering!), the printing press, public education, agriculture, language, music, sunscreen, and buildings (admitting that life wasn’t good enough without shelter from the elements!). Among other things.

But because disability is constructed as a tragedic deviation, we end up with nonsensical, circular arguments such as these. And it has unfortunate influence, and will further marginalize people on the basis of their inherent inferiority and thus forfeited right to life (any life, according to Singer, who would have us all killed or otherwise eliminated rather than complicating things for the currently abled — and no, unfortunately, this is not exaggeration or extrapolation; he has advocated exactly this).

Help Find the Cure for Disablism!

Disablism is a common disorder which can begin in early childhood, though its symptoms are often much more marked in adulthood. Without preventative measures, disablism can grow into a chronic condition that becomes more difficult to cure with time. Early detection and proper treatment are key to helping those with disablism lead stronger, more productive lives.

FAQs

Is disablism contagious?
The jury is still out on this question. While some epidemiologists believe disablism may have a contagious aspect and may spread virulently, other researchers emphasize individual health habits and responsibilities.

What is the treatment?
Treatment varies by the degree to which the patient is affected. Treatment focuses on creating new, nondisablist behaviors. For patients unrectifiably deficient in empathy, legal remedies may be required. Please ask your doctor for more details.

What can I do?
Most importantly, educate yourself about disablism. Ask your health care provider, “am I disablist?” Equally important, watch for early signs of disablism in your loved ones and seek early treatment. Disablism is much more cureable in its early stages than when its victims become homicidal or harm others. In addition, help raise awareness about disablism. Discuss disablism and its harmful effects with others.

For more information and resources on disablism, call the Cure Disablism Network at 1-555-BE HUMAN.

This clip from British tv show That Mitchell and Webb Look has made the rounds as a short and sweet parody of gendered advertising. I think it is also useful as a look at medicalization and the way medical conditions are presented in popular culture.

Transcript:

[Blonde, average-looking woman standing in front of white background, reacting to voiceover by crouching and grimacing, with graphic overlay of radiating circles emphasizing different areas]
Woman: Ow. My stomach!
Man’s voice: Do you suffer from gut agony?
Woman: And my head!
Man’s voice: Tension head? [Woman nods, grimacing] Got that bloated feeling?
Woman [beginning to look slightly surprised and self-conscious]: Ooh…
Man’s voice: Inevitable wrinkles? The beginnings of lady moustache? [Woman covers lower half of face with hands] And now you’ve pissed yourself again? [Woman crosses legs] Women. You’re leaking, aging, hairy, overweight, and everything hurts –
[Young boy walks on set in white dress shirt splattered in colorful stains]
Man’s voice: — and your children’s clothes are filthy! No wonder men long for other, less clammy women. For God’s sake, sort yourself out.
[Image appears on screen of assortment of several hundred personal care products, captioned "APPROX $279.99, THE LOT."]
[Woman walks onto set toward couch, with large, bulging full tote bag on one shoulder]
Woman [tiredly]: Now I’m free to live my own life, my way! [falls back onto couch]
[Scene changes to white man in bathroom with razor]
Man’s voice: Men! Shave and get drunk!
[Man has satisfied look on his face as he opens medicine cabinet, finds glass of beer sitting inside, picks it up and smiles smugly, taking a sip]
Man’s voice: Because you’re already brilliant.
[Man smiles widely at camera as woman's hand appears, groping his chest]

ginmar speaks movingly about mental illness, military veterans, and the phenomenon of “fallen women.” A few pieces; there’s much more.

It’s a pain in the ass to experience. Frankly, you’re no fun to live around during this. I mean, people have been brought up on movie mental illness, where you turn into a sweet, soulful, funny, insightful, tragic, tormented character who Teaches Important Lessons, before dying in a beautiful way that gives the hero or heroine a chance to win an Oscar.

It’s especially bad if you’re a woman, because you’re supposed to live for others, do for others, and do this al behind the scenes. The fact is that women who transgress in some way—bad mothers, not mothers, convicts, the sick, the non-sexually rebellious—-are often abandoned. Women are supposed to stand by their man. What goes unsaid, what’s kept secret is that ill women are resented, dumped, and have to face a dual burden of illness and ill-treatment. There are approximately 6,500 homeless female veterans of this war. Homelessness is often the worst and final stop on the mental illness ladder. It’s bottom. Then, too, homeless women in general are ignored. When the truth is overwhelmingly awful and about women, people just shrug their shoulders and put it down to life. When women get angry about this treatment, they often find the mentally ill label used to stigmatize them.

[...]

Suicide tidied things up neatly. By killing herself, the victim had provided her family with a tragedy over which they could weep, instead of an inconvenient complication who aroused questions that were literally unthinkable for the thinkers of the day. With her gone, so was any reminder.

[...]

What’s interesting is that both male and female soldiers are often regarded in this way: better a flag-draped coffin than a living, complex, and often angry veteran. What a drag. Better a tragedy than a complication [...]

That’s the work of a certain class. The resentment is very much the attitude of the person who discovers that those who serve are also those who know their worth. That wasn’t supposed to be part of the deal. You’re supposed to work round the clock, then disappear when not needed, grateful and humble for scraps from the table.

Which is why maybe soldiers like me, especially women, are often greeted with sadistic gloating when we crumble.

I am lucky that my husband is employed by the state, and represented by a strong union, so his health care benefits are good.

I was upset when I had to transition from one side of provided-by-the-state care to the other, because it was considerable work for me and for my health care providers, but over time I have come to be immensely grateful for my husband’s benefits. Rather than filling 30-day supplies of my medications at retail pharmacies and, every month, running into some hang-up or another that left me without one of my medications, or having to space out my medications, for days or weeks at a time, I now receive all but one of my medications in full 90-day supplies (including four packs of birth control pills, not three!) with no hassle. I order the medications online, and if the prescription is run out, my doctor is notified, and he sends a new one in electronically, and everything proceeds as normal. My medications arrive in the mail within days. It is the easiest it has ever been for me.

So now I am free of what was probably the biggest burden I had to bear in obtaining reliable health care. The only medication I still receive a 30-day supply for is my Vicodin, which is not considered a “maintenance medication” (despite filling the same function as my Lyrica, tramadol, Effexor, cyclobenzaprine and Mircette) and thus must be filled retail. Even that process has been considerably smoothed since the insurance switch, though not devoid of problems entirely.

And now I never have to deal with obtaining a referral for anything that wasn’t a yearly checkup with my general provider. And I have a single insurer, rather than feeling guilty every time I handed over my four insurance cards to my doctors (my retail employer’s scammy discount non-plan, my Medicare plan, the separate HMO for my MAWD and then the MAWD itself) and knowing the billing hell they were going through just to get payment for their services.

Alas, though: my troubles are not over. My husband’s insurer, like so many other employer-based insurance groups, has become enamored of these “incentive programs” that are supposed to, you know, “provice incentives” for patients to “lead a healthier lifestyle!” Mainstream conservatives and liberals alike seem to love these things. It’s a way to pretend you’re addressing the God-awful fucked-up shabby mess that is the American health care system and its soaring costs, but without actually, you know, doing anything to make these patients healthier. Actually paying for the health care they could use? Pfah! No, just “incentivize” them to exercise more or stop smoking.

These “incentive” programs, more often than not, do not take the form of an actual positive incentive for such “good” behavior. More often, patients feel the effect of a negative punishment for not being the Super Fit And Healthy Ideal Able Body. They end up paying more in health care premiums (by losing out on a “discount” for being a successful participant) or losing their health insurance altogether. Or, they simply feel the burden of having to jump through hoops no able-normative person would ever have to — the second shift for the sick.

These incentive programs would not be worth the money and effort if there were not a stick behind that carrot, a way to enforce good health on the people. It should go without saying: health is not something that should be enforced.

My husband’s ensurer has a yearly health survey that all participants — including every covered family member — must participate in to be eligible for the lower premium. This is not a five minute survey; it is fairly involved. And I am always nervous about answering questions from my health insurance provider: more often than not, when I inform them of this problem or that — even those insignificant in the grand scheme of things — it results in a loss of coverage, increased cost, or additional steps I must complete to continue receiving the care that I do.

This nervousness comes, especially, from my time spent uninsurable on the individual market due to preexisting condition. When I was younger, I created and held steadfast to a very important rule with my own family: Information Equals Ammunition. In the insurance market, this rule is sadly just as applicable.

Every year, after taking the survey, my husband is informed that he is dangerously underweight and action needs to be taken to correct this state of being. My husband is 5′9″ tall and weighs around 120lbs. This is his natural state. He eats a healthy diet, he walks to work and back every day and gets a fair amount of exercise beside that. He inherited his very lanky body frame from his mother, who is even skinnier than he, and jokes that when she was pregnant she never actually gained weight; at the end of her pregnancies, she looked just like she does now, but with a basketball contained in her tum.

When my husband played football in high school, he was actively trying to gain weight both through diet and muscle-building exercise — and he plateaued at 140lbs. Now that he is not weight-lifting on a regular basis, he hovers around 120lb. This is a BMI of 17.7, barely more than I weighed when I was a teenager — the difference being that I was significantly undernourished, and he was more-than-properly-taken-care-of.

So once a year, he gets yelled at a bit about his weight. He is healthy in literally every other way, his one and only health concern being a minor bit of TMJ pain which he now has completely under control. But he does not fit the widely-understood able-bodied “norm,” and so Something Must Be Done!

I take the same survey, and of course I am provided with tips for stress reduction and admonishment to see a pain specialist. I am now very slightly overweight, so of course I am also admonished to “park further away!” and “take the steps instead of the elevator!”

Recently, I have been receiving messages on our home phone from our insurance company, encouraging me to call them for the opportunity to participate in an unnamed program, for unnamed rewards. These messages piss me off, so I ignore them, even though I know there is a strong possibility that it might mean our premiums would go up. I planned to contact them at some point or another, but it was not high on my list of priorities, and still they kept calling every other day.

Then I received a letter, in a tone that can only be described as a lament, that I had not responded and would I please pretty please call them, this time finally informing me that it was for their “Healthy Back Program.” Oh great, I thought. And I caved in and called.

The woman who answered gave me the spiel I expected. And my reply, in a sweet voice, was (closely paraphrased): “Yes, I have chronic pain from fibromyalgia and endometriosis,” and she replied with a somewhat disappointed “Oh” — but I interrupted to continue: “I went in last year for lower back pain, and I spent the entire year going through various programs and treatments to help it. I had to go under for a laparoscopy which led to being diagnosed with endometriosis, and I’ve now been through physical therapy and even have a personal TENS unit to address the pain.”

“Well, unfortunately that means you are not eligible for our program, because your pain is chronic…”

Mm-hm. I am sure you can hear my disappointment.

This is the same health insurance company which paid for all these tests and treatments and has on record exactly what my condition is, what the background is, what medications I am on and which treatments I am partaking in. I provided this information in the health survey. It is very clear that I have chronic pain conditions. But because I even mentioned low back pain — a common focal point for people who like to cry about “overdiagnosis” and “overtreatment” — I was immediately flagged and referred to this oh-so-special program.

It’s just one more little thing I have to fend off to be able to continue on my treatment course. Just like every time I visit a new doctor, counselor or other practitioner and have to patiently go over every disclaimer about why I am on this Vicodin and why I have this symptom and why this and why that, and that yes I am being closely monitored by competent doctors and am following my treatment course as prescribed would you please leave me the fuck alone so we can get on with things.

And it’s exhausting, always having to be at-the-ready to explain these things. It’s just exhausting in a way that no able-normative person will ever fully understand, period, and I am confident in asserting this. It just drains you, even though each of these encounters is small and relatively easy when considered individually. But it accumulates, it weighs on you, and the knowledge that you always have more to come — that is the worst of it.

This is what people with disabilities go through in a health-obsessed culture, a culture that sees personal health as a responsibility to the collective, and any person who in any way deviates from the designated health “norm” (which changes regularly and is not as science-and-reason-based as these people like to think) is failing their family, community and nation, that they are dragging them down — being a burden.

And we all know what the result is when disability, or any health abnormality, is constructed as a burden.

this post may be a little inside baseball for those who aren’t active in the feminist blogosphere, but i think its an issue that translates. what to do when a big and influential blog or writer consistently posts things that are offensive, or marginalizing, or just plain stupid? is it better to stay part of the discussion to offer corrections and insights and laternatives, or is it better to save up your limited sanity points and bail on the forum all together?

i’m thinking primarily of the feministing blog here. it’s a huge feminist blog, probably the biggest general feminist blog, and it gets a whole lot of traffic. however, it puts forth a primarily white primarily non-disabled primarily cis-gendered primarily middle/upper class view of feminism, either by eliding those issues to the point of invisibility or by explicitly dismissing them. there was (and still is, afaik) a call for trans people to boycott feministing because of the way they handle trans issues, especially the comments in this particularly nasty thread. just this morning, there was a post about sotomayor that denied the intersectionality of her race and gender in the critiques of her nomination. and a recent comments thread in which people admonished as ableist for using the term “lame” whined about being oprressed by the P.C. police.

as a result, i’ve dropped feministing from my blog reader. i was annoyed more often than i was informed. it made me feel disappointment, rather than kinship, with the feminist community on that site.

but. then i see people like renee trying to make a point about the racial politics on the blog and getting totally shut down and dismissed and attacked by fellow commenters for making a good point that needed to be made. and i think about how much bullshit she is opening herself up to just for asking why the one feministing blogger of color is always the one to post about historic events of importance to people of color. and i feel like i should be there, supporting her, supporting those critiques. especially because feministing is such a big and prominent site and it can often serve as one of the introductions to the feminist blogosphere. i started there before i discovered womanist musings and the curvature and questioning transphobia and the like.

so – am i a better ally by refusing to engage with problematic forums, or by participating in those forums to offer relevant critiques? i still don’t know.

And this post is going to ramble in a slightly different direction than Abby is going here, so bear with me.

I think there are a couple of different things going on here and it’s worth trying to tease them out:

1. engagement with a space that is hostile, indifferent, or even just a mixed bag when it comes to an identity group you are a part of

2. engagement with a space that is hostile/indifferent/mixedbag when it comes to an identity group you are not a part of

1.

It comes down to a bottom line of five words: are you up for it?

It is a decision based 100% on what you personally feel you can do. You are doing what work you can, in any number of areas in life; you are not obligated to be there for every stupid word uttered by every clue-challenged person out there. You can engage if and when you feel up to it. It’s your decision whether 1) this is a time pushback should happen and 2) you feel like you can handle being the one to do it.

There is never a time where it is acceptable, in a situation where a privileged person does something stupid &/or harmful, to hold the person harmed to account for it. The onus us on the privileged person to not do that stupid/harmful shit. Not on you to somehow miraculously be up for every fight.

Sometimes, the fight will make some measure of difference, and sometimes it won’t. Sometimes, you can take that fight, and sometimes, you can’t. Or don’t feel like it. You can fight the good fight, even if it isn’t going to go down in the history books. Or you can skip it, and save your energy for other things — from another fight, in another place, on down the line — or for a hot bath later that night. You have a responsibility to you and yours; when it comes to collective responsibilities, where there is a conflict between one’s immediate, personal life and one’s group identity, the rule is: blame for any damage incurred falls solely to whoever the person/group is that you would be fighting. The ones who did that stupid shit in the first place.

2.

As a friend or ally, a person with privilege but who cares for justice for an unprivileged group, there really is no easy answer. Sometimes, there isn’t anything you can “just do” to make the problem better.

(Remember, you are a person with an obligation to do right by others — not a superhuman taking on the noble burden of saving the poor helpless Other. The difference between the two is that the latter makes the privileged person who the story’s about — the former removes the privileged person from the center of the conversation.)

Certainly, the privileged person’s choice to abandon a venue with a history of problems is a choice based in immediacy: it makes things easier for you; it relieves you of having to face those uncomfortable moments.

It does not follow, however, that the privileged person is obligated to stay at that venue and keep fighting. It’s not that simple, not that easy.

And this is where we must understand the importance of roles in the struggle for justice. Because there are many different roles to play, many different approaches to take, many different areas to address.

We — as a world of all people –need to keep each other alive,
need to free us from violence and hatred,
put food on our tables,
ensure our health,
keep our families together.
We need to strengthen our communities,
treat each other with respect and empathy,
accept difference, accept similarity,
but place no moral weight on one over the other.
We need to fight against hostile attitudes,
push back against stereotypes,
break out of confining narratives.
We need to examine and deconstruct
privilege
power
oppression
We need to know what they are and how they work
and we need everyone else to know it too.
Because, as much damage as you can still do as a person who understands these things, there’s no way there will be widespread change until many more people understand them too.

Here’s the thing — the immediate and the collective both need help.

So, it is useful to get in there, when someone says something stupid, and explain why that thing they said was so doggone stupid.

Even if it isn’t at some international press conference. Even if it isn’t many people. Even if your feeling is that those people aren’t going to go on to be murderers or congresspeople or someone who does something Big.
Even if it’s just you and that guy down the street. Or you and that ass on a message board.

Because if we eschew all action that isn’t Big Enough, will we ever do anything? If we give up because we can’t Make It All Go Away, In Just One Easy Step, are we doing anyone any good?

HOWEVER. And this is one great fucking big However.

If a person without your privilege takes you to task — personally or indirectly — because you’re sitting over there squabbling with Joe Know-Nothing down the street when sie is still hurting — you take that.

Sie might need food on the table, or affordable health care, or safety from violence. Or sie might want more attention on this court case, or help getting this piece of legislation passed. Or sie might want financial help to get this community project started. Or sie might want more direct engagement with hir, rather than talking amongst your privileged selves as those sie (and those like her) just don’t exist. Or sie might want more people to fight the good fight in another venue, for any number of reasons –

Sie has the right to be angry with you for not spending energy in the places sie feels are best. Because sie has the ultimate right to determine what makes an actual gdamn difference to hir.

That might put you in a bit of a bind. Because there isn’t any one easy thing you can Just Do and know that you’re doing the right thing and no one can be anything less than satisfied with you for it. There just isn’t.

So do you stick with it? Or say fuck it and quit (that particular venue)?

Well. In that case, you make a decision based on what you feel you can personally do best. You make a decision. And it is what it is. And you move on.

I don’t think this is quite what Abby was looking for — it’s not a practical answer, information that makes it easy to make that actual particular decision.

I think, mostly, it’s just that I never see this point being made: that we should all know that it doesn’t matter what we do, things will still be fucked up and we will still have responsibility.

But that’s not a call to apathy or despair. And it’s not an exoneration.

It’s just trying to remind us that we aren’t the center of this conversation. Do what you gotta do. It might be a hard choice (for me, feministing is an easy choice, but feministe is a hard one; that might be different for different people). And you live with the implications. Just know that it’s not going to tie up neatly in the end. That’s how things go.

It is a given that, when there is cause to mention my fibromyalgia to anyone who did not formerly know of it, there is a high probability that a person will “helpfully” “suggest” some miracle treatment they’ve heard about, or know someone who knows someone who’s tried, etc. Honestly, you get all kinds of suggestions, from warm water pool therapy to probiotics to eliminating aspartame from your diet to … yes, my friends, pot.

Marijuana has been shown to have analgesic properties, you know! There’s no way a chronic pain patient has ever heard of that before! (Honestly, I think  these sorts of pot evangelists latch on to the idea of someone they know who might need pot for a medical purpose! because it legitimizes their own use in their minds. But that’s not what I wanted to write about.) Anyway…

I’ve never smoked pot. Or tobacco. Not one sip of alcohol has ever passed my lips. I’ve never tried any of the recreational drugs that are so popular on college campuses.

Make no mistake: I take drugs. Oh, do I ever! But I take them by necessity. I do not take them for fun. I would rather not have to swallow 14 pills/day (minimum) to be able to function on a basic level. Honestly, I hate taking most of them. A couple of them, fortunately, offer significant benefit with no downside beside the price tag. But others have unpleasant side effects and addictive properties. I have a long-time love/hate relationship with Vicodin in particular (pros: allows me to get out of my bed/chair and do things; cons: digestive issues, artificial mood high/”manic” phases, problems with focusing and retaining information, problems relaxing, probability of developing a tolerance a.k.a. dependence*). While there are incredible benefits in taking these drugs, there are also considerable downsides that can’t be ignored.

So the last fucking thing I want to do? Is take more drugs. For the hell of it. I take more than enough medication that I fucking hate taking, for reasons too varied to fit in one blog post. I have a fucking awful relationship with taking medicine. Me and taking medicine don’t get along, yo. I don’t think about it on a daily basis, but it’s sitting there under the surface every time I pop those pills in my mouth. I don’t think it’s something any fully healthy person can ever understand that inner conflict. And y’all know I will stand up to anyone who tries to judge me for taking this shit. I would not be where I am in life right now if I did not have all these drugs to rely on. But that doesn’t mean I’m totally ok with taking them.

That means I have zero interest in taking any drugs for any reason other than it will help me do more than I can do right now. (And even then, I’m not terribly excited about it.) Especially when those drugs could have serious and potentially fatal interactions with the drugs I’m already taking.

This is not a judgment on anyone who does use those drugs: the social drinker, the recreational marijuana user, even the beleaguered cigarette smoker. There are real downsides to every drug, but that does not erase that they can be enjoyable and beneficial for folks who use them responsibly. And this is yet another time to emphasize that a person can, in fact, hold two ideas in one’s head at the same time: I can vehemently reject recreational drugs for myself while being perfectly content with my friends smoking a bowl or heading out for a drink. I make no judgment, moral, character or otherwise, on recreational users. The only judgment I make is on my life and my needs.

Here is the thing about these “suggestions”: they’re not just unhelpful; they’re insulting. They rest on the assumption that there’s no way I could have a basic understanding of my own body, that there’s no way I’ve ever heard of this treatment before, that there’s no way I could have tried it already, that there’s no way it could be a bad choice for me individually for any of a million different reasons. This is not what’s running through a person’s mind as they make this suggestion, but if that person stopped to think for half a second, and reflected on these assumptions, they would most likely decide against making the suggestion. Because there is no way that a person could recognize my individual humanity — recognize that I have my own individual body which has its own ways of working and its own needs and its own history — and still make that suggestion.

Consider, for example, my family background, which is a major factor in my decision to stay far away from pot and alcohol. My three siblings were a generation older than I, old enough to have children who were the same age as me. (My oldest brother is in his 50s. I’m 23.) My sister lived sixteen hours away in northern Oregon; my two brothers lived in town, and I spent a good amount of time with them (including several years actually living in their respective homes as one brother was going through jail).

My entire immediate family is mentally ill. Both brothers have been diagnosed with schizophrenia with psychotic episodes. My mother fits every criterion for borderline personality disorder, though she has never seen a mental health professional in her life, and the suggestion that she might need to would be met with accusations of a conspiracy to run her out of town. (This is not an embellishment; it was a regular pattern throughout my childhood.) One brother and my sister have bipolar disorder. And all four (my mother, sister and two brothers) suffer clinical depression and anxiety to varying degrees. My sister is the only one to seek any treatment, and even then only intermittently.

And I’m sure you can guess where this is going.

My brothers drank. Casually, throughout the day, totaling at least a six-pack each on a normal day, for awhile. It went up and down throughout my childhood, and once in awhile one brother or t’other would swear off the stuff, declare himself clean, but be back to it a month later. And yeah, you know, anyone drinks that level, they’re going to get drunk. But my brothers didn’t just “get drunk.” They got… well… crazy. The worst incidents I can remember as a kid always involved alcohol. Severe paranoia, apparent hallucinations, imagining things that didn’t fit in reality at all. Psychotic episodes. Several times, they were targeted at me, as young as six and continuing into early adulthood. I was never physically assaulted, fortunately, but I can’t exactly say I was unaffected.

Given my experiences as a child, suffice to say, I don’t want anyfuckingthing to do with alcohol.

And, of course, marijuana can exacerbate schizophrenia. (Please, please take note of the word exacerbate, not create, and don’t lecture me in comments.) Um, severely.

And I am keenly aware of my relation to these four people — immediate relation — and the severity of their conditions. (It waxes and wanes, over the years, as any condition does, but it is quite severe during the bad times.) And I am also keenly aware of the tendency of these two drugs to tap into a predisposition to these conditions. And, though I seem to be ok so far (getting away with “mere” anxiety disorder), I’m not going to make the mistake of assuming I’d be any different. Schizophrenia, in particular, tends to lie dormant in women until their twenties and early thirties. And I have to live with that hanging over my head (and my husband’s) for some time yet.

Given all that, do I want anything to do with pot? Well. No.

Do you think any of that flashed through the mind of my eager acquaintance when they decided that all I might need is a small toke? I don’t think so.

That’s my individual story. I’m one person. I don’t know what the hell is going on in the life of the next chronic pain patient you might meet. That’s the point. You just don’t know. You don’t have the slightest concept of what their background is or how their body works or what they’ve tried before. So why do you assume it’s totally benign to throw this in their face? Why are you acting as though you know their body, their history, their experiences better than they do?

Do I have the time to detail everything above every time somone “helpfully” informs me that marijuana can be good for pain relief? Should I have to reveal all this stuff to total strangers, or even acquaintances, coworkers, casual friends? Even if all this stuff wasn’t there, and I just didn’t feel like using it: why can’t I have that decision respected?

Drugs are not, and never will be, an enjoyable experience for me. They are a necessary… well, not evil, but certainly not altogether positive. Either way, they are a necessity for me to be able to live the life I want to live: to be able to do the normal things most people take for granted. You know what doesn’t feel like a nice, relaxing escape for me? Yeah, I’ll let you answer that for yourself.

Bottom line: Respect every person’s sovereignty, every person’s ultimate control over their own life. We’d all appreciate it.

The specter of “addiction” is weilded against pain patients — acute and chronic — and make no mistake: anyone who speaks threateningly of “addiction,” when you are in real pain, doesn’t have the faintest understanding of the interesctions between substance abuse and chronic/acute pain treatment. Dependence is a real issue in pain patients, and as such, they must be monitored closely by a medical professional who knows wth they’re taking about. But the possibility of dependence does not automatically exclude controlled substances from the list of possible treatments. It is one of many issues which must be handled with care and nuance; the possibility of dependence should inform the decision, not make it. Each individual patient will have to make decisions with hir MP based on all the factors in play, including what type of pain (which can change which drugs are in play), how severe, how long it is expected to last, the patient’s physical and mental condition(s), interactions with other drugs, how certain drugs have worked (or not) on the patient in the past, and so forth. Anyone who automatically skips that conversation to get into scare tactics and character insinuations about addiction is not worth the trees that were killed to make fancy sealed papers hanging on their office wall.

When you do something so incredibly fucking stupid and offensive, I don’t give a shit if you apologize. I don’t even pay fucking attention. I don’t care what kind of apology or nonpology it is or how much you care or how much other people find it convincing.

Because fact is, if you “apologize” and then go on with business trying to ignore whatever issue you displayed astounding ignorance on, you don’t deserve forgiveness, I don’t care how awesome you may be in other areas.

The only way you’re worth our attention is if you use that moment of stupendous foolishness to educate yourself and turn around and use that knowledge for something. To fight for the people you wronged.

And we can tell when its genuine, folks. We can tell when it’s done out of foot-dragging obligation/image maintenance vs. sincere desire to better oneself/one’s world. To leave things better than you left ‘em.

You can’t cut off my leg, but then give me a really smashing manicure and try to call it a day. What you do to make up for things matters.

Absence of idiocy is not enough.

That is all.

ETA: Of course, Jezebel didn’t even make a sincere attempt to apologize; this post seems to imply they at least did that much. They didn’t. And it wouldn’t have mattered if they did. Because in the meantime, there has been an absence of sincere attempts to make something good out of it. Instead, there has been an attempt not to make one’s own self look bad again. That is what I’m getting at.

Why it’s important to make a concerted effort to promote historically-un(der)represented classes. You can’t flick a switch and have equality instantly turn on. Even if discrimination ceased to exist instantly, it would still take time to catch up — today’s chemistry-minded three-year-old girls aren’t going to reach the upper echelons of the field for at least another few decades yet. Of course, prejudice doesn’t instantly disappear simply because the law forbids certain manifestations of it in certain settings. So we reach a point where we’re looking to fill President Obama’s cabinet, but the levels from which such people would be pulled are still disproportionately dominant-class folk. This is where it does become worthwhile to pick Ms. Smith over Mr. Doe, even when they are very similarly qualified, simply for the fact that Ms. Smith is a woman.

What the bloggy left don’t understand about Obama’s approach to politics. It’s something I’ve always admired about his judgment. He will make a good-faith effort to work with his opposition to get done what needs done. But if that opposition responds to his good-faith effort with a bad faith effort, he will unapologetically move forward without them. Here’s one reason why this is a Good Thing: it’s a tactical investment. It builds trust in the broader community and fosters relationships with those members of the opposition who might be won over in the future. That’s a worthwhile investment to make, I think.

The consequences of our market-worship culture. What, exactly, makes a standard of living? Is it the fancy consumer goods we all have? A car for every person, a flat-screen TV in every house and a smartphone in every palm? Or is it something else? The security of a stable neighborhood, quality health care that isn’t a hassle, and a good education for your child even if you can’t afford the cost of living in the ritziest districts? These are things the private sector simply don’t excel at.

Self-care is essential. I do not use this word lightly. If these is anything my condition has taught me, it is the importance of learning one’s own boundaries and one’s own needs, and respectfully tending to them. Without this, you aren’t going to be any good to anybody else. You’re going to be more help to someone if you’re doing well yourself. If you’re rushed, stressed, overwhelmed with anxiety, severely lacking in sleep, seriously emotionally preoccupied, down with the flu, whatever — you’re allowed to stop and take care of yourself before you continue your work. Why do we insist that we push forward, always, through whatever challenges we may face? There can be virtue in that. But there can also be folly. I think this is a cultural force that could use some reflection.

After the reaction to a certain post of mine, I think this advice from Jill would be well-heeded in a variety of situations:

I understand that men are in an uncomfortable position when an abortion story is dropped into date conversation. Abortion is socially marked as taboo and horrible and universally emotionally difficult, so I understand why the first reaction is “You poor thing” or “You’re so strong.” I’ve never been in the same position as the author, but I have been on a first date where the guy dropped his almost-abortion story: His girlfriend got pregnant, they decided to terminate the pregnancy, and then she had a miscarriage. It’s not an easy story to respond to, so I fell back on How To Deal With An Awkward Conversation Topic 101: Mirror the other person’s reaction. He seemed like he was sad about the situation, so I think I said something along the lines of, “That sounds like it was really hard, I’m sorry.” And the conversation moved on. I also had a friend who once told me the story of his hugely swollen testicle — like, baseball-sized. In recounting the story, he was cracking himself up, so I laughed along. It’s really not all that hard to take your cues from the person who lived through the unpleasant ordeal. And I think that’s the author’s point: Not that men should universally think abortion is no big deal, but that they should take women as individuals who have varied responses to situations, and who very well may not be traumatized or upset at all — but who may nonetheless be highly annoyed and physically discomforted by a 30-day period. Or they may just be relieved. Or they may be sad, or even devasted. Or they may feel stupid for getting pregnant. Or they may have emotions that are mixed and that evolve. You know, like most human beings.

Read Kate take a righteous hammer to the bullshit that is how we, as a culture, introduce children to disability. Woo go Kate!

OK, this post might seem a bit out of place (and ignore the quick bit of gender-enforcing at the end). It’s just so deeply joyful to be a witness to another person reveling in wonder, over things big or small. Grapefruit isn’t my thing, but you find enjoyment in funny places.

This is why I love slacktivist.

Adam Serwer took all of three posts at TAPPED, I think, to become my favorite writer at the mag (and it’s not for my lack of appreciation for Klein). This kind of reflection is why.

Jindal and Obama could not be more different, and the contrasts begin but don’t end with the fact that one of them changed his name to fit in while the other carried his daddy’s “funny” African moniker all the way to the White House. Last night, the differences were clear: Where Jindal was awkward, Obama was confident. Obama has mastered his voice, Jindal sounded like he didn’t know how to give a speech. Obama had mastered a variety of tones and cadences early in his career, Jindal offered a forced folksiness to a sing-song tune. But perhaps the most telling part of Jindal’s response was his extended introduction of his family history. Until now, the GOP has allowed the press to make the Obama comparisons, last night, Jindal tried to make one himself, an act that was inadvertently self-diminishing.

You can’t find your voice by trying to become what everyone else is. You do that by trying to find what it is that makes you you. See also M’s musings on identity.

I’m off to bed, to dream of miniwheats in the morning.

“yes we are going to Food 4 Less they built one on North Court, you can only go there in the daylight, too many shootings”

mmmm, home.

i work in an office now dealing with those same people, those people everyone is so afraid of. the poor people. and especially those who are racial minorities (well, actually racial pluralities where i grew up). you know, the trashy people, the ghetto people, the gang members, the baby mamas and welfare queens.

when i moved out on my own in 2004, a four hour drive from anyone with whom i had even acquaintance, i was warned profusely about the dangers of being a young, single girl out on her own. in public or in my home – no matter, it’s all dangerous. really i shouldn’t be going at all, because you never know what could happen to you, you know, around them.

living in orange county i found in my college peers a strange aversion to using the free-for-students bus system to get around. the system was clean, safe, with good frequency and practically no point at which there wasn’t a stop within a mile at most. but these kids just couldn’t bring themselves to use it. my roommate was without her car for one day, just one day, and she skipped classes altogether rather than take the bus to school and back. my conversation with her made it quite clear why. she felt it was beneath her. and, my curiosity piqued, i found similar attitudes in many of my classmates through my time there.

why? what is it about the bus that makes it so untouchable? it’s not the bus system itself – again, impressively clean, incredibly easy to use, and free! throughout the entirefuckingcounty! no – it wasn’t a systemic problem. it was a problem of proximity. proximity to them.

and, ok, it annoys the shit out of me.

you aren’t going to die of the ghetto cooties if you find yourself within a couple yards of a poor person. they aren’t going to bite you. stop acting like you’re passing through the lion cage at the zoo.

this middle class obsession with “safety,” with where’s a “good” area to live, and especially where is an acceptable place to raise a child, with the very heavy implication that allowing a child contact (especially regular contact!) with the cooties-carrying poor folk is tantamount to abuse – it drives me absolutely upthefuckingwall.

i’m just tired of it. look: i grew up with Those People. hell: i grew up being part of Those People. and though i am mostly comfortable financially now (it’s nice, having a husband who can work full time, not having to rely on anemic disability benefits) we still live surrounded mostly by Those People. Those People are my people.

and i say this as a moderately conventionally-attractive skinny young white chick who dresses and behaves like a solid member of the middle class (trust me, i learned how to “pass”) – all the things which supposedly make contact with Them so dangerous – as long as you aren’t stupid (you know, the old flashing-your-cash cliche), you can walk among Them and make it out alive. because really, when you get down to it – look: They are the same species you are. you can even breed with one and produce fertile offspring! (well, i guess that’s not that much of a revolution – it seemed to be about the only purpose the higher classes [that's you too, mr. middle man] had for direct contact with Them throughout history…)

anyway – if you understand these people as people, and learn a little common sense (that is, not limited to “stay away altogether”) you’ll do just fine. even if you’re white. even if you’re middle class. even if you’re a chick. even if you’re all of the above!

and maybe if more of “Us” started treating “Them” as, well, us (and not in that fakey feel-good liberal way) maybe we’d find out that there’d be much less reason to stay away from Them than we thought.

Dear Matthew,

Please, for the love of all that is holy, stop using large-size portrait photography to illustrate your blog posts.

I sit at my computer, for the most part, either casually or barely dressed. And though I am safe at home, my lizard-brain is still always at ready for potential offenders. So when I see sixty-five kilopixels of Bobby Jindal staring at me from my computer screen, I squirm in extreme discomfort. There is a creepy man staring wide-eyed into my face. (…if I’m lucky) It skeeves me out.

Your posts are good enough to stand alone. If you must employ graphical illustration, there are plenty of other photographs of Bobby Jindal that do not stare intently at my body from behind my LCD. If you must use mug shot style portraits, at least make them small enough (a hundred pixels length tops?) that my lizard brain does not mistake them for potential real, live persons who may be paying me undue attention.

As it is, I usually have to skip the posts, or at least enough of the posts to scroll down far enough to hide the offending eyes, which bear these illustrations. This does not serve your interests, does it?

Thank you in advance for your consideration.

Signed,

A Long-Time Fan Who Has Finally Had Enough, Dammit

P.S. I do kind of get a kick out of the Hoover pixxxxx. Subtle and snappy way of making your point. Kudos.

I am not a starry-eyed optimist. I can’t stand “inspirational” kitsch. I don’t fall for glurge stories. But dammit, people, tomorrow we are going to make history together.

I am so, so proud of the efforts I have seen from my community. It’s incredible, and humbling, to be a part of.

I’m going to be working as a poll watcher, addressing voter suppression/intimidation, so I’ll be out of touch all day. I’m going to go fucking nuts, people. There at 6:30 and polls close at 8, but whoever’s in line at that time gets to stay. So who knows how long it’ll be. I’m gonna try to last the whole day. We’ll see how well that effort goes.

I’ve never been excited about politics like this. I always cared — but I cared about changing things that weren’t right. Now? I’m happy. Truly happy. It just puts a smile on my face to think about it. We’re going to do it. We’re going to do it, all of us.

I’ll meet you Wednesday morning, my friends — morning in America.

***

My body is mine.

There are seven tumors in my breasts. They are benign.

Two of them are palpable on the surface at one o’clock on my left breast. The size of ping pong balls.

I don’t bother to self-exam anymore. I know they’re there. I don’t want to be reminded.

***

You know the slur idiot-savant?

I know its counterpart. They are called parent-saints.

There is a reverence simply unparalleled in this society (with the possible exception of professional athletes) reserved for these people.

What earns them such a status? They didn’t terminate the pregnancy instantly upon learning of the disability.

There are no standards beyond that. I do not exaggerate. It does not matter how a parent treats a disabled child. They might even beat them, and their actions will be excused because after all: they are dealing with a heavy burden, so who are you to judge?

And that’s it. Upon knowledge that a child has a disability, that child is no longer a child. Sie becomes a burden. In familiar words: dead weight. Hir humanity is erased altogether. Sie has no curiosity, no sense of mystery or delight, no joy or sadness, no hurt or relief. Sie learns nothing, hir growth only physical. There is no sentience.

And so the relevant facts about hir have nothing to do with how hir environment affects hir. They have entirely to do with how sie affects her environment.

Which is why “choosing” to keep a disabled child is cast as such: an active choice. Because the default assumption is that such a child is not worth keeping.

After all, no one wants to be saddled a dead weight.

The attitude toward those sainted persons is summed up thusly: “I don’t know how they do it; I wouldn’t be able to. There has to be a special place in heaven reserved for them.”

It is such a drag on a person’s life to deal with any person with a disability, any person who does so must have supernatural patience. Love is not an issue, of course; love requires more than one person.

Parents of children with autism, muscular dystrophy, Down’s syndrome, and others. Anything that requires assistive equipment any more complicated than a pair of glasses, and anything that renders a child unable to speak clearly and “articulately” in their region’s preferred language. It is not limited to these, but these are conditions that earn a parent a sympathetic eye.

Do not leave these assumptions unquestioned. Sarah Palin’s refusal to terminate her Down’s child will be invoked as a shorthand for her upstanding moral character. Don’t buy it. She did not do so out of respect for the disabled as equal persons of equal worth. She did so out of allegiance to a philosophy that would deny women the ability to make their own choice to carry to term and keep a child with a disability or to safely terminate a pregnancy likely to result in disability. On that note, even those in feminist circles will frame Palin’s circumstance pretty much exclusively as a question of awoman’srighttochoose. DON’T BUY IT. For better or worse, with a few but only a few exceptions, the only time disability issues are picked up on mainstream feminism’s radar screen is when it involves a disabled woman who becomes pregnant in questionable circumstances. Sometimes it is a case of rape, and sometimes it is a case of upper-class white abled feminists plowing right past said woman’s agency to insist she must have been raped and/or coerced because of her “diminished mental capacity” (whether or not her disability is mental in nature, and even then, whether or not her “capacity” is “diminished,” and even then, whether it has any bearing whatsoever on her right to control the direction of her own life). DON’T BUY THAT EITHER. Women are damn well entitled to a well-defended and highly-accessible right to reproductive justice. That includes disabled women, and that includes any woman’s right to choose to continue or cease a pregnancy likely to result in a disabled child, depending on that woman’s own personal considerations. THAT IS NOT THE ONLY ISSUE AT STAKE, and GODDAMMIT, THAT IS NOT THE MOST IMPORTANT ISSUE! Why the HELL is a woman who does not faint at the idea of a disabled child someone who deserves a Goddamn crumb of praise?

It’s like people see the ideas “disabled child” “pregnancy” “conservative politician” together and obviously the issue at hand is every woman’s right to be free of a dependent with any sort of “defect.” Just like every woman’s right to kill a mosquito that lands on her arm.

Don’t let this opportunity pass. “Liberal” men and “feminist” women, consider your privileged asses called out. You should know better. And I, we, any person with a shred of human decency, should expect better of you.

***

I was enjoying some much needed heat therapy and electrical stim at therapy today, lying on my back on the you-call-this-padded? exam table in a room of about eight others, all of us closed off individually behind hospital curtains. Usually I am one of two or three people in the room, but I came at a busy time today and that was the last table.

My physical therapy office shares space with an acupuncture/holistic therapy group. And, um, they had a rather loud patient in the curtain-cube across from mine. She was screaming at length about how her doctor put her on some medication for an infection but she’s going to taper herself off of it, medication don’t do nuthin, etc. etc.

When I laughed and told my therapist — quietly — “I think most people would be scared when they saw my medicine spinner” — she reacted negatively to my twelve-pills-a-day and Ol’ Screamer caught wind and bellowed louder and more defensively. THATSTUFFISNOGOODFORYOUDON’TYOUKNOW and so on.

I’m kinna’ tired of it. My therapist has been amazing but I was let down a little by her reaction. Look, I know I pretty much funnel 75% of my paycheck to Big Pharma. I know most people are only accustomed to the occasional Z-Pack. But most people don’t live every day in my body. And damn it all, I know the difference between my-body-now and my-body-then. I took about a third of the medication I currently take a couple years ago, and I couldn’t work any more than 8-10 hours a week, tops. Then when I got on my current regimen, I was able to up that to 20-30 hours in a retail environment. And back when I took none of it? Oh yeah, that time in my life, you know, the time I almost failed out of high school and had to drop out of college (whether fifteen units or five) twice, all within a span of 18 months?

Yeahhh, that.

I’m sick of placating. So, to those people, kindly accept my Gayest Look.

This public service announcement was brought to you by … oh hell, I’m going to bed.

I never took seriously the cries that either Obama or Clinton were narcissistically selfish because they were so extremely unelectable and their nomination (or attempt at) would ruin the party, etc.

But, truly, if John Edwards had been nominated, we would be crushed right now. Which goes to show the folly in the supposed safety in picking a white Southern heteronormative male with a picture-perfect family.

I am glad he didn’t win, despite my support for him throughout his entire run. But, I think, I am still glad that he made this run. He set the standard in health care, putting necessary pressure on Obama’s sadly insufficient plan, and possibly even pushing Clinton to be bolder and wider-reaching with her health care plan than she otherwise might have been. He hit hard without being offensively antagonistic, pushing a refreshing populist progressive platform so hard that he cemented its place in the party’s platform itself for this election round.

And, I think, that influence is underappreciated. I don’t think we would be nearly so successful were it not for his campaign. A great many voters are thirsty for progressive policy, eager to see how different our economy and our society will be with a responsible, liberal value system driving our federal government.

As an aside, isn’t it weird that all this has come down, from Clinton to Edwards, and we still haven’t had the convention yet? Maybe that’s my youth talking; I wasn’t nearly this involved in the political process four years ago.

* The language that is used to Other the disabled. Sweet Machine highlights the work of Susan Sontag, examining how “grave, incurable illnesses (particularly cancer in the 20th century and TB in the 19th) get appropriated as metaphors for moral conditions, political events, and the like — and then the negative connotations associated with those metaphors are extended back onto the people who actually suffer from the disease.” Considering the recent discussion at Feministe about the use of words like “crazy,” “insane,” “psycho,” “demented” etc. I think this is an important point to make. For the vast majority of people in our society, the only model they have to reference when they come into contact with a pwd is the concept of that disability, or disability in general, that has been built up in their minds. And that’s where our “ironic”/”sarcastic”/”irreverent” use of these words comes into play — we associate “crazy” with, say, the religious right, which means that they are Irrational, and Silly, and Dangerous, all at once, and those associations are reflected back onto the people who actually live with the condition at hand. It is not a conscious process, but again, it happens, and the more we use these words as a shorthand for all these negative traits, the further we reinforce a structure that contributes to the oppression of the disabled every day. Maybe it doesn’t really feel offensive when someone uses the word “crazy” around me, but that doesn’t mean that these tropes aren’t being steadily fed even right this very moment. And it’s not limited to mental illness, as SM explains; it also applies to fat — and to “gay,” and “retard,” and “gyp,” etc…

* When issues that are deeply important to millions of people in this country are glossed over because they might also be expedient to someone else with an agenda. See my sputtering below about Jezebel, fibromyalgia, drug therapies and Big Pharma; see Mindy’s guest post at Hoyden About Town on advertising companies and women’s products; see TAP’s Dana Goldstein wax political about Obama’s campaign actually centering women’s rights as an issue that includes more than simply white middle class women’s access to safe abortions. Those are just the examples off the top of my (very cluttered) head. Sometimes, people’s actual lives don’t fit neatly into your ideological narrative. And if you really want to be a friend to those people, you’ll turn off the “irreverent” macro and listen to their actual concerns. (Can you tell I’m really pissed off about this stuff?)

* The fact that my emails to my husband at work keep getting bounced back to me, and I can’t shake this anxiety, the trembling and heart racing and shortness of breath that comes with certain triggers, one of which is confronting people who beat upon the “fibromyalgia is bullshit” (still the leading search term to this blog) drum in service to their own egos. Usually, rambling at him helps me settle down, but I can’t really fit the jumbled contents of my brain into a 160-character SMS.

* My continued unemployment, which is going to screw up our finances so hard. I am looking around but I worry about the insecurity, the fact that I didn’t have much choice in quitting because of my disability, and the fact that my prospects are severely limited because of same — which means I’m likelier-than-not to remain unemployed for the foreseeable future. It’s unsettling.

* Pantyhose.

Yowza.

As an addendum, consider this photograph of Senator Obama, unabashedly courting the Young Women Who Love To See Men Being Shamelessly Goofy With Their Children vote:

Photos from.

No.

People must understand: Clinton’s decision on the AUMF is part and parcel of the person she had to be to get where she was.

She was a strong woman. She didn’t take any bullshit. She stood up for herself, and she fought for what she thought was right.

To be able to survive in the public eye as a legitimate politician, Clinton had to learn how to steel herself and keep fighting, even when everyone else was telling her that she was wrong. Because that is what it takes to be a high-profile female politician in today’s country.

Relatedly, she had to cultivate a reputation of strength, because the Bossy Butch Bitch is the only woman the public can tolerate — not appreciate, but tolerate — as a high-profile leader, especially one in charge of things that are coded as masculine.

There is a reason Clinton has publicly refused to apologize for her vote on the AUMF or on Kyl-Lieberman, and for accepting money from lobbyists. If she is anything like the strong women I know, and my suspicion is she is: she has carefully cultivated her convictions, searching deep to find the truest truths she knows, down below the miles of muck with which our society imbues those of the female persuasion. And she has built a fortress upon a foundation of those truths, with thick strong walls and a careful defense system.

Because she knows that if she is to be the person she truly is inside, she is going to need it.

So she will not back down. Because if she does, it erases everything she stands for, stands on.

(And, you know, watching the campaigns of her husband and each Democratic nominee to come since, with their primary media narratives of waffle and flip-flop, maybe she learned something?)

If Hillary Rodham Clinton had voted against the AUMF, she would have been an entirely different person, and an entirely different politician. And she would not be where she is today. She may not even have been where she was then.

And, for better or worse, that is the fault of the system that puts her at an immediate disadvantage, the system she had to learn intimately, the system she had to manipulate to get her where she wanted to go. No person can operate outside the system; if they want to do anything within it, they have to work within its rules.

And that is what Clinton is, and was, doing.

it’s like after the outpouring of misogyny through this election, they had somehow hidden their last reserve and now it’s being splooged all over our fucking discourse. and this is from so-called progressives!

fuck it all. i’ve completely lost faith in the people who are supposed to be my allies.

i take comfort in the people who understand.

Right now, I feel like my dad when a next door neighbor cut down Dad’s prized black walnut tree. It was the tallest tree in the neighborhood, and quite beautiful, but the neighbor wanted the wood and so he cut it down. When Dad called in the city, the city checked the deed and found out that the black walnut tree was really on our property. The neighbor offered to buy Dad a black walnut sapling to make up for it,

“You can have another walnut tree in the same place.” he said. “Give it another 30 years, and it could grow just as tall.”

Dad just looked at him and said “But not in my lifetime.”

Yeah, we’ll have a woman nominee eventually. But not in my mom’s lifetime. Not in her generation. Probably not for another 20 or 30 years, and probably not in my lifetime either.

God give me the patience to survive this barrage, and the spirit to keep fighting. may my daughters’ world welcome them with an open heart, forsaking the precedent set by the people of today. may we build a world on a foundation of justice and love. i’m trying, God — i’m trying. in the meantime, give me friends who know how i feel without my speaking a single word, to help feed that fighting spirit.

***

ETA: Just for clarification: I VOTED FOR OBAMA. I want Obama to win. I think Obama has some great ideas and would do a great job running the country. I don’t prefer Clinton as a candidate.

But that doesn’t mean I don’t get discouraged and disheartened when my supposed allies are levying attacks against a woman in power. A woman that could have been their mother when she was fighting for a well-deserved promotion at work. A woman that could be their daughter when she fights to get her thesis recognized in the old-boys club at her university. A woman that could be their best friend when she tries running for local office. A woman that could be you, could be her, could be me, anytime she gets the silly idea that she could be something that has historically been denied her, and then sees her actions interpreted through a gynophobic frame of thinking and grows frustrated with the muddied communication.

Every time you play into these attacks without reflection: you are strengthening a frame of reference that will be used against the women you care about in the future.

I’m just saying, goddammit.