PhilosopherCrip

I often use the word “crip” to refer to disability on this site and with those I am comfortable with, who I think can handle it.  I don’t often use it in professional settings, but even then it occasionally slips out.  Many times, I find myself having to explain how and why I am using the word.  Both temporarily non-disabled folks and people with disabilities express curiosity, amusement, horror, or some combination of these emotions in varying ratios.  I then attempt to educate and sooth them with an explanation about reclaiming language and how many marginalized groups have done and continue to do this with words that have traditionally marked them as “less than.”

When I use the term with other crip activists, I operate on the assumption that we are using the term in the same way with the same meaning.  Over this winter break, I have finally gotten around to finishing the very compelling autobiography of Harriet McBryde Johnson (started it last Spring), who also uses it as a word of choice when referring to people with disabilities.  It was this reading that made me question whether this term is used with a consistent meaning in the disability movement.

While describing her trip to Cuba, Harriet writes about the structure of their disability movement and the different organizations that have formalized it “One is comprised of people who are deaf and hard of hearing, one is of blind and visually impaired people, and the third, ACLIFIM, Asociacion Cubano de Limitados Fisico-motores, is made up of people with “physical-motor” disabilities, what we call crips” (156).  This definition of the word crip shocked me and seriously undercut the assumption that everyone in the disability world used the word in the same way.  Here I was two-thirds of the way through a book that I think has become an instant classic of crip culture, realizing that this luminary was using the term in a very different way.  What was even more disturbing is that I think Harriet, who has taught me a great deal with her writing, is using the term in a way that is not quite right somehow.  I’m not sure if I can argue that my use of crip is objectively and absolutely correct, but I do want to say that it has some important advantages.

My new vanity plate! Crip Power Baby!

First, let’s make the distinction.  The difference in usage is subtle, but it seems like Harriet wants to attach the term to a particular biological category, whereas my use is broader and more grounded in a social or political identity.  I have had discussions with many friends in the disability community that run the gambit of diagnosis and our usage does not distinguish between biological types of disabilities.  I have friends who are Deaf that identify as crips and use the word to describe themselves as part of a community and a social movement.  Unlike Harriet’s usage, you do not have to have a mobility disability to qualify, but rather a particular worldview.  To me, crips are people that have disabilities and that recognize the stigma and marginalization they experience in their daily lives for what it is, and choose to defy it.  So, more people can fall under the category than just those described by Johnson.  I think this is a better way of defining the term because it allows for a greater solidarity across disability types.  It focuses on the common experience of marginalization and common interest of liberation, rather than differences that have segregated us in the medical-human services complex.

Further, my usage of the word may be broader in its biology, but it is more narrow in its politics.  In her chapter about her MDA telethon protests, Harriet refers to a man that acts as her foil on a televised talk-show about the telethon as an “establishment crip.”  Clearly, this is a jab at his authenticity as a real member of the crip community, and so there must be something political about the term for her too.  However, the fact that she can identify him as a crip of any variety tells me that, for her, the term is more about biology than ideology.  I don’t think a person deserves to weild the title until they have seriously considered disability as a social system of oppression and begun to work toward the good of the crip community, as such.  It would be a stretch for an MDA Telethon defender to qualify.  Again, I prefer this usage because it emphasizes our community as it defines itself in its defiance of oppression, rather than is defined by the medical establishment, which is the lynchpin of the system of that oppression.

This is not to deny that crippiness in particular and disability identity in general is bound up closely with biological difference.  I don’t think that my use of the word crip could apply to a person that didn’t have some kind of physical, sensory, cognitive, or emotional difference of some kind, even if it wasn’t formally diagnosed by a physician.  I guess my point is just that our use of the term should move away from the biology as much as possible so that we can truly reclaim it on our own terms.

Not that he or anyone remotely close to him will read this obscure web-log post, but I wanted my first post since going into the “hibernation” of finals season to be in honor of the Honorable David Paterson, governor of New York.  Recently, SNL did a sketch with Paterson as its subject.  I was busy frantically writing a seminar paper last Saturday and missed the show’s live airing, but caught it on youtube more recently.  Admittedly, parts of the sketch are quite funny, particularly the parts where their portrayal of Paterson “craps on New Jersey.” 

However, the sketch was quite upsetting in their caricature of this articulate, politically savvy leader as a bumbling idiot, merely because he happens to be blind. Typically, SNL is funny in its mockery of politicians because it picks up on personality quirks and contextual absurdity to poke fun at them. For example, Will Ferrell’s famous southern drawl, silly smirk, and ill-imagined SAT words made “strategery” a favorite of my generation. More recently, Tina Fey’s spot on impersonation of Sarah Palin in several opening sketches, with her winking, apparent ignorance public policy, and outright annoying “folksy” demeanor surely had a much bigger influence on people’s political sensibilities than a short spot on Weekend Update, after the show is half over.

Governor David Paterson of New York

So, why would Palin and others keep silent, while Paterson risks the appearance of being an oversensitive, bitter blow hard? The answer is simple, this SNL was not about Governor David Paterson, it was about disability. The sketch does not pick up on any personality quirk of Paterson’s as an individual, but stereotypes him as a blind man. Holding charts upside down, wandering about in front of the camera, and generally appearing confused, these jokes were not about Paterson but about blindness. It is as egregious as if SNL decided to mock Barack Obama, not for being a media darling, as they did, but for being a black man, complete with those stereotypes. I am not trying to engage in the “oppression olympics” here, but mean to point out that this sketch spent a good deal of time mocking a stereotype of disability, not a particular political figure.

Paterson’s response was simply heroic. It is unquestionable that speaking out against the SNL sketch was against his political interest. The associated press reports that Lee Miringoff, an expert pollster that gauges public reaction to politicians, said that the reaction against the skit was “unwise” and explained “I can’t recall the last time a politician has reacted negatively to being lampooned on ‘Saturday Night Live,’ . . . It humanizes them. At least your name is on the marquee.” What this Miringoff doesn’t get is that Paterson was not trying to react in a way that would serve his political interests. What is “unwise” politically can be straight-up valiant when you look beyond the narrow political picture. For once, a politician was not thinking just of himself, but of his community.

Governor Paterson took a strong stance in support of the disability community, showing his moral medal as far as I am concerned:

“Now that [Alaska Gov. Sarah] Palin’s not around, they seem to have run out of material . . . The idea of a person rolling around the stage in a chair, being disoriented, can’t find anything, bumbling, in a sense looking like a clown is a way disabled people are portrayed all the time. . . . The perception that disability equals inability to be responsible is totally wrong . . . There is only one way that people could have an unemployment rate that’s six times the national average — it’s attitude . . . And I’m afraid that the kind of third-grade depiction of individuals and the way they look and the way they move add to that negative environment . . . I don’t mind that they make fun of me, but I thought it was important to speak up for those who don’t have a voice and don’t have a job.”

These, my friends, are the words of a true hero of Crip Town. He is not merely a politician who happens to have a disability. He is one of us.

Thank you David.

Recently, there has been a court case in the news about Jarek Molski.  He is a Californian that has recently been told he can no longer bring lawsuits against public businesses that are in violation of the ADA by not allowing for access to their services by wheelchair users.  These violations are of the sort where businesses do not have wheelchair ramps or accessible parking.  The US Supreme court upheld the decision to ban Molski from filing any more law suits — by refusing to hear his most recent case — because he has filed more than 400 of them.

I have no legal training, so my analysis and opinion should be taken with a grain of salt.  However, strangely enough, I agree with the US Supreme court on this one, not because of the NUMBER of cases but because of the OUTCOME of many of these 400 cases.  The LA Times reports, “Fear of adverse judgments compelled many to settle out of court, earning the Polish-born plaintiff hundreds of thousands of dollars in less than two years.”  That is, these businesses were not becoming accessible as a result of these law suits, but paying this man settlements instead.

To me, this is completely absurd.  In fact, I don’t think personal payments should even be allowed in these kinds of ADA cases.  I don’t have a law degree, but it seems to me that these kinds of cases involving access to public space (as opposed to cases that have to do with something like employment discrimination) have very little to do with harms to an individual, but rather harm an entire community or class of people.  It makes absolutely no sense for a harm being visited upon a large group of people to be “settled” by a payment to an individual.

I find the notion that any one individual should have personal gain from these kinds of cases completely and utterly despicable.  This is because he is essentially making a profit of off our community’s marginalization and oppression.  In my opinion, he is no better than a nursing home industry lobbyist that makes a profit off of the isolation and incarceration of our people, who want to live in the community but are stopped by his work manipulating health care benefit laws to exclude community choice.  Somehow, it feels even more repugnant because Molski is supposedly “one of us.”  He knows what it feels like to be excluded from a restaurant or a bar or a barber shop or a book store or any number of places, but chooses to line his pockets and preserve that feeling for others.  This is the ultimate act of selfishness and exploitation.

Perhaps, in the most egregious of cases, it would make sense to award punitive damages to punish the offending business (especially when that business has very deep pockets and could have easily been accessible).  Even then, I feel uncomfortable at the idea of making a payment to an individual as a way of mitigating a harm suffered by an entire community.  I wonder if it would be possible to pay such fines to non-profit organizations that fight for the good of people with disabilities as a whole, like Centers for Independent Living.  Perhaps payments could be made to a scholarship fund for students with disabilities who want to attend college or a fund that helps individuals with disabilities to afford modifications to their living space or transportation to make it accessible?  Maybe these are all pipe dreams, but the thought of paying a single person money to somehow make up for the marginalization of an entire people turns my stomach.  This is NOT what Justin Dart had in mind when he devoted his life to freeing our people with the passage of the ADA.

I don’t have a great deal of time to write this afternoon, but wanted to weigh in on Obama’s speech last night.  A lot of my friends were very pleased he mentioned disability as a difference that, while relevant and important, cannot stop us from uniting as one people.  He said, “It’s the answer spoken by young and old, rich and poor, Democrat and Republican, black, white, Hispanic, Asian, Native American, gay, straight, disabled and not disabled. Americans who sent a message to the world that we have never been just a collection of individuals or a collection of red states and blue states. We are, and always will be, the United States of America.”  Of course, in a world where disability is so often swept under the rug as an issue that is not as “sexy” as the others — it’s sad when the tax code is perceived as more interesting — it was encouraging to hear our next president call out to us with his message of unity and hope.  Let’s look at it a bit more carefully.

Obama delivers his victory speech on on November 4, 2008 in Chicago before an estimated 200,000 people

First and foremost, disability was listed among a series of human traits that have historically been separated out and marginalized as the “Other.”  That is, Obama’s message of unity is closely bound up with a message of justice.  Unity cannot merely be a sweeping under the rug of oppressions and marginalizations.  We cannot IGNORE how folks are treated differently in the name of “unity.”  Sometimes, unity must be sacrificed in order to deal with injustice (like the civil war or the civil rights movement).  However, at the end of the day, true unity CAN be achieved if we address these differences head on and right the wrongs that have divided us.  For me, the reason Obama’s mention of my community brought up a swell of emotion has to do with this recognition of injustice and his call to achieve unity through its demolition.  Unity should not be achieved by excercizing top down power that ignores or suppresses difference and forces conformity, but through grassroots change that renders such differences as close to harmless as possible.

Closely tied to this recognition of a need for justice to achieve unity was an implicit call to action.  He was saying that these marginalized groups have the power to address their own oppression, take back what is rightly theirs as Americans (civil rights), and unify our nation as one people.  If the key to unity is to address injustice, we ourselves as marginalized, divided people must take action to do just this.  While John McCain enjoyed talking about HIS personal responsibility and HIS record of putting country first, Obama called upon an entire people to, themselves, take responsibility for our nation’s fate.  The difference here is key to why Obama was able to win in such a big way.  It is the key to his political genius.  John McCain talked about “the government” as if it was some hulking, mysterious force that acted upon our lives while Barack Obama called us to be involved in understanding and shaping how this force affected our country.  He called us to remember that the government is not some great evil, but rather a creation of the people, for the people, and by the people.

The rhetoric that surrounded disability was no exception.  McCain wanted to talk about how his government would help children “with special needs.”  Obama, on the other hand, called our entire community to his side, recognizing our collective voice and our power to ourselves create change.  As evidenced by his very informed, thoughtful disability policy platform and his recognition of us on his diversity “short list” last night, Obama did not set us apart as an other to be pitied, but asked for our help to change the social landscape of a nation.

At the end of the day, Barack Obama’s electoral college landslide was nothing short of the greatest COMMUNITY ORGANIZING effort ever to be conceived and executed.  YES WE CAN!!!!

After reading some sections of Michael Chorost’s book about his experience getting a cochlear implant, Rebuilt: How Becoming Part Computer Made Me More Human, I have been thinking a lot about a conversation I had last summer at the Little People of America National Conference in Detroit.  My roommate at the conference, Ian, is a dwarf, but also identifies as Deaf, signs fluently, and has a cochlear implant. Ian is a sophomore at MIT in Cambridge Mass., majoring in computer science, and I have been friends with him since last the 2007 LPA conference. I have always seen striking similarities between the Deaf and LP communities (dwarfs who embrace the identity and are active in the community often refer to ourselves as “LPs” to draw that distinction, much as the big D is used in Deaf culture.) and I had a wonderful conversation that drew upon some of those similarities with Ian about his decision to undergo cochlear implantation last year.

One great similarity between the LP and the Deaf community is that our pride in our unique way of being often moves us to resist the “cure” ideology. We do what we can to resist the many reproductive technologies that are often used to avoid the conception or birth of babies that would share our way of life, and we often resist new technologies that are meant to change our identity, so that we may “pass” in the world. For the Deaf community, this has been the cochlear implant, for LPs that has been elective limb lengthening (ELL) surgeries. Both procedures medicalize what we see as our cultural or social differences and both have a history of carrying serious health risks. So it was interesting for me to speak with Ian about why he would choose to accept the risks of his implant (and, thus, medicalize his deafness) while also rejecting the option of ELL.

For Ian, the decision was made largely because he grew up hard of hearing, rather than Deaf, with hearing parents and only began to really take part in deaf culture and learn ASL around the same time that he began considering the implant. To me, this seems like a case of having more time to accept and embrace one unique experience of the world that he had from birth (dwarfism) rather than another that he had to learn to make a part of his life (deafness).

Our conversation did not stop here though, because we both began to think more carefully about the blurry line between adaptive technology and cure. People with disabilities of all stripes, even the most radical activists, accept adaptive technology as the tools of liberation. Electric wheelchairs, screen reading software, and video phones are used throughout the broad disability community and are central to our ability to thrive with our differences. They are seen as means to shattering social barriers and bringing us into full participation and equality. However, this line is blurred when we start to think about adaptive technology that directly affects the function of our bodies (like cochlear implants and ELL). The obvious difference here seems to be that I can crawl out of and scoot away from my wheelchair, while someone with the ELL “cure” cannot walk away from their artificially lengthened legs, just as a Deaf person can remove their hearing aid when they sleep at night, but the an implant is surgically embedded in them.

However, there is another distinction to be made here as well. In fact, I think the more important distinction is not the permanence or invasiveness of the adaptive technology, but how it impacts your identity. A hearing aide will not cause a small child to grow up as someone who passes and is completely removed from the Deaf culture in the way that a cochlear implant might. A wheelchair would not reshape an LPs identity so that they are no longer a member of that community. Of course, this distinction is nothing essential to the technology itself, but rather a function of how it is used. Ian is an example of someone who uses an implant, but still has a Deaf identity. It conceivable that a person could also get ELL and retain an LP identity (although this may be more difficult because our community rejects ELL more militantly and universally than the Deaf culture has resisted implants and ELL really can only be performed at a young age, before or during the growth spurt).

So, perhaps Ian chose to have the Cochlear Implant and reject the ELL because he had a stronger connection to the dwarfism community and the identity it entails that he did not want to reject.  Maybe it is also possible that Ian’s particular life goals would be more threatened by deafness than they would short stature (this can be true even for someone who accepts the social model because you can say that society disables you in different ways).

I’m not sure if the government “officially” designated October as Disability History Month, but it is widely celebrated as such in the disability activist community.  In some states (like NC and soon to be MI if all goes well), the public schools even teach a disability history curriculum during the month of October by mandate of state legislation.

If you have time, this is a good time to pick up a book about the history of the disability rights movement.  The industry standard is No Pity by Joseph Shapiro.  A more focused, but still fascinating and important book is activist and attorney Harriet McBride Johnson’s biography Too Late to Die Young. I was very lucky to be able to see Harriet speak and have her sign my copy a few years ago and am sad that I will not get to see her speak again now that I have read her book — she passed over the summer.

I can’t figure out how to embed a google video right into my page like I can youtube, but here is a link to a VERY well made short film about some major figures in the history of disability activism.  It summarizes the stories of Ed Roberts (visionary founder of the Independent Living movement), Wade Blank (original organizer of ADAPT, which uses grassroots non-violent direct action activism), and Justin Dart (my favorite Republican - except my dad - who is responsible for educating the entire country, from the grassroots to the president, about his vision for the inclusion of crips in mainstream society, which eventually became the ADA).  These are the heros of “crip town” and some of the patriots we should aspire to emulate.

My last post highlighted the idea that we, as human beings, belong to certain communities and play certain roles that limit or determine the possibilities of how we can respond to certain issues. That is, our social position and the relationships we have with others shapes how we think and act. However, I don’t want readers to think that I am some kind of moral relativist who believes that one way of thinking and acting is no better or worse than another. Philosophers may sometimes hold this view, but activists, surely, do not.

So, I’d invite you to watch the above youtube video that outlines McCain’s response to the Community Choice Act, which is perhaps the most important crip legislation to face the nation since the Americans with Disabilities Act. It calls into question Palin’s claims about her knowledge of and loyalty to disability politics by linking her to McCain’s hard line stance against this bill. I thought it was well made and summarizes a lot of what has happened with disability politics in recent history.

Also, look for my friend Amber being arrested at McCain’s office last spring (whose blog called this video to my attention at http://ambertracker.blogspot.com/) .

This term, I am taking a seminar that examines the key writing of German philosopher Martin Heidegger.  Like all of the German philosophy I have read so far, his style of writing is nearly incomprehensible.  Hopefully, I can boil one of his key ideas down into something that can help us understand the way disability was addressed during the most recent Presidential Debate, without being as unreadable as he is.

Heidegger’s idea that I think may be useful to us is “the They.”  The They is - in simplest terms - the unexamined set of boundaries that mark off the limits of what we can think and how we can act as social creatures.  Heidegger argues that, because we always exist in relation to other persons, the possibilities of our existence are constrained by those relationships.  If we all exist in relation to some community and never in true isolation (even if we are rejected by a particular community, our existence is still along side it and relating to it in various ways) then the different possibilities for how we live are limited by our relationship to this community.  Heidegger writes: “We take pleasure and enjoy ourselves as they take pleasure; we read, see, and judge about literature and art as they see and judge; likewise we shrink back from the ‘great mass’ as they shrink back; we find ‘shocking’ what they find shocking.”

At first, it is tempting to understand this They as a type of conformity or group think.  Maybe Heidegger is arguing that there is something about being human that makes us want to conform to the broader social opinion?  This doesn’t quite seem to get the notion quite right though because the They is not the social community itself or the standards we conform to.  Rather, it is our human way of existing as the type of creature that thinks and acts in relation to a social environment.

McCain and Obama at the 3rd Presidential Debate

While watching the most recent presidential debate, I think I may have stumbled upon an example of how the They works to limit how we act and react in a social environment. A question came up about the qualifications of the vice-presidential candidates, and John McCain took the opportunity to mention his running mate’s supposed expert knowledge about and passion for the benefit of “special needs families” because she has a newborn son with Down syndrome - the adorable and semi-famous Trig that acted as prelude to my last blog post. Specifically McCain grumbled in his mavericky way: “by the way, she also understands special-needs families. She understands that autism is on the rise, that we’ve got to find out what’s causing it, and we’ve got to reach out to these families, and help them, and give them the help they need as they raise these very special needs children. She understands that better than almost any American that I know. I’m proud of her.” Amidst Obama’s response to McCain’s general claims about Palin, Obama countered with “And I think it’s very commendable the work she’s done on behalf of special needs. I agree with that, John.”

This entire exchange from both candidates is fraught with what I would see as a false understanding of the reality of disability. It is tempting to believe that they have merely conformed to a bad way of thinking about and acting toward our crip community.  One such false understanding is that the implicit, unquestioned premise of both candidates’ description of disability is that it is a biological harm that needs to be cured with medicine rather than a social harm that should be mitigated through the restructuring of society. Another, related premise is that the needs of people with disabilities are somehow “special” or different than those of your average human being – access to transportation and housing and education and the basic necessities of life. Another premise that may not come through as clearly to the reader of the text rather than a viewer of the televised debate was the notion that people, especially children, with disabilities are deserving of our pity. The candidates screwed up their faces into soft frowns to show how much the situation of these poor souls troubled them, and Obama quickly agreed that Palin had done “good work” in this area, the possibility of questioning her credentials in disability policy never crossing his mind – despite that fact that she has no leadership experience within the disability rights movement and no demonstrated knowledge of the major contemporary policy issues facing this generation of Americans with disabilities (see my last post).

I would argue that this is a clear example of the They constraining the possibilities of how these candidates exist in relation to disability. To mimic Heidegger’s style: we think, act, and emote toward disability as they think, act, and emote toward disability. Not even considering their status as candidates for the most powerful job in the world, the McCain and Obama sitting on that stage as average Americans moving through this social world did not even have the possibility of relating to disability in a more appropriate way because of the relationship of the They that had controlled them. If my story stopped here, it would seem as if I, as a person with a disability who has experience with the disability activism, culture, and theory, had managed to find a new way of thinking and acting that authentically defined my own possibilities in this area. I had a grasp on the proper way of thinking, acting, and emoting about disability because I came from a purer, advantaged viewpoint. I may have had these thoughts cross my mind for a moment before my phone began to buzz with text messages from friends who were reacting to the ableist rhetoric of the candidates in the exact same way.  That is, they were upset that the candidates were heaping pitty upon these faceless, nameless “special needs children” with the same words and mannerisms that the average American uses when they encounter us and react.  Surely, this was the They at work, defining how these candidates could think, act, and feel about disability.  Of course, a careful observer would realize that, as my friends and I echod each others’ outrage in a predictable way, we had our own They that was setting the boundaries of how we confront these situations. My possibilities were still constrained by the They and I was shrinking back from the ‘great mass’ as they were shrinking back.

So my question is: how do we know when what moves us is not this invisible tyrant of the They, but a genuine personal thought, action, or emotion.  As crip activists, how do we get beyond preaching to the choir and begin to clear new ground?

Recently, my very good friend Amber took a trip to South Korea to understand how their disability movement in general and their feminist disability movement in particular have developed (http://ambertracker.blogspot.com/). This has gotten me thinking about how culture and political history have shaped our movement in the US. Typically, I tend to be as ethnocentric as the next American and my judgments are certainly still biased by my privilege as a US citizen. However, I have been on a kick the last few days, thinking about how American liberalism shapes our ideas about what it means to resist the oppressive structures that have marginalized us.

When I refer to liberalism, I am not talking about the “liberal left” but rather the political philosophy that tells us that the purpose of government is to preserve our individual freedoms. This is the notion that laws are in place to ensure that our freedoms do not infringe upon the freedoms of others.

Laws like the ADA seem to be directly connected to this notion. Access to public space and employment anti-discrimination are justified by their effects on individuals. Like the romanticized settlers of the western frontier, folks with disabilities are blazing a trail into a new territory, as rugged individuals. Relying on their own mettle, they take risks and reap rewards accordingly.

Of course, this is also somewhat problematic. This emphasis on the value of the individual is a double edge sword as it largely contributes to the very core of the bigotry of ableism. Interconnectedness and interdependence are the values that will free our people, not individualistic, libertarian ideology. In fact, these values are realities for all Americans that are often ignored. American culture tells us there is shame in having someone help you dress if you need it, but having someone else cut your hair is par for the course. We have this mythology that we are individuals that survive in a harsh world on our own. When folks with physical and cognitive differences need help in different ways, their lives are disvalued as having less quality or dignity.

While our freedoms have a uniquely American flavor, so do some of our oppressions. We need to look elsewhere if we are to understand how we can think outside of this box and move away from this kind of marginalization.

I have returned now to the “real world” and am coming down off of the natural high of the ADAPT action. The adrenaline of that 5 days was pretty extraordinary. I heard several stories explaining why and how the arrests went down at Dodd’s office — and several other offices of members of congress, apparently. Rather than relate them here, with the inaccuracies of sleep deprived memory, let me point you to ADAPT’s press releases: http://duhcity.org/duhpress.html. They are all informative, but the first on the list — http://duhcity.org/press/duh004.html — is the most relevant to the action that happened on Tuesday on Capitol Hill.

One thing of note that you won’t find on the press release pages is a description of how I spent my Tuesday night.

DUH City was erected as a political statement of solidarity with folks with disabilities who are, in essence, homeless because of the lack of availability of affordable, accessible, integrated housing. Many folks with disabilities are either homeless in the traditional sense of lacking shelter or homeless in the sense that they do not have a home, but are warehoused in institutions and nursing homes. While such arrangements meet the minimal requirements of permanent shelter from the elements, it is argued that they are not homes because the people living their do not have the security and freedom that is essential to calling something a home. That is, a home is not a place where every moment of your day is controlled by someone else’s regimental routine. So it is that ADAPT tried to call attention to these unacknowledged homeless by living as close to homeless as we could for a few days on the front patio of the US Department of Housing and Urban Development.

ADAPT button with our standard slogan!

In a personal statement of solidarity with people with disabilities who are homeless, I chose to tweak this idea slightly and sleep in a cardboard box on Tuesday night, at the fringes of DUH City. This was intended to be both a political statement, contributing to the overall message of DUH City and an attempt at an exercise in empathy. Since doing this, I have decided these are separable ideas and that I may have succeeded in the one and failed in the other.

As a statement of political solidarity, it probably went mostly unnoticed, but was genuine. However, I don’t think it really worked as a way of building any kind of real personal empathy for those who face this kind of situation as a crisis. As my friend Dominic pointed out in a comment on my post “That could have been me…,” it may be impossible for genuine empathy to be developed between folks who are embedded in systems of drastically disparate power relations. His basic idea was that true empathy — rather than pity — could not exist between able bodied people and folks with a disability because the power differential is too permanent and too absolute for anyone to be capable of truly thinking outside of it.

I am starting to understand Dom’s point here. Like disability, class is a system of power relations. While I can sleep in a cardboard box for a few hours, this will not be a genuine understanding of an impoverished person with a disability’s experience of the world. Firstly, I had a CHOICE of where to sleep. This in itself means that I can not understand the most important aspect of the oppression of poverty and homelessness, power relations. I cannot get outside the fact that I could have gone back to my 200 a night hotel room at any time. How can I understand homeless on anything but the most superficial of levels while retaining this position in society’s power structure? In addition, I had the luxury of a sleeping bag and plenty to eat and plenty of hope for my future. This cannot be a genuine exercise in empathy.