CONTEXT: This piece needs some context to
help you understand why I am so upset. The women I write about in this piece
are all part of a national community of feminists, an organization that I label
“NCF”. The women who participate
in NCF commit themselves to be honest with each other, to be respectful of
their differences, to speak from their own experiences, to speak out when they
see injustices. Many women participate in NCF activities year after year. It is
common for them to have decades of connections with NCF. My friend, whom I call
“Mary” here, is one of these committed women. This story happened to
her but it’s also happened to me and lots of other disabled folks in lots of
different communities.
CONTENT: Discussion of ableism, my strong
and judgmental reaction to it.
Today Mary (made up name) called me to
tell me about her weekend. As she talked she slipped in the painful part
quietly. She said she didn’t want me to worry. She said she is ok. She is
taking care of it. She moved on to the next topic. I did not.
Mary is a fierce feminist warrior. When
she became disabled she used her considerable skills to making her world better
for other disabled women. She’s part of a national community of feminists, NCF
(made up name), who write politically correct blogs and organize women’s gatherings.
Mary believed, because it was incomprehensible to her not to, that she is an
important and respected part of that community. Yesterday she found out she was
wrong.
She attended a women’s outdoor concert
with her nondisabled friend Annie. They found a group of women from NCF and sat
next to them. Everyone was sitting on the ground except Mary who rose above
them in her wheelchair. She decided to move to the ground to feel more included.
While she did the slow transfer from her wheelchair to the ground, all the NCF
women stared at her and she became the center of the their nervous attention.
Some of the concert organizers were also
part of NCF and were glad to see so many NCF women at this out-of-state event.
About an hour after Mary made the trek from her wheelchair to the ground, one
of the concert organizers invited all the NCF women to join her onstage to
honor their years of community service with NCF.
At this point in her story I expected
Mary to tell me how they all worked together to get her quickly into her
wheelchair so they could show their NCF commitments to solidarity and social
justice. But that is not what she said next.
To a woman, the NCF women surrounding
Mary stood up, stepped over her, and walked rapidly up onto the stage. Only
Annie, her best friend, came over and sat next to her.
Mary tells me that she was shocked by
their behavior.
I am not.
I say to them: You are not my sisters. You never were.
Yes, I know, you read all the social
justice articles and even skimmed a few of the books. You took the NCF pledge,
said all the words. You lectured others on the correct terms, the rightness of
your concepts. You shunned the ones who would not learn the right phrases
deeming them too backwards for your enlightenment.
You never knew what I knew right from the
beginning: that no matter what words you used to pledge to be our allies, that
you would betray us. You would always put your own comfort, your own status
ahead of others. Your commitment to the cause would always be words deep.
Betrayal was written into your bones. You never did the deep cleansing needed
to examine your privilege, never saw the scars we carry from how the world
treats us, never even knew that everyone with privilege can be a betrayer.
But I knew.
I knew because all you showed were words
not actions. Did you speak up about that event that did not have a sign
language interpreter? No. Did you refuse to participate when that conference on
feminism and immigration decided that having Spanish language interpreting was
‘too expensive’? No.
My sisters are women who show me their
commitment through actions not words. Often they are women who are not welcome
in your world. You see less educated, less adroit poor women who are, to you,
less ‘committed to the cause of equality’. You never see that they are the
vanguard fighting every single day for justice. You judge them to be locked
into heteronormative narratives, women in need of your saving. Not that you
ever talk to them, listen to what they want. You went to college. They did too
– they were cleaning the floors. You read the books that they put onto the
shelves. You know what’s best for women.
These women do not understand your
treatises that require a college vocabulary. They will never read Judith Butler
or the Feminist Manifesto. Never debate trans* inclusion or male children. They
will never know the Feminism 101 definition of lesbian or intersex or
genderqueer.
But they will love each and every one of
us who want those labels. Their love is fierce, protective, inclusive. They
will never, ever leave me or Mary alone on the ground so
they can go to the stage for applause. Never. They would not know how to be
that cruel. These women are my sisters. You are not.
'Diversity' is just acceptable difference.
ReplyDeleteDeeply affecting. I am another Mary
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