Kate GrisimWHY WE NEED TO CHANGE THE NARRATIVES SURROUNDING DISABILITY*I was at a semi-swanky mayor's luncheon as a fundraiser for a disability organization yesterday. My mom invited me, because she knows important people, and who can really say no to wine at 11:45 am on a Tuesday, am I right? The entertainment was a comic. Now, I'm slightly skeptical about comics in general, but I was willing to give this one a shot. Everything was going relatively fine until the moment, about ten minutes into his act, when he made a cripple joke (yes, he actually used the word "cripple" as a derogatory). For me, everything went downhill from there. Some of you who are familiar with my blog might be thinking, "But the name of this blog is called 'mylittlecrippledheart,' so how can you get your shorts in a twist when you are relatively okay with using the word cripple to describe yourself?" The answer to that one is that I am using the word as a form of empowerment. A stand-up comic who is male, white, and heterosexual (so he has loads of privilege on his side) and uses the word "cripple" to differentiate people like me from everyone else on a Tuesday morning in downtown Winnipeg isn't the same thing as me using the word to describe myself proudly. The word cripple, or the slightly more in-your-face "crip," has a contested history, no doubt. Cripples are known to be "lame" in body and mind. They are often associated with children, or, in other words, are pitied and seen as little benefit to society. They could be, and most often are, a burden to their family and so are deemed "unfair" or "too much" by friends and neighbours. The term "cripple" evokes a sense of hard work, not on the individual called it but by others who feel they have to do the work the cripple themselves cannot. Cripples themselves are often times seen as lazy or draining and, most importantly, undeserving of the personal and financial resources they need in order to live. As much as I assume the comic didn't mean to insult me personally, he also made a fairly large (and wrongful) assumption that there would be no "cripples" around that day. Instead, he decided to throw around a bombshell because he knew exactly who he was referring to, and thought he would get away with it. * * * At this interim, a caution: I admit I can be a little hung up on language. As a former English major, language surrounded me as I was taking my Bachelor of Arts. Oddly enough, it still surrounds me as I take my MA in Disability Studies. But, unfortunately, the language surrounding me in my studies now is full of negative connotations. As a prime example, when I agreed to attend the luncheon on this given day, I had no idea I would be (even inadvertently) referred to in such a derogatory way. And cripple is by no means the worst thing one can hear, either: disabled persons are described in many ways that are not in the least positive, as evidenced even by the slightly more positive sounding "wheelchair bound" or "physically challenged" (which inevitably only leaves the person not only pitied and ostracized, but also that they have been slapped in the face by harmful—not to mention untrue—assumptions). This gives me a bit of a headache, to say the least, because—at my core—I am a lover of language. But when the language that is used most often to describe my disabled friends and me consists of some of the most derisive language aimed at dividing the disabled from—let's admit it—everyone else considered "normal," I can't take that sitting down. (See what I did there? It's funny because I'm sitting down almost 24/7; and it's ok to laugh at those kind of jokes. And that is an instance where language can be used as empowerment.) So, I'm essentially a lover of language who cannot deal with the negative language surrounding disabled people. This may put me at odds with myself, sometimes, as the negativity used to describe the disabled community is exhausting and cringe-worthy, and yet I keep reading. Maybe I keep reading because I think it'll change. In my mind, it has to. Calling myself a crip (or whichever term I am most comfortable with) is meant to provide me with a sense of empowerment over myself. When "cripple" was used to describe people like me, it wasn't used as a form of empowerment; it was meant as a form of degradation. In using the same term that has historically been used to oppress me, I am acknowledging that negativity and am turning it on its head. I am rejecting the language forced upon me and am instead reclaiming it to ensure I have the power once more. Nobody can call me a cripple; instead, I choose to call myself one. Proudly. Just in case anyone's wondering, I'm not going to write a letter to the comic in question or the disability organization to urge them to perhaps err on the side of caution when inviting a comic to be their fundraiser entertainment. Some of you — maybe even most of you — might possibly think I should. One of the most important lessons I've learned as a disabled person, however, is that you have to choose your battles carefully; otherwise, you'll burn out quickly. There's so much that gets my blood boiling about how disabled persons — and marginalized people in general — are treated daily. If I were to write a letter, I'd possibly be regarded as a too-sensitive person who won't be paid attention to because my concern would be about the representation of a minority group of society who hardly gets any attention at all (and when we do, it's more than likely the wrong kind of attention). Truthfully, I have so much more going on in my day that I would like to put more positive energy into. All I can really do is hope that someone comes up to this comic after he makes another cripple joke and says, "Dude, it's 2014. No one uses the word cripple anymore — that's not cool."
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