Tag Archives: resistance

November 6th

tree in fog

[Photo of a tree in the forrest surrounded by fog. Photo by Mia Mingus]

 

Today is November 6th, the day I was brought to the adoption agency to be adopted, the day the adoption agency recorded as my birthday, and the day I celebrated as my birthday for 25 years. It is the day I left my birth family, never knowing if I would return. It is the day I left my first home, my first land. It is the day that a strain of longing was born inside of me for something that I do not even know how to name or explain. It has eaten away at my insides, at times turning me into an empty shell of myself. It has taught me how loneliness can be a comforting friend.

 

My birthday, as is the case for many adoptees, is a complicated web of sticky feelings, some of which I decide to feel or not feel and some that overtake me without consent, pulling me in, down, back and under. November 6th got recorded as my birthday by an industry that profits off of the erasure of my birth family, the convenient construction of someone with no past. My life did not begin when I was placed for adoption; I was already here. Today is not my birthday.

 

I hate the confusion that surrounds my birthday. People still getting confused, “so which birthday do you celebrate?” “When is your real birthday?” Since finding out the truth, sometimes I would rather deny my birthday all together, no celebrations, no worries about what or how birthdays are supposed to feel like to someone who does not even know how to think about her own birth.

 

It only marks another diasporic year that I have spent separated from pieces of myself that may or may not even exist; pieces of my self that made me, created me, but don’t know me. It only marks a deep sadness at having celebrated something that was so wrong for so long, something that wasn’t real, the way sometimes entire decades of my life have felt.

 

It is a part of me, but it is not a birth. It is more like a death, a loss or a closing. And it means talking about things that sit so close to my heart, things that I don’t even completely know how to hold, let alone say. I have been missing korea before I even knew what “missing” was.

 

Having been ripped from one piece of earth and shoved into another, sometimes I think the only land I know, the only land on which I belong, is the shifting tides of the ocean. The place that has always brought me solace and has been able to hold my shifting adoptee disabled korean queer girl self. Sometimes I think that what so many of us are doing, the bravery of finding home and attempting to create it, is something I know nothing about. Something I have no business being a part of. I have no home, but myself, and even that isn’t always true. Belonging is something I know nothing about. Living on the other side of dreaming is nothing I know about, having only ever had dreams, distant blurry memories, to keep me alive.

 

I know I existed before November 6th, even if there is no trace, even if I can’t remember how my mother smelled or my sisters’ six inquisitive eyes gazing at me. I know I knew something about home at sometime, even if it, like everything else got re-written and stamped and filed away.

 

Maybe all adoptees find home in their own ways, maybe some of us never do; maybe our homes are in the leaving, in the moving; in the shifting of the wind that carried so many of us past the horizon. Maybe I belong nowhere; maybe that is how they like it—a living, breathing, constant experiment.

 

36 years ago I left my very first home for another temporary home, a foster home, before being adopted. Six years ago I left Atlanta, the first place that ever really felt like home, to build home in Oakland. Maybe this is a re-birth of some sort, into a second chance at belonging and creating home, a kind of returning all on to itself.

 

I know I knew something about home at sometime, maybe I will find it again.

 

It was not erased, just like me.

 

 

 

Advertisements

3 Comments

Filed under Writing

Still Choosing to Leap: Building Alternatives

Remarks from the closing plenary, “Revolutionary Organizing Across Time and Space,” at the INCITE! Color of Violence 4 Conference, March 26-29, 2015, Chicago, Illinois.

 

vie on wallI am engaged in the work of building transformative justice responses to child sexual abuse with the Bay Area Transformative Justice Collective (The BATJC). We are a local collective and we are not a nonprofit because we believe that it will not allow us to take the kinds of political risks necessary for transformative justice and community accountability (TJ/CA). No one is paid and we work to get everything for as free as we can. We are not “volunteers,” but rather we understand this as part of our life’s work.

I am interested in our internal work. The work with each other inside of our movements, inside of our organizations and groups, inside of our relationships. The way that our analysis by itself is not enough, because what good is it if we can run great campaigns if we all end up hating each other in the process? If it means that leaders who used to be friends now don’t work together to the detriment of our movements? What good is our amazing analysis of TJ/CA if our intervention to violence tears apart our community, and then we need an accountability process for our accountability process?

Because it is easy to hate a white police officer, but what do we do when the violence and abuse is coming from people who look like us? People we rely on? People we love? What do we do when the violence is happening inside of our homes, our relationships, our communities? Inside of our political groups, collectives, organizations and movements?

Our inability to respond well to intimate violence and abuse continues to undermine our other political work. How is it that we still can’t respond well to one of the most common experiences on the planet that our peoples face?

This is the moment we are in.

Because it is clear to me that we don’t lack political analysis or people power or deeply compelling work. But I am interested in what happens next: the way we come together and then break apart. The way we can mobilize people against the state, but when it comes to intimate violence within our own communities, we can’t ever seem to find enough people; or they are there in the beginning, but are nowhere to be found in the following months; or we end up replicating our own versions of criminalization, exile and “other.” It is not enough to say, “community-based responses to violence” if we simply just end up replicating the state.

I am interested in what we are going to do when we have a world without prisons—that’s right, I said, “WHEN.” Because it is going to happen: we will win. I have no doubt in our ability to shut down the prison industrial complex forever and throw away the keys. It is going to happen.

But then what? What will be our alternatives for dealing with violence, harm and abuse?

We need to build alternatives. Yes, we need resistance—it is crucial. Our communities are being attacked and erased at every turn. Yes, we need to resist against the systems that are targeting us—most definitely. AND (BOTH/AND) we also need alternatives. Because even if we abolish prisons tomorrow, we will still need a way to deal with conflict and harm and violence. Even if violence and abuse ended tomorrow, we will still need a way to deal with the impacts of trauma (individual and collective trauma, immediate and generational trauma). Generational trauma will be with us for some time.

And of course these are not mutually exclusive to each other. We can resist in ways that build a new world. And I am not saying we need to do everything all at once all the time. On the contrary, I am saying the exact opposite. That instead, we get clear about our different roles and work in service of a shared vision, and that we are strategic about those roles. That those of us who are working to resist and hold back the tide for one more day, one more night, do so for those of us who are working to build alternatives. And that those of us who are working to build alternatives stay grounded in the current urgency and reality of intimate and state violence. That we work in concert with each other so that we are not responding to immediate needs in ways that undermine our long term visions (and in ways that perpetuate the very systems we are fighting); AND that we are also not building utopic politically pure castles in the sky that have no relevance to our current conditions. We need both and we need them together and we need them to be in service of one another.

Because we are good at resisting. We are good at fighting for the world we don’t want. We are good at analysis and analyzing things up and down (and sometimes into oblivion). We are skilled at naming what we don’t want. I think we are less skilled at naming what we do want; our visions for liberation. And not just vague things like, “ending white supremacy and heterosexism,” but how are all the children going to get fed? Who will clean the toilets? Who will take out the trash? Who will cook the food?

We know that most people who experience violence—any type of violence—turn to their intimate networks first: their best friend, their family, their partners, a neighbor. Most people don’t call the cops or an anonymous hotline or even seek social services. They turn to their intimate networks. So if we know this, then that is where we need to build.

I hope we are in a moment where we are realizing that we need to put half if not more of our time and resources into building alternatives and building in our intimate networks. BOTH a reclaiming of what has been stolen from us, as well as a reimagining of what can be. As well as a revealing of what we are already doing and the strategies of resiliency that are already embedded in our lives. For example, I think about queer chosen family. No one took a class or got a grant to learn how to do that. We did it to save our lives and in the process, created a new world for each other.

We are at a moment where we have almost two decades of shared language and thinking around TJ/CA—obviously the work has been going on forever, just because you name something doesn’t mean you invented it—but in terms of a shared language and political framework, we have had tremendous contributions from so many great people and groups. We are in a moment where TJ/CA is gaining more and more visibility and where we are able to share examples of our responses to violence like never before. I feel incredibly lucky to be alive in this moment doing TJ/CA work and I extend daily gratitude to the folks who have come before me in this work as well as the brave and dear revolutionaries who I have the honor of working with.

We are in a moment where we are building off of this work knowing that practice yields the sharpest analysis.

How are we building the world we long for in our day-to-day? After the protests, after the conference, after the event, outside of the meetings? During the unsexy times, in our most mundane moments?

This is not about perfection, but practice. Falling down and getting back up. Spectacular failures and learning how we can be and do better. Resilience in the face of fear; Humility in the face of ego; Faith in the face of hopelessness. This is about understanding organizing as a spiritual practice that is just as much about our souls as it is about our goals.

Sometimes I think it is strange to speak about this work from a microphone because so much of the work I am engaged in is quiet work, tender work. It is witnessing people in their most vulnerable moments around their histories of child sexual abuse, the times when they don’t want to be seen. This work is about nuance, complexity and contradiction, not sound bytes and drawing lines in the sand. It is messy and sticky work that reminds me every day that notions of “good” and “bad” people are fantasies that simply serve to make us feel more comfortable, but ultimately don’t serve to make us more liberated. I don’t believe in “good” and “bad” people, I believe that given the right conditions, any of us can be an asshole; any of us can abuse power.

How do we leave a legacy worth fighting for? How do we learn to invest in each other as our greatest resource? Because we will need each other to build the kind of world we want; liberation is a collective practice. How can we cultivate a sense of shared commitment to each other and understand this as part of our organizing? How do we cultivate the kind of commitment to each other that can withstand failures, heartbreak, disappointment, gossip, mistakes and conflict?

The kind of commitment to each other and love for one another that allows us to continue to leap together, knowing that we will fall and mess up and make mistakes and get bruised. Knowing that we will have to brush ourselves off and climb back up the mountain to do it all over again tomorrow. How do we cultivate that kind of commitment? One where we still choose to leap. Together.

Thank you.

7 Comments

Filed under Writing

Medical Industrial Complex Visual

The following is a visual* of the Medical Industrial Complex (MIC) and is offered as a tool for our work for collective liberation. It was created so people could begin to get a sense of what the MIC is and all it encompasses. I have found that many people understand the general concept of the MIC, but don’t always know what it actually is beyond hospitals. The MIC cuts across all of our work and continues to be a major site where ableism is manufactured, perpetuated and fed. Any of our work to challenge and transform the MIC and its influences must have a sharp analysis and history of ableism. For example, when fighting for healthcare, let us remember that we cannot simply fight for the right to receive care, but also the right to refuse care.

This is an evolving visual that will continue to be updated. At the bottom of this post, is a non-visual breakdown in outline form. This is not an exhaustive listing of every single part of the MIC, but rather an overview, offering examples of the many sites, sectors, professions, fields and institutions that make up the medical industrial complex. There are many more we could add. For example, there could be a whole other section dedicated to animals, especially the ones that are part of our food source, and all the genetic engineering, drugs, hormones, supplies and services that they receive. It is important to remember that the impacts of the MIC ripple out and are felt past what is listed here.

The Medical Industrial Complex is an enormous system with tentacles that reach beyond simply doctors, nurses, clinics, and hospitals. It is a system about profit, first and foremost, rather than “health,” wellbeing and care. Its roots run deep and its history and present are connected to everything including eugenics, capitalism, colonization, slavery, immigration, war, prisons, and reproductive oppression. It is not just a major piece of the history of ableism, but all systems of oppression.

Oppressed communities have had long and complicated histories with the MIC. From the continued targeting of disabled bodies as something to fix, to the experimentation on black bodies, to the pathologized treatment of and violent attempts to cure queer and trans communities. From the humiliating, lacking or flat-out denial of services to poor communities, to forced sterilization and dangerous contraceptives trafficked to young women of color. From the forced medicalization used in prisons today, to the days when the mental institutions used to be the jails, and the ways that “criminal” and “mentally disabled” are still used interchangeably. From the lack of culturally competent services, to the demonization and erasing of indigenous healing and practices. From the never-ending battle to control populations through controlling birth, birthing and those who give birth in this country, to the countless doctors and practitioners who have raped and sexually assaulted their patients and the survivors who never told a soul. From all the violence that was and is considered standard practice, to the gross abuses of power.

In flushing out what the MIC is, we are naming a system. We are calling attention to the systematic targeting of oppressed communities under the guise of care, health and safety. Like other oppressive systems, there are many individuals within the MIC that do good work. There are many people who went into the MIC intentionally to serve their communities because they want to change the system and provide reliable and safe care to those who need it. There are many people working inside the MIC who see first-hand its bureaucracy and hypocrisy. They help many of us find loopholes, shortcuts and life rafts through.

We are not saying that there are no useful or helpful things within the MIC. It has saved many of our lives or the lives of people we love. We are not anti healthcare or science, but are rather exposing the reality that many of us are dependent on the MIC while we are simultaneously trying to change it and ultimately build alternatives to it. Many of us don’t want to have to turn to the MIC, yet have few other viable options. And still many of us are fighting for access to current (or better) services within the MIC. There are no easy answers and the contradictions we are living in are often painful and unjust. Similar to our work to resist and challenge capitalism or to create alternatives to the police and prisons, resisting and challenging the MIC is rife with complexity and there is so much we need that we don’t have yet.

We are asking, why we have so few options when it comes to our healthcare needs? And why insurance and pharmaceutical companies get to call the shots on the kind of care we receive—or don’t? Why don’t we talk more about the ways that forced medicalization has become part of our prison system? Or how non-western and alternative healing practices are often no less ableist than western medical practices? We are asking, what could “health,” “wellness,” “care,” “accessibility” and “sustainability” look like in practice, outside of theory? We are revealing where and how the MIC is already in our lives in ways we might not have thought of before. We are urging us all to connect the MIC to our political work, because healing, wellness, care, “health” and disability are part of whatever liberatory work we are engaged in.

This offers us tremendous opportunities for coalition and cross-movement work because we all have a shared stake in our individual and collective wellness and healing. If anything, the damage the MIC has inflicted on our planet should be enough for us all to dream and invest in building alternatives. We have so much shared ground when it comes to being able to answer the ever-present question, “What could true wellness and care look like for our communities?

 

[The image shows a visual layout of the Medical Industrial Complex, which is written at the top in large letters. Just under it, there is a thin, long box that contains the words: Profit, Power, Control, Exploitation, Ableism, Oppression, Violence, Trauma. There are four main quadrants of many different small boxes with text in them, varying in sizes. Each quadrant is in a different color. The boxes are all connected to each other with bolded and thin lines, forming a web-like effect, filling the entire page. There are main categories and subcategories differentiated by bolded text. The boxes are organized according to the outline listed below. In the outer four corners are 4 large boxes with Bolded text. The top two on either side read “Science and Medicine” and “Health” and the bottom two on either side read, “Access” and “Safety.” In the middle of all the little boxes, in the middle of the visual are four large boxes that correspond to the 4 outer large boxes. The top two read, “Eugenics” and “Desirability” and the bottom two read, “Charity and Ableism” and “Population Control.” There are 4 large arrows behind the boxes that connect each outer corner large box to it respective middle large box. Science and Medicne is connected to Eugenics; Access is connected to Charity and Ableism; Safety is connected to Population Control; and Health is connected to Desirability. In the bottom right corner there is small grey lettering that reads, “Posted on leavingevidence.wordpress.com Version: 2015.1]

[The image shows a visual layout of the Medical Industrial Complex, which is written at the top in large letters. Just under it, there is a thin, long box that contains the words: Profit, Power, Control, Exploitation, Ableism, Oppression, Violence, Trauma. There are four main quadrants of many different small boxes with text in them, varying in sizes. Each quadrant is in a different color. The boxes are all connected to each other with bolded and thin lines, forming a web-like effect, filling the entire page. There are main categories and subcategories differentiated by bolded text. The boxes are organized according to the outline listed below. In the outer four corners are 4 large boxes with bolded text. The top two on either side read “Science and Medicine” and “Health” and the bottom two on either side read, “Access” and “Safety.” In the middle of all the little boxes, in the middle of the visual are four large boxes that correspond to the 4 outer large boxes. The top two read, “Eugenics” and “Desirability” and the bottom two read, “Charity and Ableism” and “Population Control.” There are 4 large arrows behind the boxes that connect each outer corner large box to its respective middle large box. Science and Medicine is connected to Eugenics; Access is connected to Charity and Ableism; Safety is connected to Population Control; and Health is connected to Desirability. In the bottom right corner there is small grey lettering that reads, “Posted on leavingevidence.wordpress.com Version: 2015.1]

MIC Visual Version 2015.1 Fullscreen & Download

 

In this visual, there are 4 distinct sections that make up the underlying core motivations of the MIC: Eugenics, Charity and Ableism, Population Control and Desirability. These are part of what allow the MIC to continue to be profitable. Not only do they anchor each of the 4 sections shown here, but they permeate through the entire MIC. For example, Eugenics anchors Science and Medicine, but is absolutely a part of how we have been taught to understand Safety and is a cornerstone of Population Control. Desirability anchors Health , which includes everything from the Alternative and Natural Medicines Industry to Cosmetic Medical Procedures. Charity and Ableism anchor Access and reminds us how access is still understood as charity, rather than justice. Population Control is often done in the name of Safety, but is most certainly a part of Science and Medicine as well.

Since nothing listed is mutually exclusive and many of these boxes overlap, there are connections that can be made throughout the entire visual. For example, the Mental Health Industry boxes are intentionally positioned to slide right down into the Prison Industrial Complex, especially given that the largest mental institution in the U.S. is part of a county jail in LA. The same is true for the placement of Bio-colonialism and Cosmetic Medical Procedures since they both so aptly reflect the motivations of Eugenics and Desirability, respectively. Non-profits were included directly next to Charity and Eugenics because of the ways that they have helped to framed how we understand things such as “cure” and “rescue,” and dutifully fundraised millions of dollars in the process.

What would it mean to not have to be afraid of going to the doctor? To be able to trust that the care and treatments you are receiving will not only take care of your body, but the planet and future generations as well?

I am inspired by the possibilities that can be grown out of the rich fertile ground where disability justice and healing justice meet and overlap. I ache for more healers that don’t continue to perpetuate ableist notions of how bodies should be (or strive to be) and for disabled folks who don’t have to only know “healing” as a violent word because of our histories of forced healing, cures and fixing. I get excited about practitioners who have accessible spaces and practices that can hold all kinds of bodies and minds; and collective access and care that allows more and more disabled people to be less and less bound to the state.

I hope this visual continues to evolve and serves as a useful tool for different kinds of liberatory work and I look forward to creating more versions. I hope this is the beginning of all kinds of different tools (i.e. more visuals, writings, breakdowns, art and education) for understanding the MIC because there is so much work to be done.

 

*There are many important people who helped create this visual from its inception 6 years ago, to the huge mass of colorful webs it is today. The original version of this visual was created in collaboration with Cara Page and Patty Berne for the January 2009 workshop, “Re-envisioning the Revolutionary Body: Disability, Race, Queerness and the Possibility of Cross-movement Building.” Deep thanks go to both of them for their ongoing work for healing justice and disability justice.

Over the last 6 years, I continued to rework the visual by adding more information, re-organizing the layout, and re-formatting it. I played around with many different breakdowns before finally settling on this 4-part framework of Eugenics, Charity and Ableism, Population Control, and Desirability. I asked for (and got) a ton of feedback on it from great individuals across the U.S. and Canada who attended workshops and talks I gave. Friends and comrades also gave feedback and much needed support on formatting, arranging and content.

I would especially like to thank two fellow disability justice activists who have been pivotal in thinking through the content of the MIC with me in the last 3 years. This visual would not exist as it is today without them and they have given so much of their time and heart to both the larger framing, as well as the minutia. They have asked to remain anonymous, due to safety concerns of being public about their disabilities, so I will just say, “thank you, thank you, thank you.”

 

The Medical Industrial Complex Visual Outline

  • Profit, Power, Control, Exploitation, Ableism, Oppression, Violence, Trauma
  • Science and Medicine  —  Eugenics
    • State/Private Hospitals, Clinics, Health Centers
      • Medical Practices, Examinations, Surgeries, Procedures, Equipment, Suppliers
    • Medical Schools
      • Medical Curriculum, Studies, Research, Experimentation
      • Doctors, Nurses, Practitioners
    • Pharmaceutical Companies
      • Multi-National Corporations, Distributors
    • Bio-colonialism
      • Scientists, Researchers, Genetic Testing, Vaccines
      • Reproductive Control, Sterilization, Contraceptives
      • Assisted Reproductive Biogenetic Technologies
  • Access  —  Charity and Ableism
    • Assistive Devices, Equipment and Services
      • Prosthetics, Braces
      • Wheelchairs, Canes, Walkers, Ventilators, Vans, Lifts, Needles
      • Physical Therapy
    • Non-Profits
      • Service Provision
      • Advocacy, Fundraising
    • State Disability Services and Programs
      • Department of Mental Health, Case Workers, “Doctor’s Note”
      • State Provided Care (Nurses, Personal Attendants)
      • Federal, Regional, State, County, City
  • Safety — Population Control
    • Prison Industrial Complex
      • Prison Psychiatric Wards, Forced Medicalization and Institutionalization
      • Healthcare Provision and Facilities for Prisoners
      • Lethal Injections
    • Drug and Addiction Facilities and Programs
      • Drug testing
    • Assisted Living
      • Group Homes, Nursing Homes
      • Elderly, Sick and Disabled
  • Health —  Desirability
    • Mental Health Industry
      • Public/Private Institutions and Services
      • Therapy, Psychology
      • Psychiatry
    • Non-western and Alternative Healing
      • Schools, Research, Practices, Beliefs
      • Practitioners, Leaders
      • Faith-based and Forced Healing
    • Alternative and Natural Medicines Industry
      • Multinational Corporations, Distributors
    • Cosmetic Medical Procedures
      • Surgeries, Supplies, Drugs

 

 

18 Comments

Filed under Tools, Writing

On Claiming My Movement: Disability and Reproductive Justice

(*From PEP’s Winter 2008 Newsletter)

black and white picture of the veins of a leaf.It is not a coincidence that I ended up working in a movement that is fundamentally rooted in the idea that certain bodies are valuable and others are not; in a movement that is so connected with the world of healthcare and medicine–the reproductive justice movement.  Reproductive justice and disability are connected on a deeply fundamental level.  Disabled people, issues, history, politics and analysis allow us to see parts of reproductive justice that we would otherwise never know.  After all, how can you talk about bodies without talking about disability?  How can you ignore the fact that disabled women are forcibly sterilized or given dangerous contraceptives to control their menstrual cycles for the convenience of their caretakers and institutions?  How can we learn to fight for not only the right to receive care, but also the right to refuse it?  How can we forget that female bodies were historically coded as “disabled” because they were “different” and had “different abilities” than male bodies?  Or that ableism is so easily and successfully used as a mechanism of reproductive oppression?

As women of color, people with disabilities, LGBTI and queer people, and survivors of violence and trauma, the struggle to claim our bodies for ourselves–in all of our bodies’ curious, strange, beautiful and glorious ways–cannot be separated from reproductive justice.  As communities whose bodies have been owned, experimented on, institutionalized, hospitalized, medicalized, colonized, imprisoned, enslaved and controlled, we have been told that our bodies are wrong, perverse, shameful, bad, and most importantly; that our bodies are not ours; that they belong to the state, our parents, husbands, partners, doctors, children, families, communities, god(s), and so on.

I grew out of a very strong feminist, activist, close-knit community working to end violence against women and children.  Early on, I learned about sexism, racism, economic injustice and homophobia; that there was no hierarchy of oppression; that systems of oppression were connected to each other, intersected and overlapped.  Despite such a strong framework, no one ever taught me to think of disability in the same way and connect it to being Asian American, a woman, young or queer.  No one ever taught me that being disabled was a powerful way to move through the world or that disabled communities had rich and vibrant cultures of their own.

I was taught to claim my body as a girl, female, and woman, but not as a disabled person.  When it came to my disability, my parents looked to doctors, healthcare providers, medical experts and brace makers.  I was not the expert on my body; they were.  It never occurred to anyone that the ability to claim my body as a girl was dependent on my ability to claim my disabled body as a disabled girl.  No one ever realized that my experiences with the medical industrial complex as a disabled child would ultimately discourage me from seeking medical services (reproductive or not) in the future – or that standing in my underwear in front of male doctors as they studied me was any different than standing in my underwear in front of any old men as they studied me.

Growing up disabled, my body profoundly affected how I viewed the world and in turn, how the world viewed me.  School became a site where the politics of beauty, disability, race, sexuality and gender collided.  I never saw disabled women (let alone disabled women of color) in powerful roles, being desired or desiring, raising families or claiming their disability as a political identity, rather than an individual flaw or tragedy.

One of my earliest memories of consciously claiming my body for myself was deciding not to wear my brace any more.  For years I wore a brace on my right leg; I had to get them re-made or re-fitted almost every year as I grew out of them.  I had some that went from my foot to my knee and some that went all the way up to my hip.

For a long time I did not question my brace.  It was just the way things were, like stairs, people staring at me when I walked, or feeling ashamed of my disability.  Among many things, my braces were hot (often made of plastic and or fiberglass), and  in the Virgin Islands Caribbean weather, they itched, pinched my skin, and gave me painful blisters which I would try to prevent by wearing more socks or padding.  Like my parents, I had come to believe that I “needed” to wear my brace.  But something began to change as I entered middle school. I began to ask questions: why should I have to wear something so painful everyday that is supposed to “help” me?  If they can send a man to the moon, then surely they can make a comfortable and useful brace for my leg?  In the beginning I had small acts of resistance: the daily morning fight about putting my brace on or bringing a change of shoes and changing out of it once I was at school–this went on for years.  Finally I was “allowed” to not wear my brace some days, and it was not until I was in college that I was able to choose not to wear my brace everyday.

For me, my brace represented the medical establishment’s grubby little hands on my body, forcing me to adhere to a standardized, able bodied norm of how bodies are supposed to be, look, act and move.  When I wore it, I could hear horrible brace maker’s voices in my head, “that’s an ugly walk,” “walk down the hallway again and this time, try and make it prettier,” “this brace will make you have a normal walk,” or “don’t worry, you’ll be able to hide the brace under your clothes–boys won’t even know it’s there.”  It represented years of someone else deciding what was best for my body and the invasion (physical and mental) of my body at a young age by people who never asked me what I thought about having multiple surgeries done at the same time; how I felt being told that my body was “wrong” and “something to fix” over and over again. All that time, I never knew that there was a whole movement out there of disabled people demanding justice and a right to our existence.

The ownership and entitlement of the medical industrial complex of my disabled body is, in my mind, no worse than the ownership and entitlement of the system of white supremacy of my body of color; or the system of male supremacy of my female body.  In fact, they are so connected and mutually interdependent that they are impossible to separate.  Claiming my body has been and continues to be a pivotal process in my own life.  Knowing and learning to understand my disabled body as powerful, beautiful, valuable and desirable has been central to my activism in the reproductive justice movement.  For me, reproductive justice will always include a radical analysis of disability and ableist supremacy because they are part of each other and they are a part of me.

2 Comments

Filed under Writing