BROAD Magazine Dis(sed) Abilities Issue 77

Issue 77, January 2015 part 2

BROAD

dis

sed

abilities

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Cover Artist: Alexsandro Palombo

A Feminist & Social Justice Magazine

HEALTHCARE ACCESS MEDIA EXCLUSION

BROAD

WAGE GAPS INCARCERATION

#FERGUSON

A Feminist & Social Justice Magazine

HOMELESSNESS

EDUCATIONAL BIAS UNEMPLOYMENT

OSCAR SNUBS

POLITICAL REPRESENTATION WHITE POWER

HEALTHCARE ACCESS

COLONIALISM

MURDER RATES

SEGREGATION, FORCED & CHOSEN CITIZENSHIP

CHURCH & STATE

THIRD WORLD HATE CRIMES

RACIAL MIXING

WHITE BEAUTY STANDARDS

LEGACY OF SLAVERY

Publish your stories, art, opinions, poetry, and politics by 2/13:

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BROAD 2014-15 ISSUES September

#feminism October part 1

What’s Your LGBT-IQ? October part 2

In g/God(s) We Trust November

Sentence: Criminal?

December

BROAD Love January part 1

c(age)s January part 2

Dis(sed)-abilities February

Living In Color March spring break issue

Body Talk March issue

Broads & Babes O the Places You’ll Go May

In Labor

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April

adjective: 1 having an ample distance from side to side; wide | 2 covering a large number and wide scope of subjects or areas: a broad range of experience | 3 having or incorporating a wide range of meanings | 4 including or coming from many people of many kinds | 5 general without detail | 6 (of a regional accent) very noticeable and strong | 7 full, complete, clear, bright; she was attacked in broad daylight noun: (informal) woman. slang: a promiscuous woman phrases: broad in the beam: with wide hips or large buttocks | in broad daylight: during the day, when it is light, and surprising for this reason | have broad shoulders: ability to cope with unpleasant responsibilities or to accept criticism | City of broad shoulders: Chicago synonyms: see: wide, extensive, ample, vast, liberal, open, all-embracing antonyms: see: narrow, constricted, limited, subtle, slight, closed see also: broadside (n.) historical: a common form of printed material, especially for poetry

BRO Sylvia Bennett

Diversity & Assessment Editor

Meaghan Cook

Website & Archives Editor

Ellie Diaz

Content & Section Editor, Art Director

Mandy Keelor Editor-in-Chief

Kait Madsen

Content & Section Editor

Marissa

Layout & D

Dis(sed) Abilities quotes:

“The ‘problem’ is not the person with disabilities; the problem is the way that normalcy is constructed to create the problem of the disabled person.” ~Lennard J. Davis “Many of the most foundational works of disability studies have analyzed race and disability, not in tandem, but in opposition to each other.”

~Anna Mollow

OAD

a Levigne

Design Editor

J. Curtis Main

Advisor, Consulting Editor

MISSION:

Mario Mason

Publicity & Social Media Coordinator

WSGS:

Broad’s mission is to connect the WSGS program with communities of students, faculty, and staff at Loyola and beyond, continuing and extending the program’s mission. We provide space and support for a variety of voices while bridging communities of scholars, artists, and activists. Our editorial mission is to provoke thought and debate in an open forum characterized by respect and civility.

Founded in 1979, Loyola’s Women’s Studies Program is the first women’s studies program at a Jesuit institution and has served as a model for women’s studies programs at other Jesuit and Catholic universities. Our mission is to introduce students to feminist scholarship across the disciplines and the professional schools; to provide innovative, challenging, and thoughtful approaches to learning; and to promote social justice.

Gaby Ortiz Flores Consulting Editor

Maggie Sullivan Publicity & Social Media Coordinator

Elishah Virani

Diversity & Assessment Editor

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dis(sed) abilities

Dis(sed) abilities, now in its second year with BROAD, breaks open notions of what ability means. As the BROADbox series speakers stressed, it’s not able versus disabled, but rather, finding faith and value in each person’s take on being and doing. Ability is multiple and different, contextual to each person.

media/art bookmark here

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biggest challenge for physically disabled

biggest challenge for mentally disabled

how can society combat mental illness

“wheelchair” thought association

tell-a-vision

Explaining My Depression to My Mother Sabrina Benaim Pro Infirmis Love and Disability Inspiration Porn Disability & Employment Struggle

“Diggin

broadside

Justice Ro

92 Things I Can’t Do: Pick a Verb, Pick a Noun, It’s True! Steve Korpieski (Dis)Abilities Elishah Virani Look Daniel Diaz

words are useless

Think Before You Speak Rain or Shine Sheree Patterson Deaf Monica Stevens-Kirby St. Margaret of Castello/ God Made Us Perfect Jen Wojtowicz Abby Abby Blair Woody Allen / Nelson Mandela / John Lennon Artism by Jake Feelings of Invisibility Anne Abbott Spoonie Coat of Arms & Passion: Dance SarahCate Phillipson

Look Me in the Eye:

Risi

My Life with Asperger’s

HE

Don’t ‘dis’ My

Angr

(not) buying it

JC Penney’s Real-Life Mannequins Got Autism? PETA campaign

Religion: How We In

quote corner

Tatyana McFadden Debbie Van Der Putten Helen Keller

screen/play

Still Alice What’s Eating Gilbert Grape Tribes

we’ve got mail c(age)s, Issue 76

who to follow search this

artic Toadal Chaos Stephanie Harrison Landlocked Delusion Anonymous Why Don’t You Get More Sleep? Mario Mason Advocate for Yourself, Advocate for Others Emily Nunlist

BROADs & Babes Ad Theme, Mission, & Team Navigating BROAD’s Design Annual Theme Schedule Letter from BROAD: Meagan Visiting Editor: Meagan Cook Contributor Guidelines

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CONTENTS

ing Above

ng into my Social

Status Quo Combustion The Disability Factor Lubna Baig

Kaleidescope Secret Lives, Hidden Hearts Sabrina Minhas

oots” Gaby Ortiz

In the k(Now)

EaRt

“What’s Your Damage?:

y Story X. Cathexis

nterpret Mental Illness Mario Mason

The Pink Paperbacks

Sanity Optional

“Daniel’s Story” Ellie Diaz

Denying a Disability Peach Stephan

cles

&

Mental Illness, Successful Graduate Students and Leaders Gayle Lilliana Blakely Invisible Disabilities & Priority Seating Gayle Lilliana Blakely

Liberation Leaders Herschel Walker Jillian Mercado Justin Whitlock Dart Jr.

microaggresSHUNS dis(sed)-abilities

BROADer Perspective Open and Affirming: Social Work, Spirituality, and the Lesbian Identity Andrew Wegner click for CONTENTS

ry Atheist

The Stigma of Mental Illness” Sylvia Bennett

Letter from BROAD State of the Magazine, January 2015 Meagan Cook, Website & Archives Coordinator

Dissed abilities Dear BROAD Readers, Writers, Thinkers, Speakers, Listeners,

Last semester I took a course on the History of Feminist thought in which we read Gloria Anzaldúa’s Borderlands/La Frontera. In this work, Anzaldúa discusses the various forms of invisible “borders” that separate people who belong to marginalized populations. For Anzaldúa, her borders were built from the intersections of her female, lesbian, and Hispanic identities.

As we discussed her work in class, the professor asked us to consider our own “borderland” experiences.

What parts of our identities have caused us to feel less than, discriminated against, or other? Of course, my female identity immediately came to mind.

Throughout my life I have been belittled, put down, and turned away solely on the basis of my gender.

But as I sat in that classroom late one Tuesday evening, it wasn’t just my sex that stuck out to me as a border. To me, just as salient as the borderlands of sexism were the barriers created by ableism.

I have a younger brother with an intellectual disability, and he is my light and my life. Despite our different IQ scores, I feel that I can relate to him more than any other human. He’s charismatic, caring, and funny as

hell. So when I see him get picked on by his peers, or excluded from an after school activity, I experience that bigotry on a very personal level.

One year we went out to a nice restaurant for Thanksgiving dinner. The place was extremely loud and incredibly crowded. The hostess intentionally stuffed us in a corner table, so that we would be mostly out of sight of the other patrons. Halfway through our meal, Will became overwhelmed by all of the noise and commotion, and began fidgeting with the blinds on the window behind us. The people at a nearby table complained to the wait staff that he was disrupting them, and in turn we were asked by the manager to either “keep him under control” or leave. We cut our meal short and abruptly left, never to return again.

As you will learn from the pages of this issue, restaurants are not the only place where people with differing abilities might feel unwelcome. Public transportation has always been in the spotlight in terms of accessibility (or lack thereof ) for people with physical handicaps, but rarely does the discourse on transportation include those with invisible disabilities. People with differing abilities are denied equal opportunity in employment, housing, and education. They are rarely thought of in terms of what they can do. They

aren’t thought of as dancers or artists or athletes or students. Instead they are thought of as slow, dependent, and helpless.

In BROAD Solidarity, Meagan

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From broken ankles to mental breaking points, all of our lives have been affected by our ability status in some way.

By compiling the stories, artwork, and media included in this issue, we aim to dissolve these boarders and reveal the diversity within. We have stories from men, women, children, parents, siblings, and individuals who have experienced life with every possible form of ability. From broken ankles to mental breaking points, all of our lives have been affected by our ability status in some way.

Recently, BROAD Magazine hosted a workshop entitled “Putting The Ability Back in Dis(sed) Abilities.”

During this workshop, participants were invited to put up on the whiteboard any number of words or phrases that they associated with the terms “disability” or “disabled.” Then, participants were asked to stand (or sit) next to a word or phrase that they could identified with at any point during their life. It was incredibly empowering to watch as every single participant, myself included, found a piece of their identity on that board.

So, dear readers, activists, dreamers, believers, I challenge you to create your own mental mind map of what constitutes a disability, and then find yourself on it. Only then can we collectively push beyond our borderlands.

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BROAD 2014-2015 Colors:

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Visiting Editor Join BROAD’s team for Your Issue Meagan Cook

Meagan Cook is currently studying Social Work and Women Studies and Gender Studies at Loyola University Chicago. She was inspired to pursue Social Work by her younger brother, who has an intellectual disability, and by her own struggles with a learning disability. As a child, she experienced the hardships that having a disability caused herself and her brother, and the prejudices that her entire family faced.

At a young age Meagan began advocating for herself and for other students with various forms of differing abilities. She attended the Texas State Wide Youth Leadership Forum in 2010 as a delegate and returned in 2011 as a Student Leader. As a delegate at the Texas YLF, she had the opportunity to present her personal testimony to a panel of state senators and to ask for reform in the state’s special education program. As a Student Leader, she assisted delegates in preparing their own testimonies, sharing their own stories, and advocating for their own needs.

Meagan is an active volunteer with The Anixter Center in Chicago as a Literacy Tutor. She has been tutoring the same adult with Cerebral Palsy for the past three years, and it has been a blessing to watch him improve his reading ability, and to have the opportunity to form a close friendship. In the future Meagan plans to do research on the importance of adult education for people with disabilities, and hopes that her research will be influential in developing more programs similar to The Anixter Center.

microaggreSHUNS it’s the little things that count BROAD People

Everyone has issues | You don’t act disabled’

You look completely fine | I’m totally OCD about my desk j

You’re so inspiring!e I know you can do that. It’s easy| You’re totally lying!e Why can’t you just decide to be happy?| Your disability must be mild d

You don’t seem like you have ______ | You have a disability? | Just walk in

| I get depressed every once in a while

Oh sorry! I forgot you have __ You don’’t have ADHD, you’re just too lazy to focus| |

I understand your _____. I have an uncle with _____! j | Why do you do ____ so often?|You just need to try harder | Whoops, I must be ______.

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Let me help youe

Sanity Optional beyond this point Peach Stephan

Denying a Disability The human spirit will always delay defeat as long as possible, not because it craves victory but because pity is toxic to the spirit. The spirit wants to feel OK, not glorious or boastful, just not pathetic. There is nothing worse than realizing you are defeated by the look on someone else’s face before it is on your own.

Earlier this year, Saturday night got the best of me and I woke up Sunday morning to an ankle that was thick enough for Drake to write a song about.

So what did I do about this problem? I stuck it deep down inside and tried to ignore the stale ache of my bones crunching like Doritos every time I took a step.

That week I worked standing in retail, taught a spin class and walked all over campus to classes.

I looked idiotic. My skinny jeans wouldn’t fit over my ankle and only one pair of shoes was stretchy enough to accommodate my mammoth foot. I walked like a scary hybrid of a pregnant woman and a deranged hyena, always ten steps behind my friends and shouting, “Don’t worry! It’s just a sprain!”

But it wasn’t a sprain. It was a broken ankle and goddammit I just did not have time for that. There was work to be done, exploring to do, rum to drink, beaches to walk on, paths to rollerblade through and parties to go to. So I did my best to ignore the plaster cast and the crutches. It was not until I went to my favorite blues bar, wanting nothing more than

to dance, that I realized my defeat. Clumsily, I spun around and bobbed my head. After a song finished, the singer called out to me from the stage and asked me my name. She said, “Peach, you gonna break your ass too if you not careful. Get some rest.”

That’s when the whole bar looked at me. It didn’t matter if my face turned red or not because the bright orange cast-my disability, my defeat-shone brighter. The weeks when I ignored my disadvantage were over because there it was on other people’s faces: pity, disgust, empathy, concern.

When others put faith instead of trepidation in the kids’ abilities, they become determined enough to become champions.

I am dumb and my “disability” was temporary, but I volunteer with physically handicapped kids who are smart and whose impairments are permanent. They too are in denial and it is truly enabling. They deny that they cannot swim, paint, play soccer, ski, bowl, dance and interact. They deny pity, they deny their limits and they deny the odds.

limit yourself to just being the best because there is no best; always be better.”

What’s more is when others deny the disability.

Founders of the organization and my fellow volunteers push the kids to overcome their physical boundaries. When others put faith instead of trepidation in the kids’ abilities, they become determined enough to become champions. There is not defeat on anyone’s face.

Some people say it’s better to accept defeat than to prolong it and that forfeit is better than losing. But when something comes off as denial, it may actually be hope. Remember this if you become skeptical of a disabled person’s capabilities or if a dumbass is spotted trying to shamelessly dance on crutches at a bar alongside a cancer patient.

It is harder to be brave when watching others endure a disability. My roommate is battling cancer with the grandeur of a matador. She lives her life and never leaves the apartment without her usual born-to-kill look and cherry lips. Though she comes off as nonchalant, there is more to her disease than she lets off because who wants to be pitied? Who wants to be seen as weak?

I once interviewed Paralympic judo gold medalist Dartanyon Crockett. The most impressive thing he said to me involved denying limits. He said, “Never settle. That’s why the Olympic motto is Citius Altius Fortius which [means] swifter, higher, stronger.

There’s no best, there’s no greatest, there’s always room for improvement. There is no ceiling. So don’t

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Even though I try not to show it when she is around, my stomach collapses into my shoes and my smile crumples into thin air when she leaves. I resign to the floor to make my thoughts horizontal and slow. My roommate is far from defeated but I am consumed by it-furious at her refusal to rest, in tears for her pain and cringing at the room’s occasional smell of rotting flesh. There is so little I can do to help her without being overbearing and reminding of the condition.

we’ve got mail BROAD issue reviews BROAD People

who to follow social media social justice social life BROAD people

Lauren Potter, @TheLaurenPotter - Actress on Glee - Best Buddies supporter and disability-awareness advocate

Tammy Duckworth, @Tammy4Congress - First disabled female veteran elected to House of Representatives - Helped introduce the Clay Hunt SAV Act to improve mental health care for veterans

Disabled World, facebook.com/Disabled.World - Online magazine (with social media outlets) dedicated to “Disability Information, Opportunities, Products and Resources to the Worldwide Disability Community” - Frequently shares articles that advocates for social justice and equality

Ability Magazine, abilitymagazine.com click for CONTENTS

- “For nearly 20 years, our mission has been to provide new insights into our individual levels of ability.”

Dis(sed) Abilities BROAD Voice, BROAD Communities Lauren Gromala

Anti-Vaccination and Discrimination First off, let us get a few facts straight; autism is an in utero occurrence, any postnatal injections would not cause the maturation of autism. In autism, there is an outlier amount of neurotransmitters, such as serotonin. The regulation of neurotransmitters is altered during fetal development derived from miscalculated genes. Autism is not “bad” or “wrong”; it is different from the average population. To claim as much is pretty much an insult toward those who have autism and are already dealing with the social stigma. The occurrence of autism, in uterine maturation, is not a mistake but a miscalculation when cells are multiplying. There is no factual or accredited evidence that accurately states that the measles-mumps-rubella (MMR) vaccine causes autism.

“But what about that one study in Britain that linked autism and vaccines released in 1998?” A misinformed individual might retort in a shout. Oh yes, the study done by Andrew Wakefield, the start of the modern uprising of the “anti-vaxx” movement. Wakefield’s “research,” if one could call such a monstrosity, is biased, unethical, misrepresented, fraudulent, conflicting, unprofessional and above all, proven absolutely false.

Wakefield’s article was not only investigated then eventually pulled for having manipulated evidence and unethical actions, the man also had his medical license taken away due to his unethical and dishonest nature. As a result, utilizing Wakefield’s “research” as evidence to not vaccinate a child is a logical fallacy.

Secondly, think about how in the last couple of decades scientific and medical research has opened

new doors for improving the health of a population.

For example before scientific engineering, insulin was selected from horses and carried a risk of developing tolerance or immunological rejection. Due to scientific development, insulin is now mass manufactured by bacteria and is more financial accessible to those who are diagnosed with diabetes. There is little to no risk with utilizing bacteria manufactured human insulin, but because there is this stigma around bacteria, people can still be hesitant to use this insulin. It is the knowledge that not taking insulin is significantly more damaging than the minute chance of any complications derived from the bacteria manufactured insulin.

This extended metaphor is directly related to vaccines.

Yes, there is risk, but there is a higher probability of disease risk and harm by not taking vaccines. The risk regarding vaccines, however, is not in any way related to the development of autism. One risk is based off allergic reactions to the solution or media that composes the vaccine; but there are alternative vaccines that help facilitate the population that could possibly be allergic to the components in vaccines.

“Oh, but vaccines have mercury, formaldehyde and other nasty sounding compounds in them,” another anti-vaxxer might shout in rebuttal. Mercury is only a portion of thimerosal compounds that are in vaccines and will not influence any genomic sequences. It has been so rigorously tested to make sure that the itsy-bitsy amount of mercury would not incite damage.

Formaldehyde allows for the purification of vaccines and makes sure contaminants do not intrude in the

Vaccines do not cause autism, nor do they influence the genome of a recipient. There may be some risks with vaccines, but everything carries risks and it is more probable that a child will acquire greater harm by not being vaccinated. What does cause severe harm is not vaccinating children, as well as building more social stigma toward those that were born with handi-capable qualities. People with autism are not bad, and the diagnosis is not scary and the end of the world. Autism is manageable and therapies have a substantial amount of success so those with autism are able to congregate with the average population.

There is nothing wrong with autism, but there are plenty of things wrong with pushing more social stigma to those who are outliers to the population.

Instead of focusing energy on how “bad” vaccines are for children, why not put attention on ending the social stigma or building resources for those with autism? As mentioned previously, saying that vaccines cause autism is stating that those with autism are “bad” or “wrong.” There is nothing wrong with autism, but there are plenty of things wrong with pushing more social stigma to those who are outliers to the population.

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vaccines. Formaldehyde is used as a preservative and is used in maraschino cherries and a multitude of other edible material. If the chemical sounds too “scary,” then Shirley Temples and ice cream sundaes need to be removed from an anti-vaxxer’s diet. The remaining chemical components in a vaccine focus on the purification and amplification of the dead virus.

broadside poetry in street lit style Steve Korpieski

Ninety-Tw Pick a an

Fix a sandwich, fix the toilet, fix my hair nge the oil Change a lightbulb, change a diaper, cha r Pound a nail, pound a table, pound a bee ws Clip my nails, cut my meat, tweeze my bro Scratch where it itches

ons, shoes with laces Wear: pants with zippers, shirts with butt plants Wind a clock, tighten a screw, water the pick up my granddaughter Take out the trash, plug in the speakers, a bag Put on my coat, pick up the paper, pack Do anything spontaneously

lettuce Slice a tomato, dice an onion, chop some Toss a salad, mince the garlic, beat an egg e sugar Reach for a dish, pour the coffee, add som cream Mix the fruit, roll out the dough, whip the Carve the Thanksgiving turkey

: o D t ’ n a C I s g n i wo Th , n u o N a k c i P , Verb ! e u r T s ’ t I d n Run, hop, skip, jump be weighed Stand: in the shower, for the anthem, to without Take a pill without choking, take a picture shaking, take a hike without falling Play golf, play tennis, play cards

Wave, clap, cheer Speak clearly, sing loudly, sleep soundly e, Chew gum, chomp an apple, gnaw a bon Eat without: coughing, spilling, sneezing Swallow without worry

Make a bed, make a cake, make a speech ner Talk: at a party, to a receptionist, over din tub Climb the stairs, clip the hedge, clean the a gift Unlock the door, unscrew a lid, unwrap Help more than I am helped

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pping Do the laundry, do the dishes, do the sho Dig a hole, plant a seed, haul some water Sit: on the grass, on a fence, on a stool windshield Strum a guitar, sweep the floor, scrape the Yell when I am angry

words are useless sometimes words aren’t enough Artism by Jake

Nelson Mandela Words from the Artist:

Jake is 21 years old. He loves to explore London, put together 3D puzzles and watch Disney classics. However, he is happiest when painting. Jake is also on the autistic spectrum, making his artistic interpretations just that little bit more interesting. Jake is very visual, which is why we set up Artism by Jake to show off his artwork to the world and to show him how great he is at painting. The website grew very organically and now we sell prints of his work. All profits go to two UK charities that have done so much for Jake: Ambitious About Autism and Norwood.

Woody Allen

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John Lennon

The Pink Paperbacks Novel reflections from a bibliophilic feminist Ellie Diaz

Daniel's story Instead of discussing a story’s structure and power, I’d like to instead turn the tables and tell you, dear reader, a story. One that I hope you’ll remember.

Daniel lay in a discarded pizza box while flies circled above his head. He didn’t understand why he was left on the floor or why other kids could run outside his widow, embracing their newfound ability to walk.

He opened his eyes and believed this is what his life would be like every day. Daniel was never picked up and cradled like other 2-year-olds. He didn’t have to use his muscles and therefore didn’t gain the strength to lift himself from the cardboard box. His skull began to grow against the floor until he had a slightly football-shaped head, making it hard to later find hats that fit.

Daniel, now a 14-year-old young man, is my brother.

He is read to every night, and kissed and told “I love you” a dozen times a day. He loves giving high fives to police officers, telling jokes and petting his therapy dog Luna Lovegood. He will never feel hungry or unloved again.

I’m ashamed to say I didn’t want my family to adopt Daniel in the beginning. I was a selfish and naive 9-year-old with fantasies about being the youngest child. When Daniel was welcomed into our family, he wasn’t able to form words. His small everyday triumphs were clouded by his tantrums and constant

We took him to several doctors who began creating the alphabet soup of disabilities. Autistic, cerebral palsy, frequent seizures and fetal alcohol syndrome were just some that made the list. Sometimes we couldn’t keep track of them all.

But slowly, Daniel grew. He learned simply sign language and then short words. Now we can’t get him to stop talking. He’s the regular comedian at the dinner table and has a wit that captivates everyone he meets.

Daniel is my hero, my role model, my savior. He taught me how to be patient, to say “hello” to strangers at Target and to love fearlessly. He taught me that it’s OK to pretend a shoe is a telephone in public and to ask unusual questions like, “What’s your dog’s cousin’s name?” to understand a person.

That’s not to say Dan doesn’t have his bad days.

Recently he’s been acting up in school and swearing.

Sometimes he hits a person out of anger, knowing even before he raises his hand that it’s a bad decision.

Like other teenagers, he has his moods and has to be reminded to pick up his bedroom at least three times before he actually does it.

Not everyone understands him. One day he came home from school and said, “Mom, I retarded.” We were outraged. My sister and I imagined Daniel getting teased on the playground and being unaware that these ugly words attempted to humiliate and dehumanize him. Sometimes doctors don’t even understand him. One horrible night, Daniel’s legs just didn’t want to work anymore. He couldn’t even shuffle his way across the living room carpet, his arms outstretched toward our mom and his face twisted in anxiety. Worst of all, he couldn’t communicate what was happening and we couldn’t tell him why it happened. These scary moments haunt my memories.

It can’t be ignored that Daniel has disabilities that others don’t have. He can’t read yet and has trouble paying attention. He takes so much medication that he has learned how to swallow five pills without water. He walks with his feet facing inward and has trouble running for more than 30 seconds. Just last week my mother broke down in tears after receiving Dan’s extremely low IQ scores. It came as such a shock because we forgot that intelligence is measured by tests, and not how far one has come.

Sometimes I look at Daniel and I just wish I knew

what was going on inside that head. At moments, his eyes glaze over and his mouth gapes slightly to the left. I want to go with him to this place, to see the world from his eyes. I want to know how the gears

I want to know how the gears slowly turned in his head when he recognized that “D” is the first letter in his name or that books contain words that tell a story.

I want to reassure him slowly turned in his head when he recognized that “D” is the first letter in his name or that books contain words that tell a story. I want to reassure him that he will never be alone in this world.

Although my brother has disabilities, the abilities he offers society are immeasurable and unmatched.

They can’t be listed in an alphabet soup of syndromes. Daniel’s innocence, love for people, irresistible wit and goal to question every aspect of the world is goddamn inspiring. The child that we once drove home from Virginia is now a young man that is greeted by students with a high five when he walks through school. It’s the same young man who can write his name and create imaginary characters out of inanimate objects. He’s the same young man who talks softly to squirrels and sings loudly to Journey.

Crammed into Daniel’s packed bookshelf is a book my sister made him when we were in the process of adopting him. It contains scrapbook poetry, handwritten love letters and a photo collage of our first meeting with him. One day he will read it and remind himself just how beautiful his journey is. Although I’m writing Daniel’s story today, I know one day he’ll be

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screaming.

able to write his own. It will be beautiful and powerful and full of magic, just like he is.

Right now, while writing this column, I’m sitting across from this miraculous boy. We’re listening to Frank Sinatra’s soothing voice while we compose our stories. Daniel purses his lips in concentration as he dabbles paint onto his coloring book, careful not to spill a single drop on his skateboard t-shirt. I’m struck by how much I love this human and how extremely lucky I am to have him in my life. Although a meticulous artist, he blends colors effortlessly and without hesitation, ready to create a masterpiece that no one has seen before, perhaps one that people will still have to tilt their heads to understand. But he paints it just the same, with his own colors in his own way.

words are useless sometimes words aren’t enough Jen Wojtowicz

Words from the Artist:

St. Margaret of Castello is the patron saint of children with disabilities. St. Margaret’s noble parents rejected her because she was born blind, lame and with a spinal problem. St. Margaret is also shown here with fairy godmother wings because she is the patron saint of people, particularly children, with disabilities. I like to imagine her as the protector of children whose differences are met with rejection, anger, scorn or misunderstanding.

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God Made Us Perfect

HEaRt The beating, beating, beating, of this cerebral female heart.

X. Cathexis

Don't 'Dis' My Story Did you know that all of us have a (dis)ability? It’s the thing that makes you different, that might be a little off . It’s the reason why you felt shame that one time or those several times, the thing you wish didn’t make you stand out in some way. It’s the thing that made people stare at you, or the thing that made you invisible. It’s the thing people label you as, when really it’s only a part of your identity. Is your (dis)ability a physical characteristic like bad eyesight, a crooked nose, your height, the cane you use, or a wheelchair?

Is it a mental characteristic like depression, sensitivity, mood swings, or egoism? Is it your family’s amount of money, your skin color, your gender, your sexuality, or your age?

My disability was mental illness. I know this because people treated me differently, felt awkward around me, or were even scared to talk to me. While I was sick no one actually knew who I was or tried to find out.

They only saw me as the girl who kept getting skinnier, the girl who never talked to anyone, the girl who never smiled . How else do I know it was a disability?

Because people used me to make themselves feel better. We do this to people with visible disabilities all the time. We see someone is a wheelchair and think, Omigod, I’m glad I’m not like that. I’m so lucky. In my case, teachers would call me into their classroom and with an air of righteousness say, You don’t look good.

Let me help you. Implicitly they were saying, Look at me. I’m healthy and have my life together while you don’t. That makes me better than you and gives me the obligation to act like God and fix you. You being sick gives me power and makes me feel better. Let me

pretend to help you.

My disability isolated me from society and made me feel powerless and less than human. These are feelings that people with permanent disabilities face all the time. From a radical social perspective, this is also the way that people in power want you to feel and why the social dialogue around topics such as poverty, racism, sexism, and disabilities (all of which can be and are disabling) is minimal. Why aren’t we redistributing the wealth of the 1%? Why is our government giving

So then, why do most of us feel uncomfortable when we see a person with a disability? (We shouldn’t call them disabled it’s not like their whole being is disabled.) It’s because we subconsciously sense a privilege that we hold we can walk, we can talk, we can carry out lives without extreme emotional highs or lows. But what I’ve learned is that people with disabilities aren’t actually disabled. They may do things in a different way like traveling across campus in a wheelchair or visiting a therapist every week, they but are accomplishing the same things that people without disabilities are. The poor, the black, the female aren’t inherently incapable of achieving success rather, it’s social institutions which are oppressing them and preventing them from fulfilling their true potential. It’s the institutions which teach us as children that people with disabilities can’t do ___, women can’t do____, black people can’t achieve _____.

Let’s change the way we think about disabilities. Let’s recognize that all of us have something that disables us from time to time, or a disability we will always have that will just cause us to do things a little differently during our lifetime.

I didn’t truly admit to myself until just recently that I still have a mental illness and that it can disable me for hours or days at a time. To be honest, I’m not even sure what it’s called. I’ve been diagnosed with an eating disorder, depression, PTSD, OCD, anxiety, and moral OCD before. But this new illness? I’m not sure. I’d call it severe irrationality or delusion. It occurs after the regular nightmares that I have. No one can see this disability, this phenomenon that makes daily life and relationships more difficult for me from time to time.

Do you feel bad for me? You shouldn’t. If you talk to people with disabilities, or reflect on a disability you might have, you’ll find that they aren’t something to pity someone for. My favorite people in the world are those who have faced adversity, because after you face the monster, it’s almost impossible not to taste the marrow of life and that marrow infuses your being with beauty. I’m grateful for my disabilities, for the things that make me different. They’ve en(abled) me to see a world that only others who have also faced something difficult can see.

...because after you face the monster, it’s almost impossible not to taste the marrow of life and that marrow infuses your being with beauty.

Besides, pity is another form of oppression. Those teachers who put a heavy hand on my shoulder (wrongly assuming that was ok) and told me to let them help me? They pitied me. When you pity someone, you assume they don’t have power or ability and join the institutions which systematically strip them of power for personal gain. Don’t pity female athletes.

Don’t pity blacks who live on the south side of Chicago. Don’t acknowledge a privilege which doesn’t actually exist look those people in the eye, get to know them as the individuals they are, and give them the dignified interaction between equals that every human deserves. Isolation and ignorance only perpetuate the problem.

When you see someone in a wheelchair and feel awkward, ask yourself why you are feeling that. Go beyond your comfort zone. Ask yourself why you subconsciously think your life is better than theirs because you can walk. Ask yourself why you assume the things you assume. Then stop and take the time to let that person with whatever visible or invisible disability they may have tell you their story.

Why would you want to carry around a false story of someone anyway? The people who do that are the bigots in power who get some kind of reward from assuming or reducing someone to a stereotype, to less than a person.

Don’t pity. Don’t feel awkward. Don’t assume. Everyone has a story, and that story deserves to be told.

Don’t dis my story, my ability, my power.

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tax breaks to the rich and trying to eliminate welfare for the poor? Because money equals power, and with their money the 1% controls everything. Why does anyone who holds a privilege (male, white, wealthy, etc.) not want to confront that fact? Because it’s easier not to, and privilege is comfortable.

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BROAD people

January 2015

BROAD

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just words? just speeches?

Debbie Van Der Putten

It frustrates me that sometimes people treat me as though I’m a bit thick - and even speak more slowly - just because I have a disability.

But I realise it’s just ignorance and don’t take it personally.

I find modelling cathartic. Showing myself off and proving I can make the best of myself even though I’ve got an obvious disability has been my therapy, and has helped me come to terms with what’s happened.

Although some people may say I shouldn’t be a model because I’m not perfect, there is nothing about the job that my disability leaves me unable to do. I want to show everyone that you can be beautiful and successful and an inspiration, even if you are missing a limb. click for CONTENTS

I told myself my arm was gone, and from now on I had to be brave and open about it otherwise it would ruin my life.

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bookmark here find your next social justice text here BROAD Readers

First Sentence:

Released:

“ ’Look me in the eye, young man!’ I cannot tell you how many times I heard that shrill, whining refrain .”

2007

Genre:

ion

Memoir, Non-fict

Overview:

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broadside poetry in street lit style Elishah Virani

His arm is gone, She cannot walk, He cannot hear, She cannot talk.

He has a clot in his right leg, She is in a coma, He has short-term memory loss, She is known for her stoma.

Another person I know is blind, The other is depressed, I know of one who was assaulted, And ended up on bed rest.

They’re made fun of, they’re dissed, But what people fail to see, Is that they are strong and skilled, With uncommon abilities.

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They all are different, but never weak, For their disabilities, Make them unique.

Dis(sed) Abilities BROAD Voice, BROAD Communities Gayle Lilliana Blakely

Mental Illness, Successful Graduate Students, and Leaders Although all universities and colleges are mandated by law to not discriminate against persons with disabilities, the stigmas associated with invisible disabilities-especially intellectual and mental disabilities-prevail when it comes to graduate programs. Such stigmas can influence even the most educated, including graduate school entrance evaluators and professors.

Mad in America highlights some discrimination cases that have occurred in graduate school settings.

One disabled doctoral candidate named Nev reported that despite his 4.0 grade point average and absence of any disciplinary violations, he was dismissed from the program because other students reported his “unusual” behavior and knew his mental disability related to “psychosis.”

“Although I was eventually reinstated, it was only a matter of time before the department elected to dismiss me from the program entirely in spite of maintaining a 4.0 GPA, receiving top marks on my (blinded) departmental review papers and having no disciplinary violations,” said Nev. “The department would not even allow me to enroll in further courses, instead granting me an MA in spite of not having met the official requirements, presumably in order to better guarantee my silence. I was told that there was little to no chance that I would or could finish a Ph.D. Rather than getting angry, I became severely depressed-nearly gave up on any sort of academic career and concluded that I must not be smart enough to succeed as a scholar or researcher.

It took me years to regain a healthy level of self-confi-

dence; I’m now finishing a Ph.D. in psychology.”

However, as noted by Mad in America, legal scholar James Concannon (2012) contends that the ADA has “disproportionately disqualified individuals with mental impairments from coverage and from the continuing stigma attached to mental disabilities.”

Perhaps these schemas stem from the public’s exposure to mass media articles connecting mental illness to violence on college campuses, such as those similar to the 2007 Virginia Tech shooting or last year’s shooting on University of California, Santa Barbara’s campus.

But criminal justice and psychology experts say that these are rare cases and that only a small percentage of those with mental illnesses are prone to violent behaviors. According to the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration, those with mental disorders are more likely to be victims of crime, and those who commit violent crimes are more likely those who do not have a mental disorder.

But even with the absence of violence, there’s still a stigma concerning those with mental illness and their ability to complete a graduate-level program let alone perform high performance jobs.

Nevertheless, according to PhDisabled, students with adequate support can complete their doctoral programs successfully. As reported by the Council of Graduate Schools, the annual Survey of Earned Doctorates showed 1.5 percent of all graduate students were disabled and had received their doctoral degree in 2009.

Although this percentage includes all forms of disabilities, including those with mental disabilities, it is important to note that there are many success stories of those who have a mental disability and completed graduate school. Two such cases include Marsha M. Linehan, an expert on borderline personality disorder and founder of Dialectical Behavior Therapy who received her Ph. D., M.A. and B.S. at Loyola University Chicago, and Robert B. Oxnam, a leading China scholar and former president of the Asia Society who received his M.A. and Ph.D. at Yale University.

Some people with mental illness were noted as being successful world leaders.

Also, those with mental illnesses are not limited to their academic successes in graduate school and beyond.

Some people with mental illness were noted as being successful world leaders.

According to the New York Times, Dr. Nassir Ghaemi, director of the Mood Disorders Program at Tufts Medical Center in Boston, claims that “[t]he best crisis leaders are either mentally ill or mentally abnormal; the worst crisis leaders are mentally healthy.”

Similarly, the New Scientist reports that some of the best world leaders are mentally ill.

“The best leaders during troubled times are those with mood disorders, since their illness enhances the very qualities that crisis management demands,” contends Dr. Ghaemi. “[L]eaders who are successful in peacetime are often failures in war, and vice versa.”

“Creativity and resilience is higher in people with mania and realism and empathy is higher in people with depression compared to normal subjects,” explains Dr. Ghaemi in an NPR article. “The problem often with mentally healthy, average leaders is - even though they’re not weak in the sense of not having any of these qualities - they often don’t have enough to meet the very high demands of crises.”

Among the list of world leaders with mental disabilities are Winston Churchill, John F. Kennedy, Abraham Lincoln, Sonia Gandhi and George W. Bush.

Maybe there would be more successful world leaders to tackle the myriad social issues tomorrow if there was less discrimination against those with a mental disability who apply to, or are struggling to complete, graduate programs.

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Based on just these two observations, it appears that there is a stronger stigma for those with mental disabilities than those with physical disabilities-at least within the context of higher education and doctoral programs.

Liberation Leaders Illuminating Then & Now, Inspiring Forever Jilian Mercado

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Website: Bio:

logger al fashion b ti n e u fl in d City. She odel an Jillian is a m and raised in New York nology orn of Tech who was b ion Institute d she later h s a F m o fr ing, an graduated merchandis in e n writing re g e d e and bega with a in z a g a m onal r Allure on her pers k e e interned fo W n io h York Fas uscular dys m c ti s a p about New s h waves as born wit . She made ir a blog. She w h lc e e h ich uses a w 014 ads, wh 2 g n ri trophy and p S . for Diesel’s and Vogue w as a model ie rv te In appeared in

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Personal Blo g

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Major Works: Spring 2014

Diesel Ad Cam

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BROAD people

January 2015

What is the first word that comes to mind when you hear “wheelchair”?

Disabled

Fast

Sit

Wheels

Paralyzed

Move

Elderly

BROAD

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Power

Dis(sed) Abilities BROAD Voice, BROAD Communities Emily Nunlist

Advocate for Yourself, Advocate for Others When I tell people I have Crohn s disease, they often react on of two ways: with curiosity or with an apology.

Both reactions, to me, present problems. Curiosity in itself is lovely, as it denotes a desire to gain knowledge about something one does not know. But what strikes me as odd is that as many as 1 million people in the United States may suffer from an Inflammatory Bowel Disease (IBD), the category of chronic illness that Crohn s falls under, and yet an overwhelming amount of the people I encounter don t know about it yet. The fault, of course, does not lie within that person for their lack of knowledge of medical diseases, but it seems to take root in the way our culture often fails to advocate

for invisible illnesses. The second most common reaction, apologizing to me for having to put up with the illness, seems to reflect another cultural trend of feeling sorry for those who deal with disabilities or medical obstacles.

These are the themes I began to notice early on in my diagnosis in seventh grade, which quickly deterred me from talking about Crohn s altogether. Middle school is a hard time for anyone, but when I discovered that an explanation of my chronic livelong inflammation of the intestines was rarely met with understanding, I began not to mention it. For many years, my feelings of solitude kept me from speaking out about Crohn s.

I have never once been ashamed of having Crohn s, but an exhausting amount of effort is required in trying to explain an incurable medical problem that doesn t quite make sense unless you are forced to deal with it on a daily basis.

Crohn s disease, as with many chronic diseases, is often isolating for various reasons. For me, since I was diagnosed in middle school when I was fully reliant on my parents for almost everything including rides to the hospital, I became been aware that my condition caused stress on my closest loved ones. This led me to attempt to protect my loved ones from my pain for the sake of not causing them further anguish. This, of course, was isolating because it caused me to keep my emotions to myself in an unhealthy manner. Furthermore, I did not attempt to explain it to classmates for fear of the aforementioned reactions, which led to social isolation. Although I had friends, I did not make

It took many years for me to learn that these extra challenges were going to be the things that shaped me into the resilient woman I am today. At 19 years old, I feel so proud of where I am today every time I look back on where I came from. Crohn s disease, amidst its periods of debilitating pain and flare ups, allowed me a uniquely long amount of time for introspection and development of self-awareness of who I am and who I want to be. It has allowed me the knowledge that life is full of possibilities and uncertainties, which makes it both exhilarating and terrifying. It has shown me the transience of life and the knowledge that this moment on earth is my one chance to live it the way I want to.

It constantly reminds me that everybody has a story to tell, and that I do not know anybody s story until I ask them. This, in turn, has taught me compassion and given me a deep desire for both learning and teaching.

In essence, Crohn s disease has been the single most formative aspect of my life and is deeply rooted with-

My life has improved tremendous amounts since I began to advocate for myself over the past 3 years and that has brought me a peace of mind that I wish for anybody dealing with such an unpredictable disease. in me. This is not to attempt to romanticize illness in any way, but rather an honest profession of the ways that Crohn s has pushed me to be the best version of myself. I will not deny that it has taken a lot from me, but I can acknowledge it has given to me many positive things as well.

In fear of rambling on for too long, I will cut to the chase. My life has improved tremendous amounts since I began to advocate for myself over the past 3 years and that has brought me a peace of mind that I wish for anybody dealing with such an unpredictable disease.

If you have an invisible illness or disability of any kind, the best advice I can possibly give you is to advocate for yourself. When you advocate for yourself, you advocate for others. You give voices to those that may not have found strength in their own voices yet. If you do not have a chronic illness or disability, the best advice I can give you is to listen to the concerns and needs of those who do, and advocate for them too. Everybody has something to contribute to the conversation, and the conversation is what raises awareness one step at a time. Of course, it will take time to combat ablism and stereotypes. It will time to make knowledge of invisible illnesses widespread and take the perceived shame out of being sick. But this is a cause worth fighting for, because I am just one of so very many fighting for my health and my agency in a world that stigmatizes disability.

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Crohn s a huge topic of conversation even though my life revolved around it. On the topic of peers, symptoms of IBD such as diarrhea and other bathroom concerns are often considered taboo to talk about (especially for women), which furthered my predilection for not bringing it up. I was also deeply worried that bringing it up as a concern when I needed extra help would be perceived as weakness when I wanted to be strong. As it began to affect my school attendance and performance as well as my ability to connect with others, I began to feel like I was losing control of the only things I felt I had control of in life.

screen/play film review, justice take Still Alice

Release: 2015

Director:

Richard Glatzer, Wash Westmoreland

Major Cast:

Julianne Moore, Kristen Stewart, Alan Baldwin, Kate Bosworth

Where to Find: In Theaters

Overview:

Still Alice tells the story of an esteemed linguistics professor after she is diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease at the age of fifty. The film follows Alice’s path to maintain dignity and a sense of self, as her mind and her ability to communicate - two central components of her identity - are slowly lost to the disease. The diagnosis strains her family, and the film explores the emotions, decisions, and reflections of Alice and her loved ones as they experience Alice’s changing abilities.

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The film is an honest, heartbreaking story that’s told from Alice’s own perspective. It follows her struggles and triumphs as she deals with the disintegration of her career, the strain her diagnosis puts on her family, and a loss of identity after defining herself by her intelligence for her entire life. Alice is a powerful character who continues to assert agency and spirit even as her mind deteriorates. In a speech Alice gives to the Alzheimer’s Association after her disease becomes nearly overwhelming, she states, “I am not suffering. I am struggling. Struggling to be a part of things, to stay connected to who I once was. So live in the moment, I tell myself. It’s really all I can do.

Live in the moment.” Another powerful part of the film is Alice’s relationship with her daughter, Lydia. Over the course of the film, Lydia goes from being an estranged daughter who frequently argues with her mother to being a woman who cares for and understands her mother in a way no other person in Alice’s life does.

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Alice’s experience with Alzheimer’s is very personal, and is not reflective of the diverse experiences of people who experience Alzheimer’s without the resources Alice possesses. Alice is able to hire a caretaker, seek advanced medical care, and take time off of work after her diagnosis. Yet while Alice’s financial and personal situation is important to acknowledge, the film doesn’t pretend that Alice’s experience is universal, but rather tells the important story of one woman’s struggle to live with the disease.

Status Quo Combustion La Masculus vs La Femina Lubna Baig

The Disability Factor When I hear the word “disability,” the things that come to mind are blindness, deafness, being wheelchair bound or being mentally handicapped. People think about the types of disabilities in this world but never seem to think about how many are “dissed” due to their disabilities. In high school, all of us envy

the prom queen. Somehow it always seems to be the perfect blonde girl with perfect blonde hair, the perfect Malibu Barbie figure, the perfect nails and the zhee-von-shay (Givenchy) dresses. The Malibu Barbie is the one that people root for and she is the one that bags the hottest guy in school. The way the

This Martin Luther King Day (which was on Jan. 19), I asked my boyfriend of almost a year if he would have asked me out if I was blind or deaf. Like a typical college guy, he was speechless for a minute. He was confused, trying to decide on the right answer. He said, and I quote, “I feel like this is a trick question, babe.” I actually tried to stifle a laugh. I didn’t bother asking him again. In the coming days, I asked other male friends and colleagues of mine what they would they do if there was the “disability factor” in the girls they wanted to ask out. Five out of 10 said what mattered was the girl’s character and if they had compatibility with them. Four said they couldn’t decide and maybe if the girl was really hot they wouldn’t care. One said he already had a lot of problems with college loans and work, and he doesn’t want to have to take care of someone because for him, the whole point of dating is to have fun.

I felt kind of sad knowing what guys thought about the disability factor. I felt like if I hadn’t been good-looking or had been deaf, blind, dumb or physically handicapped, my boyfriend wouldn’t give me the time of the day. Let’s look at the handicapped from a humanistic point of view. If a person is deaf, sure he or she may have trouble understanding what the other person is saying, but there is varying levels of deafness. Some have severe deafness, some have profound, some have moderate and some have a minor degree of deafness. Some can be treated with surgery while others make do with hearing aids or a cochlear implant. But just because they can’t hear you doesn’t mean they can’t do anything a normal person does. Famous musician Ludwig Van Beethoven experienced sudden hearing loss during his career but people say some of his best works comes from the time he went deaf. Let’s not forget our very own Stephen Hawking who suffers from amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS) that has gradually paralyzed him over the decades. His handicap is so severe that he as to communicate using a single cheek muscle attached to a speech-generating device. Despite all this, Hawking has accomplished much in life and is currently a theoretical physicist,

cosmologist, author and director of research at the Center for Theoretical Cosmology within the University of Cambridge.

At Loyola University, we are taught Jesuit ideologies and I have learned that when God takes away one gift, he compensates for it by giving us a lot more.

Hawking may be completely paralyzed, but God has blessed him with amazing intelligence with which he has accomplished a lot. My point is, if a person is blind, there are other areas where he or she is strong.

For instance, their hearing is heightened which allows them to adapt to their disability. If they’re deaf, their sight is heightened and they see and understand things much better than the average human.

Sure, they have their struggles, but the handicapped are the strongest soldiers of God in this selfish world.

So when you date a handicapped person, it doesn’t mean you have to “take care” of them because of their disability. They are perfectly capable of taking care of themselves. You might be surprised to see that they are quite capable of giving you the boyfriend/girlfriend experience. Just treat them normally and respect their disability. That’s all it takes: love and respect.

We’re well into the 21st century. Just as we embraced other cultures and started mixed race families, it’s time we embrace the handicapped and start mixed handicapped families. Being handicapped is not bad and it’s not always true that children of handicapped people end up being handicapped as well. There are deaf parents with hearing children in this world who are a source of strength for their family. It’s time to erase the stigma attached to handicapped people.

Being different should not be frowned upon. Rather we should marvel at the unique individuals that God has created in our world. As I type the last few worlds of this column, I get a sweet text message from my boyfriend. It says, “Babe, I promise I will always love you and you will be my wife even if you are old and smelly and senile, and even if you have Alzheimer’s and forget me.” There is some good in this world after all.

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media glamorizes the skinny blonde girls as prom queens makes being nerdy, brunette, red-haired, Latina, Asian or anything else a “handicap.” You are judged for what you wear, how you present yourself or what you are. The “emo” girl with blue highlights isn’t going to get any prom queen votes anytime soon. I know we have come a long day since Martin Luther King Jr.’s struggle for civil rights, but the stigma for having flaws and having any type of disability continues to exist.

(not) buying it

* (ad)vance has a new name!

busted advertising, bustling economy PETA

NOT BUYING IT!

Consider: PETA, or People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals, launched this billboard campaign to warn parents off buying cow’s milk for their children. The reasoning is that two scientific papers, both from more than a decade ago and using sample sizes of 20 & 36 autistic children, found tentative correlation between a milk-free diet and fewer symptoms of autism. Given the lack of reliable data and PETA’s history of exploiting groups for attention, many people have been asking “Got bias?”

1. What do you think about this ad campaign by PETA? 2. Is it a way to draw attention to a potential link between dairy products and autism?

3. Or is an over-simplification that exploits autism for PETA’s own gain?

4. Is it ableist?

Liberation Leaders Illuminating Then & Now, Inspiring Forever Justin Whitlock Dart Jr.

Justin Whitlock Dart Jr., born in 1930, was an advocate for disability rights.

He was heavily involved with the passing of the Americans with Disabilities Act of 1990 and is considered the “Godfather of the ADA.” He also cofounded the American Association of People with Disabilities that promotes economic and political power for those with disabilities.

Inspires:

Dart was considere d an icon disability fo m of advoca ovement. He repre r the modern cy, leader sented th ship and e ideals statemen inclusion t to the c .

In his fina ommunit l 2002, Dar y before his death t wrote: in “I call for soli who love darity among all w life, to cre h ate a revo o love justice, all power ev lution tha ery single t will emhu or her life , to gover man being to gov n er the socie productiv ty and to n his e of life q be uality for self and fo fully r all.”

Major Acc omplishe

s: Helped pa ss the Ame ricans with prohibits e Disabilitie mploymen s Act that t, transport mental dis criminatio ation and n against p g eople with overndisabilities Organized the first stu dent g the Univers roup to oppose rac ism at ity of Hous ton Served as vice chair of the Nati onal Coun cil on Disability Appointed to lead the Rehabilita tion Servic istration in es Admin1986

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Bio:

Dis(sed) Abilities BROAD Voice, BROAD Communities Gayle Lilliana Blakely

Invisible Disabilities and Priority Seating I remember riding a Chicago Transit Authority bus one day and couldn’t help but notice an argument between two patrons. An elderly woman scolded a frail young adult male for refusing to budge from the seat reserved for people with disabilities. There were empty chairs next to him with the same white handicap icon so clearly the woman directed her judgment on the man whom she believed didn’t rate to be there.

The man grunted without saying a cohesive word, shuffled around in his seat and appeared anxious until the woman stormed off the bus at the next stop with her cane and lightly packed grocery bag. However, the man didn’t relax when she left. He looked to the floor, then back to the front, avoiding all eyes glaring at him in shock, disgust, wonder or confusion. I felt sorry for the man, and a little guilty for not speaking up because I knew that he used a Ride Free Permit to board. Immediately I thought, “This man must have an invisible disability.”

When most people consider diversity issues, they immediately think about race, ethnicity, religion, gender and sexual orientation-things we commonly see and hear about on college campuses and within various media outlets. However, what are not always visible to the naked eye are diversity issues concerning disability, particularly invisible disabilities.

Disability comes in many forms and can have many different definitions, depending on social constructs and contexts. For example, some people who have a disability are not considered “disabled” either because they are able to work, they don’t meet the requirements for programs that offer benefits for being disabled or they may not personally consider themselves disabled. Additionally, the various types of disability can include physical disabilities, intellectual disabilities and mental disabilities. While the general population can easily detect some of these diverse forms of disabilities, other disability types may go unnoticed or might be misunderstood. The latter forms are called invisible disabilities.

According to the Invisible Disabilities Association, the term “invisible disabilities” refers to “symptoms such as debilitating pain, fatigue, dizziness, cognitive dysfunctions, brain injuries, learning differences and mental health disorders, as well as hearing and vision impairments.” The IDA further explains that not all disabilities are easily detectible or require some noticeable apparatus, such as a walker, cane, eye patch or wheelchair. Further, not all disabilities are physical. So does this mean that priority seating are only reserved for those who have a physical disability, a wheelchair or a visible disability?

Chicagoland, and Illinois as a whole, is not yet up to speed with disability diversity issues that can occur on its busses and rails. Given all the Tax Increment Financing (TIF) funds that were allocated for CTA’s Red and Purple Modernization Project, you would think Chicago would consider some funding for transportation signs such as these (and not to mention elevators or escalators for all ‘L’ stops). These improvements

Disability comes in many forms and can have many different definitions... are much needed social justice efforts that can benefit both disabled and nondisabled persons since a little over 20 percent of Illinois residents are disabled, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention’s (2012) statistics.

Perhaps signs like those in Washington’s Metro would have quelled the elderly woman’s anger at the frail man, who, according to his Ride Free Permit, has a disability-albeit, and apparently, unseen.

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Fortunately, the Washington Post recently answered this question (at least for Washington residents riding the Metro) in “Saving seats: Metro’s new ads raise awareness of invisible disabilities.” Washington’s Metro now offers two signs for their priority seating. One sign reads, “Who needs this seat? You’d be surprised.

Not all disabilities are visible. That’s why it’s important to keep priority seating clear at all times.” Another sign states, “Please don’t sit if the description doesn’t fit. Priority seating areas on Metro are for seniors and those with disabilities only. Help us keep Metro accessible even to those whose disabilities are not visible - keep priority areas clear.”

words are useless sometimes words aren’t enough Abby Blair

Words about the Artist:

Abby has been painting since she was 3 years of age. Abby likes to rub the back of her hand against the finished paintings. I believe this helps with sensory issues she may be experiencing. Abby’s favorite mediums are watercolors and acrylic. .etsy.com/shop/AidforAbby?ref=pr_shop_more

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Kaleidescope Shifting Perspectives on Our Modern World Sabrina Minhas

Secret Lives, Hidden Hearts Imagine slowly losing control over your body.

You go out to sail on a bright summer day. The clear blue sky stretches on beyond your vision. The sun is high overhead. The landscape glows from its golden touch; the warmth seeps into your skin. You are lulled into a sense of safety by the stillness of the moment and feel your heart swell from its perfection.

Everything changes in a split second.

You suddenly, inexplicably fall overboard into the

icy waters of the bay. The cold slams into you and leaves you feeling flattened, shocking your body into submission. You desperately try to breathe, but the pressure of water from all sides is overwhelming. Every sound is dulled, traveling through a distance. You realize that strength is relative. You are consumed by the sea, almost appreciating the beauty of it before you are pulled out. You lie on the floor gasping for breath and grateful for life.

The pain begins to spread the next day.

Your lower back and legs ache, but you blame the soreness on your fall and believe it will be eased with massages and medicine. The pain, however, worsens.

In three days you lose the ability to support your own weight due to the weakness in your legs. Your skin becomes increasingly sensitive until even the slightest breeze is agonizing. You visit multiple doctors and receive conflicting responses until the shocking answer is revealed. You are diagnosed with infantile paralysis, commonly known as polio.

This is what happened to Franklin Delano Roosevelt, the 32nd president of the United States. Roosevelt was exposed to the poliovirus at a New York Boy Scout camp in 1921 but did not experience symptoms until he was in New Brunswick, Canada later that summer. He was diagnosed at the age of 39 while he was in the midst of his political career. In three days, Roosevelt was required to radically shift his mindset and rapidly adapt to changing circumstances. Roosevelt contended with a physical transformation that cost him his ability to walk while

Roosevelt decided to remove himself from political life and return to his home in Hyde Park, New York to focus on his rehabilitation in the fall of 1921. He became committed to building back his lost strength.

Roosevelt swam three times a week, discovering that his legs could support the weight of his body in water, and exercised constantly while surrounded by trusted family and friends. Roosevelt was fit with braces that spanned the length of his leg in the winter. By spring he could stand with assistance, but he remained incapable of walking.

Roosevelt was faced with a dire decision. He either needed to accept that he would remain a paraplegic and return to his career in politics, or sacrifice his political aspirations to continue his rehabilitation in the hopes of walking again. Roosevelt, of course, decided to return to politics despite the attitude toward disabled persons in America during the 1920s. During a time when disabled family members were often ostracized and removed to the margins of society, Roosevelt hoped to be trusted and accepted as a political leader.

The tension between cultural attitudes toward disabilities and Roosevelt’s determination to succeed in politics resulted in a budding secret life. Initially, Roosevelt’s disability did not hinder his performance in politics. He attended the 1924 Democratic Convention and later ran for governor of New York in 1928 while receiving public support and sympathy for his diagnosis. Roosevelt, however, grew increasingly concerned about his public reputation after running for President in the 1932 election.

Roosevelt used a discrete, personalized wheelchair in private, but he developed a technique to appear as though he was walking in public by leaning on a cane and the arm of an advisor while maneuvering his hips to swing his legs. Roosevelt requested the press to not report details about his disability.

While journalists occasionally mentioned Roosevelt’s disability, the Secret Service was assigned to destroy any photographs depicting Roosevelt in a “disabled or weak state” by emptying cameras, exposing films to sunlight or smashing photographic plates. Roosevelt felt the need to hide his disability to appear strong, healthy and capable to the American public.

He feared common perceptions and stereotypes regarding disabilities would cost him the trust of his country. Roosevelt used his experiences to support polio patients and serve as an example to challenge societal perceptions of disabilities. He proved that

his disability did not impact his ability to serve as an effective leader, but he did so by controlling how his disability was presented through the media. Perceptions of disabilities in American during his lifetime left him with few options besides maintaining a level of secrecy regarding his disability.

Hidden lives, however, are not reserved for the wealthy, famous or elite. We all carry secrets, scars and stories that we shelter from the judgment of our society. Some of us carry disabilities that cannot be seen. Imagine carrying a weight that makes it difficult for you to get out of bed or move through your day. You drag your sinking body through the fluctuations in your mood. You hear a chorus of thoughts questioning the worth of your attributes, actions and life combated only by the numbness of immersing yourself in work, hobbies, distractions or drugs to ease yourself through the day. You succeed in your academics, personal life and service while fighting a constant battle that is consuming, yet noticed and acknowledged by few.

Imagine losing control over your mind.

Depression is not uncommon in America. 1 in 10 Americans, or approximately 14.8 million adults, experience depression at some point, with the rate of diagnosis increasing by approximately 20 percent each year. Eighty percent of those with clinical depression do not receive treatment due to the stigmas surrounding mental illnesses despite the high success rates of treatments for depression. An estimated 11.8 million Americans are leading secret lives. Someone is pushing themselves to appear upbeat and cheerful in front of their friends before collapsing beneath the weight of ineffable sadness. Someone exercises religiously, spends hours sitting by the lake or escapes through the music flowing from their headphones to cope with their emotional lows. Someone is struggling with debilitating insecurity and fears of abandonment because only the most traumatic aspects of life remain vivid memoires. Someone is lost in abstract thoughts of life and death because it is impossible to connect with the moment at hand. An estimated 11.8 million Americans are seeking meaning in their dark secrets and help even when their cries are silent.

We all have secret lives. The burdens you carry are a reminder to live compassionately and remain mindful of challenges others face. It is our responsibility to create an environment in which members of our community do not need to fear the repercussions of sharing their struggles and seeking help.

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processing the implications of his diagnosis on his lifestyle and career in politics.

Liberation Leaders Illuminating Then & Now, Inspiring Forever Herschel Walker

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Bio: Herschel is a former NFL player, Heisman-winning running back, and Olympian who has been vocal about his experiences with dissociative identity disorder (DID). He grew up in Atlanta, Georgia and attended the University of Georgia to play football. After a very successful football career, Herschel first discovered his DID in the late 1990s, when his “alters” (his various personalities) lost the common goal of football in his retirement. Herschel experienced increasingly violent behavior and thoughts from his alters that led to the disintegration of his 20year marriage, and he sought help after a particularly dangerous episode. He was diagnosed with DID and decided to use the experience to help others going through similar struggles.

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warning: results with assumptions mental “illness”

words are useless sometimes words aren’t enough Anne Abbott

Feelings of Invisibility Words from the Artist:

As an artist with a disability, Anne K. Abbott has faced many types of prejudice and injustice throughout her life.

It is because of this insight that she has become sensitive to the plight of others. Through her art, Anne attempts to reveal the continuous battle that people face against societal boundaries just to be able to be themselves and to live the way they want. An artist for more than 30 years, Anne is a disability activist and a member of Disability Action Movement Now and Ontario Coalition Against Poverty.

www.annekabbott.com, www.etsy.com/ca/shop/AnneKAbbott

* madads’ has a new name!

busted advertising, bustling economy JC Penney

Consider: JC Penney displayed mannequins created from real people in their Manhattan Mall storefront. The mannequins were part of the company’s effort to increase diversity and reflect the actual bodies of consumers. The five models the mannequins were shaped after include an Army paratrooper who lost both legs in Afghanistan, a woman who uses a wheelchair for paralysis, a man with dwarfism, a plus-sized mother, and a female athlete over six feet tall.

1. As a shopper, how would you feel to see mannequins like this displaying clothing?

2. How can companies continue to increase diversity in mannequins?

3. What other steps can companies take to be more inclusive to a diverse consumer base?

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BUYING IT!

(not) buying it

message me we asked. you answered.

BROAD people

January 2015

BROAD

ADS MAD TE QUO ER N COR

tell-a-vision visions & revisions of our culture(s) Explaing my Depression to my Mother

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This poem by Sabrina Benaim speaks to the stigma and challenge of explaining mental disabilities to loved ones. With raw honesty, Sabrina talks about the struggle to convince her mother that she can’t simply force herself to “be happy” when living with depression.

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A 1. What does the poet mean when she says, BRO “Depression is a shape-shifter?” How GOTdoes that impact the way deE’VE W pression (and other “shape-shifting” mental disabilities) is perceived by others?

MAIL E 2. Have you ever struggled to try to explain a disability to somebody?

What is that experience like?

ANC ADV 3. Have you ever had somebody in your life dismiss ICRO or belittle a disability? What is that experience like?

Link:

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youtube.com/watch?x-yt-ts=1421914688&v=aqu4ezLQEUA&x-yt-cl=84503534

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Consider:

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just words? just speeches?

Tatyanna McFadden

I think the word ‘disabled’ is wrong. I have my unique abilities and talents, just like everyone else.

If you want it bad enough, you must try. And if you miss the first time, you must try again. Don’t let others tell you that your dreams are too big or your ambitions impractical.

There are always going to be a few bad people in this world but the majority are good...It’s about not letting those bad people win and... showing, ‘Hey, we’re not going to let this stop us.’

We have stories and we’ve overcome barriers, but yet we’re so powerful in what we do. Not just for sports in general, but just for life. Nothing will stop us from living.

Living in an orphanage, especially having a disability...they don’t want you to live.

ADS MAD TE QUO ER N COR

tell-a-vision visions & revisions of our culture(s) Inspiration Porn

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In this TED talk, comedian and disability advocate Stella Young exposes the lie that disability is a “Bad Thing” and those who are living with it are exceptional. Clear, witty, and concise, Stella challenges us to think about what it is like to be the disabled person who is supposed to inspire us.

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1. What is “inspiration porn?” Why is it called “porn?”

E 2. In what ways have you ever objectified people with disabilities, ANC or witnessed objectification?

ADV 3. What does the Social Model of Disability say?ICRWhat is its significance?

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Link:

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Consider:

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Rising Above An act you do for yourself is an act of Love.

Gaby Flores Ortiz

Digging into my social justice roots “There is no greater disability in society, than the inability to see a person as more.” ~Robert M. Hensel When I was little my mom used to take me to work.

Work was a non-profit learning center on the north side of Chicago which provided services and daytime care to individuals with special needs. Most of these individuals were folks who were unable to do anything for themselves.They wore diapers and all of their meals needed to be blended. They were almost all in wheelchairs and most were unable to form words or very few words. To my five-year-old eyes, they seemed to be like very large babies except that they were adults in their twenties and thirties. At the time, I didn’t really understand how or why they were the way they were. Truthfully it made me curious and sad. I just didn’t understand.

What I remember most, however, is the way my mother treated and spoke to her students. My mother spent the whole day talking to them, praising them when they did an activity well, encouraging them when they tried, and always, always being gentle and kind. In her presence, no one was allowed to say unkind things about them. Some of the other workers were convinced that they would not be understood by them but this was not true. The students knew and

if they could not fully understand words, understood intentions. My mother never got frustrated with them and she never yelled. Though most of the students could not speak, their eyes would light up when they would see my mother.

One of the things that I love about my mother is that my mother would acknowledge a person’s unique set of special needs but she never believed and she never treated them like they weren’t capable of growing, of feeling deeply, or of being intelligent. I grew up learning that this was how you were supposed to treat folks with special needs. My mother made it clear that to think or act otherwise was not only unkind but it was unacceptable.

This was a struggle for me when I was little. I could not understand why my mother would yell and be frustrated at me but not at them. I could not understand what she saw in them since I was clearly “better.” I could not see why feeling sorry for them was wrong. She, however, made it clear that I was not better than them and that these folks were not ones that should be pitied. Instead I saw her celebrate them and rejoice in their accomplishments, in their abilities, in their beauty, and in their growth.

I think folks often struggle with how to treat others who are different from them. There are folks who

When we talk of social justice and equity, when we talk about being in solidarity with others, when we talk about owning our privilege and using it to break down oppressive structures, what we are really talking about is working to create spaces of compassion and spaces where differences are celebrated and spaces where everyone is given the things that they need in order to grow and function at their best. It took me years to realize that this was the real lesson my mother was trying to impart on me. When I think back to where my passion for social justice came from, I think back to a small classroom watching my mother telling one of her students (during a particularly challenging activity) how handsome and amazing he was, how she believed in him, and then watching how his face lit up when he finally succeeded.

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There are others who try to pretend that a difference does not exist or that they do not see a person’s race, gender, or physical limitation. Then there are those who feel sorry for you and treat you like you are pitiable.

bully those who are different. There are others who try to pretend that a difference does not exist or that they do not see a person’s race, gender, or physical limitation. Then there are those who feel sorry for you and treat you like you are pitiable.

screen/play film review, justice take What’s Eating Giilbert Grape

Release: 1993

Director:

Lisa Hallström

Major Cast:

Johnny Depp, Leonardo DiCaprio, Juliette Lewis

Where to Find: Netflix streaming

Overview:

Gilbert Grape lives with his obese mother, two sisters and differently-abled brother Arnie in the small town of Edora, Iowa. Seventeen years after their father committed suicide, the Grape family is in the midst of planning a large birthday celebration to commemorate Arnie’s eighteenth birthday and tensions are running high. Bonnie, the mother, has suffered from crippling depression since the death of her husband, leaving all of the responsibilities to her children. Amy, the oldest daughter, is busy caring for her mother while her younger sister Ellen is preoccupied with being a preteen, so Gilbert is shouldered with the sole responsibility for keeping Arnie safe and healthy. Gilbert is content with his place in life, balancing work at the local grocery store and keeping Arnie out of trouble. He is resolved to spend the rest of his life this way until Becky and her grandmother come into town.

Becky’s free spirit and enthusiasm for life, as well as her unique bond with Arnie, transforms Gilbert’s ideas of what it means to be happy.

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What’s Eating Gilbert Grape is one of the most powerful films concerning people with differing abilities that I have ever seen. It presents several forms of differing abilities, such as obesity, depression and developmental disabilities, in a manner that is both realistic and respectful. I count it as one of the few films that gives light and meaning to the daily hardships that people with differing abilities face and the struggles and sorrows of the ones who love them.

words are useless sometimes words aren’t enough SarahCate Phillipson

Spoonie Coat of Arms Words from the Artist:

I’m a 33-year-old artist with a chronic pain condition caused by chemo treatment I received in 2012. As a designer and illustrator, my primary goal is to bring awareness and visibility to disabilities and conditions that are often overlooked, if not intentionally ignored. As a spoonie myself—someone with a chronic condition or disability that has an energy-limiting impact on his or her daily life and activities—I’m always seeking new ways to show the world what disability and chronic conditions really look like

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Passion: Dance

broadside poetry in street lit style Daniel Diaz

LOOK I like Luna.

I like science.

I like to play with Penny.

My friend is Isaiah.

green.

My favorite color Justin Bieber.

I don’t know.

I’m good reader.

I love Blindside.

I paint Luna.

words are useless

Words from the Artist:

Deaf

“Deaf” is a painting that I worked on in tandem with my ministry and volunteer work to the d/Deaf people of my community. (I’m) a licensed psychotherapist, where I serve as a clinician to sexual abuse victims, foster children, transgender individuals and same-sex couples. “Deaf” is a culmination of most everything I believe to be truth; to serve and love and “hear” the voiceless, ignored, seemingly powerless and marginalized

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sometimes words aren’t enough Monica Stevens-Kirby

In the (k)now Knowledge is power. Power is change. Change is good.

Sylvia Bennett

What's your Damage?: The Stigma of Mental Illness Today, I feel less broken. “Less broken” is just one stop on the cycle I rotate through, followed by “OK,” “more OK,” “extra OK,” “the-most-amazing-personto-ever- live” and “walking-meat-sackstuck-on-this-rotating-dead-rock-ugh.”

It’s emotionally, mentally and physically exhausting. Frankly, it’s a freaking nightmare to try to be productive and not scare your mom while trying to keep yourself from unraveling.

I didn’t seek help until this year because I didn’t think that it was possible for there to be something wrong. The face of mental illness in the media is one that seemed so far from my own, but the feelings of being so crippled at times with my issues couldn’t be denied. I was lost, and while now I’m in the process of trying to unwind the mess between my ears, there are some days when I feel further from “less broken” than when I started.

It took me so long to reach this point. Yes, reaching out for help in the first place was tough. It was embarrassing and painful, but what the movies don’t show is that comparatively, those are small drops in the bucket. Continuing to ask for help, to open up

about these issues that have been buried for so long, to move beyond those nagging fears and doubts that say I’m just stupid or lazy or wrong and that I need to fix myself by myself, that’s agony. In the many years when I was struggling before seeking outside help, my mental illness was not a mental illness. It was poor habits, low self-esteem and “typical teenage angst” precociousness. At worst, it was a nasty case

I have a mental illness, but I am infinitely more.

And so are you.

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of immaturity. Even today, I get told that I’ll “grow out of it” or “figure out how to deal with it,” as if those magical solutions somehow escaped my feeble grasp this whole time. Gee, thanks! Never thought of that!

Please tell me more about your immense grasp of psychology from reading Web M.D.

Mental illness was a scary label that was tied to serial killers, self-harm and a large degree of dubiousness.

Even when trying to figure out my issues, I was constantly checking myself. Am I sure? I’m not exaggerating my symptoms, right? Do I really have this? This is how mental illness is viewed in general today. When has someone diagnosed with pneumonia ever faced that degree of scrutiny? “Well, are you sure you have pneumonia?” “You know, doctors these days are just dying to get everybody on drugs.” “It’s probably just a phase.” “You’ll grow out of it, but the self-pity needs to stop first.” Sure.

I’m continually baffled by how uncomfortable mental illnesses, or disabilities in general, make people.

Why? Why do we struggle to comprehend the validity or worth of people and their experiences because they’re disabled? There’s something “wrong” with everyone; we all shoulder burdens unique to our circumstances and face obstacles that can overwhelm us in an instant. So if this is the reality that we all face, what is “normal”? Why have we invested so much time and energy, mutilating ourselves, to fit into an ideal that isn’t even real? Breaking news: no one is normal. Not one person. Ever. “Normal” is another fun social construct that continues to perpetuate hierarchical power dynamics. In order for someone to be on top of the food chain, there needs to be prey to fuel that “authority.”

Normal is a joke, a fantasy that was constructed for the purpose of deluding people into thinking they’re broken. “Normal” is not an identity and neither is disabled. I have a mental illness, but I am infinitely more.

And so are you.

Dis(sed) Abilities BROAD Voice, BROAD Communities Mario Mason

“Why don’t you get more sleep?”

I’ve recently been diagnosed with obstructive sleep apnea. A side effect of this condition is daytime drowsiness, similar to that of a narcoleptic. Because of my enlarged tonsils, I often wake up about three to four times a night, often without remembering. This leads to not getting enough rest, which then leads to me falling asleep throughout the day. I tend to fall asleep at the worst possible times as well: during a final, while standing on the bus, even while having conversations with people. It seems the more I fight the drowsiness the more severe my sleep attacks become.

My sleep apnea has recently started to affect my life more than it has in the past. For example, my time is very limited but I will sometimes carve out six hours purely for studying. As soon as my butt hits the seat I fall asleep, but I don’t know I’m sleeping because I start to dream that I’m studying. The next thing I know, I wake up and my notes are still pretty empty, my homework is still incomplete and I’ve completely missed the deadline I was trying to beat.

I remember the first few times I saw the symptoms. I would just get more and more coffee, which initially worked, but eventually this became expensive and also seven cups of large coffee (per day) cannot be good for your health. While I was on my break from coffee, my symptoms came back but this time the effects were tenfold. I decided I was the problem and did everything in my power to resolve the issue on my own. I spent about a year trying my own solutions but each one seemed to worsen my illness. It’s not that

I didn’t want to receive the right care; I just couldn’t afford it at the time (that’s another story for another day.) At my worse, I would fall asleep in every class and then go home just to fall asleep the next day. This resulted in a difference in grades, loss of an internship, deterioration of friendships and the suffering of the quality of work at my job.

Whenever I would fall asleep, I would get things like, “You should try to get more sleep” said in a condescending tone, or a slew of other jokes, some original some not. It wasn’t until recently when I still felt drained after sleeping for 19 hours that I decided I needed to seek out medical assistance. I felt like I was a lazy idiot and I had to shoot for another galaxy in order to hope to reach the stars.

My name is Mario Mason. I have OSP and I live in Chicago, Illinois. I am one in however many, and I can finally say I am not alone.

I am one in however many, and I can finally say I am not alone.

message me we asked. you answered.

BROAD people

January 2015

What do you think is the biggest challenge faced by the mentally disabled?

Being misunderstood

Having your condition doubted

Being generalized

Feeling you’re going crazy

Self- validation

Stereotypes Finding happiness

BROAD

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Balance

screen/play film review, justice take Tribes

Premier: 2010

Playwright: Nina Rain

Major Characters:

Beth (mom), Christopher (dad), Daniel (oldest son), Ruth (daughter), Billy (youngest son and deaf ), Sylvia (Billy’s girlfriend)

Where to Find:

Tribes premiered in London’s Royal Court Theatre in 2010. Over the past two years it has been in circulation to various theatre venues in major U.S. cities. Check listings for current location of performances. Paperback and Kindle versions of the play are available through Amazon.

Overview:

The plot of this play largely revolves around the witty, provocative and bawdy dinner conversation of a dysfunctional English family. These intelligent and pretentious parents find their home invaded by the return of their “parasitic” and somewhat directionless young adult children. As the only deaf member of a hearing family, Billy the youngest son struggles to find his voice and be heard among the cacophony of his families’ opinionated views. Billy’s sense of isolation is confronted when he meets Sylvia, a young woman born to deaf parents, who is now losing her hearing. Through Sylvia, Billy is introduced to the deaf community and feels empowered to challenge his family’s mode of communication. Billy and Sylvia’s relationship depicts a cultural crossover that leads audiences into exploring the biases intrinsic to both the hearing and the deaf communities; while addressing our fundamental need to belong, especially to our families.

Besides delivering a dose of intelligent and amusing British humor, Tribes offers audiences a chance to ponder far-reaching themes such as the meaning of language, quest for identity, and inclusion in cultural community.

The play, Tribes, unabashedly illuminates the struggles that deaf or hard of hearing individuals experience while trying to cope in a hearing world. It is a view that is often muffled due to lack of exposure or potential threat of controversy. The strong sense of identity that the deaf culture presents, which includes a reliance on sign language, is deftly juxtaposed with the ubiquitous world of oral communication. Audience members are privy to the inner conflict of Billy and Sylvia, characters approaching deafness from different viewpoints, based on age of onset and hearing status of parents. While sign language opens up a certain ease of communication for Billy, Sylvia exposes what she believes to be limitations imposed by deaf culture. Through it all, we are drawn to this imperfect cast of characters that paint an unusual image of tribal inclusion.

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BROAD thumbs up?

not BROAD enough?

Although Tribes leads audiences into an encounter with the experiences of deaf or hard of hearing individuals, the picture is rather incomplete. Namely, the advent of cochlear implants has left an indelible mark on the landscape of deaf culture. The rise in number of children receiving cochlear implants has produced an increase in language outcomes for deaf and hard of hearing children. However, the notion of accessing speech sounds through the use of a cochlear implant has met resistance within the deaf community. As a speech language pathologist viewing this play with a colleague that has extensive experience working with deaf and hard of hearing families within the community, it was disconcerting that the controversy surrounding cochlear implants was not given more attention. Especially given the fact that Sylvia’s hearing loss is an adult onset case with the likely trajectory of developing a severe-profound hearing loss in step with her parents. Adults that have had language experience are often inclined to augment their hearing by seek candidacy for cochlear implantation. In general, the inclusion of arguments surrounding cochlear implants creates a current and more expansive lens in which to view deaf culture.

Death is no more than passing from one room into another. But there’s a difference for me, you know. Because in that other room I shall be able to see.

just words? just speeches?

Helen Keller

Character cannot be developed in ease and quiet.

Only through experience of trial and suffering can the soul be strengthened, vision cleared, ambition inspired and success achieved.

Be of good cheer. Do not think of today’s failures, but of the success that may come tomorrow. You have set yourselves a difficult task, but you will succeed if you persevere and you will find a joy in overcoming obstacles.

Remember, no effort that we make to attain something beautiful is ever lost.

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The most pathetic person in the world is someone who has sight but no vision.

Until the great mass of the people shall be filled with the sense of responsibility for each other’s welfare, social justice can never be attained.

The highest result of education is tolerance.

One can never consent to creep when one feels an impulse to soar.

The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched. They must be felt with the heart.

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There is beauty in everything, even in silence and darkness.

Dis(sed) Abilities BROAD Voice, BROAD Communities Anonymous

Landlocked Delusion My bedroom door flew open with such great velocity, I thought for sure our house was falling down, and in a way, it had. The overhead light flashed on and invaded my sleep. Almost immediately, my father’s hands were holding my shoulders down on the bed firmly, shaking me; he was screaming. He wasn’t angry, but frantic to the point of mania. I had never seen such a crazed expression in his eyes, the way he was looking at me shocked me so much that it took at least a minute to realize what he was yelling about. Apparently, the Federal government had surrounded our house.

The Feds found out that our bloodline traces back to that of Jesus Christ himself, and for that, they want us dead. “They have come to kill us, Molly! We have to go, now!” In your presumably lucid state this seems ludicrous, but when your traditionally calm father is telling you someone is after you (even if its because you’re a descendant of Jesus) at 3 a.m., it’ll scare you for a second. The second passed, and I understood I had a choice to make. I almost always sleep naked, so flight wasn’t exactly an option. I began pleading with him to leave my bedroom and yet he persisted.

Eventually, out of confusion and desperation, I found myself yelling. I ordered him out of bedroom, and he left. I shot up, threw on a huge t-shirt, and sprinted upstairs to my mother’s room.

When we look back now, we recognize that night as my father’s breaking point. Apparently my mom had noticed some changes in his behavior before then, but I hadn’t. I was a busy high school student that stayed at school until 10 p.m. most nights bouncing between dance rehearsal, student council meetings,

and play practice. Needless to say, that particular outburst left me breathless for days. I hadn’t ever and haven’t since experienced a moment that felt more unreal, more dreamlike. The days that followed weren’t any different. For the first seventy-two hours or so, we were hoping whatever it was would pass, but his delusions grew more elaborate and more threatening. He was entirely convinced that the secret forces of the federal government were going to capture, torture, and kill us. Each morning, he swore they were coming that day. Sometimes they did come, and my father, myself, and an invisible third party would hold conversations about the role of extraterrestrials in the crucifixion of Jesus Christ over breakfast cereal in the kitchen. Papa gestured to the air space near the toaster,

“Molly, this is Kathy Mueller. She’s from the Central Intelligence Agency and is risking her life to help our family certain execution. We’ll leave with her tonight.”

I’d stare straight ahead, attempting to loose myself inside the knots of oak on our cabinets, “Dad, there’s no one there.” He never missed a beat, “So you’ll need to pack your things. Not too much, though. We may have to travel by foot.” By the end of week one he had taken it upon himself to “put us out of our misery.”

That was my mother’s breaking point.

We had him hospitalized in the mental ward just down the street from our house. The State of Iowa requires two signatures to have someone hospitalized for a mental illness. My older sister didn’t live with us,

Then I looked in his eyes again, and I saw something I recognized for the first time in months. This was really him talking, I could see it, and I was so very ready to take him seriously again. his two hands. Now, with one hand on the glass, he’d check again that everything was okay before making another lap down the ward corridor. I had to buy him new socks at least twice over the course of his stay.

This was his first episode, and while it was relatively short (two months in all), it felt like an eternity for me at eighteen. My dad had owned a local plumbing business for thirty years and set his own hours. I was accustomed to finding him in the kitchen with coffee for me in the morning. Family dinners were transformed into completely silent group mourning sessions. We gnawed on tasteless food and stared at dad’s empty seat; there were always way too many leftovers. That was the time of day during which we couldn’t pretend not to notice he wasn’t there spewing out whatever information he had most recently learned from a documentary or “read on the internet.”

It seemed that, collectively, we had a lot less to say.

We weren’t used to dealing with each other without dad’s spark in the room to make things lighter and more playful.

The most frightening part was visiting him and realizing that the spark wasn’t just missing from our house, he didn’t have it anymore either. The doctors didn’t give us any false hope; they explained that with this type of schizophrenic episode, it is never clear if the patient will reemerge even with the proper medica-

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and my brother was too young to sign a legal document, so signature number two was my job. That was weird. I remember thinking it was like signing a permission slip for my father to go to summer camp, except this summer camp involved needles, therapy, and a lot more drugs. Dropping him off the first day did feel a lot like leaving a child at summer camp.

When we found his room, we showed him that he could see our house up the hill through his window, and that if he was ever feeling lonely he could know that we were there thinking of him. He was pretty heavily sedated by that point, but he offered a vaguely comforted expression in response.

He lost about 30 pounds in two weeks. According to the ward nurses, he spent every free moment pacing up and down the main corridor, stopping after each lap to look up at our family’s home through his window. Sometimes I imagined how it looked to him.

He’d stand in his white washed room, surveying the green house that was peeking out at him from under layers of deciduous canopy. The house he built with

tion. Sometimes finding the perfect cocktail of drugs to produce a zombie-like state is the best they can do. I’ll admit, I was pessimistic about his eventual normalization. I recall it feeling like my real father had died, and he had been replaced with someone I didn’t know.

My mother was fundamentally changed, too. She still managed to go to work (I don’t know how) and come back home again, but that was pretty much the extent of her activity. She spent the rest of her time sleeping, crying, or with eyes glued to the television.

I kept on with my daily activities and was glad not to see her like that most days. One day I came home to find her digging around in the basement. She was in my dad’s locked storage room, sorting through his rifles. My dad collected rifles, which sounds creepy but was really more endearing. He had been in the Marines, and in his younger years he went hunting for deer with his friends every winter. He claims that after reaching age 35, he was no longer able to kill any living thing. He stopped hunting, but he still purchased new gun parts regularly and cherished his enormous collection. He loved to take the guns apart and reassemble them with different parts, proudly displaying his creations to our family after supper in the living room. When I found her my mom was sitting on the floor with my father’s guns in piles around her, the way she looked up at me told me everything. The guns had to go.

That afternoon, a man arrived in a pick-up truck. My uncles and I loaded all of the rifles into the back, and he handed over a lump sum of $8,000 or so to my mother. Undoubtedly, a sum far less than what the collection was worth. I guess my mom didn’t realize it then, but the sale was entirely illegal. There were no permits exchanged, but we were in a rush for two reasons: First, a person hospitalized for a mental illness in Iowa is not allowed to own firearms. Secondly, my dad was the only employee at his business, and he had been out of work for months. $8,000 would keep us going for a while. The stranger drove away with decades of my dad’s handiwork and a large part of his heart in the back of his pick-up. My mom cried the rest of the day. I was not there when she told my father we had to sell his guns, and I am thankful for that.

I’ll always associate hope with sailing. My dad and I were sitting on the edge of his hospital bed on a snowy, sunny day sometime in January when he first broached the topic. He explained that it was his dream to buy a sailboat and sail around the world with our family. After a few months of immediately deeming every phrase he uttered a fallacy, I almost

didn’t listen to him. Then I looked in his eyes again, and I saw something I recognized for the first time in months. This was really him talking, I could see it, and I was so very ready to take him seriously again. I practically ran to the library when he asked me bring him books about sailing techniques and voyages. This goal may seem like a delusional one a schizophrenic might have. We live in Iowa, and my parents were not in the financial position to purchase a sailboat. To anyone who knows my dad, though, this is exactly the type of plan he would dream up on a normal day. I spent hours sitting next to him discussing the details of our far-fetched family trip around the world. I was comforted more each time he voiced a sensible concern about our plans or remembered factual details about our family. When we talked about sailing, there was no pressure. We could be imaginative as we dared, and no one was there to tell us that we were crazy. It was during those days he spent wrapped up in a fictional maritime world that my father’s grasp of reality returned.

The thing about most schizophrenic delusions is that even when you have the proper medication to manage your symptoms and even when everyone tells you it’s ridiculous, the delusions you once had will be real to you forever. Dad would sit at the dining room table listening to voicemails from once-loyal customers saying that they would no longer need his services. This type of call came a couple times a week during his first month out of the hospital. Every time I saw him get that news, he looked completely bewildered. These were customers he deeply cared about; he only wanted to warn them about what the government was up to a couple months back. He did not understand why anyone would have taken offense.

He knew better than to say it to us, but I could see his confusion clearly. My father is a master at his trade and most folks stood by him, understanding that sometimes the hardships of reality push us out of it.

Just in time for me to leave for college the dynamics of our household swung back to quasi-normal. We all tense up a little when dad dives into one of his conspiracy theories but try to remember that he had plenty of those before the episode. My baby brother regularly asks me if dad is lying about almost everything. My sister apologizes for her absence during “those months” any time she gets the chance. My mother’s energy feels a little more tattered and worn, and nothing seems to surprise her anymore. I have a heightened aversion to psychedelic drugs of any kind for fear they’ll flip on the schizophrenic gene I undoubtedly possess. I just don’t usually bring that up at parties.

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tell-a-vision visions & revisions of our culture(s) Love and Disability

AL L TE ON VISI

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R NTEE VOLU CES VOI

This YouTube video by Sandra provides powerful insight into heartache and triumphs of being in relationships while having a disability. Sandra discusses the challenges of handling a relationship with an able-bodied person, and the intersecting challenges of being disabled and part of the LGBTQ community.

MES VISIT G IN R 1. What do you think Sandra means when she Isays that a Echallenge for disabled people is trying to make a relaDITO S DE D A RO tionship with an able-bodied partner as Bequal as possible?

GOT E’VE W 2. How do Sandra’s identities intersect to present unique challenges for her? MAIL

3. Sandra says, “Outside of my disability, I’m still a person.” What she mean by this? Do you ever feel a need CE ANdoes ADV to state your personhood?

ICRO

Link:

youtube.com/watch?v=xL3nrIQGecI

M ES AGR S N SHU

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Consider:

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tell-a-vision

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visions & revisions of our culture(s) Pro Infirmis

TELL-AVISION

SCREEN/ PLAY

BOOKMA RK HERE

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BROAD FACULTY FEED

LIBERATIO N LEADERS

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A Swiss artist created mannequins molded to the shapes of real people living with physical disabilities. The campaign is part of an effort by Pro Infirmis, a non-profit organization for people with disabilities, to raise awareness and celebrate difference for International Day of Persons with Disabilities. The campaign is entitled, “Because who is perfect? Get closer.”

Consider:

BROADSID

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VISITING EDITOR

ME

AGE ME 1. What do you think is the impact of a person seeing a store mannequin that actually looksSSlike them for the first time?

MICa ROdisability for the first time?

2. What is the impact on passerby who see a mannequin with AGRES 3. How can this campaign begin to change ideas about beauty, “normalcy, disability?

A”Dand SHU VA NS

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Link:

youtube.com/watch?v=E8umFV69fNg

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words are useless sometimes words aren’t enough Monica Stevens-Kirby

Think Before You Speak Rain or Shine My daughter’s name is Lily. She’s 12 years old with autism and (is) the target of mostly boys at her middle school.

They knock her down (and get) higher points if she hits the ground. The vice principal has given her an escort between classes and they have to leave five minutes earlier than the other kids. It infuriates me. So I decided to teach Lily to fight back if she needs to. I tell her to walk softly and carry a big secret stick! I pay for her to train one-on-one with a female boxer.

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Words from the Artist:

Dis(sed) Abilities BROAD Voice, BROAD Communities Stephanie Harrison

TOADAL CHAOS You crossed the line, my friend Ann tells me. I’m visiting her in California. We’ve borrowed a trailer perched on a small mountain so that we can have a quiet place to write. Now I’m trying to explain why I can’t focus, why my nerves are so jangly. Why I can only take short, shallow breaths.

on, I said. There’re gnomes to see. I can’t move, he said. I’m afraid I’m going to fall. His arms were extended, as if he was walking a balance beam. There was an unmistakable look of panic on his face. Still, I thought he might be faking, acting like a baby because I’d dragged him to a kitschy overpriced tourist trap.

I try to explain to her what happened: Everything around you is chaos, he was shouting, his voice sharp as a claw. Can’t you understand how hard this is for me? Can’t you cooperate just a little?

It was three years before the doctors gave him a non-diagnosis: You have symptoms like multiple sclerosis they told him.

Sam is my lover. He is handsome in a blue-collar, exaltar-boy sort of way. Nose slightly crooked from a childhood break. Teasing green eyes. A dimple when he’s thinking. In his early-thirties his hair turned prematurely gray, but that only made him more attractive. There was something unexpected-sexy-about it.

I have loved him half my life, give or take. He has been sick for a third of that half, give or take.

It happened so gradually I didn’t notice it at first. I suppose that in small ways he was becoming different, less agile, less sure of himself, but I didn’t see it. What I did notice was his temper, the sudden flashes of clear cold rage.

We were in Chattanooga the first time I registered his unsteadiness. It was hard to miss, even for someone as airy and distracted as me. Sam was standing in the middle of an arched stone bridge, not moving. This was at Rock City, the tourist attraction. See the seven states! Fairyland Caverns! Mother Goose Village! Come

The course of MS is unpredictable, but the kind Sam might have, primary progressive, is characterized by a gradual but steady progression of disability without any obvious remissions. Symptoms include: balance issues, foot drop, bowel/bladder issues, sexual dysfunction, memory loss, fatigue, spastic gait, slurred speech, blurred vision.

We stare at the ceiling. After a while he says, I miss our sex.

Some time ago, I saw, on a suburban lawn, a whole bunch of snakes that had just hatched. They wriggled and writhed through the grass. Then, out of nowhere, dozens of crows swooped down to prey on the snakes. Memories can be like that sometimes: dark things dropping from the sky.

That night, before he began to shout about chaos, everything around me being chaos, Sam had told me that it was going to rain. That I shouldn’t take my walk.

He’d even switched to the weather channel to show

One of the things that makes him crazy is the way I leave things lying around, especially books. Some I’m reading, some I want to read, some I’ve already read. Christ, he says, everywhere I go I’m tripping over books. Can’t you put anything away?

Andre Dubus is an author whose books I leave lying around. I’m not Catholic, but I’m drawn to the way he writes about faith and forks in the road. What if your daughter was involved in a hit-and-run? Would you help her cover it up? What if your son’s killer was about to get off scot free? Would you take matters into your own hands? What what what, he asks over and over in his work, are we humans capable of?

People afflicted with MS are angry. Well, who wouldn’t be? But it turns out they might have more reason than we have, until now, thought. According to a study published in the European Journal of Neurology, people with MS feel more than twice as much withheld anger as the general population. These elevated anger levels are unrelated to the severity of the patients’ MS, suggesting that the cause is neurological. The researchers concluded that the process that causes the root symptoms of MS also disrupts the pathways

Then I looked in his eyes again, and I saw something I recognized for the first time in months. This was really him talking, I could see it, and I was so very ready to take him seriously again. that control how people deal with withheld anger.

When did he grow old, lose his athlete’s body, develop a gait that matches his hair?

A year before our trip to Chattanooga, he felt an electric twitch in his left leg. This may have been the first symptom. Or, his doctors say, not.

In California, I told Ann what I’d done. My words were like tarnished coins; I pushed them through the slot. The clatter as they landed startled me. It was hard to think straight. And so hard not to lie.

One night, while helping two strangers whose car had broken down, Andre Dubus was hit by a car. He lost one leg above the knee and the use of the other. He became confined to a wheelchair. A little more than a year after the accident, his wife left him.

I remember my reaction when I read this.

What a bitch, I thought. Leaving a man like that under such circumstances.

Each year, during the first days of golf season, when lawnmowers rev up and the smell of burning charcoal wafts through suburban streets, Sam lies on the couch and refuses to speak. Andre Dubus, who

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me the approaching storm on radar. I didn’t listen. Instead, I’d gotten soaked to the skin. Shook the rain off, inside our front door, like a wet dog. Tracked water up the stairs. Left dripping clothes draped over the dryer.

was also an active man, a man’s man, called this the “agony of spring.”

Sam used to walk like he was springloaded. His heels rarely touched the ground. Once, in bed, I read him “Harrison Bergeron,” the Vonnegut story about the boy who defied the laws of gravity, who leaped like a deer on the moon, who was shot down with a double-barreled ten-gauge shotgun.

We were both using canes when we spent a week in Port Townsend. I’d torn the meniscus in my left knee while doing a little amateur roofing. Sam had finally accepted the need for a three-pronged cane. Look at us, I said to him. What a pair we are. Not really a pair, he said. You can be fixed.

No matter how bad my day is, his is worse.

Sometimes I don’t mind when he sulks. His speech problems-caused by dysfunction in the nervous pathways affecting the muscles of the tongue and mouth, voicebox and respiratory system-are especially pronounced when he is tired or upset. We’ll talk about it in the morning, I tell him, and escape to another room to watch television.

Well, I guess that’s gone now, Sam will say about tying his shoes, changing a light bulb, getting a dish out of the cupboard.

Ever-changing symptoms cause MS patients to feel a crippling loss of control. The question is, how to handle such feelings? On the Internet I stumble across an essay, written by a nurse, acknowledging that the old healthcare metaphor of “fighting,” of “waging war” and “doing battle with an invisible invader,” is not appropriate for chronic diseases. Because of course, the patient loses eventually. She suggests that a chronic patient find his or her own metaphor. For example, Jackson Pollack’s “Shimmering Substance.” At first, she says, the painting’s splatters and smudges seem like chaos, but then, if one surrenders to it, one begins to discern beauty.

The last thing Sam played competitively was pool. He threw himself into it with the usual gusto. Subscribed to magazines, studied the pros, analyzed shots and strategy. Practiced, practiced, practiced. The team he organized was called DUWACHUCANDU. For the first year or more he refused to use a walker.

Instead, he clutched people’s elbows, used their bodies for balance. Some people were good at matching his pace, making him feel stable. I wasn’t. You would make a terrible nurse, he said. Some people have a

knack for helping. You don’t.

This is so surreal, his sister says to me. We are watching Sam get out of the car. He places his hands under his thigh and lifts his leg up and out. Turns his body.

Lifts the other leg out. His foot scrapes over the metal threshold, gets stuck. I tense, wanting to reach over and give his foot a yank. He groans, pushing. Nothing.

Shit, his sister says. She looks over at me sympathetically. You must feel like this all the time.

On bad days we call it a disease. On good days it is his condition.

He was standing in the bathroom and shouting.

Everything around you is chaos! Total chaos! I can’t stand it! The unfairness of his outburst was stunning.

I had draped my dripping clothes over the dryer, then closed the louvered doors that separated the bathroom from the laundry area. Why had he even looked behind the doors? I’m trying, I shouted back at him.

I’m trying so hard.

The word chaos is generally used to mean great unpredictability and confusion.

In truth, I didn’t go to California to visit or to write. I fled.

In ancient Greece, the word chaos originally referred to the state of the universe before the cosmos was formed. Something more than nothing, it was a restless condition of nonbeing. Ovid, in Metamorphoses, describes chaos as a “lifeless lump” filled with “jarring seeds.”

Sometimes Sam says he is broken. Or, wistfully: If only I was whole. Why are you still here? he’ll ask suddenly, as if he’s just noticed I’m beside him. You know you have to go. You didn’t sign up for life with a cripple.

With a non-human.

When he falls, it takes strength and focus to get him upright. Only he knows which limb to place where, how to turn furniture into simple tools. I’m not good at this. Tell me what to do, I’ll say. Get a gun and shoot me, he’ll reply.

Do you believe in God? I ask him. Sure, he says. That bastard.

He falls getting up in the middle of the night to pee.

We struggle, for over an hour, to get him off the floor.

We fail. He wets himself, then starts to laugh. You know what they say about accidents, he says. The

For a while, Sam attends a support group for men with MS. This makes him even angrier. It turns out everyone in the group but him has the relapsing-remitting form of MS. They can still have good days, he says. How is talking with them any different than talking with you?

Even I grow tired of hearing stories about people who have risen, gracefully, to the occasion. I begin to distrust their veracity. Something about the narrative is off. (Memory? Proximity?) For example, many of the people Sam interacts with throughout the day believe that he is rising, gracefully, to the occasion.

He’s not. I wish you would take this out on someone who’s better equipped to handle it, I tell him. Like who? he asks. Like God, I suggest. I don’t know what to tell you, he says. We hurt the ones we love. Uh huh, I say. Well, stop it. A few days later he tells me he made his physical therapist cry. Good, I say.

Oddly, the divorce rate for people with MS is about the same as the general population. Apparently the stress of staying is counterbalanced by the potential guilt of leaving.

My flight to California was delayed, and I was in the airport bathroom. I hadn’t slept in several nights.

When I rose from the toilet seat, the whoosh of the automatic flush gave me a start. I opened the stall door and nodded to a man at the urinals. The sinks didn’t have handles and it took me a moment to remember that they were automatic too. What are you doing? the man asked. I shot him a look that said, What do you think I’m doing? Lady, he said, this is the men’s room. Are you blind?

Bladder and bowel issues are common symptoms of MS. Sam doesn’t want any help with this. We have agreed, without talking about it, that I do not see the soiled shorts that he has rinsed and draped over the bathtub to dry.

Elevated anger levels in the MS household can lead to abuse. Often it is verbal, sometimes physical. Dr. Deborah Miller of the Cleveland Clinic’s Mellen Center

for MS has studied the problem, although she doesn’t have data concerning whether the amount of abuse in families living with MS is greater, less or the same as in the general population. “No one knows,” she says.

But it happens. It happens often enough that, on the Multiple Sclerosis Society’s website, preventing abuse is one of five menu choices under the topic Relationships. (The others are disclosure, care partners, intimacy, and parenting.)

My friends are worried. Judy says call. Anytime. I call.

What’re you doing? I ask in code. Come on over, she says.

After Andre Dubus’s accident he wrote a number of essays about his ordeal. They are brutally honest, filled with the kind of disclosures that make me want to look away from the page. At the same time, I am filled with gratitude, so thankful for a man of faith who does not easily toss around the word overcome, for a man with the courage to write of weakness, depression, heartbreak and humiliation. His description of the impact of a multi-week bout of diarrhea on his failing marriage is the kind of thing I’m talking about.

“It remains suspended in memory,” he writes, “as the ordeal that broke us, or broke part of us anyway and made laughter more difficult.”

That night, after Sam found my wet clothes, I followed him into the bedroom. And I hit him. He fell backwards onto the bed and I hit him again.

I left the bedroom and pulled my suitcase out of the closet. Then I sat on the stairs, too tired to pack. If you leave again, Sam said, it will be the last time.

I fled to California, but I didn’t leave. There’s a difference.

Judy and I are shopping. We come across a table of tee-shirts, the kind with cute animal pictures and clever sayings. One of them has toads jumping in all directions and a caption that reads “Toadal Chaos.” I buy it in an XXL. I guess I think someday it might be funny.

“The Colonel’s Wife” is a lovely, delicate story, one of Andre Dubus’s last. In it, a retired Marine colonel breaks both of his legs when a horse falls on him. He is confined to a wheelchair and a bed on the first floor of his house. His doctors tell him he will never be able to manage stairs or walk without pain again. Throughout all of this, his wife Lydia lovingly takes care of him. “He knew Lydia did not mind wiping him, she was cheerful and told him to stop feeling humiliated

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worst ones happen closest to home. Don’t, I say. Don’t act like this is a buddy-cop movie.

Once, shortly after receiving communion, Andre Dubus encountered a man outside his church. The man, probably homeless, raised his right arm and middle finger and yelled, Fuck God. “On that morning under a blue November sky,” Dubus wrote, “it was beautiful to see and hear such belief: Fuck God.”

because his legs were broken and he had to shit. But his stench and filth, and the intimacy of her hands and voice, slapped his soul with a wet cloth.” The colonel encourages Lydia to resume her old routine of spending the mornings outside, walking. But while she is gone he is afraid, wondering how he can save himself in the event of a fire. He notices, too, that the house is becoming more hers than his, now that he is confined. Then one day, the expression on her face when she comes home tells him she is having an affair. He confronts her and she says that it’s true, but it just ended. They talk. Over the years, neither of them has been entirely faithful. He had, after all, been gone for long stretches of time. They both admit to lapses and have the first honest conversation of their marriage ... “and laughter came to them as suddenly as weeping had. It took their breath, it drew tears from them, it shook his body and hurt his bones, and he held Lydia and laughed.”

I understand the impulse to rewrite history. Once, Sam and I went to hear my cousin play sax. He’s very good.

World class even, but hasn’t yet had a lucky break. It’s still bars and college campuses. Three-hundred-plus nights on the road. The time I’m talking about, we were at a local bar. My cousin was playing well. We hooted and whistled and pumped our fists in the air.

It felt good to support, with our whole hearts, someone who was plugging away at something so difficult.

We drank a few beers, then shared a few more, and laughed. And then we danced, both of us between the bars of his walker. This happened some time before our night of chaos, but I keep having to stop myself from making it the last paragraph of this story.

I am in California with Ann. We are sitting in a trailer, perched on the side of a small mountain, and I confess. I tell her about hitting Sam. I tell her that I hit him more than once. I tell her that I bit the skin over his cheekbone and it peeled back to reveal a small bloody triangle, then I ran to the bathroom for a cloth to staunch the wound. After that, I got out my suitcase but I couldn’t fill it. I tell her I don’t know what to do anymore or how long I can do it. I tell her all of this while, outside, a pack of coyotes yip and howl. I could leave them out, but they were there.

ADS MAD TE QUO ER N COR

tell-a-vision visions & revisions of our culture(s) Disability & Employment Struggle

AL L TE ON VISI

-ATELL N VISIO

EN/ SCRE Y PLA

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ARK M K BOO RE HE

BROAD N ATIO LIBER ERS D LEA

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WLA ED IMAT REAN

R NTEE VOLU CES VOI

In this TED talk Paul Anomah-Kordieh, a blind journalist from Ghana, powerfully narrates his own journey through education, employment, and the obstacles in between. He quesetions why 80-90% of disabled persons in developed countries are unemployed, as discovered in the 2011 UN World Report on Disability.

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VISIT G IN

A T 1. The talk begins with, “It can be said that at any time, not by choice, BROdisability is an open club: anyone can GOjoin E’VE W L but by circumstances.” What does this mean to you?

MAI E 2. What are added employment obstacles for people with disabilities?

Who imposes these obstacles? What can C AN ADV be done to overcome them?

ICRO

Link:

youtube.com/watch?v=UCxdtD25mVg

M ES AGR S N SHU

D A O BR

click for CONTENTS

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