Did you see the image of Donald Trump, hunched over the massive desk in the Oval Office, flanked by half a dozen other white men while he signed an executive order eliminating funds to international organizations that provide reproductive healthcare to women? The incongruity of the scene and its effects was so striking that the image went viral.
Such graphic representations of gender inequity in government, academia and big business make easy targets. The all-male conference panel, for example, is mocked as a “manel” and has its own Tumblr and Twitter accounts.
In 2019, many of us recognize that endeavours intended to serve the interests of particular social groups require, at a minimum, meaningful consultation with members of these groups. A person’s social location—characterized by the historically- and culturally-significant positions we hold relative to others—can offer authoritative insights into our experience. The image of
affluent, white male politicians taking action to restrict the reproductive choices of women in developing nations is offensive, not least because they are making decisions about the lives of people very different from themselves.
Building on the pioneering work of the civil rights and women’s rights movements, the disability rights movement is seeking to advance a social model of disability which situates disability in its social context, similar to gendered and racialized categories. A social model of disability differentiates between physical, neuro-behavioural and psychological impairments and the obstacles created when people with such impairments are excluded in their social environments.
Ableism—discrimination against people with disabilities—often feels more disabling than the limitations created by our impairments.
For autistic people, ableism presents in a variety of ways: assumptions about our lack of competence; workplace discrimination that results in an 86 percent unemployment rate for autistic adults; paternalistic efforts to speak on our behalf. While parents of autistic children should generally be respected as experts on their kids, this does not mean that these parents may be counted as allies to the autistic community.
Recent stories in the media about autistic people (including one in this publication: “It’s time for housing options to get better for people with developmental disabilities advocates say,” Oct 24) have also failed to represent our perspectives.
What would the world look like without autism? Without the David Byrnes and the Greta Thunbergs of the world? In her book
Thinking in Pictures, Temple Grandin answers that question saying “you would have a bunch of people standing around in a cave, chatting and socializing and not getting anything done.”
I don’t need to point to these exceptional autistic people to justify our value as human beings. We have an inherent right to exist and be included in our diverse society. We can “speak” for ourselves, even if we might communicate differently. Those with the loudest voices really do need to pass the mic. Nothing about us, without us.
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It’s time for housing options to get better for people with developmental disabilities advocates say
This article appears in Nov 28 – Dec 4, 2019.
My son is on the spectrum. He is my third oldest child out of six. When he was diagnosed the day before his third birthday, I sobbed. I wondered what his life would look like. I mourned the loss of the “normal life” he should have had. Then it hit me. I was HIS MOTHER, and the only reason he’d live an unfulfilled life is if he clung to an excuse and believed himself a victim. Disadvantaged; capable of less.
I shifted my mindset to focus on his capacities rather than any unknown deficits and his world opened up. I advocated for in-home therapy, ABA services, and even equestrian therapy. I made no special allowances for him in my home; I was a single mother of 5 during the early years, and change was pretty constant. I did what I had to do for my babies and didn’t stop to wonder if James would be disturbed by them. They just were. He was my son, and we all did life together under the same terms.
I didn’t allow anyone to call James “autistic”. James has autism. It’s one of his characteristics. It doesn’t define him. I never allowed any labels to be placed on any of my children for any reason. I believe this allowed him the space to grow into the young man he is meant to be without any limitations imposed by society’s impression of what Autism should look like.
Fast forward to today. James is 15 years old. He is kind and gentle, loves babies, has great empathy for others, accepts and tolerates change extremely well; I believe he is my most well-adjusted child. He is a deep thinker who is well liked by his peers. He gets good grades, participates in live theater, team sports, and willingly helps around the house. He knows he has autism and happily accepts that fact, because as he says, he wouldn’t want to “not be him”. Nor would I ever in a million years want that, either. I wouldn’t change a single thing about my sweet James.
I see that Zso Michele recognizes her great fortune to be on the high functioning rung of the autistic ladder. Good for her! Dismissing parents advocating for their children – who will never write a sentence because they’re struggling to speak one – suggests she has minimal understanding of the community she claims to represent.