Freyja Haraldsdóttir: 22 random things that make me tired as a disabled woman
Many thanks to Freyja Haraldsdóttir for allowing us to reblog this post. We met her in Leeds at the Screening AccSex meeting at the Center for Disability Studies, Leed Iniversity. So many of us could respond to the feelings she expresses here –
I am tired of often needing to value other people’s needs more than my own.
I am tired of being anxious about small events because of the fear of being marginalized and silenced.
I am tired of people over and over again assuming my opinions on sexism and ableism are just an emotional reaction instead of opinions based on diverse knowledge and deep experience of both.
I am tired of feeling like a bad feminist when I can’t show matters of privileged women support who don’t acknowledge or understand my reality.
I am tired of people finding it okay when Hollywood presents disabled people better of dead.
I am tired of everyone but myself having more authority to decide on my abilities and strength.
I tired of my body being objectified as desexualized, weak and emotionless.
I am tired of people I love excusing ableist people.
I am tired of needing to pick out a president candidate or other people for powerful positions who I don’t identify with and will therefore have big problems understanding my reality.
I am tired of ableism being normalized on a higher level in my country then sexism and racism (not that that isn’t normalized enough).
I am tired of people not understanding multiple oppression and that I can not pick out identities like clothes to wear everyday. I am always both a woman and disabled. Not either or.
I am tired of not being able to trust that my independence is longterm because in Iceland personal assistance is still a trial project. My freedom is on trial.
I am tired of being afraid of sharing what I find hard because then I automatically become victimized.
I am tired of sometimes not being able to sleep from worries about the influence of marginalization on my future.
I am tired of people constantly asking ‘how is it going?’ in stead of ‘how are you feeling?’.
I am tired of not being allowed to be angry because it makes others uncomfortable.
I am tired of not being allowed to show difficult emotions without being stigmatized as negative and unhappy when I am most definitely not.
I am tired of not having space to talk about physical pain without my life being stigmatized as not worth living.
I am tired of many people not caring about everything mentioned above.
I am tired of not being allowed to be tired.
I am tired of being tired of being tired.
I am so tired.
——————————–
At Center of Disability Studies, Leeds University, with Freyja in front. Also in the photo on far right, Anna Lawson, Sarah Woodin next to Armineh Soorenian, Embla Guðrúnar Ágústsdóttir, Kirsty Liddiard and Karin Hitselberger (in pink), Shweta Ghosh behind her and Eleanor Lisney holding banner
There is also this great speech she gave at 100 years of Women’s Civil Rights. International Conference Celebrating the Centenary of Women’s Suffrage in Iceland, October 22.-23. 2015. (speech transcript)
Becky is a Sisters of Frida’s Steering Group member
18 Years In A Wheelchair
After 18 years in a wheelchair, I know what to expect when I’m leaving the house.
I was born with cerebral palsy, a neurological condition caused by a lack of oxygen to the brain in childbirth. It left me with an inability to walk and a low tolerance for stupidity. This is put to the test as soon as I leave my house. People stare at me like a hanging head in a butcher’s window (and then smile. Like I’m some sort of ‘cute’ hanging head.) People ask me if my arms hurt. But the best of them all is when people offer help and then say ‘I’ve done a good deed today’.
I know what you’re thinking.
‘Maybe they think you’re deaf’. That would surely be the only explanation for such stupid behaviour.
You’re wrong. They don’t. This is a common occurrence. And it’s only the tip of the fully accessible disability iceberg.
Imagine if someone came and picked you up and carried you away. Naturally, you’d be incredibly alarmed. So why do I have to smile and nod and politely decline a potential kidnapping every day? I’m ‘rude’ if I refuse the offer of being treated like cargo by a complete stranger, but I’d much rather be rude than dead. And then there’s those people who don’t help at all. I could be sliding backwards down a ramp into a pit of hell and they would focus all of their attention on a passing cloud to avoid – God forbid – eye contact, let alone actually trying to help me. Maybe disability is catching. The awkwardness is palatable when I finally make it onto the bus and have to sit facing all of the people that somehow could not see me when I was wedged between the side of the bus and the edge of the pavement. I can’t decide whether they’re as bad as the people who ask me ‘What is your…er…problem?’ and then pat their legs for emphasis as if I think they’re talking about my glasses.
The bus is truly a disabled person’s paradise. It’s like some sort of government regulated punishment for being disabled, in which you have to battle with a person with a small child for transport. Have you ever seen a showdown between a person with a pram and a person in a wheelchair at a bus stop? Neither have I, because the person with the pram always gets on without a second thought. THAT IS AGAINST THE RULES OF TFL. I don’t say anything, and neither does anyone else. At least I have an excuse. What if they wanted to fight over it? I can’t exactly make a quick escape. As for all the other people, please refer to the ‘don’t help at all’ section above.
I was going out (to the gym, can you imagine) and I got on the bus. The woman who had a pram in the wheelchair space moved it out of the way to make space and I went in and continued minding my business, my default state when wanting to avoid pity talk. Pity talk, for those who don’t know, is what happens when the person sitting facing you in the wheelchair area feels so uncomfortable seeing you alone that they talk to you out of sheer sorrow. Sometimes, they even invite you to their church for a healing seminar. As I get off the bus, the woman moves her pram again to let me out. The man behind her must have assumed she was getting off, and the woman said ‘I’m not getting off, just moving to let the wheelchair off’. I wasn’t aware that I had gone out dressed as an empty chair, but you never know.
People interpret me as either being constantly lost, or as having a learning disability. I hear the words ‘Are you okay? Are you lost? Do you need help?’ at least thrice a day if I leave my house. The answer is always no, as these people seem to only appear when I’m perfectly fine, and disappear as soon as I’m about to push myself uphill. It gets tiresome after nearly 2 decades. A woman came up to me and screamed ‘I SAW YOU LOOKING AT THE MENU EARLIER, DID YOU GET SOMETHING TO EAT?’ Turns out she had been watching me in the restaurant and didn’t say anything, kind of like an inept guardian angel. I still don’t know why she shouted. I’m physically impaired, not hearing impaired. But I’ve learned that most people seem to be tact impaired.
Despite the comical tone of this article, being patronised, pitied, dehumanised and made fun of every day is horrible. Particularly for a young person struggling to find their own identity and be acknowledged as an equal by their peers. This is the reality of life for many disabled people, and it shouldn’t be this way. Next time you come into contact with a disabled person, treat them with respect and consideration. Don’t hound them with your questions comments and concerns, and try not to stare so openly.
Today, I wrote an article about the appalling situation Baroness Tanni Grey-Thompson found herself in recently when she had to throw her wheelchair onto a rail station platform and crawl after it.
I contacted Philippa of the feminist blog site the F-Word for her comments on this situation from her point of view as a disabled person: see WVoN post here.
During the conversation, we touched on disability as a feminist issue, something I had already come across in a blog post written by s.e.smith. Smith talks about ‘intersectionality – the idea that overlapping and interconnecting systems of oppression are involved pretty much anywhere you feel like looking’:
‘The short version of the reason that disability is a feminist issue is that some people with disabilities are women. I know, shocking! But I’m here to tell you that it’s true.’
This is something Philippa concurs with:
‘I think it is basically the fact that if it affects women it is a feminist issue. Fundamentally, just like I think racism is a feminist issue because it affects women, feminism should be always advocating for people who are disadvantaged in one way or another. It is about social justice really.’
Obvious, right?
Well, maybe not.
As Philippa says, although there are pockets of feminist spaces that try hard to be inclusive, there are also those that are not. And this usually takes the form of a woman’s disability being seen as secondary:
‘Something that I have come across when I have tried to talk about disability in a feminist context is that disability can be seen as a “diversion” from proper feminist issues.
‘For example, if a disabled woman is attacked, talking about the disability aspect of the attack should not be seen as a diversion – it is a key part of what is happening.’
And, it seems, the biggest problem is also obvious – access. As someone with a minor knee disability I am hyper-sensitive to non-accessible places – lots of steps, long walks from public transport to venues and, as I get older, heavy doors that are difficult to open.
This also resonated with Philippa who said:
‘The other aspect is that in practical terms lots of feminist groups meet in upstairs rooms and pubs and, while I fully appreciated that they use those spaces because they may be free, and accessible spaces often cost, I also think this is increasingly unacceptable.
‘I think a feminist group that does not take accessibility into account is not only NOT representing lots of women, it is physically not letting lots of women in.’
This is a theme that is echoed in the blogosphere. With this quote a Corkfeminista blogger with a disabled son, hits the nail firmly on the head:
‘I’d love to join everyone for an evening of story-sharing at the Metropole Hotel [to celebrate International Women’s Day] but I can’t, and why I can’t is part of my story…the story of disability as the Cinderella of feminism.’
Thinking that electronic communications could help address this for those who find it difficult to leave the house, I asked Philippa if, in her experience, e-comms were an adequate substitute for attending events in person:
‘Disabled people are doing some amazing campaign work online. What has been going on with Twitter in the disability community has been amazing: for example, it is really including people who might not be able to sit up in bed but can tweet.
‘The creativity I have seen in the online activism is brilliant. Also, a lot of the feminist conferences will have a hash tag, live tweeting and video-links which is good.’
However, Philippa does not feel that e-comms can replace the actual attendance at an event:
‘I don’t think “you can’t come but you can watch” is an acceptable compromise.’
And, for the Corkfeminista blogger, the pressures of disability caring means that there is ‘precious little time for online presence.’:
’80% of unpaid disability carers in Ireland who are women frequently remain isolated and unheard and the 20% who are men suffer the same fate for engaging in what State and society alike still consider to be low-status women’s work.’
So what can feminist groups do to address this?
Philippa suggests the following would be a place to start:
When planning an event, build in the questions surrounding access right from the beginning
Don’t assume you know what the issues are, ask disabled people themselves
Include information about access in the press release for the event
If you are planning a march, perhaps offer a shorter version or a different meeting place.
An example of a well-planned conference is Intersect in Bristol on 19th May.
Beginning with an open debate entitled ‘How do we create a more inclusive feminism?’, the conference has been set up in response to feedback from groups who feel excluded from mainstream feminism.
And, in keeping with the theme of the conference, there is a dedicated accessibility page which outlines the following about the venue:
‘Hamilton House is fully wheelchair-accessible, with a ramp to the front door and internal lift. We are aiming to provide British Sign Language interpreters throughout the conference.
‘The conference will be live-streamed so that people who can’t attend may still watch and anyone watching online (or anyone at the conference who does not wish to speak publicly) may tweet questions to the speakers during the Q&A sessions.’
Further:
‘INTERSECT will be a safe space. This means it will be an event where everyone can feel welcome and respected.
‘No form of discrimination will be tolerated and may result in your removal from the conference.
‘Do not use aggressive, disrespectful, oppressive or exclusionary language.
‘If you disagree with someone’s ideas, do not attack them personally.
‘Be mindful of people’s personal and emotional boundaries.
‘Be aware of the privileges you possess and listen to people with other perspectives.’
Today I have written about only two issues in relation to disability and feminism, but there are many more.
As Philippa points out – how much more difficult it must be to escape domestic violence if the abuser is also a carer and could withhold meds, and communicating with an outside agency is difficult due to deafness, for example.
Then there are refuges not being accessible, the impossibility of fighting back against rape if you are unable to move without pain, difficulties attending healthcare appointments, the list goes on and on.
But in essence – how much more difficult just to be HEARD when you have a disability that makes accessing mainstream events and communications difficult.
Surely, as feminists, we owe it to our disabled sisters to make sure that not only are their voices heard, but that their physical presence is encouraged? Only then can we call ourselves a truly intersectional movement.
