Last week, I blogged about why disabilism is my problem for Blogging Against Disabilism Day. This week, the 37th Disability Blog Carnival asks me to consider something very similar: disability identity and culture.
There is an unspoken question asked whenever someone who "looks normal" stands up for equal rights for persons with disabilities, or speaks out in favor of disability pride and culture. That question is, "Why you?"
Able-bodied allies to the disability community, people with invisible disabilities, and parents, friends, and admirers of disability culture share a familiarity with the sudden pressure to self-disclose. A person who looks, walks, talks, sees, hears, and acts, like everyone else in the room, suddenly says, "Don't use the word r#tard. It's hurtful and discriminatory."
There's a pause, a hush, maybe an indignant defense from the person caught using that particular pejorative, and then all eyes turn to the "normal-looking" member of the group who's just outed himself or herself as a disability advocate. They wait. They're waiting for:
"My sister has Down's Syndrome."
"I work with kids with disabilities."
"My mother had fibromyalgia."
"I have MS."
"I volunteer at a group home for adults with developmental disabilities on the weekends."
"I had a friend with Autism when I was a kid."
They're waiting for the self-disclosure that explains why someone who seems so "normal" would identify with the disability community. They're waiting to find out exactly why the friend who spoke up isn't just like everyone else after all: The excuse that allows them to continue ignoring disability identity and culture. They're waiting to be able to explain to each other, later, that:
"I don't know anyone with Down's. How was I supposed to know her sister had it?"
"I work a white-collar job, and everybody kids around like that... it's not like anyone with disabilities is watching."
"He never said anything about his mother being disabled before."
"He looks totally normal. If he wanted us to be more careful with our words around him, he should have mentioned the MS sooner."
"Good for them for volunteering. But it's not like anyone was around to hear."
"How can you be friends with someone with Autism? I don't think they can even talk, most of the time."
The reason an able-bodied or able-looking person needs a reason to be a disability advocate is simple: So everybody else has a reason not to be. It's "not their dog." (caution: link may be mildly NSFW)
They aren't related to anyone with a disability, they aren't disabled, their friends aren't disabled, so it's only natural that only the one person in the group who is any of those things speaks up for disability acceptance and disability rights. By extension, it's okay to disagree, to argue, and expect that a defense of personal connection to disability be offered.
What people who are unfamiliar with disability identity and culture aren't expecting in this situation is a refusal to offer an excuse for standing up against disabilist speech or in favor of disability rights. The pressure to give everyone else an easy way out is significant, but I've made a conscious effort lately to stand my ground. I don't hand over a self-disclosure and an excuse when that familiar, waiting stare descends on me. It's been a little strange, but it's productive, too.
Disability culture (Deaf-Side debate notwithstanding) doesn't require that you show your crip card, or your sister's, mother's, or brother's, to be in favor of that which is right. Thus, a message for every person with an invisible disability, every ally and advocate, every friend or family member who is familiar with the "Why you?" stare:
Stop making excuses for supporting that which is right. Because, when you offer the self-disclosure that stare seeks, it's not yourself for whom you're making an excuse: It's every intolerant person in the room. There's only one answer to, "Why you?"
Because it's right.
