Revisiting Ableism as Violence
So I know that I haven't written for several weeks now. I have been busy with starting graduate school while sick. As I am still fighting the bronchitis two days away from a full month since I first came down with it, I also have another infection from the Prednisone to treat the bronchitis. I want to revisit this issue of systemic violence in ableism.
Sorry not sorry, whatever the intentions or thoughts of the people who came to that function sick, it still feels like violence. Because just like we have had to look at concepts like racism, and realize that racism can be happening from systems, and from people who really think, feel, and believe that they mean no harm. But racism is the driver behind every privilege that those of us who are not Black People, Indigenous People, or People of Color have and they do not. Though solving the problem of systemic racism is mind-boggling, we have to remember that we participate in racism when we participate in this system. That for everything we have, there are the shadows of many more who do not have, because their grandparents were on the wrong side of redlining due to the color of their skin. That for everything we have because our grandparents got approved for loans for business startups and houses, that there are not just the shadows but the real, live descendants of those who were denied.
And make no mistake, these are instances of systemic violence, in the trauma that people of color experienced when denied loans, when denied basic rights like voting, when still denied so many basic things important for inclusion and full participation, in the poverty that many still face because of privileged choices made decades ago.
So no, I do not think that the people who came sick, and that people who come to things with colds and viruses and all things that to them are "minor" and "not a big deal" mean any harm. They are participating in the same system we all are; the system that says that "doing" is everything, that has taught us that sacrificing your own well-being to be at work and all other functions when ill is not only noble, but demonstrates your strength of character, persistence, and independent spirit.
But sorry not sorry, it still feels like violence to me. Systemic and not intended by any person involved in it, but violence nonetheless. Physical, financial, emotional. Trying to start graduate school, meet new people, and make reasonably good impressions when you have bronchitis on top of chronic illness is a really interesting balancing act. I'll let you all know later, if and how well I succeed at that last bit!
There is another side effect though too, in the way that people treat you. In the way those that know you keep saying hopeful things like, "you sound better" or "you look better" and though when hearing these things, you know they mean well, but also behind it seems to be a whole bunch of discomfort with the fact that you are still audibly sick, and often there is a feeling of pity, or more charitably empathy. I've had difficulty articulating why these conversations feel so disempowering, but they do. Because there is no way to have these conversations with healthy people that does not immediately call into mind our society's ableist elevation of health and vitality, as well as our society's devaluing of people who are not either.
Again, everyone I am talking about, including often close friends and family whom I love, who do not have this experience of chronic illness in the same way, do this and mean absolutely no harm, and in fact mean well. It is the understanding that our society has sick people cannot be as happy, that Claire Wineland expressed so well in her video on how pitying sick people disempowers us that I feel in these interactions.
But these systems are there under the surface. And the questions, as always remain. I can hear people asking themselves, "So how are we supposed to respond to someone who has been sick for like, ever, and still is obviously and audibly still sick?" And maybe there is no universal answer. I don't know that I'd never want anyone to ever mention it again like a "sickblindness approach," but it would be nice, too, if people could sometimes not make it one of the first or only focus. If they could see me through the illness I have.
Just to be clear, I am not spending my days feeling angry or miserable. I am, as I always do when this happens, doing my best to get my work done and enjoy the days and feel joyful with and time that I do have even while sick. Because when you have chronic illness you KNOW that you will spend so much of your life sick and then you simply have a choice on your outlook. Do you choose to be miserable and angry? I suppose some could. I choose to incorporate the viewpoint expressed by C.S. Lewis in Surprised by Joy, that any suffering experienced due to illness or other things, simply increases capacity and likelihood for moments of true joy. And I think this is the component that I'm missing with people, that more and more I really am noticing in these kinds of interactions, that I wish there was that recognition that I could be sick and that I could still be just as happy as if I were completely healthy. That I could feel equal in those conversations, and somehow not one down because i am sick.
This does not stop me, however, from wanting to address the systemic issues involved, or from also realizing that my chronically ill life would have been easier if I hadn't have gotten sick because people came sick. It is what it is and I am still going to enjoy every day that I have. It is sunny. It is Saturday, and I've got plenty more writing in front of me today. Hoping readers have a great day and are open to spotting issues of disability, access, and inclusion in the world around you today!
Sorry not sorry, whatever the intentions or thoughts of the people who came to that function sick, it still feels like violence. Because just like we have had to look at concepts like racism, and realize that racism can be happening from systems, and from people who really think, feel, and believe that they mean no harm. But racism is the driver behind every privilege that those of us who are not Black People, Indigenous People, or People of Color have and they do not. Though solving the problem of systemic racism is mind-boggling, we have to remember that we participate in racism when we participate in this system. That for everything we have, there are the shadows of many more who do not have, because their grandparents were on the wrong side of redlining due to the color of their skin. That for everything we have because our grandparents got approved for loans for business startups and houses, that there are not just the shadows but the real, live descendants of those who were denied.
And make no mistake, these are instances of systemic violence, in the trauma that people of color experienced when denied loans, when denied basic rights like voting, when still denied so many basic things important for inclusion and full participation, in the poverty that many still face because of privileged choices made decades ago.
So no, I do not think that the people who came sick, and that people who come to things with colds and viruses and all things that to them are "minor" and "not a big deal" mean any harm. They are participating in the same system we all are; the system that says that "doing" is everything, that has taught us that sacrificing your own well-being to be at work and all other functions when ill is not only noble, but demonstrates your strength of character, persistence, and independent spirit.
But sorry not sorry, it still feels like violence to me. Systemic and not intended by any person involved in it, but violence nonetheless. Physical, financial, emotional. Trying to start graduate school, meet new people, and make reasonably good impressions when you have bronchitis on top of chronic illness is a really interesting balancing act. I'll let you all know later, if and how well I succeed at that last bit!
There is another side effect though too, in the way that people treat you. In the way those that know you keep saying hopeful things like, "you sound better" or "you look better" and though when hearing these things, you know they mean well, but also behind it seems to be a whole bunch of discomfort with the fact that you are still audibly sick, and often there is a feeling of pity, or more charitably empathy. I've had difficulty articulating why these conversations feel so disempowering, but they do. Because there is no way to have these conversations with healthy people that does not immediately call into mind our society's ableist elevation of health and vitality, as well as our society's devaluing of people who are not either.
Again, everyone I am talking about, including often close friends and family whom I love, who do not have this experience of chronic illness in the same way, do this and mean absolutely no harm, and in fact mean well. It is the understanding that our society has sick people cannot be as happy, that Claire Wineland expressed so well in her video on how pitying sick people disempowers us that I feel in these interactions.
But these systems are there under the surface. And the questions, as always remain. I can hear people asking themselves, "So how are we supposed to respond to someone who has been sick for like, ever, and still is obviously and audibly still sick?" And maybe there is no universal answer. I don't know that I'd never want anyone to ever mention it again like a "sickblindness approach," but it would be nice, too, if people could sometimes not make it one of the first or only focus. If they could see me through the illness I have.
Just to be clear, I am not spending my days feeling angry or miserable. I am, as I always do when this happens, doing my best to get my work done and enjoy the days and feel joyful with and time that I do have even while sick. Because when you have chronic illness you KNOW that you will spend so much of your life sick and then you simply have a choice on your outlook. Do you choose to be miserable and angry? I suppose some could. I choose to incorporate the viewpoint expressed by C.S. Lewis in Surprised by Joy, that any suffering experienced due to illness or other things, simply increases capacity and likelihood for moments of true joy. And I think this is the component that I'm missing with people, that more and more I really am noticing in these kinds of interactions, that I wish there was that recognition that I could be sick and that I could still be just as happy as if I were completely healthy. That I could feel equal in those conversations, and somehow not one down because i am sick.
This does not stop me, however, from wanting to address the systemic issues involved, or from also realizing that my chronically ill life would have been easier if I hadn't have gotten sick because people came sick. It is what it is and I am still going to enjoy every day that I have. It is sunny. It is Saturday, and I've got plenty more writing in front of me today. Hoping readers have a great day and are open to spotting issues of disability, access, and inclusion in the world around you today!
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