Introduction to this Blog
I am establishing More Than A Left Foot as a blog after a series of requests to set one up. People who have read Facebook posts by me felt the ideas, arguments and politics I have been writing about deserved a wider audience. Over the next few months I intend to blog edited versions of material I have featured elsewhere and the odd new piece. It is my intention to blog under the authorship of Red Crip Rant, my true identity is not a secret, it is simply I wish to maintain a specific identity as a blogger
My aim is to offer a take on political, social and cultural issues from the perspective of an ageing disabled political activist who has been engaged in politics since the 1970s. Due to my commitments I am not going to commit to having dialogue with individuals, although I will seek to clarify points or signpost where I can. My commitments also mean I cannot promise regular clockwork blogs – when I can produce a blog, I will. Welcome to this journey of discovery; I will when the time is right, explain what lies behind the blog’s name; but in the meantime, enjoy.
More Than A Left Foot
I, the disabled person
If you’ve come here expecting one of those blogs that details one person’s triumph over tragedy; you know the type, it goes on about how they’ve bravely battled against all odds to succeed, may I suggest you save yourself a huge disappointment by leaving right now.
Whilst I refuse any association with the label “special”, I can’t deny that, like almost every other human being, there’s an unquestionable uniqueness which has played a major role in shaping my life. My uniqueness is probably due to a cocktail of genes, experiences and influences which are both known and unknown. There’s, of course, one aspect of my make up that has helped create the type of man I am.
From the moment I was dragged into existence by a pair of forceps, my relationship with the world has been largely informed by the fact I was born with Cerebral Palsy. Before anyone jumps to the wrong conclusion, I want to stress that I’m not talking so much about the impact of the condition on my life, but rather the social and political consequences of being a person with a physical impairment living in a society that actively works against the interests of people like me.
I want to stress this point again; my life has been largely shaped, not by the impact of the CP itself, but rather the social and political consequences of being a person with a physical impairment living in a society that is largely geared up to meet the needs and some of the desires of people without significant impairments so that they can fully participate within that society.
Disability, I want to argue, is a site of struggle. Disability isn’t a personal attribute, an indication of an individual’s non-conformity to ‘able-bodied normality’; it’s a form of social oppression.
I believe it’s in fact the nature of society; its natural and organised landscape, the operating socio-political structures within a capitalist economic system, supported by cultures and values that actually disable certain social groups. Disability is not only socially constructed through oppressive notions such as ‘normality’, it is also socially created by the societal landscape that marginalises people with impairments within, or excludes them from, mainstream social activity.
I’m not going to outline in detail here how society excludes or marginalises people with impairments; however, I am going to make it clear that my identity as a writer who is disabled, will not be fully understood or appreciated without having consideration of my experience of disablement.
In terms of language, the word disability has two roots: in dominant culture it is associated, as I have said, with denoting people with impairments’ failure to conform to societal notions of normality. This is done as a measurement of ‘function loss’; however this is overlaid with ideological meaning: hence, “The less I function like a normal person – whatever that is – the more disabled I am judged to be.”
Not only is this a crude, one-dimensional form of reductionism, is it ultimately oppressive. How the ideological purchase of normality impacts on people with impairments may take specific forms, I would suggest other social groups also experience the oppressive force of so called: “normality”.
The other root sees disability as a form of legalised disenfranchisement. John Stuart Mills, for example, in his essay, The Subjugation of Women, spoke of ‘women with disabilities’. At one time, I saw this phrase as a way of trying to externalise disability – seeing it as the outcome of negative social interactions.
In hindsight, this was a mistake. In common parlance, the term people with disabilities became yet another euphemistic phrase within the blighted politically correct landscape. It is assumed that by ‘seeing the person first’ or by ‘seeing the person not the disability’ one is dismantling the ideological premise that maintains our oppression: ‘disability is an individualised, personal tragedy’ – anyone who really understands the legal definition of disability, must call into question this type of negative appraisal that becomes sugar coated.
The true meaning of this politically correct term, ‘people with disabilities’ may well be subjected to a liberal mask, however, its impact upon disabled people’s lives is unmistakable – we remain ‘the Other’, our bodies and minds negated by the words, images and deeds of those who judge us by how burdensome we are to society or by our freakiness,
Now, having already lost those who wanted to hear a heroic story about some happy-clappy disabled person, I’ve probably added to that list others who will no doubt characterise me as either having a chip on my shoulder or as someone representing the type of disabled person who displays signs of being bitter and twisted.
Being externally characterised in this way is something disabled people are quite familiar with. During my life I have been referred to in a variety of ways, ranging from: “that spastic”, “a cripple”, “handicapped person”, through to a police officer seeking to wind me up by asking a colleague, “is it human?”
The language used to refer to me and, of course, other disabled people, has been employed to convey how I have been both ‘seen’ and ‘made sense of’.
From a personal perspective this pejorative language has fed into a process of shaping an externally imposed identity on me. One thing I know for sure, I have little or no control over or its impact.
Through this type of language then, I have been ‘described’ by others.
I’m not quite sure to what degree I would support the view of Edward Sapir, the anthropologist, when he said:
Human beings do not live in the objective world alone, nor alone in the world of social activity as ordinarily understood, but are very much at the mercy of the particular language which has become the medium of expression for their society. It is quite an illusion to imagine that one adjusts to reality essentially without the use of language and that language is merely an incidental means of solving specific problems of communication or reflection.
I found that interesting because I do feel some, more than others, are ‘at the mercy of the particular language which has become the medium of expression for their society.’ In saying this, I am applying it to a narrower application than Sapir intended. However, as I’ve already implied, I believe there has been a language developed over time that is associated with the meanings and imagery given over to “disability” which aids the cultural nature of disabled people’s social oppression.
This might sound perverse, but personally, I’d rather be called a cripple or a spastic, than a person with a disability. Whilst these words have become seen as offensive; do they actually devalue or distort who or what I am any way as near as a term which simply writes me off? Isn’t the phrase, people with disabilities, far more judgemental in terms of how it sees our impairments and their impact on our social relationships? Is it really my speech that disables me?
When I say I am a disabled person I am not talking about my physical difference or impaired functioning; I am making a political statement – rejecting an imposed identity – thus embracing a new identity and culture, and in so doing, offering a direct challenge to the oppressive relationship I have with society. In truth, I’m showing utter contempt for a society which remains incapable of accepting people with impairments as we are, unable to question so called, “able-bodied” normality, steadfast in its refusal to dismantle the structural and organisational barriers faced by people with impairments.
And, as a disabled writer I would add to this, the failure to acknowledge disabled people’s lifestyles and culture.
I, The Disabled Writer
I’ve spoken about how I see myself as a disabled person, now I wish to contextualise this in terms of being a writer – a disabled writer. A colleague of mine from within the Disabled People’s Movement once wrote:
As long as we regard our impairments as tragedies, we will be pitied…
As long as we feel ashamed of who we are our lives will be regarded
as useless…As long as we remain silent, we will be told by others
what to do.
During my teens, probably not consciously, I embarked down a road that meant I was never going to be silent, well, not for long anyway.
Using poetry, and later prose, I began to express my inner thoughts as well as articulate a view of the world that ran contrary to the happy-clappy images perpetuated by the pathetic looking dolls and collection tins own by the disability charity, aptly named, The Spastics Society.
My writing career was almost ended at seventeen when my boarding school Headmaster, banned me from writing poetry. My youthful, wide-eyed take on the natural transition out of childhood into adulthood was branded pornographic. Yes, I had dared to speak of the desire to run naked through a field of long grass. The assumed perverted meaning of this imagery remains a mystery to me even to this day.
Perhaps the idea of a young cripple possibly having sexual feelings was too much for this dour one nation Tory. Whatever his problem was, he continued to subject my radical spirit to the most brutal forms of mental abuse for the next two years. It began with the poetry, progressed onto denying me the same opportunities as my classmates and ended with humiliation; the only senior pupil without a perfect badge. Imagine the impact of having to do three hours homework on your own whilst the rest of your class were tucking into a three course meal.
One of my teachers did encourage me to write, even went so far as getting me an agent; but I wasn’t really ready for that. Most of my adult life I’ve continued to enjoy being a wordsmith; however, a number of years ago, I was offered a place on a mentored scheme for disabled people. Naturally, I seized it with both hands and through this my career as a playwright begun.
As I’ve already indicated, living with CP means confronting a disabling world, therefore my experiences within life are shaped by this twin reality. My writing is bound to be influenced too, even if my text happens to be void of any disabled characters or disability related theme. In most of my blogs I believe disablement will be lurking not too far away.
.
More Than A Left Foot 