Fangirl Feminism

Remember way back when I said I didn't want to talk about what fandoms I love? Yeah well, This happened.

I have so much rage about this I can't even think straight, and we all know what happens when I rage, so yeah, kids, parents, future employers, look away now. I have so much rage, I was just a few minutes ago telling my mother about it. My mother responds, "and when did this happen?" and I replied, "last night."

"Oh my God, your fingers must be sore." (My mom is so awesome.)

There are several things I'd like to talk about this, but it's been pretty decently dissected by other people. And there's a whole lot of supportive awesome on Tumblr about it. So yeah. Basically Google "Caitlin Moran" it'll cover the whole mess.

Okay, so first thing's first. I have my problems with Stephen Moffat's Sherlock. In the first place, like with everything Moffat writes, the roles for female characters are pretty pathetic, by and large (though admittedly played by some awesome actresses.) There's his long-standing discomfort with anything that reads as asexuality, which I have written about before. There's also the fact that every fandom has it's toxic elements. There's a lot of general dislike of women in any fandom.  And while I think it's lovely that girls and women have places on the Internet to revel in their sexuality with pretty much ZERO judgement, and nothing but hearts and cookies, the fact is that it's usually slash, and so removes a lot of actual female sexuality from play. And that does sort of rub me the wrong way. *cough* sorry.

But there's a lot I like about fandom culture, and about the Sherlock fandom in particular. In the first place, a lot of people there are older, so I feel less creepy, and they're a bit more aware of my aforementioned issues. In the second, there are a lot of fics where Sherlock is asexual, or demisexual, and some of them represent really well. Which you get in pretty much no other fandom. It's also a fandom that actually does make room for new characters, and because of Moffat habits of writing goddawful women, it is also a fandom that rewrites those women into something more complex, and generally more awesome. Basically, if you're looking for a fandom that really does write the world as they want to see it, Sherlock is where you wanna be. And you know what?

A whole lot of people want to see John and Sherlock having sex.

I mean honestly. It's been like 200 years of writing 2 men, at least one of whom is sexually ambiguous, who deeply love each other and pretty much shun the whole rest of the world, and you're going to tell me that before the 21st century you really never considered the fact that like a whole lot of people want to see John and Sherlock having sex? I mean really? The show has been accused of queerbaiting, surely it has occurred to some of the people who make that show that "OMG SUBTEXT!!!!" runs a bit rampant. To be honest, Holmes will always be asexual to me, but those are some damn pretty faces this time around, and while journalists delight in finding fic they can make fun of, there is plenty of well-written stuff to be found. (Including the author of the fic that was read out, who is actually incredibly talented.) I mean, Martin has gone on to say that he reads it. (I think he was kidding? He's pretty much got the best face ever, so I can't actually tell.) And really, they're pretty good sports about the whole thing, given the number of people who just really really want them to hate their fans.

Because let's be honest, that's all this is, isn't it?

I don't know why that is. I'd like to say we can blame E.L. James for putting badly-written fanfic into public consciousness, but the fact is, we can't. Because this fangirl's been around. I remember when it was bandslash with real boys (which is, incidentally, something a lot of people in the Sherlock fandom get squicked out by. You don't use real people's lives.) and "journalists" would point out these things, and said bands would laugh it off. (Or kiss, depending on your listening pleasures.) Plenty of authors encourage fan fiction. People giving interviews routinely want actors, musicians, even authors (sometimes especially authors) to be disgusted at the idea that women or girls are turning what they've done into sexual tension and then some. They are routinely not. (ETA: By which I mean that most laugh it off, encourage it, or at the very least, quickly change the subject.) I'm not sure how this keeps getting missed. But seriously, Graham Norton, Caitlin Moran, whoever else?  

NOBODY ACTUALLY CARES. 

There is fan fiction for every imaginable fandom. There are negative people in all those fandoms too, the kind of people who send our new Mary Morstan death threats. That is awful. There are plenty of fandoms not welcome to anything outside of established ideas, and that is terrible. I was part of a fandom that actually had a group with a special name, which showed that they were real fans, because real fans understand these boys have girlfriends, and it's disrespectful to make up girlfriends for them, because everybody knows real fans make them have sex with each other. And yeah, there is some horrible fiction written, and there are places where fans go to mock it. Those places are not in front of the subjects themselves. Those people don't want to do that, it would be alienating people who admire them. By and large, fandom is a safe place to explore ideas and thoughts you might be ashamed of, either because they're all a naughty good time, or because they make you giggle (I will never understand why journalists don't have nearly so much fun with crackfic as they do with slash. I mean, why is it weirder that women write dirty sex between men than it is that women occasionally write dirty sex between men who might sneeze and turn into a unicorn, or suddenly suffer an affliction that causes them to speak only in song lyrics?) This is a part of being a fan. It's part of loving stories. It's part of learning to write. When did it become such a big deal? As people have pointed out, there is zero difference between Irene Adler being made into a sometimes-lesbian-dominatrix-but-in-love-with-Sherlock-because for an hour and a half, and a 221b-is-for-blowjob about John and Sherlock.

I want to talk about Caitlin Moran's "feminism," which includes the kind of sex-shaming that only twelve year olds still think is funny.  I want to talk about the good fandom has done, the way it brings creators together, the way it offers them a safe space to do what they love, and to love what they love wholeheartedly, while still being utterly, joyfully ridiculous about it, which is something Moran supports apparently on a theoretical basis. I want to talk about her own fangirling over Benedict. And I would love to talk about every other stupid question she asked that panel, which apparently included cracks at Amanda Abbington getting the role because she's Martin's real life partner, and nitpicking over a mistake that was made in the episode. I'd like to talk about how Mark Gatiss has published erotic fiction under a pseudonym, so that whole, "ew, gay" vibe of everything she did would have been a bit uncomfortable. But I'm not going to. Because I don't write fanfic, so I haven't got much to add that hasn't already been said. But I really just want to know one thing:

When you walk into a room you've been paid to be in, while others, (the sad little virgins) have waited in line for days, when you go in there knowing that everyone there has waited two years for this moment and is thrilled to be sharing it, what actually happens? I don't know, and I probably never will, because most of us don't have the opportunities Caitlin Moran does. What is it that makes your gut reaction to remind those people who have worked hard to make this happen, that the people for whom this show means so much that the BBC went, "Yeah, go ahead, take two years. They'll wait." are freaks? It's pretty obvious that she hates other women, but as far as I can tell, these people like their fans. Benedict cringes every time the word "Cumberbitches" is used, and both of them have talked about how even though the press make it out that the fans are insane, and even with a few bad experiences, they're really lovely, and they both feel lucky. Leaving aside that any fanfic author would have asked better questions. I'd like to say something intelligent and feminist about this whole mess but there is a point when something is so stupid there is nothing in it for intelligence to respond to. Moran is a bully. It's as simple as that. She bullied the audience, the panel, and the writer of that fanfic, and all writers of fanfic. This kind of bully is the reason I couldn't call myself a feminist til I was in college, because before then the only feminists I knew were bullies who believed if other women would stop acting the way men wanted them to, men would learn to behave better. I know different feminists have different goals, but really?

When you humiliate other women because you've got nothing of substance to add or you want to stand out you are not a feminist

When you encourage somebody else to humiliate another woman because "teehee aren't other women pathetic?" you are not a feminist

When you are grossly underprepared for a job you undertook and your knee jerk reaction to feeling out of place or insecure is, "I'll just point out how I'm not as bad as some women!" you are not a feminist

When you shame other women for following passion, or for being deeply invested in something you are not a feminist

When you use sex negativity to shame other women for their sexual choices, or expressions of sexuality you are not a feminist

Most importantly when you scare women's voices away from feminist spaces, away from creative expression, away from telling the stories they want to tell, and seeking support and validation from people who can offer it you are not a fucking feminist.

I don't care how good you are at "academic feminism." I don't care how many buzzwords you coined, or how many books you've published. If your feminism isn't about women, it's egoism. There is a difference between believing women deserve to be treated better, and believing you deserve to be treated better than women are treated.

Fan fiction is harmless. This is shameful

Impotent Blog of RAGE - Unedited version

Yeah, so. Basically, I’m pretty sure I got fired because I have a disability. I mean, it’s not explicitly stated, but only inasmuch as the reason they gave was, “it’s not things we feel will change.” and when I pressed, “how could you know what will change after three weeks?” the response was “… We don’t legally HAVE to give you a reason after only three weeks. And this is all we’re comfortable telling you.” And in my experience, “this is totally legal.” means “if we tell you the truth, it would probably NOT be totally legal.” Like, when my landlords were kicking me out of my apartment in the middle of the month (illegal) and had the gall to tell me if I was going to stay to the middle of the month, I would just have to pay them, as normal (illegal) because they wanted to change my apartment into office space, and I stood their like a fish going, "WTF?" she just kept repeating that they were giving me exactly as much notice as was LEGALLY expected, and also  that they've known this was coming for a while, but they wanted to make sure to do it LEGALLY. So, y'know. I'm not stupid. Since I wasn’t breaking any laws, and the most controversial thing I said while there was “I hate Starbucks” I’m gonna assume they think the fact that I did not learn enough during FOUR DAYS of training is because I CAN’T learn.

Not to say there weren't issues. I know I was struggling with two things in the office, two things which I asked repeatedly could I get some help with this? I am not getting this. I know there were two very busy days in which the person who had trained me (Who the hell does four days of training?) was not in, and I had to ask the only other person in the office to help me with these things, which were not being explained to me. I also know I worked very hard to socialize and be normal and comfortable, because everybody was all, "we're one big family here, it's okay, get comfortable." except not really. But I genuinely liked the people, and I thought I was liked back. I felt like I was learning, and I was working hard, making notes on EVERYTHING, so that I could solidify things in ways that worked for me. Apparently, other people do things faster. Which, well, story of my life. I could have told them that. If they'd bothered to ask.

The ironic thing about this is not that it is actually wrong to discriminate against people with disability WHETHER YOU DO IT OUT LOUD OR NOT. Also not the fact that I was assured because the boss lady ALSO has a chronic condition, she is “more than sympathetic.” (which is bullshit, btw. People who develop chronic conditions later in life can sometimes handle it HORRIFICALLY badly, and in fact often reach a stage they have to wade through where they are suddenly faced-to-face with their own prejudices, because they are not like those people! Hell, I have a condition I was born with, and even I've had to do that.) But nine times out of ten, a person with a disability will be able to find a different way of doing something. If you tell them what they are doing wrong, and let them work that out on their own. But people are so terrified that they will actually mention something that can’t be changed, and therefore BE discriminatory (WHICH IS WRONG WHEN IT’S OUT LOUD!) and so conditioned to believe that we use our disability to excuse anything, they decide we are not worth the effort. And then the government makes everyone pay taxes to keep the housing list at a three year minimum wait, and our families go deeper in debt trying to make up the difference, and keep YOU all complaining about how lucky we are to get free money, especially when most of us are faking it anyway.

But of course, I’m probably just being paranoid. I mean, we’re always looking for excuses, aren’t we?

I hate the world.

"The System" Or, The One Where I Am "Just Like Everyone Else," Except When I'm Not

Disclaimer: It's RAGE time again! Did you miss me? You know the drill. I rage, I swear. Get used to it or go home.

Also, this is a long one and there’s lots of tangents in it, but they are all important, because I didn’t know how much you needed to know. So. Feel free to take it in bits and pieces.

Oh, I am about to get SO much hate...

Because, people hate us. They really do. Those of us sponging off the government, I mean. Oh, how they hate us.

*sigh* Here we go.

So, a couple months ago I took a media course as part of my university courses. In that course, we were asked to choose a facet of the media to explore and examine, either in chronological or thematic order, and I chose the presence of disability in the media. I thought it was something that I knew about that a lot of people didn't, and it would be a good topic, since it is one often ignored completely.

It was a good topic. I got a good grade. It did not help with the depression.

It was months and months of wading through articles with headlines that read, "Blind student achieves top honors" where the article contained all the nauseating hero worship you find in such things, and quotes that read, "It's not that producers don't want to hire actors with a disability, it's just that there really aren't any good roles being written for them." While Kevin McHale giggles about the fact that "people actually thought I was disabled, OMG weird!" And then I found a few articles of particular interest to me. They were recent, and Canadian, and outlined a so-called scam which cost the government billions of dollars.

The scam was, apparently a company was posing as a charity, was getting people with disabilities to pay huge fees, and then doctoring paperwork to ensure those people got the maximum amount of money, with themselves taking a percentage.

Okay, here's what was actually happening:

This company had apparently begun its life as a charity, but eventually, had to start charging fees to avoid going out of business. Which it started doing about two years previous to this incident, apparently. The particular benefit being offered is not one I’m familiar with, but if it’s anything like say, the Disability Tax Credit, it had very strict guidelines of who could apply, and for what, and every form has to be signed and read by a doctor familiar with each applicant. Like everything else involving asking the government for money, it involves a lot of intimidating paperwork, and long waits. As far as I can glean, this company actually meets with the clients, who do pay for the service, to fill out the paperwork on their behalf and with their input. Which is a hell of a lot more accurate than leaving your paperwork with a doctor to get back to you in three months or so. Let’s try really hard to wrap this around our heads, shall we? Doctors know things about illnesses. They chiefly know about sickness, and how to end sickness, and the symptoms of a sickness, and the progression of a sickness. They also know about injury. They know the way an enabled person's body is put together. They understand that when something breaks or is damaged in that enabled person's body, there is an ideal way in which it should be put back together again.

Disability is neither sickness, nor injury.

Okay, admittedly most people with disabilities probably see doctors more than I do, as I am mostly in decent health. But people, including doctors, tend to forget many of us don't have progressive disabilities, and our illnesses and injuries are often no more related to our disabilities than our hair colour is related to our eye colour. Yes, I trip and fall and bruise myself more often than most people. I don't bruise more easily. My bones break when I fall, I fall because I have CP, CP does not cause broken bones. My doctor is not my specialist. She is my doctor as yours is yours. We are long gone from the days where we all lived in hospital care our entire lives. And good riddance to them. I have no idea why we still have this archaic practice of asking a doctor if we're really really really sure this person is disabled, when it is the person, not the doctor, who is ordered to ask for help, while doctors are reluctant to do so since they’re not specialists. I understand the need to prove a legitimate disability. When applying for OSAP I sent my ODSP paperwork without complaint just like everybody else. Because I could do that, because I receive my ODSP paperwork, and what I do with it, is my responsibility. Because somebody has to take responsibility for this disability of mine, and, while there is inherent unfairness to that, I would rather it be me than anyone else. I was born disabled. So I was eighteen when I was put on disability. The day I received my first cheque, I turned to my mother and said, "Okay, so how do I get off it?" and she said, "Honey, don't ever ask them that. You work hard and do whatever you want to do, but for God's sake, don't ever tell them you want off it."

Sorry, Mom.

I want off. I want that to be possible more than the average enabled person wants to win the lottery. It’s about as likely, too.

Here's the thing about me. I do work hard, and, in a lot of ways, I do get to do whatever I want to do, more so than my mother and every doctor I've ever had has ever imagined I would. And “the system” is still in charge. Because ODSP has a rent cap, a maximum allowance for housing, I live in a small town I hate, with people who have known me since I was six years old, and still look at me from the limp up. A small town that has no public transportation, and no disability-centered recreation programs, and a miniscule amount of non-physical jobs on offer. Because ODSP has a maximum savings allowance, I cannot save for anything important, like a house, or my own education, and even if I did, all of my assets would be in files where ODSP could decide, not only how much I earned, but what I get to keep. Last year, I wanted to go to film school and couldn't, because in my position, I am unable to get a line of credit, and I’m not allowed to save that kind of money myself. They take a full 50% of everything I earn, and expect regular updates on how much I am earning, and if my paperwork is so much as a day late, they have a handy automatic process, and you just don't get paid til it comes in, and they can be bothered to send it to you.

I do well. I am pursuing post-secondary education. I was always able to do a lot with a little, so I have some fairly high credit cards. I have a decent part time job that I enjoy, and where I am only occasionally reminded I am not like other people. Whenever my savings does hit its maximum allowance, or I don't owe anything on credit cards, I do some travelling. I'm single, and so far my only dependents are my dogs. I live on my own. It's not a terrible life. The problem has never been that it is a terrible life. The problem has always been that it is not mine. That when I wanted a place to live, I had to go before a committee, and convince them that a group housing situation would not work for me. That when I wanted a job, I had to go through another committee, who then had to decide if I was ready and willing to work, on their terms, before I even spoke to a potential employer. And that before I approached the employer, someone else did, supposedly, on my behalf. I would like to have children someday. But right now, I don’t know if that will ever be possible. And apparently, I am one of the few who got it "right."  As I am told, condescendingly often, I am not like those other people on Disability, just as I am not like those other people who have disabilities (funny, that, isn’t it? Nobody ever sees the connection between those two things.) I am told, often by those same strangers who see me from the limp up, that I work hard, and I am smart, and I should be proud of what I’ve done. I should be proud. I should be allowed to be proud.

But I’m not. Because every once in a while, depending on the person, the circumstances, whatever, stuff comes out. I am asked why it is that I get to go to Europe while I am on Disability and should be receiving the minimum needed to keep me fed and clothed (yes, people do say that. Yes, they say it, in exactly that way, and right to my face. Yes, these are people I know.) If a friend or family member is struggling with their finances, and I offer sympathy, because I also struggle, the response is usually, “Yeah, I know. It sucks.” But sometimes, “Well, you’re lucky, at least you’re on Disability.” And even, if I don’t know the person very well, “Well, you should feel grateful you at least have Disability to fall back on.” On a few memorable occasions, when I have been ‘proud’ in front of the wrong people, I get, “Yeah, but it’s not really your money, is it?” And everytime that happens, I want to shake the living crap out of the person, I want to slap zir across the face and ask when the last time zie was told to feel grateful for the opportunity to ask for help from people who don’t actually want to give it, and need to make sure you understand that you have to be fairly pathetic to need it first. And you know what sucks? I don’t even have a body that would allow me to shake someone. My mother’s advice about not telling people how much I hate the system was not her first advice regarding ODSP. Her first advice was when we were applying, when she turned to me and said, “Don’t do what you do at the doctors office. Please don’t tell them you’re fine. I know it’s hard, but you have to tell them how bad it is, and you have to tell them everything, or they won’t want to help you.”

All of this is relevant. All of it makes me angry. All of it is important. But none of it is why I am angry today. So here’s what happened:

I am on ODSP with a part-time job, but as a full time student, I am exempt from losing 50% of my pay cheques to ODSP. However, they can apparently still cut me off if I don’t hand in my pay stubs on time. “On time” is part of the problem, since your pay stubs are always two months behind (ODSP comes at the end of every month, not the beginning, and I hand in the pay stubs for the previous month before that, but I have to hand them in before a certain date or my file is put on automatic hold. Understand? Me neither). Since February is a short month and I was two days away from getting paid on the due date, I was a couple days late with my pay stubs, and sent them in a week before cheques were due. I didn’t get paid on the day I should have, but I had expected it to be late, so that was fine. When my landlord called a week later, and asked why her ODSP cheque hadn’t come in, I told her I wasn’t sure, and called them. Where my worker told me I hadn’t handed in my pay. I reassured her I had. She checked again. “Oh! Here they are! I must have misfiled them!”
   “Really?” I said, “Because I dated them.”
   “Yeah I see that. They were late.”
   “Right, but they had the dates right on them.”
   “Yeah... You’ll get your cheque in a few days.” A few days. And this is halfway through the month.

But whatever. I have a job, I know my rent will be paid, my bills are caught up. Responsible with money, remember? Good at being broke. So I let it go. This month rolls around. I don’t get my cheque for this month. Which is odd, as I remember handing in my pay. I call.
   “I don’t have your pay at all for last month.” I sputter, for a second, in a panic.
   “Wait, how do you not- I handed in a lot last month, and two this month. You have all of them.”
   “Can you resend them?”
   “No. I always throw them out afterward, otherwise I get them all mixed up.”
   “Right. Um. Well. I don’t have them. I’m sure I don’t have them.”
   “Well you must.“ and I’m frantically trying to wrack my brain, trying to work out how I could have sent her the wrong pay stubs, what I may have done wrong, and she goes,
   “I’ll have another look.” and I say,
   “Thanks.” and hang up. Twenty minutes later, she calls back,
   “I found them.” She said, “you sent them early, so they were with the others.”
   “Right, because I always send them all at once.”
   “Right. Well, it’s all fine now, you’ll get your cheque by Monday.”
   “Okay.” She hangs up, and that’s it. No apologies, and that’s twice she’s tried to blame me for her mistakes. That’s twice I’ve almost blamed myself for her mistakes. Oh, but we’re not done yet.

Monday rolls around, and still no cheque. So I call ODSP, skip going through my worker, and go right to the head office, where I must have sounded pretty terrible. I don’t remember my exact words, but I do remember that I told her that because of my worker losing my paperwork, my cheque is late, and I was told it was to come in today, and it hasn’t, so when is it coming in? And I know it was bad, because for the first time in my life, the people in that office jumped. The person on the phone stammered that I should really talk to my worker, she would go find her. She left me waiting on the phone for about fifteen minutes then came back and said, “She’s on break, so I have no idea where she is, but I’ve looked at your file. It should be in later today, or tomorrow. If it’s not, please call us.” Which I assumed meant, because that would mean something is really wrong. So I said,
   “And if it’s not in by tomorrow, and I call you, what then?”
   “We’ll sort it out, okay? Don’t worry.” And because the secretary of the head office is usually not someone who deals directly with clients, (though apparently, neither does my worker, har har) I let her off the phone.

Still here? Still not done.

So, later on that day, my landlord calls to ask if I will be paying her myself this month. See, if I made too much money, before I started school, disability would halve my paycheque and there wouldn’t be enough left over to pay my landlord, which means they send the full amount directly to me. It really only happens during the holidays, since the rest of the year I work part time. But it does happen. Interestingly, if you’re a day behind sending in your pay stubs those letters telling you you’re cut off and may need to speak to a tribunal go out “automatically” but no one thinks to send you a letter that says, “Hey, so please make sure to have your rent money socked away because you’re getting a full cheque this month.” and they’re all very convinced that ODSP sending the cheque to your landlord is a surer thing than just doing it yourself. Because we all keep copious records of our income, but not one of us can manage writing a post-dated cheque. So I explain to my landlord that disability has lost my paperwork again but they swear up and down that they’ve found it, and cheques have gone out, and should be arriving any day now. My landlord’s response?
   “I don’t understand how they can just cut you off. If it’s their mistake, how can they just do that?”

Have to stop here for a sec, because that sentence, right there, is a large part of the problem, and I hear it all the time. My sister called me up one day to ask me how much disability raises your cheque if you have a baby, because her friend is pregnant and on disability. At the time, it was $200, and now it’s nothing. (There are apparently good reasons why it’s nothing, but I don’t have kids, and if I have to read any more of this nonsense than necessary, I may headdesk hard enough to cause another hemorrhage. Who knows where I’d be then?) So I told my sister what the maximum rent allowance was and she said, “but that’s ridiculous. She needs a two bedroom apartment.” and I said, “They don’t care. That’s what it is.” and she said, “But that doesn’t make any sense. That’s not fair.” At which point I took three deep breaths, counted backwards from ten in my head, and said, very slowly, “No. No, it’s not.”

It’s not fair.

Disability is not fair. It’s not fair to us, anyway. It wasn’t designed for us. It was designed so that the people who are not disabled are able to feel good about paying money they don’t really want to pay to people who need it, and may or may not deserve it depending on your personal feelings. Because disability is nobody’s fault, but, like I said, somebody has to be responsible for it. It was designed because it’s cheaper to pay us to stay below the poverty line than it is to build a society where we can be responsible for ourselves. It was designed for you, the enabled, and, like my landlord, like my sister, like my boss, you believe it works, because my life doesn’t suck. You believe it works because I work hard to make it look good, because I am grateful, I do know how lucky I am, not in the way you think of it, but because I am one of the people who are able to work, able to live without attendant care, and who never bought into or was forcefed all the socialization that makes us ultra passive dolls who are just happy to “contribute to society.” You tell yourselves “at least it’s not welfare” (which is a whole lot of problems in and of itself) and mostly, you think it works because you don’t understand how it works.

Back to my landlord. Because the next words out of her mouth are, “Is she going to increase your rent this month?” My landlord upped my rent three months ago. I was instructed to send in a letter to ODSP from my landlord, which I did, and they would increase the cheque they send to her. Since I don’t pay my landlord, I had no idea she wasn’t getting the right amount. So I apologized. I reassured her I did send the letter. She tells me,
   “Yeah, I know. I called, she said she’d got it and she’d take care of it, but she never did.”
   “I’m really sorry,” I say. “Honestly, this worker I’ve got is really unreliable. I did some screaming. I’ll deal with it.” My landlord laughs, and apologizes for adding to my stresses, and we hang up.

So. That’s my Monday. Now, before anyone starts on me, this is not isolated, or rare. My cousin is also on disability, and has similar problems; missing paperwork, not getting a full cheque when she is eligible, and a worker who is constantly out of the office, sometimes for weeks at a time. A friend of mine is constantly fighting her brother’s battles for him, because there is a constant fight over what he deserves, and who should be responsible for it. This is what you’re asking us to be grateful for.

Go back through my story, and think. Think about how lucky I really am, before you remind me to think of it for you. Think about how I’m lucky enough to need no physical therapy, or assistive devices, that require maintenance I’d have to pay for, and/or wait for. Think about how I have a job, so a cheque a few days late won’t impact me much. Think about how my landlord is okay with waiting. Think about how “hard I work.” How I’m one of the few who is, because she is able to, doing Disability the “right’ way, and the impact it might have on how people see me.

Then think about how my worker hasn’t apologized. Think about how my landlord doesn’t understand ‘how they can just do that.’ Think about how quick I was to blame myself, I, who have never bought into the socialization, because I am not like the others.

Then take five minutes, and think about the others.

In 2003 I was receiving As in every class in a course that admitted only 75 students a year. So the Registrar was surprised enough to ask, when I dropped everything. I couldn’t tell her. I couldn’t tell her about months of being passed back and forth between program head and disability office, of “this is not my area” and “I’m not sure what you want me to do.” until finally, they gave me a choice. Stay, and pay, to study, and learn, and never graduate, or go. And by then I was too shell-shocked and battle scarred to argue, and I just left. And when she asked, I could only mumble, “personal stuff.” Because I couldn’t tell her, I couldn’t face having to say I was like ‘the others’ after all. I was too ashamed. And I stayed ashamed, until last year, six weeks before starting school again, when I confessed my shame to a dear friend, confessed that what bothered me most was that I had been wrong. Everyone had told me this was impossible, I should have listened, but I was stubborn, I had fallen on my own sword, and then run like a coward. He said,

“Don’t you fucking dare.

These were the same people who told you you couldn’t learn to walk. The same people who said it would probably be better for everyone if you were in special ed in high school, even when you got straight As in public school. They told you you couldn’t live on your own. How the fuck were you to know when they’d get one right? If somebody should have done something, it wasn’t you.”

I am not ashamed now. I am angry. When I came home afterward everyone I had ever known was as stunned as I was, even the ones who thought I would never actually finish. They kept saying, “How could they just do that?” But “they” do it the way everyone else does. Because this system, as it is now, is designed for us to fail. It is built so that we’re comfortably on the losing side, and we are taught to be good sports about the whole thing. It is built so that everyone is “doing their best” but nobody has to do a whole lot. And everyone who manages to beat the system is meant to feel so grateful, so special and rare, that they never even think about the how and why things were different for them. We’re a political tactic so complete and complacent, we never come up in politics. People ask me why somebody as political as I am never votes, and I always say the same thing, “There’s nobody speaking for us.” I have had enough. Somebody get me a fucking megaphone.

If you have a story, tell it. If you don’t, post this everywhere. I’m done being ashamed, I haven’t got a whole lot of pride left. I don’t care. We don’t talk about this often enough. Too many people don’t know, don’t understand, might want to help if they did, and if they don’t, well, at least nobody could lie anymore about who was on the right side. This system is broken. It wasn’t made for us, it wasn’t made by us, so it shouldn’t be our responsibility. Like so many other things. But like so many other things, I am fucking tired of it going to someone else.

Pass it on.

We Interrupt Your Regular Scheduled Novelling...

Sorry I've been AWOL. Nano and Vampires have been keeping me hopping. This isn't a real post, I just wanted everyone I know to see something. My beloved Jenny, who is the sweetest thing in the world, was outraged today, which doesn't happen often. This is why:

You are about to get very angry.

I commented. You should too. Sounds like this poor woman needs some support. Possible when I have ten minutes of not-required writing time, I may rage about this later. For now, she says it a lot better than I ever could. I applaud her bravery. And that's not a word I throw around a lot, to be honest.

Back to the grindstone!

Those are These, and These are... Me.

Rage Disclaimer: Come on, you know the drill. I rage, I swear.
Disclaimer 2: Post contains some seriously bad language, but I used it in context. I apologize to anyone who might be offended.

I am about to rage. And this time, I don't want to rage. Because I am about to rage about people I love. And there are people I love who read this blog and will go all, "omg, is she about to rage at me?" And yes. Yes, I probably am, and you're just going to have to learn to suck it up and deal with it.

It's a shocker, so I want to give you a minute to wrap your head around it, but um. I am a person with a disability. I know, I know. I don't sit in a wheelchair, I don't drool all over myself, when I talk you can usually understand the stuff I say, and when you talk, you very often make sense to me. I do not, in any way, resemble any of the people with disabilities that you see on TV, in the news, or in really inspiring movies where the end result is we just want to be treated like everybody else. I don't, actually, want to be treated like everybody else, because there are a lot of ways in which I am Other. I don't look 'other' in any way, I can almost pass for normal. So what is so wrong with me, and why do I think so terribly about myself? Well, frankly, it's none of your damn business what is wrong with me, and secondly, as a side note to the amazing news about my disability, having a disability is not a bad thing. It's not a good thing. It's not any kind of thing, it's just a thing that happens sometimes. And it's a thing that happened to me. So please forgive if I do not see it as a compliment when you refuse to see me as the whole person that I am, a whole person who is funny and smart and talented and spiritual and nice, and also, in fact, brain damaged.

It's bad enough when strangers don't seem to get this, or when new people don't seem to get this. There are people in my life, that I work with, that I spend time with on a peripheral basis only, who I have to take this crap from. I get it. I truly understand that it's difficult, for people who see me on the day-to-day and don't know me well, to either see the disability or not see it. Enabled* doesn't have a whole lot of gray area; your body works or it doesn't. Your brain works right, or it doesn't. That means enabled people aren't used to having to see gray areas, the same way heterosexual only goes one way, and some heteros have a real hard time with the *cough* rainbow of LGTBAQI experiences. It sucks, and it should not be my problem, but it is, and I sometimes have to suck it up and deal because, hey, part of being encumbered with a disability is you don't always have the energy to fight for all the stuff that is worth fighting for.

But these are not strangers. These are enabled people, or sometimes, shockingly, other disabled people, who know me, and know me well enough that, if they cared enough to pay attention, could understand, should, after 25 years, 10 years, etc, know what it is they're doing wrong. But they don't. I have a great many theories on why they don't, which I will expound upon in a moment, but right now, I have a couple stories to tell, if you'll just bear with me.

Story #1
So, last weekend was Easter. Holidays with the fam are usually absolutely out of control. Sometimes, in the good ways. Sometimes, in the bad. To give you an idea, I have three biological siblings. We range in age from 29 to 21. My sister C has four beautiful children, and a boyfriend. The oldest of these is Perfect Nephew #1, who is 6. The rest are babies, 3, 2 and 6 months. I also have 4 gorgeous foster siblings. The oldest is 16. The youngest is 6. My mother has a huge german shepard, and I have 2 small dogs. And on holidays, particularly holidays when I work and then have to be driven home for holiday dinner with the fam, we all hang out at my parents' huge property. Sometimes this works, but often, there are arguments. We were raised with strong opinions, and mine tend to run the opposite direction of everyone else's.

So I had brought my dogs over to the house, and, as promised, I kept them outside. Now, Tootles gets a bit nervous around other dogs, so he was peeing all over everything in the yard, including a crumpled up kiddy chair. I laughed, which netted me a 20 minute lecture from older sister (who is, by the way, 3 years older than me) about how I do not show any respect to anyone, and I am selfish and should learn to take better care of my animals. (These are highlights.) This was closely followed by my brothers, who, once they were able to ascertain who was winning the argument, quickly leaped to my sister's aide in besmerching my general character. Which was then immediately followed by my overhearing the word retarded in my brother's conversation.

I have asked them, time and time again, to refrain from using that word, for reasons which would be pretty damn clear to anyone who might read this blog, but outside of The Internets, for some reason, this is less clear. Their attitude is if they're talking about inanimate objects, abstract concepts, hypothetical people, or a group of people, or, generally people who are not me, they are allowed to use that word, and I am not allowed to complain. This is not anything that makes any kind of Earth Logic, so, this time, because I had been up at six in the morning to work, because I don't like people making fun of my dogs, because I am tired of being made to feel like an inconvenience, when compared to my sister, who has four children and therefore, needs attention, or my brother, who still lives at home, and therefore deserves extra attention, and my other brother, who is never around, and therefore never gets attention, because of all those things, I lost it.

"Okay," I said, "let's talk about respect. Let's talk about how I ask you time and time again not to use that word, let's talk about how it feels when, not only do you shamelessly use that word, but you shamelessly use that word in front of me, ten minutes after butting in on some ridiculous lecture about 'respect' as if you can fucking talk about any kind of respect for any human being besides yourself and someone you want something from. Not one of you show me five minutes of respect at any given time." Now, here's where it gets nasty. Because here is where the world stops making sense, and I start being forced to see my big, well-meaning family for the selfish abilist pigs that they are. Because as usual, as I am angry with my brother, my sister feels the need to interject. I kid you not, this is the actual conversation that follows. I wrote it down for posterity.

"Do you, like, see yourself as retarded or something? Because I don't see how that can be so disrespectful to you."

"There are, actually, a lot of people who do see me that way."

"Why?"

"I have brain damage, you moron." (edit:  this is apparently ablist language. Live and learn. I will refrain from using it in future.)


"Okay, but that's not what it means."

At this point, a side note, interestingly, from the brother who made the original offense. You see how the family dynamics work, yes? Whoever is winning gets the backup (there's some patriarchal backstory to that, which I am not getting into here.) "Uh, yeah, it kind of does mean that," brother says, but does not apologize for his earlier offense. C becomes flustered.

"Okay, but we don't see you that way."

"Except for all the times you call me your 'stupid retarded sister.'"

"Okay, but I mean that as an insult, not like, as a real thing."

Okay, please let me take the opportunity to explain to the ignorant out there scratching their heads going, "y'know, she has a point." No. She does not. I would almost believe my sister's ignorance, that she truly is only saying it as an insult except A) my brain is not an insult, thanks very fucking much and B) the only time my sister refers to me as her 'stupid retarded sister' is when I am getting something she is not, or does not feel I deserve. And usually, the cause of my not deserving something is, in fact, my disability.

As in, "How do you think I feel that my stupid retarded sister gets to go to Europe, while I don't get to do anything, and never did anything with my life?"

"How do you think I feel when my stupid retarded sister goes off to college, and I'm like, stuck here in public housing because I have kids?"

"Seriously, don't you think it's odd that you live on disability and you get to have extra money to do things? I have four kids, and we don't have money. I don't think that's fair. You're supposed to only have the bare minimum. Don't you think you're being selfish? How do you think I feel that my stupid retarded sister has more money than me?"

Et cetera. But it is such a comfort that she doesn't actually mean I'm retarded. Just, y'know, that I am less than she is, that I was supposed to be the one lacking, and how bad must her life be, when mine is better? Which is fine, really. Totally acceptable. Sibling rivalry and all.

There is also C) that it is actually a real thing, that it is a real thing which essentially means you have brain damage which effects your mental faculties, cognitively and/or intellectually, and guess what? I actually have brain damage.

The actual conversation then degenerated into what my sister believes 'retarded' really means, which I cannot post here because it made me absolutely sick with rage and disgust, but various qualities were mentioned which many of my friends with disabilities share (drooling was mentioned, and the use of diapers). After she went over all the qualities of why and how I was 'normal' and 'not one of those' and therefore, had no right to be offended, and then talked about how it didn't even count because it wasn't directed at a person and how she's not even allowed to call her son a goofy kid, because apparently that is offensive (edit: apparently, this is a prison slang for pedophile.) and she was tired of it. Yes, folks, my sister was offended by the idea that she was expected to know or learn or even care about how to respect other people. And in her own family too! This, apparently, is what qualifies as a valid point in my family.

After this myriad of excuses, attention was successfully diverted from me and my rage, and I watched in growing horror while they discussed hypothetical Others, and how to treat them fairly while still managing to not change in the least. All the while a real, flesh and blood Other, who is a member of their own family, was sitting right in front of them telling them you're doing it WRONG! But apparently, only the hypothetical Others count, or maybe I don't count as Other, because... huh.

You know, I don't know. I can never figure it out. My family has a long and sickeningly proud history of racism, sexism, homophobia and ablism. They categorically and sometimes gleefully announce how and why they hate everyone who isn't like them, and all the ways they have a right to that, and are treated unfairly for it. And then expect me to believe they don't hate me. That I am the one person in the world that they can acknowledge is different, and make their peace with that. I can't figure it out. I really can't. I suppose this, then, is where the term "special" comes from. The kicker was after, when I replayed the conversation for my mother, who missed most of it, and she told me to stop thinking of myself that way, because I wasn't like that at all. That she was siding with my sister, because I was taking things way out of context.

Story #2
So, I have a lot of friends with disabilities. I went to the summer camps, the seminars, took part in the pen-pal programs, etc, all the 'specially designed for disabled people' programs that were offered. Sometimes, other people with disabilities give me just as many funny looks as enabled people give. It's understandable. I no longer wear braces**, or even glasses. When I speak, as I mentioned, I am pretty understandable. Usually. I stutter over words or drop words in the middle of sentences, and when I get angry, half-formed words tumble out of my mouth (which is the reason I write letters), but generally, I speak perfectly fine. I am independently mobile (no wheelchair, walker, crutches, etc) and cognitively and intellectually, I tend to excel, for the most part. I'm missing most of those things my father calls 'common sense', that is, I have zero short-term memory.  I forget to eat. I lose track of time. I can spend hours carefully mapping out exactly what I'm going to do in a day, then be rendered completely useless for several more hours, unable to work out the logistics of how I will get around to X when I've just been interrupted because Y has come up. I constantly exhaust myself, and have to factor in naps, and then am unable to sleep because I only have so many hours of the day when I will be able to concentrate to get things done. I have zero skills with numbers. I instinctively know that some numbers go together, and how this works in my head, I will never be able to understand or explain to others. But there are days when someone hands me $150 for a $130.90 hotel charge, and I cannot make correct change without checking and double-checking on the calculator. These all count as cognitive and intellectual impairments which may or may not be brought on by the brain damage. But to my family and friends, they are only personality quirks, or in some cases, personality flaws. Because I can't possibly have cognitive or intellectual impairment. Because I'm smart.

Anyway, I can recognize my own ignorance when it comes to the disabled community. I am fortunate where others are not. But occasionally, you run up against assholes in the disabled community, who, much like the assholes in the enabled community, have ideas of who you are, based on what you are. Because you see, people are people! And some people are assholes! In this instance, I had a friend who liked to give The Excuse for virtually every flaw in his personality. He was constantly going through women, desperate for attention, specifically, female attention, because he was in a wheelchair, and therefore could not hope to keep attention, and had to always be on the lookout for the one who would marry him. He could not be expected to go to class, despite the fact that his parents paid for his college education, because it wasn't like he was ever going to get a job, he was in a wheelchair. More importantly, I could not understand his pain, his isolation, because though I too had suffered academically, socially, financially, and professionally because of my disability, I was not in a wheelchair.

The problem with this scenario, as anyone with a less-than-visible disability would be able to tell you, is that I am visibly disabled enough that it is clear that something is wrong, even when it's never quite clear what is wrong. And to a frighteningly large portion of the the enabled community, there are only two disabilities: The ones where you can't walk, or the ones where you are... I want to say developmentally disabled or intellectually impaired like I've been taught to say, but let's be honest. They don't think of it like that. They think retarded. And every person who's ever used that word to not mean that, they know it. Because everybody who uses that word to mean stupid understands why it's a worse word to use than stupid, like when you say 'fuck' and you really mean 'sex' but you want to emphasize something - some bad inherent in the word prompts you to say it that way.

Anyway, that's not the story. The story is that I knew this guy who was a complete asshole and blamed his disability on things that were really his own totally shitty opinion of himself, and the fault of the shitty people who gave him that opinion of himself, or, his own fault, because at this point, he was in his early twenties, and the fact that he wasn't doing anything to work through these demons of his was kind of nobody else's responsibility. And eventually, I got tired of the constant complaints about how this friend and that friend was supposed to understand, because zie was also in a wheelchair, and I had to explain, "Maybe, uh, that's not the problem?" Only to be told how I did not understand because I could stand on my own two feet. So, eventually, we parted ways, because I do not like negativity.

One day, I was talking to a mutual friend of ours, who is enabled. We were both on the job hunt. My situation was compounded by the fact that there are only a few places that will hire a college drop-out (Long, messy, poor-me story. Don't ask.) and most of them are not disability-friendly. So when I bemoaned the fact that it is incredibly difficult to find a job in this situation, she said, simply, "I told you job-hunting wasn't easy. You were always on me about finding a job, now you see how hard it is." At which point, I reminded her that I was not always on her to find a job, that I was always on her about complaining that she had no job. And I also mentioned that it might be slightly easier for her to find a job than it was for me, owing both to the fact that she lived in a bigger city, and that she could conceivably apply anywhere she chose to, and chose not to apply to lots of places she had deemed as not something she wanted to do even temporarily. I, of course, was much shorter of options, and in addition, was expected to let someone find me a job, and then be grateful they had. (Seriously, do not get me started on that whole job support program. Why the fuck do we need a committee for every decision we make?) She hears this, gives a long-suffering sigh, and says, "You know, you sound a lot like *asshole* today." My bad. I forgot. Asking to be acknowledged as the person you are whose experience is different from someone else is the exact same thing as asking for constant pity and sad-eyes. Because the person who I am, and my experiences, are just that pitiful, the two things are utterly interchangeable.

It is hurtful, when a portion of who you are is deemed acceptably and universally bad by the rest of the world. And of course, when you say it like that, everybody knows that's hurtful. When you say it like that, it sounds like racism, sexism, homophobia, everything most of us acknowledge as wrong, even if only to be PC. But then. Everybody knows disabled means bad, right? It means not able. Oh, the conundrum. How difficult for the enabled community, who are expected to navigate a world they are not part of and actually listen and rely on the experiences of others to explain this world to them.

This is why I still use the term 'handicapped' when referring to myself. It has an adorably ironic sport connotation, (Ironic for me, I mean. I know lots of athletic people with disabilities, and they pretty much all kick ass. I, however, lack any athletic ability whatsoever.) and what it means is that I need something extra to do what other people do, to the same extent and ability. Which I do, unashamedly. And sometimes that is built in, somewhere in me, and sometimes, it has to come from the outside. Sometimes, it has to come from you, enabled people, and that means doing what we ask of you, not doing what you think is best and then asking us to be grateful for it, lest, as the great and generous force behind virtually every positive moment in our lives, you decide not to grant it next time.

A note to the enabled people who know me: I am a person with a disability. And I am happy this way, truly. Would I be happier if I lived in a way that my body was a reflection of my personal self? I don't know. I was never given that option. I don't believe, if I were given one wish, I would waste it on something as foolish as this body of mine, which, admittedly I have no great love for. But I will admit if there was a pill that could make this go away, I would probably take it. The fact that there isn't, though, has no real bearing on my life. Does the fact that I am relatively mildly disabled contribute to my happiness? Well, not as such, though it certainly contributes to my good fortune and the opportunities I am afforded. I do not know how I would feel if I were in a wheelchair, or if I were non-verbal, or if my cognitive or intellectual abilities were less capable, or even appeared less capable, than what they are now, because I can acknowledge that I don't know how people would treat me, and some people treat me pretty lousy now. I do, however, know a lot of people who could fit in either or all of those categories. Some are happy, others are not. Some care about disability rights, some only care about themselves. But I am a disabled person, and I am also a happy and optimistic person, and I have friends who are enabled, and friends who are disabled,  and it hurts me, when I see ablism, and it hurts me when people go out of their way to exclude me from 'those people.' Because sometimes I don't fit with you. And, shocker, I am a lot more comfortable with that idea than most of you seem to be.

I am one of Those People. I have friends who are Those People. That World, that you seem so quick to reassure me I am not part of? The world where every statement begins with a negative prefix, a non, dis, lacking-in, etc? That world of people who need things done for them, of people who take too long to do anything on their own, and get in everybody's way, and can't help but be inept, no one's blaming them, but god, do we have to humor them? I am part of that world. When you talk about Those People, you are talking about me. Or, you are talking about people very close to me. It's you that has a problem with that, not me. I am one of Those People who take this stuff personally because it affects the way people treat me, personally. Because if I don't speak, one of my friends and family will be able, in all honesty, to use those words, and carry around those stereotypes, because you have me, who appears to be okay with it. And because if I do speak, I am one of Those People, who only ever sees herself as Disabled, and who needs to get over that, because she has so much else going for her, if only she could ignore that part, and really, it's not as if it's that hard. Yes, I make this personal. This is the identity I have been given by the enabled, over and over again. This is how many people describe me to other people. I am the friend/sister/daughter who has Cerebral Palsy. I am the friend/sister/daughter who has a disability but is omg so smart though, you'd never know it. This is how, when I say that I am different, people think of different. This is that thing people hurry to tell me is totally unnoticeable. Regardless of how full of crap they are, or what I am actually talking about when I say I am different. That you oh-so-benevolently take it away once you have reassured yourself there is a real person in there, or whenever you need me to feel cut off from Those People, or reassure me that I am One Of You, as long as I keep my mouth shut about it and act grateful when the time comes? That is a blessing I can do without, thanks. You have given me this as an identity, you can learn to live with the consequences. Goddess knows I have to.

Please stop telling me who I am. Please stop telling me what I should be focusing on, what parts of me are worth your acknowledgment, and subsequently, which parts it's okay to pretend don't exist. Having me as a friend or family member is not a free pass to tell people how you're totes all about disability rights, obviously. Using that word is not about your accidental slip of the tongue, how you were raised, or your inability to come up with a more intelligent and accurate response. It is about your laziness. It is about your laziness not only to learn to watch your fucking mouth and show some respect, for Goddess' sake, but also, your casual disregard for me.

I wrote, in a recent blog post, about a friend of mine who is being less than supportive about this whole deal. I assume said friend knows who zie is. But really, it goes for all of you, all of you who use that word once you understand, not only what it means, but what it means to me. I am not, by nature, a social person, though I'm very friendly. I regret to say I have lost track of people, or closeness with people due to mutual disinterest, or my own genuine cluelessness. You make the choice to be in my life. This is a part of that. My body, my brain, and who I am, sometimes in spite of, sometimes because of, but always in addition to, all of that. What you are doing, when you use that word, is reminding me where we stand. How you stand on one side and I stand on the other. How it's still your world, and, though you love me and care about me and are interested in me as a person, you have no desire to venture into mine, and I have no right to expect you to. I am on my own, and I cannot expect you to 'deal' with this, because who in their right mind would, voluntarily? Which would be fine, except that I still have to live in yours. I don't have the option to opt out like you do. And the sick thing is, as much as you claim that it doesn't mean what I keep telling you it means, I'm pretty sure that there are a few of you out there who don't want to venture into my world, because, like my sister, you're not comfortable with the idea there may be some places we may need to lead you. Because that's just not how it goes, is it?

If I talk about this stuff and I'm being too sensitive because it's based on my own experience, and the people who 'love me' don't talk about it, because it's not that big a deal and I'm being too sensitive, and the people who don't know any better can't talk about it, because they don't have the experiences, when is it okay to talk about? Oh. Right. That's the point. Sorry, sometimes I miss that. You know how it is.

*Enabled - Ally's word for people who do not have disabilities. Blogosphere does not like able-bodied, as it left out people with neurological impairments and developmental disabilities, but also, I do not like the term 'temporarily able-bodied' for some reason I have yet to identify. Possibly because it's clunky. Enabled is my replacement, as I feel it encapsulates most of the problems within the community of people with disabilities, which are caused by, not the disabilities themselves, but the fact that society is built for bodies to work a certain way, and you get all kinds of nice things given to you and ascribed to you if yours does, while we have to content ourselves with whatever version of 'nice' you decide we are capable of comprehending, and often receive a cookie for your efforts.

** braces such as the ones I wore, for those of you who don't know, go on your legs, not your teeth. I wore several incarnations off and on from toddlerhood til I was about 13. It actually did take them ten years and one trial and error serial casting episode before they realized that it didn't really work for me. There was a lot of trial and error episodes in those days.

AN: If you have a squicky feeling of guilt in your stomach, wondering if this post is about you, then it probably is. If you're just really pissed at me right now for getting mad at this? That's okay, I'm probably pissed at you too.

In Thanks To Amanda Palmer (here we go again)

Disclaimer: More Rage! More Swearing! Lots of it! Heads up!
http://pics.livejournal.com/ms_daisy_cutter/pic/00228dss
So. 
The sick thing is, this is not the post I was writing. I was about to write a post about positive thinking, when I found this. Because I found this when following a link, because someone had posted a link to this blog on another site and not told me, and I just stumbled on it accidentally, and was so damn excited omg you guys! Because that is still really cool, when it happens. And then. This. and I really. I don't know what to think. And I am angry. So. I'm writing a letter. Because that is what I do when I get angry. She won't read it, and I don't care. I just want to be able to be clear. I just want the distracting rage to dissipate so that I can think like a normal human person again.

I would also like to apologize in advance for any form of RACE!FAIL I am about to commit. I am a white person living in predominantly white area. Pretty much all I know of racism is that it is wrong, and that there is a whole lot about it that I don't know about. I can, however, point you in the direction of people who say it much better, (and probably more succinctly) than I. Any corrections or additions I need to make, please feel free to mention them in the comments - I like to learn things. So. Here are people smarter and more articulate and knowledgeable explaining and extolling on this latest WTF-ery.
http://shakespearessister.blogspot.com/2010/03/over-edge.html
http://sparkymonster.livejournal.com/389485.html

In addition, I almost didn't post this. Because I knew it would degenerate into all the many reasons I am angry, and what the fuck is so wrong with Amanda Palmer, and not just focus on what needs to be focused on right now. And it did, a little. Stuff spins around in my head sometimes, and this is what happens to it. Feel free to help yourself to some rage, and we'll play some catch-up. 'Cause on top of THAT, there was this:
http://morethansides.blogspot.com/2010/01/on-rape-culture-amanda-palmer-and.html
and of course THIS:
http://tigerbeatdown.com/?p=889
ttp://www.myspace.com/evelynevelyn
And it's just. Exhausting. So now, you get to hear what I think. Yay.

Dear Amanda Palmer,
I would like to thank you. I would like to thank you because I hate you. I have never truly hated another human being. My hatred has always been tinged with self-pity, or a sense of despair. I never believed it was truly possible to hate someone so purely and venomously, and I never approved of hating someone you didn't know. I still don't approve. I am actually very conflicted about all this. But I understand, now, how it can happen. I hate you. I want nothing but horrible and terrible things for you. And I'm very sorry for that. I dislike what that makes me. I dislike that I feel this way. And that is why I am grateful to you, too, because, as much as it is knowledge I wish I didn't have, it is knowledge. It is knowledge that tells me that I must find a way to centre myself and calm down and not be prejudiced towards you, however you might deserve it. Because as much as I believe you know exactly the shit-pot you are stirring, I don't think many of your fans know, or know how they are helping you. And I cannot help to explain that to people if I am coming from a place of absolute hate. So, I apologize for my mindless, shrieking rage. I am doing my best. Not for your sake, but for the sake of the people who admire you, and for the sake of my own happiness and sense of myself. Because I really, really like the me that doesn't hate people, and doesn't spout mindless hate propaganda for the sake of getting attention or being 'interesting.'

Firstly, so you're aware, Amanda, you don't get to throw around words like 'metaphor' and 'irony' squeezed in with, racist or ableist or sexist statements. You certainly don't get to think that those are 'art' words, and thus, everything you say when you put those words in is about art, and therefore only has value in the most abstract terms, and should not be taken out of context to mean, oh, say, what you think about various marginalized groups or the treatment of these marginalized groups by... people like you. Who are not part of them. You just don't get to do that. Because you live in a world where you had the opportunity to do a great many things with your life, and what you chose to do is put yourself out into the world, and be seen, and admired, and most especially to be seen and admired by people who are maybe a little bit weird, and a little bit misfit. You chose to speak up in ways and about things that other people wouldn't, couldn't, or didn't. And you enjoy that. And that's okay. Having that job and liking that job, and even succeeding at that job, are not bad things. But you're not allowed to only bear the responsibility of the parts of that you like.

Please don't misunderstand me. It makes me sick to my stomach when I see a famous person who has really been screwed up, and people won't leave zir alone. Or a famous person, say, taking zir kids out for a walk who gets into trouble while protecting zir kids, and people who are not celebrities go, "Oh well, they shouldn't have got famous if they didn't want that to happen." I despise that. It's tantamount to, "She shouldn't have been wearing that in that neighborhood, it's no wonder she got raped," or, "Listen, if you don't want people to see you as your disability, you should stop expecting special treatment." That's not what I'm saying. That's not what you did. You have made a career out of getting attention by shocking and startling people with your 'honesty.' and that also turns my stomach, because it becomes clearer and clearer to me that you did that purely so that now you can say this crap and people will go, "Of course she's going to say it. She's Amanda Palmer. She's just weird. She's different. Everyone knows she's not racist." No. You know what? You're not weird. You're not special. You're not unique or edgy. And, shocker, not everybody knows or cares anything about you, except when they have to care because you add to the crap they have to put up with. You are doing the exact same thing people have been doing for centuries, when you participate, even in a small way, in the marginalization or outright hatred of a group of people who suffer at the hands of another group. So for all that you're trying to be edgy and different, you are just like everyone else. You are just a typical racist in denial.

And it's gross, because as much as I hate it, because I hate you, and now I have to spend energy thinking about this, and getting a nasty case of the rages, you have value. You have value to a good many people, and there are people who will defend the nonsense you say purely because you said it. People who are willing to forgive you because you helped them. So you're teaching them that it's okay to only think about themselves, and how they have been hurt. Which will not only continue an escalating cycle of hate, but will actually isolate those people from other people who have also felt the sting of some kind of marginalization because it's either them, or it's me. And Amanda said it's okay if it's them. You wanted people to listen to you, but you don't want the things you say to be taken at face value? What's even worse is that you have alienated your fans with this ridiculous noise, and you don't care. You have styled yourself to speak for the 'misunderstood masses', and then, carefully and methodically, pointed out which misunderstood masses you don't care about. Only, of course, when you absolutely had to. Because product placement is the devil, but asking people to buy a CD because you're totally a voice for the people... (just not those people) Now that has artistic merit.

Then I hate you again, for being ungrateful and spoiled enough that it doesn't matter. It matters to me, even when I can do small things, contribute to a discussion, or inspire someone to do the same. And it will matter to me, if I happen to hurt someone with this post, in my clueless and bumbling way. I know, Amanda, I know. You have a great deal more fans than I have readers. You have more people on either side, and I get that it's important not to compromise who you are and what you want to say for the sake of people who may not like it. I really do understand that, artist to artist. But what you have done is absolute cowardice. If you had said something like that, and then said, "Okay, my bad. Supporting the KKK is racist, and I shouldn't have said that," instead of, "Lookit who ELSE is doing it, so there!" If there had been any kind of humility, we could walk away. Shaking our heads, yes, but still. If you had said, "I'm sorry for the people who don't like it, but I truly believe it's better to support/comparable to supporting things like the KKK when you support Big Nasty Corporations," at least then, people would know where you stood. We'd still call you racist, and we'd still hate you, but we wouldn't have to listen to you, or the legions of mindless masses who follow you going, "Oh, come on, I didn't mean it that way!" Because, and here's the important thing I think you really need to understand: You don't get to decide what it means, when you say something like that because it means nothing to you. You know the power of your words. You know exactly what you're doing, and exactly how vague to be to get away with your nonsense. But it means what it means. It means what it means to people who have a stake in that kind of talk. And just because you don't, doesn't mean you get to use words like 'irony' and 'metaphor' to mean "That's not what I meant" whenever it suits you. It just means you should be listening to those people who do have a stake in it. And how you can just decide not to care about an entire group(s) of people who may care about you, either because they truly admire you, or because they have to pay for the damage you cause when you open your mouth, that, Amanda Palmer, is revolting, childish and cowardly. Especially when the exact second you decide you don't care is when you realize you may have taken things a step too far, and are forced to be something other than ARTIST, for once.

And by the way, words like 'irony' have real meanings too. Where you find the irony in giving money to a group of people who would gladly see large portions of the population meticulously, viciously, and publicly killed, I would really like to know. That's not ironic. That's not even cruel irony. Y'know what is, though? There are people in this world who spent money on you, so that you could get the stuff you have now, (and you already said you're not ashamed to take their money) so that you could have the following and the opportunities and the ability to say this shit and have people not think you're a disgusting racist. There are people in this world who thought you were worth defending. And they are now being slapped in the face with the realization that someone they looked up to and supported doesn't give a flying fuck about people like them. They cared about you, and you delight in reminding them they were suckers. If they disagree with you, it's because they're outside of you, they are not of you, and you weren't talking to them, anyway. You don't have to care about them. You have the right to hurt people, to encourage the hurt of people, and it's okay, because if the words are 'ironic' and 'metaphorical', so's the hurt. Right? You're not actually racist, (and people should know that, omg, and if they don't, it's so not your fault,) so you can give money in support of racism and that's irony. I'm sure, in your own head, it's a totally ironic support of racism. But, y'know that thing, about the tree falling in the forest? If a person who isn't racist gives money to someone who uses it to support their violent racist agenda, does the violence still hurt someone?

It's not like you don't fucking know what they are, or what they do. It's not like you don't know that people listen to you when you talk. I mean, that's the whole point, isn't it? Racism or any other kind of ism is not like your gender identity, sexuality, or sense of personal space. You don't get to self-identify. Your actions and your attitudes speak for you. And you have made a point to try and nullify your actions, not by apologizing, or attempting to do better, but by saying you have a right to say this, because people who have a problem with it don't know what it means! I'm white. I'm a person with a disability. I make fun of my disability. Because it's not a bad thing, to be in this body, not all the time. And sometimes, weird stuff happens to me, or around me, purely because I was born in this body. And sometimes, I have to find that shit funny, or I might possibly go mad. So sometimes, I forget myself. I make fun of my friends, the same way I make fun of me, because they know me, and I know them, and life is funny. I say or do things, jokingly, or unknowingly, and after, someone pulls me aside and says something like, "That was racist back there. There's stuff you don't know, there's stuff you don't understand, there's stuff that isn't yours to claim." And I feel horrible about it. Because I'm  not so up on the socialization skills, and I need people to tell me some things. Sometimes, I don't get an opportunity to apologize. And when I can't apologize, I can only promise myself to do better, and keep trying. I didn't always do that, but I do now, because I had people stopping me to tell me that it is the right thing to do.

You have people asking you to do better. And some of them even believe you can. And you're saying no. Not only are you saying no, but you insult their intelligence while you're at it. Which is a bit much for someone who doesn't know the meaning of the words she uses as a get-out-of-jail-free card. The KKK is not ironic. They don't kill each other or themselves and take pictures to comment on the irony of it all. They kill other people because they hate otherness. Nothing ironic. They just hate. Because they can. And I don't care that you've never actually given money to the KKK (If you haven't, that is, I really don't want to know what you do with your ill-gotten gains) and I don't care if you didn't actually mean that other people do, or that they should. All I care about is that you said it. You said it, and you defended it after you'd said it, and now people will defend you for saying it because oh, you've just been picked on so much lately, haven't you? And then they will say it, and defend themselves, and each other, because you said it. And you're important. And agreeing with you means you're on their side. And they are one of you, and that's what they want. And it was wrong to say, not only because it's not funny, it's racist, or because it hurt people, but because the mere fact that you said something you knew was going to be hurtful, again, and you act like you don't care that it was, that that's what you meant to do, again makes me wonder if even you know what you really meant by it.

I had the unfortunate task of explaining privilege, and lack of it, to someone, a few weeks ago. She is physically disabled, and believes what she is taught to believe, that it is in her best interests to let people do things for her, and think what they will of her, regardless if what they're doing actually helps her, or if their assessment of her is accurate. So I really had to go over things with her, and at one point, she said, "Why bother explaining things to people? Why bother forcing them to think a certain way, or try to change them? They probably won't care." And I was flabbergasted. So I said that the truth is, most of them do care, but they make mistakes, they do what they're taught and what they're told to do, and they think it must be right, because otherwise, why would so many people do it? And, from my own experience, I want to know when I'm being a jackass. And most of the people I have met, who treat me this or that way because of my disability, are deeply relieved when I tell them they are doing wrong. Because then I tell them how to do right. And there are some people I know who are still stubbornly ableist in some way, and still say that I am 'different' from other people with disabilities, or that I 'think about it too much' etc. But they are fewer. Because people don't want to be that kind of asshole. For the most part.

Only now, I don't know if I believe that. And by the way, I blame you for that unwanted knowledge too. So, thanks.

In Sincerity and Anger,
Another Judgmental Person With No Sense Of Humor Who Doesn't Get You

There. I feel better now. Moving right along.