Slumgullion #41

A link list to five blog posts you should see:

At Writhe Safely, "Damn, feminists" discusses the tendency of feminist activists to overlook mental health issues and specifically the case of Simone D., which, as flawed plan points out should have all feminists up in arms, writing letters, making phone calls:

Crickets chirp at what’s happening in your own back yard; not a single post in the feminist blogosphere about Simone D., New York Hispanic woman with an impressive story of injustice and a rather pressing need for acts which activists can and are being urged to do on her behalf in the activist way they pride themselves on. Given the right conditions. Which are what again?

At The Trouble with Spikol, Liz looks at PETA head Ingrid Newkirk's attack on Michael Moore's weight. Here's an excerpt, but read the whole, excellent piece:

“Congratulations from PETA on the reviews for Sicko,” Newkirk wrote. “Although we think that your film could actually help reform America’s sorely inadequate healthcare system, there’s an elephant in the room, and it is you.” This was followed by Newkirk’s advice that Moore convert to vegetarianism. She wrote: “As they say at Nike (sorry!): ‘Just do it.’”

I was horrified—as were many others who read the letter. PETA later claimed that where Newkirk was using the “elephant in the room” metaphor, she was merely invoking a commonplace idiomatic expression rather than commenting on Moore’s girth. But that’s bullshit.

She could’ve just as easily put it in other words, but PETA has always prioritized cleverness over compassion. I’m sure she and her staff were thrilled when they thought of that one. What a zinger!

Newkirk’s decision to co-opt the debate about Moore’s film is preposterous. Sicko creates an essential opportunity to galvanize activism on the subject of healthcare, and given the reality that Moore histrionically illustrates in his film, we can’t afford to waste this moment.

At The Joy of Autism, "Are We Listening?":

It is rare to sit in a room with so many other autistic people, some walking back and forth in the lunch room humming to themselves in a heightened perhaps even ecstatic state, where I can only imagine in other less accepting settings, would be frowned upon. When I came to squeeze into the small space where this young man hummed to deposit my lunch tray, he politely moved away to make room for me, extremely aware despite the fact that others would believe otherwise.

When I saw him next time in the leisure area, he was asking others to play a board game with him. Other autistic kids were hanging out together, and sprawled themselves out on couches in front of the TV, not unlike other teenagers. Around the grounds, people wore badges that indicated if they wanted to talk, if they would only talk to people they knew, or if they did not wish to talk at all. There were many times I wanted to flip my own badge that indicated the latter – as I am a person who likes to absorb and observe, yet have been taught to socialize and be diplomatic and suffer from a compulsion to keep that impression going. Although it’s a skill I’ve acquired, I still find it exhausting. I wished that those badges existed at the many functions I have attended, where most people pretend to be something that their not, or interested in things that others say that they actually have no interest in at all. I consider all the wasted time I’ve had to spend doing "small talk." and all the time I spend in explaining life as we know it to people who don’t have the time to understand.

At ChronicBabe, "How asking for help has brought me closer to friends":

My friends sometimes forget that I am in pain, and for the most part, I'm glad my friends forget about it. The last thing I want is for my pals to walk around, worrying about me, thinking every time they see me that I'm a mess.

But because I've learned to live with pain, I don't always say anything about it. I might take a day off because I don't feel well, but I don't announce it to the world. I might need somewhere to sit when we go out, but I find it myself most times. There are days when I can't walk very far, or I'll go out with girlfriends and I can only dance to a couple songs. But I don't whine about it.

Because I'm relatively quiet about the pain I live with, people forget I have it, especially my friends.

At Bums & Bellybuttons, "The Day I Became Different":

....When I was about 5, I learned that I was different. When I entered the restaurant with my parents, a young boy (about my age, I guess) stood up and repeatedly announced to the entire population, "She's in a wheelchair!" Needless to say, staring commenced. Pairs and pairs of eyes swiveling toward me, a little girl, cute in her party dress, suddenly not the girl she was five seconds before she came through the door. Even thinking about it 20 years later makes me want to claw my skin.

It had never occurred to me to realize that sitting down made me fundamentally different than just about everyone I encountered. No one else seemed to notice, so why should I? My parents didn't make a big deal out of it, unless it was for my own physical safety. It just was as it was.