“I’m Not Ableist, But…” (dot-dot-dot)

Do you really understand disability issues? Do you REALLY???

Although I’ve made no secret about my status as a person with a disability, don’t mistake that for me acting like a know-it-all. I’m constantly still learning about the needs of other members within my own community. But I can speak to my struggles as an autistic individual. I can look for greater problematic trends reflected by those experiences.

William Shakespeare coined the phrase, “The lady doth protest too much, methinks.” This saying pertains to people who are guilty of the exact transgression against which they’re denying any hypothetical guilt. Infamous examples of this include:

“I’m not racist, but…”

“I’m not sexist, but…”

“I’m not ageist, but…”

“I’m not homophobic, but…”

“I’m not a religious zealot, but…”

And then they proceed to follow that up with a comment — usually passive-aggressive in nature — that diminishes some aspect of another person’s racial, sexual, generational, spiritual, or gendered life.

The ellipses (that trademark “dot-dot-dot”) symbolize an unspoken rant which the speaker often knows better than to actually utter out loud. When they substitute those sentiments with a much subtler (seemingly innocent) comment, the recipient’s bullshit meter still blinks upon identifying it as a legitimate microaggression.

Just Say What You Mean, Already!

Back in November, I wrote an article entitled “How I Define Political Correctness.” One of my readers took issue with how I had quipped, toward the end of the piece…

Y’all know I’m right about this!

…in regard to the core point that my editorial had intended to address.

When I’d scrawled that one-liner, I was channeling “my inner Judge Judy.” I knew it might be controversial amongst hyperwoke archetypes. At no point was I conveying that I’m right about every single thing 100% of the time.

But apparently, with this reader, I hit a nerve.

She accused me of being arrogant while also giving me the backhanded compliment of possessing “an interesting viewpoint” due to my autistic life experience and knowledge.

When I prompted her for examples as to what objectionable points I’d made within the article itself, she couldn’t name any. She attributed my “unique viewpoint” to the fact that I’m neurodiverse — as well as the lived experiences of mine that have arisen from that.

She then followed that up with a long diatribe about the need for cultural “atonement” without offering any specific examples for workable solutions. In fact, she dipped out of our exchange entirely after that point.

This is what I call “bungee-posting.” Your platitudes are so shaky that you can’t defend them or expand upon them when confronted… so you simply exit the conversation, once you’ve failed at gaslighting your opponent.

Despite her attempts at clearly hoping to disguise her ableism behind the mask of the word “interesting,” I wish I could ask this reader…

So a person must have a disability in order to be granted respect, sensitivity, and compassion? Why should my neurodivergence (as she’d cited) make a difference, one way or the other, if what I’d written was truly that horrible or unreasonable?

Selective Intersectionality

Part of the reason why those of us with disabilities frequently wish we could keep it a secret is because we know how certain people will treat us once they find out about our disabled status. Whether one’s disability is genetic, sensory, or psychological — there’s going to be some level of fear over what role it could play in our future interactions.

Once people learn that I’m an “Aspie,” many of them will proceed to infantilize me by acting as though they’re handling me with kid gloves. Or alluding to how they feel obligated to treat me in that way.

Yet, if I try to hide it, they may still become baffled upon detecting how there is something “different” about me. This was my internal battle all throughout my K-12 and college years. It felt as though I was damned if I did and damned if I didn’t! My choices were: either admit I’m a “freak,” or attempt to suppress my “freakishness” with the hope that those who interacted with me wouldn’t notice. And, if I was unsuccessful at hiding my disability, they still ended up viewing me as a “freak.”

For people with visible disabilities, obstacles include: having to educate others about stereotypes related to one’s disability, figuring out whether to “burden” someone by asking for an accommodation, or wondering what silent judgments are being made by people who emote bewildered gazes.

There are folks who claim they value intersectionality. However, they still insist upon prioritizing (implicitly or explicitly) race and/or biological sex above all other human attributes. In the process, able-bodied and able-minded people end up minimizing the pain and obstacles endured by those of us who have disabilities. They try to use oppression-ranking to pit people with “visible” disabilities against people with “invisible” disabilities.

And that, inherently, is ableist because they insinuate how systemic ableism directed against people with VISIBLE disabilities is the only valid extent of oppression faced by any of us across the disability spectrum. They won’t acknowledge how, whether they are or aren’t aware of someone else’s disabled status, their multipedal or neurotypical biases are causing them to stigmatize us.

Learning From My Own Shortcomings

Looking back, I can see how I was stricken with internalized ableism throughout most of my childhood and adolescence. Due largely to being in the custody of a predatory Adaptive Physical Education (via Special Education) instructor, I’d regularly get grouped with students who had severe cognitive disabilities. Many teachers would then view me — being “sort-of-‘normal’-but-not-really” — as an informal liaison between the kids who were considered “abnormal” and the kids who were considered “normal.”

Thus, I resented the other students with disabilities for existing, as their “outcast” status would get spread to me. I resented my teachers for putting me in such an involuntary role. And I resented my “normal” classmates for setting the standard as to what was supposedly the appropriate way to function during school.

We, as a society, have too many expectations as to how other people should read, walk, speak, or think.

What food we can eat.

Or which of those foods we wish to voluntarily eat.

How our eyes function.

How our bodies accumulate fat.

The ways in which our muscles are limited.

The eternal debate over which phobias are “acceptable.”

Once we become aware of these biases and toxic value-judgments that we impose on each other, we can work toward remedying and rectifying them.

So what’s the solution?

There’s no magic-bullet. But *is* there really ever one, when it comes to discrimination?

My starting point would be: don’t assume. I’m guilty of it, as are most of you who are reading this right now. If you pigeonhole someone else based on what you have the privilege of seeing on the outside, you won’t be getting the full story.

You’ll be denying somebody their full personhood.

The second step is to ask questions. Chris Marcell Murchison, a professional workplace coach of organizational communication, has developed a framework for how to ask impeccable questions that invoke introspection and lead to problem-solving.

To my fellow members of the disability community: I know it’s frustrating having to answer question after question about ourselves and our “unique” lives. It’s exhausting and scary. If there were unlimited resources available, it would be nice to publish a handbook where we could outline every permutation of every heartache faced by anyone with special needs.

Regrettably, life is messier and more stressful than that. By helping “normal” folks make sense out of what we need and what our desires in life happen to be, we’ll be consequently helping ourselves.

Finally, let’s reexamine what is “normal.”

When you talk about emotional intelligence, don’t assume there needs to be one gold standard for everybody.

If someone appears to be acting “weird,” consider the multiple possibilities of what might be going on with them. When they’re bothered by something, there’s often a deeper explanation for their hysteria or terror. These dynamics can be misunderstood, illusory, or gender-inclusive.

Upon seeing somebody in tears, ask them what (if anything) you can do to assist them. And, if they reply how they just want to be left alone… don’t take offense.

Activists and change-makers talk a lot about empathy. Many of them love to pride themselves on sounding “woke” and grandiose in their humanitarian sentiments. But how often are they willing to put those noble ideals into practice?

It’s going to be a rough journey. But I’m willing to take it alongside all of you.