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More about Freaks

noreply@blogger.com (Bev) — Fri, 04 May 2012 15:49:00 +0000

This is Part 2 of a series on my participation in CUNY's ESA Conferece 2012. Part 1 is here.

My initial thought was to explore the meaning of “autism scholar.” What are the credentials? Does blogging count? Even if it does, I haven’t done a lot of that in a while. Do I deserve the label based on my degree or the publication of a single paper? And if so, who is being left out? What can be done to create an atmosphere of learning and shared knowledge that would expand the notion of scholarship beyond academia? What types of knowledge and learning are currently ignored or discounted? I figured I'd riff on that in a short video and that would be my contribution.

Then I found out a little more about the workshop. There was going to be a presentation on video games. There was going to be a presentation on manga. What do these topics have to do with what is usually thought of as autism studies? In corresponding with the other participants and reading a draft of one of their papers, I found my definitions expanding. I had previously viewed texts that are traditionally considered “literature” through the lens of disability studies, but here were people taking formats usually snubbed as trivial and deconstructing them in terms of an autistic aesthetic. Cool!

Given this information, Squawkers McCaw occurred as a formidable subject. Based on the lack of comments this video has elicited, I deem it to be a failed project. Not that that’s a bad thing. It was fun to work on and I learned some things. It got a few laughs and set an interesting tone for the workshop. Squawk.

Following the Squawkers video, Julia Miele-Rodas presented Autistic Architecture in Digital Games: Narrative, Voice, Play.

From Julia’s paper:

Ultimately, the patterns of rhetoric established within these texts operate in ways that bring human experience and identity into relief, reclaiming these from the invisible and the intuitive. Videogames formalize narrative in ways that satisfy a greater autistic aesthetic—abstraction, order, and formal symmetry. These are texts which are attentive to boundaries; they demonstrate a penchant for the categorical; they collect, collate, and enumerate; they discipline social exchange within a spatial matrix; they bind affective content into orderly relation with the material and the concrete; and they invite repetition and perseveration. (Rodas, 2012)

Chris Foss followed, reading his paper, Reading in Pictures: Re-visioning Autism and Literature through the Medium of Manga.

What makes manga such an important form for helping to suggest more expansive possibilities where literary autism is concerned, however, is that it offers an entry point for the consideration of multiple aspects of autistic embodiment. Indeed, perhaps the most compelling argument for why manga seems so well suited for more fully expressing the lived experience of autism than traditional literary narratives stems from the fact that manga offers a decidedly multimodal reading experience, one which may engage multiple senses simultaneously and thereby encourage various forms of interaction with the text. (Foss, 2012)

Melanie Yergeau, participating through video and Skype, then read That’s just your autism talking (and other phrases that shouldn’t appear in an autism essay.

During my second week as a new faculty member, I was involuntarily committed to the psych ward at the university hospital. I would say that I make this statement against my better judgment, but such a sentiment presupposes that I have better judgment. (Which, according to my ex-doctors, I don’t.)

If you have not yet read this post at Melanie’s blog Aspie Rhetor, please do so now. For me, this was the highlight of the workshop, the story of a disability scholar being abused, patronized, and regarded as unworthy of basic human rights.

After that was another video in which I rambled on about autistic communication.

Well, that should certainly have led to a lively and interesting discussion, right? Considering the educators and students in attendance, I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I knew it would be fun and different.

Then came the time for questions.

What did participants want to talk about? The proposed changes to the DSM. What did we think about them? What would this mean for services? There was no getting off this track once it started.

Given the excellent and varied content, the opportunity to explore new ways of looking at autism, and presumably the ideal audience, the medical model still managed to assert itself with force.

At the end of Julia’s presentation, she quoted from Ender’s Game by Orson Scott-Card:

He had lots of deaths, but that was OK, games were like that, you died a lot before you got the hang of it.

Alternative ways of looking at autism have only started to take hold of the collective imagination. I believe that the medical model of disability will someday be seen as a quaint and inadequate construct. I hope that the day comes sooner rather than later, that autistic people will be respected as fully human rather than rhetorically erased and subject to involuntary committment for behavioral differences. For whatever role scholarship can play in this, I am grateful. We've died enough already.

BADD: Connecting dots

noreply@blogger.com (Bev) — Tue, 01 May 2012 15:14:00 +0000

Somebody calls autism a tragedy. Somebody kills an autistic person. Somebody doesn’t see how these two events are connected. I try to explain. I try harder. It happens again and again and again and somebody ‘splains it away.

The topic here is devaluation. When it becomes commonplace to pair the words autism and tragedy, the pairing seeps deep down into the collective mind. When the puzzle piece becomes the recognized symbol for autism, the message comes over and over that there is something unfinished about the person. Something mysterious that the general public cannot be expected to understand. Now when someone hears “autism,” tragedy echoes in the background. Puzzlement reverberates. This one is not like the others. This one is out of our range of understanding and compassion.

Somebody calls my request for respectful language and symbolism “political correctness.” Although this respect exists barely anywhere, it is portrayed as enforced, and therefore something that must be rebelled against. Somebody gets the bright idea to light buildings up blue for awareness. Everybody is more aware of the tragedy and the mystery and otherness. Nobody asks autistic people what this might mean for their futures.

She wants a job, but the employer has heard that people like her are prone to violence. She wants to live on her own, but she carries the luggage stickered with claims of eternal childhood and helplessness. She needs a communication device, but someone knows this is pointless because she is empty. Someone has heard things. Out of frustration, she bangs her head. Somebody takes this as evidence, now she is locked away.

Somewhere else, another child has been diagnosed with autism. He is forced to drink bleach, drowned in a bathtub, or smothered to death. This is the true meaning of tragedy. The voices are crying for understanding, not for the murdered but for their killers. The difficult, difficult lives they have led, autism is to blame. A puzzle piece is affixed to another bumper, the enigma of autism advertised, along with the pleas for an end to it, spewing out into the air as someone else drives on into the darkness.

This post is offered for Blogging Against Disablism Day in honor of Katie McCarron (2002-2006).

Attention

noreply@blogger.com (Bev) — Mon, 30 Apr 2012 17:59:00 +0000

There’s an old Zen story: A student said to Master Ichu, “Please write for me something of great wisdom.”

Master Ichu picked up his brush and wrote one word: “Attention.”

The student said, “Is that all?”

The master wrote, “Attention. Attention.”

The student became irritable. “That doesn’t seem profound or subtle to me.”

In response, Master Ichu wrote simply, “Attention. Attention. Attention.”

In frustration, the student demanded, “What does this word attention mean?”

Master Ichu replied, “Attention means attention.”

-Beck, C.J. (1993). Nothing special: Living Zen. New York: HarperCollins. 168.

I squawk to relieve stress or to stay in the conversation when words are scarce. This is sometimes seen as “attention seeking behavior.” I should be ignored until I behave “appropriately.” Appropriately means like the majority. I do not care for the kind of attention I am being accused of.

Attention means knowing that I ended that last sentence with a preposition, attention means noticing the comma splice. Proper and consistent attention to these things tells me they are a part of my style, a representation of my thought processes, not errors. When I write a formal paper, I don’t do this. I pay attention to where I am.

Some people pay attention to their driving by listening to music, arguing with a passenger, talking on the phone, thinking about work or money problems. I am not able to do this, my kind of attention is different, focused, even when to most, the task at hand seems simple. You’ve done this thousands of times, it’s automatic. But lives are at stake.

Often confused with attention is awareness. Today is the last day of April, and I am glad. Awareness will still be demanded by the puzzle pieces and ribbons and walks and undoubtedly some will remain lit up blue well into the summer months.

Awareness in itself is neither good nor bad. But combine the word with “autism” and Google it. What you will find will have little to do with the concerns of autistic people and everything to do with fear.

Autism Awareness is all about how many of us there are and what should be done about it, and to whom you can give your money. Attention to detail will show you where the money goes.

This April, some better, more important, forms of awareness have been in the air. At long last, attention from major media sources is being directed toward the horrors of the Judge Rotenberg Center in Massachusetts. People watch Fox News and read Time Magazine who do not read blogs by autistic adults.

Attention: People are being tortured in the name of treatment.

Lives are at stake.

It is possible that the next time I talk to a group, when I ask who has heard of JRC, someone will raise a hand. That would represent progress. There is a lot of work that will need to be done to keep JRC in the public eye long enough for demand to grow to finally shut it down. This problem must not be pushed aside in the flurry of “awareness.”

Attention is a strength for many autistic people. Only you call it preoccupation or obsession or something else slightly or very judgmental.

See that autistic child, turning in circles, going on about robots again?

You call it perseveration, you miss the point.

This is his way of being, not an error.

Attention.

This is an opportunity. It might not come again.

Cripples, Idiots, Lepers, and Freaks

noreply@blogger.com (Bev) — Fri, 27 Apr 2012 14:38:00 +0000

It was a different sort of autism workshop from those in which I have usually been asked to participate. The topics included video games and manga. The presenters were academics, mostly English professors. The invitation I received referred to me as an autism scholar (!) I started to think about the meaning of the word “scholar” and whether I was or wasn’t. It was a spiral of thought resembling what happens when I think about the word “autism.” I like the idea of looking at the concept of autism in different contexts. I very much like the idea of expanding the definition of scholarship to include more people and formats. I really liked the name of the conference, too. The ESA 2012 was called Cripples, Idiots, Lepers, and Freaks: Extraordinary Bodies / Extraordinary Minds.

Since I couldn’t make it to NYC, the workshop’s organizer, Julia Miele Rodas, invited me to submit my thoughts in video form. This is one of the two I presented. We then had a group conversation via Skype.

In a day or two, I’ll post my thoughts about the workshop and links to the presentations by Julia, Chris Foss, and Melanie Yergeau.

Puzzling excuse number 128: It doesn't represent autistic people!

noreply@blogger.com (Bev) — Thu, 26 Apr 2012 00:27:00 +0000

It comes with the look halfway between perplexed and pitying. Because how could I not get it? And yet how could I, supposedly lacking Theory of Mind and understanding of symbolic language? It comes with an edge to the voice and the slightest roll of the eye. The puzzle piece, she explains, slowly, pointedly, as to an errant child, stands for the mystery of autism! Not autistic people, but how we still don't know what causes it!

And because it stands for what causes me to be me, well, obviously I shouldn't be offended. I try to explain that autism is not, cannot be, separate from the person, using the points Jim Sinclair outlined here. But then I look again. On her lapel is the most famous of all puzzle pieces. Of course I've seen it thousands of times, but I have to check, just in case I've been mistaken.

Nope, it's still the same. A puzzle piece shape in bright blue with legs, arms, and a shrunken little head. I'm pretty sure this is a person. Am I the only one who sees it? And while the Autism Speaks logo might not be the original autism puzzle piece, it is certainly the most recognizable. It represents a person, and despite my history of pareidolia there is no way you are going to convince me otherwise.

This has been cross-posted to unpuzzled.net. Please visit Unpuzzled to read more about the autism puzzle piece symbol.

Squawk?

noreply@blogger.com (Bev) — Mon, 01 Nov 2010 15:10:00 +0000

Consider the square who wouldn’t/couldn’t/didn’t say hello. Circles continue to believe that the square has failed to communicate. The square is further excluded. Next time, maybe, no one will say hello to the square. The circles might create a mythology wherein the square inhabits its “own world,” oblivious to the rollings around of the circles. Some will want to rescue the square, others to vilify. To a larger group, the square is simply invisible.

This is only the starting point of one set of consequences. The square does not live in some separate world, but in the circular world, where majority rules. If an action (or inaction) is deemed to mean certain things, if most shapes have agreed upon the meanings, this becomes a thing elevated to the status of “reality.” The square notes that not saying hello equals rude, indifferent, uncaring. Less capable, less intelligent. What are the other qualities and behaviors that go with these concepts? How can the square go about completing some sort of package that would make sense to other shapes, perhaps becoming visible again, a part of “reality?”

There was a time when I didn’t say much. I didn’t know that I could. The spaces where words were to go were never big enough for me to find out. Interrupting was said to be rude. There was the sleeping air traffic controller, never on duty to say which thought had permission to land. They circled, crashing invisibly as they ran out of fuel. What was left was a texture or pattern. My hand reached again for brick or corduroy. Evidence.

I had nothing to say; the information was not yet in words. It took many years to learn how to participate. A big part of it, still, is being willing to ask for the time, and I don’t always do that. Slower still means less capable, silence still looks like indifference. The people who care most about me intend to include me. I know this. Sometimes a person or group will show acceptance of my rhythms, responding casually and without agitation to the “irrelevant” comment I offer several minutes after the subject has passed. It cannot be expected that this will always happen.

III

Some people are talking. I scribble on the piece of paper what I intend to say.

Sometimes I have been able to work around the control tower issues through writing. Writing has always been easier, I have always said that written English is my first language, spoken English being a distant second. I never quite achieved fluency.

What about the times when I don’t write? Who am I then? I hear things. I hear that this blog is closed and that I have given up. I wonder if this is true. It could be true.

This is not a new story, yes I’ve said this before. Sometimes the forms of communication that work best shift and crumble under my feet. Sometimes ways of expression are lost, maybe forever. This is a familiar pattern, one I have always known. Some months of writing followed by nothing. This latest absence was just the longest one that has happened in a semi-public space.

Several people are in a room, mooing. The ones who are not mooing may be embarrassed by this, I don’t know, but no one is saying to stop it. I am comfortable here. Later we will talk about the movie and mooing. I will tell them that there are many points on which I don’t agree with the movie’s subject, Temple Grandin. One of the non-mooers will promote Grandin as a role model for all of the mooers and I will want to discourage this. When the time comes, what the non-mooer says is that Temple Grandin had many fears but she never gave up. I say how loud the fan blades were.

The conversation goes on without me. Some people write to ask if I am okay. I don’t really know what to tell them. If I no longer write, then I am not who I thought I was. What other characteristics go with this package? I don’t know how to answer.

The blades turn and the air whispers. It is in the air that people who fly are not quite autistic. People who travel on planes, drive cars, attend college, have jobs are called “shiny.” Meanwhile, more autistic people are dying. Another child is murdered, another adult beaten, another trapped in a van and left to die. If I tell my rectangular stories, it is in the hope that someone will understand that silence does not equal indifference or irrelevance. Silence is not the opposite of communication. My voice, when present, is not meant to replace anyone's voice.

VII

Sometimes the squawk is all there is. Voluntary? Involuntary? I always get asked. I squawk for many reasons. Sometimes it is a way of staying engaged until I know what else I have to offer. Sometimes I don’t know why I’m squawking.

The conference was not autism friendly. I’m sure they tried, and everyone was polite and engaged and appreciative, but directions to the location were sketchy at best. I arrived to find that the workforce development event I had agreed to speak at had been titled “Behind the Mask.” Shiny, glittery decorations were on every table and wall. Mardi Gras masks. I sat down, overwhelmed and confused and waited for someone to welcome me. And then I told stories of employment and squawking and answered the usual questions.

I wanted to tell them there was no mask. I hadn’t been wearing one, hadn’t removed some mysterious facade to show the human shivering behind it. I didn’t come from a separate world. There was no secret to reveal, only the value of accepting and appreciating differences. Everyone knows that by now, right? Is there anything left for me to say? I don’t know. Sometimes the squawk is followed by other sounds, sometimes it isn’t.

VIII

I should have said this before. I’ll say it now, then. Squawk. Squawk. Squawk. Squawk. Squawk squawk squawk squawk. That’s it. For now, that’s all I know.

Executive Functioning Blues

noreply@blogger.com (Bev) — Tue, 25 May 2010 16:36:00 +0000

Today, as on many days, there is too much to do.

I put the items into a list. I categorize the list: Work Stuff (my job), Other Work Stuff (things I have promised to do that are also work, but I don’t necessarily get paid for them), Home Stuff (chores and bills), and Phone. Phone goes at the top of the list, then the bottom. Get it over with? Put it off until I forget or find it doesn’t matter anymore? Or just move it around? Phone goes to second on the list. There are a number of items under Phone and this is a problem. If I get to the first item under Phone today, I’ll consider it a victory. I realize that one of the Phone calls will be of an automated nature. I make that one right away, but it doesn’t count. I highlight it anyway, but I know better. I toy with the idea of sorting the rest of Phone into the three other categories, according to what the call is about. No, Phone deserves its own place in the Purgatory of the list, third place out of four.

Not that the order makes the slightest bit of difference. Within categories it may, but then I may just pick the quickest item so I have the opportunity to use the highlighting tool at least twice today. I start with one of the two spreadsheets under Other Work, this is due first. Completing it will necessitate phone calls. I can’t put them under Phone, they have to stay here. I grab the house phone from the kitchen counter and put it on the desk so it will be here when I’m ready. I notice in my browser tab that I have mail. I’ll just take a glance. This looks important, an email sent to my entire workplace!

Uh-oh. This is not good. A local autism society is requesting that my workplace participate in some sort of autism walk. There is a puzzle piece on the page. There is a breezy suggestion about who should head up the efforts, and the person named is a friend of mine. I check the autism society’s website to see how they have described the event. Although it has been publicized as a Missing Piece March, it seems that it will be more of a festival, with games for kids and information booths. I click through the site, and find no mentions of devastating diseases or burdens on society. Hmmm…the event itself is described as a place where autistic kids can be themselves without being judged. Barely a mention of the existence of adults, and of course no questioning of why autistics can’t be themselves everywhere, but I’ve certainly seen worse. On to the links page.

This is where I find problems. Big problems. Judge Rotenberg Center is listed as a “resource.” I start composing an email to my coworkers asking them not to support this organization's event. But then I start thinking that I should really be writing the autism society instead. Coworker email goes into drafts folder. While I am writing the autism society contact, I start to think that maybe I should ask for a booth at the event to promote…okay, let’s say in their language…awareness…of issues adults on the spectrum face. I know that this means things like being tasered for sitting alone outside a bar, being excluded from jobs, facing all sorts of discrimination and harassment, etc., but maybe the way I am asking sounds less threatening. Is that honest? Is it honest enough? I don’t know so I add a line about neurodiversity. But what will this person have heard about the word, so I add a definition: "Neurodiversity is part of the general idea that human beings should have human rights."

What am I thinking? A hot summer day spent in a field with noisy kids and exasperated adults to pass out brochures and display posters that will possibly just make people angry? More emails are arriving, possibly coworkers asking about the event. What do I think? Is this bad? Is it like Autism Speaks? and I don’t yet know how to tell them and I still haven’t sent the first email saying let’s not do this thing and no I do not want to stand in the hot field all day to be vilified but should I? Should I? Another mail goes into the drafts folder and the spreadsheet is still waiting and it is noon here already and everyone knows I don't work as well after lunch, but Look! I have practically written a blog post which now needs editing and I might as well post it, since I will soon be too tired and frustrated to bother.

One thing has to be done for sure. I write the autism society and explain why the link to JRC needs to be removed.

The phone goes back to its base. Maybe tomorrow…

Dear Abby, Is He Human?

noreply@blogger.com (Bev) — Fri, 21 May 2010 17:11:00 +0000

Jasper is 24, autistic, and has a girlfriend. A visitor to the home he shares with his parents notices that Jasper has a mark on his neck that might indicate he and his girlfriend may be (now or soon) having sex. The visitor is concerned. She expresses her concern by suggesting to Jasper’s mother (in Jasper’s presence) that she might want to consider having him “fixed.”

I found this recent installment of Dear Abby through FWD. Read FWD’s response here. Jasper has been diagnosed with Asperger syndrome and ADD. Dear, dear Abby, rather than letting the busybody have it, suggests that if Jasper’s mother is interested in maintaining her friendship with the Bigoted Busybody, she should let her know that Jasper’s counselor has said that things might, eventually, work out okay for Jasper.

How many kinds of wrong do you see?

Here, I’ll get you started.

1. (Bigoted Busybody) Presuming to know what is best for a person with a disability.
2. (BB) Talking about a person as if he were a household pet.
3. (BB) Talking about a person as if he were not in the room or capable of understanding.
4. (BB) Promoting eugenics.
5. (Mom) Throughout the letter, calls BB her “friend.”

6. (Fill in the blanks.)

There is a lot of talk in the autism “communities” about who has the right to speak for autistic people. What this usually means is something more like who has the right to speak up for autistic people. I wonder what Jasper has been taught to believe about himself and his rights as a human being. He is a man, not a child. Not a pet. Had I been in his place, I would not have been able to respond verbally. At his age, I most likely would have broken a few things. I would have howled in pain. I make animal sounds sometimes, but still, I am human.

When autistic people are spoken about by charities, parent groups, spouse “support” groups, television, movies, magazines, and newspapers daily as if we were a burden, behavior like this becomes more common. Under what circumstances would a parent of an adult without a disability feel the need to ask an advice columnist whether this might be a good time to tell the offender to shut the hell up and get out? I can’t imagine.

The Incapable Man

noreply@blogger.com (Bev) — Tue, 18 May 2010 19:16:00 +0000

I

Incapable of returning love. In the Philippines, in Mandaluyong City, a party is held to celebrate the telling of the story. He is forty-four. The book was his mother’s idea and she conveyed the story to its authors. A party is held in lieu of a wedding. This man will never be married, incapable as he is of returning love. The article telling the story of the party for the biography of the man who will never marry, who is incapable of returning love, is filled with references to unconditional acceptance. Unconditional love. The value of autistic people is mentioned. Someone is trying.

I read the story. I read it again. I think about it for days, I can’t let it go. Incapable of returning love. People have said things about me; more often, I have seen things. In their eyes, like a mix of confusion and anger, compassion and pity. There may be a word for this mix, but I don’t know it. These looks happen far less often than they used to. After all, I have had 50 years to learn how to make myself understood.

II

“Andrei paints, reads, plays a portable organ and xylophone. He has the comprehension of a second grader, but paints like a pro.”

The story says so. What is music, what are painting and poetry made of? Not only talent, not just skill, but emotion and comprehension are components.

Growing up, the arts saved my life, over and over. This is not hyperbole. While half of the bookshelves in my room filled with volumes on death and suicide, no one seemed to notice. Placing objects in a room is not considered standard communication. The other shelves contained books of modern and contemporary poetry and art. For years, these were my closest friends, quietly agreeing that nonstandard ways of communication held value. “So much depends /upon/ a red wheel/barrow/ glazed with rain/water/ beside the white/chickens.” This poem was much like the way I talked, the way I thought, and this poem was important. Evocation of the Apparition of Lenin was important. Rothko’s paintings meant something to me. Pollock’s did. Not something translatable. I was not alone.

III

I turned 50 last month. A party was held. I invited some of the people I care about, as many as I could afford to entertain, as many as would fit into the room. I designed invitations, shopped, prepared food, arranged activities and music. Other people helped too, assisting with the last minute food preparations, and designing an elaborate menu of mocktails to go along with the mid century theme I had chosen. Still others helped by keeping the party social, remembering the things I tend to forget, the introductions, the place to hang up the coats.

Placement of objects in the room was intended to communicate. To explain in words what the styles of the late 1950’s through early 1970’s mean to me, I would risk being tedious and dull. Do you really want to hear why I think that Noguchi table represents the malleability of hope in the face of mortality? Or that the starburst clock, encompassing at once the tragedy of Hiroshima and the promise of space travel, makes an eloquent statement on humanity’s relationship to technology? The party offered an opportunity to paint the picture wordlessly. To show it. To share something about myself with the people I care about, to have them enter a place in my imaginary world. By which I mean real.

IV

“The book talks about the ways in which an autistic child is accepted and nurtured with unconditional love despite the dam of a mental handicap separating him from others.”

The separating/dam. What does it mean for a person who does not like being in large groups, who prefers even solitude, to host a party? This is not a rhetorical question. Because I worry that it might mean self-indulgence. In the dominant language. To invite people to try enjoying the things I enjoy, maybe this is not called “sharing” but “demanding” something of people. I worry that it is wrong to celebrate my survival. I worry that it is seen as wrong to communicate in my own language. In the past, I have seen things. I worry. Anything I say or do might be evidence.

More goes on in the minds of others than can be demonstrated or seen. My mind. Andrei’s mind. Your mind. There is a genetic agreement that smile means happy, that tears mean sad. When you don’t see these signs, you may assume that emotions are also lacking. When an answer is not given to a question, you may assume the one questioned does not have the information. Or has the comprehension of a second grader. Or does not wish to communicate with you. The assumption is automatic, yet comes packaged with the opportunity to question. I might have assumed that my family, not reading my signals, wished I would kill myself. That would have been incorrect, though I had communicated and they had failed to respond in kind. We never did speak the same language. And love? I have had to accept over and over that it will not come in the ways I expect, but in the native language of the ones bestowing it. Like Andrei’s parents, like anyone’s parents, I must constantly adjust my expectations. This is not my hardship or your handicap, not a cause for self-congratulation. This is just the hard work love is made of.

Autism Speaks FAIL Deconstructed

noreply@blogger.com (Bev) — Tue, 11 May 2010 17:31:00 +0000

Created using Strip Generator

Context

Teacher: An ironic postmodern statement on so-called charitable organizations that appear to offer sustenance while actually impoverishing those they purport to serve. The flame represents potential destruction masquerading as hope, while the diminutive scale references the minimizing of relevant voices. And then there's the medium...

Student: Hamburger???

Teacher: Wax.

Student: Ugh. Something stinks.

Teacher: This, too, is part of the narrative.

Social Skills Video

noreply@blogger.com (Bev) — Mon, 10 May 2010 17:45:00 +0000

Defining Terms

noreply@blogger.com (Bev) — Thu, 06 May 2010 12:06:00 +0000

Agreement upon the meaning of words can be very useful when engaging in discussion with others. There are dictionaries for this, but sometimes people prefer to make up their own meanings. Other times, since language is always evolving, and since connotations vary depending upon group history and by region, there can be legitimate disagreement over the meanings of words. Some words seem especially vulnerable to being twisted or purposely corrupted.

Please choose any question or questions from this quiz for discussion in the comments section. I may very well choose to post your response and offer my own thoughts on the topic.

1. A and B are members of a self-advocacy community who disagree on several points. A posts a photo of a pig rolling in mud and caption’s it with B’s name. This is an example of:

a) free speech
b) bullying
c) It depends on the context

2. D leaves a comment on C’s blog saying that A is a liar. C elects not to post the comment. This is an example of:

a) censorship
b) freedom of association
c) discretion
d) insistence on verification of possibly damaging information

3. D now posts a comment to Z’s blog stating that B is psychotic and should be killed if she does not stop talking. Z allows the comment to stand. Z is guilty of:

a) nothing at all
b) aiding and abetting a death threat
c) supporting harassment
d) bullying
e) It depends on what country this happened in

4. E posts graphic comments about F’s body. When asked to retract the comment, E refuses. This could be considered:

a) all in good fun
b) a valid expression of male sexuality
c) sexual harassment
d) perfectly acceptable

5. L wants fellow blogger M to link to his blog. M refuses because he does not wish to be associated with some of the posts L has written. M is probably:

a) a spineless coward
b) censoring L
c) exercising free will
d) entitled to associate with whomever he wishes

6. A group of advocates writes a letter strongly disavowing the opinion of another individual who has suggested that anyone claiming to be autistic should be required to provide evidence of diagnosis. The group is practicing:

a) advocacy
b) bullying
c) free speech

7. Several members of a self-advocacy community have objected to a series of false accusations about one advocate and unwanted sexual comments directed toward another. Most of those who have denounced this behavior have been women. This is probably because:

a) they are all lesbians
b) they are delicate flowers, crybabies, can’t take the heat
c) they hate men
d) they are not really autistic
e) some men have not chosen to speak up against the bully

8. Which statement(s) represent(s) the values and ideals of neurodiversity:

a) People with Asperger syndrome are valuable to society and should not be thought of in the same way as those with “classic” autism.
b) Autistic people are not mentally ill, so they should not be subjected to institutionalization.
c) There are more autistic men than autistic women; therefore if an autistic advocacy group has more female than male members, men are being intentionally excluded and discriminated against.
d) People require different types and levels of support, but all are of equal value to society, regardless of diagnosis, and all are deserving of ethical treatment and human rights.
e) Presenting a united front is important to the cause; all autistic people should come to an agreement on what is best for autistics.

The company I keep

noreply@blogger.com (Bev) — Tue, 04 May 2010 01:00:00 +0000

Like many other parents around the world, mine warned me that I would be judged by the company I kept. I paid this little mind, believing that what they meant was something more like Stay Away From Those Who Are Different. People somehow less worthy. It took many years to begin to understand the concept of the guilty bystander. How standing next to a bully while saying nothing made me a bully too. It’s a lesson I’ve had to learn over and over. Now I’m learning again.

For three years now, this blog has been connected to the Autism Hub. About half of my traffic comes through the Hub. I have discussed the Hub and the benefits of participation in several conference presentations. I have met good friends through the Hub. It has been important to me.

Here’s the problem. Lately, I’ve become aware that I don’t know what Autism Hub is. I have thought of it in various ways. I have sometimes thought of it as “community” and “mutual support” and “strength in numbers,” when in reality it is probably no more than a collection of links. I no longer know how blogs are added to the Hub. When I joined, I was simply approved by the administrator. Later, I had the opportunity to vote on new admissions. I haven’t had any of those requests for some time now. The email list for Hub members was discontinued a year ago. Several of the writers whose work originally attracted me to the Hub have left. At this point, I don’t see myself as a stakeholder, but as one of many names on a powerful page of links.

The Autism Hub is billed as “The Very Best in Autism Blogging.” This is a statement with which I agreed at one time, but I no longer find it to be true. Maybe it’s just my autistic black and white thinking, but to me this statement from the Hub’s main page means something different from what I have been seeing: "The Autism Hub promotes diversity and human rights, with ethics and reality as the core guiding principals." I think that diversity means more than whatever someone’s diagnostic papers may say. I believe that the term human rights includes freedom from harassment. Ethics is another big idea: “A theory or system of moral values” is one way to define it.

I no longer have any idea what values Autism Hub represents. This isn’t about censorship. I don’t want a list of links telling me what I can and cannot write, and I wouldn’t want that for anyone else. But membership in the Hub is voluntary. It must mean something. A group chooses to link to me, and I agree. In the beginning, I sought it out. I am a part of this thing. That is different from linking done without my own endorsement, which means something only about what the person linking believes, nothing about what I think of that person's or group's ideas.

This isn’t about politics. There are writers on the Hub who strongly disagree with my opinions on some important matters. Some of these people are my friends. They don’t call me names or make crude comments about me. We share at least one common goal, creating a better world for autistic people. I value these relationships I have with people whose values differ from mine. The people I consider my friends are not bullies.

For anyone who has missed it, one or more Autism Hub members have expressed their ethics and support of human rights by defaming, bullying and harassing other autistics. While others have left the Hub or stopped blogging altogether because of this and similar incidents, the offenders remain. The most recent incident has been especially egregious.

And where have I been? I have not written anything here for two months now. There are two main reasons for this. I have been struggling to keep up with my classes, job, and other responsibilities. There are times when I cannot do everything I need to do, and this has been the case for awhile. With summer approaching, I look forward to having more time to write. The second reason is related to conflict within the “community.” I have seen things that have caused me to question my allegiance to groups I have supported in the past; this has been a time of reflection and refocusing. Perhaps this latest instance of bullying on the Hub is the second bookend flanking these volumes of thought.

This is not the first time something like this has happened, and I should have taken a stand long ago. I hereby request that my blog be removed from Autism Hub. It’s not a good fit for me anymore. While I believe in and support freedom of speech for all, I do not wish to have my name associated with statements which intentionally harm people. Sure, maybe, probably, it is just a page of links. But I cannot in good conscience remain there, knowing that my choice to do so might be seen to support one sort of bigotry in the pursuit of ending another. There are enough people out there claiming that all autistic self-advocates are hypocrites. If such accusations make me more vigilant against such failings, so much the better.

To Kowalski, and to all others who have been victimized by similar behaviors in the past, I apologize for taking so long to say this. That was a sort of silence that wasn’t okay.

Readers: If you normally access this blog through Autism Hub, and would like to continue reading, please subscribe to the feed or bookmark me. It is my intention that there will be more things to read here in the near future.

Square Talk: Exclusion

noreply@blogger.com (Bev) — Tue, 02 Mar 2010 13:52:00 +0000

Perseveration in the Workplace

noreply@blogger.com (Bev) — Wed, 17 Feb 2010 16:41:00 +0000

Angry Aspies, Please Go Away

noreply@blogger.com (Bev) — Sat, 13 Feb 2010 14:15:00 +0000

Seriously. Michael John Carley says he is "going to have a very hard time calling [him]self autistic," since some others with the same label may wear adult diapers and head-restraining devices. "Hard to swallow," Mr. Carley? What I find difficult to digest is the idea that there are people out there promoting pride and dignity for people diagnosed with Asperger syndrome, while denying other disabled people the same. It makes an easy target of those of us who happen to share (well temporarily, until the new DSM V is completed) your label, but who stand for the basic human rights and dignity of all people. And, oh yeah, it's just plain wrong.

I am autistic, Mr. Carley. I have always been autistic, and I have never been ashamed of having this in common with people whose needs are greater than my own. I worry, though, that people might think I'm like you. I'm not. I know that having a disability doesn't make anyone less of a person.

Did you write this vision statement for GRASP, Mr. Carley?

"At GRASP we envision a world where all individuals on the autism spectrum are respected, valued, and fairly represented; where appropriate supports and services are readily available to those in need; and where people on the spectrum are empowered to participate in policy and personal decisions that affect their lives."

And if so, what did you mean by "respected" and "valued" and "all individuals?" Because I'm not getting it.

Another well known "Aspie," Liane Holliday Willey, weighs in on the topic here. " 'Grouping Aspies with people who have language delays, need more self-care and have lower IQs, how in the world are we going to rise to what we can do?' Willey said." If this "rising" means someone else needs to be pushed down, no thanks, I don't want any of it.

I don't like to call out other autistics by name, and I rarely do that here. I'm making an exception for these two; this is too important to let go without comment. There are too many people out there claiming that "neurodiversity" means selfishly promoting the needs of the "super high-functioning" and "barely autistic" at the expense of people you have now publicly disrespected.

Once the DSM has removed Asperger syndrome from its pages, there will still be plenty of "autism advocates" to tell me I'm not really autistic. Of course their opinions won't make any more or less difference than they did before. I'll still be what I am and they will still be what they are too. Why don't you guys over at GRASP just keep the "Aspie" label for yourselves then? I am already autistic, you see; I really have no use for it.

Late Interventions: Contributions from Readers

noreply@blogger.com (Bev) — Wed, 10 Feb 2010 16:58:00 +0000

I appreciate all of the contributions that are coming in. I will post more here as I get them done. Please understand that I will not be posting captions which conflict with the intention of this campaign (respect and full inclusion for all autistic people). If I have a question about your photo or caption, you will receive a personal response from me before the poster is completed. Please refer to this post for more examples of the types of "intervention" I'm looking for.

Edit: One person has requested to link her poster to her website. This option is now available to anyone whose photo appears here as part of this campaign. Just let me know when you send in your picture.

Late Intervention Campaign

noreply@blogger.com (Bev) — Tue, 09 Feb 2010 18:41:00 +0000

Autistic adult readers of Asperger Square 8 are invited to join this campaign. Send me your photo and the name of an "intervention" that has helped or might help you, and I will add it to mine. Please send only your own photo, or one you have been given permission to use for this purpose. And yes, it is okay if you are 15 or 16 and think of yourself as an adult. You get to define yourself here.

Many thanks to darling.clandestine for the photos I've used here.

She will never

noreply@blogger.com (Bev) — Sat, 06 Feb 2010 22:40:00 +0000

She will never have friends. She won’t fall in love. She will never be able to live on her own. She won’t go to college. She won’t get a job. She will never fit in with the others. She won’t be able to travel. She’ll never fulfill her potential. She won’t drive a car. She will never be happy. She will never be the daughter you dreamed of.

She can’t even tie her own shoes. She can’t even blow her own nose. She can’t read a map. She can’t catch a ball. She doesn’t know whom she should trust. She can't cross the street. She can’t be allowed to stay home alone.

Some of these things she does not care about. Others she might like to try. Some of them, she will have achieved soon after you swore she would not. More important, know that she hears you. She knows you never believed in her. She's sure there must be something bad about someone who couldn’t do everything on your list. She knows that you told everybody you know about what, in her understanding, you saw as her failures.

She is angry and hurt. She will try to forgive. She will try to believe in herself. She will do her best to continue growing in positive directions. She will always remember those things you have said. From this, she will never recover.

By the book: The denial of difference in Alcoholics Anonymous

noreply@blogger.com (Bev) — Fri, 05 Feb 2010 03:27:00 +0000

1985-1992

The back of the room is safe but the back of the room is forbidden. Isolating means fear and denial. Come to the front. Come to the table. At the table, I cannot function. The faces know. I cannot look. At the first opportunity, I will move to a corner. Lower my head so I don’t see the looks.

The hardest part of it all is staying in the room. Some meetings are harder than others. You never know when the person chairing is going to be of the controlling type. Today, we will go around the room and say how we are powerless or what we are grateful for. Or worse, she will call on people randomly. Going around the room is better because I would know when to leave. Leaving is wrong, but I have no choice. I don’t yet have the tools for staying.

Once in awhile someone will have a talk with me. People have followed me out. What are you afraid of? You are getting ready to drink. But I am not afraid of telling the truth. I am not able to speak.

This had happened in school too. One of the things I did to frustrate my teachers was to say only “I don’t know” when called on to answer a question. They knew this was a lie because I had already discussed the very topic in an essay or chosen it from a standardized test. Sometimes, I might even volunteer the answer, briefly, orally. But when called on, I never knew. It was common knowledge that I lied about these things because I was “shy.” I did not know why my mind went blank or filled with random pictures or graphs. Sometimes, I would try very hard to make a sentence out of it. People would stare back blankly because whatever I said seemed several topics removed from the question.

During my early years in AA, I rarely stayed in the room for an entire meeting. People would try to engage me by asking me to do things. I could not chair a meeting, but I could make coffee. I could not stand up and tell my story to a group, but I could collect the trash and take it out. Eventually, it became clear to me that this was no longer enough.

I went for nearly three years before drifting off.

1999-present

The hardest part of it all was staying in the room. I was older now, 39 as opposed to 25. I understood more about how to stay. This was viewed positively by the few who had known me before. It was framed as “being ready this time,” as being more willing. That was probably true, too, after seven more years of alcoholic drinking. The key for me was that I had acquired the ability to say the word “pass” or even “I will just listen today” when it was my turn to speak. I still found myself with an urgent need to use the restroom or take a walk at some point, but usually I came back.

Conflict arose when the time came to receive my first token, representing one year of sobriety. I tried to refuse. The tradition is to say a few words and I hadn’t yet said anything in any meeting beyond “pass” or “I will just listen today.” But I had bought into the idea so prevalent in AA that somehow displeasing one's sponsor and group is likely to lead to tragedy. I had accepted a lot of beliefs I knew were lacking in logic and reason. I had been told I would surely drink if I did not do this. For months, I had traded aspects of critical thinking for the approval that seemed somehow to play a role in keeping me alive.

When I think about this now, I understand how easily reason can be set aside in favor of anecdotal evidence. I heard the stories over and over: Beth comes to meetings every day, and she has been sober for 10 years. Marie was sober for 10 years, too, but she stopped going to meetings a year ago and now she is drinking again. Rita did the same thing, and now she is dead. There was a seemingly endless supply of such stories. I was pretty sure that there were people who did not go to AA and still were sober, but eventually, I stopped asking questions because these questions, I was told, were a function of denial. Then there were those people who came around all the time and seemed to do everything recommended, but never seemed able to stay sober. There was an explanation for that. They were doing it wrong.

One hears the same sorts of stories about autism causes and treatments. Joe was autistic, but now he's not since starting XYZ. If you question this, it is because your philosophy is flawed. "My child is my evidence." That sort of thing.

I negotiated the token situation with my sponsor. I could use a simple script when accepting the token; “thank you” would be enough. Reluctantly, I agreed, and found myself adding to the script so that when the time came, I had several short sentences to say. This might have been a mistake. People were amazed by the talking I did. Now they were sure I could say things at any time I wanted. I responded by memorizing brief scripts for various popular topics. They were coherent enough, having been written and memorized beforehand, that people started looking to me for advice, even asking me to sponsor them. The problem was that these new situations demanded far more ability to speak extemporaneously than I actually had. I had quickly risen to my level of incompetence.

Demands continued to increase. I was berated by my sponsor for the misbehavior of not going out to dinner after meetings. Apparently I lacked the all important willingness to socialize with groups, which was necessary to the next step of my development. I made many attempts to meet this expectation, becoming more miserable and alienated with each try. I could not understand why these monumental efforts toward conformity were not sufficient to stop the accusations of unwillingness. I came to believe that there was something fundamentally wrong with me, something that would surely lead me back to drinking.

During one argument with my sponsor over this and other crimes of autistic behavior, I stood in the middle of the street, doubled over, crying. “This is too much drama for me,” she said. And she laughed. I didn’t fire her; she fired me, a short while later. Her parting words were about how I had this tendency to see everything in black and white. This was probably the closest I came to drinking, and the best thing that could have happened. I found another sponsor who was flexible enough to accommodate, and even appreciate, my differences, one who did not find amusement in my pain. I still see her from time to time. Neither of us goes to the meetings anymore.

Further reflections

There were things I liked about Alcoholics Anonymous. There was a comforting sameness about the meetings, an orderliness to the steps. Hearing the stories of others who had been in the same kinds of trouble I had reassured me that sobriety was possible. Many people were kind and went out of their way to help others who were suffering. In fact I have never encountered another group of people so willing to sacrifice time and energy for people in need. And there was always coffee.

I never got over my uneasiness with the exhortations to “stop thinking so much” and just do what I was told, just as I never adjusted to social expectations that were entirely outside my understanding and abilities. But I did do (more or less) what I was told, and the fact that I took every step so very literally may have been helpful. I really don’t know.

There was one other thing that, in retrospect, I very much appreciate. Despite the many before-, during-, and after-meeting comparisons (this one’s drinking was far worse than that one’s) and the jockeying for status associated with long term sobriety, not one person ever questioned whether anyone, no matter how young or seemingly unscarred, met the DSM definition for substance dependence. All were considered qualified to know who they were, and with or without benefit of formal diagnosis, entitled to say so without rebuke.

Disclaimer

This post is not meant to discourage anyone who needs help and thinks that AA might be the solution. This is one person’s experience. I am sharing it with the hope that AA groups and members might consider the possibility that, despite the prevailing sarcasm toward people who “think they are different,” and are therefore surely in denial, some of us may truly have different needs which could easily be respected and accommodated.

Curing Autism

noreply@blogger.com (Bev) — Sat, 30 Jan 2010 04:30:00 +0000

Though I made it through childhood without a formal diagnosis, there was never any doubt that something was wrong. I heard about it at home, at school, even from strangers who stared in stores and restaurants, somehow knowing. What I knew about the something, independent of the tellings and looks, was that while being alone was fine, loneliness grew in every attempt to join the others. I could not talk to people, and I did not like them looking at me, waiting.

When I was 18, I found the cure. The cure came in bottles, 12 ounce amber ones and tall clear ones with Russian names. I found a voice, and I thought it was mine. For years I drank nearly every day. I went to parties, nightclubs, and the homes of people I knew and didn’t know. I danced and sang. I talked to people. These were a few of the things I did which did not harm anyone. I could write volumes about the things that did.

I was cured, for a time, of a certain form of communication deficit, and I learned to enjoy, for the first time ever, socializing with others. As far as the third part of the triad, the repetitive, obsessive part, well, not so much. Alcohol made the obsessions much more visible to others. I was not normal, not at all indistinguishable from my peers. Those obsessions, lasting anywhere from months to years, might have been manageable, might have passed for mere “quirks” to the casual observer before my cure, but these became the fuel for numerous conflicts, employment problems, threats of arrest, ludicrous piles of debt and falling from roofs onto wrought iron patio furniture. The details are not ones I care to discuss much here.

Eventually, the cure I had sought became a clear threat to my life. I had to give it up; yet this seemed impossible. I needed a cure for the cure, so I went to Alcoholics Anonymous, where I was told there was none. However, I was guaranteed a “daily reprieve” from alcohol if I became willing to follow a few simple rules. Because I could find no other option, I agreed to do this. Life improved, quickly in some areas, slowly in others.

It should be noted here that the story repeats like this: Seven years of drinking, seven years sobriety, seven more years of drinking. Then on to the current recovery period, now in year eleven.

What I am wanting to say here is twofold. Sometimes the cure is worse than what one is seeking to alleviate. Alcohol allowed more words to flow, but the words were not good ones. They no more represented my true self than my silence had. Likewise, the behaviors of children subjected to barbaric "interventions" at the Judge Rotenberg Center may seem improved to some, but at what cost?

Beyond that, I often wonder, when people seek treatments for “autism” exactly what it is they are hoping to treat. Autism is not one thing. My understanding of how it looks in me includes things like difficulty with spoken language (sometimes very little language is available, sometimes the words don’t match with what I mean to communicate); interests that differ in both type and intensity from most other people I know; repetitive movements and sounds; marked differences in information processing; problems with initiating and switching tasks; mild prosopagnosia; strong aversion to sounds most people don’t even notice; a stiff bouncy walk that sometimes draws comments and stares; general clumsiness; severe problems with sleep (waking as many as 20 times during a night); debilitating fears of things like thunderstorms and ants; unusual postures; inability to use facial expressions consistent with my intent or meaning; significant difficulties with managing time, finances and household upkeep; mild self-injurious behaviors; echolalia, both immediate and delayed; and the need for keeping an animatronic parrot at my side. That just scratches the surface.

How anyone can imagine that one drug, therapy, or other “intervention” might address all of these characteristics (and more!) is something that makes no sense to me. Indeed, it seems that most treatments for “autism” address at best a handful of items from a list far longer than the one provided here. For purposes of promoting particular treatments, “autism” can mean pretty much whatever a parent, therapist, doctor or business decides it means. Much like Humpty Dumpty[1] some people have decided that the word means “just what [they] choose it to mean, neither more, nor less.” Of course it can never mean what I say it means. I lack certain credentials (either autism or the absence of it, depending on whom you ask). Yes, it would be so nice if something made sense for a change.

In a future post, which I hope to deliver promptly, executive functioning skills permitting, I will discuss the AA experience, or at least some small parts of it, from the perspective of a (non-recovering) autistic recovering alcoholic.

[1] Numerous sources have reported that he was cracked.

Blaming Autism

noreply@blogger.com (Bev) — Thu, 28 Jan 2010 17:20:00 +0000

Frustrated by an autistic student who had fallen down, Akron school aide Ingram Myers dragged the young man "50 to 100 feet" by his ankles through the school hallway. This is not the first time Myers has been investigated for harming a student. In 2004, he was accused of striking a high school student, and was subsequently transferred to his current position. He has been placed on paid leave pending investigation of the January 14 incident involving the autistic child.

"I really want to see that this aide is not only removed from the school district but from his place of employment," Powers-Fabian [the student's mother] said. "Something should be done criminally so that they're (sic) something on his record so that he cannot work with this population in a school district."

Who is to blame? According to Kim Stagliano at Age of Autism, well, of course, you know...autism...is to blame. "As the numbers explode," she writes, "expect more horror stories of abuse and neglect." She is certain the solution to such actions is to eliminate autism. Protecting autistic children from harm is as simple as removing the behaviors associated with the disability. Isn't it?

Minority populations have always been vulnerable to abuse by those intolerant of difference. Take away autism (as if that were even remotely possible), take away the behaviors that make a person autistic (problably some annoying person would still fall down), and abusers will easily turn to another target. For the record, I disagree not only with Stagliano's position, but with Ms. Powers-Fabian's assessment as well. It is not enough to protect "this population" from violent acts perpetrated by unethical authority figures. All human beings deserve better.

"Blaming the disability" is no more than "blaming the victim" dressed up in charity model clothing. The issue here isn't autism. The issue is the abuse of power, and how this abuse is supported and enabled by views asserting, however covertly, that some people are less worthy, less valuable than others.

The Important Meeting

noreply@blogger.com (Bev) — Tue, 22 Dec 2009 12:43:00 +0000

Meetings can be important. They can be overwhelming. Meetings can help solidify relationships in the workplace. They can serve as distractions from what some of us see as the "real" job. This is about how I sometimes experience meetings at work.

How the Grinch Tried to Steal Autistic Self-Advocacy

noreply@blogger.com (Bev) — Fri, 18 Dec 2009 13:13:00 +0000

Each autistic person deserved life a lot...
But the Grinch, who lived outside of Reason,
Thought NOT!
The Grinch hated autism, every season
He liked to chelate cats and give dogs HBOT.

He thought all he could with his tiny green head
About how to prove they’d be better off dead
Until it occurred to him how to derail
Every self-advocate, make them all FAIL.
He talked and he talked about bad heavy metals
And fed every child only dandelion petals,
For surely the gluten contained in their snacks
Was causing the tantrums and nasty head whacks.

It wasn’t enough to define a disease
To diagnose those whose behavior displeased.
He had to make progress in shutting up those
Who saw through the lies he was sure they’d expose.

For every last one
who might dare denounce
Judge Rotenburg Center,
On each one he’d pounce.
He’d call them all liars
And Not Like My Child,
He’d scoff at their problems
And say they were “mild.”

He’d call them all ignorant, cruel and bitter,
Mock them on Facebook and flame them on Twitter.
When all were distracted defending themselves
The Grinch would be ready to work with his elves.

For each child who head banged or never did speak
He’d build a new center for shocking those freaks.
In every last schoolhouse, in every last town
He’d build rooms for locking and tying kids down.
In case the adults thought they’d be off the hook,
He’d tell all employers “Don’t bother to look”
At job seekers bringing a parrot along,
People like that have no right to belong.

But the really Big_plan that made the Grinch smile
Was much worse than HBOT, far worse than chelation,
His true goal was more than a little bit vile,
This Grinch, he was hell bent on eradication.

He'd make videos for Autism Speaks
About how the lives of autistics are bleak,
About the great burden we place on the others,
Moms, dads, aunts, uncles and sisters and brothers,
Surely the public would now buy his answer
To autism, so much more awful than cancer.

More money was needed, he hastened to warn
To keep any more of us from being born.
The only thing stopping him from the foul deed
Was that self advocates weren’t as naïve
As clueless professionals claimed in their scorn.

No longer would anyone listen or heed
The derailing tactics, they'd no longer plead
With bigots to understand they had a right
To speak up and take part in everyone’s fight.

From that moment on whenever they heard
"You’re not quite autistic,"
They just said “Absurd!”
The right to protest isn’t based on such stuff
As who can speak well or who seems like a nerd.
It’s more fundamental, this point the Grinch missed:
We’re human. We all have the right to exist.

Square Talk: Disclaimer

noreply@blogger.com (Bev) — Thu, 17 Dec 2009 13:05:00 +0000