September 8, 2014 - 17:22
I also believe that Eli Clare would chose to identify himself in this group as "supercrip". The word comes up many times when Eli speaks about dealing with people who are nondisabled. I have never experienced 'crip-theory' in school before and I believe this is the experience of many of the 360 students. Because we are reading Exile and Pride as the first text in two of our three courses, we are giving serious value to Clare's work and assigning him the supercrip label by default (subconciously). There were many times during the reading that I found myself "astonished" at his accomplishments-they far exceed my own- and then immediately felt guilty for thinking he could not accomplish them to begin with because of his CP. Eli Clare challenges us to "piss on pity" and take a different and less degrading approach to our interactions with the crip community. I found myself questioning the response I have when I hear a story of a supercrip. I know that I really am happy when someone in another "othered" group is able to accomplish something that society makes into an obstacle for them. I know that my intersectional view allows me to find a personal connection with disabled people as I too have felt real and often painful societal boundaries as a lesbian woman. But if Clare clearly shows that many times these are unwilling inspirational stories, where do I draw the line? When is the joy and connection I feel for these supercrips just voyeuristic and degrading?
I think Eli would use an icon showing "Piss on Pity" to remind those of us in the group who are nondisabled that our comments can sometimes be degrading and painful. That we must remind ourselves as we move through the study of disability to not pity but broaden our view to be a new definition of what is "normal".
On a more personal note, the theory of supercrips has made me question my experiences as a daughter of a person with acquired disability. I was only 20 when my 47 year old father lost the entire right side of his brain (save for some of the frontal lobe). My father was highly, highly independent and the stroke left him with the left side of his body paralyzed and severe cognitive deficits. (I speak of his independence not to create a hierarchy of ability for those who are not able to do the physical and emotional work that he is no longer able to do but to provide context. We had no idea that we already lived in such a hierarchy and we were raised to believe his independence was normal) We were a family with virtually no experience with disability and are now struggling to find a "new normal" within the confines of his disability and society's complete lack of a comprehensive and caring safety net. During his seven month stay in hospitals and rehabilitation facilities I was his primary caretaker. This role did not involve the personal and medical caregiving his nurses provided but I was his advocate and cheerleader. I believed vehemently that my father should work as hard as he could to become as much of his "normal self" that he could; essentially I pushed for him to become a supercrip. I still talk often about how "he was never supposed to walk, talk, or open his eyes again but now can do all three." I almost never explain to people that his "walking" is restricted to several steps and that even though he can talk, he is a vastly different person. Many people during his recovery called him a "superhero" and we were constantly encouraged to keep fighting for improvements. How would Eli Clare feel about this? The real pain of losing my dad as I knew him can not be argued away by crip-theory...or at least it feels that way. Where does my family's drive for this come from? Socialization? I find myself questioning a lot of the experiences I had and continue to have watching my dad engage in "rehabilitation". What does that word even really mean?