Download this page in PDF formatA conversation with Patrick a few days ago reminded me of a post I wrote in 2004, so I thought I’d add a little to it and bring it up to date. Original post is down below.
The conversation was pretty innocuous, talking about the way the sidewalks were totally impassable due to the snow being plowed onto them creating mega berms that will take ages to be cleared, and how it meant we’d have to travel on the road itself to reach the stores.
As an aside, Pat let slip that at one of the Powwows we attended a few years ago, someone had come up to him and said “You know you’re not really dancing, don’t you?”.
I should explain a little.
We go to powwows on a regular basis, those that we can reach in the Metro DC area. Both of us go out during inter-tribal dances. Now, we know we don’t “dance” the way everyone else does, physically – we can’t (although I have a design for a fancy shawl rig for my manual chair in mind that might actually surprise some people!). We know this as well as everyone else does.
But dancing in the circle isn’t just about the physical. The arena is Sacred Space, dancing is also about what you bring into that space in your heart.
My Tank has its own regalia, which either tells my story, or for the Veteran’s Day Powwows at George Mason University carries regalia I created specifically as a Patriot Guard Rider to show honor to my brothers and sisters in arms. That brings even more energy into that Sacred Space, with purpose.
The fact both of us are on wheels makes no difference to us – in some ways it amplifies and focuses us on that spiritual side of the dancing. We don’t “just wiggle our controller joysticks around” randomly, we let the song the Drum sings and the energy of the dancers around us guide us, our chairs, and yes our bodies as they will.
And, I hope, the other dancers in the arena can join our energy to theirs as we do theirs to ours. I still remember a pair of young dancers at one BAIC powwow in Baltimore dancing around the Tank as we went around the arena during an intertribal, making it and me part of their dance – even to jumping over my footplate with that grace and fearlessness of kids 
Until Pat mentioned that remark, I hadn’t even really thought about the question “Are we dancing, or just playing?”. I have a feeling the answer I’ll get from Rie if she reads this will be censored for language, but I have to ask myself, why would anyone ask it to begin with?
I think some of it goes back to the points I made all the way back in 2004, reprinted below.
The question Pat was asked was “You know you’re not really dancing?”, based on our not behaving as people expect wheelies to behave. Did this person think that we should just be sitting off in the corner, out of sight and out of mind? Worse, was he judging out matter of fact dancing against the dancing of everyone else and finding us wanting?
At the very least, he did actually say something, but I now wonder how many at Powwows share his question but are afraid to ask?
And that’s where the drive for political correctness really holds us back – How can we explain all of what I’ve written above to them, when we can’t be sure who has that question in their minds – or even if any of them have that question. This “fear” surrounding people with disabilities created by political correctness holds us back far more than any pseudo-advantage political correctness is supposed to give us.
At the end of the day, my feeling on this (I won’t speak for Pat with it) is that I know in my heart why I enter the circle, and I know that the energy I offer is accepted where it matters. If someone has a problem, they’re perfectly entitled to it, but as long as I continue to respect the Sacred Space, where is the problem?
When I first entered an arena at Powwow, it was after a lot of searching for answers along a similar vein – I knew I couldn’t physically dance as everyone else would, so I asked myself constantly would my going into the arena somehow be embarrassing or an insult to those dancers. Would I be able to reach that place people go when they dance in that Sacred Space?
Eventually I got my answer – it’s not about me. It’s about the dance. I’m not dancing for the people who are watching, I’m not dancing for me.
I’m dancing for my ancestors, my history, the people who matter to me, the people who need the energy, and (for me especially), for my brothers and sisters in arms who can’t be there.
So we handle it all as perfectly normal, everyday – we’re oblivious to the wheels we use instead of feet.
Hopefully, people will read this and understand that we’re not “too” normal. We’re just like everyone else, we’d just like to be treated the same.
Originally Posted August 2004
It”s kind of frightening to wonder if I might have blown a recent job interview by being too “normal”.
Most of the time, people seem to be very confused as to how they”re supposed to “behave” around people with disabilities, at least in my experience with someone in a wheelchair at any rate. There”s been such an upsurge in “political correctness” that many people are concerned almost to the level of paranoia as to how to handle talking to disabled people.
For example. Is it politically correct to tell someone they have a really cool looking wheelchair? Is it politically correct to ask them questions about how hard it was to learn to use it when they first got it?
Is it politically correct to tell someone they have a really cool looking car, or a very nice outfit on that day? Is it politically correct to ask someone questions about how hard it was to learn to drive that powerful sportscar, or to say how “brave” someone is to go out wearing a particularly scandalous outfit – “I”d never dare go out in something like that”?
It all depends on the wheelie really, and the attitude of the questioner. But somehow we”ve managed to lose sight that someone could possibly ask such questions because they”re actually interested. The disabled community has somehow, in trying to combat the real discrimination out there, create an atmosphere of fear and paranoia that I believe is actually working against us. How? Because it prevents the only true way to battle discrimination – Education, showing people that we”re no different than they are.
When someone has to be concerned at a potential backlash for trying to learn more about us, who we are, why we”re that way, they”re never going to see how we maintain our dignity and humanity despite the obstacles we”re encountering. We”re always going to remain an “unknown” because we”ve somehow persuaded the world that to try to learn anything about us is rude, anti-social, bigoted, discriminatory, and worse. We”re isolating ourselves by creating a shield of ignorance that prevents others from finding out that we”re real people.
I”m kind of odd, really. Once I got used to the Tank (my Quantum Blast 650 – aptly nicknamed!), as far as my own image of myself was concerned, my feet were wheels, and my legs became 300 lbs of steel, plastic, and batteries. And that”s as far as I notice the Tank – I pay as much attention to being in it as I did to being stood upright and walking when I could. I can”t change the fact that I”m in the Tank, so I just accepted it as being a part of my body, no more “different” than my legs and feet.
So for me, someone saying the Tank is a really cool looking powered chair (in purple no less) (which it is, by the way), it”s the same as someone saying that I have pretty ankles (They do, and I do ). I”m not going to complain if someone pays me a compliment, and I”m certainly not going to complain if someone can wrap their head around the same fact of life I had to accept when I got the Tank – It”s a part of me, but it doesn”t define me.
Perhaps that”s the real problem in society … Discrimination wants to define wheelies as being “the person in the wheelchair”, with the emphasis on “the wheelchair”. I define myself as “the person in the wheelchair”, with the emphasis on “the person”. The problem is, the wheelchair is a part of me, so when people look at me, they”re scared they might cause offence, because of “political correctness”. The easiest solution for them is to tiptoe around me at every opportunity, which means they”ll never really get to know me, or be as at ease with this hunk of metal attached to my ass, as I am.
I don”t pay any attention to my Tank, although I”m quite proud to point out it”s just so perfect (thanks to the wizardry of Mark E Smith) it even has a cup holder, and makes large holes in bedroom doors (don”t ask). But it seems to throw people for a loop that I don”t pay attention to it. They”re unsure how to handle a wheelie who is so matter-of-fact about an extension to their body. I don”t act the way wheelies are “supposed” to, that such topics are totally off limits, uncomfortable, or that if you bring it up I”m going to slap you with a discrimination suit. It”s a part of me, it”ll always be a part of me, and you”re just going to have to deal with it. But you can”t deal with it if you don”t know about it, and are afraid to ask.
As long as we have this blanket attitude of “keep away” when it comes to discussing those things that are a -part- of who we are, we”ll never really remove discrimination. If we make such a big deal out of those things that -we- believe separate us from the able-bodied, then those things will always be a big deal to the able bodied. We have to demystify these things through education and starting to -act- like we”re normal people, or else discrimination will never leave – it”ll just stay hidden.
While we”re on the subject, BBC News Online has an amusing article about a pregant woman turned away from a nightclub by the moron on the door.
Related articles by Zemanta
Shortlink for this post: http://wp.me/p2cbiZ-g5