cripchick’s weblog

i’m angry. i’m resentful. i don’t know where to begin.

a best friend and i just had a really deep conversation about how private i am about my sex/relationship life. i am unable to allow anyone to get close to me in that way. learning about doctors as a for-profit industry [medical industrial complex] has equipped me with the tools to describe my anger in words.

i am ANGRY that i have never felt ownership of my body in the last 20 years.

i RESENT the fact that the only way i can own my body is to stay away from doctors and people. to stay away and never let anyone near. this has been very detrimental in my physical health and emotional relationships that require physical closeness.

i am forever SCARRED by movies, news stories, authorities, religion, and people who have told me that my existence as a disabled person, a woman of color, as a queer person, as a queer disabled woman of color is reprehensible [to be blamed] and ugly.

i am FRUSTERATED that a life of surgeries, biopsies [tests], physical therapy, and appointments with every specialist has left me feeling like i have lost parts of me for some unknown quest to be normal (that was not even wanted or requested by me).

i can’t believe that all these years later it is leaving such a real big imprint on my life and how i interact with people. i hate this. i hate them. and at this point, i don’t even have the energy to hate right now.

where the hell does this leave me? how do i claim my body as my own? does anyone know? (more…)

Dear Harriet,

After hearing the news of your death yesterday, many friends and I have been saying the same thing over and over: “I know it’s wrong to be so heartbroken about this—I didn’t know her— but I can’t help it.” No one wants to take the mourning away from those who knew you and make it our own, but you are our kin too and we mourn this loss as a community.

Over the last two months, I had been in communication w/ you to see if you could speak at our youth conference here in NC. You talked about how your family lived so close to where we were having our conference and how maybe you could come stay with family and visit the Tobacco Museum afterwards. It made me laugh that you were so friendly and open about your life but I guess I should know *something* about Southern culture by now!

Through emails, I gushed on and on (to the point of embarrassing myself) about how we had all read your book and would love the opportunity to meet you. You didn’t know this, but when I found out you couldn’t come, I started to see if my friends and I could go to Charleston (post-conference vacation) in hopes of randomly calling you up and having a meal together. I’m sad that the chance is gone.

You were the first person I really saw put an experience so similar to my own into words. I have a form of Muscular Dystrophy too, although the form is unknown. The fear of early death and a life of pity made my family stay away from the word MD. To this day, I still have a hard time describing my medical diagnosis to people.

Needless to say, your fierceness rocked my world! You understood what organizing in the South looked like (something I am still learning) and it was a natural part of your activism. Your childhood experience sounded so much like my own (worrying about death, not knowing privacy, etc.) And your writing is full of humor, one of the cornerstones of disability culture. Even the way I found out about you speaks for who you are—I received Too Late to Die Young from a friend (whose favorite part was the “sea of butts” chapter), loved it as well, and then gave it to others as gifts. We all really connected with your writing so much.

We love you, Harriet, and are so thankful for all the spirit, energy, and dedication you’ve brought to the movement. You will not be forgotten.

In community,

cripchick.

–edit–

Media dis@dat and Laura at Crip Commentary both have a great collection of articles written by Harriet.

from The Telegraph (Alton, IL local news paper):

ALTON - They caused quite a scene marching down East Broadway early Saturday afternoon.

Some were on foot, in wheelchairs, in vehicles or on motorcycles, with police cars at the front and back of the line. They proudly displayed signs and chanted as they journeyed up the hills of Sering Avenue.

“What do we want? Justice! When do we want it? Now!” they yelled.

People along the way stood at their front doors to watch the commotion, while others peeked out of windows. Motorists honked in support and others pulled off to the side of the road to watch.

The group of nearly 30 people had gathered to honor 29-year-old Dorothy Latrice Dixon, who died from her injuries after being shot with a pellet gun, beaten and scalded over several weeks’ time. She died in January. Dixon, who had moved to Alton from Quincy, Ill., was six months pregnant and developmentally disabled.

Six people, including two minors, face nine counts each in Madison County Circuit Court in Dixon’s death. One of the people facing charges was Dixon’s caregiver, who also had the authority to cash Dixon’s disability checks. Authorities believe money sparked the abuse.

Dixon suffered her injuries inside her home at 2957 Hillcrest Ave., where she lived with five of the six people responsible for her injuries. A May 14 Madison County coroner’s jury ruled the deaths of Dixon and her unborn son as homicides. Dixon also had a 1-year-old son, who was placed in protective custody with the Illinois Department of Children and Family Services. She was unmarried.

Dixon’s death hit close to home for the people that gathered Saturday, most of whom are disabled or know someone who is. Members of Chicago-based group Feminist Response in Disability Activism (FRIDA) organized the memorial, procession and moment of silence at Dixon’s former home. FRIDA is a “group of radicalized women with disabilities” who represent themselves.

“We felt it was really important when we heard about the life and death of Dorothy Dixon,” said FRIDA member Sharon Lamp. “We want to make the statement that Dorothy Dixon will not be forgotten.”

The group organized at IMPACT Inc., 2735 E. Broadway, a “self-help, advocacy organization” for people with disabilities. Attendees sat in a large circle, where several people shared poems, stories and their thoughts about Dixon and other disabled people suffering from abuse. They talked about people they knew and mourned for Dixon. One woman commented that disabled people, particularly women, are invisible in society.

Christine Wilk and Amber Smock, FRIDA members who organized Dixon’s memorial, said their goal was to make a statement and get people talking. They want change - and they want it now.

The group marched and drove to Dixon’s old home on Hillcrest. The current homeowners - Jessie Sr. and Robbin Hicks, and son Jessie Jr., 13 - walked outside to greet the mob of people who stopped in front of their house. Their 12-year-old daughter, McKayla, was not there. The family welcomed the group and participated in the moment of silence.

“I support any of this because I hate to see this happen to any female; it’s just wrong,” Robbin Hicks said of how Dixon died.

She said she knew Dixon, but not very well.

“I knew who she was and I spoke with her and I played with her baby,” Hicks said.

i just sent a thank you email to five beautiful wise older women in my life with these words from sudy (which where inspired i think from daisy who left an UNBELIEVABLY insightful comment on sudy’s page).

AGE.

It’s utterly important to feminism. Feminism without older feminists, I’ve realized, is a like a chair with no legs. There’s no difference between the seat and the floor if it’s not raised up. The legs, the older womyn, are required. There’s memory, wisdom, knowledge, and did I mention memory? Aged womyn are the sacred in learning. They a make sure we see what has always been there, how history repeats itself; how young women after us will think the same things as we did.

I don’t want to be one of those under 30 folks that speaks too soon, thinking I have something to share when in actuality it’s been said about fifty times over by someone else. Learning patience, learning how to be educated and well-rounded, and unpresumptuous is difficult. It’s hard to be energetic and not impulsive. History, and its story tellers must be prioritized…. What is it about our obsession with the young? Granted, yes, they “are the future,” but as we know in feminism, it is just as necessary to inform and correct the past as well. There’s no way to do that without older womyn. It is necessary to include the voices of womyn who WERE THERE before us. Those who are in the midst of transformation themselves and live to tell what their own mistakes were, unspoiled accounts of history, and a wealth of insights unshared.

That really spoke to me. It’s more than just gaining wisdom or dismantling ageism too I think. I do not mean to make it sound like “what can older people give US?” but as far as the disability community goes, our future SURVIVAL as a community and as a PEOPLE rest on history and those who can tell it. A bioethics philosopher/activist friend of mine pointed out to me yesterday that with genetic testing, euthanasia, cochlear implants, and cures, disabled people are closer to extinction than ever. The only way we can beat this war waged against us (I’m quoting his brilliance) is as a community.

Learning disability history and about the struggle is what brings so many of the new activists to the movement. This is actually how I came to community. Though it’s a process, I have a very distinctive coming-home memory. I was at a youth leadership conference and saw Judy Heumann in the DREDF 504 video with the big 70s glasses and pearls. The next day she came to speak to us. After I heard her speak, I learned that just a bit of time ago we could not go to the movie theaters. I learned that people chained themselves to buses in protest so I could ride. I learned that even something like the ADA [Americans with Disabilities Act], which I did not even think about because it was so a part of my life, was something that people dedicated their lives to making sure it was passed.

Where would I be if I still did not know the things? Where would a whole generation of young disability activists be if they did not know these things? Or if these were never carried out by older activists??? Or even more importantly—where will we be twenty years from now if disabled people do not know these things and recognize they are a part of something larger than themselves? It’s scary to think about.

We cannot exist or go forward without our historians.

We would not be here without the actions of those that came before us.

we love you. thank you for everything.

cripchick. (more…)