Wednesday, October 28, 2015

I Still Believe in Goodwill.

Recently I came across a typical Social Justice Warrior's article where she was grinding her axe (Hat tip to the girl who sent it to me.  No surprise--I'm fairly sure she disagrees with me).  For kicks I decided to copy this SJW's article and mimic it--just switch it to me being a handicapped SJW grinding my handicapped axe, just another SJW axe that divides us more and more each day.  I wasn't able to copy it word for word, but much of that is because, as a handicapped man, I care about different things and she's at a later stage of life. But I got scarily close.  In some cases, I didn't change a word.

I'm not a Social Justice Warrior.   I try to follow Dr Martin Luther King Jr.'s vision (judging people on the basis of their character and not their skin) instead of the SJW's.  Their vision does not fight racism, sexism, ableism, or whatever at all.  It simply changes the power relationship. It reverses the taxonomy they claim we judge people with and so simply reverses who they believe are "good" and "bad" based on the reverse taxonomy. Yes, there are ableists, racists, sexists, and so on, everywhere and we need to fight those ideas.  Creating a reverse autonomy does not do that.  Indeed, I could legitimately claim that creating a reverse taxonomy makes the SJWs some of the biggest "ists" there are.

Despite all that I have been through, I refuse to believe that the world--everyone different from me--is against me.  I've walked many extra miles as a handicapped man and yet I still believe in goodwill.

Here's my article mimicking the Social Justice Warrior's article:

Why I’m Absolutely an Angry Crippled Man
Because when I was five, I had lost some sight, failed my IQ test because of it, and was therefore admitted to pre-kindergarten “conditionally.”  Because people were shocked when I could read so well in third grade. Because I was always the last pick to play on a team. Because in fifth grade I never actually played baseball on my baseball team and in sixth grade in basketball I sat on the sidelines until the very last game, when we were losing so badly that my coach threw me in and in those last two minutes I proved I was the most capable defensive player that ENTIRE SEASON. Because in 6th grade people competed to push my wheelchair like it was a contest to walk the puppy, even though I could do it myself.  They thought I needed a “helping hand.” Because in 8th grade, my doctors decided I needed to be shorter to combat scoliosis when it was already clear that that attempt sans back surgery was in vain.

Because in 9th grade when I switched schools the other guys were astonished I knew how to tackle. Because in 10th grade my doctors shamed and humiliated me by assigning me a clumsy device to “straighten my arm” that I had to wear everywhere in front of everybody.  Because in 11th grade I had to wear a cast in front of everybody in a musical because these doctors had then decided to surgically straighten my arm. Because when I ended up at a boarding school my senior year, my drama teacher asked my parents if he could ask me to clean off the brace I always wore on my wrist instead of asking me. Because everyone assumed I needed help everywhere.  Because I was a kid. Because I had to watch every game from the bleachers because I could not join a team. Because I was left out.  Because at first sight in high school I was unanimously and immediately considered a nerd and a clown and remained that all four years of high school. Because people looked down on me.

Because I was the only disabled person within the freshman class of 2006. Because teachers and administrators always encouraged me to cut gym. Because I was given a reward for overcoming my disability three years in a row even though I didn’t apply for it.  Because I was singled out at fraternity parties specifically because I was acting like most fraternity brothers, but people openly noticed and commented about me because I’m handicapped. Because I can’t drive in the UK even though my seizures do not affect my driving capability.

Because if I get married my limp will be one of the big things noticed by everyone in the audience. Because I’ll always get those “looks” even when I’m holding my beautiful child. Because every day I can see they see me as a different being. Because I’ve been called a cripple countless times in my life.  Because they don’t care about us. Because I’m never asked to help a neighbour move a dresser up a flight of stairs. Because I am not seen as a man. Because I am always seen as fragile. Because few people look me in the eye. Because I was forced to grow up and learn to endure before I was grown. Because I’ve been treated like a puppy. Because we aren’t entitled to boundaries. Because they think we are all here for their enjoyment. Because people don’t think we are people.

Because I could never be Spiderman at Halloween because that would just make me look more pathetic than people already think I am. Because throughout my life I wanted to be able and not different. Because I can’t be saved. Because I can’t protect myself. Because, when I go out at night, I know they would single me out and could easily rob and kill me. Because I am disposable. Because I am hated. Because we keep losing with life and dying but no one pays attention. Because they don’t care about our deaths. Because I have been told that by speaking about being oppressed I am victimizing myself. Because our deaths aren’t filmed and spoken about. Because doing the things that my able peers do with ease would make others laughfumbling with my wallet with one hand, occasionally having to ask someone to open the ketchup for my burger, looking someone in the eye to face them down, existing. Because I am afraid to relax. Because I am traumatized.

Because I have been laughed at, made fun of, kicked, shamed, humiliated, forced to deal with pain in “physiotherapy” that would be considered “torture” as defined by the United States Army’s Code of Military Conduct at least once per week during the fifteen years I had between my accident and my entrance into my university.    

Because there isn’t a place in the world Ableism hasn’t touched. Because I am trapped here. Because the playing field isn’t leveled. Because I love who I am. Because I love being a man. Because not accepting myself as less in the hierarchy is considered radical. Because I’ve been called an ableist for fighting back and encouraging others. Because all the major protests are stereotyped as cis white men in wheelchairs holding cardboard signs and are thus dismissed. Because I get no break from fighting. Because everything is a struggle. Because my anger isn’t validated. Because they don’t care about my pain. Because they don’t believe in my pain. Because they forgive themselves without atoning. Because I’m not free. Because the awareness of it permeates everything. Because it’s not ending. Because they teach the children that it’s already ended. Because someone will assert their supremacy over me today. Because they’ll do it tomorrow. Because I want more. Because I deserve better.