PLEASE SIGNAL BOOST: Warning about Disabled Skepchicks Blog and Call for Help
Hedgehogs, I need your help. Or maybe it’s more accurate to say that we need our help.
A few days ago, my husband brought to my attention that the popular skeptic blog Skepchick was planning a sister site for disabled people. This was apparently due to a kerfuffle (and from what I can tell, not the first one) over ableist language being used on the site. Excited at the prospect, I applied. Only the find out that the very first conversation in the comments went like this, verbatim:
Nancy:
Hi Sara – what about a parent of one (or more) disabled/autistic children. Can they apply?
Thanks!
Nancy
Sarah: Hi Nancy! That’s a good question– I’d say apply & we’ll figure it out from there. :)
I’m sure I don’t have to explain to any one of you why this bothered me. But I spoke up, pointing out that autistics absolutely do not care to have parents speaking for us and even linking to the blog for Autistics Speaking Day.
That post sat in the moderation queue for three days. When it finally appeared, no one responded to it. Not even Sarah, who is supposed to be running this site. I wrote another post, pointing out further why this lack of response was so upsetting. Aside from being accused of things I have not done and still having my concerns completely ignored, still I have not been properly responded to by the person who is supposed to be running the damn blog. Nothing. Not a word. As if my feelings and the feelings of autistics just don’t matter. I have, as you might imagine, withdrawn my application, because who wants to work with someone who doesn’t care enough about your feelings to respond to you?
So this blog is two things. First, it’s a warning. If this blog ever goes live, I caution you all to stay away from it. They haven’t even begun yet and already they’re showing oodles of ignorance when it comes to people with developmental and cognitive abilities and an utter lack of caring for our concerns. It very likely will not be a remotely safe or welcoming place.
The other thing is a call for help. Despite doing things like linking to Autistics Speaking Day, I’m being accused of speaking for all autistics, as if there aren't actuallyhuge amounts of us who have very real issues with parents speaking for us. So I’m asking you, if you have the spoons, to please go there and tell them exactly how you feel about the idea:
http://skepchick.org/2014/02/disabled-write-for-us/
This warning and call for help is for every and any person with a cognitive or developmental disability, not just autistics. These people believe they have so much right to disagree with us that they can just ignore what we say.
Well, I’m tired of being ignored. I’m tired of being treated like I’m so little of a human being that my opinions don’t matter at all. Skepchick is a big enough site to do so much harm to our cause, and I refuse to sit here and let them do it.
I can’t tell you how much pain I’m in right now. I want to crawl in a hole and never stop crying. I want to sit on an island and watch the world burn. I can barely see for the tears. I’m scared, because I’m little and they’re big, and part of me knows I can’t win. But I can’t not fight, either. This blog has become too important to me. It’s helped me so much, and I know it’s helped other people. I can’t sit in silence while people who are not disabled like we are presume to make decisions for us.
Because that’s happening every day and it’s hurting so many people. Even when I’m silent, even when I can’t cope, I watch. I see the things all of you talk about, the way you’re treated, how you fight and fight and people won’t listen and this…this was a chance for the truth to be heard, from our own mouths and our own fingers, and they don’t care. So I have to speak. I have to speak for all of us who have been abused, who have been killed. I have to speak because if I don’t, there’s no way to stop this cycle.
Help me tell them to stop the cycle. Please, I’m begging you, help me tell them that solidarity is not just for neurotypical people. That we are done letting other people speak for us. Please.
![[Trained by society to be terrified of being seen as rude
Too polite to slam door in Bible thumpers’ faces]
Yes, this really happened to me a few days ago. I may never open the front door again.
Our outer doorbell rang, and as usual when I’m not expecting it, I froze up. It didn’t ring a second time, and I wrote it off as mail (we are waiting on Christmas packages after all) and that there’d be a slip for it before long.
Then a few minutes later some mail did indeed come through the slot, so I went to retrieve it. As I turned to head back to my computer and work, the inner doorbell rang. Thinking it must be a package, I went to open the door without looking out first. It turned out to be a pair of Russian women on a mission (pun kinda intended). They’d mistaken my husband’s middle name, Kruchov, for Russian (it’s Polish. Ouch.) and decided to assail me with their tidings of a free Bible study club. Multilingual and everything.
I mean, as door-to-door Bible thumpers go, they were nice. When I explained I was agnostic (and subsequently explained what that even meant) they didn’t tell me I’d go to hell or anything if I didn’t change my ways. But they did ask some questions and I found myself at a loss for what to do. It’s really awkward when you have to bite your tongue on what you’d actually respond. “Do you think you don’t need God in your life?” (Um, pretty sure that if God does exists, whether or not I need Him is kinda moot.) “Haven’t you ever wondered where we go after death? The Bible tells us.” (Yeah, not an expert or anything, but far as I know, the Bible doesn’t go into specifics.)
I don’t think I could have looked more uncomfortable if I tried. And since I was trying to be polite and make eye contact, but was wildly uncomfortable at the same time, I’m pretty sure I looked like one of those cat wall clocks with the eyes that tick back and forth. Yet despite the fact that they were imposing on me, I couldn’t even get myself to say “I’m sorry, but I really need to get back to work.”
Over-politeness training is a problem in certain areas of our culture, and autistics seems to get it worse than almost anyone else. Most people would at least be able to excuse themselves. Goodness knows my husband, who’s an atheist, would have merrily shut the door in their faces. But even afterwards, I kept making excuses for them, despite the fact that they came unprovoked to my door simply because they saw what looked like a Russian name in the middle of a very clearly not Russian name.
This fear of being seen as rude that gets trained into us really blows. We have just as much right to stand up for ourselves as anyone else. But despite the fact that I’m turning 28 in January, I’m still unable to bring myself to utter a politely worded request to go away out of sheer terror. How is that fair?](http://40.media.tumblr.com/2e6d93a6123e76c308854c877fd9a370/tumblr_mxjuzpK0vz1rfhms3o1_400.jpg)
![[“Until all the pieces fit.”
Hey look, I’m working on it, but you allistics are hella difficult to figure out.]
Sorry, guys, I know it took me a pretty big chunk of my 20+ years to get it down, but you’re tough. You do all these weird things, like beat around the bush instead of saying what you mean, and bumping into people in crowds as if you somehow can’t tell they’re there. You have to understand that even after years of intensive study, we can’t be expected to fully understand you; sorry, allistics, but you’re just too bizarre.
Don’t worry though. We will keep trying until the puzzle is complete. No, no, there’s no need to say a word. You can’t possibly understand you as well as we can. Trust us; we know what’s best for you.
(It’s really not comfortable being on the receiving end of that, is it?)](http://41.media.tumblr.com/d4cafaa2d0526cea72bcf1b992a0ed7d/tumblr_mu44ips7Q71rfhms3o1_400.jpg)
![[“But you seem so normal!”
Give it time.]
I’m not denying that this is a really insulting, ableist thing to say, because it is. But it’s also almost always said to me by people who’ve spent hours, or even only minutes, around me.
Like, you haven’t seen me curled up on in a sobbing puddle because public transportation. You haven’t seen me home alone with only my iPod and my horrible white girl dance moves to keep me company. You haven’t seen me that time I was ranting to my husband and kept stopping mid-sentence to gleefully squish my Hello Kitty squishy things. You haven’t seen me running the satin ribbon on the edge of my blanket through my hands over and over again. You haven’t heard even a tiny fraction of the sorts of things that come out of my mouth. And most importantly, you sure as hell didn’t see my fucked up childhood and everything I went through, being an autistic girl in a public school during a time when people were only just beginning to even acknowledge that girls could be autistic.
So to the people who tell me I seem so normal, I say to you: Sadly, so do you.](http://41.media.tumblr.com/7d800f23cb008fdc6d2c3211c1858a48/tumblr_mthi9ehd3W1rfhms3o1_400.jpg)
![[Made fun of by family for “strange” food habits
No one ever says a word about allistic sister eating cold ravioli for breakfast every day for years]
I hate being teased for me eating habits, and my family has done it to me for years. Yes, there’s a lot of things I can’t eat. Yes, I tend to eat the same thing over and over again. There’s numerous reasons for this, some of them seated in the way autistics are treated, some of them a direct trait of the autism.
A lot of it is to do with my texture issues. Thanksgiving was always like the worst thing ever: Mashed potatoes, all kinds of mashed up squashes, tons of things with wonky textures, and of course I got teased because all I would eat was turkey and cranberry sauce. I can’t help that I have so many texture issues. Believe me, I wish I didn’t.
I also get nervous about trying something different, for example, at a restaurant. I’m afraid I won’t like it (more because of texture than taste). Not only was my father always a stickler about not “wasting” food (I had to stay at the table until my plate was finished), but because other people didn’t have my texture problems, they didn’t believe me. I spent years convinced the problem was in my head.
But my sister, who doesn’t appear to have texture problems, would go through phases of eating the same thing. Ramen for breakfast (yes, breakfast) for years, cold ravioli, broccoli with dinner every night for months. When she did it, it was at most a bit quirky. Me? I was some sort of unnatural fucking weirdo.](http://36.media.tumblr.com/de605787d23a7509a4387c9b68c6c17e/tumblr_mnb6cvPy5x1rfhms3o1_400.jpg)
Anonymous![[ <insert generic bronies/Pokemon fans/MRAs/Minecraft players/geeks are autistic “joke” here>
Oh, just go fuck yourself off the nearest cliff already.]
Done. I am just. so. done with this kind of shit.
Being a brony is not a “form of autism.” Being a Pokemon fan is not a “form of autism.” Being an MRA is not a “form of autism.” Playing Minecraft is not an inherently autistic trait. Being a geek =/= being autistic.
And to the ableist fucks who keep making these “jokes” I say:](http://40.media.tumblr.com/20b58888d8ba20319dbb9bcf159daa57/tumblr_mlgvkcJoen1rfhms3o1_400.jpg)
