A Review of Netflix's "Crip Camp: A Disability Revolution"

This winter,  Netflix released an original documentary delving into life at Camp Jened, a summer camp for physically disabled teenagers in New York during the 1970's and makes a beautiful segue into the disability rights movement. As someone who went to Southampton Fresh Air Home, a camp just like Camp Jened on Long Island, NY as a teenager, this gave me a sense of deep nostalgia that cannot be fully described.

The former campers of Camp Jened (many of whom went on to become prominent disability rights activists) reflected on their experience at Camp Jened as a utopia in which they got to feel like normal, average teenagers (paraphrase) At SFAH, it gave me the same feeling.

Through talking about experiences at camp and independent living centers in Berkeley, CA, as well as talking about the disability rights movement, Netflix makes an effort to put disability culture into the mainstream media, which we have rarely seen before. Everything that the disability community has been through is summarized in this beautiful film.

Antell, Rachel, et al. Crip Camp: A Disability Revolution. Netflix, 11 Mar. 2020.

Above All Else, I'm Physically Disabled First

Recently, I saw a play called Bright Half Life. The play was written by Tanya Barfield and it follows the lives of an interracial lesbian couple throughout the course of their relationship. Erica is white and Vicky is black. One day, the couple is discussing privilege and oppression. Vicky reminds Erica of her identity as a black person and how that has impacted how society views her, sometimes in a negative way. She reminds Erica that she doesn't have to deal with racial oppression because she is white. "But I'm gay and a woman!" Erica reminds Vicky. Vicky then says to Erica that she is too, but that she is "black first, always." When the actress who played Vicky delivered the powerful, eye-opening line, I nodded in agreement as an audience member hearing this. I nodded because even though I am white, I could relate to this statement in a big way because of my physical disability.

My physical disability (cerebral palsy) is very visible an audible. Whenever I go out in public, I use a wheelchair to aid in my mobility. Being a wheelchair user lets people know immediately that you are without question physically disabled. Due to this, you are also labeled as different from most people. People more often than not will notice your physical disability first because it's the number one marker of what makes you different or a member of a minority group.

Being physically disabled almost always overshadows the fact that I am all of my other identities that I say that I am, even the ones that are also overt, evident, or correctly predetermined such as my identities as a white cisgender woman. These identities are taken into account when seeing me for the first time too, but they're not something that is discussed or focused upon to the same degree as my physical disability. That is to say, everybody notices/correctly assumes that I am a white cisgender woman, but nobody really inquires about it. Whenever I meet someone for the first time, the first thing that people will ask me is, "Why are you in a wheelchair?" or "What's wrong with your legs?" and not something about my race or even my gender.

Moreover, if I want to, I can hide the fact that I am mentally ill, have learning disabilities, and am a part of the queer community (in terms of my sexual orientation). I have the option to disclose those things, unlike my status as a person with a visible/audible physical disability.

To other queer folks, cisgender women, and/or people with invisible disabilities, I ask you to please be aware of this.

3 Similarities Between Misogyny and Ableism

In honor of March being both International Women’s Month and Cerebral Palsy Awareness Month, I have decided to shed some light on the similarities between misogyny and ableism because this is rarely talked about, if ever. This piece will focus on ableism related to physical disabilities mostly.

1. People objectifying your body.

It is widely known throughout the feminist community that the objectification of women’s bodies is one of the most prominent issues within the general issue of misogyny. Many men tend to think it’s okay for them to touch women without them asking or to comment on how their body looks during inappropriate times. This results from over-sexuakization of women’s bodies and also the fact that men are supposed to feel “powerful” and “in control.”

While people with disabilities are often desexualized due to infantilization, women with disabilities often get objectified too. People think they have the right to touch or make comments about our bodies without asking. It’s not sexual, rather, it’s the opposite, but it still occurs in the same way: people rubbing your back without asking, people calling you “beautiful” when you don’t even know them, I could go on.

And both able-bodied women and disabled people often don’t know how to respond when situations like these occur because they’re so uncomfortable.

2. People are surprised when you can do certain things.

Misogyny and ableism tend to operate under the same philosophy: women and disabled people are considered “weak” or “incompetent.” Many misogynists are surprised when women are able to do physical things, i.e., play sports, build things, etc. Because of this, they often insist on doing things for us, even if we say we can do it ourselves.

While most physically disabled people would have a difficult time playing sports or building things, we get the exact same response from able-bodied people as able-bodied women get from able-bodied men. Able-bodied people often doubt the capabilities and competence of disabled people.

3. People are surprised when you open your mouth and speak your mind.

I consider myself to be an outspoken person with a strong personality. I am a passionate advocate for social justice causes. When somebody does something that I don’t like, I’ll usually speak up and say something. This surprises many able-bodied people because they often expect me to be meek, mild, and quiet. But when I go ahead and open my mouth, they stand corrected.

Women, both abled-bodied and disabled experience this too. Because of the patriarchy, there is an implicit expectation for women to keep their mouths shut. Patriarchal society operates under the belief that men should speak their mind and be powerful, while women should not.

I hope that reading this post shed some light on the similarities between misogyny and ableism.

Breaking Up with My Meds: Why Weaning Off of Psychiatric Medication is So Difficult

I have been on the same psychiatric medication for the past seven years. As a matter of fact, it has been the ONLY daily prescription medication I have taken for psychiatric purposes... up until last week. This medication was prescribed to me as a mood stabilizer back in March 2013 to help me manage the symptoms of bipolar disorder and emotional instability. Within about a month of first taking this medication, I started to see an improvement in my moods, emotions, mental health, and overall quality of life. This medication came into my life at the time when I needed it the most and had continued to support me through thick and thin, the good and the bad, and the ups and the downs.

For the past seven years, this medication had kept me grounded. I felt like I could rely on it. And even though I had technically tried a bunch of other psychiatric medications, such as anti-anxiety medications, antihistamines, and so on, those were only occasional as-needed PRN medications. I also took the neurological medication gabapentin for my spasticity due to my cerebral palsy which my doctors think inadvertentlyhelped with my anxiety.  But for the most part, I felt like I could lean on this one particular mood stabilizer to get me through it all. The others were "good friends." The mood stabilizer was my "best friend." I know lots of people that had multiple "best friends" (daily medications), but I didn't. I figured this was my one true "BFF."

But now, that's changed; the mood stabilizer hasn't been helping me out in the ways that it used to. I don't feel supported. When I was telling my doctor that I didn't think this particular mood stabilizer was helping anymore due to a significant relapse I had recently, it was almost like I was doubting the "closeness" I had with a "friend" that had kept me grounded for so many years.

When the doctor suggested trying a different mood stabilizer to see if that one would work better, I honestly felt sad, and I couldn't help but think, Why isn't this medication working any more? Please work. I felt like I was losing a friend.

Now, I'm trying to hang out with a new friend in hopes that this friend will support me as much as my old friend once did. I still see that old friend, but less so now, and it feel strange, foreign' this was a "friend" who has since become an acquaintance.

I know this may seem like a strange metaphor (and that's because it is), but when something has kept you sane for seven years and then you start to realize that its not anymore, it's hard, much like losing your best friend.