By Valerie Ouillette
In 2013, I contracted Dengue Fever and fought for months to beat it. I was quite ill. Although past the worst, I knew I would never be the same.
Before I became ill I easily judged people by their ability to be “productive” members of society. As someone who grew up in a farming community, everyone pulled their weight, and if you chose to educate yourself in order to leave the farming life, you were considered lazy and entitled. Becoming ill may have been one of the greatest gifts I have been provided. At The Current, we often speak of all of us being an experience Creator is having. Why not this?
But Western philosophy has convinced us that humans are a commodity, an attitude enabled by Protestantism. Until recently, the “Protestant work ethic” that Americans have revered requires we work ourselves to exhaustion; insists that if we aren’t being productive, we are not useful, and convinces us that rest is unacceptable.
Capitalism exploits this notion by putting profit over people and treating people as a commodity while also refusing to acknowledge our humanity. Capitalists don’t understand that embracing our humanity would allow us to flourish as a society. But to flourish means to embrace everyone in society, not just the wealthy white power center.
For a long time, I asked myself who I had been in a past life or what I had done so wrong in this one to be afflicted. In our predominantly Christian culture this is not an uncommon thought. But, is this what Jesus taught, or is it Greco-Roman thought? John gives us insight into what the apostles were teaching in their time.
John 9:1-3 (ESV)
As he passed by, he saw a man blind from birth. And his disciples asked him, “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?” Jesus answered, “It was not that this man sinned, or his parents, but that the works of God might be displayed in him.”
It’s not a sin to be differently-abled. It’s a display of God’s diversity.
When I had healed enough, I ventured back into the academic world. There was no way I could be a nurse or a paramedic any longer, and I craved something more.
I experienced discrimination from the able-bodied community and the disabled community as well. I cannot tell you how many times I have been told, “Be grateful you’re not an amputee.” Or, “You look ok. How sick can you be?” I was applying for positions that require great time management, critical thinking skills, organizational skills, and other complicated tasks. I possess all of those skills in spades. It’s my legs that don’t always work properly. Before Dengue, I was a workaholic that would cover anyone, never said no to a friend in need, always volunteered to help friends with their kids’ birthday parties, and always had an ear for anyone who needed it.
After convalescing and reemerging into the world I had known, I realized that life had moved on without me. My friends made excuses about being available. Naples Community Hospital would no longer consider employing me for any position because I might have to take leave again (it’s not as if I asked for that mosquito to bite me). The organizations I volunteered for no longer saw me as useful because I had to work around my bad days. Many other experiences left me stripped of my dignity. When I was an able-bodied person, everyone saw me and wanted a piece of me. When I ventured back into my old life, which took far more strength than anyone had ever imagined, no one saw me anymore. It was as if I was no longer human.
Our society has many -isms in its vocabulary and while they stem from places of fear, ignorance, and hate, they do provide us a bridge to open up uncomfortable but much-needed narratives. Ashley Eisenmenger defines Ableism in a relatable way:
“Ableism is the discrimination of and social prejudice against people with disabilities based on the belief that typical abilities are superior. At its heart, ableism is rooted in the assumption that disabled people require ‘fixing’ and defines people by their disability. Like racism and sexism, ableism classifies entire groups of people as ‘less than,’ and includes harmful stereotypes, misconceptions, and generalizations of people with disabilities.”
I have a child on the spectrum. He’s never been allowed to use it as an excuse for not trying his hardest. He is currently a teenager with a job, and he tries to hide his autism from others. He’s very structured and works in a great place. However, sometimes he has time management issues and is sometimes so rigid he can be a little inflexible. I asked my son why he doesn’t tell people he’s on the spectrum, especially because the company he works for helps people with disabilities. But he said he doesn’t want anybody judging him based on his disability instead of the amazing person he is.
He’s a smart kid, in high school and college at the same time. He finally got his learner’s permit (Thank you, Jesus!), but he’s afraid that if he opens up and tells people, they’ll judge and see him differently from the fantastic person he is now.
I have been advocating for my child for many years, helping fight the stereotype that he’s not enough, not the same as everybody else’s child. We all have issues to work through. But the other day, I caught myself being an ableist with my nephew. One of his parents needed surgery, so I went to take care of him. He has neurofibromatosis that affects his speech and walking just a little bit. He looks a little different, which is perfect. He is the light of the world.
He wanted pancakes, so I made him a deal: We can have pancakes if he’ll help make them. As we started prepping, I was surprised that my nine-year-old nephew could mix flour and water. I don’t know why, but I was. Then, he wanted to pour the batter into the pan, and I was a little apprehensive, but I said okay. Then, he wanted to flip the pancake, and I said, “No, the pan’s hot….” Now, I would never tell another nine-year-old he needed help flipping a pancake. But for some reason, I didn’t think my nephew could do it. After he asked the third time, I finally said okay, and my little man flipped that pancake like Bobby Flay.
He got me. It continues to be a moment of reflection.
I don’t believe the Lenten season is a time for non-sacrificial sacrifice but about making space for us to work on introspection and growth. These can be little events that we have to look for by reading a new book, in contemplative prayer, maybe kayaking through the backwaters of Florida.
But there are also those special revelations that walk right up to your face and knock on your forehead with a “Hello, McFly!” when even you are not recognizing what is happening. For me, it was an amazing little boy whom I love dearly.
Even having experienced ableism myself, I was being an ableist, not allowing him to flip a pancake because I had already decided he wasn’t going to be able to. This actually goes against how I was raised and what I teach my community as an Indigenous woman! Hello, McFly?
I was reading a study about Indigenous peoples around the world and found a compelling comment from an anonymous Maori woman that participated in the study: “As a Māori woman, well, I don’t identify myself as disabled. I find that word a negative, disgusting, deficit word. I don’t know why anybody would want to dis my ability. It’s that simple.”
Question: How has the Western philosophy of humans as a commodity led to systemic Ableism? How can we, as individuals, help change that?
