Saturday, February 27, 2010

Announcing

Mobility International USA

2010 U.S./Costa Rica: Cross-Cultural Perspectives on Disability Rights

Leadership Exchange Program

June 16 – July 1, 2010

San Jose, Costa Rica

http://www.miusa.org/exchange/leadership/costarica10

Download the Application - Deadline March 21, 2010

Application (PDF) / Application (Word Doc)/ Application (Rich Text RTF)

MIUSA is excited to offer a 16-day exchange program to Costa Rica with a focus on youth leadership and cultural perspectives on disability rights.

Young adults with disabilities of diverse backgrounds from New York City, especially those who are first-time international travelers, are encouraged to apply.

PROGRAM DETAILS

When: June 16 – July 1, 2010

Where: San Jose, Costa Rica

Program Cost: Sliding scale $220 - $1,100, which includes all: round-trip international airfare from Newark International Airport (EWR) to San Jose, Costa Rica; one-day pre-departure orientation near EWR; accessible ground transportation, lodging, meals and activities in Costa Rica; disability related costs, including sign language interpreters, materials in alternative formats, and funding for personal assistants.

Scholarships: Scholarships and assistance with fundraising available!

Please complete the scholarship application on pages 11-12 of the program application.

Deadline: March 21, 2010. Late applications considered as space permits.

ELIGIBILITY

Participants must be excited about new experiences and a once-in-a-lifetime adventure, and tolerant of the challenges brought on by a new cultural environment and inconsistent accessibility. Participants are expected to act as positive and respectful citizen ambassadors of the United States and must be committed to work across cultural and other differences to promote intercultural understanding. Participants must show previous leadership experience, positive communication skills and be committed to disability rights.

Participants must be:

U.S. citizens

From New York City

Ages 18 – 24 by July 2010

Individuals with a disability

· ASL staff interpreters will be provided by MIUSA for the duration of the program.

· Materials in alternative formats will be provided for scheduled program activities.

· Personal assistant funding may be available for participants who need personal assistance during the program.

· Other disability-related accommodations and services available on request.

Download the Application - Deadline March 21, 2010

Application (PDF) / Application (Word Doc)/ Application (Rich Text RTF)

Sponsors:

The 2010 U.S./Costa Rica: Cross-Cultural Perspectives on Disability Rights Leadership Exchange Program is funded by the New York Community Trust / Wallace Fund for Youth, established in Community Funds by the co-founder of The Reader's Digest Association. For the past 14 years, MIUSA has received the generous support of the DeWitt Wallace/Youth Travel Enrichment Fund, established by the founder of The Reader's Digest Association, to provide an educational travel opportunity to U.S. young adults with disabilities from diverse communities.

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

Spinning Wheels/Tapping Legs

Sometimes, I am so confused by the world(s) of disability. The popular imagination makes it look so onesided -- a life of tragedy and difficulty. Lots of suffering and sadness interspersed with occasional rampant acts of over-achievement and the odd dollop of sappy sentiment. But mostly, we are imagined to live lives of tragedy, pain, isolation, and rejection. My reality is simultaneously a rejection of these ugly expressions of prejudice and a reckoning with some of the nuggets of truth.

Some video that keeps me moving. Crip Heard, Henry Herbert Heard, a double amputee dancer. I know very little about his life -- that these clips of a black disabled dancer even exist continues to amaze me. Unfortunately, the language surrounding him is that of sensation and inspiration. I am also intrigued that for the purposes of the first clip, he is defined as a "one-legged" dancer -- as if the amputation of his arm somehow didn't matter for the purpose of dance. (It affects his balance, of course).

There are no captions for any of the following clips -- they aren't mine, so I don't think I can add them. In the first, a viewer writes in asking the program host to find that "one-legged" dancer. The viewer describes herself as a "shut-in." She says that she knows that the host has given many "handicapped" people the opportunity to prove that they can "overcome their difficulties." The host finds him, and then, Henry Heard dances dedicating each dance to the viewer and describing what they are.



The text of the second clip is a little more obnoxious: Henry "Crip" Heard is described as a "sensation and inspiration."




Mr. Heard wasn't the only black disabled dancer of his time; Clayton "Peg Leg" Bates was a compatriot -- though I don't know how well or even *if* they knew each other. There's a lot more on the web for Mr. Bates. His athleticism is certainly eye-catching.



In the first section of the first dance, a voice says, "Don't look at me in sympathy; I'm glad that I'm this way. For I feel good; I'm knockin on wood, as long as I can say -- I makes life fantastix ... with hot gymnastics. I'm Peg Leg Bates, the one-legged dancin' man."

In the final clip, the announcer says that Mr. Bates made 19 appearances in 1951.




All of these clips demonstrate an uncomfortable exploitative gaze towards the dancers, but I find it hard to separate disability from race as the primary lens. The performers themselves seem to recognize that they have this role, and, like many from that era, they play it. All that aside, these are beautiful clips.

The TSA Post

Sorry about that. I took it down because I felt more vulnerable than I was able to deal with -- personally and with regard to my application for citizenship. I know that taking the post down doesn't make it go away -- it's still there in your readers and all over the internet.... but at least it isn't on my site anymore.

Some really good ideas came from your comments -- particularly the ones that suggested gettig a doctor's note. THANK YOU!!! I think I will do that. And for your outrage and anger, I thank you, too.

WCD

Sunday, February 21, 2010

Passing By

At the studio where I take classes when I am in NYC, the elevator isn't ADA accessible: it's painfully small. So small that there is always a line, well, a press of people waiting to go upstairs. It continues to amaze me that hyperable-bodied dancers who are about to go and dance for hours on end take the elevator. But they do, and so, when I was using my previous (wider) chair, I had to get there even earlier than the rest; I had to stand up, dismantle my chair, limp in, hold the door, drag the pieces in behind me and then reassemble the thing. It's the sort of disability performance I didn't want people to see.

Most times, I made it; I arrived in private and preserved my dignity. On one particular day, I overslept. I got there too late; it was a performance and a half. When I finally dropped exhausted into my chair, there was silence in the elevator. I could feel their eyes on me; I felt pressurized into saying something, into making a joke? into doing something -- anything -- to relieve the tension: "My ass is too wide," I blurted. I knew it was wrong as soon as I said it. The silence deepened; the glare got harder. But I couldn't tell which of the dance taboos I'd breached: the mention of ass (a "problem" for a black dancer") speculation about the size of my ass (a "problem" for a professional dancer of any race) or the fact that my ass was seated in a wheelchair -- a disabled dancer ... an oxymoron indeed.

At first, I was horrified by what I had done; I had made myself over-visible at a moment when invisibility would have been a more socially appropriate response, but instead of words failing me, they began to take on a life of their own.
These kinds of circumstances tend to reoccur. "My ass isn't that wide," I now say to, for example, the people who insist on opening both doors for me. Or to the people who pull chairs out of my way and then jam themselves against walls so I can pass. They freeze, unsure. Which ass am I talking about? I ham up the performance by touching my wheels. Then, because it is only an encounter, I pass through the doorway or alongside them in the hall and we separate into our henceforth non-intersecting worlds.

To my wardrobe of butt responses, I have now added some equivalent of "just let me get my rear in gear" -- meaning that I would hurry up and pass. I wanted to take the "ass" word out of the picture just in case people were reacting to my outspoken use of this mostly socially unacceptable term. There was no change.
But this wasn't enough; I tried to shock people more and more by trying on different accents.

What would happen if I went hyper-white? Would British Received Pronunciation - the accent with the most social prestige - change how people responded? What if I went hyper-black? I should be honest with you -- neither of these accents is in my native linguistic heritage, so my aim was not to reproduce them in any technical sense. Assuming that I would never encounter anyone who could actually tell I was acting, I just set myself the goal of speaking in a way that the average bystander would reflexively recognize as American Black (as if it were all one big dialect) or British-posh (as if that were one big dialect). Again, the social embarrassment or awkwardness around disability and even the moment of impoliteness of making disability and my body visible using socially inappropriate words trumped the accuracy of the accent.

I thought I was wielding these words to make a disability studies oriented kind of point. One in which I was trying to point out that discomfort with disability was leading the person to overestimate my size, to do too much to help the disabled person pass ... to respond to me in these extreme cartoon kinds of ways. I thought that I was reconfirming what I had learned in arenas such as the shopping mall: that disability trumps race. But you know how language works. I thought I controlled the words and was using them to shape the world; it turned out that they were shaping me.

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

Islands

In this last day of process, we've been to some interesting places. I know that I've learned a lot -- technically and expressively. I hope I can hold on to it.

Mostly, I have learned more about motivation for movement and how individual movements of even the tiniest body parts can, when wholly motivated, create a new and complete world. Everything I have done has been so controlled, so careful, and when I have lost track of that care, been unable to maintain it, I feel like I have fallen from my place in society into a place where movement is meaningless.

Oh, how to put this. Some worlds you know and your job is to create them as you go; you render them visible to the audience. Others, you know before you go; most of these latter worlds are hidden to the audience. Only you know their histories and proclivities. As you move, you allow the audience a closer sense of the depth, but they never get close.

How to do this? Why should anyone even care about doing this or going to watch someone do this? To the first, I say, honestly, that I don't know. It's a craft of a lifetime; I can't tell you that I have approached in a week a practice that others study all their lives. I do know that it takes a different kind of mental focus and implies a, to me new at least, relationship of body, mind, and movement. The movement itself seems to have a different relationship to gravity, the ground, and the air around me. That's all I know.

Why should you care enough to go? Because it's dance.

Thursday, February 11, 2010

Encounters With The Medical Model

If you don't believe, you won't do the work.
If you don't do the work, you're a slacker.
When the work doesn't work, it's what did you expect?

Tuesday, February 9, 2010

Flexible

Just this evening, in a conversation about bodies, my friend mentioned the pleasure he found in seeing other people's flexibility.

I felt like something had hit me. It was a beautiful thing to say; I felt ideas run to the tip of my fingers. I know people who take pleasure in appearances, in strength, in thinness, in fat, a hair colour, curve of an eyebrow, etc, but I have never heard anyone state that they take pleasure in flexibility. I asked about whether he thought that he was taking pleasure in knowing that behind physical flexibility were connections about flexibility of mind and approaches. He wasn't resistant to those ideas, but what he meant was simple, physical flexibility.

"You can see it in the way they walk, "he said, "the step flows differently up the body."

I was interested in this small essay about how flexibility has become a touchstone of exercise and sport:
For years, flexibility has been widely considered a cornerstone of health and fitness. Many of us stretch before or after every workout and fret if we can’t lean over and touch our toes. We gape enviously at yogis wrapping their legs around their ears. “It’s been drummed into people that they should stretch, stretch, stretch — that they have to be flexible,” says Dr. Duane Knudson, professor of biomechanics at Texas State University in San Marcos, who has extensively studied flexibility and muscle response. “But there’s not much scientific support for that.”

Interesting, right? The essay goes on to talk about how stretching doesn't really change the overall structure of the muscles -- all that stretchiness goes away after a while. The conclusion of the research is that flexibility is functional. So, I've spent the past couple of days looking. Just looking for flexibility. Observing the way people use their flexibility; it's easy when you are in the dance studio.

On the street, though, I don't see flexibility often. Where I live, I see tension and holding which, while they aren't mutually exclusive to flexibility, often mask its affects. People hold when they walk around. They look tight. Or they are presenting themselves in such a way that the presentation (even if it is only possible because of flexibility) is more noticeable than the natural ripple of a flexible person walking.

Ahh. Walking. Flexibility in a wheelchair. I don't see that. We spend our days shoving down the street. What I see in wheeled motion is a push, suspend, release. I am always caught by the transition between suspend, release, and return, but that isn't always about flexibility: there, I see rhythm.

Monday, February 8, 2010

Sunday Routine

Sundays are way back days -- the days I use to travel back to wherever I started in order to face the week ahead.

And if I haven't travelled, my Sundays unfold as a reclamation of my body, my mind, and my place. I do the paperwork that has built up; pay the bills; check for shopping; shop (occasionally), I should use the time to do something spiritual, but since my childhood bad church experiences I have not really known how to separate spiritual from religious. So, I do practical stuff, and I rest.

This weekend has been remarkable for utter inactivity, risk taking (asked a friend to take photographs of me), frustration with my chair, and yielding into the work of the next two weeks. I hope I am ready.



The post here contains a picture of my cat; she's an orange tabby living as she pretty much does nowadays: on our bed, on my heating pad, between various leg support wedges. It's not a gratuitous cat shot, though. I really like the bright colours of the cat against the quilt cover; it's daring.

I talk a lot about failing, falling, and fear (or at least it feels to me as if I do). And I realize how much and how often the 3F's are on my mind. I also talk a lot about commitment and passion. Choices, choices, and choices. It's like early this morning, we rescued our cat from a ledge. She'd walked out on one of the deck supports (we had thought that because she was older, she would remain in a safe spot in the sunshine. Boy, were we wrong. I think I need to be like our cat and trust that if I get too far out, someone will catch me or rein me in.

Friday, February 5, 2010

Audition for Dance Company

AUDITION

March 6th-7th

Firkin Crane, Cork, Ireland

Croi Glan Integrated Dance Company are looking for

PEOPLE WITH PHYSICAL DISABILITIES to join the Company.

We are looking for 1-2 people with physical disabilities -who EITHER

have a background in sports or athletics

OR have some previous dance experience or training


We are also looking for

1 NON-DISABLED MALE CONTEMPORARY DANCER. This person must have strong contemporary dance technique and good contact improvisation skills. Previous integrated dance experience not required. A driving licence is a plus.


IMG_4474.jpg


Croi Glan is a professional integrated dance company based in Cork which performs dance nationally and internationally. We are looking for people to work on a project Spring-Summer 2010, with the possibility of then making a 2 year commitment to the Company.

Please send a brief C.V or biography outlining your sports or dance background to integrateddance@yahoo.ie

Information +353 87 9042753

The Firkin Crane is a wheelchair accessible venue

www.croiglan.com

Thursday, February 4, 2010

Embodying Mind

Flicking through the NYT today, I heard about embodied cognition as a field of scientific study. There's a lot about it on the web, but the NYT explanation for beginners seems pretty good:
... when people were asked to engage in a bit of mental time travel, and to recall past events or imagine future ones, participants’ bodies subliminally acted out the metaphors embedded in how we commonly conceptualized the flow of time.

As they thought about years gone by, participants leaned slightly backward, while in fantasizing about the future, they listed to the fore.
That's fascinating. It tells me a lot about my body, body memory, and the words we use for movement. We understand language, ideas, the world in part through our physical bodies and the movement of our bodies. We yield and open to each other, to concepts, to conversation. It's not just a question of body language being independent of mind, something that happens when you aren't looking. It is that movement of the body is an integral part of feeling, speaking and apprehending language and, further, the world itself.

The body's movement is language. Movement is understanding. Understanding arises in and from movement. The presence and possibility of such bodies is awe-some. Understanding, speaking, being in the world is literally a sustained sequence of movement: a dance. When dancers talk about pedestrian movement, we often mean movement that originates in every day life, that doesn't necessarily belong to a particulary movement vocabulary. Embodied cognition makes that even more true.

But what about disability? What if your body doesn't or cannot do what researchers would "expect." Does that mean that you don't understand in the same way or cannot process or develop moral cognition? Not being a specialist in the field, I don't have access to most of the research, but the little available on the web was provocative. Michael Anderson lays out the issues:
... first of all, that no researcher in, or theorist of, embodied cognition has ever suggested that physical handicaps imply cognitive deficits. Nor, if there were differences in the conceptual contents or structures of differently abled individuals, would one expect them to be detectable at the level of the linguistic mastery displayed in conversational interaction (the usual evidence offered by those who object to EC along these lines).** Language and linguistically available concepts are highly abstract phenomena; one would therefore expect the criteria for participation in a linguistic community to be likewise somewhat abstract. Thus, the concept of ‘walking’, in so far as it is logically and semantically related to various concepts of movement, and given that examples of walking exist in, and can be easily seen in the environment, ought to be easily acquirable by an individual who cannot, and who perhaps never could, walk. The concept can be placed in a logical and semantic network which is on the whole grounded, even given that there is no specific experience of walking which directly grounds the concept. Everyone is able to understand things which they have not directly experienced, through imagination, analogy, demonstration, and testimony; the physically disabled are in this regard no different.

** (is to a footnote: "assessments of children with spinal muscular atrophy bear this out")
I support his conclusion, but not, of course, his language. Walking, it turns out, is less about the planting of one foot in front of the other than the experience and idea of moving through space at a certain time. Granted what you see might be slightly different if you are sitting in a wheelchair from what you would see at, say, a height of 6" 2'. But then, it would also be different if you were 5" 4'. And no one would argue that people of "only" average height are unable to develop effective cognitive strategies.

So, yes. It comes down to the act of moving your body. Interesting to find that there is a scientific way of expressing what I thought was only an artist's take on movement (link here is to an earlier post in bfp's rethinking walking series). We who move through the world experience the world differently, travel differently, but engage in the same moral and intellectual process of cognition as we go.

I also rather liked the disability rights perspective here as articulated by Jackie Leach Scully (I so liked much of what I could get from the google books clip that I have ordered the book. It seems to put together other thinkers that I am familiar with in oh-so productive ways. hooray!). The excerpts are full of paragraphs like this:
Suppose it really is the case that preflective moral cognition is mediated through sensorimotor pathways mediated by the body interacting with the environment, and that this happens differently when anomalous interactions are involved. It would still be true that adaptions of the environment are a distinctly formative of moral cognition as morphologies, movements or perceptions themselves. It certainly cannot lead to the essentialist conclusion that there is a "disability brain" or "disability mind" that is unlike, or should be treated as unlike, the brains of "normal people.
I am going to go out on a limb for a second. From studying the history of race and bad evolutionary racial "science" in the early twentieth century, I am wary to make any kind of argument about the connection between brain and disability. Remember the awful stuff about cranium size and race as a justification for why African-Americans could never attain full citizenship. Actually, even now if you do a google search on cranium size and race, you get a series of pretty nasty links, including one to a David Duke site. No link love from me, here.

But I also feel awkward about saying that all brains are the same. These days, we happily accept the idea that all minds don't work the same way, and we value (except perhaps in grade school) the things different minds do. If we believe that disability is a social construct, made up in part of the negative judgments we impose out of fear and goodness knows what else, what would happen if we admit that brains -- like minds and bodies -- work differently, that such difference is a social benefit of the highest order, and that we aren't so filled with fear that we have to denigrate people because their brains are different and work differently? Would difference matter in an objective sense?

What could difference could create? What would we have to set aside in order to see disability brains and minds as powerful creative forces, equal to those of non-disabled people? What if we explicitly worked on movement and cognition, if we could take classes in refining movement with regard to cognition and vice versa? What if we encouraged people to move and think? What if dancers were critical to a new society?

Wheelie spins and leaves for studio. I have work to do.

x-posted at flipfloppingjoy for bfp here.