All posts by dereknewmanstille

Derek is a PhD ABD in Canadian Studies at the Frost Centre for Canadian Studies, Trent University. Derek's research is focussed on representations of disability and alterity in Canadian Speculative Fiction. Derek is a 7 time Prix Aurora Award winner for his website and associated radio show Speculating Canada.

Queering Disability and Disabling Queerness: A Panel on Access

As part of Peterborough’s Queer Pride Week, I organized a panel with Tessa Smith featuring Fiona Patton, Shannon Avery, Ronnie Ritchie, and myself, Derek Newman-Stille. Our panel was created to bring access to the way that our Queer community and Disabled community overlap while bringing attention to the fact Pride events in most locations tend to be inaccessible or only feature able-bodied people.

We wanted to explore not just the way that Queerness and Disability come together, but also the way that these identities can conflict. We explore the ableism in Queer “safe spaces” and the homophobia in Disabled “safe spaces”. We wanted a panel of diverse Queer people with disabilities and found people that occupy many different roles in our communities from writers to artists to students to activists.

We want to acknowledge the support of Peterborough Pride, the Rainbow Services Organization, and Traill College at Trent University for their support of this event.

This video was filmed at Bagnani Hall at Traill College, Trent University in Peterborough Ontario, Canada.

Please allow time for the video to appear

Queering Disability event

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Storied Recovery

Storied Recovery

A review of Monique Bedard (Aura)’s “Constellations of Stars” in (Don’t) Call Me Crazy: 33 Voices Start the Conversation About Mental Health Edited by Kelly Jensen (Algonquin, 2018)

By Derek Newman-Stille

Located in a collection of stories about mental health called (Don’t) Call Me Crazy, Monique Bedard (Aura)’s poem “Constellations of Stars” reveals the way that mental health, identity, and landscape can interact with each other and speak to each other. Society pretends that mental health happens in isolation, but Bedard, a Haudenosaunee person illustrates the deep connection between colonial violence and what is coded as “mental health” issues.

Bedard uses poetry and word play to explore the relationship between body, land, identity, and the notion of storied existence. She begins by revealing to her reader that her body is a map of scars that tells a story. Her body is implicated throughout the poem, woven through her words and experiences. This is an emBODied work.

“Constellations of Stars” weaves together Bedard’s own narrative and the narrative of indigenous people in general, illustrating that there are shared experiences and that she feels the pain of colonial violence both from the people that came before her and in the violence, erasure, and loss of land that she has experienced. Bedard’s voice is a multiplicity in one, a shared truth. She explores the theft of indigenous lands, the pain of separation in residential schools, the theft of indigenous children by people who tried to erase their culture, missing and murdered aboriginal women, the erasure of languages, culture, and history. Her story is her own… but it is also larger than a single story.

Bedard explores the idea of “witness” – the power of the act of speaking about things that are being erased, giving voice to situations that were silenced, and enacting truths to counter colonial lies.

To discover more about Monique Bedard (Aura), visit her website at https://www.moniqueaura.com

To find out more about (Don’t) Call Me Crazy, visit https://www.workman.com/products/dont-call-me-crazy

Amulets

Amulets

A review of Heidi Heilig’s “The Long Road” in Unbroken: 13 Stories Starring Disabled Teens (Farrar Straus Giroux, 2018).

By Derek Newman-Stille

Heidi Heilig’s “The Long Road” begins like many trope-filled stories about disability does – with a self-loathing disabled character seeking a cure. The trope of “the cure” and especially “the magic cure” is built into a large number of fantasy stories, creating a quest for characters around the discovery of a cure, or having characters use magic to transform their bodies into normate bodies.

The difference with Heilig’s narrative, is that although her disabled narrator begins a long quest with her family wearing protective amulets to ward off evil (since her disability is seen as a marker of evil) toward Persia where her family believes there will be a cure… Heilig switches the narrative, breaking from the typical fantasy “magical cure” trope and instead allowing her character to gradually realize that the notion of “the cure” is a problematic one that causes her to view her body as a problem to be “fixed” and instead starts to question the idea of normalcy, realizing that bodies are far more complex than her family had led her to believe. It is only through finding a disabled community and companionship with another disabled person that Heilig’s protagonist is able to begin to re-assess everything she has taken for granted as “truth” for so long.

Heilig reminds her readers that we frequently find knowledge and new ideas within our own disabled community and that we construct our own community as we find other people like ourselves who don’t make us feel like outsiders or exiles. Heilig makes the exile literal by having her characters wander the desert in search of a cure, believing that they can return home “normal”, but although her character searches for normalcy (which is so often the fantasy quest attributed to disabled characters), instead she finds the power of community and challenging her assumptions. Rather than a physical transformation, Heilig presents her readers with a transformation in thought and perspective, an awakening to new possibilities for disabled existence rather than the erasure of disability.

To find out more about Unbroken: 13 Stories Starring Disabled Teens, visit https://us.macmillan.com/books/9780374306502

To discover more about Heidi Heilig, visit http://www.heidiheilig.com

When A Kiss Isn’t Just A Kiss

A review of Jax Jacki Brown’s “The Politics of Pashing” in QDA: A Queer Disability Anthology edited by Raymond Luczak (Squares and Rebels, 2015)

By Derek Newman-Stille

Jax Jacki Brown’s autobio story “The Politics of Pashing” explores the visibility of Queerness and Disability and the politics of staring. Jax explores her ability to reverse staring that happens as a Queer wheelchair-user by “pashing” (kissing passionately) in public and playing with her “eye-catching” nature by dying her hair red, wearing a rainbow neckerchief and overlaying her body “with signals of queer sexuality”. Instead of being the object of staring by an ableist, heterosexist society, she takes power away from people who would use their ableist glare by instead reversing the stare and making her body a display of fierce sexuality.

Jax questions whether people are staring at her because of her Queerness or disability, inviting the question of which identity attracts the most stares. She determines that people are staring at her because of her disability and their assumption that disabled people are un-sexual. She tells her readers that she resists this de-sexualization by presenting people with the visibility of her sexuality – by kissing passionately in public.

Often folks with disabilities and Queer folks are taught not to show our sexuality in public. We are taught that holding hands, kissing, and hugging are too icky for the straight, able-bodied cis-gendered public to handle. We are relegated to private spaces. A lot of that “teaching” happens through the stare… and, more specifically, a form of the stare that is openly hostile – the glare. We are Othered from public spaces, and it is a radical act to kiss in public, to demonstrate our love and sexuality in spaces that are hostile to anything that doesn’t conform to a heterosexist, ableist ideal. Jax’s acts of kissing seem like such little things – just a kiss – but when our kisses are treated as threatening, the act of kissing has power. It asks the question of why we are excluded from public spaces, it gives us power over the way we are stared at, and it remakes public space into a space where we can assert our presence and resist erasure. She tells her readers “Until disability and sexual diversity become more visible in the media, my kissing in public will never be a simple act. My pashes will always be political, enacting a complex interplay between my queer and disabled identities, and my pride in these two parts of myself.”

To find out more about QDA, go to http://www.squaresandrebels.com/books/qda.html

To discover more about Jax Jacki Brown, go to http://fukability.blogspot.com

What Is It Like To Be Represented in Film, Television, and Books?

What is it like to be represented in film, television, and books?

By Derek Newman-Stille

When I see myself in a character, when I encounter a character who is like me – queer or disabled (or maybe even both like I am?)… but written in a way that represents those identities, not filled with tropes meant to reduce us to symbols… I feel a sense of ecstasy. My heart starts to race. I start to connect with the character, start to feel their passions.

And I think to myself – is this what it is like for straight, able-bodied, cis, white people to read?

I imagine what it would be like to live in a world where one is saturated with representations of oneself…. where every magazine, every book, every film, every television show is like a mirror.

This is what we under-represented people feel when we encounter representation of ourselves, when we finally see something in our media that could be made to reflect (even slightly) ourselves. Suddenly our world is opened up to potentials. When I see people like me represented, I finally feel a sense of belonging, a sense of really being part of the world and not it’s dirty little secret that no one wants to talk about. I feel a sense of community, a welcome, an invitation to participate, to be part of the world.

I feel like I can exist.

I wonder if this is something that other under-represented people feel when they see themselves reflected. Do they also feel like a world of possibilities has opened up? Do they get the same heart-racing, open-eyed, pausing breath sense of excitement and wonder? Do they feel that weird, uncanny, tingling magic through their bodies at the moment that they see the potential for representation, the possibility, the cusp of belonging? Do they feel the clouds of isolation break? Do they feel the sense of excitement that for once our stories are THERE are HERE… that our stories are shaping something, carving out a space for us, a tiny cave in a wall of ignorance and oppression?

Do others sigh with relief that the character that we are told is like us doesn’t end up being a shallow reflection of society’s bigotry? Do they bite their nails as they see the words “And he/she was Queer/Disabled/Trans/Indigenous/Black/Of Colour/An Immigrant/Fat” and wonder if this is going to the the time that someone sees deeper than the portrait society paints of us and see that we are standing right behind that portrait, trying to push it aside so we can EXIST?

I crave representation. I crave good representation. I crave deeper thought about what people like us are like. I crave creators like us creating characters like us. I want… I need to feel like our marginalized stories are out there.

And I know what happens whenever I say I want marginalized voices represented. I know I will hear from people some suggestions of “have you seen this one show that was on for half a season that had a character who was Queer?” and “before the author kills off this character in this book, you should see how much like you they are” and “there are so many marginalized people represented out there that it is really the straight, white, able-bodied, cis man who is underrepresented”. I know I will hear them because it happens every time. I know I will hear them because people in positions of privilege always want to believe that token representations are enough. They want to believe that if they just show us ONE image, we will go back to complacency… that we won’t still crave MORE. They want to share that one representation of us because they enjoyed it. Because it was new, innovative, different. But if so many people like our representation, like our stories, why aren’t we given much of a platform? Why aren’t there more representations of us?

It feels like we are always being told “isn’t that enough?” Well, no, it’s not enough. We still feel that sense of isolation when we are surrounded by an ocean of representations of the straight, white, able-bodied, cis man even when we can see that one speck of a life raft of representation out on that ocean. That one, precarious, uncertain, singular representation isn’t enough to hold onto in a world where we are drowning in representations of people in power, people who make decisions about our lives.

We crave representation because we not only WANT it…. we NEED it. Because it is rare, because it is precarious, but mostly because it makes us feel a sense of possibility and wonder, a sense of belonging.

Disability Tropes 101: The “Tiny Tim”

Another of my guest posts over on the Spoonie Authors’ Network – here I discuss the problematic Tiny Tip Trope of Disability as part of my Disability Tropes 101 series

Spoonie Authors Network

Disability Tropes 101 featured image Loose leaf paper with the trope topic: The “Tiny Tim” (by Derek Newman-Stille) Heading above it reads: A Spoonie Authors Network Series, Disability Tropes 101. The O of tropes is the wheel of the accessibility symbol.

The trope that I call the “Tiny Tim” is the creation by an author of a disabled character whose exclusive role is to be an object of pity and in need of charity. I have used the name of the best known of these figures from Dickens—”Tiny Tim.” Tiny Tim doesn’t have a life outside of his role as an object of pity, and his entire existence is about teaching an able-bodied man to be more charitable and share his wealth. 

These figures are obviously not limited to literature and, frequently, charities rely on this image when they launch funding campaigns, trying to evoke sympathy from possible donors. Charities have frequently relied on…

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Disability Tropes 101: Manipulative Sympathy

Here is another of my guest posts over at the Spoonie Authors’ Network – Disability Tropes 101: Manipulative Sympathy

Spoonie Authors Network

featured image Loose leaf paper with the trope topic: Manipulative Sympathy (by Derek Newman-Stille) Heading above it reads: A Spoonie Authors Network Series, Disability Tropes 101. The O of tropes is the wheel of the accessibility symbol.

I recently watched the musical Wicked, and one scene particularly stood out to me as problematic. It tied into a few other problematic representations of disability that I have encountered in literature, film, and television.

In Wicked: The Musical , the main character’s sister, Nessarose, is a wheelchair user. During the performance, she, at various times, sings about deserving sympathy (which is a problematic disability trope itself), but what stood out to me was the fact that the character Boq is convinced to be her boyfriend because he believes that she deserves sympathy and needs extra care. He is portrayed as being tricked into a relationship with him because he feels bad for her. This…

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