Keep on Pushing Brother

Spring has truly sprung in central New York. Lilac bushes are blooming as are tulips, azaleas, daffodils, dogwood trees, etc. The building I live in recently spread mulch outside the shrubs and my apartment smelled of the earth. As the temperatures have soared, yesterday was 83 f., I have made a concerted effort to get out for long walks as I once did when Kate was part of my life. As she aged, she became a real sniffer. Her ability to walk declined but her enjoyment of the smelly wonder of nature increased dramatically. It is called adaptation. We humans excel at adaptation. If you live with a disability you know all about adaptation and creativity. The world is not constructed for wheelchair users. Sure the law dictates all new construction be accessible but that always comes with a proviso. Wheelchair access is not valued and does not present an aesthetic we are drawn to. Hence I see ugly after thought ramps attached to the front, side and rear of buildings. It is as though the architect came up with a beautiful building design and thought "Shit, I need to put a ramp somewhere. I don't care what it looks like as long as it meets the letter of the law."

I get much thinking done as I walk around the city of Syracuse. Today, I walked around my neighborhood of Franklin Square. I passed many homeless people. I passed more than a few urbanites walking in business clothes. I know two bottle guys who make money collecting return bottles. These men work very hard and its a dirty job. I think the bottle return laws are great and return or give away my free nickels. The area I lie in is a strange place. Within a mile I can pass homeless people who live in camps that can range from primitive to rather elaborate set ups. I shake my head in wonder how homeless people can survive the winter in Syracuse. This is a gritty city and outdoor living is harsh in the extreme. Regardless of one's stature, social or economic, what I find remarkable is all the comments I generate. These comments come largely when I am alone. In the last ten days I have heard:

"Keep on pushing brother"

"God will heal you. I will pray for you"

"Fucking retard" 

"Get on the side walk asshole" (no sidewalk exists)

"Its a lovely day, enjoy"

"You are the anti-Christ"

"You should not be out by yourself"

"How fast can that thing go?"

"Want to race?"

"Why don't you just die already"

Unpredictable. My life is never boring when I go out in public. College campuses offer some refuge in that the overwhelmingly nasty unsolicited comments are largely absent. But in gritty Syracuse I often have no idea what people will say. Part of this is the area I live in. I can pass a $100,000 car parked on the street and see a bottle guy a few yards away collecting returns. Only in America--thank you capitalism. Walking makes me realize in a visceral way that disability is a cause and consequence of poverty. I am as a result far more comfortable around poor people. The disenfranchised are my people. I know this because I grew up surrounded by great wealth. I was always the only person using a wheelchair. Snobs looked down their noses at me, aghast I was present. The unspoken reality is that disability and poverty go hand in hand. The troika of a lack of education, access to mass transit/housing, and unemployment result in fractured lives. Countless lives have been derailed. This is a human rights catastrophe that no one wants to talk about much less solve.  I think about this every day. I rail against this every day.

As I pass abandoned buildings, renovated former factories, abandoned houses, newly built hotels, it is easy to get depressed. Disability is hard. It is a vortex that can be utterly catastrophic. Long ago when I became fascinated by anthropology I thought about doing Native American ethnography. The more I read the more depressed I became. I did not want to spend the rest of my life reading about genocide.  Disability history is not exactly uplifting reading. If you doubt me just read The Ugly Laws or Nothing About Us Without Us. So on this day I refuse to give in ableism. A word that I once thought would never be popularly used. But I am wrong. For my son and I recently commented about how we see the word more often in the mainstream press. The advance of disability rights is taking place but at a glacial pace. For my fellow cripples, hang in there. Tomorrow will be a better day. Don't give bipedal bastards the satisfaction of giving in. Get outside. Live life to the fullest. Enjoy the below "Still Not Dead".