TORONTO, May 7, 2013 – The Law Commission of Ontario (LCO) is beginning a new project at the request of the Ontario government to address how adults with developmental or mental disabilities might be better enabled to participate in the federal Registered Disability Savings Plan (RSDP) created by the federal government without an expensive competency assessment.
The RDSP is a savings vehicle to provide future support for persons with disabilities. Parents or guardians may open an RDSP for a child. However, adults with intellectual disabilities and others whose competence may be an issue may face challenges in opening or withdrawing from an RDSP without undergoing an expensive and lengthy competency process. “We are extremely pleased to be asked by the Ontario government to undertake this project,” said Professor Bruce P. Elman, Chair of the LCO Board of Governors. “It reflects recognition of the high quality of the LCO’s work and its contribution to law reform in the province.”
The LCO will draw on work in two prior projects in which it has released final reports, its Framework for the Law as It Affects Older Adults and its Framework for the Law as It Affects Persons with Disabilities. It is currently undertaking a large project on capacity, decision-making and guardianship from which the RDSP project will benefit. The LCO will also call on the relationships with legal and academic experts and community members developed in the process of the older adults, persons with disabilities projects and capacity projects.
Launched in September 2007, the LCO is funded by the Law Foundation of Ontario, the Ministry of the Attorney General, Osgoode Hall Law School and the Law Society of Upper Canada, with additional financial and in-kind support from York University and support from the Ontario law schools. It is housed in the Ignat Kaneff Building, York University. It operates independently of government to recommend law reforms to enhance access to justice.
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Law Commission of Ontario
Inclusion Day at Ryerson University: July 6, 2013. or visit www.taaproject.com for a better view:
As we head into April, I thought I’d post Protest on the Plinth which states that the value system from the Nazi era hasn’t changed much today. If people make out disabled people’s lives to be “intolerable,” then how can we make safe legislation?” asks the disabled woman in the video. It is not egregious to point to what happened to the disabled during the Nazi era and unpack the value systems that linger today – that lead to the belief that disabled lives are an intolerable economic burden on society. Posters of the “costs” of the disabled to the German “folk” were commonplace.
Systemic mechanisms (government programs, schools, corporate bodies) that tell us what kinds of bodies (and minds) we are supposed to normalize, regulate, or get rid of, or what are “acceptable” minds and bodies. Charity campaigns don’t typically tell donors that they need to be patient as corporations or as individuals; that they to collaborate with disabled people, work alongside people with disabilities, or that it is a disabled person’s right to be educated (instead of remediated as a “ramp” to normative education -see Moore v. British Columbia, 2012). They don’t talk about autistic and disability rights. Charities are busy raising money, mainly, for cures.
When scientific and representational linguistics point to children “at risk,” we might instead ask, just who are we trying to “keep safe” and why is society so dreadfully afraid of people with disabilities? Remember to consider language and how it both reflects, and shapes, the way we consider people with the autism label. From where I’m standing, however, we are definitely at risk, not from autism, but from an intolerable society.
The purpose of the title is from historical readings that the disabled in history were displaced and living on the margins of society. Who were considered/are considered valued members of society? Socities have been obsessed with placing the disabled into a variety of contexts that justifies human existence, or fears (demons, monsters, mad, deviants) making the normal the privileged members. Without a comparative measure, as it were, what would we humans deem ourselves to be?
I have a series of questions that I’ll be considering (probably for a lifetime). Feel free to try and contribute thoughts in the comment box.
Pro/claiming Autistic Identity:
Is claiming biological identify leading to another possible eugenics movement? Is there a danger to biological self-identification? How important are self-identification and self-advocacy and pride-movements?
Are pride movements perpetuating the dis/abled dichotomies that already oppress? Do you think they have a positive purpose? Should there be a point at which we stop advancing pride movements, in other words, move beyond them? When is a good time to do so?
How important is the label autism to accommodation if autism is a social construct? (It is). Where “special” and enforcing “inclusion” have already proved challenging, maybe even impossible thus far, is it so because we continue to place the disabled out of the confines of the norm. In other words, are we continuing to perpetuate a false dichotomy that does little to value and serve, but more to segregate and isolate? By wanting inclusion, we are saying we are excluded? Does this stance further the goal itself, or not any longer?
Who Gets To Produce Knowledge About Autism?
The DSMV, behavioural analysis and observation, and the categorization of people.
Who gets to diagnose whom? Who gets to produce knowledge and categories about autism? In the past, and to a large extent today, it is non-autistic or “normal” people and we now witness a gradual inclusion of disabled “voices” to this mix. Do disabled individuals appropriate notions of impairment and abnormality enforced by long-held categories made originally by people who have not had disabilities? After all, autistic people are still largely tokenized minorities among autism charities, autism committees, and as participants in autism research studies.
Accommodation and Acceptance:
To what extent is the citing of needs/impairments an important part (or not) of acknowledging that we are all part of the abled-disabled continuum, which herein, I have already parsed?
Do you think the term autism and/or disability will exist one hundred years from now? Or are we a society that simply wears the same dress, just in different colours?
Have we learned anything from autistic self-advocates that assist us to simply accept autistic individuals and value the right of all people to exist, be educated, and be valued, no matter what level of disability, in society?
Utopias and ideals have perpetuated individual and societal notions about what we should be – what we are versus what we aspire to be. To what extent may this continue to be a driving force (as in survivial of the fittest) under an capitalist/economic lens, and where are we now with this “force” in viewing the disabled as part of this? As disability has always been a part of human existence, despite eugenics movement’s attempts at normalizing society and eradicating “deviant” people from the norms, how far have we come to accepting, embracing and valuing human difference? After all, while the eugenicists caused great harm to many people, and have continued to do so as a legacy, they didn’t succeed in eradicating human difference.*
*In reference to the eugenics movement from Davis, “Constructing Normalcy” in Enforcing Normalcy: Disability Deafness and the Body, pp. 23-49, 1995:
“The conflation of disability with depravity itself expressed itself in the formulation ‘defective class.’ As the president of the University of Wisconsin declared after World War One, ‘we know enough about eugenics so that if the knowledge were applied, the defective classes would disappear within a generation.’ At it must be reiterated that the eugenics movement was not stocked with eccentrics…Rockefeller, Churchill, Roosevelt, H.G. Wells, John Maynard Keynes”…among a longer list. Some food for thought when thinking about such questions.
I love my City of Toronto where I was born and have lived for most of my life. I’ve lived on the outerskirts and downtown and midtown and I never loose interest or discover new pockets of Toronto. I never liked “bedroom communities” and I don’t thrive well in them. As an art curator, I used to cite the many aesthetic issues as well as social consequences of bedroom communities when I had my own newspaper column, even though most of us don’t have any choice to live in them, as was the situation with my family. Others claim they prefer not to live in “the big city,” and that’s fine too. For me, however, I enjoy being able to walk out the door and take a few steps to the corner to get what I need, to walk or bike to, and be among people. When I talk about my city, I’m really talking about community and there are many notions of community that are important in discussing inclusion and people with disabilities.
After a divorce, I had to move back uptown. My partner and parents live downtown and I am backing-and-forthing. I’ve envisioned Adam’s future downtown, where transportation is accessible, where the chances of having employment could be easier because of accessibility to them; where support in the way of people may be more readily available, and for him to also feel a part of the daily pulse of life among his fellow citizens. I take it for granted, perhaps as a matter of necessity or as a premise unto itself, that he is a valued member of this community, even though we encounter many barriers and prejudices — sometimes subtle and other times overt. It’s an ideal, of course. At some point in the near or distant future, when our lives don’t demand the need to be uptown, I will move us mid or downtown again. Accessibility and being with people is key for me, my vision for Adam, and for our growth as a family that fit with my values.
Along Christie (it’s a street in Toronto), a quote from Jane Jacobs remained unfinished graffiti on a cement partition along the sidewalk. For nearly a year, only half the sentence was written, waiting for someone to bring a can of spray paint and fill it in. “Cities have the capability of providing something …” I felt compelled to drive up and down Christie for the past several years not only because it seems to be one of my favorite areas in Toronto, and one of the first points of arrival when my dad immigrated to Canada, but also because I wanted to see if the sentence would ever read complete.
About this time last year, someone filled it in, but it was incorrect. A few weeks later, it was erased. I waited again and kept driving. In the true Jane Jacob spirit, the practice of finishing the sentence, albeit a quote from her, had to be accessible and inclusive. (Thank goodness Mayor Rob Ford’s attempts at erasing all graffiti from the city didn’t strike this wall). Finally, a few months ago, the sentence was completed:
“Cities have the capability of providing something for everybody only because, and only when, they are created by everybody.”
The notion of creating and including everybody is appealing to me, and I gather for this reason, an idea was germinating. How can we cooperate and create our communities that support and include autistic people? Is there a way to use Jane Jacob’s model and discuss the pitfalls and possibilities of creating what we need for ourselves, outside of the systems that can sometimes oppress us? Is there a value to doing both? These are some of the questions I have in disability policy. I’d like to use this blog as a little laborartory for discussing these ideas, and for practicing them.
I used to adore Toronto. As an able-bodied person, it was relatively simple to get around and I appreciated having access to all Toronto had to offer. I didn’t pay attention to the lack of elevators, escalators and ramps. I am 30 years old and have multiple sclerosis now. I am no longer able-bodied but disabled. These days I use a cane or walker to aid my gait, making uncomplicated things more demanding. I now despise Toronto due to its lack of accessibility. I miss the things I once loved and want to enjoy them again but I cannot because establishments are inaccessible. Why am I being penalized for a disease that caused me to become disabled? Why is this kind of discrimination allowed?
His article highlights the ideas of various civic leaders and thinkers and some of the issues that confront people with disabilities in cities. One of them he cites is Iris Marion Young, the author of Justice and the Politics of Difference to present a series of interesting premises’ in the creation of accessible cities/communities:
“In the city,” writes Young, “persons and groups interact within spaces and institutions they all experience themselves as belonging to, but without those interactions dissolving into unity of commonness” (1990: 237). Several premises are contained in this statement. One is that people, as individuals and in groups, have the capacity and opportunity to participate and interact with other people. A second is that sufficient and accessible public spaces and institutions exist throughout cities to enable the being together. A democratic politics, Young stresses “crucially depends on the existence of spaces and forums to which everyone has access” to participate — to speak, listen and bear witness (1990: 240). A third premise is that such interactions generate common experiences of belonging, a basic component of citizenship according to most commentators on the topic. Certainly, for people with disabilities, these public spaces require supports, services and likely adaptations to enable all to speak, to listen and bear witness, regardless of their abilities and capacities. The fourth premise is that individuals and groups participating in such public places and institutions are able, at the same time, to maintain a sense of their own distinctiveness, special status or group identity. Perspective 4 therefore contains, as do the other perspectives, a number of empirical perquisites, behavioural expectations and normative claims.
While the ideals of Jane Jacobs may not as of yet have reached our cities and communities, I think her notion of “creation by everyone” is a vital link to thinking about how we build them.
Attending IMFAR for me this year raised many more questions, if not affirmed some of my assumptions about the extent (or not) to which autistic individuals are involved in research as well as autism organizations. While more autistic people may be in attendance at conferences, or may sit as board members, issues about “tokenism” arise; to what extent do we enable autistic individuals to create a meaninful autism agenda? That is, who is establishing the questions about autism to be researched? Who is directing the goals of an autism organization?
Temple Grandin spoke at IMFAR at Toronto this year by webcam/Skype. She urged autism researchers to look at issues effecting autistic quality of life, rather than more studies on “face recognition.” Yet she did not acknowledge that many of these researchers are, a) not autistic or, b) do not practice emancipatory or participatory research. Was this done for politcial reasons, or was it a gentle nudge to send more accepted research paradigms in directions that may be of use to autistic people, or perhaps an oversight? By definition,
“Emacipatory research (that is research which seeks to alleviate oppression) is critical in exposing the mechanisms for producing, maintaining and leigtimising social inequities and domination.” (Ayesha Vernon, “Reflexivity: The dilemmas of researching from the inside” in The Disability Press.)
My assumption is that while Grandin is urging the researchers to reflect on what is important to autistic people, the model is more challenging at IMFAR which is largely based on a non autistic view of how autistic people think, perceive, function. The research was largely targetted to the “high-functioning” autistic population, likely, because this was the most effective, cost-efficient and timely way to complete the research projects. They did not employ emancipatory methods which may not use more common research designs. It is non autistic people largely determining what’s best for autistic people and the balance of power is clearly skewed — it is the researcher directing the goal of the reserach and the relationship of researcher-subject is established. Some quantitative research by autistic researchers has been presented at IMFAR, and we do need more in support of the issues and needs that are produced and articulated by people with autism. As non autistic people, charity organizers and researchers we have to acknowledge when we are looking from the outside-in, and consider changing our approaches in order to provide services that are directed by the autistic community.
Issues arise when thinking of involving autistic participants in establishing the research question, or the agenda of an organization. Sitting on boards with non verbal participants with significant challenges, non autistic members have to exercise patience and understanding with the length of time and the various outputs that enable an autistic person to participate, as an example. Some individuals communicate by typing very slowly, or using other text-to-speech devices. For others who do not have an organized communciation system, the issue of involvement and later, dissemination of the research that is useful to autistic people becomes complex. Some have worked around the issue by stating that the autistic with the more proficient communication system is at least accomplishing part of the task of inclusion. We have to work on offering solutions to participation and autistic direction.
As the founder of The Autism Acceptance Project, I experienced these tensions of working as a non autistic person in an autistic space and tried to resist controling the agenda, and admittedly while I sought a lot of direction from autistic people, this was very difficult to do. As an organized and fairly driven person, setting my own assumptions aside still requires me to slow down and think about my design of the TAAProject website: from to how to include autistic individuals in a way that they can direct the project while using my skills, and theirs, to developing the tools to perhaps target some of the issues that are barriers for all organizations that do not fully integrate and employ the needs and issues of our autistic community.
In addition to the intensive labour and time required to set up empancipatory research projects and the change the structure of autism organizations — both which seek to amelieorate the social oppression of autistic people — their is little capital out there for this. The larger autism charities focus more on causation research and are better capitalized as opposed to volunteer autism organizations more often led by autistic people (Arnold). So, if you are a researcher endeavouring to do this kind of research in autism, The Autism Acceptance Project would like to hear from you.
“Disability research should not be seen as a set of technical objective procedures carried out by ‘experts’ but part of the struggle by disabled people to challenge the oppression they currently experience in their lives.” (Oliver, 1992).
Vernon, Aeysha (1997) Reflexivity: The dilemmas of reseraching from the inside, in Colin Barnes & Geof Mercer (eds.) Doing Disability Research (Leeds, UK; The Disability Press) 00. 158-176.
Preistly, Mark (1997) Who’s research? A personal audit, in Colin Barnes & Geof Mercer (eds.) IBID., pp. 88-107.
We are The Adam Family. As we grow into our lives with autism, it becomes increasingly difficult to see the “normal” world as the actual opposite of what it purports to be by that label. The more on the margins of society we seem sit, the more absurd “the rules” seem to be. In thinking more about Inclusion and The Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms, I realized that the idea of Adam having his own family, therefore, is not a sight-out-of-reach. It is a possibility, his choice, and right which must be enabled and protected. How, on earth, if you are a new parent to an autistic child, particularly one like mine who has limited verbal ability, could this be possible? Well, it may seem a bit quirky, and some would be up-in-arms against us citing us as a future social welfare burden, but first let share this take on The Addam’s Family series:
Much of the humor derives from their culture clash with the rest of the world. They invariably treat normal visitors with great warmth and courtesy, even though their guests often have evil intentions. They are puzzled by the horrified reactions to their (to them) good-natured and normal behavior since they are under the impression that their tastes are shared by most of society. Accordingly they view “conventional” tastes with generally tolerant suspicion. For example, Fester once cites a neighboring family’s meticulously maintained petunia patches as evidence that they are “nothing but riff-raff.” A recurring theme in the epilogue of many episodes was the Addamses getting an update on the most recent visitor to their home, either via something in the newspaper or a phone call. Invariably, as a result of their visit to the Addamses, the visitor would be institutionalized, change professions, move out of the country, or have some other negative life-changing event. The Addamses would always misinterpret the update and see it as good news for that most recent visitor.
I wish we could all live with the same conviction. When parents get frightened about autism, it’s usually because of fear for the future – will my child get married, go to school, have friends? The pressure to conform the unconformable is immense. For many years I quietly shared the same worries, although I feel my worries were more rooted in society’s acceptance of Adam. My viewpoint is shared with the more widespread social model of disability — that our modern definition of disabled is a term to describe the social barriers that make a life living with an impairment exclusive/segregated. There are naturally going to be times in the beginning of having an autism diagnosis, most-likely if we’ve never experienced disability before, that we will be thinking in terms of our own lives, how we grew up, went to school, made friends, had our first boy/girlfriends and later, maybe even got married and had families of our own. When we don’t see our children doing the same things in typical ways, we worry for them and maybe even for ourselves. The life trajectory is one that our society uses to plan every stage of our lives from how we go to school, to what we are supposed to become, to building our retirement nest-egg.
We expect to be on a path that is economically driven. We are raised to comply, to be a part of society. About a century ago, the formation of “school” was intended to prepare children for later entrance to the military. Today, we plan for our babies at the get-go with pre-school and envision them at Harvard – the ultimate preparation for a new kind of regime. We prepare our little ones for the economic march into consumerist culture. Our frame of reference for understanding is capitalist. Erich Fromm believed that we tend to categorize individuals “according to various types of status, to glorify superiors, and to look down on those who are regarded as of lower rank (e.g. persons belonging to other ‘races’) – must be understood in light of an authoritarian upbringing, which in turn is associated with other general authoritarian tendencies in the workplace and society in general.” (Alvesson and Sköldberg). That “authority” well, to coin James Carville, is “the economy, stupid.” (I’m using Carville’s words and am not implying anyone is stupid. I want to acknowledge the sensitivity I actually have when people use words that can be used violently). While resources are an issue for supporting autistic individuals, others site Libreralism as a issue as it put great stake in “liberty, automony and choice… Given the reality that some persons with disabilities will necessarily be in situations of intense dependency and reliance, can liberty and autonomy — with their emphasis on freedom from — really be the lodestars liberalism has assumed?” (Devlin and Pothier).
When we bring an autistic child into the world, we don’t fit the model pretty much from day one and especially after our children receive their first official diagnosis. We try to squeeze into charitable models for definitions of our existence, but they feel uncomfortable, placing us in (again) subordinate positions yielding to the “power” of the do-gooder/philanthropist and the “experts” in receipt of their research funds – an unequal relationship. Our families collide with ideologies that we are forced to question. Not “fitting in” is another way of describing how we are placed on the margins of society, or discriminated against. Relatively recent disability laws are made to protect us from exclusion, giving our children full citizenship rights.
Still, we struggle find such justice for them within their daily lives. We first look to school systems and are met with the red-tape of the process of getting IEP’s and special accommodations and quickly realize it’s a legal issue and process. I often wonder which “side” that law protects. We parents (I am writing as a mother so I have to assume that if you are disabled/autistic reading this, you will understand that I recognize this also as your issue) don’t count on having to fill in reams of paper applications, spending hours in meetings, navigating government support systems and administration when we are swaddling our new bundles-of-joy. The navigation to be special – not that it’s our choice – indicates from the start that we’re not supposed to be this way. Our children aren’t supposed to be autistic and public schools protect themselves from us with the red-tape, and we have to fight for our children to be included, not marginally integrated or tokenized. Most of us don’t “fight,” we become diplomatic contortionists and try to get our kids “in” to the extent we can. While it’s a worthy fight, it’s still one that we’d rather not spend our time on. We look forward to the day when autism – about twenty to thirty years behind our recongition of other disabilities, including intellectual disabilities – is widely accepted and welcomed in society. With that welcoming is also a recognition of the intersections between race, culture, gender among other interlocking connections, that make up experience.
As I let Adam go into the world, with the support he needs in order to be an equal citizen, I am always working on my visions for him as a parent. The other day, I thought long and hard about a photo I collected from Toronto’s Abilities Arts Festival a few years ago. It is a photo where two intellectually disabled parents sit on the couch with their three typical children — a “normal” family photo called “Lucky Strike.” The subjects also wrote a paragraph about how they got married and had a family with the help of their support workers. It dawned on me about Adam and his family: there is no reason why Adam may not have a family of his own, by accident or by choice as is the cycle of life for many a typical person. There is no reason why he cannot attend higher-education as an adult. There is no reason why he cannot participate in whatever he wants. It is, after all, the law, granted, subject to enforcement as well as interpretation and dominant social attitudes that are still weighted against the disabled person. We also know that not all our rights are enacted and there is a hesitancy by many families and individuals to go through the legal process. Not all universities understand the need and function of the aide worker. Although York University accommodates people with disabilities, it found itself in a legal dispute with Ashif Jaffer, a student with Down syndrome, because he claimed the university did not accommodate his needs. For these reasons, we have to keep on working hard, and likely take a few risks, for the rights of our beloved family members to be included with the accommodations that they require. This means also the help of aide workers and various technologies, among many other individualized needs.
People can have families and also be supported by others. Our children, even our non-verbal ones, can have a say in their plans and lives with guided decision-making practices. Non-verbal people may be able to type or write visual essays and participate in research about autism, and all autistic people have a right to both participate in research and have results disseminated to them in ways they can use and understand. Check out websites on emancipatory research and visual essay formats. No it’s not easy to do, but we’re starting to do it and we are inevitably going to learn by doing.
An “emancipatory” life requires support and that support requires a vision of possibility, enablement, democracy and a plan. As a paraplegic requires a wheelchair, many an autistic person requires people in their lives to support them getting to and from destinations, to having families, to making decisions, to managing the many details of life. Some of this right now is a privilege for the families that can afford them. It is, however, everyone’s right and I for one want to hear more stories about how families and autistic people are helping to let autistic people live their lives as autistic people. For the families who are able to provide the supports we seek from society and governments, we need to hear your stories in order to provide more buidling blocks of enablement.
What is independence? I can’t work on the technology of my computer on my own. I need tons of help with it. I need extra hands to help me around the house and in managing a schedule as a single mother. I need teachers, handy-men and someone to help me when I’m ill. I build my human network as a result of necessity. Others also need me and I am able to lend my hand or my special skill set. For reasons revolving around Adam, I am sensitive to our capitalist notions of independence and how that seems to relate to the family and school. Are we creating communities of people who are interdependent on each other, or human silos? How “happy” does that latter future look like sitting there all alone in them?
Here’s a future that I can see unraveling before my eyes, despite the struggles, tensions and issues we presently encounter and grapple with: I see more people employed in these areas to assist and guide, but further than this, to balance the power that can be offset by the “abled versus the disabled.” Ergo the terms “assistants and aide-workers,” not therapists. I see more effort towards emancipatory lives for the autistic, of all “functioning” levels. I see our growing ability to understand and respect one another, to honour the visual way and other modes of learning and communicating, presenting and even reading the materials by individuals with autism. It is a reciprocal human economy with autistic people in it.
For the first time since I’ve had Adam, I imagine that it might be possible, as Adam is my only-child, that I could one day be a grandmother after-all. It was actually one thing that made me a little sad when Adam was diagnosed — the world seemed to be locking its doors to us so soon. Of course, all of this is Adam’s choice, hopefully. It’s the choice that matters. The principles upon which I now imagine and locate our lives, in practice as well as principle, is one of possibility and of how our lives can be enriched, even made better, by including autistic people in them.
Adam’s life should be one of his own making, and I am here to support him down his many paths. The questions I now ask more often, are not only about how much work does Adam must do (as the onus has, to-date, largely be on the autistic person to become more normal before s/he can participate in society), but how can I help him obtain for himself not just a “quality of life,” but a vibrancy, of life — the excitement of possibility and choice — that many of us took for granted while we were growing up? This also belongs to him.
This can be our future — for our children and even for us as parents of autistic children. This isour Adam Family.
It is the first day of school for just about everyone. Most discussions about autism has to do with learning and inclusion — keeping our children integrated, or keeping them home-schooled when appropriate, or even better for their needs, developing social skills, academics, life and communication skills. No matter what methodology — or school — we may consider, this question lingers–what we are trying to accomplish and how is equality reflected (or not) in our school systems?
I still struggle to fit it all in — a list of goals for Adam measured against the hours of the day and his own abilities, pace and interests. “Following Adam’s lead” seems like an easier solution, and the ideas of “pushing” him, or any child for that matter to reach their “potential” and “following his interests,” are ideas in constant tension in the autism community. Add to that the idea of “normalizing”or becoming a “productive member of society” against our ideas of what productivity means for a variety of different people, and we come up with more important questions about how we should help autistic people. Some might contend that our current notion of productivity has more to do with amassing material goods than about contributing to society.
Autistic education is located within our ideas, and conflicts about the idea of what we feel a school should be in this economics-as-material-consumption sense. Zander Sherman explores this and looks at the development of schools in Prussia which prepared students to become part of a strong army. He looks at testing, private schools, the military.
His new book is called The Curiosity of School: Education and the Dark Side of Enlightenment. The Globe and Mail reviewer, Ben Levin says that Sherman’s thesis seems to be a quote from Einstein that he uses at the beginning of his book, “It is a miracle that curiosity survives formal education.” Sherman was home-schooled himself until the age of 13 and thinks “that mass education is excessively focussed on the wrong things — compliance, a narrow curriculum, preparation to fit into a society and economy — and thereby does not give sufficient attention to real education, the pursuit of curiosity and personal challenge.” (Saturday’s Globe, page R15). It would be interested to review the book against others like Elusive Justice by Abu El-Haj and others that deal with education, equality and social justice. I have to ask, how do we nurture and promote Adam’s own curiosity? Do we recognize and value it if it appears different to us? Isn’t this value we attribute part of his right to be equal and different?
Adam is back at school as am I. We have always used the modes of learning that we have at our disposal, that seem to suit him best, but we have to admit our limitations in understanding our children. We try, they try, and as his mom in thinking about his whole life and the “quality” of it, and even how we define that, I feel it’s my duty to him to ask myself the harder questions.
School is fast approaching and some autistic children get access to inclusive schools and others do not. One of the barriers to inclusion is access to technology and other supports that can enable and autistic person to participate and become successful. Many camps and schools have boycotted the use of iPads for fear it detracts from a student’s attention. Some schools prefer “traditional” methods, and argue that technology takes away from that experience.
In the case for inclusion and access, these are some of the antiquated attitudinal barriers we must work to deconstruct. Many non verbal autistic individuals, and other autistic individuals who learn better with computers for visual reasons as well as reasons to do with less distractive stimuli that can impede learning, need technology (and other accommodations) not just for school, but for vital communication and everyday functioning.
In an effort to break down barriers to access, “The Council of Canadians with Disabilities (CCD), a national organization working for an accessible and inclusive Canada, recently consulted people with disabilities about ICT use and recommendations on barrier removal and prevention.” Although there is a duty to accommodate, most schools and camps will not do so, especially for the autistic person. Here’s some more examples:
Although accessible ICT is available in the marketplace, it can take an incredible amount of self-advocacy and persistence for an individual to obtain it. Doreen Demas, who has vision impairment, discovered this when seeking an accessible cellphone from the Manitoba Telephone System (MTS). For customers without a disability, acquiring a cellphone that meets their needs is a relatively straightforward consumer activity. MTS’s original offer to Doreen was an inaccessible BlackBerry. Over a period of several years, it took numerous frustrating sessions with MTS representatives and a complaint to the Canadian Radio-television and Telecommunications Commission (CRTC) for her to obtain a contract, with reasonable terms and conditions, for an accessible iPhone. The CRTC has a policy requiring that Canadian cellphone service providers include an accessible product in their catalogue of devices on offer to the public.
Some post-secondary students with disabilities encounter barriers related to ICT. While a student intern, who requires large print, may be most comfortable using a particular program to enlarge text, the intern’s field placement agency may think it is reasonable to expect that person to use whatever programs are available on the in-house system. Although educational institutions and employers have a duty to accommodate disability-related needs, individuals continue to struggle to have such accommodations provided.
The other barrier is poverty. Most of our disabled population, due to so many barriers to employment and educational institutions, end up living beneath the poverty line. This also make access to essential communication and technologies expensive:
Like everything in the marketplace, ICT comes with a price tag. People with disabilities experience a disproportionate level of poverty. People with disabilities of working age are about twice as likely to live on a low income as their counterparts without disabilities. “There is the assumption that everybody can afford a computer. That’s an assumption. It is not a fact,” says Marie White, Chairperson of CCD’s Social Policy Committee. “Our most challenging issue is poverty.” Some people with disabilities face additional costs because they have to buy ICT, and they also must purchase adaptive technology to make inaccessible technology usable. In some provinces, provincial programs provide people with disabilities access to technology.
For Adam’s sake and like many other parent advocates, I’ve had to learn a lot about AAC (Assistive Augmentative Communication) and how to use it by myself through courses and “old-fashioned” book-learnng. In turn, I train many of Adam’s teachers and support workers in his use of the iPad and with typing. Finding SLP’s trained well in the field is difficult but necessary, and there are a precious few who do it exceptionally well. While SLP’s are typically trained in “speech” functioning, there is tremendous value in their teaching to the ways and means of autistic communication, literacy and the use of devices for advancing skills. The device is often referred to as the individual’s own “voice” or “talk box,” and should be treated with the same care and respect.
It’s tough to still get people on board at the school level, to see devices as a necessity for many autistic people, and to include them with the same value and respect as we would the voice of any other child.
I hope you have some success in using this information when you approach the school boards and other support workers.
Integrated Access: The Right to Universally Designed Information and Communication Technology Evolution of Access—Building in Access to Information and Communication Technology, Abilities Magazine.
“Our job isn’t to figure out if a student should be participapting. Our job is to figure out how a student should be participating.”
This is a line from Paula Kluth’s DVD, author of You’re Going to Love This Kidon inclusion in the schools.
We are on the brink of another school year. Many parents struggle with finding not only a placement for their autistic child, but the right placement. In Canada, as is for many places in the world where children are more likely than ever to be included, children and parents with autism are still some of the most excluded in our society. I often find it shocking the lack of support in my country where we seem to have otherwise great social supports. Despite there being many great and willing teachers, the school system is still one of the most unjust insitutions for autistic students.
While many of us work to change attitudes and policy in Canada and the US, I want to reiterate what an important step integration and inclusion is for all of us. Watching Adam at camp and even younger people with disabilities, the younger generation already has much more exposure to kids with disabilities than my generation ever did. Many a parent I’ve met will register their child into an integrated school in order for their children to respect and value everyone. After kindergarten, however, the segregation typically begins. While we may have seen more effort towards inclusion, we are still teetering between the two extremes.
Watching Adam with other children and their patience and acceptance shouldn’t just happen once in a while or at summer camp. Adam has developed so much this summer, as he does every year, and his peers do too. They are much more tolerant and accepting than I can remember of my generation. It is an indication of how important it is to start inclusion young and from the get go. I believe it is the older generations like mine who simply let old habits get in the way. Watching how easy it is for children to accept human difference is proof to me that inclusion is good for everyone.
This post is dedicated a couple of submissions I received this summer for review: Paula Kluth’s website, DVD and book I’ve mentioned before, You’re Going to Love This Kid; Eileen Riley Hall’s Parenting Girls on the Autism Spectrum.
The key for teachers is to learn how to include. This involved adaptations in the presentation of lessons, to how a child can respond to lessons. Adam, for example, responds to multiple modalities, but the main way of teaching him and transferring his learning is through the visual — computers, iPads, manipulatives and actual experience in the field. Accommodations also include sensory breaks, exercise, and other adaptations to a classroom. For instance, Adam can focus better on a ball chair. Otherwise, he needs to move his entire body so this provides the feedback he needs right now in order to attend to his lessons.
While the pressure to “be normal” in its elusive forms and definitions was more difficult when Adam was younger, we have grown into another comfort level with our lives and ourselves. Adaptation is simply a wonderful way to make learning accessible to Adam and it’s a joy to watch him grow and learn. Paula has many tips on adapting lessons and changing attitudes so that teachers and schools can adopt full inclusion. She makes it sensible and inspiring. I suggest you check out Paula’s YouTube channel for more information.
Eileen Riley-Hall is the mother of two autistic teenage girls and the author of Parenting Girls on the Autistic Spectrum: Overcoming Challenges and Celebrating Gifts (Jessica Kingsley Publishers). As the mother of a boy, I was wondering what I’d learn from Eileen, but knowing so many parents with young autistic girls, I had to recommend her book. Sometimes we just want to refer to another book by another parent for that down-to-earth advice. I would also recommend along with a how-to book such as this, all the books by autistic women including Donna Williams, Lucy Blackman, Dawn Prince, Temple Grandin, Jasmin O’Neill (among others) — some of the first autistic women to write from their own unique perspectives. I like to pair my parent-memoirs with those also written by other autistic people.
What I found most refreshing in Riley-Hall’s book was Chapter 8 on “The World Wide Web.” Most books written by moms of autistic children usually contain lists of therapies and websites that can seem overly-diplomatic, noting down every therapy out there for the parent to sift through without any critical analysis of the therapy, the way it came to be in the vast array of (and history) autism “treatments,” and the controversies and potential dangers surrounding them. In contrast, Riley-Hall offers some warnings and states the pros and cons of the many websites that parents must navigate when entering the autism community. “There are very distinct divisions within the autism community. So you have to know that whatever you read is fueled by an underlying position or philosophy about autism: what it is, what causes it, and how best to treat it..unfortunately there is very little middle ground in between.” (p.131). When I first started reading books about autism by parents ten years ago, I wish someone had provided me with that caveat.
In reviewing her list, it is apparent that Riley-Hall is recommending sites that support and accommodate the autistic as “complete,” an encourages society to value the autistic person. This book is part “how to” book and part memoir that makes Riley-Hall’s book accessible for the parent of an autistic girl. Best of all, it’s all about acceptance.
Best of luck everyone in prepping for another school year!
Like many of you, I watched the closing of the Olympic ceremonies. Today’s notes from the ghetto weave some thoughts about the Olympics, a book, a documentary, and the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms.
In a waiting room this past week, Sports Illustrated lay limp and wrinkled on the table in front of me. An title about how the games were more inclusive this year caught my eye and I read it with disappointment. There was no mention of people with mental disabilities. I didn’t take the copy of the article because it wasn’t mine, and now I can’t find it to cite. You’ll just have to take my word for it unless you can find it for me.
I wanted to write a post remarking again how people with cognitive disabilities weren’t visible or participating in the games. As much as I watch the Olympics, I can’t help but see it as a symbol of our admiration of the able-bodied. Including some disabled people in the opening ceremonies and a Para-Olympian is supposed to change that view. The “main” Olympics gets the bulk of the media attention. In talking about the Olympics, then, the media coverage is a reflection of what the consumer wants to see. I’m not blaming the athletes for being able-bodied and I congratulate everyone for their remarkable achievements. I am, however, spotlighting the acceptance of exclusion.
Today I also finished Melanie Panitch’s Disability, Mothers and Organization : Accidental Activists and read about the three mothers who worked tediously to get their children out of insitutions in Canada and close them all down: Jo Dicky, Audrey Cole and Paulette Berthiaume. I read how these women lived in a time of not only gender inequality — “busy men” on boards versus women knocking door-to-door as volunteers — but also in a trail of institutions born from the eugenics movement. The first institution in Canada was the Huronia Regional Centre in Orillia, pictured above, which opened in 1876.
Ironically, as I finished reading the final chapter this morning, I tuned into the CBC documentary The Gristle in The Stew and listened to the stories of horrific abuse of the people who were labeled mentally “retarded” by professionals. These professionals told parents to just “forget about [their] children and move on.” The government film “One On Every Street” told parents that 1 in 33 children had mental retardation and described insitutions as happy places where children would be educated and rehabilitated in the name of getting them back into their communities. Not so for Paulette’s son and others like him. Her son Louis lived in an institution for thirty years before she could get him out.
Audrey, Paulette and Jo were made to feel guilty for not only having disabled children, but were also pressured to put their children into institutions and be “good mothers” for doing so. Many families lived in fear of not placing their children in institutions because they did not have access to other services so they turned a blind eye to the abuse. There was no “unity” in their struggle, for these fearful parents criticized activists against the campaign to close institutions in Canada.
While these three mothers fought (and won) to get all people out of insitutions in the name of their children, they were excluded and marginalized as “emotional” and “trouble-makers” along the way, often excluded from participating on major boards and committees. But they did not desist. These three women managed to close all institutions down in Canada, and worked arduously for over twenty years to do so. They worked in 1981 to include the disabled who were then omitted from Section 15, which dealt with equality, and secured human rights for the disabled in The Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms. They won an unprecedented $1,400,000 in personal dmages for 88 former residents of Saint-Theophile in Quebec in 1990 (pardon the omission of accents that I can’t access on this blog), among many of their accomplishments. They did so as volunteers. One reviewer, Susan DeLaurier says of the book, “Disability is often viewed as a narrow field of social policy, programs and services that leads to a set of parallel social arrangements that have isolated disabled people in segregated systems. By looking at the mothers of children with disabilities and their insights and researching their activism, it is hoped that disability will be viewed as a broad-based inquiry commanding social and political analysis.”
A class action law suit of $3 billion for the plaintiffs incarcerated and abused in Institutions in Canada, simply for having a mental disability, will happen in September 2013. Listening to Patricia Seth and Maria Slark, two of the plaintiffs in the documentary, made me shudder. As a mother, I already know of gender discrimination — domestic and public as a mother of an autistic child and an activist — and there are challenges with this in helping Adam. To imagine how the “accidental activists” had to wait for so long to see their children free again, reminds me why I feel anxious so often. I feel I am always looking over my shoulder and can never rest where Adam is concerned. We have to respond when advocates for any “treatment” or “therapy” which uses the same language and logic that incarcerated innocent people just a short time ago. In the ABA movement which started in Canada in the early 1990′s many of the campaign phrases and threads of logic echo like the halls of institutions. The ABA movement was founded on the premise that autistic children would recover by age six with the treatment (and now the argument extends to older ages) and would therefore no longer require “state” funding. At the time, the estimated costs of funding an individual in an institution was $85,000 a year. In 2012, I relate to the same feelings as these mothers and share their experiences even after feminism has evolved. The challenges and the way to help Adam become increasingly complex, there is resistence and fear of progress, old arguments persist and the “busy men” still exist.
Our situation remains fragile. Despite statutes, we have not achieved Inclusion for people with autism. Society does not see autistic or other mentally handicapped persons as truly valuable to our communities where definitions of “capacity” and “productivity” seem exclusive and informed by implacable economic theory. We see it at the most basic level as in extraordinary red tape in our education system and, after all, I’m “just a mother.” Despite detailed notes and expertise about our children, the public system will hardly pay attention to it. They prefer a report from a professional using standardized tests which is an exclusive and unjust method of testing an autistic person. I talked about some of this in another post about the many ways we experience exclusion. “The briefing notes by the Community Association for Community Living in 1993 noted the same: “despite the protection afforded to people with disabilities in the Charter of Rights and Freedoms, many barriers to participation still exist in employment, immigration, education and the criminal justice system.” (Panitch, p. 145).
There is another group who tell us to “never forget,” and this same standard must be advocated for the disabled who have experienced formidable abuse in their lifetimes. When Pierre Berton reported about the abuses at the Huronia Regional Centre in Orillia (pictured above) in The Toronto Star, Berton noted that after Hitler fell, “many Germans excused themselves because they said they did not know what went on behind those walls. No one had told them. Well, you have been told about Orillia.” Now I, along with others, am telling you about echoes; of the history that could repeat itself.
The Olympics is just one more timely, everyday example of using people as footnotes and keeping them in the ghetto. It is time to include all the Olympic events — special, para and everything else, under one umbrella. I work for the day when I can witness Adam attaining his full citizenship rights. Audrey Cole wrote a Manifesto with her two lawyers called A Manifesto of the Canadian Association for the Mentally Retarded in 1982:
“The Manifesto equated how the renewed constitution established the full autonomy of Canada within the community of nations with how the provisions of the Charter of Rights and Freedoms introduced a new history for people with disabilities as valued, participating members of the community. It concluded cautiously: ‘The Charter of Rights and Freedoms obviously has very important implications for Canadians who live with a mental handicap. It is not possible to determine fully what those implications might be until the provisions of the Charter are considered by the courts in the contest [sic] of real life situations.” (Panitch, p. 133).
Audrey Cole said in her interviews with author Melanie Panitch:
“Our struggle is long-standing. It will not only continue but will gain strength with every denial of a fundamental right to any person of any age with or without disabilities in this country…Outrage, as you know, can be a unifying force for the achievement of social justice.” (ibid, p. 69).
We’re living the relay race and our work is not yet done.
Melanie Panitch, Disability, Mothers and Organization: Accidental Activists. New York, Routledge, 2008.
I have a comment on comments, either in comment boxes or full blog posts about other writers and bloggers. Usually I won’t write about it, but I decided to write in my own defence. In so doing, I’ve had other thoughts about the various ways of being excluded, as either autistic people, or as autistic allies.
Recently, I did a self-search on Google. I am sad to say that I get used to disrespetful commenters who seem to create a narrative about me that is unfamiliar to me. I am also delighted, however, by comments that build upon a constructive dialogue about autism and disabiltiy and how we can remove the barriers for autistic individuals. I happen-stanced upon a post from 2008 about my blog — that mostly I “get it right,” but advocate for doing “nothing” for the autistic person.
If you’ve been reading my blog since 2005 I’ve done nothing but critically evaluate everything that Adam and I have come across in terms of therapy, education, autistic/social value, and opportunities, and the lack thereof. While the nature of blogs has changed since 2005, many of which have become syndicated journalism, I’ve kept mine in journal-mode, writing about my own growth and development as an autism parent to my beloved Adam.
Adam has been in “therapy” since he’s been 20 months of age and I have reams of notes and binders I have taken to create his programs, track his progress, develop his plans. I have created his programs along with other professionals that use ABA, RDI, Floortime and other methods. I have a decade of experience of autism education and various therapies, many of them dubious. I’ve witnessed improvements in the field where I continue to have a watchful eye. I predicted that we would be forced into an ABA program, and here we are, in an segregated school for autistic children. Not that it’s a “bad” thing. I am actually grateful not to be in a system that completely disregards him, but is set up more for him. Adam, for now, is happy there and he is learning, but it’s a fact that it’s still exclusion which we mitigate with other inclusive programs.
ABA is something that we’ve had to contribute to improve upon because it’s really hard to change the system. To me it is in part a method and in part a label for a type of education that in some schools, uses other methods in addition to it. Adam and I have to “fit” into a mold and make it the best for him — those are our barriers and limitations for now. We work to fill in the gaps ourselves. I learned and taught Adam how to type…by myself — by reading, studying and consulting others who have other expertise to add. Now his school builds upon what I started. Recently, I was asked to write a book about it, and may do so after this year of finishing my M.A. in Critical Disability Studies. I have now five years of typed dialogues between Adam and myself, methods and back story of how it all began. He would never had had this opportunity had I not taken his education and communication upon myself, and I’m not shy to admit it because I hope it will become more mainstream. I am not alone in this among many autism parents. We make our own roads and other parents will share the work they’ve done.
We still work towards Inclusion, but when I made a recent query within the public system, as predicted, it ended up that Adam would be put in the “lowest functioning class” (their term, not mine). His cognition and “capacity” was determined by his limited verbal ability and results on standardized tests (which we know do not befit the autistic person as much as a dyslexic person cannot read typical text). How many students in these classes, no matter what their label, are not getting the education they deserve? Whose to decide on someone’s functioning level and “capacity” when we give unsuitable tests? Who has the right to decide who is normal and abnormal and how do semantics and labels effect people’s lives? Finally, if we decide to write off a “class” of people from the get-go, where do we end up? We are all effected, autistic or not. How we treat our collective members of society is a reflection of how we think about ourselves.
It seems there is a group of people who don’t understand (or want to set others astray) on the meaning of neurodiversity, which basically acknowledges that different people have different neurologies that make them learn and interact in the world in various ways. Myths are spun because it is assumed that if we “embrace” autistic people (some of us have been labeled “Neurodiversity Advocates” in a negative context) it will not serve their politics. I suppose, in the system we currently have which are so exclusive and politically limiting to us, we can understand the method, but I think it’s ultimately detrimental. An exclusive, “tragic” and medical approach to disability limits community membership and opportunity. Until recently, as autism parents, we have had to feed into the “autism tragedy” model in the belief that this is the only way to garner financial support and services. Despite inroads against the medical and disability-is-tragic models, there are many new parenting studies which seem intent on proving that autism causes families to break apart, which to-date, cannot be proven. This is another way of excluding autistic people and their families — by seeking something to blame, researching etiology and causation instead of spending money on understanding autistic individuals and bettering their quality of life.
If we accept and believe in our children and don’t get tragically depressed, we are written off (as I have been on numerous ocassions) as being in denial. I have been labled a neglectful parent, and a “mental case,” (a revelation of the prejudiced inclination of the autism “advocate” who stated that about me).”Those who stray from the this prescribed script [the tragic or depression 5-staged model from grief to acceptance] — for example, by not being as depressed as predicted — run the risk of being regarded as in a state of denial and in need of further psychological guidance and counselling (Oliver, 1995; Reeve, 2000; S. Wilson, 2003).” I think life is all about struggle and we have to work with it. Nevertheless, when we write publically, we leave ourselves open to criticism of all kinds. I embrace that too, but I will also take it on.
It has been challenging to write this blog for the past few years. I’m not allowed, according to some autism parents, to take joy in my son for who he is as an autistic person. My own ups and downs are disregarded if I do not publically lament in the same fashion as everyone else. I opted not to do this because I always kept my son and his community in mind. If I were an autistic person, I thought, how might I wish to be regarded? I don’t criticize others for their depression because each one of us has to take our own unique journey. I simply believe that I, personally, have to exercise a discipline in my thoughts and feelings, which is not to say I don’t have the same kind as everyone else. I have imposed this upon myself. I have always kept Adam in mind when writing publically because I believe one day he may read this. I also wish to embrace and listen to the autistic community (that is, autistic people). It’s unfortunate when others feel they have to “spin” for political reasons or their own benefit.
The other political debates and controversies lie in semantics and definitions. Words are important as they reflect our thoughts about the way in which we see ourselves. We work against traditional systems that have to-date, been oppressive and exclusive agianst the disabled. Paul Hunt first challenged what we call today ‘abelism’ (a society that favours the able-bodied), in his 1966 book, Stigma: The Experience Of Disability. He said, “We are challenging society to take account of us, to listen to what we have to say, to acknowledge us as an integral part of society itself. We do not want ourselves, or anyone else, treated as second-class citizens, and put away out of sight and mind.” (p. 158).
The Union of the Physically Impaired Against Segregation (UPIAS) was formed in 1974. They re-defined the distinction between “impairment’ and “disability” as part of their mandate to “criticize organizations control-led by non-disabled ‘experts’ for their failure to address the social barriers central to disabled people’s exclusion from mainstream economic and social activity and their lack of accountability to the disabled community.” (p.29)
- impairment: lacking part of all of a limb, or having a defective limb, organisim or mechanism of the body;
- disability: the disadvantage or restriction of activity caused by a contemporary social organization which takes no or little account of people who have physical impairments and thus excludes them from participation in the mainstream of social activities. (UPIAS 1976z, p. 14).
This social model approach breaks the traditional causal link between impairment and disability. The ‘reality’ of impairment is not denied, but it is not necessarily a sufficient condition of disability.(p. 30).
Writing about autism as a joy, my absolute love of my son for who he is, my personal struggles without pandering to the pressure to lament in typical ways while embracing other’s need to make their own unique autism journey, is about inclusion of everyone. It begins with the fundamental acceptance and belief, however, that all autistic individuals are worthy and valuable members of our collective. It’s a necessary premise.
The social model is not about showing that every dysfunction in our bodies can be compensated for by a gadget, or good design, so that everybody can work an 8-hour day and play badminton in the evenings. It’s a way of demonstrating that everyone — even someone who has no movement, no sensory function and who is going to die tomorrow — has the right to a certain standard of living and be treated with respect. (Vasey, 1992a, p.44)
Barnes, Colin, Mercer, Geof and Shakespeare, Tom. “Analysing Disability” in Exploring Disability: A Sociological Introduction, pp. 1-42. 1999 Polity Press.
It has been a busy week of winding down the school year, preparing for camp and… Adam’s eldest sister is getting married on Sunday. My boy will be walking down the aisle in front of hundreds of people in a tuxedo. How do we prepare our kids for a large wedding like this, never mind one in which he will be looked at by many people? That’s nerve-wracking for most of us.
I don’t have a formula, but can only tell you what I’ve been doing. Adam and I visited the site and took pictures of it on his iPad together — from outside the building into the foyer, up the elevators — the whole part. It is a very big facility so I know he will be tempted to run to every dark nook and cranny. Using the pictures we took, which won’t look at all like the facility when it’s decorated, I wrote a story about the entire schedule of the event and what Adam will be doing… Adam’s own little visual wedding book. I say to Adam that there will be doors and he will be okay if he doesn’t go through them. For him it’s a huge curiousity and an area of anxiety if he doesn’t know what’s behind a door. Adam has been practicing walking down the aisle, and I’ve tried to glean aspects of the ceremony from his dad and sister so I can prepare Adam as much as I can. Lots of visuals, including a schedule on his iPad, discussions and practice are key to making Adam not only a part of the wedding, but hopefully, in making it work for him as well.
There will be a lot of waiting too. I’ve had to back Adam out of some of the family photographs and arrange to accommodate him so he doesn’t have to wait around for hours. It’s not important to be at every scheduled photo — he could be photoshopped in, and there will be other photo opportunities. It’s not important that he stay at the party, either, which will be hundreds of adults. He typically loves a good party — the flashing lights on the dance floor and he can really cut the rug. In this case, being on a Sunday night, we’ll play it by ear after the ceremony. He might hang for a bit, and if he can’t that’s okay. We’ve got someone on standby to whisk him home. A bag of food, his iPad and the things he likes will help for a while. I try not to get anxious about making it for every single part of the event.
One has to also ask what’s really important with events such as these. It’s important to make his sister happy and for him to participate in the way that he can. He’s been asked to do it in a typical fashion, and with the help of his two brothers, I think it will work for Adam. For me, the goal is keeping Adam happy and calm for his walk down the aisle.
We can’t prepare for everything, but we can prepare to a certain extent. I am excited to see Adam in his tuxedo and report back here. I am also excited that he will be a part and he will have a memory of participating in his big sister’s, big wedding.
At IMFAR and with other researchers I meet, I am confronted with many requests to participate in “parent studies.” The purpose is to study what levels of stress, and how different it is to parent and autistic child. I am reticient to participate. What about parenting are the researchers trying to find? Are we attempting to affirm that life is harder with an autistic child? Of course, we have to ask what the researchers are hoping to find. Is the purpose to support parents, the autistic child, or both? Or is there a more insidious angle to this kind of research, that is to say, that autism itself is the problem? I know, that may sound blunt and provocative, but think about it. To what end are we really getting on with the business of helping autistic people contribute to society as autistic people? How are we really helping autistic people and their families with their quality of life?
A few parents and some commenters on other blog posts have stated that some parents, myself included, are in a state of denial by insisting that we find joy in our children. Asserting that your child is a joy is not a denial of the challenges that we all face. The act of assertion is the affirmation that our children’s lives are important and valuable. On all counts, Adam has been my greatest joy. Yes, I get stressed in trying to understand his discomfort. No parent wants to see their child in distress, and we can focus on that in some of our research.
Most of the stress we faced lived in incompatible circumstances. Once I could see that our environment had to be calm, and that there was no time for compromise with people who had no interest in supporting us, life became a little smoother. I’ve had four years to wrap ourselves in the warmth of the people who really care about us. Let’s face it, our plates are full and we don’t have time for everyone. Energy must be spent wisely.
I dont’ like to give advice, but I’ve had a few thoughts over the past few years about parenting an autistic child. If there is parenting stress, perhaps evaluate the other underlying factors that could be relating to the stress instead of just focussing on the autistic person in the family. This would include all of your relationships, including the one with yourself. Think about how you communicate about autism, and consider changing your thought patterns, attitude and language surrounding it. I know that as a mom of Adam, I’ve had to work, and continue to work, daily at my expectations and putting them in check. I look at my own anxiety levels and what I do to add or detract from the stress. Even when I’m at my limit, I accept bad thoughts and let them go through me. I express them in private and then my head is clear again to see Adam for the beautiful boy he is. My attitude is very important. Loving and accepting Adam has also helped me to love and accept myself, which wasn’t (and sometimes still isn’t easy). Yet what’s the point in having a double standard?
When others have accused me of being in denial of other people’s stress or autism itself, I came to learn that my approach was my way, the way I was raised and my survival mechanism. There is absolutely no one who can tell you how you should raise your autistic child, and the assistance out there is on the journey as much as we are as parents. And, by the way, we all have a right to enjoy our children for who and what they are! It is up to us completely to advocate for our children — our right to have and enjoy them, to be included in society, for a good and suitable education, for accommodation, for respect, equality, and excellent opportunities and living environments into our children’s adulthood. There’s no getting around it and no excuses. It sucks some days, but we can’t complain. We have to stick together and stop the urge of research and the typical population to pity us. Pity won’t get is the services we deserve. If we continue on the path, we’ll just get the dusty old van and the group home. Not to knock some of the individuals there who sacrafice and provide for our children on a daily basis. It’s just that I think people with disabilities don’t deserve dusty vans and the poverty line.
I just think we all deserve better. Parents feel stress because of the lack of support, accommodation and acceptance. We feel it because we are stared out in the check-out line, or at the park, or while waiting to get into school. We feel it when someone marks “retard” on the picnic table outside our kid’s school. Can you add ot the list? Yes, our children indeed have challenges. Stigma makes these challenges a whole lot more difficult. Now think of how the autistic person must feel.
On the up side, there are many couples and single parents who have found their niche and who have pulled together with stronger families because of the challenges that an Abelist society brings to us every day. There are friends who really pull for us and who believe in us as a whole, not a fractured, family. There are people rooting for us in every way. Here’s where to put our focus.
I have only one child. Sometimes I think the time I spend on Adam may be like raising a group of children, but he’s worth it. He’s worth doing the IEP, organizing programs, doing advocacy work, managing teams, people because there are so few autism services and programs suited for the autistic person. It’s like inventing the wheel over here. I don’t have to manage the jealousies of same-aged siblings who don’t understand why so much more time is spent with the special-needs child in the house, and even the sudden “adult” responsibilities they may feel. I know of many parents who do. We all have our own package of issues, though.
I hope that researchers doing parent-studies have these points in mind. Society’s view of disability has a great deal to do with how we parent, how we view our lives, how we convey autism and disability to our communities and future generations, and how we are supported. It’s not the fault of autism or the autistic child. We must be so cautious in slanting any research in this direction.
Who’s Drawing the Lines: The Journey of Judith Snow
A celebration of an artist’s triumph over perceptions of disability
Opening August 20, 2011, the Royal Ontario Museum (ROM) presents Who’s Drawing the Lines: The Journey of Judith Snow. This intimate exhibition explores paintings by Snow, a quadriplegic artist and world leader on inclusion issues for people labeled as disabled. Who’s Drawing the Lines reveals how, through her unique way of creating art, Snow overcame a lifetime of perceived limitations to express “all that is in [her] heart”. Featuring over 20 works by Snow and several by another artist in her Toronto guild, the exhibition confronts common perceptions of disability and illustrates the artist’s emancipation from these stereotypes to honour her physical, intellectual and emotional diversity. Who’s Drawing the Lines: The Journey of Judith Snow is on display in the Hilary and Galen Weston Wing, Level 2 until January 20, 2012.
“Who’s Drawing the Lines is the most recent in a series of ROM displays illuminating contemporary issues that affect the community at large,” said Janet Carding, ROM Director and CEO. “Exhibitions such as Out from Under in 2008, and last year’s House Calls with my Camera shine a spotlight on diverse aspects of society and expand our understanding of the human condition. I know visitors will be moved by Judith Snow’s personal journey and motivated to help her create a world where we all celebrate our differences instead of being defined by them.”
About the Exhibition:
Who’s Drawing the Lines, showcases 27 paintings—23 by Snow and four by Felicia Galati, a fellow artist in the Laser Eagles Art Guild, an initiative founded by Snow to offer individuals with limited physical mobility the opportunity for self expression through art. Many of the paintings reflect Snow’s innovative approach to art-making: she has used a head-controlled laser to indicate selections, and currently works with a “tracker”, a person who follows her spoken or gestural directions in order to express her emotions and create these artworks. Captioned videos and photos in the exhibition also depict the various artistic techniques used by members of the Laser Eagles and contextualize Snow’s personal journey to become an artist and social innovator.
The ROM has created several accessibility initiatives complementing the exhibition. All label text is amplified to a larger font and is placed lower on the walls to be easily viewed by visitors using mobility aids. For visitors who are blind or who have vision loss, a tactile book accompanying the exhibition is available incorporating Braille, large print text and graphic raised-line drawings. Also available is a descriptive audio recording interpreting seven of the key art pieces presented in the exhibition, creating a visual image for those who would not otherwise be able to experience the art. An interpretive pamphlet summarizing the exhibition’s themes and content is available in person and online for all visitors. For more information on accessibility at the ROM, visit www.rom.on.ca/visit/access/index.php.
About the Artist:
“Inclusion is about the willingness to take a unique difference and develop it as a gift to others. It is not about disability.” ~ Judith Snow
Judith A. Snow, MA (York University, Toronto, 1976) is a social inventor and a builder of inclusive communities that welcome the participation of a wide diversity of people. She is also a visual artist and the Founding Director of Laser Eagles Art Guild. Snow is known for championing inclusive education, support circles, individualized personal assistance, person-directed planning and facilitated art. Born in Oshawa, Ontario in 1949, Snow was diagnosed as being quadriplegic at seven months of age. At age 12 she made her first sketch while at a rehabilitation centre. However, her artistic talents were not nurtured until, at age 55, Judith found a way to paint. This led to the liberation of her passionate expression—in art and in life. Since then she has experienced the dichotomy of being seen by many as severely disabled and by others as being a fully contributing citizen and inspiring leader. For more information about the Laser Eagles Art Guild, visit www.lasereagles.net/pages/default.asp.
It has occured to me that Adam gives back. He’s not the only one in need of assistance. He and I, and all of us, are part of a network of give and take.
For many reasons this Hannukah and Christmas (or Fesitivus for the rest of us), Adam and I will be volunteering to assist families in need of food in Toronto.
Adam is affable, people love him, he puts smiles on people’s faces. More than this, he’s systematic and likes to contribute. Giving out food will be a constructive work for a nine-year-old who will be taking on his first “job.” I believe that we have to let our children learn and meet others who are part of the G&T network I referred to above. It equalizes us.
One mom the other day, of a younger autistic child, said she was self-conscious of going out with her child. I said that we as autistic families cannot ever stop going out and being part of the world. If we do, no one will understand us and there will be nothing available for autistic people. I thought this is a way for Adam to begin learning that he is valued and needed, as an autistic person.
Not only do we go out all the time and are part of our community, but Adam is not just on the receiving end of services. He is able to give back in so many ways.
I’m a PhD candidate at York University, Critical Disability Studies, with a multi-disciplinary background in the arts as a curator and writer. I am the Founder of The Autism Acceptance Project (www.taaproject.com), and an enamoured mother of my only son who lives with the autism label. I like to write about our journey, critical issues regarding autism in the area of human rights, law, and social justice, as well as reflexive practices in (auto)ethnographic writing about autism.