A town called allies ...

Thank you Bennie Kara (@benniekara author of A Little Guide for Teachers: Diversity in Schools) for the wind beneath the sails of this blog. Bennie made me think about allies recently, and her provocation inspired the next few blogs. Thank you sister! 

In a series of blogs, I wanted to explore different relationships, different aspects of being an ally. But I rarely talk/write of private stuff, so a break from convention here, as I wish to introduce you to a wonderful woman. As I wrote in my acknowledgements it takes a whole town to keep a PhD student alive...In times of need allies are the people who’ve been there for me. Sometimes friends, sometimes colleagues, sometimes strangers… together providing a source of strength... For me there’s a fundamentally life affirming quality to these relationships, one that can be expressed in different ways. Here I look in the places close to home... 

 

My sister: thoughtful, incisive, reflective, wise, warm and funny! A bit barmy and whole lot loving. I am always astounded at how our relationship survived against the hate we’ve faced. I’m the oldest, yet rarely the more mature, I turn to her for insight, calm and strength. We shared the path for many years, so on the face of it, we have enjoyed the same privileges. However, it is never that straightforward, and we talk about our place in the world with trepidation - fear almost.  We both have impairments, and while you can see mine you can’t see hers. By her own admission, therefore, she can choose to disclose.  She has watched people reject me on sight. In our own ways we’ve dealt with similar issues, but equally there have been stark differences. I wear the ‘disabled’ badge with pride these days. I’ve spent a large amount of my working life dealing with disability. Despite the complexities, I’ve gained a degree of ease and fluency, when talking about disablism. As I’ve described previously I’m an activist. My sister doesn’t wear the badge, she understands little of the politics, and her expertise lies in a different domain entirely. I still would include her in the population I strive to fight for, because I challenge ableism irrespective on who it lands. My sister argues that because people don’t know, the stigma is not obvious, her difference is not made public issue the way mine has.. We trust each other’s experience, thinking and commitment to social justice. Our conversations will no doubt rumble on... in many ways the conversations we have mirror those many others are having. 

 

When I was very young I overheard a number of people talk to my mum about me, what a shame it was for my sister. I would freeze, confused, and ashamed, for what I wasn’t sure. I hurt. I carried the pain for years. In our 30’s, I sucked up the courage, and actually asked her how difficult my presence was. She squealed with laughter initially, thinking I was joking, then realising the seriousness, and then said; "many people have fucked with our heads and inflicted pain in our lives... YOU’RE NOT ONE OF THEM."  When I think of our relationship I know I’m ok. She’s my greatest ally. She knows the cost I pay to keep up, but will also tell me to get lost if I’m asking for help I don’t need

 

I know plenty of siblings who don’t work on these levels. We have had to. We now sit at a distance. The elephant in the room is far too big. That doesn’t mean she’s not an ally. The understanding of what each face runs deep. We have each other’s back, we delight in our successes, even when we don’t understand them. She has a greater grip on what I face, odd possibly, but I’ve had to move past the pain. She’s an ally, not because she’s an activist, but because she understands some experiences from her position at close quarters. She has watched, acknowledged, listened and understood ableism, although she wouldn't name it such. She’s held a truth about my story that others will never see. The dark moments, the fear, the pain, the recovery (of sorts)... and the heaps of great stuff too. 

 

Now I’m not suggesting that we all treat each other as siblings, because there are other boundaries to consider here too. The private/intimate invasions of disabled people’s lives is now better documented. But for me the lesson here is trust and respect for another’s stories, even, and maybe especially, when they are hard to believe. Particularly when we don’t recognise it as familiar. I apply this idea, by treating colleagues in a familial way, not a familiar one (Helgesen, 2005).  That is, I aim to look at them as equals, rather than within a positioning on a hierarchical tree. It goes further, the gift my sister extends to securing my safety in the world is far from unique. On my travels I have encountered this acceptance by many, the allies I’ve made, have also been siblings. As I know my sister has gone on to secure belonging for many. I can’t even express the joy of being understood - not having to justify, explain, or compensate! Thank you for having my back, as I have yours. I’m going to struggle with the publish button with this one, but praise be to siblings, and those who treat you as kin!! Up the sibshood in every way, and here’s to diverse families! 

 

Next blog, close friends, spite ‘n malice and ‘helllooo’ - ally the sequel.

Don't take my word for it, Jenny has her own perspective.

https://languageofrespect.blogspot.com/2022/01/hello.html