In the last post, I distracted myself so much with a metaphor about elephants I thought I’d give it a fresh field here. So this is an attempt to give the pachyderms shape. It is a metaphor for ableism, not an analogy, I'm not talking about the animals here but prejudice and discrimination.
It is a recurring infuriation that many do not recognise ableism, the bias, discrimination and injustice Disabled people face. It has shape, I think, as an unwanted and invisible guest wherever people gather. Ableism, the elephant in the room, is a spectre in most places – and on zoom. It’s a daily wrestle, therefore, having to explain that the elly really exists and that while it’s a materialised ele’ment conjured by language, its footprints leave traces in our hearts – if not in the custard.
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| elephant calf with mother |
I feel a sense of responsibility to point it out, we need everyone to see it, because I want it to be ours - not mine. It hurts when people deny it, I can't wish it away. When they do see it, people often think it’s exceptional, not a common sighting. but so daily I feel crushed, by a sensitivity to what often seems invisible to others. I see its shape every day, in every group, in every space, on every street, in every town…
The elephant is very much alive in the spaces I want to feel safe in, I recognise that while some also see it, few act as allies and ignore its footprints. I’m frustrated that people can’t, or won’t, see how toxic it is to so many [1 in 10]. As it parades openly on floors and in corridors. It’s purple tusks threatening, prodding, belittling and inciting rage… I find I unwittingly react to its crushing size, feeling threatened by possibility of threat if not presence of harm. “Don’t react!” they say “it’s not here now!”
The idea that we’re either elephant-ridden or elephant-free makes poor sense. I know that many are also crushed, herds of red, green, and pink tusks bristling behind every door. Still more in the sights of several at once, beware the jab of the purple/pink tusk my friends! Truth is if we are free of one, we’ll probably face another. None would be a luxury, not 3 but 2, a privilege! I'll see the tusk of classism, if you see that of ableism, and we'll share the fear of sexism.
Too few may indeed experience a lifetime of elephant-free living, what a luxury that must be. As privilege though, the tension is acknowledging others, not by over-defining yours but pointing to the herd. Don't be the one putting huge energy into ignoring one, by avoiding it, dismissing its threat or sneering at the way you hear others speak about it. Not taking responsibility, lets bad practice slips off the hoof, difficult experience is denied – “no elephants here!”. From the mammoth to the calf, impact is reduced by acknowledgement. “I saw the purple tusk coming your way, take good care!” Because stepping around it will hurt less than walking into it. (besides the latter cannot jump! Fact)
Most fear monsters where juniors pass, but grappled we feel by our own if not the herd that threatens others. Some may indeed be far more able to ignore the elephant, it would rather depend on whether it’s been thrown at you, charged passed you or sat on you. Again violence real, imagined or accidental makes you fearful. Small shocks, repeatedly, intentionally or occasionally, still add up. Whether red, blue or purple tusked, I’d imagine the weight is considerable, but two or three at once and the impact might be overwhelming. Where to start with hierarchy, when cumulatively numbers equal pain. It’s not the elephant that is better or worse, but a well-aimed tusk or a multitude of stabbings.
Being aware of other people’s threats is challenging, when your own have you pinned to the ground. Tomes of misrepresentation adding to those creating their own comfort among the tangles of debris left by yellowed manuscripts in arcane fonts. Ways of living long left unquestioned, never cleared to reveal challenging legacies. Elephants of old, shed skins and leave footprints the size of chasms, the fear still fresh, even if the harm is now past. Stories of old, not a telling with hope.
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