mmcdonagh

Autism and Identity

Meghan McDonagh

5/2/19

Disability and Literature

Final Paper

If you are not autistic, chances are, you can not understand what it is like to be autistic. Similarly, if you are not black, you will not understand what it is like to be black, no matter how much you think you understand. Morénike Giwa-Onaiwu can say it best in her article “Autistics of Color: We Exist…We Matter.” She also writes that the people who make offensive statements are often people who are not intending to do so.

“They are our friends. Our colleagues. Our neighbors. They genuinely care for us and people like us. They want the best for us. And yet their perspectives are so obscured by their intrinsic privilege in regard to race or ability that they don’t understand. Can’t understand.” (Giwa-Onaiwu xi)

What people with privileged identities can do is accept every human they encounter regardless of their race or ability, without forgetting that it is a part of their identity. Autism is part of an autistic person’s identity, and it should be recognized as interwoven within the person just as one’s race, gender, or sexual identity is and not like a disease.

Autism is commonly viewed by ignorant people as a disease or a preventable disorder that hides the identity of an autistic person’s “true self.” Jim Sinclair states in his article “Don’t Mourn For Us,” that autism is not an appendage, and that an autistic person would be an entirely different person without it. To wish to cure is to erase the existence of disability and the person’s identity completely. This erasure can only be viewed as ableist. This mindset comes much more commonly than we think it might. Unfortunately, this narrative is perpetuated by organizations like Autism Speaks and other sources of media or literature that depict autism as tragic or “curable.” Autism Speaks is not led by autistic people themselves and they have a history of searching for a cure and trying to rehabilitate autistic behavior through harmful means. It is not an organization that strives to accept and improve the lives of autistic people and their families, it is a group that seeks to change or eliminate their autism so it easier for neurotypical people to deal with.

Another interesting way at looking at autistic identity is analyzing the way we use language. Speaking with an identity first implies that an aspect of them is attached to that person For example, saying autistic person. However, if it is broken up and written as “person with autism” it separates the individual from their autism and implies it is a disease or add-on condition. If it is part of identity, then it makes sense to use it first. It would be like saying “Person with gayness” rather than “Gay person.” This is debated in the disabled community, but the point is that it is harmful to treat autism as if it can be fixed or removed from an individual.

The most harmful repeated representation is that of a burden. The dehumanization of autistic individuals is perpetuated by resources catering to accommodating parents and caretakers of autistic children as victims and treating autisics as “a ready scapegoat for all their caregiver’s life disappointments.” (Giwa-Onaiwu xv) Jim Sinclair also touches on this is “Don’t Mourn For Us.” He makes the point that the grief of parents with autistic children does not come from the child’s autism, but the loss of neurotypical child that they did not have. He highlights that parents of autistic children usually treat autism as a tragedy, or even a death. The phrase “losing a child to autism” or similar phrases are extremely harmful to the community as a whole. If you took someone’s autistic identity away, they simply would not be the same person.

Jim Sinclair also talks about how parents often think they cannot connect with their children when they have autism, but it is possible with effort, understanding, and most importantly, acceptance. The main issue with the parent/caregiver victimization is that we are looking at their autistic children as a burden on them rather than human beings who need the care and love of their parents.

As a society, there is an idea we have of autism that is either one-dimensional or untrue due to the lack of representation. Giwa-Onaiwu speaks about the common stereotypes all involving primarily white male-presenting presences. From T.V. savant personalities or introverted gamers, Giwa-Onaiwu could not find her unique identity represented anywhere and that autistics of color are usually invisible or seldom acknowledged unless they are discussed as burdens to society or presented with other troubling data.

She describes her existence as “in a minority group within a minority group within a minority group within a minority group!” (Giwa-Onaiwu xiv). Giwa-Onaiwu emphasizes that finding her place in society with her identity as an autistic person of color was extremely difficult. Her article talks about how it is common to be known as defective and a person to be pitied when they are both autistic and of color. When questioned about why race and autism have to be mixed, she answers that they have everything to do with each other as they are both vital parts of herself.

Giwa-Onaiwu writes that “Ableism and racism have become deeply ingrained into the collective mindset of humankind.” (Giwa-Onaiwu xi) Both of these things are heavily sources of history that relate to the dehumanization or even euthanization of people because of identity.

“Autistics of Color: We Exist…We Matter.” includes a quote from Lydia X.Z. Brown that highlights Giwa-Onaiwu’s main argument as well as my own. She says:

“Just as I cannot separate my disabled experiences from my racialized identity and experiences, I cannot recognize ableism without recognizing how it is affected by racism or recognize racism without recognizing how it is affected by ableism…” (Giwa-Onaiwu xvi)

Discrimination is discrimination, and race and ability will always be connected for someone like Giwa-Onaiwu who share the experience of having multiple vital aspects to one’s identity. Autism is a spectrum and there is not one singular autistic experience. And despite the stereotypes presented by white americans in popular media, there is also no singular way to be black. Interlacing race and autism is necessary because they may make up one person’s identity, such as Morénike Giwa-Onaiwu.

As white people, let’s stop silencing people of color. As allistic people, let’s stop speaking instead of autistic people. As parents, let’s listen to our children. What privileged people like myself need to strive for is to accept autistic individuals, and accept autism as a part of someone’s identity just as we would look at race, gender, or sexuality.

Word Count: 1111

Works Cited

Brown, Lydia X. Z., and Morénike Giwa-Onaiwu. “Autistics of Color: We Exist…We Matter.” All the Weight of Our Dreams: on Living Racialized Autism, DragonBee Press, 2017, pp. x-xxii.

Harris, Andrew E. “Why Language Matters: Identity-First Language.” Massachusetts General Hospital,www.massgeneral.org/aspire/autism-spectrum-disorder/identity-first-language-autism.aspx.

Sinclair, Jim. “Don’t Mourn for Us..” Autonomy, the Critical Journal of Interdisciplinary Autism Studies [Online], 1.1 (2012): n. pag. Web. 2 May. 2019

Meghan McDonagh’s Major Paper: Exploring the Portrayal of Disability in Avatar: The Last Airbender

If you asked a child or young adult to describe the typical hero, they might tell you about a person with strong muscles, an unblemished and handsome face, and a charismatic and outgoing personality. Chances are, even an adult would respond this way. The representation of marginalized groups in fiction remains shockingly sparse in modern America, but more and more content creators are striving to portray disabled characters and characters of color. Disability is often brushed aside, misrepresented, or just severely lacking in general. Young adults and children with disabilities must sift and sort through the dismal pile of books and shows about able white kids and settle with what the societal default is. The white, cis, able, male is the default choice in character customizable video games, the basis for thousands of stories, movies, and T.V. shows, as well as positions of power in America. So as a society, how do we create positive content to show young people that being anything other than the default is perfectly okay? We can look at the Fries Test, a guide based on the feminist Bechdel Test, in order to determine if a work positively and constructively features disabled characters. The test was created by Kenny Fries, a poet who primarily writes about his identity as a gay, disabled man.

The questions are as followed:

Does a work have more than one disabled character?

Do the disabled characters have their own narrative purpose other than the education and profit of a non-disabled character?

Is the character’s disability not eradicated either by curing or killing?

When it comes to diversity, one of the works that immediately comes to mind is the 2005 animated television show, Avatar: The Last Airbender. In this paper, I will analyze how Avatar portrays and handles disabled or differently-abled characters in an overall positive and thoughtful way through characterization, use of the Fries Test and Simi Linton’s article, Reassigning Meaning.

Avatar takes place in a fictional universe where people can be born with the fantastical ability to control or “bend” one of the natural elements of fire, earth, water, or air. As the show progresses, the main protagonist, Aang, meets several characters who propel him or hinder his journey to eventually restore peace to his warring world. Avatar depicts multiple characters with different types of disabilities, both physical and invisible. Avatar is able to pass the Fries Test with flying colors thanks to its cast of incredibly well represented disabled characters.

Toph Beifong is a young blind girl who is first shown in a vision seen by Aang to be his potential earthbending teacher. Toph is treated by her parents in an ableist way, deciding that there is no way Toph can live a normal, functioning life due to her blindness and that she must be hidden and protected from danger. Her father barely allows her to go outside unattended, claiming that she “is blind and tiny and helpless and fragile,” which are all stereotypical ableist views. However, Toph is secretly a very gifted earthbender, and she requires little aid to navigate the world at all. She even sneaks away at night to compete in earthbending competitions to improve her bending. Because of her age and disability, she is often underestimated, but it is actually Toph’s blindness that grants her a deeper understanding of earthbending. The depiction of Toph’s blindness is a very positive and empowering part of her, due to the fact that there is no mention of her or any other character wanting or attempting to cure her. She created her own style of fighting and maneuvering because she has a different type of “sight.” In the episode, The Blind Bandit, Toph explains that she uses her earthbending to sense vibrations underneath her saying she “sees with her feet.” However, this is not the same as seeing with eyes and it is not a cure or cover-up for her disability. Toph still has limitations with her blindness. She is unable to read or write and is she is uncomfortable with being up high, in water, or on loose terrain. In Simi Linton’s Reassigning Meaning, Linton talks about the implication of “overcoming” a disability. The phrase could either mean that the disability no longer limits the individual, or that the disabled individual overcomes society’s expectation of them. Toph never had to “overcome” her blindness. It is established in little ways throughout Avatar that Toph uses her differently-abled body to her advantage, therefore being capable of teaching Aang a unique way to understand earthbending and in time become the most powerful earthbender in the world. The Fries Test also asks if the disabled character is only there to profit an abled one and Avatar passes this as well. Toph is an important character in her own right and she has her own narrative arcs and struggles that are not purely about her disability. For example, Toph is a confrontational and sarcastic individual whose abrasive personality often clashes with the other female member of their team, Katara. The two of them work out their issues by communicating with each other to resolve whatever is going on between them—all that has nothing to do with her disability. Toph’s blindness is a vital part of her identity without making her into a one-dimensional character.

Toph is not the only disabled character in Avatar. Late in the first season, the main group travels to a temple where they meet an energetic young man in a wheelchair named Teo. Teo is a minor character in the show, but he is introduced in a very refreshing and non-ableist manner. Teo is met with no surprise or pity regarding his paralyzed condition by the other characters. Teo simply exists in the world with his disability without centralizing the narrative around it. There is also no dialogue about being “confined to a wheelchair,” or that Teo “suffers from paralysis,” as Linton also cites in his article to be harmful in creating an association with helplessness and victimization of disabled persons. One of the members of the group simply compliments his wheelchair, normalizing Teo’s condition to possible wheelchair-using children who watch the show. Teo’s father, built him a wheelchair that has gliding capabilities similar to airbending, even though Teo is not a bender of any kind. Although it is fantastical to be able to glide through the air, it is not portrayed to be a cure for his disability or a way or change him as a nondisabled character.

Avatar also features characters with mental illness or invisible disabilities. Zuko is a young man who grew up under an abusive father, named Ozai. Zuko actually begins the show as an antagonist, whose goal is to capture Aang and “restore his honor,” a task given to him by his father, who holds the highest position of power in his nation. Zuko is obsessed with this goal and would do anything in order to gain respect from him, despite his father’s uncaring cruelty.

Ozai physically scarred Zuko’s face by burning him when he was just thirteen years old, a mark that Zuko thinks of as a constant physical reminder of his own shame. Ozai’s mistreatment of his son caused Zuko to be physical disfigured, as well as experience trauma and depressive tendencies throughout his life. Zuko exhibits these tendencies throughout his interactions with other characters. He frequently lashes out in anger and rejects any emotional help or guidance from his uncle, who cares deeply about him. Although it is a negative stereotype for a mentally ill character to be an antagonist, Zuko undergoes an emotional redemption arc throughout the entire series to heal and better understand himself and his personal mental struggles. Zuko’s emotional arc highlights his struggles with mental illness significantly. In the first two seasons of Avatar, Zuko constantly doubts his own decisions and deals with internal turmoil about his home-life at every turn. It is common for disabled characters to be used to exhibit villainy because of their condition, creating misrepresented connections between disability and violence. However, Zuko defies this idea, and breaks away from his abusive family and seeks to join Aang and his friends in order to help them restore peace to the world, as well as his own personal life. He does aid the able-bodied protagonist, but again, Zuko serves an extremely important narrative purpose outside of simply existing for the main character. Although he works through many of his mental struggles and trauma, they are not erased from his life. His scar is not gone, and his future actions as the successor to the throne are attributed to his life experience. In Zuko’s case, Avatar would pass the Fries Test for its complex, multidimensional approach to disability in media directed towards children and young adults. Tackling the subject of blatant parental abuse is largely uncharted territory for cartoons and television for younger audiences in the like.

Lastly, one of the more controversial portrayals of disability is Azula, the sister of Zuko. Azula is an interesting case in Avatar, as she is an opposite case to Zuko in respect to her relationship with her father. She grew up being viewed a prodigy, much more talented than Zuko, who was rejected by Ozai. Azula can also be discussed as having sadistic and sociopathic tendencies that alter into what can be described as madness. Reassigning Meaning picks apart what can truly be defined as disability, claiming it is about personal choice to identify. An article titled Coming Out Mad, Coming Out Disabled by Elizabeth Brewer discusses the subject of including madness in disability studies. She speaks about the similarities and differences between being labeled as “mentally ill,” or “mad,” and the implications that come with each. As mentioned earlier, portraying a villain with madness may lead to unhealthy associations and assumptions. Azula exhibits rather sociopathic tendencies, a product of being worshipped as the princess of the Fire Nation throughout her entire life. What she lacked because of this was the presence of genuine friendships and connections to others. She is also a primary antagonist who controls everyone around her by using fear, as she recruits her two “friends” to join her by threatening them. Azula is also shown having trouble relating to other teens her age since she is hyper-aware of her impact on other people. She does not understand how to act in casual settings with people her age as shown in the episode The Beach. This episode plays off most of these situations as comedic. For example, Azula is shown not knowing how to flirt with boys, which revealed a much more awkward aspect compared to how the audience usually sees her, which is cunning and dangerous. Azula represents many negative aspects of media portraying disability. While Zuko learned how to handle his feelings and personal identity, Azula slowly becomes mentally unhinged after the betrayal of her closest two allies. She begins talking to hallucinations and becoming progressively more self-destructive. Her symptoms can be linked to paranoid schizophrenia. She is restrained and thrown in prison for her loyalty to her dictator father and her mental condition. It can be argued that Azula’s madness was a result of her losing control of her life, and she was considered an evil, manipulative character who must be locked up, creating an unhealthy relationship between disability, madness, and general negativity. Using Azula in this way perpetuates that being “crazy,” a word considered derogatory according to Elizabeth Brewer’s article equates to being abnormal and even evil. Despite Azula’s controversial portrayal of disability in Avatar: The Last Airbender, she is an undeniably layered character that would later be expanded upon in comics released after the show finished airing.

Despite the magical, expansive world of Avatar: The Last Airbender, being intended for younger audiences, disability is not treated lightly. Avatar deeply explores facets of disability that are rarely touched on in other young adult and children literature and media such as mental illness and effectively makes use of the format to create interesting, multidimensional characters and situations. Not once are Avatar characters with disability purely characterized through that one trait. The series does not suggest any ableist language unless it is established that doing so is harmful and negative. The Fries Test proposes questions for positively represented disabled characters in which Avatar: The Last Airbender pass easily. Future works of fiction for young adults and children should use Avatar as a model to represent disability in a thoughtful and positive manner.

I pledge:

Word Count: 2081

Works Cited

Dimartino, Michael D and Bryan Konietzko, creators. Avatar: The Last Airbender. Nickelodeon Animation Studios, 2005.

Brewer, Elizabeth. “Coming Out Mad, Coming Out Disabled.” Literatures of Madness: Disability Studies and Mental Health, edited by Elizabeth J Donaldson, PALGRAVE MACMILLAN, 2018, pp. 11–30.

Linton, Simi. “Reassigning Meaning.” Claiming Disability: Knowledge and Identity, NYU Press,1998, pp 8-33.

Meghan McDonagh’s Response to Tessa Fontaine’s Reading

As an aspiring author, I always look forward to the readings at UMW, especially the novelists. I was most intrigued to hear that her book was in fact, real nonfiction events that happened to her. I’m usually most interested in fiction, but hearing bits of Tessa’s memoir was shocking and unexpected. Tessa did what most people would never attempt— fire eating, snake-charming, knife-throwing, sword-swallowing, and more.

She began by reading the prologue of her book, The Electric Woman, she detailed on that there actually isn’t even a trick to it. You just have to eat fire, swallow a sword, etc. I particularly thought what she said about “unlearning body defense mechanisms” was interesting. She simply joined the traveling sideshow because she thought she could do it, despite the danger. She mentioned that even though the things she did were required a level of fearlessness, she actually was very afraid. I was very surprised by how simple the acts were in actuality. Like many people, I always assumed there was some sort of hidden trick or limits to the things that performers do to their bodies, like in a magic show. At one point, when the audience chose to have her read a portion about sword swallowing, she said she had to practice and force it to happen, just like any other skill you’d practice. She also said that snake-charming is just acting as a tree for a huge snake to slither all over you and prevent the snake from “falling onto a baby in the audience,” which was funny.

Although the most surface-level exciting things involved the incredible way Tessa learned several circus sideshow acts along the way, I was also moved by the personal aspects of the journey portrayed in the book that inspired her, such as her mother. Tessa was actually inspired by her mom to let go of her fears and do something wild and different. Her mother had a series of strokes that paralyzed her. Tessa talked about her mother’s paralysis in the text as she narrated the first time she lit herself on fire. Tessa’s overall message was impactful and realistic. She reiterated that there are no tricks in the sideshow, or in life in general.

Meghan McDonagh’s Response to “The Sound and the Fury”

The Sound and the Fury by William Faulkner centers around the dysfunctional Compson family, a Southern family who are struggling with their deteriorating reputation and financial situation. The main narrator of the beginning section of the novel (labelled April 7th, 1928) is Benjy Compson, the fourth child who is just turning 33. Benjy is mentally disabled and cannot speak, but the reader can understand some of his thoughts. Despite the time being stated at the start of the chapter, the narrative jumps around in time quite a bit, highlighting the strangeness and confusion of the speaker. Benjy shifts between several moments in his life, such as sharing experiences when he was a young boy and in the present without much notice. This structure makes this chapter rather difficult to comprehend. However, most readers are used to consuming narrative through the able-bodied individual, so reading from Benjy’s point of view is surprising yet also extremely effective in creating the unique tone of the novel. The incoherence of the chapter is frustrating, but looking at the story from a disabled character’s perspective forces the reader to view life in Benjy’s disabled body.

We learn of Benjy’s various attachments such as his sister, Caddy, the only character who takes time to listen to Benjy, and how he is cared for by various characters throughout his life. Benjy has been said to have been “three for thirty years” and he struggles to communicate in many ways other than bellowing or moaning. The struggle of communication for Benjy reflects the entire family who refuse to listen to each other. Benjy uses his other senses to make sense of the world as illustrated by his reaction to smells and Caddy showing him how cold feels. Benjy cannot speak words, but he seems to be the only one who notices the declining state of his family. Benjy understands his sister’s name and her love for him, but he is othered by Frony, and several other characters who say he doesn’t understand anything, let alone a name. The only moment when Benjy is understood in this first chapter is when Caddy wears perfume, which upsets Benjy because she usually “smells like trees.” Caddy understands this after showing Benjy the perfume to react to. As the reader, we are frustrated when Benjy is not understood because it is written in first-person perspective, which inserts the reader in his shoes.

In many ways, there are similarities between Benjy and Lenny from the novel Of Mice and Men. Both of these characters are largely mistreated as simply bumbling idiots due to the insensitivity of the time periods the stories take place in and other characters. Both of these novels are structured to make disabled characters into sympathetic figures who are illustrated to be burdens to the people around them despite their good intentions. Looking at disabled characters this way is simultaneously problematic and important. Both of these works feature disabled individuals as main characters, and they are demonized by other characters, but not intended to be seen negatively by the reader. In spite of being generally positive forces, they both meet unhappy or tragic fates, Lenny’s death and Benjy’s castration. Benjy’s perspective as a disabled person enhances the novel’s narrative structure despite its confusing nature. The insight on his treatment and his observations capitalize on Faulkner’s themes of communication and family in The Sound and the Fury.

I pledge that I didn’t cheat and stuff

Word count: 566

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I’m Meghan 🙂