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PDF and video versions both transcribed, under readmore for length. if someone wants me to convert and sync the video transcription as a youtube caption .srt file so they can try to get the video poster to add it to the upload, let me know.

PDF Version:

Disability Culture Rap

Cheryl Marie Wade

Disability Culture. Say what? Aren't disabled people just isolated victims of nature or circumstance?

Yes and no. True, we are far too often isolated. Locked away in the pits, closets and institutions of enlightened societies everywhere. But there is a growing consciousness among us: "that is not acceptable." Because there is always an underground. Notes get passed among survivors. And the notes we're passing these days say, "there's power in difference. Power. Pass the word."

Culture. It's about passing the word. And disability culture is passing the word that there's a new definition of disability and it includes power.

Culture. New definitions, new inflections. No longer just "poor cripple." Now also "CRIPPLE" and, yes, just "cripple." A body happening. But on a real good day, why not C*R*I*P*P*L*E; a body, hap-pen-ing. (Dig it or not.)

Culture. It's finding a history, naming and claiming ancestors, heroes. As "invisibles," our history is hidden from us, our heroes buried in the pages, unnamed, unrecognized. Disability culture is about naming, about recognizing.

Naming and claiming our heroes. Like Helen Keller. Oh, not the miracle-worker version we're all so familiar with, but the social reformer, the activist who tried so desperately to use her celebrity to tell the truth of disability; that it has far more to do with poverty, oppression and the restriction of choices than it has to do with wilted muscles or milky eyes. And for her efforts to tell this truth, she was ridiculed, demeaned as revolutionaries often are. And because Helen Keller was a survivor, and that is the first thing any culture needs -- survivors who live long enough so that some part of the truth makes it to the next generation.

Helen Keller was a survivor, so she pulled back from telling the fuller truth; that's often what survivors have to do; they have to swallow the rage, wear the mask, and, yes, pull back from telling it exactly like it is so that there might be a next generation. And so, Helen Keller, a survivor, we honor you as our ancestor, our hero.

Naming and claiming our hidden history, our ancestors. Like the thousands of mental and physical "defectives," singled out for "special treatment" by the Nazis. Yes, disability culture is recognizing that we were the first victims of the Holocaust, that we are the people the Nazis refined their methods of torture on. So we must honor these unnamed victims as our ancestors, we must raise their unmarked graves into our consciousness, into the consciousness of America so it never happens again. And just as Native Americans insist the true name of discovery is genocide, more and more of us insist the true name of "right to die with dignity" (without opportunities to live with dignity) is murder, the first syllable of genocide.

Naming and claiming our ancestors, our heroes. Like all those circus and carnival freaks, the first disability performance artists. Those rowdy outcasts who learned to emphasize their Otherness, turn it into work, a career, a life. Oh, it may have been a harsh life, sometimes even brutal, but a life: they kept themselves from being locked away in those institutions designed for the excessively different that have always been such a prominent part of the American economy. And so we claim these survivors as our ancestors and we honor them.

Naming and claiming our ancestors, our heroes. Now most of you probably know the story of James Meredith, freedom fighter, African American, who helped break the color barrier, the racial barrier to higher learning by insisting he had a right to an education; insisting.

And without that insistence, the doors of Ole Miss would have remained closed. But do you know the story of Ed Roberts, cripple freedom fighter, disabled man, who, armed with self-esteem and a portable respirator, broke the disability barrier to higher learning by insisting he had a right to an education, by insisting that the doors to the University of California at Berkeley be opened, and by doing so, laid a significant brick onto the foundation of the Independent Living Movement? Independent! Living! Movement! The language of it! -- that revolution of identity and possibilities for disabled people. The independent living movement. Oh, you may never have heard of it. It never made it onto prime time. Norman Mailer did not rush out to capture its essence in 30,000 words.

Yet it took root; it grew; it spread all across this country, all around the world -- because there is always an underground. Notes get passed among survivors. And the notes we're passing these days say: there's power in difference. Power. Pass the word.

So what's this disability culture stuff all about? It's simple; it's just "This is disability. From the inside out."

Culture. Pass the word. Now maybe the word is the moan and wail of a blues. Maybe it's the fierce rhythms and clicking heels and castanets of flamenco. Maybe it's outsider art. Passing the word. Maybe the word is authentic movement, that dance that flows from the real body notes of cripples. Maybe it's the way pieces of cloth are stitched together to commemorate a life, to remember a name. Maybe it's American Sign Language, a language that formed the foundation of a cultural identity for a people, Deaf people, and bloomed into ASL performance art and ASL mime.

Culture. Sometimes it happens over coffee or on a picket line. A poem gets said and passed along. And passed back. Amended. Embellished. And passed along again. Language gets claimed. Ms. Gay. Crip. Guerrilla theater becomes theater with a soul. Teatro Campesino. The Dance Theater of Harlem. And, of course, WRY CRIPS Disabled Women's Theater. Radical. True. Passing the word.

Culture. Maybe so far you've been deprived. Maybe right now the primary image you have of disability is that of victim. Perhaps all you know of us is Jerry's Kids, those doom-drenched poster children hauled out once each year to wring your charitable pockets dry.

But I promise you: you will also come to know us as Jerry's Orphans. No longer the grateful recipients of tear-filled handouts, we are more and more proud freedom fighters, taking to the streets, picket signs strapped to our chairs.

No longer the polite tin-cuppers, waiting for your generous inclusion, we are more and more proud freedom fighters, taking to the stages, raising our speech-impaired voices in celebration of who we are. No longer the invisible people with no definition beyond "Other," we are more and more proud, we are freedom fighters, taking to the streets and to the stages, raising our gnarly fists in defiance of the narrow, bloodless images of our complex humanity shoved down the American consciousness daily.

And these changes, they will happen, just as the Independent Living Movement happened, just as the Rehabilitation Act's 504 regulations for access happened; just as the Americans with Disabilities Act -- the most comprehensive civil rights law ever written -- happened.

Because there is always an underground. Notes will be passed among survivors. And the notes we're passing these days say, "There's power in difference. Power. Pass the word."

Disability culture. What is it really all about?

It's this.

And this.

Yeah, this --

COMING AT YOU FROM THE INSIDE OUT.

September/October 1992

-----

Video version: (used pdf version as base for line breaks etc)

Host: Her name is Cheryl Marie Wade, and I think she is the number one disability poet in the nation. And--

(applause)

Host: Cheryl has the horrible task today of trying to define disability culture. We who are involved in the disability culture, we know in a very vague sort of ambiguous floaty kind of butterfly way what that means, but we have trouble putting it into words to try to prove to other people that it really exists? So Cheryl has been spending the last several weeks trying to do that, so that she could come up here and sound like an anthropologist.

(laughter)

Host: So I introduce you now, our keynote speaker Cheryl Marie Wade.

(applause)

CMW: (sigh) Okay.

(baby's cry)

CMW: Alright, let's hear it!

(laughter)

CMW: I'm sure that was just encouragement. Okay. Disability Culture. Say what? But aren't disabled people just isolated victims of nature or circumstance?

(baby continues)

CMW: Yes and no. It is true, we are far too often isolated. Locked away in the pits, closets and institutions of enlightened societies everywhere. But more and more, there is a growing consciousness among us: "that is not acceptable." Because there is always an underground. And notes get passed among survivors. And the notes we're passing these days say, "there's power in difference. Power. Pass the word."

Culture. It's about passing the word. And disability culture is passing the word that there's a new identity, new definition to disability and it includes power.

Culture. New definitions, new inflections. No longer just "poor cripple." Now also "CRIPPLE" and, yeah, most of the time just "cripple." A body happening. But on a real good day, why not a body, hap-pen-ing. (Dig it or not.)

(laughter)

CMW: Culture. It's finding a history, naming and claiming ancestors, heroes. As "invisibles," our history is hidden, locked away, buried. Our ancestors, our heroes buried in the pages, unrecognized, unnamed. Disability culture is recognizing, is naming.

Naming and claiming our ancestors, our heroes. Like Helen Keller. Now, not the miracle-worker version we're all so familiar with, not her. But the social activist, the reformer, the woman who tried so desperately to use her celebrity to tell the truth of disability; that it has far more to do with poverty and oppression and the restriction of choices than it has to do with wilted muscles or milky eyes. And for her efforts to tell this truth, she was demeaned, she was ridiculed publicly. And because Helen sur-- Helen Keller was a survivor, and that is of course the first thing any culture needs -- survivors who live long enough so that some portion of the truth makes it to the next generation.

And because Helen Keller was a survivor, she pulled back from telling that fuller truth; because that's often what survivors have to do; they have to swallow the rage, and wear the mask, and, yes, pull back from telling it exactly like it is.

(baby resumes)

CMW: So that there might be a next generation. And so, Helen Keller was a survivor, and she is our ancestor, our hero. And we honor her.

Naming and claiming our ancestors, our hidden history, our ancestors that are hidden. Like the thousands of mental and physical "defectives," who singled out for "special treatment" by the Nazis. Yes, disability culture is recognizing that we, we were the first victims of the Holocaust. We are the people that the Nazis refined their methods of torture on. We must honor these unnamed victims as our ancestors, we must raise their unmarked graves into our consciousness, into the consciousness of America so it can never happen again. And just as Native Americans insist the true name of discovery is genocide, so more and more of us insist the true name of "a right to die with dignity," without opportunity to live with dignity, is murder, the first syllable of genocide.

Naming and claiming our ancestors, our heroes. Like all those circus and carnival freaks, the first disability performance artists. Yes. Those rowdy outcasts who emphasized the Otherness, and made work, made a career, gave themselves a life. Now maybe it was a harsh life, maybe even a brutal life sometimes, but it was a life! Not locked away in the institutions designed for the excessively different that have always been such a prominent part of the American economy. So yes they are our ancestors, our heroes, and we honor them.

Naming and claiming our heroes, our ancestors. Now most of you are familiar with the story of James Meredith, a great African American freedom fighter, who helped to break the color barrier, the racial barrier to higher education by insisting, insisting he had a right to an education.

And without that insistence, the doors to Ole Miss would have remained closed. But how many of you know the story of Ed Roberts, cripple freedom fighter, disabled man, who, armed with self-esteem, and a portable respirator, helped to break the disability barriers to higher learning by insisting, insisting that he had a right to an education, by insisting that the doors to the University of California at Berkeley be opened? And by doing that, he helped to lay a significant brick onto the foundation of the Independent Living Movement. The Independent Living Movement. The language of that! Independent! Living! Movement! My god, what a revolution of identities and possibilities for us. Now, you may not have heard of the independent living movement, because it never made it into prime time. Norman Mailer did not rush out to capture its essence in 30,000 words or less.

(laughter)

CMW: But it took root, and it grew, and it spread across this country, and it has spread around the world -- because there is always an underground. And notes get passed among survivors. And the notes we're passing these days, they say: there's power in difference. Power. Pass the word.

Disability culture. What is it about? It's simple; it's just "Here's disability. From the inside out."

Culture. Passing the word. Now maybe the word is the moan and wail of a blues. Or maybe it's the fierce rhythms and clicking heels and castanets of flamenco. Maybe it's outsider art. Passing the word. Now maybe the word is authentic movement, that dance that flows from the real body notes of cripples. Or maybe it's the way pieces of cloth are stitched together to commemorate a life, to remember a name. Or maybe it's American Sign Language, a language that laid the foundation of a cultural identity for a people, Deaf people, that has bloomed into performance art, ASL mime, theater of the Deaf.

Culture. Sometimes it happens over coffee or on a picket line. A poem gets said and passed along. And passed back. Amended. Embellished. And then it's passed along again. Language gets claimed. Ms. Gay. Crip. Guerrilla theater becomes theater with a soul. Teatro Campesino. The Dance Theater of Harlem. And, of course, WRY CRIPS Disabled Women's Theater Group. Radical. True. Passing the word.

Now maybe you've been deprived so far. Maybe your only image, your only identity of disability is that of victim. Perhaps all you know of us is Jerry's Kids, those doom-drenched poster children hauled out once a year to wring your charitable pockets dry.

But I promise you: you will also come to know us as Jerry's Orphans. No longer the grateful recipients of tear-filled handouts, more and more we are proud freedom fighters, taking to the streets, picket signs strapped to our wheelchairs.

No longer are we grateful polite tin-cuppers, waiting for generous inclusion, more and more we are proud freedom fighters, taking to the stages, raising our speech-impaired voices in celebration of who we are. No longer the invisible people with no definition beyond "Other," more and more we are proud, we are freedom fighters, taking to the streets and taking to the stages, raising gnarly fists in defiance of the narrow, bloodless images of disability, of our complex humanity shoved down the American consciousness daily.

And these changes, these changes will happen, just as the Independent Living Movement happened, just as the Rehabilitation 504 regulations happened; just as at long last the Americans with Disabilities Act happened.

And just as now, the Corporation on dele-- on Telecommunications and Disability, however you pronounce it. (laughter) CDT NoCal, let's put it that way. It's less of a mouthful. We're happening.

And why?

Because there is always, always an underground. And notes will be passed among survivors. And the notes we are passing these days, they do say, "There is power in difference. Power. Pass the word."

Disability culture. What is it really about?

It's just this.

This!

COMING AT YOU FROM THE INSIDE OUT.

We invite you to open, and to listen. Because if you do, no explanation of who we are and what our culture is will be necessary. We invite you to open, and to listen. Because if you do, I can assure you, no explanation of who we are and what our culture is will be adequate. And I would like to remind you that what you will see and hear in this short program is just a tiny taste of who w are and what we have to offer.

Because we here at CDT NoCal are just one small cultural group, and our focus is the arts of media. What we're trying to do here is just bring you a few more hopefully vibrant colors for your disability palette. And we hope that when you have those colors, you'll fill in those black and white stereotypes with all kinds of nuances and shadings. You see it'll give the picture some depth, some life. And we think that'll be good for all of us.

So all of us here at CDT Northern California chapter invite you today to open, to listen, and most especially enjoy. Thank you.

(applause)

"Disability Culture Rap" By Cheryl Marie Wade, The Disability Rag. September/October, 1992

Unfortunately, I could only find this as a PDF of a photocopy of an independent, radical leftist periodical (linked above). Which is, sadly, not very accessible.

But I'd still like to share it with younger Disabled folk, who are too young to remember when the very idea of Disability Culture seemed like an outrageous impossibility.

Let's talk about it.

#reblog #long post #ask to tag #it took me a while to get around to this I would've liked to do it sooner

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