My story in the Chicago Reader

Every once in a while, if I write about a subject that the wider public may be familiar with, I link the blog post to my Facebook page. It makes sense that the few posts which have appeared on my Facebook page attracted more readers than typical entries of mine. I last linked this blog to my Facebook page in September, after I wrote about Peter Dinklage and his Emmy Award. Soon after I posted the essay, a few Facebook friends of mine commented via social media, congratulating me and complementing the post. The comments boosted my confidence. With an inflated ego, I deduced, if my social media friends found something of value in the essay, perhaps all of Chicago will find something of value in the essay. With a new purpose in mind, I added a few new elements to the piece, flushed out a few existing sections, and submitted it to The Chicago Reader, a weekly news and arts & culture newspaper geared toward a progressive audience.

I've submitted to the Reader four times. Only once have they run something I wrote. I wasn't surprised when a week passed and I hadn't heard anything about my submission from the paper. Another week passed and I received an email from the Reader. The email acknowledged that they had received my correspondence, but made no mention at all of the story I had submitted. Instead, the editor asked if I would like to be interviewed for a weekly feature of the paper. Each week, the feature highlights a random person in Chicago, and tells a story from that person's perspective. The feature is framed as "first person accounts from off the beaten track." I agreed to participate. When I asked how to prepare for the interview, the writer told me something like, "you don't need to prepare. We are just going to have a conversation."

When I later interviewed with the reporter, I told her a story about riding my bike around Chicago, and strangers taking my picture while I am on the bike - something I've written about, perhaps too often, here. Though I was instructed not to prepare for the interview, I knew I would tell the biking story. The story ran a few weeks ago.

I am not sure why, probably because the piece exposes some vulnerability, and some fear, I was hesitant to share the story. Soon enough though, the piece was shared widely, including social media pages of my friends and on the Little People of America Facebook page.

The majority of the direct feedback has been very positive. Friends have been very supportive. I received a great email from a colleague of mine. The email included the subject line, "give me your camera bitch." I shared that email with the writer of the piece, saying, "no matter the other responses, feedback like this makes the whole experience worth it." In general, people I know are very nice. They tend to keep negative feedback to themselves. Just the other day, someone asked, "What did you think of the story in the Reader?" I said, "generally, I feel good about it, and generally, the response has been very good." To this, the person asking the question had no verbal response. He just looked at me. Though he didn't say anything, his face appeared to strain, as if he were putting all his energy into keeping negative thoughts unspoken.

I wouldn't trade in the positive feedback from friends and supporters, but the piece in the Reader has another value also, for me anyway. It's given some validation to the anger I sometimes feel when I am treated poorly for something that I have no control over, and when other people of short stature are treated poorly for what they have no control over, our physical difference. For years, I've tried to develop a strategy to deal with people who take unauthorized photos of people of short stature. There really is no good strategy, because there will always be a few people who act that way. Whether I confront or ignore them, it won't change what they have done. But sharing the story in the Reader has helped to legitimize the frustration I feel.

When I first started to work at Access Living, I learned about the Independent Living perspective. The perspective reframes problems of physical and social accessibility. The perspective says, people with disabilities should not have to change who we are in order to function and thrive in the world. Instead, we need to change the world in order to make it more inclusive of all people, with and without disabilities. In a way, the Reader piece has helped me reframe the biking experience. In all likelihood, I will have my picture taken again, and in all likelihood, that is going to piss me off, but it's going to be easier to shrug off that anger now. Easier because I know that in my work at Access Living, and with Little People of America, I am doing my best to open the door to a world that is inclusive of, and embraces, diversity. But if the people who are in the car snapping those photos want to be a part of that world, it is up to them to put down that camera and shed some bigotry in order to fit through the door frame.

Competent to deal with a sometime intolerant culture

Yesterday, everyone on staff where I work participated in a Cultural Competency seminar. The seminar was designed to equip staff to work better with each other, with the consumers with whom we interact, and with other groups with which we work. The idea was that sometimes tensions exist between all of these parties -- Tensions that derive from diverse cultural backgrounds and experiences. The seminar was like a good class that I would sit through during my years in college, in so far that the seminar really got me thinking. But more so than anything else, the seminar got me thinking about the tensions that I confront in my day-to-day as a person with dwarfism.

Similar to my days as a college student, I took some notes during the seminar. I wrote down a bunch of things said by the facilitator. She said, “If you want to be in a world that works for everyone, you have to be willing to jump into the scummiest ponds.” That got me thinking. I wonder what that means for a person with dwarfism on the worst of days? A letter posted recently on the Washington Post blog referenced anecdotes from Bob Whittemore. Whittemore is a person with dwarfism. He wrote to the Post because he is against Florida legislation that seeks to repeal current legislation that prevents bars from hosting dwarf tossing events. He shared anecdotes with the Post. Whittemore wrote,

Have you ever, after a productive day of business, walked into a bar with your colleagues and customers to celebrate the day, and are suddenly grabbed by a total stranger who wants to pick you up and throw you as far as he can, because it would be a “hoot”?

This is one reason why Little People of America and many others are against the repeal legislation, because something as obscene as dwarf tossing affects many more than just the people directly involved. But beyond legal protections, how does one confront this type of behavior on an individual level? In order to create a world that works for everyone, do people with dwarfism need to submerge ourselves within the dirty ponds?

The facilitator also said yesterday, “The best way to deal with intolerance is to get related to people.” Does that mean we need to walk around in the shoes of the intolerant ones who treat people with physical difference as mere objects?

As distasteful as it sounds to give intolerance some room to maneuver in order to understand it, I think the facilitator is correct. If people with dwarfism, and other groups that are subjected to discrimination, are going to make change, we have to understand where and who the discrimination comes from, and why. But just because we make an effort to understand the roots and motivation behind discrimination and intolerance, it doesn’t mean we have to stop fighting against it.