Abstract
I am very angry for Harilyn Rousso and for the rest of us who live with disabilities. I highly recommend her book for the exploration of how a disability, cerebral palsy, in Ms. Rousso’s case denied and shamed can lead one to feel less than human and limit hope, imagination, and opportunity. Ms. Rousso’s loving parents nevertheless communicated her unacceptability by not talking about her disability and attempting to hide it and train her to pass for normal. Ms. Rousso concluded that as it could not be talked about, cerebral palsy must be really bad. Without language, she could not make sense of her differences and so was made more vulnerable. Further, she found herself unattractive and an undesirable female. She questioned if she could be sexual and assumed that she would not marry or have children. She drove her energy into school and work, which ironically led her to become a feminist and a disability activist.
Involvement in the feminist and disability communities convinced Ms. Rousso that the problems she encountered were largely due to societal oppression. However, when she strove to bring disability issues into the woman’s movement, she was unprepared for the hierarchy of oppression she faced and the lack of appreciation for disabled woman as a rich source of diversity. She also struggled with the rampant sexism in the disability community. In her book, she explores how the process of internalization of negative attitudes and images leads to self-hatred, hatred of the devalued other, and prevention of organizing to protest collective injustice and effect change.
Ms. Rousso is the first to admit that she has not yet fully owned her disability identity and that her journey from denial to pride is ongoing. She paints a portrait of herself as a flawed individual who may engage in subtle hostility toward individuals with whom she has much in common. She is still healing from self-hatred and at times may find others with disabilities to be “frightening, distorted mirrors.” However, throughout her book she convincingly asserts a civil rights model of disability as a counter to a telethon/paternalistic/pathos/charity/tragedy model. She writes that her body was simply how she was in the world until she was told that there was something wrong, and she demands that the world embrace all of a person. Ms. Rousso wishes to be seen as a boring person with ordinary problems of food cravings and marriage struggles, not an inspirational person whose story makes one cry.
Don’t Call Me Inspirational would be an excellent supplemental text for a women’s or disability studies class. Taking an autobiographical approach, Ms. Rousso reviews advocacy efforts and interpersonal and intergroup dynamics that can undermine social movements. Her individual experiences help elucidate both disabling and enabling processes and can help others appreciate the daily struggles to build identity and maintain dignity in the face of multiple oppressions. Ms. Rousso is an everyday heroine.