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A Matter of Perspective

  • Posted on June 4, 2011 at 2:20 PM

Next week is my last class in my Reading & Writing the Short Story course. During the last several weeks, I have been writing a literary short story using a different methodology than I usually use. Instead of thinking the project through first, and then writing it, I was asked to write a little at a time and let the project develop without a plan and without a whole lot of forethought. It was an interesting experience to say the least.

The end result was flawed. I haven’t even figured out how much work will be involved in order to turn the project around. But the flaws themselves provided a remarkable amount of clarity.

Autism was a major feature of this short story. Typically, I write speculative fiction, and autism or autistic characters creep into my stories even there. But this piece was supposed to be written in the literary style, and thus I wrote a story about something a bit more mundane. I remembered a writing teacher once telling me that people don’t write stories about “housewives,” because they never do anything worth telling. So, as per my contrarian nature, I wrote a story about a housewife—particularly the mother of two children with autism who is also almost autistic herself.

The clarity came, not from the story itself, but from the various reactions to my story. My readers—those individuals who are part of my life and who read most of my work—found the story compelling, clear, and approachable. My classmates—individuals who are not immersed in the world of autism—found the story compelling, but not as clear or approachable as they would have liked. The difference, of course, is how familiar the reader is with autism.

Thus the flaws. As a writer, I cannot rely on my readers being familiar with my subject matter, especially when the “point” is to show a different perspective concerning the subject matter. Which is not to say that this story is an advocacy piece. Nor did I intend it to be. But, in a way, of course, it is. In a way, everything I write about autism is an advocacy piece, because most of the dialogue on autism is still so…wrong. But, whether an advocacy piece or just a story, the point is to communicate to the reader on behalf of the characters, and relying on a shared perspective doesn’t do that.

Sometimes I forget how much I have changed, how much my perspective has changed, how much the way I see the world has changed, since I fell into the world of autism. It seems so strange to me to look at it that way, because I’m finally where I belong.

 

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Neuro@Work

  • Posted on May 27, 2011 at 7:56 PM

I have recently been working on a nonfiction book which I had tentatively entitled Neurodiversity at Work: A Manager’s Guide.  In my mind, I envisioned it as a research-based how-to manual managers could use to open up their organizations to the neurological diversity of the workforce available to them.  In my heart, this was the book I wanted to write, because it’s the book I wanted to be put into practice.

The deeper I got into the project—accumulating research material, writing chapters, delving into the heart of the how-to—the more I grew wary of my topic.  More and more of my revised pages were devoted to the importance of opening up organizations to the neurologically diverse; fewer were devoted to the practical aspects of how to accomplish this goal.  As I’ve progressed I realized something as a writer that I already knew as an advocate; I realized that the audience I want for the book I very much wanted to write does not, yet, exist.

There are still too few arguments for opening organizations up to a neurologically diverse workforce—despite the law, despite the social movement, despite the justice and advantages.  It’s not that companies are struggling with the how; it’s that they don’t really understand the why. 

Simply put, I realized I needed to write the equivalent of a prequel, then invest my time and energies on a follow-up how-to book.  Advocacy first, practical how-to second.

Now, with this decision in place, my reluctance is replaced with energy and drive.  But, it’s also rather sad.  It’s sad that the advocacy book is necessary.  It’s sad that we’re still at this point where people need to learn how doing the right thing is in their own best interests.  It’s sad that we’re still so focused on normal that we forget the power of extraordinary.

So, it’s time to start back at the beginning.  It’s time to write the book that needs to be written.  And to hope that, someday, the book I really want to write will need to be written, too.

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Review: Waiting for Superman

  • Posted on May 20, 2011 at 1:14 PM

Waiting for Superman is a thought-provoking documentary.  Artistically, I think the filmmaker did a good job of creating a narrative arc and providing a dense piece, full of information.  However, I would caution any viewer from “buying” the message entirely.  The film was full of information; some of that information was factual and some of that information was opinion.  The danger is that much of the opinion was presented as facts.  It’s difficult to sort the two out without extensive research, so the entirety should be viewed with skepticism.

One thing I find very important in this film is that they stress how essential good teachers are to the education of children, but how the system—including, but not limited to the teachers’ unions and politicians that keep bad teachers in their positions—is dysfunctional.  That focus, that differentiation is very important.

Before writing this, I read quite a few scathing critiques.  Not surprisingly, many if not all of these critiques were written by people who have a vested interest in the status quo.  I would recommend against “buying” their messages as well, for much the same reason.  Facts and opinions are not the same, and yet both sides present their opinions as if they were facts.  This is unethical and it is not done in the best interests of the recipients of these services, namely the children.  Furthermore, over-simplifying and filtering an opponent’s message in order to set up a straw-man—which is what most of the critiques I read did—is unethical and logically fallible.  We’re talking Critical Thinking 101 here, so it’s especially sad that it was done by our teachers and administrators who should know better.  Finally, while these critiques occasionally would admit the problem is real, none of them offered a solution besides pushing forward with what we know doesn’t work.  These people are barriers to change and, for the sake of our children, change is necessary.

That does not mean that the changes proposed in the film are as solid and successful and inclusive as the makers of Waiting for Superman would have us to believe.  The narrator of the film referred to “every child,” meaning that even poor children and children “lost” in the worst neighborhoods should have access to a top-quality education.  And that’s fine.  I’m on-board with that message.  BUT that message does NOT include every child.  This film failed in addressing the needs of every child with the filmmaker’s choice to exclude special education from the discussion and from his documentary.  The discussion of quality education must address the needs of all children!  That not only includes the poor performers, but also children with special educational needs that require educational services other children do not need. 

Granted, that issue is not the point of the documentary.  However, it is my opinion that it should not be a separate issue.  Successful schools are schools that can meet the needs of all their students.  Changes in education cannot exclude the needs of children with special educational needs, including those who are behind due school failure and those who need special services to succeed in any school setting.  We must acknowledge that “what works” for many children will not and cannot work for ALL children.  There is no single SOLUTION.   This presentation, this complete absence of all things special education, damages the credibility of the entire documentary in my opinion; and yet, reading so many negative critiques of the film that offer no solutions, no alternatives, and no change leaves me feeling that we’re right back where we started.  It was even in the film.  This dialogue is not about the kids.  Instead, it’s about the adults, each with their own bias and their own self-interest and their own ideas.

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The Legality Mentality

  • Posted on April 2, 2011 at 8:05 AM

Previously, I have published three short synopses—in blog post style—of chapters for the non-fiction book I’m working on, Neurodiversity at Work: A Manager’s Guide.  First, I wrote a post introducing the neurodiverse workforce, and then I addressed the need to cope with the challenges of inclusion, and the possibility to capitalize on a diverse workforce.  My third post concerned business rhetoric, and now I explore the legal mentality.

The Law

In the United States, there is legislation that seeks to protect the interests of workers with disabilities.  In theory, these laws apply to both visible and invisible disabilities.  In theory, these laws protect the interests of workers with autism and Asperger’s.  In theory, these laws ensure that workers with disabilities who are otherwise qualified to perform the work should not be denied employment or excluded from consideration because of their disabilities.  In theory, workers whose disabilities interfere with their performance of work they are qualified to do should be provided with reasonable accommodations.  In practice, businesses’ responses to this legislation are inadequate to achieve these goals.

Compliance & The Inadequate Business Response

Ethically-managed businesses strive to comply with all applicable laws, including legislation that seeks to protect the interests of workers with disabilities.  However, laws evolve as they are interpreted, tested in court, and re-interpreted.  A compliance mentality leaves businesses vulnerable to the possibility that their attempts to comply will be found inadequate if their standards are challenged in court.  Considering compliance standards are rarely applied to individuals with invisible disabilities and rarely address subtle prejudicial business practices, the main thing preventing a much wider application of the law is that relatively few people seek to challenge employers’ interpretations.

Between Compliance & Inclusion

Émile Durkheim, the father of modern social science, is quoted as having said: “When mores are sufficient, laws are unnecessary; when mores are insufficient, laws are unenforceable.”  The mores concerning workers with disabilities are insufficient in this society.  We can attempt to legislate equality, but we cannot enforce it; for those businesses run with insufficient mores, we are left with compliance.

Compliance, however, does not achieve the goal of inclusion, nor does it provide employers with the benefits of an inclusive working environment.  Most businesses accept that hiring disabled workers is a cost of doing business.  By focusing on compliance, they strive to attain the minimum necessary to meet legal standards.  By focusing on inclusion, employers can be assured that they not only meet legal standards, but they will also exceed current interpretations of the laws enforcing those standards.  Furthermore, they will attain the benefits only included workers can provide.

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Review: Adam

  • Posted on March 28, 2011 at 8:03 AM

Adam tells the story of an Aspie, named Adam, who must adjust to some major life-changes, including the death of his father, meeting a woman who becomes his girlfriend, and losing his job.  The story is told with an awareness of the neurodiversity movement, which I like.  I also like how this awareness is used to characterize Adam, not as a major plot element in the story.  Self-advocacy and the inherent worth of people with Asperger’s is a subtle power throughout the story, but it’s not “the” story.

I watched this movie with my husband for our “date night.”  In retrospect, it might not have been the best “date” movie, but we were both engaged throughout the movie.  We found the story compelling, though some parts were painful to watch.

Despite the strong influence of the neurodiversity movement, this isn’t an advocacy piece.  There are elements of advocacy inherent in the story, but the movie is about the story not the advocacy—which makes it a stronger work of art, in my opinion.

I am a bit concerned by how stereotyped the main character, Adam, seemed to be.  Max Mayer, the writer and director of Adam, credited “lead actor Hugh Dancy with a lot of the character’s success,” which suggests to me that both Mayer and Dancy are responsible for the stereotype.  Unfortunately, this “universal” depiction of Asperger’s seems a default position when people outside a specific sub-group of the human population try to portray people within a sub-group.  However respectful they try to be there’s a reliance on a recognizable conglomeration of characteristics that, inevitably, come across as a stereotype.  (Not an excuse, just my explanation for a disappointing element in the movie.)

For the most part, the movie was satisfying.  I especially liked Frankie Faison as Harlan, who has his own story that was suggested but not really told.  I wish the ending was a bit more satisfying, but sometimes art must reflect life and life isn’t always satisfying.

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Caressing the Muse

  • Posted on March 23, 2011 at 1:18 AM

For all you writers out there, I have just launched a new blog called Caressing the Muse! I will be writing about the joys of storytelling, the art of writing, and my own work. I will also post regular reviews of novels, short stories, poems, television shows, movies, and writing about writing.

Come check it out!

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Review: Fringe: Os

  • Posted on March 14, 2011 at 9:59 AM

One of the television shows I watch online is called Fringe.  For those of you unfamiliar with the show, it’s a sci-fi/thriller that tells the story of two alternate universes colliding.  The story is told through the viewpoints of a special division of Homeland Security/FBI, starring Anna Torv as Olivia Dunham, Joshua Jackson as Peter Bishop, John Noble as Walter Bishop, Jasika Nicole as Astrid Farnsworth, and Lance Reddick as Philip Broyles.

This series compels me on many levels.  As a science fiction piece, it questions scientific progress and the limits we place on ourselves (or fail to place on ourselves) based on moral and ethical grounds.  As a drama, it explores the complex relationships of Walter and Peter Bishop, who are father and son, touching on issues as heart-rending as abuse, kidnapping, and the need for time to develop deep familial bonds.  It also explores the love-story between Peter and Olivia.  As a social commentary, it not only explores the good vs. evil dynamic, but questions what truly is evil by showing how two diametrically opposed forces can be both right and wrong simultaneously.  It also explores how we, as a society, respond to and treat the mentally ill.  Walter is insane, and his experiences are highlighted in many episodes—from his frustration when coping with his impaired thought processes to the way the “treatments” he received during his forced institutionalization caused more harm than good, from the way his son feels put-upon by having to “babysit” his father to Olivia’s insistence that Walter is more capable than Peter gives him credit for.  There are many compelling elements to this story, and its complexity has sometimes excused them dropping the ball in one way or another (at least, in my opinion).

However, I’m less forgiving regarding the most recent episode, Os (Season 3, Episode 16), which involves a man experimenting on disabled individuals (users of wheelchairs, particularly those with muscular dystrophy) to “fix” their mobility problems by making them essentially weightless.  While the man considers his a noble effort to “save” his son the treatments are unfortunately toxic and have killed several people.  The man intends to perfect the mixture by continuing his deadly experiments before he administers it to his son, who also uses a wheelchair.

I would like to say this show passes.  There is one poignant scene where the son, for whom the man has done all of this, comes to the prison to see his father.  The father uses “fix” in his explanation, and the son is devastated when he realizes his father sees him (and others like him) as broken and in need of fixing.  The son tells his father he was happy, because he went to bed every night knowing he had a father who loved him.  The implication as the son rolls away is that the son no longer believes this.

This scene—which is the final point of this particular storyline—could make up for a lot.  But, it’s not enough.  While the characters regret the deaths of those who were experimented on, earlier in the episode Peter describes their willingness to participate as “a deal with the devil anyone would make,” referring to how the subjects, i.e. the disabled men who became weightless, had to steal the ingredients for their treatment.  After all, who wouldn’t want to go from being bound in a wheelchair to being able to fly?  That kind of ablist assumption is intolerable, especially coming from one of the heroes of the story.

Compounding that is the language used in the show recap (emphasis added):

“Meanwhile, Krick watches a wheelchair basketball game, cheering on a player named Michael, who turns out to be his son. Vince, another wheelchair-bound youth, watches wistfully nearby.”

“The doctor dodges Olivia and Peter, who find the thief's partially dissected corpse ... and a walk-in freezer containing more bodies. All had toxic levels of osmium in their blood - and suffered from muscular dystrophy.”

I’ll give them credit for trying—I think the creators of the show really did try to express something of value—but, they failed to overcome their own ablist assumptions, which spoiled the final effect.  In essence, it is not the father’s motivation or his assumptions that are questioned, but the lengths to which he would go—sacrificing other people’s sons to save his own—that are discouraged.  The final confrontation between father and son cannot make up for the majority of the episode, which reinforced the assumption that people with disabilities are dying to become able-bodied and justifiably so.

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Inclusion vs. Rhetoric

  • Posted on March 5, 2011 at 12:43 AM

Previously, I have published to short synopses—in blog post style—of chapters for the non-fiction book I’m working on, Neurodiversity at Work: A Manager’s Guide.  First, I wrote a post introducing the neurodiverse workforce, and then I addressed the need to cope with the challenges of inclusion, and the possibility to capitalize on a diverse workforce.  Here I will explore the rhetoric of business in contrast with the language of inclusion.

The Rhetoric of Business

One of the hallmark linguistic requirements of the contemporary business environment is the use of politically correct language.  The emphasis on an externally set linguistic standard betrays a vital fact that most seem quite unaware of, namely that respect is not dictated from the outside in.

Personally, I find that if you genuinely respect people, then respectful language will naturally flow through your use.  If, on the other hand, you are inclined to devalue people, then an externally enforced linguistic standard only seeks to cover up that disrespect.  While the purpose of politically correct language is to express tolerance, the reality is that an externally enforced standard does not breed tolerance, merely compliance.

By following the strictures of politically correct speech and further by attempting to enforce a distant, façade of respect through public and employee relations programs, business cultures convince themselves they practice tolerance.  And yet the problems of internalized prejudice continue.  In gender, race, and disability relations, equality is not attained despite our legislation and the enforcement of politically correct language.  The language used in businesses becomes empty rhetoric that is not played out in the culture of the business or in the everyday choices where prejudice holds its greatest power.

The Language of Inclusion

The language we choose to use can influence the way we think about the world and the way we perceive each other.  Choice is a significant factor, however.  Underlying the choices we make is the respects we hold.  I often refer to my children as children with autism, autistic children, autistic or even, though I try not to, Silly Willy.  According to political correctness, this is wrong; yet my regard for my children does not change.  Recently, Dave Hingsburger of Rolling Around in My Head wrote a post about the language we use.  There are some words and phrases that are truly offensive.  However, most terms can be used with respect.  Disability is not an ugly word, nor is it an ugly state of being.  It is only ugly when we have no respect for those who are disabled.

The language of inclusion is less about the words we choose and more about what we mean when they use them.  If you think an autistic person is worthless, it does not matter that you use people-first language.  You can call autistics “people with autism” all you like, but if “autism” means “inferior” to you, then everything else you say and do is going to communicate your prejudice loudly and clearly no matter how politically correct you are.

The Transition

The language of inclusion is not about political correctness or the façade of tolerance.  It’s about genuine respect.  You can’t fake it.  But you can shape it by making new choices for new reasons.  It can be shaped within a culture by people who use words with respect.  In order to make this transition, you need to incorporate respect into the culture of your business.  It’s not just about the words you use, but the ideas and beliefs you express.  This respect must come from a force within that organization, and it must be disseminated throughout the organization.  Respect diverse workers.  Respect diverse partners, suppliers, and customers.  Respect the diverse world we live in.  Inclusive language will naturally follow.

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Review: i am sam

  • Posted on February 19, 2011 at 3:30 AM

i am sam is a movie about a man fighting for custody of his daughter.  Sam has a below average intelligence and some autistic traits.  When his daughter is born he has a support system that is adequate to facilitate independent living for him, but nobody ensures their support system provides adequate support for his daughter.  Lucy is a happy, healthy, active child, but at her eighth birthday party a social worker takes Lucy away from Sam without any incidents of neglect and neither accusations nor incidents of abuse.  Child Protective Services assumes neglect will eventually occur because of Sam’s differences, or—as is reiterated in the movie—his inadequacies.  Then, he gets a lawyer—pro bono—who needs him as much as he needs her.  Together they fight to get Lucy back.  So, that’s the plot.

A story, of course, is more than plot.  A story is about people, not just what happens to them.  Sam is a kind, good, compassionate man who struggles with his perceived inadequacies, his lack of accommodations, and his lack of support.  Yet, despite that his personal character, his strength and his spirit are admirable.  He’s happy; he’s dedicated; and he’s good.  As much as I’d like to identify with Sam, I find myself identifying far more with his lawyer.  She tries so hard, but she’s overwhelmed and the world gets to her.  She’s not a nice, good woman—at least, not when measured by how she behaves.  I’m not as loud or as violent as she is, and I certainly am more in touch with my children.  Yet, the world gets to me.  I’m not as happy and as good as I would like to be.

This movie can trigger some pretty negative feelings.  While the movie is crafted to show Sam’s strengths and weaknesses with respect and dignity, there’s some harsh, ugly language that seems all too realistic to me.  It can be hard to watch.  But there is one scene that sums up so much.  This scene makes the movie worth watching all by itself, at least for me.  Lucy asks Sam, “Did God make you like this or was it an accident?”  Sam doesn’t know how to respond, and Lucy explains that he’s different from other daddies.  Sam says, “I’m sorry” repeatedly.  Lucy says, “Don’t be sorry.  I’m lucky.  Nobody else’s daddy comes to the park.”

The movie is not without faults, but it does a great job making a valuable point by showing why, instead of preaching.

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Coping and Capitalizing

  • Posted on February 14, 2011 at 11:41 AM

Last month, I wrote a post about the first proposed chapter for my book, tentatively entitled “Neurodiversity at Work: A Manager’s Guide.”  This post continues the process of summarizing the book I am writing.  The purpose of this chapter is to provide an overview of the changes necessary to effectively and equitably include neurological diversity into an organization’s management strategies.

In the business world (and most of society), the focus concerning any form of disability is on the need to cope.  Individuals with disabilities need to cope with their differences, businesses need to cope with their need to accommodate, and co-workers and managers need to cope with the changes.  Little attention is given to the possibility to capitalize on a diverse workforce.  Often that attention, as little as it is, is misguided—the focus being on the public relations value of diversity instead of the value of the work that diverse workers contribute to their organizations.

The Hiring Problem

The hiring problem starts with the gatekeepers, i.e. the human resource professionals who are often trained to weed people out.  This is an exclusive process that can weed diversity out of the workforce of a particular firm.  Legislation has been passed here in the United States to hold businesses and organizations accountable for excluding people with disabilities from their workforce, and yet it continues to happen.  While getting a job is difficult for anyone in the current economic climate, the employment of individuals with disabilities has been far lower than their employability suggests.  Most people with disabilities can work, when given a chance.  Many have to fight to be given that chance—and by ‘chance’ I don’t mean charity, I mean a fair shot at getting past the gatekeepers and into a job they are qualified to do.

The Managing Problem

Once hired, the difficulties for neurodiverse individuals are far from over.  The managing process is often designed with set expectations that, by their nature, work best for a non-existent “average worker.”  Managers can be particularly rigid regarding their management styles; instead of a skill or a process, management style is perceived as a facet of the manager’s personality.  Developing the awareness to manage and capitalize on the unique strengths and weaknesses of the employees you manage requires more effort from you, the manager, than standard management practices do.  However, you also create better results—for yourself, your employees, and your organization.

The Solution: Inclusion

The solution to both the hiring problem and the managing problem is inclusion.  Inclusion is not a passive word.  Inclusion demands action.  It demands you correct exclusive practices and create inclusive ones.  It demands you use language that opens your doors to diversity, instead of closing your minds to other ideas and other methods.  It requires you get beyond the legal mentality, and think inclusively.  While the government tries to carrot-and-stick businesses into hiring diverse workers, the true benefits can only be attained if you use the diversity of your workforce to your benefit—and not just for the PR value.  An open interview process is required and an open organization is required.  You need to have room for people to be “weird” on the job; company-saving out-of-the-box thinking often comes from that “weirdness.”  Neurodiverse individuals don’t have to think out of the box—they are out of the box and often spend their careers trying to think themselves into the box simply to pass, in order to stay employed.

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