This post discusses an issue arising from the Parent/Self-Advocate Dialogues that began last week on The Thinking Person’s Guide to Autism.
For those who haven’t been following the Dialogues, a rather contentious argument arose about a Twitter exchange between Rob, one of the participants, and Emily, one of the editors, in which it appeared to many people that Emily had ill intent. As it turned out, she did not – quite the contrary – and the ensuing conflict was based on a misintepretation. Given that Twitter does not allow for much in the way of nuance or explanation, a misinterpretation wasn’t all that surprising. Twitter probably wasn’t the best medium in which to attempt a conversation about a serious issue in the first place.
K over at Radical Neurodivergence Speaking has a great post up about the whole incident, with a very good discussion of why the larger social/emotional/historical context in which it happened made misinterpretation almost inevitable. If you aren’t familiar with the situation and want to have some idea of what the rest of this post is about, take a look at K’s piece.
I originally began my post as a comment on what K had written. But as I wrestled with my feelings about the situation, I began to see larger issues that I want to explore here.
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In the context of a world in which autistic people are so often rendered invisible, I understand why people interpreted Emily’s words as they did. We’re used to people not listening to us, and when it appeared to be happening again, people drew conclusions based on life experience. I completely understand it, and for anyone who doesn’t, I hope that K’s post makes the reasons clear. From the outset, I did not interpret Emily’s words the way that others did, but I understand why other people arrived at a different conclusion.
That’s not what troubles me.
What troubles me is that, despite Emily being a respected member of the community with an impressive track record on advocacy issues, the rush to judgment about her intentions was so swift. I watched it happen in the comments section to the Dialogues, and I kept wondering when someone was going to say, “You know, given that it’s Emily we’re talking about, we must be missing something. Perhaps we should ask for clarification.” Instead, I saw commenters looking at the Twitter exchange and then drawing very pejorative conclusions about Emily’s intent – that she was attempting to derail dialogue, to silence autistics, to encourage dismissal, and so on – without asking what her intent actually was, and without considering the fact that the conclusions being drawn and her track record were so much at odds.
In the context of dialogue, the failure to ask about intent worries me, because dialogue involves a willingness to ask questions in order to discern intent. Without that, a crucial part of the picture is missing, and dialogue becomes unproductive.
In fact, a failure to ask about intent ultimately discourages dialogue. Because of the pejorative things said about Emily’s intentions, it’s taken me days to post my feelings about the situation. For the first time since I’ve started blogging, I’ve felt inclined to stay silent about my feelings regarding an issue I care about. And if someone like me could feel that way, I can only imagine what people new to the community must have felt while they were watching the whole situation unfold.
As I’ve struggled with speaking to the issue, I’ve been asking myself questions along these somewhat worrisome lines: What will happen if people misread my words as an attack? What will happen if they think I’m dismissing the pain involved for everyone? What if they think I am assigning ill intent to them?
Will they ask me to clarify my intent? Will they try to understand where I’m coming from? Or will they assume ill intent where none exists?
It’s taken me four days to say: I hope they’ll read carefully. I hope they’ll consider who they know me to be. I hope they’ll ask if something is unclear. But I really can’t worry about that.
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I know that this whole debacle came out of the pain that so many of us carry, and out of the injustices we’ve suffered. I do. When people read words that appear to be dismissive – even if they are in no way intended to be dismissive – the impact is going to be profound. That reality has to be part of these conversations. And what also needs to be part of these conversations is an understanding that it’s often very ill-advised to draw a conclusion about intent based on impact, especially in a dialogue. When that conclusion is wrong, it can cause a lot of hurt. As a community, we have a responsibility not just to explain why these misinterpretations happen, but also to acknowledge the impact on the person who was misinterpreted.
Emily had people saying some pretty awful things about her thoughts and intentions last week. She’d have to be made of teflon not to feel hurt while it was happening. So while it’s crucial that we talk about the impact of power and privilege and context and silencing and dismissal on us, it’s also crucial that we acknowledge what happens to individuals at the epicenter of these blow-ups, and about the ways in which these kinds of things can fracture a community and discourage dialogue.
So I’m doing now what I should have done in the Dialogues thread last week: I’m speaking up. I hope that people will understand that I’m doing so because I care about the future of dialogue in our community, and because I care about our community being a safe space. If this sort of thing can happen to Emily, it can happen to any one of us.
© 2011 by Rachel Cohen-Rottenberg
It happens too often. Emily’s not the first person to be misinterpreted and attacked. After all, this all arose out of one father writing from the perspective of a parent and how watching a movie that disparages special needs individuals would make that parent feel. That’s all it took to start this latest round: the fact that he didn’t consider how it would make a disabled person feel.
Plenty of people read, I’m sure, the exchanges with that first set of posts, and the latest dialogues at the TPGA and bowed out of the conversations in both cases.
Too many misinterpretations. Too much division. As my very wise son would say, too much drama.
Emily didn’t deserve the attacks, nor should she have had to write two posts to explain her words. If those who choose to believe the worst of her based on that one exchange on twitter and the hoopla that arose out of it, that’s their loss. I have no doubt Emily will continue to work on behalf of her children and the community at large.
If we choose to be intimidated into silence because we fear others will attack us in the same way, then we have already lost, for our own sakes, for our children’s sakes, for the autism community’s sake. Being held hostage for fear that we’ll be misunderstood and suffer harsh attacks is no way to advocate for inclusion in the wider world.
We’re busy (advocates and parents alike) busting our asses trying to make the world a better, safer place for all with disabilities. We can keep doing that, both in the real world and online, or we can watch what’s left of this online community implode because some people would rather keep their mad on.
Kim, I really admire the way that Emily has handled this. Her posts were very calm and sincere. I think they helped to settle things down quite a bit and clarify the situation.
Hi Rachel
I think the comments you did post about clarifying intent before assuming the worst have been really helpful. I think the dialogues would be more productive if there were somebody moderating the discussion — and this is exactly what a good moderator does.
I have felt the same desire to comment and the same paralysis — not because I’m afraid of being attacked by someone who disagrees with me, but because I’m afraid I can’t phrase my thoughts in a way that completely eliminates the possibility of misinterpretation. Which is, of course, impossible. And in the time I waste thinking about the perfect way to say something, the conversation moves on.
I also understand that there are lots of valid reasons for people’s anger. I think K’s post explained very clearly that in some contexts, it’s simply not good self-care to repeatedly give people the benefit of the doubt. Sometimes the mental acrobatics involved in thoroughly considering intent and impact before speaking are so overwhelming that the choice is to speak without considering or not to speak at all.
As I said in the post I wrote yesterday, I think NT parents feel like we have the luxury of not speaking when it’s not comfortable, of disengaging from the conversation — but really we need to reconsider that. Autistic self-advocates are speaking out about this (the role they should play in their own movement) because it is literally a question of life and death for many people. And parents need to recognize that those “many people” include our own kids, so disengaging is not an option.
I completely agree with you and with K that in a lot of contexts, it’s impossible — and unwise — to spend a lot of time considering intent. You just have to speak, and speak loudly, because the situation calls for it. Been there, so many times, when the impact is the thing, and the intent is unimportant. After all, if someone is doing the equivalent of jumping up and down on my instep, do I really care whether he has ill intent or not? No. I just need to protect myself.
But in many other circumstances, it’s crucial to consider intent. When trying to have a dialogue and make progress on issues, it’s crucial. In a conversation about what it takes to have dialogue at all, it’s crucial. And when it concerns someone who is known to be a strong ally, it’s crucial.
Hi Sarah, understood. I wish this were an easier process, too. But to quote one of today’s commenters, OutOutOut:
“I’m tired of the fighting, too. I really am. Still, I think the only way we’re going to ‘move forward’ is if we get all of these painful issues out in the open, and try to deal with them head-on. As the saying goes, “Peace at any price is no peace at all”. We’ll never get to a place of true acceptance and camaraderie if we continue to sweep the problems under the rug.”
We do moderate comments, we just don’t censor them. But to clarify our approach, Jennifer Byde Myers is working on community guidelines — in fact they may be published by the time you read this.
Thanks for your patience as the site and community continue to evolve.
Oh, and it shouldn’t have taken guts on either of our parts to speak our truths. It really shouldn’t have.
It always takes guts to speak your truth. Sometimes, it takes a whole A&P lab of guts.
At least, that’s my experience.
Yes, and that’s the point: it shouldn’t. Your voice should be valued and heard–and you shouldn’t have to worry that you will receive nasty attacks and hostility or continued harassment because you have chosen to speak your truth.
And that, I fear, is a lesson I wish I’d taken to heart a couple years ago. If I had, I would have handled certain posts differently and shown greater sensitivity towards those I disagreed with.
Yes, and that’s the point: it shouldn’t. Your voice should be valued and heard–and you shouldn’t have to worry that you will receive nasty attacks and hostility or continued harassment because you have chosen to speak your truth.
Exactly. In a community centered around advocacy, the fact that people feel that it takes all the courage at their disposal to speak up is very troubling.
I don’t even keep up with this stuff. It hurts my brain too much with no place to express it. I can’t possibly type quickly enough for my thoughts and the thoughts and feelings get so overwhelming it’s not coherent. I’m glad you’re able to articulate yourself so well. I agree w/you and yet, I could never express it in a way that would even remotely come out this way.
Thanks, Danielle. I try to do a good job with the strengths I have.
I’m in the same boat as Danielle. It hurts too much, it is too overwhelming. You understand this. You wrote:
“I can only imagine what people new to the community must have felt while they were watching the whole situation unfold.”
This is so painfully true. I avoid controversy and post my own thoughts carefully. I am so grateful for your gifts as a writer, you say what I would say, if only I could assemble myself so well.
Thanks, Lori. I don’t jump into every controversy. But in this case, I really wanted to try and add something to the process.
Rachel, I can’t thank you enough for speaking up.
Thank you for your support, Shan — and for doing so much heavy lifting over the past week and a half.
I can only speak for myself, and it’s a little different because I’m thinking about conversations between myself and others, rather than between two other parties, but after a while you stop caring about intent. Sometimes it falls into the ‘ignoring another’s reality’ trap which bugs me to no end. I’ve had conversations where people are trying to explain that no, this wasn’t their intent, while ignoring my points about how it’s not about their INTENT. It’s about the effects of their actions, and whether they meant to be hurtful or not, they still hurt me.
What happened with Emily was a bit different (and you’re right, twitter was a horrible medium for that conversation) but sometimes it’s hard to care about intent because people who care about that all too often don’t care about consequences, and it’s the consequences that matter more.
I agree with you: when something is hurtful, impact matters, and very often, explanations of intent are an attempt to hide the reality of the impact.
But as you say, this is a different situation. If people had chosen to speak only to impact regarding what Emily had said, I wouldn’t have a problem with it. If they had just stayed with “This really hurts/angers/upsets me,” then Emily would have had a chance to clarify things without her motives being impugned. She could have said, “Oh, no. I’m so sorry I wasn’t more clear. Here’s where I was coming from.” And then there would have been an understanding. But people went straight to intent — that she had attempted to derail dialogue, silence autistics, etc. — which only made the impact more severe in the minds of other people, and which only made more people assume ill intent, and round and round it went. If impact is the thing — and I think that a lot of the time, it is — then best to stay away from assigning intent at all.
I’m a retired female research scientist and an NT. One of my avocational interests is psychology and I read the Dialogues somewhat by serendipity and have spent a lot of time since following the fascinating links. I think I’ve learned a lot including gaining an appreciation of the nature of the (sometimes extreme) stresses experienced by persons on the spectrum.
I would just like to point out for the purpose of dialogue that even well-meaning NT people have their own limits. A few years ago, when I was in my mid-60′s, I spent a lot of time with a woman my age who uses a scooter due to a long-standing progressive motor problem. Other than her physical disability we had a lot in common and had fun together. One of the main causes for the end of our friendship was her complete inability to accept that I had any physical limits even when I did my best to explain that I got tired from walking at her standard scooter pace or whatever. She was also rude in a way that’s hard to describe but I think she was so used to people deferring to her (to avoid their being even possibly rude to a disabled person!) that she wasn’t aware of a lack of reciprocity in our interactions.