Discrimination

Yesterday, I was discriminated against when I disclosed my dyslexia—a documented, ADA-protected disability—to my coworkers. I’d been struggling all day to do my work but was unable to do so because of a modifiable issue in my immediate workspace. The employee I share a cubicle with was gathering with others. They were engaging in loud, boisterous conversations, including those that did not pertain to her work or to work at all. This went on for hours.

Eventually, when I was trying to send an email but was unable to accurately type a single sentence because of the noise and distraction in my immediate vicinity, I decided to share my diagnosis with the folks who were gathered in my space. I thought explaining how noise affects my ability to read and write would help them understand and be supportive. Instead, I was met with dismissiveness, sarcasm, and a refusal to be supportive. When I said, “I’m dyslexic,” one employee threw a hand in the air and sarcastically replied “Congratulations?” then staring me down as if I’d done something inappropriate. It was the equivalent of saying something akin to, What do you want, a medal?

I can’t imagine anyone responding that way if another documented, ADA-protected disability had been disclosed, such as a physical disability for which someone was requesting a ramp when only stairs had been provided. The response was unfathomable and unacceptable. I realized then that I will never be able to advocate for myself in that workplace or to feel a sense of safety, inclusion, and belonging there.

Immediately after this incident, I attended a one-on-one training that was not accessible. When I disclosed my disability to the instructor:

1. did not treat it as a disability,

2. made comments that were not acceptable and would never have been made if it were a different type of disability,

3. continued the training despite my having explained why it wasn’t working for me without modification to the way it was taught and what was being asked of me.

One comment the trainer made when I told him I needed my own keyboard and mouse—which are assistive technologies for me—if he wanted me to do extensive typing as part of the training, was that “everybody” has trouble with that keyboard and mouse. Even after I was clear that dyslexia is a disability, that it’s protected under the ADA, and that it’s not the same situation others without a learning disability may have with the keyboard, he continued to make that statement. It was minimizing, dismissive, and uninformed.

Again, if this were another form of disability, that would not have happened. His approach was no different from telling someone in a wheelchair who can’t use the stairs that everybody has issues with the stairs, then continuing to expect the employee to scale the stairs somehow without any other alternative.

I cannot take on the responsibility that job requires within a culture that is discriminatory in general and toward me in particular. Even with an accommodation request, which I’ve never had to make before in my career, the culture will not change quickly enough for this to be a tenable workplace.

I will not continue to subject myself to comments like the ones those employees made, and I shouldn’t have to. I invested a great deal in this position financially, emotionally, and otherwise. I turned down one offer and terminated the interview process with another potential employer to be at UA. I’m not going to be able to see my brother-in-law before he dies because I needed to be present at work. I started work two days after being in the emergency room for a serious, chronic medical condition that’s affecting my heart. I did all of that because I thought UA and UA Libraries lived their mission and would be safe places where I could learn, work, grow, thrive, and give back in spades to AIS, UA Libraries, and the University of Arizona as a whole.

In addition to the issues I’ve recounted above, employees use ableist, sanist, and otherwise dehumanizing language regularly. I was subjected to instances of discriminatory language, behavior, and attitudes multiple times a day. As someone who was supposed to be helping to shape the culture there and ensure the library is a trauma-informed space and community, I didn’t have the ability to effect change because I wasn’t empowered to do so. That was clear from day one. I was literally told by a high-level leader to just keep taking notes about what was happening. That’s right. Discrimination is occurring. Ableism and sanism are occurring. But all I could do was take notes that I kept to myself. Until when. When would something be done?

The reality is that I am a queer, female, trauma survivor who thrives despite having multiple disabilities. Only some of my identities and statuses are currently being protected at UA Libraries. This queer-positive environment is sorely lacking in inclusion in other areas. It’s always the disabled, the disenfranchised, and poor, the silenced, the struggling, and the utterly destroyed among us who continue to be harmed by people’s dogged adherence to bigotry, as if it has to be funneled somewhere rather than being eradicated entirely.

Can’t be racist anymore? Be ableist or sanist! Can’t be sexist anymore? Be ableist or sanist! Can’t be transphobic anymore? Well, it’s your lucky day. We’ve got some fancy schmancy ableism and sanism right here for the taking!!! Step right up! We’re running a two-for-one sanism sale! Buy one ableism, get a sanism for free!

But here’s the thing: Where we discriminate against one, we discriminate against all. Since this country was founded, ableism and sanism have been part of its fabric. And now, they appear to exist in order for bigots to express their generalized bigotry in the only way that’s currently palatable, which is by attacking human beings based on their disabilities.

Ableism and sanism affect the most vulnerable folks in our communities. We need to do better by them. All of us. And that includes the people working in our academic libraries.

I expected equal protection across statuses, but ableism and sanism appear to be endemic at UA Libraries. It’s unfortunate. It’s actually devastating.

Some acts of bravery require resignation. My act of bravery this morning was to resign.

P.S. On my way out yesterday, I saw the bumper sticker on an employee’s car. It read, Ask me about my lobotomy. Fuck that noise.

Wings and Air

Leaves from our red oak appliqué the lawn. The fall-blooming plants have lost their flowers, save for two azaleas. Butterflies and moths have been visiting the azaleas since the butterfly bushes started dying back. Above, I see woodpeckers from time to time. They dance up and down the trunks of our sweet gums. I’ve seen a slate-colored junco on two occasions. Both times, he was sneaking over the fence to take a dip in one of our birdbaths.

We have three birdbaths. Before we moved to this house, I never paid attention to birds, at least not close attention. The birdbaths came with the home, a gift of sorts from the previous owner. The birds who visit our yard regularly were also a gift. Shortly after moving here, I decided it was time to do something about my long-held desire to identify the birds I saw. I got my wish when I was given a set of bird flashcards and a pair of binoculars. The View-Master effect of the binoculars made the whole world pop to life. I couldn’t believe such wonder existed right outside my door. I’ve spent countless hours not only watching birds but also examining trees, the sky, squirrels, the texture of all manner of surfaces, the shrubs at the back of the property that lean into each other like old friends, and so on.

One of my favorite birds is the junco. I remember them from when we lived here years ago, before we moved away (and subsequently moved back). They frequented the yard at our first house. I remember that time fondly. My trauma was about half what it is now, though those earlier traumas were closer to me, more deeply imprinted, less smoothed by time, effort and consideration. Now, the most recent traumas are the jagged ones. They jar me from sleep at night and intrude on my waking hours.

I’ve been fighting for a long time, for myself and for others. For the most part, I feel unheard and unseen. I am frustrated by the lack of literacy around trauma, oppression, discrimination, and other issues that profoundly affect people’s health and well-being. I am frustrated that neurotypicality is imposed on all levels and that social constructs are mistaken for truths.

The birds help. Immensely. They don’t give me answers, and that’s the whole point of paying attention to them. They allow me to stay on a little island called here and now, unaffected by what’s happened in my past and unburdened by the extremely difficult work of being heard above the din of prevailing beliefs and values.

In these small slices of time, there is nothing wrong, nothing at all. The world is wings and air, and I am part of it.