From Pity to Pedestals
Different, but the same
The above quote is from an article about an immigrant designer and publisher from India. He wrote a comic with an Indigenous main character called Citizen Canada. As with all notions of marginalized people presented as superheroes, the intentions are good. This is important to clarify because it can be lost when having difficult conversations about the lens with which marginalized people are viewed, represented, and understood. It’s also good to recognize that the good intentions are probably the biggest hurdle in being heard on this issue. It’s hard to hear “that doesn’t work either” when someone is trying.
I’m not Indigenous either, this was just the latest example of the superhero stereotype to land in front of me. This poor representation affects all marginalized communities, and not just in fiction. Para sport and Special Olympics anyone? American Football, Basketball? Athleticism in general has been the best way for marginalized people to find mainstream acceptance for more than half a century. The worst thing? Every community has had to fight for the right to be a superhero.
That doesn’t change the fact that this trope is tired and in the end it hurts us all the same. It’s almost the exact same sentence every time it’s uttered, no matter which marginalized group it’s referring to. This is how we know it’s propaganda that’s losing meaning the more it’s repeated. I’m weary.
But Muuuum, Superheroes Are The American Dream!
Wait, let’s back up. How is something as positive as a “superhero” bad representation?
There’s an interesting thing that happens to marginalized people, especially when people from outside that group get involved in how we should talk about ourselves — don’t use “bad” words like disability, queer, etc. to refer to yourselves, don’t talk about the bad stuff that happens, don’t “mope” about how hard your life is, don’t focus on the negative, just get up and be The Best.
Bootstrapping.
Globalization began before I was born (1981) and accelerated massively with the Internet, but let’s be real. We call it globalization and it’s mostly Americanization. Plus, appropriation, which is a hugely valid topic of its own. It’s the contemporary leg of colonization in the digital age. Dominant cultures have been at it since we were able to move to other people’s lands, take what we wanted and write over what we didn’t. Sometimes it’s been under the guise of trade, others it’s been outright violence and destruction. Digitally it’s been both too.
So, the American Dream is part of all of our culture now. We perhaps had a shadow of something similar in the UK and every country — all you have to do is work hard enough and you can change your fate, it doesn’t matter if you’re poor, what your race is, or any other thing that contributes to oppression. You just have to work hard enough. The difference to me, is the American Dream is beefed all the way up and the consequence is that if you’re not successful it’s probably your own fault. The domination of American culture since the Internet has meant this ideal been beefed up everywhere. Pull yourself up out of the gutter! Anyone can be a superhero, they just have to work hard enough and be a Good Person!
British charities are perhaps the best way to illustrate. Growing up I remember these charities (largely disability, illness, and mental health focused) were quite frank in how they presented the cause and the people they represented. Never shying away from the lived reality of the people they worked to support, and they achieved a lot. From Cancer support (MacMillan Nurses) to mental health support (Mind), and everything in-between (Scope aka The Spastics Society, Mencap, more) they revolutionized health, education, services, and disability care in the UK.
My first lessons in disability rights and knowing how to treat my disabled friends came from these charities (we had heavily integrated rural schooling by the late 80s). I learned that “spastic” as an insult was extremely hurtful, and I learned to stand up for myself when I was called “retard” or “moron”. An interesting shift began happening in the mid-90s to softer language, presentation, and marketing that picked up speed moving into the 2000s. Even so, they had been working toward positive representation and inclusion very effectively without having to pretty it all up in sickly sweet, overly positive packaging.
UK charities can still be distinguished from American and Canadian charities in this way — you won’t see them talking about “different abilities” or other euphemisms, they still work to share the realities disabled people face in the community and workplace, rather than heavily polished and smiley photoshoots, stories from carers, or stories of ultra achievements. Still, there’s a sugar coating to the presentation and British culture in general that wasn’t there to the same extent before. Dr. Kathryn Mannix even discusses it in this CBC interview about death and how we talk about it globally. “Passing away” or “Passing on” was never a euphemism I heard as a kid. It was always “this person died”.
I’m not sure if this sugar coating and the tendency toward euphemism is the foundation of something like the superhero stereotype, or just another arm of the same problem. Writing about this has always been in the back of my mind, but it’s one of those ephemeral shapes that’s difficult to translate to coherent words. It’s a shifting blob with arms, an underbelly, and on top? It’s oh-so-glittery-and-pretty. You know it’s a front, and if you’re not careful to be just as glittery, you’re simply part of the problem.
Get out of bed, pull up your boots, and stop dragging us all down. Definitely don’t point that mirror at us, thank you very much.
Others have written about Toxic Positivity in much more eloquence, so perhaps we’ll just call it what it is and stop dancing around it. (Oh, irony). Those good intentions are what make it so difficult for all involved to hear that people like me are so exhausted by this superhero thing. Many in the disability community speak of the Super Crip problem, but we are such an echo chamber. I know it’s a problem that plagues all marginalized communities and perhaps if we could come together and talk about why something so positive is ultimately hurtful we might have a chance to be heard.
The pain of it all
I feel massively uncomfortable when I’m told I’m a superhero. Sure, I’ve survived a lot; I’m not going to list it all. I am resilient and I am strong. I know these things because I wouldn’t be here if I weren’t. But, I shouldn’t have to be and I’ve also had a lot of support. There’s only a few things I’ve truly had to do on my own. That’s probably a bigger influence on my ability to come through things and find any modicum of success than my tenacity. I’ve been privileged in ways others are not. Even looking toward my family — sure, my initiative, drive, and particular ways of seeing or understanding the world contributed to my ability to get out of that situation, but did others really lack that or did they just lack the paths and helping hands I found before me?
I also know I work hard, I always have. I’ve recently realized it’s actually very likely a maladaptive coping mechanism for difficulties I experience with my mental health. It’s rooted in perfectionism and a long story I’m not here to tell.
I’m not a superhero. And that’s the problem. None of us are — we’re all varying shades of messy as fuck.
When we’re painted as superheroes it removes any safety or room we have to be human and real. This is why pedestals are different, but the same. When we’re pitied it leaves us little room to be good at anything on our own. The assumption is we need help and so much that we’re likely a burden; to our family, friends, and society. In the end this can lead to caring fatigue to the point that we don’t deserve help any more because we didn’t work hard enough. We’re just not capable of being the superhero.
The assumption for superheroes is that we’re so strong that we don’t need help, we won’t mess up, and if somehow we do? We end up on this pedestal with no-one to help because how could superheroes possibly need support? We don’t deserve it, someone else deserves it more. We clearly just didn’t work hard enough to keep being a superhero. Or maybe we’re not Good Enough. The paradox is, in the end, that no-one is capable of being the superhero.
There is literally no such thing — they’re a fantasy. Sure, in 2021, we prefer our fictional superheroes to have some level of complexity, but it has to be the palatable kind. When it’s not palatable, the question is then “Who’s really the villain?” (Batman, Sherlock, Deadpool, Daredevil, Cyclops, Rogue, The Chief, Supergirl, Ironman, Loki… I could do this forever, and notice how much disability, mental health, and grief plays into superheroes’ tendency to become villains?)
Being painted as a superhero is not a safe, positive place for anyone. The only thing we can do from a pedestal is fall. And when we do, the response is always “we‘re not surprised, you probably never deserved to be up there”. This then feeds back into the good vs. bad division that is intrinsic to the way people see any marginalized community. In the disability community we talk about Good Crip vs. Bad Crip, in Indigenous communities Good vs. Bad Native tropes abound, in the Queer community it’s Respectable Queerness, and there are examples in every other marginalized community. The black and white good vs. evil morality that plagues our fictions and our culture.
Feel Good Inc.
It often begins from without the community and results in us playing up to it from within. In the beginning there’s a story told by someone who just wants to help us (or our image) get up out of the gutter. They want us to be valued, seen for good (not bad).
They want to help the oppression go away, but not by dismantling oppression itself. They try to make us seem worthy via the eyes of oppressors. In this way, there’ll no longer be a reason to oppress. No longer the victim! If we say it (and, please, stop acting it), it must be true!
So, they’ll create a story, a marketing campaign, a charity, an event, that tells the world that we’re superheroes, Olympians, hard workers, honest, pure, uncorrupted, helpful; presentable and palatable. The world eats it up: YES! We’ve been viewing these people all wrong! Give us the superheroes! The athletes, the ultra rich celebs, the hard workers too!
This does often create a path to success, for some. The problem is, we can only walk through that door if we embody the stereotype and repeat these stories ourselves. If we ever stray, we lose favour. If we’re not careful, or we get so tired of living up to the superhero, we fall.
Those that are (rightfully) unwilling to step into that role (costume) are far less likely to find success. Conform or stay where you are.
Eventually we end up with many inside our communities who love and live this stereotype. It can feel empowering because it does truly give people power in a real and palatable way. It’s inspiring! Anyone can do it! We should all do it! Stop dwelling on the past, pain, trauma, negative. Get out of bed, climb out of the slums.
Social Media makes this crystal clear because the numbers are right there — post about our achievements, how good we are, how hard we’re working, the good we do for others, how beautiful we are and it’ll receive wide engagement from well beyond the echo chamber. We can successfully share what makes us unique and marginalized, as long as it’s palatable and it makes other people feel good.
We’re even allowed to be upset sometimes, just as long as we do it in the right way — get people fired up, but only if we can show we’re worthy and give people a way to perform their allyship because that makes them feel good too. Oh! And don’t be too aggressive, sad, or real. By the way, the line is invisible so good luck with that.
At my sickest I would share photos of myself in the hospital, the tubes in my body, the surgeries. I would talk about my days, the triumphs, the fails, the pain, the boredom, the grief, and the walls I couldn’t get over. Instagram or Twitter, for different things. Sometimes this was very Real (yes, capital R), other times I’d polish. Some of the photos even became a small movement “#HospitalGlam”.
Guess which breaks out of the echo chamber and which results in low engagement? The question is too obvious to warrant an answer. The Realness even lead to people taking all the effort of the extra clicks it takes to unfollow*. Be Real, sure, but not like that.
*To be clear I encourage people to curate what they follow online, now more than ever. If you have personal reasons for unfollowing someone because they get too real, especially when their sharing is triggering, it’s absolutely valid and everyone needs to respect that, no matter how close they might be (friend or family). This is a huge difference to the people who want to close their ears and eyes to the reality of others.
Empowered, or gaining power?
So, yes, yes, the intentions of Positivity are good — stop pitying marginalized people, stop portraying us as bad, evil, or worthless burdens and nothing more. The solution simply isn’t to swing the needle to the polar opposite.
The secret is, the photos I took in the hospital were never meant to be “glam”. I wanted to invoke the career I lost as a photographer and director. It was cinematography, light, editorial, not Glam. I got wrapped up in it for a brief moment. I believed in the movement when it took off because the point was to take back power in situations that left us completely powerless and traumatized. Most importantly for a few of us originators it was about doing it in our own ways, and sure for some that was, Glam. That was legit, but it quickly warped.
One of the originators decided to take the movement as her own. She named it, made it palatable, created the tag, and got what she wanted — a sliver of fame. She quickly pushed people out that didn’t fit her image of what it was meant to be (it was her “art project” according to the interviews). She created rules, gates, and quietly bullied people that didn’t fit into her image; pretty, glamorous, fashion, particular settings, framings, no selfie cams or mirror pics, only serious/severe chronic illness or disability. The point is — the rules were plenty.
So, she got her five minutes in the spotlight as various blogs and high traffic sites featured the movement, and most importantly her, “the creator”. She was a superhero. She took something ugly, horrifying, unpalatable and made it beautiful and proper. Is this empowering? Or is it gaining a small amount of power by donning the costume and stepping through the door that’s offered by the outstretched hands of those who only want to help?
I don’t doubt that #HospitalGlam changed some people’s minds about chronic illness and disability and I also don’t doubt it felt empowering to those who took part. This is why myself and the handful of other originators even started the project (organically and accidentally). But, some of us refused to tow the palatable line and stick to the rules. There was no room for us at the table, so out we went. We were bullied, then rendered invisible.
Simultaneously there was #CripplePunk. Even in the name it horrifies people from outside of the community. How could we ever want to call ourselves Cripples, Invalids? There was a time where Punk was a similar word, but it’s been made palatable and mainstream since then. Still, #CripplePunk meant it in the simplest way: fuck all of you, we will do whatever the fuck we want, and we’ll do it our way. In contrast there were little rules to this movement.
Wear what you want, take whatever photos you want, be as ugly as you care to, don’t even get out of bed if you don’t want, write whatever you want, the disability and illness doesn’t have to be obvious, shoot it however you want, be gross if you want. Find empowerment in yourself, in the act, not in how others see what you care to share with them.
#CripplePunk never got noticed outside of the echo chamber, but I’m not sure it was meant to. It wasn’t about gaining power. The originator of the tag quietly stood back because it wasn’t about being seen by others, it was about being seen by ourselves and people like us. It was simply existing, having an authentic voice, fighting or admitting defeat, loudly or quietly.
The only rule? Fuck what we’re meant to be. You can’t fall if you refuse to climb the pedestal.
