What's In A Word?

Cunt. Nigger. Dyke. Retard. Paki. Jew. Mong. All powerful examples of what can be in a word; power, oppression, prejudice, hatred, bullying, extermination, alienation. But, ultimately all just words. So what's the fuss about?

Context is everything, languages are fluid, constantly developing and the meaning of words can be subtle and nuanced. Sometimes humourous, sometimes insulting, it's the background and intention of use which matters not the word itself. Jokes can go wrong and humour fall flat, but that doesn't mean anyone should stop making jokes just because one isn't funny...although it might be time to add a Gervais exemption clause to that.

Ricky Gervais has recently joined twitter and typically for twitter it's the latest storm in a teacup. In short, Gervais made a joke that was frankly quite a lot shit and not at all funny. That's ok, we still (just about) have something approaching free speech and if a middle aged, overweight, acne scarred loser wants to make jokes that's perfectly acceptable. See, I just attempted a funny and it was almost, but not quite as crap and unfunny as Gervais. Next stop the Oscars for me.

So, what's all the fuss about? Gervais was making jokes about 'mongs'. Had he had the class to shrug his shoulders, admit that the joke wasn't funny in the way he intended it to be and accept that for many 'mong' is a word associated with hate and fear that would have been the end of it. But he didn't. Gervais moved on to whip up his twitter followers to 'prove' that the word mong totally, doesn't like mean anything to do with disability and is just, y'know all about monging around. Well yeah, sometimes it can mean that, but Gervais then went on to post photos on twitter pulling contorted 'mong' faces to prove his point that it absolutely definitely did not have any connection to learning disability and couldn't possibly be offensive.

Other comedians stepped up support those disabled people already pointing out that for many people mong was a hateful term, still used commonly in an abusive fashion. And that's when it got really nasty. Gervais was inciting his followers to 'prove' that mong was fine and his followers were dutifully following suit. One tweet I saw directed at Richard Herring made comments about how stupid it was to think that mong had any connection with anything...and ended by calling him a 'fucking mongoloid' for being stupid enough to think it did. Gervais insisted in a whiny way that 'it was all about jealousy of his success' and continued to insist he was funny.

In what must obviously be the same kind of coincidence as Gervais's forthcoming series, last night's episode of Shameless featured people with learning disabilities in a drama group as the community service 'punishment' for the character Mickey. Unlike Gervais's jokes, this episode of Shameless was beautifully written. The words may have been the same, but the intention and effect was entirely different. I howled with laughter when Mickey expressed dismay at being sent to a learning disability drama group and was firmly told that was what he got for calling the magistrate a fucking mong. I loved the way Mickey tried to hide his spliff until one of the young people offered him his, the confident and aggressive sexuality of one of the young women and the beautiful moment when, while still on her knees she looks at Mickey blustering as to why he doesn't want her to suck him off, shrugs and says...oh, you're gay. A scene which for me set up the biggest laugh of the episode, when they open the toilet door, the rest of the drama group are huddled outside eavesdropping and Mickey asks them not to tell anyone he's gay. A young woman in total deadpan fashion assures him that of course they won't...just as long as Mickey promises not to tell anyone she's got down's syndrome.

I could ramble on for a long time about how bloody brilliantly Shameless addressed the humour of disability, using the same words as Gervais, but unlike Gervais managing to make it hilariously funny all the way through. It boils down to just one crucial point though - at no point in last night's episode of Shameless were disabled people seen as weak, powerless, unintelligent or the butt of jokes. The language used went much further than Gervais as did the concepts, young women with learning disabilities in control of their own sexuality, or young autistic men using cannabis to assist their condition is not an image of disability seen in the mainstream media and it was frankly fucking fantastic to behold.

Banning individual words makes the liberal in me shudder in the same way burning books might, but reworking language is definitely to be encouraged. So, I'd urge you all to start using the latest insult for when someone's being an arrogant, unfunny, bullying prick ..... and start calling them a 'Gervais'

Disability And Sickness At Labour Conference - The Easy Read Version

Huge thanks to everyone at United Response who've worked so hard to produce an easy read version of the Q&A session with Ed Miliband at the Labour Party Conference. Information about politics should be accessible to everyone, but we think this may be the first time information about an exchange between a disabled person and politician has been put into an easy read format. It is also a welcome collaboration between a grassroots disabled people's organisation and a charity showing all the political parties that people with learning disabilities are a powerful voting block who want and need to be enabled to engage with politics just like everyone else.

Please note we are aware that putting the easy read version into Jpeg format makes it inaccessible to people with visual impairments and we are working on getting the PDF version uploaded.
Update: PDF version available here 

Chaos And Capability

 With thanks to Saba and Raana Salman for this guest blog;

It was the sort of toxic mixture of elements and multiple assault on the senses that would until recently have triggered some challenging behaviour in my sister; a bustling crowd, loud music, the company of strangers and – to add insult to injury – an extraordinary day with no familiar routine.
But not only was 22-year-old Raana Salman at the very heart of the carnival throng in my parents’ Sussex hometown during the recent Bank Holiday weekend, she was loving every noisy, overcrowded minute.
Wearing a pink fairy costume and a wide, joyous grin, she was a proud participant in the Ferring Country Centre carnival entry as part of the learning disability charity’s float in the Worthing carnival. She even featured in a photograph in the local newspaper.

My sister, Raana, in her Ferring Country Centre tee-shirt

Raana Salman - carnival queen

The hand elegantly pointing at onlookers with a homemade wand (beautifully fashioned from a battered old Christmas tree star and a cardboard wrapping paper roll) was the same one that would flap incessantly or claw at my mother on fractious days out when something was unfamiliar or overwhelming.
It was the same hand that several years ago would frantically gouge out the skin on her other arm during an anxiety attack. This is what happened the time I mistakenly thought she’d be pleased with a trip to my new place in London; her worry and tears escalated the closer we got to my front door, and failing to placate her, I just drove her back to Sussex.

My extremely biased, unfettered pride at my learning disabled sister’s achievements will be obvious to some regular readers – from her first few faltering steps towards finding her own identity at The Mount, the first Camphill community in East Sussex she joined at 16, to her recent progress at Camphill’s Lantern Community in Ringwood, Hampshire. And the only major problems so far have been other people’s narrow minds.

And I’m delighted to say my shameless promotion of her progress continues apace. This summer, she spent a few days at the Ferring Country Centre, learning social and life skills through activities and enjoying day trips that boosted her independence and widened her horizons enough for her to join in the carnival parade.

The centre has grown since its launch in 1986 by a group of like-minded parents who recognised the need for a workplace-based setting for vulnerable adults. The aim is to boost social inclusion for the learning disabled, supporting them to play a valued role in society through training and work experience.
The scheme’s garden centre grows plants and vegetables for sale to the public with the project’s participants helping in every aspect of production. The riding therapy lessons are taken up by 600 learning and physically disabled adults and children every month. People with disabilities also work in the café and the scheme’s small animals farm while off-site, they get involved in community projects, including newspaper collection and gardening.

When I asked Raana if she’d mind me writing about her latest experience, she nodded: “I loved it. I want to do it again next year.” And when I asked what the best thing about the Ferring centre was, she said proudly “my top”. Her answer didn’t really surprise me; the logoed tee-shirt and matching fleece are badges of honour for my sister as they demonstrate that she belongs to a community and they make her feel – very officially – valued. Do check out the Ferring project’s gallery to see more pictures of what this excellent centre does and to the team there – thank you, you’ve made our summer.

However, as grateful as I am for my sister’s progress, I never take it for granted. While she is currently so well-supported, others are in unhappier situations and the funding future is less than rosy for disability services. As campaigning organisations like the Learning Disability Coalition (LDC) and Voluntary Organisations Disability Group (VODG – note of transparency here as I also manage the group’s blog) have made clear, government cuts are a massive threat to disabled people while current funding rules are in desperate need of an overhaul.

Next week, 13 September, the Welfare Reform Bill has its second reading in the House of Lords and there is a very real fear that people with disabilities will lose out in the changes. Disability Living Allowance (DLA), for example, is used by the disabled for daily living costs but the government plans to replace it with Personal Independence Payment (PIP), which will save it money. But a recent survey of 2,200 people by charity the Papworth Trust, shows that the changes under PIP would mean 86% of disabled people would be forced to cut back on food or transport. There is a growing fear – and now growing evidence to suggest – that cuts are unfairly falling on the disabled.

For how long will young disabled adults be able to access the same activities and support as my sister in such a climate?

This week, Raana is back in Hampshire, getting stuck back into living, learning, socialising and working. Her work in the Lantern Community’s amazing shop, for example, now includes more responsibility for stock pricing, something of which she is very proud. Raana has so far not only achieved more any of us can have hoped for, but there’s a very real sense that there’s much more to come.

And I think for my parents, who know they shouldn’t but can’t help but compare Raana’s development with that of her two older siblings, it’s worth noting that I’ve certainly never been in a carnival parade and now I’m not the only one in my family to make the front page (note the tiny pink and white wand-holding figure in the centre of the throng). The only difference is that while I can write the news, I’ve never actually made it.

100 Voices

I have been invited to speak at the 100 Voices conference hosted by The Brandon Trust in Bristol on saturday. It's the first conference of it's kind, so that people with learning disabilities can choose what they want to be on the Brandon Trust agenda for the next 12 months.

If anyone would like to watch the conference it is being live streamed here and I will be speaking at approximately 10.15am. Expect lots of noise, bubbles and fun!

Kaliya Franklin 

Imagine You're Four... #panorama #dla

Imagine you're four. You love your parents, your friends, the way the light comes through your curtains early in the morning, twinkling on the walls while you wait in your princess room patiently for mummy and daddy's wake up time. Your favourite things are pink ballons and fairies, when it's all a bit confusing around you you know you're safe as long as you can catch sight of those pink flashes and know mum and dad are close. You love to give cuddles, hugs so tight there's no room to wiggle and when you get excited you rock back and forth from foot to foot, arms spiralling joyfully.

One day a new clipboard lady comes to see your mum and dad. You see them cry and decide you don't like this clipboard lady, you wonder where the clipboard lady you remember has gone. Mummy and Daddy are sad so you hug them then fling yourself to the floor and scream so the clipboard lady will go away. It works so next time you decide to scream louder and kick your feet harder to be sure she'll go before your mum and dad cry.

Next time the clipboard lady comes with lots of other people to take you away. Lots of big words you don't understand like 'aggressive' 'confrontational' and 'care order' float around the room and you can't see your pink balloons so scream and scream. Mummy and Daddy cry and tell you to be a good girl, that you'll love your new home, it'll be full of your favourite things to do, they'll come to see you soon.

When you get there it's all scary and wrong. It smells funny and the light doesn't wake you up in the mornings anymore. No-one knows you like to be woken up by the light and they wouldn't care if they did. The days are long, no painting or ponies like you're used to to fill the time and no-one comes to give you cuddles when you're sad. You cry alot and have tantrums. You're used to pink balloons and fairies when you have a tantrum, but without being able to see that you just kick more wildly, especially when the carers come to sit on you and hit you.

You might be only four but you can remember the important things Mummy and Daddy spent 18 years teaching you. You know how to hold out your hand and say 'NO!' in a loud voice if someone tries to touch you, to say the police will come to look after you, to call out for your Mummy so she knows to come to you. Mummy and Daddy were so proud of you for being their big girl and learning these skills, you try to remember that as you lie on the floor of your shower, surrounded by grown ups shouting at you, throwing cold water all over you, sitting on you and choking you. You cry and cry for your Mum but it just makes the carers hit you more. Sometimes the nurses come along and you look at them while you're on the floor, pinned beneath a chair, but then someone puts a blanket over your head so you can't look at them anymore. The blanket's brown and scratchy and you cry for your pink balloons while they hit you some more.

You don't get days out anymore. There used to be a car and Mummy and Daddy took you places with swings and slides. Swings, slides, light through the leaves and being happy slip further and further away until you're not sure there was ever a world beyond beige walls with no pink to hide in to bear the slaps, pinches and pushdowns that are your new routine. You're sure you remember your parents though and cry for them every day. You don't know the reason they can't come to visit is that now you're a hospital resident 80 miles away from home and the car had to go because you're no longer entitled to the mobility component of Disability Living Allowance and the Motability scheme. Mummy and Daddy are getting older and they had to care for you instead of going out to work. You don't know they're going cold and hungry now they're unemployed not carers, you only know that no-one comes to see you except the people who hurt you.

You don't know someone in the hospital did care. That they reported the abuse you are experiencing repeatedly. To their manager, to their manager's manager, to the Care Quality Commission. You don't know because no-one did anything, nothing ever changes now, the torture is your daily routine. You don't know the word for torture, but you could give a better account of what it means than a prisoner in Guantanamo.

You don't know that in the world outside your torture chamber that people talk alot about double funding, scroungers and fraud. Of something called a deficit, the need to cut costs and protect the vulnerable. You don't know that because all the talk is of stamping out fraud and you're so vulnerable no-one knows you exist.