Straw Wars: The One Time Disabled People are NOT Told to Suck It Up

Tim de Visser explores the oppressive elements in environmentalist initiatives that ignore the lives of people with disabilities.

For the last couple of months, there’s been talk of a ban on plastic straws, or even all single-use plastics. The impetus was simple: plastic waste is a real cause of suffering and death for marine animals, and a threat to the general sustainability of life on earth. Its production is a major factor in carbon emissions. No one is arguing that point (save for industrialists and their cronies). But there was a group speaking out against the ban that is often overlooked in these kinds of discussions. With the power of social media, they’ve made themselves heard: disabled people.

You see, when you have limited or no control over the muscles in your mouth or hands (or you don’t have the latter), drinking can be a hassle. Virtually the only way to drink unaided from a cup can be a bendable straw, which are currently made from plastic. Re-usable metal straws or compostable bamboo straws will benefit some people, but for others, their pointiness can be a hazard. Plastic straws are cheap and readily available everywhere, meaning that it is one of those accessibility concerns that rarely take a second thought. A ban on plastic straws would change that. And people with palsy, spinal damage and Parkinson’s disease were not shutting up about it. Some commenters were less than sympathetic to their concerns.

I’ve seen commenters on Facebook write things like ‘I’m not going to kill the planet for the convenience of some disabled people’. This sentiment ignores firstly that drinking unaided is not a ‘convenience’ but a source of dignity and a material need for most of us, and secondly that while the impact of plastic straws is easy to personalize, they are hardly ‘what’s killing the planet’. 46% of the infamous ‘Trash Island’ is composed of fishing nets. But so far, the fishing industry hasn’t had to deal with a ban.

This kerfuffle may be the first time that disabled people have made a noticeable impact on an environmental debate. The pattern is typical though: a lot of environmentalism puts the burden of saving the planet disproportionately on the poor and disabled. This is not usually the result of malice, but rather ignorance (although persistent and, as in the example above, sometimes willful). Environmentally sustainable products and solutions often require more human power, time and money to use; resources that the rich and abled simply have more of.

Interestingly, the poor and disabled rarely get credit for all the environmentally destructive behavior they can not engage in if they even wanted to. Not driving a car or flying a plane is only considered an admirable sacrifice for the environment if you have the option of doing those things. But if you can’t do those things, and you also need a plastic straw to drink? Or you can barely afford food, let alone sustainably produced items? Or you don’t have the free time, money or hand-eye coordination to forgo any other convenient, cheap, ‘wasteful’ products? Then it seems that some environmentalists will blame you personally for the destruction of the earth. Or at least completely disregard your needs.

On balance, carbon footprint and negative impact on the environment correlate with wealth. Rich people are not only usually more wasteful than poor people (because they can afford to be, and live in places where the effects of that waste are not as noticeable), they also by definition have more control over the industries and regulations that truly govern the amount of pollution, overconsumption and waste that ruin the environment. This is how places like Europe can enjoy a higher standard of luxury while still having stricter environmental and labour regulation than other places: we’ve outsourced the social and environmental costs to Asia, Africa and South America.

Food waste is a political problem. Carbon emissions are a political problem. Child labour is a political problem. These are not personal moral problems that you can disinvest from and be done with it, judging everyone else.

The market will not ever solve these problems. They are a result of the market: they are byproducts of policies that are very profitable to rich and powerful people who can avoid these negative consequences. The market will only succeed in hiding the issue, usually by relocating to a poorer place and some good marketing. The true solution will only come from a sense that we as a global community need to reorganize the way we produce and distribute goods and services.

Small tasks are things like changing the rules about food waste so that corporations can’t just deliberately throw food away if they could just as easily give it to starving people. Possibly setting up a distribution system to make that happen. Maybe disincentivize overproduction by farmers by changing or scrapping subsidies. Making companies that use forced or inhumane labour practices criminally liable. I say small, but they will make a lot of rich people much less rich, and that is going to make it hard, but not complicated.

Larger tasks include: how to transition to an economy that is not dependent on fossil fuels while minimizing the opportunity for massive poverty and violence. What are some alternative ways to produce energy and deal with waste? If there aren’t any feasible options to maintain current levels of consumption, who has to sacrifice what? If we let the market decide, we already know the answer. And it will not affect everyone equally.

The inevitability that our current way of life is going to become impossible means that we have to think of new ways of life not just as individuals, but as a society. It would be really nice if it did not rely on everybody spending more money, and doing more stuff by hand. Not all of us have money. Not all of us have hands*.

Tim de Visser is a white, straight, cis male. And that’s all he has going for him. He’s also disabled (from birth), mentally ill (from growing up), and underemployed (for now). He’s worked as a freelance journalist and studied philosophy at Utrecht University, specializing in political philosophy and ethics. He’s not like the other Atheists.

*for the record: I have both. That is not the point.

The Cloud of Unknowing

Reflections on a strange encounter and the theological thoughts that followed… 

“Do you read the Bible?” asked the stranger in front of me. Odd questions from random strangers are a regular facet of my life given that I navigate the world in a chair, so I responded without thinking: “Yes I do.”

The stranger then directed me to read the passage in Luke 9:34. “It’s from the Transfiguration,” he said. Before I knew what had hit me, he left as suddenly as he had come and I was left trying to make sense of what had just happened. Following the encounter I consulted my Bible to find out what this piece of text was that the stranger insisted I read. It was: “While he was saying this, a cloud came and overshadowed them; and they were terrified as they entered the cloud.” (NRSV).

What on earth? Trying to wrestle some significance from the text I started looking at the previous verses in chapter 9. The writer tells us that the disciples Peter, James, and John have gone up to the mountain with Jesus to pray. Verses 29-31 state: “And while he was praying, the appearance of his face changed, and his clothes became dazzling white. Suddenly they saw two men, Moses and Elijah, talking to him. They appeared in glory and were speaking of his departure, which he was about to accomplish at Jerusalem.”

Verse 31 is unique to the Luke’s account of the Transfiguration. Various commentators have mentioned that the author of Luke deliberately places Jesus’ glory in the context of his crucifixion with the insertion of this verse. Suffering as a prerequisite to glory? That’s a bitter pill to swallow. Even for Peter. The text states that just as Moses and Elijah were leaving, “Peter said to Jesus, ‘Master, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah’-not knowing what he said (v.33).”

“Not knowing what he said.” Christians find all kinds of ways to shield themselves from the reality of suffering. A few weeks ago, a young woman engaged me in conversation when she saw me reading a book on homiletics and she proceeded to ask me if I was a Christian. I replied in the affirmative. Over the course of the conversation it became clear that this young woman wanted to pray for my physical healing. Her theology had convinced her that Jesus had suffered on the cross so that I didn’t have to.

Sitting there in this increasingly awkward and dehumanizing encounter I was struck by the fact that as distorted as her theology was, that she wasn’t afraid to make a large request of God. It never occurred to her that God did not have the power or would not want to answer her prayer. As I was sitting there, trying to glean some valuable insight from an event I might otherwise dismiss, I remember thinking that I wished I could trust God as implicitly as this young woman appeared to do. However, the more I thought about it, the more I found her faith and trust lacking. The more I found it to be too small.

According to Donald J. Luther: “In the eastern church the transfiguration is thoroughly cosmic and is understood as a foretaste of the transfiguration of all creation in Christ. For the fathers of the early church, the transfiguration became a mystical symbol of the transformation of this world and the world to come.” [1]

In light of that theme, what I should have said to that young woman, in retrospect, was:

“You want to pray for me? Pray that the people who currently only see me as something to be fixed, as a mistake, will see the image of God in me.

Pray that people will see that God can use me, not in spite of, but because of, my disability.

Pray for the transformation of the structures and systems that keep me under-unemployed and in poverty.

Pray that there be more people like me who have the ability to lead full and rich lives not as a result of changed bodies and minds, but as a result of changed public perceptions.

Pray that there might be more representation of people with disabilities in the public sphere, so that we are no longer invisible, and so that we don’t feel so alone.

Pray that God will transform the world through the presence of people with disabilities.

Pray that the suffering that so many of us experience at the hands of others might be redeemed, for the good of all.”

That seems like a petition worthy of a cruciformed God.

Gladiola originally hails from Paraguay, and currently resides in Winnipeg. She was raised in the Mennonite fold and these days identifies as an Anglo-Menno (Anglican Mennonite). Her hobbies include: eating dessert first, discussing contentious topics, and collecting dust. Besides being a polyglot and a member of a stupidly large extended family (90+ first cousins), Gladiola finds plenty to do, working towards living her best life.

[1] Donald J Luther, “The Mystery of the Transfiguration: Luke 9:28-36 (37-43),” Word & World 21, no. 1 (2001): 97-98, http://wordandworld.luthersem.edu/content/pdfs/21-1_therapy_theology/21-1_luther.pdf.

My Peace Wall

I learned about Sister Norma Pimentel this week.

Sister Norma is the executive director of Catholic Charities of the Rio Grande Valley and I listened to an interview in which she was responding to the horrific separation of migrant children from their parents at the U.S./Mexico border. The story has rightfully garnered a lot of attention this week as people of conscience are outraged at the trauma that is being afflicted on these young children.

In the midst of this carnage, Sister Norma continues her outreach, working tirelessly to welcome the stranger; a calling that she sees as integral to her faith. She is known as “A Bridge among walls”

I told my students about Sister Norma, and I placed her name on my classroom wall at St. Michael Catholic Secondary School where I teach Religious Studies. She joins more than a thousand other people of peace that I have honoured by telling their stories and placing their name on my classroom wall. This has been a daily routine in my classroom for almost a decade now.

This tradition started innocently enough. Several years ago, I had attended a Professional Development Day where Marc Keilberger was the keynote speaker. Responding to a question from a colleague, he suggested that one way to work for peace and social justice was to honour peacemakers. Shortly afterwards, I decided to do just that. Each day, I would tell my students about somebody somewhere promoting peace, social justice, inclusion and equity; trying to make the world a better place.

Nine years later, I am moving out of my classroom (due to some renovations going on at the school) and this week, I will put my final names on my peace wall.

This has been a fantastic learning experience for me; and hopefully, for my students as well. I like to thin

k that my wall offers a diverse array of peacemakers. Some people lost their lives for causes they believed in. My wall contains elders and toddlers. My wall includes Christians, Jews, Muslims, Buddhists, Sikhs, Hindus and probably a few atheists as well. The wall includes poets, musicians, artists, anti-racism activists, saints, refugees, teachers, children, garment workers, LGBTQI+ activists, politicians, environmentalists, athletes… people from all walks of life.

I’ve often been asked if it is difficult to find a new person to put on the wall each day. At first, I thought it would be; but as time went on I discovered that there were so many inspiring stories that just needed to be told. Sometimes, I looked for stories that connected with themes that we were discussing in class. Sometimes, there were stories that related to an important day on the calendar. One September 15^th, I honoured the four little girls who were killed at the 16^th Street Baptist Church in Alabama in 1963. Sometimes, there were amazing things going on in our own school community – and it felt right to stop and recognize a student or a staff member.

I have learned a lot through this daily research ritual. One cool story comes to mind. In 2013, I remember discovering that Wilcox County High School in Georgia was hosting their first integrated prom thanks to the resilience and determination of two senior students – Mareshia Rucker and Brandon Davis – who, despite the resistance of teachers and parents – put the wheels in motion to put an end to the segregated proms that had been a tradition at the school for decades. Mareshia and Brandon spoke truth to power. I think that we need to teach our students to do just that in their own lives.

More importantly, I think this process has reminded me that people are essentially very, very good. I forget that sometimes when I watch the news. The amazing souls who work tirelessly for social change often get lost in the stories that focus on the very issues that they are trying to address. I hope that my students come away from this routine feeling a little more reassured about their own essential goodness – and the goodness of all people.

My students are good people. I try to tell them that each day. I do believe that we were created to do wonderful things. My Peace Wall has reminded me of this.

Tim O’Connor

St. Michael Catholic Secondary School

Stratford, ON