On othering. Dismissing people as being less human than we are.

This past week, the world was talking after seeing the image of a little Syrian boy washed up on the shore. Heartbreaking. Three year old Aylan Kurdi, his five year old brother Galip and his mother Rehanna drowned in the sea between Syria and Greece. The family was desperate to make a safe life, so they fled from war-torn Syria. "You have to understand, nobody puts their children in a boat unless the water is safer than the land."

Sydney Morning Herald reports Abdullah Kurdi told the Turkish news he hopes that his family's story, his little boy's picture that is so hard to look at yet went viral, will make the world see the humanitarian crisis.

"The things that happened to us here, in the country where we took refuge to escape war in our homeland, we want the whole world to see this," he said.

"We want the world's attention on us, so they can prevent the same from happening to others. Let this be the last."

BBC World News says the Kurdi family made three prior attempts to escape Syria - paying money to people smugglers to get them to Canada to stay with relatives. The fourth attempt was fatal. (Kurdi has been a surname given to the family by the media - and Aylan is the Syrian interpretation of Alan.)

"Alan set out before dawn that morning in Turkey for the Greek island of Kos with his father Abdullah, mother Rehanna, and five-year-old brother Ghalib. The Kurdis wanted to reach Canada to reunite with Abdullah's sister Tima, a hairdresser in Vancouver.

The family joined with a small group of refugees in Bodrum to attempt the 4km (2.5 mile) crossing to Kos. Abdullah texted his sister Tima from the beach to say they were leaving. "I passed the message to my dad in Syria," she said, "Abdullah is leaving now, pray for his safety."

But her prayers went unanswered. The two small boats were hit by high waves minutes after they set off and the captain fled. Abdullah Kurdi found himself fighting to save his two young boys. Of the 23 people in the group, 14 are believed to have died, including Abdullah's wife and sons."

Mainstream and social media has reacted strongly to this story, particularly the photo of Aylan. Many believe his photo should not have been shown, but there are also arguments that this photo will change the way we think about and work to make refugees safe. Tara Moss has written a great piece on the ethics of sharing photos of the deceased.

I watched the story being covered on The Project - they chose not to show the photo (although that link does show it - graphic image warning). Host Carrie Bickmore broke down, and Chrissie Swan said something very profound - perhaps as game-changing as Aylan's photo.

When Chrissie said "It's very easy when you're using words like refugee and asylum seeker and 'othering' words,", I applauded. Not because of the actions she's describing but for raising the issue of othering on national TV.

So many times privileged people sit back, apathetic, prejudiced and judgmental, saying 'those people aren't like me". But refugees, the disabled, indigenous, Muslims, black people, the LGBTI community - they're all people. They're just like us. They are us. Little Aylan is someone's son - someone who loved him enough to put him on a paper boat to give him a better life.

The most vulnerable in the world need our help and compassion, not othering.

I posted the above passage on Daily Life's Facebook page and then on my own. People empathised and wept. Later I read the most racist, narrow minded, violent comment from someone I know. I deleted it immediately. I am revolted to know someone who has these feelings. It was othering at its worst, denying that refugees are human, that they love and they're looking for a safer life. This 'friend' is no longer.

I've othered in the past - perhaps due to media and friendship influences, and a lack of knowledge. For that I am so sorry.

James Norriss, from There Are No Others blog explains the concept of Othering:

"By "othering", we mean any action by which an individual or group becomes mentally classified in somebody’s mind as "not one of us". Rather than always remembering that every person is a complex bundle of emotions, ideas, motivations, reflexes, priorities, and many other subtle aspects, it’s sometimes easier to dismiss them as being in some way less human, and less worthy of respect and dignity, than we are."

Othering is not talked about much in the mainstream media. It is more so talked about by those who experience and are impacted by othering language. So, it's very important presenters on prime-time current news shows address the issue.

Othering is when I've been told I'm not disabled because disability has negative connotations.

It's when they've said my mum's not black like other black people (and so it's ok to make racial slurs).

It's when someone wishes I'd have told them about my friend's disability before they met her.

Othering is a former friend writing "I've got many gay friends but I wish they didn't live this sinful lifestyle".

It's watching the news with apathy, dismissing people killed at sea as "just migrants".

Othering is when someone tells me "I love taboo and politicallly uncorrect words. At work I used to get in big trouble for referring to people with a disability as retards. But I can get away with calling my colleagues retards. Why is retard such a taboo word?"

It's newspaper headlines and politicians calling certain religions "death cults".

It's when a parent begs for acceptance for their visibly different child but blatantly states they will not accept gay people in the community.

Othering is when a stranger tells me I'm really attractive, despite my face looking like it's burnt.

Othering is when a waitress tells me my friend in a wheelchair "will have to sit at a different table so they don't get in the way", and then being incredibly nice to them when she sees how good looking my friend is.

The impact of being othered is a refugee lying about being a student in Australia, and visiting his parents in Sydney, because "the words asylum seeker and refugees are very bad words in Australia". He tells little white lies to make others feel more comfortable.

Othering is divisive. It's biting. It's dehumanising. It needs to stop.

Further reading

How we can help refugees

Talking Frankly's amazing piece on how she feels about the refugee crisis

To the mother of Aylan - a letter by Rebecca Bowyer

How artists have responsed to the tragedy of Aylan and others killed at sea (graphic - yet beautiful - image warning)

A Chrome plugin that changes "illegal immigrant" and other dehumanising terms to "human"

Spread the word to end the word has great resources about why the R word is unacceptable.

Tamzen Temple wrote about othering too.

A beautiful welcome for refugees

Facing my own prejudice about disability - Leisa's story. (And some Peter Dinklage and Hugh Jackman fangirling.)

Earlier this week I shared the story of facing my own prejudices. My friend Leisa, a short statured woman, wrote this piece inspired by me telling her that story. She read it out at the Emerging a Writers Festival Literary Salon in June, and I was wowed. (Leisa is pictured below, rocking a red dress.)

(Photo c/- Emerging Writers Festival.)

Leisa describes herself as a forty-something years young Australian woman with achondroplasia – the most common form of dwarfism – meaning that I do life at the height of the average seven year old.

She is the eldest of seven – no, not seven dwarfs – I was born into a family of average statured people and grew up in South Gippsland. Leisa is a mother of four adult children, a fitness fanatic who enjoys swimming and discovered running three years ago.

She blogs over at Life At My Level which chronicles her life with achondroplasia….but she says it's is also like personal therapy of some sorts. Her Facebook page is here.

Leisa is a roving reporter for Arts Access Victoria - recently interviewing Peter Dinklage and Hugh Jackman at the X-Men premiere! So amazing!

Meet Leisa.

"Recently I have become good friends with an amazing woman named Carly. Carly has a genetic condition called Ichthyosis which, in layman’s terms, means that she has red, scaly skin. This affects her appearance. She is such a dear person, strong, intelligent, kind and a wonderful self-advocate in educating others about appearance diversity. I am so pleased that we have become friends. Not long ago I learned that my new friend was once the target of some pretty hefty bullying by a group of people who, like me, had dwarfism.

Hearing Carly’s story prompted me to write my own piece about bullying – from the perspective of a bully.

I don't ever want anyone to think I was all sweetness and nice growing up.

The mindfulness that is now mine in adulthood did not always exist and sometimes, despite parental guidance and encouragement, I too engaged in the teasing and ridicule of other children who were deemed different...or who may not have been as clean as me, or those my peers saw as weird, or strange or annoying...or...worthy of being picked on just because...

Why do children do that? How do they start doing that? Why do they follow a pack mentality? Why do they engage in such behaviour even though their parents may model and encourage acceptance and love?

I don't know. I can cast my mind back and see it all happening but I cannot understand the mindset.

I remember a little girl called X who was part of a friendship circle we were in. All was well and fine until one day...we decided it wasn't. No rhyme, no reason. We decided to let her know that we hated her by writing her a note telling her she was as yucky and smelly and ugly as cow poo - complete with pictures. I remember contributing to that note by drawing the pictures with such glee! No thought to the potential consequences of such a note - just the pure enjoyment of writing such venom.

I believe the average age of the girls in our group was ten.

It was all fun and games until someone got hurt. I don't remember who delivered the terrible note...but I do remember that sweet little girls face crumple with grief and the way she sobbed and sobbed and showed the teacher.

I was mortified, ashamed, grief stricken. In my gleeful involvement I had not had the foresight to think of the consequences for this dear, sweet little girl; what it would feel like to be singled out and have your friendship group turn against you like that - with no warning! But I saw her face...and I knew...and I was ashamed.

The next morning we surrounded the girl of our own volition and told her how sorry we were. We asked forgiveness. I think there was an element of punishment avoidance behind our apology but I cannot forget how horrible I felt watching that little girl sob.

Obviously the teacher saw that there was a heartfelt resolution to the whole incident because she never got involved. I think she saw us all happily playing together and let us be.

Even though I never forgot that incident it didn't serve as enough of a lesson to stop me engaging in other forms of subtle bullying. In Year 9 at High School (why is Year 9 such a feral year?) my best friend and I made up nicknames for other students and teachers - those who were different, others with mental illnesses or disabilities or those we just didn't like and teachers with odd quirks. Blockhead, Spoon, Dude, Mr Jellylegs, Fräulein Lizardface. We never called them those names to their faces but I find myself wondering if they ever knew and sometimes I see their faces even now and wish I could turn back time and be less of a minion and more of an understanding individual.

Sometimes I fool myself into thinking that maybe the victim forgets these incidents, but logic says to me that if I, the bully, hasn’t forgotten, chances are the victim hasn’t either.

Time marches on and thankfully I left immature childhood behind. The faces of the past still flit through my mind sometimes and I remember them and send out good wishes to them in the hope that they are having a happy life. I’ve learned from incidents where I have been the target of bullying, rejection and cruelty – sometimes because of my dwarfism and sometimes for no reason at all. Life has been kind and has offered me opportunities to meet with people from the past and make amends, developing genuine friendships as a result. Adulthood and maturity is a great leveller.

Still, it saddens me to learn that sometimes even those of us with physical differences may not learn from our own experiences; that there are those who will target others with different quirks or an appearance diversity or even another disability and subject them to ridicule and bullying. I cannot understand or comprehend that mindset. I can't understand how those of us who know what it's like to be the target and recipient of bullying and ridicule can then turn around and inflict that kind of behaviour on another human being, simply because they may be different.

One of the truths that I try and remember when faced with discrimination and hurtful comments directed towards me is that I too, am capable of such darkness and in this, I try and journey forward with a clearer understanding of what it is like on both sides of the fence."

 

Facing my own prejudice about disability.

I follow a wonderful blog called This Little Miggy - she writes of her little girl who has a disability, and celebrates other children who have disabilities.

It struck me when I read this post where Miggy comes to terms with her own prejudices.

Miggy writes:

"I met a woman a few months ago who also has a limb difference. Just one arm affected. As we stood there talking, about limb differences--about her and my daughter--I realized I was a little uncomfortable.... with her difference. While I no longer feel this way about her difference--in fact I think she's a wonderful person and I look forward to each and every time I see her--that slight discomfort was there. Even if just for a few minutes."

I admired Miggy for being so public about it. It does take courage to openly write about your own prejudices when the purpose of your blog is to break down prejudices.

And I remembered that I filed away a piece I'd written about my own prejudices. Initially I submitted it to a website but it was not published. I got some feedback and rewrote it, unsure of where next I'd submit it. My fear was that I'd get a barrage of criticism, and I thought it'd be easier to deal with if I got paid for the article than if I put it up on my own blog for free. But then I read Miggy's post and Reddit happened. I can deal with critics. Toughen up princess, I told myself. Let them see your vulnerability. And so here's my own prejudice.

As a disability advocate and activist, I believe that I should be always championing diversity. I do my best to value diversity in all its forms. When I realised I may be indeed harbouring some prejudice, I resolved to change my beliefs. I wondered, does having a disability mean we should not harbour any prejudice to any marginalised groups?

I cringe when my able bodied friends and acquaintances make a homophobic, racist or disablist comment. I often speak up to say that's not right. And in the rare instance that I have heard a disabled friend or acquaintance make such a comment, I have been disappointed. Because I think they want acceptance and inclusion yet may not give members of our diverse community the same respect.

I wonder whether there is an expectation that our circumstance of having a disability should make us more compassionate and less prejudice, or whether some disabled people are, excuse the cliche, just like everyone else - racist, homophobic and disablist if a situation presents? In an ideal world, I believe having a disability should shape a person's values and attitudes in a positive way. But in the real world, I think we are just like everyone, prone to some sort of prejudice.

Six years ago I was harassed by a group of five short statured people. They were gathered, talking among themselves. They saw me walk past them and started pointing, shouting out how sunburnt I looked. I ignored it like I often do, continuing to walk on. Then they swore at me and made comments that I am ugly and that because I look like the way I do, I should be dead.

I couldn't believe that people who may also experience similar prejudice to me, because of their looks, could make such comments about mine. So I said something along the lines of "I thought you might think twice about making those comments, given your own appearance". They continued to harass me.

I was shaken, and couldn't quite believe the double standard that seemed to exist. I am aware that short statured people are often ridiculed because of their appearance, so how could they possibly do the same to me?

When I got home, I wrote about the experience on Facebook. Though I was factual about the situation, I was also emotional, and from memory, I may have written some derogatory things about their height. I'm not proud of this now, but at the time I was angry and shocked.

This was my first experience of prejudice and harassment from within the disability community. And turning it around, it was the first time I felt prejudiced toward a particular group of people with a disability, because of this one experience. I developed a fear of short statured people. I wasn't fearful of their disability, like some people are of mine. I was fearful of their attitude and behaviour. And perhaps because they had a disability, it was easy for me to place a negative label on short statured people.

The incident stayed with me for some time. When I saw short statured people in the area of that incident, I would lock my car, worried the group of short statured people would see me and strike again. I would often avoid walking past short statured people in the supermarket, just in case it was one of the people who harassed me.

Since that incident, I have done a lot of work within the disability community, writing, speaking and presenting on community TV. I often worry I don't know enough about disability to be an advocate, but every day I learn new things about disability, and always try to be accepting, aware and promoting of our diverse community. I have made many friends and professional contacts in the disability community too. So it's because of this advocacy role that I began to feel incredibly guilty of the fear I had toward short statured people because of this single experience.

It's cliched but I knew that I really needed to see the person, not the disability. Specifically, I needed to put this silly prejudice that all short statured people may harass me out of my mind. The harassment could come from any group of people. I needed to to take some of the advice that I'd been giving everyone else - to get to know the person before I judged what they look like, and not to make assumptions about their attitude and intelligence.

And so I did. I met a few short statured people at an event two years ago. They were so friendly, and we didn't ever mention our appearance. I've since become friends with Leisa, a wonderful short-statured woman who blogs at Life at My Level. We met at the Love Your Sister launch - Sam Johnson's send off, and our friendship blossomed. We recently spoke at an event together. She will be telling her own story here later this week.

I forgot my prejudices and realised that the behaviour of some people with a particular disability shouldn't shape the way I feel about the whole community. While I had a right to feel upset and offended, I should never have been that narrow minded.