trust your experience

That’s what James Baldwin said, and I try to follow his sage advice. When I’m asked to talk about self-publishing, I have no problem drawing from my own experience; my latest thoughts are on Jane Friedman’s website:

When I self-publish, I’m showing what types of stories are getting rejected by traditional publishers. I’m affirming the value of the stories that matter to me and my community. Books are commodities but stories have more than commercial value in many cultures. When the traditional publishing industry says, “Your stories don’t matter to us,” it’s an act of resistance to walk away and make the book yourself. It’s also therapeutic and empowering! You don’t know what you can create on your own until you give yourself permission to experiment. That’s why I self-publish.

I plan to expand on this idea when I write my keynote for the Writer’s Digest IndieLAB conference next month. I want to emphasize how empowering it can be to be an indie author—especially in a moment when so many false and/or depressing narratives dominate the news. I’m limiting the amount of time I spend on Facebook, but I also think twice before posting accounts and/or recordings of police violence against Black people. Not because it doesn’t matter, but because it’s triggering to witness and relive that kind of brutality. The problem, however, is that my sensitivity around the representation of Black people made me blind to another kind of misrepresentation that’s outside of my personal experience. Yesterday I saw a video about a Black teen who connected with a White autistic teen who was watching him stock the shelves at a store in Louisiana. They ended up completing the task together, and the autistic teen’s father filmed the entire thing. That alone should have given me pause, but instead I focused on the Black boy wondering, with tears in his eyes, why people seemed so surprised/moved by such a simple act. It’s so rare that Black boys are shown as kind and considerate; WE know our brothers and sons are like that, but the dominant image of Black boys and men is the exact opposite. Fortunately, disability advocate Ashia Ray generously took the time to point out my blind spot. She gave me permission to share her comment so I added it to the post on my personal Facebook page and added a content warning (CW) for ableism and labor exploitation.

I agree with SO MUCH of what you post and the end notes to Benny [Doesn’t Like to Be Hugged] made me cry to see an allistic author consult an autistic person when writing a book about us.

But this makes me very sad and uncomfortable.

Allistic people get a LOT of praise of being even slightly decent people to disabled folks. They videotape it and post it on the internet and in the videos, we’re viewed as objects, infantilized, and again, expected to be elated when someone says a kind word or invites us to prom of whatever.

This – plus the fact that many of us are working for sub-minimum wage through government contracts where employers view our unpaid labor as a generosity – it feeds into he idea that our labor and worth as human beings is inherently worth nothing unless it serves as an inspiration for others.

Videos like this a harmful to us – particularly while many disability rights advocates are fighting for labor laws that take advantage of stereotypes that we just love working so much it’s a kindness to let us do it for free.

I hope you won’t delete this post, but are willing to address how problematic this feels and add a trigger warning to disabled people who have been used for inspiration porn and who have been exploited for free labor.

Ashia also shared a link to this article about the exploitation of disabled workers—please take the time to read it and reconsider how/if you share videos about disabled people on social media. Then check out her website Raising Luminaries, which has the best logo ever and features an incredible variety of truly inclusive books for kids.