Waiting, Patience, and Disability Justice

Kyo Maclear’s wise citations continue to inspire, particularly on how hard the pandemic makes it to concentrate. As she reminds us, it was C.S. Lewis who said that “No one ever told me that grief felt so much like fear. . . Perhaps, more strictly like suspense. It gives life a permanently provisional feeling. It doesn’t seem worth starting anything. I can’t settle down.”

And yet, as Dr. M.L. King reminds us, the arc of the universe bends toward justice.  But so *slowly*.  It’s hard. Patience is not my forte.  So here are some books that I feel help me to develop my feminist skills of patience while continuing to work for change.  I don’t want to be a feminist who throws in the towel when things don’t change now or even in my lifetime, I want to learn to wait while we keep trying together.  “Waiting is hard,” my 5 year old told me knowledgeably as I paced irritably in the outdoor lineup to get popsicles.  “It takes time.” 

In this spirit, here are 3 books on the importance of community and justice, and one that also remind all of us that change does not happen overnight, and we must continue the struggle even as it takes time.

We Move Together
by Kelly Fritsch & Anne McGuire, Illustrated by Eduardo Trejos

We are born dependent, we die dependent, it is a profoundly neoliberal fantasy to think we are anything less than dependent on one another during our lifetimes on this pale blue dot.  Beginning by defining disability justice, including the important tenet that “all bodies have strengths and needs that must be met” and reminding us that we need to “move together, with no body left behind” this book does the smart smart work of reminding us that disability justice is so many things.  It is refusing to differentiate between types of wheels: some kids use bikes, some use chairs, fighting for accessibility, and also understanding that we may not always agree as to what disability justice means.  Reading this book fills my heart with happiness.  The illustrations are joyful, and each page reminds me somehow that part of the amazing thing about being alive are those moments when “we move together” – and when our shared movements produce change.  As this book reminds us, sometimes we have to wait.  Whether it is waiting for an accessible bus, or for the world to change to integrate disability justice into its core philosophies (I’m looking at you Doug Ford and your horrible refusal to implement more than 3 paid sick days for the most vulnerable members of our communities), this book reminds us, “waiting can feel boring, frustrating, hard.  Waiting can also feeling exciting…”  Reviewing a number of scenarios, including an ice cream shop rendered inaccessible by the inclusion of a single stair, the next scene is of a group of folks making stair risers to distribute in the community, so that all the businesses can be accessible for folks who roll.  Look for the helpers, Mister Rogers encouraged us.  And well, here they are, making the world more accessible and better for all of us, one stair riser at a time.  What I find so wondrous about this book is it teaches critical thinking in social justice movements in a single 2-page spread.  In one scene, the importance of straws for some people with disabilities is shown, as one woman holds out a cup with a straw so her lover can drink.  And the next page features the war on straws for environmental reasons, reminds us that “these things that connect us are often what challenge us” and that “sometimes we disagree about how to be together.”  And yet, We Move Together reminds us that disagreement, discomfort and conflict are not the end of the world.  In fact, they are part of the struggle, and all the more reason to patiently keep at it, even though we sometimes may need to take a break.  “Even when we’re by ourselves, we never move alone.  Like feeling so close with someone who’s far.  Like learning from other who have come before.”  In this time of COVID-inspired loneliness and existential alone-ness, I appreciate this book so much.  You can find it here: wemovetogether.ca  and educational resources from K-grade 4 will be there shortly.

(with thanks to my brilliant BFF Miranda Brady for bringing this book to my attention, and to my brilliant colleague Kelly Fritsch for writing it alongside Anne McGuire and Edward Trejos)

Swift Fox All Along
by Rebecca Thomas, Illustrated by Maya McKibbin

I love this book’s gentle feel. It manages to achieve the complicated task of beginning to explain settler colonialism through the trope of what it means to feel like an outsider. Maybe it’s only my reading of it, but to me it also speaks to parental abandonment and a parent who visits sometimes, and yet might still offer much. Swift Fox All Along opens with a dad who shows up to take Swift Fox to meet her family and explore her Indigenous identity. Perhaps uneasy himself with the weight of the situation, he fails to take in Swift Fox’s nerves and tells her: “excited? Today you are going to learn how to be mi’kmaq.” Swift Fox is shy, and she doesn’t want to stay inside with her family. What person doesn’t identify with this? Thrust into a situation where you don’t know the rules, where you have to meet a new crowd and feel the weight of expected belonging….. Swift Fox eventually enters the house to meet her family, but faced with the pressure of smudging which she does not really know how to do, hot tears fill her eyes and she runs outside to gather herself. She waits for a long time, long enough that another reluctant child is driven up by his mother. “Mom,” the new boy says, “I don’t want to go inside. I don’t know them.” Swift Fox recognizes herself in this new boy, who “has freckles just like her!” and who “looks like he has a belly full of butterflies, too.” Swift Fox and the boy size each other up. And then Swift Fox reaches a hand out to the boy and suggests they go inside together, where they both are taught to smudge. “I told you she’d figure it out,” one of the cousins whispers, and it’s so lovely. Unlike When We Were Alone (which I also love and wrote about earlier), this book doesn’t explain the legacy of settler colonialism explicitly, but gestures to it poignantly and beautifully in terms of who fits in, who knows how to do what, who recognizes what foods, all the while showing how Indigenous resurgence is happening each and every moment of every day and is present all around us.

The Liszts
by Kyo Maclear, Illustrated by Julia Sarda

I hate change. Have I said this before? Other grownups always tell me that children also hate change. But this to me only implies that some people like it! In any event, The Liszts are a family who are wary of change. They make all sort of lists: lists most usual, and lists most unusual. Grandpa makes a list of his greatest admirers and most fearsome enemies, as does the family cat. The moody teenage daughter makes a list of (what else) best bands and most delicious cheese, and the middle child makes lists in order to quiet his “midnight mind.” When a stranger appears at the door, nobody is too interested because the stranger does not appears on any of their lists. Not until the youngest, who has been waiting for change. Although their friendship starts out #awkward, as the millennials say, as both are a bit shy, things quickly improve. Until they are pummeling each other with questions: Do colors look the same for everyone? Why do I have two eyes if I can only see one thing? Where are my pants? And that most infamous conundrum: Where did I park the car? Gradually, they decide to just try something new together, and they are pictured gliding off into the sunset in a gigantic hot air balloon. Their Liszts’ newfound friend decides to live with them forever, and the family decides to open up a space on each of their lists in case anything unexpected ever turns up again, which, the last page suggests, it most certainly will. I leave you with the image of them floating into the sunset together, all because they decided to try something new. One of my sons particularly hates and fears change (yes yes, I hear you! You are wise), and this book has helped him to laugh about just how hard it is to try new things. Even though, of course, they may turn out to be amazing.