September 03 2006 (07:35:00) US/Pacific
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“Gilroy,” to date has not responded to my request for examples of my “cavalier” decision making or his assertion that I took credit for the work of others, begging the question, does he have examples, or is he simply trying to intimidate me.
<>I’m torn; to stay and fight, or to move on, or perhaps, some composite of the two. I am so amazed at the incredible anger, resentment and cruelty that disability provokes in ordinary people and, apparently even in those who dedicate much of their lives to social justice.
There is an important fight here, this is not about status within a small group, but access to an enormous labor apparatus. I do not feel safe within the Union hall. Since standing up to “Clarence” however clumsily, I have been attacked for doing those tasks the Committee assigned me to do. Projects and commitments I have made seem in limbo, unsure if I will be allowed to continue on them, unsure if I will want to or will be able to. I have been deeply depressed and distraught and my health has suffered greatly over the course of these events. My emotional composition is not as strong as my ability to weave words may imply and my physical health has suffered greatly from the stress and pressure of these events. We mythologize the strong woman archetype, never grasping that behind their strength is the same fear and self doubt with which we all grapple. Perhaps that’s why I love Frida so much: her honest expression of her most vulnerable thoughts and pain, so beautifully, graphically, and nakedly portrayed. Throughout this ordeal, I have endured all of the physical symptoms of one who is being harassed and discriminated against, whether they suffer in silence or dare to speak out. For the victim, silence equals death. For the perpetrators and observers, silence is complicity.
I too have other options for my limited time and limited strength. I have much to do elsewhere: there’s my reiki practice that needs building, my writing that begs me for greater attention and promotion, an endless list of social justice work than cries out to be done, my relationship with Andy, my son, Leon and a few close friends, my health, building community, working in my garden, maybe even going back to school.
I could even be happy.
But it nags at me:
This isn’t right.
This just isn’t right.