(Statements in italics are direct quotes from two messages sent to me this week in response to my blog; In Bed With Frida Kahlo. For more information about these comments, go to: https://inbedwithfridakahlo.wordpress.com/policy-on-comments/)
One of the most astounding experiences with disability, has been the aggressive manner in which (among others) human rights activists, 1. find that attacking my disability is more effective than engaging in real discourse, that it is strategically better to pick on the “cripple” then argue merit, and 2. assert that I do not really have a disability, that I am faking it, “begging for attention”, mocking people “who are in the situation you imagine yourself to be in”, offering no proof of this assertion, assuming (with surprising accuracy) that others will join in their mockery, on the face value of the accusation itself.
These are strange accusations from activists, who one would assume had spent a lifetime fighting this very set of assumptions, more aligned with right wing conservative posits than any radical challenge to the status quo.
One wonders, who else “plays victim” in their book: welfare “queens”, members of the labor aristocracy who demand higher wages? teachers who complain about class size? women who accuse their dates, husbands, fathers of rape? the growing number of people incarcerated who claim their innocence?
Who are these arbiters of merit? On what credentials do they base their assertions?
What are the dangers to movements for social change if activists perpetuate these stereotypes, these images of people who speak out, who dare to define our own experience, who dare to demand an equal place in the world?
Why the hostility toward victims?
Monday, November 27, 2006
IN HIS election-night tribute to the defeated senator from Pennsylvania, Rick Santorum, Republican pundit William Bennett waxed eloquent about the senator’s concern for victims — of AIDS, autism, partial-birth abortion, and those in Darfur.
“The poor, the dispossessed, the helpless, the unborn, whether it be here in the United States or abroad,” he proclaimed, “have lost a champion in losing Rick Santorum.”
This assemblage of the weak and vulnerable is rather remarkable in and of itself, but the real irony is that William Bennett delivered this encomium. For more than a decade, Bennett has been at the forefront of the campaign against the “victims’ revolution.” He even blamed “the victimology mongers” for rendering the United States susceptible to evil-doers on 9/11. Indeed, Bennett, among others, is responsible for the doublespeak that warped how Americans have come to think about suffering and sufferers.
Without precedent or much public notice, “victim” has become a term of derision, deployed to dismiss, ridicule and condemn. This sentiment congealed in the early 1990s, when politicians and analysts — like Bennett — instigated an alarmist crusade alerting Americans that an excess of grievances imperiled the nation. Anti-victimists cast those who allege to be victims as shamefully passive or as cynically manipulative. As a result, seeking recognition of one’s injury indicates a deficient character, or even symptoms of a pathology (the dreaded “victim mentality”). Individuals now must use other designations to avoid stigma. The brutalized Central Park jogger accordingly emerged from seclusion to insist that she is not a “victim” but a “survivor.” Similarly, those who died on Sept. 11, 2001 are not “victims” in our collective vocabulary as much as “heroes,” posthumously conscripted as soldiers in the “war for freedom.”
The language of victimization has not so much disappeared from public discourse as recirculated, for it is now routinely invoked to drive attacks on affirmative action, welfare, and even terrorism. Welfare programs, for example, supposedly present a punishing burden on national resources and constrict American freedoms. In this way, victimism injures, indeed victimizes, American society. Though this rhetoric was forged during debates over domestic policies, President Bush applies it to characterize America’s enemies abroad. He postulates that a “culture of victimization” in the Muslim world causes terrorism. Others have gone further, comparing Islamist radicals in Europe to the American “welfare queens.”
Even though conservatives attack racial politics, feminism, and similar movements as “victim politics,” the anti-victim sentiment is not unique to the Right. The Democratic Leadership Council devoted an entire issue of “The New Democrat” to the theme of “Getting Beyond Victimization” in 1993. More recently, in the summer 2006, Bruce Gordon used his inaugural address as the new head of the NAACP to denounce “victim-like thinking” among African Americans.
Paradoxically, critics of the “culture of complaint” also exalt ideal types of absolute innocence and sacrificial suffering — a veritable cult of true victimhood. Like those connected to Santorum’s revered causes, true victims may include the terminally ill, individuals harmed by violent crimes or atrocities enacted by other nations, and, especially, fetuses. The criteria for inclusion have less to do with the veracity of claims or the facts of injury, than with the sufferer’s personal qualities, her character and purity.
The ultimate purpose of the cult of true victimhood is to suppress most victim claims. It implies that the good victim is one who refuses to be a victim. So when in the wake of the midterm elections Republicans resurrect “compassionate conservatism,” it is important to understand how an anti-victim rhetoric scripts public deliberations about suffering, injury, and injustice, and in doing so, preempts these debates altogether.
Alyson M. Cole is a professor of political science at Queens College of the City University of New York. She is author of “The Cult of True Victimhood: From the War on Welfare to the War on Terror.”