by Madeline Lee
*The interviewee has asked to remain anonymous.
X is a proud, latinx, disabled artist from New York City. From the perspective of a young trans and disabled person who spends a significant amount of time on social media, tragedies are inescapable. Knowing first-hand the importance of visibility and community, they have worked in the disability field for over 4 years on international, national, and local issues for public sector and voluntary organisations. They are an amazing friend to have and graciously allowed me to interview them to spread more awareness about the trans and disabled community. The image attached is their work ‘Pipano’.
Q: First of all, I want to start by congratulating you on therapy. I know it’s been a huge journey for you. Can you talk a bit about it?
A: Thank you! Yes, it has definitely had a huge impact on my life! I have been in trauma-based therapy for four years and have undergone more transformations during this time than any prior period in my life. Much of my trauma is a consequence of the 18 years I spent in foster care. Prior to therapy, I couldn’t articulate the nuances of my lived experience but two years in, I am developing the tools, language, and courage to confront and express the same and stigma associated with my disabilities and upbringing. Trauma and abuse are known to dissociate and fragment a person’s psyche.
Q: You’ve mentioned shame and stigma. How do you cope with it in your everyday life?
A: Stigma is real and brutal. I have learned that bringing up the topic of my upbringing and disabilities—especially regarding Autism—and my experiences of foster care, provokes discomfort in others. I have learned that it is better to mask my background and conform to society, than risk being targeted, discriminated against or socially shunned. I prioritize social safety despite the ramifications to my well-being: chronic pain, poor emotional health, and extreme exhaustion. It doesn’t seem like a fair trade-off, but when you’ve been repeatedly hurt like I have, making sacrifices to stay safe is very necessary.
Q: Can you describe some of the nuances in your identity and upbringing in relation to disability?
A: Sure! Well, none of my experiences as a disabled person can be divorced from intersectional identity politics. I am Latinx, I am non-binary, I am male-passing, I am from an working-class background, I am a survivor of abuse, and a survivor of the U.S.’s fostering system. I was a young carer to a single parent and I am an orphan. To say I am disabled and not much else doesn’t make sense. There is no on-and-off switch for my coexisting identities; how can it be for anyone? I am all of the above all of the time. There is very poor research in the area of fostered children, and even less for those who are colored, disabled, and poor. My foster carers’ internalized stigma associated with chronic health conditions, learning differences, and mental health issues meant I was constantly punished and shamed for my disabilities for the way in which they presented. The stress of this on my body and psyche led to repeated hospitalizations, yet I remained undiagnosed until I left the fostering system and was able to take independent charge of my health.
I have always been labeled a ‘problem child’ and an ‘attention seeker’ due to behavioral issues associated with acute traumatic stress, autism, ADHD, anxiety, and dyslexia. All of which were unidentified at the time. My school provided disability screening and support to my white middle-class, non-disabled peers but made no provision for me. The intersection of my race, gender, class, and fostered status took priority. Later in life, when I was pursuing my Master’s, the difficulties I presented continued to be seen as an aftermath of being fostered, which again took priority over investigating my disabilities. It is well documented that people of color are systematically undiagnosed compared to white people, especially regarding learning disabilities such as ADHD and autism.
Q: What are your coping strategies in social situations?
A: Well, I don’t go out during rush hours. I never leave the house without headphones because of my sensory overwhelm. I listen to Guantanamera by Celia Cruz on repeat, it’s a song that calms me as I walk down a busy street or a noisy tube station. I ensure I have creative tasks prepared which I can complete on my phone during a commute to avoid eye contact or social interaction. When I’m drained or feeling anxious, I use mindfulness apps to listen to rainforest soundscapes or guided meditations. When I leave the house, I assume the persona of a middle-class, non-disabled cisheterosexual person. Performing a lie is often the most viable strategy to avoid social exclusion and judgment, especially in hostile environments.
Q: There’s a lot of public discourse around the topic of coming out and ‘owning’ your identity; RuPaul’s Drag Race is a current popular culture example of this. The franchise sometimes features disabled contestants as well as transgender ones, and those living with or affected by HIV/AIDS. An implicit expectation in the show is that contestants bare all or risk elimination. What are your thoughts on this?
A: As queers of color have stressed for centuries, the notion of coming out is a white and problematic concept. Coming out is a luxury dependent on race, class, gender, sexuality, ability, and geographic privilege. This is the paradox of invisibility and hypervisibility inherent in intersectional oppression: if you come out, you risk harm to your safety and health; if you don’t come out, you are labeled as conservative, regressive, and not proud of your identity. Many of the queens in Drag Race face death threats with no legal or contractual obligation from the show to protect them. The villainization of closeted colored queers in both fictional works and real life is insanely redundant. My survival as an intersectional person depends on having access to my safe and cozy closet; I’m not risking my ancestral connections and brujeria. I won’t be giving up my cocoon anytime soon, nor should I be expected to.
Q: Lastly, to end this conversation on an inspiring note, what advice would you give to your younger self and other LGBT disabled youths?
A: I guess I would tell my younger self that adults and teachers don’t actually know everything, and that you don’t have to follow what they say because it’s just their ableist, racist, queerphobic opinions. I would have arguments with teachers all the time and feel guilty afterwards, even when I knew I was right and that they were being racist and ableist. But just because they are in a position of power, doesn’t mean they are all-knowing. So yeah, have faith in yourself.