Image created by Bizzy Feekes.
Something that has shifted to the forefront of the conversations I’ve been having about decolonization and liberation is disability justice. Although I’ve taken some effort over the past few years to reckon with the privilege I hold as an able-bodied person, the past few months have been particularly transformative in how I think, speak, and act regarding ability and disability.
This ongoing change has come about largely as a response to being invited into community with some incredible women in the Coalition’s working group Activists Living with Disabilities. Although I could write about these women and the beautiful stories of resilience and power they’ve shared with me, I know I could never do their stories justice and I hope never to speak over them as they share their own stories in their own time. Instead, I want to share some of the most important lessons that I, as an able-bodied person, have been challenged with as I consider how colonization deeply impacts my own relationship with my body.
There is a distinct privilege in being able-bodied because I don’t often think about my own body, particularly how much work it is doing on a daily basis to keep me going. I don’t think about it because I expect my body to be able to do all sorts of things and, for the most part, it does without issue. I, like many other able-bodied people, often operate in ways that assume my body and the bodies of people around me can navigate the world easily and effortlessly. When I assume this reality as normal, I also assume that my body will be able to do this for the
foreseeable future.
In the very first meeting I attended with Activists Living with Disabilities, I was struck by the ideas that were shared in regard to decolonizing our bodies. One person kept using the phrase “temporarily able-bodied” to refer to all able-bodied people. This simple language change challenged so much of what I intrinsically believe about being able-bodied.
I was reminded in such a simple way that my body’s ability to easily and effortlessly navigate the world was indeed temporary. I forget that an accident, a diagnosis, or a random incident could easily change my ability status from one moment to the next. And even if I go through the majority of my life without such things, my body was never created to last forever, and aging will inevitably change my ability status.
Amid this conversation, another person shared that dominant culture forces us to use the same exploitative and extractive logic of colonialism when it comes to our bodies, and bodies that can’t meet these standards are deemed lesser than and/or an inconvenient problem. While it is often easier to notice the devastating ongoing effects of colonial logic on our land, air, and water, we also have to consider how we carry that in our own bodies. They went on to elaborate that dominant culture places a higher value on youthful and productive bodies
because they can keep up with the unrelenting demands of the dominant culture we live in.
This is not just an unsustainable and unattainable standard to hold for everyone but it disproportionately affects people living with disabilities. As this person continued to share about the comparisons of the colonization of land, air, and water to our bodies, I wrote down a note for myself to come back to and reflect upon later– “What parts of myself have been deeply formed by colonialism? What does it mean to dismantle and decolonize those parts of myself?”
Over the past couple of months, I’ve been repeatedly asking myself these questions. It has woven itself into various discussions about decolonization, resisting imperialism, dismantling structures of white supremacy, and pursuing liberation for all people. I find it life- giving (sometimes) to have these discussions with people who are passionate about creating systemic change because it gives me tangible hope that a different world is possible, and that we can enact meaningful change that benefits all people.
But what I often think is missing from these conversations is the deeply personal work of challenging the colonial logic that has formed our minds, bodies, and souls. For those of us who are temporarily able-bodied, we must decolonize how we think and speak of our bodies, not just so we can have a healthy relationship with them, but so we align ourselves with the most marginalized and those who are most harmed by this colonial view of our bodies.
“Thank you for this land, our body.” In praying this prayer, I am reminded that my body is part of something more than just myself.
We must be able to accept our limitedness, our body’s fragility, and generally just our mortality as we imagine a better existence because liberation for all must include all and not just those who are (temporarily) able-bodied. In the work of decolonization and dismantling, we must be willing to allow the parts of ourselves that have been formed by colonization to be dismantled.
While in concept this idea has started to find roots in my imagination, I find that it’s a daily struggle to confront this logic in myself. I have always found so much pride in my ability to work hard and to complete big tasks on my own. I have even found pride in my ability to push myself to the limit, even when it has devastating effects on my mental and emotional health. This personal struggle has revealed to me the need to shift from a strictly individualistic view point to a more holistic, communal approach.
One of the most helpful things I’ve learned in the efforts of decolonizing my body also came from the time I’ve spent with the Activists Living with Disabilities. In one of our meetings, Sarah Augustine shared with us a prayer that was shared with her by another person. It is simply, “Thank you for this land, our body.” In praying this prayer, I am reminded that my body is part of something more than just myself.
Although dominant culture leads us to believe that humans are separate from the rest of Creation, an Indigneous worldview reminds me of my deep connection to all of Creation around me– the land, air, water, plant relatives, animals, and more– my interconnectedness with their survival and thriving, and my interdependence on Creation. The way we treat our bodies is directly reflected in how we treat the land we live on, and I believe the Great Spirit is urging us to see how deep that connection runs. I invite you to consider– How might decolonizing my body lead me to see myself, others, and Creation as God sees them?
My name is Bizzy Feekes (they/she) and my family comes from the Winnebago Tribe of Nebraska known as the HoChunk people or the People of the Big Voice. I currently reside, work, and worship on the ancestral, traditional, and contemporary lands of the Coast Salish peoples, in a place first known in the Whulshootseed language as sdzídzəlʔalič, the “Little Crossing-Over Place,” well known today as Seattle, Washington. I am a seminary student, about to finish my Masters of Theology in Reconciliation and Intercultural Studies and I presently am serving as the artist-in-residence for the Coalition to Dismantle the Doctrine of Discovery.