What Mat Fraser’s Cripfest Taught Me About 'Crip Pride'
EntertainmentThis past weekend, I found myself walking into the the Brooklyn Academy of Music and staring up at a poster of a man with thalidomide-stunted limbs awash in bold primary colors.
I’d only heard about Cripfest a few days before, but had felt compelled to attend, not least because it had been organized by ONEOFUS, a radical production company run by American Horror Story: Freakshow’s Mat Fraser and artist Julie Atlas Muz. Billed as a celebration of the 25th anniversary of the landmark Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA), Cripfest brought together British and American activists, comedians, actors, dancers, musicians, and burlesque performers from across the disabled community for an all-day program of art, laughter, and solidarity (and nudity, lots of nudity!). As Fraser explained in a statement on the Cripfest website,
“Over the last 25 years since the ADA was passed, I’ve watched disabled artists mature, attain fantastic professional heights of accomplishment, and soar with their work creating brilliant, often game changing art. Why then in mainstream arts productions, do we mostly only see portrayals of disability that don’t reflect this reality? In that time many incredible disabled artists & their creative partners have made work, careers, reputations, and sometimes waves, producing work that shows our reality and thus all of Society, refusing to accept the stubbornly outmoded & negative media imaging of disabled people, but instead remould our understanding of Disability in our Society, fashion it into the vibrant, exciting, and inclusive World that we strive to live in, as we continue to critique, laugh at, and highlight the Disability experience.”
As I’ve mentioned here before, Fraser’s work on American Horror Story and the show itself (warts and all) had a profound effect on me, and I felt a tiny electric shock every time I glimpsed Fraser working the room or flashing a cheeky grin to someone. I never did suck up the courage to bop up and tell the nattily-attired Englishman just how much his work for disability awareness and crip pride has meant to me, but I did meet some incredible people, get to see The Spazms (Fraser’s new punk band with Eric Paluzak, who’s known better as Velvet Crayon) and UK comedian Laurence Clark’s biting riffs on being called “inspiring,” and avail myself of a blueberry-lemonade cocktail called the Gimp Guzzler (my friend Kristen preferred the chocolatey Inspiration Porn).
Everything from the cocktails to the dedicated wheelchair charging station made it clear that this was a safe space with a sense of humor about itself, and you may have deduced from its title that the word “crip” was a prominent part of the event. As tends to happen with words that’ve been used for centuries to disenfranchise, abuse, or outright kill off minority populations, “cripple” is controversial term within the disability community, and is largely seen as a pejorative, insulting term by many disabled individuals. “Crip,” though, has echoes of the LGBTQIA community’s takeback of the word “queer”—a reclamation, a transformation of an insult into a badge of pride. Not everyone in the disability community accepts the word or identifies as a crip, but personally, the word electrified me.
See, disabled people aren’t meant to address our disabilities, because it makes other people feel uncomfortable, and god forbid our existence inflicts a few minutes of awkwardness upon someone else’s day. My own disability is relatively minor but very visible, and whenever I refer to myself as a cripple, whether in jest or in moments of frustration, people recoil. They cannot accept it—they argue. When they respond with “No you’re not! You’re beautiful!” or “You know, it took me months to even notice,” I know that it’s well-intentioned, but honestly, it pisses me off. It’s like they’re offering me a cookie, saying “Oh, you’ve done such a good job of looking normal!” and I can’t help but wonder: Why can’t I be beautiful and crippled? And really, who says I’m all that concerned with looking pretty—wouldn’t it make more sense to compliment my typing skills, since I’ve got less fingers than the average writer?