56 pages • 1 hour read
Summary
Background
Chapter Summaries & Analyses
Key Figures
Themes
Index of Terms
Important Quotes
Essay Topics
Tools
Content Warning: The guide and source text reference rape and sexual abuse, physical abuse, child abuse, anti-gay bias, anti-trans bias, racism, ableism, classism, and medical abuse/neglect. The author also reclaims and utilizes a number of slurs and derogatory terms, which are referenced and quoted in context throughout this guide. These terms include: “cripple/crip,” “dyke,” “gimp,” “freak,” and “queer.”
Aurora Levins Morales describes some art as ringing through her like a bell, “vibrat[ing]” through her and inspiring her to write. Eli Clare’s Exile and Pride is such art. Writing in 2015, Morales reflects on the impact of racist violence in the world: violence against African American residents of Ferguson, violence against students in Ayotzinapa, and Zionist violence against Palestinian people in Gaza, for example. Morales considers her personal background as a bi, Puerto Rican Jewish woman in the context of the challenges of Zionist violence and antisemitism.
Morales then explores the similarities between her and Clare’s backgrounds. Both grew up “marginally middle class” in poor rural communities that they feel a strong connection to and that are being destroyed by corporate greed (xii). Both were sexually abused and tortured as children, both moved to cities to find themselves when they became adults, and both have conditions that affect their ability to live in a world designed primarily for able-bodied people. Morales considers how the specificity of Clare’s writing inspires her and wins her respect and trust as a reader. It requires readers to enter places of tension and stay there, considering the complexities and nuances of the heavy topics he explores. Morales remembers how her father, an ecologist, encouraged her to explore the intersections of different issues and the ways people can work to solve multifaceted societal issues. Morales explains the impact of the work of radical women of color on both Clare’s work and her own work; it has pushed both of them to move away from single-issue organizing toward more intersectional advocacy.
Morales brings up the question that Clare poses halfway through the text: “How do we construct and reconstruct self-love in the face of the corrosive dehumanization and abusiveness oppression inflicts?” (xvi). Morales explores the various derogatory words and slurs that Clare reclaims throughout the essays, thinking about how her epilepsy has impacted her experience with traumatic abuse. Morales also considers the importance of the body in discussions of trauma and disability and how Clare points his writing toward the “wound”—i.e., the center of his trauma. Morales argues that Exile and Pride does not answer questions, nor does it only pose questions: It invites the reader to consider the problems Clare explores through the lens of their own experiences. Morales then says she needs to write, as she hears the humming of the bell again.
Thinking back to the publication of Exile and Pride in 1999, Clare says that he hoped it would prompt nondisabled progressive activists to add disability to their political agendas; he also wanted disabled activists to push back against single-issue agendas and consider the intersections of disability and other political and social issues. This is still his goal in 2009, as the changes he wants to see have not happened yet. He provides examples of ADAPT and Critical Resistance, activist groups that advocate for disability rights and the abolition of the prison industrial complex, respectively. ADAPT, for instance, used a slogan stating that nursing homes are worse than prisons, pitting the two issues against each other instead of working to advance both causes and explore the ways prison reform and disability rights are entwined.
Clare then discusses the importance of the work of feminist writers of color in the “multi-issue politics” in Exile and Pride. Many important women of color inform Clare’s writing by helping him understand the way patriarchy, white supremacy, and capitalism work together to define and reinforce the oppressive aspects of society. These women also helped Clare come to terms with the political nature of his cerebral palsy and the politics of disability.
Clare then considers the impact of war and the way war is discussed in the context of disability, particularly the “eye for an eye” slogan that seems to treat blindness as an inherently negative thing (xxiv). He discusses the myriad ways that war kills and disables people and considers how politics and political identities inform who is killed and disabled. To understand this, Clare argues that people must explore a “multi-layered analysis of how white supremacy, capitalism, patriarchy, imperialism, and ableism work in concert” to impact people’s lives (xxv).
When asked what Exile and Pride is about, Clare answers “home.” Home to Clare means “place, body, identity, community” (xxv), ideas that are intrinsic to the development of Exile and Pride.
Clare reflects on his changed understanding of his gender identity since the 1999 publication of Exile and Pride. Clare now lives in the world as a man, though he identifies as genderqueer, neither man nor woman. However, though he now uses he/him pronouns, he does not want to turn his back on his long history as a woman and a lesbian. He wants to push back against the gender binary and the idea that gender must fall into rigid categories. He wants many gendered possibilities to not only be normal but “profoundly ordinary and familiar” (xxviii).
Clare divides the Prologue, centered on the metaphor of a mountain, into three categories. In “The Mountain,” Clare likens “overcoming” disability to climbing a mountain. Clare describes people with disabilities attempting to climb the mountain, struggling with wheelchairs and crutches. Meanwhile, able-bodied people attempt to push them back, burning bridges across canyons to keep them from reaching the summit while describing how beautiful the seemingly unreachable summit is. Some may reach the summit, while some may not. Either way, Clare argues all people with disabilities who climb the mountain must come face to face with their own bodies.
In “A Supercrip Story,” Clare reclaims the slur “crip,” an offensive term for people with disabilities, to refer to himself. Clare explains that the term “supercrip” is a problematic word used to refer to people with disabilities, especially athletes, who “overcome” their disabilities. This flattens the disabled experience and implicitly asserts nondisabled bodies and minds as superior. Clare gives examples of “supercrips”: a boy without hands having success at batting in Little League, a man who is blind hiking the entire Appalachian Trail, a girl with Down Syndrome learning to drive and getting a boyfriend, and a man with one leg running across all of Canada. He criticizes the “supercrip” stereotype because it places “overcoming” disability at the center of the narrative, ignoring the ways that society’s rampant ableism negatively impacts people with disabilities socially, politically, and legally.
Clare has been a “supercrip”: He ran track in high school, though he often came last due to his cerebral palsy. He ran because he loved to run, but at the end of cross-country races, people would cry over him and call him an inspiration, viewing him as a “supercrip, tragic brave girl with CP, courageous cripple” and displaying condescending pity (3). Clare was again a “supercrip” when he attempted to hike Mount Adams with his friend Adrienne. Clare wanted to complete the hike, as he enjoys walking and hiking, and Adrienne assured him that he could do it. Clare enjoyed the first mile of the hike, but as the steepness increased, the hike began to require some climbing. Adrienne didn’t know if the hike would become steeper yet, so they studied some topography maps. They decided that it would take Clare too long to hike up and then scoot down, so after a cry, Clare followed Adrienne down.
In the years since, Clare has given Mount Adams a lot of thought, refusing to turn to bitterness. Clare delineates between impairment and disability. He offers disability theorist Michael Oliver’s definitions of both terms: impairment is “lacking part of or all of a limb, or having a defective limb, organism or mechanism of the body” and disability is “the disadvantage or restriction of activity caused by a contemporary social organisation which takes no or little account of people who have physical [and/or cognitive/intellectual] impairments and thus excludes them from the mainstream of society” (6). Clare explains the various actions that he has difficulty with because of his cerebral palsy; he types and writes slowly, can find it challenging to take money out of his wallet, and his speech can be “slow and slurred” (7), as cerebral palsy affects his fine motor skills. Nevertheless, he struggles with the division of impairment and disability, as so much of his experience of living with cerebral palsy is shaped by ableism. He offers the example of a failure based on a “socially constructed limitation” (7), in which he was refused more time to take a test despite his slower handwriting, in contrast to a failure based on his physical limitation, in which he could not summit Mount Adams.
In interrogating his experience on Mount Adams, Clare realizes he wanted to “overcome” his cerebral palsy and to use the story of the “supercrip” as a shield against the societal oppression that people with disabilities face. When discussing the experience on the mountain with others, Clare heard advice about gear but never that he did the right thing turning around.
In “Home,” Clare explores the various aspects of his body, as he acknowledges that the mountain will never be his home and that his body is his true home. His body is disabled, as he was born with cerebral palsy. His body was violated, as his father and his friends sexually abused and tortured Clare as a child. His body is white, and he grew up in a predominantly white town in Port Orford, Oregon, not seeing true diversity until he moved to the city to attend college. His body is “queer,” as he finally found comfort within the “dyke” community, a term Clare also works to reclaim. His body is his home but is also influenced by other bodies. Clare thinks about the impact of his father on his life, as well as the impact of the white, working-class men he grew up around. He also acknowledges that his body is deeply affected by the beauty and loss of the Pacific Northwest. Language also impacts the body, as the words that have been thrown at Clare (“crip,” “queer,” “freak,” and “redneck”) toe the line between the pride of reclamation and the damage of their intended degradation as they “burrow” into him. Clare also acknowledges that bodies can be stolen, as violence against the LGBTQIA+ and disability communities is extremely prominent. However, stolen bodies can also be reclaimed and memorialized.
Clare knows the mountain still grips him, as the desire to fulfill the “supercrip” stereotype still lives inside him. Still, he holds on to hope that after the revolution, people with disabilities will be able to live their lives without being relegated either to nursing homes or to the “supercrip” role. The mountain will become a volcanic crater, and the real mountains that Clare wants to climb will still exist, though he will know when some of them are too steep.
The sections prior to the Prologue set the scene for the sociohistorical context of Exile and Pride. This edition was rereleased 16 years after the initial publication and 20 years after Clare began writing several of the essays (especially the “clearcut” essays in Part 1). These years witnessed a number of critical global changes that Clare references in the Preface, including the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, two conflicts that arose after the 9/11 terror attacks in 2001. The additional historical context allows Clare to include updates about how disability is viewed and discussed as society changes, especially in the context of war, which Clare points out can lead to disabling events for previously able-bodied people.
Morales’s foreword provides a primer to Exile and Pride for new readers, especially those encountering the text decades after its initial publication. The Foreword introduces many important aspects of the text, blended with moments of personal narrative about Morales’s own life. This stylistic approach reflects the important role that personal narrative plays in Exile and Pride more broadly. Morales states:
In beautifully crafted prose that is both intensely vulnerably personal, and incisively analytical, [Clare] invites us to step up, to confront the shifting contexts and mixed allegiances that undermine self-righteous certainties and go for something more difficult and rewarding (xv).
This illustrates the theme of The Role of Personal Narrative in Social Justice Work. Morales explains that Clare does not rely on analysis alone to make his argument and call his audience to action; he uses intimate, personal stories about himself and his identities to inspire readers while providing concrete, tangible evidence for the claims that he makes.
Part of the purpose of placing oneself in a vulnerable position, Morales suggests, is to examine what she calls “the contradictions”: “Clare brings us into […] tangled moments that pit potential allies against each other, where the contradictions are deep and painful” (xv). Morales here refers to the conflict that can arise during the cultivation of intersectionality, which connects to the theme of The Intersections of Disability, Gender, and Sexuality that Clare will explore in depth.
Morales’s use of personal narrative is not the only stylistic choice that anticipates Clare’s own prose. For example, Morales at one point poses the question, “When do we celebrate, when do we howl with rage, when do we witness and mourn?” (xvii). The use of the word “witness” connects to Clare’s essay “freaks and queers,” where he examines the difference and overlap of the concepts of pride and witness. Morales foreshadows this discussion while also utilizing rhetorical questions, which are a favorite technique of Clare’s. This is particularly noteworthy in light of Morales’s claim that Clare’s writing inspires her own; her debt to Clare is a conscious one that further demonstrates the importance of personal narrative.
Clare’s prologue establishes a crucial metaphor. He writes, “The mountain as metaphor looms large in the lives of marginalized people, people whose bones get crushed in the grind of capitalism, patriarchy, white supremacy” (1). The mountain is not just for people with disabilities but rather functions as an intersectional metaphor; whatever oppression marginalized people face looms large like a mountain. That Clare’s mountain is also physical—Mount Adams, the mountain he literally climbs—allows him to extend the metaphor through a narrative about facing the limitations of his body. Clare says that he and his fellow people with disabilities “come face-to-face with our own bodies, all that we cherish and despise, all that lies imbedded there” (2). The mountain is therefore not merely an external embodiment of ableism (or any other kind of oppression); rather, it forces Clare and others like him to understand their bodies, including but not only the trauma of “imbedded” ableism.
Clare’s exploration of “supercrip” stories are a further springboard for conversation about ableism and its myriad negative impacts on the disability community. He argues that “the dominant story about disability should be about ableism, not the inspirational supercrip crap, the believe-it-or-not disability story” (3). His frustration with this narrative of disability stems from the implicit pressure it places on people with disabilities to “overcome” their conditions—to assimilate into the able-bodied culture that does not make room for them. When society does perceive the disability community, its narratives often center on charity and pity. When Clare explains the tasks that are difficult for him because of his cerebral palsy, he clarifies, “I am not asking for pity. I am telling you about disability” (7). Here, Clare introduces an idea that he will push further in “reading across the grain”: He seeks to cleave pity from disability to illustrate that what people with disabilities require is the dismantling of the ableist society that seeks to relegate them to nursing homes and that promotes “curing” various conditions that may not be inherently harmful to the person with them.
The latter portions of “the mountain” focus on the body, which is an image and motif that Clare spends much of Exile and Pride writing toward. For Clare, the body and home are intertwined: When he defines home, he writes, “I mean place, body, identity, community, family as home” (xxv). Home is made up of the self—identity and body—and the things around the self that influence its formation, like place, community, and family. When describing specifically how the body is home, Clare explains that bodies are not singular but impacted by other bodies, that place and community embed themselves in bodies, that language can live in bodies, that bodies can be stolen, and that bodies can be reclaimed. This suggests that The Concepts of Exile and Belonging apply to embodiment as much as to one’s location in the world, creating points of both intersection and tension. Clare continues to explore all of these ideas (others, place/community, language, theft/reclamation) throughout the essays of Part 1 and Part 2.
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