Of Dragons and Disabilities

Over the weekend I saw "How To Train Your Dragon," the new DreamWorks cartoon and box office sensation, with my wife and our younger daughter. I'll spare you my rant about wearing 3-D glasses -- and my hope that this latest trend doesn't last.

What I loved about this movie was a completely overlooked, unexpected subplot detail.

Nobody told me there was a disability theme in the story.

One of the main adult characters, the Viking leader's no. 2 guy, is a double-amputee who keeps fighting, one of the bravest and most loyal of all. Not that he's an overcomer super-crip type. He just blends in. In fact, I didn't even notice his replacement limbs until halfway into the movie. Then, the primary cute dragon-cum-pet needs a prosthetic rear wing. Finally--well, I don't want to give away the ending. Let's just say another character acquires a prosthetic aid toward the finale, too, and after a pause it's no big deal. No rousing, uplifting, inspirational hoo-ha, and no tears. It's not glossed over, either, because accommodations must be made (and nobody can make them as well as the injured person himself, which certainly rings true for me). They all work together for the good of the mythical half-Norse, half-Irish (huh?) island kingdom, with full inclusion for those maimed in combat.

Wow! Very cool.

I hope it teaches kids something about the value and acceptability and normality of assistive devices, prosthetics included. You know, in a way the story is dead on. Historically disability and war have always been closely linked. One of the earliest known references to disability-related hardware comes from an ancient Sanskrit text that tells of an Indian warrior named Queen Vishpla, around 3000 BCE. A battle injury led to the amputation of one of her legs. An iron leg was made to replace it, and she returned to fight again. (See the Disability History Timeline)

Motorized wheelchairs might not have been invented if not for the veterans of World War II--improving upon designs putatively sketched by George Westinghouse in the late-19th century and, later, British engineers during the first World War, for injured soldiers and civilians. In the early 1950s a Canadian inventor named George Klein supposedly perfected a model motorized wheelchair for WWII vets, which in 1956 became mass-produced by a California folding-wheelchair manufacturer called Everest & Jennings. Though those early chairs were notoriously slow, E&J dominated the wheelchair market for the next 30 or 40 years. (See A Chronology of the Disability Rights Movements)

So hooray for the understated disabilities theme in the dragon movie! Overall, the story ain't bad either. But next time, if I had it to do over again, I think I'd go for the 2-D version. The tickets are cheaper anyway.

University of Southern California/Rancho Lifestyle Redesign

Moral Quandary: Your Help Needed

(Jerry Lewis, at a recent telethon)

Funny thing my recent NPR Commentary generated --

Among the flattering e-mail, which amazed and humbled, was a message from an editor at MDA's Quest Magazine. She wanted to use one of my blog posts as the basis for an opinion column in the magazine. If I could turn it into a good 1000-to-1200-word piece, she'd pay me for it.

Great, right? Maybe.

For those who don't know, I've been a pretty harsh critic of the Muscular Dystrophy Association. I've published columns against the organization and its Labor Day Telethon. I've participated in protest actions against it. It not only promotes pity, but refuses to aid in pursuing disability civil-rights issues. It refuses to divulge information about how many people with disabilities it actually employs, or how much power they have. It certainly doesn't hold its corporate sponsors to any kind of standard for accessibility or antidiscrimination policies. Don't get me started. (For more about this, look here or here or elsewhere, including scrolling down to my archives here).

When I and others have politely tried to get those in charge at MDA to change, our efforts were strongly rebuffed. In fact, we were insulted ... called names.

So yesterday, I told this kind, blameless editor, You sure you want me?

But then I realized the real question was, Was I sure I wanted to work for MDA?

To me, Quest has gotten better over the years. Sometimes I even read it now. But it's still the MDA organ. So I had misgivings.

Here's the thing: What she liked was my Glee blog, below. She liked my evenhanded way of looking at media, specifically media images of disability.

The primary problem is, my primary gripe against MDA has been the offensive, outdated way it's media--especially its annual telethon--broadcast unfair, exploitative images of people with disabilities. (Not sure I got all my adjectives in the right order in that sentence, but I hope you get the idea nevertheless.)

So the only way I could in good conscience write for MDA's Quest Magazine would be if I could criticize the way the organization portrays people with disabilities.

Yes, I know MDA has been wonderful for many families. It provides access to neurologists with expertise, if you don't have insurance to cover the cost. So in that, I might even give it high marks as a medical charity.

I have serious problems, however, when MDA represents itself as a champion of disability rights.

My beef with MDA is not the subject of this blog. Rather, this is a confession. I debated in my head, and out my mouth (sorry, my darling wife, for talking your ear off about this).

On the one hand, I'm supposed to be a professional writer. I take commissions wherever they're offered. On the other, writing for MDA would not only cost me cred in the disability community; it would be tantamount to a conflict of interest, especially if I ever intend to publish more words critical of it, its Labor Day Telethon, or its chairman Jerry Lewis. And believe me, Dear Reader, I do. I do.

Now, the Quest editor who contacted me is innocent in all this. And we have not officially concluded negotiations. That's because I haven't entirely made up my mind.

So I open it up to you, my blogosphere pals? What should I do? What would you do? And how much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?