by Becky Moore
Today I have had a stone thrown at me and been verbally abused on the street by kids. I have been denied access to a pharmacy because they "lost the ramp" and told I shouldn't be complaining about a dropped curb because I can walk really. I've also had an invitation to an event for a group which includes several disabled people, at a totally inaccessible venue to do totally inaccessible activities. It's been a bad day for me. It's totally ruined my day in fact. These micro aggressions - steps, obstructions, rudeness, kids making stupid choices, being discounted, excluded, they add up to something. They say I don't matter, my dignity isn't important, my participation isn't required, I don't deserve respect. And yet here I am, working, contributing to society, to family, to the economy. Here I am, artist, campaigner, businesswoman, carer, mother, wife, friend, doing my thing, getting by. Because disabled people aren't just shuffled off to the workhouse any more. Truth is, they never have been. Throughout history, disabled people have been involved members of their communities, economically active, rounded human beings. Just because the history books don't give us a voice doesn't mean we weren't there.
I've been thinking about this a lot as I sew. About the people who turned up to work in the textile mills even if they had to be carried there. Even if it was really hard and it hurt and the work made them even more impaired. Even if the injuries caused by the work left them with no alternative but to accept poorer wages, more menial jobs...sound familiar?
So I'm thinking about this as I stitch, I'm thinking about the repetitive actions that make my hands ache, and the repetitive actions that left people with distorted bones and bent spines. I'm thinking about how lucky I am to be in the 21st century with all the medicine, and comparative equality. I'm thinking I would be in my grave long since if I'd lived in the 19th century. My life is immeasurably easier than that of a 19th century textile worker. In some ways there's no comparison. Yet in other ways, disabled people now, disabled people then - lower wages, less respect, being excluded.
All this thinking, this linking is part of my process, making a connection with the voices from the past, making my stitches mean something. I don't know how much of that the viewers will discern - perhaps none - but it's important to me. It means I'm not just treating my work as an object. It's more subjective than that, more nuanced and more connected. And all the research that Becky (Cherriman) and I have done, the accounts we've read, it's not just facts, it's human voices, people who lived and loved and brought in the family income, fed their children. It's human connection. I hope our words and images will help other people to make those connections too.
Detail of the work
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