Tuesday 28 December 2021

NEW RELEASE: Turning the Camera Around – A Treatise on Autism and Normalism

Announcing the release of another of my principal written works. Turning the Camera Around – A Treatise on Autism and Normalism is now available to everyone, free of charge, at http://www.aichaobang.com.
 
 

Turning the Camera Around stems from something that will be familiar to most autistic people: a lifelong experience of traumatic alienation and suffering in a world designed by and for people of a totally different neurotype.

But there’s more to it than that. In all these years, I have never felt my experience reflected in the dominant narratives of autism and neurodiversity. Neither autism as disorder nor autism as difference really represent my story; and whenever they tried to do so, as they often have, it felt as though my true voice was being written out of the picture.

My story, and its erasure under those terms – that is where this tract begins. And what that erasure reveals, it takes up thereon as the true problem: societies built by and for the belief in normal, and its violent infliction on others.

Let us give it a name: Normalism.

The normal violence of adults towards children. Normal education, designed to exclude or dispose of any child who will not be broken into compliant factory fodder. Normal men, normal women, normal sexuality, normal relationships – why is it anyone who does not conform to these absurd and abusive expectations, rather than the expectations themselves, who are at worst pathologised and punished, at best still marked as ‘different’; ‘divergent’; the other?

It is not autistic people, after all, who have heaped up piles of corpses over the centuries, disembowelled truth and love on the altar of naked power, and now threaten the very ecology and climate of the Earth itself.

Is not the violent obsession with normal the true pathology? Is it not time to turn the camera around, and reverse the terms of this discussion – so that instead of problematising natural human diversity, we rather name, identify, and confront the actual driver of so much pointless suffering?


Turning the Camera Around – A Treatise on Autism and Normalism now available here:
 

Sunday 12 December 2021

THAMES: 18) English Migrants


Here are the far heights. Field upon field, sky beyond sky, winter horizons out beyond the back door. Beyond England, even while of it – for this verdant world of their dreams lies far beyond the world where most of them live.
 
 
Here the river falls free of its cradle in the Gloucester Cotswolds, but has yet to attain the Oxford Basin where Englishnesses truly sink their claims into it. What's left is an in-between space of endless farm fields and deserted villages, anachronistic pillboxes and silent memories of goods or blows whose trade across this once-strategic hinterland has long since left it behind. 

Its crossing, the longest slog on this expedition by far, now presents its most arduous challenge. What better then than to trudge in at dawn on the coldest day of the year so far, in the wake of a freezing windstorm, with a meagre eight hours of daylight to make it to Lechlade, the high trading post and gateway to the Cotswold Hills?
 
As the river traverses this back-of-beyond, the final flares of autumn fade in its cool, dark flow.
There’s little else here. It glides on with no end in sight.
This is not where the English come to build futures, to erect towers of pride, to imagine up self-aggrandising histories. Those who set out for these far reaches more often came to escape the violence of those delusions. They were migrants. English refugees, whose movements the river welcomed and enabled as has always been its way.
 
A century and a half ago, as this nation did up its arrogance in iron and steel and stuck on it the label of modernity, it was here to this Desolate South that it drove one of that industrial mis-destiny’s most colourful critics of the time. It was out here, far from its poisonous stories and still more poisonous air, that this big-bearded detractor found the space to turn from its ruthless march and embroider a different path with his own hands. More darkly, it was also here that this country’s bloodiest spasm of neo-colonial foreigner-killing in recent times claimed its own highest-profile victim: a bespectacled, mild-mannered scientist who, one summer afternoon, fled here to take leave of this world altogether.
 
From the riverside, a glimpse of Kelmscott Manor, beloved summer home of William Morris: artist, writer, designer, translator, socialist and a great deal else besides.
Harrowdown Hill, final destination of weapons inspector Dr. David Kelly.
The river here is a winterland of escapes and retreats, deaths and departures, and so too for this long exploration it heralds the beginning of the end. Here are the last Thames locks, the receding of riverside settlement, and at Lechlade, the end of its navigable course. We are almost there.
 
If you would walk this way too, come prepared. At 25 kilometres this is the lengthiest stretch of all, and it takes place entirely across open country. There’s a handful of well-placed pubs but otherwise next to nothing in the way of shops, public transport, or support if you get into trouble. Add to that a tight daylight budget – eight hours at this time of year, and you’ll need every one of them – and you’re looking at serious peril if you overreach or get stuck out here after dark.
 
Upriver from the New Bridge, where all is as cold as frozen glass.
By this point the settlements are smaller than their labels. Most aren’t even villages, merely clusters of houses or farm buildings.
Start: Newbridge (no settlement, just a bridge with a pub at each end; about five buses a day stop by the Rose Revived pub on a Witney-Abingdon route)
End: Lechlade (no train station; buses to Swindon via Highworth)
Length: 25.7km/16 miles
Location: Oxfordshire – City of Oxford, Vale of White Horse, West Oxfordshire; Gloucestershire - Cotswold
 
Topics: Harrowdown Hill and the death of Dr. David Kelly, Shifford, the Duxford detour, Tadpole, Radcot, Kelmscott and William Morris, Buscot, St. John’s Lock