Liz Carr
Everything I know about leadership, I learnt from Spiderman
Disabled people are natural leaders. Whether we actively choose this path or not, the truth is that all of us have leadership thrust upon us. Through the simple act of being present and visible in our communities, the non-disabled world bestow on us the responsibility of being spokespeople, teachers and role models for every other disabled person in existence. Quite a burden for those of us with teeny tiny shoulders.
How many times have you laughed begrudgingly with the child who stands there staring at you for endless minutes because you don’t want them to get the impression that disabled people are scary? Surely I’m not the only one who smiles politely when someone holds the door open for me for fear that if I don’t then maybe they’ll assume that all wheelchair users are grumpy, rude and bitter? Disabled people handle these situations in a myriad of different ways but often we have no choice. Sometimes, just by being ourselves, we become societies unwilling role models, inspirations and stereotypes. As my ex-boss once said, “blind people can’t cook. My father in law is blind and he can’t cook. And he pees standing up...”
Spiderman, Spiderman, does whatever a spider can
I’m reminded here of a line from Spiderman, “with great power comes great responsibility”. If our every daily action and inaction is viewed and judged by the public, do we, as disabled people, have a responsibility to educate the public? More pertinently, as disabled artists whose work inevitably takes us into the public domain, do we have an added responsibility? These are the questions that I struggle with on a regular basis.
As a disabled comedian, writer and broadcaster, I have chosen to take the role of public educator and made a living out of it. I tell jokes, write articles and comment on aspects of disability, hopefully opening up a whole new world to non-disabled people. The idea of having responsibility as performer, however, was first made apparent to me after one of my first gigs as a stand-up comedian six years ago.
Spazzing up and the Mong debacle
My comedy was, and still is, controversial in a ‘tell it like it is’ way. At the end of my 15 minutes, I asked the audience to celebrate difference and to reclaim disability by ‘spazzing up’ i.e. by making sounds and moving their bodies in any way they wanted to. After the show I was greeted by a number of peers from the disability arts world who told me I was being irresponsible by encouraging mainstream audiences to ‘spazz up’. Apparently I was giving license to every member of that audience to use words and act in ways that, out of context, could be construed as just plain offensive. I’m not the first comedian to be accused of this (most recently there’s been Ricky Gervais’ ‘mong’ debacle, Frankie Boyle’s almost constant barrage of disability jokes and Jimmy Carr’s Paralympics blunder) but what’s different between me and my more famous counterparts is that I am a disabled person. Does this identity confer on me an added responsibility? Indeed, should my artistic choices be guided by the responsibility of my public persona?
As the co-presenter of the BBC’s Ouch! podcast, I’ve been publicly discussing my views and sharing my life with listeners for the past 5 years. I’m often quite assertive, strident in my views and honest about my feelings. As there’s few opportunities for disabled people in the media, I know that my position on Ouch! means I have a certain amount of power and influence. As the media is generally lazy, when they want someone to comment on disability in the news, they’ll contact the Ouch! office and ask for one of us to give our views. In a sea of non-disabled experts, we’ll often be the lone voice but a voice that nonetheless carries weight. If I use the term ‘crip’ in an interview, am I suggesting all disabled people use such slang terms? If I say I want to go to Lourdes to take in the healing waters, will everyone think all people like me want to be cured? If I let the world know I’m a fan of Take That will they conclude that all wheelies have such poor musical taste? We’re in the media to represent disability but surely the only person we can represent is ourself? Do we always have a responsibility to use these infrequent opportunities prudently and as effectively as possible? And do we have differing responsibilities towards disabled and non-disabled people?
Falling off the pedestal
I acknowledge that because of the type of work I do, I have influence. In the media, even those of us on the very fringes are undeservedly attributed with some level of celebrity status. Because of this then perhaps our most important role as disabled leaders is to make sure we are as truthful and as human as possible in our work? I came to this conclusion after making a painful revelation on a recent Ouch! podcast. I spent a difficult year working full time in a TV production company. I talked about how at the Xmas party, no one sat by me and that during the summer, my team played rounders at the local park - and asked me to mind their bags. The response was so revealing - the support, the empathy, the sense of ‘well if this can happen to someone as seemingly assertive as you Liz... ‘. I was no longer an unwitting wheelie on a pedestal but instead I was crippled car crash - just like the rest of us.
I’m under no illusions that who I am as a disabled person and an artist will always be open to misinterpretation - to some I’ll always be a role model, an inspiration or just plain offensive. I can’t take responsibility for how me and my work will be judged so perhaps I’m most effective when I’m just being me - when I’m not censoring my thoughts in case they offend, worrying about educating anyone and representing everyone? Maybe what Spiderman’s Uncle really meant was, “with great power comes great responsibility - to be true to yourself”?
