On “aspie” as a term
A couple of the listervs I subscribe to have been debating the term “aspie,” and most contributors have described aspie/autie as cutesy, shiny awfulness. The discussion has provided me with some interesting reading material, if only because I’ve named my blog aspie rhetor of all things. But really, when I hear aspie, I hear ass pee. So, just based on that auditory mangling, it’s not my favorite term. And I do appreciate Sarah’s recent discussion of the term at Cat in a Dog’s World.
Yet, I’ve used aspie here anyway. I’ll explain why.
I prefer to be called autistic, for a variety of reasons. I don’t see Asperger’s as “separate” from autism, nor do I see Asperger’s as being the next and better form of human evolution (ugh), nor do I think that people with Asperger’s DXes are superior/more intelligent/cooler than those with other autism labels (more ugh). As I’ve written previously, these diagnostic labels are, in a large way, socially constructed entities that reflect more on what we deem as normative than what we deem as autistic. How we conceive of functioning labels, for instance, is a product of social and cultural power, where “functioning” really means “the ability to act and think like all us normal and therefore superior people.” In a large way, distinguishing oneself as aspie can institute this sort of cultural power — a way to call attention to one’s position on the functioning food chain.
But I still use aspie here, despite the potential for misinterpretation, despite the potential for others to assume that I’m some sort of shiny, self-important autistic. And here’s why: I’ve been given a label in the name of pathology, and I want to reclaim that label in the name of disability studies/neurodiversity/autistic culture.
When I use aspie — and I daresay when certain other autistic people use aspie or autie — it’s not an act meant to exclude others, nor is it an act meant to create hierarchy among autistic individuals. In fact, I use aspie and autie almost interchangeably — because I personally don’t see a difference between the two, at least not in a let’s-take-back-the-language-used-to-describe-us-and-oppress-us sense. Sort of what Simi Linton writes about.
To give further background: someone called me an aspie rhetor before I called myself an aspie rhetor. And I take issue with both words: First, the person who called me an aspie wasn’t someone who knew (or cared) much about autistic culture. And second, I take issue with being called only a rhetor — I’m also a rhetorician, dagnabbit.
The difference? Rhetors are people who make arguments or create messages (e.g., bloggers). Rhetoricians are people who study what rhetors do (e.g., study bloggers and their blogs and the people who read their blogs). Apparently, per this person, by sheer fact that I’m a so-called “aspie” — and am therefore disordered — I don’t have the ability to study the moves that other aspie rhetors make.
In fact, per this person, all of the autistic bloggers on the Autism Hub are aspie rhetors (even if they’re not, um, aspies): by sheer fact that they’re autistic, they’re incapable of being rhetoricians.
So, insert the mindblindness and Theory of Mind mantras here. I can’t escape my poor little mind prison, so I’ll always be the studied rather than the studier. Because goodness knows that autistic people are arhetorical beings who lack such audience awareness that they don’t have the capability of understanding what rhetoric is.
So, let me make something clear: I’m an autistic rhetorician, not an aspie rhetor. And Hub bloggers are rhetoricians, not just rhetors. But with what I like to think of as a final blow to this individual, I’ve called myself (or my blog) aspie rhetor. And why not? I’m an English major. I can spend the next 10 years analyzing all the crap associated with that term. And if ableist individuals are going to demand that I’m aspie (as opposed to the so-called “horribly damaged” autistic people) and that I’m a rhetor (as opposed to those people who actually know what they’re doing when they write), then I might as well make these terms my own, complicate what these terms mean, use them in ways they weren’t intended.
Moreover, because I like to think of myself as both a rhetor and a rhetorician, I’d like to think that I have some insight into making my own blogging space a rhetorically effective and accessible blogging space. For instance, aspie rhetor is not only easier to spell (e.g., aspierhetor.com), but it’s also easier (for me) to pronounce than autistic rhetorician.
Maybe someday — perhaps when the DSM-V arrives and does away with the Asperger’s stuff — I’ll remake my blog, or have two URLs leading to the same place: aspie rhetor and autistic rhetorician. But I don’t feel apologetic about referring to this space with the word aspie. I recognize that in many contexts, it certainly does create a dichotomy amongst autistic people, just like functioning labels do. But a rather large part of aspie and autie involves taking back the words that others come to know us by. And in that sense, I don’t see the dichotomy, and I don’t see the hierarchy.
Maybe I should put this stuff on my About page.
