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Athletes in the Paralympics
The 2020 Summer Paralympic Games are about to begin, on August 24. I’m yawning.
I know it’s terrible for me to feel that way. I should be enthusiastically cheering on my disabled peers as they engage in athletic feats. But the most I can bring myself to feel is indifference.
It’s not like I’m one of those people who are indifferent about athletics in general. I wish I were. I spend far too much time agonizing over the foibles of Chicago sports teams. I envy people who don’t care.
Maybe when their victories are celebrated, it’s because they’re proving that they can be like “normal people.”
And I’m not indifferent about the regular Olympics. (I hate calling them regular because it implies that the Paralympics and its participants are irregular, in an inferior way. But I can’t think of a better word for now, so humor me.) I have some interest in the outcomes of those games, primarily for political reasons.
In fact, I often find myself cheering for the United States to lose, because I know that if our shot putter beats the Brazilian shot putter, it will reinforce for many people that silly and destructive myth of U.S. exceptionalism (a.k.a. superiority).
Let’s not kid ourselves by buying into the idea that sporting events aren’t the place for political expression. If so, then there wouldn’t be any medal presentation ceremonies at the Olympics, where everyone stands at reverent attention while the national anthem plays.
Everyone standing at reverent attention while the national anthem plays is very much a political expression.
Maybe that’s why the Paralympics present a problem for me. Maybe they’re just too pure. There’s nothing political at stake. When the U.S. wheelchair shot putter beats the Bulgarian wheelchair shot putter, no one goes around bragging about how our disabled people are more badass than their disabled people.
So maybe I should care about the Paralympics because these disabled people represent me. Thus, their success is my success. Maybe I should honor them for making my life easier by normalizing disabilities. Maybe they show the world that disabled folks can be champions, too. We’re not just helpless victims.
But then again, maybe these disabled athletes don’t represent me. Maybe, in fact, by normalizing disabilities, they misrepresent me. Maybe when their victories are celebrated, it’s because they’re proving that they can be like “normal people.”
Maybe what makes them champions is that they’re not like disabled people like me, who can’t even lift a shot put. Maybe these athletes aren’t uplifting disabled people but forsaking us by equating greatness with normalcy.
If that’s the case, then maybe their success is a setback for me. A lot of disabled folks can’t even begin to pretend to be normal. We wouldn’t if we could. We go about doing things differently, and we always will. We walk funny and we talk funny, if we walk and talk at all. We are irrevocably abnormal and proud of it. It’s important for us to show the world that abnormal people are great, too.
Or maybe I’m overthinking all of this Paralympic stuff. Maybe I ought to just relax and enjoy the games for what they are and not worry about the larger connotations, either real or imaginary.
Maybe someday I’ll be able to do that.