On monsters....

( Loosely on Hitler and monsters and the human condition. I'm afraid it doesn't make much sense outside my head )

I don't know the conditions that would lead people to participate in genocide. I don't know the conditions that would even lead people to participate in other forms of bigotry. I don't know how to stop this. I *do* know that stopping it means understanding it - and understanding it means standing up and saying "Look, genocide? Monstrous, but it's still the act of human beings. Any act of bigotry you can imagine, big or small? It's all the work of humans." It means coming to the situation with the attitude that the people involved are, in fact, people - their motivations can be understood, they can stop harming others, they can change.

You can't change monsters, can't stop monsters. But you can change humans. Not sure how, yet - give me some time - but you can change the prejudices of ordinary humans *before* they reach the point where they're harming others.

Oh, man.

Now that I'm not sitting on the bus anymore, this is the funniest thing.

I got off the boat, and immediately ran into 'dul and the kids, so I took the bus with them instead of my usual bus. They got one seat in the front (Ana got a seat, 'dul and baby stood - 'dul was offered a seat but turned it down), and I moved towards the back of the bus to sit.

It was a full up bus, but not exactly crowded.

Now, like most people, I don't like standing past the back door. I mean, I *will* if I have to, but I prefer not to. No real reason, I guess, I just don't like to.

So I get there, and I stand in front of a seat with a bag on it. A black woman (this becomes important. Well, to her, anyway....) with ugly-ass nails (this is unimportant, but I feel entitled to a little snottiness here) is rifling through the bag to find her phone. She looks at me. I look at her. She finds her phone and stares at me. I look at her.

Finally, the bus starts moving, and I have to ask...

Me: Ma'am? Can I sit down?
Bag: *gets moved, and put on her lap*
Me: *sits down* Thanks.

Simple, right? I'm not the most coordinated person. I can hold my balance on a bus, but I really prefer not to try if I don't have to. Asking for a seat, not that big a deal. Or so I thought....

( Cutted for repetetetetitiveness )

I had to reach around behind her to ring the bell. In so doing, I bumped into her. I swear to God, it was a total accident. But it was worth it for her complete and total lack of response. Hysterical, seriously.

Unlike some people, I really can't be bothered to be offended by her bad behaviour. If this were Ana's behaviour, I'd be both offended and embarrassed, but this woman is an adult, with (clearly) some serious issues of her own. I'm more baffled, a bit irritated, and (now that it's over) a lot amused. What a waste of energy on her part!

It's a little early for Autistic Pride Day, but not much.

Somebody on my journal had seen the dreaded video (Aieee!), and mentioned that many of the kids looked "quite low-functioning".

I replied that this is a debateable term, but that I don't feel myself well-spoken enough on the subject to explain my feelings, or the whole debate. I could've directed him straight-away to some of the people I feel are clearest at writing on the subject, but I thought that might be a bit rude - what if they don't want to talk? - so I decided to post here instead.

Ahem. Those of you who have a well-formed opinion on the subject, I would very much appreciate it if you'd post your feelings on the subject of high/low-functioning autism.

On a similar note, I've a few times run into people with autistic kids (or who work with autistic kids), and, as it comes up, I've mentioned "Well, I'm autistic...."

And inevitably gotten "You must be very high functioning" as a reply.

I mean, I'm certain that I fit that vague criteria, but... wow, can you be more insulting? I know they don't mean to be, but... am I the only one who finds that statement to be insulting the way it's said?

(When it is, I immediately want to talk about my erstwhile bouts of agoraphobia, and the times I've, as I put it, "forgotten how to walk", always an unpleasant experience.)