SlutWalk Berlin

Thoughts on SlutWalk from a Wheelchair

As a sexual violence prevention educator, I find hope in the grassroots activism and passion that radiates from SlutWalk. Anything that gets people talking, that breaks down the myths and reduces victim shaming, is a step in the right direction. This activism is so badly needed in a society that still justifies violent victimization according to what women are wearing or how they choose to spend their Friday nights. The photos of women clad in sneakers, jeans and comfy t-shirts carrying signs that read “THIS IS WHAT I WAS WEARING WHEN I WAS RAPED” make my heart ache. But after reading all of the discussion, I’m left wondering if there’s a place for me in SlutWalk.

Much has been written about SlutWalk and the problematic nature of the word “slut.” Many women of color, in particular, have made it clear that they don’t want to reclaim the word because of the way their sexuality has been constructed throughout America’s racist history. As a woman in a wheelchair, I have a very different problem.

No, my problem is that the word “slut” has never felt like mine to reclaim. While women all over the world are waiting for people to stop seeing them as sex objects, women with disabilities are still waiting to be seen at all. We are less than a woman, somehow–certainly less than “slut.” Too often we are viewed as pitiable, pathetic and devoid of desire. We could never be “sluts.” If we are “lucky enough” to have partners, they get congratulations and pats on the back from strangers when they “take us out” in public.

It’s not, as you might guess, the word “walk.” Some may find it ableist, but I say it all the time: “I was walking down the street.” When I imagine saying, “I was rolling down the street,” I get this picture in my head of kids log-rolling down hills for fun.

No, my problem is that the word “slut” has never felt like mine to reclaim. While women all over the world are waiting for people to stop seeing them as sex objects, women with disabilities are still waiting to be seen at all. We are less than a woman, somehow–certainly less than “slut.” Too often we are viewed as pitiable, pathetic and devoid of desire. We could never be “sluts.” If we are “lucky enough” to have partners, they get congratulations and pats on the back from strangers when they “take us out” in public.

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