Content warning: Explicit language and mentions of both ableism and racism
In the last part of the season one finale, Mary and Catalina discuss how Catalina's term "diversity burrito" came about, what it means, ableism and racism in the workplace, the pandemic, and how Black advocates/activists paved the way for disabled advocates/activists.
Born in Medellin, Colombia and raised in Fairfield County, Connecticut, Catalina earned a BA in Psychology at Western Connecticut State University in 2011 and completed all coursework for MS degrees in Psychology and Criminal Justice at Central Connecticut State University in 2015. In 2020 and 2021, she received RISE scholarships to attend American Ballet Theatre’s National Training Curriculum’s Teacher Training Intensive for levels Pre-Primary through Level 5. ABT provided these scholarships to Catalina for her work as a social justice advocate and commitment to working with marginalized dancers, particularly with disabled dancers. Catalina is now an ABT® Certified Teacher, who successfully completed the ABT® Teacher Training Intensive in Pre-Primary through Level 5 of the ABT® National Training Curriculum (NTC).
She has over 15 years of training in ballet and trains under Zimmi Coker (ABT corps de ballet & ABT NTC Pre-Primary-Partnering), Michael Cusumano (former ABT company member), and Rachel Zervakos (ABT NTC Pre-Primary-Level 5). She is also certified in Progressing Ballet Technique and has training in lyrical and jazz, as well as experience with choreographing dances for and competing in regional and national dance competitions with ballet and lyrical solos.
Catalina works with all dancers with emphasis on providing an educational experience that is respective of social justice and intersections of oppression. Catalina brings her perspective as a disabled Latina and her vegan ethics of compassion and harm-avoidance to her teaching to ensure that every dancer feels respected, protected, and valued in their entirety.
Catalina enjoys using her platform to advocate for social justice through a disability justice framework and to speak about the many factors that prevent marginalized dancers from accessing equitable dance education and advanced training. Catalina regularly engages with Upgrade Accessibility to address social justice through a disability justice framework.
You can follow Catalina on social media here.
The Politics of Disability was named Best Interview Podcast at the Astoria Film Festival in both October 2022 and again in June 2023.
Content warning: Explicit language and mentions of both ableism and racism
In the last part of the season one finale, Mary and Catalina discuss how Catalina's term "diversity burrito" came about, what it means, ableism and racism in the workplace, the pandemic, and how Black advocates/activists paved the way for disabled advocates/activists.
Born in Medellin, Colombia and raised in Fairfield County, Connecticut, Catalina earned a BA in Psychology at Western Connecticut State University in 2011 and completed all coursework for MS degrees in Psychology and Criminal Justice at Central Connecticut State University in 2015. In 2020 and 2021, she received RISE scholarships to attend American Ballet Theatre’s National Training Curriculum’s Teacher Training Intensive for levels Pre-Primary through Level 5. ABT provided these scholarships to Catalina for her work as a social justice advocate and commitment to working with marginalized dancers, particularly with disabled dancers. Catalina is now an ABT® Certified Teacher, who successfully completed the ABT® Teacher Training Intensive in Pre-Primary through Level 5 of the ABT® National Training Curriculum (NTC).
She has over 15 years of training in ballet and trains under Zimmi Coker (ABT corps de ballet & ABT NTC Pre-Primary-Partnering), Michael Cusumano (former ABT company member), and Rachel Zervakos (ABT NTC Pre-Primary-Level 5). She is also certified in Progressing Ballet Technique and has training in lyrical and jazz, as well as experience with choreographing dances for and competing in regional and national dance competitions with ballet and lyrical solos.
Catalina works with all dancers with emphasis on providing an educational experience that is respective of social justice and intersections of oppression. Catalina brings her perspective as a disabled Latina and her vegan ethics of compassion and harm-avoidance to her teaching to ensure that every dancer feels respected, protected, and valued in their entirety.
Catalina enjoys using her platform to advocate for social justice through a disability justice framework and to speak about the many factors that prevent marginalized dancers from accessing equitable dance education and advanced training. Catalina regularly engages with Upgrade Accessibility to address social justice through a disability justice framework.
You can follow Catalina on social media here.
The Politics of Disability was named Best Interview Podcast at the Astoria Film Festival in both October 2022 and again in June 2023.
[music playing as Mary speaks]
Mary: Hello everyone, and welcome. My name is Mary Fashik. I am the founder Upgrade Accessibility and your host. I’d like to thank you for joining me today, at the intersection of disability and politics. The road ahead can be a bumpy one, so buckle up and let's navigate this journey together.
[music playing]
Mary: Welcome back. Ready to find out where this conversation goes? Good. Then buckle up and let’s go.
I love this term you came up with. You always call it the diversity burrito. Talk to me about where that came from and why you say it.
Catalina: The diversity burrito came out of an IG live that you and I did a few months ago. We were talking about the difficulty of getting work and finding employment when you're not just disabled, but you're multi-marginalized and disabled (so for us that means being disabled of color). And I'll say that I have privilege over you because my disability, unless I say or unless I'm in the midst of an episode, no one knows.
Right? Like I wear this well, so I can get away with a lot. Whereas you can't. Not hiding. It's, like blatantly obvious that there's something else up here. So, we were talking about this and you mentioning that they want people who check off all these boxes and that, oh, it's a person of color, it's a woman, they're disabled, this, that and the other.
I’m not using that term to be dismissive of the “others.” They're looking for these people that can check off multiple boxes because it's cheaper for them than having to hire a person of color, a woman, a disabled person. They want to get one person because that's less expensive, and then they're sorry that they got it. And I said, “Oh, they want that diversity burrito, but they're sorry that they had it after.”
And it really is like that, the more I think about it. Like they're doing this, you know, they're looking for this “burrito” to come in their narrow idea of what people should be in this very Eurocentric aesthetic. And it's not that, because they got the burrito. They didn't just get any burrito. They want the diversity burrito. So that's a burrito from a street vendor.
It's not going to be the one that you get from Chipotle. It’s different. It’s better. It’s fantastic. They do this and then they're sorry with what they got. They're sorry that that person is outspoken, that that person isn’t going to take their shit, that that person wants to be paid a thriving wage, that that person is going to call them out when they're doing oppressive shit. And they don't want to keep them.
It's like, “Well, what did you expect? You got the diversity burrito. What did you expect? This is what you wanted. If you didn't want that, you shouldn’t have hired that.”
Mary: They always want someone palatable. Like, they want the palatable woman of color. They want the palatable disabled person. But like you said: the minute that you start to speak up and say “hey this isn’t right” or “I don’t agree with this,” then you become (and I’m speaking from experience), you become the angry disabled person. You become the angry, disobedient woman of color. And then it’s, “Well you've done XYZ wrong.” It’s not that you’ve necessarily done anything wrong. They just don’t like how you did it.
Catalina: It's like they get angry that that burrito was spicy, then. Like I had a job that I had gotten. It was at Dance, Etc., in Newtown, Connecticut. Yes, we are naming names. I owe them nothing. They hire me, and it was for one class a week, and typically a dance class is going to be an hour long. Sometimes it'll be 45 minutes, especially if it's like a younger kids’ class or if it's a combination class. But this particular class, they waited till like the day of, to tell me that it was 45 minutes and P.S. they're not paying me for the hour, which is shit. It’s absolute shit.
They were paying me for 45 minutes and it was already a reduced pay rate than what I normally take. And I was kind of just trying to let that slide because I wanted a shoe in the door somewhere. I wanted to get started somewhere. And it's so hard, it's so hard to get into these places. And it was one of those situations where, like, they needed somebody and they had nobody else.
So I go, I teach the first day and then they hand me this contract to look over. And, like, contracts are common and not that unusual. And in dance we kind of have this non-compete thing that I was always taught was supposed to be a 12-mile radius around the studio. So you can't teach anywhere within 12 miles during the time of your employment and a year after. Because basically they want to make sure that you don't have these massive classes and then you leave and take everyone with you.
And that's really more a problem with young adults and especially teens. Like, that really does happen. And it's common for those policies to be in place. But this place wanted like 35 miles and a three-year hold on that. So, the term of employment plus three years, and I'm like “You’re gonna have me working here for 45 minutes a week with like five year olds.”
First of all, they're not the ones that jump ship and you know damn well and second of all, you're not paying me a thriving wage. And then you're going to prevent me from getting it somewhere else? Uh, no. So, I was like, “this is not going to work.” And then they wanted teachers to work at recital for like reduced pay, something absurd like $10/hour or something like that.
And I was like, “No, I still have the same education, the same skills, experience. I'm still teaching dance. Why would I do it for less?” And they were like, “Oh, you get more hours.” I'm like, “So you're exploiting me? Yes, that's what you're doing. You're exploiting me. So you can't afford to pay me for the amount of time that you need me you're expecting me to work for less so that you can do what you want to do? I got news for you. If you can't afford to pay me what you said you would pay me; that means you can't do what you want to do. You can't afford to run a recital. That's how that works.” I know. It's amazing that we can understand how budgeting works, but they don't.
They don’t get it. They just exploit people. So I had said this, not in those terms. I said it much nicer than that. I said, “This is what I need. I need to be paid what you agreed to pay me for a full hour, not for 45 minutes. I need a 12-mile, one year non-compete, which is industry standard. And I need my pay rate to be the same at recital as it is anything else that I do.”
And to me that just is. Like I wasn't asking anything outlandish. And she was like, “Oh, well, you know, I don't think this is going to work out.” And it was just absurd. And I was just like, “You know, you've got the sign hanging up about ‘Black Lives Matter’ and ‘love is love.’ And ‘we respect this, that, and the other.’” And I was like, “I call bullshit.”
And she was like, “Yeah, I have the sign up and you'll see on the website it says that anyone can talk to me about it.” And I’m like, “And we're talking now, and what, you're still choosing to be an oppressive asshole. So what the fuck? Like, what good is talking to you if this is the choice that you still arrive at? You've been educated about this.
You've been told what the issues are and you're blaming me. You're saying that I'm the problem and I’m the one that doesn't fit. No, I'm not the problem. Your attitude is the problem. Your willingness to be oppressive, to take advantage, is the problem.” And I literally would have been the only disabled person on their staff and I think one of only two people of color on their staff. And I’m like, “Sure, but there's nothing wrong here.” And I’m like, “Oh and by the way, your dress code is racist too.”
When you go when you hire somebody like me, what do you think you're going to get? Do you think that we're just going to take it in silence? And I think they do. They really, really do. They think we're just going to take it and I’m like, a lot of people will, because especially in dance, like the jobs are just not there.
They're just not there. And even more so in ballet, we’re told to shut the fuck up. “Show up and shut the fuck up. And do as you're told.” And that's that. That's, you know, culture of silence and intimidation. And in ballet, it’s just the way it is. So when somebody turns around and says, “Fuck you, I'm not doing this,” they're like, “okay, bye.” They’ll hire somebody else. And they do.
Mary: Since we're naming names and we’re sharing stories, I worked for Jackson-Hewitt. Yes, we’re naming names. I worked for a Jackson-Hewitt Franchise, several years ago, doing income taxes. I went to the same class as this white man, nondisabled white man. We started the class the same day. We were in the same class. Neither one of us had any experience prior. We got hired on the same day. I know because we both had our interview on the same day. I worked my ass off in that company. And then I became manager. Jackson-Hewett has a kiosk inside of Walmart. Well, they were like, “Oh Mary, do you want to go work at the kiosk?” I was like, “Okay that’s fine.” Well, come to find out, my non-disabled coworkers were mad that I was doing more tax returns than they were. So, they wanted me out of the office.
But what they didn’t understand was I was a beginning tax preparer. I was doing the ones that had one W-2. All of the information was already in the computer. And yes, they would take me fifteen minutes to do, but I wasn’t making the commission that they were, off of the ones that took them thirty minutes to an hour to do. So, they pushed me over to the kiosk, but my productivity at the kiosk was higher on some days than their productivity in the office–with three and four people in the office, and I was the only one in the kiosk some days. And then I became the manager of the kiosk, and I find out that I am making two dollars an hour less than the same white man that I was talking about, who was not a manager. I know now that, yes, it had to do with my race, because my boss was white, but also because I’m disabled. And they were going by the subminimum wage law. And if you don't know what subminimum wage is, Google it. Do the work. Do the research. Find out what it is. I’m not going to tell you what it is.
But, this is what they were going by. And when I went in to talk to my boss and I said, “I need another $2 an hour” (this was after I decided to step down as manager after they abused me horribly), my boss said to me, “Only managers are making that amount of money.” And I’m thinking I didn’t make that money, and I know what everybody else was making, so I knew they were lying to me. So I quit that job and ended up doing taxes on my own at home. I built up a really nice clientele. I was being paid $8.25 an hour to manage an entire office. And they thought it was okay. And my coworkers would talk about me behind my back, complain about me, and things like that, all because they were ableist. Like you and I have said, the shit we put up with just to make a dollar is ridiculous.
Catalina: I don't put up with shit anymore though. [laughs] That’s what’s different. Like I just started a new job somewhere and, like, the pay is a little bit lower, but at the same time the place that I'm working is amazing. Like the people knew me so well. Anything that I said I needed and wanted, they were like, "Cool, fine. No problem.”
Like, I needed to take yesterday off because I wasn't feeling well and I texted them. It wasn't even 20 minutes. It was like 6 hour’s notice. And that's okay. We hope you feel better. Let us know if you need anything. Reach out if you need help. And one of my coworkers even messaged me to check on me later in the day. Like this is the way it should be, so it's worth it.
Like I don't work places that are not going to take me in full. I have the privilege to do that because it's just me and the dog. I have a support system. No one's going to let you starve. Like I know that if I lost any of my jobs, I could go on my social media and tell my community that this happened and they would back me up.
And even without them, I have other people in my life that would help me out. So there is a privilege that comes with that, and I've kind of just decided for myself that I'm just not doing that. I'm not doing that. I'm not taking abuse from anyone. I'm not going to put myself in situations that don't work for me because I'm miserable.
What I'm making in money I'm losing in general well-being. Like what point is having more money, excess money, if I'm feeling shitty all the time? It's not worth it in my mind. And I don't have a exuberant lifestyle by any means, but at the same time, like, I’m not miserable. To me that's the middle. For me, that's what I can tolerate, what I'm happy with and just I'm not going to work places that are not going to be fully accepting.
Like I've decided I'm not going to work anywhere permanently that won't change their dress code. In ballet everybody wants ballet pink tights and shoes for every dancer. That's meant for white dancers. If you go look at Dance Theater Harlem, their uniform code is skin tone tights and shoes. And my uniform code from my private lessons students is skin tone shoes and no tights.
Or if you want to wear tights, they need to be skin tone. But I'm not putting anybody in pink tights, not even my white dancers because it doesn't even match them. It's ridiculous. You know? I think I've maybe seen like three or four people in my life that actually, like, the pink tights actually match them. So I'm just not going to work anywhere that won't change because to me, that's just a flat out way of saying, “Well, we value the racist tradition over our students of color being able to see their alignment properly. We just want to stick to the racist tradition and keep the racist parents and students at the studio happy and comfortable.” Like, why would I come work for you? For what?
Mary: That’s why now, I'm like, when you said, “Oh we’re naming names,” I’m like yeah every time that memory pops up on my Facebook or something about when I used to work there. I’m like, “Yeah I used to work at Jackson-Hewitt, and this is what happened.” Because I want people to know how I was treated, and how disabled people are treated in work environments, and how I was treated the worst by the owner’s daughter who became assistant manager of a whole franchise, only because she got divorced and had to move home. So we all know that that’s why she got the job, not because she was qualified. Because there were so many times when she asked me or other employees, like, “How do I do this?” And it was something so basic that we learned in like week 2 of tax school. So, we know why you got the job, so why are you trying to tell me how to do my job when you have no fucking idea of how to do your own job? Like please take several seats.
Catalina: I think adult ballet is especially guilty of this. But there are these teachers. They're always fucking white women. Like they just seriously never fucking disappoint. You know, it's so predictable that they'll have zero teaching experience and very little actual dance training, and it's usually not good training. Like they're not very capable dancers. Which, I acknowledge that being an exceptional dancer doesn't always equate with being an exceptional teacher.
Like I've seen people who shit dancers, and they're wonderful teachers; and the other way around, people who are shit teachers and wonderful dancers. But like these are people who are like missing the basics big time and they can't even tell you the basics, let alone do them. And they have these thriving programs and I’m like how? And then it occurs to me that they're just preying upon people's vulnerabilities.
And this idea of, “Oh, every body is a ballet body” and “ballet is for everyone. It's for every age.” And I'm like, no one...no one said it wasn't. No one said you couldn't come to class. You might not be able to perform and you might not reach a professional level. But no one is saying you can't go take class.
Why are you acting like you're being oppressed? You're not. You're not. You as a white woman with money are not being oppressed in ballet. So, I go and I watch this and I'm just like scraping by, and I by no means define myself as an exceptional dancer. I think I’m— I'll say I'm above average, given my age and training.
But at the same time, I do think I'm an exceptional teacher and I work very, very hard. I have formal certifications, I have advanced education, and I can't get the student base that they get. I can't get paid what they get paid. And I'm like, you can be shitty at your job so long as you're meeting the white aesthetic.
Mary: Let's talk more about mental health. This is a question I think is super important. And when others are listening to this episode, it will be in the summer. We are recording this in February of 2022. But I know that this will still be a topic that needs to be spoken about. So, tell me how society’s attitude towards COVID has affected you and your mental health.
Catalina: I think I maybe had a little bit of a unique experience other disabled people might have experienced, just because I'm a dancer and I'm very involved in dance. Something about COVID that was wonderful for me as a person with mental illness is that everybody stayed away from each other and that was fantastic. I thoroughly enjoyed that when I was out.
That was great. People not wanting to come near me, fantastic, loved it. Would like more of that, please, and thank you. Fewer people in the store, people not knocking into each other. People being very, very aware of how close they were to others–loved it. More of that, please. I’d like that forever and always. In other ways, I think it's brought out the assholery of people.
It's made them more comfortable with being assholes to each other, which I don't always love. Like when I was driving Uber, that was horrible. But at the same time, it makes it easier for me to tell people when we're being asses and tell them to go fuck off. I don't feel any kind of, “Oh, they're being polite” or whatever. No, nobody’s being polite. I have no problem telling them to go fuck themselves because of that. And I do. So, I enjoy that part.
And then with dance, what was different, I think, for us is that when quarantine hit, it kind of leveled things for me. Because group classes don't work for me. I can't do group classes. I don't belong in a group for me with my accommodation needs. It doesn't happen in a group in a way that I want it to and I just don't get the education that I want.
So, getting to be home and there were Instagram accounts dedicated to just, like, tracking who was teaching what, when. And pretty much every single day, I was able to take 6 or 7 hours worth of class for free. And that was something I never in a million years would have had access to before this, just cost alone. So, I was getting to take class with these world class dancers.
This opportunity never would have been there, and all of the teachers that I've gotten to work with it was all because of the pandemic. So, these opportunities I've had, I never would have had them.
No way. Wouldn’t have been able to afford them. Wouldn't have been able to have access to these people. Wouldn't have had the time to do it because I would have been working. Being on unemployment was an equalizer for a lot of people. That's something I experienced. And now my life has changed because of it. The scholarships that I got, I wouldn't have gotten them had it not been for this experience with COVID that a lot of other things that happened opened doors for people to speak up and say, “This is not right, we're not taking this.”
And that's ultimately how I ended up getting my scholarship, was that I called ABT out on something. I said, “You fucked up. You fucked up and this is not okay. They gave me a scholarship. So, it’s opened doors. I'm very, very privileged disability is one of my mind and not one of my body. I'm not worried that when I step out of the house that somebody is going to blink in my direction and I’ll die next week. I have a major, major privilege there.
I do worry as somebody who has asthma, but at the same time I have access to resources. I wish it hadn't taken a pandemic for this to happen, but at the same time it's changed my life for the better. I think the times when I noticed that it took a toll on my mental health is when I think about when I didn't have access to in-person therapy, it was harder.
I still had telehealth, but for me to not have that real contact with somebody, to be in the same room with someone, was damaging. But in other ways it gave me… you know, not being around people was fantastic. I always joke and I say that for me, the best relationships that I have, the ones that have the most emotional closeness, are ones that have physical distance.
I mean, just like us, we have this great friendship. We're probably never going to ever meet each other in person. The likelihood of that is very low. You know, you live in the south, and I'm in the north and my other best friend lives out in New Mexico.
Everybody lives far away and there's some level of protection that comes with that for me. So, I got to develop a community because I have this other layer of safety that comes in physical distance. But it's so different for everyone. And I don't think there are so many times when we hear about stories of people who are like, “This was fortunate for me.” You know, were it not for the pandemic, I would still be driving Uber.
I would still be extremely, extremely poor. I'm still poor, but I'm not poor like I was before. I think I would be worse off. And it wasn't so much the pandemic as the unemployment, which came because of the pandemic. So it was unemployment that made this possible. It's really opened my eyes to go and say, “Why did it take this huge, heavy human toll for so many of us to finally get a living wage, to get a savings?”
This is my first time in my life that I've ever had a savings that I know is not going to be gone if one little emergency happens. I'll be okay. I'll be okay. So, I guess that's the effect it’s had on me.
Mary: I wanna thank you for acknowledging your privilege because so many of us do not have that privilege. But at the same time, I have this juxtaposition of: like you, if it wasn’t for the pandemic, a lot of the job opportunities I’ve had would have not happened.
So, COVID can literally kill me. I can die from COVID. So the thing that can kill me also presented me with job opportunities. So it’s been very hard and it’s still very hard, after two years, to reconcile that this thing that can kill me is what’s strengthened my advocacy, made me a strong voice in the community, allowed me to do the work that I’ve been wanting to do since I was 18 years old. I’ve been wanting to do this. And I’ve done it in one way or another, whether I understood the fullness of what I was doing. I’ve always advocated.
When I was in college, I walked around the entire university with the university president and the student government president. And we talked about physical access barriers and pointed out things that needed to be fixed. And like, the door handles were too heavy to be pulled open and they weren’t meeting ADA guidelines. So, this is stuff I’ve been doing my whole life without really understanding that this is what I’ve been. You know, I’ve always advocated. When people say, “When did you start your advocacy?” I’ve always advocated. As soon as I understood what it meant, and understood that I had the autonomy to do so, I‘ve always done this work. But something like the pandemic, something like COVID, that literally could kill me, has opened so many doors for me. And it’s so so (even to this day) difficult for me to reconcile that the thing that could kill me is the thing that made me who I am today.
Catalina: I think we also need to mention that it wasn't just the pandemic, I think for either of us, that necessarily made advocacy possible, but made it so that more people were open to taking in what we were saying. And we need to credit the work done by the Black people and by Black Lives Matter and by every group and movement related to that.
Because were it not for that, nothing would have changed. Now, I think people with the most privilege in our society, specifically white people, people with that privilege, who are wanting to not be assholes, are going and saying, “Gee, let's be a little less horrible. Who should we listen to?” And I think that Black Lives Matter and every major protest or any protest that's happened has really, really, really paved the way for that.
And I think that people being stuck at home and saying, “Wow, this life is kind of shit” and going, “I don't have anything else to do with my time” …those factors came together and made people go, “Gee I think maybe we should be listening to others and taking in what they say, and maybe we don't know everything. And maybe somebody has a worse experience of this than I do,” and seeing that play out in social media, too. I think it's been this amalgam of factors and we really, really can't not acknowledge that. Because I think that even more so than COVID, I think the work of Black advocates and activists and people as a whole, regardless of whether they're involved in advocacy or activism work, they deserve a huge amount of credit for us being listened to in any way, shape or form.
Mary: I agree, completely agree. And this is why also, when we talk about collective liberation, I’ve been saying that collective liberation has to include disabled people. But at the same time, disabled people cannot forget that the reason why we have any rights at all, thanks in part to the Black Panther Party. If it wasn’t for the Black Panther Party, who fed the 504 protesters, 504 would've never been signed, and the ADA in turn would have never been signed. So, we cannot forget that we do owe our rights to the Black Panthers. We owe it to Black activists. We cannot forget where we come from and who helped us get there.
As we end this episode, what is a message that you have for the non-disabled community, and anything else that you would like to add?
Catalina: My message to the non-disabled community is: shut the fuck up. And I mean that with sincerity. And it's not meant to be nice. If you're offended, good. Be offended and shut the fuck up and listen. Okay? Shut up and listen. And if you're not of the ability of listening, then shut the fuck up and read it instead, okay? Stop. Like the next time you're in a conversation with someone who is more marginalized than you are and you're going to say, “Oh, I know I have privilege, but…” just stop there.
Just stop. You don't need to go any further. You have privilege. Period, done. Be done with that. Okay? You don't need to say anything else after that. You don't need to “but,” you don’t need to qualify. Just stop talking. Nine out of ten times when you think you need to add something. just shut the fuck up. Stop. Understand that when marginalized and even more so when multi marginalized people are talking, that means that if you are marginalized by not multi-marginalized, this applies to you too, because you have privilege. Because you're experiencing one form of oppression, you need to fuck up too. When we're talking, this is not a discussion. It's not a conversation. It's a lecture. It's not there for you to argue, to qualify, to question. Just take what we're saying.
Assume that we're a mediocre white man and just take what we're saying at face value. Because I know this might be very hard to take, but we might actually know what we're talking about. And if you have a problem with that, that's a you problem and not a me problem, so deal with that yourself.
Mary: I knew this was going to be, like, the best conversation, and it was. Catalina, thank you so so much for joining me today. It was an absolute pleasure having you on the podcast today.
Catalina: It might have been a pleasure for us, but I feel that there are going to be a lot of people listening to this who’re not going to feel the same way. And that’s okay. I’m good with that. [laughs]
Mary: That's okay. They’ll deal with it. And like I always say, this is a bumpy road. So, I hope they will buckle up for it. Thank you again for joining me.
[music playing while Mary speaks] Thank you for joining me for this episode of the Politics of Disability Podcast. As you navigate your journey, remember: disability is political; disability is messy; disability is not palatable--nor does it have to be.
[music playing]