As we’ve critiqued many of the ableist assumptions of Speech-Language Pathology, we've received reminders that “not all SLPs are like that.” We recognize that there are individual SLPs who work hard to resist many parts of the system from within. We are extremely grateful for this work, and recognize just how important it is to those of us who receive it.

However, when you read our critiques of SLP, you’ll notice that the majority of what we’ve discussed has been focused much less on the role of individual pathologists, and much more on the discipline, teachings, and premises of Speech-Language Pathology as a whole.

This is because while it’s true that not all SLPs do all of the things that DIS has critiqued, the much more important point is that every person who stutters still experiences the harmful effects of SLP as a whole. Our society has taken the discipline and industry of SLP as the default way of understanding and responding to stuttering, and the things it says about stuttering affect every single one of us, whether we’ve ever set foot in a SLP’s office or not.

Every day I encounter the assumption that my stutter is a problem to be treated and coped with. This assumption is reinforced by the practices, research, and very existence of the SLP industry. In diagnosing stuttering as a medical condition and looking for ways to treat and rehabilitate stutterers, SLP is creating and reinforcing the backdrop of discrimination (and assimilation) against which I live every day of my life.

Of course the vast majority of us who have been to speech therapy have experience this outright—the assumption that it is my speech (not the biases of my listeners) which causes my difficulty in communicating. The assumption that the underlying social struggles I face (anxiety, fear, shyness, low self-esteem) are best addressed by modifying me or my speech rather than ableism within society.

Moreover, these exact opinions are replicated by society as a whole. For one thing, everyone constantly assumes that if I’m not receiving speech therapy I should be. For another, everyone thinks of my stutter as a struggle to overcome—a deficiency to be disliked and minimized. These biases against my speech are backed up and made credible by SLP.

At Did I Stutter, we are instead claiming that there is quite literally nothing wrong with stuttering. We want to be proud of our stutters. We want completely to undo the assumptions we hear every day that there is something unfortunate or deficient about our speech and that our voices would be better off modified or changed. We want to go to schools and workplaces where those around us don’t wish we were fluent and don’t expect us to wish it too. We want to understand the “impediments” in our speech as having nothing to do with our physical bodies and everything to do with a society that doesn’t accommodate our voices just as they are. For better or worse, these goals stand in opposition to Speech-Language Pathology.

It is for this reason that Did I Stutter has been careful to position itself outside the field and logic of SLP. In doing so we aren’t critiquing the intentions of individual SLPs, who are by and large in the field to help people. Rather, we are resisting the industry’s entire assumption that disability should be responded to in therapeutic ways. Like many other liberation movements, we want to make room for people with speech impediments to define their voices for themselves without needing to defer to “experts.” We also recognize that SLPs face an unfortunate conflict of interest as it does not economically benefit SLPs or the industry as a whole for stutterers to embrace their voices just as they are and stop seeking therapeutic intervention. This is part of why we are grateful for the work of those SLPs who do resist the ableism of the larger industry, yet part of why we know that resistance from inside an ableist system will never be enough.

It may be true that not all speech-language pathologists reinforce the ableism of Speech-Language Pathology.

But yes, all stutterers are damaged by it. 

-Josh and Charis

Put simply, our society is built for able-bodied people and it resists any change at every step of the way. The ADA has been in place for 25 years and our society still does the absolute bare minimum to make our world inclusive and accessible for disabled people. For example, businesses don’t want to spend money to renovate their buildings; they regularly change just enough to squeak past building codes. Or to take another example, we still think of disability as an absolute tragedy, so much so that people regularly report that they would rather die than end up in a wheelchair/become blind/deaf/etc. etc. Behind the thin veil of inclusiveness, we as a society do not like disability and do almost anything to avoid it. “Do we really have to include them?” is an uncomfortably common sentiment I encounter. People fawn over disability when it makes them feel inspired (see picture), but as soon as they realize just how much our claims for justice will require of them, their inspired smiles sour. 

To create social change is thus not simply about educating people, since education in itself means we are dependent upon the kindness and generosity of others. You can ask people nicely not to finish your sentences and explain why it is infantilizing, but that leaves it up to their good will. As every liberation movement of the past century has shown, social change requires something more: a change in power dynamics that transforms the relations between people. In our context, this means transforming how abled people relate to disabled people (in ways that are less oppressive), how abled people relate to each other (in ways that disarm ableism and make space for disabled people), and how disabled people relate to each other (in ways that affirm solidarity). This is especially true for stuttering since, as I have suggested earlier, it is a distinctly interpersonal experience. Speaking on our own terms thus requires educating people as well as shifting the terms—shifting the power dynamics—on which we get to speak.  

This brings me back to the issue of anger and communicating hospitably. Against our sometimes common-sense intuition, I believe that communication is not primarily the act of swapping information between our heads, but is a way of relating to and changing the relationships between one another. Communication connects us to each other, and depending on how we communicate, we can establish very different kinds of relationships between people.

However if communication is a way of relating to one another, it is also about power. It is no secret that we assert power over others through communication. We regularly change how people act and think about themselves and others through the way in which we communicate—not only what we say, but, for example, the underlying tone we use, the context in which we say it, and who is involved in the conversation.

So if communication is more about modifying how we relate to each other than simply exchanging information, and if we understand social change to require transforming the relationships between people rather than simply educating them, the importance of how we speak and write about stuttering with others takes on a new flavor.    

I want to talk about communicating hospitably, and I want to use it in the place of words like “empathy,” “kindness,” “and “compassion.” These words so easily force marginalized people to be “respectable” and “civil” if they want to be taken seriously. In other words, we are forced to speak on the terms of ableism. Communicating hospitably is rather inviting others into our home, into our way of communicating, our speeds, our styles, our rhythms of communication. Communicating hospitably is, moreover, to communicate on our own terms and welcome others to explore this world with us. This means that yes, we need to make space for them and help them find their way within our world. But it does not mean that anger and hospitality are polar opposites, nor that anger not is not at times an appropriate response to how people treat us in our home. In communicating hospitably we are seeking to change the relationships between people, not just invite them in so we can funnel information into their ear.

If someone interrupts my sentence, I hospitably invite them into my communication by finishing my sentence anyway. If they continue to do so, a more direct—“why are you cutting me off?” may be appropriate. Many people will learn how to listen in less ableist ways with polite explanations or reminders. But if I have invited someone into my home, into my rhythms of speech, and they refuse to treat those rhythms respectably, I can’t simply assume it’s because I haven’t asked nicely enough. In this regard, there are times when people will still try and force us to speak on their own terms—make us feel ashamed or embarrassed of our stuttering—and thus recreate an oppressive relationship. It is especially in these times that getting angry is an appropriate way of resisting oppression. When this happens I love to look people straight in the eye as I stutter, my tongue protrudes, and syllables spill out of my mouth, daring them to either listen up or walk way.

Stuttering with hospitality means generously inviting people into my speeds and rhythms of speech. It also means that I refuse to speak on the terms of ableism. I refuse to make that kind of world my home. 

-Josh

I recently wrote a guest post for the Inandem blog run by two very cool SLPs who are down with stuttering pride. Here is part of it, on the history of disability rights and what this has to do with stuttering:

"Gaining their momentum in the 70s, disability rights activists and theorists have insisted that what we understand as 'disability' is not primarily a medical but a political issue of inclusion and exclusion. Human traits are tremendously varied – eye and hair color, bone structure, height, physical and mental capabilities. So why, disability politics asks, are only particular forms of variation marked as “'abnormal'?

The short answer to this question is that the very process of categorizing bodies and human traits in terms of normal/abnormal or abled/disabled is deeply informed by cultural, economic, social, and political values. For example, despite progressive legislation we still erect inaccessible buildings and transportation systems that 'disable' wheelchair users and deaf or blind people. Architecture that excludes certain types of people is a reflection of what and who we value as a society. Disability activists and theorists thus argue that (to varying degrees depending on who you ask) disability is not an individual and biological condition, but is a complex interaction between bodies, cultural values, and social/economic structures. 'Abnormal/normal' and 'disabled/abled' are, therefore, first and foremost political categories used to construct our world in oppressive ways. Because of this, disability rights movements refuse to believe that disability is fundamentally a medical issue, and instead see it as a matter of civil rights and justice. We demand to be included in society as equal participants just as we are. 

Yet up until late, there has been very little attention to stuttering and communication disabilities within disability studies and activism. . ."

Read the rest of the post here.  

-Josh

I, like many stutterers, have spent a long time feeling embarrassed of how I talk and who I am, and feeling guilty for making people uncomfortable. I lived in constant fear of my tongue which might at any moment derail—producing a tortuously slow trainwreck of gapes and grimaces, dragging behind them embarrassed glances always ending in shame. 

For this fear I spent half an hour every morning rehearsing fluency at 60 SPM: “wheeen the suuunliiight striikes raaindrops iiin the aaAir . . .” I was determined not to let stuttering hold me back – “I CAN ACHIEVE ANYtt-----ttTHING WITH PERSISTANCE!” Yet perhaps it would be better to say that I simply feared my mouth once again swelling shut with shame.

My speech pathologists taught me self-acceptance. Self-love. They told me it didn’t matter what other people thought of me. I should just ignore them. “They’re ignorant,” I was told. Sunday School taught me to forgive those who mocked me. Let it go—they’re not worth your time.

The one thing I was never told that was that I could get angry. Fucking angry.

Fury is a proper response to injustice and oppression, to silencing, stereotyping, and co-option. All emancipatory movements of the twentieth century—civil rights, disability rights, feminism, and queer liberation—have been fueled by anger focused into resistance. As the legendary Audre Lorde writes, “Anger is an appropriate reaction to racist attitudes, as is fury when the actions arising from those attitudes do not change.” [1] For so long, disabled people have been treated as objects of charity and welfare, expected to accept the scraps society doles out with a thankful tear in our eye. In contrast, the disability rights movement teaches us to “piss on pity” and be outraged at our exclusion and marginalization.   

So where the hell is the fury in the stuttering community? We are jesters in music and film. People mock, stop, and dismiss our words. We are inspirational when we overcome our “tragedy” and lazy when we do not. We are regularly not treated as equal citizens, denied time, jobs, and respect. I should be livid when your discomfort makes me hate myself. When you tell me to sit down halfway through my class presentation. When you don’t absorb anything I’ve said because you’re too busy feeling sorry for me. When you medicalize my body and claim to be the expert on my speech. I should be outraged at everyone who helps, in a million little ways, to create and sustain a world that oppresses dysfluent speakers.         

Yet for all of this the stutterer is trained (with stickers and (social) gold stars!) to be mild-mannered and submissive—to accept ourselves. Does no one find this absurd? This is domestication, not liberation! We as a community are far too easily satisfied. Oh, it’s certainly permissible if I occasionally get angry at myself, if it leads me to work harder and persevere. But direct that anger towards the world? Ruffle some feathers? Dare to make our frustration political? All of a sudden we are stuttering out of line. All of a sudden we are unruly, dangerous.

(We will not, by the way, be towed back in line through claims that we’re just playing the victim card or being lazy. In every movement, these have always been cowardly responses used to maintain the status quo.)     

Here’s what anger does. It focuses us. It enlivens us. But most of all, it centers attention where it needs to be: on the injustice of the stuttering experience. My tongue is not the problem. My tongue has never been the problem. Getting angry lets me remember this.

Anger is a rallying cry. In the fight for gender equality, anger remains a driving force behind suffrage, workplace equality, and bodily autonomy. In the civil rights movement, anger fueled leaders from Martin Luther King, Jr., to Malcolm X, to Audre Lorde in rallying the multitude and making sure they will no longer be ignored. Anger continues to be a life-giving force in the face of marginalization, as, for example, recent events in Ferguson have shown.

In the disability rights movement, anger forces those who are “abnormal” and subhumanized to be confronted, at least for an instant, as persons. When those who are institutionalized without their consent, medicated against their wishes, isolated, ignored, diagnosed, stigmatized, rehabilitated, sterilized, denied education, criminalized, and left in poverty with no escape beyond the bureaucratic welfare and intermittent charity of those caregivers and systems disabled people too often find themselves utterly dependant on, anger is a lifeline in demanding that injustice be recognized and that oppressed peoples be heard on their own terms. Anger is a bastion for communities who refuse to simply smile and be grateful. Anger fuels change. 

Anger can be this for stutterers.

It’s time to take back our speech.

-Josh

[1] “The Uses of Anger: Women Responding to Racism”

I am not a conspiracy theorist. I do not own a tin foil hat.

Yet one would hardly need to believe the US government is hiding aliens in Area 51 to notice, mimicking the melodramatic language of politicians, a “war on disability.” Put more soberly, there is an intensive and sustained global effort to irradiate disability from the human population, an effort rooted in the common belief that disability is a tragedy—causing pain, suffering, disadvantage—and the world would be a better place without it.

While society has always discriminated against disabiity to some degree, it is only in the past 150 years that humans have believed themselves capable of removing disability from the human population altogether in the happy march of human progress. The irradiation of disability fits into a larger story, into the history of what is termed “eugenics.” 
     
Eugenics is the attempt to improve the genetic stock of humanity—literally to create better people. Originating in the mid-nineteenth century with Francis Galton, an English scientist responsible for discovering statistical techniques of measuring heritable human abilities and characteristics, eugenics caught on like wildfire across Europe and especially in North America. Galton introduced the idea of statistically “normal” human traits and the idea that the quality of the human race could be improved by promoting the reproduction of “higher” quality people (positive eugenics) while discouraging the reproduction of “lower” quality people (negative eugenics).

Following from Galton’s theory of negative eugenics, institutions were quickly erected to separate those deemed “feeble-minded” from the rest of society. Built upon some very sketchy science, thousands of disabled people (or people diagnosed as disabled) were segregated and sterilized in an attempt to produce a better population, or a better human “stock” throughout Canada and the US. In Alberta, the Canadian province in which I live, 2 800 people were approved by the government between 1928 and 1972 to be sterilized non-consensually and often without their knowledge (I am involved with a major research project called the Living Archives on Eugenics in Western Canada) .  

The logic of eugenics—that the human race should and can be improved—is most infamously associated with the Nazi Final Solution. Yet it is less-well known that the creation of a “pure” Aryan race was first tested on disabled people. By the end of WW2, an estimated 275 000 disabled people had been murdered by the Nazis, many of them severely intellectually disabled or mentally ill.[1] Moreover, it is worth noting that many champions of eugenics in North America praised early Nazi attempts at social hygiene. These events seem chilling from our perspective, yet eliminating "less suitable" kinds of people through eugenics was commonly assumed as necessary to combat poverty, crime, and a host of racist and ableist cultural anxieties.  

After the holocaust, eugenic practices—no surprise—fell out of favor. The racism of the holocaust was denounced, as was the “science” that it relied upon. Yet many institutions for the “feeble-minded” remained open for business, some, like in Alberta, sterilizing disabled people into the 70s. 

How could this happen?

Put in simple terms, the ableism propelling eugenics was never slowed. While no one in the scientific community now suggests that certain racialized groups are inferior and should not exist, the idea that the world would be a better place without disability is rarely questioned. Disabled people are still treated as less-than fully human. Think of the language we commonly use to describe unwanted things: “that’s so lame” “are you blind?” “what a dumb idea” “you’re so insane” (there are many other ableist terms that get thrown around). What is disability in movies but a tragedy, an inspiration, or something to laugh at? How many times have you heard someone exclaim that they would rather die than be blind or in a wheelchair? Disabled lives are still not understood as fully human.   

The ugly eugenics of the 20th century is now being replaced by shiny “newgenic” practices such as pre-natal screening that still attempt to stop disabled people from existing. The methods have changed, but the endgame is the same: a world without disability, weakness, and deviance. In other words, while we decry sterilization and (sometimes) institutionalization as inhumane, eugenic beliefs are only gaining steam. 

It is from this perspective that I worry about the search for a stuttering cure. There was much hubbub about a “stuttering gene” a little while back, a search that would not have been out of place 100 years ago. I have sat across from speech-language pathologists excitedly telling me about the search for a stuttering cure and wondered: what other reason is there to find a cure for stuttering than to eliminate our voices and to remove stuttering from the gene pool and the human condition? 

Being from Alberta and knowing about our shameful eugenic history colours the search for a stuttering cure for me. As well intentioned as it may seem, a “cure” for stuttering cannot be separated from the idea and practise of eugenics that assumes the world would be a better place without disability, without us. We already screen for Down Syndrome since we have decided some lives are more valuable than others. In 20 years might we screen foetuses for stuttering? (I am, by the way, dubious that a stuttering gene will ever be found). What about Speech Easy? Pharmaceuticals? Therapy? While often advertised as helping us “find our voice,” I believe these practices are often eugenic, aimed at normalization. It is just assumed that, given a choice, we would rather talk fluently. We would rather not be disabled.        

I do not believe that the world would be a better place without disability and without stuttering. We have seen shadows of that world and it is foul and dangerous, full of fear and hate. Rather, with disability theorist Rosemarie Garland-Thomson,[2] I believe we need to understand disability as intrinsic to our humanity, something that needs to be “conserved” and encouraged to flourish in the face of eugenic ideas and practises. My desire is for a world where different types of bodies, voices, minds, experiences, and people can exist together, learn from each other, and yes, even love each other. 


-Josh


[1] Braddock, David L. and Susan L Parish, 2001, “An Institutional History of Disability,” in (ed.) Gary L. Albrecht, Katherine D. Seelman, and Michael Bury, Handbook of Disability Studies (Thousand Oaks: Sage), 40.

[2] Garland-Thompson, Rosemarie, 2012, “The Case for Conserving Disability,” Journal of Bioethical Inquiry 9 (3): 339-55.

Ask people who stutter if they are disabled and you will get a wide range of answers: everything from indifference to political solidarity to indignation at being associated with them. The relation between stuttering and disability is not a peripheral issue. Rather, it shapes the nature of the stuttering community as we resist normalization.

In the most obvious sense, stuttering is undeniably a form of disability. Stuttering is a “speech-language pathology” studied by scientific and medical experts. It is even listed in the DSM-5 (the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders) for goodness sake. Our bodies are medicalized and treated as disabled.

More importantly, though, stuttering is an obvious disability candidate from the perspective of critical disability studies. In critical disability studies, what makes something a disability is the challenges faced when moving through an ableist world, and it is clear that stutterers are regularly discriminated against because of how we process spoken language.

Yet stuttering is nevertheless positioned in a curious gap between disability and abled-bodiedness. The stutterer is often understood as not quite fully abled or disabled. As I have  argued elsewhere:

Stuttering is seen as something that is ultimately under our control, something that we could “fix” if we just worked hard enough. Put simply, stuttering blurs the line between disabled and able-bodied.

I think there are a few reasons stutterers often avoid identifying as disabled. The first is out of respect for people with “real” disabilities. Because stuttering is sometimes on the limit of what qualifies as disabled, and because we think of disability as a very bad thing, stutterers may not want to compare themselves to those who “have it worse.” Another reason is to avoid the stigma associated with disability. Disabled people are routinely cast as objects of pity and charity, and many stutterers do not want in on that party. And finally, unlike many other forms of disability, stutterers are able to “pass,” or hide their disability. When stutterers successfully pass, they dodge much of the ableism leveled at stuttering, making whether they are disabled a complex question.

I’d like to suggest, though, that distancing ourselves from disability and disabled people has two significant and dangerous effects:

1)      First, as the above quote indicates, no matter how proficient one gets at passing and/or using fluency techniques, playing on the terms of the able-bodied is a treacherous game. We will always be expected to speak by the rules of “normalcy” until normalcy is dismantled. No stutterer can be fluent all the time, and when one fails while passing-as-normal they fail hard. Claiming a disabled identity frees us up to speak on our own terms and by our own rules. I believe this is a far healthier way to live.   

2)      Second, and related, distancing ourselves from disability—saying “I am not like them”—reinforces the ideal of normalcy that affects us all. Put in different terms, all of us—blind, deaf, quadriplegic, epileptic, stuttering, bipolar, intellectually disabled—are oppressed by a shared logic of ableism. We are in this boat together and it is a hazardous mistake to think the oppression of those who are “really disabled” is not related to our own. The flip side to this point is that we need each other. Claiming a disabled identity and joining in solidarity with a larger disability community means that we can draw upon the resources of those who have been fighting discrimination for a very long time. Claiming a disabled identity means we can be part of a resistance against normalcy that is far bigger than stuttering.  

Let me end with a story. Last year I was sitting on the bus when a person who was intellectually disabled (ID) mistook my stutter for me being ID. In the past—in fact, for much of my life—I would have been horrified that others around me would think I was ID and would have quickly distanced myself from being like her. But it is the same ableist attitude that says it’s shameful to be ID that says it is shameful to stutter. So this time, instead of distancing myself, I happily took the ensuing conversation as a moment of kinship and as an opportunity to disrupt the ableism that structures both of our experiences.

-Josh

If you’ve been following some of the recent discussions about speech therapy on this site and some of our other platforms, you may have noticed that we’ve been very firm in questioning speech-language pathologists about the validity of speech therapy, and at the same time we have said repeatedly that we are not opposed to stutterers seeking out speech therapy and want to leave room for that in our community.

I understand that this stance might seem contradictory, so I’d like to address our reasons for it. They could perhaps be best summed up in a phrase by blogger realsocialskills which we recently posted on our tumblr:

“Marginalized people are not revolution objects.”

The phrase is used to resist something that can happen within activist communities: Groups of marginalized people decide that they should not have to change their bodies or practices in order to accommodate ableist (or sexist, racist, etc.) social pressures. However, for many reasons, some marginalized people choose to continue to change themselves, and when they do so they can be judged by others in the community for “giving in” to ableist (sexist, racist) pressures rather than embracing their bodies as a form of activist resistance. 

In our context, this might look like attacking someone who seeks out speech therapy for not embracing their stutter.

Activist communities are capable of being just as exclusionary as the social pressures they are resisting, and this is not the sort of community we want to develop. Marginalized people are not revolution objects.

So I want to recognize upfront that there are many reasons people seek out speech-language pathology. I also want to recognize that my choice to reject speech-language pathology personally comes from a place of privilege. For one thing, while my stutter has led to a good amount of social shames and exclusions over the years, the tension in my jaw and tongue caused by my stutter has never caused me physical pain. For another, I am white and male, which can allow my stuttered voice to be taken seriously in ways that other stuttering voices may not be. I am otherwise able-bodied and do not have a parent or caregiver that opposes my stutter, or will speak for me if I can’t speak fast enough. The list could go on and on, because stutters are diverse and part of recognizing the ableism of our society is recognizing that not everyone will be affected in the same ways or to the same extents.

Others who do not have the privileges I do may still choose to reject speech therapy. And others who share my privileges might have their own reasons for engaging in speech therapy. That is okay, because dysfluent speakers are not revolution objects who needs to proudly stutter in every time and place—to be sacrificed for “the cause.”

This is what we mean when we say that people who choose to engage in speech therapy are welcome here. We are not here to police your body or tell you how you should speak. That is, after all, the entire point.

Yet even though some of us may choose to go to speech therapists to increase our fluency, or to learn to accept our stutters, we shouldn’t have to. As a community, we need to be able to decide for ourselves what role speech therapy gets to have in our lives, and that just will not happen when the entire discussion is dominated by the language and terminology of speech-language pathology and when able-bodied professionals continue to define our voices for us. We want to open up space to imagine a world that is different, a world where stuttering and non-normative voices can be heard and appreciated on their own terms. 

So I will continue to be firm in questioning speech-language pathology, because this is not their space. There are very important conversations to be had with speech-language pathologists in the future (as the thread on the forum has indicated) and we do want to keep these communication channels open, while retaining the right to discuss our speech on our own terms.

At the same time, we desire Did I Stutter to be a space where we are generous with each other and our specific needs, circumstances, and bodies. If we are moving forward together it is in stuttered and halting steps.

-Josh

Let me start off by recognizing that speech therapy is an incredibly complicated issue. We want to make space here for those who desire speech therapy while at the same time being able to stand back and question some taken-for-granted assumptions. So I have a couple of disclaimers up front. First, these are simply some thoughts on speech-language pathology, not final nor sedimented beliefs. I am very much still working through this issue. Second, as the amazing disability writer and activist Eli Clare pointed out to Zach and I a couple months ago, speech therapy enables people with “severe” communicative disabilities to access education and (thus) other social opportunities that would be denied them otherwise. Because of these complexities, it is not our intention to dismiss speech therapy outright. However, we are nevertheless concerned with the way in which speech-language pathologists, even at their best, exert subtle yet very real power over people who stutter.

As the name suggests, speech-language pathology or speech therapy “pathologizes” our voices. In other words, these practices begin with the assumption that our voices are abnormal or deviant, and then medically intervene, either to increase our fluency or to offer therapeutic and emotional supports. With this in mind, I would suggest that speech therapy has three effects:

(1) Entering into a client/therapist relationship produces a specific kind of identity for the stutterer (in academic terms, it is a form of “subjection”). I enter into a relationship where I become someone who is pathologized. This is a relationship where a therapist has the authority to speak the “truth” about my body and my disability, which includes the seemingly obvious fact of my physiological/medical condition. At the same time, entering into this relationship limits the kinds of responses and control I can have over my body. Individual speech-language pathologists seek to use this authority in positive ways, and I want to stress that the vast majority of speech pathologists I have encountered in my life have been incredibly wonderful and well-intentioned people. However, this is not about individual intentions. As I have mentioned in another blog post, I just don’t think the medical, physiological difficulty of producing sounds is the best way to understand what stuttering is and what makes it a so-called “impediment.” Because pathologization is built into the client/therapist relationship—because my stutter is defined upfront as a medical issue that the therapist is given authority to help with—the option of deciding for myself that there is nothing wrong with my voice is severely limited.

(2) The client/therapist relationship is “depoliticizing.” That is, speech pathology assumes, and convinces stutterers, that what stuttering is (when we get right down to it) is an individual and biological thing. This process of medicalization covers over the ways that the very idea of normal and abnormal speech is produced by cultural values and expectations—and of course, by speech pathology itself. Because of this depoliticization, the stutterer is left with the belief that ultimately (a) stuttering is something that only I can manage (whether it be through fluency reduction or reducing avoidance, fear, etc.), (b) being able to communicate is primarily my responsibility, and (c) these are not political and social, but individual psychological and physiological issues. Speech pathology can thus distract us from getting at the root causes of our oppression.

(3) Speech pathology is a massive industry that makes money off of our bodies. Or, more specifically, it makes money off of pathologizing our bodies and reinforcing the idea that we, rather than society, are the ones who ultimately need to change. On an individual level this isn’t such a big deal. We pay people to provide us with services all of the time. However, stepping back a little and looking at the big picture, the speech pathology industry rests entirely on the assumption that our bodies require intervention. Besides traditional speech pathology, this industry includes pharmaceuticals, technology such as Speech Easy, psychology, neuroscience, and genetics. Contemporary speech-language pathology cannot therefore be separated from capitalism—or what has been termed “late capitalism.” There is big money being made by exploiting our bodies.

In my own life, I have found speech therapy both helpful and unhelpful. Even while it treated my voice as broken and needing to be fixed, it encouraged me to speak up in ways I had previously avoided, and I am grateful for that. Whether or not to participate in speech therapy is a personal decision, and if you choose to engage in it you are very welcome here. Our hope is simply that as a community of stutterers we can begin a critical conversation about the pathologization of our voices. 

-Josh

In her fantastic blog, "How to Stutter More," Emma Alpern, a person who stutters, writes: 

I would like to join Emma in asking the very counter-intuitive question: why would I want to stutter more? It is true, as she writes, that intentionally stuttering desensitizes the moment of dysfluency and can make speaking easier. This is, however, the least important reason to stutter more. Emma continues: "stuttering more has helped me find a new way to talk: a way that was in me all this time, but that I had been struggling against for as long as I could remember."   

What does reclaiming stuttering look like?  

It means choosing what our stuttering voice means. It means denying others the power to define our voices as something shameful, embarrassing, broken, or deviant. It means, like Emma, finding new ways of talking that take our stutter as a central aspect of our voice.

I stutter more because I do not want to live in (nor help create) a world that normalizes bodies and discriminates against those who do not fit in. I take pride in my stutter as a way of resisting communicative expectations that are supposed to make me feel ashamed and are supposed to silence me. Stuttering more and stuttering proudly turns the tables on all those people who assume that, given a choice, I would rather talk just like them. 

I wouldn't. 

These are our voices. 

Deal with it.  

-Josh