Abstract:
As an ostensibly able-bodied fat woman I discuss my experimental usage of ‘disabled’ to self-define, asserting that this is a problematic label. I criticise some of the mutual misconceptions fat and disabled people share, especially the rle of medicalisation, and I explore some similarities and differences in our respective struggles for civil rights. I suggest that identifying as disabled is political in origin, and that disability politics offer and important precedent for fat people.

My Body, My identity

I have two arms and two legs. I have never had an eye test and I assume I have 20/20 vision, although the other members of my biological family wrear glasses or contact lenses. Sometimes I get tinnitus, especially if I've been out dancing to loud music. I have never experienced a spasm or a seizure. I do not have a learning impairment. I have never had an illness more debilitating than 'flu or food poisoning, although I have survived periods of depression throughout my life. I have never broken a bone. I have pushed wheelchairs, but I do not know how to operate one as a user. I am allergic to sticking plasters and I suffer stress related attacks of pompholyx eczema.

I am fat. I don't know how much I weigh and clothes sizes vary from shop to shop so I don't know how to measure my fatness. All I can say is that I never expect to fit: into seats, into clothes or into society. People in the street often comment on my body or stare at me disapprovingly. Whenever I visit a doctor they try to persuade me to lose weight, and I have felt isolated, lonely, ugly and unworthy because of these experiences. This is not to say that I am not now proud of my body, in some ways, I feel very lucky to be fat, I have never wanted to conform or be 'normal', so I often feel blessed in my difference.

In 1994 I completed an MA by Independent Study researching fat politics. Jenny Corbett, acting as my tutor, suggested to me that the social model of disability would be a good theoretical framework in which to explore my project. As a person who is ostensibly able-bodied, I had never experienced much contact with people whom I considered disabled, certainly not in my immediate circle of friends, family or work colleagues. I have never volunteered for charity work with 'the handicapped' which was previously the only area about which I knew where two segregated worlds could make contact. I wasn't aware of harbouring negative opinions about disabled people; indeed, I was angered and horrified by issues such as lack of access in the environment or forced sterilisation, but there was no real meaningful impact upon my life.

When I began to study work by disabled writers and activists I was surprised to find myself identifying with them. Oliver (1983, 1989, 1990) introduced to me the
social model of disability, which encouraged me to redefine the 'personal tragedy' of my fat body in order to challenge the social attitudes which were responsible for positioning me there. Barton (1993) and Shakespeare's (1993) accounts of new political civil rights movements of disabled people crossed many similarities for me and my experiences in the nascent fat rights movements. Indeed, so heartened am I that disabled people are challenging successfully deeply entrenched disabling beliefs, it offers hope for fat people to act similarly. The issue of representation which runs through Hevey's (1992) witty and stylish photographs of disabled people parallels debates about fat people. Both groups are made invisible throughout media representations, either by stereotyping or being ignored completely. For me there are also similarities in the shame and pity evoked by representations of our bodies in both charity advertising, and weight loss product advertising, where fat people are always the pathetic 'before' image. Corbett (1991, 1993) was inspiring not only as a personal tutor, but also because she is concerned with disability issues as a non- disabled woman. Her perspective encouraged me to apply the social model to fat people, a group who might not otherwise be included as 'disabled' and to regard disability issues as relevant to everybody. I enjoyed reading Heam (1988) as her style is accessible, personal and she writes with verve and humour. Writing in the context of lesbian sexual politics, and her struggle for inclusion in lesbian communities, as a fat woman and as a bisexual woman I identified with her experiences of exclusion and invisibility. Even Goffman (1963), suggested useful insights into the psychology and identity of stigmatised groups.

My interest in fat issues sprung from my feminism. Unfortunately, I have found feminist arguments about fatness to be deeply disappointing. There is a huge misconception that feminism has dealt successfully with fat issues. Indeed, one of the referees of this paper suggested that I should include more references to the 'great deal' that feminists have written about 'fat as a feminist issue'. Until my own book appears in 1997, only the small press in Britain has dealt with fat politics from a feminist perspective that does not define (fallaciously) all fat people as being sufferers of eating disorders, or stereotype fat women as primordial goddesses, or negate its recommendations for all women to enact a reconciliation with our bodies with statements such as: 'These arguments do not deny that obesity is seen as a health problem by today's medical standards' (Diamond, 1985).

Luckily for the referee, there is not the space here for me to criticise feminist responses to fat women. Instead, I have found writers such as Morris (1991) and Brown et al. (1985) offer more useful feminist tangents about the experience of living as a woman with a bodily difference that is read by our cultures as 'less than'. Brown et al. have been particularly valuable since the anthology includes a piece by a fat woman disabled by the illness invoked by years of dieting and weight loss surgery.

Previously, disabled people were 'other' to me and it was a peculiar feeling to find aspects of myself in disability culture. As I became more interested in the social model and its relevance for fat people, I began to experiment calling myself disabled. However, this was problematic. In this paper I wish to share some of my reflections.

Jumping the Bandwagon

There is an uneasy sense that by appropriating the label 'disabled' fat people are invading and colonising the achievements of disabled people, forcing an all too familiar and uncaring disempowerment. Moreover, disregarding how strongly I might identify as disabled, I have no desire to offend disabled people by coercing
myself into a group who may be unwilling to accept me. The notion of jumping on a bandwagon here implies that the social model is 'their' work, something which
belongs to 'them', not 'us' and this further establishes the conceptualisation of disabled people as 'other'. It also implies ownership and relevancy to one section of society, rather than a theory which is more universally applicable and useful.

The public perception of fat politics, based on media representations, is of a movement of women who seek only to wear nice clothes, who are led by a group of laughable (lesbian) extremists, or cosy figures like Dawn French. Fat people's demands are regarded as trivial compared to those of disabled people; thus, the
notion of civil rights for fat people is little more than a joke. This accusation is shocking. Many fat people suffer poor self-esteem, we grow up fearing our own
bodies in shame, public ridicule and social ostracism, and the cultural fear and hatred of us can ruin our lives. I believe that self-defining as 'disabled' enables us to take ourselves seriously and demand that others do also.

Mutual Medical Misunderstandings

I have been accused of assuming that the disability movement rejects fat people. I am ostensibly able-bodied and have little connection with 'the movement', other than through reading articles, watching television and talking about disability with my friends, some of whom are disabled. I feel that I am unqualified to speak about a large and diverse movement, since my contact with it is limited. Fat and disabled people experience many things in common, and perhaps this will predispose us to be more understanding and accommodating of one another. However, disabled people, even those who are institutionally segregated, live in cultures which harbour fat hating attitudes and are as vulnerable as anybody to internalising them. In my experience most people, even those of us who are fat, are rejecting of fat people. Therefore, I am cautious.

Considering the dominant discourses concerning fat and disabled people, it seems unlikely that we will be able to build an alliance if we have failed to question some basic mutual assumptions. Here, I wish to outline some of the misunderstandings, particularly as regards fat people, which keep us apart.

The social model of disability is unfamiliar to most able bodied people that I know. Whether through ignorance or paternalism, attitudes towards disabled people reflect the personal tragedy model: pitying, fearful and awed by 'tragic but brave super-crips'. Most fat people are no exception and whilst much of the thrust of size acceptance in Britain is concerned with assimilation into mainstream culture, I suspect many fat people would refute the label 'disabled'. Whilst able bodied and disabled people are segregated it becomes difficult to build a positive or realistic image of what it is to be disabled. In size acceptance communities I sense a palpable fear of disability, and a determination to separate and constrain disabled people as 'other'. For example, in a discussion of early size acceptance groups in the US, Judy Freespirit recalls the National Association To Advance Fat Acceptance (NAAFA), now a large and powerful organisation: "Back then NAAFA's tack on civil rights for fat people was to do volunteer work for the Cerebral Palsy Association to show fat people were nice" (Hemandez, 1994).

Meanwhile, medicine is the dominant theoretical framework which deals with fatness in twentieth century Western culture. Being fat is widely accepted as undesirable because it is innately unhealthy and the primary cause of a multitude of preventable diseases: 'Being Fat is Dangerous' (title accompanying an image of a headstone on a grave. Consumer's Association, 1976).

Fatness is caused by an inappropriate relationship to food, indeed, 'obese' stems from the Latin 'to have eaten'. Overeating is attributable to greed, ignorance of the body's nutritional needs, a 'weak will', or, in more progressive environments, psychological disturbance. Burgard (1993) outlines the psychological theories which pathologise fatness, such as the influence of the Freudian oral fixation, and Vaughan (1982) notes the attributes of a fat identity as: 'passive dependence, how self-esteem, vulnerability to depression, a distortion of body image, marked self-consciousness, and a sense of helplessness and ineffectiveness'.

Because of the centrality of food in this equation fat can be read as the physiological result of an eating disorder, encoded by Bruch (1973) as 'a faulty adaptation' (p. 4), an attempt to cover deeper problems. If one exorcises the inner disturbance, the fat will disappear. Thus, the fat body is walking, talking evidence of inner dysfunction.

A change to a healthy slenderness is desirable and weight loss represents a life-enhancing gesture. If feeling fat turns people inward, lowers self-esteem, and prevents people from holding their heads up high when they venture out, then successful slimming has the opposite effect. Successful slimmers describe themselves as altogether happier, more self-confident, more able to take part in group and physical activities than previously. (Gilbert, 1989)

Being overweight had been begining [sic] to make me introverted, and I was begining to get very depressed having few clothes left that fitted me + summer was coming +1 would have to leave off the baggy jumpers. As I lost weight I began to feel better mentally + physically. I began to hold my head up again (literally) + look the world in the face. (Wood, 1993)

Losing weight is sanctioned by a plethora of State-supported and commercial health professionals, including general practitioners, dieticians, surgeons, bariatricians, staff at Obesity Clinics, psychiatrists, eating disorder therapists and diet gurus. Commercial and non-commercial interests can work in tandem. For example, at my doctor's clinic patients are referred to Weight Watchers. Weight loss treatments legitimated by health professionals include an endless variety of dietary and behavioural modification, psychotherapies, 'alternative' therapies, available individually or in groups, and an increasing acceptance of surgical interventions, where the marginally less morbid practice of stomach stapling has superseded treatments such as jaw- wiring and jejuno-ileal bypass (where sections of the small intestine are removed).

The contemporary cultural imagery of fat makes frequent allusions to 'surplus', 'extra' flesh, overweight, outsize. This imagery, together with the classic metaphorical archetype of the newly thin person emerging like a butterfly from fat chrysalis, the 'before' and 'after', suggest that a fat body was originally a thin body that now carries unnecessary fleshy baggage. The language of diets makes aggressive alliterative allusions to the 'battle of the bulge', and 'fighting the flab' where fat is perceived as a cancerous growth which, left unchecked, will somehow 'take over'. Moreover, the body becomes a site for confrontation where there is a separation of fatness from the self, exemplified by Simmons' (1980) advice: Slap your face a few times—time to snap out of it, kid!—take a felt-tip pen to your bod and circle all your real estate that needs some work. Grab that fat and just throw it around the room. Let it know who's boss. Let it know that you're in charge now.

In short the fat has to go.

An abundance of medical evidence and common sense knowledge supports the current model by which the fat body is defined, and with the variety of treatments
and cures available for fat people, to remain fat is either an inexcusable choice, or signifies that fat people are too lazy to change, or is further evidence of a deep-set pathology. Complaints about prejudice are trivial because by choosing to remain fat and decline professional help fat people have brought this derision upon themselves.

I contest the model outlined above, which has at its core the notion that fatness is a disease. Indeed, what I am about to say seems like heresy, but there are many
conflicting arguments and no final conclusive evidence that fatness itself is a major health risk; moreover, the 'cures' are invariably more risky and health threatening than the fact of a fat body. For example, stomach-stapling is only performed on healthy fat people, yet is responsible for a variety of unpleasant side-effects, some of which can be fatal. The detrimental psychological and physical effects of dieting have also been well documented. Intervention is a misguided attempt to 'cure' what is already natural; indeed, I regard fatness as a normal state of being, neither healthier nor less healthy than any other body shape or size, and part of the amazing diversity of body types.

Defining the fat body as an abnormal, perhaps temporary, unhealthy state, places it in opposition to rigid notions of a stable, slender normality. According to
Diamond (1985): 'a disease model is implied because an aberration from an organic norm is implied'. Hence, fatness represents a 'condition' which must be cured, not a healthy normality. Fat people merely represent the evidence of a rule-violating act, for example greed, yet this symbolic representation is accepted as a fact of deviance. I suggest that the categorisation of fat people as abnormal, diseased, and discreditable reinforces current patterns of domination and authority, especially if it is believed that only one, slender, body type is to be regarded as valid. Moreover, if normal is valued as good and healthy, abnormal becomes associated with badness and illness. This notion has ruinous effects on the self-esteem of fat people.

It is unsurprising that disabled people might resent fat people identifying as disabled if fatness is regarded as self-inflicted, and less legitimate than an impairment which is believed to be the result of 'an act of god'. Currently, if I begin to publicly identify as disabled, not only do I fear rejection from disabled people, but also from my own community. However, I feel that if both fat and disabled people could begin to question the cultural mythology that surrounds fatness, we could find significant similarities which might enable us to identify and bond with each other.

Similarities

My doubts concerning my desire to identify as disabled begin to evaporate when I contemplate the similarities in being fat or disabled under the social model.

The bodies of fat and disabled people share low social status, and consequently in a society drenched with images of able-bodied, young, invariably white, uniformly slender models, we are culturally invisible, as though we do not exist. Like people with mobility impairments, many fat people are disabled by a lack of access in the physical environment, for example, clothes don't fit, seats are too small, turnstiles are impossible to navigate. Fat and disabled people encounter discrimination in all areas of our lives, from our families, from strangers on the street, in the workplace and in society, where we are constantly reminded that there is something wrong with us.

Most blatantly congruent are our experiences of medicalisation. Medicalisation underpins the dominant theoretical approach to disability. The personal tragedy,
individual or medical model implies that the experience of disability is deeply traumatic and that the disabled individual must be rehabilitated to become a useful member of normal, able-bodied society. Rehabilitation may be physical and psychological and there are a range of specialised health professionals who will help the individual to adjust. Disabled people may be segregated into special institutions adapted to rehabilitate specific impairments. Charities also exist to help the individual.

Disabled theorists and activists have criticised the personal tragedy model. Labelling disability a 'personal tragedy' enforces a value-judgement on the reality of disabled people's lives, which may be inaccurate, patronising and offensive. By focusing so forcefully on rehabilitating the individual into society, the personal
tragedy model promotes a limited vision of 'normality' into which a disabled person must shrink. Health professionals help to transform the disabled person into as near a facsimile of able-bodied people as possible. Moreover, disabled people often find themselves under pressure to undergo conductive education or surgery with promises that it will make them normal. Because of the fundamental role of 'experts' and specialist health workers, critics of the personal tragedy model attack the medicalisation of disability because it de-politicises the issue and fosters dependence on professionals, whose power and status depend on perpetuating this model. Finally, where inclusion in 'normal' society remains an unquestioned goal, the individualised personal tragedy model may be perceived as 'politically convenient' (Oliver, 1983) because the role of authority is never questioned and the individual is blamed for his or her circumstances.

Where fatness is medicalised and regarded as a personal tragedy, there is a similar strong emphasis on the desirability of 'normality' which, for the fat person,
can be attained through the rehabilitating process of shrinking to fit. When we conceptualise fatness as a disease, we also assume that somehow it must be cured in order for our bodies to function normally. Moreover, as fat people with an internalised self-image of disease we struggle to regard ourselves as normal and whole people who are just part of the wide diversity of human body shapes. There are parallels here with various Victorian gynaecological theories which regarded women as inherently ill and abnormal compared to men, and where clumsy medical treatments were conducted in order to 'cure' what was already normal, healthy, and natural. Modem day attempts to 'cure' normal healthy fat bodies through weight loss treatments, including dieting, drug therapy, psychotherapy and psychiatry, vomiting, compulsive exercising and weight loss surgery such as stomach stapling are equally futile. All of these methods are risky, they invariably fail to produce a long-term weight loss, they compromise one's health and some are even life threatening.

The validation of weight loss by health professionals and commercial interests is similarly 'politically convenient' because as diets inevitably fail, the individual
chastises him or herself for failing, for lacking 'will-power', rather than attacking the context of the diet itself. Medical knowledge comes to be regarded as the only legitimate discourse and despite being the objects of attention, throughout these models fat and disabled people have little power and control over the consequences of an imposed definition. The medical model perpetuates beliefs about fat people, de-politicising our experiences, and conveniently furthering the interests of health professionals, who enjoy elevated status. I believe these models foster a judgmental attitude towards fat and disabled people which is similarly derogatory, identifying us as unworthy, pitiful or ugly, which is internalised by all.

Initially, I put down that fat and disabled people's experiences of charity were different, but as I come to revise this paper, I question that assumption. Although the organisational structure is different, fat people are courted by commercial weight loss agencies in a way similar to charity involvement with disabled people. Companies such as Weight Watchers depend on their share of the market by promoting an image of fat people that is pathetic, undesirable and unhealthy, similar to the way that charities cash in by fostering stereotypes of disabled people as helpless and dependent. Both disabled and fat people are seen as deserving of an invasive pity which is sanctioned by the more traditional medical establishments and Western cultural values in general. Charities and dieting organisations also promote dependence. The main differences are that a fat body is regarded as self-inflicted, and therefore punishable, so the treatment we receive from weight loss agencies is often intentionally humiliating. Furthermore, where commercial interests are concerned, fat people are in the charmingly masochistic position of having to pay for our punishment. However, this is preferable to a Rosemary Conley Telethon or individual Weight Watchers dressed as teddies collecting money on street comers.

Finally, fat and disabled people share similar styles of political organising. Grass roots activists, publications and organisations such as Rights Not Charity, Boadicea and the British Council of Organisations of Disabled People, are effecting change by means of a variety of political activities, from pressure group campaigning to direct action. These are more established and mature than the networks of fat activists, although a comparable multi-faceted movement of fat people is awakening through mainstream magazines such as Yes!, organisations like The Fat Women's Group, community conferences and a mushrooming of size-friendly commercial interests.

Differences

There are differences in our experiences, notably that unlike disabled people fat people are not segregated and institutionalised primarily for being fat. There are
significant distinctions in the role of health professionals, for example, although both groups can find ourselves scrutinised by health professionals, they come into fat people's consciousness later, though often in childhood, and do not dominate our lives literally the moment (and sometimes before) we are born.

Also worth noting is the notion of blame, of personal liability for the state of one's body. Although being fat or disabled may be perceived as a 'personal tragedy', if fat is understood to be the result of a disordered relationship with food and disability caused by random 'acts of god', fat people are assumed to have caused our own misery. These presumptions result in disabled people being patronised as objects of pity, whilst the reaction to fatness is more likely to be hostile. Malicious comments and attitudes towards disabled people are generally not tolerated because 'they can't help it', whilst similar behaviour directed at fat people is more acceptable.

I also acknowledge that the experience of fatness as a disability will depend on how fat a person is, for example, a woman who wears a British dress-size 18 will have a very different relationship to disability than another who wears a size 40. The former may be able to pass more easily, whilst the latter will probably have major issues to contend with around medicalisation and possibly mobility.

A Social Model of Fatness?

I do not wish to down-play the personal and emotional benefits of finding a positive identity or a place to belong. However, defining myself as disabled is, for me, a political naming.

I read my body as impaired and unchangeable. One disabled friend argues that impaired is too charged a label for fat people, since it implies to her the physical ill health, disease and low medical status from which fat people are struggling to distance ourselves. I have no such problems with impaired; I regard it without a value judgement as signifying part or parts of our bodies that are physically different to the majority of people in a culture. I do not include some groups, such as people of colour, who are compartmentalised as physically different by the (white) mainstream because to me an important part of impairment is medicalisation, and black civil rights movements have ensured for a long time that people of colour are considered a social, not a medical, group.

Gifford et al (1995) make a definition of disability under the social model in their discussion around whether or not it is appropriate for survivors of the mental health system to define themselves as disabled.

"To be a survivor does not mean having an impairment, but generally it does mean experiencing the social oppression and discrimination, which prevent people taking a full and equal part in everyday life and it is this which the disabled people's movement defines as disabling. As a result we all face discrimination in housing, education, employment, social situations and personal relationships. We are disabled by the lack of social and personal support. We are all disabled by society's barriers."

Disabled people are disabled not by the fact of their impairment, but by disabling prejudice and discrimination. Many survivors do not call themselves disabled, however, if one experiences events that are disabling, is not that person or group then disabled? I consider the experience of being fat in a fat-hating culture to be disabling which, in addition to my impairment and the similarities I share with other disabled people, such as medicalisation and restricted civil rights, suggest to me that I am disabled. Unlike these survivors I read my fat body as impaired. Perhaps it is because not all survivors regard themselves as impaired that the authors are less willing to adopt for themselves 'disabled'.

In Britain, what chance have fat people of transcending disabling attitudes which are so entrenched in our culture? The social model of disability and new civil
rights movements of disabled people offer a few clues and a powerful precedent for fat activists. Being fat is considered a personal 'problem', a medical affliction which can be 'cured' by weight loss; I have outlined the similarities this understanding shares with the personal tragedy model of disability. In contrast, a social model reframes our experiences of self-hatred and stigma as a public and political issue, and suggests that the problem lies within social constructions of prejudice and not in our bodies. Using the social model we can reframe absolutes and challenge holy cows. We can show the ways in which cultural values impact upon and disempower the individual, and our awareness of these social constructions can enable us to stop blaming ourselves for our oppression. We can reconsider our lives as having value and significance, increasing our self-esteem and leaving behind feelings of shame and inadequacy about our fatness. We can effect meaningful social change.

Whilst it is true that many disabled and fat people will have different concerns and issues to deal with, this need not threaten political unity; for example, people
with many different kinds of impairment have come together as disabled and this mixture has forged a rich and diverse culture. Moreover, focusing on our similarities and respecting our differences as a diverse group enables us to form a deeper understanding of disability.

Am I Disabled?

It feels ludicrous to have to ask myself this question; surely, if one is disabled their impairment is so blatant that their identity is never doubted. Yes, but... my impairment is blatant, nobody can deny that I am fat, and I am disabled by many aspects of the culture in which I live. Yet I still experience a gnawing sensation that 'disabled' is a group to which I cannot belong; obviously, there are no membership cards to this group and no one has told me (yet) that I cannot 'join'. However, my desire to self-define as disabled raises uncomfortable issues of disabled identity and hierarchy, passing, definition, exclusion, and disabled attitudes towards 'normality' and able-bodied people, which I have not found addressed elsewhere.

In this paper, I have discussed my doubts about being a fat woman who seeks to identify as disabled. I have mentioned my fears of jumping on a bandwagon that was never intended for me, yet I have also highlighted the misunderstandings, especially concerning medicalisation, which lead to a mutual distancing between fat and disabled people, I have said that acknowledging our similarities and differences can be useful in terms of defining our political identities, goals and struggles, and I made a brief comparison between new movements of fat and disabled people.

Disabled and fat people share many similarities, yet I continue to harbour a mental image of each as a separate group. I realise that I am ending this discussion with yet more questions: how do people who are fat and disabled identify? Is my 'disability' a valid label, or a metaphor? Can I identify as part of the throng, or as a supporter on the sidelines? These are difficult and painful questions to address; I hope we can open a dialogue.

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Further reading

Cooper, C (2004) translated by Weisser, J. Darf sich einer übergewichtige Frau «behindert» nennen? in: Weisser, J. and Renggli, C. Disability Studies: Ein lesebuch (Switzerland, SZH CSPS Edition)

HARJUNEN, H (2004) Exploring obesity through the social model of disability in: Kristiansen, K. and Traustadóttir, R. Gender and Disability Research in the Nordic Countries (Sweden, Studentlitteratur)