“Laziness doesn’t exist”
An interview of Sean Haskett on disability justice, asking for help, and the limits of self care
Meerabelle Jesuthasan
Who Cares is a series of Q&As about care—the many definitions and applications of the word, from individual to collective, as it manifests across contexts from friendships to grassroots organizations to neighborhoods to group chats. What are the radical potentials of care under capitalism, and how does care—in the many forms of work and relationships that it takes—let us reimagine the current conditions?
Sean Haskett is a library socialist, an abolitionist, and an organizer with Sunrise Movement DC. We spoke over the phone about disability justice, how to ask for help, and why laziness doesn’t exist.
— Meerabelle Jesuthasan
On the limits of self care. I’m a person with a mental atypicality. I have ADHD and, oftentimes, it can be deeply disabling in a society that is not designed for people whose brains are wired like mine. In the context of disability politics, it’s sort of a given that there are things that you need in order to to be taken care of, in order to thrive, that you cannot give yourself. While the concept of self care is a very useful one that has encouraged more people to think more carefully about what they need, it also puts the responsibility on the individual to solve problems that they are not fully in control of. There are a lot of things that I can do for others that I struggle to do for myself. If someone else needs me to go grocery shopping so that they can take better care of themselves when they’re in the depths of a depression, I can do that for them. But when I am in the same position, I cannot do that for myself. Self care is deeply limited.
On getting support while growing up. Before I entered the organizing world, a lot of my life was marked by a lack of community care. When I was growing up, I noticed a shortage of deep, real support for children who have brains like mine. I was lucky enough to have parents who were well-resourced and confident enough to advocate for me. I got accommodations from my school to make sure I didn’t fail classes.
At the same time, those accommodations weren’t actually things that helped me function and thrive in a world that wasn’t designed for me. They didn’t help me build habits, or a community. Extra time on a test was useful, but it didn’t teach me how my brain works, it didn’t connect me with other people who have ADHD, whose experiences I could have learned from. None of these accommodations actually solved the ableism that harmed me. I felt that they were there to push me through the system: to make sure I could get to the other side without regard for what I would do when I was on the other side…That led to deep struggles in college.
On disability justice. If I had known about systems that would have helped my brain keep track—if I had not felt ashamed for forgetting things, or for not being like neurotypical people—then my childhood and adulthood would be filled with significantly less stress and self-loathing. While my experiences are particular to ADHD and depression, I think this is something that most disabled people can relate to; and, while these issues and this thinking are most prominent in the world of disability justice, these lessons stand for everyone. No one can take care of everything. No one can take care of themselves, all by themselves. We all come into this world naked, knowing nothing.
A really big part of collective care is being able to access stable community, and that is not easy in the modern United States. Large portions of public and private policy, propagated by the owning class, have made community much more difficult to maintain in a stable way.
On making mutual aid sustainable. I have found a lot of solace in organizing spaces where these issues are taken seriously and where help is given where it can be. But that’s the point: that it’s always where it can be. In the end, organizing spaces don’t have the resources that a local government does, or a school system, or a workplace. Mutual aid networks can be very powerful, but they often end up relying on surges of charity.
On knowing how to ask for help. In my own life, collective care has often come as a result of knowing to ask. I have found myself in a community of organizers who do care about this. A big part of getting support is also understanding the ways that I mute myself into not acknowledging my needs. I spend a lot of time trying to get others to interrogate their needs, especially the needs they have neglected because they feel ashamed of them. It’s more difficult to do it for myself.
I think we need to take seriously the idea that laziness doesn’t exist. Lots of people brush off the ways our society fails them by saying, “I’m just being lazy.” But you’re never just being lazy. There’s always a reason. I can’t summon the motivation because of this, I’m feeling trapped because of that. When people are being failed, by our society or the state, they turn that in on themselves; they see it as, “I’m worthless.”
On how to help other people ask for help. This is always going to be different for different people, but victim-blaming oneself is a key phenomenon that stops us from acknowledging our needs. Learning to identify victim-blaming means asking: What are the signs? What are the terms people use when victim-blaming themselves?
Oppressed people internalize the language of their oppressors. This is related to double consciousness, W.E.B. Du Bois’ theory that describes an experience of “twoness” which results from Black Americans viewing themselves through white perspectives. I have to know what a neurotypical person in authority thinks of my behavior if I want to function in this world, but that means I now have that person’s voice in my head, saying those things to me, all the time.
On community care in Sunrise DC. We have our community care pod, where different organizers get nominated for community care by people they have relationships with. When we first started, we talked about what sort of things we wanted. One thing that was suggested was letters of appreciation from our fellow organizers. A couple weeks later, I was just feeling very sad, and our community care pod person knocked on my door and dropped off six letters from friends and organizers who were basically gassing me up. “I love you, I care about you, these are all the things that I admire about you.” It felt really nice. I wrote similar letters to others, and that process of writing has felt really good.
Liked this piece? Support Sunrise Movement DC.
You can read Meerabelle’s essay “The Internet Is Not Forever” in issue 1.