For More (1972), utopia paradoxically means a ‘good place’ that is ‘no place’. For my purposes, a utopia is a dream or a vision of an ideal world; it does not exist (it is ‘no place’), yet it is a place we can strive towards (a ‘good place’). “Utopia is the expression of the desire for a better way of being or of living” (Levitas, 2005b, 5). Asking young disabled people for their utopian ideas serves dual purpose; asking for alternative future visions calls for social and political action. Furthermore, we cannot envision a ‘better place’ without simultaneously critiquing the present (Geoghegan, 1987; Gordon & Hollinger, 2002; Little, 2006; Sargisson, 2000).
Utopian ideals are often presented as fictional narratives, classic literary examples include More’s (1972) Utopia and Plato’s (1998) Republic. Some fall under broad ideological categories (Sargisson, 2000), such as Morris’ (1994) socialist News From Nowhere, or feminist texts, such as Gilman’s (1998) Herland and Piercy’s (1979) Woman on the Edge of Time. In all the above examples, stories form around a native
112 whom guides and teaches a foreign visitor around the utopian land. This allows the visitor to question the utopia relatively to present day values, whilst the guide explains why the utopian world is preferable (Abbott, 2004; Sargisson, 2000). The guide/visitor format gives the author/reader space to question the present day status-quo. As detailed later, in Explore this idea inspired a ‘newsflash’ style of interviewing, where young people told me about their best-ever future worlds through role-play. Utopias are both a reflection of, and reflective about, timely dilemmas. Therefore, although fictional, utopias are politically engaged (Sargisson, 2000). Research question two asks: how can disability researchers share the stories of young disabled people in order to reposition them as active and politically resilient?
A utopian project helps me highlight the political thinking of those not explicitly politically engaged, such as those involved in Explore (Chapter Six). Furthermore, although perhaps most overtly used within the literary genre, utopian thinking is not confined to this usage (Sargisson, 2000). Sargisson (2000, 1) argues that ‘intentional communities’ (which she defines as “a group of individuals, organised for some purpose” – such as those living in what we may deem ‘alternative’ communes and communities, or indeed, young people I spent time with in Iceland) to be utopian projects. The ‘utopian impulse’ is present in architecture, medicine, music, religion, art and philosophy (Sargisson, 2000). For my project, utopian thinking aids us to imagine otherwise.
Utopianism, however, is not without its critics, who deem it to be “’unrealistic’,
‘irrational’, ‘naïve’, ‘self-indulgent’, ‘unscientific’, ‘escapist’ and ‘elitist’” (Geoghegan, 1987, 1). ‘Utopian’ used to belittle an idea as ‘impossible’: political proposals deprecated as ‘grand utopian thinking’ (Geoghegan, 1987; Sargisson, 2000). Cameron, for example, dismissed the European Union for its "grand plans and utopian visions" (Cameron, 2011). Conversely, the leader of the UK’s Green Party (2011) described Cameron’s Big Society as a “dream of utopia hiding nightmare of devastating cuts”. Geoghegan (1987) highlights that demands for women’s suffrage and the welfare state were once dismissed as unrealistic utopian ideals. The same arguments are employed today: young people demanding free education (McSmith, et al., 2010) or disabled people demanding IL (discussed in Chapter Seven), deemed unreasonable. For me, utopian thinking
challenging what is reasonable can only be a good thing. Yet, criticism of utopianism goes on:
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“For the antiutopian, utopians (1) are preoccupied with ends and are indifferent to means; (2) view persons and society as totality; (3) make firm and dogmatic assumptions; (4) are obsessed with management; (5) neglect human variety”.
(Abbott, 2004, 44)
The tendency of utopian thinkers’ to “neglect human variety” (Abbott, 2004, 44) is pertinent to disability researchers. Abbott (2010, 874) points to eugenic practices in utopian texts when asking “should utopian’s have perfect bodies?”
“In More’s utopia, the very ill are reminded that they exist only as a terminal for ‘‘feeding germs’’. Morris’ utopia is peopled only by attractive and healthy people perhaps as a result of an implicit eugenic policy.”
(Abbott, 2010, 875)
Although Abbott draws on feminist critiques of bodily perfection to trouble bodily ideals within utopian fiction, he fails to acknowledge affirmative theories of disability. The eugenic tendencies of some utopian fiction could deflect those doing disability research. I feel, however, it calls for further engagement.
Arguing traditional utopian thinking neglects the family, sexual relations and
childrearing, feminists have demanded that ‘the personal is political’ in their utopian writing by offering feminist alternatives (Sargisson, 2000). In Piercy’s (1979) Woman on the Edge of Time traditional family roles are questioned: women no longer primary carers of children, but children looked after by three guardians with no biological relation. Research question four asks: what can youth and the lived-experiences of young disabled people teach us about disability? Incorporating disability into utopian visions challenges a discourse of passivity and tragedy.
Rules protecting traditional, institutional-bureaucratic utopian visions, critics argue, mean utopia soon slips into dystopia (Abbott, 2010). Although Levitas (2005a) argues that critics are confusing utopianism with the problem of totalitarianism, the finite nature of an institutional-bureaucratic utopian visions are nevertheless at odds with
postmodernity’s (and my postconventionalist) dismissal of grand narratives
(Chrysanthou, 2002; Sargisson, 2000). Sargisson (2000) argues, however, that we should move from patriarchal blueprint definitions of utopianism, instead calling for a
‘transgressive utopianism’. Transgressive utopianism, is not about “single answers and easy programmes of action” (Sargisson, 2000, 1), but is partial, fluid and slippery; a way
114 to appreciate the transformative potential of dreams and fantasy. Sargisson (2000, 1) believes this form of utopianism can help us to mull over questions such as: “What do we want? What do we believe to be wrong with the world? How can we best change it? How should we live? Given the world as it is, how can we best achieve our dreams and
desires?” Questions disabled youth are denied.
“Utopias – good places that are no place – are […] outside the real world, but engage critically with it. They arise from discontent and attempt creative imaginings of how things might be better. They provide for bodies-of-thought spaces in which creativity is possible, they add momentum and resist the petrification to which academic minds are vulnerable. They give to social and political movements a sense of direction or vision.”
(Sargisson, 2000, 3)
Section One formed as I theorised around my own discontent with the world. Yet, as I argued in Chapter Four, for me, it is possible to pose as adult; an option often
unavailable for disabled youth. Transgressive utopian thinking is best done by those on the peripheries who are most able to offer a transgressive critique (Sargisson, 2000). Young disabled people fulfil this ‘Othered’ criterion. They are well positioned to offer us a critical view of the world. As Shildrick writes:
"In place of the demand for rights, choice, and self-determination that presently shape the dominant discourse of disability activism, a more open and productive model that celebrates the qualities of those already living at the margins might be proposed."
(Shildrick, 2004)
A utopian project lets us celebrate, listen to and learn from the ideas, actions and imaginations of disabled youth. Furthermore, by asking participants wide societal questions, rather than asking directly about themselves, I am not demanding access to their lives. The intention being that I go some way in avoiding reifying the penetrating gaze placed upon young and disabled people (Priestley, 2003). This is not to dismiss conversations around the individual; as discussed later in this chapter, The Best-Ever Future Worlds Project allowed for levels of analysis ranging from the subjective to the cultural. However, it allowed for an aspect of choice on participants part. They could talk to me about themselves, or about their wider societal, cultural and political ideas.
Furthermore, the creative methods I employed allowed members of the groups I worked within to take part without any particular direct engagement with me, which some preferred. This was an access requirement, as much as ensuring buildings were
115 wheelchair accessible. I turn to consider how futurist/utopian ideas fit with the critically young methodology pointed towards in earlier chapters.