Disability inspired pride, poetic words in Dara McLaughlin

Barbara McKee: A voice silenced

Disability inspired pride, poetic words in Dara McLaughlin

By Barbara McKee

Monday, July 3, 2006

"When your legs fall into a deep sleep
unmoving, near dead
you are the embodiment of a blatant
physical flaw, a visible derangement
you are the ambassador of human tragedy
symbol of vulnerability/uncertainty
of what the future holds tomorrow or twenty years from now"
- excerpt from "Ode to Legs, A Map of This World," by Dara McLaughlin.

When the disability community loses a champion, the world loses a unique voice of truth. Dara McLaughlin, gifted poet, visual artist, teacher, disability activist and humanitarian, died on May 26, after a long illness.

McLaughlin, originally from Buffalo, moved to Rio Rancho in February of 1996, enamored with the beauty of her new surroundings and the chance of a fresh start. She plunged into the poetry scene of Albuquerque and Santa Fe, making her mark as a disability poet and activist.

I met Dara in 1998, just weeks after moving to Albuquerque for the very same reasons she had. We had exchanged e-mails before I moved, meeting on a disability message board. She was articulate and witty, and I was thrilled to have a friend waiting for me in a city I had only seen twice before. I was astonished by her openness, confidence, strength of character and incredible beauty.

McLaughlin was an established poet by the time I arrived, and she took me under her wing after reading my work. She introduced me to disability poetry, but, more importantly, she taught me to be a happy member of the disability community.

Before I met her, I didn't associate with wheelchair-users. She taught me how to be proud of my disability, something that was foreign to me. I avoided disabled people, afraid of being rejected by the able-bodied. She taught me the opinions of others regarding my worth didn't mean a thing.

"Hold your head up", she said, "you are a human being, just like everybody else."

To have a friend like her was truly a gift. She was a warrior, honing her activist skills to a sharp point. We formed a poetry duet called "No Shy Bones," declaring that neither of us had a shy bone in our bodies and truth would be the bedrock of our work.

We performed in several venues, including one that no other poet had before: the Bernalillo Detention Center's Man-to-Man Project, comprised of teenaged boys incarcerated for serious crimes. We read our work without fear, and the reactions from the inmates were wonderful. The boys surrounded us, asking how they could become poets. It was the highlight of our short collaboration.

I don't know if I would be writing this column if we never met. McLaughlin was, and still is, a shining example of a life well lived.

A poetry memorial service will be held on July 20 at the Corrales Library at 7 p.m. - open to the public.

McKee, a wheelchair user, is a freelance writer and producer. You can e-mail her at chairgrrl@chairgrrl.com.

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