University of Washington

The first time I looked up the term cripplepunk I was in ninth grade, almost bedbound with severe hip pain. It took half a second for the page to load, and another half a second for me to process what I was seeing. There before me, against the muted grey of my phone's dark mode, is the community I thought I would never have. I could have scrolled for hours, absorbing the images of models in powerchairs wearing ornate gowns, snarky patches on guide dog vests, and decorated canes. I kept coming back to the page, enchanted with the movement. Although the term cripplepunk wasn't used until 2014, the spirit of the movement is present in most disabled people, from Frida Kahlo to the participants in the Capitol Crawl. The cripplepunk movement is intentionally subversive, fighting against the ableism and pity that disabled people encounter at every turn. Cripplepunks take a "so what if I am?" approach to ableism, refusing to be ashamed of symptoms, accommodations, or mobility aids. It's a diverse movement too, where a 60-something veteran dealing with decades-old injuries can guide me through the process of buying and decorating my first cane. In cripplepunk circles, a deafblind Black woman can teach the world that disabled people can have dreams for their futures. The cripplepunk movement is a movement where I can offer sympathy, advice, and support to the same people who helped me through otherwise isolating moments and new cripples alike. That work doesn't just happen online though. My work as a cripplepunk happens everywhere, classrooms and grocery stores alike, by being visibly and unashamedly disabled, vocally confronting ableists, and campaigning for greater accessibility.

"Beta, food is ready," Amma yells as I quickly traverse her words. She made dosas and aloo curry, my favorite. I followed the strong, flavorful scent to the kitchen, the same place where I subsequently got serenaded by hymns sung by Amma. I helped set up the table, decorated with a box of misplaced cheerios and a bowl of Gulab jamun Appa set out for us before he left for work. I watched my brother go into the garden to collect one of our banana leaves, acting as plates for the eight guests arriving soon for lunch. The natural grassy smell that emanated from the leaves signaled Amma that guests would be coming soon. She laid out the dosas on the table and aloo in a bowl, exerting an ounce of pride from the squint of her eyes. The aroma of dosas and aloo curry has followed my family for generations. Every generation that was taught the art of making a dosa assimilated a new idea, evolving my family's South Indian cuisine. My appreciation of my community lies within its versatility for the continuation of traditions and beliefs, passing them down for generations to come. Guests started coming in for lunch, holding their food, seasoned with the stories of their lives. Despite the incredible array of foods on the table, the box of cheerios remained in sight to the public. Like me, it didn't align with the norms of its environment, but remained firm. Its bright yellow color pervaded, attracting many. However, it had its own stories and journey that couldn't hold comparison to others. This "ambiguity" represents diversity within culture. Its multidimensional perspective allows for cuisine and culture to bring a multitude of stories together, creating a home for all, including me.

At my dining table, a silent war was being waged. Each side wielded glances, smirks, and snide remarks concealed under composed postures. The discomfort was palpable. Yet, newly eight-year-old me moved obliviously between my grandmas. To me, they were nearly the same person who loved me and, on this delightful occasion, had provided me with considerable compensation for lasting another year.

My first call to battle came sitting in the passenger seat of my grandma, Judy's Toyota. As we rolled through the hills of Idaho, she spoke to me about a recent election and her opinions on various healthcare issues. Moved from a place of deep sorrow, she described my Aunt's struggle to obtain insurance due to a pre-existing condition. She suggested her solutions, and I listened attentively, curious about her ideas since I had yet to form my own.

Months later, I found myself in a hammock under a sweeping eucalyptus, engaged in a similar discussion with my other grandma, Teresa. As a healthcare worker, she was very involved with the issue, yet her ideas fell completely opposite Judy's.

This was when I discovered the origin of the hushed hostility afflicting my family.

The family I come from may seem divided with their vastly different views, but together, these women taught me the importance of being a listener. I learned that to understand an issue truly, you must first consider all thoughts and opinions, no matter how much you may disagree. The animosity I observed resulted from closed minds and echo chambers; from their discomfort, I've learned that progress can only be made through compromise and communication. At UW, I hope to contribute my distinct perspective on problem-solving alongside my engineering knowledge to collaborate with others through programs like Engineers Without Borders to create impactful solutions to universal problems.

In my youth, my mother helped instill a curiosity about the natural world in me. Her work in consulting regarding climate change and environmental systems made me question my direct and indirect impact. I delved into these interests further in high school by taking broad coursework in the sciences. In AP Biology, I was baffled by the reactions and transformation that occurred with simple manipulation. In AP Environmental Science, I was able to apply these biological processes to environmental concepts I noticed on the daily.

In my junior year, I took AP Economics, a class on the polar opposite spectrum from biological and environmental sciences. However, while studying economics, I was able to establish connections between economic and environmental concepts. My father, who has a grounded education in economics, helped me understand the links between these seemingly disparate subjects. The subjects were foundationally interlinked; simple ideas coincided, such as the tragedy of the commons and its relation to marginal analysis.

As I noticed these intersectional ties, I saw that addressing the impending climate crisis through an economic lens was necessary for implementable, impactful change. There were opportunities for the government to impact climate action— these included economic incentives and regulations to influence the market price, changing producer and consumer behavior to be environmentally friendly. These policies helped protect the welfare of not only the environment but also of individuals who are disproportionately affected by the climate crisis.

My interest in communication studies links to this; I hope to thoroughly understand these subjects in an interdisciplinary context to provide the means for others to do the same.

At UW, particularly in the Interdisciplinary Honors Program, I hope to conjoin my interests in economic policy, science, and communications to gain the leverage and sound academic foundation necessary to address these concerns.