004 - Autism, anxiety, and academia
What is it with online academia and wanting to record you? You establish an honor code and acknowledge that we’re adults, but still don’t trust us enough to not require online proctoring. You know how fucking invasive it is to require I dress “appropriately” for your 1984-esque surveillance? I am a wearing a shirt and pants. These proctoring companies have the audacity to forbid wearing pajamas…IN YOUR OWN HOUSE. If I look too long to the left, are you going to report me to the thought police and put a cage full of rats on my head until I voice my love for Big Brother?
My autistic ass does not respond well in conversations in the best of times. I tried to take a Math Placement test back in late August and didn’t know that many other people were going to be in the proctored Zoom call with me and I had a panic attack. These fucking proctors demand that you show your room. Even if my room was the very example of spotlessly clean, I would still not want to do that! I’ve had proctors tell me to unplug my second monitor. The monitor that was quite obviously turned off and my Display Settings were set to only show through one monitor. Why? Why do I to unplug this monitor? This monitor that is clearly not being used? Just because other people cheat doesn’t mean you get to punish the entirety of a student body for it! Soon, it’s just gonna be, “Hey, before you can take this test, can you take a picture of the front of your house, your Social Security card, and the results of your last Pap Smear?”
Normally, I don’t go nearly bonkers Sovereign Citizen over something so trivial, but these days we have sycophants in politics and law enforcement setting up hotlines wanting to snitch on people with Harris-Walz signs in their yard and suspected people getting abortions. State legislation wants to monitor period apps to stop women from getting abortions! Law enforcement agencies across the country have lauded new advancements in biometric data technology, meaning they can identify you by just scanning your fingerprint, iris, or a droplet of blood.
Where does it end? Where does fascism begin? The seeming apathy of anyone in power? Someone who would value an unborn baby more than the person housing it? The thankless labor of a person more than the soul wasting away in the worker? When working demoralizing jobs, I was little more than a cash-counter, broom-sweeper, and complaint-kiosk. There were nights I wanted to drive my car directly off a cliff or into a tree. Admitting that to my parents just made them angry, like I was ungrateful because homeless people would love to have a job. Except many homeless people do have jobs. Jobs that don’t pay enough for them to have dependable housing and/or parasitic landlords.
When death is far more preferable than the life you’re allowed to live…that’s fascism. Signing off.