Residue
There I was, in front of a clunky, beige computer, surrounded by the sounds of students clicking away at questions about times tables. The green cursor flashed on its black screen, goading me. It was a race to input the right answer and I was pitted against my friend.
As I sat in the corner of the classroom, I felt like melting out of the navy blue plastic perched atop its three metal legs and dripping into the hardwood floorboards below. Math was an indecipherable mystery - a case never to be cracked.
The noises coming from the desktop seemed to scream at me after each wrong answer. My cheeks were red hot. I had to get at least some right. I couldn’t graduate fourth grade without passing this test.
It wasn’t until I understood dyscalculia that I understood mathematics. What I came to realize - after many, many years and a great amount of hardship - is that, fundamentally, it’s about relationships. It’s about noticing, naming, and accounting for relationships.
Years (and years) later, I was in a PhD program, burnt out. I started looking for literature written about learning disabilities by people with learning disabilities, specifically those in grad school or doing statistical research. Such papers were few and far between, but they were there. One article, “Against The Odds: Insights from a Statistician with Dyscalculia,” stuck out to me. It addressed myths about dyscalculia and mathematics, including:
“Myths about dyscalculia:
Dyscalculia results from inherent cognitive deficits within the individual;
Students with dyscalculia cannot learn or do higher-level mathematics.
Myths about mathematics:
Students must master the “basics” to succeed in higher-level mathematics;
Speed and efficiency are important to succeed in mathematics.”
Quantcrit / competence / LDs in history
Rooting into respiration renders structures sustained by necropower nonfunctional, decomposing conditions of possibility for necropolitical play.