Hello TED women, what's up?! (some cheers)
Not good enough, hello TED women, what is
up?! (loud cheering)
My name is Maysoon Zayid and I am not
drunk, but the doctor who delivered me
was. He cut my mom six different times in
six different directions suffocating poor
little me in the process. As a result, I
have Cerebral Palsy, which means I shake
all the time. Look. It's exhausting!
I'm like Shakira Shakira meets Muhammad
Ali. (laughter)
CP is not genetic. It's not a birth defect
you can't catch it. No one put a curse on
my mother's uterus, and I didn't get it
because my parents are first cousins,
which they are. (laughter)
It only happens from accidents, like what
happened to me on my birthday. Now, I must
warn you, I'm not inspirational. I don't
want anyone in this room to feel bad for
me, because at some point in your life,
you have dreamt of being disabled.
Come on a journey with me, it's Christmas
Eve, you're at the mall. You're driving
around in circles looking for parking,
and what do you see? 16 empty
handicap spaces. (laughter)
And you're like, God, can't I just be a
little disabled?
Also, I gotta tell you I got 99 problems
and Palsy is just 1. If there was an
oppression Olympics, I would win the
Gold Medal. I'm Palestinian, Muslim, I'm
female, I'm disabled, and I live in New
Jersey. (laughter)
If you don't feel better about yourself,
maybe you should.
Cliffside Park New Jersey is my hometown.
I have always loved the fact that my hood,
and my affliction share the same initials.
I also love the fact that if I wanted to
walk from my house to New York City, I
could. A lot of people with CP don't walk.
But my parents didn't believe in "can't."
My father's mantra was: "You can do it,
yes you can can." (laughter)
So, if my three older sisters were mopping
I was mopping. If my three older sisters
went to public school, my parents would
sue the school system and guarentee that I
went, too. And if we didn't all get A's,
we ALL got my mother's slipper. (laughter)
My father taught me how to walk when I was
five years old, by placing my heels on his
feet and just walking. Another tactic that
He used is He would dangle a dollar bill
in front of me and have me chase it.
(laughter)
My inner stripper was very strong.
(laughter)
By the first day of kindergarten I was
walking like a champ who had been punched
one too many times. Growing up there were
only six Arabs in my town, and they were
all my family. Now there are twenty Arabs
in town and they are still all my family.
(laughter)
I don't think anyone even noticed we
weren't Italian. (laughter)
This was before 9/11 and before
politicians thought it was appropriate to
use "I hate Muslims" as a campaign slogan.
The people that I grew up with had no
problem with my faith. They did, however,
seem very concerned that I was starved to
death during Ramadan. I would explain to
them that I have enough fat to live off of
for three whole months, so fasting from
sunrise to sunset is a piece of cake.
I have tap danced on Broadway. Yeah, on
Broadway, it's crazy. (clapping)
My parents couldn't afford Physical
Therapy so they sent me to dancing school.
I learned how to dance in heels, which
means I can walk in heels, and I am from
Jersey and we are really concerned with
being chic, so if my friends wore heels
so did I. And when my friends went and
spent their summer vacations on the Jersey
Shore, I did not. I spent my summers in a
war zone, because my parents were afraid
that if we didn't go back to Palestine
every single summer we'd grow up to be
Madonna. (laughter)
Summer vacations often consisted of my
father trying to heal me. So, I drank
deer's milk, I had hot cups on my back,
I was dunked in the dead sea, and I
remember the water burning my eyes and
thinking, "It's working it's working!"
(laughter)
But one miracle cure we did find was yoga.
I have to tell you, it's very boring, but
before I did yoga, I was a stand up
comedian who can't stand up. And now I can
stand on my head. My parent's reinforced
this notion that I could do anything. That
no dream was impossible and my dream was
to be on the daytime soap opera General
Hospital. (laughter)
I went to college during affirmative
action and got a sweet scholarship to ASU,
Arizona State University because I fit
every single quota. I was like the pet
lemur of the Theater Department.
(laughter)
Everybody loved me, I did all the
less-than intelligent kid's homework, I
got A's in all of my classes, A's in all
of their classes. (laughter)
Every time I did a scene from a Glass
Menagerie my professors would weep.
But I never got cast. Finally my Senior
year, ASU decided to do a show called
A Dance Real Slow in Jackson. It's a play
about a girl with CP. I was a girl with CP
so I start shouting from the rooftops,
"I'm finally going to get a part! I have
Cerebral Palsy! Free at last free at last!
Thank God Almighty I'm free at last!"
I didn't get the part. (laughter)
Sherry Brown got the part. I went racing
to the head of the Theater Department,
crying hysterically like someone shot my
cat, to ask her why and she said it was
because they didn't think I could do the
stunts. I said excuse me, if I can't do
the stunts, neither can the character!
(laughter)
This was a part that I was literally born
to play and they gave it to non-Palsy
actress. College was imitating life.
Hollywood has assorted history of casting
able-bodied actors to play disabled on
screen.
Upon graduating, I moved back home and my
first acting gig was as an extra on a
daytime soap opera. My dream was coming
true. And I knew that I would be promoted
from Diner Diner, to Wacky Best Friend in
no time. But instead I remained a
glorified piece of furniture that you
could only recognize from the back of my
head. And it became clear to me that
casting directors didn't hire fluffy
ethnic disabled actors, they only hired
perfect people, but there were exceptions
to the rule. I grew up watching Whoopi
Goldberg, Roseanne Barr, Ellen, and all
these women had one thing in common:
they were comedians, so I became a comic.
(laughter and applause)
My first gig was driving famous comics
from New York City to shows in New Jersey.
And I'll never forget the face of the
first comic I ever drove when He realized
He was speeding down the New Jersey
turnpike with a chick with CP driving Him.
(laughter)
I performed in clubs all over America, and
I've also performed in Arabic in the
Middle-East, uncensored and uncovered,
Some people say I'm the first stand up
comic in the Arab world. I never like to
claim first, but I do know that they never
heard that nasty little rumor that women
aren't funny, and they find us hysterical.
(laughter)
In 2003 my brother from another mother,
and father, Dean Obeidallah and I started
the New York Arab-American Comedy Festival
now in it's tenth year. Our goal was to
change the negative image of
Arab-Americans in media while also
reminding casting directors that South
Asian and Arab are not synonymous.
(laughter)
Mainstreaming Arabs was much much easier
than conquering the challenge against the
stigma against disability. My big break
came in 2010. I was invited to be a guest
on the cable news show, Countdown with
Keith Olbermann. I walked in looking like
I was going to the prom, and they shuffle
me into a studio and seat me on a
spinning, rolling chair. (laughter)
So I looked at the stage manager and I'm
like, "Excuse me, can I have another
chair?" and she looked at me and she went
"5..4..3..2" and we were live, so I had to
grip on to the anchors desk so that I
wouldn't roll off the screen during the
segment and when the interview was over,
I was livid. I had finally gotten my
chance and I blew it. And I knew I would
never get invited back. But not only did
Mr. Olbermann invite me back, He made me
a full-time contributor. And He taped down
my chair. (laughter)
One fun fact I learned while on the air
with Keith Olbermann was that humans on
the internet are scumbags. People say
children are cruel but I was never made
fun of as a child or an adult. Suddenly my
disability on the world wide web is fair
game. I would look at clips online and see
comments like, "Yo, why she tweakin'?"
"Yo, is she retarded?" and my favorite,
"Poor gumby mouthed terrorist. what does
she suffer from? We should really pray for
her." One commentor even suggested that I
add my disabilities to my credits:
screenwriter, comedian, palsy.
Disability is as visual as race. If a
wheelchair user can't play Beyonce,
then Beyonce can't play a wheelchair user.
The disabled are the.. Yeah, clap for them
man! Come on! (applause)
People with disabilities are the largest
minority in the world and we are the most
under-represented in entertainment. The
doctor said that I wouldn't walk, but I am
here in front of you. However, if I grew
up with social media, I don't think I
would be. I hope that together, we can
create more positive images of disability
in the media and in every day life.
Perhaps if there were more positive images
it would foster less hate on the internet.
Or maybe not. Maybe it still takes a
village to teach our children well. My
crooked journey has taken me to some very
spectacular places. I got to walk the red
carpet, flanked by soap diva Susan Lucci,
and the iconic Loreen Arbus. I got to act
in a movie with Adam Sandler and work with
my idol, the amazing Dave Matthews. I
toured the world as a headliner on Arab's
Gone Wild. I was a delegate representing
the great state of New Jersey at the 2008
DNC. And I founded Maysoon's Kids, a
charity that helps to give Palestinian
refugee children a sliver of the chance my
parents gave me. But the one moment that
stands out the most was when I got, before
this moment. (laughter)
But the one moment that stands out the
most was when I got to perform for the man
who flies like a butterfly and stings like
a bee, has Parkinsons and shakes just like
me, Muhammad Ali! (applause)
It was the only time that my father ever
saw me perform live, and I dedicate this
talk to his memory. My name is Maysoon
Zayid and if I can can, you can can.
(cheering and applause)