Maysoon Zayid: I got 99 problems... palsy is just one

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)