Last month, I wrote an article for The Bagpipe about ableism (defined as discrimination in favor of able-bodied people) in Hollywood and the negative affects of a movie released that supposedly had a positive review from autistic people (Sia’s movie “Music”). My experience of writing this article was a mediocre one—I enjoyed doing the research and speaking to other autistic people about what they believed about the movie, but after the release of the article in The Bagpipe, I had people come and discuss the article with me.
This response was, of course, welcomed. The whole point of that article was to call attention to a problem, and it did lead to positive further conversations with people on campus. But as with most things, people had opinions, understandably so. I was told by multiple different people that I should not use the word “disabled” because it has a negative connotation and that, rather than a negative word, I should use a positive one like “differently abled.”
And I have to say, that is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.
As a disabled person, I have had to deal with this statement throughout basically my entire adult life. I can understand the attempt at being “well-meaning,” but I don’t see it that way.
To me, being a disabled person is simply just being me.
I am disabled. Realistically, I will always be disabled and because of that I will call myself a disabled person. For me, the idea of being disabled is something that took me a long time to accept, and now that I have accepted this part of my existence, I will be bold in my advocacy.
But the ableism does not stop there.
So many of my interactions with people, specifically those on campus, revolve around ableism, but of a more accidental nature. This includes the frustration that a lot of people have when I ask them to repeat themselves, or when I am told to stop a certain behavior that is beneficial to me, like rocking back and forth or waving my hands.
Like most faults with society, it is ingrained into the very foundations of human nature and I am fully aware of this fact. But that does not mean I will accept it lying down.
For a long time I was cautious with calling out ableism, despite the fact that it is a harmful experience for me. I was afraid of insulting people by calling them out, and, in doing so, damaging whatever relationship that could form between them and me. At the same time, I do not want to have any form of relationship beyond acquaintance with someone who does not respect my existence as a disabled person.
But ableism is not just found in conversation. If you walk over to the Anna E. Kresge Memorial Library on campus and find the books that focus specifically on the idea of neurodivergence (i.e. books on autism, ADHD, dyslexia, etc), nine times out of ten you will choose a book that was written by a neurotypical person. This is ridiculous, because you would not choose to read a book about being blind not written from the point of view of a blind person, would you? Now apply that to other disabilities.
I am a person with an invisible disability, which basically means, if you look at me, I don’t “look disabled” despite the fact that, in actuality, disabled people do not have a specific “look.”
The idea of disabled people “looking” disabled is an ableist idea that only came to be because able-bodied people were trying to defend themselves and their ableist point of view. Now, an ableist point of view or practice can be anything from the more subtle annoyance or frustration when a disabled person takes a moment longer to do something or needs more help to complete a task, to the more extreme exclusion or anger when disabled people simply exist.
Inside this spectrum of extremes sits something that most people do not even realize is wrong: asking a disabled person what their disability is, or believing that they, an able-bodied person, is entitled to the entirety of someone’s medical history.
While I am obviously a big fan of talking about my disability, as this is not my first article or writing associated with Covenant College that focuses on talking about my disability, I am not a fan of people approaching me with the thought that they can ask me whatever they want without regards to my personal boundaries.
A lot of those on campus have a tendency to offer their take on my situation, and a few have even informed me that, in their opinion, I have no reason to be so vocal about my current situation because I wouldn’t be in it if “The Fall” hadn’t happened. And while I can recognize this truth as something that happened, I cannot change the past, nor can I change the fact that I am disabled.
The final thing I have to point out, especially with students on campus at Covenant College, is that some believe that they must act as my keeper. In every situation, these few people take control, speaking for me, acting on my behalf, or going as far as to inform others that I am disabled without it fitting into the conversation that is currently taking place.
To some extent, I can be shy when it comes to asking for what I need. I have a hard time telling professors exactly what they can do that would benefit me and masks make every interaction harder than it needs to be. I ask for help often from those around me when I find myself unable to understand, which is what I recommend for all you able-bodied people to wait for.
Wait for a disabled person to ask for help, to show an indication that they need help, or to seek help. Do not offer up your opinion unless it is welcomed, and in most situations, saying that you are sorry that someone is disabled is not a beneficial thing.
And on that note, I do welcome conversation, if you respect that some topics I will not be open to discussing and that will depend on what is asked. So please: reach out to me, email me, follow me on Instagram, ask me the questions that burn you up inside about disabled people, and I will answer honestly.