Episode 105: Have Our Backs

Unfortunately, disabled people will often find ourselves in situations where we will not be listened to without the support of a non-disabled ally. It's not fair. Our voices are valid. But this is the unfortunate truth for most marginalized communities.

Transcript

TRANSCRIPT OF “HAVE OUR BACKS”

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MALE VO [00:03]
This is Bad Attitudes.

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LAURA [00:20]
Hello friends and strangers! And welcome to another episode of Bad Attitudes: An Uninspiring Podcast About Disability. I’m your host, Laura.

Allies, we need you to speak up.

This week’s supporter shoutout goes to Jennifer Kellog! Thank you for your continued support, Jennifer!

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As always, I want to remind you that disability is not a monolith. My experience as a disabled person is going to be different from the experiences of other disabled people. I am one voice for the disabled community but I am not the only voice.

[02:22]
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If you watched my TEDx talk from last year, you might remember a story I shared from my time in college. So, if the next bit feels a little familiar, just roll with it.

I was an English major in college. In one of my classes, we read an essay by the author Nancy Mairs called, “On Being A Cripple.” Mairs had MS and referred to herself as a cripple, although she didn’t refer to other disabled people this way. She felt it was the best way to describe her condition.

Sidenote, this essay encouraged me to check out Mairs’s other writing. Her book, Waist-High In the World: Life Among the Non-Disabled, had a huge impact on me, and will definitely be a selection for the virtual bookclub for Ko-Fi subscribers.

After we read the essay, my professor asked if I would be willing to offer my opinion. I didn’t mind, but I also couldn’t really say no. And although I was willing to share my thoughts, this did put me in the spot of speaking for the entire disabled community, which isn’t something any of us can do accurately, and certainly not something I was prepared to do as a 20 or 21-year-old.

I explained, as best I could, that I didn’t like the term “cripple” and preferred “disabled,” if a label was going to be applied. I further explained that terms like “handicapped” were also distasteful, despite how common it was. Another student, who was active in the student newspaper, basically told me that if I wasn’t okay with the term “handicapped,” it was because I hadn’t, quote, “come to terms” with my situation.

I didn’t have the wherewithal to respond to that as I would have liked, but if she said that to me today, here’s what I would say: How dare you. How DARE you assume to know me well enough to pass judgment on me in that way? How dare you think that your opinion as a non-disabled person outweighs mine as someone who has lived the disabled experience my entire life. You say that “handicapped” is what “they” tell you to use. (“They” most likely being the Associated Press, which arbitrates the style of journalistic writing.) What I’m hearing you say is that you don’t have the ability to think for yourself and take into consideration the opinions of someone like me, who actively lives as a disabled person.

Here I was, a KID, having to defend not just myself but my entire community from the opinions of a classroom full of students who had no idea what I experienced in my life. Students who had no comparable experience. I had to defend myself on why being an average-looking wheelchair user is different from being a MODEL with a below-the-knee amputation. I had to defend my opinions of pop culture disability representation. I basically had to defend my entire lived experience.

And no one backed me up. The one really good friend I had in the class wasn’t there, but no one else said a thing. I know they agreed with me because they told me so LATER. Not in the moment, but later, when their opinion couldn’t help me. If they had spoken up just a little, just enough to say, “I think Laura knows better than us what she’s talking about,” it would have gone such a long way to making me feel less alone.

LAURA [05:58]
I came across a video on Instagram the other day. A young woman was recounting a harrowing experience on public transportation. She was on the bus, coming back from a medical appointment, when she was accosted by a woman who wanted to know what was “wrong” with her. For the record, I don’t know what this person’s disability is, but it must be visibly apparent. She made it clear to this woman that she didn’t want to engage, that she wasn’t going to respond, and that this line of questioning was inappropriate, and she put her headphones back in. And this woman, in her words, “went berserk.” She started screaming at this young woman, demanding to know what was wrong with her. This went on for several minutes, her being verbally assaulted by a complete stranger. And no one, on a nearly full bus, did anything.

I have been approached by people wanting to know my medical history and wanting to know what was “wrong” with me, but, thankfully, I’ve never been accosted like this. I can’t imagine seeing someone screaming at a person, demanding personal information, and not speaking up. Is it because I’m disabled, and I know how vulnerable that situation would make me feel? Maybe. But, maybe I’m also a decent human being.

Now, I understand that those people standing quietly by might have been afraid that this woman was dangerous. She certainly seems unhinged, based on this story. But who is in more danger? You, a presumably non-disabled person on a bus, or this visibly disabled young woman who is being verbally attacked? The young woman telling the story also explained that she freed up her arms in case she had to physically defend herself. She was fearful of being physically attacked by someone who felt entitled to know personal, private, possibly traumatic, information.

Keep in mind, this young woman did not invite this interaction. She was wearing noise-cancelling headphones. She was not making conversation with other passengers. She was minding her own business. And a complete stranger took it upon herself to ask her invasive questions, and when her curiosity was not satisfied, she lost her ever-loving mind.

Put yourself in the victim’s position. Imagine you were on a bus, minding your own business, and a stranger was in your face, screaming, demanding to know the results of your latest PAP smear or prostate exam. Imagine no one around you stepped up. Imagine you didn’t feel safe or capable enough to defend yourself against this onslaught. And, again, imagine the other passengers just sat there and let it happen.

How afraid would you be? How TERRIFIED would you be? How ALONE would you feel?

I’m obviously older than the young woman sharing this story, and I’m at a point in my life where I no longer give a fuck. This person behaved admirably by simply choosing not to engage after a certain point. I might very well have engaged, and it might not have gone smoothly for me.

I’m not stupid. I try not to put myself needlessly in danger. But I can only imagine how I would have reacted in this woman’s place. It probably would have been loud.

The disabled community needs people to step up in situations like this. Not just the dangerous ones, like this woman’s encounter on the bus, but also in less fraught scenarios, like my college classroom. We need to know you have our backs. We need you to back us up. The unfortunate truth is that marginalized people are more often listened to when a non-marginalized individual is supportive.

A Black voice is amplified by a white voice. An LGBTQ+ voice is amplified by a cishet voice. A disabled voice is amplified by a non-disabled voice. It’s not fair, and we should be listened to based on our own merits, but this is the reality of belonging to a marginalized community. We need non-marginalized allies to validate our stories and experiences.

If you find yourself in a situation where you can back up a disabled person when they’re not being listened to, do so. I trust you to use your best judgment on whether or not you actually need to step in.

Thanks for listening, and I’ll talk to you in the next one.

[10:47]
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