You’re Going To Be Disabled. How Does That Make You Feel?
It might not happen, but if it does, it doesn’t have to become a tragedy…
The white canes and the guide-dogs, the wheelchairs, the sudden sign-language you didn’t expect, the ones who look a little different, the ones who look exactly like you but inside they feel very different, the glasses you can’t ignore and the hearing-aids that inevitably catch your attention. You know that disability is a reality, and perhaps you even know that there is no snap of a finger solution to make it all go away. That people are differently abled is a reality and has been for as long as humans existed. You just never think you are, or you will be one of them. But might be. That, unless we all do something about it.
There’s a lot more to that headline than meets the eye. Being born with a disability or acquiring one during one’s lifetime doesn’t have to be a tragedy. This article, unlike many others I have written about accessibility in the past, is actually inspired by a fellow writer, Susie Kearley. In her article “Suddenly Blind”, she tells the story of Taxi driver, Jim Giffen, who suddenly loses his vision for good. It’s a touching and inspiring story about reality, falling, then standing back up and conquering a new reality — one without vision. It’s by far one of the best stories I have read on Medium in the last couple of months. Give it a read, you won’t regret it.
But that story — as inspiring as it is — it also highlights something that I have been advocating for, for a long time. Some claim that calling people disabled is wrong. I for one, beg to differ. As a web accessibility expert, I’ve had the opportunity to look into what fears are associated with disabilities. Why are people so scared of disabilities, be that seeing or experiencing it?
What is really the debilitating part about being disabled? The disability itself, or what comes after?
I have a couple of theories, after which you might understand more why I think calling someone disabled is correct in today’s context of the world we live in.
Humans have a natural tendency to fear everything they don’t understand. That’s why everyone is shitting themselves in the movies when aliens land, that’s why many people who have never flown before, struggle getting on an airplane, and that’s why most people are stressed before having sex the first time in their life (or with a new person). I could go on all night long, about all the things, us, humans fear.
I am afraid of spiders (though I’ll take a photo of them every time I get a chance), but I ain’t touching those eight-legged things! That’s four too many legs for my brain to process! As majestic and even cute some are, I don’t understand them. The extra legs make me feel like they’re unpredictable and can bring forth the end of me in all my 75kg of glory! However, most phobias are treatable, so disability phobia should be too. If you didn’t think there was such a thing, think again. And the solution? In this case, education.
If we don’t proactively educate people on what disabilities exist and how they manifest, successful integration into society will be so much more painful than it has to be.
Some might argue that it will all happen organically, just like with people getting used to white canes on the street, but it absolutely won’t. It is not the responsibility of those affected by a disability to make the world get used to them. I mean, that’s just fucked up. They’re trying to get from A to B, educating the rest of the world should be the last thing on their mind.
It’s also not realistic. Walking around in Dublin city centre, you’d think there are practically zero people using wheelchairs in this city, and you’d be wrong. Very wrong. The reason you don’t see them wheeling themselves around town is because footpaths are an absolute mess, occupied by restaurant and café signs, ignorant tourists and their selfie-sticks, and the occasional tripod of some YouTuber — all of which are — don’t get me wrong — legitimate uses of a side-walk, except when the whole thing is barely the width of a wheelchair!
At that point just going from one end to the other of a street becomes a task tough enough, you decide to “go” home and order everything online. Unless you’re blind and 98.1% of the internet doesn’t work with screenreader. Then you’re fucked by your digital environment too. Who built both of them — the digital and physical environment? We did.
People living with disabilities are only disabled because we disable them through sheer ignorance. Calling someone disabled is not derogatory, it’s an admission, that we fucked up.
Accessibility advocacy and activism is something that many, whom I speak with, don’t quite understand. Not so much the why of it, but more why do I, someone who doesn’t live with a disability, care so much? Some, the even more ignorant ones, don’t wonder at all, just assume I am disabled. While I never truly sat down to explain why I care so bloody damn much, I guess I’ll do it now, and admit that I’m partly self-serving in my efforts to make the web more accessible.
My biggest fear is not losing a leg, an arm, or my sight, but the stark reality I’d have to live in, afterwards. A world built for everyone, except those with disabilities. It’s a panic-inducing fear, that the web I rely on so much, would be no more, that everything I used to do, would become a lot harder or impossible to achieve.
When we watch documentaries about people living without limbs or having other life-altering disabilities, we always tend to feel inspired by their ingenious solutions, the hard work they put in to function in society, to do the things everyone else does without having to think twice. But let me ask you this? Is it not a bit perverse that this is what inspires us? That many of them put Samsonian effort into achieving basic things? Wow! Against all odds, they still succeeded. We all love those success stories, don’t we? But, wait a second… Who created those odds? Certainly, not them. It was us.
It’s like putting an obstacle course between a 15-year-old three-legged dog and its food, three times a day.
What kind of diabolical mind would do that, right?!? Oh, I’ll tell you. The human mind. We do. And that’s fucking scary. Knowing that if tomorrow I lost my eye-sight I’d be royally fucked, not because of just losing my ability to see, but also because 90%+ of the time I have no alternatives for everything I used to love and do, and that’s debilitating. It’s not enough that I would have to deal with the psychological and physical trauma of losing one of my senses, I would have to further fight a likely depression for living in a world that doesn’t give much of a shite about any of it.
Every accessibility activist and advocate has their own reasons to care, and so do I. On top of natural empathy for my fellow humans, a higher standard that I expect from everyone else not having to deal with a disability, the undeniable stats of just how many of us — humans — are born with a disability, I’m also scared shitless of a potential reality that I, you, or any of us has to face upon becoming disabled. While Jim Giffen and his wife found a way and turned a stark situation into a blessing, it didn’t happen overnight, nor was it cheap. The emotional and mental cost alone is still far too high and unjustifiable, and plenty break down.
We only read and watch the success stories because the other stories never got written. They’re the wheelchairs, canes, dark minds we don’t see, and nobody cares about.
So, how does that make you feel?
Attila Vago — Software Engineer improving the world one line of code at a time. Cool nerd since forever, writer of codes and blogs. Web accessibility advocate, LEGO fan, vinyl record collector. Loves craft beer! Read my Hello story here! Subscribe and/or become a member for more stories about LEGO, tech, coding and accessibility! For my less regular readers, I also write about random bits and writing.




