By August Butler

Introduction By Linderiya Sims

The opinions and perspectives people have toward the disabled differ based on the individual. Every action, every thought, and every question that travels across a person’s mind depends on the way they think and what they were taught. The information put into our heads as little ones plays a significant part in our mindset toward those who are atypical. However, what is defined as “atypical,” or as “different?” Who is at fault for the negative biases forced on the disabled? Our social networks? The media? Historians? When presenting historical events, a vast majority of influential news isn’t published because of discrimination and erasure toward oppressed groups. Because a minority group is seen as less, the recognition they receive lessens. This fosters a hostile and uninformed attitude for those uneducated on this topic. Recently, an event was presented to me, changing my thought process surrounding the “atypical” in everyday situations. My niece Legacii and her friend Koa recently accompanied me to the store. Upon our arrival, these little girls were eager to go to the toy section. Keep in mind that they’re three, with two of the cutest puppy dog faces. I mean, how could I ever say no? So I took them to the section watching their lungs fill with happiness at the sight of all the toys. In the aisle, was another little girl, who was in a wheelchair. Koa couldn’t help but stare, at least until I noticed and told her it wasn’t nice. Even though she’s too young for the perception to really register, she recognized a difference and created a barrier between her and the other little girl.  Meanwhile, Legacii was too focused on the toys to notice the other girl’s differences. Koa stared, questioned, and kept her distance from the little girl, while Legacii smiled, admired, and tried talking to her. The contrast between these two responses is representative of the biases we all harbor, and the quiet, judgemental observation of the differences these biases are based on- differences we need to begin acknowledging, not with confusion or hesitance, but curious intrigue and acceptance.

 

 

Often, the content we consume shapes our perspective of the world. The erasure of disability from the media is one of the main contributors to bias born of ignorance. Disability is routinely eliminated from historical reports, typically at the hands of neglectful historians and overtly patronizing academic officials, but also as a result of general societal neglect toward disabled voices. This raises questions about who the public is blindly trusting to provide accurate, full accounts of historical events. If the certified sources we put faith in to educate us and provide factual news are laced with human bias, there’s no way to be certain whether the public perception of a topic has been swayed by the internalized ideas of said sources.

The power struggle of disability as it relates to the world has led it to be misrepresented and neglected repeatedly. There’s a complex relationship between disability and other societal power structures, such as religious oppression, slavery, political subjugation, medical maltreatment, segregation in education, and harmful language, which is a power structure of its own, based on the sheer weight a stereotype or rhetoric can carry. Disability has worn many hats throughout history. It’s been called a curse, an intervention from God, a reflection of one’s true self, or a contagious and dangerous illness. These identifiers can elicit reactions that range from spiritual interventions, such as exorcisms or invitations to serve as shamans, to medical or scientific “treatments,” such as trepanning or forced sterilizations. However, regardless of the philosophies behind each reaction, almost every “treatment” is at the expense of the disabled person, objectifying them and stripping them of their humanity. For centuries, people with disabilities have been working the system, creating smaller communities within a larger institution that views them as borderline inhuman, several notches below normal on the hierarchy of being, and incapable of telling their own stories, let alone banding together to form a united front. Again and again, they prove the narrative wrong. These ideas of disability as a mystical, stupefying “other” aren’t made from any real evidence- the rebellion against the standard on behalf of the disabled proves that. It’s really the result of misperception and false news.

The historical approach to disability studies, which takes into account the past of disability as well as the present, is implemented with the goal of seeing through the rhetoric born of misperception and understanding the “why” to the “what.” It’s an integral tool in understanding modern human bias. The historical approach proves that disability is a permanent and complex global fixture, that disabled people are a capable, important, and diverse sector of the population that vastly contributes to society, and that examining the interaction between disability and historical, cultural, societal, political, and regional circumstance is the most effective way to understand the perception and consequential experience of people with disabilities. The cultural perception of disability, whether that be negative or positive, or in a religious or secular light, has a direct impact on the way disabled people are “fixed” or “cured” of their abnormalities. By looking back in time, one can develop a more absolute understanding of the nuances of modern disability identity by viewing historical influences, and attain a critical eye that’s crucial to studying the relationship between public perception and treatment today. Recognizing the pattern is key.

Often, in historical “treatments” of disability, the individual receiving it had little to no say in the process. People with disabilities experiencing objectification and infantilization beyond human identity is a recurring phenomenon throughout history. Individuals receiving “treatment” were often viewed as subhuman, as if they needed saving from themselves, or from taking their personal impairments and making the rest of the world suffer with them. Whether that’s because they were viewed as burdens, contagious, dangerous, or genetic liabilities, the “cure” was usually at the expense of the individual. Looking back on these “cures,” it’s clear that most of them are a result of ignorance. But often, with treatments like institutionalism and forced sterilization, they take on the cadence of punishment. Doctors, whether spiritual or medical, thought physical and mental torture was a better alternative to living with a disability. Considering both of these historical states of thought, that disabled people are viewed both as inhuman objects and that any risks must be taken to “cure” them, we can clearly see these same hazardous perspectives at play today. 

For example, there’s been a long medical battle fueled by the inaccurate negative perceptions of autism. In recent years, there’s been an uptick of parents refusing to vaccinate their children for fear of them “contracting autism,” which isn’t backed by any sound science, because they view autism as worse than death by contagious illness. A common “cure” for autism, which can’t be cured, ABA “therapy,” is a treatment designed to force autistic people to mask. It historically involves punishment for showing autistic traits, including beatings, taking objects of comfort, and electric shocks. ABA is still practiced today. Torturous treatments that incorporate both “magic and science” have not disappeared. The only difference is, they’re now a combination of conspiracy and medical malpractice. The ability to notice the pattern of under-education leading to the mystification and maligning of disability is integral to accurately analyzing the disabled experience, and with luck, breaking this ancient cycle.

Often, the gaps in disability history or obvious misperceptions are a result of the aforementioned infantilization. Ableist officials deem the disabled unable to tell their own stories, due to the rhetoric of deficiency. The erasure of disabled people from history doesn’t only cause vast narrative gaps and tragically unexplored angles of historical analysis, but often contributes to many social issues, including ignorance, neglect, and harmful stereotyping. Often, activist and pride movements surrounding disability gain little to no traction in the media- or the disabled community itself. The erasure of disability history must be at play in stifling disabled pride. If there are no first-hand accounts of the lived disabled experience, there’s no ignition in rebelling against corruption.

The two most powerful uniting forces in minority activist groups are anger and knowledge. Change is enacted when the Goliath of social injustice is researched and confronted, head on, by the persecuted David. The strength to face the oppression of a minority group and call it out, again and again, even when it seems desolately futile and often extremely dangerous, has to be charged by rage. When a persecuted community has had both their history of discrimination overlooked and identity labeled as a personal, internal flaw, there’s no drive to advocate for just treatment. Typically, when traits of “abnormality” surface, shame is driven deep and inextricably into disabled people. All of the anger is directed inward, for not “working right” or being “normal,” instead of toward the power structure labeling them as insufficient in the first place. This correlation to advocacy is direct. Disability is slowly beginning to join other identifiers within an individual’s sense of self without becoming their only defining characteristic, and pride is strengthening in the disabled community as more stories about disability from disabled people are shared. Consequently, activism fueled by the incredible, cathartic outrage of realization is popping up more and more. It’s impossible to expect someone to stay submissive in their own narrative when they suddenly discover they were never actually the problem.

In fostering these movements of activism, sharing more stories from disabled people, and educating the public on the real experience of being disabled, the chances of shifting rhetoric increase astronomically. Providing understanding will lead to shaking that inherent bias many people grow up with to exclude anything that’s deviant to their normal. The “othering” of the disabled is a long-standing historical practice, without even slight acknowledgement that it’s happening. But finally, as more light is being shined on the truth, we’re beginning to see an understanding of this process, and a need to deconstruct it. To recognize negative patterns in history and call out when they repeat is an incredible beginning to social revolution.

 

References

Birch, Susan, and Kim E Nielsen. “Disability History.” Beginning With Disability, 2018, pp. 79–84.