Hey! Down here!

So, it's been nearly a week since the last time I posted here.  This is not to say that there haven't been things bubbling around in my mind, just that I've been a little busy.  Since the last time I wrote, I've been busy promoting the blog by creating a Facebook page.  You can now show your support for the blog and disability advocacy in general by visiting The Voiceless Minority on Facebook.  I've also been busy continuing to write my first full-length screenplay.  Now, however, it is time to get back to the meat of things. 

       I've written extensively about several different issues, including how disabled people desire to be treated equally but still use the "Disney World" principle, as I like to call it, cut lines, etc.  While I've said that, in most cases, disabled people do want equality and strive for it legitimately, it does not mean that they are always supported in their efforts.  I've also written about social acceptance and disability.  However, this past week, this issue has come up twice.  The issue has not arisen in my personal life, but I've had friends and acquaintances mention it.  Therefore, I thought I would write this blog. But I would take a different approach. 

       I have mentioned that legislation cannot legislate acceptance, and while I know that this is not my view alone, a young woman powerfully drove this point home in a poem. Sarah Smith is a young woman who has the same disability that I do, cerebral palsy.  I first met Sarah several years ago.  We both attended the same university.  I am not going to mince words. Sarah and I haven't always gotten along. Still, we've grown to respect one another because of our drive and determination to prove that, although we have obstacles that society calls disabilities, these obstacles do not define us.  What follows is the poem that this driven young woman has written.  It is used here with her permission.  Thank you, Sarah.

 

"I was born too early

small, fragile, and weak

they thought I would not survive.

But along with my will to live,

another token was bestowed upon me;

one that I didn't want to ask for or need.

 

"What is this token," you ask?

Well, the answer is quite simple.

For it is a cloak

of invisibility.

 

I carry it with me

throughout my life.

It was given to me by society

and shallow close-minded souls,

who believe my disability

defines me.

 

They walk right past me,

never bothering getting to know

the person beneath.

Or worse yet,

they pretend they care,

but really,

I'm just a pit stop,

until something better comes along.

 

To those cowardly people,

I say, "your loss."

You are missing out

on meeting someone

who is loyal, honest, and loving

through and through.

 

For those who have taken the time

to look beneath the label,

thank you

for giving me a chance

to live and love

undefined and free."

 

 

 

       Being nonobjective for a second, I must say that I love the poem.  I may not agree with everything that Sarah has ever said, but I was stopped dead in my Facebook clicking when I read this.  Back to objectivity now, if one indeed looks at Sarah's words, they cannot help but be struck by them.  Sarah brings to light a well overdue point.  Not only are disabled people often brushed aside like second or even third-class citizens, but they are also often unwantedly pitied and patronized.  We, as a group, is either exalted as heroes or we are wallflowers.  People rarely take the time to know us as people; instead, they get to see the machine or device with the person in it. They do not see, as Sarah says, a person who is loving, honest, and loyal, instead they see someone to feel bad for or to judge.  Sadly, this not only occurs in the general public, and the realm of academia, but it often occurs in social settings.  By this, I mean, we are not only looked down on by waiters in restaurants who glance at our companion to give our order, and professors when we reach the higher levels of education, but mainly we are looked down on by our peers.

       Now, when it comes to social invisibility, I refer to two ideas.  One is that we are not perceived to be capable or worthy of being in a romantic relationship.  While this idea is most infuriating to me, being in my late twenties and being human, I do feel that this is secondary to the second idea.  It is even more frustrating when our peers brush off our intellect in regular conversation and everyday interaction, and they brush off our ability to behave like them.  How often I hear the words, "You like to do that, you're disabled," or "But you're in a wheelchair," or "That's weird, I wasn't expecting you to act like that." It is almost like we are visible and invisible at the same time.  Well, it is time that the disabled community, as a whole, is recognized for who we are as people, and not just for the disabilities that we have to overcome.