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.
