How Disabled People Struggle With Awkward Comments
It isn’t the worst form of ableism by far, but it happens to people with disabilities every day.
Last month, disability activist, editor, blogger, and author Emily Ladau described an encounter with a kind of low-grade, everyday ableism that is probably best understood by other disabled people. In many ways it was unremarkable. Disabled people deal with awkward, tactless questions and comments about their disabilities all the time. But that doesn’t make them any less trying in the moment, and painful when they accumulate over a lifetime.
Emily was getting her hair done. Out of nowhere, the following exchange took place:
Another customer asked Emily: “Why are you in a wheelchair?”
Emily recalls: “I was caught off guard. I sputtered something about being born with Larsen syndrome, a genetic joint and muscle disorder.”
Then, Emily’s own hairstylist added: “I don’t know how she does it. If it were me I’d just lay in bed and cry all day.”
This would have been literally a textbook case of well-intended ableism, perfect for Emily’s forthcoming book, “Demystifying Disability,” if it wasn’t already written and ready to publish when it happened.
It also raises once again some of the most common questions about ableism in ordinary, everyday life:
How do disabled people cope with these awkward, often painful interactions, especially when there doesn’t seem to be any overt hostility involved?
If an experienced, articulate disability activist like Emily can become flustered by these “well-meaning” ambushes, how do disabled people with less grounding in disability rights and awareness get through it?
How can non-disabled people engage with disabled people without trapping them in embarrassing conversations where there seem to be no truly appropriate responses?
It all stems from a familiar sequence disabled people know too well:
First, a non-disabled person makes an awkward comment to us, or indirectly about us in our presence. We either don’t respond at all, or we make a fumbling reply that leaves everyone uncomfortable, including ourselves.
Sometimes we do complain, either on the spot, or in a later conversation, in person or online. Inevitably, someone feels it’s important to explain to us that the non-disabled person was probably just trying to be nice, and that we are making too big of a deal out of nothing.
A pointless argument then ensues. We try to express our real and raw feelings, while the non-disabled person tries to impose some kind of reasonableness or moderation on us that they believe we lack.
For disabled people, there’s often an added burden. We are always supposed to be ready to educate others –– to correct them without upsetting them. It’s a 24 hour a day job we all have, without pay or time off. And as Emily says, “It can be exhausting to feel like you exist as a never-ending teachable moment to non-disabled people.”
These patterns aren’t accidental. They are driven by certain ideas about disability and social interactions –– ideas that need to be re-examined and dismantled:
1. Awkward and embarrassing comments about disabled people are almost always meant well, so we shouldn’t be too quick to judge.
It’s true that some, maybe most such comments are well-intended. But some really aren’t. Underneath some of these nominally positive comments is a particular kind of morbid fascination some people have about certain kinds of disability. It’s often a fixation more than real human concern.
Besides, good intentions and ableism aren’t mutually exclusive. They are often intertwined.
For instance, someone may genuinely admire a disabled person, and reinforce the point by saying that they themselves would never be able to cope with such a presumably miserable condition. There’s probably more than simple admiration involved. It suggests also a visceral horror about disability that is at the very core of negative ableism.
2. Most non-disabled people lack the awareness of disability to avoid such comments. They need to be educated, not embarrassed.
Again, sometimes that’s true. Lots of people really do lack experience and key information about disability. So they make a genuinely unintended faux pas that they won’t repeat once they learn better.
On the other hand, it is possible to do better with disabled people, supplied only with common sense and empathy. Some types of comments towards disabled people should be understood as obviously problematic, without needing specific education about it.
For example, at this point, it shouldn’t require a Master’s in Disability Studies, or a workplace “disability awareness” seminar to know it’s not okay to call an intellectually disabled person “retarded,” or to ask a stranger intrusive questions about their specific conditions, self-care routines, or sex lives.
3. Disabled people don’t realize that most non-disabled people are kind, and don’t mean to offend them.
Actually, most disabled people do realize this. Or, we are at least aware of the concept. In fact, many of us are so aware of it that we feel unable to respond at all to everyday ableism. The problem of bad behavior from good intentions is one of the signature dilemmas of disability life.
But good intentions don’t always matter. Words and actions have effects and consequences. As Emily Ladau notes, “We need to move beyond the idea that intent matters more than impact.”
If a coworker who is otherwise a friend keeps on making “harmless” disability jokes about or around us, it doesn’t much matter whether they are actually mean or directed at us. If we don’t take steps to stop them, it won’t take long for a minor scratch to become an open wound.
4. Disabled people are so consumed with anger and advocacy agendas that they look for opportunities to take offense.
This is a very common conviction among people who are skeptical of disability activism and culture –– especially those who tend to despise all kinds of “social justice” activism. And of course some disabled people do make pushing back on ableism a deliberate mission.
But the most dedicated disabled advocates tend to be pretty nuanced and thoughtful about when and how to call out ableism.
Most disabled people don’t confront every instance of ableism they encounter. Most of us don’t have the time or energy to be that diligent. If we do complain, it’s probably because it’s the tenth time the same thing has happened to us in the last week. And if we are something less than perfectly tactful about it, it’s because it really hurts, and has been hurting for quite awhile.
Besides, very few of us have to look for ways to be offended. Offense finds us just fine.
5. Ableism is hostile and harmful, so ableist comments can be justifiably confronted with anger and aggressive correction.
It’s not solely up to non-disabled people to improve relations with disabled people. There are small ways we as disabled people can try to make things less awkward and ugly, without denying our pain or accepting ableist behavior.
There is a growing belief in disability culture that if intent matters less than impact –– which is true –– then an aggressive, confrontational response to ableism is always justified –– which certainly isn’t true in every situation. A bit of tact and understanding are always valuable, as long as there isn’t a one-sided burden on disabled people to make peace.
While there is really no such thing as harmless ableism, or acceptable disability discrimination, the principle of proportional response is still valid.“Disabled people shouldn’t be expected to do the constant labor of pushing back against ableism,” says Emily, “But meeting people where they’re at can often change minds and attitudes a lot more effectively than simply responding in anger.”
We can choose to make clear but mild corrections to ableism, and avoid making it personal or embarrassing, especially in public settings. When we are more aggressive or personal, it’s often because our milder initial efforts have already been met with defensiveness, denial, or “ablesplaining” about why disabled people don’t understand how ableism works.
Most disabled people are already more knowledgeable and reasonable about everyday ableism than the stereotype of the vengeful advocate would suggest. If anything, too many disabled people worry too much about not hurting other people’s feelings or making a situation more awkward.
For non-disabled people, the best way to help is to take Emily Ladau’s advice. “If a disabled person is asking you to recognize your ableism,” she says, “please try to avoid jumping to defend yourself. Instead, take some time to listen, engage, and learn.”
That’s really that simple, and remarkably effective.