The Ultimate Excuse

At a symposium on disability, I attended a wide array of workshops, but the same theme kept repeating. "They don't know what to do," was related to how TABs deal with invisible disabilities, approach our sexuality, deal with us in public, offer or avoid giving aid and the list goes on. About half way through the day, it struck me -- not knowing what to do has become an all-purpose excuse with incredible power that simultaneously liberates TABs and imprisons people with disabilities. If I describe to a friend an annoying encounter with a non-disabled person, I am invariably told, "They didn't know what to do." This explanation is proffered as the conclusion to the conversation, seen as explaining everything and making further discussion unnecessary. Any emotional upset on my part should be assuaged by this rationalization. Blaming the non-disabled person becomes impossible for holding someone responsible who didn't know better is perceived as mean-spirited. Further conversation is made irrelevant for the explanation is known. Everything vanishes with six little words. Each time this happens, I feel as if I began a journey that ended five seconds later. It is a foreshortening of what should be a conversation or at least a chance for emotions to be vented. Though this happens frequently, each time I still feel caught between my unresolved feelings and social pressure to accept the excuse. The end result is the minimizing, silencing and dismissal of my experience and feelings. When a TAB uses the axiom "I don't know what to do," I find it even more infuriating. Admission of a lack of knowledge, in and of itself, is not a bad thing. What this confession of ignorance is allowed to achieve is problematic. Feelings of discomfort or fear can be dismissed, any associated guilt is alleviated and need for further action eliminated. This potent combination allows the non-disabled person to go merrily on their way. From my knowledge of disability issues, I have learned that TABs often feel uncomfortable when they are presented with the possibility of interacting with a disabled person. This unease can come from a multitude of sources – fear from having to think about potentially becoming disabled, concern that they will become entangled in a situation where they need to do something unpleasant, not wanting to admit ignorance, discomfort with an unusual appearance and... You get the idea. Instead of acknowledging or dealing with these thoughts and emotions, the person waves the magic want, "I don't know what to do," and – poof – all of that unpleasantness vanishes. There may still be residual guilt or a sense of obligation. "Someone really should be helping that person." The thought continues, "But I don't know what to do." Obligation, guilt and responsibility disappear. I have no idea why not knowing what to do has become an acceptable justification for needing to do nothing, but it has. I'm not certain if this is unique to issues related to non-disabled people confronted with disabled folks, but it is definitely true in this case. Finding out what to do is not contemplated as a potential course of action. "I don't know" becomes "I don't have to." What I find intriguing is that "So ask" never comes into play. My suspicion is that this is because people with disabilities are not seen as the ultimate experts on their own needs nor are they considered people capable of communicating. We are seen as our disability and that fact is all consuming of TAB awareness. Thus, "I/They don't know what to do," functions as an ending. No more discussion is needed. No action should be taken. Until that changes and "I/They don't know what to do" begins a journey to find the answer, a situation that could lead to better understanding is squandered. Ironically, "I don't know what to do" has no power when spoken by a person with a disability, except maybe to open the flood gate so suggestions as to how we can fix it drown us. If we don't know, we have to fix it. If they don't know, we have to live with it. Meanwhile, those who don't know in the first place move forward unimpeded.

Jen's Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

Thing One The first incident wasn't all that bad – almost routine in fact. I was at a meetup type gathering and most of the attendees were strangers. About forty-five minutes into the conversation, I suddenly realized a segment of the group didn't realize I'm blind. (My guide dog, Camille, was out of harness at my feet.) "Um, you know I'm blind, right?" "Oh, no we had no idea." I could have scripted the next part. "You don't seem blind." There I go again not living down to low expectations of my behavior. Thing Two The next was far more ominous. On a "no destination" walk with my dog, I crossed a street and a man asked where I was going. I knew the street dead-ended somewhere, so I asked if I could keep going or not. His answer was not, so I asked if the street we were on met up with another street. "No, you have to go back a couple of blocks." Great. I got my foot caught up in a plastic bag that was in the gutter and had some trouble untangling myself, then I took off. About a block along my route, the man calls from behind me, "Turn there." or something. He had *followed* me. Followed. Thing Three I next ventured to the Transgender Day of Empowerment ceremony at the local LGBT center because a friend was receiving an award. Upon arriving in a very crowded auditorium, I was trying to convince my guide dog to find a seat, but she was as overwhelmed as I. A woman approached, introduced herself as Tracy and offered help, which I accepted. She took my arm in the hold you are taught for drunk people so they can't escape. I was dragged to a chair, but I let it go. Later I realized there was someone's jacket on the chair, meaning I'd taken someone's seat. I let that go too. The woman who had helped me was the M.C and immediately prior to concluding the ceremony, she said something like, "There's this young woman who I see in Hillcrest all the time." She kept going and it finally dawned on me that she was referring to me. I put my head down and began shaking it no rather emphatically. It didn't help. "I'm coming toward you, dear. What's your name?" I answered. "Now I want someone to volunteer to help this nice young woman get some cake." She didn't stop until someone volunteered. Thing Four I fled the room, hid out in the bathroom and then took my dog outside to relieve herself. I was headed back inside, reaching for the right door handle, when someone came out the left door. Fast. I was hit in the head. Camille let out two yelps. Commotion ensued with ice bags and emergency room nurses coming to check us out and people and more people and orders not to take the bus home and..... I handled part of it badly. Eventually, someone I knew gave me a ride home. Camille wound up at the vet, needed X-rays and was restricted to light duty until the bruise she sustained healed. Thing Five By this point in my week, I needed some fun. With enthusiasm, I went to my first in-the-theatre described movie. We got my headset from Guest Services -- my specific request for "the one for blind people." It didn't provide descriptions and my companion finally left the movie and went back to Guest Services where she acquired the proper headset. (I'd been given the one for Hard of Hearing folks.) Thing Six Finally, and most amusingly, dinner. I ordered a salad with peaches and caramelized onions. About two thirds of the way through my meal, I asked my friend, "Where are the peaches?" "There aren't any," she said, baffled. "Maybe these shriveled up things?" "Those are cranberries." I tasted one. They were. We asked our server and he came back saying I'd gotten the right salad just without peaches and he brought me a bowl of them. I said to him, "This is one of those things that happens to blind people. I just assumed the peaches were somewhere on the plate but I hadn't found them yet." I thought that was funny, and my friend was certainly amused. The server -– poor man --didn't get it.

Yoga -- It's More than Downward Dog

I’m taking a yoga class that has brought more into my life than knowing how to do downward dog. Aside from me, the class is entirely sighted and I think I’m the first blind person any of my teachers have instructed. They have worked hard to integrate me into the class, going above and beyond. I’m fairly certain that most, if not all, of my classmates have never known a blind person and they have needed to adjust as well.

The class itself is great and seems to be helping my body grow stronger. The social aspects of attending a class are a different story. At first, I had little interaction with my fellow yoga enthusiasts. When politeness dictated speaking to me, my classmates did, but there was no voluntary interaction. Yet they freely chatted with each other. That phase lasted about 2 months. Then one person actually introduced himself and asked me what to do if he was setting his mat up next to mine. I indicated he should say something and including his name would be helpful. He did that once or twice, seemingly shifting the tide because people suddenly voluntarily interacted with me.

It started off slowly, with somebody taking the blankets I was carrying and returning them to the shelf because she was closer than me, followed by a hello when I encountered somebody at the mat closet. Then, insanity erupted. People suddenly and simultaneously got the idea that helping me navigate around the room meant putting their hands on various parts of my body, not saying a word, and gently nudging me in the direction they thought I was headed. It happened A LOT. In case it’s not clear, that is NOT a good idea. It’s creepy not knowing who owns the hand, it’s disconcerting to suddenly be touched without warning, and it can be dangerous if they think I’m going one way when I’m going another. I was so flabbergasted that I didn’t know what to do.

One of my neighbors is also in the class and he is my ride, so I asked him. He told me people were only trying to help and my instinctive solution of announcing to the entire class the proper way to help would go over badly. He thought everyone would go back to ignoring me. I let the problem sit in the back of my head and tried to cope with the behavior.

Then, it disappeared. Entirely. Without warning. I have yet to find out why. There has also been a slight decrease in voluntary interactions with me. Obviously something happened.

Now the latest new disconcerting behavior. Looking back, I know it has been growing over time, but today it reached the level of irritating. For a while, my instructor has been thanking me – and only me --for coming to class as if I’m doing something exceptional. Other people have taken up similar behaviors like saying, “It’s so great to see you in class.” I also noticed people say hello and goodbye to me, but otherwise I’m not sought out. Furthermore, I am getting special treatment because I’m blind that goes beyond what I need. Today, I began to do this backbend thing and the instructor made somebody who was in my way move, even though she was there first.

I have to ask this: What’s so profoundly amazing about a blind person doing yoga? It’s yoga, not curing cancer. And, if it’s so incredible that I’m in a yoga class, doesn’t it follow that people would want to talk to this paragon of accomplishment? And if being blind means people need to cater to me, I want the catering behavior to be real human conversation, not simply relocating so I can stay put.

Sometimes I truly feel like a space alien suddenly dropped on earth. I don’t fit anywhere, people do the strangest things, and reactions seem out of proportion to my judgment of the situation. I know my classmates are good people. I know they are trying to be kind. I even know that the biggest problem is that they simply do not know what to do. But, um, the road to hell is paved with good intentions. I would think more than three months of my presence would have gotten us past this point. I keep thinking I should do something shocking or say something provocative to snap them out of their current mindset and force them to see me as a person. Maybe if I went to class naked?