“Able-bodied privilege” doesn’t get as much press as “white privilege,” but if you have a disability or parent a child with disability, you know it’s widespread and can be frustrating. Clearly stated, able-bodied privilege is the term for the fact that people without disabilities have advantages over those that do.
Our family learned early on that the world is not made for people with disabilities.
Sure, the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) mandated that they have the same rights and opportunities as everyone else. Title III specifically addressed public accommodations (and I’m grateful for it), but there’s a world of difference between “accessible” and “disability friendly”.
Here’s one example:
Because of the ADA, public buildings like schools must have elevators. Great! Sarah Kate doesn’t have to fight her way up stairs with a backpack! But you know what? If you’re the only kid taking the elevator at school between classes you’re separated from your peers. The building is accessible, yes, but social isolation isn’t very friendly.
Here’s another one:
In fourth grade, Sarah Kate’s class went on a field trip which included touring the state capitol. All of the able-bodied kids walked up a flight of stairs and then paused to listen to the guide. Because Sarah Kate was using her wheelchair to get around, she and her adult chaperone had to head down a long hallway to the elevator and then make their way back to the group. In those extra minutes, they completely missed out on the tour guide’s history lesson. Accommodations like ramps and elevators grant access, but seamless integration isn’t part of the deal.
Let’s face it: the able-bodied take a lot for granted.
A neighbor took Sarah Kate along with his family on a day trip several years ago. She’d hung out at their house for years so he thought he understood her needs pretty well, but the trip was eye-opening for him. When they returned, he went on at length, frustrated with all of the obstacles they encountered that he didn’t expect. Welcome to our world. It’s simply not the norm, but in ways that most people never consider.
- She opts out of a lot of activities because it’s simply too much work. Mayberry has a popular walkable downtown area, and before they start driving a lot of the kids hang out there, walking around downtown. The first time Sarah Kate tried it she tired quickly, couldn’t keep up with the group, and ended up getting a piggyback ride from her friend Connor. She never did it again.
- The placement of wheelchair ramps and elevators rarely makes sense. Elevators are often tucked into quiet corners that no one can find and ramps are around the side of the building, sometimes barely visible from the entrance because the building’s architects went a little crazy hiding it behind the landscaping.
- We’ve been late to events because we couldn’t find a parking space when people parked illegally. Illegal parking in disability parking spaces happens EVERYWHERE, and the perpetrators always have the same excuse – “it was only for a minute.” Grrr…
- People often assume Sarah Kate has an intellectual disability based on how she walks. I’m confident her IQ is higher than the IQ of all of the people who make that assumption.
- When Sarah Kate is in her wheelchair, people don’t talk to her the same way as when she is standing. It’s not uncommon for people to ask me (or Mr. Andi, or whoever is with her) questions that should be addressed to her.
It’s easy to get frustrated and angry about ramp placement and people walking too fast and being spoken about like you’re a baby and illegal disability parking. But most of these issues derive from cluelessness, not animus (except for the parking thing – those people are just selfish).
I hate the word “privilege” because it feels very Us vs. Them – even accusatory. In our current societal discourse, “privilege” is all bound up with the -isms (sexism, racism, ableism, etc.) Able-bodied people are not the enemy of disabled people. Pointing a finger with a judgmental snort and spitting out “able-bodied privilege” is…not helpful.
I prefer to think of able-bodied privilege as a blind spot. Even with my 24/7 awareness of Sarah Kate’s condition, I have my own. Until recently, I never realized Sarah Kate has a hard time using the flat plastic u-shaped bread tie thingamajig (which she described to me as “the bane of my existence”).
We all have blind spots. What are yours?
A quick note about the photo above: Sarah Kate received this amazing new invention, the Alinker, recently and I’ll be blogging about her experience with it soon. It’s a mobility aid unlike anything she’s used before.
Blind spot is a great description. My son sits best when his wheelchair is somewhat reclined. He takes up a lot of space and cannot sit under a table in the manner most can in an upright wheelchair. Even if a location is accessible, we have to scope out new places, like restaurants, and make sure he will fit. Just because we can get in the door does not mean an environment can accomodate. It takes me forever to scour pictures before we rent a house for vacation. Will there be enough room to transfer him out of his chair? Before we visit new homes, we have to inquire about details. Is the entrance accessible? It makes me feel we are difficult guests or we just don’t go as a family. I feel terrible when I make choices out of ease instead of making the effort to be inclusive. I understand why Mary Kate has avoided downtown with friends. I bet many shops are crowded and not truly accessible when ahe uses her wheelchair.
YES! I get it! We live near the gulf coast so pretty much everyone around here takes off for the beach whenever they feel like it, and I know my friends probably haven’t always understood why I didn’t take the kids to the beach during spring break. It’s just too hard if I don’t have Mr. Andi with me! Sarah Kate needs help walking across the sand, but Nathan might bolt at any minute…I’m only one person and just haven’t been able to make it work.
Our 4 1/2 year old grandson has Down syndrome. He has impulse control issues and will run at any time. At his last parent meeting of the year my daughter got to meet his new teacher. Although he’s been in the school since turning three, she still felt the need to reiterate that her main concern was his safety. Would the new teacher keep her eyes on him at all times when they were outside of the classroom? Or would she designate someone else to do so? It made me feel sad. I’ve been to many parent teacher interviews, and I have never had to worry about actual safety at school as my number one concern.
I’ve been in that situation! Nathan was a runner for a long time, and it was a constant worry for me that he would escape. His aides during those years were great, though, and he made it through unharmed. 😉 Funny story – his aide in K and 1st managed him really well, and the rare instances she had to get a sub it was usually a mom we knew who had an older child with Down syndrome and could handle him. A couple of times, though, she had to get a sub last minute and that lady wasn’t available, and the unfamiliar aides would ALWAYS look anxious when they met him at the car at dropoff. I think his aide put the fear of God into all of them about what he was capable of doing!
One of my son’s friends has CP to a degree similar to Sarah Kate although he is more physically limited (can’t walk unassisted). Accessibility is a huge challenge. The elevators in the middle and high school are not centrally located and the schools are large and the corridors crowded between classes. It makes it difficult to get to class on time, which of course makes his disability even more visible. He was limited in where he could go and how he could join with friends. Many older buildings are not retrofitted properly and homes around here have lots of steps. Curb cuts are not always present.
It is a blind spot and a case of able-bodied people being unable or unwilling to take the time to think about and understand the level of challenge. Thanks for sharing.
Have you read my post about Sarah Kate’s middle school experience? It describes a very similar situation to what your son’s friend experiences. Sarah Kate spent one year at the middle school – 7th – and for 8th grade she did virtual school instead (it was through the public school so she was still able to participate in band and swim team with her district school). For high school we moved her out of public school and into a much smaller Catholic school; instead of 400+ kids per grade and three minutes between classes, the whole school has less than 400 students and five minutes between classes. Everyone knows everyone and she isn’t lost in the shuffle. You can find my post about middle school here: https://www.bringingthesunshine.com/2017/07/truth-middle-school/