Invisible Illness Week, post 5:
Sep. 12th, 2008 01:41 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nilchanceThe last one, I promise.
I know, I said in the last post that there were no privileges. These are privileges compared to what people with visible disabilities endure every day.
People with invisible illnesses don't have to tolerate:
- Endless rounds of "so what happened?"
- Losing out in job interviews due to prejudice; generally speaking, we have the choice (so to speak, and I know there are complications involved with staying in the disability closet in an interview) of whether or not to tell our prospective employers. We don't get asked, illegally, whether we can "handle" the job before we get a chance to try.
- Snow shoved in front of wheelchair ramps.
- To those with a white cane: "so is your hearing better?"
- "Don't pet my service dog. Don't pet my service dog. DON'T PET MY SERVICE DOG."
- Being cursed at, stared at or spit on by the ignorant. (I'm not exaggerating about the spitting thing. My mom once was spit on in a Walmart because her wheelchair temporarily blocked an aisle.)
- People pushing your wheelchair without permission.
- Inaccessible buildings, or "entrances" that require you to go in through a kitchen, or a trashroom. Fine dining indeed.
- Having one's companion asked a question in your stead, ie, "so what does she want to order?"
- Waiting on sufferance in airplanes, buses or planes for the employees to get your into and out of your seat. (See also, Delta airlines forcing a woman with CP to crawl off the plane.)
- "You're going through chemotherapy? Let me tell you all about my cousin/friend/dentist's boyfriend's sister's dog who had (completely different type of cancer), but oh, they died."
There's a public component to visible disabilities that is similar to the public eye constantly trained on women in our society. You're observed, judged, commented upon, and your story is perceived as belonging to the public. You're a learning experience, an "if that happened to me, I'd kill myself!" horror story. You're "inspirational", or you're horribly irresponsible, sometimes both in the same day. You do not belong to yourself anymore.
So, yes, I do believe I have able-bodied privilege. A few minutes in a borrowed grocery store wheelchair or with a cane is only a look into that world, not a claim to its sorrows or its joys.
I know, I said in the last post that there were no privileges. These are privileges compared to what people with visible disabilities endure every day.
People with invisible illnesses don't have to tolerate:
- Endless rounds of "so what happened?"
- Losing out in job interviews due to prejudice; generally speaking, we have the choice (so to speak, and I know there are complications involved with staying in the disability closet in an interview) of whether or not to tell our prospective employers. We don't get asked, illegally, whether we can "handle" the job before we get a chance to try.
- Snow shoved in front of wheelchair ramps.
- To those with a white cane: "so is your hearing better?"
- "Don't pet my service dog. Don't pet my service dog. DON'T PET MY SERVICE DOG."
- Being cursed at, stared at or spit on by the ignorant. (I'm not exaggerating about the spitting thing. My mom once was spit on in a Walmart because her wheelchair temporarily blocked an aisle.)
- People pushing your wheelchair without permission.
- Inaccessible buildings, or "entrances" that require you to go in through a kitchen, or a trashroom. Fine dining indeed.
- Having one's companion asked a question in your stead, ie, "so what does she want to order?"
- Waiting on sufferance in airplanes, buses or planes for the employees to get your into and out of your seat. (See also, Delta airlines forcing a woman with CP to crawl off the plane.)
- "You're going through chemotherapy? Let me tell you all about my cousin/friend/dentist's boyfriend's sister's dog who had (completely different type of cancer), but oh, they died."
There's a public component to visible disabilities that is similar to the public eye constantly trained on women in our society. You're observed, judged, commented upon, and your story is perceived as belonging to the public. You're a learning experience, an "if that happened to me, I'd kill myself!" horror story. You're "inspirational", or you're horribly irresponsible, sometimes both in the same day. You do not belong to yourself anymore.
So, yes, I do believe I have able-bodied privilege. A few minutes in a borrowed grocery store wheelchair or with a cane is only a look into that world, not a claim to its sorrows or its joys.