A Cup of Humiliation and a Dash of Pride by Sarah Anderson
Ableism in a Hidden Form
A woman crouches down in front of another woman in a wheelchair, communicating in an animated way.
Ableism is not always what you think. What if I told you that, more often than not, discrimination and disrespect towards people with disabilities are camouflaged in so-called “kindness?” What if I told you that it is mostly committed not by the malicious-minded, but by the gentlest of souls? Don’t believe me? I invite you to come with me on a trip to the local grocery store and find out the truth about ableism.
One day, after gathering items in my cart, I joined the checkout line in my powered wheelchair alongside my assistant. The cashier had left the counter briefly to go check a product in one of the aisles. On her way back to the register she laid eyes on me, and greeted me with a “Hi, how are you? Nice to see you!”
Remember that old line about the importance of not only what you say, but how you say it? The cashier’s words were high-pitched, similar to the tone I use when calling my puppies or interacting with my neighbour’s infant. You know, the classic “tickle tickle” or “who’s a good girl/boy?” Even more, the cashier’s body language, particularly her head tilt, radiated a sense of pity for me, the “young disabled girl.”
“Good, thank you,” I murmured, forcing a smile. Little did I realize the extent of what I was in for.
While my assistant was occupied with organizing my groceries at the end of the counter, I was waiting to make the payment. I slid my bank card from its slot and handed it to the cashier, asking her to tap it.
“Aww, no problem,” she responded in the same tone. “Thank you, baby!”
Over my twenty-two years of life I’ve encountered much “infant-talk,” but this was the first time I have literally been called one.
I immediately glanced at the customers behind me as well as those standing in the next checkout line. Our brief conversation had drawn considerable attention, and each onlooker smiled in approval of the “sweet service” I was receiving.
If you want to understand how I felt that day, you must know something about me. I like people. To echo many others in my community, social life with a disability is challenging. When it comes to standing up for yourself in moments like this, a craving for social desirability combined with a cup of humiliation, a tablespoon of fear, and a dash of pride is the ultimate recipe for failure. Since witnesses accepted the cashier’s behaviour as courteous, I knew any effort I made to combat it would have been deemed uncivil. The advocate within me froze. Instinctually, I fabricated a smile, masked my frustration with politeness, and left the store.
To be spoken to in this way is to be reduced to my most obvious characteristic - my disability. I was made to feel that no other part of me mattered at that moment; not my name, not my appearance, not my morals, not my interests, not any other aspect of my being. Society had prescribed me the large pill of belittlement. It rolled around my mouth until a wave of frustration washed it down. The side effects on my brain were immediate. She doesn’t even know me……...but maybe she’s right? I mean, I do need lots of help. Surely, though, I have more lived experience than an infant. I have a right to be respected, but standing up for myself may have compromised my reputation. Should I even care about that? My chest began to burn. I knew that tomorrow this pill would be prescribed again, if not to me, to someone like me.
Over the years I have had the privilege of interacting with elderly members of the disability community. The fact the very same prescription, whether in medical, public, or family situations, is being disproportionately imposed on them is something I have found particularly perplexing. The seniors in our communities possess decades of first-hand knowledge and experience. In many cases, the dedication they invested in their respective careers is something that we, as younger individuals, have benefitted from in countless ways. Some had even put their lives on the line so that we could experience freedom. As a young generation, seniors are the reason we know life, yet society condones a means of communication that implies they’ve barely lived beyond a day.
When this topic arises, many people assume that I am angry at the individuals who act so undesirably. While I certainly do not excuse their behaviour, I believe it is imperative to attempt to view the situation through their eyes. You have to understand that the cashier, and people who behave similarly, may have been raised in a school system that never practiced inclusion.
Perhaps the only disability conversation in which they have engaged is one that contained terminology not indicative of our humanity. In their mind, pity and empathy could exist undifferentiated. Maybe they were made to believe that, for people like us, autonomy is impossible. It is unjust to incriminate the uninformed. When someone fails to be exposed to quality disability information, oppression and misconception become their only educator.
Looking back at my situation in the grocery store, I arrived at another realization. As strongly as the pill of belittlement was being prescribed that day, I was the one who ultimately chose to consume it. I believe we, as members of the disability community, have an option to create respectful learning opportunities out of these moments. A strategy I occasionally employ is to initiate small talk in which I share about my post-secondary endeavours or any aspect of my life that may clue them in on the error they’re making with their high speech tone. This is typically met with shock, and their voice becomes normal as my humanity seeps through my physical limitations. Alternatively, I know some individuals with disabilities who take a more direct approach, requesting not to be spoken to in such a disrespectful tone. While I failed to muster the courage to do any of these at that moment, I see value in facilitating such learning opportunities.
This experience has inspired me to develop a call to action for people with and without disabilities. To individuals in my community, I urge you to know your worth. When prescribed the pill of belittlement in the face of social pressure, remember that physiological typicality was never a prerequisite to the birthright of basic respect. We are the experts on a life lived differently. In the midst of frustration, it is important to find the patience and courage to contribute to the broader population’s understanding of the world through our eyes.
For those employed in the public sector or people who interact with differently-abled folks of all ages, I challenge you to critically think about how you communicate. Base your idea of courtesy on how you would want to be treated. Make no mistake. This is not a call to refine your professional etiquette or study the Human Rights Code, because these offer no viable reparation. Rather, this is a request to never let disability overshadow other important characteristics that make us uniquely human. It is with this that the true solution lies.
On that day at the grocery store, unintentional ableism silenced me. These are the words I withheld.
About the Author
Sarah smiles at the camera, wearing glasses and a pink shirt.
Sarah Anderson is a fourth-year Faculty of Education student at the University of Winnipeg. A lifelong wheelchair user and client of Manitoba Possible, Sarah’s passion for advocating for the disability community has taken the forms of writing, speaking, and ambassador roles across numerous organizations. She currently sits on the University of Winnipeg Students’ Association Board of Directors and looks forward to graduating next year. Through working with youth, Sarah hopes to promote disability acceptance and increase the diversity of the teaching field.
Explore Possible
This blog post is part of Explore Possible, an initiative by Manitoba Possible to amplify stories, perspectives about disability, accessibility, and inclusion.
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