In college we had a lot of discussions about racism, sexism and classism. The less frequent and slightly less popular discussion topic was ableism. I took one class on the civil rights that people with disabilities have in our country, and I learned that most of the things that inhibit our ability to perform certain jobs are not, legally defined, "disabilities." I am going to dedicate this blog to a discussion of these ailments as they pertain to my experience and studies.
A disability, according to the legal definition, is an ailment which significantly limits or prohibits a major daily activity. There is a lot of room for interpretation here. A person missing one arm, for example, isn't necessarily disabled. They can still brush their teeth, write, and carry things with the other arm. They can apply for jobs that require two hands, but the employer has the right to turn down their application if the job description requires typing, carrying objects with two hands, operating machinery, et cetera. Therefore, while the person has a disadvantage when it comes to seeking employment, they do not have a legal disability.
I am concerned by this because there are a number of people who are not defined as disabled that still have debilitating psychological and/or physiological ailments for whom support services are often inadequate or nonexistent.
I once had psychological issues that prevented me from doing much of anything productive for a good two years of my life. I would get jobs and lose them because I couldn't hold things together mentally. I was mentally unstable, but not "disabled." I received minimal support from DSHS, but the Social Security Administration denied my claim for benefits. These were, naturally, the same two years of my life that I was homeless. I dread to think of all of the people wandering the street at this moment who probably would have a good chance at becoming functional again if they could find a place to live and experience a series of stable friendships. Stress exacerbates mental illness, and there is nothing more stressful (let me assure you) than wondering if anybody cares whether you are dead or alive as you wander the streets of a well-to-do city.
Nobody should be forced into this position. It is a downward spiral of negativity and despair. I'm surprised from day to day that I survived that period of my life. People with personality disorders or clinical depression may not be considered "disabled," but we need some way to provide support for destitute people regardless of their disability status. People need a place where they can stay.
There are several extant arguments against this idea. Chief among them is the idea that providing services to people who otherwise could work only causes them to be dependent and to assume that society will take care of them no matter what they do. Granted, it would be hard to argue that a non-competitive market is as productive as a competitive market, but when we are talking about providing the basic necessities, we are talking about the right to life. It is not a matter of economics. If we can imagine the environment as an externality (as many economists often do), it shouldn't be too much of a stretch of the imagination for us to picture issues of human rights as external to laissez-faire market practices. It is pompous to say to the least among us that they must compete in order to live; this goes against the principle of solidarity and is contrary to many of the teachings of the world's religions. Providing a warm place to sleep and cook meals is neither beyond the capacity of our great society nor threatening to the industriousness of the American worker. To the contrary, it is my belief that our productivity as a society would be greatly increased by extending a helping hand to those who suffer.
Physical ailments, on the other side of the spectrum, are a whole different ball game. Most aches and pains do not prevent work, although many people believe that they do. Some things that are thought of as physical conditions are actually psychological ones. My father, who was a chemical dependency counselor, once had a patient who thought that his hearing had been wrecked by an assault. The patient could hear fine in both ears, but was convinced that he was going deaf. He probably had some tinnitus, which I also have; it doesn't specifically limit your hearing ability, but it sure is annoying. Apparently, it's also largely psychological, from what I've read. But even in terms of actual physical affliction, psychological stress will exacerbate just about any condition. Physical and mental health are inextricably linked. Even so, most physical ailments can be dealt with on and off the job, and even those conditions that are severe enough to limit our daily activities cannot necessarily keep us out of the workforce entirely. It is important to be aware of our strengths as well as our weaknesses when seeking employment.
Many people find the dichotomy between ability (to perform) and disability to be emblematic of ableism, a "discrimination in favor of able-bodied people" (Oxford American Dictionary). For this reason, many people use other terms such as "disAbled," "differently abled," "otherwise able," et cetera to emphasize their abilities rather than their disabilities. A person who cannot walk long distances but can type seventy words per minute, for example, is hardly disabled. Unfortunately, ableism--like racism and sexism--works on many different levels in society, including within the person's self, and so we become overtly aware of the things we cannot do and tend to emphasize those limitations over our skills. Our incapacitations become part of our identity and often obscure our strengths. This is something to be fought against.
I had trouble walking as a kid. I couldn't run more than fifty or sixty yards on the track during P.E., and my feet constantly hurt when I went to the mall with my parents. After a while, my dad (who had custody) wanted to know what was going on, and took me to a doctor. The doctor recommended me to a podiatrist. (Apparently, in Greek, "pod" means "foot" and "iatros" means "physician." So it's a fancy way of saying foot doctor. Go figure.) The podiatrist told me that I had flat feet and pointed out that I was walking funny. After some X-rays were taken, he told me that he wanted to perform surgery.
I was on state medical care at the time, and in those days the state medical care for children paid 100% of the medical costs deemed as "necessary" by physicians, so cost wasn't an issue. That left me with one simple question for the foot doctor: "Will I be able to run?"
He answered in the affirmative, saying that I should have no problem running. I told him I really wanted to be able to play soccer. He said it should be fine.
For anyone out there reading this, I would like to relate one thing I have learned over the years about surgeries. Surgeons, at best, can keep a condition from killing you. On an average day, they can keep a condition from getting worse. Surgery almost never makes you 100% better. Anyone who tells you otherwise is trying to take your money. (Or, in this case, the government's money. It all depends on how you see things.)
I didn't know that then, and so I agreed to the surgeries. The next two years of my life became a cycle of cast-wearing, learning to walk again and undergoing physical therapy for each foot. I was 11 when I went under the knife the first time, 12 when they did my left foot. I wound up with minuscule arches and some entrapped nerves in my left foot. I was told it would take a while before I would be able to run.
During my freshman year of high school I signed up for cross country running the first quarter. I tried for the first several weeks to keep up with the other runners. My friend Joe was concerned when I would stop at even a slow pace and he would often ask what was wrong. My feet still hurt. They burned. They ached. I don't think I ever finished a single practice without stopping, and in the competitions I was just a joke. I quit after the first two.
I survived high school by lettering in chess (yeah, chess) and performing guitar in jazz band and singing in jazz choir. I eventually dropped out to go to work and pay the rent as my dad fought to keep his Social Security Income benefits after becoming permanently disabled. Working long shifts at Safeway, I would use my arms to lean against the checkout counters (when bagging) or stand on my knees while I stocked shelves. I've never had a job where I haven't had to worry about my feet. Sometimes I've cried from the pain, which is embarrassing when you have to wipe your eyes and tell your co-workers, "it's just allergies." The last thing I ever wanted to be seen as was less-than-able.
At some point during my college career I finally reached a point where I no longer had to stand all day to get income. Most of my tutoring sessions have been one-on-one while seated. Even when I have to stand up to illustrate a lesson (as I often did while teaching English in Costa Rica), I have had the option of sitting down afterwards. This has been a great relief.
Now, looking for a job, I realize how many positions out there require you to stand or to be on your feet all day. Of course, they have to say this in the job description; if everyone just assumed that standing would be part of their work, standing would become a major daily activity and those who weren't able to stand all day would become (dis)abled. But I'm also glad that I have the skills to apply for a lot of positions that don't require constant uprightness (no pun intended).
I was reminded of all of this yesterday when someone paid me to help them move. I was fine for the first four hours of heavy lifting and running up and down stairs, and then my feet started to give out. I was thankful for the iron handrails on the stairs, which I used to my advantage. When the pain got really bad, I started alternating between walking on my knees and on my feet, still packing things and carrying them down one of the two flights of stairs for my work partner to pick up. It felt good to be working but humiliating to be reminded of my physical limitations.
Well, it's a good thing that moving jobs aren't the only jobs out there right now. As long as I don't wind up with carpal tunnel syndrome or ALS (both are conditions that run in my family), I should be able to perform any of the tutoring, teaching or paralegal jobs for which I am currently applying. Today, so far, I have turned in three applications and I intend to apply for several more positions as soon as I finish this blog and get something to eat.
So, in sum, we need to remind ourselves and each other of the things we are able to do, and try to focus less on our limitations. It's good to be aware of limitations, but we need to fight ableism within ourselves and within the society at large so that our shortcomings don't define who we are as human beings.
Let's get our dreams off the ground again!
From Seattle,
Chaim Eliyah
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