Don't tell your child not to stare at disabled people – we are already invisible enough
When I became a wheelchair user, needing to be pushed by a carer, I expected the lack of freedom. What I didn’t expect was the invisibility. It’s partly because the last time I was at this height on wheels people were cooing at me, hoping to see me dribble. Now they see a wheelchair and turn aside in case they see me dribble.
Polite adults are conditioned to look away from disabled people because they fear saying or doing the wrong thing. I am invisible. It is my new superpower. One time at an airport, a checkin clerk glanced over my head then asked my husband, “What’s her name?” She was a brave woman: in a wheelchair I am at the perfect height for head-butting someone in the groin.
Children, however, are a different breed. When they notice the difference, they are curious – often loudly. As a parent, there’s nothing quite so mortifying as your child yelling in a crowded area, “Why is that boy shaking?” or, “If that lady has a white stick for blind people, how come she’s reading a book?” Even if kids don’t shout, they stare.
Alice Broadway, author of the young adultInk trilogy, recently tweeted her advice for exactly this situation, arguing that children’s curiosity about disability is to be embraced, not silenced. After all, it is strange to see an adult who seems to be in the position of a child. Her eldest boy is autistic and has Down’s syndrome, so she speaks from experience.
Her surprising advice for parents? Don’t tell your child not to stare. Although it sounds counterintuitive, Broadway explains this communicates shame to your child for noticing difference.
Social niceties are less important than social justice: disabled people must be acknowledged. Broadway implores, “Please don’t even hint to your children that it is OK to ignore a disabled person in order to make your own life a little easier and more comfortable. It’s insidious, this stuff, and learning NOT to say ‘don’t stare’ helps disabled people be fully visible in society.”
What should a parent or carer do instead? Recognise our differences, but highlight our similarities. Broadway’s approach is to encourage a child to share what they have observed. After you have explored what makes the disabled person different, remind your child (and yourself ) of our common humanity. Beautifully, Broadway suggests you point out something positive and ordinary about the person, then respond as you would with any stranger, with a smile and hello, or at least friendly eye contact if you’re not near them.
Perhaps most important is to model the right attitude towards disabled people: exercise empathy, not embarrassment.
I would comment to my own boy, “Yes, that teenager is shaking and needs her carer to wipe away her spit for her. Maybe she has a disability where her nerves and muscles don’t work as ours do. I bet that’s really annoying for her – she must have to be really patient.”
With the power of Moses parting the Red Sea, when I’m pushed through a city street, people peel away from me, their faces turning aside as they do so. It’s a lonely experience but it’s a symptom of a bigger problem. Disabled people are already ignored on multiple
levels. Able-bodied politicians cut the disability support pension, pushing disabled people further into poverty and homelessness. A recent report reveals Australia’s education system excludes disabled children. We’re erased from popular culture – when was the last time you saw a show where one-eighth of the working-age characters had a disability, as is the case for Australia? Come to that, when was the last time you saw a disabled actor? Most crucially, our right to live is ignored, with doctors admitting they offer lower care to people with learning disabilities.
With this in mind, I urge you to follow Broadway’s example, teaching and modelling to children that disabled people are people, not lesser people, nor objects of fear. It’s possible to go overboard and smile artificially brightly at a disabled person. But I’d much rather have eye contact, cheesy grins and awkward conversation than another generation who pretends disabled people don’t exist.