Brooding of Bradford.....

....  oh to live in Preston!

Dear BBC

I have been a license payer for more moons than care to remember, so I feel upset that I need to ‘put pen to paper’.  In the space of 24hrs I have heard not one, but two, uses of language on BBC airways that I find highly problematic. To hear M* and N* used on prime time shows were chilling moments, because in the safety of my own car and at my own breakfast table, I felt mocked, shamed and insulted. Many will no doubt argue that words don’t break bones, I think they legitimise greater abuse.  I wonder how many were teased in the workplace or shamed in playground as a result of sloppy, mean and careless wording. Let’s face it, if the woman or man on the radio can say ... the words used are to be spoken without hesitation. I wonder how many of us sat by our radios stunned and hurt, waiting for an apology ... it never came. 

My beef though isn’t with the individuals involved, I’m hoping they are sufficiently mortified. Yes, I’ve been there!   I am not on some kind of political correctness vendetta either. My issue is with the Corporation, and with what I consider a failure to give their employees the adequate information to keep their audiences safe from the power they hold as speakers. The words are not to blame, they are neither bad or wrong, it’s the meaning behind them that needs care, their association to pain therefore requires airing.  Calling people names is petty at best. But labelling has helped paid professionals lock people up. Ridiculing people with all types of impairments has made dehumanising and shaming ideas so common place they are not noticed. For many the M word is synonymous with people being denied freedom, as stated in law under the Mental Deficiency Act, a piece of legislation that led to people’s detention in often atrocious, inhuman and painful ways. As for N*, most people to have left it in the playground... where it does not belong either!!  If individuals wish to use it behind closed doors, well shame on them, it’s not a crime - but it'll teach others to be unkind. In public, however, specific terms can make people with all types of impairments feel victimised, pushed out and ashamed. Childishness doesn’t soften the blow, I feel it makes it worse. Radio is an intimate medium, hearing the rejection of one’s humanity over breakfast did not put me in a good frame of mind for a day in the board room. [Apologies owed!]  As disabled person I felt treated as an object of derision, rubbished if you like. clearly, my contribution to society is not worthy of consideration. Sadly, it took me right back to being kicked in the corridors and having my head flushed in the toilets at school. 

Surely it is the Corporation’s responsibility to ensure that every single individual in its audience is treated with respect. That means knowing what harms those in specific groups, under the law, see the Equalities Act for characteristics of 9 groups. People who identify as members of marginalised groups have equal right to feel safe to switch on - radio, tv, and internet. Disabled people have been recognised as a group entitled to specific attention since 1999 by The Disability Discrimination Act. Ignorance is no longer defence here, and I would argue that the introduction to Disability Equality has been a route to helping many understand an entitlement to parity for the disabled population. I think at the very least the education in the workplace helps prevent attacks - though obviously not over the breakfast table or in the car. It says volumes about the culture of the BBC that bullying and degrading language goes unnoticed. Broadcasters seem to feel it is ok walk into other people’s lives, and carry their ignorance unashamedly and use words with casual disregard. Maybe we, the denigrated and mocked, need to withdraw our support in more interesting ways… 

I don’t think I’m being a disgruntled-of-Tonbridge here. I am proper disgusted that there are far bigger crimes in the world. Wars, epidemics and poverty driven by global inequality. I am scandalised that people who are locked up, have their heads kicked in, and die without institutional accountability or national outrage. In a country that can’t afford to support its most disadvantaged citizens, successive governments prioritise spending on growth and kind regard for what greater wealth can buy. While it appears we live in a world that cannot afford to extend an entitlement to social justice or well-being to all beings equitably. These things offend and disgust me in the extreme. HOWEVER, I think, there is a disrespect that is often left unchallenged as a thinner end of a far more lethal cultural wedge. One that helps to justify the freedom of people in privileged positions, paid generously to speak publicly across the globe, to express their disregard for those possibly facing far more pain and hardship than they’ll ever have to know? 

* I have removed the actual words in this text, as a this now blog it stands in the public domain. I think the actual words can easily be inserting by the reader, or even replaced by others, ruder or more explicit. The words will be used in private communication, whilst unfortunate, those getting this as a letter will need to identify those involved and expressions used. My intention is not to pick on individual, messaging them or pointing them out directly, but to raise issues of institutional and organisational accountability more generally from a position of professional wisdom and vague academic insight. 

Literature, storytelling and patterns in penship

A few notes on my research work: 

There is a text of 79.456 words, but this is an effort to share the what, how and why of my Ph.D on human rights, accountability and legitimacy.

If you invited ten feminists into a room and asked them to define feminism you’d probably get lots of conversation and an argument or two. Eventually I would expect ten different, very lengthy and nuanced definitions.  This said, I’m guessing you could walk into any office, pub, church or toddler group and bellow ‘feminism’, and most people would say something. Admittedly, the toddlers would speak with more confidence about what is fair ... and what isn’t. Not everyone will speak of feminism in the same way, or with the same words, but many will recognise women’s voices as fairly critical in a conversation about the Human Rights of women. The voice of women is one way of describing feminism, the common interests they hold within a world-wide conversation. Books on feminism, written by women, define it as at a voice that has distinctive characteristics, a recognisable narrative reflecting their interests, their wisdom and their  knowledge. Personally, I do like Bissett’s assertion on the need for men to listen to that voice, encouraging men to speak as feminists, with women as the trustworthy authors with authority. 

 I went looking for an equivalent voice for Disabled people. I searched, high and low, for texts that offered a view of the world in words that spoke of the disabled population’s interests. Sadly my initial search was disappointing. Because, within academic texts, not disability studies, but across many disciplines, texts authored by Disabled authors were sparse even 2 decades ago. I hadn’t found a gap so much as a abyss. Daunted!! I started looking elsewhere... I found 1 book, Out of Sight (Humphries & Gordon, 1992), which claimed to be the first to tell of Disabled people’s lives in their own words. A narrative that differed significantly to those found in research texts of the period. I’d say that’s a fairly recent account.

I  looked to the disabled population for authors, not simply writers, but storytellers with a distinctive experience, knowledge and wisdom. A gave the narrative I looked for a name: DIStory. A word play on SHEstory, the feminist alternative to HIStory. I hunted through texts for an ‘Activist’ voice, authors who craft their tales to change the way Disabled people are represented to the world. Some offering new ways of understanding the experience of individuals, others by telling of group culture, ideas and interest, and yet more putting pen to matters of inequality in society. Thankfully, I had the Disabled people’s movement to turn to as a group representing disabled people’s rights. I’ll be honest, I hadn’t anticipated the scale of the job, and there were layers upon layers to piece together. The pattern is simpler to outline, the way disabled people’s words are often ignored, or misrepresented, in broader debates. I hadn’t expected clear and verbatim reference, but the distortion or full rejection soon became evident. 

Disabled people are often absent in many stories. Even in Equality & Diversity literature, where the strands are listed, disability often gets forgotten. With reference to Human Rights, for example, using the Global Development Goals as a focus, I soon identified that global, institutional, sector and organisational storytelling is shaped in ways that perpetuates stereotypes – not personal experience, practitioner wisdom or research evidence. More widely stories have been retold in ways that have a polarised view of good and bad individuals at their heart. In different layers this skewing takes on other distinctive shapes. Many conversations, for example, ignore the link between consumption and world inequality, the way we educate professionals ignores disabled people’s contribution, the discussions we have about equity rarely address equity an imperative, and in groups people rarely look to the reasons why disabled people testimony is rejected.

Too wordy? Soz!  I’ll share more on these themes in weeks to come. In the meantime lack of trust really stood out for me as a thread that ran through the distortions. Every story reduced disability to an individual problem, very few texts spoke of the impact a characteristic voice could add insight from alternative or unique perspectives to conversations about sustainability in business, education or wellbeing texts. There are still no words to articulate much of character of the myths, the injustice, imposed on disabled people. In addition, a more widespread belief in individualism reinforces the idea that disabled people have a choice in world matters, because happiness is simply a matter of being plucky, smiley and chirpy.  If we do not speak of these things, how can we see the tale from the lie, and work to hear what matters to us all??!!

When I spoke to professionals about a more subtle vocabulary for disability, to include impairment, disablism or ableism they looked at me blankly. I remember one person’s jaw hanging loose as they pondered... I watched as the penny dropped... no, there wasn’t an equivalent to misogyny that they knew of... 

Photos by @Bantersnaps and @gui.bolduc  on Unsplash

more soon 

Storytelling and the Social Model

It seems fitting on World Book Day to celebrate the writing of someone who changed my perspective radically. I was saddened to read of Michael Oliver’s death, he was a pioneer, an academic and an activist. As he states in his introduction to The Politics Of Disablement: “on the experience of disability, history is largely silent, and when discussed at all, it is within the context of the history of medical advances. Just as women and black people have discovered that they must write their own histories, so too with disabled people” (Oliver, 1990).  The Politics Of Disablement is a book that helped me move from ‘me’ to ‘we’ on matters of disability rights, and my copy has been well thumbed. I am not alone in experiencing the social model of disability as an epiphany, a shift in attitude, a rewriting of my personal story. 

 

 

I was in my late 20s when I was introduced to the Models of Disability... 20 years too late I think. Their power and simplicity were life changing, they altered so many truths, by offering a narrative to replace the one I had accepted till then without challenge. The tale I had believed was that disabled people were a problem. The Social Model re-told this tale by highlighting the negative ideas imposed on disabled people. Importantly for me the social model of disability was an acknowledgement that the voice of disabled people – including a political one - had been silenced, and significant action was needed to make space for more disabled storytellers in all areas of life. Oliver’s book helped me understand the past, the U.K. culture and context, that had led to the marginalisation of so many disabled people, denying them voice and visibility in our communities.

 

Akin to feminism, I found his articulation of disablement was empowering, it was about me, with the characteristics of the medical model that qualified dis/ableism as a named oppression imposed across the population. I cannot imagine going back to not having such a definition - by which I mean a shape that is tangible. As a theoretical perspective his words were not simply a story, but signified a different storytelling - stories told by us, disabled people. For me, the Social Model is symbolic. First, it cites the problem above the individual, in the organisational, institutional and societal conversation we have. Secondly, it interrupts the beliefs in disabled people as passive receivers, in favour of them as articulate participants. It unsettles the old tropes that perpetuate stereotypes, those that talk of disabled people as feckless, work-shy, dirty, costly, evil and faulty, in need of non-disabled people’s help in the shape of care or cure. Taken together these are powerful messages that have often fuelled segregation, discrimination and hate crime. The Social Model is possibly easier to understand than it is to apply to practice, policy and legislation. Its power was life changing for someone who until then had felt they had to change to fit in. 

 

It was years later that I read Michael Oliver’s book. Long before I had started my postgraduate work, at a time I had no understanding of references or theories. But the ideas had resonance, and became central to the Disability Equality Training sessions I facilitated. The Social Model is still a touchstone to which I return regularly, it gives me perspective and an articulation of empowerment in complex matters.  At a simplistic level medical model theory refers to asking the question ‘What is wrong with you?’; and the social model theory as asking the question “What is wrong with society?’.    A Model is only a representation of reality, one that can benefit from refinements and extension. BUT, its power is in its simplicity.  As a storyteller Oliver provided a vision, an alternative that restored dignity, strength and shared power to disabled people within their communities. Without his words I don’t think I could have penned mine. I was not raised within a family where politics was talked about, I had no language to describe a group voice, a political strength or the power of a movement. Oliver’s work gave me a sense of place in something bigger, something defined and something meaningful.  I felt protected, supported, and safer by being one of many,  a small voice in a much bigger story of social change. 

 

I’ve enjoyed critiques of his work, people who’ve made the effort to celebrate his voice, play with his ideas and understand the changing context in which it sits. I’ve also noticed those who’ve simply criticised, denying its importance and often hugely positive impact. It’s easy to poke holes with hindsight. Storytelling has changed massively over 30 years, but the alternative narrative of the Social Model rocked my world - changed my truth. I imagine it contributed to a fluctuating sense of empowerment for those of us trying to make sense of our personal experience within a public telling that is so often dismissive of the voice of the disabled people’s movement.

 

 

Thank you for your words Dr Oliver.

 

Oliver, M. (1990). The politics of disablement, London: The Macmillan Press.