![A photo that shows a row of black chairs at an airport. One chair has a pictogram on its backrest symbolizing a person in a wheelchair. A photo that shows a row of black chairs at an airport. One chair has a pictogram on its backrest symbolizing a person in a wheelchair.](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_1456,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F19470495-4fa2-4fbf-80ae-97c86405345c_1600x1200.jpeg)
In my opinion, this photo perfectly symbolizes how large parts of society understand and reflect the concept of disability. I understand that this symbol is intended to represent all kinds of disabilities. However, it’s unintentionally ironic that the pictogram shows a person in a wheelchair while the space it is supposed to be providing is a chair accessible only to people not using a wheelchair.
Being ableist
On the first day of my studies in Aesthetic Theory, I met a person who would forever change my perception of the world and how we, as humans, shape it. The person was sitting at a table centered in a room that was way too big for us 20 first-semester students. Feeling like a child on their first day of school, I didn’t want to sit alone and decided to join this one of my fellow students. As I made my way through the forest of chairs and tables, I slowly realized that something about the person I was approaching was different. They were wearing glasses with orange lenses, and on their table, I spotted something that looked like a low-tech laptop. Next to them on the ground was a folded stick with a roundish peak. These pieces of information led me to assume that this person must be blind or visually impaired.
I felt a kind of anxiety growing inside me. An anxiety that was fueled by uncertainty. I started asking myself how I should approach this person, how I should speak to them. Honestly, this anxiety even made me consider finding a different place to sit. Luckily, I decided to swallow this feeling and behave as I would if they were a person without any visible disabilities.
Years later, I realized that this moment was significant for me on many levels. Today, this person is a good friend who teaches me new things every time we meet. Not only on aesthetic-related topics, but also on broader subjects like love, vulnerability, beauty, friendship, and much more.
Today, I also understand that the feelings and thoughts I had when I first met my friend must be labeled as ableism. This doesn’t necessarily mean that I am an ableist, but ableism is systematically woven into most of the world’s societies, meaning that it is also woven into our thoughts, ideas, assumptions, and knowledge production. Plus, it is closely related to the construct of disability.
Becoming anti-ableist
It’s never too late to start educating oneself. And it’s time for us to become anti-ableists. Especially for “us,” the creatives who often claim to be innovative, avant-garde, or interested in “finding solutions.” Inclusion is not a need of just a few. It’s a fundamental human right. Moreover, the society as a whole profits from advances rooted in inclusive approaches. The “unnatural” isn’t individuals with disabilities, it’s the notion that society should primarily comprise perfect individuals with identical capabilities.
Ableism for beginners
In 2001, researcher Fiona Kumari Campbell defined ableism as “[…] a network of beliefs, processes, and practices that produces a particular kind of self and body (the corporeal standard) that is projected as the perfect, species-typical, and therefore essential and fully human. Disability then, is cast as a diminished state of being human” (Campbell, 2001: 44). This definition was used until Campbell refined it for clarity in 2017:
“… [a] system of causal relations about the order of life that produces processes and systems of entitlement and exclusion. This causality fosters conditions of microaggression, internalized ableism and, in their jostling, notions of (un)encumbrance. A system of dividing practices, ableism institutes the reification and classification of populations. Ableist systems involve the differentiation, ranking, negation, notification, and prioritization of sentient life.” (Campbell, 2017: 287–288).
Ableism, in this sense, is not the same as disablism. While disablism describes concrete acts of harassment, violence, or stereotypes in the context of disability, ableism addresses the structural basis for this kind of behavior. Furthermore, ableism includes aspects of performance, time, and capability, making it a term directly related to capitalist structures. Ableism is also the reason why we, as a society, need to strive for inclusion. Since ableism actively excludes people from participating in society, actions need to be taken to include them. This is not merely a matter of politeness but of human rights (more on this later).
Disability ≠ Disability
but Disability = Ableism
and Ableism = Stigma
Disability is a complex construct, and communities and individuals with disabilities are not a homogenous group. Consequently, there are several concepts of disability. This diversity does not invalidate these concepts, even if they may occasionally contradict each other on certain points. I found these two definitions of disability in the text Moving Toward Antibigotry by Rabia Belt, which was published by the BU Center for Antiracist Research in 2022. The first one is by lawyer, educator and organizer TL Lewis. The second one is by the disability justice based performance collective “Sins Invalid”.
“A system of assigning value to people’s bodies and minds based on societally constructed ideas of normality, productivity, desirability, intelligence, excellence, and fitness. These constructed ideas are deeply rooted in eugenics, anti-Blackness, misogyny, colonialism, imperialism, and capitalism. This systemic oppression leads to people and society determining people’s value based on their culture, age, language, appearance, religion, birth or living place, ‘health/wellness’ and/or their ability to satisfactorily re/produce, ‘excel’ and ‘behave.’ You do not have to be disabled to experience ableism.” (TL Lewis)
“We define disability broadly to include people with physical impairments, people who belong to a sensory minority, people with emotional disabilities, people with cognitive challenges, and those with chronic/severe illness. We understand the experience of disability to occur within any and all walks of life, with deeply felt connections to all communities impacted by the medicalization of their bodies, including trans, gender variant and intersex people, and others whose bodies do not conform to our culture(s)’ notions of ‘normal’ or ‘functional.’” (Sins Invalid)
Belt concludes: “Disability justice advocates and scholars note that what knits together disabled people across different types of impairments is stigma – that society negatively stereotypes their bodily differences.” She also points out that disability is always linked to intersectional aspects (race, class, gender, sexual preference): “For example, the behavior of a diabetic Black person in insulin crisis may be interpreted as dangerous because of racial bias.”
Ideas that create reality
Ableism creates a situation of parallel societies. Trapped in a circle of indifference and neglect, fully able people erase all traces of those who do not fit their constructed standards of worthiness for access to public spaces. In essence, they (=we!) basically create a filter that determines who can participate in social life and who cannot, based on assumptions and stereotypes that define “normal” and “healthy.”
These concepts are old and not only cause social isolation but also life-threatening situations. The Nazis implemented an euthanasia program in order to “cleanse” society of “life that is not worth living.” However, extreme examples like this aren’t necessary to illustrate how a society designed by and for the concept of fully able people (spoiler: the perfect and fully able person is a construct, too) creates life-threatening situations. It’s the daily rituals of exclusion that perpetuate harm: unnecessary or missing barriers in public spaces, poorly structured information on websites, limited access to knowledge, healthcare, or social support infrastructures, and a language that portrays people with disabilities as less worthy of living.
For some, “disabilities” and how we deal with this term might seem like just another topic or even a trendy one. But for many people, ableism is a permanent reality from which they cannot escape. And don’t get me wrong: Often, it's not so much the disability they struggle with. It's society creating a kind of golden cage, where individuals who challenge the illusion of immortality, perfection, or some idealized notion of normalcy are stored away.
This is the UN Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities. It was adopted in 2006 and entered into force in 2008. Isn’t this shockingly late? Less than 20 years ago, as global citizens, we couldn't agree on basic human rights for disabled people. So, I highly recommend everyone who truly wants to become an ally in the fight against ableism to at least skim through this convention to remind themselves of what human rights actually entail.
Soooo, why doesn’t ableism—or, to frame it more positively, inclusion—play a more crucial role in creative processes?
REASON 1: LACK OF KNOWLEDGE
The first and most obvious reason might be a lack of knowledge. As I’ve already mentioned, ableism is designed to separate “us” (“the normal”) apart from “them” (“the not normal”), which inevitably shapes how our knowledge is structured, perpetuated, and upheld. Can you recall any school lessons that systematically addressed the concept of disability? Or getting in touch with people who have knowledge in this field on a regular basis? I cannot. And I think this is a major problem.
REASON 2: EGO
Another reason why creative minds may not be particularly open to inclusiveness could be their artistic ego. Creative disciplines are often placed in a sphere of personal freedom, seen as essential for “real” creativity. Making creative decisions with inclusion in mind might feel like sacrificing part of this personal freedom. I don’t want to question the freedom of art itself; however, I do want to question the motives behind this freedom. The joy of aesthetic experiences is inherently tied to social values, meaning that someone’s personal choice of style is directly related to its potential appeal. Not wanting to include the reality of people with disabilities as a potential audience is, once again, ableism, as they are not seen as a “target audience” as valuable as others. So, the next time you choose, for example, a medium or font, consider why inclusivity isn’t one of your top priorities.
REASON 3: LACK OF IMAGINATION
Lastly, I think that creative people underestimate the creative potential that lies in shifting their own perspectives. Being less ableist in one’s practice doesn’t limit creative potential; rather, it can enhance it, opening up fields and emotions you’d never think of: the aesthetics of access.
Step by step
Inclusive concepts strive to accept and encourage people’s different capabilities, such as dealing with new and complex information.Since this topic is complex and ongoing, I don’t want to pretend that it could be fully addressed in just one newsletter or by one person alone. It’s an ongoing discourse, and I don’t want to reproduce ableist structures. So, this is the first part of a “something is missing” special series on disability and ableism in creative spheres. The next issue will explore different examples of concepts of inclusion in the context of design. Spoiler: “Design for all” is not the easy solution some might hope for.
Go play,
Anton
P.S.: If you haven’t heard of the design summer school “Domaine de Boisbuchet,” we’re really sorry for you. It’s a magical place in the southeast of France where every summer designers, architects, artists, and other creative people come together to channel their creativity in a setting of lakes, trees, rivers—short: nature. We spend two weeks in two consecutive years at the Domaine and guarantee that their not-so-cheap fee is worth every penny. Besides attending a workshop of your choice, you get freshly cooked meals from some of the best up-and-coming chefs and food designers, in our opinion. (And yes, it may sound like it, but we don’t get paid to write this.)
Is something missing? If you feel we missed an essential aspect or perspective on this topic, please feel free to let us know via contact@thethingmagazine.com. We don’t claim to be perfect, but rather want to inspire open discourse instead of closed gatekeeping.