We are in the midst of very important month, a month of reflection, a time to educate, grow and learn from our mistakes.
No, I’m not referring to the general election, rather 22 November to 22 December, which marks Disability History Month.
Disability History Month aims to raise awareness of the unequal position disabled people hold in society, and to advocate for disability equality. It highlights the historical roots of this inequality, focusing on the significance of disabled people’s campaigning, celebrating individual trailblazers and social movements.
Apart from having a physical disability myself, I grew up in a very non-disabled world. None of the period dramas I adored on television showed disabled characters – the closest was Tiny Tim, the ‘cripple’ from a Christmas Carol, and I certainly didn’t learn anything about disability history at school.
It never crossed my mind what someone with a disability did before the invention of a wheelchair, the origins of that little blue badge or why my primary school was obliged to buy soft play so I could participate in P.E. like everyone else.
All that changed went I went to Lancaster University and had the opportunity to take a class named ‘Genocide’.
Admittedly, I took it out of morbid fascination, just like many of my peers. Actually, what I learnt about the link between genocide and disability shook me to my core. I heard about ‘Aktion T4’, the Nazi programme of involuntary euthanasia of disabled people.
Between 275,000 and 300,000 disabled people were killed – and I knew nothing about it. What enraged me more was that the German national memorial to those murdered was only erected in 2014, which felt to me like a reflection of the sheer apathy towards disabled people and their history.
I’ve always been in awe of strong disabled women and looking at my own struggles with intersectionality, I often wonder what life would have been like for disabled women such as Suffragette Rosa May Billinghurst. Billinghurst used a hand-propelled tricycle after a childhood case of polio.
She founded the Greenwich Women’s Social and Political Union (WSPU) and was thrown in Holloway Prison on multiple occasions for fighting against injustices.
Another strong, fierce disabled female icon was Frida Kahlo. Famous for her art, Kahlo was also a feminist and ‘rebel’, taking on both female and male lovers. Many of us are in awe of her tenacious character yet not aware that she had multiple disabilities: she developed polio at the age of six, which led to her right leg being thinner than her left and she may have been born with spina bifida, a condition that affects the development of the spinal column.
Kahlo is a perfect example of someone who didn’t let circumstances control them – she took control and used it to her advantage. She personified the social model of disability, which argues disabled people aren’t impeded by their disability but by social barriers. I admire her greatly.
It’s not only individuals that have shaped the way the disability community live today but a range of organisations, including Disabled People Against Cuts (DPAC), Disabled People’s Direct Action Network (DAN) and The Alliance for Integration – and I could go on.
Scope recently launched their flagship campaign Scope for Change, which supports disabled people aged 18 to 25 to plan and run campaigns on the issues that matter to them. Initiatives like this are so vital to maintain.
I could come up with an equally long list of today’s trailblazers. I feel blessed to live in an era where so many influential disabled role models exist. For all their flaws and opportunities for abuse, the internet and social media platforms have allowed the most wonderful disabled individuals to shine though: #disabledandcute, #actuallyautistic, #GetYourBellyOut or #DisaBodyPosi.
Personally, knowing how hard other disabled people fought for the rights I have today makes me, as a campaigner, want to fight equally as hard – if not harder – to ensure future generations never feel ostracised, vulnerable or are left wanting for what they are entitled to. My aim is to make this an equal and safe world to live in.
Disability History Month is a platform for us to show who we are, our journey and our triumphs, and highlights how far we have come – as well as how far we still have to go.
For our non-disabled counterparts, it is a wake up call – an education and an opportunity to overcome ignorance. As humans we are supposed to learn from our past and not let history repeat itself, yet as we approach 2020, we still see disabled people used as scapegoats, mocked and oppressed.
As an ex-teacher I can only hope Disability History Month is rolled out as a compulsory part of the national curriculum and history text books.
I would have loved my class to have known a little bit more about Miss Renke, if for no other reason than to highlight the history of language and pacify the derogatory comments I often heard in the classroom such as ‘retard’, ‘spack’, ‘mong’ or ‘freak’ – all completely unacceptable and rooted in ableist oppression.
I can only hope that the future of those in the disability community is much brighter, equal and tolerant. That maybe my own name and work as an activist would feature in a history text book, or iPad, in the not so distant future.
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source https://metro.co.uk/2019/12/10/i-fight-for-disability-rights-to-honour-the-people-who-fought-for-mine-11449369/
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