In its simplest form, accessibility is usually defined as changes to the built environment designed to enable full participation by and inclusion of disabled people . Ramps and grab bars are common examples, with accessibility also extending to the presentation of materials in multiple formats to meet varying needs. Braille and sign language, for example, are provided for blind and vision-impaired people as well as D/deaf and hard of hearing people respectively. Likewise, accessibility can include modification of materials and curricula to accommodate disabled students, the provision of quiet rooms at conferences for autistic attendees, and other measures intended to make the environment more pleasant and functional for people with cognitive, intellectual, and developmental impairments.
These are measures that I term “physical access” both in my work and for the purpose of this essay. They are all intended to create more welcoming environments, and in some cases are required by law; the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) in the United States, for example, has stringent requirements for new public construction mandating features like ramps and accessible bathrooms in order to ensure equal access for disabled people. Yet, over 20 years after the passage of the ADA, compliance rates are still extremely low.
The fact that a law had to be passed in the first place is an illustration of ableism and how it functions in society: that people don’t think disabled people should automatically have access to all the same public spaces nondisabled people do is striking. And the surprise at the amount of agitation from disability activists on the subject is notable as well, with mainstream society behaving as though this is something new. The disability rights movement has been active for over 100 years, lobbying for the rights of disabled factory workers in the Industrial Revolution, returning soldiers in the First and Second World Wars, and more. Disabled organizers participated in the upsurge of civil disobedience and protests during the Civil Rights Movement, and fought hard for the passage of the ADA and similar legislation as well as court verdicts like Olmstead versus L.C. . Their fight has always been one for full access and inclusion.
Continue reading “Accessibility in Utopia” »
I am a multiply disabled gay dude with lefty-queer feminist politics living in San Francisco. Last year, I made the decision to put my health (my mental health in particular) first. That meant ending a long relationship that had come to an extremely unhealthy place. It was the hardest decision I had made thus far. Before I began my road to recovery, I embraced my single life with vigor: I partied, I was ecstatic, I was charismatic, I dated several people at one time, I didn’t hold my liquor, I was high as a kite, I had uneventful encounters with men, led men on, I smoked cigarettes like I was born with one in my hand–and I knew, fun as all of this was, that the gig wasn’t going to last much longer.
While I was highly aware of what I was doing during this period and have no regrets whatsoever, I wasn’t putting my health first. I needed to come to a stable place in my life after all the noise and drama of the previous four years since my diagnosis. In order to do so, I made the tough decision to pull out of the bar scene for a while. Being single and gay in the city dovetails with being in a bar or club. Fun as the scene is, my path to recovery butted heads with meeting potential paramours in loud, sweaty bars. I chose to be alone and invested time in friendships and my work. I was never a heavy drinker, but drinking and staying out until 2 AM was no longer an option for me. Doing so would not give me the steady sleep pattern that I now know I need in order to control my mental stability. But that was how I met men in order to go out with them–perhaps that is how many of us meet potential paramours. It isn’t an option for me anymore, however, and I am more than okay with that. Tempting as it can be, I am no longer up for a lost weekend. It was hard to pull back from all that fabulous wild abandon, but once I found my way to health, good things happened. I am now published, which is something I thought would not happen for a long time.
Continue reading “On Being Crazy and Brave While Dating” »
Previous installments: 1, 2, and 3.
Accessibility note: The image descriptions for this series, since they are very long, can be found under the image .jpgs in each installment, rather than in the alt-text field.
Click “Read More” to read part 4 of this comic series; click the images to fully enlarge.
Continue reading “Drawing Out Whiteness and Disability: Part 4” »
Health at every size is a concept embraced by some fat and size acceptance activists. For those not familiar with it, it was popularised by Linda Bacon, and simply put, it suggests that there’s a wide variation of bodies and that people should focus on what makes their bodies healthy, rather than on eating and exercising for weight control. There are a number of components of health at every size, including ‘intuitive eating’ and the concept of ‘joyful movement.’
When I initially heard about HAES back in my nascent days of exploring fat, size, and my relationship with my own body, I was excited about it. I’d been reading a lot of stories about the false beliefs about fat and health, and I liked the idea of a movement specifically reinforcing the idea that being fat doesn’t make you unhealthy, since one of the most common charges levied against us fat folks is that we are unhealthy because we are fat, that fat makes people unhealthy.
Continue reading “Not Your Good Fatty: HAES and Disability” »