Now you see it, now you don’t. Disability can be strange like that: it’s everywhere or nowhere, unavoidable or hidden. What you see and how you see it depends, like most things in life, on who you are, your personal experiences and the people you know.
The BBC broadcaster Andrew Marr had a stroke in January and has said that he now feels more aware of people with disabilities than he did before it.
“You definitely see the world differently …” he told the Radio Times. “You’re much more aware of all the people all around us who have got really, really difficult disabilities who are looking after their parents, perhaps, and who frankly most of the time, like most people, I simply didn’t see them. I wasn’t thinking about them. That has changed. I do see them now, I do think about it.”
It’s good to think about it. I, like most people with a disability or long-term sickness, live in hope that more people will. That isn’t asking for pitying, empty words on how difficult things are – rather a dominant voice to say that things should be a lot better. There is a difference between sympathy and empathy, of course. Sad looks and words of pity don’t pay the bills. But an understanding of another person’s needs leads to a better sort of society and one that is more likely to stand up to a government that says, “we are all in this together” – unless your needs are expensive or a bit difficult.
The disability charity Scope has been asking if, contrary to this, Britain cares, with a campaign encouraging members of the public to each take a photo featuring the words “I care”. Caring is easy if it affects you. Be it for your own body or mind, or that of someone close to you. It takes a bit more work if it’s someone you’ve never met and perhaps never will. The cry of a stranger is always going to sound quieter than the whisper of someone you love. That human reality is only encouraged when the people in power have worked hard to create an image of this particular stranger as burdensome and lazy.
Disability, in some eyes, can be the benefit fraudster who’s never worked a day since school … or it can be the twentysomething man who uses a diminishing care package to pay for someone to help him shower and get off the toilet in the morning. It can be the scrounging woman getting her disability living allowance withdrawn because she’s been caught out by the new, tighter criteria … or the woman eating biscuits for tea, because her body doesn’t let her cook a meal and the state has stopped helping her do it. It can be the man who mumbles and keeps his curtains drawn when the rest of the street is up for work … or, with a closer look, the man who has severe depression and hasn’t left the house since Atos called.
The government, presiding over £28bn pounds of cuts to support for disabled people, thinks it knows what you see. As cuts threaten to evict carers and leaves disabled people turning to payday loans to buy food, it practically relies on it. The dominant voice, according to this government, says disabled people are an expensive burden. Often liars, usually scroungers. Like Andrew Marr, perhaps it is time we all found our empathy and then said what we really see.
The realisation that hit Marr, in many ways, reflects the words often used by campaigners: “Support the disabled and sick now because one day that might be you.” True humanity comes from supporting the disabled or sick, even if it is never going to be you.
Frances Ryan
theguardian.com, 17/9/2013