As a writer, I am legally
obligated to believe that language is important, and it is. But when it comes
to identity and activism, language is not just important. It's vital,
complicated, and evolving. Many of the words I was taught to use three years
ago are now, if not offensive, at least no longer in use.
While every identity
deserves to have its own language disambiguation post—and does somewhere I'm
sure—I'm choosing to write one about disability, primarily because it's
something I write and talk about a lot, and secondarily because I am familiar
with SO many conflicting arguments around terminology, reclaimed language, and
so on. Because language around identity is first and foremost personal, I don't
feel that I can write anything definitive about how other people should talk
about disability. What I can do is lay out my own explanation of the language I
use and why, so that anyone within or outside the disability community
wondering why I use a certain term, or why I sometimes seem to be inconsistent with
my language use, has a place to look.
This post is a work in
progress. Because language is ever evolving and because my knowledge of the
disability community is by no means complete, I am open to critiques and
suggestions of how to make my language more inclusive, specific, or
appropriate. Please feel free to bring problems or suggestions to my attention
in the comments.
Rule Number 1: I Use
People's Self Designations
As with any identity, if
I'm writing about a specific person, and I have access to information about how
they identify, I will use those terms. So, if I'm writing about a specific
friend of mine who identifies as Deaf and tends to use identity first language,
I will say, "My Deaf friend," whereas to write about a person whose
writing seem to suggest person first language and use the term hearing loss, I
might say, "John, who has hearing loss." Describing people with the
language they have chosen is a sign of respect and basic decency.
My one caveat here is that
I will often steer clear of reclaimed language for a group I am not a part of,
even if it is someone's self designation. I am very cautious about my use of
the word "crip," for instance, and will usually use it to talk about
a specific political and academic approach to disability, rather than as an
identity descriptor.
How Do I Describe Myself?
I identify as legally
blind, visually impaired, and blind. I have also been known to describe myself
as "non-sighted," "seeing's not my thing," and "stop
pointing at stuff" (no, the grammar here doesn't work, too bad).
I tend to use identity
first language for myself, (e.g., disabled person, not person with a
disability), although I prefer "I am" statements even more (see below
for more on this).
I have a complex
relationship with the word "blind." I used to hate it, primarily
because I felt that most people used it only to describe people with no sight,
and therefore applying it to me was inaccurate. As I wandered deeper into the
world of the disability community, I decided that I would rather reclaim blind
as a term that can apply to people with many different levels of sight. As
such, it feels somewhat like a reclaimed language situation to me, in that I
often don't want people who don't know me well describing me that way. I get to
say I'm blind, but I'd really rather strangers didn't. Legally blind or
visually impaired are better.
Person First versus
Identity First
This refers to the
grammatical construction of the sentence disclosing someone's disability. Do
you put the disability first, or the word person? Are you a disabled person, or
a person with a disability?
Person first came about as
a response to the dehumanizing aspects of ableism. Many people with
disabilities felt (and still feel) that non-disabled people only saw their disability,
and could not look past it to learn anything else about them. As a result, they
called for language that would emphasize that humanity over their disability.
Not blind people, but people who are blind. Not wheelchair users, but people
who use wheelchairs. This allowed them to present themselves as individuals who
could not be reduced to one aspect of their identity.
Identity first came about
partly as a response to person first, and partly as a response to the
identity-erasing aspects of ableism. For this group, person first language
suggests that we can be separated from our disabilities, that there is some
non-disabled person inside us who just happens to have a disabled body or
neurodivergent mind. This group introduced identity first language to emphasize
that disability is part of their identity, inseparable from the rest of them.
Deaf person. Autistic person. Wheelchair user.
As mentioned above, I tend
to lean more towards identity first language for myself, but mostly because it
tends to be shorter and easier. Philosophically, I identify with the goals of
both person first and identity first. Disability is a part of my identity ...
and I'm a person. They're not mutually exclusive. So, in my writing about
disability, I will sometimes switch between the two modes.
I also try to switch up the
construction of the sentence. Instead of beginning, "I am a ..." I
will often just say, "I am ..." The "I am a" construction
can continue with a person first or an identity first statement, but the
"I am" construction is automatically going to be identity first ...
except that the person actually came first in the subject of the sentence,
"I." See what I did there? The actual person first construction is,
"I have ..." which I will use for people with chronic illnesses or
other disabilities who wish to be referred to that way.
Why the Word Disability?
I use the term
"disabled" to refer to myself, and to a community more generally. I
prefer this word over other designators like "differently abled,"
"handicapped," or "impaired" because to me it states a
categorical truth. I am dis-abled: constricted in my ability both by the
limitations of my body and by society's failures to see my body as whole and
accommodate it as such. To use other, softer language feels like a devaluation
of my social and embodied experience. Furthermore, disability is the commonly
used designator for the community I identify with, and it is most easily
recognized by those within and outside of that community.
Of course, Rule Number 1 is
still in effect. I will not refer to a person or group as disabled when they
have requested not to be described that way. For instance, I will not describe
members of the Deaf community as disabled, but will instead link their
experience to mine by describing as all as affected by ableism.
Physical Disability: Terms
I Will Use
- Physically disabled
- Wheelchair user
- Mobility impaired
- Blind
- D/deaf
- Chronically ill
- "She is/has ..."
- Crip (occasionally, see above)
- Etc. Etc. Etc.
Physical Disability: Terms
I Will Not Use
- Wheelchair bound
- Differently abled
- Handicapped
- A whole host of slurs and reclaimed language that I hope I don't need to write out.
Mental/Psychological
Disability: Terms I Will Use
- Neurodivergent
- Mental disability
- Mental illness (sometimes)
- Psychological disability
- Learning disability
- Autistic
- On the autism spectrum
- Depressed
- Has depression
- Etc. Etc. Etc.
Mental/Psychological
Disability: Terms I Will Not Use
- Crazy
- Psych case
- A whole host of slurs and reclaimed language I hope I don't have to write out.
This post, and much of my
writing, is falling into the trap of assuming there are only two kinds of
people in the world: those with disabilities and those without. This is a lie.
Disability is a huge and complicated spectrum. Most people will experience some
form of disability at some point in their life. Many people fall under the
legal definition of disability, but do not experience their condition as
disabling. The number of people I meet who are confused about their disability
status is staggering, and they should not be forced to pick a side and stay
there.
On the other hand, there
are some very real differences between those who experience themselves as
unequivocally abled and those who cannot avoid the label of disability. Some of
these differences have to do with embodied experience, and some of them have to
do with power and privilege. To leave these differences unacknowledged is to
leave unnamed the ableist power structures that hurt us all, whether we are
disabled, nondisabled, or somewhere in between.
The Able: Terms I Will Use
- People without disabilities
- Non-disabled
- Abled
- Neurotypical
- Able bodied
- Temporarily able-bodied
- Sighted/hearing/walking etc.
- Privileged
- The able
- Our ableist overlords
- Just about whatever I want (I'm punching up here)
The Able: Terms I Will Not
Use
- Normal
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