Dancing without flight - Short story

Brian lounged against the sofa, sipping a beer. His friends floated above him, talking animatedly and slowly spinning in the air as a group. Lisa caught his eye and glided toward him, her smile sweet but a little forced, as she reached out her hands for his and moved her body, pretending she was dancing with him.

He grinned and reached toward her, but she motioned for him to stand. The couch was low, more of a mattress with cushions really—fine for people who move effortlessly through the air. But they never seemed to understand that, muscular and fit as he was, it was irritating for Brian to have to scramble to his feet from the floor. Not to mention that his body ached from keeping up with them all day. He really wanted that beer.

But dark-haired, quick-eyed Brian was always game. He put down the beer and pushed himself up, trying to make it look easy. But he staggered as he got to his feet, and Lisa’s hands went to her mouth. “Oh, sorry, Brian! I didn’t think…”

“I’m fine!” He chuckled and swayed crazily on purpose. “Ya know. Brian, the klutz. And there’s the beer too.”

She wiggled in the air and then flowed around him languidly, stroking his cheek as she passed with a gentle breeze. “Your legs are sooo strong!” Her send gushed. “People think gimps are weak but they’ve never seen you hike over that ridge, like today. No wonder you have muscles.”

He smiled, a bit less broadly. This called for some modesty. The flavor of her send wasn’t fake exactly, but she did want gratitude. He ducked his head and managed to blush a little, by thinking of what she might actually look like undressed. Not that he would ever find out. And he carefully shielded that thought, as well, making sure not even the littlest hint slipped out.

“Liiiiisa!” The send was drunken and raucous. One of the other guys calling her back.

She giggled and gave Brian a parting smile.

Brian sank back on the low couch, making sure his face showed only mild amusement. Afterward, he would come to realize that that was the evening when he became aware of how much he pretended for the benefit of abled people.

Lisa and several of the others came to lounge on the couch near Brian but mostly turned slightly away from him. It wasn’t on purpose, not really. Most people just weren’t very aware of him. He rarely added much, except to laugh at other people’s jokes or clowning around.

Chad, a tall, handsome guy, popular with the girls, was talking long and loud about a professor who had given him a bad grade on a paper. “That ground crawler!” Brad’s send simmered with righteous anger. “He thinks we don’t have any other classes.”

“Chad!” Lisa flapped a hand in front of her face, feigning shock, as she cut her eyes at Brian.

“Well, obviously, not like you Bri,” Chad dismissed it. “You’re not an idiot.”

Brian laughed and patted Lisa gently to ease her discomfort. But the awkward feeling didn’t dissipate until Brian noticed it was time for him to catch the last shuttle. He left without forcing anyone to say goodbye. It was more than an hour later, sitting on the slow, clunky night shuttle, that Brian let himself clench a fist in anger. Yeah, it was a shitty term Chad had used.

“Ground crawler.”

That was the expression people used a lot to mean “idiot” or “asshole.” It wasn’t that they necessarily thought flightless people were stupid, though Brian knew a lot of them did wonder. His disability wasn’t neurological though. His wings had been severely injured at birth. It was a purely physical disability.

And Brian accepted his lot well enough. His parents had been matter-of-fact about it with him when he was a kid. They didn’t want him to develop self pity. There were shuttles for the old and infirm or for people with several small children. He could use those.

Because most flighted people lived in towers and much of the social life went on many floors above the ground, there was often a pulley system for bringing large furniture or supplies in and taking garbage out. Brian carried his own harness and clipped in to get up to his friends’ apartments or even to a lot of classes without stairs, though these days universities were required to build stairs to make the buildings accessible for the disabled.

All the hiking, using garbage pulleys, going the long way around to find the one staircase in a huge university complex and all that was a nuisance. But now that he no longer lived with his parents and in the shelter of their social group, Brian was starting to realize that was the least of his worries. His classmates and friends, even most professors, saw first and foremost the way he was nailed to the ground, awkward, clunky and forever limited.

It galled, especially completely unconscious, seemingly innocent comments like Chad’s. People used “ground crawler” or just “crawler” or “mud” as derogatory terms for all kinds of things. And mostly Brian was fine with it. It was just an expression. The people using those terms probably weren’t even remotely thinking about him when they did. But he was starting to realize that the attitudes behind that kind of expression did most definitely affect him.

A couple of weeks later, he was in an interview for a summer internship with a science lab. He’d seen the interviewer’s face stiffen when Brian came in, walking… on the floor. The supervisor’s questions lacked enthusiasm, despite the fact that Brian knew his grades and previous experience were the best in his class, likely the best in the whole biology department at the U.

When they moved on to the tour of the lab, he saw why. The whole place was set up for flight. The lab was completely 3D, work stations positioned on the walls of a giant amphitheater, information charted on screens hung in the middle, screens one had to move around to see all of. It would be laborious to reach the work stations with cables and pulleys. It would be impossible to quickly reference the screens without darting around in midair, as several lab techs were doing while Brian watched from below.

He let himself be shown out. They said they’d be in touch. They weren’t.

Brian had always resisted getting involved with “disability organizations.” He figured they were for people who weren’t able to integrate themselves into society. He was strong, smart, adaptable and in excellent physical condition, except for his wings, which he wrapped against his back to keep them from flopping around uselessly.

Creative commons image by randomix of flickr.com - an image of a Man dancing on a glacier

The night his attitude shifted yet a bit further was supposed to be a big celebration. Brian, Lisa, Chad and their whole group of friends were going out to a party put on to celebrate the end of term. It was also Brian’s birthday, so he thought he’d consider it a kind of a birthday party as well, maybe even let it slip at some point and Lisa or someone would propose a toast. That would be nice.

Lisa and two other girls even glided low on the way there to stay within sight of Brian as he hiked through the snow-clogged utility areas between the towers, spaces reserved for service trucks, construction crews and waste removal. But when they reached the gleaming new tower where the party was being held 200 feet off the ground, Lisa streaked up to ask about the pulley, since it wasn’t visible.

And Brian knew before she came back down quite a while later that it was one of those “out of order” situations. Who knew if it really was busted? Sometimes they just didn’t want to deploy it. Anyway, they’d refused, insisted it was a private club. They weren’t required by law to always have the pulleys operational. They were very sorry.

So was Lisa. She looked downcast and truly torn as her two girlfriends took off toward the party. She bit her lip and looked troubled. Brian wasn’t about to tell her it was his birthday to boot. He wanted real friends, not pity.

“Go on!” Brian sent with forced bravado. “I’m going to enjoy the walk home. Clear my head. No big deal.”

She waved and followed her friends. Brian felt conflicted inside. On the one hand, it felt wrong that the whole group should have to change their plans, if just one of them was barred from the place. But on the other hand, he couldn’t help thinking that they would have been furious and all refused to enter, if it had been someone else for some other reason, such as the club wouldn’t let in Black people, like Chad’s buddy Leon, or trans women like Lisa’s friend Erin. But when it was because they didn’t want to unroll all their cable, that was just kind of sad—if you were Lisa—or not worth even noticing—for most.

Brian walked in the gently falling snow, not homeward but further on between the towers, The lower floors were almost all used for technical stuff and there were few lights, but there was a big moon that cast a pale radiance on the snow. He shoved his hands into his pockets and kept a steady pace to try to walk off his irritation and loneliness.

Being mad will get you nowhere with friends. He’d tried a few times when he was younger—with his best friends in high school—just to ask for some small shift in plans that would let him go with them. And they were quick to take offense. Some of the guys had accused him of “faking” or at least not trying very hard, saying he was just playing for pity or else too lazy to go work out, which they thought could have cured him.

Others had argued vehemently in Brian’s defense, but even those had stopped seeing him as a close friend to hang out with and come to see him either as a cause to fight for or an “inspiration,” because of how he wouldn’t let distances or physical obstacles stop him.

Brian’s boot slipped and he staggered, barely catching himself and looking up from his bitter ruminations. That was the self-pity his parents had always warned him away from, he supposed. And here was something to lift his spirits. A flat expanse, a dusting of snow over hard thick ice. He remembered now that there was a lake in this area, between the towers. He’s swum in it freshman year in the summer. But it was the end of winter now and the ice had been frozen solid for weeks.

Brian slid out onto it, one foot then the other. He crouched and then pushed off with one foot, twirled. The ease of motion reminded him of the way abled people flew. He started to hum under his breath. With no one out there to see, he felt free to move. He took a couple of test stomps on the ice and then started to move to the beat of the song in his head, one of his favorites from the audio-radio. Tap tap tap, slide, tap tap tap swish!

The song wasn’t actually very popular. It was one he liked because of its staccato rhythm, like fast walking. Fliers had nothing very staccato in their world. Everything was smooth, and their music and dancing was like that, always gliding, always liquid. Brian liked foot-tapping, even knee-slapping music. He kept going out onto the ice, moving with the rhythm and then jump and slide and spin.

He fell, of course. But it wasn’t bad with a bit of snow on the ice and no one to see his clumsiness. He got up and went at it again until his breaths came fast and a cloud of frozen mist rose up around him. He wasn’t even the slightest bit cold anymore.

“You… fun… beauty…”

The send was disjointed, barely containing words. Brian stopped instantly, his hands falling to his sides and his slide turning into a slow turn.

“No… stupid… stop…”

“Yeah, you think I’m stupid, do you?” Brian hurled the thought into the darkness.

“I’m stupid, not you!” The sound slashed through the quiet night with shocking abruptness.

Brian spun around. There, on the lower ledge of one of the towers at the edge of the lake, sat a girl—slight and tan with blue tinted hair. And she’d yelled at him. No one yelled with sound, unless they were doing a comedy routine on TV and wanted to depict someone completely anti-social.

Technology had made using voice and sound more common. Yeas ago, Brian knew, it had been just a secret code for the mind blind. But today, people watched videos and listened to audio music. With advances in education, now everyone knew how to speak and understand audible language, not just sending. But still except for long-distance communication and recordings, which could not be done mentally, audible speech wasn’t used and especially not in a shout.

The girl fluttered down to him, her face twisted up into an expression of distress.

“Sorry… sorry… sorry,” she sent.

Brian put his hands in his pockets until she touched down near him, skimming across the ice.

“I do apologize,” she said in a quieter tone. “I shouldn’t have interrupted you.”

“Why are you talking?” Brian sent to her. “I’m not dumb, you know. It’s my wings that don’t work.”

She shook her head and looked down shyly. “Please speak out loud. It’s really not my thing, sending. I can’t do it much at all. You saw. My thoughts don’t send well, and I receive even less than I can send.”

“Really???” Brian’s voice creaked. He’d spoken in class exercises but never to friends.

“Really.” She grinned at him. “I’m mind blind and mostly mind dumb. Just the way I was born.”

“Oh, damn. I mean,” Brian struggled for the spoken words, “You’re not… I mean, that sounds like calling me a crawler.”

She laughed, a tinkling, sparkly sound. “True enough. You sure weren’t crawling just now. It was beautiful. Really. I meant it. That’s why I got a bit over enthusiastic.”

Brian shook his head. Audible words came stiffly to him. He wanted to express in some diplomatic way, that he understood that she was being kind, but that she didn’t have to. Fliers were always more beautiful than his clumsy movements. Instead he just shuffled his feet around.

“I mean it,” she said, as if she could pick out what he hadn’t even sent, let alone spoken for her benefit. “Flying can be beautiful, but when we push against something, push away, we just keep going. There is something so beautiful in your movement. You… always return. You… you move like a heartbeat, in a rhythm.”

The wistful way she said it did make it sound like something worthwhile or even admirable. Brian glanced up at her. Her face glowed with enthusiasm. She actually meant it.

“I’m Carrie, by the way,” she said, putting out her hand. He automatically responded, clasping hands the way fliers did.

“What are you doing out here?” he stumbled, trying to think of something relevant to say. “It’s sure cold for flying.”

“It is,” she nodded. “But most people at parties won’t talk the way I can hear. I go to the U, so I’ve seen you around. But I guess, I gave up on social life a long time ago.”

“You? You study?” Brian was trying to construct in his mind how that would work. The professors always sent. There were videos and recordings and all but mostly you had to sit in class and receive sendings from the professor and the other students.

“Yup, I study.” Carrie grinned, looking just a little smug. “I have a tablet that turns the professor’s sends into a kind of code, designed for the mind blind to communicate. It’s just squiggles on a screen or even on paper. It’s called writing.”

“Wow! That’s amazing!” It actually felt like Brian’s mind was expanding as new realizations and understandings settled in.

“It isn’t perfect, of course,” she chuckled with a sideways look as he turned back toward the towers. “The computer makes mistakes and it’s slow. If the prof talks on and on, it gets seriously behind and starts skipping random parts, which can be a problem. But it’s better than nothing.”

Now, they were gradually moving off of the ice toward the shelter of the buildings, Carrie hovering near and Brian sliding and skidding as he went.

“I guess I haven’t let myself think about how much I have in common with other people with disabilities,” he admitted finally. “I wanted to think I’m just physically disabled. I mean, like, at least I’m not mentally disabled. You know, as if that is really the big divide, not between the abled and all of us together.”

Carrie nodded, flitted around a corner and pushed a buzzer to open a large garage door low on the tower they were near. “We have a way in for… well, gimps of all kinds.” She coughed out a laugh. “This is my place. We even have stairs. You’re welcome to come up. And yeah, I know. You’re not the only one to feel that way.”

“I really… I mean. I don’t mean to be offensive.”

“Not at all,” she said, her warm eyes showing that she really didn’t mind. “It’s the world we live in. We’re taught to judge each other as less than perfect. Flying and sending are so-called normal. But there could be a world where everyone walked and used sound to communicate. There, we’d be normal. My body and brain seem fine to me, as long as I’m with my mind blind friends. And you sure look like you have a good body.”

Brian went through into the warm entry room and started up the stairs—the most normal thing in the world, and the rarest.

A world designed for people like me

I have defended the terms “disability” and “disabled” in the past because I like both linguistics and logic. But today I’d like to do a thought experiment that may put those terms in peril.

There are those who don’t like the word “disability” because it implies that only one type of body is right and good and perfect. It places emphasis on some particular capacity that someone may lack when compared with a supposedly perfect standard, while ignoring non-standard capacities they may have that the standard human doesn’t possess. .

The Deaf community has made a good case for getting rid of the disability label. Many Deaf people live without any sense of disability because they live primarily within a community that uses sign language and written communication. Both entertainment and safety are also well developed in this community. And it is only when they enter the hearing community that Deaf people become more likely to suffer injury due to mishaps or to fall victim to police violence.

An image of a middle-aged blonde woman with sunglasses and an expression of peace - Creative Commons image by Marneejill of Flickr.com

An image of a middle-aged blonde woman with sunglasses and an expression of peace - Creative Commons image by Marneejill of Flickr.com

If a person is perfectly safe and able in one society but not in another, is the fault or lack of ability with the individual? Or is it rather a problem within the society?

Many of us assume it is the individual who should adapt. At the very least, it is easier for an individual to adapt than it is to change a whole society, and when we travel to different countries we accept that it is a good idea to adapt somewhat to the culture, and even more so, to the laws of that country.

But most people with disabilities don’t have the strong community and institutions that Deaf people have built up through years of struggle, and we likely never will. Disabilities come in many shapes and sizes and it is impossible for each group to build their own society. We will always be strangers and foreigners in a world that isn’t built by or for us. Beyond that, in many ways we cannot adapt to society for various physical and neurological reasons. That is why efforts have been made to adapt society just enough to give us a narrow opportunity to live.

Abled people often express a bit of resentment over these adaptations, as if parking spaces that allow people with mobility impairments to get to the store at all are somehow a huge advantage. I recently stumbled across a news story from my home state of Oregon, where I am moving in a couple of months that sent raw fear into me.

In the town of Brookings, Oregon, a woman named Jennifer Gaymen, who is visually impaired, like me, and also mildly mobility impaired, also like me, was arrested, jailed and charged with a felony for simply surviving in the only way she or I can. Like me, she can’t drive or move in the roadway, due to vision impairment. And she also can’t walk long distances due to an orthopedic illness. So, she rides a mobility scooter slowly on the sidewalk much like a wheelchair user. I do the same thing.

But a few years back, abled people in Oregon felt resentful of these mobility scooters, much like the disabled parking spaces. There were some abled people who abused electric scooters on sidewalks, behaving dangerously and scaring or injuring pedestrians. So, a law was passed banning all use of electric scooters on sidewalks. Because of the resentment toward people with disabilities this law was expanded to include mobility scooters and even to bar the use of mobility scooters on roads by anyone who doesn’t have a full automobile driver’s license, which essentially excludes the very people mobility scooters are intended for.

This is despite the fact that a search failed to unearth any case reports alleging that any person with a disability using a mobility scooter has abused pedestrian rules or endangered others on sidewalks in Oregon or anywhere else.

This law renders Jennifer Gayman and me—people who are normally quite active and capable—severely disabled and essentially homebound. Gayman was cited for riding her mobility scooter and then jailed and convicted of a felony for refusing to abandon her expensive mobility device in the middle of the night in the winter and walk two miles home, which she physically could not do.

She has sued the city under the American with Disabilities Act, a federal law which clearly states that people with disabilities can use whichever mobility device best fits their needs and that local laws must adapt. But she has been homebound and restricted from getting around for two years while the case languishes in the court system.

Once I might have been significantly disabled before this kind of technology existed, but today with the help of technology the “dis” or “un” abling part of mobility is significantly mitigated. If a law then imposes artificial disability on me, how should I be labeled? Does it make logical sense to say this is my “disability?” It isn’t my “dis” (wrong or lack of) ability that causes me to be homebound in that case. It is more correct to say that I am a “restricted” or “banned” person, because it is external restriction that imposes the primary limitation.

Maybe we should start using these terms when referring to individuals who live in a society where rules, laws and social norms restrict or ban them when reasonable and healthy adaptation is possible that would make them fully capable.

This all got me thinking about what a society would have to look like to make me completely abled without restricting others. Even allowing reasonable access for mobility scooters only makes me theoretically able to move a little bit—slowly and very locally.

Here’s the thought experiment then. What would it take to really make it so a person like me who is legally blind with some mobility impairment would be able to view my differences like many Deaf people do, simply as a difference rather than a disability?

To be clear, I can’t cover every type of different body or neurological type because I don’t have all those experiences. This is just an exercise in figuring out what would make the difference for me.

An image of older adults riding bicycles in professional clothing next to a modern street car in Copenhagen, Denmark - Creative Commons image by Dylan Passmore

An image of older adults riding bicycles in professional clothing next to a modern street car in Copenhagen, Denmark - Creative Commons image by Dylan Passmore

Getting around

The first issue has to be mobility because even though some of the other issues are arguably more important, history has taught us that if people with disabilities can’t get to the table, nothing ever changes. Secondly, the mobility issue is the one that would require the most difficult adaptation from society.

What I need is to be able to get around both locally and beyond about as fast as other people. That is simply what I would need in order to “not be disabled anymore,” to be able to work competitively, take care of all of my responsibilities and take advantage of all the opportunities everyone else takes for granted. I currently really appreciate ANY mobility options, even when they are much slower and more difficult than those most people enjoy. But this is what it would take to make me “abled.”

What could a society look like that would give me that?

Well, public transportation would have to be the mainstream. If there was personal automobile transport that you have to see in order to drive, it would have to be a secondary thing. Roads would not be what goes everywhere. Rail lines would. Roads would be the secondary sort of thing, like a hobby or something special.

Parking lots would be small and easily navigable on foot because most people would use trams, trolleys and trains for major transportation. Our cities would no longer be 60 percent asphalt, maybe 20 or 30 percent at most.

Because they would be used by vast numbers of people, these rail transport systems would be well funded by taxes and affordable for people to use, though it would be an expense, like gas is to many people today. You would hardly have to wait for the next tram or train in most places because that would be “the main road.” Because of the relative high speed of rail transport, the fact that these vehicles have to stop to pick people up at various stops would even out and transportation would be about as fast as road transport is today, except over long distances it might well be much faster. And I’m not even counting traffic jambs in this accounting.

All these public transport options would accommodate not just wheelchairs but every kind of mobility device and likely also bicycles for everyone who wants them. The first would ensure accessibility for all and the second would just be common sense.

Under these conditions, people with disabilities would move just as fast as abled people, and thus in a lot of ways, they would become abled and would be full competitors for jobs and full contributors to all of society.

Routes for bikes, scooters and walking would be everywhere and well adapted to the landscape and the rail transport system. There would always be a ramp. There might be some lanes for fast movers where pedestrians, children and people with vision or neurological impairment might not fit in, but there would always be a slower alternative and safety rules for when these intersect.

People with vision impairment could have color-coded elements on their scooters or bikes to warn faster riders about their difference in reaction times and perception, but they would also have to demonstrate that they were not dangerous to pedestrians and those slower than themselves.

Yes, these changes would mean that society would have to adapt to make people with mobility, vision and other impairments equal and abled. However, these adaptations would also help to solve climate change and be environmentally friendly for everyone. The reductions in air pollution and the greening of vast swaths of asphalt in cities would improve everyone’s quality of life and would likely mean more pleasant community space for everyone. It would require adaptation by society but the benefits would also go to everyone.

Social norms

The other most significant adaptation would have to be in social norms. First, we would have to start talking about diversity in terms of different shapes and types of bodies and brains as much as we talk about it when it comes to race and sexual or gender identity. It would help that, with the mobility adaptations detailed above, the fear of disability as debilitating and physically limiting would begin to abate among all people.

But some prejudices and stereotypes hang on long after legal and infrastructure restrictions have been lifted from a group of people, as we saw when the civil rights movement lifted many of the legal restrictions on people of color. It would take some time for social norms to develop so that people would not respond so negatively to a person with a facial or speech difference, but just as reactions to people with various skin tones have changed, this too can change and would go a long way toward making disability no more than a difference.

Just as there is a push to change social norms today to use the pronouns preferred by individuals with non-traditional gender identities, some social norms would need to change with regard to disabilities as well. People would need to become more flexible and educated in how they interact. Because 15 to 20 percent of people have a disability that affects communication and social interaction, flexible ways of interacting would become part of our educational system for everyone, just as spelling rules and how to use money are part of the curriculum today.

Everyone would know to speak directly and clearly to a Deaf person. Everyone would know to let a Blind friend know when they approach and who they are. Everyone would know not to move a Blind person’s things. Everyone would know how to interpret and engage with people with neuro-diversity because it would be a normal part of daily life and would be as much a part of manners as “please” and “thank you.”

Bullying people about a physical, neurological or other kinds of differences would become as anathema as any other kind of harassment. It likely wouldn’t disappear as harassment that we clearly see as serious and relevant today has not disappeared, but it would be treated with the same seriousness that assaulting a privileged person is in today’s world, and its occurrence would be massively reduced.

As a result, attitudes toward friendship, romantic relationships and professional relationships with people with any sort of difference would markedly improve likely without the need for much more in terms of explicit rules or “political correctness.”

Public services and commerce

Naturally, buildings and public spaces would be built to accommodate the various shapes and sizes and legs and wheels of modern humans. Ramps and elevators would be maintained and mainstream.

Public signs would be bold and large print—larger than surrounding advertisements. Advertisements would be given a specific space, and not allowed to dominate attention or prey on neuro-diverse people or disorient visually impaired people.

Many signs, buildings, transportation vehicles and other public objects would have a small short-range transceiver which could be picked up by bluetooth and cell devices, so that blind or text-impaired people could listen to an audio transcription or description through earbuds.

Thus a street car would announce over a common frequency its number, direction, stops and conditions. A hospital or mall map or sign board would give verbal directions directly into the earpieces of those who pointed and clicked at it. Public restrooms, information booths, checkout counters and other important points would provide a directional beacon and broadcast over several hundred meters.

An image of grinning military veterans with prosthetic limbs fist bumping while using mobility devices freely in the middle of a major road - Creative Commons image by Herald Post

An image of grinning military veterans with prosthetic limbs fist bumping while using mobility devices freely in the middle of a major road - Creative Commons image by Herald Post

There would not only be Braille and large high-contrast print on elevator buttons but also on the aisles in grocery stores and on other things everyone needs to use. All labels on goods in stores would be required to have a QR code (turned outward on the shelf) which could be quickly scanned for audio description. Sections of a store would also be clearly marked with large print and short-range audio beacons.

The brightest and most visible signs would not be advertisements but rather necessary information. Shopping would become a regular, pain-free activity even for visually impaired people.

Instructions posted on walls in public offices would show up as audio notifications and blind people would no longer have to rely on the kindness of strangers to inform them of rules or procedures when visiting the local city hall or health center. A lot of this would require technology but it is all technology which is already easily available and in wide use today for other things.

Technology, entertainment and work environments

Technology would be a great help in opening up productive engagement to people who were previously “disabled” by our society in so many other ways as well. In my case, facial recognition software could be used with a small camera worn on clothing or glasses that would recognize the faces at least of the people I had already met and would identify them to me with audio notifications. This would break down vast barriers in professional networking and community interactions.

Similar technology could be used to help visually impaired people navigate. Already mapping technology is able to tell us how to navigate within a few meters accuracy. A little investment could render blind people significantly abled by giving on-demand information about nearby addresses, hazards and points of interest.

Technology could easily be developed that would provide detailed description and warnings on familiar routes that the individual could input manually, including things as detailed as when a step is needed and which direction to turn and how much. With the technology we have today cell phones could easily tell a blind person where to find a known person or a nearby business or landmark with detailed on-foot instructions. While most of these technologies stop their assistance once the person is close enough to theoretically look up and see what they are seeking, the assistance could be extended for blind people.

One piece of technology which I have not yet seen but which could be developed with our current technology and which would greatly increase safety for blind and visually impaired people would be a program for a camera mounted on glasses or a headband that would identify obstacles through an earphone.

While a properly made white cane is actually a pretty nifty piece of mechanical technology, it only identifies obstacles on the ground and many injuries happen because of signs, awnings, tree branches and the like at higher levels, especially at face level. Even service dogs (may they be always appreciated) don’t always catch everything.

We have devices that beep when there is an obstacle behind a car backing up, and we could have a much more sophisticated detector mounted on glasses that would help a blind person navigate safely. The same technology with a bit more development could even be adapted to help with tracking moving objects, animals and people, and might eventually provide an aid to self defense and sports.

Some technology changes would require human intervention, at least in the beginning. We would still need humans to put closed caption text and audio description into movies and TV shows or onto media images, but these would be regular jobs within these industries because people with visual and auditory differences would be normal members of society with the economic clout to matter and even if they weren’t a “big enough” demographic to be “profitable,” it would be part of the social norm, to include these things.

Would there still be jobs that I couldn’t do because of my vision and mobility differences? Sure, there would. I still couldn’t be an airplane pilot or a pro-basketball player in the sighted league. But neither could most people. It takes a very specific set of abilities and skills to excel at those jobs and you don’t have to be what is considered “disabled” today to be out of the running. I also couldn’t be a banker, because I am constitutionally incapable of focusing on money that much. We would all continue to have different talents and ability levels in specific areas.

In a fully adapted world, not everyone would be suited to every job. But everyone would have some useful and appreciated talent. Technology would help in in many cases but it would no longer be surprising that a blind person or a person with a wheelchair is a successful professional.

A few more details just for me

Everybody has their own specific needs and with the development of technology I hope that some things will become more affordable that would help me to do things as fast as everyone else.

For example, I would love to have talking measuring cups or even an electronic mixing bowl that would measure or weigh ingredients audibly as I put them into the bowl. Another thing that would allow me to cook my family’s meals better and faster would be small electronic chips on my jars and containers of ingredients that would make a small sound when called for. The calling could be done from a cell phone through a voice activation system like Siri or Alexa.

I enjoy gardening and one of my pet peeves about my vision is that it is very hard to weed when I cannot see the difference between my small plants and the weeds. A technological solution in the future might be a program on a camera mounted on glasses that could be taught through a push of a button to recognize young plants at a certain stage of development. I could then find one of the plants I want to preserve, point the camera at it, push a button and dictate to the program what plant this is (since plant identification programs aren’t yet very accurate with very young plants). I could do the same with common weeds.

Then as I weeded the program could give me a running commentary of which plant the camera was pointed at. It might not be 100 percent accurate, but given the very specific identification in the immediate environment, it would likely be quite good. Beyond that, maybe someday scientists will develop gardening gloves with sensors on the finger tips that can differentiate between various plant DNA. I’m getting a bit sci-fi here but the fundamental technologies exist.

Like many people with mobility disabilities, I watch the development of ever more flexible mobility devices and ever lighter and stronger batteries with great interest. I recently saw a two-wheeled wheelchair like vehicle based on a Segway which can handle light off-road terrain. It’s currently prohibitively expensive, but the technology is there to allow me to get back into nature on the hiking trails I used to enjoy even through the pain of mobility impairment. I hope more and more devices will be made for people who are physically active, strong and well-balanced, but who have joint or bone difficulties that make off-road movement difficult.

I would love it if there was a program using a camera mounted on glasses that would help a blind person aim at a basket in basketball or strike at a baseball with a bat. It could be done but it would require the athlete to develop a lot of skill in responding instantly to the signals. But then, every athlete needs a lot of practice.

When I was a parent of young children, I tried to find some sort of bracelet that my toddlers couldn’t take off that would help me keep track of them with even greater accuracy. I got very good at telling exactly where my toddlers were and what they were doing by hearing. But a locator that could be called or which would make a noise if the child exited a prescribed area would have made our family life less rigidly controlled.

As it was, I had to have gates everywhere and be extra vigilant. It was doable but required a huge effort that could have been put into more fun and relaxation in those magical years with young children.

Those are all the things I can think of just now. I realize that I didn’t include anything in there about making visually beautiful things accessible to people with vision impairments. I would love it if museums always made tactile replicas of interesting and fragile exhibits so that people with vision impairments (as well as the world’s much more numerous tactile learners, such as nearly all children) could touch them.

But when it comes to seeing a sunset or a mountain vista, I actually really enjoy these already. I’m not totally blind, of course, and there is a need for writers to continue to have jobs creating endless and wonderful descriptions for those who are. but I believe beauty is something we all experience in our own ways. We can try to share it with people who perceive the world differently, but the truth is that all of us are “differently abled” in that regard.

Final thoughts

When I envision a world that is fully adapted so that I would no longer be “disabled” or “restricted,” it turns out that this imaginary world would be better for everyone else too. OK, some people might have to get their driving fix through video games or on special sports ranges, but with climate change, they’re going to have to do that anyway. And really is one hobby actually more important than the 20 percent of the population who cannot drive for one reason or another?

But we don’t live in that world. We live in a world where, in the state of Oregon, Jennifer Gayman (and every other person with some mobility difficulty who also cannot drive) is made to be severely disabled. This whole experience—seeing that news story and doing this thought experiment—has changed the way I feel about the word “disabled,” which I used to think was a reasonable factual descriptor.

In a lot of situations, we may have to start referring to some of us as “restricted” or “banned” people, because it isn’t the abilities of our bodies doing this to us, but rather the artificial constructs of society. When the benefits of available technology are denied to us, either by law or by economic marginalization, we are “restricted,” not “disabled.”

While I was writing this post, my father went and talked to the local police department where I will be living in Oregon and obtained an exception for me to be able to use a mobility scooter in that small town. I’ll have to mark it with large disability signs, which I really don’t mind personally. It’s the fact that my reprieve is limited to one town and even one generation of local officers that is worrying.

I will likely never live to see the adapted society I describe fully realized, but I do hope that I might just see a day when these kinds of restrictions imposed by society on me and many others are viewed the same way we now view racism or transphobia—at least by allies. We’ve been asked to wait our turn for inclusion for a long time. I hope our time will come.

Adopting a sighted guide on the train... or the ethics of helping strangers avoid corporate traps

What you pay for today is often a service rather than an item. But we are not always informed about what exactly the service we are purchasing is. Often as not, that lack of information is intentional.

As a small example, in the Czech Republic an new rail system was recently implemented that allows private companies to run trains on the Czech railways. These trains usually run at the most lucrative times of day and on the most frequented routes, leaving the less profitable village routes to the national rail company and causing some bitterness. 

Creative Commons image by Toshiyuki IMAI of Flickr.com 

Creative Commons image by Toshiyuki IMAI of Flickr.com 

For passengers, the problem is that for most of our lives we have been buying tickets at the ticket office and using them for any and all trains on the purchased route.

The only possible exception used to be express trains requiring an upgrade payment, but even those trains still utilized the base ticket you bought. It wasn't worthless. You just had to pay for an upgrade if you wanted to use the express train.

But now these private trains pull in to the same stations and travel the same routes and once you get on board you are told that your ticket isn't valid and you are required to buy another one from another company.

I have more or less mastered this system after a couple of confusing encounters. But many people, especially those who only travel at special times of the year, such as the recent holidays, are not yet aware. Recently I met an elderly woman on a train platform with frosty mist rising all around us. I wouldn't have noticed her at all, except that she helped me read a sign that was a bit too far for my shortsighted eyes.

It was a brief, polite encounter and would have ended there, except that later I noticed her colorful hat in front of me boarding one of the private trains. She sat down in the set of seats I wanted to sit in, so we sat together. I also noticed her pull out a Czech National Railways ticket. I was half expecting it and even with my eyesight the blue logo was clear when she laid it on the tiny fold-out table right between us.

"Excuse me," I said, my words rushed with urgency. "That ticket won't work on this train. Another train will be here in just five minutes. You've got to--" 

But the train jolted into motion before I could even finish my sentence.

The older woman started to rise from her place, her eyes going wide with anxiety. "How was I supposed to know?" her voice teetered on the edge of panic. "And what do I do now?"

I'd seen it plenty of times. She would be humiliated. The conductor would come and scold her for boarding the train with the wrong ticket. Then he would attempt to get her to buy a new ticket for the same price she had already paid. And if she couldn't or had the gumption to simply refuse, she would be put off the train at the next station.

That was the most reasonable response. I happened to know that another train where her ticket would be good was following just behind us.

But being legally blind, I am well accustomed to missing inconspicuous notice boards and being publicly shamed for it. It might not bother a lot of people. My husband sneers over such things and calls me "thin-skinned." But I just do not like being scolded. It's very unpleasant and I could tell that the older woman across from me felt the same way.

I heard the snap of the conductor's stamp on tickets just a few rows behind me and there was no time to explain.

"Sit down," I hissed at the older woman. "You helped me on the platform, remember? I'm legally blind and my pass says a guide can travel with me for free. You're my guide."

It's the law here. Even private companies have to honor it. I don't generally need a guide to get around, even though I only see about ten percent of "normal." But that primarily comes from a lifetime of adaptation and a lot of good mobility instructors. I know people with similar eye conditions who are very disoriented and do often need a guide. So the doctors and bureaucrats who certify such passes have little choice but to assign them based on technical measurements rather than subjective abilities.

I couldn't explain any of this though, not with the conductor suddenly right behind me. The older woman sat back down, her eyes wide and her jaw trembling just a bit. At the last minute I nudged her incorrect ticket under the map on the table.

The conductor turned toward us and I produced my disability card and paid for the private train ticket, giving a nod toward the woman to indicate that she was included. She never had to say a word. And the conductor moved off. 

I explained it all afterwards and sure enough, she was one of those people who rarely rides the train. She had been doing some rare holiday visiting and was confused by the dizzying new variety in trains. She didn't appear to have the energy for one of those spontaneous autobiographies that strangers exchange on trains or airplanes, so we sat mostly in silence for an hour and a half, until she got off at the stop just before mine. 

I had to wonder whether my action was ethically correct by current standards. She did help me but only in a very minor way. But to me the greater issue was that she had paid for a ticket and the companies should be responsible for providing adequate information for passengers. More than my right to adopt her as a guide, I felt she had a right to a transparent and fair system of payment that would not result in either extra charges or humiliation for understandable mistakes. 

The 2017 List: 13 things to bring into the new year

With some truly depressing 2017 lists out there, I want to add a couple that might actually come in handy... or at least crack a smile.

Here is the Rebel With a Pen list of what to take with you when leaping into 2017:

  1. Chocolate

  2. A solar panel

  3. A manual for communicating with racists

  4. A Canadian passport or at least least a maple leaf bumper sticker

  5. Your entire library of books

  6. Wool socks

  7. A couple of 1960s protest albums

  8. Food stockpiles

  9. A bomb shelter

  10. Your family and near neighbors

  11. A first aid kit with extra bandages

  12. Your ability to laugh in the face of disaster

  13. Your generosity of spirit when it comes to people you might feel like judging

And with some of the bizarre wish lists out there, I figured that my brand of fantasy wouldn't seem far fetched at all. Here's my wish list for 2017:

  1. I wish Donald Trump would get on TV, laugh really loud and say, "Just kidding!" And then go back to his moocher lifestyle and leave us in peace.

  2. I wish everyone in the media would suddenly realize they should actually listen to scientists. Then science and climate discussions would be at the top of the news cycle all year long.

  3. I wish oil executives would realize the Indians own that land in North Dakota and that squeezing every last drop of oil out of the sand in Texas is not going to prolong their gluttonous lifestyle for very long anyway so they might as well start thinking about long-term survival.

  4. I wish my kids would wake up January 1 and realize that bickering defeats fun.

  5. I wish the next president would declare a new New Deal consisting of building solar panels to go on every roof and a light-rail system serving the entire country.

  6. I wish all the teenage ISIS fighters would get a deep hankering to go live with their mothers and watch TV until they're forty.

  7. I wish all bombs, missiles and munitions as well as all guns not in a safe under lock and key would mysteriously disappear on January 1.

  8. I wish someone brilliant would invent a way for writers and artists to make a living at their craft.

  9. I wish Microsoft would go bankrupt and have to sell off all of its parts to independent programmers who want to make an honest living.

  10. I wish our society would begin taxing the use of natural resources instead of the labor of the working poor and the funds would be put toward educational opportunity, urban greenspaces, rural public transit and subsidies for high quality cottage industries.

  11. I wish a benign virus would evolve and spread among humans which deactivates the part of the brain that categorizes according to skin color, speech pattern and the appearance of a person's eyes.

With those sweet and optimistic thoughts in mind, I wish you a very happy (and peaceful) new year!

How to have a badass image

For those who were depressed by my last post, this one has a partial solution (even though it wouldn't really work in a rainstorm).

I'm told that my family thought I was a whiner when I was a child. My feet always hurt and I always cried about it. I grew up being told I had low pain tolerance. As it turned out, I don't. I have problems with the bones in my legs and they hurt... a lot when I walk more than a mile or two.

But believing that I had low pain tolerance I was sometimes confused. When I was in the Amazon jungle in Ecuador writing an article for The Christian Science Monitor on the construction of oil pipeline and the environmental fallout, I ran my foot into a metal grate and sliced a three inch gash across my big toe. The thing bled like you wouldn't believe but it didn't hurt that much. A storekeeper ran out and poured dry, instant coffee mix on my wound, which did make it stop bleeding. 

My interpreter was in shock and panicking. He got a taxi and we drove to a local clinic. When I looked out the window, I saw a rundown, dirty, Third World clinic and by then my brain was starting to kick in. This was the rain forest, an area with super bacteria. I had been told by other gringos that I had better not get hurt while I was down in the jungle or I'd be in deep trouble. And this was only the second day of my two-week stay in the humid, bacteria-rich rain forest. I could not afford an infected foot. 

I refused to go to the clinic and instead went back the little sweaty room where I had stashed my pack, including a very good first-aid kit. I cleaned and disinfected the wound with iodine and then bandaged it while my interpreter watched, wide eyed. Finally at the end he said, "You're badass." I blinked at him in surprise.

I am? What was I supposed to do? Cry? It wasn't that bad, just a little blood. Seriously.

I poured iodine on it and changed the bandage three times a day. I didn't get an infection and never felt like the cut was too painful. But the bones in my feet ached from all the walking I did on the rain forest paths. I still thought I was just sort of a wimp about that. 

Later I was told by a doctor that all that hiking I had done with backpacks had caused micro-fractures in the bones of my feet because they were positioned just a tad wrong and thus couldn't absorb the repetitive impacts of walking very well. As I've gotten older the pain has gotten worse and it's compounded by the fact that I'm visually impaired, so I can't drive and I have to walk a lot more than most. It isn't a good combination. 

Creative Commons image by Brent of Flickr.com

Creative Commons image by Brent of Flickr.com


So, I was delighted to discover the idea of an electric scooter. I need something that can go as slow as a brisk walk (so it doesn't go faster than I can see and cause me to run off the edges of curbs) and which is small enough to go on the sidewalk. This week my first electric scooter came and I took my kids to preschool for the first time without pain. The scooter is tiny, a two wheeled contraption that hardly enlarges the area I take up on the sidewalk. It requires a bit of balance to ride but fortunately balance is one thing I can do. It doesn't really get me places faster because I have to ride on sidewalks and go really slow but it will mean that I can go many more places than I could before. I may have to push it up the particularly steep hills around here but it is going down the hills that bothers my feet, not going up. 

Euphoric from my first school run with the scooter, I sat down to work and started sorting emails. Then I got a message from the users of a forum I frequent with a question of uncanny relevance: "Are disabled people giving electric scooters a bad image?" The author of the question explained that he likes the look of these little scooters, which are actually widely viewed as a bit nerdy. He wanted to ride one but was afraid that people might think he was disabled if he did because so many people with disabilities are now riding these little gems.

My reaction went from joy that I could tell someone about my awesome scooter, to irritation that this clod thought that someone assuming he might have trouble with his legs was such a terrible thing and finally to dawning realization.

Oh, I get it.

So, here's what I wrote in reply: "I’m sure you meant to ask “Are disabled people giving mobility scooters a badass image?” Because disabled people aren’t bad and can’t give anything a bad image. Using a mobility vehicle that doesn't contribute to climate change and not letting a little health problem keep you out of the fast lane is badass, no? I mean when you see that disabled person riding down the sidewalk, carefully avoiding toddlers and pets, you think 'Dude, that lady is badass and hot too. I hope I’m that cool when I get to be old and not so mobile. Now I even want to get one of those scooters so I can be kinda like her and maybe she’ll even ask me out.'"

I'm in far too good a mood at the moment to let some unthinking comment get me down. Electric scooters look geeky but they get the job done. I don't really know or care if anyone except the preschool set thinks I'm badass anymore (at forty), but I do often look at people and think, "That's badass!" when they are pushing their limits and finding hacks to get around troubles. There is plenty to be cynical about in the world and I often am, but it's nice when a mix of technology and creative problem-solving takes away a burden.