blindness, whiteness, and the need for intersectionality

This past year, most of my mental energy has been focused on learning about the growing #BlackLivesMatter movement, what they're fighting against, and the histories that underline this struggle. This is certainly an important focus to have, but at times I have felt rather disconnected from my actual major and my future as a teacher of the visually impaired.

The courses I have taken and extra-curricular university programs I have been involved in that focus on urban education (which necessarily, the impact of race on education) have been pretty much entirely separate from those that focus on the education of individuals with visual impairments. The only real overlap was in a course I took last summer in which we read the book Diversity and Visual Impairment: The Influence of Race, Gender, Religion, and Ethnicity on the Individual, edited by Madeline Milian and Jane N. Erin.

This book was written in 2001 and is the only book that is entirely focused on the intersection of visual impairments with other characteristics. In the forward to the book, Alba Ortiz writes that "the preponderance of available books and articles on diversity focus on individuals without disabilities or on individuals with mild disabilities. Very little is written about diversity among low-incidence populations. The literature is virtually silent on the topic of diversity and visual impairment. Madeline Milian and Jane N. Erin take us a giant step forward by addressing this void."

While this gap may seem strange, it can be explained, in part, by the smallness of this field. Almost all of the textbooks for my low vision and blindness courses are over 10 years old, and several of them were authored or co-authored by Jane N. Erin. Her and a small number of other professionals have their names on these textbooks, which is both a testament to their expertise and to the fact that very few people are pursuing higher degrees in this field or even publishing research. That's an issue on its own that is slowly being addressed, but I want to focus on something else: Jane N. Erin is white. Madeline Milian is white. The vast majority of professionals in this field are white. I have been to several conferences for professionals working with students with visual impairments and have been struck by the whiteness of the attendants. Almost of the successful blind individuals I have met or seen in presentations are white (and a majority of them white men, no less).

A couple of days ago I was able to visit the American Printing House for the Blind in Louisville, Kentucky, which has been a worldwide leader in producing educational materials for individuals with visual impairments since 1858. We toured the facility and the museum housed inside of it, which holds the piano played by Stevie Wonder when he attended high school at the Michigan School for the Blind. We heard from at least a dozen brilliant professionals about the products in development. It was an amazing experience. But other than one presenter and Stevie Wonder's piano, it was also a very white one. 

Image Description: In the museum at the American Printing House for the Blind. A black grand piano that was used by Stevie Wonder when he was in high school sits inside a display. 

Pictures of a young Stevie Wonder are hung behind it.

From the little research that I've done (and I admit it's been little and has only very recently begun), it's apparent that this issue of whiteness is currently and historically pervasive within the disability rights movement (as it is everywhere else). I recently was talking with a Mexican woman I know whose sister, who is blind, is actively involved within the disability rights community in Chicago. "At almost every disability rights events I go to," she told me, "my sister is the only person of color in the group of activists."

The reasons for this, as with everything, are complex and multifaceted. Being a person with a disability comes with a host of challenges. When compounded by the challenges of racism, which is often compounded by the challenges of poverty and classism, existence as a person with a disability is even more difficult. This is an example of intersectionality, which is, put simply, the reality that each of us hold several characteristics and group memberships, and the advantages and disadvantages that accompany these various traits cannot be thought of in isolation. Audre Lorde famously put it this way: "There is no such thing as a single-issue struggle because we do not live single-issue lives."

Referencing the above quote, disability rights activist Eli Clare writes that the disability rights movement has "evolved as a predominantly single-issue movement that is formed by a white agenda. Lacking the analysis, tools, or the access to acquire them, racism persists in our struggle to have ableism recognized as a core social justice issue and impacts our capacity to build collective strategy with other liberation movements."

Despite the influence of a "white agenda," people of color with disabilities have been involved in the movement, even as they are erased from history. Reflecting on the 25th anniversary of the passage of the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA), activist Anita Cameron wrote about this erasure on her blog "Musings of an Angry Black Womyn":

The way the story is told, you'd think Black folks just sat on our duffs and sucked up the benefits while White folks and a few Latinos did all the work.

Black folks helped get the ADA passed, too. We didn't write the law, but we put our bodies and lives on the line to get it passed. Even before the first word of the legislation was written, before the first hearing, before anything, Black folks were out there fighting for accessible public transportation and accessible public spaces. Black folks fought for the ADA just as hard as White folks. We chained and handcuffed ourselves to buses. We helped shut down buildings and stayed overnight in freezing cold weather. We climbed those 83 steps of the Capitol. We were arrested in the Capitol Rotunda, too, but no one seems to know or remember that. Even today, Black folks continue to put our bodies and lives on the line, but 99% of what you hear and see are White folks. 

Why is it that the face of the ADA, the disability community and the disability rights movement is White? Is it racism? Is it the system of White supremacy? Is it because White is the default condition or experience? I maintain that it's all of the above.

Image Description: At the United State Capitol building. A black woman with a disability crawls up the stairs of the building along with other disability rights activists.

On the long van ride home from the American Printing House for the Blind in Kentucky to Illinois State University as all of this was running through my mind, the divide between my passion for racial justice and my drive to teach those with visual impairments disappeared (or at least grew smaller). I found myself thinking through this question:

"What am I as a white, able-bodied teacher of the visually impaired to do?"

I've asked myself variations of this question before, but it's always only been in regards to my desire to teach in communities of color. I usually pose it to myself this way: "What motivations do I have, as a white guy, to put myself in a position of direct authority over children of color?" The answer to that question is complex and can't be addressed in full here, but adding the intersection of disability brought some clarity to me.

The voices of people of color with disabilities need to be raised up. My motivation is not to be a "voice for the voiceless," because they are not voiceless. The problem is that people are not listening. These are voices I want to listen to and I want others to listen to. White communities need to listen. Communities of color need to listen. People who are able-bodied need to listen. People who are disabled need to listen. Racism has to be challenged in communities of individuals who are able-bodied and individuals who are disabled and ableism has to be challenged in white communities and communities of color.

I don't know if I'm the person to challenge these communities, but I do know that I want to teach these children from a young age that their voices and their lives matter. 

There in the van, I began to process some of this with my professor, a Latina woman who researches the needs of children with visual impairments who are learning English as a second language. I brought up the book Diversity and Visual Impairment, how it bothered me how old and out of date it was, how it was put together by two white women, and she agreed. She told me she has been communicating with a group of professionals in the field around the country about rewriting the book in a way that centers the voices of people of color.

As I learn and unlearn more about what my role in the pursuit of justice should be, I am constantly reminded that there are communities in every field working towards these goals, and that gives me tremendous hope.