Why Language is Important When Talking About Disabilities
By Erica Czerny
*CW*: sensitive language describing those with disabilities
In a classroom I volunteered in, an Educational Assistant came in three times a week to help a student. When I asked who the student was, the assistant waved her hand dismissively and said, ‘The wheelchair girl.’ My jaw dropped behind my mask. ‘Does she have a name?’ I asked. The student was behind us the whole time.
Since I wobble on that strange precipice of appearing ‘able-bodied’, but sometimes limp and rely on crutches, a cane or occasionally a wheelchair, I am sensitive to the way language is used to describe people with disabilities. Without knowing it, we use ableist language every day. In the process of doing so, simultaneously we differentiate and treat those with disabilities as less than. If we change the way we address people with disabilities by not using ableist language, we can stop stigmatising those who appear or act ‘different’.
I was born with a vascular malformation in my right leg. Essentially, veins overgrew, which caused a myriad of problems throughout my life. As such, I identify as a disabled person. I am well aware that I cannot do most sports or most jobs: atrophy and arthritis cause a weak leg, pain and much more.
I relied on the use of a wheelchair on and off after I had major surgery when I was eleven years old. If there was one thing that stood out to me, it was the uptick in stares. It was not enough that limping before my surgery brought looks; now I had to endure even more for using a wheelchair.
About one billion people in the world live with some form of disability. That’s roughly 15% of the population. Not everyone who has a disability has one like mine: physical and obvious. Some people deal with intellectual disabilities (hidden), some have others with their senses. Unfortunately, there are ableist terms widely used that disparage every type of disability.
Since I was born with a physical disability, negative language surrounding people who use assistive devices particularly irks me. For example, I dislike those who describe someone who uses a wheelchair as ‘wheelchair-bound’. Why is this problematic to me? There are two main reasons. First, this term puts the device at the forefront, not the person. Second, by saying they are bound to a wheelchair, it is implied they cannot be extracted from it. What can be said instead is ‘a person who uses a wheelchair’. While using a wheelchair is part of a wheelchair user’s identity, it is not their only identity. The device is used to assist them with day-to-day living; it is not something that cannot be separated from them.
Another way ableist language is used to discriminate against those with disabilities is related to the vignette above. Too often, we differentiate those with disabilities and those who rely on assistive devices by describing them as they relate to their disability, rather than humanising them and using their name. I heard the Educational Assistant dismiss her own charge, but others do it too. Saying ‘the [enter disability here] kid’ is not an appropriate way to describe someone. Use their name. If a modifier must be used, put the person first and their disability last. For example: ‘[Name], the child who has Autism.’
Besides this, there are terms we simply do not use anymore. It is widely accepted that the following are not acceptable, and fair warning, these words are very triggering: retarded, deformed, crippled, Downie, brain-damaged. This is not a comprehensive list. As a matter of fact, not everyone may agree with me on this. Sometimes, in order to reclaim their identity, a person may in fact call themselves a slur to take power back from those who use it as ammunition against them. Recently, Linda Evangelista made news when she called herself ‘brutally disfigured’ after a plastic surgery treatment went wrong. If she can use that modifier for herself first, it takes power away from those who choose to use that term with hate.
Then there are the terms that are so ingrained in everyday language that we do not even realise that we use them. We call someone ‘crazy’ as an insult. We say something is ‘dumb’ or ‘lame’ because we do not like it. Apparently, everything today is ‘falling on Deaf ears’. Language like this, thrown around colloquially, is another example of how ableism dominates slang for putting someone or something down. There are other words that can be used in place, so we do not have to rely on language that alienates a whole sector of society. Instead of ‘crazy’, try ‘intense’. Instead of ‘dumb’, try ‘frustrating’. Instead of ‘falling on Deaf ears’, try ‘they’re not listening’.
What I write here are but a few examples. Before we rush to judgment and label someone, ask them how they feel comfortable being addressed. For example, not every disabled person out there will agree with what I have said. There are others who prefer to be called a ‘wheelchair-user’ and have ‘wheelchair’ at the front. In the case of the student at the school, I know she was incredibly hurt by her Educational Assistant’s description of her, and before long, that EA was gone. As long as we make a conscious and collective effort to phase out ableist (or, as some call it, dis-ableist) language, we are on our way to a more inclusive world.
Sources:
https://www.bbc.com/worklife/article/20210330-the-harmful-ableist-language-you-unknowingly-use
https://www.worldbank.org/en/topic/disability
https://www.nytimes.com/2021/09/23/us/linda-evangelista-lawsuit-paradoxical-adipose-hyperplasia.html
https://www.forbes.com/sites/andrewpulrang/2021/02/20/its-time-to-stop-even-casually-misusing-disability-words/?sh=7b24cd637d4e