Never Walked In High Heels

It is a strange fact of having a disability that independence and privacy are two extremely relative terms. For one to have an independent life, one must be in control of who takes care of daily tasks which are usually considered private such as bathing, dressing and, in some cases, even more intimate tasks. But these physical activities, “private” though they may seem, are far from private compared to the thoughts, emotions, and desires that go on inside of one’s mind. It is these elements, not the dressing or showers which dictates our actions in life. These are the elements which, when shared, establishes intimacy.

People often assume that I  have a much more intimate relationship with them then I  actually do. Old assistants smell out new ones with the possessive skepticism  of a German Shepard. The thought process is usually I’ve helped this woman with everything, who are you to walk in here and make her depend on you now? Of course, the new help didn’t make me dependent on anyone, I was always in need of physical help.

But this physical help does not give the person helping me permission to assume intimacy, or even worse, authority  over my life. This is a lesson that I was suddenly forced to learn last winter when a friend I was dependent on suddenly insisted that I should take her moral advice as well as her physical aide. We live in a world where we assume seeing each other’s physical nakedness make us presume intimacy on every level.  But service is no longer an act of servitude if it comes with any sort of expectation or desire for moral endowment.

Too often people go into service with the desire not to willingly serve, but to convert. It doesn’t matter if the service has religious, political, or even simple goodwill overtones, there is usually an agenda which is very well concealed, even from the servant. It can be as simple as waiting to appear to be a good person, but there is still an agenda. When this occurs servanthood becomes propaganda.

I have always been suspicious of the people who instantly want to help me whenever I walk into a room. The more enthusiastic they are about being a servant, the more skeptical I become. Maybe this is my own self righteousness speaking but after decades of living in constant dependency I have learned that the best servants are the ones which are least likely to realize they are serving at all.

As I get undressed in the evening, its hard not to talk about the days events. Such conversations are what lovers and partners discuss when they are getting ready for bed. But the person undressing me, my chosen assistant for the time, is not my spiritual advisor, my teacher, or my mother (except in the rare occurrences where that person is indeed my mother). The perceived intimacy between us is really no more than skin deep, proving that although I am naked, I do not have to be vulnerable.

I believe firmly in the power of the individual. That’s not a particularly popular statement to say these days. We are told over and over by our world that it is best if we don’t think of the self, but rather what we can do to help the world as a whole and focus on others rather than just ourselves. While this altruistic theory is admirable it forgets one key thing…often it takes the individual in all of his uniqueness in refusing to settle for the status quo that can ultimately improve circumstances for everyone.

A friend once told me, “It is the person who is aware that he has more advantages than those around him who can use those same advantages to change the world for the people who lack them.” I believe what he meant was, that one cannot be afraid to hide one’s talents and to stand out in a crowd by doing the best that one absolutely can when some of those around him are unable to perform at the same level. Furthermore what he meant was, a social leader (someone who is truly capable of bettering the world and changing conditions for everyone) must carefully balance along a philosophical tightrope. One hand hovering over self understanding and the other reaching for how he can use his best qualities to aid the situation he finds himself in. In short, perhaps the industrialists of the 20th century weren’t so far off when they insisted loudly over and over again that the cream that rises to the top sweetens all of the milk.

To put it another way, using a biblical reference which was made famous by comic book character Uncle Ben in Spiderman: “To him whom much is given, much is expected.” It is the responsibility of the exceptionally gifted to realize where they could be and in actuality where they are, understanding the schism is how change starts. Often it takes the best educated, the most cunning, and those with the greatest skill in writing and rhetoric to attack issues of injustice. If anyone, regardless of their level of education or skill was able to attack these sentiments, it is doubtful that there would be issues of inequality in the first place. Often it is the financially blessed who have the time and energy to pull themselves full steam into social causes that would otherwise be ignored, understaffed or mishandled if left up to those who have to carry full time jobs and maintain a steady income.

In writing this I cannot help but look around and examine my own living conditions, realizing that I am indeed exceptionally blessed regardless of my struggles and even though most individuals who meet me are faced at one time or another with grappling with all that I cannot do rather than all of my positive and viable assets. While most people in my life see me as struggling, I cannot help but swallow hard when I see another disabled person in the street. Who is alone, and not provided for as I am. It forces me to realize that my struggles are like most of us, exceptionally small in comparison and an understanding that I am indeed one of the fortunate ones. One who is able to express herself and stand up in one form or another for what she believes in and who is able to take rests in between the periods when great perseverance is required. I admit that there is so much work that is yet to be done, and that those tasks include my own sacrifices as well as those of the greater collective.

The world in general seems to have it’s favored causes. Put on any news station or get any paper and you see the same issues over and over again from environmentalism, the desperate longings for prominent issues such as gay rights, taxes, immigration status to be solved and verified. Favored causes are pushed both by the media and academics into our living rooms and classrooms. In both examples, there is the perfect target audience; someone who is unable to escape the lectures of a reporter or professor either because that individual is in their home or is the recipient of the listeners tuition.

We all know the plight of the panda, the anguish of certain anorexic superstars, the heinous hysteria of healthcare and so forth, and these are admirable causes but what about the issues that we never see. How very few of us know about the dying rooms in countries like China dedicated to the starvation of infant girls, or that the western media often forgets to carry news of South Africans rioting? The situation of orphans being turned out of orphanages at an extremely young age in Russia, or simply the fact that there are still people in America forced to work for next to nothing?

I admit that I am biased, as a woman with a disability my issues seem to never fall into favor with the media. People assume that the London Underground is accessible just because there is a law and discrimination has been “terminated” worldwide. It gets next to no media coverage and, truth be told, most academics are not even aware of these situations, so why should anyone know about certain struggles when there is little done to report of them?

A friend of mine said the other day over a dinner conversation that watching the news now sends him into panic attacks. There are so many issues he is made aware of by the BBC and CNN that there is no other response he can summon up in himself except for panic. I couldn’t help but think and admittedly I added to his panic in stating this; it isn’t the issues that we know about of which we should be concerned, rather the one’s we don’t hear about that are the most dreadful and most sinister. For every missing child the media races after, there are dozens others that are never found and the stories lost. A particularly gruesome murder is only represented as many others go unnoticed. The world is not as horrible as it appears on the news, but in truth, we only receive a fraction of the story.

There are of course and always will be favored causes that seem to get all of the media attention; the grants, the money from the government, and even the justification of admiring friends, and there are some that don’t matter in the world to us regardless of how closely they touch our own hearts. Perhaps these are the issues we should be dedicated to, the ones we feel we are personally invested in regardless of the fact that they are currently the popular and dramatic issues or not. It is precisely because the media does not hold a certain issue as a favored cause that we would do well to make it our own. 

People often ask why I do not join a community built for cripples (actually they say “individuals with physical limitations” but the stigma is still the same). I have trouble finding friends who also have physical disabilities and when possible, usually find it best to look at a person not for what he can or cannot do, but rather, who he is or isn’t. In this way, disabilities are the last thing that enter into my mind when examining the qualities of a particular individual. Many I speak to often find this point frustrating, occasionally to the point of hypocrisy. For me, it is simply, life.

I was never raised to be disabled. Growing up, my family did everything to keep me out of an extremely flawed special education system. Even today, the United Nations report that only three percent of all people with physical disabilities in the world are able to read. (http://www.un.org/disabilities/default.asp?id=18) Among women, that goes down to just one percent. This means that out of four hundred disabled women in the world, only one of them is literate. If this shocks you, I’m not surprised. It is shocking. Our world is blissfully unaware of what living conditions are like world wide for people with disabilities.

Recently I saw a report from the mayor of London analyzing the learning conditions of persons with in a city some consider the world’s capital. The title alluded to the idea that people with physical limitations almost live in a different city than London. Being unable to use a form of mass transit such as the London Underground and unable to access many of the neighborhood shops on any high street, people who have any sort of physical limitation know a very different London than those who are able bodied. Transportation is slower, stores with narrow aisles a bigger challenge, invasive even, and the looks from people on the street will often send individuals back inside their houses in order to avoid hostile environments.

But being disabled does not stop with environmental issues. As in any civil rights battle, the problem is steeper and more complex than one would care to imagine. When I was growing up I heard over and over again, “Be patient with yourself” and “take it slow.” Now why I would ever want to slow down when it took me and hour and a half to get dressed that morning is beyond me. However, taking it slow often gets transformed into setting lower goals for individuals with disabilities. It means taking it easy rather than slowly chipping away at a complex algebra problem. Some things, particularly in education cannot be rushed but more often than not the goal post for disabled individuals is removed entirely so that a substandard type of performance becomes acceptable lessening the amount of homework problems, showing the student that he should only have to read the Cliff Notes rather than the whole book, or even insisting that a book is too difficult for a student to read are all common occurrences for someone who was raised to think of himself as physically disabled and therefore expected to take no initiative in his own life. Thus, more often than not, the great schism which faces individuals with physical limitations is not the level of access in their environment but it is their submission to a type of institutionalization which works for societies comfort rather than the students good.

As has been the case with civil rights issues in the past, this false education and insistence that individuals with disabilities are helpless is more detrimental than any staircase or missing form of public transit. It is through the educational system that individuals with disabilities are still often given different books, different classes, different teachers, and different expectations which causes the schism between the fully able bodied world and the disabled world to continue year after year after year. By insisting that the disabled world is somehow separate (nobody said anything about equal) from the way fully able bodied people live their lives means that there will always innately be that division between different people. Inevitably by keeping any population separated, society ensures that they are marginalized. The mayor of London is right, living in London with a physical disability means living in an entirely different city than Londoners who are able to get about without much thought. Perhaps this is why I am so impatient when well meaning individuals tell me to take it slow. It takes me so long to get to my destination in the first place, if I were to take it slow I fear that my world would stop altogether.

It is perhaps one of the oldest and in many ways overly used cliché stories that has ever been written, despite the fact that it is the foundation of so many peoples’ faith. But let’s take it out of context for a moment. A man; a leader whom many individuals had their heart set on becoming king and bringing in vast amounts of freedom for their oppressed people was killed on a Friday afternoon. Of course, that Sunday morning that was soon to follow, his tomb was empty and he had risen from the dead. We pass over the events of Friday and immediately go into Sunday without wondering at all what Saturday could have possibly been like. Nobody was happy come Saturday. Could you imagine the man who you thought would be your freeing king suddenly arrested and executed in the most horrific way possible. You are known to be one of his followers and so if they go looking for more trouble makers, you are the first in line. On that particular Saturday, everyone was in hiding. They met in attics, behind locked doors, secret areas where shadows lurked in hopes that they would never be found out. It was a mixture of terror, disappointment, and rejection which filled the hearts of people who lost their beloved leader on that Saturday; and they had no idea what Sunday would bring.

To say we live in a Saturday world to a modern audience sounds great. It sounds as if there is a world full of cartoons and waffles for breakfast, waking up late and mom asking what we will do to entertain ourselves for the rest of the day. A Saturday world sounds nothing short of heaven, but this is because we know that Sunday follows Saturday, as obvious as that statement may sound, and after Sunday comes the work week where everything is back to normal. But really, even in our own lives, do we have that guarantee? Do we have a promise that Sundays and Mondays will necessarily follow Saturdays and that life will continue as it ought to if we are in a particularly good place in our lives? Do we have a guarantee when we are suffering that this will be the end of our trials and if we pass the test once we will never be expected to pass it again? Just because someone was cured from cancer several years ago, should he expect not to be tested in the future by some other disease which may also risk his life? For a world that demands biological explanation and dismisses faith and assumption as grave mistakes, we are dependant on both of these characteristics to keep our world going.

If we look around and examine the world in front of us, we quickly see that nothing is as it should be. There is an ongoing outrage brought on by pain and death and destruction that reminds us, even if we aren’t religious, this world is nowhere near perfect; we are nowhere near where we yearn to be. Saturdays when I was in college, were not particularly the enjoyable morning which I had earlier in my childhood with cartoons and loved ones to play with. Saturdays were actually the loneliest days of the week. My friends had been out partying the night before only to spend their days off in bed with hangovers trying to fight their nausea and keep down food. Relief from the classes of that week finally came with the isolation in one’s room.

To live in a Saturday world means that we are forced by one form or another to be patient. There is so much about our own futures that is undiscovered and will go unknown until we are facing the edge of them. We are, as Thornton Wilder put it in his play Our Town, “Straining away to make something itself. This strain is so bad that every sixteen hours or so, all of us lay down for a rest.” As much as we may want to look to hitch a ride and look at the end of the movie to know if the hero’s struggle was completely worthwhile, we are unable to do so. So we wait on Saturdays; a day when nothing really improves and no work gets done, paralyzed in the world that promises so much and has so much about it that is yet to be desired. We wait for the Sunday morning to find out whether or not the promises we hoped for were worth the wait we have invested; we watch the sky in hopeful expectation.

Not long ago I sent out an email asking for help regarding a dilemma I was facing. Most people emailed me back offering suggestions or saying that they were stumped, except for one woman who was in my masters program last year. She wrote me the following:

“I can appreciate what you are going to do, but it’s only going to result in costing you more money. You’re better off quitting while you are ahead. After all, you can’t change the world, so why do damage to yourself while trying?”

I realize, of course, that no single person can change the world. Indeed it is arrogant to think otherwise. The economic philosopher F.A Hayek once wrote “Nothing has brought as much hell on earth as people trying to make it a paradise.” And indeed, my generation is particularly culpable of running around attempting to justify the action(s) of that behavior by persuading ourselves that if only this one thing was different the world would be exactly as it ought to be.

But I can save someone’s world, even if it is my own. By nature, I am not particularly a small-scale thinker. When most people in college were volunteering to teach a single school child how to read, I quickly found myself working in three different ESL classrooms. The truth is I was never very effective in any of them because I was spread out so thin

.

This, I suppose, is the deity of human interaction, because to change the world simply means to change the world of one individual. Simply teaching a child how to do long division radically changes his world. And when that individual’s world has changed, he is able to press on and teach someone else the same skills which you have taught him. Thus you have greatly altered not the child’s world, but those he taught as well.

Metaphysics talks about a problem which is briefly titled “Possible Worlds”. The idea, though somewhat strange, is rather simple. In this world, my nail polish is bright red, but there are a million possible worlds out there which we may or may not be aware of in which my polish is bright green, purple, orange, or even black. Simply because we are not aware of these possible worlds in our own world does not mean that a world where I have chosen to paint my nails black, does not exist. It just means that in this world, we are not aware of it. When we take the time to touch each other’s lives, and to improve the world that we are aware of, we give each other glimpses of what better worlds, that is what possible worlds, are out there.

The family of a girlfriend of mine decided over the course of about ten years to adopt eight Russian children, all of them related in various forms. When I tell this story, particularly to people in the UK, I often get a comment that my friend’s family “over-adopted” and thus most likely spread themselves so thin that they will never be able to take care of all of those children adequately. It’s true, those children will not have as much individualized attention from their parents as an only child living under the same conditions. I was appalled when someone said “What are they trying to do, adopt all of Russia? Change the entire problem? The entire orphan problem?” No family in their right mind is ever that arrogant.

What they did try to do was change the world for eight Russian children who would otherwise be facing a bleak existence separated from their siblings in orphanages spread out across a massive country. And the parents themselves say that as much they managed to changed the world for their children. But their children have enhanced their world. That’s the way that great ideas work. Someone who improves the world of someone else in need will surely become the recipient of a changed world. And, unlike my friend who insists otherwise, perhaps will so much easier say that worlds, when looked at on an individual level, are much easier to say than we might think.

My cousin is trying to help me walk through his sunken living room. I am tiny and still trying to get my legs under my hips. Most days that fight is a losing battle. He is a foot taller than me and attempts to wrap his arms around me so that I won’t fall. Of course this constriction is too much for my body to bear, and I end up on the floor. My aunt comes to the rescue.

“Don’t help her too much, there is such a thing as helping someone to such an extreme degree that you wind up smothering them and doing more harm than good. Just hold her hand if she needs help walking sweetie, that’s enough.”

Fast forward twenty years and I am watching the very same words come out of a friend’s mouth. She is on TV speaking about the adoption of orphans worldwide. Programs set up by the government are failing these children right and left (it doesn’t matter which government: state government, federal government; Russian; Chinese; they all seem to not be providing for children in desperate need of homes). Individual action needs to be taken, she says this over and over. If half the churches in America would have one family that would adopt one child, we could give a home to each child in America this year. I am shocked. Just one family in half the churches in America? That’s all it would take? Really? I stare blankly at my computer screen doing the math, wondering what would happen if some churches would find three or four families that would want to adopt and fully support them. The calculations in my head are rolling and then I immediately make the leap: What if we started a government program that would take in all the orphans? There are so few of them, surely someone in Washington could come up with…

And now we’re back to the original problem that programs, it turns out, just don’t work and that children don’t need anymore programs, they need individuals willing to step up to the plate and be a family.

When there is a problem of any kind, why is it that our instinct moves immediately towards a programmatic solution, instead of individuals taking initiative? I don’t believe that most people are lazy. After all, many problems we face are so inconvenient to everybody that perceived laziness is sheer naivety. It’s that the lazy solution turns into a much more complicated problem.

Living here in the U.K, I am often struck by how many individuals consider money as a form of charity. Is that it? Is it simply that we feel we are doing something by throwing money at a problem? Government money, our money? But do we really think a simple check can solve all of our problems? In this way of course, writing a check or forming a large program which we support financially but take little direct action in sometimes doesn’t do a whole lot but line the pockets of bureaucrats.

It’s easy to talk about improving the world in comfortable leather armchairs when we have our noses behind thick books and talking about items such as programs in theory. But money, although it has a great deal of power, is also hugely impotent. If you literally were to just throw money at a problem nothing would happen except that there would be a pile of money on top of the problem. A problem with a large amount of financial pools never gets to the core of an issue, changing the hearts and minds of people. It always takes individuals doing something directly, whether it comes from using money appropriately or taking some sort of physical response in order to find a solution. And what are the chances that members of a government who meet behind closed doors and drive Mercedes actually know how to solve a problem when they have never faced it themselves? Not very likely. The fact is my aunt was right. Mothering a problem is not the same as solving it; it just suffocates those who have fallen underneath and are already suffering to begin with.

Recently it was my birthday and I started to think about what it was I wanted out of life during my tenth birthday. I don’t know why, but being a ten year old always seemed to be a special time for me, like it was the prime of childhood. All the books I read and movies I watched growing up, with characters I admired always seemed to be ten year old girls finding secret places that were especially their own. I looked back to a diary I kept during those days to see what exactly I wanted. See, I believe that each of us are built with desires and dreams imprinted on our hearts. These are the goals we are meant to reach for. These are the goals made for no one else but us. When we are young and unaware of the challenges set before us. This is when we are most aware of what it is we were meant to accomplish. As we get older, and things change, then racing for our dreams becomes less simple and we substitute what we were meant to do for what the world expects us to do.

A while back I lost a friend who informed under no uncertain terms that my aims in life were “unrealistic” and “It’s time for you to grow up anyway.” And it’s true, any dream you have as a young woman with a disability today is still highly unrealistic. There is no job field I can enter at this point with no typing skills and manual labor being next to impossible, where my lifetime career would be simple, straightforward, and predictable. Add to the fact that I work in the arts and the entertainment industry, which, according to him, is one of the most shallow industries in existence and you have a road map for someone trying to reach the moon without a rocket ship. He didn’t know it at the time I don’t think, but what my friend was asking me to do was to deny my dreams simply because the world wasn’t ready for them. Is unpreparedness ever a good reason to move on, particularly when it’s unpreparedness not on your behalf but on the behalf of the rest of the world? Would it be appropriate for an African-American fifty years ago to say that wanting to get a graduate school education at an institution like Vanderbilt was not a worthwhile dream simply because the school was located in an area that was still full of racial tension? Are we morally obligated to change our ambitions just because they might be difficult to reach or impossible given the current state of our society?

I can appreciate if someone has a child that is dependent on them or other obligations the strategy changes. Certain sacrifices must be made, particularly when it comes to earning a supporting those who are reliant on you.. But those of us who are able to get by and still repeatedly try to break down the walls we choose to leave standing might not necessarily have the sociological standard course of action. After all, if no one breaks down the walls that are obstacles in our own culture, they will never come down on their own accord. Rather, they will stay as imposing obstacles waiting for someone in the next generation to tear them down. And so, walls are made until someone is determined to make a ruckus and carry through with the demolition process fully.

Dreams are by nature just out of reach, and if they were easy to grasp and lasso down to the floor, would they be worthwhile dreams or just perpetuating the status quo. It is never acceptable to pass on your dreams simply because they are too difficult to accomplish. Difficulty is never a strong enough reason to quit anything.

There was a time when I was very very small, and I did not realize the limitations plastered on the wall. What I did realize was what my dreams were. At about the same age, I would go to sleep and not understand that the things I did after I went to bed and the images that came across my mind were not reality. The next morning I would ask my mom if she remembered flying over the moon with me or dancing with flowers on fairy dust patches. She would look at me and say “That didn’t happen, you dreamed it. It was a dream.” But it all felt so real to me, even after I woke up safely in my bed.

It’s the most vivid dreams, which no one else can see, that inevitably forces you to reach further than anyone without that dream would ever recommend.

“Charity is no part of the legislative duty of the government.” –James Madison

The 188 pulls up to my stop and lowers its ramp. The nervousness in my stomach disappears for the time being and I am momentarily at ease. In my experience there is about a fifteen percent failure rate of bus ramps not opening up. Now I just have to worry about the bus ramp opening up when I want to get off.

“It sure was nice of them to put those ramps on buses so you can use them wasn’t it,” a little old Irish lady says to me. Nice? No, actually, it isn’t nice. It is the law. When people with disabilities chained themselves to buses as a form of protest, it took years for the lawmakers to take action. It wasn’t until five years ago that all buses were required to have ramp access before leaving the depot. And even with that rule in effect, I still can’t get on a bus a large percent of the time. Call the accessible transit situation in London frustrating, hellish, difficult, or even unfair if you’d like. But you cannot call it “nice.”

I’m always a bit bewildered by people on either side of the Atlantic who insist that disability legislation is something nice for lawmakers to come up with. I’m with Madison on this one, it is not the role of the government to be charitable or nice. Establishing justice and securing the blessings of liberty and well as promoting the fact that all men are created equal is not merely something “nice” to do. One is baffled why the subject of disability rights is seen as an as issues hand-outs rather than justice.

President Eisenhower ordered the 101st Airborne Division of the United States Army to Little Rock High School to escort nine African American children into having the same education as their white peers. We do not look back on that event and say that Eisenhower was being “nice.” We do not give women the right to vote because it is a matter of social grace. Nor should we promote equal access to public transportation because it can act as a form of alms. Perhaps it is a statement about our society’s views of individuals with physical limitations that we choose to see such issues of inaccessibility as a form of inconvenience rather than social injustice.

The bus stops in Russell Square when myself and the woman alight. I again feel a sense of relief once I reach the pavement and turn to get to my appointment, smiling at the woman out of trained politeness. Looking behind me I see her walking away slowly, dependent on her wooden cane. I can’t help but wonder, as her body becomes increasingly uncooperative with age, if notices that her world is shrinking as well. Perhaps she doesn’t even realize that growing older and loosing stamina shouldn’t result in a smaller world.

Recently, my friends in the UK have been inundating me with horror stories about health care workers taking anything but a patient’s best interest in mind. Yes, I realize that malpractice occurs in America too, and no, this isn’t another health care reform article. My conversations relating the experiences of my mainly able-bodied friends began to make me think about how we, as a society, treat not simply ”the disabled,” but simply the sick, the injured, and the aged as well. Its something even the “experts” can’t seem to get right.

If the mark of how advanced a civilization is how much we have evolved away from barbarism, then surely one definitive measurement of this progress is how we treat the most vulnerable in our society. This, of course includes not only the smallest and the most impoverished but also those whose bodies have turned against them due to either time or condition. And yet, even in our modern age, this level of civility is a standard that has yet to be reached in all but the most exceptional of cases.

This breach of advancement becomes even more despicable when one considers that a breakdown of the human body, in one form or another, is inevitable in all of us. By ignoring or disgracing those whom this breakdown has already occurred in,

what exactly are we trying to accomplish? Perhaps it is that we are afraid to acknowledge that human frailty is everyone’s fate, and the feebleness, the pain, which we see in the eyes of the man lying in front of us from his bed will someday be our own. When we are all faced with our own vulnerabilities, it is within our prideful nature to behave in the worst way possible, particularly when it is embodied not within ourselves but someone else. And so, we go on creating a world which will surly be unprepared for even our weakest days.

For decades, we have made health and caring for those in need of physical help an issue of politics rather than an issue of humanity. Even if we did have universal healthcare throughout the solar system, it does little to care for people in imperfect health outside of an institution. In this way, would the world outside of hospitals and urgent care center be fairer, or would it simply be cheaper to institutionalize the frail who inconvenience us to be dogmatically watched after? If we mean to fix all our health related issues with improving our respect for the frailty of the human condition, both the politicians and the doctors have fooled us into we our much more evolved simply by keeping our weaknesses out of sight.

Of course the words ‘integration’ and ‘rehabilitation’ are words that we hear those dressed up as reformers on the news shows spout out as well, but there are little visible effects of an attempt to improve the quality of life for individuals who don’t have the most cooperative body. Even the most compassionate health care which costs nothing cannot alter the fact that even today, even in the richest and arguably the most advanced and compassionate nations in the world, some schools still refuse to open their doors to disabled children and architects choose to put steps rather than ramps outside of new buildings because the former “looks more traditional.” This says nothing about the countless small issues of discrimination and even hatefulness that occur at the checkout lines or railway platforms.

If we consider ourselves an advanced society we are grossly mistaken. If we think any sort of government act will force us into being more progressive or charitable, we are lying to each other. Those are the changes to a culture which cannot take place by asking doctors to see more people or even handing complicated issues over to experts so we can keep our hands clean. We do a terrible job taking care of people who we find inconvenient in life specifically because we have built a world where their life is inconvenient. But all to often, by the time we realize how inconvenient the human condition actually is, is the time we’ve succumbed to it ourselves.