Disability and Abilities in the Nineteenth Century - Essay Example

February 3, The Young Deaf: Disability and Abilities, Frustrations and Hopes In the nineteenth century, the West created two words that differentiated two groups from one another- the normal and the abnormal- and the world has been very wrong since then. It was a beautiful afternoon in the park, and I was sitting on a bench reading class materials and highlighting important passages. A few minutes later, a group sat beside me. I did not want to listen in, but there was something powerful in how the members of this group interacted in ways that society must have influenced. For an hour, gestures, screaming sounds, facial expressions, laughter, and tears accompanied the ebbs and flows of an event, with disability in the eye of both the storm’s brewing and its resolution. The group was a family- a father, a mother, a three-year-old (an estimated age) girl they called Liza and an eight-year-old boy (another estimated age) they called Harvey. The father looked like he’s in his late thirties- quite handsome and tall. If he told me he was a lawyer, I would not be surprised because he had an aura of authority and intelligence. Harvey had blonde wavy hair. He looked like an active boy with the way he moved and talked. He ran immediately to the monkey bars. Liza stayed behind with her father, while her mother went nearby Harvey. The mother looked like in her late twenties, a beautiful brunette with kind eyes. She sat at a bench and started to read a thick book. Liza had her mother’s eyes and hair. There was something different with her that I could not understand yet. She seemed to be thinking about faraway images with that look in her eyes. Liza went to the swing, but she was not swinging it at first. When she did, she raised her hands to her ears, as if the swinging made her ears hurt. I could sense her anxiety from her scrunched-up face and tightly-closed eyes. She was making some screaming sounds I could not understand. I wanted to run and help her, but the father got to her first. Her father came to her and asked her what was wrong. She cried and pointed to her mother, and her father looked terribly confused. I was as clueless as Liza and her father. What does she mean when she makes these scratching sounds in her throat? I knew she was deaf because her father was yelling at her and she did not seem to be bothered by it. She has a listening aid too, though I doubt it helped her. She only looked anxious and angry as her father tried to communicate with her, asking her what she needs and what bothers her in a loud, upset tone. Her mother must have been engrossed in the book because it took a minute for her to notice the commotion with her family. She ran to Liza. I looked at Harvey and he looked mad that his mother left his side. He went down from the bars and crossed his arms, unwilling to approach her younger sister. Her mother went near Liza and Liza took her face into her hands. Liza’s face was smeared with tears and stickiness from her runny nose, while her eyes were large and red from crying. I felt like hugging her and telling her everything would be alright. She was trying to talk, but it looked like it was a painful process. Her mother tried to listen. Her father started speaking, but his wife motioned him to be silent with a quick look and a finger on her mouth. The father looked frustrated. I understood his frustration. He wanted to help, but somehow, his helping was not helpful at all. The good intention was there but it was not what Liza needed. Liza held the swing and shook her head. She pointed at the bars where her brother was, and Harvey seemed to understand or misunderstood and angrily yelled “No!” Liza cried even harder and stomped her feet. She stood up and pushed and pulled the swing chairs that crashed piercingly with one another. With hands on her ears, she ran away and her parents chased her. She stopped in the middle of the park. Her mother went to her and told something to her. They spoke in a bizarre language of gestures and sounds. Liza laughed. She smiled and embraced her mother. Her mother took her and sang a lullaby near her ear. Liza went down from her mother and danced and twirled around like a beautiful ballerina. The father stood back, smiled and clapped his hands for his little ballerina. Still, he looked sad. He was saddened perhaps that he could not participate in their bonding moment. Left alone, he went to Harvey and played with him. I sensed that he wanted to connect more with his daughter. His failure to do so pains me too. An elderly woman near me spoke with a middle-age man beside her: “Poor child. Her disability is her curse.” The man wanted to disagree, but I sensed that he thought hard to choose his words, careful of not disrespecting the older woman perhaps, because he closed his lips tighter, breathed in heavily, and then answered: “Mom, disability is never a curse. They are just different, not inferior.” She replied with a high tone: “Not inferior? Tell that to her parents and the rest of the world who would have to adjust just because she is disabled! And to be deaf is like being mentally disabled too!” The man said: “Mom! Please not too loud!” Others around me whispered “retarded,” “deaf mute,” and “disability sucks.” Many of them were adults and older than me, some were in their teens. One teenager said, “At least her mom understood her, and the world is right again.” Her peers laughed at what she said. I could not understand why some people would be so mean to people with disability. I respect them because I have been through operations myself and felt the helplessness of being disabled. I respect those who take care of them too because I know it is hard to be there and yet not fully understand how they can help their disabled family members. I wondered afterwards what disability means and why it is a wrong definition. In “Constructing Normalcy: The Bell Curve, the Novel, and the Invention of the Disabled Body in the Nineteenth Century,” Lennard J. Davis discusses the definition of “normalcy” that constructs the meaning of disability from the nineteenth century up to present times. I agree with him that “disability” is a marginalizing word that disempowers those who do not have “normal” abilities. Liza is deaf but she appreciates music, which makes her normal and disabled at the same time. But why does she have to be labeled as “disabled,” when she is just different? “Normal” is an unjust word to apply to a different body with a different world inside her. After reading several writings, I realized how little I know, or even, how little the world knows about disabilities. In the “Introduction” of A Disability History of the United States, Kim E. Nielsen explains that the disability history of the nation helps people understand the place and role of people with disabilities in the shaping of their country. I agree with her that disability is not exclusive to those who are different from people without these differences because they are a part of our nation; they are part of our humanity. In “The Spirit Chooses the Body it Will Occupy,” Nielsen tells the story of “disabled” Indians who contribute to their communities and how disability does not stop them from being members of their society. She reminds me of what I learned from Davis- that the word “normal” is only coined during the nineteenth century, making it a socially constructed word. “Normal” and “disability” are not “real” in their “differences” until people gave them differences through identifying words that give these differences. Instead of seeing “disability,” it is more accurate and humane to determine “abilities” of all people. For Emmanuelle and Liza, they can appreciate music and images. Those are their abilities. Those are the skills that must define them because it is what they have. I believe then that disabilities do not exist, only the differences that people impose on others who are different. In addition, I wondered how Liza experienced music and sounds, but Emmanuelle Laborit explained in “Selections from The Cry Of The Gull” that as a deaf person, she felt the sounds through their vibrations. If she felt the vibrations music through her feet on the floor of the music chambers where her father brought her before (Laborit 424), Liza must have felt the strong vibrations of the swing too, which antagonized her. To her, the swing may have presented horrible colors or vibrations or both. Her mother, on the contrary, is her source of comfort. Her voice must be melody to her, as well as her physical gestures and facial characteristics. Liza’s mother is the one who only knows what Laborit describes as the “umbilical method,” a natural form of communication that is based on their intimate gestures, sounds, and expressions (Laborit 431). When the teenager said that “[a]t least her mom understood her, and the world is right again,” she underlines what it means to connect through the umbilical method. Liza has yet to develop the umbilical method with others, but achieving that is difficult because not everyone wants to put themselves in the world of the deaf. Liza’s story and other stories from different sources argue that people with disability is under-appreciated and over-defined. I believe that they have a rightful place in the past, present, and future, but mainstream education and media do not inform the public of this crucial knowledge. As a result, not many people understand who the disabled were and are, and they make unfair definitions and assumptions, calling them retarded, cursed, or pitiful. I think that the disabled people are under-appreciated of what they are and what they can be and do. In addition, the definitions of “normalcy” and “disability” curtail people with disability because the former stereotype them into having dis-abilities, people who will always lack something. Instead of being impatient with those who have “missing” abilities, people who have “normal” abilities should strive to show empathy and to respond properly to the needs and concerns of those who are different from them. The world of plurality and democracy will never exist until “disability” is used to step on those who are disabled and to make them feel inferior and incomplete. In the park, Liza danced with such grace. She is a different person from me, but no less beautiful than others who can hear because she is as human as everyone else. Works Cited Davis, Lennard J. “Constructing Normalcy: The Bell Curve, the Novel, and the Invention of the Disabled Body in the Nineteenth Century.” The Disability Studies Reader. Ed. Lennard J. Davis. New York: Routledge. 3-16. Print. Laborit, Emmanuelle. “Selections from The Cry Of The Gull.” The Disability Studies Reader. Ed. Lennard J. Davis. New York: Routledge, 2006. 417-434. Print. Nielsen, Kim E. “Introduction.” A Disability History of the United States. Massachusetts: Beacon. Print. ___________. “The Spirit Chooses the Body it Will Occupy.” A Disability History of the United States. Massachusetts: Beacon. Print. Other Introductions 1) Reading in the park, I came across what is good and disturbing about human race. Deaf children can evoke pity, or admiration, or both, or perhaps apathy, but I did not know that other people would be so vicious as to judge them for being “cursed” and “retarded.” It all happened one afternoon when I came across the meaning of disability from a young deaf girl and how her “disability” affected her family and community. Her environment reacted to her disability in different ways, and I was taken aback for the insights about disability, normalcy, and humanity that I learned. 2) Disability is a difference, not a source of inferiority. It is sad that some people think that disabled people are frustrating or cursed. They are just different, plain and simple. But some people judge them and put them in an ugly box to separate them from the normal ones. How do you do this in a modern liberal society? How do you teach a disabled child she is disabled and must feel different? A little girl taught me she is not disabled, only different. The rest of world, after all, is as different and as weird as she is. 3) It was a beautiful afternoon that shocked me of how ignorant I am of disability and how far worse ignorant and malicious others are. I was sitting on a bench reading class materials and highlighting important words and passages. A few minutes later, a group sat beside me. They were a family- a father, a mother, a three-year-old (an estimated age) girl they called Liza and an eight-year-old boy (another estimated age) they called Harvey. Harvey ran immediately to the monkey bars. For an hour, their images, sounds, and interactions showed how much I wanted to know about disability and how wrong it is to even invent the word “disability.” Read More