An Open Letter to Robert MacNeil and PBS

To Whom It May Concern:

Hi.  My name is Kathryn Bjornstad, and I am an autistic woman.  I am a senior at the University of Missouri at St. Louis, a history major, due to graduate in December.  I’m 22 years old, and I am working on setting up a chapter of the Autistic Self Advocacy Network in St. Louis.

This month, as I’m sure you’re aware, is Autism Awareness Month.  As many feel awareness is no longer enough, it is also Autism Acceptance Month—and I am more in support of the latter.  Autistic people, like many other disabled people, are often discriminated against and ableism is allowed to go unchecked and unpunished in full view of the public, even in the media.

Which brings me to my point.  I saw a piece today on your autism documentary.  And I wasn’t too happy.  A lot of people weren’t happy.  You see, I have come to realize over the course of several years that my autism has not held me back nearly as much as ableist stereotypes of autistic people have, and the myths of autism are so pervasive that I am even discriminated against when I go to see the doctor. 

I was home alone when I read the article where you described autistic people (like me) as missing a key ingredient in being human, the most important ingredient:  Empathy.  I was stunned, hurt again by this stereotype that gets flung out every so often in the autism debate.  Autistic people don’t have empathy. 

When I found out I probably had autism, I was 17.  I remember looking it up on the Internet and being horrified by the descriptions I found of emotionless people, children turned into empty shells of people.  They didn’t have empathy.  That was what I was told.  And I was terrified that I might be one of them.

But things changed.  I grew up.  I found out more.  I met other autistic people.  It turns out that empathy thing is a complete and total myth.  That’s right, you just wrongly accused almost 1% of your audience of being emotionless when they aren’t.  There isn’t a real, concrete definition of empathy and it can be used to describe a number of different things.  But the stereotype of autistic people living without empathy is as harmful as it is pervasive.  When I try to stand up for myself, I will hear mothers of autistic children say that I can’t possibly know what I’m talking about.  I don’t understand their position because I lack empathy.  My views can therefore be entirely ignored, no matter what I say, and no one sees the irony.  I might perceive someone who calls another person emotionless without thinking first of whether it would hurt the person’s feelings as, well, lacking empathy.

I cried reading your article, watching the interviews, thinking of the millions of people who would see it.  The so-called educational documentary completely ignored the views of autistic people, asking only those who knew them what autism was.  And because of the blatant ableism inherent in the interview selection, no one who watched it would suspect that autistic people have feelings.  Millions of people will now feel free to fling that insult at people like me, say I don’t understand them because of my lack of empathy when I cry about it, and use it to diminish the importance of our words.

And the description of autistic people as causing random violence is even worse.  The vast majority of the autistic population is unemployed, and do you wonder why?  It’s not because we’re violent—we’re often the victims of violence, often from our caregivers and our parents.  It’s because the stereotypes that are spread about us are so  horrible that no one would ever consider hiring us, so even autistic people who are searching for jobs or who are qualified for jobs will often find themselves overlooked.

My fiance came home this evening from work at 4:00.  We had dinner and talked, and he was tired, so he decided to go to sleep.  I curled up next to him and laid my head on his chest.

After a few moments of silence, I said, “Sean?”

“What?” he asked, the words muffled by his sleeping mask.

“What’s empathy?” I asked. “Isn’t it like sympathy?  Why do people say I don’t have it?”

He unhooked the mask and set it aside.  “There’s two definitions,” he said. “One is feeling what other people are feeling, feeling sad when they’re sad, and so on.”

“But I have that,” I said.  “I hear about someone’s family member dying and I’m sad for days, even if I didn’t know the person who died.”

“I know,” Sean said.  He propped himself up on his arm to look at me.  “The other definition is to be able to tell what someone’s feeling by looking at them.  And that one…you have a little bit of trouble with.”

I chewed my lip, remembering the cartoon smiley faces I’d studied in grade school and how the emotions looked so different on human faces.  “But…I try,” I said. “And sometimes I can tell.  And I try to imagine how a person might feel given what’s going on at the time.”

“And that’s empathy,” Sean said. “You have it.”

I sighed.  “But…that guy from NBC.  He’s going to say those things and people will believe him.  Even though it’s not true.”

“He’s a dick.  Lots of people are dicks.  You don’t have to listen to them.”

“I’m supposed to fight back against things like that,” I said.  “Children are going to see that program and think…” I wiped away tears.  “They’re going to see it and think they’re monsters.  And so will their parents.  And it’s going to hurt them.  Not me, because I’m an adult and I know better, but it will hurt them.”

Sean stared at me and I closed my eyes, letting tears roll down from my cheeks onto my arms.  “That’s not fair.  You can’t go on TV and say—and say that black people or Muslims aren’t human.  People wouldn’t let it happen.  So why is it okay for us to not be human?”

“Hey.”  He stroked my cheek.  “It’s going to be okay.”  I kept crying and he held me as I calmed down, and eventually he fell asleep.  I couldn’t sleep.  I started writing.

You say I have no empathy.  What I want to know is, where is your empathy?  Where was your empathy when you stood in front of a camera and told millions of people that 1 in 150 people were barely human, that many of us were violent, without thinking of how serious the consequences would be for us?  Autistic children are being arrested by people who don’t understand what a meltdown is.  Autistic people are unable to get jobs.  Autistic people are being subjected to horrible and unscientific treatments in the name of curing autism.  That is not justice, and by failing to speak with autistic people themselves you are failing to present an accurate picture of us.  By spreading untrue and harmful stereotypes you are encouraging discrimination against us. 

Please consider speaking with autistic adults about how they see themselves and their disorder, and you will understand why your words are so horrifying to us.  You will understand how wrong you are about autism and empathy, and you will learn a lot more about autistic people than their doctors, teachers, and parents could teach you.

I am Kathryn Bjornstad, and I am a human.  I deserve your respect.  I have not yet received it.  I dare you to change my mind about you.

Sincerely,

Kat

"A Voice for Autism?" Not with Autism Speaks.

Those of you who have Facebook friends in common with me will be familiar with the news going around:  Cafe Press is donating 10% of all autism-related sales to Autism Speaks.  You can read about it here.  I heard it from Paula C. Durbin-Westby and several other friends have posted about it.  The reaction I've seen has been purely negative. 

I commented on Cafe Press's blog.  So did some other people.  Our comments seem to be awaiting moderation still.  I identified myself as an autistic woman and explained, briefly, why donating to Autism Speaks was a bad idea.  They call their campaign "A Voice for Autism" and the voices of autistic people are being ignored.  Autism Speaks fills the function of making non-autistic people feel good about themselves for donating a quarter to those poor disabled kids, and if we disagree we are ignored or chastized. 

You might wonder, what's the big deal about Autism Speaks?  I've been wanting to write this piece for a while and now I don't even know where to start.  I'll have to write my giant Autism Speaks post later since I don't have the time right now.

For now, I'm asking those of you reading this to write to Cafe Press and tell them how you feel about this.  If you have a Cafe Press store, especially one that has "autism" in any of the product titles, let them know you don't appreciate that you can't opt out of the money being donated to causes you don't support.  I will be boycotting Cafe Press until they issue an apology.  Autism Speaks isn't getting a dime from me until they stop treating all autistic people like tragedies that need to be fixed by brave, loving, non-autistic people, and they stop using fear tactics, stop spreading false information, stop threatening and harassing autistic bloggers, and start managing their money correctly.  Any organization that donates to Autism Speaks does not care about my patronage and is in fact supporting an organization that is openly hostile to my neurology.  I boycott them.  I advise you to do so as well.

Are you sure you're autistic? Because I can't tell.

Another trip to the doctor, my tenth or so since January.  It had been a long time since I’d been in this office, well over a year since they’d seen me.  The nurse in the office was always hyper, cheerful, and bubbly, and usually made me laugh.

She was taking my blood pressure when she noticed my purple hair.  I told her I’d dyed it that way when I was a teenager, but let it go red (as it had been when she’d last seen me) so I could find a job.  Now I had decided that since I wasn’t going to get a traditional job and wanted to do autism advocacy, I was okay to dye my hair purple again.

“Well, that’s great!” she said enthusiastically. “And I’m sure those kids could use some visual stimulation.”  She went on a bit about autistic children needing help.

“Um.”  I bit my lip.  I was offended, but bad at confrontation, bad at explaining why I was offended.  I’d said advocacy, not working with children, and the assumption seemed to be that the only kind of work you could do with autistic people was with small children who desperately needed help (probably from normal neurotypical people who were saints for working with them). *

Obviously she didn’t mean to offend me, and I knew that.  It’s not that she was a bad person, or that she was trying to be rude, but the assumptions are some I see often, that seem to slowly eat at me.  And her intentions didn’t change the wrongness of what she’d said, or the fact that it hurt my feelings.

I chose my words carefully.  “Actually, it’s not working with children.  It’s like, disability rights stuff.  Before I got sick I was trying to start an Autistic Self Advocacy Network chapter in St. Louis.”

The nurse made a strange face.  “Disability rights?”

“Yeah.  I’m—actually autistic.”  I drew a deep breath, not able to read her expression to know what variation of a semi-offensive statement was coming next.

“Oh, you’re autistic?  Are you sure?”

I released the breath.  “Yes.  Yes, I am sure.”

“Well, honey, I can’t even tell!” she said brightly. 

She said other things, and I gave monosyllabic responses, too distracted and fearful now to be polite.  The nurse had done to me what several people have done.

People seem confused as to why I (or any other autistic or otherwise disabled person) would find that offensive.  It’s hard for me to explain in the moment because I need time to prepare that kind of explanation, and it deals with several different levels of ableism.

The first question, “Are you sure?”, may seem like a very logical question to some neurotypical people when speaking to people with mild autism.  It may not seem offensive to them when they use it, but it really is.  Why?  Because yes.  YES, I am fucking sure.  You may have to ask that question of yourself, “Am I sure she’s autistic?” but to me, the person who actually has autism, it’s something I live with every day and not really something I have to sit and wonder about anymore.  I did that wondering years ago, and I am over it the “Am I autistic or not?” stage.  If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t say, “I’m autistic.”  It was a really difficult conclusion to reach, but there is no longer any question in my mind that I’m autistic.

I realize that you weren’t sitting there with me when I was two and my mom was calling child psychiatrists, when I was six and one finally agreed to see me, throughout my childhood and teen years where it was very obvious something was wrong but we didn’t know what.  I realize you didn’t see the doctors give me the news, see the fit I threw, see the slow process of admitting I was autistic and discovering what it actually met.  I know you don’t realize what having autism is like for me.  But that doesn’t mean you get to ask me whether I might be mistaken.  (Unless you’re my psychiatrist or psychologist or something, but they’ve never asked me if I’m sure.)  You’re implying, by asking if I’m sure, that there is a chance I am so stupid I think I’m autistic when I’m actually not, or that you doubt I actually have the disability that I have.  The tone is often incredulous.  People just can’t believe that an autistic person could be like me, which is offensive in itself, and that really ties in with the statement they make when I inform them that I am sure I’m autistic.

You can’t even tell that I’m autistic?  I kind of figured that when you asked the first obnoxious question.  Now you’re again calling the legitimacy of my disability into question, again questioning whether I am capable of understanding whether I’m autistic, but something else is going on too. 

You can’t tell?  Why not?  Obviously I don’t expect anyone to be able to identify autism by sight.  I don’t expect every person to be an expert.  But what you’re saying is you expect autistic people to look or act a certain way.  That is so extraordinarily presumptuous.  I don’t conform to your ideas about autism because your ideas about autism are wrong.

My disability is a huge and undeniable part of my identity.  So it hurts when people say they can’t tell I’m autistic.  Which is funny because if someone said, “Oh, you’re black?  I can’t even tell!” most people would probably think that was offensive.  And I’m betting if I responded with, “Oh, you’re not autistic?  I can’t even tell!” that would be seen as rude.  In fact, people who are mistaken for being disabled when they’re not are often massively offended. 

Why is okay to say “I can’t tell” to an autistic person, but it isn’t allowed when the situation is reversed or it isn’t allowed when referring to other unnoticeable identities?  I feel like it’s just another example of how disabled people are seen as less human and less liable to be hurt than “real” people. 

It’s also an example of how a disability not being noticeable is supposed to be a compliment.  What the nurse was saying when she said, “Don’t worry, I can’t tell” was partially that although autism is bad, it’s okay for me because she can’t tell that I have it.  She’s actually saying, “Lucky you, you’re not as bad as other autistic people because your autism is not obvious.”  That’s so not a compliment!  You’re actually insulting me (and all other autistic people), and at the same time belittling my experiences as an autistic person.  In fact it’s so offensive that I’d rather someone say, “Oh, that makes a lot of sense then,” admitting that they actually noticed my disability.  I realize that kind of honesty is taboo to many neurotypical people, but at least it’s not offensive.

The appropriate response to someone telling you, “I’m autistic,’ is to say, “Oh, okay.”  And if you say something offensive, please apologize and I’ll forgive you.  If you aren’t autistic or aren’t close to anyone who’s autistic**, it’s probably best to assume that the person who is talking to you, who says he or she is autistic, who actually has the disability, probably knows way more about it than you do.  The message you should be taking away is that maybe autism doesn’t always present how you thought it did.  Maybe you should think about researching it if you’re interested.  But no matter how surprised you are, it is never okay to tell someone that they don’t look or seem autistic, or to ask them whether they actually are when they’ve already told you they are.  This goes for other disabilities as well.  No one deserves that, and the fact that you didn’t mean to be a jerk doesn’t mean it’s not a slap in the face.

So nod understandingly or express your surprise in a non-offensive way***, or do anything else, but please for the love of God, do not do what that nurse did.

So I said nothing to the nurse.  I could have.  I sure as hell wanted to.  But I’m a coward.  I felt horrible and scared and sick, and my mouth froze and it was hard to say anything.  I knew if I said anything I would be the trouble maker, because it’s the duty of disabled people not to hurt non-disabled people’s feelings by pointing out that they’re ableist.  I knew she didn’t mean to offend me, and I knew it didn’t matter.

That was three days ago, and every day since I’ve been plagued with irritation that I didn’t say or do anything.  Because I didn’t correct her she will never learn that she hurt me, or why it’s offensive to say things like that.  She got to go on her merry way, completely unaware of her mistake, and I am left to deal with the consequences.  Because this is not the first time this has happened.  It will happen again, and each time it happens it builds up a little more in my system and gets more annoying.

I can see how someone who is unaware of disability rights issues could look at this and think I’m just too sensitive.  But it’s part of a bigger freaking picture.  The reason oppression of disabled people happens is because ideas like this are floating around in the air, in one form or another.  Most people know that racism very rarely looks like swastikas and white hoods.  A lot of times discrimination is in the way we talk about people, as if they’re (even by no fault of their own) lesser than us, that they should be subject to greater scrutiny, that we’re normal and they’re not.  This more commonly occurs with very minor interactions like the one I had with the nurse.  To her the idea that autism is an acceptable neurology, the concept that someone might actually like being autistic or would be offended by someone saying, “Don’t worry, I can’t tell,” was so radical that she said those things to me and expected me to be either happy or okay with it.

Racism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia, religious persecution, ableism…all of these things start on the small levels where the nurse was with me, and they should be fought on that level.  I think it’s most important of all the fight discrimination on this level, because it’s the level we often overlook in favor of more obvious racists and ableists to point our fingers at.  But you can’t fight those people who know they’re discriminating and don’t care.  You can change how people think about things at the most basic level, and that can stop it from evolving into, “Well gays shouldn’t marry” and “Well, disabled people just need to get off their lazy asses and work.”

I am ashamed that I didn’t stand up for myself.  I’m embarrassed that I didn’t call out the woman who, however well-intentioned she was, discriminated against me and made me feel outcast.  Because if I can’t face these demons in my own life I can’t understand how I can expect to help other people fight.  And I’m going to have to work on that.  A year ago I was even more fragile than I am now.  I never wanted to confront anyone about anything, and people walked all over me.  I’ve come a long way and I can see I have further to go.

I’m not giving up yet.  So this is my response to the nurse and to everyone else who thinks asking those questions is acceptable.  She may never actually see it, but dammit, I have to say it. 

*I often wonder about this misconception, that autistic always means a child.  I don’t know if it’s that certain groups –coughAutism$peakscough- have so successfully pushed the message that autistic children need help that people can’t imagine that autistic adults exist, or if it’s just that even autistic adults should be referred to as children.  That’s the same reason people with developmental and intellectual disabilities are often referred to as having the mental age of a 4-year-old or something.  It’s misleading and obviously there’s a huge difference in how 4-year-olds and disabled people act, but for some reason people still do that.  I think it’s worthy of a post all its own, but I think Amanda Forest Vivian has already written on it extensively and far better than I could.

** No, you are not an expert because your second cousin twice removed is autistic and you see her sometimes at Christmas.  Assuming you know what autism is like based on your experiences with one autistic person is a fallacy.  I’ve learned what I have about autism based off not only my experiences, but on the experiences of many, many other autistic people I know. 

***When I say it might be okay to express your surprise non-offensively, I mean basically it might be okay if someone said something like, “Wow, I had certain presumptions about autistic people that must be incorrect and while I apologize for my unintentional prejudice, I’m grateful that my views were challenged and I can use it as a learning experience.”  Okay, it doesn’t have to be that formal.  Actually better not to do this at all.  I’m just saying that I am aware there might be a possible way for you to say you’re surprised to learn someone is autistic without being offensive.

The 7 people who ask you why you're in a wheelchair

I know this is true for pretty much any disability that’s visible in some way.  I’ve seen it happen to people with hearing aids, crutches, and the like, to people who have a noticeable limp or speech problem or anything like that.  I’m using a wheelchair in most of my examples because it’s one of the most obvious and universal signs of disability, most consistent with my own personal experience, and I just spent the weekend in Chicago using a wheelchair to get around.  I’ll use gender-neutral terms where appropriate.  I need to rant a bit and I hope at least someone finds this amusing.

1.       Curious Child (and hir mother)

Honestly, you probably saw this one coming.  When you wheeled into the room, Curious Child (usually between the ages of four and ten) looked up at you with wide eyes and an open mouth, and you could see the wheels in hir head turning.  You knew the question was coming eventually.

And Curious Child hirself not really the problem here.  Kids are naturally curious about the world, and it’s hard to be angry at people who genuinely don’t know better for asking questions.  The problem is the Curious Child’s mother, who is, of course, horrified that her child has asked you why you’re in a wheelchair.  You begin to politely explain to the child why people in general use wheelchairs, but the mother is panicking, afraid you’ll think she’s a bad mother who encourages that sort of thing, calling Curious Child rude and apologizing profusely to you while dragging her poor confused child away. 

I’m all for teaching kids that questions like that aren’t polite.  But at that age it’s an honest mistake.  My problem is that this method doesn’t really teach Curious Child how to interact with disabled people.  If the mother wanted to do that, a gentle explanation would be best.  I can remember my mother explaining to me, either in front of the person I’d inadvertently offended or in private afterwards, that that’s not a polite question, but I can never remember being immediately removed from the disabled person’s presence.  I learned how to behave appropriately around disabled people, in wheelchairs are otherwise, and not comment on their appearance.  And most importantly I had a healthy respect for the fact that they were just normal people.

But when Curious Child is strongly chastised for hir behavior, ze has only learned from hir mother that disabled people are taboo and you shouldn’t talk to them.  This is probably what the mother was taught as a child, which would explain a lot about her reactions to you.  Because this is the same sort of mother who will abruptly yank her child away from you if ze is anywhere near you, even if neither of you are about to run into the other.  The first few times this happens you’ll think it’s for your benefit, but it’s really not.  Watch a few times and you’ll see that the many mothers think you have the plague, and any contact with you will cause Curious Child to catch it too.

2.      Sympathy Addict

This person is nearly always female (at least 90% of the time), and usually over the age of 35.  She’s addicted to giving sympathy, and sometimes to receiving it back.  Sympathy Addict may follow you around, shaking her head sadly at the sight of you bravely wheeling your chair through the building (because that’s brave, clearly).  This may happen for a while before she strikes up a conversation with you.  I’m clueless enough that I won’t always see this one coming until it does, so it’s kind of a surprise when she asks why I’m in a wheelchair.

Sympathy Addict is interested in everything about me.  I am simply the most fascinating thing in the world.  My medical history is no longer a private matter but is knowledge that should rightfully belong to everyone around me, and any obvious casts or braces will be pointed out as if I didn’t know they were there (“Hey, you have a cast.”  “No shit.”).  I shift uncomfortably and explain why I’m in a wheelchair, answering questions about what caused it and what I’ve tried and so on, often while listening to Sympathy Addict making strange (comforting?) noises and saying things like “You poor thing!”  Sometimes she will try to describe her own medical problems in a desire to connect with you on an emotional level.  You broke your foot?  She once stubbed her toe on a dresser.  The two of you are practically related.

This isn’t so bad the first time you run into it, but after you meet several of these people a week, you will start to get tired of stopping whatever you’re doing and revealing your complete medical history to a stranger.  (Really.  I’ve thought about just handing out business cards.)  You’re a Bad Cripple ™ if you don’t indulge in at least some of these questions, and if you’re rude to Sypmathy Addict you’re probably not a Real Disabled Person ™.  The best method I’ve found of dealing with this person is to be conveniently in a hurry.  Just hope she doesn’t follow you around all day offering to open doors. 

More annoyingly, this person wants to be your own personal cheerleader, because you need more than anything to be told by a non-disabled person that You Can Do It.  Try to avoid their pep talks.  The more irritated and bored you are, the more elaborate they get.  Your family or significant other will get it, too.  They’re brave for wanting to be seen in public with you, or for ever associating with you, or for not immediately locking you into an institution at birth.  Hopefully your family or significant other doesn’t get off on this sort of thing, because some families of disabled people enjoy having Sympathy Addict around to justify their choices and praise them for knowing a disabled person.  Family members who enjoy Sympathy Addicts, or who are Sympathy Addicts, are extremely annoying.

3.      Amateur Doctor

A specific type of the Sympathy Addict, it isn’t enough for this person to just listen and make strange cooing noises as you explain your disability.  Amatuer Doctor doesn’t have to be involved in the medical profession at all.  Ze doesn’t need to know anything about your disability, or even about the human body in general.  But as soon as your problem is described, have no fear, Amateur Doctor is here!

Amateur Doctor has the answer to all your needs, real or presumed.  Ze knows the right question to ask (Just like a real doctor)!  And once Amateur Doctor understands your diagnosis or has rediagnosed you, ze can roll out so many suggestions for treatment that you’ll think you’re watching TV on a weeknight at four AM.  Amateur Doctors often approached my younger brother when he was in a wheelchair, and when they found out he had brittle bones, they usually glared at my parents and reproachfully asked why they didn’t feed their kid milk.  It really pissed my mom off, because these people seriously thought that we and all of my brother’s doctors were so stupid that they hadn’t thought of that first.  It doesn’t even matter if they’ve heard of your disability before.  They still have an answer for it, because Amateur Doctor has a solution to every problem.

Oh, you’re so brilliant, Amateur Doctor.  I could never have thought of that on my own. Yes, I will certainly ask my doctors for some x-rays on my back, and I’ll add them to the pile of x-rays I have sitting around at home.  Yes, I’ll try some Aspirin, because I need some more drugs and am too stupid to know how to deal with pain.  Yes, I’m sure that homeopathic remedy you took for your cold would do wonders for my broken leg.  Oh, Amateur Doctor, no amount of medical training could compare to your years of experience in telling disabled people what to do.  (And after all, you did once take a biology class in high school.  Never mind whether you passed it.)

4.      Busybody

Busybody uses similar methods to Sympathy Addict and Amateur Doctor, but is a little different.  There is nothing polite about the way Busybody openly gawks at you, like ze has never seen a disabled person before, and ze loudly and obnoxiously ask questions about your medical history.  Extremely personal questions are not off-limits.  (One seriously asked me how I had sex.)

To Busybody, disabled people are not people.  It may be that they don’t think of most people as real, or they just don’t think or care about how their actions affect other people.  But to Busybody, you are not a living, breathing person.  You are an object there for their entertainment.

Again, failure to respond properly to this person makes you a Bad Cripple ™.  Luckily as soon as Busybody’s questions are answered his or her attention span will wane and you’ll notice them staring off into the background and not even listening to you anymore.  You’ve served your purpose already.  They seriously won’t notice now if you slip away. 

5.      Detective

A specific type of Busybody.  Detective is determined, by whatever means necessary, to get to the bottom of why you’re in a wheelchair.  Hir interest wanes less quickly than a normal Busybody’s, and you will soon wish that wasn’t the case.

The problem with Detective is that immediately upon seeing you, ze has an inkling that you don’t really belong in that chair.  Ze will ask you rapid-fire questions that make you feel like you’re in an interrogation room.  Any time you run into Detective afterwards, you’ll see hir staring at you and waiting for you to slip up.  Because Detective doesn’t believe you’re a Real Disabled Person ™.  You’re just faking it for the attention, because clearly you love fighting with the oppressive architecture of every building, and clearly you love answering stupid questions asked by nosy people about your own body. 

The best part is when Detective thinks you’ve finally been caught in a lie.  If you can walk at all, or at least shift from the wheelchair to a chair or bench for more comfort while your group rests or eats or something, you’ll see Detective’s face light up in an Aha! moment.  Ze caught you, buster.  The Disability Police are coming to take you down to the station now, because you’re a liar and a faker.  The fact that you can move at all is proof that you have no disability.  (Detective, by the way, sees the world in black and white, so there’s no escaping this.  You’re either all disabled or not disabled at all.)

If Detective confronts you publicly about it, people who don’t know what conversation you had earlier with the detective may assume that you really are a faker.  I mean, Detective is right, you do have a wheelchair and you really aren’t in it now.  Even if these people don’t care about disability in any way under normal circumstances, suddenly you’re the worst person in the world, stealing priority seating, parking spots, and toilet stalls from Real Disabled People ™--even though they (and Detective, too) would gladly do the same any time it’s convenient. 

There’s really no escaping this one.  Detective wants too badly to prove ze is right about you, because although Detective doesn’t want to admit it, ze doesn’t think Real Disabled People ™ exist.  There are just scroungers like you who pretend to be disabled or exaggerate for their own personal gain (like the priority seating, parking spaces, and toilet stalls you really can’t use anyway because able-bodied people get to them first).  Even if you’re not on government assistance, Detective is convinced that you get special privileges for being disabled and wishes that those privileges were hirs.  We could pause to ponder the psyche of Detective and ask why this person is so suspicious and angry, but it really wouldn’t do any good.

6.      Conspiracy Theorist

Like Detective and Amateur Doctor, this one asks a lot of questions and is suspicious—but not usually of you.  Conspiracy Theorist, in addition to offering what they consider sage advice, will suggest that what you’re doing to treat your disability is bad for you in some way.  Although often well-meaning, this kind of person can become quickly exhausting and hard to converse with. 

Conspiracy Theorist Type A is usually kind. but full of bizarre and just-plan-wrong ideas.  Ze doesn’t realize what ze is doing is exasperating you.  Ze will, upon hearing you have had cortisone injections, advise you that doctors who suggest them are quacks and you should either take this supplement or just wait for the pain to stop, because your body makes your own cortisone.  Ze often thinks, even when presented strong medical evidence otherwise, that your disability has probably worsened because of what your doctors have done wrong.  Pain pills?  What are you thinking?  Those are poison.  What you need is some chamomile extract, or you need no medicine at all because you’re probably really normal anyway.  Unfortunately for you, Conspiracy Theorist A has no idea why this kind of conversation would upset you or how frustrating it is to hear again and again that you don’t need/shouldn’t take your medicine, and because ze hasn’t been purposely rude you are stuck in the (incredibly uncomfortable) conversation until they’re ready to move on.

Conspiracy Theorist Type B is aggressive and considers you to be just as guilty as your doctor.  Why?  Well, it’s just ridiculous that you didn’t get Educated and Enlightened like Conspiracy Theorist B, and frankly you kind of deserve to be in the horrible pain you’re probably in.  Hir message is basically the same as that of Conspiracy Theorist A, but everything is your fault, even if you know otherwise.  Conspiracy Theorist B may be belligerent enough that you don’t mind seeming rude by ending the conversation abruptly.  But since Conspiracy Theorist B is telling you The Truth, they will only get angrier as you ignore or argue with them.  Because now you’re not just an idiot who isn’t Enlightened, but you’re part of the problem and are probably a Big Pharma Shill.  But it’s okay.  You’re probably not really disabled anyway, you’re just faking for attention.  (It’s presumed that Real Disabled People ™ fawn over every word these people say.)

What’s the difference between the two Conspiracy Theorists?  You might be tempted to say there’s a huge difference, but there’s really not.  The two share the same philosophy and both are equally wrong.  Even when Conspiracy Theorist B is over-the-top, you can find Conspiracy Theorist A defending hir.  The only difference between the two is tactics—one is polite and makes you uncomfortable and one is rude and makes you uncomfortable.  In fact, they might be the same person having a good day or a bad day.

  

7.  Asshole

There is really no better term for this person, because Asshole refuses to even talk to you, except maybe in simpering tones and treating you like you're a baby.  Asshole probably assumes you're intellectually disabled (because all disabled people are probably intellectually disabled in Asshole's mind), and Asshole assumes that intellectually disabled people should be spoken to in baby talk.  

That by itself is positively revolting, but Asshole usually doesn't talk to you.  You're too stupid to give hir answers.  Asshole asks whoever is accompanying you, or whoever is standing nearest to you if you're alone, what's wrong with (him/her/it).  Asshole often continues addressing people around you no matter how many times you remind hir that you're there, you understand what ze's saying, and you don't appreciate hir attitude.  

Asshole is often combined with other types of people on this list, but the most distinguishing feature of Asshole is hir complete refusal to accept you as a human.  You will leave a conversation with Asshole feeling thoroughly humiliated and losing faith in humanity.  Good luck because there a surprising amount of Assholes out there. 

That’s it for now.  Let me know if you think of any more and we can do a continued list later.