This Disability History Month, I’ve been thinking about the perception of ‘other’ and how people view disability in our society.  The catalyst was watching an innovative re-telling of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, which put Shelley herself in the play; a clever move to deepen our understanding of the inequalities she was observing at the time as a young woman in the late 19th century. I felt sickened by the end, to realise nothing has changed. In over a hundred years, our perception of, and contempt towards what we view as different to ourselves, has remained unchanged.  

Whilst it could be argued that we have become more tolerant on an individual level, I think it would be almost impossible to argue that society as a whole has become more tolerant, or kind, to those it views as ‘other’. Times have changed: people who live with disabilities, be it mental or physical, are much more likely to speak out about their experiences, and certainly the rise of online communities has provided a safe space, and also a support network, for many to do this. Indeed, celebrity culture has gone a long way in the last few years alone to influence disability acceptance in society: just look at Lady Gaga who spoke out about living with fibromyalgia; Jamila Jamil who has Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome; and Selma Blair who lives with MS. All of them have openly spoken of their fear of opening up about their disabilities for fear of ridicule at best, the end of their careers at worst.  

Thankfully, the response has been overwhelmingly supportive. But it tips into the dangerously saccharine and exploitative. These women are held up on a pedestal of achievement and success. They are called ‘brave’ for speaking out against the stigma so readily dished out, by that very society. There is something disturbing about that.  

They are validated by their ability to achieve ‘normal’ things like success and wealth despite their disabilities: they are overcoming them - their disabilities haven’t taken over their lives. It’s a toxic hero-worship which skews our perception of disability even further. And yet, these worshippers fail to see their own contribution to the problem, and how it reinforces the toxic notion that women need to smile through their pain, and that they should always be striving to succeed, to be more, be better.  

For many disabled people, the reality is that they will never see worship, or success, or acceptance. Not even basic respect. Equality does not meet them at the door when they are ruthlessly assessed of their ‘level’ of disability by an untrained, non-medical administrator in a government office, who determines the amount of support they will be allocated in order to live a decent life. Or as it is now called, an ‘allowance’ – to barely survive on.  

We live in a twisted place which tries to celebrate differences whilst simultaneously punishing them in the cruellest of ways. People gush over Selma’s bravery whilst turning a blind eye to the everyday inequalities that happen all around us. Unequal pay; inaccessible buildings, events, workplaces; appalling welfare systems; inflexible working patterns and hours; ignorance to the increased financial requirements of those living with disabilities.  

The recently released film, Joker, received extremely polarised reviews, hailed by the New Yorker as ‘nihilistic pornography’. I was wary of the potential for this film to paint mentally ill people in a dark light – the last thing we need is another clown telling the world that gun violence is a result of some ‘crazy’ person who ‘didn’t get the help they needed’. But what I found was a morally astute, boundary-pushing composition on the absence of empathy in our world today for those who are ‘other’.  

We see a person who has been repeatedly traumatised and abused by his society and family, and yet he still tries to find the silver lining, because that’s what we are told to do when we are in a bad position. If we are sick, or broke, or going through hell – we need to try and keep smiling. As I watched that iconic scene of Arthur jamming his fingers into his cheeks to near breaking point, practising his smile for the world, it felt uncomfortably close to the bone.  

Our society is much readier to dish out empathy when pain is glossed over. And as Arthur discovers, even when you’re smiling and doing your best like you were told, even then – people don’t care. They still don’t see you. Their empathy is superficial. It only goes skin-deep.  

People question the violence portrayed in the film. As Arthur’s world becomes more isolated, his medication is withdrawn (funding cuts) he feels the absence of empathy so acutely that numbness and flagrant disregard is the only option left, of the few he started with. He turns to random acts of violence because he has zero left to lose. The world doesn’t give a shit about him, and he wants to make sure the world knows that about itself. The delivery is calculatingly over-egged, so that the message has the best shot of making it home. He is a mirror to the world: a world without empathy, which is one without hope. It’s the most compelling creative expression I’ve seen of the tipping-point we currently find ourselves at.  

I wish that I could say as we march into the next hundred years that I believe we will move into a compassionate society where ‘otherness’ doesn’t exist. But I’d be lying through my meticulous smile.  

If history has taught us anything: it’s that these societal perceptions can’t change in a century, let alone overnight. We’ve known about climate change since the 70s and yet we’re ploughing headlong into a Mass Extinction Event. We have a responsibility as an enlightened species on this planet to prevent it at all costs, and yet here we are heading for imminent catastrophe. Whether it’s an individual’s plight, or the world as we know it ceasing to exist; we gloss things over, fake the silver lining, and smile.  

That said, I can’t help but feel hopeful. The human condition, perhaps? To be clear: I am not hopeful that the government will suddenly decide that I am indeed ‘sick enough’ to now qualify for disability support. I’m not hopeful that they will provide a financial safety-net of a year or two, should I ever decide to re-train in another profession, or lose my job. I am not hopeful that society will ever release its grip on capitalism long enough to save our planet.  

I’m not hopeful that one day every single disabled person will receive equality and respect from whoever they meet.  

But I do have hope: in human kindness. We are empathetic beings, to a fault sometimes (you cry, I cry). Years of individualism may have successfully groomed it out of us, for the most part; but there are humans out there, just like me, who seek a fair and equal world. Where each person is valued equal to their neighbour. Where there is no ‘other’.  

And that world exists between people, in their interactions and the connections they make. One person who feels empathy and kindness towards strangers and friends alike, will create ripples. Ripples become waves… and so it goes. Kindness is contagious and I believe it’s the last thing which will keep the world turning.  

True change comes from the heart.  

I hope we can learn to celebrate the things that make us different – whether we succeed or fail, are wealthy or poor, abled or disabled. We are all of us equally valid, and equally deserving of love.