Some Notes On … is a section which features my autoethnographic fieldnotes as I document my thoughts throughout different parts of my PhD project. Here, I write about the text resources discussed in our podcast episode.

For Episode 10, Reclaiming Stories: Representations of Dyspraxia and Autism in Doctor Who/Fandom we discussed the following texts:

1) Fanfiction – Never Change

Robert described his fanfic as follows:

It’s about a teenager having to decide if he should become a completely different person in order to make his distressed mother happy, which *totally coincidentally* is a theme in my life as well. John isn’t really written with dyspraxia in mind, but he is basically me so I guess it bleeds out in that regard. I didn’t really realise its view of family is the active reverse of the one in current Who until it was almost done, at which point I thought “huh”

“Doctor… the things you said, they’re… facts. Not really me, just… things. They made me who I am, yeah, but it’s not… it’s not me. Am I just that? A collection of facts and memories you’re taking from me? I’m more than that. I have a personality, I have desires, ambitions, dreams, goals, fears. Did you ever wonder what I wanted to study in uni? Why I wanted to study? Did you ever ask yourself, what does Bill Potts want?”

It was my first time reading Doctor Who fic and I enjoyed it very much. Based on our previous conversations, the theme of family relationships really stood out to me. Particularly in instances where parents want children to change but children don’t want parents to change. It also made me think about trauma with the Doctor’s past regenerations. I was rewatching the first series of the new Doctor Who at the time and Christopher Eccleston’s trauma is very present through his brief run – even when he’s being fun and lighthearted and thinking everything is fantastic. I can’t remember other deep engagements with trauma off the top of my head but I feel like both Matt Smith and Peter Capaldi had to deal with different versions of it – and Jodie too, especially in her second season. 

When he meets aliens, John is relieved because there’s a reason he finds them incomprehensible whereas with other humans, he should be able to understand them and they should be able to understand him but it doesn’t happen. He doesn’t fit in. Robert said that he didn’t write this with dyspraxia in mind but it makes a good analogy for autism and neurodiversity – what is considered as the norm may not be normal to neurodiverse people. 

“You look incredibly awkward,” said the Doctor. “Maybe I should phrase this as a question. Rosie the Bendolene, a hairdryer bound up in wire. Everything you say she finds totally incomprehensible, and you’d never even consider that she could understand how you feel. And I’m thinking you wouldn’t feel any different,” she said, “if she was still a human person there right now.”

She turned sadly to him, though his eyes were looking away.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” she said. “Everyone’s like a Bendolene to you.”

John sighed.

“You’re right,” he said. “People don’t always think I’m very… peopley.”

“I do!” said the Doctor in mock outrage.

“I know. But it’s like you said; you’re an alien. You’re not like what other people are.”

”In my experience,” said the Doctor, “other people are like a great many things indeed.”

”You know what I mean, though. Like… like you have to keep secrets, all of the time, because if you’re honest about what you’re keeping in everyone’ll just stare?

The cries of the Bendolene the hair-dryer aliens is “I don’t understand” which is as good a metaphor for neurodiversity as any. In both my own experience and in my research, I’ve found that people end up drawing on their own experiences even when they don’t mean to.

“I’ll never be able to forgive myself,” he said again.

“Maybe not,” said the Doctor. “But at least you’ll remember why. And what’s a lot more important,” she said, “is that at least you’ve not stopped being you.”

John frowned. “I don’t think anyone’s ever said things like to me. That I should put myself first, even sometimes. That the things that I am are all fine.”

“Well, it’s a good job you met me, then,” said the Doctor. “Most people’re fine, next to some of the ones who I’ve seen.”

”I don’t think I’ll ever believe that,” said John. “Not when it’s me who I’m thinking of. But you’re right, I suppose. It’ll still be myself who feels guilty.”

“Maybe it isn’t the real world,” she [the Doctor] said. “Maybe there’s somewhere that all of us are the people we’re supposed to be, living lives that don’t feel like they all went a little bit wrong. But we’d miss so much, in that real world where we aren’t. We’re like frosted glass, I think; there’s so much we don’t see if we never have to break.”

Her pager was beeping again, and this call was from Wales. Lorna was fidgiting as she looked up at the clock, and the Doctor realised she’d better hurry up with her wisdom.

“I’d seen the world through so many different eyes,” she went on, “that I’d forgotten they were really all the same. That however much I saw and wherever I would go, I’d never been outside of my stupid head. And that doesn’t change,” she said, “however many heads you end up having. There are so many worlds I can never get to, aren’t there? The one in your head, and your daughter’s, and the rest. So much there that I’ll never really know, obvious stuff which I’ll never get to see. I’ve learned so many things over the years. But that’s the most important one. That I’m like all of you, in the end.”

She smiled sadly.

“I don’t understand.”

It’s true what the Doctor says – it’s impossible for people to understand a person fully, no matter how close you are to them or how well you think you know them: the thoughts going on in their heads every moment, how they see the world and how the world has shaped them – how their interpretations differ – how their experiences differ – how they differ from how you see them. And I think this is more true for people who are currently on the margins of what society upholds as the norm – for example, it’s a very neurotypical world (though even there, not all neurotypical people feel like they fit in but their struggles aren’t compounded by their brains working entirely differently from what is considered normal). This is also true for racialised others, people from different religions, countries, classes, other backgrounds. You just try to empathise with experiences which you can’t fully understand and just respect different ways of being a human.

 

2) Essay – People don’t know about the reality of Dyspraxia. That’s why we need fictions like Doctor Who’s Ryan Sinclair

Robert is blown away by the fact this his disability is represented in a mainstream show like Doctor Who when dyspraxia hasn’t been a disorder which has otherwise made an appearance in mainstream media at all. I’d never known about it until I read this essay a couple of years ago when Robert had shared it on Facebook. Popular media can do such an excellent job in raising awareness and educating people about marginal identities which they may not otherwise encounter in real life. At the same time, it has even more of a responsibility to be careful and sensitive in its portrayals because these representations are so rare. I’m not sure whether this is an unfair burden or not. 

As the essay points out, representation is especially important because what you can imagine has real-world impact. When very few people are aware that the condition exists, there aren’t resources to help people tackle it or representatives to talk about the condition. This might end up isolating the people even more and make them feel more alienated from the world around them. 

Robert could never imagine himself as the Doctor’s companion because he didn’t think he could travel across space and time without causing accidents and disasters – something which reflected his real-life experiences.

Graham’s line in Doctor Who about blaming an alien invasion on your dyspraxia is painful because catastrophe really does seem to follow in our wake … Dyspraxia is a slow stream of disasters that make it difficult to live in the world, which mean you have to let go of any concept of pride or dignity to have any hope to survive.

The essay explains how having dyspraxia contributes to feelings of exhaustion because you’re hiding what you can’t do as well as anxiety because you can’t explain to others why you can’t do certain things.

“It’s hard to explain the reality of a condition that no one knows is real.”

It’s hard enough not having representations of disability in media or the ones which do exist perpetuate stereotypes and tropes. However, I can’t even imagine how difficult it must be to not even have your disability recognised as a disability. It’s similar to what a lot of people go through when different aspects of their identity aren’t represented in media – which other people can’t understand. Media can play an important role in trying to understand experiences which don’t mirror your own, to evoke empathy and respect. It’s something that people from dominant groups may take for granted because they see so many different shades of their experiences on screen or in books. However, for those who’ve never recongised themselves in characters, a glimpse can have such a powerful impact. And it’s not only important for people from marginalised groups but also for people from dominant groups – for different reasons. 

So I want to see Ryan be a hero with dyspraxia, because even now I don’t know what that means. The everyday world can be a terrifying place for us anyway, but lord knows what the Whoniverse would be like: when dimensions can be even weirder than they are almost all the time, where the Daleks can handle the stairs and you’re afraid you’re about to fall down them. It can feel an achievement and an adventure just getting through the day, but I want to know that we can have adventures, too: that the skills we have and the things we can achieve are more important than the things we’re always reminded are beyond us. I want Ryan to save the entire universe, and I want him to keep his dignity when he does. I want him to be the hero I wish existed when I was a child, and who only started to exist yesterday. There are unspoken and unknown things that so many of us are going through.

I want to see that this one can be overcome.

 

3) Fan podcast – Breaking The Glass Slipper Representations of Disability With Marissa Lingen

(I’ve already used this episode as a text for Episode 6, so I’m supplementing the notes I made then with these new ones. For the old notes, click here.)

The guest Marissa herself is a disabled person who has vertigo and undergoes many balance problems. This is another disability that isn’t as well represented or well known. 

Media represents misleading ideas of what it means to live with a disability and to recover from it, which in turn, influences how people think about disabilities. The all or nothing representation in media is problematic and has real-world impacts – nobody fits into the stereotype which is perpetuated by media. Even the kinds of disabilities which are represented fall into the extremes – perhaps at the cost of lesser known disabilities like dyspraxia and vertigo. Disabled people are also desexualised and infantilised in media portrayals. There’s also the issue where when there is such a limited amount of representation of disabilities (like of other marginalised groups), the burden is on one text to be perfect. It’s supposed to represent it fully and then is critiqued for not being able to do that. 

Just like token representations of racial diversity, disabled characters also often fulfill that role through superficial and stereortypical representations. In the episode, they talk about how a good way to represent disability is acknowledging that people with disabilities are not like everyone else but also employing the skills they have or their perspectives in seeing the world differently as both a part of the plot but also as a background characteristic, thereby normalising it. They discuss whether mental health is a disability issue. Developmentally delayed people are the only ones seen as having disabilities, who in turn, are shown in ways which evoke horror or sympathy. 

The characters of Bran versus Hodor in Game of Thrones – physical versus mental disability which also has class implications. Bran’s experiences and life are more important than Hodor’s in the story. Bran is mentally sharp and has a lot of agency but Hodor does not. His agency only exists in his final act of heroic sacrifice (which may also be influenced by Bran). Marissa criticises Station Eleven for killing off all the disabled characters in this flu apocalypse where people are building this hopeful new society. I hadn’t even noticed this while reading which reflects my own biases and blindspots – it’s a book I loved very much. But if your society in the future has no room for people with physical or mental disabilities, what sort of world is that? And it’s born from such a place of privilege – this ability to overlook such a key detail, and the ability to not be affected by it. 

Using a disability to provide characters with magical powers or to be extra special – for example, blind people are seen to have gained other sharper senses. Similar with characters of colour who are only there to support white characters, magical characters with disabilities are background props to move the abled character’s story forward. The character of Toph in Avatar: The Last Airbender isn’t exceptional because she is blind but because she is Toph. Her extraordinary earthbending and metalbending skills aren’t due to her blindness – it’s something that can be and is inherited by her daughter.

Marissa says she wouldn’t mind talking to writers and media creators about her experience of vertigo and balance disorder to help them create these characters to contribute to accurate representations of disability in media. Having a character with disabilities in your story shouldn’t just be done to add an interesting quirk or trait to your character – it needs to be properly researched and also addressed by the other characters in the book – in the way they engage with the world. But also, that shouldn’t be the only trait – disability isn’t a personality trait. Marissa found herself bemoaning the fact that she was responsible to represent disability in her stories and nobody else took on the mantle – but she realised she needed to do this 

There’s also a problematic trope of disability and evil characters whereby even their physical characteristics become ugly – Darth Vader is more machine than man and is physically disabled. How does disability intersect with gender and race? These conversations are necessary but are still not happening on a large scale.

 

4) Fan podcast – Imaginary Worlds Caps Lock Harry

Rowling was writing The Order of the Phoenix when 9/11 happened – a crucial moment in Western history. “And they say we shouldn’t teach children about evil.” Rowling says that this is how an email from her editor in New York ended while this was happening. A very one-dimensional view of evil, no? She doesn’t go into this in detail and she may or may not have explored this idea in further detail, but it’s more nuanced than this singular narrative of evil since the US was responsible for a lot of what would be considered evil in Afghanistan and other parts of Asia. It’s a very Western view of evil as well because there’s so much that’s happened thanks to the West even in more recent history. However, I do agree that children are able to handle much more complex and difficult subjects than we give them credit for.

Eric read the book as an adult and felt a lot of empathy for Harry’s trauma and feelings. He felt that he needed therapy or counselling but the adults in the book didn’t respond to his needs. The books explored these themes better than the movies did. He does acknowledge that younger people reading this may have not been able to identify these themes – which was definitely true in my case. As a couple of the guests point out, they assumed that Harry’s behaviour in Order of the Phoenix reflected adult notions of teenagers and the ways in which teenagers behaved and communicated. It’s almost become a cultural norm – one I’ve definitely subscribed to as well – that teenagers are terrible and insensitive and self-centred. And of course some teenagers are these things. Just like some adults are these things. But it’s essentialising their experiences. We know from concrete examples that teenagers care about many big, important things. 

Vanessa [from Harry Potter and The Sacred Text] whose grandparents are Holocaust survivors read the series as a Jewish text with the parallels to fascism and the rise of Voldemort whereas her co-host Casper read it as a very Christian text showcasing the ways in which your background and experiences influence how you interpret a text. Harry’s moniker “the boy who lived” as survivor’s guilt post the Holocaust and other collectively traumatic incidents or oppression. I wonder how much of this will be seen in a post-pandemic world.

Eric spoke to people who think Rowling did a great job of representing trauma and PTSD and they recognised their own experiences while reading the series as an adult. It might be difficult to recognise these things when you’re reading it as a kid. I wonder whether it would be different if I read it now – though I do come with the knowledge and interpretations of other people about Harry’s PTSD.

Harry’s trauma includes his parents’ murder, survived a murder attempt, his experiences in the magical world where everybody reminds him of his trauma at every turn. One guest doesn’t want to share the details of her trauma because she doesn’t want people to relate to her only through her trauma. Another guest talks about her own childhood experiences filled with an uncle’s emotional abuse and gaslighting and authoritarianism – parallels with the Dursleys’ constant abuse. She believes that Harry is only able to feel like a real person when he gets his Hogwarts letter and is able to leave the only family he has known. Reading the books as an adult illuminates the everyday abuse of the Dursleys – definitely my own experience re-reading The Philosopher’s Stone

When Harry realises that Dumbledore isn’t perfect, he feels entirely betrayed by this shift in his worldview. As one of the guests points out that Harry behaves like someone who’s grown up in an abusive home – he categorises the adults in his life in very extreme ways – he either trusts them entirely or hates them instantly and refuses to engage with them in any way (Snape). This is especially true in the beginning of the series. It’s something I hadn’t considered. I wonder how my own childhood experiences of trauma and abuse have impacted the ways in which I engage with people as an adult. I was talking to a friend of mine who has had a recent diagnosis of complex PTSD based on her own childhood experiences and how this has impacted her email and texting anxiety among other things. I wonder if I’d have the same diagnosis if I ever went to therapy. 

Caps Lock Harry where Harry is yelling at everyone is a consequence of him having to relive his trauma constantly and acknowledging that Cedric was murdered due to the same person who murdered his parents. Lashing out is how he dealt with all the emotions he couldn’t address. Harry survived in great part due to the support system in the form of his friends and the adults in his life, no matter how flawed they are. He found a new family and engaged with people in different ways than the way he was used to with the Dursleys. In Harry Potter and the Cursed Child, a 40-year-old Harry has learned to live with his trauma and is struggling to be a father since he doesn’t have any role models and doesn’t know how to engage with Albus since it is a more difficult relationship than the one he shares with his other two children – how childhood trauma has lifelong impacts on the person. 

 

5) Fan podcast – Witch, Please Episode Rho Live and Professional at Tufts University

(I’ve already used this episode as a text for Episode 6, so I’m supplementing the notes I made then with these new ones. For the old notes, click here.)

Neurodivergent and autistic people read themselves into the story – much like people of the races/castes who aren’t dominant – because these representations are missing in media. They recognise themselves in characters even when they aren’t explicitly labelled as autistic. Characters who are explicitly identified as autistic are usually full of stereotypes and only include social deficits and not their skills and abilities – essentialising autistic characters into their most well-known and well-stereotyped characteristics. Finding characters you relate to in fiction and in media is easy if you’re a part of the dominant group but not when you’re in a group whose identities are marginalised like neurodivergent people. Theory of mind not only applies to abled people but also to disabled people in order to understand their experiences and perspectives. 

“My brain is not the same as yours. My perception is not the same as yours.” 

As Marcel says, it shouldn’t be the job of people with disabilities or of people who are allied with disabilities to read themselves into the text – to use the signposts in the text to make connections with their own lives. These representations should be more explicit and nuanced.

They talk about the intersection of disability with other identities. Historically, in terms of the intersection of gender and disability, women were considered to be more likely to be mentally unstable. People who are girls, Latinx and black are identified as autistic much later due to medical biases (Lydia prefers the term identified to diagnosed because the latter has negative medical connotations). In terms of its intersections with queerness, why isn’t there gayness or HIV within the text rather than just as Lupin’s allegory? To fit into society’s conception of normal, Lupin has to fit into the heteronormative structures i.e. he marries Tonks – herself coded as queer – and they have a child. There’s also racism in disability where white children are identified more than children of colour. There’s also the trope of fat, dumb kids where disability and fatness go together and this fatness and stupidity makes them bullies (Dudley, Crabbe and Goyle).

Neville’s parents are stuck in St Mungo’s forever. Their trauma of being tortured into insanity is never explored and only understood through Neville. They are dehumanised in many ways. They are a narrative device used to explore Neville’s tragedy. Ableism is oppression.

“Oppression dehumanises a person.” 

Lydia points out that in fantasy, there is a critique that non-human creatures play the role of a stand-in for people of colour – house elves, centaurs, goblins. You can only understand the oppression of these marginalised groups in the real world if they’re transposed to these non-human characters which you can pity/empathise with but not actually engage with the real oppression of these groups. In some cases, these metaphors may be unintentional but damaging such as the anti-Semitic tropes of goblins. Hogwarts is so white – the number of characters of colour doesn’t represent British society. In Harry Potter, white characters are used as metaphors for oppression of racialised and otherwise marginalised people in the real world. You don’t need to use a metaphor for black people or indigenous people because there are black people and indigenous people in the world. 

Being a Squib can be seen as an allegory for disability and in that, the representation of magical disability is terrible. Squibs include Argus Filch, Mrs Figgs, Ariana Dumbledore (her disability is born of trauma by being attacked by Muggle boys and who then goes on to become a family secret; she isn’t born a Squib but becomes unable to use magic). Being a Squib is a magical disability. As Lydia points out, disability isn’t something you can get over – it’s not something you grow out of. 

White people are let off violence because you look into their mental health history – which is both racism and ableism. The rate of suicide among people with disabilities isn’t because they can’t live with their disability but because they’re afraid of being a burden on their families or caregivers.

Magical technology like the Quick Quotes Quill can be used in the classroom to improve accessibility. Fred and George can also be read as atypical learners – they are disruptive and don’t fit in with the institutionalised schooling structure of Hogwarts. When they leave school and are allowed to control their own learning, they thrive because they are brilliant magicians. The twins as well as Luna model a different way of being smart – don’t display typical markers of intelligence. Neville proves himself only when he displays a neurotypical kind of heroism i.e. kills Nagini – the story doesn’t explore his own skills and abilities (although he does seem to be a leader of the DA in their seventh year at Hogwarts). Hagrid as an atypical learner with the intersection of disability and half-giant race. He can’t do magic but is that because he was expelled from school? Being expelled imposed a magical disability on him because he could no longer be a part of the magical community. His monstrosity is tempered by his gentleness and usage of traditional markers of femininity – pink umbrella, frilly apron, referring to himself as Mummy with Norbert.

Using popular culture conversations act as a way to include diverse marginalised perspectives especially in education and through the Witch, Please podcast where the educator/host isn’t the only arbiter of knowledge and their position is troubled by listener/student feedback, insights, and experiences. 

 

6) Video – The Gayly Prophet

(I’ve already used this episode as a text for Episode 6, so I’m supplementing the notes I made then with these new ones. For the old notes, click here.)

In the magical world, even being a Muggle seems to be a disability though I think Muggles are able to manage just fine without magic. They have used technology in order to make their lives easier and in some circumstances, it seems to be more efficient than some of Hogwarts’s more medieval technology. There’s no internet in the magical world! Communication can be so much easier but it’s made more complicated. 

Squibs are disabled in a more real way, of course, because they’re from magical families which means they’re supposed to be able to do certain things which they can’t. Why not use Muggle technology to bring them on par with the abilities of witches and wizards?

 

7) Essay – The Future Is (Not) Disabled

Forget in SFF where people use technology or magic to fix disability, that’s happening in the real world as well where it’s supposed to be reassuring that medical advances can fix disabilities and make sure they don’t exist in the future. I hadn’t considered what an act of erasure this is to people with disabilities living today. It’s as if abled people can’t imagine thriving with disabilities which is why they can’t imagine disabled people being okay. 

In an ableist society (just like in a patriarchal or racist or casteist one) it’s very easy to internalise ableism, especially if you aren’t provided with alternate conceptions of representations of being in the world.

“Welcome to our eugenic eutopia: we can see where we’re not wanted.”

Marieke points out that conversations about the need for representation of disabilities in SFF only happen in disabled communities – it’s important that they happen in all spaces, especially nondisabled ones. They draw on Dr Rudine Simm Bishops’s metaphor of books as windows, mirrors, and sliding glass doors to assert the fact that they had no mirrors growing up which reflected their own disabled experiences in ways which weren’t othering or offensive. This was especially hurtful since they sought escape in books from the real world where mainstream culture constantly seeks to fix disabilities so as to ensure that disabled people aren’t a burden on themselves or on society. Books also seemed to reiterate the same message. 

The idea of fixing what ails you is rooted in the old-school medical model of disability: people are disabled by their impairments. Take those away and everything will be splendiferous(ly bland). If you can’t take them away, you’re pretty much screwed. More recently, the consensus among disabled people, disability rights advocates, and (thankfully, increasingly) medical professionals is that disability is a result of social barriers. A wheelchair user isn’t disabled by their wheelchair, but by the lack of ramps. A developmentally disabled student is disabled by lack of access and support. The impairments may be medical, but disability occurs because people with diverse body types and neurotypes face ableism, abuse, and inaccessibility.

It’s about an awareness of whose stories are being told and who is allowed to tell those stories, of what the world looks like, of who we think competent or valuable enough to be our heroes.

This reminds me of what Robert wrote in his essay where he didn’t even imagine being a companion on Doctor Who because that different idea of heroism seems so out of reach. By erasing these diverse abilities, you’re reinforcing the idea that people with disabilities don’t have value.

If you take the social model of disability as starting point, disability occurs as a result of social barriers, created due to lack of equal access, stereotyping, and other forms of marginalization. Unless you write a perfect utopia wherein none of those things matter anymore, disabled people will be part of your world. Of course, write a perfect utopia wherein none of those things matter anymore, and people with diverse bodies and diverse neurotypes still both exist and belong.

As they say, it’s a profound failure of imagination to not figure out ways in which fantastical and futuristic worlds can support people with different bodies and brains. 

The pointers they lay out for writing about disabled characters in fiction stand true for our real life attitudes and behaviours too, I think. Questions we can ask ourselves to challenge our own internalised ableist beliefs 

If you wish to insert disability into the narrative, start here: consider how your society interacts with bodies, minds, emotions. What is considered physically normal and physically desirable? What is normal and desirable behavior? Where does our (ableist) sense of normalcy and, far more interestingly, lack thereof intersect with other forms of marginalization?

What happens if someone does not meet the standards society lays out, bodily, mentally, emotionally. Are disabled people laughed at? Shouted at? Spit at? Are they considered valuable members of society? Or only when they are considered useful or productive members of society? Is access conditional? Are they pitied? Avoided? Propped up as inspiration? Do they have agency and voice or are they talked over? Is access seen as a right or a nuisance? Is illness considered weakness? Is life with disability seen as life on the easier setting by those who aren’t disabled?

I should tell you, all those are contemporary examples. If you are nondisabled, where do you think we stand now with regards to disability perceptions and disability rights? Can you answer that question? You should be able to before you write about us. You should listen to us before you write about us.

Consider then what happens in the future if someone does not meet the standards society lays out, bodily, mentally, emotionally. What has changed, compared to today? Why has it changed, or why hasn’t it? Are disabled people still marginalized, are they tolerated, or are they accepted?

Does your economic status influence which options are available to you (if at all)? After all, access is an instrument of power.”

They also provide solutions to the failure of imagination in the form of how to make fictional worlds more accessible which wouldn’t just make the stories inclusive and interesting but would also go such a long way in introducing the ways in which disabled people navigate their lives to nondisabled people – both mirrors and windows and perhaps even sliding glass doors if the writers do a good job in evoking empathy 

Consider instead: technology as access. Think, for example: virtual reality therapy sessions (I would love to see futuristic societies that have normalized therapy and staying in mental shape). Or cyberpunk canes (I want one). Translate your futurism to assistive devices, like service robot dogs, hover wheelchairs, communication devices, or hell, even just ramps everywhere.

They also point out how intersectional identities impact people with disabilities in the real world in ways which privilege some and marginalise others. They also outline how these injustices are further compounded when multiple disabilities intersect. 

In this day and age, we have relatively decent diagnostics for autism spectrum disorder—for white cis boys. White cis girls have caught up in recent years but are still underdiagnosed. Despite there being a higher prevalence of autism spectrum disorder among nonbinary people, access to diagnostics for trans people is complicated at best. And children of color of all genders deal with worse access to diagnostics and are often misdiagnosed or underdiagnosed.

They’re excited about the possibilities of medical and technological advancements to provide better access to people with disabilities rather than erasing disabilities altogether – to include rather than exclude. For them, their disability is very much a part of their identity, one they don’t want to fix.

At the heart of it all, consider bodily and personal autonomy. No matter the technological advances, what if people don’t wish to be cured? Is that not their right? To decide that life with different body types and different neurotypes is both valid and fantastic? Because it may not seem that way to you, but many of us are perfectly fine the way we are. Our happily ever after is not dependent on being abled. I don’t wish to be cured. My cane, my joint braces, my weirdly wired brain are intrinsically part of me. I would take better painkillers, sure. Better access, please. But no one gets to deny my happiness.