I’m writing about the significance of coming out at Queen’s as a student with a disability. This process of self-identification is both positive and negative.
First, let me cover some ground. I’m profoundly deaf, yet hear with the assistance of a cochlear implant. I also have some vision challenges, and as a result I’m deafblind. Labels are very confusing, and I can tell you right now that my deafness or blindness aren’t immediately apparent to an undiscerning observer. This is essentially an example of an invisible disability.
In other words, others wouldn’t know I have a disability or how intense the disability is unless I or someone else told them, or if they observed me for at least a week. They might guess I do, but they would never know the details for certain. Apparently, it’s my job to tell a lot of people at Queen’s that I have a disability or they’ll judge me unfairly when I fail to perform up to standards. And sometimes, when I tell people about my disability, they still judge me. It’s a Catch-22. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.
When I first came to Queen’s four years ago, Disability Services told me I would be in for a hard time. I was advised to take the minimum number of classes to see how I fared. I can’t tell you how disappointed I was, because I had planned to take five subjects and could see my undergrad dragging on to infinity. My parents advised me to take three courses, so I compromised and took four in first semester and five in second semester. I also took summer classes to catch up and stay ahead. I’ve always felt somehow underestimated.
During Orientation Week, I became an example that the ORT uses in their training materials. I’m the kid with the cochlear implant that can’t get wet or it’s basically fried. I was sitting around when some engineers thought they would splash me with a bucket. A quick somersault from my end saved my ass. I wondered at that point if I would always have to save my ass like that. Also, I wondered for how long I’d be able to before I couldn’t anymore.
I tried to stand up for myself more after that for the rest of Orientation, but I still failed. For example, I asked for preferential seating at an assembly so I would be able to see whoever was speaking, and this preferential seating turned out to be a seat reserved on every row right to the back. As I was one of the last people in my group to come in, I got a seat in the back. I didn’t want to—or know if I could—kick someone out of their better seats. So, I fell asleep.
I felt at that point I had to explain everything about myself to others to ensure that I got what I needed just to get by. That feeling has never really abated. Throughout first year I was scared that unless I kept quiet and pretended everything was cool, I wouldn’t have any friends. Part of coming out is learning how to stand up for yourself once people know about some aspect of your identity. I’ve had lots of practice.
In first year, I wanted to go into film studies. I was very excited about it until I learned the department couldn’t guarantee me subtitles for any or even all their films and that I would need to do a lot of watching (and re-watching) on my own in order to keep up. To this day, most films professors screen in class lack subtitles or captions, and a fun day for others is a day or two of asking “What did I miss?” Also in first year, I had a really unaccommodating professor. I use an FM system in class, which allows me to hear the professor more clearly, but this particular professor didn’t know how to use it properly. She would either wear it wrong, forget about it at the beginning of class, take it off and not put it back on, or fail to repeat the things my classmates were saying in our lengthy class discussions.
This essentially meant I was playing a messed up version of Jeopardy. I still get frustrated when I think about it—partly because she made a big deal about participation marks and I was unable to participate fully, or even learn from the comments of my classmates. I did befriend the guy who talked a lot, though, and that’s always a good survival move. He still talked a lot after class and I compensated, too.
So what can we learn from my experience? First of all, it’s important to contact Disability Services if you think or know you have a disability so you can get the necessary accommodations implemented in class. It’s also important to remember you’re going to have to advocate for yourself in class, even when these accommodations are documented on paper because the professor may not always remember what’s important to you.
It’s scary talking to a professor sometimes, especially if they teach a big class. And you know that when you do, you’re no longer going to be just a faceless blur. My disability actually necessitates front-row seats in most cases, so I can’t really hide. But remember, the professor is probably just as nervous as you are for various reasons. If you get any lip or have a hard time getting what you need, Disability Services is a good place to go back to, as well as the Adaptive Technology Centre in Stauffer.
Solutions abound. It’s just annoying when you have to find them all the time. Whatever you do, don’t suffer in silence or the value of your education takes a dive.
As I said before, it is important to come out so you can get what you want, but, at the same time, you will also be up against a lot of people knowing that you have a disability. They may judge you wrongly, they may get annoyed with the fact that you need accommodations to be implemented, or they might become your friends. Nothing is guaranteed.
I like taking disability to mean that you are encouraged by either nature or the environment to do some things differently from others. Accessibility is present when someone is able, regardless of what they do differently, to participate in the same capacity as everyone else. Another important part of accessibility is that making things accessible shouldn’t be a big deal. I’m not saying it isn’t important—because it’s extremely important—but organizers shouldn’t act as though they have the weight of the world on their shoulders and having someone with a disability around is a hindrance. I don’t want and shouldn’t have to defend our existence, so make it easy on us. Our contributions are as viable as anyone else’s, and when you make things accessible we can contribute.
It’s the little things that count—the nods of recognition in the hallway, the smiles and all the other sentimental stuff. They’re only sentimental because they happen once a blue moon, when people aren’t self-interested, scared, uncomfortable or worried about offending someone else. Those reasons shouldn’t exist.
If you want to help out with raising awareness for students with disabilities, are interested in ASL classes or have any ideas how to improve accessibility around here, we’re all ears—despite the fact that mine don’t really work. Even if it’s for next year, you can contact us whenever at accessibility@ams.queensu.ca.
Michael McNeely, ArtSci ’10, is co-chair of Accessibility Queen’s.
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