The Word Is Blind

“So, you’re blind—I’m sorry! I mean…visually impaired—I mean…uh…I’m not sure of the…terminology…”

I’ve been called a lot of things in my life (and, yes, most of them were nice). Many of the labels people have placed on me because of my eyes are diplomatic but straightforward: visually impaired, low-vision, visually handicapped, physically handicapped, disabled, etc. These are all accurate, so I have no objection to them (though low-vision perpetuates the misconception that I see far better than I actually can). Of course, I’ve also been called—and heard others being called—more “politically sensitive” terms: differently abled (really?), differently seeing (uh, no…), special (gag me with a spoon, please), and handicapable (I wish I was kidding).

We are currently surrounded by an environment that demands political correctness and unbiased language. Normally, I’m one of the most enthusiastic supporters of bias-free language, because I understand the power of the words we use. Even when we aren’t conscious of it, the words we choose to use carry plenty of potential impact. Language really does matter. In that light, I understand and support society’s efforts to attach meaningful, accurate labels to minorities, particularly labels free of derogatory associations. If I were conducting a business meeting and someone referred to me as a “blink”, I’d be rather offended: that’s not how you treat someone, especially in a professional setting, unless you know them well and have an intimate knowledge of their personal preferences. I would no more call a disabled stranger by a derogatory name—lighthearted as I may feel at the time—than I’d call my lesbian best friend a dyke. Personally, I don’t consider it a polite (or even wise) endeavor, no matter how good my intentions are.

But, as always, there’s another side to this coin. There is such a thing as tiptoeing to such a degree as to invite ridicule, and it is my opinion that some of the terms listed above are just begging to be mocked. I mean, come on—“handicapable”? That sounds like a bad joke, not a “politically sensitive” label to use in official settings. It sounds, in fact, like someone’s terrible idea of a catchy hashtag. Please, leave that condescending nonsense on Twitter where it belongs. Other terms, while being less deserving of derision, commit the grave sin of being totally inaccurate and misleading. Take “differently seeing”, for example: I don’t “see” differently than other human beings. True, I tend to use my other senses more often than sighted people, but as I’ve previously explained, those senses are exactly the same as yours. They’re not heightened or supercharged in any way; I simply know how to use them, and have little choice but to rely on them. Seeing differently would necessitate extra organs (or perhaps extra brain function) and I can assure you that I definitely don’t have any mutated eyes or visual cortices lurking around. I’d tell you if I did—imagine the money I could make from the media buzz alone! (And, no, I am not giving you permission to come and investigate for yourself.) It’s also worth mentioning that I despise platitudes like “you can see with your heart”. I understand the kindness behind such pronouncements, I really do, but we all know it’s gooey, sentimental rhetoric, right?

In general, I believe in calling a spade a spade. Dancing around the simple facts with labels meant to encourage respect and sensitivity does more to annoy me than set me at ease. It’s impossible to keep up with the terminology that is en vogue on any given week. For the longest time, it was my impression that “visually impaired” was considered the acceptable term for official documents and workplace discourse, as determined by the CNIB. When I was working for them a couple of years ago, however, I quickly discovered that I was doing it wrong: the new term was “partially sighted”. Visually impaired, it seemed, was sooo last year. Who knew? I certainly didn’t…

I’m not sure what it is about blindness in particular that makes people so timid, but I’d love to relieve them all of that heavy burden. It’s okay to admit that someone is disabled—yes, disabled, not “differently abled”. Some people have stuff wrong with them, and that’s not a horrible thing. It’s not a sin to openly admit that someone else isn’t a perfect specimen of efficiency. Flaws don’t have to be scary, and disability doesn’t have to be taboo. Set aside your worries about sensitivity and correctness for a moment, and listen: my eyes don’t work. I cannot see. Therefore, the logical conclusion is that I am blind. Not “differently abled”, or “differently seeing”…just “blind”. If you want to get really technical, you can use “visually impaired” for people who have enough vision to read large print and use screen magnification. Otherwise, “blind” is perfectly acceptable, at least to me and the majority of blind people I know. If “blind” scares you, go with “visually impaired”; you’re very unlikely to upset anyone that way. I have met a very few people who were especially sensitive about semantics, but even they were all just fine with “visually impaired”.

It really irks me when people treat “blind” like a curse word—as though the last thing anyone would ever want to admit to being is blind. Believe it or not, I’m rather okay with the fact that my eyes don’t work, and thus I am okay with being called blind. It’s what I am. I’m no more uncomfortable with being referred to as “blind” than I am with being referred to as “female”, or “brunette”, or “human”. These are all natural parts of my being and while I’m not necessarily proud of my disability, I’m at peace with the fact that it exists and that there’s a word for it. So, rather than wasting your valuable time stumbling over the “correct” terminology, just call me “blind”, because that’s what I am. It’s not insulting, or insensitive, or ablest; it’s honest.

Of course, my favourite thing to be called is “Meagan”. I have a name, so please use it. If you know my name, there is no reason whatsoever to refer to me as “the blind girl”, or “the disabled girl”, or anything similar. Names are given for a reason; please do me the courtesy of using mine. After all, more than “blind”, I self-identify as “human”, just like you.

Author’s note: If you are reading this from somewhere other than Earth and do not, therefore, self-identify as human, please forgive the generalization. I wouldn’t want to use improper labeling!

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5 thoughts on “The Word Is Blind

  1. Reblogged this on The Traveler and commented:
    See? When Meagan writes, I write…Well, sort of… Well, ok. Not really. I um, reblog. But you hear from me, at least, right? Well, ok, you still aren’t hearing from me. You’re hearing from Meagan. But but but…She writes so good…I mean well…Yeah. She writes well.

    So have this, because believe me, it is a sentiment that I definitely share! Share as appropriate!

  2. I would like to make an observation on the phrase: “differently seeing.” I am in complete agreement with your criticism of the it as patronizing; underneath this, however, lies a certain truth. All five senses are, at bottom, tactile. Touching something is, most obviously. Tasting and smelling clearly are the result of molecular structures coming in contact with tissues in the nose and mouth. Hearing involves pulsations in the air, consisting of physical atoms of Nitrogen, Oxygen, etc., hitting the eardrum. And vision, ah vision, consists of photons, or particles of light, which travel in wavelike motion, emitted from a light source, such as a fluorescent tube, being refracted off an object, passing through the pupil, striking the retina, producing an electro-chemical reaction, which is then transmitted up through the optic nerve, into the brain. So, all forms of sensation are the result of actual physical impact. The taste of sweetness of the honey is not in the atoms, nor is the acridity of the odor of ammonia in the atoms. A red stop sign isn’t made of red atoms, nor is the desk top made of smooth atoms, nor does a melody consist of melodious atoms. What the mind does with all the impulses transmitted to it is what is key. The impulses are just impulses, possessing no form or quality; rather, the mind imposes all form and quality upon them. The world we live in, consisting of tastes, smells, melodies, textures, colors, shapes, etc. is a creation of our mind. Humans’ minds all work in similar ways, so we share a common reality. Vision isn’t really different in kind from the other senses; they’re based on actual, physical contact, and other species can see things humans can’t (some snakes can see heat, for instance). Since what seeing actually is, as in “I see an apple,” is an activity in the mind, describling what you or I do as “differently seeing” actually has some truth in it.

    • You make a very interesting point, actually. I suppose I stuck to the original phrasing because people genuinely think we have superpowers/extra brainpower, but we don’t. Some clever rewiring? Sure. But superpowers we do not have.

  3. Pingback: Goodbye, Colourful World | Where's Your Dog?

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