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The Dreaded “Can’t” Word

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Before I get started today, I must first emphasize that this post is not intended as a poorly-disguised roast of a certain individual (who here remains nameless). The situation was unfortunate, and I have my own opinions about that as you’ll see, but this is not a roast. There are many who know a lot of details about this situation, including the professor’s name, the course she teaches, and the program she is involved in. While some of this may be guessed at, and while I am not bound by anything in particular, I ask those of you who have this information to keep it to yourselves. I discourage any spreading of information that isn’t already in this blog post. I don’t want unjustified backlash to hit this person, her program, or her institution.

Now that that’s out of the way … on we go!

The word disability implies that there will be some things a person will be unable to do if they have one. If you’re blind, being unable to do certain things goes with the territory; you get used to it early on, and maybe if you’re lucky you manage to prove a few people wrong along the way. In general, though, some things are going to be beyond us … and that’s okay. I’ll never be able to colour-coordinate my outfits; I’ll never pick out my own wedding dress (simply liking how it feels isn’t enough, sadly); I’ll never be able to be a photojournalist. (Okay, so I’m at peace with that last one.) And guess what? I’m fine with that.

 

What I’m not fine with is being told I’m unable to do something when I am, in fact, very able. This type of statement usually comes in two forms:

1. “You can’t do this at all, because you’re blind. Sorry.” Or,

2. “You can’t do *all* of this, so you shouldn’t do any, sorry.”.

First of all, unless we’re talking about the painfully obvious stuff (photojournalism, anyone?), no one is a better judge of what I’m capable of than I am. I know myself best, and as long as I know what I’m signing up for, I’m usually right. This goes for things I can’t do, as well: if I insist that such-and-such a task is absolutely impossible, it probably is.

 

Being told I can’t do something when it’s actually true is tough to hear, but I can deal with it. This is the hand I’ve been dealt, etc. etc. However, life isn’t always so kind. A few days ago, I was just beginning my third year in a university program I really, really love. I took this program with fairly specific goals in mind, and third year is when I get to realize some of these goals. I was very, very excited. And then …

 

I got an email right before the class I was looking forward to most; it was from the instructor teaching the class. I was expecting a “welcome to the class” sort of message, but that’s not quite what I got. In effect, the email informed me that the instructor was sure I would be partially, if not totally unable to do the work required for the course; she thought I had probably been ill-advised, and that I should consider alternative paths. After finishing the email, I swear I felt my whole world shift beneath me. It didn’t quite crumble, but it thought about doing so. I was instantly in tears. “There goes my future…” I thought to myself. The class was a core, required prerequisite to other classes I desperately wanted to take. I had paid for it. I had been accepted into the program, and promised that I’d be given  the chance to do as much as I possibly could to be on par with everyone else. And yet, here I was, being barred from one of the most important courses in the entire degree.  That would all have been devastating, but acceptable … assuming the instructor had been right. Sometimes, there are bits I simply can’t master, and that’s perfectly okay with me.

 

I understand where this instructor was coming from: she wasn’t sure how much time it would take to accommodate my needs on a regular basis. She wasn’t certain of how to go about teaching me differently than the other students. She was hesitant about having to mark me somewhat differently than the others. The list goes on. She was very polite, very gracious, and very sincere. I knew then (and know now) that she was not trying to be discriminatory, or malicious, or any of the other descriptors others have thrown at the situation since it got started. If I have her as an instructor in future, I will be very fortunate: she really knows  her stuff. About this, though, I think she might have been wrong.

 

First, I have since discovered that the course can be taught in very different ways: another professor at this same university teaches the entire class on computers, making it very accessible for a blind student. Second, I have discovered that the method this instructor was using was not so standard as to be the only viable way to go about things. I would still be employable, even if I was unable to do the work exactly the way her sighted students can. Deciding not to teach me at all, therefore, put her insistence on sticking to a certain method above my ability to do the work at all. Without boring you, suffice it to say that it came down not to my skills or abilities, but rather to the fact that I can’t use a pencil. That’s it. That’s all it really was, if you look at the big picture. Such a tiny, insignificant detail! And yet it was enough to keep me from pursuing my goals in this program.

 

I accepted everything she said with as much grace as I could. I agreed to audit the course (I’d still pay some tuition but get neither the credit nor the feedback) and went on my not-so-merry way. I thought then (and still think), that she was probably doing the best she could. Maybe I didn’t like the result, but I knew better than to take it personally. While it is my opinion that she should be prevented from doing this to future students unless it’s truly necessary, I do not and will not endorse any roasts, rants, or other negativity aimed at her personally. If you see any of this, know that I neither approve nor validate any of it. I have not included her name, so those of you who know it should please keep that information to yourselves. My quarrel is with the situation, not the individual herself. Let no more be said on that matter, in particular.

 

Here’s the thing, though: her refusal to think outside the box very nearly impacted my degree. I got lucky (another professor stepped up to the plate, brave soul), but others don’t get lucky. Others have professors who mark them down on purpose, trying to get them to fail out of the program. Others are denied entrance into a program on the basis of blindness or other physical disabilities for very flimsy reasons. Others are told that the only things they’ll ever be good for are basket-weaving and maybe some beadwork if they’re truly enterprising. Yes, people are actually told these things. Today. In 2014.

 

Because others are not so lucky, I feel obligated to speak for them. I am fortunate, but others were not, and are not, and will not be. People will be turned away, and set aside, and pushed out of where their dreams take them, all because of laziness, or stubbornness, or fear of progression, or lack of understanding, or any other sad excuse anyone is willing to name. I wasn’t turned away. I was able to go where I wanted to go, and found people more than willing to take the journey with me. Most importantly, I am being given the chance to find out whether that instructor was right or wrong. Maybe she is right, and maybe I’ll fall flat on my face in a heap of exhaustion two weeks into the course. Maybe. … But what if I don’t?

 

Ultimately, I was able to respond to  “you can’t”, and “you won’t”, with “I can”, and “I will”. Let’s help others do that, too. If you see any instances of discrimination, whether intended or unintended … whether well-meant or malicious … whether seemingly justifiable or blatantly ridiculous … say something. Please. The victim may feel that the discrimination is justified. They may feel bound by confidentiality agreements, or politics, or fear of retribution, or serious backlash. I myself was hesitant about speaking up, because I was afraid to damage my relationship with  the university, the program faculty, and anyone else who might want to weigh in on the situation. Most of all, I was afraid to endanger the tenuous relationship I could have with the instructor who turned me away. The last thing I want to face is difficulty in future because I advocated for myself.

If they can’t speak (and sometimes they just can’t), then who will? Sometimes, we can’t do things…but most of the time, we can. And we will.

The Trouble With Transit…

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Public transit is a truly wonderful thing, especially if your city has a good system. It’s particularly wonderful for blind people, who have no alternative except expensive taxis and carpooling. It’s a bit hard on the pride to continually ask for rides, and it’s even harder on the wallet to take taxis everywhere you go. For routes that I travel often, the bus (or LRT train) is the best way for me to get around.

 

Unfortunately, traveling with public transit isn’t all roses, as even experienced blind travelers will tell you. Having grown up in a rural area most of my life, I’m still getting used to how transit works. Everything from finding the right bus, to locating a seat, to getting off at the right stop is a challenge. Last summer, I had my first job, and I had to figure out the ins and outs of public transit in a few short days. It was … interesting to say the least. Below are just a few of the things which make bus and LRT travel so difficult for me. They make great stories, but I can’t say they’re some of my fondest memories.

 

Once, I asked the bus driver to drop me off on 109th avenue and 149th street, indicating a specific bus stop. When we got close, she said something very ominous: “I’ll just drop you off over here.”. Being hopelessly green, I didn’t think to say “Wait! Wait wait wait! Where, exactly, is ‘over here’?” I got off the bus, thanked the driver dutifully, and tried to get my bearings. Immediately, I knew I was in trouble. I was on an unfamiliar sidewalk, along an equally unfamiliar street. I walked to the nearest intersection, whipped out my phone, and tried to get my GPS to tell me where I was. It wasn’t helpful at all. I then called CrazyMusician, whom I was staying with at the time, but she couldn’t help much at first, either. I must have stood there for fifteen long, long, long minutes before she finally figured out where I was and got me back on track. When a blind person memorizes an exact route in an unfamiliar area, you can’t knock them even a little off course. If you do, their entire concept of where they are is changed. If I know the area, you could drop me off a block or two away and I’d figure it out eventually. If I don’t know the area, though, my destination could be 1000 miles away for all the success I’d have searching for it. Maybe other blind people are much better at mapping than I am (I expect I’ll be hearing from them, indignantly accusing me of misrepresentation), but I need to know exactly where I am to get anywhere with any kind of grace. Drivers who drop me off “over here” probably don’t realize that they’re endangering my entire sense of orientation. From then on, I  insisted that I be told explicitly where I’m being dropped off.

 

I used to have a very, very grumpy driver in the mornings on my way to work. Every day, just to be cautious, I’d confirm that hers was the bus I was looking for. There’s nothing worse than getting on the wrong bus and discovering it later. Every day she’d respond, sounding more and more irritated. One morning, she finally allowed her exasperation to show through. She, of course, was tired of saying “yes” every single time I asked. Probably, she thought I was a little on the slow side or something. I explained to her as politely as I could that it’s very important to check which bus I’m on. Annoying drivers for the rest of my days is worth being secure in the knowledge that I’m where I’m supposed to be. If I annoy you, well, I’m sorry, but I’d rather risk annoying you than end up somewhere other than my destination.

 

Locating a seat can be a bit of a challenge. The more a blind person rides buses, the more comfortable they will be with finding things. As I’ve said, though, I’m not overly comfortable with much of anything yet, so I definitely have a few stories about fumbling for a seat. For the sake of brevity, I’ll stick with this one: I was searching for a seat, reaching out with my hand like a good little blind person to feel what I was about to sit on. Instead of finding the rough material of the front seat, I encountered the lap of a very startled gentleman! I don’t think I’ve ever apologized so profusely before or since. I just hope he didn’t focus on the implications of such an intimate moment …

 

Perhaps my favourite story is the one where I tried to ride the LRT train with my friend Jess. Jess is a wonderful guide, but sadly there were no empty seats available, so we had to stand. I, having no balance whatsoever, was swaying so drunkenly with the movement of the train that I had to use her as a support pole, being unable to find one myself. Luckily for me, she’s a very steady person, so I just wrapped my arms around her and held on for dear, dear life. I had a similar incident on a bus one day. It was standing room only, and since I wasn’t sure where the nearest pole was, I simply fell towards the left side of the bus. Again, I was fortunate: a large crowd of passengers all rose at once and caught me. It was actually a bit surreal. I thank the universe every day for good people. They’re everywhere, they really are, and they’ll help you out of almost any sticky situation.

 

My final tale is one that’s a bit more serious. It happened while I was with CrazyMusician, so I’ll let her tell it:

“I was thrilled to have Meagan come and visit me. We laugh and talk like sisters sometimes, and bring out the hidden girliness in each other.

On Saturday, we went out for brunch at a mall near my house, and the timing and weather was just perfect enough to take Jenny, my black lab guide dog,

for a run in the park to expend some of that Labrador energy.

This path is a wonderful straight line of concrete where we could walk, and runners and bikers can exercise, and strips of grass on either side where Jenny

could run, frolic, and generally have a great old time, resulting in one very VERY tired dog.

After our lovely walk/run, we made our way to the bus stop to go back to my house. there are two buses that stop there – one that gets us home and one

that doesn’t.  Two blind people sitting on the bus bench – one of whom is with a guide dog – are not exactly inconspicuous…

We were sitting and chatting, and I think one of us (I don’t know who) looked at her phone, when a diesel vehicle just came flying past the bus stop.

As it shifted gears, I turned to Meagan and asked, “Wasn’t that our bus?”

I don’t think either of us would’ve been surprised if the bus had slowed down, we didn’t indicate our interest, and then kept going, but at the speed it

was flying down the avenue, there’s no way it could’ve stopped safely. As a result, Meagan, jenny and I were waiting on the bus bench for another thirty

minutes in the growing – though not unbearable – heat.

I did call in a complaint to the transit company, if for no other reason than the driver should have slowed down at the very least.  Had I been sighted,

perhaps I could’ve seen him at the corner and been prepared; perhaps not.

I am married to a bus driver.  After chewing me out for not calling him to pick us up (the thought never once occurred to either of us), the first question

out of his mouth was, “Did you call in a complaint?”  I know how bus drivers are supposed to do their job, and that driver did not do it well, period.

All this to say, as a blind person I am very visible; most blind people are.  Glasses, canes, guide dogs, magnifiers, squinting at signage and sometimes

bumping into things make us, by our obvious difference, noticeable.  It is sometimes a source of aggravation to me, especially when people seem to think

that I am only defined by my blindness; sometimes a big help because I get to meet new people I wouldn’t otherwise get to meet.  It is unfortunate that

on that hot summer Saturday, two blind people seemed completely and utterly invisible to that bus driver.”

 

All in all, I’m deeply grateful for public transit. We’re lucky enough to have a reasonably efficient system in Edmonton, and for many folks, blind or sighted,  it’s a real gift. As I’ve shown, however, there is a certain amount of risk and hassle involved, and the results can be disastrous at times. Next time you take a bus, just be grateful that you haven’t gotten on the wrong one, groped a stranger’s intimate bits, or been dropped off on some random street you don’t know.

 

I know some other blindies out there have some juicy bus stories to tell. Share them in the comments below, so we can all have a laugh at (…I mean with…) you!