Time for the Tough Conversations: Ableism and Racism in the Field of Orientation and Mobility

Over the past year, this country has witnessed the brutal murders of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Tony McDade, and countless more Black people and other people of color who have been killed at the hands of police; the 2020 protests for racial justice and against police brutality; the separation of immigrant families at the United States–Mexico border; and the rise in anti-Asian hate crimes. In reflecting upon the events of the past year, I have felt a renewed sense of urgency to critically examine the role that racism and White supremacy play in my personal and professional life. As a nondisabled orientation and mobility (O&M) instructor, I have long felt that the field of visual impairment desperately needs to dismantle the way ableism shapes our curriculum and teaching practices and informs the power dynamics that exist between instructors and students or clients. I believe that O&M specialists have an exciting opportunity and an obligation for deep introspection around how we may be upholding racism and ableism (individually and as a field) and the steps we can take to dismantle these systems of oppression.

In a graduate-level class I taught on O&M teaching strategies for adult learners, I brought in a panel of blind adults, and one described a "microaggression" she experienced while on a lesson with a sighted O&M instructor. (A microaggression is a frequently unintentional statement or action made by members of the dominant group that reflect and reinforce stereotypes of a marginalized group (Sue, 2010, p.3)). The panelist explained how she wanted to learn how to cross a particular street near her house. The instructor declared that the street was too unsafe and decided they should move to another intersection. When telling the story, the panelist said that she felt her request was ignored by that interaction with the O&M specialist. For her, this experience reinforced the power imbalance inherent in the student–teacher relationship, one that is compounded by power differences around disability (where the nondisabled O&M specialist becomes the gatekeeper, the person who controls access). One of the students explained to the panelists that she was taught not to teach unsafe street crossings, but to seek out an alternate route. She asked the panelists to speak about these safety considerations from a legal and ethical perspective. Another panelist responded with a rhetorical question, “Why do you get to decide what is safe for me?” The exchange highlighted a schism that often exists between sighted O&M instructors and blind people: who knows best and who has the ultimate power in decision-making.

What stood out to me about this exchange were the responses made by the graduate students during subsequent debriefing sessions. Many of the students stated that they felt “attacked” and described the panelists as rude. They suggested that the "safe space" of the classroom was compromised by this discussion. I was taken aback by their strong response and questioned what was behind it.

In reflecting on this moment, I noticed parallels with Robin DiAngelo’s White Fragility: Why It’s So Hard For White People To Talk About Racism. In her book, DiAngelo (2018), a White anti-racist educator, remarks upon the defensiveness and hostility she encounters when talking to White people about race. She states: “We consider a challenge to our racial worldviews as a challenge to our very identities as good, moral people” (DiAngelo, 2018, p. 2). I would venture to guess that there was a similar phenomenon to what DiAngelo described at play when the panel spoke with the class. For some of the graduate students, it may have been one of the first times they were challenged with the idea that they may be participating in a system of ableism. Their participation in this system does not mean that as individuals they have bad intentions or are bad people. DiAngelo talks about the ways in which systemic racism and White supremacy are strengthened and reproduced by deep discomfort and refusal of White people to reflect on their role in dominant systems of oppression. By not speaking up, members of the dominant group are complicit with and reinforce these systems of oppression.

This example is a far from perfect analogy because of the differences in how racism and ableism function in society. Racism and White supremacy are sewn into the fabric of the history of the United States in a way that is separate from other forms of oppression (DiAngelo, 2018, p.113). However, I believe that the people who visited my class called into question the highly problematic archetype of the O&M "helper" or "do-gooder," a role that many nondisabled people in the field of visual impairment fall into regardless of intentions. I believe that these students experienced the challenges the panelists voiced as an affront to how they see themselves. It indicated to me that the field of visual impairment needs to do more to address the system of ableism, the role of professionals in perpetuating it, and how to dismantle it. If nondisabled O&M instructors are unaware of the deep-rooted ableist beliefs they carry or the ways in which they may be perpetuating cycles of ableism, then O&M instructors are doomed to reproduce ableism with their students.

Disability, race, class, gender, and sexuality do not exist in a vacuum. Ableism cannot be sufficiently addressed without analyzing how race, class, gender and sexuality intersect and factor into the discussion. Lawyer and scholar Kimberlé Williams Crenshaw coined the term intersectionality to describe how multiple forms of oppression interact and inform each other (Crenshaw, 1991, p. 1244). Haben Girma [@HabenGirma], a deafblind Black woman, said it best in her tweet:

The blind community has many stories of police glancing at our eyes and immediately assuming intoxication, illegal substance use or criminal intent. Those of us who are blind and Black face the dual forces of ableism and racism. (2020, June 30)

We, as individual O&M instructors, need to critically examine our own beliefs around race, disability, and these intersections of identity. How might these beliefs affect our relationships with students and with the larger community we serve? I certainly do not have the answers, particularly as a White nondisabled man, but those of us in the field of visual impairment need to start having these conversations with each other. As individuals, we must look inward to examine the assumptions we all carry about race, sex, gender, disability, et cetera. What would it look like to weave an analysis of ableism and racism throughout our teacher preparatory programs? Together, we can reassess the makeup of our advisory boards and hiring practices. What does the field of visual impairment lose when teachers, professionals, and leaders do not reflect the diversity of experiences and identities that make up the communities they serve? Together, members of the field of visual impairment need to have difficult and uncomfortable conversations about ableism and White supremacy. How has the field of visual impairment and its members, despite their best intentions, upheld racism, ableism, homophobia, and other systems of inequality in our institutions and interpersonal interactions with colleagues and students? We must step back for a moment from our identities and our professional roles and humble ourselves to the wisdom and leadership of the communities we serve. The works of Alice Wong (Disability Visibility Project), Sins Invalid, Stacey Park Milbern, Corbett O’Toole, Eli Clare, Haben Girma and Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha are good places to start. We have a lot of listening, reflecting, and learning to do. Now, let us get started.