A couple of months ago now, I came across an opinion piece online entitled “Wake up and smell the coffee – life cannot be that bad”. I skimmed and saw the word “wheelchair”. Given I use one, I was intrigued and read on.
The author, regular NZ Herald columnist Alan Duff, told people to stop worrying about the small stuff – like the quality of their coffee – because at least they’re not disabled.
“How does he look to the future when his every dream is crushed? Think he cares about your coffee quality, how much unearned money you’ve made from your house? He’s just trying to stay sane.” Duff said of a guy in his 20s using a wheelchair. As if that wasn’t bad enough, he went on to ask how people would like to be “that girl afflicted with Cerebral Palsy” and ponder how she can appear so “saintly happy with her lot” given her life must be so terrible.
At first it was so outrageous, I thought it was satire. I sent it to a few colleagues who found it just as baffling and downright offensive.
1. I wanted Duff to see how warped his view was – and realise that you cannot write about people in such an offensive way without consequences.
2. As someone who is disabled (I have Cerebral Palsy), I wanted to set the record straight that being disabled is not as Duff sees it. It is not a tragedy – and disabled people have many of the same likes (including good coffee) and worries as non-disabled people.
3. It was a good opportunity for me to use my voice as an advocate – and the media as a vehicle to inform and educate after Duff misused it to cloud understanding of disability and spread misjudged pity.
It was published in the same paper a couple of weeks later. The response has been overwhelmingly positive! I have received so many comments from colleagues, friends, friends of friends, and strangers commending me for responding, which is lovely.
A colleague of mine said she was in a café the day it came out and heard the man at the table next to her laugh and say to the lady with him, “You have to read this!” My colleague glanced over and saw my photo. Those kinds of anecdotes make it all worthwhile for me.
As for Duff, he is yet to respond – but I have a feeling he’ll stay away from disability as a subject from now on!
I encourage you to also use the media dismantle assumptions and to educate others on issues you care about. If you don’t, who will?
Dear Mr Duff,
I was sipping a double-shot soy latte when I read your column and felt I had to respond to your claim that people like me don’t worry about things like coffee because we are too busy just trying to get through every doomed day as an unfortunate disabled person.
Disabled people demand good quality coffee too (it’s no coincidence my flat’s in upper Cuba St). We also despair about rising house prices.
To you I am the tragic wheelchair-bound “girl afflicted with cerebral palsy”, “saintly”, with a “beatific smile”. You wonder how I can appear so “happy with her lot.”
Here’s the deal Mr Duff: disabled people are happy too.
I do not woefully wheel myself to work every morning, questioning why karma has dealt me this cruel blow. I do not have the theme song to Chariots of Fire ringing in my head as I bravely go about my disabled life.
I get on with my life, and it’s a pretty bloody good life. The thing that isn’t good are the people who are convinced that my life isn’t any good and like you they have no qualms telling me.
Out with mates the other night a young woman came up to us and said, “I was feeling sorry for myself because my boyfriend just dumped me but then I saw all of you and felt so HAPPY and GLAD because at least I’m not disabled!”
This is not a random encounter. If I had a dollar for every drunken person who came up to me on a Friday night and congratulated me for being there and not sitting at home being sad and disabled, I would be a rich woman.
What am I supposed to say to something like that? “Thank you”? “Cheers for that”? “You’re welcome”?
After hugging me and telling me how inspirational I am, she went on, “Can I buy you and your friends a drink? Do you drink?”
“Why yes I drink. And yes you sure can buy us drinks.”
You see just like coffee, us disabled people sometimes like rounds of tequila shots as well.
Now here’s where your column gets a bit weird and kind of creepy.
You wonder about my sleeping dreams, you wonder about my waking ones.
Rest assured, I dream just like you.
I have good dreams, bad dreams and at times on a particularly grey Wellington afternoon sometimes I daydream.
Finally, you ponder whether or not my heart is filled with envy of lucky, able-bodied humans like yourself.
Rest assured Mr Duff, my heart is not filled with envy when I think of you.
Nor is my heart bitter or resentful that you are not in a wheelchair like me.
As much as you seem to pity me – know that I also pity you.
Describing us as “disabled, disfigured, mentally unwell, every kind of social misfit” shows how little you know about disabled New Zealanders and the awesome lives so many of us lead.
You say it’s time to wake up and smell the coffee – and I suggest you take some of your own advice.
– Erin Gough, Wellington
Nice story. I think we need to stop pretending that we know how it feels to be someone if we were never in their shoes, especially if in the end we presume wrong about their lives.
people can be so full of themselves.nice piece Erin.