Massachusetts Daily Collegian

A free and responsible press serving the UMass community since 1890

A free and responsible press serving the UMass community since 1890

Massachusetts Daily Collegian

A free and responsible press serving the UMass community since 1890

Massachusetts Daily Collegian

Leave my wheelchair alone

Respect my privacy like you would anyone else’s
Joey+Lorant+%2F+Daily+Collegian+
Joey Lorant / Daily Collegian

Editor’s note: This author was granted anonymity for their personal privacy per request.

“So, why are you using a wheelchair? Can’t you walk?”

None of your f****** business, that’s why.

I get asked some variation of this question on a very regular basis as an ambulatory wheelchair user. People assume that because I can walk, I’m faking my disability and don’t need my wheelchair. I am not faking my disability and do need my wheelchair. Even more problematic than the assumption that walking equals nondisabled is the assumption that asking questions about my wheelchair usage is appropriate.

It’s not. It’s invasive, rude and a disability microaggression.

According to Dr. Richard Keller and Dr. Corinne Galgay of Teacher’s College at Columbia University, there are eight different categories of disability microaggressions, and denial of privacy is one of them. When people engage in this type of microaggression, they are assuming that because I walk and use a wheelchair, they have a right to my protected medical information.

This assumption is uncomfortable and invasive.

Just as often as I get asked why I’m using my chair, I get people trying to touch or push my wheelchair to “help me.” But their help is not only unwanted, it’s dangerous and legally classified as assault and battery against a disabled person. You get used to the specific patterns of movement your specific wheelchair makes and learn to navigate the world with it fairly quickly. Interference with my movement greatly increases the chances that we will both get hurt.

Additionally, my wheelchair is an extension of my body. It would be super weird if I grabbed your legs and moved them where I think you should go. Unless I am very clearly unconscious or actively falling into a volcano (and I really, specifically, mean a volcano, not a curb or a pothole), do not touch my chair. It’s rude, dangerous and illegal.

So, all that seems pretty obvious, right? Don’t ask a stranger invasive questions or touch their wheelchair. But what if you know me? Maybe we’re in a class together – even interacted a handful of times. I might have even shared a vague remark about my disability. Then is it okay to ask me why I’m in my chair? Is it okay to grab my chair if it seems like I’m falling?

It’s not. It’s invasive, rude and a disability microaggression.

I get it. You’re curious. Ambulatory wheelchair users aren’t something people are taught about and humans are curious creatures. In fact, your question is likely even well-intentioned and meant to demonstrate a show of comfort with disability. However, microaggressions often signal explicit or implicit discomfort, so go Google it instead. Your action is meant to protect me from harm. Yet, you’re still asking for disclosure of private medical information. You’re still committing assault and battery against a disabled person. It may not be your intention, but it is your impact.

At the end of the day, if I want to share about my disability with you, I will. If I need your help with my chair, I will ask for it. If we’re truly friends or have a relationship where disclosure of this information is appropriate, I will share details about my life with you, including those regarding my disability. But it’s my choice where and when I share these details or request assistance, not yours.

Unanswered questions create ambiguity and to sit with that is uncomfortable. Watching me fall into a situation you perceive as dangerous is scary. But the world is nuanced, and it certainly isn’t always comfortable. Disability is nuanced, and it certainly isn’t always comfortable.

Sit with that discomfort and perceived deviance with the norm. Trust that I am a competent pseudo-adult who can handle myself. I am disabled, and that’s, likely, at least a little uncomfortable for you. But just because I am disabled and you are uncomfortable doesn’t mean it’s my job to ease your discomfort. Especially if easing your discomfort means answering invasive questions or letting you touch my body and its extensions. At the end of the day, I’m a person, just like you, and deserve the same dignity and respect that you would show any of your other peers.

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