The Access Van

by Iyataco

I am writing this as Iyataco (the disabled person). To keep her identity clear in this essay I will identify Iyataco (the student) as Iyataco S. The setting is the Access Van, a local transportation service for people with disabilities.

When Iyataco S finally got the last seatbelt fastened the Access van driver raised the ramp and stomped so heavily that I could hear his boots against the wet pavement. I prefer to ride in the van by myself, but today I was the second passenger to be picked up. Sometimes when the vans get more then one rider the trip can become so long I don’t even make it to my appointment. I was gazing around when I noticed that Iyataco S was staring at the man sitting next to me.

As soon as we got off the van I had her wait so that we could talk. "Can I ask why you were looking at him like that? It was as if you have never seen a person in a wheelchair before. You sat there with your eyes bugged out, your mouth wide open, and you continued to look at him as if he might be transformed into something different at any moment." I looked at her face. She was ghostly white. I could not tell if she was going to explode or just shutdown and never talk to me again.

After a few moments she regained her composure. "No!" she said, "No, that is not what I was doing. I was just looking. Since when is it a crime to look at someone?"

I leaned back as far as I could in my wheelchair. Energy like this could be very frightening. "I’m sorry, I did not mean to put you on the defensive, I’m just trying to understand what you are thinking and feeling. I don’t understand why people do what you were doing and I would like to have a better understanding if you would talk with me."

"I was just looking at him." I thought she was finished talking. She took a breath. "I wanted to make a connection with him but I did not know what to say that would not sound really stupid."

"What do you mean?" "I did not know what to say to him. I wanted to make a connection with him but we have I did not think we have anything in common so I just sat there. I did not want to talk about the rain."

I sat quietly for a long time and I could tell that it made her very nervous that I was not responding quickly. I looked deeply at her, carefully weighing what I wanted to say. "Were you curious about what his name was? Did it cross your mind to ask what he does with his life? What are his hobbies, what gives him joy, what he thinks about the war?"

Now it was her turn to sit quietly. It was an anxious quiet. She was agitated with me. Her eyes burned and began to get red around the edges. "If I don’t know what he’s interested in how am I supposed to know what to talk about?" She said in a voice that was not quite her own. It was too high pitched and stressed, but she used it without hesitation, as if she had been familiar with it from previous experience.

"What do you talk about with people who are not obviously physically disabled?" I asked in a clipped sarcastic tone.

"Whatever we have in common- books, school, work, interesting people… just what ever I think we both might like talking about."

"Well, why should it be any different if a person has a disability. They still function in this society, they watch the same movies, function under the same laws and government, go to the same schools, see the same celebrities- why would they not be interested in talking about these things?"

"I know what other students believe in and value. We want the same things politically. We want equality and freedom. We want to be respected by people around us and we want real friendships. We want to study and gain knowledge so we can better our lives. These things make it easy for us to meet and communicate on a level that comes naturally without putting a lot of thought or energy out. I have no idea what people like you and him value. We are worlds apart. We might live under the same laws and go to the same movies but that does not mean we are the working towards a common goal." She said with a great deal of enthusiasm.

I took a minute to let her stinging words sink in fully. I remember reading Milton Rokeach (1973, 1979) research in Dealing with Difference (p. 95). One of the assumptions Rokeach made about a person’s value system was "Central values are intimately connected to most aspects of the person’s life, while peripheral values have a more limited connection."

"O.K., I am going to set up two people for you. I will list their values in order of importance. What they stand firm in comes first and what they are willing to change or manipulate follows. You tell me which one you think you would have more in common with and would have a deeper more meaningful relationship with.

Person A: equality, freedom, respect, real friendship, personal growth, education, politics.

Person B: politics, freedom, respect, equality, real friendship, education, personal growth."

"I would pick person A."

"Would it matter if that person was disabled? Would you feel uncomfortable with someone of a different race because they are not the same as you?"

"No" she stopped and thought few moments, "but we usually don’t go around asking people what they value. Its not as difficult for me to find something in common with people when the only difference between us is race."

"You told me a few minutes ago that your school friends valued the same things as you. Do you just assume that they do or do you talk about what each other values?"

"We don’t really talk about it. It comes up in class if someone has a disagreement. At times I know because I go to demonstrations where people do talk about issues. Mostly people don’t talk about what is going on for them and in their world. They focus on the issues that are out in the public like the war. There are times when I get to where I tune people out because they just stay so superficial. I feel like I want to make a connection with them and I try but they start talking about the sitcom they saw last night. It is very frustrating for me."

Althea T.L. Simmons (Chief Congressional Lobbyist of the NAACP, 1989) stated "The most dehumanizing incident of my life occurred in the late 1950’s while we were trying to desegregate the eating facilities in Dallas. My sister, who was one of the first black students at SMU [Southern Methodist University], and a white male law student and I sat at the lunch counter in the bus station downtown. Nobody shouted at us, nobody said anything to us, nobody wiped the counter were we were. They just ignored us… We just did not exist. Even now it’s painful because I’m a person and for all practical purposes, I did not exist."

"Ism’s are less blatant now, yet they are still very much alive and still very painful. People with disabilities often feel the same way. It’s not like it used to be where people will yell out words of hatred everyday, although it does happen. More often, it is a quite look of displeasure, pity, disgust, or a variety of ugly remarks." I told Iyataco S

Two hours later I am back on the Access van for the return trip back home. Seattle’s weather has taken a turn and rain now beats softly against the windows. The wipers in the front keep my attention as we take the familiar route to my home. Without warning the driver turns off the road and into a driveway. "What are we doing?" I asked.

"We have a pick up and drop off before I take you home." The driver said and jumped off the bus, never touching the two steps. The front door was left wide open and I began to shiver.

A middle-aged couple entered the van through the front door, they laughed while they walked to the seat on the right and in front of me. Without shutting the door the driver walked at snails pace back to where they were seated to make sure the belts were adjusted properly and to collect their fare.

As if we were the only passengers on the docket the driver took the time to stretch and yawn before making their way back up to the front of the van.

As soon as we were back on the road the person closest to the aisle turned to me and asked, "When are you going to get out of that thing?"

I said, "I’m not!" glaring in such a way that if someone were to look at me in that a manner I would look away and not speak to them again.

"You just like to sit in that chair? I know people do that. They just take advantage of the system and get everything they can. Not that I would blame you, honey," laughing a deep throaty laugh and reaching out to pat my leg. I tried to pull away. "So, is there something wrong with you?"

I felt my internalized oppression rising. Iyataco S was there to help me sort through it.

"Why are you so angry. Why don’t you just say you have Spina Bifida? That’s not very difficult."

"I could go around and spend my every waking moment educating people about Spina Bifida or I could live my life, but that is not what makes me angry. What makes me angry is that there IS something wrong with me. It was pounded into my head from the time I was born. I’m defective! I’m a cripple! I’m not as good as everybody else because I can’t do things like everybody else. I am never going to be good enough, healthy enough, skinny enough, smart enough, or spiritual enough."

"What?" Iyataco S said, with her jaw hanging open. "Where the heck did all of this come from? When I visualize you I see a women with an armor of brilliant light encapsulating her. Nothing can penetrate that armor and nothing can hurt you."

"I guess that goes to show that what one presents is not always what one lives. I think that for the most part I am what you see but we carry pieces of each part of our life with us into the next stage. When people ask me what is wrong with me it brings up a past stage and past pain. That pain becomes real all over again."

"I can hear the Indian coming out in you," Iyataco S laughed.

"Yes, that did sound like an Indian talking." It did feel good to laugh a little.

"Different cultures feel very differently about what they can talk about when it comes to health and illness. Maybe it is a culture clash, maybe they don’t realize that they are stepping on your toes by asking questions about your disability." Iyataco S said.

"Culturally to me, it’s just rude for them to not even ask me my name before they ask me my diagnosis." I said. "They do not want to know about my life, my art, or what gives happiness. There is no social interaction in this kind of dialogue. It is for their benefit and to feed their curiosity. They are not trying to get to know me better or have an understanding of my life. They are not opening themselves up for any kind of understanding, either. It’s like you were saying before about people only talking about certain issues so they can stay superficial. I guess they think talking about the most intimate details of my body and my bodily functions is superficial."

"So, what are people supposed to do? They don’t know what you are sensitive about and each person is an individual, so you are all going to have different things that bother you." Iyataco S sounded exasperated.

Ruby Dee, actress and poet said "I like the ideas of people striving to be better and to make the world better. The world has improved mostly through people who are unorthodox, who do unorthodox things. They’re always shaking up the establishment. When we saw such people, we appreciated them and did what we could to support them."