Intro to the Abled-Disabled Alliance by Jon Grauwiler
Dear BHSECQ Community,
Disability rights and equity have increasingly become the human and civil rights issues of our day and one that students and faculty at BHSECQ should support. To that end, the Abled Disabled Alliance (ADA) was founded in September 2020 by BHSEC alums and brothers, Abey and Izzy Weitzman. Abey, who is disabled, and Izzy, who is able-bodied, felt that there was a need for a disability rights club at our school. The Abled-Disabled Alliance (ADA) is a Disability Rights group made up of students who identify as disabled as well as able-bodied student allies. The ADA is a safe space for people with disabilities and their allies. Specifically, the ADA works to build community, advocate for students with disabilities, combat ableism and ableist attitudes, and to promote representation in the curriculum. Lastly, the ADA views its work in tandem with the larger mission of BHSECQ which guarantees to provide “culturally sustaining, challenging, and thought-provoking high school and college instruction for all students including students with disabilities.”
Since its inception, the ADA has developed several messaging campaigns drawing attention to institutional, interpersonal, and internalized ableism; worked with the library staff to create wheelchair-accessible bookshelves and sensory alcoves; increased the holdings on disability rights text; contributed readings to the Writing and Thinking Anthology; and we have partnered with other affinity groups (SAGA) as part of the BHSECQ United initiative.
Why Are We Writing This Letter? by Ellie Picker ‘24
As members of the ADA, we felt the need to write an open letter to the BHSECQ community to address the prevalent ableism- that is, discrimination and social prejudice against people with physical or mental disabilities, we have witnessed at our school. Our school should be a place where everyone can learn free of prejudice and discrimination. For us, it is shameful that disabled students are so often made uncomfortable and demeaned by their peers in this educational space. We are hoping that this Open Letter will shed light on the ableism in our community, from the perspective of abled and disabled people alike, and help us all make BHSECQ a better place for everyone.
The Treatment of Disabled Students at Bard by Ellie Picker ‘24
One cannot expect a high school population to be perfectly kind and nonjudgemental, though at the very least one can hope that it wouldn’t so thoroughly stigmatize people who are deemed “other”. Sadly, we have noticed that our community has a nasty habit of picking on students with disabilities of all types, including neurodivergent students, who fit that category.
As will be elaborated on below, there is an abundance and continuous usage of ableist language among our community’s student body, which contributes to a negative perception of disabled people.
On many occasions we have noticed that, when students complain about their peers—by name—for being annoying or disruptive, they frequently mention neurodivergent students over others. This is often accompanied by ridicule and mockery, with students laughing at the neurodivergent student in question for their “weird” behavior they find to be inconveniencing.
Bard is certainly not without students who possess and express viewpoints that are harmful – neurotypical and neurodivergent students alike. Though, for some reason, it is almost always students in the latter group who are particularly targeted and scapegoated. To be clear, disability is by no means an excuse for harmful behavior – including bigotry – but it says something about us that at Bard there seems to be a double standard for how we express outrage against students with disabilities in particular. Disability does not cause bigotry, nor does it make one exempt from it; disabled people are people, and so are subject to the same human flaws of character as anyone else.
In addition, when regarding neurodivergent students, they are often only mentioned (and subsequently mocked) for being “weird” or disruptive, as if their entire being starts and ends with their convenience and palatability to you. Not only are they reduced to being the sole arbiters of badness, they are also reduced to being nothing besides it.
Aside from this, there is a general standpoint (even if entirely subconscious) within our community against any social deviance, even if that social deviance isn’t harmful. To put it in other words, we demean whatever we think is “weird”. This can include habits (like nail-biting, talking to oneself, or pacing back and forth), unusual preferences (such as disliking a commonly-liked flavor or being obsessed with a niche topic), and myriad other things which don’t align with what is considered normal by our community. Many traits and behaviors associated with neurodivergency are, sadly but unsurprisingly, lumped in with all these other social perversions. Perceiving a trait or behavior as weird isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but it certainly sours when it’s used as moral justification for meanness.
There are “weird” behaviors that are by definition wrong (such as, say, stalking); this can be safely said. “Weird” itself, however, does not imply a moral transgression to be called out and ridiculed. Such a thought process has been furthered by other forms of bigotry, such as homophobia, transphobia, and racism—and given how staunchly our school community opposes those forms of bigotry, and the idea of “hating the other” they promote, it would be entirely hypocritical to continue demeaning “weirdness”, or neurodivergency, in such a way.
It should not be the case that neurodivergent students are so routinely outed, mocked, and dehumanized in our community. We in the ADA should not tense up upon hearing their names in your mouths, fearing what you might say about them, wary of the cruel laughter that could be lying in wait beneath your tongues.
Ableist Language at Bard by Sumaia Jewena ‘24
News flash: words matter! No, we’re not being oversensitive, you’re being ableist. Merriam-Webster defines ableism to be the “discrimination or prejudice against individuals with disabilities.” The adjective form of ableism is ableist, which can be used to describe people, institutions, schools, governments, etc., who demonstrate this discrimination and prejudice against individuals with disabilities through ableist acts. Unfortunately, this adjective can be applied to our BHSECQ community. One form of ableism that is commonly exercised among the students at our school, because it is so easy to do, is the use of slurs and derogatory language towards both individuals with disabilities and also as casual language that has made its way into their lexis. One prevalent form of ableism frequently observed among the students at our school is the casual use of slurs and derogatory language, both directly targeting individuals with disabilities and as part of their everyday vocabulary. This behavior has become pervasive, making it concerningly easy for students to slip out a slur when talking to their friends. It is not uncommon to see the hallways filled with voices of students speaking ableist language and slurs such as the r-slur, “sped”, autistic, acoustic (a newly coined social media replacement word for autistic), slow, and so on, creating an environment where ableism is normalized and perpetuated.
The history behind the r-slur is deeply rooted in discrimination and oppression against individuals with disabilities. The slur was initially introduced as a medical term in 1961 (“mental r*****ation”) to describe people with intellectual disabilities until 2010 when the term was officially replaced with “intellectual disability”. Today, its use is wholly unnecessary and serves only to degrade individuals with disabilities. Some may wonder, why the r-slur is considered offensive if it originated as a medical term? Over the years, it has become abundantly clear that the term’s usage goes beyond its medical origins. It has been heavily stigmatized and transformed into a tool of degradation, implying that individuals with disabilities are inherently inferior or stupid. At BHSECQ, a lot of the people casually use the r-slur when with their friends.
If someone makes a mistake or behaves “stupidly,” it’s not uncommon to see their friends to say things like “are you [r-slur]” or “what you did was [r-slur].” These individuals may not think they’re being ableists because they’re not directing the slur to a disabled individual. However, regardless of the context, if an abled individual uses the r-slur to describe “stupid” behavior then that reinforces the harmful stereotype that disabled individuals are inherently inferior to everyone else. On top of this, when the use of the r-slur becomes normalized, it makes it harder for individuals to recognize the harm it causes, further perpetuating ableism in our community.
This sort of language is not just limited to the r-slur. Lately, with the influence of social media, there’s been an emergence of new ableist terms and a misappropriation of language related to disabilities. For instance, individuals may casually refer to themselves as “autistic” in an attempt to appear quirky or unique, often without grasping the significant impact such language can have on people with disabilities. It was not long ago that people on platforms such as TikTok were using the word “acoustic” in place of autistic as a joke, using acoustic to describe funny looking objects or quirky behaviors. This is a repacking of ableism into a seemingly innocuous form, making people believe that it’s okay to take part in “casual” derogatory language towards individuals with disabilities. It is also common for neurotypical people to misuse disabled language such as “intrusive thoughts”, “OCD”, or “bipolar” to describe themselves or others without actually experiencing those conditions, effectively trivializing the lived experiences of individuals with these experiences.
The ADA made an effort to address the use of the r-slur at BHSECQ by placing posters throughout the school bearing the message: “STOP SAYING [R-SLUR].” These posters aimed to draw attention to the issue, which they successfully achieved, albeit with some negative responses. Unfortunately, some individuals responded dismissively to our call to action, undermining the intended message of eliminating ableist language. Posters themselves cannot single-handedly eradicate ableist language or change deep-seated attitudes, which is why the ADA has collectively written this open letter to address ableist behaviors and educate those individuals. The words we choose to use have real power and impact, shaping the culture and environment in which we live and interact. Therefore, it is imperative that we actively challenge ableist language and attitudes, and instead, strive to use words that promote inclusivity and respect for all individuals.
Witnessing Ableism While on the Spectrum by Ellie Picker ‘24
Most people who recognize me know me by a handful of positive epithets: intelligent, kind, friendly, talented, helpful, hard-working, optimistic, sweet; I have straight As, over 2,000 followers online, and countless friends and acquaintances; I am someone people admire, someone people can be proud of.
It feels strange for me to introduce myself like this to those who don’t know me —but it is important.
All of my siblings are on the autism spectrum, and many have ADHD. This has affected them in numerous ways: they enjoy repeating certain phrases over and over again. They often talk too loudly. They don’t understand social cues very easily. They get worked up over little things. They get fixated on niche topics and ramble on about them ad nauseam. They have issues with personal space. Often these things are frustrating, for themselves or others, but a lot of the time they’re completely harmless; they’re just quirks. Unfortunately, my siblings have also been subjected to bullying, to difficulties making and keeping friends, to cruelty at the hands of an ableist society. My siblings’ peers often found their quirks disagreeable, and because of this “inconvenience”, thought it their right to harass them.
I should now mention that I, too, am on the autism spectrum.
Many of you who know me might be surprised. Surely someone who is so agreeable and socially conscious and convenient couldn’t be one of those gross autists, I hear you cry. Those gross autists take up space, unlike you. Those gross autists are loud and annoying and don’t perfectly fit our immaculate social norms, unlike you. You can’t be one of them—no, you’re one of us. Why, we like you!
But I, like my siblings, have those quirks. It just so happens that mine don’t disturb you.
I enjoy repeating certain phrases over and over again, but mainly do so at home. I often talk too quietly, or in a babyish voice when with my family. I don’t understand social cues very easily, but only to the extent that people find me endearingly awkward. I get worked up over little things, I just don’t express it much. I get fixated on niche topics, but people only go on to praise me for my knowledge on them or find my passion admirable (for the record, not all autistic people know every single thing about their special interests, and neither are they obligated to). I have issues with personal space, but in the opposite direction as my siblings, rarely expressing physical affection towards or accepting it from anyone other than my parents. In addition, I’m a picky eater and have a very limited diet; I adore toys, stuffed animals, and children’s shows; I find it hard to hold eye contact; I can’t detect sarcasm easily; I walk up stairs on tiptoe; I stumble over my words; I can’t function in the presence of chaos, and am particularly taken with organizing objects in rainbow order.
I could say that I’m not as affected by autism as my siblings, or that I’m “lucky” and was granted a lighter dose of the stuff at birth, but that wouldn’t be true— what is true is that, by chance, I just happened to be strange in ways that don’t bother you and your social system. It’s not that I am neurotypical; it’s just that I’m able to look like I am—but in no way does that make me superior to my siblings.
Before I sang my own praises; this might compel you to think that, if I am autistic, I must be the exception to the rule—for instance, if tempted to hurl an ableist slur or mock someone for being weird, you might hold off until I’m out of earshot. Indeed, the only reason why I feel the need to list my accomplishments at all is that, perhaps, all of you lovely ableist jerks out there might reconsider if you discovered that, perhaps, someone so wonderful and well-loved is in fact disabled. Surely if someone repeatedly called “perfect” by their peers is autistic, autists must not completely be the scum of the earth…
Though the fact that I should do this in itself disgusts me. In working on this open letter, I went back and forth on if I should even include my piece, or, if I did, whether to explicitly say who I was—for I worried that, if people who both admire me and are ableist knew that I was disabled, they’d only cease the practice because of me. Because I’m disabled and I’m “good”. Because they don’t want to offend me in particular.
No. I want people to stop being ableist because it’s cruel and wrong. This isn’t about me. None of this is.
I myself have never been targeted with ableism; as mentioned before, my disability is neatly concealed, or, at the very least, dressed up very prettily, and so nobody has thought to seize it and beat it to a bloody pulp before the general public (as is the usual practice). However, this has granted me the uniquely horrible opportunity to be hurt by peers who don’t realize that I am one of the autists they’re degrading.
So many times a friend has said the r-slur, used “autistic” or “sped” or “disabled” as an insult, has condoned eugenics, has mocked others for harmless quirks, right in front of me—and it breaks my heart. I dissociate, the perfect and pleasing and pretty shell of my “neurotypical” image listening in silence to the caustic words of people I know and love as I, the “gross autist” you apparently despise, curl up within myself and want to disappear. Sometimes I have the courage to call you people out, to say that you’re being horrible and cruel, but other times I just nod silently, disillusioned, wondering if nearly everyone I know would be bullying me if they knew I was autistic. In many of those moments I’m afraid that holding you accountable for your disgusting ableism would expose me as being disabled mysel—and given how much you seem to hate us, why would I want to do that? Why would I want you to know who I am?
And, in the end, whether you hate my autism or not, it is undeniably a part of me. Sometimes it’s a perk: my autism makes me pattern-oriented, perceptive, inquisitive, principled, and sincere. Sometimes it’s a pain: my autism makes me sensitive, uncommunicative, overwhelmed, rule-obsessed, and awkward.
But most of the time… it’s just me. It’s why I’m utterly enraptured with butterflies, and have wanted to study them since I was 4. It’s why I heavily associate myself with characters I relate to and form part of my identity around them. It’s why I’m so darned fidgety. It’s why I’m horrible at lying. It’s why I notice strange details in my surroundings. It’s why I forget things I’ve been told minutes ago. It’s why I remember full conversations held when I was 6. It’s why I have an absurd sense of humor. It’s why I empathize with inanimate objects. It’s why I stare into space so much. It’s why I always alternate which side of my mouth I chew on with each bite. It’s why I often feel more solidarity with adults than with people my age. It’s why I like getting dizzy. It’s why I express myself through art and music. It’s why I’m a teacher’s pet. It’s why I say things like “golly” or “goodness gravy” when surprised. It’s why I’m so clumsy. It’s why I have a rock collection. It’s why I love mystery novels. It’s why I sit at the dinner table with my knees up (even though my dad tells me not to). It’s why I’m so keen on things making sense.
Not every autistic person is like me—because we’re all people.
Above all, I want people to know that ableism is bigotry, plain and simple: horrible, disgusting, dehumanizing bigotry that can’t be justified (as I have said before and will say again, “weird” is not a moral invitation for harassment). Hopefully, this open letter will empower disabled people to stand up to ableism they and others face, and perhaps even make ableists want to change their actions.
There is one word of advice I have for the latter category: if it comes to your attention that you’ve been ableist, pitifully apologizing and groveling to disabled people doesn’t help. Don’t complain about your guilt—because you should be feeling it, and you should be using it to improve yourself. If I tell you that you’ve said something ableist, going on and on about how horrible it makes you feel to have done that just makes me feel bad for calling it out. Accept your fault. Apologize. Move on. Be a better person. I’m glad to know that you don’t want to be called ableist, but what would make me happiest is to know that you don’t want to be ableist. So show me that! Be a good person! I believe in you!
Harmful Mindset Surrounding ADHD by Lana-Kay Corbel ‘24
About three years ago I was diagnosed with low-functioning attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, or ADHD. Getting my ADHD diagnosis made me incredibly happy because I was finally able to understand myself with certainty. For the first time, I was able to put reason to my actions; ADHD was the explanation for my neurodivergent behavior. Within the past couple of years, through media and social interactions, I’ve noticed that ADHD is seen as “acceptable,” “not as weird,” and sometimes even disregarded as a form of neurodivergence. This is not only off-putting but harmful to individuals with ADHD and the rest of the neurodivergent spectrum.
Two months ago, when I was talking with my co-worker, the topic of neurodivergence came up, and I shared that I was diagnosed with dyslexia at 10 and three years ago was also diagnosed with ADHD. She replied by saying “Everyone has ADHD” “Everyone is a little neurodivergent” and “Everyone is a little dyslexic.” She reasoned that everyone must be somewhat neurodivergent since everyone procrastinates and everyone can struggle reading. Yet ADHD and dyslexia are both so much more than that. My co-worker’s mindset, which is influenced by media, makes it so people do not take forms of neurodivergence seriously since “everyone must have them.” ADHD is only seen as socially acceptable because it is generally dumbed down to only its symptom of procrastination. In turn, this translates to people not accepting lower-functioning neurodivergent individuals. Accepting higher functioning neurodivergent people with ignorance but pashing lower functioning neurodivergent individuals by calling them “weird” “slow” and making them feel like outcasts is still a form of ableism. Disabilities have differences, and you can not just pick which of them you tolerate.
The spectrum of having ADHD itself is delegitimized, ADHD is acknowledged as procrastination but many aspects I deal with daily are not acknowledged. I consistently have cycles of hyper-fixations which give me so much excitement that I completely lose motivation and become incredibly detached. I became hyper-fixated with video games after I built my PC, specifically the video game Dead By Daylight. I would spend 8-12 hours playing the game, reading patch notes, or talking about the game with friends. Yet, when a new game update came out, I became so excited it caused me to lose motivation to play Dead By Daylight, my favorite game. After a week of constantly lacking the motivation to play, I became distracted, and even though I wanted to play, neither my friends nor I could give me the motivation I once had. I could not bring myself to complete a simple task like clicking the “play” button on a computer screen even though I truly wanted to play the game. That is ADHD. The cycles of hyper-fixations and intense focus that lead to a loss of motivation and detachment.
I also find myself constantly interrupting people, not out of malicious intent or because I don’t enjoy what they’re talking about. Rather, it is the complete opposite, I get so excited to respond to what someone is saying because the topic of conversation is interesting and enjoyable. The excitement paired with my short attention span causes me to sometimes interrupt people. That is ADHD. I need to fidget with my hair to focus and concentrate. That is ADHD. These are just some of the many symptoms and behaviors caused by ADHD beyond procrastination. They should be taken seriously.
ADHD needs to stop being freely used to explain the actions of individuals who do not have it. You may procrastinate from time to time, but that does not automatically make you neurodivergent. You may have time management issues, but that does not automatically make you neurodivergent. You may be forgetful from time to time, but that does not automatically make you neurodivergent. Stop generalizing one specific action or lack thereof as the defining key feature to being neurodivergent. The mindset that “Everyone has ADHD” causes both ends of the neurodivergent spectrum to suffer. On one hand, ADHD is not taken seriously, even in educational settings. On the other hand, the rest of the neurodivergent spectrum continues to be ostracized as “other,” establishing an Us versus Them. The us being “everyone” who has ADHD since it is “manageable” versus them, the lower-functioning neurodivergent students who are “weird.” Disabilities have differences, and if you can accept some while ridiculing others, you are ableist.
Conclusion by Ellie Picker ‘24
We in the ADA take great pride in the BHSECQ community and its ability to be welcoming and kind to people of so many backgrounds, so many lived experiences, so many identities… and we believe that we can be just as welcoming and kind to disabled people.
We understand some people are unknowingly blind to their own biases, or the prejudices behind their language, and we have hope in their learning to be better friends, students, and people by reading this letter.
We are also well aware that many students are consciously, maliciously ableist — and we trust that the rest of you will call out these bad actors and thoroughly teach them that ableism is not acceptable here or anywhere else.
Treat ableism like the bigotry it is; be gracious, compassionate, and understanding with all of your fellow students, no matter if they’re disabled or not. Have faith in your own capacity for kindness, have more respect for those around you, and in the end, everyone will be happier (being against ableism is at no cost to you!). Let’s remember that we’re all people, we’re all human; let’s all treat each other like we are.