"In recent years, there has been a rush on the internet to supply image descriptions and to call out those who don’t. This may be an example of community accountability at work, but it’s striking to observe that those doing the most fierce calling out or correcting are sighted people. Such efforts are largely self-defeating. I cannot count the times I’ve stopped reading a video transcript because it started with a dense word picture. Even if a description is short and well done, I often wish there were no description at all. Get to the point, already! How ironic that striving after access can actually create a barrier. When I pointed this out during one of my seminars, a participant made us all laugh by doing a parody: “Mary is wearing a green, blue, and red striped shirt; every fourth stripe also has a purple dot the size of a pea in it, and there are forty-seven stripes—”
“You’re killing me,” I said. “I can’t take any more of that!”
Now serious, she said it was clear to her that none of that stuff about Mary’s clothes mattered, at least if her clothes weren’t the point. What mattered most about the image was that Mary was holding her diploma and smiling. “But,” she wondered, “do I say, Mary has a huge smile on her face as she shows her diploma or Mary has an exuberant smile or showing her teeth in a smile and her eyes are crinkled at the edges?”
It’s simple. Mary has a huge smile on her face is the best one. It’s the don’t-second-guess-yourself option."
--Against Access, by John Lee Clark, a DeafBlind educator
In addition to Pride, it's also Deafblind Awareness Month.
Remember to add alt text and video transcripts to your pictures and videos.
(And transcripts for your audio.)
Thank you!
There are two main kinds of reactions people have to seeing someone using a white cane walking towards them: fearful and aggressive.
The fearful are the ones who press themselves flat against walls as you pass by, the ones who see you coming and cross the street to not walk by you, the ones like the guy who walked into my path and then, upon seeing me, leapt two feet backwards shouting, "Oh shit!"
The fearful are an annoyance, but they're not usually dangerous. They don't seem to grasp that the path is generally wide enough for both of us, that my cane only takes up two more inches either side of me and isn't going to kill them. They're the ones that my friends remark on most, because once you realise what they're doing you can never stop noticing that people do this.
The aggressive, however, are a different story.
The aggressive are the ones who stare you down as you walk towards them like they're playing a game of chicken, the ones who wave and say hello and when you reply they use it as evidence you're not blind. They're the ones who try to hopscotch over your cane. They're the ones who will kick your cane and try to trip you up for fun. They're the ones that deliberately slow down, giggling as they look back at you, because they want you to walk into them and to hurt yourself. They're the ones who you'll walk by and, even though neither you nor your cane even brushes them, they'll get angry at you because don't you know you could hurt someone by walking around with that thing? Don't you know you should have someone with you at all times to make sure you don't hit someone?
There's a different kind of aggressive, too, and I don't know a single blind person who has not encountered this kind. This is the kind of aggressive who tries to "help" you, the kind who grabs your arm and drags you across roads without talking to you or asking. The kind who pull you into oncoming traffic and expect you to be grateful. The kind who pick up your cane to lead you. The kind who will get you hit by a car in the name of helpfulness. This kind does not realise or even care that it is terrifying to have an unseen person grab you and start dragging you away, who don't get that the cane is your contact with the world around you and they have stripped you of knowledge and safety by picking it up off the ground. This kind does not realise or care that it is still kidnapping, still assault, and they expect you to be grateful that they deigned to "help" you.
All three kinds don't see you as a person. The fearful see you as an obstacle, the aggressive see you as an idle amusement or a threat, and the helpful aggressive see you only as a way to feel good about themselves.
The second you hold a white cane you are unpersoned.
Do your local blind person a favour and cut that shit out.
I'm considering writing a character who develops a conversion disorder form of blindness (and maybe also deafness?). I have a conversion disorder myself - though it relates to mobility rather than anything sensory - and thought that might help me write her.
Mine happened as a result of long-term, debilitating and chronic stress levels, and after reading a few of the links in the pinned post, I feel like my experiences and the plot i had in mind helps avoid the problems with the traumatic-suddenly-I'm-blind-and-my-life-is-over trope.
Specifically (and pretty much the whole situation happens long before the story even starts, so she's very adjusted to the disability by the time we meet her) after spending her entire childhood with an abusive mother putting a Lot of strain on everyone in the household, and then another two years dealing with the court system dragging out a divorce and a major related case, and then her brother having a major health scare, she develops some form of psychogenic blindness and/or deafness.
Obviously that's scary for her, especially in the moment, but because it's a conversion disorder and also based on my experiences, that would mean that her ability to see/hear comes and goes, giving her a dynamic disability that changes based on stress/energy levels, etc.
I imagine a lot of the same advice regarding blindness would apply, but I'm curious how having blindness that comes and goes might affect some of that advice. Coming at it from the perspective of someone with a different type of conversion disorder gives me a lot of insight most other people wouldn't have, but I'm... not blind. I have visual snow syndrome that requires lighting adjustments sometimes, I'm mildly nearsighted, but I by no means consider myself truly blind, and certainly not in the way this character is probably going to be.
One thing I can probably make a good guess on is mobility issues and how often she might have to deal with getting accused of faking - because sometimes she literally can see as well as a sighted person, but if someone who only knows that she's blind/experiences blindness sees her doing something she normally wouldn't be able to do when having an episode of blindness, they might get up in arms about it. (Also something I have a bit of personal experience with and a fear i have a LOT of personal experience with thanks to my mobility issues being largely episodic and stress-induced).
Another one is the variety of types of blindness (and/or deafness) that might occur - my mobility issues stem from psychogenic versions of multiple variants of the same condition, so I'd imagine it'd be entirely possible for her to experience different types of blindness in different situations, especially at the start before things settle down when life gets calmer.
I think I'm rambling. Point is, I'm experienced with my type of conversion disorder, and I don't actually know how much of that translates to blindness (/deafness) from a conversion disorder, but I figured a good start would be to run it by an actual blind person who would, y'know, have experience with the blindness aspect of it, and someone among your followers might either have that type of conversion disorder or know someone who does, which would be even more helpful.
Episodic Blindness
Also tagging at @cripplecharacters for the Deafness stuff. I’ll try to help with the blindness here, but as always, a sensitivity read through would probably be best.
While I don’t have episodic blindness, my vision can decrease when I’m stressed, anxious, or tired. Or maybe the information I get from vision is decreased. These instances, as well as low lighting when trying to use my sight instead of resting, can also lead to eye strain. I have also dealt with glaucoma episodes that took away my vision, as well as severe post-surgery photophobia. Not the same, but some experiences are still similar.
One thing that helped me was having orientation and mobility skills already. I can rely on these skills rather than on my remaining vision. I was also able to use a screen-reader confidently. Blind people with residual vision are often expected to rely on it, but it won’t always be there even if your vision is expected to remain stable. Having these skills is helpful. Learning to use them when not under stress or big vision / health changes improves a person’s ability to use them in difficult situations, like during episodic blindness.
So it would help if she had experience with a cane or human guide beforehand. Knowing how to have someone else guide you and advocating for your needs is also an important skill. She should also carry a cane if an episode happens when she is not at home.
I’m also wondering if a Hearing dog or psychiatric service dog would help? I am not 100% sure about criteria for animal guides, in that I don’t know if she would be approved for one due to possibly not using one enough (2-3 times a week, at least), but other service dogs would probably be good for her. Not that a psychiatric service dog is different from an emotional support animal. But I’m let @cripplecharacters give thoughts on this option if they have any.
Since she’s adjusted to it at the start of the story, let me get to the other questions.
Blindness and Deafness exist on spectrums, of course, so she might not be totally blind often or even ever. However, the good thing about blindness is that canes and Braille and screen-readers can be useful even for those with residual vision. For there, you can add in things like lighting adjustments, using light for orientation, and zoom technology. Braille would also be good for situations where she happens to lose a lot of sight and hearing simultaneously. But that may not always be the case.
As for people getting mad, unfortunately blind people are accused of faking all the time. That will happen regardless. People simply don’t know enough about blindness. Being able to advocate for herself and calmly explain her needs will be important. Sometimes ignoring people is better than confronting them.
Migraines might be a good example to use. People get migraines episodically. Sometimes certain situations can trigger a migraine. A migraine can have varying levels of intensity and duration. So just because a person isn’t having a migraine right now, doesn’t mean they don’t have that condition.
I don’t know going from sighted to the blindness spectrum is like, though. Let alone bouncing back and forth between them. So if anyone else has thoughts, please share them.
You can also message me if you have more specific questions as you write.
Since joining the tumblr disabled community I have something that really bugs me.
It deeply saddens me that despite how long deaf and blind people have been advocated for, our world is so quick to forget about them.
I am guilty of this too. I’ve been called out for not making posts accessible and I had to check my privilege! It was shocking to me how quick I was to feel defensive at first before I took the time to educate myself.
Anyways — all I really want taken away from this is that you should really make a point of putting other communities on your radar. Interact with their posts, research how to include them, don’t let anyone slip through the cracks of the system.
There is no specific DeafBlind category on the Census.
Because of this, we do not yet have an official data count on the DeafBlind community in America.
This is a perfect example of folks trying to erase the existence of disabled folks in real time.
DeafBlind folks and parents of DeafBlind folks are teaming up to change this. Check out this video [link] to learn more. And support the DeafBlind Data Act!
Transcript, spoken by interpreter: "Hi. I am DeafBlind. I sign like this"
A note from their interpreter
I told them about the note on their original anonymous ask to @this-is-linguicism that said their form of sign is interesting. They wanted to share how their signing works if this blog ( @share-your-language ) was ever made and it was. They aren't used to signing in front of a camera, hence the stutter in their signs. They were originally going to sign the alphabet and numbers 1 through 10, but they were anxious and this was our best attempt.
A brief explanation of how their signing works
Each finger is assigned a number. 1 through 5 from thumb to pinky, then 6 for closed fist and 7 for open hand. Letters are assigned one to two fingers on one or both hands. For example, "Hi" is signed [both hands: 2+3, right hand: 2+3], which is simply the letters "H" and "I" one after the other. Most words are shortened to their quickest forms. "DeafBlind" is signed [left hand: 2, both hands: 1] which is simply "D+B", and "sign" is signed [left hand: 5, both hands: 6] for "S+N".
To respond to them, I or another person will have them lift their hands to chest height, then squeeze the fingers for the corresponding letters. If I were to tell them "Hi", I would lift their hands, then squeeze the index and middle finger of both hands, followed by squeezing the same fingers on their right hand.
I hope this was informative! This is a throwaway account, simply because my main account is not heavily associated with my interpreting work and because my client can't use the internet independently.
A bit of a time jump. It's early Spring now. This is a stand-alone one.
Notes
Comments are VERY welcome!
I'm not going to pay for art.
___________________________
They are in a rental car. Matt has not stopped gripping Foggy's hand—or touching him somewhere—for hours. They've been traveling so long that he can't make sense of time anymore. Minutes feel like hours. He slept on the plane, heavily medicated, and now there's a strange lag between thinking and feeling. The funeral is tomorrow. Tonight, they'll stay in a motel, refusing the offer of someone's guest room. Foggy has two vaguely remembered aunts who live in New Madrid County. It was one of these aunts whose guest room they will not be using.
Stop. Please. Pull over.
The car veers onto a bumpy shoulder, and the engine cuts off.
I'm sorry.
No. It's fine.
They've pulled over too many times already, but Matt finds the endless press of forward motion unbearable.
It's fine.
Foggy's palm comes to rest on Matt's chest. There's a pronounced sliding motion—that's his seatbelt coming off. Foggy is moving. Matt lifts his hands.
How much longer?
Forty miles. I'm sorry.
It feels endless.
I know.
Matt wouldn't let Foggy leave him at home this time. He chose this. He needs to endure this. Foggy palms Matt's cheek. He knows that, under every frustration, every annoyance, is fear. This isn't just displacement—to be disoriented is one thing—this is something else.
What would Ying-Li tell you to do?
Breathe.
Foggy puts a wide, flat hand on Matt's diaphragm to direct his focus, and Matt does focus. All that matters is that Foggy's with him. Everything else can just happen. Nothing's really wrong. Being surrounded by the unfamiliar won't kill him. He's safe. So why does this keep feeling like free fall?
Foggy rubs below his sternum. Matt breathes, pushing Foggy's hand up and down. That helps.
Want to get out of the car?
No, no—
OK, OK. We won't.
Foggy brushes kisses over his face: cheek, forehead, lips.
OK. Whatever you need.
He needs to not be plowing forward into a void. He needs to not be forcing Foggy to attend to him every fifteen minutes. Foggy, who should simply be grieving the loss of his father, a kind—if distant—man who retired to his hometown to live out the rest of his days in peace.
Matt tries to smooth the shudder out of his exhales. He wants to force himself to relax. It's not working.
We've got time, Foggy reminds him, running the pad of his thumb over Matt's cheekbone.
Matt touches Foggy's neck so that his heartbeat jumps under feather-light fingertips—a pulse made stronger by the lightness of his touch. Not touching lightly with his other hand, Matt slides a palm over Foggy's chest. Then, unsatisfied, he shoves the same hand under Foggy's T-shirt to get his warmth and springy chest hair. That's better. That helps. Breathing slowly (on purpose, demonstrating calm), Foggy kisses him again, and Matt opens to him. Here is something familiar. Taste. Warmth. The silky slide of tongues.
Nothing more. Foggy tries not to make comfort blur the lines too much. He'd rather keep sex sexy. Matt wants it all and doesn't care about divisions. Imposing too much context, the way Foggy sometimes does, feels like punishment.
But the kissing helps. His thoughts are clarifying.
You can drive again, Matt decides, finally. Moving slowly, Foggy eases back.
Touch the window, he says. You're so hot, you're steaming up the car.
There's gentle humor in Foggy's hands as he signs, and there is, indeed, condensation on the window when Matt touches it— enough to make him smile a little.
After a while, the car rumbles to life. Matt reattaches his seatbelt. They hold hands.
Forty miles to go. At the end of it? More of the unknown.
_____________________
Don't interpret.
Matt ducks his head. He's leaning against the car, feet planted on gravel. It's early spring—still chilly—and he's getting cold soil with every breath, verdant vastness, sweeping wind that is unobstructed by anything. There are no buildings here, or spaces between buildings. The absence of traffic is stark. Everything about this place is stark and strange. They're about to meet new people. Voices. Talking. Back and forth. Matt wants no part of it. He shouldn't have come. He has shifted the focus entirely off of Foggy's grief. He has become like a petulant child in need of help.
Need. Neediness. Self-centeredness. Specific requests. Particular accommodations. "Me" and "I", not "You" or even "us".
I'll tell them you're tired from travel.
Yes. True.
Foggy rubs Matt's arm. Up and down.
There are four up-going porch steps. It might be too crowded inside for caning. People milling around. It's not a big house.
OK.
I'll stay close.
Matt moves his head away from the smell of…what is that? A grassy scent that's gone deep with rot. Cow manure? Another grand wind sweeps over him. Which will be worse? This edgeless vastness or the stuffy box of a house full of people?
Inside. Matt starts cataloging scents: face powder, perfume, damp clothing, mud, wet-dog, cut flowers, men's cologne. In a new area: lunch meat, sliced bell peppers, washed apples, spicy mustard. In another area after a ninety-degree turn: a cat's litter box, metal, hand soap, clean cotton. A door opens, displacing air, and Matt smells: dust, antiquated wood, yarn, dried flowers, and a sun-warmed window.
This is our room, Foggy tells him. For now. We won't sleep here. This is just a quiet place to rest for a while. Nobody minds if you take a nap.
Foggy leads him to a bed, setting his hand down on it. The mattress is firm. Here is where the yarn is coming from—an afghan; it reminds him of the bed in Ben's guest room. Matt sits down.
He wants to tell Foggy to go mingle with his family, talk to his aunts, remember his father: Go, I'll be fine.
He can't make himself sign it.
Foggy gives his hand a firm squeeze and sits down beside him, close enough that their thighs touch.
We made it. A nap really does sound good.
But…you should…
There's time.
These words are gentle, and they bring too much relief. Matt closes his eyes. His shoulders ache. His stomach is tight. There's a throbbing pulse at each of his temples.
Spoon with me. Come on. Let's rest.
It smells weird in here.
I know. I'll crack a window. Hang on a sec.
Foggy gets up. Walks (two feet and one crutch, a three-part rhythm). A moment later, he comes back and takes Matt's hand again with the same hard squeeze.
Better?
Matt nods. He knows Foggy is watching him closely. Without rushing, Foggy sits down again and starts undoing his brace. Matt takes off his own shoes, and when Foggy finally gives his hand a tug, he moves in the direction he's being pulled.
They spoon. Foggy knows that Matt wants to be on the inside, wants Foggy's arm to come hard around his chest. It does, and he gets held. They breathe together, Foggy's rhythm slowing Matt's down.
The air stirs, and Matt becomes aware of the cracked window—freshness instead of wind—a slight, calming breeze. This is…better. It's still, which means it's quiet. Foggy's grip loosens a little even as his arm gets heavier. Drawing in a deep breath, he sighs.
When Foggy's hand comes under his, Matt knows he's going to sign, so he positions his fingers to read him despite the unusual angle.
I'm glad you're here. I know this is hard but… it means a lot to me.
It's with some shame that Matt allows their hands to change places but has nothing to say. He wants to apologize—again—for all the times he's clutched and grabbed and soundlessly begged in his private, but desperate, way. He did not comport himself well. Getting here wasn't smooth sailing.
Foggy's hand rests lightly over his, demanding nothing, letting expectation exist without pressure. Finally, Matt responds, trying to stay light, too: At least I distract you from how much your foot hurts.
With a chuckle, Foggy kisses Matt's shoulder.
Grounding you helps ground me, he says.
Another breeze stirs. There are hints of winter still lingering in the air. Mornings and nights are cold. But there are also hints of warmth. The sun is rising from bed like a sick person experiencing recovery, cautious and grateful. Matt feels cautious and grateful, too. However rocky the path has been, Foggy's presence sustains him. This is just clutter and clumsy embarrassment, mostly, with spikes of real fear.
It's his absence that brings true hardship. As long as they're together, he'll be all right.
Drifting, he begins to doze off. The breeze comes and goes. Comes and goes. It's this rhythm and the pace of Foggy's breathing that lulls him to sleep as he stays wrapped in warmth.
Foggy's arm is heavy around him, and his heartbeat is strong.
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Ellipsus makes it easy for anyone to write together.
