by Anthony R. Candela
The scene is a familiar one. While sitting in a restaurant waiting for service, gently and discreetly examining the objects on the table to make sure I knew where the utensils lay and where the glassware had been placed, I was suddenly and without warning provided with a free, albeit uninvited cardiac stress test when someone shouted into my ear, “May I help you?”
Startled and embarrassed (I was certain everyone in the restaurant was now looking at me) I blurted out, “I’m not deaf!” The waiter’s voice lowered and audibly tightened as he curtly asked, “What can I get you?”
If I were not blind, the room would probably have gone dark at this point as I realized that the usual social banter between customer and waiter had been pre-empted. As it was, my head reeled as the following thoughts cascaded through it:
Why did this happen? Wouldn’t life be easier if I’d just stayed at home? Why had I reacted so quickly and so forcefully? Why did the waiter speak to me so loudly? What would I have wished the waiter to do instead? How can I ask him for a braille menu now, knowing that, if the restaurant does not have one, I will have to ask him to assist me? I wonder, would it be better to be deaf than blind? In short, what’s going on here?
Gathering my wits, I turned my face toward the waiter’s voice, smiled, and said, “Sorry, you startled me.” Smiling back, the waiter apologized and told me that he hadn’t known how to get my attention since I didn’t appear aware of his presence. I indicated that, without drawing undue attention, he might have gently touched my arm or shoulder and identified himself to initiate our conversation. I explained further that not everyone might wish to be touched and, instead, he could have simply tapped the table before speaking. The waiter agreed.
Since, as I anticipated, the restaurant did not have a braille version of the menu, I asked the waiter to read me the print one and, guiding him along, made my choices. The rest of the meal proceeded smoothly.
Settling into bed that night, I reviewed the “incident.” First, I had to deal with anger toward myself. “How could I, a trained rehabilitation counselor and student of psychology, have reacted so inappropriately?” In the quietness of my home, I calmed myself and my thoughts grew clear. I realized that the issues are difficult ones and dealing with them requires absolute honesty. I admitted to myself that my reaction to the incident arose from fear and uncertainty, not unlike the waiter’s reaction toward me. I concluded that if we, as people who are blind, are going to understand sighted people, then, first of all, we have to understand ourselves. In turn, to best understand ourselves, we need to analyze how we react to those who trigger our fears and uncertainties.
Perhaps, I mused, as blind people we’re sometimes ambivalent about waiters and others talking loudly to us because on the one hand we have to rely on clear, sometimes even loud voices to get so much of the information we need in the world, while on the other hand, we fear even the hint that we might be losing our hearing. If this is true, our deepest anxieties might be triggered by deaf and, more certainly, deaf-blind people. In analyzing our reactions to the specter of deafness and deaf-blindness, we can better understand how sighted people might react to us. Finally, I concluded, if we as blind people make efforts to overcome our anxieties about loss of hearing, then we can set an example for sighted people regarding ways to control their anxieties about loss of vision, thus helping to achieve a more inclusive society.
Although I occasionally wonder if it wouldn’t be easier for me as a blind person to simply cloister myself in my apartment or limit the places I go or my activities, life is too full of things I really want to do. Figuring out how to deal with occasional awkward and stressful events appears to be my only real option. In the scene described above, I was able to reduce the emotionality of the encounter (by smiling, apologizing, and explaining, even though not required by the nature of the social “transgression”), and this allowed the waiter and me to meet each other halfway. The waiter returned my magnanimity and an uncomfortable situation transformed itself into a pleasant experience.
When blind people venture unaccompanied into the sighted world, they seem to raise sighted people’s anxiety levels, be it the little things, such as ordering an espresso at the local coffee shop or the big ones, such as crossing a four-lane boulevard or interviewing for a job. Their image of our teetering on the edge of disaster, or, perhaps being a danger to them, causes sighted people to feel unconsciously defensive. Their reactions suggest that, at a minimum, they need to alleviate the cause of their anxiety by either avoiding us, eliminating or reducing the danger they believe we face, or by making us aware of their presence.
Sometimes sighted people react to us by retreating to the cover of politeness (“Nice day, isn’t it?”). Frequently, they invoke the image of the super-achiever (“I really admire you people...”). Occasionally, as we have all experienced, bewilderment reigns (“I don’t know how you do it!”) or genuine fear is given voice (“I don’t think I could do what you are doing.”). Some outrageous behaviors by sighted people we encounter as we attempt to go about living our lives, such as suddenly grabbing us by the arm and moving us bodily against our will, leaves us shaken and angry. However, most of the reactions we encounter, although less intrusive, still leave us with the deep feeling that we are somehow different from sighted people.
As blind people, we occasionally and unintentionally even contribute to the social isolation we face by falling into unavoidable double-binds. For example, making eye contact conveys the message to some people that we have made a visual connection, leaving many sighted people distracted as they wonder if the blind person can actually see them. Conversely, while avoidance of eye contact decreases confusion for sighted people, it causes other problems, namely, anxiety and, hence, alienation from people accustomed to using their eyes for purposes ranging from giving directions to flirting. This added strain increases the probability of social exclusion as many sighted people simply opt to avoid contact with blind people altogether. And let us not forget our partially sighted friends who, when they fail to acknowledge unseen non-verbal signals, find themselves dubbed snobs or worse!
These social dilemmas can be eliminated once people communicate directly and come to understand each other. In the example above, a simple conversation between the waiter and me clarified an ambiguous situation and the interaction became satisfying for both of us. Thus, sighted folks need encouragement to approach blind people verbally and, in situations requiring discretion, to do so quietly.
In a spirit of reciprocity, blind folks need to remember to encourage social contact through appropriate body language and verbal communication. In the scene at the restaurant, for example, I might have made things easier for both of us by turning toward the waiter, greeting him with a grin, and speaking in friendly tones.
How is it that even experienced blind people get caught off guard and react defensively or even with outright hostility to situations like the one I experienced with the waiter? Most people, when confronted with a sudden and strong stimulus, react by being startled. The body’s natural defensive “fight or flight” systems momentarily take charge. Even if alert and anticipating contact (as I was when seated in the restaurant), people experience a sudden rush of adrenalin when shouted at. The subsequent belief that others are now staring causes embarrassment, exacerbating the situation. It takes effort to remain calm. For example, in an effort to regain composure, I might say to myself, “relax, take a deep breath, focus on improving the situation, don’t think about all those people around you.”
We can understand the situation even better if we consider the possible points of view which some sighted people may have. Unfortunately, many of them misjudge blind people on the basis of outward appearance. They misinterpret our occasional and relative lack of facial expression to mean that we’re incompetent, or worse, incapable of handling most situations. Sometimes our mannerisms appear strange and sighted people often attribute them to mysterious causes. Since too many of them have neither nurtured nor come to fully appreciate the richness of the auditory and tactual senses which blind people have, because of necessity, come to rely upon, many sighted folks make incorrect assumptions about us.
As he approached me in the restaurant, for example, the waiter probably observed me touching the objects on the table and facing straight ahead without looking at anything in particular. Had he not been forced to overcome his initial reaction in order to serve his customer, he might not have engaged me at all. Fortunately, given the opportunity, I was able to change the waiter’s outlook first by speaking to him in affable tones and then by focusing my attention upon him and the matter at hand — ordering a sumptuous meal.
Still, many sighted people think of blind people — if they think about us at all — as immersed in some kind of “inner world” experiencing stimulus deprivation. They often conclude that a stronger than usual jolt is required to get our attention. Thus, they speak loudly.
Although we know it is unfair for anyone to nonchalantly judge the inner life of another, it happens all the time. It will take active effort on the part of blind people to erode the image of “mental inwardness” etched in the minds of many sighted people. We must educate our sighted colleagues and acquaintances about how, by using auditory and tactual information, we not only comprehend, but even anticipate what occurs in our environment.
More difficult will be the task of convincing sighted people that blandness or reduced facial expression does not equal inattentiveness. We should take every opportunity to engage in conversations with sighted people that reflect our awareness of the world around us. Keeping in touch with current events and reflecting this awareness in social encounters will subtly change what is most likely an unconscious impression sighted people have about people who are blind. For example, I have found it useful to listen to public radio, “surf” the net, read electronic newspapers and recorded magazines, and subscribe to several e-mail lists to keep up with the world around me.
In the same vein, we need to remember that not all sighted people are fearful, ignorant, or uncaring — traits we sometimes attribute to them. When socially appropriate and in specific situations, to reduce these reverse misperceptions, we should ask sighted people about how they use their senses to apprehend the world around them. For example, I took advantage of an opportunity to expand my own knowledge when asked to go bird-watching. I agreed and, seizing the opportunity, engaged my sighted friends in conversation about how they train their eyes to see birds hiding in the trees. This gave me the chance to explain how blind people train their ears to hear and recognize bird calls and, by extension, most sounds in the environment. They understood. This reinforced my belief that, given the right opportunity, most sighted people are well-intentioned and willing to learn about us.
As blind people, we can learn a great deal by looking at those things that cause us to react toward others the way sighted people react toward us. Concerned about our image in the minds of sighted people, we often find ourselves guarding against negative stereotypes. Proud of the effort we have made to overcome our disability, we routinely attempt to counter traits erroneously attributed to us. For example, the negative reaction we have to being spoken to with excessive loudness stems from the fear that, despite facts to the contrary, we will be judged as possessing either a hearing impairment or a cognitive deficiency. (I once failed miserably in my attempt to counter negative stereotyping by asking a sighted person if she really thought I didn’t know what was going on around me. She answered by labeling me with a psychiatric diagnosis I will not mention here! Indirect approaches often work best.)
Even though we know that sighted people may speak loudly to us to get our attention (in the same way visual cues appear to draw their attention), we still react strongly. What accounts for this reaction? In analyzing my own feelings, I have concluded that, like many blind people, I fear deafness. Attempting to understand what it might be like if I were deaf has led me to consider which would be better, blindness or deafness.
Most people agree that vision provides the user with faster, easier, and richer information than hearing and in a wider variety of situations. Certainly no one argues against the desirability of possessing a faculty that permits easy access to everything from printed information to the location of an object in the distant environment. However, blind people, having learned to fully appreciate and relish the richness of sound, make convincing arguments that they compensate for lack of vision quite well through the auditory sense. We engage effortlessly in conversation, derive aesthetic pleasure from music, AND absorb information from tape recorders, speech synthesizers, lectures, and public address systems. In short, hearing is our ticket to the world around us.
Many deaf people report that lack of hearing causes them much difficulty in developing communication and language skills, using telephones and other mainstream telecommunications devices, enjoying public lectures, and other experiences we blind people take for granted. In fact, some people who are deaf or hearing impaired believe that immersing themselves in deaf culture lessens the strain of social isolation, providing them with the greatest opportunity for personal fulfillment. While most people who are deaf or hearing impaired choose an approach to social integration that works for them, I strongly suspect that they also jealously guard and relish their vision as both a powerful information gathering tool and a necessary modality for reading lips, driving cars, using sign language, and, in general, compensating for lack of hearing.
In the end, the relative undesirability of blindness or deafness proves so threatening a notion for both deaf and blind people that neither group dwells for very long on what life would be like if they were to lose the other sense. Analyzing our specific disabilities, it seems clear that both deaf and blind people face equally challenging problems in the areas of education, employment preparation, hiring, telecommunications, recreation, social integration, and more. What sets us apart is the fact that the specific solutions needed to solve these problems often differ in fundamental ways and rarely overlap or complement one another.
While there is some evidence from the recent census that deaf and hearing impaired people are employed at a higher rate than blind and partially sighted people, ultimately, the notion that the grass may be greener for the deaf is specious. How could we ever know who truly has it worse or who should get more special treatment?
Since blind people rely upon hearing and deaf people upon vision, both groups may instinctively fear each other.
Blind people’s fear of deafness (and, by extension, deaf-blindness) is often compounded with real-life experience. Any blind person who has stood at a street crossing in the midst of loud construction machinery realizes what life would be like if he or she were deaf. Recently, when I approached an intersection filled with jackhammers and churning truck engines, I was frightened when I realized that I couldn’t handle the situation without my hearing. How would I navigate or even begin to make sense of my environment? What would I use if I couldn’t rely on my usual tactics?
My immediate reaction of fear and frustration stemmed from my inability to use my faculties to either deal with the environment or extricate myself from it. Of course, with some coaching, experience, and practice, I learned to reverse course, find alternate routes away from the deafening noise, and to solicit assistance. However, the experience, indelibly etched in my mind as a real-life excursion into deaf-blindness, left me shaken.
We blind people react to the unknown just like everyone else. After all, we belong to the same culture and, although generally more sensitive to individual differences than many, we too are subject to fear and prejudice. If blind people fear deaf-blindness, how does this fear manifest itself? What can we learn from how we deal or fail to deal with people with deaf-blindness that will help us overcome this fear and, at the same time, serve as a model for how we would like sighted people to treat us?
Generally, blind people imagine that deaf-blind people constitute a homogeneous group who experience profound silence and darkness. We wonder how we could ever communicate meaningfully with them.
In fact, deaf-blind people vary in the amount of vision and hearing they possess and when they use hearing aids, specially designed “communications books,” tactual and American sign languages, and devices that use braille, speech, and print, they can effectively communicate not only with each other, but with the general public (including other blind people).
Thus, we blind people may need to undergo our own cultural transformation. The task will require us to rise above our fears to an even greater extent than we may have already. In doing so, we can show the rest of society what it means to be truly enlightened.
The first thing we will have to accomplish to achieve a general “cultural transformation” is a change in the outlook we have toward those who inspire fear in us. Generally, blind people already accept differentness more easily than many in our society. Because we have had to overcome many fears, we have developed skill in doing so. Taking this quality to the next level will mean accepting without trepidation notions of differentness such as those we encounter when we meet people who are deaf and blind. To accomplish this, we will need to engage deaf and deaf-blind people more often, more willingly, and more publicly.
We blind people are in a unique position to show sighted people that a model for optimal human adjustment includes the notion that people must deal with life both on their own terms and in concert with the greater society. For example, blind people succeed best when tackling life’s challenges through auditory and tactual approaches and not simply by using visual analogs to meet the expectations of a sighted culture. Since our approaches have proven effective for solving real-world problems, full integration can take place if we convince society to allow our methods to reside alongside everyone else’s. A familiar example to blind computer users is the way screen-readers, while enabling us to use mainstream software, perform their functions in a manner rational to those using their sense of hearing, not only to mirror the visual screen image, but to aggressively utilize the power of auditory perception. Sighted people intent upon pointing and clicking often find the use of keyboard commands a refreshing new way to look at the computer screen.
Once sighted people understand how blind people experience the world and function within it, they will adjust to different approaches more easily and they will feel less estranged from us. Recently, for example, I interviewed several employers who hired blind and visually impaired people and they unanimously agreed that having blind people in their workplace upended their preconceived notions, taught them that there is more than one way to do a job, and made them realize that relying on traditional methods can actually stifle productivity.
In accepting people on their own terms, society will embrace their endeavors to deal with the world in a way that is best for each individual. Far fewer blind people, for example, will feel alienated from society if sighted people incorporate into their repertoire habits like verbalizing body language, considering universal design principles when building the environment and devices that help us function within it, learning to be appropriately helpful, and approaching differentness in people with openness instead of avoidance. In order to realize these ideals, we must steadfastly continue our efforts to educate the public and, when necessary, to advocate for ourselves.
By understanding why things happen, we can move to change how we react to them and find ways to change those conditions that cause us discomfort. Through self-awareness, we can find the strength to overcome our fears and conquer our anger. Through education, we can find hope in that, with time and mutual interaction, we can fully integrate with the greater society — not only because we have acclimated to societal norms, but because society has re-defined those norms to embrace people with needs and ways of being that reflect a wide range of existence. Ultimately, we will find joy in the thought that in our diversity comes strength and the promise of a bright future.