Talk to Me Like a Human, Please

This week’s post covers a topic I touched on in the last post. I already discussed how that gentleman on the porch picked the most awkward phrase possible—“that problem”—to refer to my blindness. But worse than that was how he asked my teacher about my blindness instead of asking me. He referred to me in the third person as if I were not there at all. I’ve had so many of these types of interactions with strangers that by now most of them have just faded into one frustrating blur. 

But one of these incidents was so egregious that I’m pretty sure it will live on forever in my memory. I’m going to retell it here and then deconstruct it. Then by analyzing that incident, I will be able to explain what not to do when interacting with a blind person, why not to do it, and what to do instead. 

I was walking around the mall with a friend. It was just a chill hangout sesh. We were chatting as we meandered through, not really looking for any stores in particular,, though we did stop for tea at one point. At some point during our walking and talking, my shoe came untied. I noticed, but wasn’t too concerned about it and didn’t feel like stopping to bend down and tie it at that moment. I get that shoelaces are a tripping hazard, but we weren’t running anywhere and I figured I would survive until we decided to find a place to sit. I didn’t mind if that was going to take a few minutes. I’ll be honest. I have only secondhand knowledge of what happened next, because it happened so fast and I was too focused on what I was saying to my friend at the time. But she recounted everything to me right after it happened. A woman walked up to my friend; roughly grabbed her by the arm; said, “You need to tell her that her shoe’s untied. I don’t want her falling.”; then walked away before either of us could respond. Afterword, the two of us were livid, and we ranted about her actions for at least half an hour. I remember being so angry because I imagined that woman would go home that day feeling like a hero. She had swooped in and saved a poor blind girl’s life. She had averted disaster. That’s what she would think and she would never know otherwise. But in reality, she had only caused immense vexation. 

So let’s break down what was wrong with what she did. First, and fairly obvious, the way she approached my friend was rude and unsettling. It’s not super great to grab a stranger by the arm. There are other, less invasive ways to get someone’s attention. Just thought I should throw that out as a reminder even though it’s not a blindness-specific tip.

But now onto the meat of the issue. When the woman at the mall approached my friend instead of me, it revealed a flaw in the way sighted people sometimes view blind people. When she came up to us, she didn’t see two friends having fun together at the mall. She saw a caretaker walking with her disabled ward. I think this is often the case when people address the person with me instead of going to me directly. It was like she felt that she knew what was best for me in that moment, but, for whatever reason, thought she wouldn’t be able to communicate that to me without a go-between, as if only my friend could speak my language and convey the danger of my untied shoe.. Not only that, but she assumed I was completely unaware that my shoe was untied, and that I would fall unless she stepped in to let me know. 

Now, I know people in general tend to say something when they see someone with an untied shoe, since it is a common tripping hazard for everyone. But people’s fear that I will trip and fall is much more heightened. Once when I was about to walk down the stairs into my college dining hall, a fellow student asked me if I needed help getting down the stairs. I wonder what would have happened if I had said yes. Would he have tried to carry me down? I don’t know. It’s very common for people to ask me if I’m comfortable using stairs. Then when I do go up or down stairs, some people will try to hold onto me with a death grip, as if they think they are the sole ones responsible for my balance. I am not a fragile piece of china. In my every-day life, I’m not really more likely to fall than anyone else around me. Everything else in my body still works. I use my cane to feel where flights of stairs begin and end. As long as I use my cane accurately so that it finds obstacles before I run into them, I’ll be fine.

Ultimately, the reason this woman’s actions angered me so much was that they dismissed my humanity. I’m blind, that’s all. I can still hear and understand you; and, most importantly, I am a thinking, feeling human being with my own motivations and desires who can use my intellect, make judgments, and communicate my own needs and thoughts to others just like anyone else would. Blindness doesn’t inhibit any of those things. Blindness doesn’t make me more like a child. Just talk to me like you would talk to anyone else.

When you see a blind person in public, think of them first as a person. Don’t assume they need help just because they walk with a dog or have a white cane. Wait for them to ask for help. If they don’t ask for help and you’re still convinced they need it, ask them politely, and if they say no, they mean no, and you should leave it at that. Try this. Before you approach a blind stranger, think, “Would I want a stranger to do X thing to me?” If the answer is “No, I would be super upset/uncomfortable if a stranger did that to me”—don’t do it. It’s as simple as that. The Golden Rule—“do unto others as you would have them do unto you”—applies to people with disabilities as well. We are people first. That is the important part.