Over two million people have been visited by bailiffs during the cost of living crisis according to Citizens Advice. Sixty per cent of those have been intimidated or harassed during bailiff visits, with some bailiffs demanding sky high fees on top of money owed by families who cannot afford to pay basic bills.
As ever, Disabled people are invisible from the headlines. But not from the story. Because around a third of us live in poverty. So you can bet your bottom pound coin that we are affected by such horrific behaviours by bailiffs. Three quarters of people visited said it took a toll on their mental health. In other words, they became more Disabled. A quarter of people have fallen into debt which may see bailiffs going to visit them soon.
I have been in this boat in the past. Unable to work due to illness and illness during pregnancy, and dependent on someone else for financial support who did not keep up with bills, I cannot explain the overwhelming feeling of physical sickness, and the empty retching every five minutes for days on end, from abject fear. The jangle in ever nerve of your body, as you desperately try to emotionally regulate in a situation beyond your control. With nothing to take, the threat is a threat to your very existence. It changes you, for good, and for the worse. Companies that employ bailiffs see pound signs before hearts and minds and people. If people can’t pay, what then? When the last stick of furniture has been taken, what then? When the debt ends up even higher because of fees, what then? Oh yes. We’re back to the ONS stats on Disabled people dying by suicide again. In case you missed them before – more of us die by suicide than non-disabled people. Three or four times more likely depending on gender.
And while we’re talking about death (I really wish we didn’t have to), research from King’s College, London has revealed some horrifying statistics about autistic women. Namely, that autistic women are thirteen times more likely to die by suicide than non-autistic women. And that ninety per cent of autistic women will experience rape, sexual assault or domestic violence. For non-autistic women, the figure is thirty per cent. I don’t even know where to start with those figures. In a world where the dismissal of autistic people, especially girls, starts at nursery and school, where is the call for a major sea change in attitudes for the (up to) twenty per cent of people who are neurodiverse? These are people, who, if they can rise to the top (and few can) we laud as geniuses and game changers (look at Elon Musk, Bill Gates and Steve Jobs). And if they don’t – this is what happens. Rape, and suicide. I tried to call the National Autistic Society’s helpline last year and was horrified to discover it no longer exists due to a lack of funding. The Government needs to take the lead on this. These figures are inexcusable.
Everyday ableism
Curzon has recently(ish) opened a beautiful new cinema in Canterbury, Kent. It’s basically the delicious, architectural lovechild of Wes Anderson, all mid century modern golden glowing luxe, with the friendliest, most helpful staff you could imagine (and truffle fries and perfect piping hot tea in proper crockery delivered to your seat. Heaven). But it’s also guilty of headthunking everyday ableism. If you’re a wheelchair user, you have no option but to view the film from the very front row. This means cricking your neck back, and having everything screened right up in your grill.
Everyone knows the best views are at the back. So why deliberately build, from scratch, a cinema where you plonks those of us on wheels at the front with the worst possible view? Newer Odeons are starting to run with entry from the back. It’s not hard. This cinema will be around (hopefully) for a minimum of 10-20 years. Probably double that. That’s a long time to have a crap view if you’re Disabled.
And they’ve also started to lock the accessible automatic door ‘for security reasons’. Which denies Disabled people free agency of access. It’s a ball-ache having to wave through a window to get staff to open a heavy manual door. It’s not Asprey. We’re not protecting diamonds here. And if wrong’uns are trying to get in to steal the cookies and sneak in to watch films, they will do that anyway. And if wrong’uns are attempting to force and break the doors, well, by closing them, they are winning. We don’t get to use them either way. All closing automatic doors does is deny Disabled people the same equity of access as non-Disabled people. Curzon is a particularly fluffy, delicious and person-centred brand in the main. It needs to get with the movies and blow the bloody doors off. Or open them at least.
Another example of everyday ableism – a security worker with autism and dyslexia has won an employment tribunal after his workplace was found to have discriminated against him over his timekeeping. Raymond Bryce’s conditions mean he is unable to keep to a timetable, and is disorganised. The judge ruled that he is entitled to compensation, and the ruling sets a precedent that employers need to provide leeway for people whose impairments affect their ability to manage time. AKA, make reasonable adjustments under the Equality Act, a law which means that tribunals should not need bringing to court like this in the first place.
Disability in art
We’re in the last few weeks to see the Spain and the Hispanic World exhibition at the Royal Academy of Art in London, featuring work by the eighteenth century master, Goya. In midlife, he experienced loss of vision and hearing. He remained deaf for the rest of his life. His friend Pedro Mocarte, a celebrated singer, also experienced vision and hearing loss. Goya’s portrait of him hangs in this exhibition. The history of art is littered with Disabled artists, and galleries are only just starting to curate by consciously mentioning the interplay of lived experience upon artistic output. Mocarte is presented as a bullfighter here. And ignoring modern problems with the violence of bullfighting, the representation of his friend as someone bold, fierce, unflinching and proud – these things remain unchanged within Disabled culture across the centuries.
Souls Grown Deep Like The Rivers is the other main exhibition here, centred on the art of black artists from the American South. There are parallels with the Disabled lived experience. Barriers to freedom articulated with despair, pain, frustration and defiance. It’s powerful, especially for those in our community who live on the intersection of disability and race.
