New Glasses
Like many of my White friends right now, I’m searching to grasp how the oppression of people of color intricately weaves its way through us. And me. The persistence of racial hatred gnaws at my understanding.
I have been the mother of a child the world called “disabled.” My experience as Michael’s mother opened my eyes to the ways in which the world was not made for him. Public parks and playgrounds were full of wood chips and sand—terrain not amenable to the weight and wheels of a power wheelchair. Our family went to D.C. to lobby on behalf of a local hospital for pediatric specialty training funding. It took us hours to find accessible entrances. Even other people’s homes were difficult to negotiate with the mobility needs of someone with cerebral palsy. Barriers were there in ways others simply could not see.
Michael gave me a new pair of glasses.
These glasses would never allow me to fully understand what it was like to live in a body with physical challenges, but they did help me see a bit better into this reality. Once you have put these glasses on, they permanently change your vision.
One day, about a year after Michael died, my husband, two younger children and I happened by a park on our way to the Eagle Center in Wabasha, Minnesota. While looking for a place to sit down for a picnic lunch, we looked up and were taken aback.
There stood this incredible adaptive playground, with rubber flooring, musical instruments one could reach from a seated position, swings with straps, and even an adaptive see-saw!
Colvill Park, Red Wing, Minnesota (https://www.red-wing.org/507/Universal-Playground)
What was so remarkable about this playground was how accessible it was for everyone. Kids with physical disabilities could enjoy the activities in ways that were impossible on other playgrounds and the way in which the park was designed made it universally fun for kids and adults alike. Paying attention to the needs of one group made it so that many could benefit.
When the COVID-19 outbreak began in this country, people started making face masks in bulk. My cousin posted an article about designers creating accessible masks for members of the deaf and hard of hearing community, who use lip reading and facial expressions to interpret what people are saying. Here is another example where considering the needs of one group can benefit many. Better communication eases all our lives—especially in times of medical crisis.
The transparent HelloMask allows non-verbal communication between patients and nursing staff (https://www.swissinfo.ch/eng/swiss-develop-first-see-through-mask/45824518?fbclid=IwAR2s8ci3tFu2_ArpCJtpWWsehqGJy4FW7B07ovdw2wdS7pFEUb7BxeTT49w)
Last night, I watched Ava DuVernay’s documentary, 13th. In it, Malkia Cyril, Executive Director for the Center for Media Justice, asserts:
“Having people truly understand that when black lives matter, everybody’s life matters, including every single person that enters this criminal justice system and this prison industrial complex. It’s not just even about only black lives, right? It’s about changing the way this country understands human dignity.”
This statement put some pieces together for me.
What this moment demands of us White folks is to put on a new kind of glasses. We are being asked to see, to listen, to attempt to understand and to respond. Black Lives Matter is opening our eyes to the ongoing perils of living in a black or brown body in this country. I know I would not be killed for passing a counterfeit $20 on purpose or by mistake, but George Floyd was. Attempting to see through his eyes is devastating and I must look. Compassion requires us to see clearly into the nature of suffering—a necessary first step in being able to do something about it.
