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A terrible thing happened not long ago to a participant at the agency I work at. Accompanied by his business instructor and friend/fellow student, the guy came to a special gallery show in San Francisco, California (I'm a Cali guy, for anyone who doesn't know) to take part with his exhibit ready. According to staff, he was accosted by a bystander claiming our guy was showing "threatening mannerisms." Our guy is disabled, and the gallery show knows his instructor from previous shows. Nevertheless, this bystander though it legitimate to call the cops on our client because of his "threatening mannerisms". The police swiftly arrived to "evaluate" our guy, and promptly judged him dangerous, ready to arrest him. Our guy demanded entry into the show, as was his right. He was barred from entry. His friend/fellow student (she is in a motorized wheelchair) broke down in tears, condemning the whole thing as a grave injustice. Ultimately, our instructor had to take our participant home, but had to also leave our wheelchair client behind until later due to space in his transport vehicle (a two-passenger). As of right now, my agency is working with an SF lawyer and pressing charges against the gallery coordinators.
This is oddly significant for me, as I just met with my psychiatrist today for a check-in. I've been having a hard time due to adverse side effects as a result of taking my prescribed antidepressant medication; we suspect it may be tardive dyskinesia (it's mostly in my legs and mouth somewhat). I told her that our participant's experience at the gallery was a trigger for me, because I had a similar experience back in September.
It was Friday, September 8th, and my friends had called me to hang out San Francisco for the night. I was all up for it, because my therapy appointment had been cancelled earlier that day -- without notice and not until FIVE MINUTES AFTER THE SCHEDULED MEETING TIME. Upon meeting my pals in San Francisco, we decided to go clubbing. As we stopped by an ATM, I made a withdrawal. Immediately, I was alerted that my debit card had been blocked due to a "suspicious activity". I called the the bank, was put on hold for a good while, and deduced there would be no answer (it was around midnight). So now, my debit card was no longer active, and I would have to get a new one. But the worst was yet to come.
As we approached the nightclub, we were carded for age verification. But the doorman was giving me an uncomfortable look, eyes nervously darting around. I asked him what the problem was. He responded "are you okay?" I answered yes. He responded "You look twitchy. You sure you're okay?" At this point, my buddy was angered. He shot back, "Hey! What's your deal? Is he threatening you?" The doorman promptly told him, "I can't admit him." My buddy angrily shot back, "And why is that?" Instead of answering, the doorman retorts with "Does he have Tourette's? If I let him in, my boss will kill me."
Irritated and aware of where this was going, I politely asked, "Okay. If you won't admit me, can I have my money back?" He handed the money back... to my friend. My own money that he wouldn't accept because I was "twitchy", and he hands it to my FRIEND instead of me. He doubled down on the "Tourette's" stuff, and my pal went full rage-mode, demanding to see the doorman's boss. At that point, I stormed off, two blocks down, found a receding wall near a small shop, and sulked.
My friends soon caught up, informing me that they cussed out both the doorman AND his boss after the boss asked if I wanted to come back to be "evaluated" before entry.
"Evaluated". I assure you, the doorman's boss doesn't even have BASIC knowledge about mental health and psychology.
And just like that, my evening was ruined. A cancelled therapy appointment after the fact and with no notice, a bank's screw-up freezing my debit card for the next week until my new one arrived, and a nightclub doorman who thinks that subtle body movement is grounds to refuse entry -- and to humiliate the "twitchy person" in front of a bunch of other club goers waiting to enter.
What I'm seeing in San Francisco, a city I once loved -- and, for that matter, the whole country -- is that an alarming number of people are becoming increasingly close-minded when it comes to the unknown. If they don't know everything about something, they become afraid. It's a known fact that the stigma towards disabled and mentally unwell people regards them as dangerous, unpredictable, and violent, as they are often portrayed in media. As a result, there's a certain "social standard" that's erected by these people. Anything that deviates from the standard is judged a threat, and it must therefore be contained or neutralized. It's the cornerstone of discrimination, and after nearly two centuries, it's still very much alive and well.
To people who think that way, I'd like to tell them of a film I watched with my agency's participants. In it, a disabled individual with one normal arm and one wedged in her back talked about how, despite her condition, life was actually quite great. She believed so of her perspective, which switched on the lightbulb in my mind. She said:
"The way I look at it is like this. On some level, everybody has a disability."
Everyone has a disability, be it being a slow learner, a short-tempered person, athlete proficiency, anything. So in reality, there is no normal. We're all different. And the concept of difference is being out of the ordinary, or in other words, normal.
I really wish people would stop being so closed-minded, ignorant, and judgmental about mental illness. We can't base those with mental instability on what we see in a hospital thriller movie. Doing that feeds the stigma, demonizes these people, and becomes a part of the problem, not the solution.
It may have been an unrealistic question back then, but Rodney King had the right sentiment when he asked, "Why can't we all just get along?"
Why can't we?
This is oddly significant for me, as I just met with my psychiatrist today for a check-in. I've been having a hard time due to adverse side effects as a result of taking my prescribed antidepressant medication; we suspect it may be tardive dyskinesia (it's mostly in my legs and mouth somewhat). I told her that our participant's experience at the gallery was a trigger for me, because I had a similar experience back in September.
It was Friday, September 8th, and my friends had called me to hang out San Francisco for the night. I was all up for it, because my therapy appointment had been cancelled earlier that day -- without notice and not until FIVE MINUTES AFTER THE SCHEDULED MEETING TIME. Upon meeting my pals in San Francisco, we decided to go clubbing. As we stopped by an ATM, I made a withdrawal. Immediately, I was alerted that my debit card had been blocked due to a "suspicious activity". I called the the bank, was put on hold for a good while, and deduced there would be no answer (it was around midnight). So now, my debit card was no longer active, and I would have to get a new one. But the worst was yet to come.
As we approached the nightclub, we were carded for age verification. But the doorman was giving me an uncomfortable look, eyes nervously darting around. I asked him what the problem was. He responded "are you okay?" I answered yes. He responded "You look twitchy. You sure you're okay?" At this point, my buddy was angered. He shot back, "Hey! What's your deal? Is he threatening you?" The doorman promptly told him, "I can't admit him." My buddy angrily shot back, "And why is that?" Instead of answering, the doorman retorts with "Does he have Tourette's? If I let him in, my boss will kill me."
Irritated and aware of where this was going, I politely asked, "Okay. If you won't admit me, can I have my money back?" He handed the money back... to my friend. My own money that he wouldn't accept because I was "twitchy", and he hands it to my FRIEND instead of me. He doubled down on the "Tourette's" stuff, and my pal went full rage-mode, demanding to see the doorman's boss. At that point, I stormed off, two blocks down, found a receding wall near a small shop, and sulked.
My friends soon caught up, informing me that they cussed out both the doorman AND his boss after the boss asked if I wanted to come back to be "evaluated" before entry.
"Evaluated". I assure you, the doorman's boss doesn't even have BASIC knowledge about mental health and psychology.
And just like that, my evening was ruined. A cancelled therapy appointment after the fact and with no notice, a bank's screw-up freezing my debit card for the next week until my new one arrived, and a nightclub doorman who thinks that subtle body movement is grounds to refuse entry -- and to humiliate the "twitchy person" in front of a bunch of other club goers waiting to enter.
What I'm seeing in San Francisco, a city I once loved -- and, for that matter, the whole country -- is that an alarming number of people are becoming increasingly close-minded when it comes to the unknown. If they don't know everything about something, they become afraid. It's a known fact that the stigma towards disabled and mentally unwell people regards them as dangerous, unpredictable, and violent, as they are often portrayed in media. As a result, there's a certain "social standard" that's erected by these people. Anything that deviates from the standard is judged a threat, and it must therefore be contained or neutralized. It's the cornerstone of discrimination, and after nearly two centuries, it's still very much alive and well.
To people who think that way, I'd like to tell them of a film I watched with my agency's participants. In it, a disabled individual with one normal arm and one wedged in her back talked about how, despite her condition, life was actually quite great. She believed so of her perspective, which switched on the lightbulb in my mind. She said:
"The way I look at it is like this. On some level, everybody has a disability."
Everyone has a disability, be it being a slow learner, a short-tempered person, athlete proficiency, anything. So in reality, there is no normal. We're all different. And the concept of difference is being out of the ordinary, or in other words, normal.
I really wish people would stop being so closed-minded, ignorant, and judgmental about mental illness. We can't base those with mental instability on what we see in a hospital thriller movie. Doing that feeds the stigma, demonizes these people, and becomes a part of the problem, not the solution.
It may have been an unrealistic question back then, but Rodney King had the right sentiment when he asked, "Why can't we all just get along?"
Why can't we?
