Last
week I had a somewhat unsettling experience. I am still trying to come to terms
with it, and usually writing about it helps me to figure things out.
I
had lunch with my friend Oline, and as we both had been to New York during the
last few weeks (New York Crip Advisor coming soon!), we had an animated
discussion about our experiences in the city.
Suddenly,
a guy at the table next to us barged in, without any invitation from either of
us – I hadn’t even noticed him sitting there. He was an ordinary, if slightly
dishevelled looking, guy in his 60s, with an Eastern European accent. “You from New York?” he said, and it was
clearly directed at me. “No, I’m from Switzerland,” I said, slightly perplexed.
The way he interrupted our conversation felt intrusive, especially as I hadn’t
seen Oline for a few weeks and we had so much to discuss. “Ah, you like it
better here than in Switzerland?’ he said, in the same slightly brusque manner.
At this point I was wondering whether he was trying to hit on me, so I responded
that I liked both, and that my husband is British.
He
looked at me, assessing me, from top to bottom. “You have husband?” – “Yes.” I
became perplexed and to find the situation slightly ridiculous. “You are
married even though you are in a wheelchair?!” – “Yes” “Really?!” – “Yes.” I
started to giggle nervously, because of the sheer ludicrousness of the moment.
“It’s great that you are married even though you are in a wheelchair. I am
disabled and I have no wife,” he said, pointing at his leg, which was covered
by the table. So far, I hadn’t noticed that he was disabled, and my annoyance
that I felt with him, for judging me, for his curiosity, for only seeing my
disability, now became conflicted, because despite all of this, I felt I should
feel solidarity with him as a disabled person, and empathy for his loneliness.
Nevertheless, I didn’t like how he reduced me to my impairment, and how he
assumed all disabled people had the same experiences as he does. Many disabled
people I know are in relationships, while others are happily single out of
choice, exploring their options, so I responded to him that in my experience,
being disabled and being single always correlates. He bluntly responded “Oh, I
think it does! Do you have children, too?” – I should have ended the
conversation right there and then, but he caught me off-guard, and again, him
being disabled too somehow made me feel that he deserved to be responded and to
be acknowledged, even though something inside me warned me about his intrusion.
I nervously giggled even more and said “not yet”, to which he responded “Ah,
can you have children? Is it possible, you being in a wheelchair??” “I don’t
know…” I said. He started babbling something which I couldn’t understand fully,
but I think he assumed from what I told him that I never had sex before (LOL)
and felt the need to comment on that. I felt confused, shocked, surprised. Why
did I let a complete stranger corner me like that, why did I even answer him?!
Luckily, at this moment Oline interrupted: “We are having a private
conversation here, please respect that,” she told him.
That
was the last time I looked at him. From that moment I focused on Oline and
tried hard to shut him out, to change conversation, and shortly after he left
the café, without me even noticing. I was overwhelmed and angry with myself.
Why did I let that happen? Usually I don’t have a problem telling strangers to
sod off when I feel they are being intrusive. However, their intrusion usually
comes from a place where they are curious about disability because the know
very little about it. This man, however, felt like a spectre that had come to
haunt me with my deepest fears, to confront me with my own moments of
loneliness, with the internalized oppression that so many disabled people struggle
to shake off. The rest of the afternoon I felt spooked, and very confused.
Yet,
he was also a man, a stranger, who felt he could pass judgement about me as a
woman and about my womb, to interrogate me without my permission, completely
uninvited. I feel that it was not okay for him to violate me like that under
any circumstances. Yet I also wonder whether we, as a society, are responsible
for letting things like that happen, letting people like this man to become so
lonely and isolated until they find no other outlet, no other space to discuss
their loneliness, than by taking advantage of unsuspecting strangers. But part
of me also knows that there are safe
spaces and services, even if they are rare and imperfect, where he could have
taken his unhappiness, instead of imposing it on unsuspecting strangers. All I
know is that I felt violated and deeply unsettled for the rest of the day, and
if something like that ever happens again, I will protect myself better.