Inspiration is a fickle thing. (1/2)
When I started writing Yet We Persist, I had a nebulous, swirling sort of mentality surrounding it. Disability is either ignored or solved, the majority of the time, in the majority of media that isn't centred entirely around The Disability Itself.
What you get is 1: pity-porn; 2: inspiration-porn; or 3: 'floating wheelchair dilemma'. Let's look at the problems before we look at my approach to them. (This is a two-post issue, expect more soon.)
Buckle in, folks.
1: So you have the obvious, shameless Pity Porn angle. Obviously, I hate this. I hate when disability is some massive, miserable thing: when a person's entire life becomes a parade of self-pity. It's not that it's entirely unrealistic when you first acquire - or come to terms with - your life as Disabled. But then life goes on, you find things you can still do, and you immerse yourself. It doesn't make things perfectly the same, but it also doesn't occupy every waking moment. It becomes just part of the tapestry of experience.
2: On the opposite side, you have Inspiration Porn. That's the term for when you're overcoming the odds and living the most incredible, exceptional life in the world, against all odds, proving that Even A Cripple Can Do It. This isn't about people succeeding and living good lives, it's about making people who aren't disabled more comfortable, more content, more sure that the world doesn't have to change to accommodate different needs. It's about proving that we're still human enough to deserve rights.
3: And then there's the third, and the one I see most often these days. The Floating Wheelchair Dilemma. I'm giving this more space, as it's far more nuanced (in my opinion as a certified cripple).
This isn't quite deliberate, but it does have the effect of well-intentioned people considering it representation. So... when I talk about this, I'm talking about floating wheelchairs in fantasy or science fiction settings, but I'm also talking about prostheses that work identically to a natural limb; I'm talking about Daredevil's sonic 'vision' that allows him to navigate perfectly; I'm talking about (sorry, Star Trek fans) Geordie LaForge's visor in Next Gen. None of these things in a vacuum is bad, exactly, but they paint a false picture - one where disability isn't just catered to but is actively redundant... if you're wealthy or lucky enough.
But what happens to the Waterdeep resident with a spinal cord injury and no money? Does the government provide a mechanical spider wheelchair for them, to get over those cobbles? What happens when you have to visit the powerful wizard and he's up 300 steps in the top of a tower? What happens, mercy forbid, when you have to get food from the market by yourself?
The answer is simple: it doesn't matter because you're not a main character.
Some media addresses it in passing: all disabilities that require wheelchairs are curable (or possibly abort-able, though that's between the lines) in the Star Trek universe, but on a singular episode, they have to get the schematics for a specific person's specific wheelchair. Because the replicators don't have a schematic for this, and nobody is equipped to deal with it. Nobody knows how to take care of an ailing, aging, or Disabled body, because none of those issues are relevant to any characters in this story.
In these stories, we've grown past Disability. It's not that it's not disabling, it's not that it's catered to, it just... doesn't exist, except on the very, VERY rare margins, and that's where the 'magic' happens, the sudden leaps in necessity that find a way to look past the real world and imagine a world where nobody is truly disabled by their accessibility needs, even though we have elderly and ailing characters. Even when medicine is admitted to be flawed, no illness ever leaves its mark, except cosmetically.
There are examples, though, of it done with more thought, more care. Coyote & Crow, the Indigipunk setting by Kenna Alexander, explicitly talks about concepts of disability - not in huge detail, but it does mention that governments fund prostheses, magnetic-risen mobility aids. It does explicitly mention that within this culture, people do not hide their disabilities. It explicitly mentions cultural biases, e.g. the idea that hiding a prosthesis to look more 'realistic' is seen as distasteful and somewhat disrespectful. I don't consider Coyote & Crow to be a perfect example of disability representation by any means, but it tries to be earnestly open to the discussion, and it tries to express that attitudes towards disability aren't about curing, or hiding, or inspiration porn, or pity porn - they're accommodated. And it fits within the communal care of Coyote & Crow's setting: people's basic needs are met, wherever there is enough to meet them; money is a mechanic but not for food or shelter, nor for prostheses and mobility aids and medicine.
Yet We Persist is different again.
Disability, and its existence in so many people, is central to this game - baked into the character creation engine; baked into the society; baked into a living, breathing world. It is not only accommodated, it is accepted, worked within.
You don't have to be exceptional, or pitied, or just-as-abled-with-your-aids, as the people around you. You just have to be part of community, and you will be cared for, and you will contribute, and you have the same inherent worth as all other people.
In Yet We Persist, the likelihood is that you will have some form of disability, detriment, or challenge.
Because, for all we deny it, disability is the most common state of human people. Not always major, not always visible, but... almost always there. Maybe from birth, or from injury, or from age, it is there.
More on Yet We Persist's approach in part 2.
Good luck, and may you be welcome where you tread.
- AdderTwist.
