Blindness: Physical Handicap, Characteristic, Identity, or Something Else

by Gary Wunder

Almost fifty years ago Dr. Kenneth Jernigan wrote an essay entitled “Blindness: Handicap or Characteristic.” His assertion seemed revolutionary at the time, his argument being that blindness was more a characteristic than a handicap, more a nuisance and an inconvenience than the tragic condition it was so often portrayed to be. I first saw the article when a blind professor for whom I was working asked me to read and comment about it because he found it intriguing but wasn’t quite certain how he felt about the proposition.

Being a relatively new member of the National Federation of the Blind at that time, I knew that I admired Kenneth Jernigan, but my father had always called me visually handicapped, and I wasn’t quite certain about whether I could get behind rejecting that label. Certainly what President Jernigan wrote was moving and articulate, but even as a young college student, I knew that this wasn’t the test as to whether or not the proposition was true.

Is the Answer Truly Binary?

As I experienced more of life and read Federation literature, I became much more comfortable with the idea that blindness was indeed a characteristic. I found that I did not have to reject the assertion that sometimes it was also a handicap, though either/or is very often the kind of proposition we present in trying to figure out how to put major pieces of the puzzle of life together. Believing that the world is made up only of round pegs and square pegs and deciding where to put the pieces is often a cause of unnecessary conflict, and in my life this has too often resulted in my trying to impose my perceptions as making up the reality of the world.

Although we clearly refer to blindness as one of many characteristics and not the characteristic that defines us, this doesn’t really address the issue of what part it plays in identity. Its role in my life and the lives of others was next brought top of mind when I attended a conference on bioethics at the invitation of Dr. Adrienne Asch. She was a renowned bioethicist, a scholar, and a prominent figure in advancing civil rights for people with disabilities and particularly those of us who are blind. One of the topics discussed was whether one would choose to reverse or eliminate their disability if such were possible. I had never seriously put much mental energy into the question because I had long since come to regard my blindness, as they say in the law, permanent and irreversible. It seems to me that those two words are the same, but I’ve read them so often that they just seem to go together. The proposition being advanced by some at the conference was that to wish for or to embrace a cure was to admit that one was not happy with themselves and willing to throw away a foundational part of their identity. While I certainly believed then and believe now that blindness has played a major part in shaping my identity, I had never really considered the possibility of regaining sight as suggesting that I was unhappy as a blind person and that blindness was something I did not like about myself. One question that occurred to me during the conference was whether any disability I might encounter would immediately become a part of my identity. I have to believe that most people would consider me crazy if I broke my leg but refused to have it fixed on the assumption that it would be to reject a new me.

Admitting What I Have Gotten by Being Blind

I admit that blindness has shaped me in some positive ways such as getting me a free college education, helping me to become a problem-solver by thinking out of the box, exposing me to people I likely would never have met had I not moved from my small town and the homogenous group of people who lived there. Had it not been for blindness, I doubt I would have met every member of the Missouri Congressional Delegation. It is likely, like my father and my siblings, I might continue to be one of the alienated who think of themselves as the powerless little guy.

Be Careful What You Wish For

A friend of mine was told by his surgeon that a cornea transplant would restore most or all of his vision. He had been blind since birth but at an earlier point in his life had had significantly more vision. He believed his doctor was offering a wonderful opportunity, took it, and was pleasantly surprised to realize that his vision was so improved that he could read the newspaper. After a bit of celebrating, he took a much lower profile because, apparently for the first time, he thought through what it would mean to no longer be blind. He was a part of the Randolph-Sheppard vending program, a reasonably successful manager who liked the work and desperately needed the income. He was also a recipient of Missouri’s blind pension and of the monthly check provided through his Social Security Disability Insurance benefit. Like most of us, his household budget had him spending about as much as he took in, and the realization that he would lose all of this income was bone chilling for him. So this temporarily sighted man decided to no longer share with the world this newfound blessing, and for years he sweated about the possibility that he might be found out and wrestled with his concept of being a truth-telling man and the consequences that truth would mean for a person who was no longer young enough to reasonably start out on a new career path. We, his friends, who would’ve been quick to expose fraud if we saw a person who had always had vision trying to take advantage of blindness programs, were silent. We too were holding our breath—knowing he was breaking the law, but wondering what we would do if placed in the same circumstance.

Would I Gamble on Sight?

Let us dismiss for a moment all of the practical issues involved in whether or not I could ever really see and for this purpose let us talk about philosophy, self-concept, and identity. Some of you may have read the book Crashing Through by Mike May. If you haven’t, spoiler alert: he could see until about the age of three, went through his life amassing many accomplishments as a blind person, felt good about himself, was offered the opportunity to regain vision, and had to wrestle with the idea of whether or not to do it. After all of the soul-searching, his decision came down to this: I’m happy as a blind guy; I’ve done most everything I want to do, but the things that have brought me the most joy in life have involved adventure and new activities. What could be more of an adventure than figuring out what it is like to see?

If I have accurately summarized what Mike said and felt, there isn’t much more I have to say. I do not believe I would be selling out myself or other blind people. I do not believe I would be running from a life that has frustrated me with failure after failure. I do not believe I would be turning my back on friends I consider family. Gaining truly usable vision is a highly questionable proposition given what we now know about the plasticity of the brain and needing to learn to see at a fairly early age, but I think that in my soon to be retirement I might just be a chauffeur for blind people. It wouldn’t hurt me at all to see the money flowing the other way, and I would be assured of writers who were interesting, informative, and able to think outside the box. For those of you who remember my little essay on controlling the car, this rideshare driver would give full control of the electric windows and the car radio to his passengers.

Would I like to see a sunrise, a sunset, the stars at night, the flames coming out of a rocket as it heads toward space? You bet I would. Would I like to learn what is special about the smile of the Mona Lisa? Why not? Would I like to learn the magic of converting a two-dimensional drawing into something that looks like a horse running across the prairie? Yes, not just for the beauty of the horse and the prairie but for the whole idea that it can be displayed two dimensionally and be meaningful. I grant that there are other mysteries in life that are probably more important, and I grant that they are also beyond my ability to comprehend, let alone solve. But the fact that I do not have most of the things I’ve put on this list doesn’t mean that I have to be defensive and say that I don’t care anything about them. Neither do I have to give them so much bandwidth that they get in the way of my enjoying the beautiful life I have in the wonderful opportunities I’ve been blessed to enjoy and that are arguably more important.

Why This Article?

One of the things I most hope for when we publish an issue of the Braille Monitor is that it will get response. It is fun to write my thoughts, but for me the real challenge in life isn’t just getting to say what I think; it is prompting others to say what they think and then engaging in a genuine attempt to understand. Please write in response to this article and the one that comes above it. I believe that Rishika Kartik would appreciate responses to the moving speech she gave in a TED Talk that also appears in this issue. This magazine belongs to you; please take ownership of it and let your voice be heard!