Since this blog is called voicing
vulnerability, I figured it’s about time I shed light on one of the aspects of
having a disability that makes me feel most vulnerable.
Like many of my feminine-presenting friends, I learned as a
teen to walk home with my keys between my knuckles. We walked in packs when we could.
We developed strategies for staying safe when we travelled alone. I’ve heard
all the advice – be vigilant, observe your surroundings, cross the street or
enter a building if you’re suspicious.
Unfortunately for me as a woman with low vision, much of this advice depends on eyesight. So, I’ve sought other means of protecting myself, including walking
with a
look of fierce determination, talking on the phone, carrying pepper spray, and
keenly observing as best I can for anything suspicious.
Sexual assault against women is pervasive and tragic. Disabled
women are even more at risk, with estimates
indicating women with disabilities are three times more likely to be sexually
assaulted. In their piece investigating sexual assault in women with
intellectual disabilities, NPR
found that women with intellectual disabilities are more than seven times more
likely to be assaulted than those without disabilities. According to Disability Justice, 83%
of women with disabilities will be sexually assaulted in their lifetime, yet only
3% of sexual abuse involving women with intellectual disabilities is reported.
The high rates of sexual assault against women with disabilities may come as a surprise, given the pervasive social
tendency to desexualize disability. People with disabilities are portrayed as unattractive,
undesirable, and broken. Yet, women with disabilities are especially vulnerable
to sexual assault. This seems to be in part due to lacking senses or abilities
that could protect against these assaults. Increased rates of sexual assault
against women may also be based on the view that women with disabilities are weak
and incapable of protest. It’s assumed that we won’t
speak out against the injustice; and if we do, no one will listen anyway.
The risk of sexual assault makes me vulnerable. I am afraid when I travel alone. I'm afraid when unfamiliar people stop me on the street. I am afraid I will be taken advantage of because my disability makes me seem like an easy target. I am afraid I will be violently or sexually assaulted and won't be believed. I am afraid even if I am believed, I will not be able to hold a perpetrator accountable because I won't have detailed visual descriptions.
This fear is absolutely justified; being a woman with a disability objectively makes me more vulnerable. To
quote Molly
Burke’s Vice piece about dating while blind, “I have to be careful.” I am
at greater risk of sexual assault and harassment and need to take additional
precautions to protect myself as best I can. Despite my vigilance, I, like all
too many of my friends with disabilities, have had multiple encounters with
sexual assault. Within the past year alone I’ve had at least three public
encounters, including inappropriate physical contact and verbal harassment, including being grabbed, screamed at, and followed. I
don’t know whether these incidents would have occurred if I did not have low
vision. Could I have noticed subtle signs of danger earlier? Would I have been
able to escape sooner? Or, would they have felt entitled to treat me this way
if I weren’t disabled?
No woman, with or without sight, deserves unwanted sexual attention. It
is never the victim’s fault for being the target of sexual assault. Nonetheless,
we live in a society that makes us, as victims, question and blame ourselves. Systemic and structural inequalities silence women from reporting sexual assault,
and all too often this silencing is amplified for women with marginalized identities,
such as disability. I am so grateful for the momentum behind #MeToo, and I
commend the bravery of the women who have shared their stories to expose the
scope of this issue. And yet there is so much more nuance and complexity to the power structures that enable and dismiss sexual assault. Let's keep telling our stories and voicing our vulnerabilities.
