Words as Walls

On Disability, Free Speech, and the Myth of Political Correctness

Recently, at a professional event, I watched a man wait until a disabled attendee left the room before dropping a punchline about them. When challenged, he deployed the universal, cowardly shield of the modern era: “Relax, it was just banter.”

There is no chance on earth he would have delivered that punchline while the subject was sitting in the room.

This has been the quiet, exhausting reality for disabled people and their families for decades. Even those public speakers, writers, and comedians who proudly view themselves as socially progressive routinely fail to measure the weight of the language they drop on people with disabilities.

We should remember how in the not-too-distant past, people with profound disabilities were seen as a source of shame for their parents, or even by some religious organisations and an ex-England football manager, as a punishment from God. Thankfully it is now becoming clear to all but the most extreme of religious views, that it is people with disabilities who can humanise us and heal us.

Although I frequently hear something infinitely more insidious which I call the Holy Carer Syndrome. Parents and carers are seen as wonderful people, even holy, for looking after “people like them”.  I cannot think of a more demeaning phrase than "people like them".

Sit with that phrase for a moment. People like them. It suffocates with polite pity, instead of attacking with a stick, it segregates with a sigh."

So why do some people still feel that derogatory language against disabled people is less of an issue than language used against other groups?  I believe it is largely due to a lack of inclusion; we don't mix with enough disabled people and those we see in the media, are often lauded for overcoming their hardship and living normal lives.

The Blast Radius Rule

Why do we get the calibration of this language so catastrophically wrong? I believe it comes down to a fundamental lack of humility. We fail to realise that if you do not live inside a specific blast radius, you are unqualified to measure the shockwave.

I learned the mathematics of this as a kid. I grew up working-class in South-East London. My closest mates were first-generation West Indian lads, as Cockney as me, but carrying a different heritage. In the seventies and eighties, the street racism levelled at them was casual, structural, and horrific. Because I ran with them, I caught the overspill. I took the abuse.

But even as a boy, I understood a rigid truth,

 The abuse I took didn’t target my blood.

I could stand shoulder-to-shoulder with my mates, I could be a fiercely loyal ally, but I could never claim ownership of their specific wound.

I know this because, while I couldn't claim ownership of the racial wound, I hold the deeds to a different one. I grew up with a disabled father and sister. I navigate the world as a proudly neurodivergent man with Autism and ADHD. I live inside this blast radius; I know what the shrapnel feels like.

The Working-Class Metric of Humour

This brings us to the thorny, highly weaponised question of "The Joke."

Coming from East London, humour was our primary Leveller. It was the social mechanism we used to knock the arrogant down a peg and pull the outsider up to the table. It says:

‘I see your difference, and you’re one of us.’

But there is a concrete operational line between a Leveller and a Cheap Shot.

A Leveller requires presence. It happens face-to-face. It requires you to look the subject in the eye so you can both measure the weight of the words together, ensuring the bridge holds.

A Cheap Shot relies entirely on absence. It waits until the subject walks out the door, so the shooter never has to look at the impact of the strike.

The coward at that event threw a Cheap Shot and then tried to claim the cultural immunity of a Leveller.

And that confusion. the deliberate blurring of connection and cowardice, is where most of our problems with language begin. However, it’s only half the story. Because if this is how we fail each other as individuals, what we’ve built around it our policies, our politeness, our idea of free speech, may be making it worse, not better.

In Part Two. I examine the institutional scaffolding, the failure of sanitised HR language, and the real liability of free speech.