We need social policies based in genuine empathy, not the “MAiD” movement’s pseudo “empathy.”
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| Meghan Schrader |
One of the things I love best about my job is that it connects me to a community of other disabled people. All of the students and many of the staff have disabilities, and our insight into one anothers struggles allows us to model interdependence-people with similar experiences helping each other live with dignity and make positive choices.
Our mutual experience of disability also helps us have empathy for each other. We understand how hard it can be to be disabled, especially in an ableist world, so we’re able to provide peer support if one of us is feeling overwhelmed and sad.
For instance, a few months ago a student who is partially blind wept because she was struggling to read important information on a whiteboard, and she said, “It’s so hard to be disabled sometimes!” “I know, sweetie,” I said. “We at E4 want you to not be ashamed of your disability and maybe even take pride in it, but that doesn’t mean you have to like it all the time.” Another day a colleague with bipolar disorder asked, “Is there a bug on that wall? I hope I’m not hallucinating.” I responded: “I don’t see a bug, but maybe it was just a shadow.” That seemed to alleviate her anxiety. “Yeah, that makes sense,” she said. Another time a student with a chromosomal anomaly and severe anxiety was talking to me and this same colleague and said with tears in her eyes, “What am I going to do? How am I gonna live with my disability? How am I going to get a job?” We both assured her that we understood her fears, and pointed out that we both live on our own and have jobs, even though we are disabled, and that she has a solid vocational goal that she is working for. One night I arrived at work feeling overwhelmed and depressed about the long day I had had trying to cope with the deficits related to my learning disability, and feeling frustrated about that disability’s impact on my life in general. When there weren’t any students in the room tears trickled down my cheeks and I said to a different disabled colleague, “I love my job, but sometimes it’s so hard to live and work with my learning disability; I hate it sometimes; I really do!” “I understand, Meg,” he said gently. “Do you want me to get you a tissue?” I am deeply grateful for that mutual support among staff and students, which gives us all an opportunity to function at our highest potential.
What the assisted suicide movement does to the disabled community is like if instead of commiserating with one anothers suffering one of us had said to the other, “Yeah, you’re right; your life sucks and things will probably never get any better. Have you considered killing yourself?”
Why don’t proponents of assisted suicide, especially proponents of regimes like Canada’s, understand how cruel that is to do to someone? What is the point of reaching out for help in your lowest moments if the people you reach out to are just going to suggest that you die?
The interactions I’ve cited model true compassion; the assisted suicide movement does not. My colleagues, students and I lift each other up, the assisted suicide movement kicks disabled people when we are down.
We need social policies based in genuine empathy, not the “MAiD” movement’s pseudo “empathy.”
Previous articles by Meghan Schrader - (Articles Link).
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