I often encounter people who are uncomfortable with the word disability.
They sometimes say that the root of their discomfort comes from the prefix dis- in front of ability. The etymology of disability dates back to the 1570s “as a combination of the prefix ‘dis-’ which connotes ‘apart,’ ‘asunder,’ ‘away,’ ‘utterly,’ or having a privative, negative, or reversing force; and ‘ability’ which connotes power or capacity to do or act physically, mentally, legally, morally, financially, etc.”1 Through this lens, disability is linked to the inability to do or act physically or mentally.
While we can’t change the origins of the word, we can challenge the lens through which it was created and reclaim what it means to our community.
Not all words that start with dis- have negative connotations, says recording artist and disability advocate Lachi. Distinguished, discovery, distinct, and discussion are a few that come to mind.2 While this exercise is not entirely accurate through a linguistic lens, it still encourages us to start unlearning the automatic association of dis- with “without” or “less than.”
Therapist Meriah Nichols takes this conversation a step further by highlighting how dis- is also related to the Latin prefixes bis- and duo-, which connote “twice” or “two ways.” Dis- is then reframed as “another way of doing and being,” so that dis- plus ability becomes “the ability to do or be in another way.”3
The fact is, disability is not a bad word but rather a neutral term. Disability just is.
I used to joke that people who are uneasy with the word disability should repeat it ten times in a row to become more comfortable saying it. I’ve now realized that this is actually a psychological phenomenon backed by science. Semantic satiation, coined by psychologist Leon James (Jakobovits) in 1962, refers to how the uninterrupted repetition of a word reduces it to meaningless sounds and enables the speaker to separate their thoughts and associations from the word.4 Repeating the word disability again and again in everyday use causes it to lose the negative value judgment we may have assigned to it. The more we use the word, the better we can remove the stigma society associated with it and attribute new meaning as well as neutral or even positive value judgments to it.
For example, to me, the word disability now connotes a sense of pride, a source of strength, and empowerment.
There are two main themes I’d like to address when it comes to using language to describe disability. First, there are identity-first and person-first language, the terms most commonly adopted by the disability community to describe ourselves. Then there are euphemisms, words people use in place of disability because they think it is a bad word.
When people from the disability community describe themselves or self-identify, we usually pick one of two ways: identity-first language—“I am a disabled person” or “I am disabled”—or person-first language—“I’m a person with a disability.” Person-first language was initially introduced in the 1970s among disability advocacy groups5 by people with disabilities who said, “We are not our disabilities. We are people first. I’m a person first.”6 Non-disabled people needed reminders of disabled people’s humanity. However, some people in the movement now believe that person-first language has ableist undertones because it separates the person from the disability, assuming our disability to be bad, negative, or undesirable. In comparison, identity-first language—“I’m a disabled person”—views disability as a core part of our identity, in the same way that I’m an Asian woman. I can’t separate my personhood from my disability. And I wouldn’t.
Next, we have euphemisms, which include phrases like “differently abled,” having “unique abilities,” or having “special needs” to describe disabled people. Though popular for a while, they were used during a period when disability was still highly stigmatized, which explains the desire to hide the word disability under alternative phrases.
Here is a list of euphemisms for disability in addition to those previously mentioned that are often used:
• Different abilities
• Handicapable
• Challenged
• People of determination (used in the United Arab Emirates)
Overall, terms like differently abled, special needs, unique abilities, and people with determination diminish the very real hardships that come with living with a disability in an ableist society or the pride people feel in our experiences. Describing someone as having “special needs” instead of simply “disabled” suggests that our basic human rights are “special” or out of the ordinary as opposed to simply necessary. You’ll also hear people say, “We all have different abilities” or “We all have special needs” as a way to encourage people to see the humanity of the disability experience, but that also suggests that disabled people exist on a level playing field with the rest of society, which undermines the issue. It’s called the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) for a reason. The ADA prohibits discrimination based on our legal categorization of “disabled,” not any euphemism. “Disability” is what is enshrined in our civil rights. You can check out the #SayTheWord campaign and movement started by disability community activist Lawrence Carter-Long that encourages people to use direct and specific language when referring to disabilities.7
It is important to note that when referring to a disabled person as an individual, always check in with us first to see what type of language we prefer. Preferred language varies from person to person and is up to the individual. For example, I often find myself switching between identity-first and person-first language, though I prefer the former (“I’m disabled”) for the many reasons I’ve shared in this chapter. Some time ago, I received a direct message from a stranger on social media who requested that I change my language to person-first language (“I’m a person with disabilities”) because they had been taught this in a university class. An important part of allyship is being nuanced and appreciating the diversity that exists within disability—say it with me: we are not a monolith. So it’s important to respect and defer to individual preferences.8 In fact, some disabled people still prefer to identify themselves as “differently abled” and having “unique abilities,” and you should honor that. However, when talking about the community broadly, the main takeaway is to use the word disability when referring to disabilities. Call it like it is.
Now, you might ask, But Tiffany, why is your organization called Diversability? Isn’t that a euphemism? The short answer is yes. The longer answer is when I started Diversability in 2009, I often got blank stares when I mentioned that I wanted to start a movement around “disability pride.” People were confused by how anyone could be proud to be disabled. I chose “Diversability” because disability for me is a natural variation of human diversity. I wanted to highlight that and the fact that disability itself is diverse. I suggest using Diversability only as a proper noun when referring to our organization and using disability otherwise.9
It is also important to know which terms have become outdated and should not be used, like handicapped and crippled. Handicapped in particular has negative connotations, probably due to the common belief that it is derived from the term “hand-in-cap” to describe beggars, though this etymology has proven to be false—handicap actually refers to actions that make a game more equitable. You might still see mention of “handicapped parking” in public spaces, but I suggest using “disability parking” or “accessible parking” instead.
As you progress on your anti-ableist journey and rethink the language you use, it’s possible that you’ll encounter some disabled people who say, “I personally don’t have an issue when you use such language. It doesn’t bother me.” And there are exceptions of people with certain disabilities preferring to use outdated terms like crip to refer to themselves or people with mental illness using mad as a way to reclaim those terms. As Andrew Pulrang says, “When we ‘reclaim’ such terms for ourselves, we do so with a great deal of care and discretion. And this is not a privilege open to people outside of our disability communities.”10 Each individual disabled person is entitled to their own opinion on what type of language is used to describe them. However, it would be wrong to imply that it is therefore acceptable to do so for all other disabled people.
Such comments are an example of a type of ableism known as lateral ableism, which you’ll learn about later. According to Aubrey Blanche-Sarellano, a designer of equitable processes, products, and operations, disabled people who are personally unbothered by ableist language cannot prevent the harm done to the wider community. “The fact that you are not personally harmed does not mean that others are not. Your focusing on yourself rather than the broader system of white supremacy-enabled ableism is… exactly what these systems of oppression want.”11
If we are to truly become anti-ableist allies, we must start with language. If something as simple as the words we say and the phrases we use causes discomfort, how much more difficult will it be to change actual thoughts and behaviors? Our current situation exists partly because we have stayed silent, not knowing what to say or how to say it in a way that seems polite or perfectly informed. And when we stay silent, we don’t learn, grow, or make progress. Instead, let’s learn to sit with our discomfort and then move through it so that we can break down old, harmful associations and attribute new meaning and power to our words.