Fear of a Disabled President

President Trump has evident difficulty drinking water from a glass. Everyone from late-night comedians to basic cable pundits to America’s social media clusterfuck has reminded us that the President occasionally struggles to drink gracefully. His intermittent need to double-fist a drinking glass has become, alongside his famous struggle to descend a ramp, a metaphor for the President’s opponents about his struggles to execute his constitutional duties in office.

One year ago, I probably would’ve joined this pile-on. I would’ve participated when left-leaning media figures mocked his evident difficulty, comparing him to a toddler with a sippy cup. I would’ve jeered at the twitter video macro that called him “the greatest president ever” when, at his June 20th Tulsa rally, he demonstratively drank water with only one hand, I would’ve laughed along when that great authority on political decorum, Fonzie, showed up the president’s water-drinking panache.

Because it really is funny, in isolation. President Trump likes mocking any perceived weakness or shortcoming in his opponents. During the 2016 campaign, his attacks on Jeb Bush and Hillary Clinton for being “low energy” and lacking “stamina” were clear metaphors for what he considered their moral weaknesses: if they can’t be constantly frenetic, he implied, they couldn’t have moral fiber enough to lead. The water-drinking jibes simply turn that back on him, and reversal jokes are funny.

But life circumstances have made me conscious of public ableism recently. When we use people’s physical shortcomings to belittle their moral character, I’ve realized, that redounds on us. I don’t dare get into too much detail about what’s made me conscious of this, since it’s not entirely my story. However, in brief, when people with serious physical disabilities struggle to perform common tasks, while attempting to remain useful to society, that’s on us.

One hand pic.twitter.com/nrCOW27Yuk

— Henry Winkler (@hwinkler4real) June 22, 2020

Like most of my generation, I grew up considering disability as synonymous with paraplegia. I was among the first generation who had to internalize the reality that you mustn’t park in the designated “handicapped spot,” a term I realize is now considered offensive, but still commonly used. And the “handicapped spot” was signified by a wheelchair icon. Disabled people must necessarily have immobile or missing limbs.

Worse, if anybody uses the “handicapped spot” who doesn’t visibly, obviously need it, my generation internalized the attitude that this person is committing a moral offense. Reserving the “handicapped spot” isn’t just a positive good, it’s a moral imperative. So if somebody emerges from their car in that spot, and walks away, we feel moral outrage akin to witnessing sexual harassment or public urination: this person has transgressed the unwritten law.

Thus disability becomes a moral indicator. People who transgress our idea of what constitutes a disability have committed a sin. But what about people who have invisible disabilities? Fibromyalgia, neuromuscular disorders, connective tissue problems, and chronic pain place severe limits on people’s ability to perform routine acts. They can’t necessarily work eight consecutive hours, carry their groceries unaided, or walk across a long, hot parking lot.

Watching the President struggle to drink water, I see a man facing common musculoskeletal problems which come with age. Most of us past age thirty recognize that we can’t always perform physical tasks with the grace and equanimity we once had. The man might have a minor age-related disability which needs insignificant accommodation. We could make serious accusations against this administration; struggling with drinking isn’t one of them.

Humans, though, think in metaphor. Outsiders watching Trump struggle with his water glass and who, unlike me, haven’t been jolted into awareness of how society treats invisible disabilities, see an external manifestation of moral culpability. It’s difficult to grasp the years-long “kids in cages” scandal, cozying up to nuclear-armed dictators, doubling down on systemic racism. These issues are big and decentralized. Drinking-glass difficulty is small and easy to see.

So, when small-screen pundits belittle Trump’s difficulty drinking water, they mean their insults poetically. His real scandals are so big, and hard to see, that our outrage dissipates. So we pull focus onto his physical infirmities. But in so doing, we reinforce the message that everyone facing invisible disabilities is actually concealing moral failures. We’re bolstering the idea that the disabled are just bad people.

There are multiple serious accusations to make against this administration. In pulling focus, paid pundits are trying to create a capsule argument for Trump’s moral degradation. But they’re doing it in a way that paints with an unsustainably broad brush. And whether they realize it or not, they’re creating an environment that’s going to be even more hostile to people facing regular, day-to-day difficulties. That doesn’t help anyone.