"There Aren't Many People Like You There" or Ableism in the Ivy League
It was early February 2009. The middle of my senior year of high school. College was the only thing that mattered. Getting in, proving my resume was good enough, that I was good enough. That was what brought me to a coffee shop in the middle of a neighboring town that cold winter morning. I had been so excited when I got the call for an interview, that had to be a good sign, right? Sure, I'd had to change the location for accessibility reasons, and that was a little weird, but it didn't matter, because no one really cared about my disability, it didn't mean anything, or so I thought.
From the moment my interview started, it quickly became apparent to me that I was wrong. The first question was about why I was in a wheelchair. Somewhere deep down inside I knew I didn't have to answer that. I remember my mom telling me that people weren't allowed to ask those questions. I knew that, but I didn't know that. It made me uncomfortable sure, but I had written my essay about how having a disability changed the way I saw the world, so maybe it was fair game. Besides, people asked me about my chair and my disability all the time, so I figured I might as well just answer the question and get it out of the way. Once my interviewer's curiosity was satisfied, we could move on. But we didn't. Everything was about my chair. Every question, every comment, everything came back to the shiny metal object I happened to be sitting in. I was my chair. Here I was interviewing for an Ivy League school with a progressive reputation, and nothing else about me mattered. Not my perfect score on the verbal section of the SAT, not my extracurriculars, not my GPA, not my aspirations, not why I wanted to go to that university. Nothing. The nail in the coffin came in the form of this remark, "I'm not sure if you would like X University, there aren't many people like you there." People like me? My 18-year-old self didn't know what to say.
Today, I would've had a million comebacks. Today, I would have known exactly what was happening, but not back then. Back then I bought into the lie that if you were good enough, disability didn't matter. I really believed that people would judge me solely based on what I'd done, not based on the circumstances of my birth. I remember that moment, I don't know if I'll ever forget it. I literally couldn't breathe. My head hurt so badly because I was holding back tears. I spent my whole life working so hard to make something of myself, and this person couldn't see any of that. I didn't cry until I made it back to my car. In the midst of my tears, my mom handed me an acceptance letter from the University that has been my home for the last four years. I am so beyond proud to be a 'Cane. I'm grateful to the professors I've had who've taught me to embrace and accept who I am. I know no school is perfect, but I have always felt welcome at the U, and I can honestly say I wouldn't be who I am today without it.
Needless to say, I didn't get in to the Ivy League. I'll never be able to prove why I got rejected, and honestly, it doesn't matter. I'm not going to name the school in this post. I'm not going to name the school because I want to believe that the prejudice of one interviewer doesn't reflect the culture of a larger University. I'm not going to name the school, because then it's about them instead of about the larger problem.
To the interviewer who made it very clear to me that I didn't belong, thank you. I'm so happy I found my university. I wouldn't be the person I am today if not for the experiences I've had there. My mom was right, if somebody doesn't want you because you have a disability, then you don't want to be there. Thank you for helping me figure that out before I showed up at your school. I'm glad I didn't end up there, but what you did was not okay. It is absolutely true that if somebody doesn't want me to be part of their organization, because I have a disability, then I don't want to be there, but it is absolutely ridiculous that my disability causes people to shut the door in my face before they even get to know me. It happens all the time. People see my qualifications on paper and think I'm the perfect fit, until they meet me. The shocked face says it all. There's always some excuse. I wasn't used to it at 18, but I am now.
At the end of the day, I'm still so proud to be who I am. I spent so much of my life being ashamed of being a disabled woman. I spent so much of my life believing that interviewer and other people were right. I spent so much of my life making excuses for other people's prejudice. I spend so much of my life blaming myself, and trying to hide who I really am. I am not ashamed. I am not a lesser person. I will not pretend to be someone I am not to be welcome in places that are still so full of ignorance, but I will fight with every fiber of my being to eradicate prejudice and ableism where it exists. I will never be ashamed of my story. I'm glad I'm different. I'm glad I'm me. Whether or not other people think I fit.