A few years ago, I wrote a post about the acronym PWD, (persons or people with disabilities). I’d like to expand on that here, because it has, as I feared but suspected, become ever more pervasive as my years of work in accessibility have progressed.
   For a bit of grounding, if you’re new here, hello! I’m a blind person. I’m also a person who is a lot of other things, but for this context, I will focus on the blind bit. I’d like to tell you a little about my employment history, which has mirrored thousands of blind people and people with other disabilities in its chaotic trajectory. I am 35, and have only worked at a company as a fulltime employee, with health care and benefits, for the past two years. (Not even two years, a year and 7 months, more accurately.) The rest of my adult life, I have either been unemployed or underemployed, working a series of temp, volunteer, and contract jobs, making minimal if any money and having no access to employer-provided health care. My parents provided me a safety net. I was extremely privileged and lucky, but many people don’t have that luck. My lack of employment and reliance on my parents’ generosity caused me incredible guilt and shame. I had anxiety and insomnia to the point that during the day, I would sometimes get lost and confused outside on the streets, or forget what I was doing, or picture how much easier everyone’s life would be if they didn’t have to deal with me any more.
     The statistic that gets thrown around is that 75 percent of blind people are unemployed. We are cautioned by some against giving this statistic, because it often does not account for retired people, people who aren’t actively looking for work, or people with other circumstances that might prevent them from working. I choose to use the 75 percent though, because it is accurate in its implications: a staggering number of blind people struggle to find work, much less build meaningful careers. These struggles come with all the consequences you’d expect: poor mental health, poverty, and continued societal oppression.
    Right now, I am lucky enough to have a job. I test experiences on Microsoft applications for accessibility and usability. Awesome, I’m lucky to have work, especially right now. That I have held a steady income throughout this pandemic has been nothing short of miraculous.
    There’s a problem though, one that makes me unhappy on a daily basis and sometimes contributes to a low-thrumming hopelessness I feel about people with disabilities being able to integrate fully into the workforce. My colleagues have been using the term PWD to refer to their customers and users with disabilities, and they also use it to refer to me and my colleagues who are disabled. In this instance, my colleagues and I are all blind or visually impaired. Yet, we are simply referred to as the PWD team. It’s as if my job title is Lauren Back, PWD. It’s as if my job role is Lauren Back, PWD. I’m never recognized for my professional skills, only my PWDness. The other day I was in a meeting and someone wrote in in the chat, “So excited about the new PWD hire!”
    Frankly, this language is extremely othering for me. I am not a PWD hire. I am not part of a PWD team. In an attempt to do the “right thing” and hire people with disabilities, we need to be careful about over-correction leading to the same issues of othering and isolation occurring in the workplace as well as outside of it. I hear people talk about wanting to make devices and apps that help people with disabilities succeed in the workforce, help them thrive and get promotions and contribute to the diverse human tapestry. Great! If that’s how you feel, don’t throw us all together on a special team and give us a hashtag so you can look noble and good to other corporations. Though I believe many people are sincere, the real way to ensure a change is to integrate, to take skill into account, to treat us like individuals with specific talents and interests and not just a interchangeable “PWD” monolith.
    One last thing: my colleagues with disabilities and I are all blind or have low vision. “People with disabilities” encompasses many more disabilities than just blindness. Would you say, “So excited for the new blind hire!” If that makes you uncomfortable, you probably shouldn’t say, “So excited for the new PWD hire!” Would you say, “So excited for the new LGBT hire!” or the new POC hire, or the new woman hire? PWD is reductive. Please treat us as individuals, with the diverse interests and talents of any able-bodied person.
    I welcome any feedback on this post and I am open to dialogue. My word is not, nor should it be, the last word. Please feel free to share this post or excerpts from it whereever you think would be helpful.