In Kittay’s essay, McMahan’s argument about how “profoundly retarded people” are “less than human” and become undesired liability for human society makes me speechless. In addition to segregating a child with cognitive disability from the rest of humanity based on intellectual faculty, McMahan implied that he found people with cognitive disability to be more of a nuisance than nonhuman animals because they “make moral demands on other people that nonhuman animals cannot make on any of us” (622). His argument gives me flashbacks to the COVID-19 anti-mask sentimentality. Many anti-maskers argued for the ableist superiority of their personal freedom over other’s safety, disregarding the health risks it posed for people who are disabled or immuno-compromised. They also can be self-centered about minor inconveniences caused by the global public health crisis, feeling threats of pandering censorship - echoed by McMahan believing he and Singer “engaged in a fair amount of voluntary self-censorship…trying very hard not to say anything offensive” (622). And similar to how Singer and McMahan relegate challenges faced by children with cognitive disabilities to their parents or caretakers instead of addressing them as social and political issues, anti-mask people tended to hyper-focus on masking as a personal choice rather than a collective public health effort. Juxtaposing these two different contexts together brings to light how disability identities are silenced or erased in our society.
Thinking from a design perspective, I think one important aspect is to balance between (1) acknowledging the common needs shared by all humans as a way to de-stigmatize disability and (2) highlighting disability-specific needs or tracing ideas backed to disability-related lineage (similar to our previous discussion on universal design, super-normal design, and disability-led design). The DIY squeeze chair by Temple Gradin and the later commercialized versions are good examples. The colorful and playful design of the commercial squeeze chair makes it appealing for diverse users, but also clearly declares its target consumers as autistic people. It thereby acknowledges its lineage from pressure therapies for autistic spectrum without being exclusive. In contrast, the hug machine series by artist Lucy McRae are presented very differently (see images below):
Personally, I see McRae’s installation as a more aesthetic and themed version of Grandin’s DIY machine and the commercial squeeze chair. McRae’s narrative on her websites focuses on the sci-fi novelty and sensory exploration side of the work without any reference to the disability lineage from Grandin (and I think it’s virtually impossible that McRae does not know about Grandin’s squeeze machine considering its age and influences). Although I can understand McRae’s logics to highlight her creative effort in making multi-sensory art without diverging into a very different subject of disability design, I wonder whether this could become a gesture of over-shadowing disabled creators and indirectly barring disability-driven design from entering the public attention?
More of McRae's work:
