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The Sāmoan concept of tautua is the cultural practice of service—to family, village, church, and nation. For Juliann Anesi, tautua includes an ethical responsibility that extends to caring for people living with disabilities. Anesi learned this value from her aunty Sina, who was instrumental in founding two schools for youths in the mid-1970s—Aoga Fiamalamalama and Loto Taumafailike. These schools were designed for students like Sina’s son Gele, students excluded from private and public education because of intellectual or physical disabilities.

Tautua recounts how the Indigenous community organized and resisted ableist paradigms in colonial institutions by changing the education system to a more inclusive environment. Anesi explains how funding was arranged for the schools through NGOs. She also uses oral histories, personal narratives, archival documents, and newspapers to offer insights about how students experienced oppression and erasure as well as shame and sexism in their communities.

Highlighting advocacy and belonging, Tautua argues that these schools for students with disabilities centered Sāmoan concepts of service, advocacy, and self-determination in an attempt to decolonize elementary education. In doing so, Anesi shows what disability activism in Sāmoa can teach us about educability, school inclusion, and collective care.
 
In the series Dis/color

Television, a memoir is a hybrid collection of autobiographical pieces, tragi-comic in spirit, that depict a woman’s life evolving through time and culture in fragmentary glimpses. Indeterminate in genre, Television is a fluid text that sometimes reads as poetry, sometimes as prose, while exploring classism, ableism, and feminism in a world defined by the advent of new media and, for the author, a privilege that often felt suffocating. Working structurally and thematically, television creates conceptual mileposts in the memoir, with certain programs and cultural references corresponding to specific eras in the author’s past, but it also gestures at an existential modality — the experience of a televisual life, the performative arrangements of nuclear families and neighborhoods, the periodic events and dramas of an adolescence watched from outside oneself.

A radical critique of architecture that places disability at the heart of the built environment

Disability critiques of architecture usually emphasize the need for modification and increased access, but The Architecture of Disability calls for a radical reorientation of this perspective by situating experiences of impairment as a new foundation for the built environment. With its provocative proposal for “the construction of disability,” this book fundamentally reconsiders how we conceive of and experience disability in our world.

Stressing the connection between architectural form and the capacities of the human body, David Gissen demonstrates how disability haunts the history and practice of architecture. Examining various historic sites, landscape designs, and urban spaces, he deconstructs the prevailing functionalist approach to accommodating disabled people in architecture and instead asserts that physical capacity is essential to the conception of all designed space.

By recontextualizing the history of architecture through the discourse of disability, The Architecture of Disability presents a unique challenge to current modes of architectural practice, theory, and education. Envisioning an architectural design that fully integrates disabled persons into its production, it advocates for looking beyond traditional notions of accessibility and shows how certain incapacities can offer us the means to positively reimagine the roots of architecture.

Organized in May 1863 to meet the Union Army's growing manpower needs, the Invalid Corps—later renamed the Veteran Reserve Corps—was a unique military unit. With more than twenty-four regiments of troops, nearly all of them men disabled by illness or combat wounds, it was at one point twice as large as the entire pre-war United States Army. During four years of service its troops enforced the draft, guarded prisoners and vital outposts, protected rail lines and supply depots, and served as military police in cities all across the country. Members of the Corps escorted President Lincoln's body home to Illinois, and after the war its officers formed the nucleus of the new Freedman's Bureau. 

This volume brings together some 143 letters written by Colonel Charles F. Johnson, an officer who served with the 18th Veteran Reserve Corps after sustaining debilitating wounds during the Seven Days' Battles in June 1862. Edited with an introduction by Fred Pelka, the letters describe the day-to-day circumstances of “The Cripple Brigade,” as it was derisively called, as well as guerrilla warfare in Missouri, combat in Virginia, and barracks life in Washington, D.C. Johnson was a keen observer of his nation at war, and his correspondence with his wife Mary is by turns literate and comic, objective and personal. 

In his introduction and annotations, Pelka provides a detailed history of the Invalid Corps and explores the experience of disability in nineteenth-century America. He looks at how the nation responded to the sudden appearance of tens of thousands of newly disabled young men, and traces how members of the Invalid Corps fought not only to restore the Union but also to retain their dignity as Americans and as human beings.

Originally published in 1930, The Deaf Mute Howls flew in the face of the accepted practice of teaching deaf children to speak and read lips while prohibiting the use of sign language. The sharp observations in Albert Ballin’s remarkable book detail his experiences (and those of others) at a late 19th-century residential school for deaf students and his frustrations as an adult seeking acceptance in the majority hearing society.

       The Deaf Mute Howls charts the ambiguous attitudes of deaf people toward themselves at this time. Ballin himself makes matter-of-fact use of terms now considered disparaging, such as “deaf-mute,” and he frequently rues the “atrophying” of the parts of his brain necessary for language acquisition. At the same time, he rails against the loss of opportunity for deaf people, and he commandingly shifts the burden of blame to hearing people unwilling to learn the “Universal Sign Language,” his solution to the communication problems of society. From his lively encounters with Alexander Graham Bell (whose desire to close residential schools he surprisingly supports) to his enthrallment with the film industry, Ballin’s highly readable book offers an appealing look at the deaf world during his richly colored lifetime.

Exposing the ableism underlying medical innovation

 

As medical advancements continue to shape the detection, diagnosis, and treatment of disability and illness, technology is often presented as a pathway to autonomy. Challenging this assumption, Rebecca Monteleone shows how medical technologies contribute to a cruel double bind, forcing disabled people to be accountable for adapting to a world built by and for nondisabled people while dismissing their lived experiences in favor of medical expertise. Far more complex than simple progress, these technologies are more oppressive than liberating when they place the burden of care on individuals and perpetuate societal ableism that demands that bodies look, move, and function in certain ways.

The Double Bind of Disability examines the complex relationship between medical technologies and their users, highlighting tensions between personal responsibility and medical authority. Sharing the perspectives and experiences of users of three medical technologies (prenatal genetic screening, deep brain stimulation, and do-it-yourself artificial pancreas systems), Monteleone analyzes how users navigate the constraints of these systems and also imagine a new, more liberatory approach to healthcare.

Asserting a bold vision, Monteleone describes a future where medical interventions take seriously the lived expertise of disabled people to address ableist infrastructures rather than require the modification of nonnormative bodyminds. She calls for a radical reimagining of medical technology that moves beyond individualistic frameworks to embrace collective experience and embodied knowing.

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In an era when human lives are increasingly measured and weighed in relation to the medical and scientific, notions of what is “normal” have changed drastically. While it is no longer useful to think of a person’s particular race, gender, sexual orientation, or choice as “normal,” the concept continues to haunt us in other ways. In The End of Normal, Lennard J. Davis explores changing perceptions of body and mind in social, cultural, and political life as the twenty-first century unfolds. The book’s provocative essays mine the worlds of advertising, film, literature, and the visual arts as they consider issues of disability, depression, physician-assisted suicide, medical diagnosis, transgender, and other identities.

Using contemporary discussions of biopower and biopolitics, Davis focuses on social and cultural production—particularly on issues around the different body and mind. The End of Normal seeks an analysis that works comfortably in the intersection between science, medicine, technology, and culture, and will appeal to those interested in cultural studies, bodily practices, disability, science and medical studies, feminist materialism, psychiatry, and psychology.

In The Forgotten Ones, originally published in 1972, Anne-Marie Henshel examines the lives of a group of persons living within the community who had been diagnosed at one time or another as mentally retarded. The analysis makes use of three sets of comparisons—Anglo and Chicano, married and single, male and female—and the subjects in each category are analyzed in terms of personal characteristics, employment situation, material possessions, living conditions, family background, social activities, and contacts with “officials”—including the police. In addition, Henshel gives a detailed presentation of the conjugal lives of the married subjects: mutual feelings, marital satisfaction, reproduction, parenthood.

All data were gathered through three in-depth interviews with each subject, at intervals of about three months. In the case of a married respondent, the spouse was interviewed simultaneously, whenever possible, but separately. Interviewer was matched with subject by sex and ethnicity. Although the respondent’s reports were complemented by the interviewer’s perception, emphasis was placed on the individual’s perception of his or her own situation, and the data were analyzed accordingly.

The predominant themes are cultural differences between the two ethnic groups, especially in marriage, the relative superiority of the married over the single, the advantages and disadvantages of the male and the female in view of sex-role norms, and some of the problems with which the respondents are besieged—on the whole, problems very similar to those of other poor people. All-pervasive are social isolation, loneliness, lack of money, deficient education, poor physical appearance, failure in birth-control efforts, the presence of handicapped children, and the need for humane guidance and training.

Suggestions for improving relations with individuals once labeled retardates are presented in the last chapter.

During much of the twentieth century, people labeled “feeble-minded,” “mentally deficient,” and “mentally retarded” were often confined in large, publicly funded, residential institutions located on the edges of small towns and villages some distance from major population centers. At the peak of their development in the late 1960s, these institutions—frequently called “schools” or “homes”—housed 190,000 men, women, and children in the United States.

The Girls and Boys of Belchertown offers the first detailed history of an American public institution for intellectually disabled persons. Robert Hornick recounts the story of the Belchertown State School in Belchertown, Massachusetts, from its beginnings in the 1920s to its closure in the 1990s following a scandalous exposé and unprecedented court case that put the institution under direct supervision of a federal judge. He draws on personal interviews, private letters, and other unpublished sources as well as local newspapers, long out-of-print materials, and government reports to re-create what it was like to live and work at the school. More broadly, he gauges the impact of changing social attitudes toward intellectual disability and examines the relationship that developed over time between the school and the town where it was located.

What emerges is a candid and complex portrait of the Belchertown State School that neither vilifies those in charge nor excuses the injustices perpetrated on its residents, but makes clear that despite the court-ordered reforms of its final decades, the institution needed to be closed.

Preston Murphy and Sarah Bond traveled west to Oregon on separate wagon trains in the 1850s. Both were children of Protestant minister fathers who followed the Oregon Trail to claim land and establish towns and institutions. Preston and Sarah married in 1874 and went on to build their lives in Oregon’s Willamette Valley, running a boot shop and raising six children. They were also both deaf.

The Golden Age of Deaf Education in Oregon is one of the first books to explore Deaf history in the Pacific Northwest. Drawing from primary sources, Amy Lemco explores the history of Deaf culture in early Oregon through the lives of Preston Murphy and Sarah Bond. Their stories offer a glimpse into the growth of Deaf education in the developing American West and provide a unique lens to explore the intertwining of global, national, and regional histories and their effect on Deaf culture at the turn of the century.

While Preston became deaf after a childhood illness in Illinois, Sarah, along with two of her brothers, was born deaf in Iowa. In Oregon their varied deaf experiences would pave the way for the Oregon School for the Deaf but also illuminate how deaf Oregonians navigated daily life and remained closely connected to their hearing communities. It is the hidden experiences of Preston and Sarah’s ordinary lives that make their stories extraordinary.

There is an alluring desire that research should lead us to find the practical knowledge that enables people to live a good life in a just and equitable society. This desire haunted the 19th century emergence of the social sciences as a discipline, then became more pronounced in the postwar mobilizations of research. Today that desire lives on in the international assessments of national schools and in the structure of professional education, both of which influence government modernization of schools and also provide for people’s well-being. American policy thus reflects research in which reforms are verified by “scientific, empirical evidences” about “what works” in experiments, and “will work” therefore in society.

The book explores the idea that practical and useful knowledge changes over time, and shows how this knowledge has been (re)visioned in contemporary research on educational reform, instructional improvement, and professionalization. The study of science draws on a range of social and cultural theories and historical studies to understand the politics of science, as well as scientific knowledge that is concerned with social and educational change. Research hopes to change social conditions to create a better life, and to shape people whose conduct embodies these valued characteristics—the good citizen, parent, or worker. Yet this hope continually articulates the dangers that threaten this future. Thomas Popkewitz explores how the research to correct social wrongs is paradoxically entangled with the inscription of differences that ultimately hamper the efforts to include.

A philosophical challenge to the ableist conflation of disability and pain

More than 2,000 years ago, Aristotle said: “let there be a law that no deformed child shall live.” This idea is alive and well today. During the past century, Supreme Court Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr. argued that the United States can forcibly sterilize intellectually disabled women and philosopher Peter Singer argued for the right of parents to euthanize certain cognitively disabled infants. The Life Worth Living explores how and why such arguments persist by investigating the exclusion of and discrimination against disabled people across the history of Western moral philosophy.

Joel Michael Reynolds argues that this history demonstrates a fundamental mischaracterization of the meaning of disability, thanks to the conflation of lived experiences of disability with those of pain and suffering. Building on decades of activism and scholarship in the field, Reynolds shows how longstanding views of disability are misguided and unjust, and he lays out a vision of what an anti-ableist moral future requires.

The Life Worth Living is the first sustained examination of disability through the lens of the history of moral philosophy and phenomenology, and it demonstrates how lived experiences of disability demand a far richer account of human flourishing, embodiment, community, and politics in philosophical inquiry and beyond.

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A native of Boston and a physician by training, Samuel G. Howe (1801–1876) led a remarkable life. He was a veteran of the Greek War of Independence, a fervent abolitionist, and the founder of both the Perkins School for the Blind and the Massachusetts School for Idiotic and Feeble-Minded Children. Married to Julia Ward Howe, author of “Battle Hymn of the Republic,” he counted among his friends Senator Charles Sumner, public school advocate Horace Mann, and poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 

Always quick to refer to himself as a liberal, Howe embodied the American Renaissance's faith in the perfectibility of human beings, and he spoke out in favor of progressive services for disabled Americans. A Romantic figure even in his own day, he embraced a notion of manliness that included heroism under fire but also compassion for the underdog and the oppressed. Though hardly a man without flaws and failures, he nevertheless represented the optimism that characterized much of antebellum American reform.

The first full-length biography of Samuel G. Howe in more than fifty years, The Manliest Man explores his life through private letters and personal and public documents. It offers an original view of the reformer's personal life, his association with social causes of his time, and his efforts to shape those causes in ways that allowed for the greater inclusion of devalued people in the mainstream of American life.

Prescient in its analysis and rich in detail, The Mark of Slavery is a powerful addition to the intertwined histories of disability, slavery, and race.

Although the theme of blindness occurs frequently in literature, literary criticism has rarely engaged the experiential knowledge of people with visual impairments. The Metanarrative of Blindness counters this trend by bringing to readings of twentieth-century works in English a perspective appreciative of impairment and disability. Author David Bolt examines representations of blindness in more than forty literary works, including writing by Kipling, Joyce, Synge, Orwell, H. G. Wells, Susan Sontag, and Stephen King, shedding light on the deficiencies of these representations and sometimes revealing an uncomfortable resonance with the Anglo-American science of eugenics.

What connects these seemingly disparate works is what Bolt calls “the metanarrative of blindness,” a narrative steeped in mythology and with deep roots in Western culture. Bolt examines literary representations of blindness using the analytical tools of disability studies in both the humanities and social sciences. His readings are also broadly appreciative of personal, social, and cultural aspects of disability, with the aim of bringing literary scholars to the growing discipline of disability studies, and vice versa. This interdisciplinary monograph is relevant to people working in literary studies, disability studies, psychology, sociology, applied linguistics, life writing, and cultural studies, as well as those with a general interest in education and representations of blindness.

Arden Neisser’s classic book on American Sign Language (ASL) and the Deaf community is again available, with a new prologue. The Other Side of Silence explores the Deaf community through telling interviews and research from across the country.

       In widely varying encounters, Neisser heard Deaf individuals recall how their teachers suppressed ASL, how linguists foster conflicting theories, and how various institutions of the deaf dilute ASL to suit hearing patrons. This seminal book reveals the warmth, creativity, and resilience of Deaf people, and offers an update of the community today.

The Politics of Deafness embarks upon a post-modern examination of the search for identity in deafness and its relationship to the prevalent hearing culture that has marginalized Deaf people. Author Owen Wrigley plainly states his intention to disrupt “normal” thought about the popularly considered condition of deafness as a physical deficiency. From his decade of experience working and living in the Deaf community in Thailand, he uses wide-ranging examples to go beyond disputing conventional theorists for their interpretation of deafness as the lack of a sensory function. By calling attention to the different lingual potential created by the instant visual expression of cyberspace, he explodes orthodox conceptualization of the nature of language as serially ordered and dependent upon sound.

       In bold style, this provocative work poses the relationship of the bodies physical and mental of Deaf people as subject to a form of “colonialism” by the dominant Hearing culture. It proceeds to expose and attack presumptions and practices that derive from and descend upon deaf bodies. Related analysis also addresses tensions little noted in the current literature on deafness and on the popular move to reconstitute Deafness as a global culture.

       Through displacement of logistical anchors, ironic stances, and disconcerting perspectives, The Politics of Deafness practices a form of de-naturalization to demand space within and between the normalizing frames of daily lives. By doing so, it offers an insightful and intriguing perspective on the meanings of Deafness, the politics of Deaf identity, and what it costs to be “unusual.”

The first of its kind, The Power of Signed Songs: Deaf Artists, Intercultural Reach, and the Politics of Music Making analyzes musical performances that were translated or created in signed languages. Written by an international team of Deaf community researchers, The Power of Signed Songs explores the politics of music making in the form of signed songs, an often controversial art form in Deaf communities. 

While raising questions about culture, translation, and authorship, signed songs demonstrate forms of Deaf cultural resistance, defy traditional conceptions of music, and draw attention to language diversity and intersectionality within Deaf communities in varied European settings. Drawing on both signed music performances and field research, the authors highlight the unique contributions of signing musical artists from both the UK and Portugal. Signed songs and translations illustrate a wide range of creative performance strategies, linguistic word and sign play across languages, and sociolinguistic variation. 

By analyzing how translated songs created by Deaf artists serve as cultural products, translations, and performance, The Power of Signed Songs provides a glimpse into how translations of music can be a form of both transnational and localized cultural resistance. Ultimately, Deaf-centered signed songs are not just artistic expressions but also political statements, challenging the idea that music belongs exclusively to the hearing world.