Opinion | Existing in spaces not built for me

Hailey Salsman, graduate student, master’s in leadership development

I’m often torn by the dichotomy of support and harm within my singular experience at Chapman University, as a student with Dysautonomia, Lupus and other comorbidities. I spent two years at community college, and in 2017 began attending Chapman. My circumstances are met with complexity, as I am disabled and often lose consciousness posturally, which can have an effect on the spaces I’m in. 

While getting my bachelor’s degree, I was met by instructors, student affairs administrators and human resources officers with hesitancy — hesitancy on whether I would be able to perform academically, perform professionally and exist properly in Chapman’s community without disrupting the status quo. 

I was asked to use mobility aids that I wasn’t comfortable with, removed from my on-campus job because I “caused too many distractions” and was ostracized in classroom settings. I remember being told by higher education professionals, “You’re upsetting to be around,” “You being around the fewer people, the better” and “You’ll never be able to graduate.” An advocate for disabled students explained why I wouldn’t be approved to work in an office setting at Chapman: I would “disrupt the flow,” they said. I was expected to become less disabled for the comfort of the people around me. 

I quickly realized that Chapman didn’t prioritize disability awareness, as their affiliates were grossly misinformed.  I continued bearing the weight of an ableist campus and I felt a paralyzing sense of guilt — guilt for existing in these spaces, guilt for existing in this body, guilt for just existing. After graduating with my undergraduate degree, I was accepted into a master’s program and interviewed for a full-time job at Chapman. I was denied the opportunity to work due to the ways in which Chapman perceived my disabled body. 

In theory, an institution may subscribe to equity, but how about in action? What does it actually look like to have disabled people in your spaces? Maybe it looks like slowed or shortened conference or meeting schedules, having access information present at events, having CART (Computer Aided Real-Time Transcription) available, continuous disability education and work toward justice and the recognition that ADA compliant is not synonymous with accessibility. It looks like grace; it looks like intentional, systemic shifts. Inclusivity is more than abstract political analysis. Being inclusive means engaging with real-life disabled people, Black people, indigenous people, transgender and non-binary people and other underserved groups about their lived experiences. 

Although the ableism still trickles in from colleagues, peers and instructors at Chapman, I have become empowered by disability justice and interdependence. Accepting dependency as a disabled person has been difficult. It’s painful to be seen as too much by a society that is clutching tightly to the white-supremacist, capitalist myth that is independence. In reality, we’re all interdependent.

The difference is, the dependencies of non-disabled people are normalized and palatable. Most people get from point A to point B by driving a car they did not build; we wear clothes we did not sew; we get nutrients through food we did not grow. At Chapman, access for me may look like getting gracious assistance from Public Safety, while access for someone else may look like walking across campus in shoes that likely required interdependence to construct. We all accept help; it is a form of self-preservation.

I have appreciated many experiences Chapman has given me. The injustice that I and so many others endure within the walls of Chapman is a microcosm of society — of what it means to be housed in the bodies that exist in the margins. In short, society needs to do better; Chapman needs to do better. 

To the Andi Webers, the Meghan Cosiers, the Kris De Pedros, the Angel Miles Nashs — the folks who advocated for me, the folks who saw me, the folks who empowered me — thank you for giving me faith in the fight for barrier removal and liberation in higher education. Because backing away from that fight would be awfully convenient to the world.