Hello! Truth be told I have no idea how you ended up here, but welcome. I only have the one blog, which means it gets filled up with a lot of unrelated things. There will be numerous fandoms, posts about privilege and oppression, and lots and lots of pretty pictures. Frequently school gets in the way and this Tumblr goes dormant, and then break comes along and I queue up a flood of posts, so don't follow if you like your dash to be somewhat regular. I'm working on plans for a hobbit hole mansion that me and my friends will live in. If you have ever thought about your own dream-home, then pretty please will you tell me about it? I don't put up pictures or much biographical information about myself, but you can call me Sakura Nicole. Despite my name I am white, and I’m sorry if I ever misled anybody on that account, it would have been completely unintentional. Oh, and even though this blog may not always be active, I will always answer my asks, so that's open if you ever need to talk to someone or rant. P.S. I do occasionally put up personal posts, usually under a read more. I would never ask anybody to not read something I put out there publicly, but if I know you in person could you at least pretend you didn't read it? Please and Thank You.
I’m a disabled person, and I also work at the Disability Services Office at a college.
Not very long ago, a professor rushed into our office flustered and angry because
1. She had a blind student in her class.
2. She asked us how we planned to communicate graded papers to her student, since her habit was to write corrections on printed papers.
3. To which we replied, “Just send her an email instead of writing your corrections on the printed paper.”
How DARE we burden HER with so much extra work? More about how busy she is. More about how that gives an “unfair advantage”. (???) More on how could we possibly expect her to make such a drastic accommodation, which wasn’t fair to her or her other students.
How many emails do you think you send to your sighted students every semester? Dozens? Hundreds? How many classes of 25+ students do your teach every semester? How do you communicate with them?
This problem was entirely created in this professor’s mind by her own assumption that anything a disabled student could need was unacceptable, and a waste of her time.She returned to our office to complain several times over this.
She threw an actual tantrum over something she did for her non-disabled students every single day without even considering it.
Because “everyone knows” disabled people, whatever we might need, that need is too much. It’s a burden on abled people. It’s “unfair to everyone else (read: non-disabled people).
Many disability activists say things along the lines of “our needs aren’t more, just different”. Well, I have to say that even when are needs are the same, they’re still, apparently “too much”.
Year and a half ago I had a class with this professor I’ll call Dr. Smith. The student who sat next to me, who I’ll call Abby, used a wheelchair. (Not entirely a coincidence - I always sit in the front row so I can hear the professor and she had to sit in the front row because the room had auditorium seating.)
The two of us came to be pretty friendly with each other and I got to hear all the horror stories she had about Dr. Smith refusing her accommodations. Things like, on exam day she passed out papers to everyone including Abby. The rest of us start writing, Abby calls Dr. Smith over and reminds her that she can’t use a pencil, she has to take exams on the computer.
First Dr. Smith was like, “You have to tell me these things ahead of time.” After Abby reminded her that the disabilities office had emailed her before the class started and Abby confirmed her receipt of the email on the first day of class, the professor switched to, “You have to remind of these things the day before.” Abby said the professor should have told her that on the first day when they were discussing Abby’s needs. Then Dr. Smith was like, “Anyway it’s not on the computer now, I’ll put it on there later today and you can take it at home tomorrow.”
So everything’s worked out all hunky-dory. Except we get our exams back and Abby’s been docked late points. So the disabilities office gets involved. And Dr. Smith’s excuse changes, now they’re not late points, now she retroactively graded it harder because Abby wasn’t supervised and might have used her textbook. This disabilities office was like, “We told you we proctor computer exams here, there was no reason to have Abby take it at home.” The professor says, Abby agreed! Abby says, I wasn’t given any other options!
Last I heard from Abby she was dropping out one class shy of her bachelor’s because complications due to ableism meant she couldn’t afford tuition.
Next semester I have another class with Dr. Smith. Next semester is also the first semester I’ll have officially registered with the disabilities office and utilizing official accommodations. Depression and anxiety are illnesses people are often accused of faking, that I’ve been accused of “psyching myself out”. And I have trouble getting accommodations for my Autism because I fake being allistic so well people can’t see how hard it is for me to do that.
So my invisible disabilities and I are definitively looking forward to cooperation from the professor who refused accommodations to the student in the wheelchair. </sarcasm>
wow. That is a fucking disgrace.
Also: this is really important to demonstrate that people with visible and/or physical disabilities do not “have it easier” and it’s NOT a case of “everyone just understands”.
There’s a woman at my college who uses a wheelchair, and she’s had to campaign pretty vocally about having the buttons that open the flipping DOORS working properly! (I spoke with her on a disabled women’s history month panel and I admire her style).
This makes me so angry.
LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT MY ASSHOLE SPANISH TEACHER.
I can’t remember exactly how it started, I think it was that he wouldn’t let me make up a test I’d missed since I was out sick. I went to my counselor and asked her for advice, and it turned out she had to email him because not accommodating someone with a 504 plan is, yanno, breaking the law.
Anyhoo, I notice a few weeks later that three homework assignments I did (late) aren’t in the online gradebook thingie. I love the online gradebook thingie. So I wait, because maybe he’s just busy. After about a week, one of them finally goes in, and my grade goes from a D to a C. Hooray! Except for the part where I’m trying to maintain a 3.8 GPA. So he doesn’t put the other two assignments in, even after I email him. I talked to him in class, and it turned out he hadn’t even looked at the email. I figured okay, I’ll give him a little while now that he’s looked at the email to grade the other two assignments. He doesn’t do it, so I go to my counselor and she emails him. The next day, she pulls me out of my sixth period class and says that he emailed back all but saying he wasn’t grading those because he wanted to punish me for not going to class. So then she had to get the principal involved. Turns out my Spanish teacher never actually read my 504 plan in the first place. The 504 plan, mind you, that specifically states I can turn in work late because I am sick all the time, not just the days I stay home from school. So finally, he puts in one of the assignments, an essay. But he still hasn’t put in the other one, which was some routine homework that we’re supposed to turn in online. I was really sick the weekend it was due, so I turned it in late. But finally my counselor gets him to put it in, and my grade goes up to a C+ because I’m totally failing a lot of the tests since he doesn’t tell us when they are until the day before and I’m quite frequently gone then. But hey, I have a presentation to do and some new homework, it should go up to a B- by the end of the semester!
Then he marks the presentation as missing. I’m back to a C-.
Oh, the tales I could tell you about my experience with ableist teachers and professors. I think high school was the worst because even some of my favorite teachers learning-wise were still really stinking shitty with handling me being disabled. There was one teacher who kicked me out of a class because he couldn’t handle me being sick. Another teacher was so jumpy around me, I nicknamed him “twitch” because every time I so much as reached for my water he’d jump and demand if I was okay. Another teacher told me I needed to see a psychologist. Quite a few of them told me I was up to date with homework and tests only to tell me two weeks before the final grades were inputed that I was missing half my assignments and if I didn’t turn them in, I’d fail the class. I was literally told I didn’t even have go to school for three classes and I’d still graduate, only to be told a week before finals that I needed to drop two classes because if I didn’t I wouldn’t be able to pass. No one ever told me when I was falling behind or warned me that I was in danger of failing the class, even when they were assuring me I was keeping up with the class and my grades were all above a B-.
A friend and I were both (in totally different schools, but at about the same age) kicked out of class by teachers who accused us of being on drugs, with no basis whatsoever (and we weren’t on drugs, and had never done drugs). Mostly because we were autistic and doing weird things — in my case when he kept changing the schedule on me I backed up against the wall and had a full-blown panic attack and then couldn’t do the test that he’d promised would be on a different day. He publicly accused me of drug abuse, then privately told me I was ‘too immature’ to be there, and threw me out of his class. His treatment of me did nothing to help my bullying by other students at that school.
And don’t get me started on the environmental studies professor at community college who didn’t want to accommodate me on anything. Not my trouble with fluorescent lights (which she had a personal beef with because fluorescent lights were more energy-friendly). Not my inability to understand a damn thing during group work because a class of over a hundred people were all talking at once and I couldn’t hear, so I kept either interrupting people or talking over them or not talking at all and couldn’t hear what anyone said and therefore didn’t get along with anyone in my group at all no matter who was in it. It took a protracted argument with my disability counselor to get her to allow me to do group work in a separate room. And group work still wasn’t easy, but at least I could hear what people were saying.
Then there was when I tried to go to university — a completely failed experiment overall. But the disability office wouldn’t help me at all because they told us at the outset that only people with cognitive disabilities that had to do with basic stuff that required note-takers and stuff were to be accommodated. If our cognitive disabilities involved self-care, organizational skills, or anything else at all, we weren’t accommodated because “you’re adults now and have to learn that stuff on your own”. This included a woman with schizophrenia whose only accommodation was that she needed someone around to ask whether voices she heard in class were real or not. I had severe problems with organization and self-care and was repeatedly told I didn’t belong on a university campus. (Which turned out to be true, but not for those reasons.) The autism center on campus was a complete joke. They’d help with social skills problems but they didn’t give a crap that I was starving and couldn’t take care of myself on even a minimal level. They also didn’t understand sensory issues and believed that meltdowns are manipulative behavior to get out of having to do things. I found that out later in a book written by the “expert” who ran the center. That was my first direct experience where I learned that autism “experts” don’t necessarily know shit about really basic things about the autistic experience. It scares me that people look up to them for information about autism and disregard what autistic people say about ourselves because we’re not educated enough.
Yeah the line between what it is and isn’t ok to need help with is so arbitrary and confusing and cruel.
I’m legally blind and had an art professor who taught a 3d design class that i was required to take if I wanted to graduate with an art therapy degree. Except I can’t see in three dimensions. Everything is flat to me. And she outright refused to believe that I had a problem on the first day of school and intimidated me so much I didn’t go to the disability office - and besides, what could they do? Magically make the class 2D?
This lady was so unkind to me and always critiqued my work the most harshly, and turned EVERYTHING positive someone said about my work into a negative. And I mean EVERYTHING. Everyone noticed and nobody liked this teacher because they could all see what a bully she was being to me, and they were very kind and told me they liked my concepts. Unfortunately I barely scraped by with a D+, and the only reason I passed was because she hated me so much she never wanted to see me again.
i was diagnosed with arthritis when i was 14 which included half of junior high all of high school with that disability. junior high was great- because of all the time i missed due to my illness they let me skip my final exams and take the grade i had in the class before the exams happened, im in university now and the disability center is doing well (they’re bad listeners, but they have lots of accommodations to offer)
but fuckin damn in high school my english teacher kept publicly fucking humiliating me for using my laptop to take notes in class, and just refused to let me have it out even though a) i had no internet connection and b) IT WAS UNDER DOCTORS ORDERS THAT I WAS SUPPOSED TO AVOID HAND WRITING WHEREVER POSSIBLE because typing was safer for my fingers and hands
needless to say my mom had to call the school board to get her reprimanded like fuck before she finally shut her damn mouth but by then i was already getting bad marks on assignments because “they were supposed to be handwritten, not typed”
lmao like fuck you lady
i have an english teacher who’s rather troublesome. i had a panic attack and she told me ‘i should have told her beforehand’ even though i cant predict them??????????? she also makes me work in groups and denies all of my requests to read a book or listen to music because ‘then everyone would want to.’ i need an extremely quiet, focused atmosphere (which this class is not) or a distraction of some kind to keep my head quiet but shes no help at all. at one point i was getting extremely anxious and on my way to an attack due to losing my notebook which contains everything i distract myself with when not reading or listening to music as well as my homework, so to stave it off i started playing solitaire. she walked up and without asking why i had my ipod out or anything just gave me a referral (which usually results in a suspension). and the worst part is that theres a girl in class who cant read-she has a problem similar to, but not, dyslexia-and she accomadates her just fine. i gues smy problems just arent ‘real’ enough for her.
Ugh, let me tell you about my high school Phy. Ed. teacher. World’s largest douchebag, shouldn’t even have been teaching the Health course (which was supposed to include sex ed, WHICH HE NEVER EVEN TOUCHED.) I remember at the fucking beginning of every PE class, he’d make all of the students line up in the gym along the wall. I was always one of the last people to arrive because I had to get to the locker rooms to change from all the way across the school, so I usually wound up on the edge of the line. I could have gone to the middle — I SHOULD have gone to the middle — except that the middle was occupied by the jock-type boys who were, frankly, also some of the biggest douchebags around and who actually scared me. But I didn’t go to the middle, and the teacher just stood off in the middle of the gym and in front of the middle of the line, and addressed the students about the games we’d be playing, what the rules were, what teams people were on, etc. First time it happened, I went up to him and explained why I was having the problem I did, and if he could just rehash for me. You know what he told me? “Just do the best you can.” Fuckass. I had to ask someone to fill me in for that day. Next class we had, it happened again. I asked him to help. He told me to do the best I could. I think I asked a third time ebfore I snapped at him and told him he needed to fucking talk to me because this wasn’t right. I got kicked out of class because I yelled at him, and people mocked me bc of my tears (of frustration.)
Hahaha, though. My mom and my dad are scary people, and when I told them about this shit, my dad the lawyer and my mom the almost-lawyer went apeshit on him and he had to do a COMPLETE 180% or face losing his job. I wish he HAD lost is job. Fucker.
an opinion article by Artemis Freeman
Put yourself in these shoes: You’re a college student, trying every avenue to make the grade. You consistently do your work and you put school before everything, including your health. You’ve missed one or two classes because you were contagious, and thought it would be best not to get the rest of your class sick. One day, you get violently ill, and Student Health Services sends you to the hospital because they can’t figure out what ails you. When you show up at the hospital, they check you into a room and tell you that you’ll have to stay there longer than you anticipated, and you panic. You’re not panicking because you’re sick; you’re panicking because you’ll have to miss class, and you’re only allowed a certain number of absences before your grade drops. You explain this to the nurse, the doctor, and everyone else in the hospital that will listen to your frantic explaination of why they need to just give you some kind of medicine and let you leave. Four days later, they let you out of the hospital on a cocktail of medication, and you return to school dead on your feet after spending far longer in the hospital than you ever intented. You check your grade online, and your grade has dropped by a letter in the class you were already struggling with. You bring your hospital bracelet and a doctor’s note to the professor. After your panicked explaination, the professor looks up from his paperwork and says “I’m sorry you were sick. I’m glad you’re feeling better, but you know the policy.” This has happened to many a college student.
Let’s take another example. You are at your apartment in Chicago in a semi-dangerous, but affordable neighborhood. Its time for your night class, so you gather your books and supplies. You can hear gunshots, but to you, its just another day. You go to brave the outdoors, still hearing gunshots. As you start to approach the train station by your apartment, another gunshot rings out, and an excruciating pain comes over your left arm. You scream, and the neighborhood policeman runs toward you, shouting orders into his walkie-talkie. All thought of your class has been driven from your mind; you’ve just been shot. Ambulances come and take you to the hospital. While at the hospital, you answer questions, and tell the same story again and again to policemen and detectives that care more about the story than they care about you. At long last, they let you leave, but you’ve missed your class. Amidst your panicking, you’ve forgotten to ask for a hospital note. You show up to class the next night, where you find you’ve been dropped from the program for missing class. You show the advisor the bullet hit you, only to have the response be “You should have called. I’m sorry, but we have to drop you from the program.”
Reading both of these stories, you’re probably thinking “Okay, these stories are just exaggerations. This doesn’t actually happen and no one would really fail someone or kick them out of school for being in the hospital.” Unfortunately, both of these stories are very real, and very frightening.
Universities across the nation have instituted some form of the ‘three absences rule.’ At some schools, the three absences rule means that if you miss three or more classes, you are banned from partaking in the activities of that major, or you are dropped a letter grade. At some schools, its a ‘one absence rule,’ meaning that if you miss one class, you are automatically dropped from your program.
What these rules don’t take into account is basic human life. For some people, life is as tame as being sick every so often, losing a family member, or mental health concerns. For some unfortunate others, basic human life includes violence in their daily lives.
The ISU School of Theatre and Dance, however, has a different ‘basic human life’ than other departments at ISU. Our schedules go something like this: class from 8am-5pm, class project rehearsals from 5pm-7pm, and mainstage rehearsals or production work from 7pm on. The faculty constantly remind us “Don’t overwork yourself, don’t commit to too much,” and then berate us if we don’t audition or work on shows.
A line has to be drawn somewhere. The human body as an organism can only handle so much. The SOTD tells us that we can’t miss more than three classes, then they tell us to do more projects than we can handle until we stress ourselves to sickness, and then berate us to driving ourselves to sickness, and then punish us for being sick. Something is wrong with this cycle. Isn’t it the theatre professors that say “You can’t take care of a character if you’re not taking care of yourself?”
If its the stress of the school that makes us sick, and berates us for being sick, does it not stand to reason that the school makes stress and then punishes us for that which the school itself created?
I know that when we get out of school and go into the real world, our ‘basic human life’ will most likely be something like “day job from 8-5, rehearsal from 5pm on.” We will still be busy during that version of “basic human life;” the difference is that we will not have the immense load of class work (unless you decide to go to grad school, but that’s a whole other article all together.)
The stories about the student who was in the hospital and the student that was shot were both very real stories of students being punished for things out of their control. Sickness is not in our control.
Know that I can only speak for myself in this article, and I would not dream of putting words in someone else’s mouth, but this needs to be said: Where do we draw the line between helping people be better students and hurting students’ health? This has only yet to become a vicious cycle: student stresses, student gets sick, student gets punished for being sick, student stresses, student gets sick, and the cycle continues on.
I understand that there are people who use the absences rule to cheat out the system and that’s why the rule was enacted. That doesn’t mean, however, that one blanket rule can apply to everyone. Life is not as black and white as this rule makes it seem.
Though I write about the Illinois State University School of Theatre and Dance, this rule affects students across the nation. This article applies to students everywhere.
I’m not expecting that everyone who reads this will agree. I’m also not expecting this article to change anything. If there is one thing I’ve learned in theatre, however, it’s that everyone has a voice. This is just the voice of one student, and its fairly common knowledge that I’m not afraid to speak my mind. So I’m going to raise my voice and my concern about this ridiculous rule, and if you do happen to agree with me, then like this article, and share it with the people who you think will agree as well.
We are human beings first, and students second. That’s my version of “daily human life.”
And what happens when your daily human life drastically changes?
Artemis makes an amazing point. I’ve often felt that ever since my cancer happened I’m sort of a second class citizen in the department. I’ve had some very understanding professors, and some not so understanding. But it has created more stress, and thus more illness for me time and time again.
I’m expected to function as if nothing ever happened to me, like I’m a normal student, and then people become shocked when I am stressed, upset, and over all not very stable. I’ve tried my best, but what happens when your best isn’t good enough?
Sorry if I hijacked your post. I just wanted to put my two cents in.
in math today my teacher asked what makes a number perfect and I said its dazzling personality and she almost kicked me out
It is ten pm, I am in bed, and I just realized that I didn’t complete my homework.
I have come to the conclusion that I shall keep it that way.
i used to think that a foot of parchment was a lot and feel bad when harry potter characters were assigned to write that much
but then i realized the paper i write on is 8.5 by 11 inches.
so a foot of parchment is the equivalent of like, a page and a half of paper.
they complained SO MUCH about essays that were like
a page and a half
get your shit together
in 4th grade we were making clay pots in art and our teacher kept saying “make them thinner! those are too thick they won’t work” so we made them thinner and when she put then in the kiln they all exploded and she told us it was our fault because we made them too thin and if that doesn’t describe the school system i don’t know what does