Disproving Stereotypes, One Subway Rider at a Time: Guest Submission from Nina Huang, Special Olympics East Asia Youth Leader
5:30 p.m., Subway Line 3, packed compartment, and packed mind. As the subway whistled into darkness, I was busy planning for the next outing with my special peers- kids who suffer from intellectual disabilities. Destination, budget, participants. . . a deluge of problems overwhelmed me.
Then I saw an ominously unoccupied area with only one man standing there. Wondering why people intentionally left that area alone, I walked close. Once I stepped into the region invisibly labeled “no entry,” I knew the reason behind the emptiness.
The man seemed to be in his twenties, clean-shaven, neatly dressed. Yet his wrongly-fastened buttons and his ceaseless nodding gave it away: he was intellectually-disabled.
I made my judgment within 20 seconds, for he matched almost all the characteristics of my special-needs peers. Meanwhile, I heard people whispering, “Leave that “retard” alone. He might hurt us for no reason.” The crowd was telling me to leave, as soon as possible!
The moment I was about to step away, he glanced at me. That glance froze me on the spot: how similar he was to my special peers! The boy who was ecstatic because I proudly showed the pictures he took to my friends; the girl who told me how much she missed me every night; the young man who said that I made his day. . . numerous faces flashed through my mind, all bearing the identical innocence, earnestness, and sincerity.
I was not only a trained volunteer, but one who owes much to the love of my special peers.
I felt ashamed. For years, I have considered myself a dedicated volunteer. Despite all the time I’ve spent advocating for eliminating bias against the intellectually-disabled, my reaction to encountering the man on the subway was to flee the scene. The man did nothing wrong. It was I who wrongfully judged him based on stereotypes.
The train stopped at every station. People got on and off, staring at the man and me. Yet no one else decided to stand with us. We were isolated in an area silently declared “no entry” by the other riders.
R-words subtly breed stereotypes. Such words automatically link special-needs people with negative adjectives, blocking future chances of healthy interaction.
The public was not to blame. If I, an experienced volunteer, could not even put myself into his shoes, how could I demand that others embrace him without hesitation? My terror of the man at first was the opposite of the genuine acceptance that I have been striving for.
A sudden brake. He glanced at me again to check if I was alright. This time, I smiled at him. He smiled back, waved his hand, and murmured “Hello!” We both laughed. At that moment, I saw how happy he was. I saw people around us smile. I saw the label of “no entry” gradually disappear.
The train whistles into darkness again. To replace the R for “retarded” by the R for “respect” is still a long ways away. But I know there is light ahead, a light that dissipates the ominous shadow surrounding people like him. All it takes is a step forward, a warming smile, and a cordial greeting- a dream that invites all to stand with us.
By Nina Huang
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