Morrison’s Space: A DeafBlind Activist

March 29, 2026

By Morrison

The words we use to describe oppression determine what we can experience, and what we can demand. 

For the DeafBlind community, three terms have become essential for naming the forces that shape our daily lives: ableism, vidism, and distantism. These concepts, drawn from disability scholarship and DeafBlind thought leaders, illuminate why access continues to fail us across medical, legal, educational, and civic systems. They also reveal why even well‑intentioned institutions struggle to include us meaningfully.

The recent cancellation of DeafBlind Awareness Day at the Massachusetts State House is a telling example. Officials claimed the event could not proceed because there were “not enough interpreting resources.” For the DeafBlind community, this explanation rang hollow. The issue was not a shortage of interpreters. It was a shortage of commitment. It was a failure to plan for tactile access from the outset. This was a reminder that when systems are built around sighted and hearing norms, DeafBlind participation becomes optional rather than expected.

To understand why this keeps happening, we must examine the forces at play.

Ableism, as disability scholar Lisa Diedrich notes, is the longstanding belief that able‑bodied and able‑minded norms are superior, and that disabled people’s needs are secondary. It manifests in subtle and overt ways. 

Real world example: 

Maria, a DeafBlind woman, experienced this during a routine medical appointment. She requested a tactile interpreter, only to be told that the office would “just use VRI” because it was “convenient.” When she explained she could not see the screen, staff insisted anyway. The doctor spoke into the air, assuming she could hear him or see the VRI, and expressed frustration when she did not respond. Maria left without understanding her diagnosis. This was not a simple oversight, it was a system that prioritized convenience over communication and efficiency over dignity. 

Ableism also appears in legal settings, where DeafBlind defendants are assigned visual-based American Sign Language (ASL) interpreters and told to “do your best.” In education, DeafBlind students are denied tactile materials because “we don’t have the budget or equipment.” In employment, accommodations are dismissed as “too expensive.” In transportation, drivers refuse to guide DeafBlind riders by touch (or in most cases, are aggressive where they will pull on the DeafBlind riders’ arm), citing discomfort. These are not isolated incidents. They are symptoms of a culture that treats disabled access as an afterthought, not an immediate priority.

Within Deaf communities, a more specific form of oppression emerges: vidism. Introduced by Bryen Yunashko during the 2015 Deaf Interpreter Conference, vidism describes the privileging of visual communication and visual norms, often at the expense of DeafBlind people. 

Real world example:

At a statewide Deaf community meeting, chairs were arranged in a wide circle, a visual interpreter signed rapidly at the front, and participants engaged easily across the room. In the back sat Devon, a DeafBlind community member who requested tactile access. The organizer responded that no tactile interpreter was available (or in some cases, are forced to use their inexperienced interpreters within their roster). THey suggested he “sit closer to the interpreter.” When Devon explained he could not see the interpreter, whispers circulated and made the assumption that he “should have told them earlier,” when he did but was simply told to go find a seat. Further whispers fluttering in the air – the meeting could not be slowed down “for one person.” Devon sat through two hours of discussion without understanding a single moment, left isolated.

Another example: a DeafBlind person enters a person’s house. They try to find this person, and the person yells out – I’m right here, or I’m over here, or look over here. The DeafBlind person scans the room for this person, and ask them to please come to them – but the person doesn’t. 

A classic example: museums and places that have “Do NOT Touch” signs. 

Vidism is not just an intentional exclusion. It is the assumption that visual access is universal, the norm. It is the belief that DeafBlind people must adapt to visual norms rather than the other way around. 

This also appears in schools that hire visual interpreters (or in some states, interventers) for DeafBlind students and call it “good enough,” in workplaces that forget to provide tactile access for meetings (and in some cases blame the DeafBlind person for not coordinating this), and in public transit systems that update visual signage and audio-based PSAs while ignoring tactile equivalents.

Distantism, a term introduced by poet and activist John Lee Clark, goes deeper still. It describes a cultural worldview that elevates distance, separation, and non‑contact as the default mode of interaction. In a distantist society, touch is treated as a taboo, intrusive, proximity as uncomfortable, and interdependence as a weakness. This worldview shapes how DeafBlind people are treated even when services are technically provided.

Real world example:

At a large conference, Tasha met her assigned volunteer SSP (Support Service Provider) and greeted him with a two‑handed tactile handshake. He hesitated and pulled back, saying, “I’m not really a touchy person. I’ll just guide you.” He walked ahead of her all day as Tasha trailed behind holding his elbow. He waved out directions that Tasha didn’t catch, he waved and signed to a few people as he just simply “guided” Tasha, and during lunch he seated her at the end of a long table before sitting several chairs away. Tasha spent the entire meal alone, no access to her environment. The service existed, but the connection did not. 

Another example, a DeafBlind college student meets with his professor in the office. The professor simply stayed put behind the desk, waved hello and come in. The DeafBlind student didn’t catch this. He stood in the doorway, waited. The professor proceeded to wave, and then dramatically wave for his attention – annoyed. The professor then gets up and wave in front of the student’s face. The student jumped back in confusion and tried to reach for the professor’s hand. The professor immediately retreated his hands and proceeded to sign in the student’s face. The student struggled, and ask the professor to tactile with him. The professor was not comfortable and told him that he doesn’t do tactile language. Then waves in him into his office, and sat behind his desk. The student entered, and once again was at loss. 

This is distantism: the belief that distance is normal and touch is a problem to be managed.

These forces – ableism, vidism, and distantism, explain why the State House cancellation was not simply a logistical issue. It was a cultural and linguistic one. It reflected the assumption that DeafBlind access is optional – a preference as many assume, that tactile interpreters are “extra,” and that events can proceed without us if planning becomes inconvenient. It revealed how quickly institutions retreat from inclusion when it requires integrity, accountability, true understanding of the ADA and Title VI, effort, planning, or a shift in established norms.

John Lee Clark’s essay Against Access offers a powerful framework for understanding why these failures persist. Clark argues that most “access” is designed to make disabled people fit into existing systems rather than transforming those systems to reflect disabled ways of being. It’s like forcing a circle shaped block into a hole that is shaped as a triangle. Access, as commonly practiced, is a form of containment set in place by ableists. It allows institutions to claim “compliance” without relinquishing control. For DeafBlind people, this often means being offered services that technically exist but do not support connection, co-presence (the practice of co-existing in the same space through touch), autonomy, tactile language, or cultural integrity.

Real access looks very different. Imagine a workshop designed by DeafBlind leaders from the ground up. When participants arrive, they are greeted by them who ask about preferred communication modalities – Protactile, old school tactile ASL, tactile language, close‑vision signing, or a combination, or CART services. The room is arranged to support connection through a sense and practice of co-presence rather than distance. Chairs are placed close enough for touch‑based communication. The lighting is adjustable. The environment is quiet enough for tactile focus and is touch-centric – not visual or audio-centric. Braille and large‑print labels are present throughout the space. The facilitator, also DeafBlind, leads the discussion using Protactile norms that emphasize shared space, shared movement, and shared attention. When someone contributes, the room shifts toward them and welcome their input as equal because the space was built for them from the start. This is not accommodation. It is culture, the norm. It is a community. It is access that reflects DeafBlind values rather than distantistand ableist expectations.

The gap between this vision and current practice is why policy reform is urgently needed. The ADA and Title VI promise equal access, but they were written through distantist assumptions. They do not explicitly recognize tactile language, DeafBlind interpreters, Protactile norms, the right to connection, or practice of co-presence as the norm. As a result, DeafBlind people continue to face barriers across every system: hospitals that force VRI on patients, courts that refuse tactile interpreters, schools that exclude DeafBlind adults from teaching roles or counseling roles, employers who deny accommodations, and public events that cancel rather than plan for tactile access. These are not isolated incidents. They are symptoms of laws that have not yet caught up with the lived realities of DeafBlind people.

Naming ableism, vidism, and distantism gives us the vocabulary to describe what has always been present but rarely acknowledged. These terms help us understand why systems fail us and why “access” often falls short – because “access” was built around these very terms – abelism, vidism, and distantism. Access was built on what non-disabled society deemed of, and expect us to meet them where they are with “access” – not where we are (Clark, n.d.). These terms also give us the tools to imagine something better, practical: a world where DeafBlind ways of being are not accommodated but embraced, where touch is not feared but valued, and where connection through co-presence, not distance, is the foundation of justice. Where society meets us where we are and are in our space that is deafblind centric, or ensure that space is deafblind centric that is deafblind led. 

The future of disability rights, deafblind justice, will not be visual or auditory. It will be tactile. It will be DeafBlind‑led. And it will be built by those who refuse to accept access as containment and instead demand access as culture, language, community, and as a true collective.

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References

Clark, John Lee. “Distantism.” Wordgathering: A Journal of Disability Poetry and Literature, Issue 43. https://wordgathering.syr.edu/past_issues/issue43/essays/clark.html

Clark, John Lee. “Against Access.” The New Inquiry.

Diedrich, Lisa. “Reading Notes: Ableism.” https://www.lisadiedrich.org/reading-notes/ableism

StreetLeverage. “Vidism.” Based on Bryen Yunashko’s plenary at the 2015 Deaf Interpreter Conference. https://www.streetleverage.com

Yunashko, Bryen. “Deaf Interpreters: The Weapon Against Vidism.” Presentation, Deaf Interpreter Conference, 2015.