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i
DISABLED PEOPLE AND EMPLOYMENT:
RECOVERING HISTORIES
AND CONTEMPORARY PRACTICES
PETER WHEELER BA (HONS)
DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY
UNIVERSITY OF WARWICK
WARWICK BUSINESS SCHOOL
OCTOBER 2004
ii
TABLE OF CONTENTS
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
DECLARATION
ABSTRACT
ABBREVIATIONS
INTRODUCTION
The place of experiential knowledge in disability research
Sources of data
Thesis outline
The social model organisation
New deal for disabled people
1
12
18
18
21
22
CHAPTER 1: Understanding Disability and Approaches to Equality
Models of disability
The quantification of disability: reinforcing a medical model
The first OPCS survey
The second OPCS survey
ICIDH-2
Equality for minority groups in organisations
26
27
34
35
38
42
45
CHAPTER 2: Research Concepts and Analytical Framework
Antonio Gramsci
Ideology
Common sense and good sense
Hegemony
Intellectuals
Assimilation and integration
Differentiating organisational ideologies
50
50
55
58
62
65
68
74
CHAPTER 3: Research Methodology
Methodological approach
Accessing and using documentary data
Ethnographic research
Research interviews
Disability and research interviews
Researching disability
Emancipatory disability research
Accessing research organisations
Gaining access to NDDP and SMO
Generaliseability
80
80
85
89
96
97
99
100
108
111
115
iii
CHAPTER 4: An Historical Reflection on Disability (I)
Claims for a historical continuity of oppression
The politics of disability
Disabled people victims of medical discourse
The rise of a disability movement
Disabled people and charities
Henshaw’s Blind Asylum
Thermega Ltd.: an ‘industrial experiment
Summary
117
118
122
127
130
137
138
145
150
CHAPTER 5: An Historical Reflection on Disability (II)
Disability post-Second World War
Sheltered and subsidised workshops
The Disability Discrimination Act (1995)
Impairment
Substantial and long-term effect
Normal day-to-day activities
The DDA and the environment
Summary
153
154
160
163
165
166
167
168
170
CHAPTER 6: Assisting the Employment of Disabled People?
Politics and not-for-profit (NFP) organisations
NDDP: the provision of employment opportunities
SMO: the provision of employment opportunities
SMO: internal employment practices
Summary
Conclusion
173
174
177
192
207
211
212
CHAPTER 7: Staff Recruitment and Training
Recruitment practices in NDDP
Recruitment practices in SMO
Job-related training in NDDP
Job-related training in SMO
NDDP: staff disability awareness training
SMO: staff disability awareness training
Summary
215
216
218
221
222
226
228
232
CHAPTER 8: Overcoming Access Barriers
NDDP: defining and enabling access
SMO: defining and enabling access
Summary
235
236
240
251
CHAPTER 9: Research Summary and Conclusions
Is the social model of disability new?
Organisational comparisons
Implications of the research
Policy implications
Research limitations and future proposals
254
254
261
265
268
271
iv
CHAPTER 10: Conducting Research and Writing a Doctoral Thesis:
Reflections from a Disabled Perspective
Embarking on the research: working with supervisors
Embarking on the research: finding a place to work
Accessing buildings and information: non-medical helpers
Accessing information: adaptive technologies
Writing the thesis: computer-generated speech systems
273
BIBLIOGRAPHY
290
273
275
277
279
283
v
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
There are too many people who have helped in the course of this research to
list them all here, consequently when naming organisations my thanks go to the
individuals who made the work possible.
Hence I would wish to acknowledge the assistance given by staff at both Manchester
Metropolitan University and the University of Warwick. Also, the many archivists
from: the Modern Records Centre, University of Warwick; the National Film Archive;
the Working Class movement library; the British Library Newspaper Archive; the
RNIB research library; Henshaw's Society of the Blind; John Ryland's Library, and
the House of Lords archive.
Anonymity dictates I cannot acknowledge individuals in both participatory
organisations, NDDP and SMO and individual disabled people who both informed
and criticised as the research developed.
There are two principal non medical helpers who have assisted from before the
research commenced often without receiving payment: Sue Paraszczuck and Neil
Terry. Sue had the unenviable task of trying to understand the purpose of the research
to work as a sighted helper in archive and library searches. Neil acted as an internet
and electronic journal searcher; I know both would agree the experience has been
interesting and often extremely funny.
Dr Lynn Robson has edited the final version raising many issues which assisted in
obtaining clarity of writing and making the work conform to the visual standards
required for a Ph.D.
Whether due to bad luck, bad attitudes or a direct function of working with me, during
the course of the research I have had 3 second supervisors, none of whom lasted more
than a matter of months. Only my director of studies Dr. Ardha Danieli has had the
fortitude to stay with the research to the end. It is the support, encouragement and
criticism given by Ardha that has enabled me to complete the research. My only
remaining prayer is that she has destroyed all my earlier writings.
vi
Abstract.
This thesis argues that the claim that disability is capable of reduction to two polar
opposite models of disability cannot be sustained. Drawing on historical data, it is
shown that for over the past century organised groups of disabled people were
proactive in affecting social change without recourse to medical intervention, fighting
for economic emancipation. Hence claims that the social model of disability
represents a new understanding are incorrect. It is shown that the dominant
traditional intellectual understandings of disability were not reducible to simplistic
oppositional medical/social models, but rather a more complex combination which
acknowledged both components in the construction of disability. To test this
understanding, a comparison was made between two contemporary organisations who
have the mission of engaging disabled people in work, and might be expected to
operate to the oppositional social/medical models.
Through an ethnographic study in an organisation run and controlled by disabled
people and participatory observation in a government employment initiative for
disabled people, it is shown through the organic understandings held by stakeholders
in both organisations that mutually exclusive models could not be seen in everyday
operations, and despite one organisation working explicitly to a social model of
disability, they could not escape the reality of impairment when claiming that
disability was singularly the result of disabling attitudes and social structures. Hence
the social model organisation could not provide any better employment opportunities
than one operating to traditional intellectual understandings.
Through considering my own impairment and the traditional prescriptive
methodological texts which assume a non disabled researcher, a methodological
contribution is made by challenging understandings held in both positivist and
interpretive approaches. It is also argued, that emancipatory disability research by
disregarding any consequences of impairment, fails to make the challenges necessary
to provide a more inclusive model.
vii
ABBREVIATIONS
DDA
Disability Discrimination Act
DRC
Disability Rights Commission
ESWS
Ex-Services Welfare Society
ICIDH
International Classification of Impairments, Disability and Handicap
ISRM
Institute of Sport and Recreation Management
MOL
Ministry of Labour
NDDP
New Deal for Disabled People
NLB
National League of the Blind
OPCS
Office of Population Census and Statistics
PKTBAC
Printing and Kindred Trades’ Blind Aid Committee
PNP
Publicly Funded Not-for-Profit Organisations
RNIB
Royal National Institute for the Blind
SMO
Social Model Organisation
UPIAS
Union of the Physically Impaired Against Segregation
WHO
World Health Organisation
viii
Introduction
For the past one hundred and fifty years, the issue of how to engage disabled
people in employment has been a concern for business and government in the United
Kingdom (Henshaw's 1928; Humphries and Gordon 1992; Thermega 1927; TUC
1943b); disabled workers (Blind Advocate 1918; Mahew 1861; NLB 1899; TUC
1945), and government (HMSO 1951; NLB 1920; Tomlinson 1943; TUC 1941).
Since the latter half of the twentieth century, successive governments have presided
over an increase in the unemployed disabled population which, through initiatives
including ‘New Deal for Disabled People’ (NDDP), the present government is
currently attempting to reverse.
In the mid 1970s, a combination of the effects of war, politics and economic policy
affected the employment of the disabled population in many Western industrialised
countries (Bell 1993; Bowitz 1997; Catalano & Kennedy 1998; Riphahn 1997;
Snower 1995). One event which had the secondary consequence of increasing the
numbers of disabled people unable to find work was the decision by OPEC (the
association of major oil producers) to quadruple the price of crude oil and reduce
output (Turner 2001). These actions were taken due to the disenchantment of
(primarily) Arab oil producers with the support given by many Western countries to
Israel preceding and during the Arab/Israeli war of 1972 (Turner 2001, 311-13). The
effect of the increased price and reduced supply of ‘crude’ was to plunge many
Western economies into recession (Bell 1993; Powell 1995; Snower 1995). For many
organisations, such a recession resulted in restructuring, downsizing or even closure
(Powell 1995).
1
Unemployment is a politically ‘sensitive’ issue, which governments in the UK have
historically attempted to manage and control (Toynbee &Walker 2001). One measure
which served to hold down the headline unemployment figures was the
encouragement given to workers to leave the Labour market by gaining access to the
invalidity rather than unemployment benefit systems (Toynbee & Walker 2001).
This encouragement allied with Britain’s complex benefit system had financial
implications for individuals, the organisations they worked for and for government
(Snower 1995). For individuals, invalidity benefit (IVB) provided a higher level of
income than unemployment benefit (Ward 1996) which, some have argued, conferred
the perception of social stigma and lower status on its recipients (Argyle 1989). The
relative benefits offered by the exit-route from the workforce to invalidity also served
the interests of employers. Resistance to losing their jobs, particularly amongst older
workers, could be reduced when workers were presented with a more acceptable exit
strategy than unemployment benefit (Snower 1995). So, faced with job losses, many
individuals accepted invalidity benefit as the most appropriate Labour market exit
strategy (Disney & Webb 1991; Molho 1991). General practitioners were the
gatekeepers to IVB and could use their discretion to determine whether a person with
a health condition was likely to be able to return to their previous occupation. Factors
including age, the skills the individual had and their ability to retrain in other
occupations were all taken into account (Ward 1996).
The effect of such policies held down unemployment figures but inevitably increased
government spending on disability benefits (Bell 1993; Major 1993; Snower 1995;
Ward 1996). Claimants of IVB rose from 505,000 in 1977 to 1.77 million by 1995,
costing the Treasury an increase in IVB benefit payments from £678 million in
2
1971/72 to £7.75 billion in 1994/95 (Ward 1996). This increase did not go unnoticed
by government and Prime Minister John Major made the following comments in
Parliament:
Frankly, it beggars belief that so many more people have suddenly become
invalids, especially at a time when the health of the population has improved. I
make no apologies for looking at this area of expenditure. (Major 1993)
Consequently, from the early to mid-1990s, government attempted to reduce the
disabled population through redefinition, using stricter criteria to determine those
who could claim to be incapable of work and by introducing anti-discrimination
legislation, which should have had the effect of increasing employment
opportunities and safeguarding against discrimination in the workplace. The
response of the Major government was to alter the entry criteria for disability
benefits for working-age people by prescribing a strict set of tests based on
physical, sensory, and mental abilities, which applicants had to be unable to
complete if they were to be defined as disabled (George 1999; Ward 1996).
Invalidity benefit was replaced by incapacity benefit, with the changes enshrined in
legislation under the 1994 Incapacity for Work Act (IWA). The IWA clearly
linked the restrictions caused by impairment to the potential ability of the disabled
person to perform any type of work, irrespective of age, previous work history,
experience or skills (Benefits Agency 1996). The IWA does not allow
consideration of any structural or environmental barriers in the assessment of an
individual’s ability to perform any form of work. This changed with the
introduction of the 1995 Disability Discrimination Act (DDA).
The DDA offers legal redress against discrimination in many areas of social life
including employment if such discrimination can be shown to be based on
3
disability. The DDA defines disability in relation to severity of impairment; the
impairment’s effect on day to day activities, and its longevity (Doyle 1996; Cooper
& Vernon 1996; Gooding 1996). However, by focusing on impairment and its
consequences the DDA, like the IWA before it, emphasises the individual impaired
body as the prime cause of disability.
The DDA has been criticized for its reliance on the measurements required to
determine who is covered by the Act (Rights Now 1995; SCOPE 1995) and for the
lawful discrimination that it allows against some disabled people with regard to
employment (Barnes 1997). As Barnes argues, it is perfectly legal to discriminate
if a person is not disabled enough to fall under the remit of the Act, or if the
employment of the disabled person can be shown to damage business (Barnes
1997). However, it would be incorrect to claim that the DDA does not recognise
that there is a social component to discrimination against the disabled. For
example, employers are obliged to make ‘reasonable adjustments’ to facilitate the
employment of disabled staff, and in specific cases, such as facial disfigurement, it
is illegal to discriminate on the grounds of the attitudes of others towards the
disabled person (Partridge 1996). So, although heavily influenced by medical
measurements of impairment and its consequences, some environmental barriers
and social attitudes are also acknowledged as disabling factors by the legislation.
Whilst offering protection against discrimination for some disabled people, the
DDA also had an effect on employers who were required to introduce equal
opportunities policies which protected disabled people, thus augmenting existing
policies relating to race and gender discrimination (Bourne & Whitmore 1996;
Cooper & Vernon 1996; Doyle 1996b; Gooding 1996; Northern Officers Group
4
1996; Woodhams 2000). However, despite these legislative interventions, a
financially state-dependent disabled population continued to increase with the
latest statistics identifying 2.7 million receiving incapacity benefit and showing
that the combined cost of all disability benefits to this group reaching £19 billion
annually (AccountAbility 2004). It was against this background of rising levels of
disability that New Labour swept to power in 1997 and argued for the greater
social inclusion of disabled people. This was to be achieved primarily by
improving their opportunities to gain paid work in open employment (Brown 1999;
Harman 1997; Mandelson & Liddle 1996). Since this concept of social inclusion
through paid work remains present government policy it is important to consider
its underlying ideology and how this has influenced the mechanisms that are
currently in place to assist disabled people to break away from state-dependency
and achieve social inclusion through paid work.
The electoral success of ‘New Labour’ has been attributed to the party’s rejection
of many traditional outmoded ‘Old Labour’ ideologies. These include a move
away from central government control of the economy (Coote 2001); an
ideological shift away from a commitment towards public ownership (Giddens
1998), and a weakening of the once close links to the trade union movement
(Driver & Martell 2000). This ideological shift, often referred to by New Labour as
‘modernization’ has been criticised by some as a move away from collectivism
towards individualism (Lavalette & Pratt 1998: 246). This move towards
individualism, however, does not mean that the structural effects of policy are of
no concern, since funding for many areas of social policy is dependent on projects
being monitored to ensure the desired structural policy outcomes are achieved
(Prideaux 2001). Many who support this modernization process argue that ‘New
5
Labour’ has attempted to ‘strike a balance between economic success and “social
inclusion”, the market and the community’ (Toynbee & Walker 2001; Driver &
Martell 2000).
Social inclusion is often thought to be synonymous with excluded citizens finding
paid work (DSS 1998). The mechanisms chosen to deliver work opportunities were
primarily filtered through training schemes and education (Hyland 2000a, 2000b;
Hyland & Merrill 2001) and, theoretically, improved training should increase
opportunities to participate in open competition for jobs (Brown 1999; Harman
1997; Mandelson & Liddle 1996). The aim of ‘New Labour’ was to forge a new
relationship between social inclusion, citizenship and State. This move towards
proactive citizenship was a pivotal concept in what has been termed ‘The Third
Way’ (Giddens 1998). ‘The Third Way’ directly links the State to equality and
social inclusion, arguing that ‘“the social investment state” defines equality as
inclusion and inequality as exclusion’ (Giddens 1998: 102). Some have argued that
scepticism towards the State’s ability to provide efficient solutions to social
exclusion has also moved the focus away from state intervention towards
partnerships (Popple & Redmond 2000). Partnerships are considered by the New
Labour Government to be the most efficient use of state and market resources to
deliver social inclusion (Compact 1998) and these partnerships have primarily
been made between public, private and the voluntary sector (Wickham Jones
2000).
It was against this background of individual responsibility and partnership that the
government’s cornerstone project ‘The New Deal’ was launched to combat social
exclusion (Carter & Greco 2000; Foley & Martin 2000; Miller 2000; Welch 1997).
6
£5.2 billion was raised early in New Labour’s first term in office (HMT 1997)
through a one-off windfall tax on the privatized utilities (Drake 2000). Money was
allocated into a series of New Deal programmes, which aligned policy with Third
Way principles.
In addition to New Deal for Disabled people (NDDP) other New Deal programmes
included those for the young unemployed (Miller 2000; Ritchie 2000; White 2000);
the long term unemployed (Layard 2000; Peck 1999), and lone parents (Hales 2000).
Of the total financial commitment to the New Deal programmes, £195 million was
earmarked for New Deal for Disabled People (Drake 2000) the ethos of which was
outlined by Harriet Harmon, Minister for the Disabled at that time, who stated:
This announcement will give a significant boost to those disabled people who
want to work. This government wants to give marginalized and excluded
people a hand up not a hand out. (DSS 1998)
From commissioned research the government had identified in excess of 1 million
working-age disabled people who wanted to work (NDDP 1999). It was argued
that if these unemployed disabled people could be assisted into employment,
several benefits would accrue. The financial burden of incapacity benefit would be
reduced as workers migrated into work and began paying taxes; individual disabled
people would enjoy an increase in their income; they would achieve a greater
degree of independence from state benefits, and feel more socially included
(AccountAbility 2004). Additionally, a strong case has been made that
organisations can benefit financially by employing disabled staff (AccountAbility
2004; DRC 2004; Evans 2001; Spechler 1996). For example, Evans lays out the
best practice for employing disabled people. He makes the business case that
failure to use this talent-pool fully is a cost to business not only in terms of
7
promoting one's company as socially committed but also because it does not
exploit the untapped potential of disabled people (Evans 2001). Spechler provides
a number of case studies on business profitability that was achieved by employing
disabled people, including benchmark examples of positive impacts on quality and
employee and customer relations (Spechler 1996). These texts reflect the
recommendations set out on the websites of prominent UK bodies including the
Disability Rights Commission (DRC 2004) and the Employer’s Forum on
Disability (AccountAbility 2004). However, policy and a few positive cases,
encouraging as they may be, should not be misinterpreted as the general case.
Research has identified that disabled people are twice as likely as their nondisabled peers to be out of work (DRC 2004), with one third of those who find
work becoming unemployed within the following year. Of those who become
disabled during their working life, one in six lose their jobs during the first 12
months after becoming disabled (Burchardt 2000). So there appears to be a
problem in translating the rhetoric of social inclusion through paid work for
disabled people into a working reality. There is a contradiction here between the
benefits for government, disabled people and employers. The latest statistics on the
success of government policy towards the employment of disabled people reveal
that targets have been missed by some considerable amount. For instance, figures
show that only 5% of disabled people involved in NDDP have found permanent
jobs. From July 2001 to September 2002 1,400 disabled people worked for more
than six months after getting help. Furthermore, just 6,099 people were helped
into any form of work - far short of the target of 90,000 set (Calvi 2003).
Although to a neutral observer the gap between the rhetoric of social inclusion
through paid work and the reality of continued exclusion for many disabled people
8
may appear puzzling, for many in the disability movement this apparent
contradiction can be easily understood once different models of disability are
considered and the causes of disability are examined. Hence, for the disability
movement, the issue has become a political struggle against dominant
(mis)understandings of disability which, they argue, are the cause of oppression
and discrimination against disabled people. So what follows is a brief summary of
the underlying principles of these models.
Models of disability
Many in the disability movement argue that there are just two competing models that
attempt to explain the causes of disability (Abberley 1987; Barnes 1990; Campbell &
Oliver 1996; Finkelstein 2001; Oliver 1990; Swain et al 1993). The first is referred to
as a medical model of disability and argues that disability is caused by impairments –
physical, sensory or mental - which are located within the individual body. The
second is a social model which argues that disability is a social construction caused by
social and environmental factors such as people’s attitudes towards disability and the
social construction of physical environments which meet the needs of non-disabled
people and disregard those of the disabled.
These two models are seen by many to be mutually exclusive and they lead to very
different policies and practices in achieving equality for disabled people. The former
model focuses on ‘curing’ the individual while the latter requires changes in the social
and environmental factors which cause disabled people to experience their
impairment as disabling. Generally it is argued that historically the medical model has
been hegemonic and that this has led to the exclusion of disabled people from both
material and social benefits (Finkelstein 2001). In order to ensure the inclusion of
9
disabled people into society it is argued that the social model should become the
dominant understanding of disability. This change in commonsense understandings
has become the causus belli of the disability movement.
Disability can affect many aspects of an impaired person’s life, and since the 1960s
there has been increasing focus on specific issues, particularly that of the problem of
independent living (Brisenden 1986; Dejong 1983; Finkelstein 2000; Morris 1993).
This thesis is concerned with one aspect of disability that has a serious impact on the
ability to live independently: the employment of people with impairments. As has
already been shown, this subject is highly political (Blair 1997, 1998a, 1998b; Brown
2000; DSS 1998; Harman 1997; Giddens 1998; Mandelson & Liddle 1996; New
Statesman 2004) with some authors now arguing that the social model of disability
should be placed at the centre of employment policy because it offers greater
opportunities for disabled people to find paid employment (Barnes 1999; Drake 2000;
Hall 1999; Roulstone 2000).
Consequently, the research conducted for this thesis inevitably has an overtly political
dimension at the centre of which are the claims embedded in the social model that
concern the ‘real’ causes of disability. Recently, some academics have argued that the
adoption of the social constructionist account of disability that underpins the social
model is insufficiently sophisticated to explain fully the phenomenon of disability
(Shakespeare & Watson 2002), caused principally for many by the neglect in the
social model of any sociology of impairment (Abberley 1987; Hughes 1999, 2000,
2002; Hughes & Paterson 1997; Paterson & Hughes 1999).
Others have challenged the validity of the two mutually exclusive models – medical
versus social - posited by social model adherents (for example, Lowe, 2001). This
10
research whilst supportive for calls for a sociology of impairment draws on the
critique offered by Lowe, to determine if opposing models can accurately represent
alternative understandings of disability. Such critics, however, are in the minority.
Against the background of these debates this thesis will address three related
questions:

Is the social model of disability ‘new’?

Are the medical and social model explanations of the causes of disability really
mutually exclusive?

Can a practical application of the social model of disability facilitate better
employment opportunities for disabled people?
The principal architect of the social model of disability is a disabled former academic,
Mike Oliver, who drew on the work of Antonio Gramsci to illustrate how a medical
model had become hegemonic and was accepted uncritically as common sense
(Barton & Oliver 1997, 11). As Gramsci has been used in the past to illustrate the
dominance of a medical model, his concepts have been used in this research to
determine if the claims for the historical oppression of disabled people can be
supported against the evidence uncovered by this thesis. Specific concepts articulated
by Antonio Gramsci (see Gramsci 1971) are used to create a theoretical ‘lens’ through
which it is possible to examine how effectively intellectuals within the disability
movement have promoted the ideology of the social model of disability. Gramsci’s
constructs provide an analysis which can unravel some internal inconsistencies within
the model. His concept of ‘good sense’ and ‘common sense’ and the notion of
‘hegemony’ are particularly appropriate here. Drawing on Marx’s analysis of the
11
conditions required for revolutionary action, he used these ideas to show how a
‘ruling class ideology’ – analogous here to the alleged dominance of the medical
model - can be effectively challenged by creating a critical, consistent ‘good sense’
alternative in opposition to these dominant traditional understandings - in this case,
the social model of disability.
Using Gramsci’s ideas this thesis will examine two claims that are crucial to the social
model and thus test their validity. First of all it will consider whether the social model
adherents’ claim that, historically, there has been an oppressive medical hegemony
driving society’s view of disability is, in fact, a valid description of what existed
before it was posited as such by these social model advocates. In addition it will
examine, by empirical means, whether the social model does represent an
unproblematic ‘good sense’ alternative to the alleged medical hegemonic model. A
test of whether the social model is problem-free will be if it shows credible potential
to become the new hegemony. In other words, if the social model is to fulfill
Gramsci’s criteria where it is introduced it ought to be uncritically accepted as
‘common sense’ by a majority of disabled people as representative of their experience
of disability.
The place of experiential knowledge in disability research
The role of experiential knowledge has become a key methodological issue for the
disability movement regarding how valid research on disability should be conducted
and by whom it should be done (Barnes 1996; Branfield 1998; Oliver 1992; Oliver &
Barnes 1997; Stone & Priestley 1996).
Experiential knowledge is an important aspect of social research which requires that
attention be given to the notion of identity. This has been a concern for researchers for
12
some time in relation to the question of how to produce valid knowledge (Collinson
1992; Parker 2000; Stanley & Wise 1983). In this context identity relates not only to
the identities of both researcher and researched but also to the relationship between
researchers and the topic of research.
One central aspect of writings on identity and research concerns the means of
generating rapport between researchers and researched, as rapport can allow access to
knowledge which researchers may otherwise not have access to. One means of
promoting such a rapport is by matching some aspects of the identities of researchers
and research subjects. For example, some have argued that the degree of trust and
disclosure is increased in feminist research when researcher and researched are the
same gender and that prescriptive methods for conducting such research are often
inappropriate (Oakley 1981). However, others question ‘woman’ as a unitary
category, arguing that identities are viewed as multiple, and can vary in relation to
context, place and time, which includes the research process (Cotterill 1992; Edwards
1990).
Similar arguments appear within disability research with disabled people also
differentiated by many demographic variables including: gender, class, ethnicity,
sexuality, age and so forth (Duckett 1998; Humphrey 2000; Morris 1993; Shakespeare
1997; Vernon 1997). However, many supporters of the disability movement have
generally elevated a homogeneous concept of ‘disabled’ as the defining feature of
identity for disability research. For some the outcome of privileging experiential
knowledge is to argue that only disabled people should conduct research on disability
(Branfield 1998). Others take a more pragmatic line acknowledging the assistance
available from non-disabled researchers whilst arguing that disabled people should be
13
an integral component in all stages of the research process by altering the social and
material relations of knowledge production in a new emancipatory disability research
agenda (Barnes 1996; Oliver 1992; Oliver & Barnes 1997; Stone & Priestley 1997;
Zarb 1997). These authors promote emancipation for disabled people through the
adoption of concepts enshrined in the social model of disability. One implication of
conducting emancipatory disability research in accordance with the social model is
that once the social and material relations of knowledge production are altered to
allow disabled people equal access to the research process they are then able to make
an epistemological choice of research methods without recourse to any limitations
imposed by impairment.
As a blind person who is confronted by very specific disabling barriers, I am able to
claim the necessary ‘cultural competence’ required to do disability research, and thus
meet one criterion of the emancipatory disability research agenda. However, in my
case, simply altering the social and material relations of knowledge production did not
provide equal access to all the methodological prescriptions because some
consequences specific to my impairment affected the methods I was able to adopt to
conduct this research.
The methodological challenges I faced are discussed in detail in Chapter 3 but,
briefly, blindness presents challenges for my participation as a researcher if many of
the prescriptive texts in either of the widely accepted methodological traditions of
social research are to be followed. In the quantitative tradition the emphasis placed
by some authors on visual imagery to display results through charts and diagrams (see
for examples, Bryman 1988; Denscombe 1999; Kinnear & Gray 2000) would prevent
my equal participation. Similarly, when conducting qualitative research, emphasis
14
has been placed on the researcher’s ability to ‘see’ or ‘observe’ social phenomena,
this being considered vital in understanding group dynamics, body language, and so
forth (see for example, Coffey 1999; King 1996; Slack 2000). It would appear that
simply altering the social and material relations of knowledge production without any
consideration of the implications of impairment and its impact on the practicalities of
research, leaves the impaired researcher in an isolated position and having to defend
his/her choice of methodology which may conflict with prescriptive assumptions
about the validity and reliability of disability research. This thesis, therefore,
challenges some of these traditional understandings of how to produce valid and
reliable social research, bringing a different perspective to bear on the longstanding
methodological debates on this subject.
The concept of experiential knowledge has been significant in the development of the
social model of disability. This thesis, whilst specifically addressing the research
questions, draws on my own experience as a blind disabled person in order to reflect
on the implications of accepting the term ‘disability’ as a generic descriptor which can
be applied universally to impaired people. The issue of the use of terms has been
raised here because if the concept of disabling barriers is to be fully understood by
non-disabled people then the consequences of impairment also require
acknowledgement. It is because of this belief that I define myself as a blind disabled
person. In my case, blindness specifically means that the only visual ability I have is
to recognize the difference between light and darkness.
The decision to self-define in this way was taken because unless the reader
appreciates the nature and severity of my impairment, the question of why and what
disabling barriers exist for me as a researcher, and how they are overcome, becomes a
15
matter of mere conjecture. Different impairments require different remedies to
overcome the disabling barriers entailed by them. Take the reading of a book as an
example. For a wheelchair user there may be physical barriers to gaining access to a
library or bookshop or taking a book from a high shelf; for a deaf person there may be
no barriers at all. For a blind person, the barrier to reading lies in the printed word
itself. However, in itself this argument does not address the issue of why I have
decided to define myself as blind rather than what most now consider to be the more
politically correct term of ‘visually impaired’.
This decision was based on pragmatism. If I define myself as visually impaired, the
reader is again left to speculate on the nature and extent of the impairment and the
barriers that accrue. The term ‘visually impaired’ incorporates a range of visual acuity
from the mere necessity of wearing spectacles intermittently for reading, to total
blindness with no light perception whatsoever. In my case, it is the severity of my
impairment that has determined the methods that were available to conduct this
research and, from the outset, I have experienced severe doubts about the usefulness
of the generic term ‘disability’ on its own to offer an unproblematic and
comprehensive definition of my particular life experiences.
There were practical and personal as well as academic reasons for doing this research.
These were important because they were not only initially influential in the decision
to undertake the research but they also served to help me to understand and make
sense of my personal experiences. The initial inspiration for this research came from
personal experience following a sudden change in my life. After 20 years of
continuous employment, principally in project management in both the petrochemical and nuclear industries, I became registered blind at the age of 40 resulting in
16
unemployment and dependency on state benefits. Despite several attempts to gain
employment, I found that, even for employers who claimed to be well-disposed to
employing disabled people, my experience and technical qualifications appeared
insufficient to warrant even a job interview. I sought assistance from a disability
employment psychologist attached to the employment services. After a half-day
consultation it was recommended that I should retrain in a new and more ‘realistic’
career suitable for blind people. The types of jobs that were suggested included piano
tuning and bicycle repair.
At the time of my first encounter with the employment service (circa 1994) I had been
assessed as being over 80% disabled. This meant that in terms of employment service
provision, I was so severely disabled that employment schemes such as supported
employment in workshops for disabled people or subsidized work in open
employment were not deemed appropriate. After a period of reflection, I realised that
my difficulties in securing employment were not a result of a problem with my
abilities, but were the result of the attitudes and assumptions others made about how
my blindness would affect them. In other words their lack of experience and
knowledge of blindness led them to believe that only certain jobs were appropriate for
someone with my impairment. This realisation led to me seek a second interview in
order to challenge the prognosis of my career potential. The second interview was
conducted with a careers advisor rather than a psychologist.
This second advisor encouraged me to study for a degree in order to widen my career
options rather than restrict them. These experiences can be seen to reflect two
different understandings and approaches to disability. The first was based on the
perceptions that my impairment disabled me in the job market. The second was based
17
on a recognition that my impairment need not lead to my being completely disabled
and an understanding that social barriers to my inclusion in the labour market could
be reduced by the acquisition of further qualifications. This latter premise, however,
despite an apparent appeal to ‘the social’ was still grounded in a logic that relied on
my individual ‘lack’. So my experiential knowledge produced an understanding of
disability that does not fit neatly into the polar opposite constructs developed through
the social model of disability. My experiences suggest that rather than being capable
of reduction to simplistic models, disability is a more fluid concept that depends on
impairment and social barriers which are very much context specific.
Sources of data
Three sources of data have been drawn on to answer the research questions outlined
above:

my personal experiential knowledge of disability

primary source historical documentary data

Empirical data collected in two case studies of contemporary organisations whose
mission was to find employment opportunities for disabled people.
Thesis outline
Chapter 1
As one central feature of this thesis is the relationship between disabled people and
work, the first part of this chapter reviews the different models which define
disability, their genesis and how they have been embedded in research on disability.
The second part examines different approaches to achieving equal opportunities for
18
minority groups as illustrated in the work of Jewson and Mason (1986) in order to
determine whether the same approaches are applicable to disabled people.
Chapter 2
Drawing and adapting on a Gramscian framework developed to explain gendered
patriarchal power relations in organisations (Danieli 1994), the chapter discusses why
and how the work of Antonio Gramsci is relevant and can be used in disability
research. His theories of ideology, good sense, common sense, hegemony, and the
role of intellectuals are discussed and how these concepts are applied. The chapter
continues by considering the concepts of ‘assimilation’ and ‘integration’, when used
in parallel with Jewson and Mason’s analysis of equality approaches discussed in the
previous chapter, can be used to inform approaches of how to improve employment
opportunities for disabled people. Finally a review of the Euske and Euske (1991)
model of different organisational rationalities is provided which will help explain the
operational realities of the two case study organisations.
Chapter 3
This chapter discusses the methodology adopted in conducting the research for this
thesis. It will raise some problems in relation to the methodological advice offered by
traditional methodology texts in relation to disabled researchers and argues that such
advice assumes that researchers are non-disabled. It then moves on to problematise
the methodological prescriptions emanating from disability researchers who advocate
emancipatory research as an alternative to traditional approaches to researching
disability.
Chapters 4 and 5
19
These chapters address the question of whether the social model of disability
represents a new understanding. Social model logic implies that the traditional
historical understandings of medical discourse on disability would ensure that
disabled people uncritically accepted that disability was solely caused by impairment.
In order to determine whether these claims were valid an archive search was
conducted from a variety of sources in organisations that were engaged in the
employment of disabled people. Henshaw's Society of the Blind in Salford made their
records available, together with the TUC and Transport and General Workers Union
records from the University of Warwick’s Modern Records Centre. A third source
was found in the records of the first union of disabled people held at the Working
Classmovement library in Salford. Additionally, the newspaper archive held in the
British Library provided accounts which detailed the way aspects of disability were
reported and understood across the wider population. These records show how,
historically, organised resistance and political activism by disabled people challenged
dominant understandings and influenced legislation to improve working conditions
for many disabled people by changing social attitudes. The records from 1927 of two
organizations (Thermega and Henshaw's) which attempted to find employment for
disabled people, show that the medical model was not dominant and that the two
models are not mutually exclusive but rather that socio and medical models operated
in tandem.
Chapters 6, 7 and 8
These examine two contemporary organisations to discover whether distinct models
of disability are in evidence in everyday operations. The first is called the ‘Social
Model Organisation’ (SMO) and it emerged from an equal opportunities initiative by
20
an ‘English Local Authority (ELA). The second organisation is a pilot for the
government’s NDDP programme. Both organisations are briefly discussed below.
The social model organisation (SMO)
SMO was originally created inside the equal opportunities department of ELA, and
then later given independence and began trading as a charity. Through the political
support offered by ELA, SMO was provided with accessible leasehold premises in a
former local authority property and two contracts of three years’ duration for the
training of disabled people in the local authority’s care. One contract was to improve
the potential for independent living and applied to 20 people all of whom had been
medically assessed as having learning difficulties. The second contract provided
training for up to 15 disabled people in order to improve their employment potential
and also provided them with some work experience in the organisation’s own retail
charity shop. SMO was provided with staff, premises, contracts and local political
support which enabled the company to commence trading. SMO also won a third
one-year contract from the local Training and Enterprise Council (TEC) for training
in basic literacy and numeracy for 8 young adults who were defined as having
‘behavioural problems’ which had resulted in their exclusion from school. Whether
this third contract lay within the organization’s mission of training disabled people
became a contentious issue which the organisation never satisfactorily resolved.
The mission statement of SMO decreed that a majority on the board of directors was
made up of disabled people and the company was to operate under the principles of
the social model of disability. SMO employed 24 people of whom 7 were disabled slightly more than 30% of the total workforce and thus significantly higher than the
3% of most organisations in the UK (Hodge 1999). Not only is this disabled
21
employment rate higher than that of many traditional employers but also the positions
occupied by disabled employees in these latter companies are generally restricted to
low level jobs (Brandon 1988, Drake 1994; Peterson 1995;Visier 1998). In contrast,
disabled employees in SMO held positions that ranged from building maintenance
work up to and including the position of CEO. The organisation was run at an
operational level by a senior Management Team (SMT) which consisted of three
people: the CEO, the senior finance manager and the senior operations manager. The
SMT reported directly to the board whilst also taking responsibility for the day-to-day
running of the organisation. Each SMT member was responsible for several line
managers, who in turn were responsible for a number of operational staff. The
organisational structure and individual job descriptions adopted by SMO were those
originally created when the organisation was formed in ELA.
New Deal for Disabled People (NDDP)
NDDP originated as a pilot project the primary aim of which was to enable a cost
benefit analysis to be carried out prior to the initiative being rolled out as a national
programme (Walker 2000). The ‘pilots’ were chosen through a national competition
which invited applications from any appropriate organisation (Drake 2000). From the
entrants, twelve areas in the UK were successful and were awarded funding to run the
pilot schemes (DFEE 1998). The organisation that participated in this research was
formed as a partnership between the regional employment service, the local authority
and local social services department. In addition, a national charity for disabled
people which specializes in employment issues provided part time assistance in
finding work opportunities for disabled people. Training providers were contracted in
from the private sector and the local authority agreed to provide 200 placements in its
22
offices and works for long term unemployed disabled people. A placement was
defined as a period of time spent in a working environment where the disabled person
could gain confidence and increase his/her self esteem in preparation for paid
employment. Low self esteem had been identified as a significant barrier to disabled
people entering the workforce (Dwight 1998). As part of the competition process, the
organisation was required to specify the location and access of its proposed offices
together with staff numbers and experience in employment issues. In terms of staff
employed, NDDP was smaller than SMO and had a different organizational structure.
In total the organisation employed 13 full-time advisors and one part-time.1
The NDDP pilot was an arm of the employment service and reported directly to the
regional employment service. Offices of the pilot scheme were located outside the
traditional Job Centre, although the influence of the employment service remained a
factor because the systems it used were, in most cases, based on employment service
models.
The structure of the organisation consisted of one senior office manager, nine
personal advisors and three administrative staff. The office manager was responsible
for the operation and monitoring of the project and reported directly to the regional
employment service. Personal advisors were people who interviewed disabled clients
and assisted them in developing a strategy for finding employment. Such strategies
usually entailed taking part in training packages delivered by external providers. The
clerical/administrative assistants provided general support services and acted as the
first interface with clients, dealing with enquiries, making client bookings, compiling
statistical data and searching current job vacancies to provide a resource which could
1
Ancillary staff, such as cleaners and office maintenance workers were subcontracted and are not
included in this analysis
23
be drawn on by advisors and clients. Of the total workforce, three were disabled
people (or chose to define themselves as disabled) and all three were employed as
administrative/clerical assistants. They made up approximately 25% of the workforce
and occupied the lowest grades in the organisation2. All three disabled employees had
been former clients of NDDP and so had found their jobs through the project. The
office manager and five of the personal advisors were recruited from the employment
service. Of the remaining personal advisors, two came from the local social services
department and one from a local disability-into-business charity. One part time
personal advisor was employed by a national charity charged with finding
employment opportunities for disabled people, largely through the government’s
supported employment programme.
The choice of these organisations was based on the need to determine how different
organisations applied models of disability. NDDP might be expected to be working to
a medical model whereas SMO claimed to work to a social model. The aim was to
see whether each organisation was working exclusively to one model and how the
social model was implemented in practice. In SMO, it was possible to conduct
participant observation and semi-structured interviews as an insider within the role of
treasurer on the Board. In NDDP non-participant observation and semi-structured
interviews were used. The experiences of using such methods as a blind researcher
and the dilemmas these raised in conducting emancipatory participatory research are
discussed more fully in Chapter 3.
2
Since completing the research, one disabled person had been promoted to personal advisor, and his
former administrative role filled by another disabled person. Thus the employment ratio of disabled to
non-disabled rose further to over 30%.
24
These three chapters analyse the findings from the empirical research in both NDDP
and SMO in terms of how each organisation approached their work, the models of
disability which underpinned this and their internal employment practices.
Chapter 9
This chapter will offer some conclusions arguing that even when organisations claim
to be operating according to an exclusively social model of disability they cannot
escape the medical model. Consequently, arguments that maintain that disabled
people’s experiential knowledge leads to a social model of disability and that such a
model should be adopted in order to facilitate the inclusion of more disabled people
cannot be sustained.
Chapter 10
This chapter provides a reflective discussion of conducting the research for this thesis
and raises some methodological implications in relation to changing the material and
social relations of knowledge production for disabled researchers.
25
Chapter 1
Understanding Disability and Approaches to Equality
As indicated in the introduction, recent writings on disability have suggested
that it has been understood in two mutually exclusive ways which have been termed
the medical and the social models of disability. The debates that have ensued have
been most visible in the UK and the following discussion therefore concentrates on
those debates. It should be noted however that whilst it has been argued that two
distinct formulations of the causes of disability exist, the medical model has in fact
been defined by writers who advocate a social model of disability. This necessitates
an understanding of the historical genesis of the social model as it is presently
understood. It is also important to recognise that there is no single definition of
disability. Different countries define disability differently. For example, in the USA
some view disability as a functional requirement of ‘the disability business’ (Albrecht
1992) whereas in the UK some argue that disability is largely regarded as a personal
tragedy caused by impairment (Oliver 1990).
The first part of this chapter reviews the different models of the causes of disability,
their genesis, and how they have been embedded in research on disability. The second
part examines different approaches to achieving equal opportunities for minority
groups as illustrated in the work of Jewson and Mason (1986) in order to determine
whether the same approaches are applicable to disabled people.
26
Models of disability
In the mid 1960s arguably the most influential challenge to the dominant
understanding of disability came from disabled people living in a Cheshire Home.
Cheshire Homes are residential institutions which “care” for disabled people who are
deemed unable to care for themselves. In one of these homes, the residents rejected
advice from medical experts Miller and Gwynne from the Tavistock Institute, who
were making decisions for these disabled people regarding the running of their lives
(Miller & Gwynne 1972). Briefly, the disabled residents were seeking more active
participation in the running and decision- making processes which affected their lives
despite expert medical advice which suggested that decision-making should be in the
hands of non-disabled professional carers as the most appropriate means of continued
support. This led to the questioning of expert medical advice by many disabled
residents and the formation of a resistance movement calling itself the Union of the
Physically Impaired against Segregation (UPIAS). UPIAS was created as an
organization run and controlled by disabled people to promote independent living
(Finkelstein 1991; Oliver 1990).
Later to become a member of UPIAS, Hunt (1966) wrote a paper which details the
personal experience of disability and laid the foundations for a social model of
disability. Hunt argued that disabled people were perceived as ‘unfortunate, useless,
different, oppressed and sick’. He suggested this was because people with
impairments were perceived by the able bodied to be incapable of benefiting from
modern society in terms of material goods and social inclusion. This was due, Hunt
argued, to the central and key role that work played in Western culture. Disabled
people were viewed as ‘useless’ because they were considered to be incapable of
27
contributing to economic prosperity. This in turn, enabled a non-disabled majority to
stigmatise disabled people as a minority group. Hunt argued that disabled people
represented everything that the able bodied feared: ‘tragic loss, dark, and the
unknown’ (155).
Hunt’s (1966) analysis can be seen as the catalyst for the formation of a disability
movement which challenged traditional understandings of the causes of disability by
using phenomenological accounts. For example, in his book Stigma, Hunt (1966)
drew on the experiences of several disabled people thus challenging traditional
methods of research that constructed disabled people as ‘objects’. Hunt promoted the
idea of disabled people as knowing subjects, capable of interpreting and determining
the causes of their disability.
In a similar vein, Alan Sutherland (1981) advanced the concept of disability as
socially constructed through an analysis of the exclusion of the disabled from working
life; the problems of access, and the role of stereotyping in the social scripting of a
‘disabled role’. Following in this tradition of personal narrative, Jenny Morris (1989,
1991) related the effects of spinal injury for disabled women. These authors
confronted the conventional view of disabled people in a ‘sick role’ (Parsons, 1951)
where the consequences of impairment as an individual attribute were regarded as the
cause of disability. Parsons further notes that disability constructed in this way is a
condition that has come to be regarded as abnormal in westernized industrial
societies.
Against a wider background, the disability movement could be regarded as an
equality seeking movement following in the footsteps of the earlier feminist and black
movements (Bourne & Whitmore 1996; Shakespeare 1994) and the civil rights
28
movement in the USA (Dejong 1983; Oliver & Zarb 1989, 231). Hence it can be
argued that the disability movement paralleled feminist and anti-racist movements in
a fight against the ideological use of biological determinism and drew on experiential
knowledge to challenge dominant theories of gender and ethnic differences.
Although the impetus for the disability movement came from personal experience, the
origins of a theory to explain the challenge to dominant formulations of disability
came from another disabled person and academic, Vic Finkelstein. Finkelstein (1980)
reflected on the causes of disability and argued that they could be linked historically
to the move towards industrialisation in Western society. In developing his thesis,
Finkelstein considered history in three distinct phases. The first he classified as a
feudal period which occurred prior to European industrialisation. Here, economic
activity within society was to a large extent agrarian and cottage based; a means of
production, he argued, which did not exclude impaired people. In phase two,
industrialisation occurred and resulted in impaired individuals being excluded from
work. In most cases, this was because they could not work at the rate demanded by
the new industrial systems. This led to the marginalization of people with
impairments as they were excluded from social and economic activity. Many who fell
outside the efficiency demands required by the new industrial systems were placed in
residential institutions. The third stage, Finkelstein argued, would see the
emancipation of people with impairments from these oppressive systems by the use of
technology and the assistance of helpers and allies.
Finkelstein’s analysis has been criticised for its over simplistic consideration of the
means of production and its excessive optimism about the ability of technology and
unspecified ‘allies’ to liberate disabled people (Barnes 1990, 1997; Oliver 1990;
29
Meekosha 1998; Roulstone 1998). The critique most relevant to this research was
developed by Roulstone who considered the relationship between disabled people,
technology, and work. He argued that the primary use of new technology, rather than
offering an unproblematic means of emancipation may, paradoxically, individualise
disabled people. He highlights terms including ‘augmentative’ or ‘compensatory’
technology, which he suggests can have the effect of constructing the ‘language’ of
new technologies, placing the individual’s impaired body as the focus of employment
problems. Hence for Roulstone, the technological paradox enables individual
disabled people to benefit from technology although this may be at the cost of
accepting that technological remedies are based on correcting individual deficits and
thus reinforcing the traditional understanding that disability is caused by an
individual’s impairment.
Although Finkelstein’s analysis has been criticized, his work has formed the basis of
perhaps the most influential writings on disability to date in the UK. Oliver (1990)
provided a more comprehensive analysis of the implications for disabled people of the
transition to capitalism in Western society. He produced a materialist analysis which
provided a focus on the social construction of disability as ideological. For Oliver,
economic progress brought new and changing perceptions of society and problems of
maintaining order which had epistemic effects that altered the perception of
impairment. Oliver maintained that an important consequence of industrialisation for
disabled people was the institutionalisation of social care and control. This, together
with the increasing tendency under an emergent capitalist system to individualize and
search for medical/psychological solutions to `cure’ social problems (see for example,
Rose 1985) led to an increase in medical intervention for individuals with
impairments.
30
Oliver considered this ‘personal tragedy theory’ of disability to be a form of
ideological hegemony as it has now become incorporated into everyday belief
systems and assumptions which are considered to be common sense. The following
chapter will consider in detail the concepts of ideology, hegemony and common sense
used by Oliver. However, in this chapter the implications of Oliver’s personal tragedy
theory and the ways in which it underpins the two opposing models of disability will
be considered.
The essence of the two model dichotomy is founded in an historical understanding of
impairment as the root cause of disability; a view that is encapsulated by the medical
model. Many advocates of the social model of disability which contends that
disability is caused by oppressive disabling societies (Swain et al 1993) provide
evidence to support their claims through a critical analysis of the mechanisms that
have been used by government and other institutions (notably medicine and
psychology) to determine the nature of disability. Although Oliver was influential in
providing an alternative framework to the dominant ideology of disability as a
‘personal tragedy’ the actual writing of a social model of disability was provided by
other disabled authors.
The original definition of a social model of disability was contained within the UPIAS
document: The Fundamental Principles of Disability (UPIAS 1976). Within this text
and many early analyses of ‘disability’ (Brisenden 1986; Finkelstein 1980, 1981;
Hunt 1966; Oliver and Zarb 1989), emphasis was placed on the relationship between
physically impaired people and their social environment. Two factors were seen to be
important in defining disability: the built environment – which was seen to be
predominantly built by and for non-disabled people - and the attitudes of non-disabled
31
people towards others with impairments. Taken together these two factors, it was
argued, caused disability (Barnes 1990; Finkelstein 1980; Oliver 1990). Whilst this
was initially based on the experiences of physically impaired people, the model was
refined to accommodate all forms of impairment.
The inclusion of all forms of impairment gave additional political force to a challenge
to the historical oppression of disabled people, by using the concept of a mass
political movement (Campbell and Oliver 1996). Throughout this thesis, the
definition of the social model of disability will be taken from this more inclusive later
model (Swain et al, 1993). Within this model impairment is defined as ‘the lack of
part or all of a limb, organ or mechanism of the body’ (Finkelstein and French 1993,
28), and disability is defined as:
The loss or limitation of opportunities that prevents people who have
impairments from taking part in the normal life of the community on an equal
level with others due to physical and social barriers. (Finkelstein & French
1993, 25)
This social model aims to remove any causal association between impairment and
disability. In other words impairment itself is not seen to cause disability. However,
one difficulty which arises in attempting to break the link between impairment and
disability occurs because social model theorists have generally failed to theorise the
nature of impairment. As a result this task has generally been left to medical experts;
arguably, this is not a politically astute position (Hughes and Paterson 1997). Hence
the model is weighted towards an analysis of disability only, which is largely
accounted for by environmental and social attitudes that discriminate against impaired
people.
However, whilst the applicability of the definition may more accurately reflect the
experiences of the founding members of UPIAS, attempts to apply the model
32
universally to all forms of impairment have been acknowledged by some in the
disability movement to be problematic. In the cases of learning impairment (Chapell,
1996), visual impairments (French 1993), and hearing impairment (Corker 1996)
there is an acknowledgement that such impairments do, to varying degrees, cause
social disadvantages that may be difficult to overcome simply by altering
environments and disabling attitudes. It is difficult to see how the social model could
help a blind person, for instance, who wishes to participate in a visual art exhibition,
unless visual art itself is defined as a discriminatory form of expression. The social
model remains silent about the stubborn fact that the blind person is disabled by their
inability to participate fully because of an individual lack of visual ability. It can be
argued with some force that no degree of environmental or attitudinal change would
allow the full subjective experience of visual arts to be accessed by a blind person.
Although a co-author of the social model, Sally French (1993, 22) acknowledges this
inherent problem but nonetheless she supports a homogenised concept of disability,
arguing that the political strength of the model will be weakened if divisions between
impairment specific groups are allowed to surface.
In summary, the medical model of disability suggests that disability is rooted in the
individual impaired body. In order to remove the disability it is necessary to repair
the impairment. In contrast, the social model suggests that there is no necessary link
between impairment and disability and that there is no logical reason why someone
who has an impairment should experience it as disabling. Disability is a social
construction generated by the social environment and social attitudes of people who
have no experiential knowledge of impairments. It follows from this perspective that
disability can be removed if changes to the environment and social attitudes can be
achieved.
33
The following section will review the ways in which both models achieved historical
legitimacy alongside a burgeoning welfare state as governments found it increasingly
important to determine the size of the disabled population in order to enable the
budgeting and delivery of services to those disabled people in need of support.
The quantification of disability: reinforcing a medical model
For the purposes of this analysis, the discussion will be restricted to the post Second
World War period. This restriction has been made because this time period became
one in which the quantification and measurement of the disabled population received
more government attention than ever before. The after effects of the Second World
War forged a relationship between the impaired body and work. Two pieces of
legislation called for quantification and measurement systems to ensure the target
population of the legislation was clearly defined.
The 1944 Disabled Persons Employment Act (DPEA) introduced, to a limited degree,
the necessity for a quantification of impairment (Ministry of Labour 1946c).
Additionally, the 1948 National Assistance Act (NAA) obliged local authorities to
compile registers of all disabled people in their communities, to provide employment
(where appropriate) and recreational services. However, these Acts operated under
separate bureaucratic domains (the Departments of Employment and Health
respectively) with little communication or sharing of information between the two
departments (HMSO, 1973).
It was not until the 1970s that a uniform approach to the classification and
quantification of disabled people occurred. This was partly a result of the Local
Authority Social Services Act 1970. This Act created integrated social services
departments which were instructed under the Chronically Sick and Disabled Persons
34
Act 1970 to monitor and provide welfare services for severely impaired people in
their communities. This duty provided the impetus for the first of two official surveys
of disabled people in the UK (Bury 1996; Harris et al 1971a, 1971b) conducted by the
Office of Population Census and Statistics (OPCS). It was the quantification methods
used in the OPCS surveys which drew much criticism from a number of disabled
people who argued that quantification methods reinforced the medical, personal
tragedy theory of disability (Abberley 1991; 1992; Barnes 1991; Oliver 1990;
Shakespeare 1994). The following review considers both OPCS surveys and details
how the authors concluded that this method represented a historical continuity and a
reiteration of disability as an individual medical deficit.
The first OPCS survey
The first OPCS survey considered a limited definition of impairment and its effect on
handicap (Harris et al 1971a, 1971b). Harris's work primarily investigated people with
physical impairment - lacking or limitation of limb function - and how such
impairment affected interactions in the social world. The Harris survey was
underpinned by an ontological understanding of impairment as the cause of functional
restriction of the body which consequentially led to the social disadvantage of
handicap. It categorised impaired people into one of four groups depending on the
level of handicap they experienced. Adoption of this simplistic device, however,
excluded people with sensory impairments or mental health problems (Abberley
1991, 1992; Bury 1996).
However, a need for linguistic clarity and accuracy became apparent, as there was
confusion about the terms used in the Harris survey where concepts were often
employed interchangeably, for example, impairment and handicap (Bury, 1996). In
35
fact, impairment is located in the corporeal body whereas handicap was defined as the
social disadvantage faced by impaired people. So, if a person is referred to as
‘handicapped’ rather than impaired, then the social disadvantage becomes a personal
attribute in addition to impairment. Hence the problem becomes a personal medical
condition in which sight is lost of the social cause of handicap.
Subsequent research (Topliss, 1979) also found the use of terms problematic. For
Topliss, ‘disability’ was often applied inaccurately especially when considered against
other terms such as ‘disease’ which is more certain in meaning. Disease may have
social or environmental causes but inevitably symptoms manifest themselves within
the body. In part, as an attempt to end these terminological ambiguities, the World
Health Organisation (WHO 1980) developed a health focused taxonomy (Bury 1987):
the International Classification of Impairments, Disability and Handicap (ICIDH).
The ICIDH defined disability and its correlates into a three stage model; it was this
model which represented an exemplar for the medical model of disability for many
disabled people (Bury 1996; Pfeiffer 1998; Shakespeare 1994). As illustrated above,
the Harris survey utilised a two-stage model incorporating physical impairment and
handicap (Harris et al 1971a, 1971b). Perhaps the most significant feature of the
ICIDH was to expand the concept into a three stage model of disability. These stages
were impairment, disability and handicap, and were defined as:
Impairment: Any loss or abnormality of psychological, physiological, or
anatomical structure or function.
Disability: Any restriction or lack (resulting from impairment) of ability to
perform an activity in the manner or within the range considered normal for a
human being.
Handicap: A disadvantage for a given individual, resulting from an
impairment or disability, that limits or prevents fulfillment of a role that is
normal, depending on age, sex, social or cultural factors.
36
(WHO 1980 cited in Shakespeare 1994, 112-14)
Within this three-stage relationship, impairment is rooted in the corporeal body;
disability is a limitation in activity (such as an inability to walk) caused by the
impairment; and handicap defines social or cultural disadvantage caused by either
impairment or disability. For some, principally those committed to a social
constructionist account of disability, fixing all three elements in relation to
impairment reinforced a dominant medical model which they felt had historically
oppressed disabled people (Campbell & Oliver 1996; Finkelstein 1993; Oliver 1990).
In defining impairment the ICIDH appeared to take a rather simplistic approach,
categorising every ‘normal’ human condition and then assuming its opposite was
impairment (Shakespeare 1994). To illustrate this, some of the conditions that were
defined as impairments from the ICIDH will be considered. Every impairment was
allocated into a category and given a reference number which was denoted below in
brackets. For example, blindness was categorised as a subdivision of visual
impairment that covers many degrees of visual acuity. The comprehensive nature of
definitions would, arguably, suggest that very few people would escape some
classification as impaired. For example ICIDH categories include: short stature
(25.0); baldness, (82.4); false teeth (68.0); pregnancy and menstruation (99.0), with
homosexuality considered a psychological impairment (25.2). So, in parallel with
increased medical knowledge, categories of impairment were generated in opposition
to a medically determined ‘norm’ (Bury 1996; Patrick and Peach 1989).
In effect, the ICIDH provided a comprehensive list of health related conditions, which
informed a second survey by OPCS. The purpose of the second OPCS survey was to
determine the size of the disabled population and the range and severity of the
37
impaired population, knowledge which could assist government to estimate and
allocate resources to those determined as deserving of support (Bury 1996). It was the
second OPS survey discussed below which drew the greatest criticism from some in
the disability movement (Abberley 1991, 1992; Barnes 1991; Campbell and Oliver
1996; Oliver 1990; Shakespeare 1994). These authors have offered a comprehensive
critique of the second OPCS survey which will not be repeated here. However, a
sample critique will be provided to illustrate the general nature of the criticisms and
how these were used to demonstrate that the survey represented a traditional
individual medical conception of the causes of disability.
The Second OPCS Survey
The ICIDH categorisation was used as a basis of a second OPCS survey (Martin et al
1988) which endeavored to provide a more comprehensive investigation of the
incidence of disability and attempted to measure ‘degrees’ of impairment and their
subsequent effect on levels of disability and handicap. The survey adopted a
methodology based on asking an individual to compare themselves with a person of
similar demographic background without impairment (Abberley 1991, 1992). The
underlying assumption of this second survey was that the concept of ‘normal’ was
unproblematic and that people with impairments could use this as a baseline by which
to measure the degree to which they were ‘disabled’ by their impairment.
Although this measure may have been less problematic if a person had recently
acquired their impairment, if the person had had the impairment from birth or early
childhood their ability to apply such a technique would be extremely difficult, if not
impossible. For example, people blind and deaf, some from birth, were expected to
38
make an assumption of what people who could see and hear normally experienced.
Some examples from the survey serve to illustrate this point.
Question 20 required a researcher to ask a hearing impaired person: ‘Do you have
great difficulty following a conversation if there is background noise, for example a
TV, radio or children playing (wearing your hearing aid)?’ This may appear an
unproblematic question but it assumes the hearing impaired respondent can appreciate
the concept of varying levels of sound. There is no determination of the volume of the
background noise level, or the conversation and what is meant by ‘great difficulty’.
Similarly, in the same section, to determine the effects of hearing impairment disabled
people were asked by researchers if they could, ‘follow TV programmes at a volume
which others find acceptable’. Again this question assumes the disabled person has
been told in the past that sound levels were either acceptable or unacceptable, and the
question does not take into consideration whether the ‘other’ people had any degree of
hearing impairment. This is relevant, because if two hearing impaired people were
watching television at an acceptable volume for them it could be totally unacceptable
for others without hearing impairments. Other questions asked people to determine
stranger comprehension, that is to determine how they understood the meanings if
strangers entered into conversation with them. The survey demanded a response in
the form of accepting a statement ranging between ‘not difficult/quite difficult/very
difficult/impossible’ (Martin et al, 1988). This once again assumes respondents have
the same basic understanding of ‘normality’ as the researcher. What was absent from
this particular question was any notion of whether the disabled person understood the
question and the inherent contradiction that if a person had great difficulty in stranger
comprehension, how could they understand and answer a question from a
stranger/researcher?
39
Problems such as these with the second OPCS survey drew criticism which supported
the Oliver’s earlier analysis, namely that the dominant understanding of disability was
rooted in an individualistic medical model of disability. This was evident throughout
the OPCS survey as questions related impairment directly to the inability to perform
‘normally’ without regard to the social construction of disability (Abberley 1991;
1992; Barnes 1991; Oliver 1990; Shakespeare 1994).
The second OPCS survey attempted but failed to prove a simple link between
impairment and disability because it did not consider that two people with the same
impairment can have different levels of disability. For example, if two blind people
are compared, one may have the confidence and ability to engage freely in society
whereas the other may, for reasons of low self confidence and fear, find difficulty in
leaving the home (Dodds 1993). In this example, the impairment is identical but the
experience of disability is different. This point again raises a fundamental inherent
problem with a social model analysis, which can be summarised as the model’s
neglect of any consideration of impairment (Hughes 1999, 2000, 2002; Hughes &
Paterson 1997; Paterson & Hughes 1999).
It is not my intention here to suggest disability is a personal tragedy (Oliver, 1990) to
be overcome purely by individual determination, but rather that any relationship
between impairment and disability is complex in nature and contingent on many
factors including age (Bury, 1996b; Martin et al 1988), culture (Barnes, 1997; Lupton,
1994; Meekosha, 1998), economics (Bell, 1993; Bowitz, 1997; Burchardt, 2000),
environment (Gleeson 1999; Imrie 1996; Skelton & Valentine 1999), attitudes (Swain
et al 1993) and politics (Snower 1995; Toynbee 2001).
40
Despite the multiplicity of factors that can combine to create disability, the second
OPCS survey fixed an inert relationship between impairment and disability (Abberley
1992). Although, as has been shown, the relationship between impairment and
disability was always problematic, the survey claimed a quantifiable relationship
between impairment and disability primarily for the purpose of the administrative
allocation of resources. This is evident since the second OPCS survey increased the
number of scales of disability from 4 to 10 attempting a greater degree of
classification in levels of disability than the first survey (Bury 1996). In effect, the
survey quantified ‘disability’ in relation to impairment rather than considering any
political, economic, social or environmental factors. One question this research asks
is, does the social model of disability represent a new understanding? It could be
argued that the criticisms of the OPCS surveys discussed above indicate a drive by
contemporary disability activists to challenge dominant understandings. However, the
relationship between disabled activists and authoritarian attempts to quantify and
categorise impairments is not new. In 1920 disabled activists discounted the
categorisation of blind people between those with a single impairment and those with
additional mental conditions as 'the prattle of charity mongers', which deflected the
argument away from a political struggle for economic emancipation to the necessity
of charity and dependence (Lawley 1920). This historical aspect of disability
activism is considered in detail in chapter 4.
This section has illustrated the claims of social model advocates that a two model
oppositional discourse can be used to contrast traditional intellectual medical
definitions of disability with an organic intellectual emancipatory alternative. More
recently, calls by social model advocates to take account of the environmental and
attitudinal causes of disability have been incorporated into a revised version of the
41
ICIDH. This revision is discussed below with a consideration of some of the
implications for the disability movement.
ICIDH-2
The first point which should be noted about ICIDH-2, is that it is not restricted in its
application solely to people with impairments:
There is a widely held misunderstanding that ICIDH-2 is only about people
with disabilities; in fact, it is about all people... In other words, ICIDH-2
has universal application. (WHO 2001, 5)
In comparison with the original ICIDH discussed earlier, ICIDH-2 provides a more
complex analysis of disability and is not easily reducible to the simple three stage
model of its predecessor. Although impairment remains a medically defined
condition of the body measured against a predetermined ‘norm’, disability takes on a
more nebulous meaning and can be used as a generic descriptor capable of defining
any impairment, any lack of functioning or activity limitation caused by impairment.
For example, an inability to walk as a result of spinal impairment, and/or a lack of
participation caused by either restrictions imposed by impairment or environmental
barriers external to the body or a combination of both (WHO 2001, appendix 1). In
other words, ‘disability’ has no fixed definition and can be used to describe
impairment, the lack of activity in the body caused by impairment or lack of
participation experienced by any person due to environmental or attitudinal barriers.
ICIDH-2 introduces two replacement terms: ‘activity’ and ‘participation’. ‘Activity’
replaces ‘disability’, and ‘participation’ replaces ‘handicap’ (WHO 2001, appendix 1)
and ‘participation’ becomes a more comprehensive concept. In short, ICIDH-2
provides a taxonomic device which can be used to combine structural (impairment)
42
and functional (activity) operations of the body along with environmental and
attitudinal factors which join to either disable or enable (Bickenbach et al. 1999).
It may be of assistance here to explore some of the implications of the application of
ICIDH-2 rather than attempting to construct what would be a complex model. Similar
to the original ICIDH, impairment can be the malfunction of eyes or legs. The
‘activity’ or ‘participatory’ restriction is the consequential loss of the ability to see or
walk. Participation’ can be restricted by either bodily activity limitations or
environmental factors external to the body, or a combination of both (WHO 2001,
Appendix 6). Environmental factors can be both ‘facilitators’ and ‘barriers’ that
either aid or disable the individual. For example, tactile paving at road crossings can
be classified as a ‘facilitator’ for a blind person whilst simultaneously becoming a
‘barrier’ to a wheel chair user (WHO 2001, 129).
The removal of the impaired body from consideration of some aspects of
participation allows ICIDH-2 to make the claims of universality noted above. This
is evident as a sighted person could be regarded as disabled at night during a power
failure due to the inability to see and a blind person can also be regarded as
disabled through an inability to see printed text. Similarly the attitudes of others in
disabling an individual with or without impairments equally constitute disability.
For example, a non-impaired health worker who comes into contact with HIV
positive patients can be classified as disabled if subjected to disabling attitudes of
other members of society concerned about the implications of contact with HIV
(WHO 2001, Appendix 4).
It would appear that the removal of the impaired body as the causal factor of
disability acknowledges many of the criticisms made by some disabled academics
43
and social model advocates who argue that attitudinal (Swain et al 1993) and
environmental barriers (Gleeson 1999; Imrie 1996; Skelton and Valentine 1999)
are the primary causes of disability. ICIDH-2 acknowledges both these factors
can be satisfactorily used to explain the phenomenon of disability, but it also goes
further.
An example was provided earlier of one limitation in the social model of disability:
where the model could not be used to provide a definition of the disadvantage
experienced by a blind person wishing to engage in a visual arts event. Using
ICIDH-2, the inequality of participation can be termed ‘disability’. Equally, if the
arts event was located in a building fronted by a flight of stairs a wheelchair user
could equally be defined as ‘disabled’ by the construction of a disabling
environment. Hence it can be argued that ICIDH-2 reflects multiple models of
disability: a medical model where impairment can cause a lack of activity and
consequential loss of participation, and a socio- medical model where impairment
can cause a lack of activity through environmental barriers to participation. Also
available here is support for a social model where impairment does not contribute
to loss of participation and for a more expansive model where any member of
society, with or without impairment, can be disabled by environments and the
attitudes of others. So, ICIHD-2 attempts to become an inclusive representation of
disability and moves away from a two polar opposite model account.
One question this research will attempt to address is whether the two model
dichotomy claimed by many in the disability movement represents continuity in
the historical understanding of disability, or, as exemplified by the most recent
44
ICIDH, whether an historical understanding always recognised disability as a
complex relationship between medicine, the impaired body and society.
So far this chapter has concentrated on how disability can be understood; the
problems of defining disability, and the implications of different formulations for
the achievement of equality and social inclusion for disabled people. It is claimed
that the social model provides the potential to remove discrimination against
disabled people and achieve equality for them. Whilst at a conceptual and political
level this may be a desirable argument it is also important to examine whether and
how equality can be achieved in practice. The empirical research conducted for this
thesis is concerned with discovering how actual organisations, charged with
enabling disabled people to engage in employment, operate and whether they
conduct their work using a medical or social model of disability. However, the
achievement of employment opportunities for other historically disadvantaged
groups - such as women and minority ethnic groups - has a long history and some
of the frameworks may prove helpful in providing a way forward for disabled
people. The following section considers one model which has been proposed in
the past as capable of affording an understanding of how other minority groups are
provided with equality of opportunity in organisations.
Equality for minority groups in organisations
Approaches to the achievement of equality in organisations have been analysed and
reduced to two principal approaches. Jewson and Mason (1986) make a distinction
between liberal and radical styles on the basis of means of implementation; the
potential for achieving success, and how organisational members perceive the
measures. Radical and liberal approaches differ on each aspect.
45
The liberal approach rests on the assumption that if all persons are facilitated to
enable free and equal access to compete for employment then equality of opportunity
exists. Policies and procedures are thus required which contain no bias and are
available to all. The method attempts to eliminate subjective bias, as far as possible,
through the application of standardized processes although special treatment can be
adopted. For example, individuals can be enabled and encouraged to compete, so long
as the decision-making process is seen to be uncontaminated by personal influence.
However, this liberal approach has difficulty in embracing the structural sources of
social capacities and skills and, hence, the social sources of inequality (Jewson &
Mason 1986, 314).
In contrast, the radical approach recognizes that there are structural inequalities and
disadvantages which cannot be overcome by merely introducing unbiased policies and
procedures. What is required to achieve equality is direct intervention to workplace
practices. Equality can only be seen to have been achieved when the representation of
previously disadvantaged groups amongst the workforce is proportional to their
numbers in society. Consequently the radical approach is driven by the outcome of
policies rather than the existence of organisational equality rules and policies. In other
words, the emphasis is placed on the delivery of rewards instead of the fairness of
procedures (Jewson & Mason 1986, 315).
Those who support a radical approach to equality argue that if minorities are not
demonstrably represented and distributed then it follows that there is, ipso facto,
discrimination irrespective of how fair any equality policies may seem to be. Radicals
propose that ‘ability’ cannot be regarded as a neutral term but instead is defined in
relation to the skills and behaviour of the dominant class or elite. So, any
46
liberalisation of policies and procedures will simply result in the reinforcement of the
position of that class or elite and hence perpetuate their social advantage. Thus, the
emphasis increasingly becomes to recognise the political imperative in decisionmaking processes and then to challenge dominant ideologies by taking radical steps
such as a policy of positive discrimination. Additionally, however, there is an
emphasis that the critical evaluation of, for example, prescribed educational,
technical, and experiential credentials is always necessary.
Research into organisations has concluded that in practice confusion over the two
approaches is common (Jewson & Mason 1986). In terms of ethnic minority and
gender equality policies most organisations recognize and (to varying degrees)
operate more closely to a liberal model of equal opportunity (Cockburn 1991).
Although often expressing commitment to a redistributive resolution, organisations
and their legislature feel more at ease championing liberal principles and so design
and implement routines which underscore that fact (Breugel & Kean 1995; Cockburn
1991; Jewson & Mason 1986; Yates 1994). These orthodox equality policies have
been criticised as simply a mask for managerial commitment (Collinson et al 1990;
Jenkins 1986) which often result in weak remedial solutions (Liff 1989; Webb & Liff
1988).
In relation to disability, on the other hand, little research has been conducted
concerning the application of the Jewson and Mason model and hence any assessment
of its validity is problematic. The limited analysis available shows the dichotomous
concept becomes blurred in relation to disability and equality of opportunity (Yates
1994). However, it should be recognised that the implementation of the 1944
Disabled Persons Employment Act which included an obligation on employers to
47
engage a quota of disabled workers (MOL 1946b) has prompted an accusation in
some quarters that ‘people are being appointed because of their disability rather than
on merit’ (Coussey & Jackson 1991, my emphasis).
One of the aims of this thesis is to take a wider analytical view of equal opportunities
for disabled people and therefore elements of the Jewson and Mason framework will
be used in the empirical chapters because of their potential to highlight some of the
inconsistencies of the traditional approach to equal opportunity policies for disabled
employees. However, the Jewson and Mason model is predicated on equality in
respect to gender and ethnicity where it can be more easily argued that the barriers to
equality stem from the discriminatory attitudes of a ruling elite. In the case of
disability, however, it can be argued that impairment, in some cases, can affect an
individual’s ability to perform certain jobs. To give an extreme example, it would be
difficult to argue that a blind person could be capable of conducting heart surgery as
effectively as a sighted peer. In such cases it would appear that the Jewson and
Mason model cannot offer a template for equality in all organisations. For this
reason, in the following chapter this model will be complemented by a consideration
of how such ‘differences’ can be accommodated for. The Jewson and Mason model
is based on an assimilation concept: that by overcoming any differences in, say, skin
colour or gender, individuals in minority groups can be assimilated into the dominant
culture. In the case of disabled people, an integration policy may be necessary in
addition to the Jewson and Mason model if equality is to be offered to many disabled
people.
When considering equality for disabled people together with the two models of
disability discussed earlier it might be expected that an organisation operating to the
48
social model of disability would adopt a radical approach. This would entail ignoring
any structural sources of inequality such as the poor educational achievements of
disabled job applicants (Barnes 1991) and supporting positive discrimination policies.
An analysis of the empirical data will examine if such policies are employed by the
participating organisations, and, more pertinently, if their adoption improves the
employment potential for all disabled staff.
49
Chapter 2
Research concepts and analytical framework
The principal concepts which will be used for analysis in this thesis are
reviewed in this chapter. It begins with an analysis of the work of Antonio Gramsci
and discusses why his theories of ideology, good sense, common sense, hegemony
and the role of organic intellectuals are relevant to this research. It illustrates how an
analytical framework based on these concepts can be applied to disability issues in
general and with specific reference to this research. The concepts of ‘assimilation’
and ‘integration’ are discussed and it is shown that (when used in parallel with Jewson
and Mason’s analysis of equality approaches examined in the previous chapter) they
can be used to provide a broader understanding of how people with a variety of
impairments can be offered greater employment opportunities. Finally, Euske and
Euske’s (1991) model of different organisational rationalities is reviewed to help
explain the operational realities of the two case study organisations.
Antonio Gramsci
Gramsci’s work is relevant to this thesis for several reasons. Firstly, it offers a
theoretical concept of power which acknowledges economic and ideological interests.
He argues that agents perform inside economic and ideological structures and that
economic, cultural and social factors cannot be separated theoretically. Hence, from a
Gramscian perspective, the social model dependence on structure as the principal
cause of oppression on passive disabled agents (Abberley 1987; Barnes 1990;
Brisenden 1986; Finkelstein 1980; Hunt 1966; Oliver 1990; UPIAS 1976) becomes
problematic. As Imrie (1996) shows, this structure/agency oppositional stance has
50
been recognised as difficult to sustain by contemporary writers on disability issues as,
‘disabled people are not merely passive recipients of the built environment, but
actively seek to challenge and change it’ (145).
There are other approaches which could be applied to this research such as poststructuralism or postmodernism. As this research shows that from both a historical
and contemporary position disabled actors have been influential in removing disabling
societal barriers it was important to use an analytical framework that could
accommodate both structure and agency as sources of power and this is what
Gramsci’s theories do. So it was possible to avoid some of the problematic issues that
would have arisen had either post-structuralism or postmodernism been used as the
division between structure and agency does not appear in the accounts of either
theory. For some post-structuralists the body is considered devoid of social meaning,
a passive vessel on which authoritarian discourses of power are imposed (Paterson &
Hughes 1999, 598). Whereas for some postmodernists all that is witnessed in the
social world are competing discourses where any judgments regarding validity are
formed on the basis of which discourse produces the most convincing account
(Kitzinger 1987; Kvale 1995, 25-27). Both the above approaches have been applied to
disability research, (Corker 1996, 1998; Corker and French 1999; Meekosha 1998;
Shakespeare 1998). However, whilst such formulations may be capable of explaining
how power is exercised, they do little to explain why power is exercised. The role of
agency in Gramsci’s work maintains that subjects exercise power in order to support
the material interests of rival groups.
51
Moreover, some writers on disability draw on Gramsci’s work to argue that a
historical continuity of oppression of disabled people can be found in the dominance
of the medical profession. For example, Barnes states:
For Oliver this ‘personal tragedy theory’ of disability has, in turn, achieved
‘ideological hegemony’ (Gramsci 1971), in that it has become translated into
common sense and everyday assumptions and beliefs. (Barnes, cited in Barton
and Oliver 1997, 11)
Additionally, Shakespeare assigned the label of Gramscian organic intellectuals to
those writers who from the mid 1960s forged the social model of disability
(Shakespeare 1994, 73). However, although these authors applied individual concepts
from Gramsci's work, none applied a critical framework which drew together several
key aspects and applied such a framework to either historical data, or to contemporary
everyday actions by disabled people. This thesis adds to the body of knowledge on
disability by addressing this point. Gramsci’s concepts can be extended to include
disabled people through his analysis of intellectuals and their tendency to construct a
critique of common sense. They can also be used to examine how some disabled
academics have attempted to challenge the dominant ideological understandings of
disability. However, it would be incorrect to suggest that applying Gramsci's concepts
is unproblematic, and the following discussions considers some of the difficulties in
using his work.
Gramsci did not live long enough after his imprisonment to interpret his prison
notebooks into a comprehensive theory of class struggle in Italian society (Sassoon
1982). Hence the interpretation of his concepts has been undertaken by other authors
who have found inconsistency in his application of terms. For example, Gramsci’s
concept of hegemony takes as a principal reference the nature and mechanisms of
bourgeois class rule in stable capitalist societies (Anderson 1976/7, 1985; Mouffe and
52
Laclau 1985). However, Gramsci is not consistent in his employment of the term
hegemony or the related concepts of state and society (Hoare & Nowell 1976;
Anderson 1976/7). The latter concepts receive explicit address in the work of
Donzelot (1979; 1980), with Laclau focusing on the constitutive character of
antagonisms and the logic of contingency and hegemony in the formation of political
discourse, ideology, and identities as the basis for a radical democratic politics
(Laclau 1977). The inter-related concepts of ‘hegemony’, ‘civil society’, ‘political
society’, ‘domination’ and ‘direction’ are all held to undergo persistent slippage in
Gramsci’s work along with the need to move beyond conceptions and strategies
derived from an analysis of the nineteenth century and the discourse of Marxism.
Gramsci can be held to be sensitive to the limits of the cornerstone Marxist principle
of ‘economic-determination-in-the-final-instance’ (Smart 1986) with the concept of
hegemony forming a new but inadequate analysis of politics and power with little said
on the complex matters of the establishment of forms of hegemony and economism
(Mouffe 1979). Consequently the theoretical interpretations of Gramsci contain
contradictions which can make applying his theories problematic. These inherent
problems are increased for non-Italian speakers who are dependent on the translation
and interpretation of his concepts (Hoare & Nowell 1976) which should include any
cultural influences on Gramsci (Verdicchio 1995).
Verdicchio (1995) cites Harris (1992) as stating that ‘Gramscianism’ is as varied as
the number of those referencing their writing to his name. Verdicchio insists that
Gramsci must be understood as a Sardinian introduced to Italian culture and in the
context of the ‘Southern Problem’ involving the integration of Italy as a state (see
Gramsci 1957; Forman 1988; Schneider 1998). This understanding of Gramsci’s past,
53
taking cultural references into account, renders his work useful in the modern context
as:
Gramsci needs to be read and studied, first and foremost, as a representative of
the condition from which he was “educated” into Italianness. It is in such a rereading that Gramsci can best lead us to “a new way of being Gramscian.
(Verdicchio 1995, 175)
This said, it must be noted that similarities as well as differences can be found
amongst ostensibly vying factions of Marxism. Stokes (1995) reminds us that
Wittgenstein’s (1958) notion of ‘family resemblances’ suggests that no perfectly
uniform set of characteristics need be found in order to identify members of a
collective identity. The arguments put forward here concern the subtlety of cultural
awareness and returning to a better understanding of the past so as to better
understand the present and future possibilities. Key features and nuances in the
journey back are to be built on in order to produce skills in the present analysis taking
account of present conditions.
It was her knowledge as a native Italian which drew Danieli (1994) to return to the
Gramsci’s original Italian texts and applying her cultural knowledge she uncovered
subtle but important differences between the original and translated versions (Danieli
1994, 18-22). From this starting point Danieli (1994) provided a Gramscian
framework in order to analyse patriarchal and gendered power relations in three
organizations. In this thesis, Danieli’s re-translation has been adapted to the concept
of ‘disability’ by identifying how power is exercised in organisations ‘of’ and ‘for’
disabled people. The following explains how Gramsci's concepts of ‘ideology’, ‘good
sense’, ‘common sense’, ‘hegemony’, and ‘intellectuals’ will be applied to an analysis
54
of the ideology and practice of equal opportunity for disabled people in the job
market.
Ideology
An awareness of ideology is important in understanding the current models of disability.
The ideology which underpins the social model is used to ‘accuse’ the medical model of
being the fundamental cause of disability. At the same time it is also used to claim that
the social model offers a remedy for all disabled people in terms of its ability to remove
disabling barriers (Barnes 1997; Finkelstein 2001; Swain et al 1993). Oliver (1990) has
argued that one consequence of industrialisation was an ideological belief that
individuals who could not meet the physical requirements necessary to adapt to the new
industrial systems became, in the main, excluded from work. For people with
impairments this led to greater exclusion from the workforce compared with earlier
times when work in a predominantly agricultural society allowed more chances of
inclusion for impaired people.
For Oliver (1990), work plays the important role of facilitating social interaction in
addition to providing a monetary means of support. He argues that those who are
excluded from opportunities to take part in this are regarded as victims of a personal
medical tragedy directly caused by their impairment (44). In his analysis Oliver
promotes an alternative view of disability in terms of a homogenised mass of impaired
people increasingly disabled by industrialisation’s demand for an able-bodied workforce.
However, this ideological stance is problematic, because it does not account for groups
of impaired people who could work within the new industrial systems making any
claims of homogeneity difficult to sustain.
55
The relationship between ideologies and practices requires an analysis which Gramsci’s
work provides. For Gramsci (1971), ideology is not a system of ideas that arises out of a
single aspect of the social (in this case the economic) base but a function of the totality
of a society’s lived practices and experiences which influences personal acts and moral
behaviour. He argues ideology is simultaneously a system of belief and practice (326327). In accepting that both ideas and practice form ideologies, Gramsci also observes
that often a contradiction appears between theory and practice:
Various philosophies or conceptions of the world exist, and one always
makes a choice between them. How is this choice made? Is it merely an
intellectual event, or is it something more complex? And is it not
frequently the case that there is a contradiction between one's intellectual
choice and one's mode of conduct? Which therefore would be the real
conception of the world: that logically affirmed as an intellectual choice?
Or that which emerges from the real activity of each man [sic], which is
implicit in his mode of action? And since all action is political, can one
not say that the real philosophy of each man [sic] is contained in its
entirety in his political action? (326)
Gramsci argues that multiple ideologies based on practice are likely to be present in a
society. Although (as noted above) it has been claimed that the dominant ideology of
disability is embedded in a model of personal tragedy which has led to
institutionalisation and medical interventions for impaired people (Oliver 1990, 83)
nevertheless, a competing ideology must have existed to some extent since not all
impaired people were disqualified from work. It would be fallacious to argue, for
example, within the logic of Oliver’s model, that people with hearing impairments
would necessarily be excluded from the extremely noisy environment of a cotton mill.
Hence Oliver’s analysis of the ideological effects of industrialisation on disabled people
contradicts that of others with different impairments from his own. Based on their
particular personal experiences, such people may not necessarily accept his arguments,
So, although the common term ‘disabled’ has been used, in reality, contradictory
56
ideologies seem to be at work within it. Gramsci’s work allows an understanding to be
developed which can account for these contradictions. It also can enable comprehension
of the reasons why a common sense acceptance of an apparently homogenous group –
‘the disabled’ – can exist when members of that group experience disability in such
disparate ways.
Gramsci’s theories will be used to explore the following questions:

Are there any contradictions between the theory and practice of those attempting
to find employment for disabled people?

How do theory and practice fit with the outcomes that disabled people want
from employment?

What understandings are employed in everyday practices, and how are such
practices accounted for?
These questions entail much more than a simple analysis of whether contradictory ideas
are at work inside organisations, as in Jewson and Mason’s formulation (1986). SMO is
run and controlled by a majority of disabled people and claims to offer better
opportunities for disabled people by following the social model. One of the objectives of
this research is to determine whether disabled people found the social model was
unproblematic in practice, or whether they felt that theory and practice were
incommensurate with each other. This is more than simply an academic question,
because if politically committed disabled people have difficulty translating the social
model usefully into practice then there would appear to be little chance of the model
gaining acceptance in wider circles. It will also be examined whether NDDP were able
to apply their method consistently when providing opportunities for disabled people.
57
Again if ideas are not translated into practice, then policy as originally framed would
appear to have a reduced chance of success.
This thesis will also address one particularly pertinent problem raised by Gramsci. It will
consider how the contrast between thought and action is made possible as:
the co-existence of two conceptions of the world, one affirmed in words and the
other displayed in effective action [...] is not merely reducible to the explanation
of self deception. (Gramsci 1971, 326-27)
Or in other words, it is not a consequence of false consciousness. Gramsci’s work is used
in order to push the concept of ideology further by considering his concepts of ‘good
sense’ and ‘common sense’.
Common sense and good sense
The concepts of good sense and common sense are useful to this thesis because they help
to explain how contradictory ideologies function and co-exist. They help to distinguish
between the good sense of regarding disability as a collective form of discrimination, a
product of disabling social attitudes and environments which disable impaired people
and the common sense which can argue that impairment is an individual phenomenon
which prevents some people from engaging fully in social activities and thus it is
primarily the impairment that disables. Before expanding this discussion it is necessary
to identify the starting position that Gramsci (1971) adopts:
It must first be shown that all men [sic] are ‘philosophers’, by defining
the limits and characteristics of the ‘spontaneous philosophy’ which is
proper to everybody. (333)
He argues that this spontaneous philosophy, available to everybody, can be revealed
through their common sense understandings of the social world. In expanding the
character of common sense, Gramsci maintains:
58
Common sense is not a single unique conception, identical in time and
space. It is the ‘folklore’ of philosophy, and, like folklore, it takes
countless different forms. Its most fundamental characteristic is that it is
a conception which, even in the brain of one individual, is fragmentary,
incoherent and inconsequential, in conformity with the social and cultural
position of those masses whose philosophy it is. (419)
For Gramsci, ‘common sense’ represents the lens, the uncritical and un-reflexive way
by which individuals interpret the world based on received or conventional wisdom
(Simon 1982, 63). Common sense is essentially ‘a’ theoretical as it is informed by an
individual’s feelings, perceptions and experience rather than by deliberate cognitive
reasoning. Gramsci compares it to a philosophy of folklore, and like folklore it exists
in many forms. Even in one individual common sense will be contradictory as it is
based on pragmatic considerations influenced by social and cultural factors and
constituted through ‘diffuse, uncoordinated features of a general form of thought’
(Gramsci 1971, 330).
Gramsci argues that once an individual has accepted a particular form of common
sense based on experience, opinions, convictions, criteria for discrimination and
standards for personal conduct (339) then it does not follow she/he will change that
interpretation even if the assumptions it is based on were shown to be incorrect by a
third person who holds a different view. This is because common sense is not a
function of reason; rather it derives from the diffuse convictions based on the
understandings within the social group the individual shares. Even when the person
cannot defend their position against a reasoned attack they tend to persist with their
common sense understanding because they know someone in their social group is
capable of providing an equally powerful reasoned defense as they have heard it
before. (339). Common sense is a collective form, widely diffused, shared and accepted
by social groups.
59
However Gramsci (1971) contends that within common sense is contained ‘a healthy
nucleus of good sense’ which, he argues, ‘deserves to be made more unitary and
coherent’ (328). For Gramsci, ‘good sense’ is analogous to philosophy, in that it is
inherently coherent, logical and critical. Good sense is thus an ‘intellectual unity and a
conformity with a perception of reality that has gone beyond common sense and
become, if only within narrow limits, a critical conception’ (333).
Good sense displays a consistent, rational, philosophically intelligent stance.
Consequently it holds an elevated moral and intellectual position over common
sense, and can be used to express theoretically certain perceptions of the world.
Good sense is an understanding found through a critique of common sense and is
identified by Gramsci when he differentiates between philosophy and common
sense ‘in order to indicate more clearly the passage from one moment to another’
(330):
In philosophy the features of individual elaboration of thought are the
most salient: in common sense on the other hand it is the diffuse,
uncoordinated features of a generic form of thought common to a
particular period and a particular popular environment. But every
philosophy has a tendency to become the common sense of a fairly
limited environment (that of the intellectuals). It is a matter therefore of
starting with a philosophy which already enjoys, or could enjoy, a certain
diffusion, because it is connected to and implicit in practical life, and
elaborating it so that it becomes a renewed common sense possessing the
coherence and the sinew of individual philosophies. (330)
So, the provision of a new philosophy analogous to good sense must commence with a
critique of the ideology and practices or the discourse and folklore embedded in common
sense. Gramsci illustrates the superior intellectual, moral and philosophical status of
good sense over the uncritical basis of beliefs and folklore the base elements of common
sense:
60
Philosophy is criticism and the superseding of religion and ‘common
sense’. In this regard it coincides with ‘good’ as opposed to ‘common’
sense. (326)
Gramsci also argues that individuals, by holding both good and common sense
understandings, are exposed to inherently contradictory positions:
The active man-in-the-mass has a practical activity, which nonetheless
involves understanding the world in so far as it transforms it. His
theoretical consciousness can indeed be historically in opposition to this
activity. One might almost say that he has two theoretical
consciousnesses (or one contradictory consciousness): one which is
implicit in his activity and which in reality unites him with all his fellow
workers in the practical transformation of the real world; and one,
superficially explicit or verbal, which he has inherited from the past and
uncritically absorbed. (333)
The question raised here, then, is how might a theory of good and common sense assist
an analysis of disability discourse? The good sense understanding of disability which
‘has been inherited from the past and uncritically absorbed’ equates with a medical
model of disability. Oliver (1990) claimed that this was generated by the medical
profession and has become the collective common sense understanding in society.
However, given that it was an understanding generated in the main by non-disabled
people, such a form of common sense does not necessarily equate with disabled people’s
experiences and is therefore experienced as contradictory.
Gramsci (1971) illustrates how the appearance of new social movements (in this case
the recent disability movement) can challenge common sense. Therefore, the new
social movement seeks to challenge the medical model as a form of common sense on
the grounds that it does not reflect the reality of disability. In offering such a critique,
the disability movement has attempted to develop a new form of understanding which
becomes a new form of good sense in the form of the social model of disability. In
order for it to become common sense it has to be accepted not only by those who have
generated the new form of good sense, but also by society more broadly.
61
Historical data will be used to examine the claims on which the recent disability
movement is founded, claims that urge us to accept the view that disability has always
been considered a personal medical tragedy (Finkelstein 2001) and whether such an
argument can be sustained will be explored. Empirical evidence will be used to examine
whether discrimination against disabled people can be removed without reference to
impairment simply by changing disabling environments and attitudes. An exploration
will be undertaken of the reasons why those responsible for facilitating employment for
disabled people are able to lay claim to be offering emancipation for all disabled people
through opportunities to gain work.
Hegemony
Gramsci’s formulation of hegemony is helpful when attempting to understand the
social construction of disability. In the first instance, it identifies that hegemony is not
necessarily achieved through laws enacted through force but also by social groups
acting to achieve change through consent. Here ideology and common sense intersect,
because (according to Gramsci) hegemony is achieved when the social movement is
capable of convincing other groups of their ideological stance (Sassoon 1982, 13-14).
Thus hegemony becomes a product of the interchange between social groups based on
economic, social, political and cultural values aimed towards the promotion of
interests of that specific group.
It could be argued that advocates of the social model of disability have achieved some
degree of hegemony in promoting their ideological understandings. For example, the
Joseph Rowntree Foundation only supports research on disability if it is in accordance
with the social model of disability (Burchardt 2001). The World Health Organisation
has accepted many aspects of the social creation of disability in their latest taxonomic
62
scale, ICIDH-2 (Bickenbach et al 1999). Some government sponsored organisations
(for example, the Disability Rights Commission) also claim to be guided by the
principles of the social model (DRC 2001). Many organisations have accepted the
idea that there is a social component involved in the creation of disability. This is an
ideological and hegemonic acceptance that begs one critical question addressed by
this research: is this acceptance a new phenomenon? Unless it can be shown that,
historically, social components were not regarded as contributory factors to disability
then any claims that the social model is becoming more influential must be treated
with some suspicion because in practice it could be claimed that organisations were
simply adopting the model and using it to reinforce a historical continuity which had
accepted the dual components of medical and social factors.
For Gramsci, hegemony is achieved through ideological and political leadership, the
organisation of consent endorsed by group members (Simon 1982, 21). Gramsci
(1971) states:
The supremacy of a social group manifests itself in two ways, as
‘domination’ and as ‘intellectual and moral leadership’ [...] A social
group can, and indeed must, already exercise ‘leadership’ before winning
governmental power (this indeed is one of the principal conditions for the
winning of such power); it subsequently becomes dominant when it
exercises power, but even if it holds it firmly in its grasp, it must continue
to ‘lead’ as well. (57-8)
Hegemony can be regarded as having two aspects. ‘Intellectual and moral leadership’
which if accepted by other groups will lead to the implementation of power and
domination but also requires continuous re-enforcement to maintain hegemonic control.
However, hegemony includes the ideological but cannot be reduced solely to ideological
dominance in isolation. It must be viewed in relation to classes at all levels, that is,
economic-political and ideological-cultural (Sassoon 1982, 117). Gramsci not only
63
considers hegemony in relation to class relations, but also to social movements, and thus
offers an explanation for the rise of oppositional forces within particular groups. For
Gramsci (1971), this process appears as one of continuous change:
A continuous movement takes place from the base upwards, a continuous
replacement through all the capillaries of society, a continuous circulation of
men. (212)
Although subject to challenge, he explains how hegemonic power is maintained:
Hegemony presupposes that account be taken of the interests and the
tendencies of the groups over which hegemony is to be exercised, and
that a certain compromise equilibrium should be formed - in other words,
that the leading group should make sacrifices of an economic-corporate
kind. But there is also no doubt that such sacrifices and such a
compromise cannot touch the essential, for though hegemony is ethicalpolitical, it must also be economic, must necessarily be based on the
decisive function exercised by the leading group in the decisive nucleus
of economic activity. (161)
The concept of hegemony will be used in this thesis in two ways. Firstly by analysing
the resistance of organised groups of disabled people from a historical perspective it will
identify the perceived sources of oppression for those groups. This can be achieved by
considering the basis on which these social movements attempted to gain and maintain
hegemonic power, first of all within their own social groupings and, secondly, as they
attempted to expand their ideology to other social movements and groups. Gramsci’s
theory of hegemony will also be used in the analysis of data collected from research
participants working within organisations that claim to promote the view that disabled
people can engage successfully in paid employment.
However, the question that still requires theoretical consideration is that of who the
agents are who promote different ideologies and how their roles can be explained.
Again Gramsci provides this analysis through his conceptualisation of intellectuals.
64
Intellectuals
Gramsci (1971) distinguishes between traditional intellectuals who promote existing
ideologies and practices that have become common sense, and organic intellectuals who
challenge those hegemonic ideologies. He argues that the production of a critical
counter-philosophical ideology is, from both a historical and political position,
dependent on the emergence of an intellectual elite (334). He considers this a necessary
evolutionary step because:
A human mass does not ‘distinguish’ itself, does not become independent
in its own right without, in the widest sense, organising itself; and there is
no organisation without intellectuals, that is without organisers and
leaders, in other words, without the theoretical aspect of the theorypractice nexus being distinguished concretely by the existence of a group
of people ‘specialised’ in conceptual and philosophical elaboration of
ideas. (334)
Gramsci does not restrict intellectuals to the role of philosophers or thinkers, he also
considers the function they perform when promoting their conceptualisation of the
world:
although one can speak of intellectuals, one cannot speak of nonintellectuals, because non-intellectuals do not exist. But even the
relationship between efforts of intellectual-cerebral elaboration and
muscular-nervous efforts is not always the same, so that there are varying
degrees of specific intellectual activity. There is no human activity from
which every form of intellectual participation can be excluded: homo
faber cannot be separated from homo sapiens. Each man [sic], finally,
outside his professional activity, carries on some form of intellectual
activity, that is, he is a ‘philosopher’, an artist, a man of taste, he
participates in a particular conception of the world, has a conscious line
of moral conduct, and therefore contributes to sustain a conception of the
world or to modify it, that is, to bring into being new modes of thought.
(9)
Although Gramsci argues that all people are intellectuals, he notes that some function
specifically in ways that order and maintain ideologies in social movements:
65
every social group, coming into existence on the original terrain of an essential
function in the world of economic production, creates together with itself,
organically, one or more strata of intellectuals which give it homogeneity and an
awareness of its own function not only in the economic but also in the social and
political fields. (5)
Thus Gramsci argues that intellectuals either maintain the existing ideology of the
dominant group and thus reinforce hegemony or express a new ideology of a
previously oppressed group, challenging the dominant ideologies which have become
common sense. If a new ideology is to become hegemonic, it has to become accepted
across a broad population.
Gramsci’s analysis of intellectuals facilitates a critical evaluation of the current
disability debate. The social model of disability explains the phenomenon in polar
opposite terms. Many organic social model intellectuals consider that their new
ideology counters the traditional and hegemonic intellectual view that regards
disability as a personal medical tragedy. In this thesis it will be considered whether
this simplistic dualism is capable of withstanding critical scrutiny.
From a historical perspective, the understandings of organic disabled intellectuals
who challenged traditional hegemonic oppressive practices will be drawn on and it
will be considered whether the socio-medical dualism applied. It will also be
examined whether, in contemporary organisations, the ideological stance of organic
intellectuals translates into everyday actions and so aligns with the model’s polar
opposite claims. If organic intellectuals who promote the ideological understandings
of the social model cannot be seen to put theory into practice; and if organic
intellectuals who do not overtly claim to support the social model do not display
traditional medical model ideologies, then the claim itself that disability ‘theory’ can
be reduced to two opposing models is suspect.
66
Gramsci’s work will also be used to examine some methodological issues. It has been
claimed that research on disability has been conducted by traditional intellectuals, that
is, non-disabled people working to a medical model, a traditional hegemonic form of
common sense. (Oliver 1992; Zarb 1996). The challenge to this traditional common
sense has been made in Gramscian terms by disabled organic intellectuals who have
called for an emancipatory research agenda. Traditional intellectuals have used
conventional understandings of how research should be conducted, whether from a
positivistic or interpretative tradition. In this process, disability tends to become
individualised as the traditional intellectuals (predominantly non- disabled people)
operate a model of research which reproduces the common sense understanding of the
medical model (Oliver 1992: Zarb 1996). The new organic intellectuals critically
examined that form of common sense that determined how and upon whom research
should be conducted. The result of this critical process is a call for a good sense
alternative. This represents a challenge to the traditional understandings which, it is
claimed, produce knowledge that does not reflect the lives of disabled people and
presents little opportunity for their emancipation. Hence social model good sense
argues that what is needed is a new research model. This new model entails changing
the social and material relations of research production and necessitates handing over
control of research on disability to disabled people. This group become the organic
intellectuals challenging traditional research practices.
The critique of common sense demands that the emancipatory research paradigm
should become hegemonic replacing traditional research methodologies and gaining
wider acceptance as a new form of common sense in accordance with social model
ideology. Such a demand resonates with earlier oppressed groups such as feminists
and queer theorists.
67
Using this Gramscian framework and based on personal experience as a disabled
researcher, this thesis will examine the principal claim of emancipatory research: that
changing the social and material relations of knowledge production is sufficient in
itself to allow unproblematic access to the research process for impaired people. If it
can be demonstrated that emancipatory research is achievable for all disabled
researchers without any consideration of restrictions caused by impairment, then it
may be possible for the methodology to gain wider acceptance as common sense.
However, if problems exist which cannot be reduced to changing the social and
material relations then the possibility for emancipatory research to be widely accepted
may be limited. Using Gramsci’s theories allows a deeper understanding of
methodological issues to be made in terms of whether the calls from organic
intellectuals for research on disability to be emancipatory and social model compliant
are logically acceptable as good sense.
Having detailed Gramsci’s concepts that will be used in subsequent chapters, the
discussion will now move on to the concepts of assimilation and integration which (as
stated earlier) can be used in conjunction with Jewson and Mason’s (1986)
formulation of liberal and radical approaches to equality.
Assimilation and integration.
One concept currently applied in many organisations seeking equality in their
workforce is ‘managing diversity’ (Ellis and Sonnenfeld 1994; Kirton and Greene
2000; Liff 1997). One central feature of the concept is that organisations can benefit
financially from the diverse culture and skills brought by individuals formerly
disadvantaged by discriminatory practices against minority groups (Kirton & Greene
2000; Young 1990). Managing diversity may appear to be a means of achieving
68
equality in organisations for disabled people but such a claim is problematic. Two
problems are particularly significant. Firstly, from a social model perspective, any
tendency to individualise disability could be regarded as reinforcing the personal
tragedy model which (as Oliver argues) has historically been seen as the cause of
disability (Oliver 1990). Secondly, because of the degree of heterogeneity within the
group ‘disabled’ and the potentially competitive nature of disabling barriers, the
removal of one barrier can introduce a second. As a consequence, managing diversity
could prove extremely difficult for organisations to achieve and produce questionable
financial implications (Woodhams & Danieli 2000). Therefore, the individualizing
approach to managing diversity will not be considered. Instead impairment specific
groups will be used as the focus of analysis within the broader group: ‘the disabled’.
The Jewson and Mason models of equality discussed in Chapter 1 provide a
framework which reflects the practices that organisational members adopt when
attempting to achieve some degree of equality. Their model adopts a group approach,
attempting to address inequalities for those principally discriminated against on the
grounds of gender and race (Jewson and Mason 1986). As discussed earlier, the social
model of disability attempts to adopt the good sense approach of claiming
homogeneity of a common group, disabled by society, and hence the Jewson and
Mason model may appear to be equally applicable in the case of disability
discrimination. However, it could be argued that although in the case of gender and
race any claims of discrimination based on biological determinism is mistaken, the
same argument cannot be applied to all disabled people.
Although both ethnicity and gender discrimination can be present in addition to
disability discrimination (Vernon 1997) the consequences of some impairments mean
69
that in some cases disability or impairment discrimination is justified. Arguably, if an
organisation was recruiting for a public transport driver then discrimination against
blind people is acceptable. The homogeneous concept of disability therefore becomes
problematic and acts against it becoming widely accepted as common sense. Indeed,
some disabled organic intellectuals have raised the problematic claim of homogeneity
in relation to impairment and pointed to the specific differences and needs of visually
impaired people (French 1993), the deaf and hearing impaired (Corker 1996) and
learning impaired (Chappell 1996; Crow 1996). So if the ideological claims of
homogeneity are internally inconsistent, any attempt to apply models of equality to
the generic group ‘the disabled’ would also appear to be problematic. The question
can now become: if the generic concept of disability cannot be applied consistently,
do models of equality exist which can be used to illustrate how greater opportunities
can be provided for the smaller impairment specific groups? Here the concepts of
assimilation and integration may be of use.
This research will draw on the concepts of assimilation and integration developed in
the USA for racial minorities. Gordon (1964) chronicles the evolution of three
theories which can be considered as exemplars of the difference between assimilation
and integration. ‘The Anglo-conformity theory’ argued in favor of the rejection of
the immigrant’s culture so that it could be replaced by the behaviour and values of the
Anglo-Saxon dominant group. This approach is based on assimilation and can be
regarded in terms of the negation of ‘difference’, achieved as the minority group
relinquishes cultural identity in favor of dominant group characteristics. However, this
theory relies on a differential between the dominant and immigrant groups which
eventually proved unsustainable as culture and inter-racial relationships began to
erode the dichotomous group identifier.
70
The ‘biological reality’ of mixed race informed a second assimilation proposition:
‘the Melting Pot theory’. This theory accepts the biological unity of the AngloAmerican with other immigrant groups that resulted in the formation of a new hybrid
American culture. Again equality is perceived in terms of a homogeneous group
where ‘difference’ has been reduced in this instance through biological evolution and
the merging of cultures.
The third theory of American assimilation is ‘The Cultural Pluralism theory’. This
more closely aligns with an integration theory or the acknowledgement of
‘difference’. Here the preservation of community life and critical portions of the
culture of the new immigrants’ minority group status is acknowledged albeit within
the context of American citizenship, with political and economic integration into
American society the equality ‘goal’.
This summary of the three main theories is not intended as a comprehensive analysis
but is provided to inform an understanding of the fundamental difference between
assimilation and integration: the acceptance or negation of ‘difference’. It is not
suggested that either assimilation or integration has proved successful in the USA or
UK. Race riots (Davis 1997) and unequal access to education, housing and
employment (Loewen 2000) could be regarded as failures in the American system;
whilst in the UK, similar unequal access to education, housing and employment
opportunities for ethnic minorities (Solomos & Back 1994, 62) together with recent
race riots have called into question the appropriate nature of race equality policies
(Howe 2001). However, the concepts of assimilation and integration can allow a
parallel to be drawn between race and disability.
71
The disability movement demands a homogeneous group identity (Campbell & Oliver
1996) although if the experience of the race movement is considered, the
homogeneous concept itself can be problematic. One issue which arises when a social
movement presents itself as a homogeneous group is whether or not minorities within
that group achieve equality. In other words, how do minorities gain group
acknowledgement that ‘difference’ exists within the generic group which should be
recognised and valued (Wachtel 1999).
The negation of difference within social groupings can prove politically problematic
(Small 1994, 176), as it can produce internal hierarchical structures (Acker 1990).
Such problematic issues were evident in the USA during the 1960s when political
activism and the fight for civil rights for ethnic minorities highlighted that whereas on
the one hand a single group identity can increase the potential political impact of the
group, the goal of producing such a group identity was to negate ‘difference’. So,
‘black’ in terms of racial discrimination can be regarded as a ‘political colour’
(Donald & Rattansi 1992) where a homogeneous political group identity gains
precedence over a culturally heterogeneous population. Equally, to define an ethnic
group as ‘Asian’, whilst reducing any issues of discrimination to one group, ignores
any cultural, political or economic difference between Indians, Pakistanis or
Bangladeshis. In this regard, the group with the dominant identity (‘black’) can
benefit as resources tend to be directed at that dominant sub-group (Small 1994, 174).
So, with reference to race equality, two concepts exist dependent upon whether
‘difference’ is negated in favour of a homogeneous group (assimilation) or
‘difference’ is acknowledged within a heterogeneous population (integration). One
conclusion which can be drawn from the racial equality movement is that although the
72
construction of a homogeneous group can assist political aims, it can paradoxically
create hierarchical structures within the group which themselves can discriminate. In
analysing the empirical research, it will be considered whether the generic term
‘disability’ does induce hierarchical structures, how these affect the employment
opportunities for disabled clients and on what criteria any hierarchy is based.
Although the concept of clearly defined alternatives i.e. assimilation and integration is
problematic, and it could be argued that integration effectively becomes a means of
achieving assimilation (Paterson and Hughes 1999), the models of assimilation and
integration discussed above can be applied to models of disability to illuminate
different approaches to equality. Within the social model of disability, the defining
characteristic for group membership is that the individual has an impairment
(Finkelstein and French 1993). However, as no analysis of impairment is defined
within the model the homogeneous claim of group membership can be maintained.
Hence the sole claim of ‘difference’ from any other social group is impairment. In
this context, integration is the acceptance of difference and the accommodation of that
difference by changing the environment, the job specification and the type and nature
of work to allow participation in work for disabled people.
In contrast, assimilation is the negation of difference. It can be viewed as a
reinforcement the medical model – be like us – which involves changing the impaired
body. The solution which would enable assimilation would be either to fix the body in
order to make impaired people the same as non-disabled people or to select people
whose impairments do not produce any restrictions which would prevent their
assimilation into existing work practices and environments. The concepts of
assimilation and integration will be used during the analysis of empirical data to
73
ascertain how participatory organisations attempt to include disabled people in the
workforce.
If two polar opposite models of disability exist in organisational practices then it
might be expected that SMO would attempt an integration strategy whereas NDDP
might more closely follow an assimilation approach. Using these concepts the
research will determine if the organisations operate to different models of disability or
if the two model construct is too simplistic to represent organisational practices. The
conclusion of this chapter will consider whether the rationality behind both
organisations can influence organisational practice.
NDDP is a government funded public sector organisation charged with delivering
policy. SMO on the other hand is a registered charity primarily dependent on local
authority contracts for financial survival. The following section considers how
organisations which are non-profit making and publicly funded rationalize their
purpose and how this in turn can affect organisational practices. Again this
consideration will be useful for the analysis of empirical data undertaken in chapters
6, 7, and 8.
Differentiating organisational ideologies.
SMO and NDDP share a common mission of seeking to improve the employment
opportunities for disabled people. However, the ideology each adopts to achieve this
organisational mission would appear to differ. SMO proclaims that its organisational
practices and procedures are guided by the principles of the social model. However,
NDDP does not acknowledge any model in the formation of its practices. The purpose
of this section is to consider from a theoretical position how these differing
ideological standpoints can affect organisational operations. Both organisations can be
74
classified as publicly funded, not-for-profit organisations (PNO), a classification
which might suggest that ideology and funding can affect organisational practices.
Drawing on earlier work on institutional theory (Meyer & Rowan 1977), Euske and
Euske (1991) developed three ideal types of PNO and explored the implications of
each. The three types were shown to be related to the ideological understandings of
organisations and the rationality they employede to create legitimacy with
stakeholders and hence improve the potential for organisational survival. The three
types were defined as: Technically Rational (TR), Institutionally Rational (IR), and
Politically Rational (PR). The basis of Euske and Euske’s (1991) analysis was the
ways in which organisations maintained legitimacy when transferring organisational
inputs (such as financial support) into outputs; in short, how they delivered an
organisational mission when outputs were not always clearly defined or quantifiable
(81).
In a TR organisation the structure and processes are designed to achieve efficient
operations, similar to manufacturing processes in private sector organisations. As a
result, a TR organisation is principally concerned with managing the technical means
of production to deliver efficient processes which can be monitored against
production targets. In order to deliver the organisation’s mission, staff are trained,
coached and motivated by managers to achieve increased efficiency. Efficiency gains
are achieved through close monitoring of outputs, determined by managers. NDDP
could be regarded as representing a TR organisation because in the relationship
between inputs and outputs (that is, for the investment of time, resources and effort)
the organisation attempts to transfer these resources as efficiently as possible to
outputs. ‘Efficiency’ is defined here as the minimal use of resources to achieve
75
organisational mission. In the case of NDDP, this means improving the employment
potential for previously unemployed disabled people. Hence internal systems involve
target setting, agreed procedures and established criteria which can be monitored and
controlled.
An organisation founded on IR would not primarily consider efficiency in relation to
the determination of outputs as a principal concern. It is more relevant to use
legitimacy in delivering a mission, an emphasis which does not necessarily lend itself
to quantification techniques. For example, an organisation providing bereavement
counselling could have difficulty in determining how long a counselling session may
take; how many sessions would be necessary; which counselling methods would be
most appropriate, and how effective the results of their services were. Hence the IR
organisation employs organisational structures designed to facilitate an appropriate
response to mission delivery as perceived by stakeholders. So (in the example used)
stakeholders appreciate the inappropriate nature of target setting in bereavement
counselling and are consequently reassured of the organisation’s legitimacy.
The maintenance of legitimacy is assisted by ensuring staff hold recognised
qualifications appropriate to their function in the organisation which serves to
reassure stakeholders that professional standards are observed. Training in an IR
organisation can be varied and not necessarily demonstrably geared towards any
notions of efficient operations. For example, counsellors could receive training in
specific areas of trauma even if no clients were immediately requiring these services.
From the position of a TR organisation, the IR organisation can appear chaotic, uncoordinated and inefficient. In relation to disability, an ‘Institutional Rationality’
might be found in certain sheltered workshops that provide therapeutic work (Visier
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1998). In such organizations, for any amount of inputs outputs can be indeterminate
because the mission is to provide therapy and not necessarily efficient production
methods capable of quantification against a measured norm. The mission is geared
towards meeting the needs of the individual at whatever pace may be required rather
than against the demands for a worker to produce a specified output in return for any
financial payments.
The principal aim of the PR is to achieve political influence which it seeks to do by
securing control of its own resources. So for example, a PR organisation could apply
both TR and IR practices if this ensured its survival which would then allow the
organisation’s political agenda to be followed. Hence the PR can be characterized as
capable of adaptability with the control of resources aimed at driving political agendas
taking precedence over any stated mission.
Within a PR, the staff is managed with a view to constructing coalitions based on
political identity which contributes towards a critical resource base. Training of staff
in a PR can privilege the political ideology of the organisation over general technical
training although if funding (for example) is dependent upon staff holding
qualifications demanded by the funding body then the adaptability of the PR would
allow such technical training to be made available.
An example of a PR organisation might be found in local or national disability
coalitions where funding is provided to promote political activity or to facilitate
change. Derbyshire Coalition of Disabled People promotes the concept of
independent living for disabled people and adopts the social model of disability as an
ideology to facilitate their mission (Leach, 1996). Once more, the relationship
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between inputs and outputs is ambiguous since for any amount of inputs no
corresponding outputs can be accurately pre-determined or assessed.
Each ‘type’ employs a different rationality aimed towards organisational survival by
reassuring stakeholders that the organisation’s mission and hence its legitimacy is
being maintained. Meyer and Rowan argue that organisational legitimacy and
survival potential is increased if an isomorphic association is established between all
stakeholders (Meyer and Rowan 1977). For example, funding agents, political allies
and individual supporters are more likely to continue to provide financial support if
the organisation translates funds into the socially desirable outputs that were the
‘building blocks’ from which the it emerged in the first place(Meyer and Rowan
1977, 344).
NDDP would seem to be more closely aligned with a TR model as it has the mission
of providing equality of opportunities for disabled people to gain paid work. Although
at a macro political level the creation of the organisation could be regarded as
politically influenced (Drake 2000; NDDP 1999; Roulstone 2000) in organisational
terms there is no overt political dimension other than that set by government: to assist
one million disabled people gain paid work (Hibbet 2000; NDDP 1999). Hence a
target was set and the outcomes closely monitored (Calvi 2003; Disability Now
2002). The setting and monitoring of targets would suggest NDDP was closer to a TR
than either of the other two organisational types. However, if the organisation also
operated to a medical model of disability, then (as discussed earlier) it might be
expected to adopt an assimilation approach which could simplify and aid its
efficiency. This is because assimilation would only be available to those who could
work with reasonable or no adjustments to existing work roles, or for those where
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medical intervention can cure impairments thus removing any barriers to work. On
the other hand, if NDDP can include disabled people where the barriers to equal
opportunity are accepted as principally environmental or attitudinal, then it becomes
difficult to argue that the organisation operates to a distinct model of disability.
By comparison, SMO has an overt political stance of adhering to the social model of
disability. If the organisation can be represented as a PR then the degree of
adaptability required to achieve the desired control of resources to further their
political aims may prove to be internally inconsistent. For example, although SMO
may adhere to the social model is it possible for contract-awarding bodies to do
likewise, and if not, how can the organisation resolve any conflicts of ideology? In
other words, can SMO operate as a PR and remain ideologically consistent, or in
practice is the organisation only capable of continued survival by relaxing its
ideological commitment to the social model of disability? Such questions will be
addressed in later chapters. In the following chapter, the methodology employed in
conducting the research will be discussed.
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Chapter 3
Research Methodology
This chapter discusses the methodology adopted in conducting the research for
this thesis. It will raise some problems in relation to the methodological advice
offered by traditional methodology texts in relation to disabled researchers and argues
that such advice assumes that researchers are non-disabled. It then moves on to
problematise the methodological prescriptions emanating from disability researchers
who advocate emancipatory research as an alternative to traditional approaches to
researching disability.
Methodological approach
Methodological choice is often presented as a decision between two opposing
paradigms (Parlett and Hamilton 1977) - a positivist or phenomenological approach which can be equated to the difference in approach between the natural sciences and
social anthropological paradigms (Stronach 1997, 23-24). However, reflecting upon
the differences between the two traditions, Hammersley (1996) suggests:
If we look at research today in the human sciences we find that much of it does not
fall neatly into one or other of these categories. There are multiple methodological
dimensions […] these do not lie in parallel and each involves a range of positions.
(160)
Some argue that often the choice of methodology resides more in pragmatic
considerations such as time, resources and access (Bryman 1988) while for others the
oppositional paradigmatic stance is problematic (Denscombe 1999; Hammersley
1996).
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The research conducted for this thesis utilised qualitative methods: historical
documentary data; contemporary documentary data; formal and informal interviews,
and participant and non-participant observation. Historical archived documentary
data was used to evaluate whether the social model of disability is new. Research
conducted in SMO constituted an ethnographic study using contemporary
documentary data, participant observation and formal and informal interviews in
order to investigate whether the social model of disability should and can be
implemented in practice. Research on NDDP was more akin to a case study in which
interviews were conducted and in order to investigate whether the organisation was
operating according to a social or medical model of disability.
The research design and research methods were selected because they seemed the
most appropriate for answering the research questions. They were also influenced by
an acknowledgement that respondents were likely to be disabled and have a variety of
impairments and it was therefore important to ensure that any participants, including
the researcher were not disabled by the research methods used. This is rarely
acknowledged as an issue which needs to be taken into account when designing
research projects.
Certain research methods can cause particular problems for disabled researchers and
respondents. Questionnaires may have been considered the most appropriate research
techniques as some respondents could have been asked to complete them
electronically – an accessible form of communication for the researcher. However,
most of the organisation’s clients who participated in the research either did not have
access to computers or did not have the skills to use them. Obviously, these
respondents could have been asked to complete hard copies of questionnaires but
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using hard copies of would have disabled the researcher. The use of questionnaires
also assumes that respondents are literate or have no other impairments such as
dyslexia. Such assumptions can result in people with particular forms of impairment
being effectively excluded from the research. One solution might be to provide
questions in the form of multiple choice answers and read the choice of responses to
respondents and tape record their responses either face to face or via a telephone but
this would, of course, potentially exclude people with hearing impairments.
Whilst methodological texts suggest triangulation of methods in order to increase the
validity and reliability of research, they do not consider that triangulation may be
required in order to include the widest demographic population of disabled people.
This presents a challenge to many traditional methodological texts which take for
granted an ability to read and understand and it would also have an effect on the time
and cost of such research methods.
This thesis will add to the body of knowledge on research methodology by examining
the relationship between one specific impairment - ‘blindness’ - and the accepted
understanding of how to conduct research which is expressed in many prescriptive
methodological texts. This is an important issue because if impaired people are
engaging in the research process then it is arguable that any potential restrictions in
accessing research methods which are caused by their impairment require recognition
so that alternative methods or techniques can be used. For example, some traditional
understandings tend to assume ‘seeing’ is an essential feature of observation (Slack
2000). If this statement is uncritically accepted then any blind researchers would ipso
facto be unable to conduct observational studies. The following description of the
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methods used to conduct this research illustrates the challenges to traditional methods
that my own impairment created.
Increasingly researchers are advised that methodological triangulation, combining
both quantitative and qualitative methods can increase the validity and reliability of
research. Miles and Huberman (1994,4) argue in support of qualitative methods but
suggest that validity and reliability can be increased if quantitative methods are used
to collate and present findings as ordered graphical representations thereby removing
the need to present unwieldy large volumes of text. For many this may appear an
attractive proposition but it presents significant and potentially intractable problems
for a blind researcher.
Whilst graphical representations may aid understandings for those who can see they
simultaneously impose a barrier to participation for many blind researchers. For
example, Martyn Denscombe (1999) suggests in The Good Research Guide for SmallScale Social Research that after data collection the researcher should:
Code it so that non-numerical data is reduced to numbers; group the
data by producing an ‘array of raw data’ and ‘a tally of the
frequencies, so that you get ‘a clearer visual grasp of what the data
holds. (181-82)
He continues with a discussion of how to present data:
With descriptive statistics the process of transforming a mass of raw
data into tables and charts is vital as part of making sense of the data
[…] The point of producing a table or chart is to convey information
in a succinct manner and use visual impact to best effect […] the
skill of producing good tables and charts rests on the ability to:
present enough information without ‘drowning’ the reader with
information; help the reader interpret the table or chart through visual
clues and appropriate presentation; use an appropriate type of table
or chart for the purpose. (182-83)
According to this text the only way to present quantitative results is through some
visual means or other accompanied by a succinct explanation. Clearly this was not
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possible for me even if the research question was appropriate for quantitative
methods. Any choices made in conducting this research were influenced by the
constraints imposed by an impaired body.
The point is that blindness does have consequences which affect specific research
methods. However, it is not tenable to prevent or potentially disable others by
suggesting that quantitative methods should not be used. It is not the case that all
blind researchers are incapable of quantitative research but it can be argued that their
ability to select and benefit from graphical imagery is affected by the severity of their
impairment. It would be difficult for this researcher to defend an argument from that
data had been generated in graphic form by a sighted helper as the appropriateness
and accuracy of the graphic could not be personally verified and any subsequent
independent reference would be impossible. Such an argument would not however be
made by someone with a hearing impairment.
The choice of qualitative methods was not just a result of what would be the most
appropriate methods for answering the research questions but was also a result of my
particular form of impairment and illustrates the problems of classifying people with
impairments under the homogenous category ‘disabled’. Nevertheless the rejection of
quantitative methods and the adoption of qualitative methods did not resolve the
methodological problems encountered in conducting the research for this thesis as the
following discussion illustrates.
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Accessing and using documentary data.
Text books offering advice on the use of documentary data focus on how to locate
appropriate documents, the nature of documents and problems of interpretation (see
for examples: Bryman and Burgess 1999; M.R. Hill 1993; Silverman 1997). The use
of documentary data for this research falls into two categories: an historical archive
search illustrates how disability was perceived in relation to work from early in the
twentieth century, and contemporary documentary analysis assists an understanding
of how the participating organisations created their own discourses of disability.
In the case of the historical search, two archive data sources were accessed which
provided comparisons from the same era. Permission was gained to examine the
records of the Transport and General Workers Union and those of the Trades Union
Congress held at the University of Warwick Modern Records Centre. Similar
authorization was obtained to access records from Henshaw's Society of Blind People
in Manchester and the public records of the Society held in Manchester University’s
John Ryland’s Library. However the documents held are those bequeathed by the
owners, and consequently the available material cannot be regarded as
comprehensive. This type of constraint together with others (including time and the
cost of travel) are recognized as problematic when using archive sources (M.R. Hill
1993, 24). In the first instance, the availability of data was restricted by the decisions
of owners regarding which records they choose to archive and the degree of detail
incorporated by archivists during the cataloguing process. The two trades union
archives had been catalogued with sections which referred to ‘disability’ as a topic
area, hence the initial search for relevant files was done by the archivist. During
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analysis consideration was given to the source of the information and the purpose for
which the document was prepared.
Although documents are often produced for a specific, intended audience it is not
really possible to determine by whom they will be read or how they will be
interpreted (Atkinson & Coffey 1997, 58-60; Platt, 1999a, 216-17). For example, it
has been argued that the annual reports of some charities were written so that the
documents acted as an external sales tool to attract new subscribers by drawing on
feelings of Christian pity and that they could also have been used to ‘massage’ the
egos of existing named donors (Shapeley 1994, 138). Shapeley argues that such
documents tend to present optimistic representations of past triumphs and positive
predictions for the future.
In order to avoid dependence on such restricted information documents were analysed
against a wider political, social, economic and environmental background (Mason,
1998; Platt, 1999a). However, this process has inherent hermeneutical difficulties,
because although documents may contain uncontested facts such as place and time
(Platt, 1999a) the only means of validating one document is by interpreting a second,
relating one discourse to another. So, if a document produced by management
suggests ‘conditions for workers were good’ the statement itself is relative to other
organisations and their employment practices and confirmation of the statement
should be sought from another source. Such sources include trade union records
although their opinion of what constitutes ‘good working conditions’ may vary
significantly from that of management. Thus the researcher is left with a problem of
interpretation of what can appear to be contradictory accounts of the same event. In
making decisions about the legitimacy of interpretations of social interactions, the
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subjectivity of the researcher can additionally influence the way events are interpreted
(Alvesson & Skoldberg 2000, 70; Platt 1999b, 232). The constraints and caveats
noted above may be expected when researching historical events, although accessing
documents from contemporary organisations also can present problems.
No documentary information was provided by NDDP. This may have been because
the project was a relatively new government initiative and hence any internal
documents and minutes of meetings could be politically sensitive if ‘leaked’.
Consequently, only publicly available documents were used including critiques of the
scheme. Texts broadly in support of this new ideology and those which explained
policy were reviewed (including Blair 1997, 1998, 1998b; Brown 1999; Driver &
Martell 2000; Giddens 1998; 2000; Harman 1997; Mandelson & Liddle 1996; NDDP
1999; Peck 1999; Powell 2000) together with some that were critical of the ideology
and policy (Drake 2000; Fairclough 2000; Nevaro 1999; Popple & Redmond 2000;
Prideaux 2001; Toynbee 2001; Toynbee and Walker 2001).
In contrast the level of internal documentation made available by SMO was extensive.
All board, finance and officers’ minutes of meetings were made available although,
again, the accuracy and purpose of the documents required analysis before any
information was extracted. SMO is a highly political organization and all documents
including minutes of meetings were vetted and often amended by the CEO before
publication. For example, during a board meeting, it was noted that a deaf board
member made a comment which firmly supported the medical model of
understanding disability but the published minutes omitted this comment. Discussions
with the company secretary later confirmed that although noted in the hand-written
minutes, the CEO had insisted that the comment should be removed from the
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approved record of the meeting. It is acknowledged that minutes are not verbatim
accounts but rather a record of what was decided rather than spoken (Atkinson &
Coffey 1997, 57). However, in the case of SMO, information became deliberately
distorted.
The systematic distortion of communications was achieved through unequal power
relations and rationalised within a dominant political ideology (Alvesson & Skoldberg
2000, 120). Here the dominant political rationality of SMO was made visible as the
CEO acted to maintain the illusion of a collective adherence to the social model of
disability as opposed to the reality in which individual members displayed
contradictory common sense understandings. The contradiction acknowledged the
political importance of an organisation unified under a single social model banner, run
and controlled by disabled people. The process of communication distortion was
observed by several SMO employees and on a number of occasions those who
recorded the minutes of meetings commented on the difference between their handwritten minutes and the published official versions.
The interpretation of documents requires that researchers question authorship; the
status of the document (internally or externally produced), and the political ethos of
the organization. Hence any documents obtained through ‘official’ SMO channels
required significant corroboration by questioning staff over the veracity and
completeness of the documents: a process akin to data triangulation. So, whilst for
historical analysis there is little option other than using documentary data to construct
events, within contemporary organisations it is possible to challenge documentary
accounts by interviewing individual actors who can add depth and alternative
interpretations to recorded events.
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The above issues are of course problems familiar to all researchers. However, my
own impairment did result in some particular additional problems. The help of a
sighted person was necessary to locate appropriate texts in archives and she would
read documents and then summarise their contents verbally. Any document
considered relevant was then read aloud in its entirety onto an audio tape which I later
transcribed onto computer. This was a time-consuming process and there is little
advice in methodological texts on how such a process might be managed more
efficiently because it is assumed that researchers are not disabled. This omission is
also evident in discussions of ethnography.
Ethnographic research
Ethnography has its roots in social anthropology where researchers attempted to
understand the social interactions and cultures of societies by placing themselves
within the host society and adopting the social anthropological canons of watch, hear,
and learn (Malinowski 1922). In this tradition the researcher places him/herself as an
objective recorder and chronicler of societal interactions and behaviours. For
ethnographers this approach can be considered as ideographic where the concern is
primarily involved with detailed, rich, accurate descriptions of events witnessed at
first hand ‘in the field’ (Denscombe 1999, 70). However, ethnography has been
criticised about its claims of objectivity and usefulness if what is only ever produced
are unique accounts which do not inform wider theories of society. Additionally,
there is a debate over what constitutes an ethnographic study. For example, whether
such study must involve a population or if it is possible to study an individual studied
ethnographically. (Baszanger & Dodier 1997; Hammersley & Atkinson 1995;
Manning 1995; Van Maanen 1995). This research avoids any issues surrounding
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individual ethnographies as the research was based on a small organisation of 28
people.
Van Maanen (1995) identifies some of the epistemological problems arguing that
ethnography (as opposed to a historical social anthropology tradition) has become an,
‘epistemological trial by fire’ (2). Such critiques are directed at many of the
underlying assumptions and ‘taken for granted’ beliefs derived from the social
anthropology tradition. Such assumptions include ethnography’s failure to disengage
with scientific stances such as essentialism (Denzin 1988) and the perfidious
relationship between researchers and their subjectivity. The latter questions whether
an individual can actually disengage from their subjectivity when undertaking
ethnographic research (Clifford 1982) which can lead to unjustifiable declarations of
objectivity (Rosaldo 1989).There are also problematic links to colonialism (Denzin &
Lincoln 1994; Manning 1995) which can instill a notion of cultural superiority and
conceit by ethnographers (Boon 1982).
Undertaking ethnographic research is further complicated by the dependence upon
one’s epistemological position. The adoption of a ‘naturalistic’ approach attempts to
render the researcher metaphorically ‘invisible’ in order to minimise the effect of their
presence and reduce their intrusion as a research ‘tool’ into the researched ‘picture’
(Hammersley 1983, 5). However, the value of this method can be challenged on the
grounds of usefulness if what is only ever produced is unrelated detailed descriptions
which cannot be connected to produce more generaliseable accounts, and hence an
increased knowledge of human societies (Denscombe 1999, 72). Hammersley (1996)
proposes that ethnography should be directed towards the generation of theory and
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hence contribute to knowledge using analytical tools, together with ‘thick’
descriptions, grounded upon detailed observation (598).
This research attempts to adopt a position close to that supported by both Hammersley
(1999) and Woods (1979) by providing an account which can be used to inform
current social understandings of disability. Although an attempt is made to analyse
data objectively, the challenges made to an understanding of the causes of disability
are influenced by my subjective experience as a blind disabled person. This raises the
methodological question of how a blind person should conduct ethnographic research
when a common sense definition of ‘observation’ may demand that observation is
predicated on the ability to see events.
One common thread which runs through many discussions of ethnography is the
demand placed on ethnographers that they should be visually aware of their
surroundings and observe social interactions as they occur (Baszanger & Dodier
1997; Coffey 1999; Denscombe 1999; Gonzalez 2000; King 1996; Marshall &
Rossman 1989). Additionally, ‘good’ ethnographic research is often found when the
researcher minimises any perceived ‘differences’ between the researcher and the
research subjects (Coffey 1999; Denscombe 1999; Hammersley & Atkinson 1995).
The purpose of reducing ‘difference’ between the researcher and those researched is
to engender trust and confidence on the part of research subjects. The identity of the
researcher therefore needs to be managed. Strategies for managing identities include
dressing the part and adopting the local vocabulary in order to reduce the status of
researcher and become an ‘insider’ (Denscombe 1999; Hammersley & Atkinson
1995; Jorgensen, 1985; Mason 1996). However, the extent to which a blind
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ethnographic researcher can reduce their difference and manage their identity must be
considered.
Any notion of a blind researcher appears in methodological literatures as a marginal
consideration (see for example, Barnes 2003; Campbell & Oliver 1996; Oliver 1992;
Zarb 1997), and absent from the majority of the rest. Coffey and Denscombe make no
reference to how their advice affects researchers other than those who are sensorial
and physically able. The ability of a blind researcher to adopt a ‘managed identity’
and ‘blend’ unobtrusively into and move around most research settings is severely
restricted.
In this research blindness is an integral component of ‘the self’ which
cannot be ‘shaken off’ in order to adopt a managed identity complete with sight.
Arguably, the necessity of sight is unquestioningly accepted by many methodological
authors and this leads to the verbs ‘to see’ and ‘to observe’ becoming conjoined to
produce ‘objective’ observations. For example, when reflecting on her first encounter
‘in the field’, Bowen includes descriptions of how locals ran towards their vehicle
shaking their fists, what the huts and adjacent working fields looked like and how
muddy paths made travelling difficult (Bowen, cited in Coffey, 1999, 20). The issue
that needs to be considered is to what degree sight was essential in making these
observations? Whilst sight enabled Bowen to see natives shaking their fists, and the
layout of huts it could be argued that interpretation, understanding and then
observation occurred only when she was told that fist shaking was a traditional
greeting and was informed of the social influences which determined the shape of the
local environment. The fact that muddy paths make travel difficult does not depend
on an ability to see the conditions. The experience of undertaking the research for this
thesis indicated that research subjects (all of whom knew of my inability to see)
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compensated for my lack of sight by providing detailed descriptions and
interpretations of both the physical environment and social interactions. So, any
descriptions provided are not founded on my own subjective or ‘taken for granted’
interpretations of my own visual observations.
The ‘problem’ of a reliance on sight, which can produce an illusion of objective
reality, is not completely ignored in methodology texts. For example Backer points
out:
It takes a tremendous effort of will and imagination to stop seeing things that are
conventionally ‘there’ to be seen. I have talked to a couple of teams of researchers
[…] and it is like pulling teeth to get them to see or write anything beyond what
‘everyone’ knows. (cited in Hammersley and Atkinson 1995, 92).
Here Backer expresses the difficulties for sighted researchers when visual imagery is
unquestioningly accepted as representing objective reality. The problem Backer
identifies is similar to one which has prompted others to suggest that most social
anthropologists should consider reducing sight to a secondary status (Manning 1995,
264). The elevation of other senses is also stressed by Robins (1996) who argues that
the dominance of the visual represents a drive to disembodiment and a retreat from
experience, as the sense of touch is devalued in favour of the more powerful,
intellectual, real, objective, detached visual world (Robins 1996, 29).
There appears to be a chasm between those who advocate caution when interpreting
visual imagery and others who appear to privilege sight, coalescing the visual and
observational. For example, Slack (2000) argues, ‘looking and watching should be
embedded in all psyches of all researchers’ (10). So presumably for Slack, the concept
of a blind researcher would be problematic, whereas for Backer, Manning, and
Robins, the idea may appear less challenging. The question of the importance of sight
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for observation depends on the assumption that researchers observe social realities.
However as Hammersley (1992) argues:
Justification offered for ethnography often involves the argument that it enables us
to capture social reality more accurately than other approaches. On the other hand,
it is intrinsic to ethnography that the people studied are viewed as constructing
distinct social worlds. And if that idea is applied to ethnographers themselves it
may seem that, rather than representing reality, ethnographic accounts simply
construct versions of reality. (4-5)
What Hammersley seems to be hinting at is a kind of inevitable purblindness on the
part of researchers.
Traditional conceptions of the research process appear to accept uncritically the idea
that visual observation provides accounts which reflect objective reality. However, it
has been shown that this assumption is problematic and that it is possible to argue that
the visual does not necessarily provide accurate representations of events.
Consequently, accounts provided by blind researchers can be regarded as valid as any
other. For example, body language can be used by researchers as an aid to assist
analysis but for a blind researcher such visual clues would not be available. As such it
might be argued that they miss valuable information. However, body language can be
learnt by individuals, hence any interpretations may be deliberately influenced by
research subjects (Richardson 1996). The blind researcher may, in fact, gain more
information from other methods such as interviewing where tone of voice may
become more significant.
An inability to see does not therefore preclude researchers from conducting
ethnographic studies and the emphasis on sight and observation in textbook
prescriptions should be expanded to acknowledge that not all researchers have access
to such forms of observation. Emancipatory disability research which is founded on
the acceptance of social model principles (Barnes 1996; Barnes & Mercer 1996;
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Barton 1996; Branfield 1998; Kitchin 2000; Oliver 1992, 1993, 1997; Stone &
Priestley 1996; Zarb 1992, 1996, 1997) supports the argument for not privileging or
relying on the sense of sight as it could be regarded as reinforcing a model of personal
deficit. However, personal experience could arguably indicate an inadequacy in the
social model which disregards any consequences to impairment. This problematic
relationship to the visual that is apparent in the social model has been recognised by
Hughes (1999) who argues against formulations that promote occularcentric beliefs such as 'to see is to know' -where a reliance on the visual creates a myth, a clouding of
interpretation (160-61).
A detailed examination of emancipatory disability research is undertaken later in this
chapter. What follows is a continuation of the discussion of methodological issues
related to the participatory organisations.
The close contact that was established inside SMO allowed the time and access
necessary to conduct an ethnographic study. However, the same level of access was
not available at NDDP. Consequently the research carried out there conformed more
closely to non- participatory observation (Jorgensen 1985). As a result, the methods
of gaining data varied between the two organisations. As already discussed, one
significant difference was the access to internal documentation. Also, there were
many more opportunities for informal conversations in SMO which provided a depth
of detail relating to individual and organizational practices. However, there were
similarities in data collection between the two: notes of informal conversations and
general observations were taped and recorded as a research diary and interviews were
conducted with management, staff and clients in both organisations. The following
section discusses issues relating to the interviews.
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Research interviews
The semi-structured interview format was adopted. This provided sufficient structure
to enable the collection of some standard information from a range of respondents and
flexibility in terms of issues discussed with a diverse group of respondents within an
organisational context (Hammersley & Atkinson 1983; Holstein 1995; Holstein &
Gubrium 1997; Mishler 1986).
In NDDP eight of the thirteen members of staff were formally interviewed and most
were formally interviewed on more than one occasion. These formal interviews were
supplemented by informal interviews (what Van Maanen (1988) refers to as ‘corridor
talk’) during visits to the organisation. Fifteen disabled clients were formally
interviewed at various stages as they progressed through the programme. In addition,
with the consent of clients, six interviews were observed between employment
advisors and their clients.
In SMO eight of the 24 people employed in the organisation were interviewed
formally. Informal discussions were conducted with the rest during the course of
performing the role of Treasurer within the organisation. Such conversations were
recorded in a field work diary. The selection of respondents for formal interviews
was based on their position, role and function within each organisation, and ranged
from senior managers to employees. However, occasionally interviewees
recommended that particular individuals should be interviewed in order to follow up
specific issues and so there was also an element of ‘snowball sampling’ (Mason 1996)
to interviewee selection.
Respondents in both organisations were aware of my role as a researcher and
therefore this knowledge was understood to constitute informed consent to use
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informal discussions as sources of data. In order to protect respondents all
participants have been given pseudonyms. Given the uniqueness of each organisation
and that both organisations are relatively small, it was decided not to identify the role
each played in the organisation in order to further protect individuals. Individual
respondents will be referred to as: Board Member; Senior Manager; Supervisor;
Advisor; Trainer, or Clerical Assistant.
Whilst methodological texts are replete with advice on the process of interviewing,
and how the identity of researchers and interviewees can be affected by a variety of
characteristics such as gender, race, class, and age, rarely do they consider how the
interview process is affected by the inclusion of disabled people. There is no advice
offered to disabled researchers let alone researchers with particular forms of
impairment. Using personal, experiential knowledge as a blind researcher the
following section considers some of the issues that arose during the course of
conducting interviews.
Disability and Research Interviews
In some instances, the combination of two people with different impairments
attempting to communicate made the employment of a third party essential. For
example, if spoken communication was a barrier to understanding the interviewee’s
responses (hearing or speech impairment) then signers or, in some instances,
advocates acted as ‘translators’. In such circumstances, a blind researcher who is more
accustomed to accepting audible cues can reduce research ‘contamination’ by
ensuring the views of the interviewee are obtained and not those of the interpreter or
advocate. For example, insisting any audible sounds made by a person with
communication difficulties are fully explored can involve presenting several spoken
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answers to questions for agreement or disagreement rather than accepting the views
first offered by advocates. In such circumstances, traditional prescriptions would
warn against ‘leading’ respondents by offering responses. However in the case of
interviewing people with particular impairments this may be the only way of
including their views in the research.
When two non-disabled people converse the tendency is for both to look and
acknowledge each other by using visual gestures such as head nodding and eye
contact. Such gestures are accepted as translating meaning such as approval or
disagreement (King 1996, 184). If one is then to act as interpreter or advocate for a
third person with communication difficulties then the learned response of looking
towards the person speaking may persist. In this way, the disabled person can become
marginalized as the researcher and advocate communicate. By listening for audible
cues from the disabled person any visual responses involving the advocate’s body
language are ignored. Of course, the body language of interviewees was also
inaccessible to the researcher and some seem to regard this as a disadvantage that
would produce impoverished research (King 1996, 184-85; Mishler 1986).
Mishler argues that the positioning of the interviewer and the establishment of eye
contact are important in placing the listener in an advantageous position for
monitoring verbal and non-verbal messages which the researcher can utilize to aid the
construction of the ‘story’ (Mishler, cited in Richardson 1996, 185). On the other
hand, McCracken (1988) offers an alternative analysis arguing that the interpretation
of non-verbal communications can lead to tautology and that descriptions of gestures
produced by the interpreter merely reinforce their own subjective opinions. However,
what is accepted by all these authors is the importance of non-verbal communications
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whether as an aid to ‘story’ construction or as a distorting influence. In the case of
some impaired people, both these positions appear unsatisfactory. For example,
Mishler and King offer no analysis of how the body language of a person with
involuntary body movements can be interpreted and McCracken would presumably
have difficulty in accepting gestures to augment communication where understanding
speech presents a barrier.
So far the problems caused by the lack of attention in methodology texts to issues of
disability when conducting research have been discussed. It has been demonstrated
how advice that is offered to researchers assumes that researchers are not disabled and
therefore that they can conform to traditional methodological prescriptions. However
traditional approaches to conducting research specifically on disability have not
escaped the attention and criticisms of the disability movement and disabled
academics in particular. These critiques and the prescriptions emanating from such
critiques will now be discussed.
Researching Disability
As might be expected these methodological critiques of traditional research
methodologies and prescriptions for how disability should be researched tend to have
been generated by those who advocate a social model of disability (Barton 1996;
Barnes 1996; Barnes & Mercer 1996; Branfield 1998; Kitchin 2000; Oliver 1992,
1993, 1997; Stone & Priestley 1996; Zarb 1992, 1996, 1997). Space does not allow
for a detailed review of all the debates and so the discussion will concentrate on
arguments which suggest that research on disability requires the adoption of
emancipatory methodology. Gramsci’s concepts that were discussed in the preceding
chapter will be used to analyse such alternative approaches to researching disability.
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Emancipatory disability research
A number of problems have been identified with traditional approaches to researching
disability. The first problem has been a tendency for research on disability to have
been historically conducted by non-disabled people who had no experiential
knowledge of disability and who therefore operationalised the claimed dominant
medical model of disability which did not accurately reflect the experience of
disability (Oliver 1992, 1993). A second and allied problem is that historically, in an
attempt to conduct ‘objective’ research, disability researchers have tended to objectify
and individualise disabled people, treating them as ‘data’ and produced findings
which whilst benefiting the careers of researchers, did little to enhance the lives of
disabled people (Barnes 1991; Hunt 1966; Finkelstein 2001; Oliver 1992). These
problems were seen to be caused by the existing material and social relations of
knowledge production.
The material relations of knowledge production are a result of the underrepresentation of disabled people within the academy and within funding agencies
(Zarb 1992). This in turn has meant that disabled people have been unable to
influence the research agenda: what kind of research is conducted and how it is
conducted. The social relations of knowledge production have embedded within them
unequal power relations in which researchers by virtue of their status and the methods
they use are more powerful than research respondents.
In response, disabled academics (and some non-disabled ones) active in the disability
movement have argued that traditional methods of researching disability should be
abandoned in favour of emancipatory methodology (Barnes 1996; Barnes & Mercer
1996; Stone & Priestley 1996). Emancipatory research aims to change both the
material and social relations of knowledge production by actively involving disabled
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people at each stage of the research process – from setting the research agenda,
through to analysis of data and publication of findings. This approach therefore
requires the passing of control of the research process to disabled people. Nondisabled researchers, it is argued, should put their skills at the disposal of disabled
people in order to help them conduct research which produces findings which they
can use for their own emancipation (see for example, Barton 1996; Barnes 1996;
Barnes & Mercer 1996; Branfield 1998; Drake 1997; Duckett 1998; Humphrey 2000;
Kitchin 2000; Moore et al 1997; Oliver 1993; 1997; Rioux and Bach 1994; Stone &
Priestley 1996; Zarb 1992). The dissatisfaction with traditional research
methodologies in addition to questioning ‘who’ can produce legitimate disability
research also challenged both positivist and interpretive traditions because of their
tendencies to focus on individual impaired people as objects of research which, in
turn, reinforced the traditional medical model of disability (Barnes 1992; Oliver
1993).
For the purposes of this thesis and using Gramsci’s concepts discussed earlier,
traditional research methodologies can be seen to have acquired the status of common
sense. They are uncritically absorbed by the non-disabled academic community who
can be seen as traditional intellectuals. These intellectuals and their research
methodologies serve to reproduce what have been considered to be hegemonic
common sense understandings of disability as detailed in the medical model of
disability.
The critique of the adoption of traditional methodologies for researching disability
constitutes a challenge by organic intellectuals who have developed an alternative
good sense understanding of how research on disability should be conducted and who
are seeking to make such an understanding common sense. In other words, organic
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intellectuals want to overthrow hegemonic understandings and replace them with a
new approach to research which supports a social model of disability and which
removes the unequal relationship between researchers and researched.
This challenge offers an emancipatory alternative in which disabled people can be
promoted as active participants and knowing subjects, in an attempt to move the focus
away from considerations of individual impaired people, and on to the disabling
effects in the social world (Barnes 1997; Oliver 1992; 1993; Zarb 1996). For these
organic intellectuals, since they believe ‘disability’ to be a collective experience
caused by the way society views impaired people, shifting the focus of research to
reflect this understanding represented ‘good sense’. Ultimately, they argue, this can
inform policy so that the historically oppressive relationship between impaired people
and a disabling society can be altered. However, although this good sense’ was
promoted as representative of the experiences of a homogeneous group it could be
argued that one principal barrier which prevents emancipatory research gaining wider
acceptance as ‘common sense’ is an internal inconsistency which emerges from the
move towards a privileging of the knowledge of the disabled experience.
If the concept of disability as a homogeneous phenomenon is accepted, then calls for
the privileging of experiential knowledge appear contradictory. By drawing a
comparison with emancipatory gender research, Barnes (1992) argues that women are
in a better ontological and epistemological position to research other women. His
argument is predicated on the assumption that an empathetic relationship based on life
experiences between researchers and researched is more likely to generate valid
research. Hence, women are better placed to research women and people with
impairments are better placed to research other impaired people. Support for Barnes’s
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position is produced by Kitchin (2000) who found that disabled people felt more at
ease when discussing disability with researchers who were themselves disabled.
However, if the arguments over the privileging of experiential knowledge are
pursued, then the ‘homogeneous group’ claims for disability researchers become
inconsistent. If the comparison with emancipatory gender research is used then it
would seem inconsistent to argue that a white woman with a high disposable income
would have sufficient empathetic life experience to research poverty amongst
unemployed Asian women. In this case, empathetic research would be more easily
achieved if the research were to be conducted by demographically similar peers.
Similarly, there would appear to be little in common between a white visually
impaired female academic and a black male unemployed wheelchair user. It can be
seen that although both may face disabling societal barriers the fundamental
differences in their life experiences, which includes their different experiences of
impairment, implies that the ‘homogeneous group’ concept of disabled people
researching other disabled people is problematic.
What appears to be more appropriate would be research within impairment specific
groups. So, for example, research into the disabling aspects associated with lack of
vision could be conducted more appropriately by and with people with visual
impairment. However, this is politically and theoretically dangerous for advocates of
the social model because it might reveal a link between impairment and a disability
which may be specific only to one impairment group thus weakening significantly
their critique of an individualistic medical model.
The ‘homogeneous group’ concept faces perhaps its most severe challenge in the case
of people with learning difficulties. Although some have sought to include learning
impaired people in the research process (Walmsley 2001) it becomes difficult to
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consider how people with severe learning difficulties could engage in the research
process without the participation of an advocate/researcher. Although this third
person could also be a disabled person (perhaps a wheelchair user) if emancipatory
research is predicated on experiential knowledge, then again, the question arises of
how homogenous the two life experiences are. It would seem difficult to support a
position that states that simply having an impairment of one sort or another means that
a disabled person is better placed to engage in research involving learning impaired
people than perhaps a non-disabled friend or advocate who may have some
knowledge of the barriers learning impaired people face.
The principal inconsistency at the heart of emancipatory research is the claim that
experiential knowledge gives any disabled person a privileged position to carry out
any aspect of research into disability. A paradox appears when it is acknowledged that
to be included within the group ‘disabled’ requires one to have an impairment. So,
although disability can be represented as a social construct, group membership is
dependent on the acceptance (albeit often consigned to silence) that disability
involves a direct relationship between the impaired body and the disabling effects of
society. Hence, when calls are made for research to be based on emancipatory
disability principles, in reality the experience of disability required by the researcher
depends on how impairment and disability interrelate in the social world. For people
with different impairments this interaction is different, hence the barriers faced by
learning impaired, visually impaired, and mobility impaired can all be different. It
would be incorrect to imply, however, that similar criticisms have not been raised by
others or resulted in the reconsideration by some authors of their position in respect to
emancipatory disability research.
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Perhaps the internal inconsistency in emancipatory disability research is crystallised
most effectively by one of its strongest proponents. In an article attacking a nondisabled researcher who rhetorically questioned his role in disability research (Drake
1997), Fran Branfield (1998) stated, ‘the equation I have an impairment, therefore I
am disabled, must be dismantled’ (401). This appears contradictory, because if any
links between impairment and disability are severed, then why should people with
impairments have any need to call on experiential knowledge when researching
disability?
The problem of defining disability within a ‘homogeneous group’ concept has been
challenged by Duckett (1998) and Humphrey (2000). Duckett contends that the
proposed binary opposition of disabled/non-disabled is too simplistic because
disability can be transitory, as non-disabled people can become disabled and vice
versa. This presents a complex/fluid, rather than definite/static relationship (626). If
only disabled people are legitimately able to conduct emancipatory research, many
researchers may find themselves in an invidious position. For example, a person with
a broken leg could face disabling barriers during a period when mobility was only
possible with the aid of a wheelchair. If only disabled people should conduct research
on disability then this person would be accepted as a legitimate researcher. However,
once the broken leg has healed and they have no further experience of disabling
barriers, the legitimacy of any research they might conduct on disability could be
questioned.
Moreover, by attempting to restrict research on disability to only disabled researchers
leaves many non-disabled allies in an uncertain position. As Humphrey (2000)
argues, ‘questions of who has the right to conduct research on disability leaves the
non-disabled researcher in limbo, suspended over both ally and enemy camps, at best
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clutching only a temporary visa’ (75). Similarly Duckett (1998) argues that the
tendency to attempt to restrict research to only those with accredited impairments can
be detrimental to the disability movement as it can serve to isolate other potentially
more powerful allies. Duckett’s call for the widening of support from other groups
echoes Gramsci’s analysis of hegemony. This becomes an important issue because, if
emancipatory disability research is to gain wider acceptance throughout the traditional
research community, then it must be accepted as common sense.
As the debate over who can legitimately claim to conduct disability research
continued, two of the most prominent authors in the disability movement, Colin
Barnes and Mike Oliver, drew back from their earlier calls for the privileging of
experiential knowledge and offered a more conciliatory approach to the role of non
disabled researchers:
We are not suggesting that only disabled people can or should do disability
research, and we do not believe that an accredited impairment is a necessary prerequisite for doing disability research. (Oliver & Barnes 1997, 812)
One idea which has remained constant throughout the debates on emancipatory
disability research is the a priori acceptance that the social model of disability
provides the ideological canvas on which emancipatory disability research should be
laid out (Barnes 2003). However, as has been demonstrated, one consequence of
accepting the social model is that any discussion or consideration of how impairment
can affect the ability to engage in traditional research methods is ignored.
One question which emerges from this discussion is whether the research carried out
for this thesis can be considered emancipatory. The answer is ‘perhaps’. Certainly by
one criterion the control of the social and material relations of research production
was in my hands and it may be possible to find emancipation through increased work
opportunities as a result of conducting the research. Whether this research will help to
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emancipate disabled people more broadly can only be evaluated after the research has
been completed (see also Zarb 1992). However, while seeking the views and
opinions of many disabled people, it was decided to deliberately avoid allowing
control of the research to be extended to include other disabled people for two
primary reasons.
Firstly, there was a practical restraint which meant the majority of disabled people
interviewed could not be contacted again. There were several reasons for this,
including the confidentiality at NDDP that ensured personal details were not made
available; the lack of additional time and resources that curtailed opportunities to
follow up and disseminate information, and because the majority of respondents from
SMO and some from NDDP were learning impaired there was some difficulty
associated with ensuring that their views were accurately represented and not those of
advocates. So, in practical terms, the only disabled people who could have been
included in the analysis of the data were the politically committed social model senior
management team of SMO. This led to the second principle reason for retaining full
control. As members of the senior management team at SMO were all mobility
impaired, the political decision was made not to allow any interpretations to be
directed by this impairment specific group. After all, why should their views of
disability be given any greater significance than those of the visually impaired
researcher? However, perhaps the most contentious reason (which may draw
criticism from advocates of a social model of disability) is an agnostic opinion on
whether the social model can be usefully employed to describe all disability. It is up
to the reader to determine in the following chapters how appropriate the chosen
methods were.
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This discussion demonstrates that this research does not claim to adhere to the
emancipatory disability research paradigm nor to be compliant with a social model of
disability. Instead it is closer to the views of Shakespeare (1996), a committed
advocate of disability politics, who, when reflecting on whether his research on
disabled sexuality was emancipatory, argued:
To be honest I don’t know and I don’t really care. I am a pluralist, and would
rather follow my own intellectual and ethical standards, rather than trying to
conform to orthodoxy. I don’t follow recipes when I cook, and I’m not keen
on following imposed rules when I research. (118)
The remainder of this chapter discusses some of the issues that impairment can raise
for establishing access to research sites. Neither traditional methodological texts nor
those emanating from methodological prescriptions advocated by disability
researchers tend to consider this issue.
Accessing Research Organisations
Four organisations were approached with a view to becoming research participants.
These were: Guide Dogs for the Blind Association (GDBA); Henshaw’s Society for
the Blind; a Social Model Organisation (SMO), and the government pilot ‘New Deal
for Disabled People’ (NDDP).
Initially, both GDBA and Henshaw’s agreed to be participants in my research. Both
organisations appeared enthusiastic with the initial research proposal, which explored
how government policy may affect the operations and funding of many ‘Not for
Profit’ (NFP) organisations. This research could have had practical implications for
the organisations as funding for NFPs by local and central government had shifted
towards a concept of ‘Comprehensive Best Value’ (CBV) (Forbes 1997; ISRM 1998).
These changes in funding can be summarised as a move away from grants to a more
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competitive contract culture (Charity Commissioners 1998; Compact 1998). This
funding drift towards contracts in some areas of the NFP sector had been in evidence
for some time (Fielding & Gutch 1989; Gutch 1989). The proposed research was
aimed at reviewing and building on earlier critiques at the changes in public sector
financing, and determining if changes in funding could negatively affect the
relationship between charities for disabled people and their clients.
However, once the research commenced both organisations were reticent to grant
access. Both offered comparable explanations for their hesitancy: they were in the
process of assessing government policy and restructuring internally hence any
research would be premature as new systems would not have settled down. After
several months, influenced by time pressures it was decided that alternative
organisations should be sought. This experience identifies one major difficulty with
the emancipatory research paradigm: why should organisations who control access to
potential research sites relinquish their control of the research process? Simply
arguing that research into disability should be conducted using emancipatory research
methods is somewhat idealistic if the power differential between researcher and host
research organisations remain heavily one sided.
As an active stakeholder in both organisations, I had access to several senior
employees who suggested during informal conversations that a significant factor in
the decision not to participate was due to the perception that such organisations feel
threatened if service users become critical of their provision. Both organisations did
commission research and have altered their operations as a result. Perhaps the reasons
for paid consultancy research can be found in the ability this gives the contracting
organisation to control the research agenda which may (for example) exclude any
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necessity to consider the relationship between the charity and its clients. My status as
a disabled researcher and a service user did not therefore in this instance facilitate
access.
The maintenance of control of research is not restricted to traditional charities for
disabled people. Mike Oliver was also denied access to the Greater Manchester
Coalition of Disabled People despite wishing to adopt emancipatory research (Barnes
& Mercer 1997: 18). Perhaps Oliver’s experience indicates that whilst within the elite
academic coteries emancipatory disability research may represent good sense
nonetheless, even for committed advocates of the social model, the concept of
emancipatory disability research has not been uncritically accepted as representing
common sense, and consequently it has not become hegemonic.
The struggle for the control of research also appeared during initial negotiations with
SMO. The organisation proclaimed an alliance to the principles of the social model
and those disabled people in positions of power, all having similar mobility
impairments, sought to control the research. This could be regarded as organic
intellectuals seeking control of some elements of emancipatory disability research
although as a disabled person with a different ontological understanding of disability
this researcher wanted to avoid simply reinforcing a social model ideology. From a
personal standpoint, following an emancipatory research agenda could potentially
reinforce oppressive power relations inside SMO, a situation it was important to
avoid. Hence it could be argued that the battle for the control of research was as
evident in organisations run and controlled by disabled people as elsewhere.
Ironically, of the four potential participating organisations, only NDDP did not
attempt to influence the research. This was ironic because as a high profile
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government initiative, NDDP could be politically damaged if the research findings
were critical. So perhaps one issue which could restrict a wider acceptance of
emancipatory disability research, is the potential damage organisations face if control
of the research process is relinquished to disabled people.
Gaining Access to NDDP and SMO
This section considers how access to NDDP and SMO was negotiated and the role
impairment played in achieving access.
Personal contacts together with an element of chance can combine as effective
methods of gaining access to organisations (Buchanan et al 1986; Denscombe 1999;
Hammersley & Atkinson 1983; Jorgensen 1989). In a search for funding and
organisations willing to participate speculative contact was made with a social
services manager who was a personal acquaintance. Although she expressed a
personal interest in the research proposal it was made clear that her department had no
budget which could provide any funding for any research projects. However, earlier
that day she had received a request from the local pilot for NDDP who were recruiting
for seconded staff from social services. It was agreed that the manager should arrange
an interview for a post as a personal advisor on the project. The application for a post
was unsuccessful primarily because the pilot had agreed in its bidding process that all
advisors would be seconded and would return to their original place of work when the
project ended thereby not leaving a legacy of unemployed people in the wake of an
employment initiative. However, after several discussions involving senior
management, NDDP agreed to become a participatory organization in the research,
leaving the details of research questions to be determined by the researcher. One
factor that assisted in gaining access was my blindness.
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As NDDP had only recently been launched , management were sensitive to any
negative publicity or ‘leaks’ from inside the organisation hence one access barrier any
researcher would have faced surrounded the problem of ‘accidental’ exposure to
sensitive information (Buchanan et al 1986, 57). The issue of security had been raised
by senior employment managers, although they accepted the argument that unless a
staff member actually gave me a document or read its contents it was not possible to
independently obtain covertly any documentary information. So, whilst it might be
expected that blindness would be a barrier to conducting research because it
eliminates the visual content of any observations (Richardson 1996; Slack 2000) in
this case impairment assisted in gaining access. It was the consequences specific to
blindness which assisted access, because other disabled people (for example,
wheelchair users) would have faced the same barrier as any other sighted researcher.
The negotiation of access also determined to some degree which research methods
could be used. During negotiations, management stressed that any research would
only be allowed with minimal disruption to the organisation which effectively
determined the role of a non-participatory observer (Jorgensen 1989). A timetable
was produced which indicated when and for how long interviews would be
conducted. It was agreed that all staff and clients would be invited to participate in
the project and, with all-party agreement the observation of client interviews was
allowed, as recommended by Burgess (1999, 257) and Richardson (1993, 103-4). In
NDDP the position of the researcher within the organisation was determined by the
level of access. In SMO, a more detailed and close contact over a longer time scale
was permitted which enabled an ethnographic study to be conducted.
The introduction to SMO was made through a former supervisor who suggested the
organisation was an exemplar of how an organisation run and controlled by disabled
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people and implementing the principals of a social model of disability operates.
Initially it was not intended that SMO should become a participatory organization but
this occurred by chance when, during an interview with the CEO, I was invited to join
the board of directors as Treasurer. A principal reason for the invitation was that the
former Treasurer had resigned and SMO were struggling to meet their commitment to
have a majority of disabled people on the Board of Directors. Also, the role of
Treasurer appeared suitable because of my business history and impairment, which
due to its severity, incontrovertibly confirmed my status as a disabled person. This
identifies a paradox for SMO.
Although SMO defines disability as a social construct, the criteria for group
membership rests on individuals having an accredited impairment. The paradox here
is that this can only be interpreted as reinforcing an individualistic medical model.
The reason why it is important to have raised the issue of my status as a disabled
person with SMO but did not apply similar considerations to NDDP is because at
NDDP my disabled status was never in doubt. For SMO, if impairment does not
disable, then disability itself must be a fluid definition capable of assignment when
disabling barriers exist. I never self-defined as disabled nor was I asked which
barriers disable a blind person therefore impairment was the only group identifier.
Indeed, if disability is not linked to impairment, then it can be argued that during my
initial visit to SMO, I was not a disabled person. I arrived at the offices via taxi (paid
through travelling expenses), was met at the front door and escorted to the CEO’s
office without any requirement to read or ‘sign in’ a visitors’ book and the interview
was taped as agreed. So, no disabling barriers were present, hence according to a
social model analysis, I was not a disabled person because I was inside an enabling
environment (Swain et al 1993). Here again SMO becomes trapped within a paradox
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created by the social model. If the environment and attitudes associated with the
operations of SMO was not disabling, then it follows that the organisation could not
be run and controlled by disabled people. Highlighting this paradox illustrates how
the two organisations inform the research questions.
One significant difference between the organisations which affected the methods of
conducting research was their approach to the question of who controls the research.
NDDP did not demand any control over research questions whereas SMO wanted
total control of the process. The CEO of SMO wanted all research questions to be
vetted by a senior management team led by her, with the subsequent individually
named responses also being filtered through her. This offer was declined for two
primary reasons. Firstly the methods adopted were inductive rather than deductive and
therefore research and interview questions evolved during the research process.
Secondly, there was a concern about the potential for ‘research contamination’ (Miller
& Glassner 1997, 126-27) since the veracity of responses may be affected if staff
were aware these would be read by the CEO. The problem faced at SMO was how to
conduct any research once the offer from the CEO had been rejected
No members of SMO were directly approached for interviews rather it was decided to
use the role of Treasurer to gain an understanding of how the organisation operated.
Approval was sought and granted from the CEO to speak directly to staff. The
Finance Manager was asked to act as gatekeeper and arrange these meetings. It was
during these discussions that the staff began to express concerns about the social
model of disability and its use as a guiding principle for an organisation in a
competitive market. The sampling method became a ‘snow balling’ exercise (Mason
1996, 103-4), as staff began to request interviews to express their opinions to a
company director with confidentiality assured.
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Given that the research was overt, it has been assumed that agreement to participate in
the research represented informed consent (Denscombe 1999, 109; Mason 1996, 16667; Punch 1986, 35-6). On an individual basis, all participants were informed in the
first instance that my status as a researcher and the nature of the research and that
their contributions were being recorded, and might be used in a published form, albeit
with anonymity guarantees. Their continued participation was understood as informed
consent (Denscombe 1999, 109: Punch 1986, 35-6).
Generaliseability
The ways in which validity has been ensured through the use of methodological
triangulation described as the collection of different forms of information from different
people, at different levels, at different times and, in different places has already been
discussed (Hammersley & Atkinson 1983, 181; Marshall and Rossman 1989, 146;
Mason 1996, 149). The topic of the generaliseability of the findings will now be
explored.
SMO claims to be unique as it is the only commercial employment focused
organisation run and controlled by disabled people and operating to the principles of
the social model of disability. Since the Government has not committed itself to a
long term future for NDDP (Walker 2000) it may appear that any direct
generaliseability at an empirical level may be difficult to establish. However, as
Marshall & Rossman (1989) argue, in the case of qualitative research generaliseability
may be more appropriate to how models or theories are applied which can then
influence policy generation or model development. This research addresses the
problematic relationship between disabled people and work.
Within this broad
framework, the concepts of models of disability are applied both from an historical
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and contemporary position. Based on the everyday actions of those involved in the
employment of disabled people, the research will attempt to determine whether or not
these models present an accurate representation of disability or whether amendments
or new understandings are required. It is this more theoretical application of models
that can produce the generaliseability of the research, because altering models could
affect understandings which can then apply to policy and in other context. The
following chapters evaluate the nature of the models of disability that have
underpinned the employment of disabled people historically and empirically in
contemporary organizations.
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Chapter 4
An Historical Reflection on Disability (I)
‘It is only in recent years that the issue of disability has been transformed
from a purely medical problem to a political one, in Britain, at least. Central
to this transformation has been the rise of the disability movement.’ (Oliver
and Zarb 1989, 221)
The epigraph to this chapter makes two claims that are symptomatic of the
ones made by writers who support a social model of disability. Firstly, it claims that
historically disability has been seen as a medical problem rather than a social one. The
second claim is that the change from a medical to a social problem has been achieved
through political action by the disability movement, a phenomenon generally regarded
as existing only for the last 30 years. This chapter will challenge the accuracy of both
these claims.
Social model theorists portray disability purely in terms of two opposing models.
They suggest that traditional intellectuals understand disability as a medical and
individual problem. The dominance of medicine and the conception of disability as an
impairment has, they argue, been the cause of oppression for disabled people.
According to Oliver (1990) this served to reinforce an individual model of personal
tragedy. This view is presented in opposition to the emancipatory potential of the
organic understanding of disability contained within the social model. If it can be
shown that historical evidence does not support such a belief then the philosophy of
opposing models at the core of the social model becomes unsatisfactory.
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Claims for a historical continuity of oppression
Elizabeth Bredberg (1999), an academic historian, has criticised some authors who
write on disability for constructing historical accounts which proclaim to expose
evidence of disabling social practices without sufficient regard for the sources they
cite. She calls into question the use of ‘prevalent proof’ as a reliable source for
historical writing (192-93). This practice involves making a claim that is unsupported
by empirical evidence but which then becomes regarded as factual and is repeated by
many other authors because it supports a particular ideology.
Reviewing Colin Barnes’ ‘A Legacy of Oppression’ (Barnes 1997), Bredberg
comments on some factual errors and issues cautions about his use of historical texts
to support present day claims of disabling practices. Her criticisms include the
inappropriate use of biblical texts such as the Book of Leviticus and Barnes’ spurious
claims about the infanticide of impaired children in ancient Greece which he bases on
Plato’s Republic. Bredberg points out that there is no actual evidence to support
Plato’s claims that infanticide was routinely practiced by the state as Plato’s Republic
was an idealized and imaginary one (197-98). Hence claims of evidence of disabling
practices from historical sources are dubious and ideological adopting a politically
advantageous slant that effectively labels disabled people in the pre-1970s disability
movement as merely reactive recipients of oppressive practices.
A consideration of Finkelstein’s (1981) claims that disability is principally the
product of industrialisation further supports Bredberg’s criticism of ‘prevalent proof’.
Finkelstein asserts that prior to industrialisation disabled people were included in
work in a predominantly agrarian society but were excluded as industrialisation
occurred. Apart from the claim itself there is little supporting evidence in his account
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and no explanation of why this was the case. Similarly, Oliver’s (1990) historical
account is heavily influenced by the role of institutions and their increased function as
a means of state control. Oliver draws here on the work of Foucault (amongst others)
to exemplify the relationship between individuals and institutional practices. It could
be said that this style of historical review allows an impression to emerge whereby
disabled people are largely regarded as passive recipients of oppressive practices
which they unquestioningly accept. Such historical accounts portray disabled people
as tragic victims which helps to add weight to claims that the social model of
disability is a new one that offers emancipation from oppressive traditional
intellectual understandings of the causes of disability. In other words, these accounts
support a political ideology of the present by selecting secondary source data from the
past and interpreting this against a discursive backcloth of present day understandings.
This chapter challenges the claims made by Barnes (1997) and others by examining
how, historically, some impaired people have organised themselves to resist the
traditional intellectual perceptions of disability and have actively influenced
legislation with the aim of achieving economic emancipation and social change.
This chapter addresses a number of themes in order to answer the following
questions:

Has legislation always reinforced a singularly medical approach to disability?

Is the organisation of politically active groups of disabled people fighting for
emancipation through social change a new phenomenon?

How, in practice, did organisations engage disabled people in paid work?
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
Was disability overcome by treating impairments (a medical approach) or by
changing attitudes and environments (a social model approach)?
Legislation will be used as a benchmark for determining traditional intellectual
formulations because dominant understandings of the causes of disability are likely
to become embedded in statute and may be translated into policy. An example of
how legislation can influence the way traditional understanding is determined can,
perhaps, best be seen in race and gender equality legislation.
If inequality in organisations between white males, women and ethnic minorities was
biologically determined (that is, if white males had some biological superiority which
made them more suitable employees than the other groups) then legislation on the
grounds of sex and race discrimination in employment could not have been
introduced. Although traditional formulations of gender roles were based on
biological determinism with the rise of the second wave feminist movement, such
stereotypes were challenged and alternative reasons provided for the underrepresentation of women in employment. These included the failure to apply
meritocratic principles in recruitment and promotion decisions. The passing of the
Sex Discrimination Act (1970) and the Equal Pay Act (1975) was therefore a shift in
understanding generated by organic intellectuals in the feminist movement. Whether
the relevant legislation has succeeded in overcoming discrimination is a discussion
outside the scope of this research. However, what is evident is that legislation could
be introduced based on the understanding that, in these cases, discrimination was
structurally and ideologically created rather than biologically determined.
Despite the claims of social model theorists, the same kind of argument is difficult to
apply to disabled people. Whilst there is no doubt that historically medical definitions
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did inform understandings of disability, it is also the case that some social causes
were also acknowledged. The Disability Discrimination Act (1995) requires that
access to buildings is improved, and employers are expected to make reasonable
adjustments to include impaired people in work (Doyle 1996a, 1996b, 1996c;
Gooding 1996). If disability was thought only to be caused by an individual’s
impairment it would surely be logically inconsistent to suggest disability could be
overcome by any means other than correcting deficits in the impaired body.
Earlier chapters discussed the idea that the term ‘disability’ has inherent definitional
problems depending on the position one takes regarding its cause. Hence when
reviewing historical documents, it is not possible to determine definitively the
meaning of the term. However, from as far back as the Elizabethan Poor Laws of
1601 legislation has generally relied on a common group characteristic of specified
impairments as the criterion for determining those who fall within the remit of the
Acts. This could be used to argue in support of the claim that disability has always
been viewed as a medical problem (Finkelstein, 2001). However, on the other hand,
it can also be argued that using impairment as a group identifier merely represents a
practical means of determining group membership. To avoid imposing present day
definitions onto uncertain historical meanings as far as possible the stable identifier
of impairment specific groups as constituting disabled people will be used.
The chapter commences by reviewing one such impairment specific group - the blind
-and examines how the attendant disability experienced by the blind was viewed
from the beginning of the last century. The analysis is restricted to the blind for a
number of reasons: the researcher has a personal interest in this specific group;
access to the records of Henshaw’s Society had been negotiated, and the first
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organised trade union of disabled people was the National League of the Blind
(NLB) founded in 1899 (Yates 1999). Certain legislation passed before this date has
been reviewed because it can provide an insight into how traditional intellectual
formulations of disability were influenced by the State before any influence was
possible from the NLB. The State is today cast as representative of traditional
intellectual formulations of disability.
The politics of disability
In the early 1870s widespread economic depression caused rising levels of
unemployment and, as the effects of the depression eased, the economic imperative
for the State was to reduce levels of unemployment across the working population
(Jones and Novak 1999, 118). This drive affected blind people in addition to nonimpaired unemployed workers. From the time of the Elizabethan Poor Law of 1601
the State had defined blindness in relation to the ability to perform work (HMSO
1951) and subsequent administrations had continued to regard all disabled people in
relation to their ability to engage in paid work (Beveridge 1906).
In 1886 a Royal Commission entitled, A Report on the Blind and Dumb (Wagg 1932,
63) investigated the circumstances in which blind people lived. The Commission
interviewed 6,000 blind people and found that a lack of education and training
resulted in many being unable to find work whilst those in work had predominantly
low status and low paid jobs. Reporting in 1889, the Commission recommended
compulsory education for blind children between the ages of 5 and 16 in either
schools or special institutions. These recommendations became law in the Education
of Blind and Deaf Mute Children (Scotland) Act (1890) and the Elementary
Education (Blind and Deaf Children) Act (1893). Additional recommendations were
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aimed at increasing the incidence of blind people in the workforce. Here, a social
rather than medical approach is obvious as the remedies suggested were not related to
solving the problem of impairment itself, rather to improving work opportunities
through education and training. Although these measures were aimed at improving the
social conditions under which blind people lived it was also the case, however, that
medical interventions were being researched to prevent or correct many forms of
visual impairment (Wagg 1932, 180-84).
The Commission’s recommendations included:

Schools should provide training for blind people between the ages of 16 and
21 who wished to learn a trade. This did not directly translate into law,
although under the Secondary Education Act (1920) local authorities were
asked to supply education other than elementary.

To ensure work for this newly-skilled blind population workshops were to be
established in every large centre of population, which did not already possess
such a facility. The committee urged that these were supported by private
charity rather than through state funds.

For people blinded between the ages of 21 and 50 training was to be supplied
by the schools with the person either gaining employment from home
working or in the workshops of the institutions. The implication of this was
that for those over the age of 50, training for employment was not considered
necessary.
The Blind Persons Act (1920) reinforced a definition that related impairment solely to
the ability to work. The Act defines a blind person as, ‘to be so blind as to be unable
to perform any work for which eyesight is essential.’ Under the Old Age Pensions Act
(1908) the retirement age for a blind person was reduced from 70 to 50 and duties
were placed on local authorities to provide workshops, hostels, homes or other
suitable unspecified provision for the benefit of the blind. Although the obligation
was on the local authority to provide workshops and accommodation many met their
duties by sub-contracting the provision to established charities (HMSO 1951).
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Thus, three strategies were employed by the state. The first was the use of medical
intervention to prevent or cure the condition, an approach supported by some blind
organic intellectuals (The New Beacon 1950, 88). Secondly, increased opportunity
was provided for education, training and work and thirdly, the acceptance that as
blindness increased in the general population in relation to age (Dodds 1993; Duckett
and Pratt 2001; Henshaw’s 1928) reducing the age of retirement also reduced the need
for the provision of training and employment places for those acquiring blindness in
later life.
The increase in education and training coupled with the compulsory expansion of the
workshop sector increased the employment rate of blind people (HMSO 1951).
However, the arbitrary retirement age was set to fall once more, this time in line with
a general reduction across the working population. The Old Age Pensions
Amendment Act (1936) brought retirement age down to its current level of 60 for
women and 65 for men, although this is currently under review. The Blind Persons’
Amendment Act (1938) lowered the age at which blind people could receive the old
age pension to 40 years. Whilst the qualifying definition of blindness expressed in the
Blind Persons Act (1920) remained the same, section 2 of the Blind Persons
Amendment Act (1938) contained the following addition:
In determining in the case of any blind person whether or not or to what
extent to provide financial assistance under the preceding conditions the
council take into account not only the needs of the blind person but also the
needs of any members of the household of which the blind person is a
member, who are dependent on him.
From these legislative definitions it is proposed that, historically, a three stage model
of disability can be discerned:
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
Impairment is rooted in sensory lack

Loss of work opportunity results from the consequences of impairment (the
necessity of eyesight for certain jobs)

Social disadvantage is recognised through the provision of financial support
for those incapable of work.
This model bears a striking resemblance to the socio-medical model framed some 60
years later (WHO 1980) but which social model adherents classify as a medical
model. The present legislation in the form of the Disability Discrimination Act
(1995) can therefore be argued to represent a historical continuity in the
understandings of disability. In other words, it has been consistently recognised that
there are some consequences to impairment which disable; that disability can be
reduced by altering social factors including improved education, training and work
opportunities, and that financial assistance should be provided for those who cannot
work.
Traces of socio-medical models can be found in other legislation including The Blind
Voters Act (1933). This was effectively an amendment to Section 26 of the Ballot Act
(1872) and was inserted into this Act as Section 26a:
the presiding officer shall require the voter to declare orally whether he is
so incapacitated by his blindness as to be unable to vote without assistance
and if he is satisfied that the voter is so incapacitated a companion will be
allowed to assist.
The Blind Voters Act (1933) determines incapacity clearly within medical discourse:
it is the impairment which does not enable the individual to vote as others do.
However, the remedies for overcoming the consequences of impairment lie in social
responses: allowing a helper to assist. Moreover, the impairment is not related to any
medical or work-based criteria; in effect it is self-defining. The disabling barrier for
the blind voter is the requirement to read a document and place a cross in the
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appropriate voting box. Considering the date and available technologies, it would be
difficult to imagine any other method that could allow all eligible blind people to
exercise their democratic rights.
Braille was invented in 1828 and first introduced in the UK in 1868 (Wagg 1932, 16)
and would appear to have offered one solution which could have provided equal
access to the ballot box. However, this would have required all blind voters to read
Braille, a situation which does not even pertain in the present day. Out of an estimated
visually impaired population of 1.5 million in the UK today there are only
approximately 10,000 Braille users. According to the RNIB (1999) reasons for the
low usage of Braille include:

The reluctance of elderly recently blind people to learn a new skill

The limited availability of Braille material

The bulk, size and cost of the material
Hence the social changes allowed under the Blind Voters Act (1933) could be
regarded as a pragmatic solution to the problem of maximising the number of blind
people enabled to participate in the democratic process.
Two principles have emerged from this examination of legislative definitions in
relation to models of disability. First of all, ‘disability’ as a term was not present in
legislation during the period examined but ‘impairment’ - a medical criterion - was
the word used to determine qualification under legislation. Secondly, when remedies
to reduce disabling effects were sought there was no predominance of medical
influence, instead definitions revolved principally around the ability to work. In this
regard, when it was recognised that many blind people were excluded from work due
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to the lack of social provisions, social and structural changes were attempted such as
the provision of education, training and workshops intended to improve employment
opportunities for blind people. Political and legislative actions were, to varying
degrees, aimed at the removal of structural barriers.
As discussed at the beginning of this chapter, many present day historical accounts of
disability portray disabled people as tragic victims of oppressive medical practices
(Finkelstein 2001; Barnes 1997; Oliver 1990) and state that the current disability
movement was instrumental in changing this situation. But is this actually the case?
Have disabled people historically been passive recipients of dominant discourses? In
the following section it is suggested that such a view of history cannot be sustained by
illustrating how blind people were proactive in changing the social environment.
Disabled people as victims of medical discourse
It would be incorrect to imply that legislation was the sole instrument that influenced
the lives of blind people. Blind people themselves effected social change through
political activity and by promoting educational provision. In other words, they fit
Gramsci’s notion of organic intellectuals who generated a form of good sense. Blind
people could be assisted to engage in society not by attempting medical interventions
to cure impairment but by altering social conditions to allow impaired people greater
social inclusion in society. In effect, such people constituted the first activists in an
embryonic disability movement.
In 1791, Edward Rushton, a blind poet, founded the first teaching college for the blind
named The Liverpool School for the Indigent Blind. This was 79 years before
universal primary education became mandatory under State control through the
Education Act 1870 (HMSO, 1951). It can be argued that some blind children were
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given access to education before many non-impaired peers received equal access.
Hence at least some of the origins of segregated schooling for the blind was initiated
by blind people themselves and were not a result of any oppressive medical
interventions seeking to ‘correct’ impaired bodies.
Today, segregated education is not considered acceptable (Finkelstein and Stewart
1996). However, these earliest schools promoted by and for the blind should be
considered in relation to educational provision generally, when, with no State
educational system, many non-impaired children relied on the Church (Barnes 1997)
or charity (Henshaw’s 1996). Blind people in this era could be considered as proactive
in the development of education and training geared towards improving their
employment opportunities.
In 1872, another blind man, Francis Campbell, opened the first academy of music for
the blind, providing musical training and advanced education aimed at providing
employment opportunities in music, the professions and other ‘white-collar’
occupations. The academy produced successful graduates of the Royal Academy of
Music and the Royal College of Organists, providing work opportunities for blind
people in both performing and teaching. In 1887, typewriting was added to the
curriculum followed by shorthand in 1898. In 1895, the college began training
teachers and was validated as a teacher-training establishment with some pupils
progressing to gain university degrees at both Oxford and Cambridge. Between 1884
and 1934, a significant number of blind people graduated from universities, entering
several professions such as law, teaching, and the clergy (HMSO, 1951). So,
opportunities for blind people were available in many occupations where the barriers
to participation in work must have been either significantly reduced or removed.
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Although these professional and academic careers provided employment for some
blind people the largest employment sector was in workshops (HMSO 1951). Again
significant barriers to employment needed to be removed and it is in the workshops
that the greatest resistance to organised charity and political activism by blind workers
is to be observed. The origins for this manual employment sector can again be traced
to the Liverpool School.
The school adopted teaching methods adjusted to the needs of blind people in
occupations including: basket and hamper making; mat and rug making; plaiting;
spinning, and sash-line-making (HMSO, 1951). The Liverpool School provided a
model for four more establishments in the following 15 years and Henshaw’s Blind
Asylum in Manchester in 1835 (Henshaw’s 1996). The training establishments for the
blind in many cases opened their own workshops to increase the range of
manufactured products and improve efficiency by harnessing the new technologies
flowing from the Industrial Revolution (Henshaw’s 1928). However, the lower
output levels of blind workers resulted in lower wages than non-impaired workers,
with many charities intervening to augment the wages of their blind workers
(Henshaw’s 1928; HMSO 1951). It was the relationship between blind workers and
charities, in particular the power they held to augment wages (NLB 1920), which saw
blind workers act to resist the oppressive relationship they had with charities and take
action to induce political change. This can be seen as the first disability movement
and what follows is a discussion of the nature of this movement.
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The rise of a disability movement
The formation of groups of disabled people with political motives calling for social
change to improve their position in society can be seen from 1898. This is the date
when Ben Purse, a blind piano tuner, became the first paid secretary of the ‘National
League of the Blind’ (NLB), a trade union affiliated to the TUC and the Labour Party
(The New Beacon 1950) and launched the league’s own journal, The Blind Advocate
(The Beacon 1925). Purse had trained in Henshaw’s Society for the Blind from the
age of 9 and much of his later career could be characterized as resisting the
domination of blind people by charities and their philanthropic donors (Blind
Advocate 1918a).
The aims of the NLB are contained in the April 1918 journal and can be summarized
as removing charities from the role of providing employment and financial assistance
to the blind and replacing them with State control. The call was for the State to
provide workshops at a national level, governed under the Factories Act, with all
employees guaranteed a living wage and for technical schools to be developed to train
blind workers for employment in industry with adequate pensions for elderly blind
people and those incapable of paid work (Blind Advocate 1918a, 1).
Oppression of disabled people was not seen to come from the medical profession, as
claimed by some today (for example, Finkelstein 2001) but rather from traditional
charities. Indeed, Purse had been hailed for encouraging medical intervention on
children and it was estimated that his demand that ophthalmia neonatorum be made a
notifiable disease in 1914 had ‘saved the sight of many babies’ (The New Beacon
1950, 88). The condition was easily treatable if diagnosed within the first days of
birth. To provide some idea of the scale of Purse’s intervention, in a study of blind
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institutions in 1882 it was estimated that 30% of the children had become blind due to
infection from ophthalmia neonatorum (Wagg 1932, 182). The case that oppressive
medical interventions were imposed on impaired people cannot be sustained given
that the demand for medical intervention came from an impaired person.
Although Purse’s fight was principally for economic emancipation for blind workers,
he believed that if medicine offered the potential to prevent blindness in children, then
such intervention was to be encouraged. This stance would possibly be regarded as
contradictory by social model proponents who might argue that although his concerns
were with altering the social and political environment to improve the lives of blind
people, by advocating medical intervention he was moving the focus away from
social to medical cures.
However, Purse’s approach can also be regarded as one that offered the potential to
strengthen his political strategy and increase his credibility as a disabled activist
amongst the wider population. It could be said that it is difficult to imagine that many
parents would not gladly accept minor medical intervention to prevent infection if
they were to be told such treatment would save the sight of their child. Hence Purse
could be seen to be attempting to gain hegemonic acceptance of a strategy which both
supports medical intervention if possible to prevent blindness and promotes structural
changes in society that might lead to economic emancipation through work for those
who are blind. If this approach were to be characterized in terms of models of
disability, it would represent a socio-medical model. This position is supported by a
letter from Purse published in the first edition of the Blind Advocate in 1899 which
states:
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Hampered as we are by the physical defeat imposed by nature sometimes but
much more frequently by the social sins of the community, we are unable to
fight the social and economic battle on an equal footing with our sighted
fellow workers. (Blind Advocate 1899, 6-7)
It is clear Purse understood how blind people were disabled by both their impairment
and by social and environmental factors and, moreover, that a ‘blind role’ was
constructed by those who ‘cared’ for blind people:
Blind people are just what other people have made them. If there are two
lines of conduct and two lines of treatment for two sets of people, then two
distinct results must be expected. It does not require a University degree to
appreciate the undisputable truth of that simple logic. Yes? Blind people are
what they are because those who presumed to care for and look after them
have made them what they are. (Blind Advocate 1918b, 2)
This of course precedes the same arguments that were made by what now appears to
be a ‘second wave disability movement’ generated by residents of the Cheshire
Homes in the 1970s. Purse was an influential figure in the NLB, although he did not
fight alone in the struggle against organised charity.
The NLB could be considered a trade union of blind activists and their sighted allies
fighting for economic emancipation from their oppressive relationship with charities.
They clearly understood the political force of a union of blind workers as opposed to
the traditional charities for blind people (PKTBAC 1923, 1). The differentiation
between the two, rests on the point that organizations of blind people are run and
controlled by themselves, whereas traditional organisations for blind people were
predominantly run and controlled by non impaired people caring for in this case ‘the
blind’.
In their fight for economic emancipation public meetings were held by the NLB
throughout the country supported by prominent trades unions in order to highlight the
plight of blind workers. On Sunday 14th December 1920 in Plymouth, at a meeting
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attended by the local MP, delegates from the Dockers’ Union and the National Union
of Railwaymen (NUR), a call was made for the creation of national workshops for the
blind. The meeting was aware of the political impact on the wider community many
of whom may have sympathised with the calls for emancipation out of feelings of
pity, and consequently developed the slogan ‘Justice not Sympathy’ with a call from
the NUR delegate for action by TUC affiliated unions in support of blind workers by
‘threatening to paralyze the wheels of industry’ (Blind Advocate 1920, 1).
It is clear that a significant political movement developed in support of blind people.
However, although in their struggle for emancipation blind activists sought the
assistance of allies (Lawley 1920), they were proactive themselves when attempting
to induce social change. In the editorial of the May 1918 issue of Blind Advocate,
Purse calls for members of the NLB to stand as candidates in the forthcoming general
election in as many constituencies as possible to ensure that the legitimate voice of
blind people was heard in parliament (Blind Advocate 1918b).
Perhaps the event which had the highest political profile was the march to London by
250 blind workers (Birmingham Gazette 1920; Daily Herald 1920; Leicester Daily
Mercury 1920; Manchester Guardian 1920; NLB 1920, 7; The Times 1920) to try and
amend the framing of the Blind Persons Act 1920. The march culminated in Trafalgar
Square and was joined by an estimated 10,000 supporters on 24th April 1920 (The
Beacon 1920, 7). This was followed by a delegation from the NLB, headed by Purse,
who met David Lloyd George on 30th April at Downing Street. The delegation argued
for economic emancipation for blind workers (NLB 1920) and outlined to the Prime
Minister their objections to their oppressive relationship with some charities. The
men from Manchester had been joined by delegates from Leeds and South Wales in
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the culmination of a political campaign started in 1906 which wanted to break the link
between charities and employment for the blind. In addition the call from the NLB
was for the provision of technical education as preparation for industrial careers and
pensions from outside those provisions of the Poor Law which had applied to blind
people.
The tension between the NLB and some charities was observable as the Prime
Minister agreed to intervene to stop two charities, the York Institute for the Blind and
the Bristol Institute for the Blind, victimizing workers by refusing them permission to
join the march. The threatened workers did march, with promises of collective
support and industrial action if they were subsequently victimized. Purse informed the
Prime Minister that victimization was a common practice of many charities and a
source of tension between them and their workforce. The NLB had called for a
national system of workshops for blind workers, where, under piece work conditions,
wages would be augmented to provide a living wage (Blind Advocate 1918a).
Drawing on his knowledge as a member of the 1914 inter-departmental committee to
investigate the conditions of blind welfare that was intended to provide evidence for
the Blind Persons Act (1920), Purse explained the need for augmentation. Many
workers were employed on piece-work systems. The inter-departmental committee
had estimated that blind workers were, on average, somewhere between 33% and 50%
less efficient than other workers. Purse argued that if piece-work conditions were to
apply then government should augment wages to provide a living wage away from
charity. As the problem of victimization by many charities was evident, Purse called
for government to replace the system whereby blind people were forced to go ‘cap in
hand’ to charities to enable them to gain paid work. Here Purse directly relates
handicap (going ‘cap in hand’) to begging as an unacceptable means of gaining
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economic security. He also provides some insight into how disability was socially
constructed at this time.
When asking for government to augment the wages of blind piece workers, he
commented to the Prime Minister that if the recommendations made by the NLB were
adopted, then disability would be minimised, thereby allowing blind workers to live a
‘free and highly developed life’. Disability, then, was seen as a form of dependency,
an enslavement of sorts, by social structures that provided no means of independent
living because of the consequences of impairment.
Purse’s organic intellectual formulation of impairment allows a three stage model of
disability to be constructed:

Blindness was the impairment, a medical condition. Purse sought medical
intervention in children to prevent impairment occurring hence it could be
argued that he considered the prevention of impairment as beneficial. In other
words, being able to see was preferable to being blind.

Once blindness had occurred and was incurable the model he provided is
based on the attitudes of others and economic emancipation.

Disability becomes a matter of economic equality which can be reduced
through economic emancipation. The attitudes of charity workers who
socially constructed a ‘blind role’ (Blind Advocate 1918b) could also be
regarded as a disabling factor in maintaining dependency. Handicap is the
lack of work opportunities which provide a living wage which had
historically forced many blind people to beg for money or at least the means
to gain paid work (Mahew 1861)
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So, like their counterparts in UPIAS some 70 years later, the NLB was a movement of
disabled people fighting for emancipation. However, there is a significant difference
between the two movements. The NLB recognised the potential of medicine to
prevent impairment and their calls were for economic equality rather than the removal
of disabling barriers. Hence it can be argued that the NLB adopted a socio-medical
model of disability. Perhaps the difference between the purist social model approach
of UPIAS and that of the NLB can be explained in terms of a difference in
understanding of the causes of disability.
For a sighted wheelchair user, the built environment (such as the placing of kerbs and
stairs) can represent significant disabling barriers. However, for a blind person, the
natural world can present even greater disabling effects for which there are no
remedies. For example, without sighted assistants, how could the blind marchers
have found their way to London? What degree of barrier removal could have allowed
independent access to this event? The NLB answered these questions by arguing that
the disabling barriers were financial. If sufficient funds were available then helpers
and transport could be hired to overcome the majority of barriers. This factor
acknowledges one social element in the creation of disability but shows that many
disabling consequences of impairment are incapable of removal at source and have to
be compensated for. One could argue that the payment of helpers to guide the
marchers to London is, in essence, no different from buying a wheelchair.
In their campaign for economic emancipation from charities the NLB fought for the
control of workshops for the blind to be provided under state control. However,
although the Blind Persons Act (1920) did place the responsibility for providing
workshops in the hands of local authorities they were allowed to subcontract the
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running to local charities and many did so (HMSO 1951). Consequently the
relationship between many charities and their workers remained the same, as the same
management practices continued and the same staff remained in post.
In this section it has been demonstrated that neither the traditional understanding of
disability framed in legislation nor an organic intellectual understanding considered
disability as purely a medical problem. What also needs to be considered is how the
charities that had historically attempted to provide work for blind people and were
subsequently contracted to implement the Blind Persons Act (1920) understood the
meaning of disability. This will be addressed below by means of the following
questions:

What was the relationship between charities, disabled people and medicine?

What techniques were used to enable education and training to be
undertaken?

How were disabling barriers to employment removed?
Disabled people and charities
To widen the analysis, two different charities will be compared: Henshaw’s Society
for the Blind (a traditional charity for blind people) and Thermega, an organisation
created in the aftermath of the First World War, which attempted to engage injured
war survivors in paid work during the 1920s. As discussed above, the principal
mechanism agreed by both government and blind people to improve employment
opportunities was increased access to education and training. This analysis now turns
towards the practical consideration of how organisations charged with delivering
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these services made appropriate adjustments to allow blind people access to these
schemes.
Henshaw’s Blind Asylum opened in 1837 in Manchester whilst Thermega
commenced trading from a factory in Kent in 1927 to provide work for men who were
disabled as a result of the First World War. To provide historical comparisons, both
organisations will be examined through documentary data produced by each in 1927.
Information about Henshaw’s consists of company audited accounts and their annual
report for that year (Henshaw’s 1928). More current histories of the organisations
will also be drawn upon. Information about Thermega is based on an illustrated
brochure which advertised its mission and operations and documents produced by the
Ex-Services Welfare Society who promoted Thermega’s services (ESWS 1939;
Thermega 1927)
Henshaw’s Blind Asylum
The word ‘asylum’ in the organisation’s name represented, at the time, a traditional
intellectual understanding of the needs of blind people and refers to a place of safety,
which the Victorian philanthropist by whom the asylum was founded, considered the
most appropriate means of supporting blind people (Henshaw’s 1996). The society
has changed its name several times since its foundation, and today is named
Henshaw’s Society of Blind People’. Again, as discussed above, the ‘of’ in the
modern title reflects a move towards self-governance and control by blind
stakeholders.
The founder of the asylum, Thomas Henshaw, was an Oldham businessman and
philanthropist who died in 1810. He bequeathed £20,000 for the establishment of an
asylum for the blind in Manchester which opened in 1837 providing education for
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children, sheltered accommodation for elderly blind residents, training in industrial
techniques and employment both at home and in the organisation’s own workshops
for adult blind people. The charity grew as other benefactors provided land, buildings
and financial support (Henshaw’s 1996) with some investments purchased in
debenture stocks primarily in railway companies and government war bonds
(Henshaw’s 1928). The income from these investments was used to offset operational
and trading costs. Additional funding was later provided as the organisation acted as
an agent for the local authority to provide work for blind people under the Blind
Persons Act (1920).
Before examining how Henshaw’s implemented its mission, it should be noted that
Henshaw’s began educating children from the age of six in 1837 (Henshaw’s 1996),
more than 50 years before legislation made the education of blind and deaf children
compulsory under the Elementary Education (Blind and Deaf Children) Act (1893).
Henshaw’s could thus be said to be progressive in relation to the education of blind
children, laying the foundations for many to continue after schooling into training for
employment in a variety of industries, both in their own workshops and in open
industry.
Henshaw’s recognised that impairment itself did not cause disability, but rather that
lack of education and training opportunities were restricting peoples’ employment
opportunities. Henshaw’s defined a blind child as, ‘one who is unable to read the text
from an ordinary school book’ (Henshaw’s 1928). This is a definition unconnected
with any medical diagnosis but it acknowledges a concept of normal vision and the
barriers presented through the use of print and proof of group membership required
the child to demonstrate a prescribed severity of impairment. The organisation did not
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specifically attempt corrective measures (such as the use of magnifiers) but taught
children using alternative methods including Braille. The curriculum mirrored
traditional schooling methods with pupils accessing text through Braille books and
geography taught with the aid of embossed globes and maps (Henshaw’s 1928). So,
within the sphere of education, blindness was accepted and technologies were utilized
to improve learning potential. The children were also taught how to understand the
concepts of colour, landscapes, scenery, and so on to improve their ability to mix with
sighted peers.
So, it could be argued that in addition to conventional education, children were taught
a modicum of social etiquette designed to present an illusion of normality by denying
the consequences of their impairment. Hence Henshaw’s appears to have adopted
two contradictory positions. On the one hand, inside the organisation magnifiers were
rejected in favour of alternative access technologies which enabled the acceptance of
difference and hence encouraged an integration strategy. On the other hand, in
relation to wider society, the organisation sought to teach children how to minimize
difference, to facilitate social acceptance. Perhaps this apparently contradictory
stance could represent an inherent inconsistency in common sense but one might also
argue that although certain methods accommodated inherent ‘differences’ imposed by
impairment the organisation acknowledged that if blind people were to be accepted in
wider society then the minimising of this difference might also be a parallel pragmatic
response. In effect it could be argued, that instead of being alternative approaches,
integration becomes a mechanism which can reinforce a dominant assimilation
process (Paterson and Hughes 1999, 608).
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For those deemed too blind to gain employment in the external labour market, on
completing education at (on average) 16 years of age, the majority of these blind
pupils entered work-based training programmes within the organisation as Trainees
‘A’. Entry into training programmes was within a limited range of occupations with
the organisation determining the occupations suitable for blind people. These
designated jobs included: music and piano-tuning; Braille shorthand; typewriting and
boot making and repairing all of which could provide careers outside the organisation.
Other occupations including basket making; mat making; brush making; cane and
rush seating; handloom weaving; round and flat machine knitting, and mattress
making, were based inside the organisation’s workshops (Henshaw’ 1928). In
addition to Trainees ‘A’, Trainees ‘B’ were people who lost their sight in later life
after a period in work and were offered training to adjust to working without sight.
The majority of Trainees ‘B’ were found employment in the organisation’s own or
other blind workshops.
In total, during 1927, the organisation had 131 students in training and 167 people
were in employment in their own workshops. However, the workshops were not
immune to outside economic factors. Excess stock and lower than predicted sales led
to a number of workers being put on short time working until stocks decreased. The
workshops operated at a loss and workers’ wages were augmented from charitable
receipts and income from investments. Through improved efficiency and modern
manufacturing methods, the organisation had, year on year, reduced its manufacturing
losses through urging ever-increasing efficiency targets on workers whilst
simultaneously acting to increase income from charitable sources (Henshaw’s 1928).
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However, whilst company records indicate that increased efficiency was a primary
source of reducing costs, the organisation had, five years earlier, reduced expenditure
by cutting the augmentation of wages. To some extent, blind workers became victims
of their own success. As funding of workshops had been taken under state control
under the Blind Persons’ Act (1920) the trading accounts for the society had been
audited by government who instructed Henshaw’s to reduce operating losses by
reducing augmentation payments (Henshaw’s 1922). Again, in response to this,
disabled workers took industrial action and a strike ensued in support of demands that
Henshaw’s workers be paid in parity with manual workers employed by the local
authority (Gregory 1923).
Although some employees were employed on site for those incapable of travelling to
the workshop because they had mobility problems and a visual impairment or for
those who were incapable of factory work, home-working was provided. This work
typically centered on knitting and embroidery. The number of home workers had
increased to 27 from 21 in the previous year, with home workers assisted through an
augmentation of wages scheme. Other forms of assistance consisted of free delivery
of material at cost price; assistance to obtain orders; purchase of surplus goods;
correction of faulty work, and tuition in new designs and patterns (Henshaw’s 1928).
Operating at a loss, the home workers’ scheme was seen as necessary in providing
work for people with multiple forms of impairments.
However, operating losses cannot be directly attributed to efficiency deficits caused
through impairment. An analysis of the accounts indicates excessive raw material and
finished goods stocks. In that regard, losses could have been the product of poor
marketing and material controls, perhaps a consequence of the attitudes of
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management who had deemed which professions were suitable for blind people. The
operations could be skewed to products that the organisation wished to manufacture
rather than finding demand driven by consumer requirements. It could be argued that
inefficiency was the product of poor management skills and impaired workers were
used as an excuse to cover this.
Henshaw’s records provide strong evidence that people with severe impairments have
historically been capable of work. Within the organisation’s workshops, some
adjustments to practices and manufacturing methods were made. For example, jigs
and fixtures were utilized to accurately position components for machining or
assembly, and where there was a necessity to measure comparators were used which
eliminated the need for vision.
Although Henshaw’s entire production workforce was blind there were opportunities
for progression and a number of people who had previously been production workers
were employed as trainers. From the audited accounts it is not possible to determine if
trainers received more money than piece workers, although it is clear that differential
payments were made depending in which department the workers were employed.
Blind workers therefore held positions other than production and some years later
were also in managerial positions. In 1938 Ben Purse was elected to Henshaw’s
management board (Henshaw’s 1938, 120).
It is not being suggested that the relationship between the charity and its workers was
anything other than oppressive, however neither were the workers merely passive
recipients of charity. Rather they organised and were proactive in attempting to
change their relationship with the organisation from within. Henshaw’s provides
evidence in support of two propositions. Firstly, an active disability movement
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sought to change social conditions to improve the lives of disabled workers. Secondly,
both the organisation and the workers adopted a social model analysis when
attempting to remove disabling barriers. The organisation made no attempts to utilize
a medical model by changing the impaired body to fit existing jobs. Instead they
adopted working practices and created environments which enabled many blind
people to gain employment: in other words, a social model.
Henshaw’s history effectively demonstrates several methods through which severely
impaired people were engaged in work. Crucially, the organisation had a mission and
a desire to assist disabled people gain paid work. Most of the workers did not live in
the organisation’s accommodation but in their own homes and so it could be argued
that Henshaw’s to some extent facilitated the independent living of disabled people
and, by changing social environments and attitudes, provided the means for
independent living for many severely disabled people. This was of course the call
made by UPIAS several decades later (UPIAS 1976), when their members claimed to
have represented a new understanding and politicisation of disabled people (Barnes
1997; Campbell and Oliver 1996; Finkelstein 2001; Oliver and Zarb 1989;
Richardson 1997; Swain et al 1993). The evidence collected from Henshaw’s records
suggests that political activism by disabled people seeking emancipation was
occurring from early in the 1900s and that socially constructed barriers were
understood, even then, to cause disability, and actions were taken to remove such
barriers.
In addition to providing employment opportunities, Henshaw’s adapted premises and
methods of production to create a non-disabling working environment. At the same
time sales and marketing traded on the fact that the organisation employed blind
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people arguably utilising pity to assist sales and charitable donations. By comparison,
when Thermega was formed in 1927, it specifically rejected charity and the concept
of pity on which Henshaw’s largely traded. Henshaw’s primarily assisted severely
impaired people whilst Thermega arose as a consequence of the First World War and
an estimated doubling of the disabled population (Tomlinson 1943). These ‘new’
disabled had, in most cases, worked before becoming impaired and Thermega, whilst
attempting the same outcome in relation to employment as Henshaw’s, embarked on a
radically different industrial strategy.
Thermega Ltd.: an 'industrial experiment'
The philosophy and ethos of Thermega are identified in the following extract from
company documents:
Many attempts have been made to solve the problem of rendering large
numbers of substandard [sic men and women, who through war injuries or
other causes have fallen out of the ranks of normal industry. It could not be
said that in England, any one of these efforts has proved economically
successful, or possessed any inherent prospects. The primary cause of these
failures can be traced to the circumstances under which the purely industrial
aspects of the problem, were invariably rendered subordinate to the
philanthropic and sentimental considerations which, in the nature of the case,
invariably proceed and usually govern endeavours of this kind. (Thermega
1927, 2)
Thermega publicly rejected charity and pity arguing that both acted against the
employment of disabled workers. However, the initial capital (£20,000), necessary to
purchase fixed assets and operating materials was donated through a charity, the ExServices Welfare Society (ESWS). Additionally, these benefactors decreed that no
directors should receive payment and as the sole shareholder ESWS would not receive
any dividends derived from company profit (ESWS, 1939). Here resides a paradox.
Charity was rejected on the grounds that pity ultimately did not aid the employment
potential of disabled people yet it was an acceptance of charitable donations that gave
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Thermega a financial competitive advantage over other companies who may have had
to raise finance in money markets. In this regard, the company can be seen to hold
two formal contradictory positions. It both rejected and accepted charity an attitude
which can be seen as a common sense approach. These contradictory positions can be
explained if organisational politics are separated from organisational practice.
Charity provided a means to commence trading and to reject charity might have
meant that the organisation was unable to exist. However, the rejection of pity and
the idea of charity became an organisational policy with publicity and marketing
literature never mentioning that the workforce consisted of disabled war survivors
(ESWS, 1939). Superficially, Thermega would appear to support the concept that a
homogeneous mass of disabled people can gain employment without overtly calling
on charity for additional support. But how did Thermega employ people with a
variety of impairments?
Funded by the Ex-Services Welfare Society, the disabled workers were, in the first
instance, inmates of a post war ‘curative centre’ or hospital, where medical and
rehabilitation efforts were aimed at correcting war injuries. Located in Beckingham,
Thermega was situated in the grounds of the hospital, and potential employees were
selected after medical opinion had deemed them fit to enter the workforce. In other
words, the capable were found paid employment whilst those medically determined as
‘inefficient’ were consigned to institutional care. This is in stark contrast to
Henshaws’, where severely impaired workers were enabled to gain paid employment
via home-working.
In order to operate without further charitable donations Thermega needed to
demonstrate that it was an efficient organization, and this meant that it could not carry
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the financial burden of excessively inefficient bodies. This necessitated selecting
employees with less severe impairments in order to meet the efficiency demands of a
competitive organisation. However as will be discussed below this was not without its
problems. In Thermega then, impairment and disability were seen to be
interdependent.
Thermega made several strategic decisions - medical, environmental and economic which combined to produce an efficient organisation. In addition to the medical care
workers received, their accommodation was located within the grounds of the
hospital. Effectively this meant that some limitations in mobility (such as the ability
to walk long distances to work) were removed. The work itself consisted primarily of
assembly tasks. Components were delivered to individuals which removed disabling
barriers of the ability to lift and carry. This practice was also adopted by Ford in the
US who employed many disabled people in times of labour shortage (Chandley
1943).
Perhaps the most significant strategic decision made by the organisation was to
protect the market in which they traded. This was achieved through purchasing a
patent on an electrical blanket, for which there was a high demand from hospitals and
the military (ESWS 1939). The organization, therefore, had a monopoly position,
ensuring it remained free from competitive pressures on the price it charged for its
products. The following extract from the Thermega brochure demonstrates the
organisation’s rationality in selecting a monopoly as critical for the employment of
less efficient workers. Thermega was described as:
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A manufacturer of articles that were patented or registered designs or any
specialised production in which the margin of profit was correspondingly
enhanced to counteract the reduced capacity of the disabled worker.
(ESWS, 1939)
So, a protected monopoly market was chosen where premiums could be placed on
goods allowing the organisation to make a profit thus countering the effects of
employing less efficient disabled workers. Whilst Thermega selected workers who
were not severely impaired they also accepted that the employment of disabled people
could only be achieved with additional financial assistance. In other words, even the
least impaired people were seen to be less efficient than non-impaired people. If this
was the case it raises the question of whether employment within a subsidised
environment offers any benefits other than providing sheltered and subsidised work.
It is possible to argue that Thermega provided a stable adapted environment where
some disabled ex-service women and men could adjust to work after war injury.
Indeed, it could also be argued that the workers gained confidence and self esteem
which enabled many to progress into open employment. In ten years of operation,
with an average staff of 40, 194 disabled people progressed from Thermega into open
employment (ESWS 1939).
However, a caveat is necessary regarding the definition of what constituted a disabled
person, particularly in relation to severity of impairment. There is a confusion about
this issue within discourses of disability. Although the generic term ‘disabled people’
is applied to all severities of impairment only those whose impairments were
medically determined as not excessively restrictive in relation to work were chosen
for training. So, although Thermega utilised the generic term ‘disabled’, in reality the
organisation was actually referring to people with specific severities of impairment.
As discussed in the following chapter, this practice represents a continuity in
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traditional intellectual understandings, as it is also applied in legislation today where
employment protection under the 1996 Disability Discrimination Act is dependent
upon the severity of individual impairments (Doyle 1996; Gooding 1996).
Using the generic term ‘disabled’ can produce a misleading impression regarding the
success of progression of workers from the organisation into open industry. To argue
that a high proportion of Thermega staff progressed into open employment is to
ignore the mass of severely impaired people who were deemed unsuitable and
consigned to institutional care in the hospital. A hierarchy was created where those
with slight or minor impairments could progress through assimilation more easily into
the workforce than the institutionalised inefficient mass. This is observable today,
where the consequences of utilising disabled as a generic term masks a reality where
levels of unemployment vary between impairment specific groups. For example,
people with mental health conditions or visual impairments are more likely to be out
of work than people with diabetes (Hibbert 2000).
The two organisations that have been compared operated workshops up to the
outbreak of the Second World War. Under government instruction, Thermega then
had to end its monopolistic position and commence producing alternative goods
(ESWS 1939). It was ordered to expand and employ more disabled people perhaps
providing the impetus for the sheltered workshop provision after the cessation of the
war and incorporated in law under the Disabled Persons Employment Act (1944).
In recent years some have regarded the sheltered workshop sector created by the post
Second World War act as representing 50 years of failure with reference to the
employment of disabled people (Hyde 1996). However, it should be recognised that
the call for state controlled workshops first came from disabled people themselves and
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was regarded as a progressive move by which some disabled people could achieve
economic emancipation (PKTBAC 1923). Social model proponents today might
argue that the call for workshops by disabled people was an effect of ‘false
consciousness’, an acceptance of the inevitability that they would have fewer
employment opportunities and that such an acceptance was due to a process of
historical oppression which reaffirmed that their secondary status was due to an
impairment. However, it can be seen that the dominant understanding of disability
was based on a socio-medical model of disability which had become common sense
(widely accepted by a wide range of people) and that underpinned the provision of
workshops for the employment of disabled people. Workshops provided training,
experience and confidence for many and, as illustrated, allowed progression into open
or self employment through the provision of home-working for those unable to travel
to work.
Henshaw’s workshops were bombed during the early years of the Second World War
and subsequently closed (Henshaw’s 1996) and many blind workers (as well as
workers with other forms of impairment) found employment in heavy industry in the
Trafford Park industrial area of Manchester. The Second World War brought equal
opportunities at work for many disabled people for the first time (Humphreys and
Gordon 1992) as a result of labour shortages caused by conscription.
Summary
It is difficult to argue from the evidence presented in this chapter that the social model
is new and that historically disabled people have been passive victims of medical
oppression. It has been demonstrated that they were influential in promoting social
change which included schooling for blind children and that they were active in
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pursuing political influence to gain economic emancipation which could allow
independent living. The activists in the NLB were assigned the role of organic
intellectuals who generated a good sense challenge to traditional intellectual common
sense which assigned blind workers to an oppressive relationship with charities. The
NLB gained support from other groups for their cause and ultimately their good sense
became more widely accepted as common sense and translated into legislation.
However, this common sense view maintained a traditional intellectual understanding
which acknowledged that two components were in operation in the discourse of
disability that is social and medical factors. Impairment was widely used to determine
group membership and for those where impairment did restrict the ability to work, in
many cases structural barriers were removed to facilitate their inclusion. One concept
to emerge from Thermega’s use of the generic term 'disability' was that although the
organisation claimed to improve the employment potential for 'disabled' people, in
fact the term concealed the reality that many severely impaired people were excluded
and (from an organisational perspective) consigned to silence.
If both Henshaw's and Thermega are considered against present day organisational
rationalities (Euske and Euske 1991) then some elements of their contradictory
common sense understandings can be discerned. Both applied a political rationality
in attempting to reassure funders that their mission was being delivered. Both
attempted to apply technical rationalities to quantifiably demonstrate the most
efficient use of resources. However, Henshaw's could overtly acknowledge through
augmentation of wages that inefficiency was attributable to impairment which
reinforced the traditional intellectual understanding of the role of charities: that blind
people were dependent on them for financial support. This was the common sense
view which was critiqued to produce the good sense challenge from the NLB. On the
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other hand, Thermega covertly required an economic subsidy and a protected
monopoly position to offset any inefficiency in impaired workers. Good sense argued
that charity was the cause of oppression. However, as ideology became translated into
practice, common sense displayed contradictory actions which saw Thermega
adopting the political rationality of publicly rejecting whilst privately benefiting from
charity.
The following chapter completes the historical review, considering how traditional
intellectual understandings have been expressed in legislation from the Second World
War era to the present day.
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Chapter 5
An Historical Reflection on Disability (II)
The previous chapter showed how organic intellectuals challenged dominant
traditional intellectual formulations of disability by creating in the first instance a
good sense call for the economic emancipation of blind workers from their oppressive
relationship with charities. These organic intellectuals considered that the principal
cause of disability was economically based and succeeded in having their ideology
accepted as common sense which then became hegemonic. This intellectual shift was
demonstrated by the Blind Persons Act of 1920. However, the call for medical
intervention to prevent blindness in children was made by a senior NLB member. So,
although organic intellectuals challenged oppressive economic and social
relationships they accepted medical interventions to alleviate the consequences of
impairment wherever possible.
Therefore traditional intellectual formulations of
disability cannot be reduced to polar opposite models as both the social and medical
models operated in parallel.
This chapter traces the ways in which traditional intellectual formulations of disability
were expressed from the post-Second World War period to the introduction of the
1995 Disability Discrimination Act (DDA). The relevant legislation is reviewed in
order to determine how such traditional formulations informed policy.
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Disability post- Second World War
Many soldiers acquired impairments as a result of the Second World War. On their
return home, many organisations raised the issue of how these newly impaired people
could go back to work (Anderson 1941; Dickson 1950; Fraser 1940a; 1940b; HMSO
1951; MacDougall 1944; Realist Film Unit 1941). The response from government
was to instruct a committee, made up of members from the Ministry of Labour
(MOL), the Trades Union Congress (TUC) and employers under the chairmanship of
M.P. George Tomlinson to report on how disabled people could return to employment
after the war. The resulting report (Tomlinson 1943) heavily influenced the Disabled
Persons Employment Act (1944) (DPEA). The Act defined disability as:
an injury or condition which causes substantial handicap to getting or
keeping employment or work on its own account, of a kind suited to a
person’s age, experience and qualifications. (MOL 1946d, 3)
Here an impairment (injury or condition) is clearly identified as the cause of handicap
a definition that reinforces a medical model of disability. However, the remedies used
to engage disabled people in work were for many achieved by removing social
barriers and changing disabling attitudes (Fraser 1940a, 1940b). The implementation
of the Act will be discussed later. What follows is a discussion of the implications
which followed the use of the generic term ‘disabled’ as a group identifier.
In determining who ‘the disabled’ were the 1944 Act began a taxonomic process
aimed at the quantification of impairments. The Act included an assessment process
that coupled a voluntary disability registration scheme (MOL 1946d) with an
evaluation of exactly which impairments and with what degree of severity could
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legitimately be assisted under the terms of the Act. The assessment process enlisted
the assistance of the medical profession:
Take for example a man who says he has cardiac trouble. Clearly we must
have medical evidence and it is not unreasonable to call upon an applicant to
produce […] some confirmation of his claim. In order to help him and his
doctor, we give him a form of a very simple nature for his doctor to complete.
If this is sufficient to determine the case, no further evidence is called for.
(MOL 1946c)
In order to determine whether an individual was handicapped, the medical profession
was given the two-fold administrative task of assessing how substantial an injury or
condition was as well as considering demographic factors such as age, educational
background and previous employment. So although pivotal in the assessment process,
the impaired body was not the only site for assessing disadvantage. If the body were
considered as the sole site of handicap then removing or reducing handicap would
focus on repairing the impaired body. However, the remedies adopted to solve the
problem of handicap were based on both medical (rehabilitation and treatment
centres) and the social and environmental removal of barriers (Tomlinson 1943).
For many injured soldiers, the first stage in regaining employment was medical
treatment and rehabilitation such as the fitting of prosthetic limbs hailed by many,
including disabled people, as a welcomed medical intervention (MacDougall 1944;
MOL 1946a). In addition to this medical approach, several structural changes were
made to aid disabled people gain employment including: opening a new department of
the employment service staffed by Disability Resettlement Officers (DRO) whose
task was to assist disabled people gain employment or benefits (MOL 1946b);
placing an obligation on employers of over 20 staff to recruit 2% of their workforce
from disabled people (MOL 1946b); the introduction of sheltered workshops for those
with more severe impairments who, it was argued, would find employment difficult
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in a non-supportive and adapted environment (TUC 1941; 1943b), and the provision
of training and education to enable entry into executive and professional occupations
for suitable candidates (Tomlinson 1943, 9).
To fall under the remit of the Act it was necessary for impaired people to register as
disabled with the MOL. Registration, a voluntary process, was considered necessary
to monitor the quota scheme, although failure by employers to meet the quota did not
necessarily constitute an offence (MOL 1946b, 2). Transposed into current equal
opportunities theory, this would be regarded as a radical approach (Jewson and Mason
1986) which failed. The voluntary registration scheme came under attack from both
people with impairments and employers. Figures for the numbers of voluntary
registrations were low because many impaired people wished to avoid the social
stigma of the label ‘disabled’ (TUC 1945). Employers however, attempted to have
registration made compulsory because if non-registered people were employed then
they may have exceeded their quota obligation without knowing it (TUC 1945). The
numbers of disabled people in employment could never be accurately assessed.
What emerges is a conflict between a need to quantify the effectiveness of legislation
and the reluctance of people with impairments to be labelled in a category some
perceived as negative. For employers, the solution was to advocate a compulsory
registration scheme. In the absence of this some employers actively encouraged
existing employees with minor or slight impairments (such as mild asthma or varicose
veins) to register as disabled through the work’s doctors (Ball 1945a; Gardner 1946).
Here it can be argued that a medical model (an assumption that any degree of
impairment can directly translate into disability) is evident. Registration was not
made compulsory (TUC 1945) hence it becomes difficult to argue that either a
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medical or social model dominated traditional understanding, rather it would appear
that a socio-medical model is apparent.
The problem of registration was not the only factor to challenge the effectiveness of
the Act. Whilst there had been a tripartite consensus between the Government, the
Employers Federation and the TUC for the war period (Tomlinson 1943) this proved
more problematic once the men returned and tensions surfaced between these actors.
A ‘solution’ to these tensions came in the form of some major industries (including
engineering, furniture manufacturing and printing) who sought and achieved
exemption from the quota scheme. Exemption from the quota effectively meant that
the industry subverted the spirit of the DPEA leaving the real choice of whom to
employ firmly in the hands of the employer. Where a quota was accepted, employers
attempted to have disabled workers consigned to 'scheduled' occupations
predominantly in low skilled jobs. This was despite employers agreeing to accept
disabled workers who had gained skilled accreditation on returning from the war
(MOL 1946a; Tomlinson 1943:9). Scheduling was promoted because employers felt
the fulfillment of the quota could be more easily met if it only applied to low skilled
occupations (TUC 1943a: clause 3). The MOL did not accept the scheduling
argument (MOL 1946a), so the employers’ suggestions were not adopted and
ultimately the scheme failed and the employment of disabled people in open industry
after the war never met the quota (HMSO 1951).
In addition to resistance from employers, the TUC also affected the employment of
some disabled people by effectively scheduling certain occupations as the preserve of
men. During the war the MOL had insisted that certain occupations be opened up to
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disabled women, in particular cutting jobs in the clothing industry. The TUC argued
against any change to existing working practices stating:
The clothing industry would not allow the training of women for jobs in the
industry recognised as being men's jobs. (TUC 1941, 2)
The TUC adopted this stance despite an assurance from the MOL that after the war
under the restoration of pre-war practices these jobs would be returned to men (TUC
1941). The TUC thus resisted increased opportunities for disabled women arguing:
It seemed to us much more reasonable to include training as nurses for women
than it was to include the clothing industry. (TUC 1941, 2)
Clearly not all disabled people suffered the same degree of discrimination as disabled
women who were doubly disadvantaged by both their gender and disabling attitudes.
Although some employers sought to discriminate against most disabled people,
regardless of gender, by restricting employment opportunities the TUC also added to
the discrimination against disabled women. Given this situation, any claim that
disabled people were seen as one homogeneous group facing the same disabling
barriers seems flawed.
In attempting to placate the TUC, the MOL argued that after the war, pre-war
practices would enable a return to the old status quo. This raises the question of
exactly what happened to those disabled people employed during the war, once the
war had ended. One example appears in correspondence between the TUC and a
member organization, The Rawtenstall Trades Borough Council (RTBC) wrote to the
TUC seeking advice on this very problem:
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My council has been discussing the reinstatement of disabled exservicemen and a point has arisen on which they would like your opinion
and advice. Men of the above class are being reinstated but are not able to
do the work they did prior to joining the forces. This means they are having
to be found light work, which has usually been reserved for men who
through age or sickness are no longer able to carry on with their work.
Some of these by the way are ex-servicemen from the first war. We want to
do right by the lads who are returning disabled, yet at the same time, those
who have given long service in industry etc, must be considered. (Driver,
1945)
The tensions faced by both the employers and the TUC can be viewed as the
difference between good sense and common sense. The agreement that returning
injured soldiers should be assisted in regaining employment was good sense.
However, once this ideological stance turned into practical application, common sense
unveiled internal inconsistencies. For employers to demonstrate that they were
achieving a quota, common sense demanded that a means of ascertaining how many
disabled people they ought to employ was thwarted by the position of many injured
soldiers who did not want to be registered as disabled. Additionally, in times of
labour surplus employers sought the most efficient workers, a practice that conflicted
with the imperative to employ disabled people.
For the TUC similar contradictory positions applied. If their role was to promote the
interests of their members then good sense would support a return to the pre-war
status quo and if returning injured members required employment but were unable to
continue their previous occupation, then lighter duties should be sought. However,
RTBC added a further contradiction by suggesting these lighter duties were already
filled by members injured in previous conflicts. Hence it would be unfair on those
members if they were to be replaced by recently injured people. The TUC did not
resolve this contradiction, it simply directed the council to go to the Labour Exchange
and obtain details of the DPEA (TUC 1945b). Open employment for disabled people
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never achieved the levels specified in the quota (HMSO 1951). However, one other
employment strategy did provide additional employment opportunities in sheltered
workshops (HMSO 1973).
Within the DPEA, workshops were to be operated by an independent limited
company, Remploy, and controlled through the employment service (Hyde 1996:
684). Remploy was intended to be a manufacturer of goods for the war effort or
public services. Employees were recruited for their experience and character rather
than a medical consideration of their impairment (Tomlinson 1943). This suggests a
social rather than medical approach. The aim of these workshops was to generate selfconfidence in an efficient production system, which would allow movement of staff
into open employment, thus releasing jobs for other disabled people in the sheltered
workshops. The following section will review the provision.
Sheltered and subsidised workshops
The sheltered workshop sector was divided into two parts. In addition to the industrybased models mentioned above, a second group operated principally to provide
therapeutic work under medical control to meet statutory requirements (HMSO 1973).
For example, the National Health Service Act (1946) included powers for local
authorities to provide suitable work as part of an aftercare service (Section 28) and
Section 29 of the National Assistance Act (1948) entailed the provision of
workshops and hostels by local authorities to cover the welfare of all ‘persons
substantially and permanently disadvantaged by impairment’.
Under State control two models operated. One adopted a social approach by
supporting and preparing impaired employees to join the open labour market, and
included Remploy who primarily provided training opportunities. If this approach is
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analysed in terms of today’s organisational rationalities the intention of establishing
Remploy can be considered principally as a technical rational organisation attempting
the socially desirable goal of engaging as many disabled people as possible into
efficient work in open industry (Euske and Euske 1991). Some traditional charities,
trading primarily on pity and manufacturing a limited range of goods with augmented
wages to counter the inefficiencies of disabled workers (HMSO 1973; Ibbotson 1998)
also fell within this category. A second approach was based on a medical model and
was largely therapeutic. The latter workshops provided a social outlet for some
people for whom work in the open labour market was beyond their capabilities. For
example, for some severely learning impaired people therapeutic work could provide
a means of social interaction without the demands of efficient production. Again in
terms of present day organisations, this approach mirrors an institutional rationality
(Euske and Euske 1991) where the socially desirable goal of engaging this group of
impaired people is achieved without demonstrating organisational efficiency in terms
of quantifiable work outputs. Following a review of sheltered and subsidized
workshops some years later (Piercy 1956) it was recommended that the three
providers should be retained but should fall under a single department of employment.
It would appear that the demands of the NLB for state control of the workshop sector
some 57 years earlier (NLB 1899) had finally gained full acceptance.
Piercy’s recommendations became law under the Disabled Persons Employment Act
(1958). The effect of the Act was to divide sheltered workshop provision into two
categories. The first provided employment on efficient production methods intended
to provide a livelihood, the second provided therapeutic work. The therapeutic
workshops operated independently of industry. The industrial workshops were
intended to progress as many disabled workers into open employment as possible
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(Piercy 1956). Workshop provision increased further as a result of the Mental Health
Act (1959) with the Minister of Health instructing local authorities to include
‘mentally handicapped’ people within their welfare provision, thereby reversing the
existing policy of institutionalisation of mentally impaired people (HMSO 1973).
This again exposes a problem in defining disabled people as one homogeneous group.
Although UPIAS fought against institutionalisation (UPIAS 1976), their call applied
only to physically impaired people who were resident in homes. For others in mental
hospitals, the process of closing such institutions had already commenced under
legislation with the social provision of housing and employment in place. Although
this institutional policy could be regarded as simply a change from large to small
institutions, nevertheless this change can be regarded as increasing the potential for
independent living as impaired people achieved closer contact with local
communities.
Under their legislative obligations, many local authorities increased their sheltered
workshop provision over the following years to match increased demand and in 1962
local authorities and voluntary organisations were advised of the Department of
Employment's willingness to collaborate in providing additional sheltered workshops
under a grant scheme. The result was increased collaboration, regulated through
combined accounting and management structures and the integration of different
impairments in the one workshop (HMSO 1973; Ibbotson 1998). This structure has
remained in place up to the present day, although the overall provision of the
workshop sector is set to change with the introduction of the Work Step programme.
The principal purpose of the change appears to mirror the original intention of
Remploy, to improve the progression rate of disabled people from sheltered
workshops into open unsubsidized employment (Disability Now 2001; Hermeston
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2001; Hodge 1999). How successful this initiative turns out to be will only be
determined after several years of operation. In the meantime, a new piece of
legislation was introduced to assist disabled people to find employment in the open
market in the form of the Disability Discrimination Act (1995).
The Disability Discrimination Act (1995) (DDA)
Between 1982 and 1995 there were 13 attempts to introduce anti-discrimination
legislation on behalf of disabled people (Barnes 1991; Barnes and Oliver 1995). The
DDA had its origins within one of these failed earlier attempts. The Civil Rights
(Disabled Persons) Bill, had been abandoned by Government in July 1994. In a
parliamentary debate Nicholas Scott, Minister for the Disabled, argued that the
proposed Bill failed to take account of the interests of business and that the costs
associated with implementation would be too high. As an alternative, a long-term
policy of challenging discrimination was proposed. The key elements to tackle the
problem of disability discrimination were identified to be education, persuasion and
increasing awareness (Barnes and Oliver 1995, 113). The proposals were sent out for
consultation to groups who would be affected by any disability discrimination law and
their responses informed the framing of what became the Disability Discrimination
Act (1995). The DDA provides some protection from direct discrimination in
employment, the provision of goods and services, and in the selling or letting of land
(Doyle 1996a; Gooding 1996). For the purpose of this thesis, the relationship
between the DDA and its employment provisions will be considered.
The DDA followed the Sex Discrimination Act (1975) (SDA) and the Race
Discrimination Act (1976) (RDA). All three Acts have the same intention: to prevent
discrimination on the grounds of race, sex or disability with all three adopting a
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categorical approach to determine who was to be covered by the legislation. Hence, it
would seem reasonable to expect the structures of all three Acts to be similar.
However, when the DDA is compared to the SDA and RDA, it becomes apparent that
this is not the case (Cooper and Vernon 1996; Doyle 1996a). The DDA is
fundamentally different in the manner in which it differentiates between individuals
through a myriad of caveats, special circumstances and justifications to arrive at a
very specific group of people who can claim protection under the act.
One significant reason for the difference between the SDA, RDA and DDA, is the
inherent difficulty in defining the disabled as a group (Woodhams 2000). The
differences between sexes and ethnic minorities can, to a significant extent, be readily
distinguished (Bourne and Whitmore 1996) whereas disability as a clear cut
homogeneous concept is far more difficult to determine. For example, does a visual
impairment which requires correction by the use of spectacles constitute disability?
From both a medical and social model analysis it can. Medically, the impairment
causes a loss or lack of eye function, ergo it is a disability. From a social model point
of view, if the person faces discrimination because of a need to wear spectacles the
experience of disability would lie in the insistence that only people with ‘normal’
vision were accepted. Thus the DDA had the additional difficulty of determining how
to define a disabled person, irrespective of the cause of their disability.
Part 1 of the three-part DDA is dedicated to defining disability (Cooper & Vernon
1996; Doyle 1996a). A disabled person is defined within the DDA as:
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someone with a physical or mental impairment, which has a substantial and
long-term detrimental effect on their ability in carrying out normal day-to-day
activities. (DDA 1995, 1-2)
A direct link is made between impairment and disability, reinforcing a medical model
by making the impaired body the cause of disability. So, once again a three-element
model can be constructed that situates disability within the impaired body. In order to
analyse the model, each element will be considered individually and what is implied
within the DDA by the terms ‘impairment, ‘substantial and long term’ and ‘day-today activities’ will be deconstructed.
Impairment
The DDA avoids the problem of specifying impairment by not offering a definition.
The assumption offered by some academics is that when necessary the courts will
revert to existing medical taxonomies (Doyle 1996a). In retaining consistency,
physical impairments are not defined, although it is implied that most commonly
understood impairments (limb impairments, cerebral palsy, epilepsy amongst others)
will be accepted (Doyle 1996a). Sensory impairments also fall into the physical
impairment category. Mental impairment similarly is not defined, although it is
speculated that learning difficulties, together with psychiatric and psychological
impairments, will fall within its remit (Doyle 1996a; Gooding 1996).
However, until case law evolves, addictions and anti-social disorders (DDA
Regulations, 1996) will probably fall outside the parameters of the Act. It is believed
that amongst these conditions will be solvent, alcohol or drug addictions,
homosexuality, bisexuality, exhibitionism, voyeurism, gender identity disorders,
kleptomania, compulsive gambling and pyromania (Doyle 1996a). Mental
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impairment is considered in relation to definitive clinical recognition the purpose of
the Act being not to cover ‘moods or mild eccentricities’ (Doyle 1996a, 19).
Medical definitions will therefore exert considerable influence in ultimately defining
who constitutes a disabled person, particularly in cases where medical opinion is
divided as, for example, in cases of chronic fatigue syndrome, pre-menstrual tension
or obesity where the existence of the condition is medically unproven (Doyle 1996a).
Having determined the relevant impaired population, the next hurdle is to quantify the
severity of the impairment and estimate how long is it likely to last.
Substantial and Long-Term Effect
These terms attribute quantitative values to the effects of impairment. ‘Substantial’ is
measured against activity completion, whilst ‘long-term’ is measured in relation to
whether the impairment is likely to last 12 months or longer. It is the aim of the Act to
refer to expert medical opinion to distinguish between disability and short-term
illness.
However there are anomalies within the Act which specify a number of conditions
that do not have a measurable attributable impairment. For example, severe facial
disfigurement is covered under the Act because of the attitudes of others (Partridge,
1996). This acceptance of disability in terms of attitudinal barriers is, however,
restricted to named conditions. There is no concession to discrimination that could be
founded on the fears or attitudes of others. If for example, a person were diagnosed to
be HIV positive, this would not fall under the Act, as the effects on the individual of
the attitudes of others have no measurable, medically determined outcomes. AIDS is
included, although other progressive conditions are not included until symptoms
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manifest themselves (Rights Now 1995). Under amendment, cancer is to be a
‘prescribed’ condition (GMCDP 2001).
If an impairment is covered by the Act and it is of sufficient severity and of a long
term nature, the Act then additionally requires that these factors have an influence on
‘normal’ day-to-day activities.
Normal Day-to-Day Activities
For an impairment to affect the ability of an individual to carry out normal day-to-day
activities it has to affect one or more of the following:
mobility, manual dexterity, physical co-ordination, continence, ability to lift,
hearing or eyesight; memory, ability to concentrate, or perceive the risk of
danger. (Schedule 1 Para 4.1)
In this component, disability is firmly rooted in the lack of function of the long-term
severely impaired body. There is no acceptance of the myriad of external
considerations that can contribute to creating disability (Gooding 1996).
These three dimensions are assumed to be representative of a common view of what
constitutes a disabled person (Hague cited in Doyle 1995a, 75) and as such ‘disability’
is located in the impaired body. The DDA therefore appears to reinforce a medical
model of disability. However, the Act does include some social components such as
the obligation on employers to make ‘reasonable adjustments’ (Hodge 2001). So,
although the DDA uses medical assessments to determine who is disabled, some
social elements were recognised as necessary to remove disabling barriers.
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The DDA and the environment
The DDA has attracted criticism from both academics and organizations run by or for
disabled people (Barnes 1999; Drake 2000; James 2000). Some argue that the Act is
in practice ineffective due to the legal complexities and costs associated with the
pursuit of small claims through the County Courts (James 2000). Others criticise the
structure of the Act and relative exclusion of social factors in the determination of
disability:
the DDA is much weaker than the law forbidding discrimination against
women and people from ethnic groups; it is full of loopholes and
justifications and leaves out key areas of social life. (SCOPE 1995, 4)
With specific reference to employment issues, the DDA contains no remedies against
indirect discrimination (Bourne & Whitmore 1996). It could be suggested that this is
due to the potential costs and implications of indirect or secondary discrimination.
For example, a requirement to hold a driving license could be challenged on the
grounds it discriminates against people who, because of their impairment, could not
drive. In other words, an acknowledgement that some impairments preclude the
disabled person from some occupations (for example, blind people as vehicle drivers).
However, the Act does contain one unique feature, namely, that organisations can
positively discriminate in favour of disabled people in employment recruitment
policies (Bourne & Whitmore 1996).
Additional criticism has been directed principally against two aspects of the DDA.
Firstly, any impaired person seeking to bring a case for unfair dismissal under the
DDA has, in the first instance, to prove to an employment tribunal that their
impairment is severe enough to fall under the remit of the Act (Barnes 1999; Gooding
1996). This effectively allows justifiable discrimination against some impaired
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people, a unique aspect in anti-discrimination legislation (Doyle, 1996c). Secondly,
the Act places an obligation on employers to ‘make reasonable adjustments’ to
facilitate the employment of disabled people. The problem here is that ‘reasonable’ is
not defined although it would appear to be interpreted primarily in regard to physical
access and the cost of the adjustment:
By 2004 all businesses will need to make reasonable adjustments if the
physical features of their premises make access to their services
unreasonably difficult for disabled people. (Hodge 2001)
The phrase ‘unreasonably difficult’ is not further defined which would imply once
again that it will be left to case law after 2004 to provide specific interpretation.
However, despite the vagaries of language, as with the earlier quota scheme in the
DPEA (1944) organisations can seek exemption if they can show compliance would
damage their business (Gooding 1996). So the questions of how effective the DDA
will be and how many disabled people can gain protection against discrimination will
only be resolved in time, as the full provisions of the Act come into force and are then
tested in the courts. One question that could be asked here is whether or not the DDA
reflects traditional intellectual formulations of disability and (if it does) exactly which
ones it adheres to.
The three elements of definition in the DDA discussed above which have
consequential effects on functional limitations, adopt a medical formulation although
when this is coupled to the requirement on employers to make reasonable adjustments
in the working environment and the acceptance that, in specific cases, the attitudes of
others can disable, it does acknowledges to a limited extent the social construction of
disabling barriers. Together these factors can be seen to comprise a socio-medical
model of disability.
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Summary
The legislation reviewed identifies traditional intellectual formulations of disability.
In defining the target population, impairment is used as an identifier which could be
said to represent a medical model of disability. However, if impairment were not to
be used, the problem would then become how to determine to whom the legislation
was intended to apply. Indeed, the definition of disability in the social model uses
impairment as a group identifier, defining disability as disabling attitudes and
environmental barriers which disable impaired people (Finkelstein & French 1993).
The problem for the social model here is that by not engaging in any analysis of
impairment the model adopts a position which is not politically astute, leaving all
definitions and implications of impairment firmly in the hands of the medical
profession (Hughes & Paterson 1997). In the case of the DDA impairment is used as a
universal concept to define group membership with legislative remedies to overcome
disability predominantly relying on changing social attitudes and altering disabling
barriers. Whether the DDA is a piece of effective legislation is questionable, because
it applies less structural remedies to remove disabling barriers than the 1944 DPEA
which itself largely failed (Hyde 1996), however, what it does represent is traditional
intellectual understandings of the causes and remedies of disability.
A comparison with the DPEA (1944) highlights this point. The Act required
registration of the disabled which in turn involved a medical assessment of
impairment. Once group membership had been ascertained, the Act sought to change
social structures and the attitudes of both employers and the TUC to enable the greater
participation of disabled people in paid work. However, in hindsight it can be argued
that the good sense intentions of the Act (to increase the numbers of disabled people
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in open employment) failed when the good sense moved from ideological thought into
practical everyday common sense. Although it would be very difficult to argue that
such failure was due to medical oppression.
As the concept of greater employment opportunities for disabled people made the
move from ideology to everyday practice, common sense unveiled internal
inconsistencies. Many workers with impairments did not wish to define themselves
as disabled, hence finding any accurate statistical evidence of the numbers of disabled
people in work became impractical. Employers resisted implementing a quota
because for economic reasons in times of a labour surplus they wanted the ability to
select the most efficient workers and not be compelled to employ disabled people at
the expense of efficiency.
The TUC discriminated against the employment of disabled women and appeared
impotent when faced with the question of how to return impaired people to jobs they
could no longer perform. The DPEA (1944) in common with other legislation
reviewed here adopted a traditional intellectual understanding of disability, that is, a
socio-medical approach. The historical review undertaken in this chapter and the
previous one has shown that disabled people were not passive victims of medical
oppression but that they perceived and acted to remove barriers which disabled
impaired people. Consequently, the social model of disability cannot be regarded as
unquestioningly representing a new understanding of disability.
This thesis will show that traditional intellectual formulations of disability applied
both social and medical approaches which are still evident today. Chapter 1 discussed
the most recent medical taxonomy (ICIDH-2) which incorporates distinct social and
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medical models.
However, this apparent shift in understanding by the medical
profession rather than being contradictory fits Gramsci's analysis of hegemony and
how dominant groups maintain power through consent. In order for a group to become
hegemonic and retain this position it is necessary that the dominant group take account
of the interests of other social forces which are not purely economic. In order to do this a
dominant group has to go beyond its own ‘economic-corporate’ (sectional or parochial)
economic interests and take into account the ‘national popular’ demands of other groups.
These groups are constituted not on the basis of class relations and so their interests are
not necessarily based on economic or class interests (Gramsci 1971, 161). So the
medical profession can overtly acknowledge a purely social model analysis as one
contributory mechanism for analysing disability which can reinforce its hegemonic
social and medical traditional intellectual position. However, the stubborn persistence by
some disability activists to ignore impairment as a component worthy of analysis in
discourses of disability (Finkelstein 2000, 2001, 2002), would seem to mitigate against
the model gaining wider hegemonic acceptance in uncritical common sense.
Although Chapters 4 and 5 have addressed one aspect of the research questions, other
questions have been raised which will be addressed in the following chapters. These
questions are:

Are the two models of disability regarded as mutually exclusive in current
everyday practice?

What evidence is there to suggest that the social model is a better model for
the inclusion of more disabled people in employment?
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Chapter 6
Assisting the Employment of Disabled People?
In the previous chapter it was argued that the traditional intellectual
formulations of disability evident in the selection of historical material presented
could be seen to rely on what could be called a socio-medical model of disability. If
this assertion is correct, then by drawing on Gramsci’s theory of intellectuals and his
account of the differences between ‘good sense’ and ‘common sense’ it might be
expected to find that NDDP demonstrates an historical continuity of traditional
formulations and hence would tend to apply a socio-medical model of disability in
their day-to-day activities. In contrast, SMO, an organization that claims to follow a
purely social model of disability with an organic intellectual good sense approach,
ought to be providing a non-disabling environment through the application of nondisabling policies, practices, procedures and attitudes.
This chapter together with chapters 7 and 8 will examine how these organisations
actually operate in practice. If the social model does constitute ‘good sense’ then the
organic intellectuals at SMO ought to be able to demonstrate that it can be applied in
practice. A comparison of the practices, policies and outcomes of NDDP’s attempts to
find employment for the disabled with those of SMO allows the effectiveness of the
latter’s use of the social model to be qualitatively ‘measured’ against the more
traditional historically dominant socio-medical model. It could be said that if SMO
was to fail to implement the social model in practice then the hegemonic potential of
this model to be accepted as ‘common sense’ is lost and thus, from a Gramscian
perspective, cannot be considered to have been ‘good sense’ in the first instance.
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If it is accepted that social inclusion is an agreement between the State and the proactive citizen whereby the State provides opportunities (such as paid work) which the
pro-active citizen is expected to accept (Blair 1998; Brown 2000; DSS 1998; Giddens
1998; Mandelson & Liddle 1996; Toynbee & Walker 2001) then the question can be
addressed of whether, by adhering to different models of disability, one organisation
provides better opportunities than the other for disabled people wishing to find such
work.
Specifically, this chapter will ask two questions:

Does NDDP use a socio-medical model of disability which, historically. has
largely failed to improve employment prospects significantly (Hyde 1996)?

Can SMO mitigate disability effectively simply by altering or removing social
barriers without allowing for any direct consequences of impairment?
Before addressing these questions the following section reviews the political
environment in which each operates in order to consider how they are affected by
political factors beyond their internal control.
Politics and Not-for-Profit (NFP) organisations
Most organisations can be classified as operating in one of three broad sectors:
private; public, or the not-for-profit (Billis 1993). The relative size of each sector has
historically been determined by external factors including political influence,
economic pressures and environmental change (Mulgan and & Landry 1995; Salamon
1993). However, in the recent past, as partnerships have developed across sectors,
these distinctions have become blurred (Anheier 1997; Salamon et al 1997; Benner &
Van Hoomissen 1992). This has in part been the result of successive Governments
promoting partnerships between public and private sector organisations as the most
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efficient means to deliver public services (Anderson 1990; Cafferata 1997; Compact
1998; Fielding & Gutch 1989; Osborne 1997). The rise and complex nature of many
partnerships has reduced the distinct nature of sector boundaries and altered funding
mechanisms from the State in respect of NFP organisations. For example, there has
been a move from grants as a means of financial assistance to targeted funding for the
delivery of specific programmes under contract conditions (Beardon 1993; Gutch
1990; Macfarlane 1990; Mulgan & Landry 1995; Salamon 1993).
The Government’s desire to increase the efficiency and effectiveness of the delivery
of public services has also included attempts to transfer private sector management
practices in the public sector. This has been referred to as ‘managerialism’, defined
here as the increased use of performance indicators, performance targets and
monitoring systems in order to demonstrate efficient returns on State investment
(Popple & Redmond 2000; Prideaux 2001). Both NDDP and SMO are, to varying
degrees, influenced by these changes since funding is dependent upon achieving
targets set by funding agents.
For NDDP these targets are set by the government Employment Service and directly
relate to the number of disabled people who have moved from disability benefits into
paid work (Drake 2000; Roulstone 2000). In the case of SMO, targets are set by one
funding agent, the Training and Enterprise Council (TEC), against the number who
successfully complete their programme and receive the specified qualification
prescribed by the funders. SMO’s remaining two contracts funded by the ELA
included targets although these were never closely monitored. This was principally
due to the difficulty of quantification. However, the shift towards managerialism and
a more private sector or business approach in their operations did affect SMO.
Before I joined the organisation, it had been decided at board level that SMO would
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apply for charitable status. The principal reason given for this decision was so that
they could benefit from the advantageous tax position that charitable status can bring
to NFP organisations (Chasse 1995, 4). However, discussions with several Board
members had suggested this was a contentious issue which had not met with
unanimous agreement.
The main source of resistance to applying for charitable status came from wheelchair
users and active members of the local Disability Alliance group. Their primary
objection lay in the persistence of the historical belief, held by many in the disability
movement, that traditional charities had been and still were responsible for a great
deal of the oppression of disabled people and that they had rarely promoted equal
representation or employment opportunities – a point also raised by Drake (1994,
1996). In effect the argument was driven by the strong political implications for the
organisation’s perceived legitimacy within the wider disability movement if charitable
status were to be secured. However, this view was not supported by other Board
members who expressed a general unease with the organisation’s dependency on
fixed contracts. They argued that in addition to the tax advantages, charitable status
would allow the organisation to seek some unconditional funding from a well
recognised variety of sources in the charity/NFP sector (Coote 2001; Gassler 1997;
Margolis 1982; Ray 1998). So, it seems that from early in the organisation’s life there
already existed a significant tension between the political desire to maintain
legitimacy with external stakeholders not least the wider disability movement and the
demands of economic rationality.
In this instance the economic argument triumphed as SMO applied for and was
granted charitable status. It can be seen here, then, that SMO’s Board members – who
are being equated with Gramsci’s organic intellectuals in this analysis – were faced
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with a paradox in terms of what might be considered ‘common sense’. From a social
model perspective and ideologically, charities were regarded as sources of oppression
and something the organisation wanted to challenge, a comparable argument to that
produced by Thermega some 75 years earlier. On the other hand, if economic
survival could not be assured the possibility of demonstrating that an organisation can
operate according to a social model could not become a reality. The political decision
was taken to face any potential criticism and questions from other disabled people’s
organisations in favour of an increased potential for financial viability.
One significant difference between NDDP and SMO is their means of funding which
affected the number and range of clients they could each assist. NDDP operated an
‘open door’ policy funded by central government (Drake 2000; Roulstone 2000)
which allowed any person currently claiming disability benefits in the pilot area to
voluntarily join the scheme (NDDP 1999). SMO, by comparison, was funded through
contracts awarded by ELA and the regional Training and Enterprise Council (TEC).
In the following section the implications of these funding regimes will be explored
and how they affected the employment opportunities for NDDP and SMO’s
respective clients.
NDDP: the provision of employment opportunities
NDDP had recruited its staff from four broad employment backgrounds: the
employment service; social services; voluntary organisations and former clients.
These individuals were seconded to NDDP and therefore they retained their existing
terms and conditions of service whilst on secondment. It will be demonstrated that
this had a significant impact on how different people approached their work.
For Government, the goal of NDDP was to provide employment opportunities for 1
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million disabled people (NDDP 1999). Whilst all interviewees acknowledged this,
they also reported that they had three objectives: to transfer as many disabled people
as possible from benefits and into paid work; to assist disabled people to engage in
social activity which may include work, and to be a ‘stepping stone’ towards more
suitable employment in the future. The perception of staff of the purpose of NDDP
influenced the way that they operated within the organisation. Drawing on the work
of Euske and Euske (1991; see also chapter 2), the different perceptions of
organisational mission affected operations and outcomes will be discussed.
The majority of Personal Advisors (PAs), who seconded from the local employment
service, held the view that the transfer of disabled people from benefits to work was
the primary purpose of NDDP and they argued that targets were necessary to
demonstrate the cost- effectiveness of the pilot. Here the role of NDDP could be
regarded as a technical organisation (Euske & Euske 1991) with the aim of efficiently
utilising resources in order to assist disabled people find paid employment. At an
individual level, this translated into individual targets and the monitoring of the
achievement of such targets in order to demonstrate progress and cost effectiveness.
Those who had previously worked for the employment services saw that as normal
and rational:
They (Government) have put £195 million into this new deal. It’s only a pilot
because they want to know if it is worth doing. I think if it is cost effective
then it’ll carry on […] My target is 25, that’s getting 25 people off benefits
and into work.
(Stella, PA NDDP)
This is nothing new for us, the employment service monitors targets for
everything, NDDP is just another employment service programme. (James PA
NDDP)
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For those who had worked in other occupations, setting and monitoring targets was
more problematic:
It’s new to me… in social services we don’t have targets… it’s different here,
it seems sometimes like it’s more important to meet targets than help people.
(Paul PA NDDP)
This target-driven approach was effectively seen as an extension of the normal
practices of the Employment Service which routinely set and monitored targets
including those for unemployed disabled people (Toynbee, 2001). For some at
NDDP, this entailed finding impaired people who were capable of performing the
available jobs - an assimilation approach where any consequences of impairment
could either be disregarded or overcome in order to enable participation with minimal
effect on existing work environments and practices.
One inherent problem with this approach is that the setting of targets may skew the
organisation towards finding employment predominantly for those with slight or
relatively minor impairments. This practice was adopted by Thermega (see Chapter 4)
and it is one which distorts claims that organisations successfully engage disabled
people in work. The distortion appears because the generic meaning of ‘disability’
masks a reality in which some impairments are more conducive to assimilation into
work than others (Hibbert 2000). Staff at NDDP were aware of this potential of
‘cherry picking’ for the purpose of meeting targets. Most staff accepted that some
disabled people were easier to find work for than others which became apparent
during an interview with Karen, a PA formerly engaged in the voluntary sector.
Karen had completed a degree in social policy, which had included a module on
disability and the politics of the disability movement. She was a supporter of the
social model yet had expressed serious reservations about the practical implications of
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ignoring impairment in the discourse of disability. It was with an air of almost
resigned acceptance that she made the following observations:
I think we are creaming off people with slight or minor impairments and
finding them jobs. That’s certainly what’s happening […] when it becomes
less cost effective to get seriously disabled people trained and into work, I
think the pilot will end. (Karen, PA NDDP)
Karen, as an organic intellectual and supporter of the social model, slipped into a
common sense understanding of disability based on a socio-medical model. The
reference to ‘seriously disabled people’ arguably acknowledges that the severity of an
impairment can more or less disable. The achievement of a break between impairment
and disability is not therefore achieved.
Within NDDP two approaches towards targets were observable: one that broadly
acknowledged their necessity in relation to making the pilot demonstratively costeffective to the Government, and a second which argued that if targets are to be set,
the range of outcomes should be more extensive, for instance, including targets to
engage people into education, or unpaid voluntary work. Despite what appeared on
the surface to be an ideological difference in approach, in practice, all PAs adopted
both strategies:
At the end of the day we’re here to get people off the sick. There’s no, ‘that’s
not the case’, because it is. We’re only trying to get people off benefit, really.
But you know let’s help some people while were doing that. So, if some
people were being placed back into work, and this wasn’t an option at the
moment, we could get them to do some voluntary work or to do some work
experience then you know, that’s what we want to do. (Roy, NDDP PA).
Sure, my job is to find people paid work. But people who come here are
voluntary, so what if they don’t want work or there’s nothing they fancy? I
don’t like to see them just walk out, I’ll try and find them something. (Mary
PA NDDP)
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For others, seconded from social services or the voluntary sector, meeting
Governmental or organizational targets was often over-ridden by a wish to help their
clients:
I think the purpose is to help people. If by getting a job someone will be
worse off than staying on benefit, then I’ll tell them. But they’ve probably
come here because they want something to do, so I’ll talk with them and try
and find out what it is they’re after. (Alan PA NDDP)
In the informal setting of the staff room, staff spoke of two factions within the
organization: those who viewed the pilot as a logical extension of the employment
service, and others (principally from social services and voluntary backgrounds) who
prioritized helping people achieve whatever ambitions they held, inside or outside the
labour market. This does not imply there was any observable friction between the two
camps merely an informal acceptance that both coexisted with different
understandings of the purpose of the organisation. Both camps divided clients into
two groups: those with slight or minor impairments (usually acquired during a
working career) who could quickly retrain and potentially enter new occupations, and
others, usually having more severe impairments, who required therapeutic or
confidence building measures - for example, as unpaid assistants in voluntary
organizations - before work became a realistic option.
Whilst targets represented, for some, a logical tool with which to measure progress
towards the Government’s targets for the scheme targets also had an impact on the
income of staff seconded from the Employment Services:
The employment service said to us, you know, you need to work towards
placing so many people into work. At the moment I think it’s about twenty
five per advisor. It affects your annual report, which is linked to your bonus
pack. (Roy, PA NDDP)
For other staff targets did not relate to their pay nor were they used in their appraisals
and this group openly questioned the appropriateness of targets. These differences can
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be seen as two different ways of legitimating or resisting organizational rationality:
the employment service staff accepted a technical rational discourse and other staff
resisted this in favour of an institutional rationality (Euske and Euske 1991). An
institutional rationality would see the mission of the organisation as primarily
concerned with fulfilling a socially desirable goal of engaging more disabled people
in any form of activity. For some disabled clients this would involve finding paid
work for others it could imply engaging in social meetings or events. Wendy was an
example of such institutional rationality. She was seconded from social services, and
had for several years been involved with people with mental health problems:
Targets are a bit meaningless to me. I can’t really see the point of having
targets […] also I think they should look at the whole range of outcomes and
what we seem to be talking about is the people that go on to the part time or
the full time work plan. And you know, come off the benefits. To me, I think
outcomes should include the whole range of things that people can and or do.
(Wendy, PA NDDP)
Perhaps the differing acceptance of the need and appropriateness of targets is more a
question of emphasis. During conversation with Wendy, she readily accepted that for
some finding work was a beneficial outcome for both NDDP and the individual and
also accepted that accounting was necessary for the success of the project. Her
principal objection lay in the perception that at higher organisational levels the
success of the pilot would be gauged only against the placement in work criteria.
Perhaps unsurprisingly Roy agreed with this view. Although he believed the prime
task of NDDP was to assist disabled people migrate from disability benefits and into
paid work, he also argued that a wider range of outcomes should be recognised as
‘successes’. For some staff the singular focus on work as an outcome became an
irrelevance. Again Wendy presented this position offering the example of a drug
abuser who had recently joined the pilot:
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I saw a guy on Monday; he was very frightened of coming here. Luckily he
came with his girlfriend, and luckily Linda was in on reception, and she
booked him in to see me. He was really anxious, and he was very sort of tense,
he was sweating and he looked really worried. So I thought it wouldn’t be
right to say to him look here’s the information about the place. I think he was
nervous that he was going to be stigmatized because of his drug misuse.
People look at him and make all sorts of judgments, which I try not to do.
(Wendy, PA NDDP)
Wendy’s example highlights one problem involved with the reliance on one
dimensional targets as a measure of success. She found a support group for ex drug
addicts as the first step in assisting her client together with the funding for a course at
a local educational college. She explained there was little use trying to get her client
straight into work because in her experience he would need to stabilise his social life
first which could take some time. She acknowledged that ultimately work would
probably be his best option although the road to this goal may be very difficult.
Here organic intellectual understandings aligned with the historical traditional ones of
a socio-medical model. In the first instance, it was important to seek intervention to
remove the impairment - in this case it was counselling to reduce the dependency on
drugs. Then it was acknowledged that barriers to employment can be rooted amongst
other factors such as the negative attitudes of others towards drug abusers. Wendy
was concerned that the amount of effort and help in removing social barriers that she
gave to people in similar situations was not properly acknowledged through the target
system although a socially excluded disabled person had been significantly helped
towards inclusion and potential employment.
Wendy’s example also illustrates how formal procedures were distorted by informal
practices. The formal method of allocating clients to PA’s was on a ‘first come first
served’ basis. However, Wendy had stated it was ‘lucky that Linda was on reception’
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and consequently booked the client in to see her. An interview with Linda, a disabled
former client of the pilot, explained the rationale behind the practice:
When I started, I was told to book clients in and sort of place them in order
with the next PA available. But it soon was obvious that some PAs only
wanted the easy cases, some were not very good with certain clients so I
started to put clients with advisors who I knew would be OK. There’s only a
couple who have problems most are all right seeing anyone. Yeah, I know it’s
not the way it’s suppose to work, but everybody seems happy and I think the
clients get the best deal out of it. (Linda, Administrator NDDP)
The training given to NDDP staff will be discussed in more detail in Chapter 7,
although in essence the intention was to provide a broad appreciation of the different
disabilities faced by impaired people. This could be regarded as good sense, enabling
any PA to assist any disabled person through the options offered by the pilot with
individual specialists, as in the case of Wendy, available for consultation if specific
issues arose. However, in practice common sense distorted formal procedure,
dictating that ‘difficult’ cases were better dealt with by those familiar with the specific
issues surrounding the disability and (on the whole) not overtly constrained by the
pressures of time and need to meet targets.
So far, two distinct groups of clients have been considered: people who can with some
assistance gain employment, these usually being those with less severe impairments,
and those who require greater help and support before work became a realistic option.
However, NDDP also had two other groups of clients. The first of these consisted of
those who were severely impaired and wanted to work but were advised against it.
This advice again was based on a combination of medical and social factors. If
manual work had the potential to seriously increase the severity of an impairment,
doctors warned of the risk it could pose. If paid work could mean a lower level of
income than disability benefit, then NDDP staff warned the client of this risk. The
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second group was disabled people and their employers who needed support in the
work place. Elaine a PA from the employment service discussed the dilemmas she
had faced in dealing with a client from the former group:
Sometimes it’s not worth a person taking a job. If getting a job means they’ll
get less than on benefits then we tell them that. But other times you have to
really make them think if work is the answer, sometimes it’s wrapped up in
self esteem […] I had a chap a couple of weeks ago, he was 55, I think, and
used to be a fork lift driver before he broke his back. His GP had told him not
to do any lifting or bending because he would do even more serious damage.
But he was adamant he wanted to go back and he was talking about things like
laboring. (Elaine, PA NDDP)
Elaine had explained to her client the implications for both his health and the small
difference in income he may expect between working and his current benefit level but
he was insistent about gaining employment in a field he understood. He rejected the
idea of entering any training schemes or alternative work in the voluntary sector.
NDDP can therefore be seen to be adopting a two-fold approach when assisting their
clients. First they made an assessment based on his/her impairment and then made a
financial assessment. If paid work was deemed unsuitable then unpaid voluntary
work or training for alternative work would be offered. In other words, NDDP
considered both the medical (impairment) and social implications of work. Therefore,
NDDP attempted to assist people with severe impairments who were possibly
unsuited to paid work to find alternative options. In the example Elaine provided, the
client left NDDP without gaining any further assistance. Elaine summed up her
feelings:
There’s nothing more I could do. I think one problem is that work is being
pushed so hard […] they get a lot of expectations about what we can do. I
don’t honestly know what’ll happen to that chap, he may have got a job
already, but what else can I do? (Elaine, NDDP PA).
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Elaine’s example illustrates some of the difficulties encountered when a policy that is
geared towards combating social exclusion for disabled people is assimilated into the
overall policy of finding unemployed people paid work (Levitas, cited in Fairclough
2000, 56). In exchange for social inclusion - a citizen’s rights to equal opportunities in
work, leisure and social space (Drake 1999; Giddens 1998) - the excluded are
encouraged to become risk takers when seeking work (Blair 1998; Brown 1999;
Giddens 1998, 101; Harman 1997; Lindsey 2001).
The acceptance of the risk of financial loss, injury or damage from a particular course
of action is not, however, always one that only affects the disabled person. For
example, accepting a job on the minimum wage might involve the loss of means
tested benefits that can affect a family. This problem is recognised by Government
who have sought to reduce the risk by introducing working tax credits for both
disabled and non-disabled workers (Disability Now 2001; Toynbee and Walker
2001). Nevertheless, disabled people face additional financial risk. Any disabled
person claiming incapacity benefit loses the entitlement to reclaim that benefit if their
term of employment is over 12 months and they subsequently become unemployed.
The financial risk here involves accepting that the claimant will be assigned to the
lower rate Job Seeker’s Allowance (Drake 2000). If they should subsequently qualify
for Incapacity Benefit the claimant would find that the level of this financial support
had also been cut (Disability Now 2001; Toynbee 2001). NDDP sought to minimise
this risk by making clients aware of the potential loss of benefit if they accept paid
work but this of course, is contrary to the Government’s target of finding employment
for 1 million disabled people. However, Elaine’s example also raises the question of
who is best placed to assess some of the elements of risk.
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Elaine’s client had been made aware of the potential financial and medical risks if he
succeeded in gaining manual work. It could be argued that as he was aware of the
risks he should have been allowed to embark on any employment strategy. However,
in such cases risk is not restricted to the individual. If NDDP did assist the client to
find manual employment and serious injury followed the organisation would face the
risk of critical censure for not preventing the potential for personal injury. Such
criticism could have political implications which would bring the legitimacy of the
organisation into question and hence threaten organisational survival (Meyer &
Rowan 1977). If the client did gain employment, any employer would also face the
risk of a health and safety investigation should a serious injury occur at the
workplace. So, although policy encourages individuals to become risk takers in return
for social inclusion, it should be recognised that the individual is not always the only
party who faces risks when taking up paid work. In these cases it would seem unfair
to link social inclusion with the acceptance of paid work when, despite showing a
willingness to do it, such work could be detrimental to the individual and the
decisions could be made by external actors. This again aligns with traditional
intellectual understandings from almost 100 years ago. When William Beveridge
considered the issue of engaging disabled people in work he concluded, ‘work for
those who can, support for those who can’t’ (Beveridge 1906).
As indicated above, NDDP also had a second group of clients: employers of disabled
people whom they sought to support. One organisation which formed part of the
NDDP pilot partnership was a national charity that assisted many disabled people to
find employment and also operated the Government’s Supported Employment
Scheme (SES). Alan, one of the PAs, was employed by the Charity and seconded to
NDDP and administered SES. This scheme adopts a medical approach by quantifying
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the ‘inefficiencies’ of a disabled worker by comparison with a non-disabled peer and
financially compensates employers for the calculated difference. This scheme is
presently under review, with the aim of using public investment more efficiently by
removing long- standing support commitments and ‘progressing’ more disabled
people from supported to open employment (Hodge 1999). However, at the time of
this research, no changes to SES had been made.
Under the SES financial support for employing disabled people is determined on a
case by case basis in parallel with support for individuals and employers should any
difficulties occur in the workplace. Alan explained how the scheme operated:
An employer might say, if we had a little more financial support, we could
take a disabled person on […] When we talk about support, the financial
support is only part of it. The support we give which keeps people in work is
not just financial; it’s the back up to the employer and client, to talk things
through … We go in and support the client and the company. Sometimes it’s
about instilling discipline in the client, you know, time keeping and things like
that, other times the employer just needs to know what to do if things aren’t
working out. (Alan, PA NDDP)
Alan conceded that, in respect of the employers, a mixed picture prevailed over their
employment of disabled people. He could not suggest any particular industry or size
of organisation as exemplars of best practice - ones in which disabled people are
provided equal opportunities in their workforce as a matter of organisational policy.
However, he did suggest that, in his experience, the attitudes of the disabled person
played a significant part in their employment potential:
Some say, I’m a disabled person and there’re all these things which stop me.
Others just say, nothing is going to stop me doing whatever it is, and basically
they are usually looking for solutions rather than problems [...] You see that at
work as well, some expect that all the problems should be sorted out for them,
while others want to help and advise on what is the best way to do things. It’s
not all about health; it’s not all about barriers. Sometimes it’s one, sometimes
the other but usually I find it’s both. (Alan, PA NDDP)
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With few exceptions, all participants in this research, including stakeholders of SMO,
agreed with Alan’s assessment. This could, of course, invite the criticism that NDDP
sought to individualize disability and thus reinforce a medical model. However,
although NDDP did consider some implications of impairment and the consequences
and risks this might incur at work, consideration was also given to people’s attitudes
towards disabled people and the removal of disabling social barriers. Once more,
traditional intellectual understandings are dominant in this approach in which
common sense acknowledges disability as a combination of social and medical
factors.
There is, however, one other group of disabled people who gained employment
through NDDP: disabled staff. Three NDDP staff self-defined as disabled people and
all three had been given employment with NDDP after approaching the pilot as
clients. All three had worked before becoming impaired and independently defined
disability as a combination of restrictions caused by impairment and negative attitudes
by their former employers. Mark, a former school teacher, had spent several months
unemployed after a nervous breakdown that he attributed to stress at his former
workplace. He considered his current position as administrative assistant as a step
back into a more appropriate career. Mark’s experience was very similar to his two
colleagues at NDDP, Sally and Linda:
My self esteem and confidence were so low […] I was first of all sent on an
employment rehabilitation programme that was just a matter of three days a
week getting up for a 9 o’clock start and a 5 o’clock finish […] it gave me
more confidence. Then the chance of a job came up here, but I was still short
of confidence, but the whole team are very supportive. I suppose generally I
wasn’t a person lacking in confidence but the wheels came off and I was set in
depression I just lost my way of living. What I was offered from the pilot was
the placements and they were good for me. (Mark, Clerical Assistant NDDP)
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I was a personal assistant to the MD. He found out I had been treated for
clinical depression and that was that. They said they couldn’t be sure how I
would be in the future. (Sally, Clerical Assistant NDDP).
I was a physics teacher before the injury. I was off work for a long time and
because I use crutches now, they didn’t think I would be able to carry on,
because of the bending and moving I’d need to do. (Linda, Clerical Assistant
NDDP)
The employment of disabled people inside the organisation benefited both the
disabled employees and NDDP. All three employees welcomed the opportunity
provided by the pilot and were expecting to progress into more suitable careers in the
near future. By employing disabled people, the organisation also benefited in two
ways. First of all it improved its ‘success’ rate in meeting targets and, secondly, it
served to protect it from any criticism regarding the number of disabled people
employed by the pilot. The project thus employed approximately 25% disabled staff,
albeit at lower grades. However, after the completion of the research it was learned
that Mark had been promoted to personal advisor with his administrative role filled by
another disabled person - another former client - and so the employment ratio of
disabled to non-disabled rose to over 30%. The promotion of Mark also belied the
criticism that NDDP only employed disabled people at lower organisational grades.
Towards the end of the research in NDDP, some basic statistics were obtained on the
performance of the pilot. The statistics were presented as the 1000th client had sought
assistance from the organisation. Out of the 1000 people who had sought assistance,
approximately 200 had been placed on training, educational or rehabilitation courses
and 40 had found paid employment. The remainder were still ‘active’ cases as no
suitable alternatives to their current status had yet been found. However, to mirror the
criticisms raised by NDDP PA’s, the statistics did not record many outcomes where
disabled people were assisted in ways other than engagement in paid work. If the
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target was to move disabled people from benefit and into work, then the 40 successes
represent only 4%. However, if those engaged in education/training are also
considered as successes, the rate moved to 24%. This figure does not include those
who were assisted through other means, for example in finding unpaid voluntary
work. It should be noted, that in relation to work outcomes there was no statistical
evidence produced regarding job retention rates. It may be therefore that some who
had made the transition into paid employment, may also have made the transition
back to unemployment. Unless they were then to approach NDDP again, there was
no method of recording such movements. Therefore, although there is evidence of the
‘success’ rate of NDDP it should be considered in parallel with the reservations
stated.
The above discussion demonstrates that within NDDP, staff applied different
approaches to fulfil their mission. For some, the necessity to meet demonstrable
targets produced a technical approach (Euske & Euske 1991) geared towards the most
efficient means of transferring organisational resources to engage the greatest number
of disabled people in paid work. This could be more easily achieved if only slight or
minor changes to existing work processes (such as the provision of ergonomic
seating) were required to enable a disabled person to perform efficiently in an existing
job. This process complies with an assimilation approach and staff recognised that
this led to ‘cherry picking’ those clients who could more easily enable them to meet
their targets. As the targets referred to the homogeneous concept of ‘disabled’ they
could be more easily achieved by prioritising resources on those clients who were
more capable of assimilation - those with less severe impairments.
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However, for the members of staff who felt that targets were inappropriate an
institutional approach (Euske & Euske 1991) and a focus on integration rather than
assimilation was adopted. In this case, staff overlooked the demand for producing the
desired outcome of the placement of disabled clients in paid work and instead
provided courses of action (with the agreement of clients) which although it might not
eventually result in paid work could, nevertheless, improve other forms of social
engagement. Hence whilst the organisation did have some limited success in
transferring disabled people from benefits to paid employment, staff felt that this
narrow definition of ‘success’ was inadequate and should be extended to include those
disabled people that had taken up alternatives to paid employment.
Significantly, not one of the members of staff who were interviewed defined disability
solely in terms of restriction caused by impairment (a medical model) or solely in
terms of a disabling environment (a social model). Staff consistently used a definition
which combined both medical and social factors. Consequently it could be asserted
that NDDP displayed traditional intellectual formulations of disability which can be
represented as aligning with a socio-medical model.
SMO: the provision of employment opportunities
This section examines the employment practices of SMO in order to determine
whether an organisation with ideological underpinnings based on the principles of the
social model of disability is any more successful at finding work for disabled people.
Unlike NDDP, the client base of the SMO was determined by their contractual
commitments. Sharon, the chief executive officer (CEO) and a wheelchair user, had
managed the organisation from its outset up to its current charitable status. She was a
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prominent member of the local Disability Alliance group and had completed a
Master’s degree in disability politics. Ideologically, her position leaned towards leftwing politics and she had a firm belief that the social model of disability provided a
workable framework within which the organisation might offer better opportunities to
engage disabled people in work. Sharon was the first person interviewed at SMO and
explained the early battles that the organisation had fought to overturn what, in her
opinion, represented the dominance of the medical approach taken by employers and
funding bodies:
We operate to a social model of disability, look for self definition. It used to
be that the referral notes had a long list of ‘do you have this complaint, do you
have this, do you have the other’, but I said it’s not on! You know, to what use
will you put this information? We’ve had some struggles like that, and you
still get employers wanting to know if someone is going to have an epileptic
fit, and ‘what do I do’? And there is a legitimate need to know in those cases.
(Sharon, CEO, SMO)
This comment begins to illustrate the internal contradictions within the social model
when attempts are made to apply the ideology to a practical context. The political
good sense of ignoring impairment as a cause of disability does not survive the
transition to the common sense needed to actually implement the model. Sharon
attempted to remove any references to impairment from the records of disabled people
except when employers asked about people subject to epileptic fits. Here, Sharon
accepted that employers have a legitimate right to know about such a medical
condition. Withholding such information could have health and safety implications if
an accident were to occur in the workplace as a consequence of this impairment.
However, it could be argued that if all information of impairment is withheld from
employers, then their ability to arrange the working environment in a way that might
enable the inclusion of disabled people would be severely restricted. In this regard,
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SMO could be challenged for acting as a gatekeeper to the inclusion of disabled
people. If employers are denied access to details of impairment then the identification
of many disabling barriers could only be determined by SMO.
By controlling which impairments can be legitimately divulged to employers, SMO
can be seen to be operating with political rationality where control of resources,
including information, becomes a prime organisational reserve (Euske and Euske
1991). SMO created a relationship with funding bodies which allowed the
organisation to operate on the premise that the social model could be implemented to
improve the employment potential of disabled people. They claimed to achieve this
by reassuring the disabled community that an organisation run and controlled by
disabled people provided a progressive model which privileged disabled experience
over an oppressive medical determination of disability. Hence, at a formal policy
level, SMO adopted contradictory common sense, organic understandings. SMO
proclaimed an allegiance to the social model whilst accepting that some impairments
do impose restrictions which could be disabling. SMO’s attempt to disregard any
consequences of impairment in their internal employment practices will be analysed
later in this chapter. What follows is a consideration of the effect that contracts had on
the organisation.
Sharon gave an account of SMO’s contracts:
We have contracts with local social services. One is our ‘into work’ service.
It’s about finding jobs and work placements for disabled people. We’ve got a
team of six people, two are the ‘into work’ officers and one of them is the
team leader. It’s their job to go out and find the jobs, the placements, the
employers, and to find the disabled people. Then we have four people whose
job it is to support the disabled people as they get into that work placement,
job, or whatever. We prefer the support to be on a tapering basis, it can be for
seven hours a day at first, but our aim is to reduce it eventually to be just in the
background. There are standards in there, we’re supposed to deal with about
90 disabled people a year, with x number of employers - so many outcomes.
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They’re nearly all quantitative. So that’s the ‘into work’ contract. And then
we have the ‘guidance’ contract. That is to provide training for x number of
disabled people in any one year, in work related skills - so not about particular
jobs, but skills about being at work. For some people it starts off with things
about punctuality and personal presentation, and stuff like that and the contract
is to provide them in three different work environments so that people can get
a range of experiences. One is based here in the IT workshop, and that is very
computer/office type environment; we have a retail environment, it’s like a
charity shop […] that gives a lot of different types of skills, like customer
contact, money usage, display and all kinds of different things. Then we have
an outdoor site, really it’s a minibus, and that minibus has contracts, it has one
contract with ELA to do a recycling project collecting bags, you know, like
charity shops, picking up bags and delivering them to the shop, and they also
do other outdoor kinds of stuff like ground clearance and maintenance. And
we’ll do assessments about work readiness or, they can come and spend up to
three years with us in terms of preparation for work. There’s three criteria,
they must be a local resident, they must be a disabled person, and they must be
looking for work. We’ve also got a contract with the TEC, to provide an
education programme, which is basically about literacy and numeracy, we
have 18 students who could be classed as having minor learning difficulties,
behavioral difficulties, disaffected, for a variety of reasons, and what we do is
find them a two day work placement, with half days in the classroom, we’re
working towards NVQ level 2 I think. The TEC contract is fairly tight; the
TEC’s are very outcome driven. (Sharon CEO SMO)
This rather lengthy account of the organization’s contracts portrays an organisation
that is significantly engaged with a range of disabled people and employers in an
attempt to provide a range of initiatives. Effectively, the organization has three types
of contracts: ‘into work’ which entails finding paid work and supporting disabled
people in employment; ‘guidance’ which entails preparing disabled people for the
labour market and can last up to three years, and the TEC (Training and Enterprise
Council) contract which combines a taught course with work experience. These
contracts are delivered by teams of staff dedicated to each contract and (as with
NDDP) SMO targets are set.
Whilst this account appears to be fairly straightforward, when the contracts were
discussed with the staff, their delivery was rather more complex. One of the rationales
that underpins the social model is that historically non-disabled people have made
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decisions about how disabled people will live their lives and that this hierarchy of
control should be removed (Brisenden 1986; Hunt 1966; UPIAS 1976). If the
category ‘disabled’ includes different forms of impairment therefore one might expect
that in an organization that claims to be run according to the principles of a social
model there would be no hierarchy between disabled people. As the following
account demonstrates, this was far from the case.
Carol was the team supervisor on the ‘guidance’ contract. She had worked for SMO
for 18 months after 8 years as a trainer in the private sector. It was during an informal
conversation, before a board meeting and after a staff training session on disability
access, that the disenchantment of many staff about the disabled senior managers first
became evident. Carol confided that, in her opinion,:
This organisation is run by a small group of wheelchair users. They’re all in
the disability movement and I think they sort out how this place is run. (Carol,
Supervisor SMO)
This assertion was later substantiated by other disabled and non-disabled staff at
various levels in the organization. So, for example, Andrea stated:
I often think the only way to get respected here is if you declare you are
disabled, and top of the pile is if you turn up in a wheel chair. (Andrea,
Manager SMO)
Clearly whilst ‘disabled’ may be used as a homogenous concept, staff in SMO felt
that different forms of impairment were classified as more or less disabling and that
the most disabled group of all were those who were physically impaired and
wheelchair users. There was therefore a perceived hierarchy of disabled people.
However this was not only a result of particular impairments, some staff felt that it
was also based on a perception of how politically active individuals were believed to
be. Hence in discussing my own position within the organization, Tim suggested:
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They aren’t keen on you because you’re not one of them. If you were in a
wheelchair and went on demonstrations or the like, you’d have more chance. I
think they are wary of you. (Tim, Trainer SMO)
The ‘wariness’ towards me, may of course have been a result of my identity as a
researcher. However, given the visible nature of my impairment, my identity as a
researcher cannot be wholly divorced from my impairment which was in part
responsible for SMO inviting me to take up the position of Treasurer on the Board
(see Chapter 3). The ‘wariness’ could have been a result of my ‘difference’ in
relation to the type of impairment I have. In other words not being a wheelchair user
and not being perceived as an active member of the disability movement made me
different and therefore to be treated with suspicion.
The perceived hierarchy of disabled people with different forms of impairment was
also raised in relation to their representation on decision-making forums, as Chris
pointed out:
I sometimes wonder about this place, we preach equality but it is obvious who
is in control and considering all our contracts deal with learning disabilities, I
ask myself, why are no learning disabled people represented on the board?
(Chris, Board Member SMO)
What Chris is alluding to here is a recognition of a contradiction between a social
model which suggests that disabled people should have a voice in the nature of the
services they require and the practices within SMO in which decisions are made on
behalf of people with learning disabilities. In this case then it is not non-disabled
people who are assuming to know what people with learning disabilities require but
rather other disabled people with different forms of impairment. Although all
interviewees were supportive in principal to the social model, many, like Carol cited
below, found it difficult to accept the inconsistencies between the theory and practice.
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The total rejection by the disabled members of the Board of any link between
impairment and disability had an impact on the ability of staff to deliver the contracts
because they felt unable to explain the problems they were experiencing without
making reference to the nature of the impairments their clients had. Hence Carol
reported:
Guidance clients come to us through In Work. So if you like, In Work do our
recruitment which is problematic and advantageous at the same time. It’s
advantageous because it saves us going out and recruiting people, but
problematic because the people who come through on the books can be
difficult cases. In Work take all the cases that can go directly into work, they
leave us people who may have serious problems for example attention
problems and we have to train them. It can be very difficult [...] I know it’s not
very popular in here but we have a certain standard that people have to have to
enter. (Carol, Supervisor).
Carol continued to report that the majority of her clients had learning impairments and
admitted that although formal entry criteria existed there were no formal entry
assessments or procedures to gauge a person’s ability. Informally however,
assessments were conducted. Carol argued that this was required because from
operational experience some people with severe learning difficulties may not benefit
from a work focused training programme.
Here, the informal practice of assessment could be regarded as representing a
traditional form of common sense. However, formally to admit the practice by
introducing a rule which required all potential clients to undergo acceptance
assessments would conflict with the espoused social model which was seen both
internally and externally as good sense. This could be politically damaging to the
organization which would be seen by the wider disability movement and by the
funding agents not to be complying with a social model. It would also be damaging
for individual members of staff who supported such a policy because they too would
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be seen by the disabled members of the board as individualizing disability and thus
reinforcing a medical model. Consequently, whilst these practices existed informally
they could not be formally declared.
The interview with Carol and frequent discussions both with her and other SMO staff
over the following months led to the conclusion that the methods used to prepare
people for work did not vary in any significant detail between organisations. As
practiced at NDDP, one department of SMO - In Work - could be seen to be ‘cherry
picking’ certain people who were more suited to employment. For those not ready for
work, training as a form of work preparation was given with an informal acceptance
that they were unlikely to ever be able to be engaged in paid work. The principal
difference was that staff at SMO were unable to acknowledge openly organisational
practices which demonstrated an admission that impairments limited a person’s
suitability for work. Although this fact was denied because it directly contradicted the
good sense of the social model nonetheless, in practice, the organic intellectuals in
SMO adopted common sense traditional understandings which acknowledged that, in
addition to environmental and attitudinal barriers, some impairments in themselves
can disable. In other words, in reality they were forced to apply the common sense of
a socio-medical model. When Carol was asked if she or anybody else had raised these
apparent contradictions with senior management, she laughed, cynically and replied:
Yeah, I brought that up at a training meeting. She (CEO) said to me, ‘we
operate to the social model of disability and it’s written in your contract that
you must do the same. Let me remind you that you are on probation and I
think it would be wise for you to remember that’. (Carol, Supervisor SMO)
Clearly such a response effectively silenced any further discussion. The theme of
‘silencing’ was a recurrent issue in SMO which will be discussed in more detail in the
following chapter. For Carol and many other staff, the unsatisfactory resolution to the
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contradictions outlined above served to alienate them inside SMO and the clear
divisions between disabled and non-disabled members of the organization were often
made apparent.
However, some of the reasons for the divisions were based on factors other than
whether someone was disabled or not. It was evident that many of the contradictions
faced by SMO were a result of the contracts awarded to the organisation and hence
the client groupings they were obliged to assist. Alison, a contract manager, had
previously worked in the private sector and was Carol’s line manager. She supported
the principles of the social model but again found it difficult to apply it in practice.
Alison gave an account which suggested that the problems the organization was
experiencing were related to the type of impairment of the majority of their clients
and to the ethos and history of the contracts provided by the social services
department of ELA:
I’ve never worked on a contract like this where there is absolutely no
inventory whatsoever. All social services are interested in seeing is that you
(disabled client) are in guidance. In the past, all the numbers that were on
ELA’s polygon project - that was the name for guidance - were on a holding
project. People were supposed to be on for a maximum of three years. People
were being referred from care managers [social services employees]. It was
particularly seen as a service for adults with learning disabilities but they were
being kept on the books for five years, seven years, eight years - they were not
going anywhere. I don’t know what they were doing for seven years to be
honest. (Alison, Contract Manager SMO)
The ‘ELA’s polygon project’ was the project run by the ELA social services
department which was then contracted out to SMO and constituted their ‘guidance’
contract. As with SMO the purpose of the project was to prepare disabled people,
primarily people with learning impairments, for the labour market. When SMO were
awarded this contract Alison reported that they attempted to introduce more effective
procedures and to make links between the activities of the ‘in work’ initiative:
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I mean what we do is totally different. What we tried to do was change the
whole culture of what this project was all about. Basically it’s now a stepping
stone to work. It’s not a long term project, it’s not about baby sitting people
for three years and then sending them out to work. At the end of three years,
some of them have so many if you like ‘support needs’ what we needed was
‘in work’ to support people into work.
However, despite their good intentions, Alison reported:
But work wasn’t a realistic option, or wasn’t the option they wanted. What
they wanted was a secure environment, the social life that was on site, but not
really the work orientation or development side of it. (Alison, Contract
Manager SMO)
When SMO accepted the ELA contracts it attempted to alter the original institutional
rationality (Euske & Euske 1991) under which the contracts had previously operated
to one of political rationality which underpins the social model. Despite this, in
practice, we find traditional common sense understandings which acknowledge that,
for this client group, although some may be able to find paid work for others the
consequences of impairment cannot be overcome by altering environments alone.
Hence although SMO followed a political rationality which formally gave them the
necessary legitimacy with stakeholders and funding agents, they had to harness this to
a technical rationality where outcomes were demonstrable and more easily quantified.
As the technical process was dependent on being able to convert the input (learning
disabled people) to output (employed learning disabled people) a covert informal
selection policy existed which acted effectively as a quality control system. This
raises the question of what happened to those who did not meet the entry criteria, and
those who failed to gain work as an outcome of the project. After a lengthy pause
Alison speculated:
I suppose people who don’t make it onto the project remain the responsibility
of social services. I don’t know what they do with them because obviously we
have taken over their scheme. For the others I suppose if nothing else we’ve
given then some self confidence and hopefully helped them to live
independently. (Alison, Contract Manager, SMO)
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Alison effectively argued that entering the project did not harm any clients and may
have assisted some although their financial (benefit) status after completing a
prolonged training course was unclear. An obvious ethical issue arises from this
because if the original institutional rationality of the contract run by ELA was partly
to facilitate social interaction where it is recognised that many would not be capable
of or desire work, is it ethically acceptable to deny this group of disabled people
access to opportunities to socialize? Some staff argued that the denial of social
activity to those unable to work was not acceptable:
What it’s about is that they come here for a day out. We try and help everyone,
but for some, work isn’t the thing. I don’t try to think about work for them,
they don’t want it and it’s not feasible anyway. (Peter, Trainer SMO)
They (senior management) say we are here to do things differently, but how
can we? I don’t know why we pretend to be an employment trainer, why can’t
we just admit the best we can do is try and help in whatever way we can. It’s
just a pretence! Many of our clients haven’t a hope of getting or holding down
a job. (Clare, Trainer SMO)
The difficulties staff experienced in relation to finding employment for learning
disabled people was not restricted to employers in open industry. SMO itself found
this issue problematic, as Robert pointed out:
Some of the trainers have asked me, why do we say removing barriers is
enough to find them (clients) work, when we can’t even do it here? It’s a fair
point, we don’t employ any severely learning impaired, and so what chance is
there for them outside?
The above quotations would suggest that given the nature of the client base an
institutional rationality would be more appropriate for SMO. Alternatively if a
political rationality is a pre-requisite, then as Robert suggested, the organization
requires contracts which enable them to assist people with different forms of
impairment:
The problem is, funding is from contracts to help learning impaired, we could
do with more contracts which are not so strictly tied. (Robert, Manager SMO)
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The adoption of such an approach would, however, undermine the claim that it is not
the individual impairment which restricts the ability of disabled people to gain paid
work – an argument which was unlikely to be accepted by disabled members of the
Board.
Despite spending several months inside SMO the political nature of the organisation
made it impossible to raise this issue with senior management. As Carol illustrated
above, the organisation was particularly sensitive to internal challenge and the fear
was that if my views appeared critical of SMO’s operations the relatively unrestricted
access to staff would be ended - hence to some degree I was also silenced.
During earlier discussions with the CEO she did not mention that the majority of
clients were people with learning disabilities. This was not just because the social
model which she supported requires a focus on the social environment rather than the
individual but was also because to have done so was potentially financially damaging
for the organization. Contracts with ELA amounted to over £600,000 per year,
approximately 85% of SMO’s income with the remainder coming from the TEC.
During the 12 months spent as Treasurer, I was aware of only 2 clients who had
gained employment in the open job market. These two posts were as shopping trolley
attendants at a local retailing organization. It is generally recognised that learning
disabled people are amongst the least likely in society to be engaged in work (Hibbert
2000). One might therefore question the sagacity of adhering strictly to a social model
which ensures the organisation cannot offer a defense for their lack of success on the
grounds of the consequences imposed by specific impairments. Therefore, the task
undertaken by SMO is more difficult than that of NDDP where a wide variety of
impaired people were assisted. However, if SMO used this argument in defense of its
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record then it could only be interpreted as an admission that impairment does indeed
contribute disproportionately to disability. The outcome was that SMO had become
trapped by its own political rationality. While loudly rejecting impairment as a
contributing factor in disability it demonstrably recognized that their client base
presented specific impairment-related challenges.
As may be recalled from Sharon’s description of the contracts SMO had been
awarded, clients who were served under the TEC contract included unemployed
young people who had ‘minor learning difficulties, behavioural difficulties, or were
disaffected’. With the exception of ‘minor learning difficulties’ one might want to
question whether these individuals could be classed as disabled. This was an issue
which also puzzled some members of staff. For example, when questioned on this
Mark replied:
Those kids can be very violent and I’ve had one staff member off for over 4
months with stress. You said are they disabled? Well, I don’t know. (Mark,
Contracts Manager SMO)
Given the difficulty staff had with questioning whether clients were suitable
candidates for the services SMO is able to offer, it is perhaps not surprising that Mark
was at a loss to evaluate whether such a group could legitimately be seen as disabled
people. When questioned about why SMO had accepted the TEC contract, Mark
replied:
The reason we’ve accepted the TEC contract is because of the money. But I’m
not sure if it pays. All I know is that the TEC want to examine everything …
trainer qualifications, quality systems and client monitoring and reporting. The
problem I’ve got is that we’ve got none of these. We’re used to ELA
contracts, they fund you against client numbers they provide and that’s about
it. The TEC contract causes us lots of grief. (Mark, Contract Manager SMO)
The ‘grief’ the TEC contract generated was evident at board level which spent a
disproportionate amount of its time trying to resolve such problems. A key problem
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was a result of the target and monitoring systems imposed by the TEC and were
outlined by Ken who supervised the contract:
They’ll come in and make you do self assessment reports, they’ll come and
observe your trainers delivering, they’ll want to see your paper work, they’ll
want to see your guidance plans, and they’ll want to see how people are
progressing. (Ken, Contracts Supervisor).
During the time I was company treasurer there were no discussions at Board meetings
regarding the progress of ELA contracts. On the other hand, a detailed examination of
the progress of every client on the TEC contract was regularly conducted. This was
because the TEC funded against the organisation demonstrating that key training
objectives, determined by the TEC, had been made. These created a number of
problems for SMO.
The first problem was that the TEC contract required significantly more resources to
monitor and claims for progress payments were dependent on monitoring data. This
was particularly difficult given, as discussed above, that many of the clients had
violent outbursts and were often unwilling to co-operate with the programme. A
second problem was that the TEC had conducted a quality audit which required the
organisation to implement quality systems and provide evidence of trainer
qualifications. (The issue of trainer qualifications is fully discussed in the following
chapter). A third problem arose as a result of the completion of the first one year
contract with the TEC in which SMO had managed to break even on cost. The TEC
had then offered a second contract for the same price but had increased the numbers
of clients from 18 to 32. This second contract was dependent on the findings of their
quality audit being implemented and then followed up by a second compliance audit.
As Treasurer, I argued that the second contract should not be accepted because it did
not meet the organization’s mission and more importantly the potential to lose money
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seemed markedly increased. However, I was outvoted by the Chair of the Board and
CEO who argued that politically the organisation did not want to appear to lose one of
only three contracts. The rationality behind accepting what were, in effect, inferior
terms was explained by the Chair of the Board. He argued that significant lessons had
been learned from the first TEC contract which meant mistakes would not be repeated
and if necessary staff could be switched from ELA contracts if the TEC contract got
into trouble.
The outcome of the decision to accept the second TEC contract cannot be reported
because I resigned as company treasurer shortly after the second TEC contract had
been negotiated. This resignation was precipitated by the acceptance of the second
TEC contract because, as Treasurer, I would have been implicated in the potential loss
of revenue to the organization. On both ethical and financial grounds I did not wish
to be associated with such a decision.
This incident again can be seen as providing evidence of an underlying political
rationality. SMO presents an image of a stable organisation renewing contracts in
order to reinforce the appearance of legitimacy in terms of the social model by giving
an impression of competence and an ability to fulfill contracts in order to reassure
stakeholders. This political rationality outweighed economic considerations which
strongly suggested that if break-even was achievable with 18 clients then increasing to
32 without increased income was a significant risk. Effectively what was proposed by
the TEC was a contract which significantly reduced the payments made for each
client.
So far the discussion has concentrated on the problems SMO encountered in terms of
its political affiliation to the social model and the underlying political rationality
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which informed its practice. The following section will discuss the internal
employment practices at SMO which emerged as a significant issue for staff in the
organization.
SMO internal employment practices
SMO employed 7 people with a variety of impairments, representing approximately
25% of the workforce. Several staff indicated that the organization had a high rate of
staff turnover and pointed out that in two cases disabled people had taken the
organisation to an Employment Tribunal for unfair dismissal. These cases occurred
prior to the start of the research and therefore were raised with the CEO. Her
assessment of both cases was that the individuals concerned simply did not want to
work. With further probing, she elaborated on one of the cases:
The problem was he said he had a sleep disorder and needed to sleep
whenever the need arose. You can’t run a business like that, it’s not only
when he wanted to sleep, and he wanted to just lay down wherever he
was. I think he was just lazy and didn’t want to work. (Sharon, CEO
SMO)
SMO had a positive discrimination employment policy where any disabled
person would be guaranteed an interview for any posts advertised, irrespective
of any educational requirements or previous work experience. This policy went
further than many other equal opportunity employers as a declaration of
disabled status guaranteed unconditionally an interview for any advertised
vacancy. SMO won the Industrial Tribunal case because it was considered that
the claimant represented a health and safety hazard both for himself and others
if an emergency arose.
It seems perverse that SMO won the case because the tribunal made a decision
based on what SMO would regard as a medical model understanding of this ex207
employee’s disability. SMO’s case relied upon their health and safety concerns
as a direct result of the individual’s impairment. Although the example cited by
the CEO could be considered an exceptional case, a number of issues occurred
during my period as Treasurer and were not regarded by SMO's staff as unusual.
Michelle, the administrative supervisor, detailed the case of an employee who
had been dismissed after 10 weeks with SMO on the grounds of poor
performance:
Laura the clerical assistant, I was on the interview, gave an outstanding
interview, but once she got the job she just didn’t work. She said in all
the questions we asked at the interview she thought she would be able to
do the ones that best suited her disability […] She wanted to pick the
jobs she could do and leave anything she thought was too stressful.
(Michelle, Administration Supervisor SMO)
This example highlights the tensions and contradictions at the heart of SMO’s own
recruitment policies. Positive discrimination enabled inclusion in paid work but their
understanding of assimilation implied that disabled people were expected to fit into
existing job roles regardless of any real problems caused by their impairment. For
those who could not perform all the tasks associated with a pre-existing job, SMO
adopted an essentialist policy of individual condemnation carefully sidestepping any
correlations between performance and impairment and instead falling back on a
rationality that implied that the fault lay in individual laziness or poor performance.
Paradoxically, the defense offered by the disabled person was a belief that the work
would involve an integration strategy and an acceptance of the difference caused by
impairment which would then allow jobs to be redesigned in order to remove, where
possible, any disabling elements. It may have been the case that this employee was
lazy and not prepared to work but in a second case the consequences of impairment in
relation to expected production are clearer.
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Joanne, the Administration Manager, was involved in arranging some aspects of
running SMO’s charity shop and held strong views on the levels of staff turnover.
She had raised many issues during the interview regarding the shop but was
particularly anxious to express her views on the position that Martin, the blind
manager, was placed in. Martin was totally blind yet a significant amount of his duties
included accepting the donation of clothes; assessing whether items were fit for sale;
whether they required cleaning, and sorting garments according to size, colour and
potential age ranges for customers. These were tasks that a blind person would
clearly struggle to complete and Joanne felt he should not have been appointed to
such a job:
It’s quite ridiculous isn’t it? Martin is probably quite capable of doing
other things but they (senior management) just saw he’s disabled, and said
that’s fine let’s just give him the job. Management did not consider
whether he’s capable or suited to it. Some people are suited to certain
jobs, of course there’s also physical restraints which prevent some
disabled people doing some jobs. (Joanne, Administration Manager
SMO)
However, senior management was able to accommodate Martin’s needs as
Joanne explained:
They’ve got a support worker working for Martin because basically he’s
not capable of doing his work. How can he sort colours or say if
something needs cleaning? So, is he doing the job? Or is his support
worker doing the job? I don’t know, I don’t know really what it is, but
it’s got to be awfully hard really on him. (Joanne, Administration
Manager)
Once more the impaired body has to be taken account of and, despite social model
politics, a common sense understanding of the relationship between impairment and
disability leads to a socio-medical model being used in practice. Although the use of
a support worker might be considered by some to be an acceptable integration
strategy in this situation it effectively became a compensatory strategy that resulted in
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someone else doing the work and thus was little more than an admission of personal
deficit or tragedy (Oliver, 1990). In effect it was likely to have increased this blind
employee’s sense of inadequacy and failure rather than raised his self-esteem – a
factor Joanne recognised.
In this case, neither assimilation nor integration can overcome the consequences of
impairment as no model of equality can help a blind person detect colours. However,
integration could be utilized to redefine work roles and in this case all that was
required was that the job specification be readjusted to ensure that the ability to detect
colour and so on was not part of a blind person’s job description. SMO’s
interpretation of its political position as a social model organization led them to
believe that this strategy would compromise their legitimacy since it acknowledged
what they see to be a medical component in the cause of Martin’s disability. The
hypothetical question of how she thought SMO would eventually resolve the
problematic relationship between impairment and disability was posed to Joanne.
Although her response was only supposition it did reflect a general view of the rigid
hierarchical structure many thought SMO were destined to achieve:
I think what will happen is they’ll keep giving the shop manager’s job to
anyone who applies for it. Eventually someone in a wheelchair will get it.
Then it’ll work! The shop’s been adapted, a double bay at the back has been
left for a disabled driver and they’ve put in ramps and the rest of it. (Joanne,
Administration Manager SMO)
Clearly the idea that people with certain types of impairment are easier to find work
for than others is not restricted to the client groups SMO deals with.
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Summary
The discussion of how SMO fulfilled its mission clearly demonstrates that the
application of the social model is, in practice, extremely difficult. The political
rationality (Euske & Euske 1991) SMO adopted was based on social model ideology.
In order to convince the wider disability movement of practical adherence to the
social model any dissenting internal voices had to be silenced. However, to ensure
funding agents of their financial competence the organisation was required to display
itself as technically competent in transferring financial investment into demonstrable
outputs by showing disabled clients engaging in paid work. However, behind the
rhetorical mask, ELA funded SMO against an institutional rationality which did not
require demonstrable work related outcomes. In effect, SMO and NDDP applied both
technical and institutional rationalities when assisting clients depending on whether
paid work was an achieveable outcome. A significant difference appears where SMO
is required to demonstrate that the social model can be practically engaged to improve
employment opportunities.
It has been demonstrated that, despite senior management’s commitment to the social
model, even the CEO accepted that some medical conditions should be disclosed to
employers and that the only reason for this concession was to make the employer
aware of the impairment and its consequences. In the specific example of epilepsy
used by the CEO, if an individual had a seizure at work then it would defy common
sense not to seek medical aid to stabilize their condition. Such an acceptance
acknowledges that medical intervention can be beneficial and not necessarily
oppressive.
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In the time spent as Treasurer at SMO and in all the interviews that were conducted it
was apparent that although many of the staff described disability as a product of
disabling environments they also recognised that impairments imposed limitations on
performance which could not always be ignored. However, questioning the wisdom
of the social model or exposing inconsistencies in the theory and practice of the social
model was ruthlessly silenced in order, it seems, to maintain the claim that the social
model represents good sense. One consequence of this was that the organisation was
perceived by many staff as oppressively hierarchical because emphasis was heavily
placed on the selective removal of disabling barriers which privileged people with
particular impairments while turning a blind eye to others.
It can be argued that in practice SMO actually applied a socio-medical model and
tacitly acknowledged common sense understandings of disability by demonstrating
through their practices that participation in work was not a realistic option for many of
their learning disabled clients. SMO resorted to the rhetoric of equality through the
social model although this was only achieved at the cost of creating an oppressive
hierarchical ‘regime of truth’ (Foucault 1977) which privileged some definitions of
organizational reality and silenced others. This in turn enabled staff to question
whether the social model could be implemented in practice.
Conclusion
This chapter has shown that both organisations apply traditional intellectual
formulations of disability which have been termed as a socio-medical model. In both
organisations this model informed practice either overtly in NNDP or covertly in
SMO. In other words it was the socio-medical model which had achieved the level of
common sense. Whilst the social model may have been accepted as a political
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ideology by some people in SMO, the problems of implementing it in practice
undermined the possibility of it becoming common sense and so hegemonic within
the organisation. By comparison, NDDP did not face similar inconsistencies. They
operated to a socio-medical model which was aligned with traditional intellectual
formulations of disability and its many causes.
Two areas existed where SMO and NDDP had the potential to directly influence the
employment of disabled people: as employers and in fulfilling their contractual
obligations. Both organisations employed between 25% and 30% disabled staff. In
absolute terms NDDP employed 3 and SMO 7 disabled people. However, this
relatively high employment ratio ought to be viewed in a political context. Both
organisations had the same mission to find disabled people paid work, and this was
bound to influence their own internal employment practices to some extent. The
employment of above average numbers of disabled people by both organizations
served to demonstrate that the low employment rates of disabled people in all sectors
of the labour market, including the NFP sector and central Government (Hawes 2001;
Hermeston 2001; Hibbert 2000) could be raised. Politically it also served to protect
both organizations from accusations that they were unable to implement practices
which they advocated to other employers.
Whilst a comparison of the internal employment rates of disabled people
demonstrates no significant difference between the two organizations, at a
quantitative level there were significant differences in terms of their ability to find
employment for disabled people.
Although I did receive some statistical information from NDDP, it is difficult to put
the figures into context because no information relating to the targets set by
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government was available. However, if the results of the pilot mirrored the other 63
agencies operating NDDP pilots then it might be expected that targets were not
reached. Figures from all 64 agencies showed that only one third of the targets set by
government, in terms of finding paid employment for disabled people in receipt of
disability benefit, had been achieved by January 2002 (Disability Now 2002, 3). Of
those who had taken part in the scheme, only 5% had found permanent jobs employment which lasted over 6 months (Calvi 2003, 13). If these basic statistics are
accepted, the question of whether NDDP met government aspirations must be
answered negatively.
In two years of operations SMO did not publish figures relating to how many disabled
clients had found paid employment through their contracted obligations. However, as
we have seen, informal discussions with one contract manager led to an admission
that only two had found full-time paid open employment. Nevertheless, a comparison
based on statistical outcomes would be rather misleading and arguably it was too
early to evaluate the outcomes achieved by SMO. For example, my term as Treasurer
at SMO took place during the organisation’s second year of operations so any results
from the guidance training programme, which was one component in the overall
employment strategy, had not filtered through.
However, the question raised in this chapter was not how successful individual
organisations werebut rather if an organisation operating to the social model of
disability was more successful in engaging disabled people in work. The data
suggests that the social model did not deliver any better outcomes for disabled people
than a socio-medical model.
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Chapter 7
Staff Recruitment and Training
The preceding chapter examined the underlying models of disability that
informed how NDDP and SMO operated in relation to assisting disabled people to
achieve social inclusion through paid work. It was suggested that in both
organizations the dominant model in practice can be seen as a socio-medical one. It
will also be recalled that 25-30% of employees in both organizations were disabled.
The first part of this chapter considers how each organization was able to achieve
such above average representation of disabled employees and will examine the
understandings of disability that underpinned each organisation’s own recruitment
practices and their approach to equal opportunities.
The implications of this for the organisations’ training and development strategies
will be considered because (using Gramsci’s formulation of hegemony) it could be
argued that if the social model is to become hegemonic then organisations need to
persuade employees of the value of the model and how to apply it in practice. In an
organisational context this might be achieved via training programmes and the
application of the social model in recruitment practices. Thus it could be argued that
the difficulties the organisations experienced in achieving organisational missions was
not just a result of the issues discussed in the previous chapter but may also have been
a result of poor performance management. Similarly it could be argued that the sociomedical model is still dominant in practice because management has failed to
persuade the employees that the social model is more appropriate than a medical or
socio-medical model. Such a failure could be redressed through disability awareness
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training. Therefore, job-related training and disability awareness training will also be
discussed.
Recruitment practices in NDDP
The majority of staff in NDDP had been seconded from other organisations so
that at the end of the pilot the organisation would not find itself in a situation of
having to declare staff redundant. Such a situation would have been politically
embarrassing for the Government given that the organisation was set up in order
to find employment for disabled people. However, seconding staff from other
organisations did not provide sufficient disabled employees to enable NDDP to
demonstrate in its own practices that disabled people could be employed. In
other words, politically NDDP needed to demonstrate the good practice it was
attempting to persuade other employers to adopt. It was important to
demonstrate such political rationality whilst at the same time conforming to the
technical rationality required to meet Government targets.
Disabled employees in NDDP had previously been clients. Discussing
recruitment practices within NDDP, Mark, who as the Manager in NDDP was
involved in all recruitment, reported:
All I’m concerned with is if they can do the job or not. If we need to make
some adjustments, say more space or special seating or in your case we needed
to supply special computers, then we’ll do it. But if what you are asking is,
would we employ someone who couldn’t do the job, then it’s got to be no.
Most disabled people who come here are capable of work, but if a person, say
with severe learning disabilities […] then perhaps working in a place like this
isn’t the answer. (Mark, Manager NDDP)
Clearly Mark considers the nature of the impairment in recruiting employees
and people with particular forms of impairments. So those for whom relatively
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straightforward adjustments can be made are more likely to be successful in
gaining employment than others. This would suggest a socio-medical approach
in which the effects of the impairment can be offset by making adaptations to
the environment or to how the work will be done. If Mark had been using a
social model then he might have considered how the job might be redesigned so
that it did not present any barriers to the individual. However, Mark’s primary
concern is whether the individual “can do the job or not”. In other words, the
job will not be changed; the question is whether the individual has the necessary
human capital to be able to perform the work. The way in which this is
evaluated is generally on the basis of the human capital in the form of
qualifications, skills and prior experience. In terms of an equality approach this
would support a liberal rather than radical approach to equal opportunities and a
technical rationality. Mark’s approach to recruitment can therefore be seen as
representative of common sense traditional formulations of both the nature of
disability and approaches to achieving equality.
From a social model perspective, Mark could be accused of individualising
disability because he assesses whether particular forms of impairment can be
easily assimilated within existing structures. His liberal approach could be seen
as another barrier to the employment of disabled people which (from a radical
perspective) would suggest that disabled people are less likely to be able to
acquire the same human capital as non-disabled people and therefore it should
not be used as criteria for recruitment. Such a critique underpinned the
recruitment practices adopted in SMO.
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Recruitment practices in SMO
The majority of SMO’s staff was, like that at NDDP, non-disabled. At the
recruitment stage these employees were required to have the necessary human capital
such as qualifications and relevant work experience in order to be appointed. At the
same time, the rationale for setting up SMO was that an organisation could operate
according to the principles of the social model in fulfilling its mission to find
employment for disabled people. SMO adopted a radical approach to equal
opportunities which laid less emphasis on formal qualifications than the liberal model
(Jewson & Mason 1986) and needed to demonstrate that its employment practices
were successful. In practice, this often entailed providing employment for unqualified
disabled people with no prior work experience. Non-disabled people, however, did
need to demonstrate they had the appropriate human capital to secure a job. Members
of staff were acutely aware of these two different methods of recruitment and that the
ability to apply a rational approach to equal opportunities proved to be problematic in
practice.
It was regularly pointed out that despite the organisation wishing to adopt a radical
approach to equal opportunities and increase the employment of disabled people,
irrespective of whether they had the necessary human capital, this was not in practice
a realistic option:
I know that’s what we say, but it’s not on is it? All the top jobs here are
decided on ability and experience. You can’t seriously say a finance manager
can be unqualified can you? (Andrea, Manager SMO)
Whilst the managers who performed specialist functions within the organisation were
all qualified and experienced, the CEO (who had an MA in Disability Studies) had no
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management qualifications or experience of running an organization. Her MA may
have provided her with the necessary human capital to try and ensure that SMO
operated according to the social model of disability but, as the ensuing discussion on
training will show, it did not provide her with the necessary human capital to enable
her to improve the business performance of the organisation.
When Andrea was asked why the organisation employed disabled people without the
necessary qualifications and experience she replied:
It’s to keep the disability lot quiet. What we say and do are two very different
things. (Andrea, Manager SMO)
The need to appear to be operating according to the social model was reported by
others. For example, in pointing out that not all disabled employees in SMO were
unqualified and inexperienced, Claire suggested:
It’s part of the game they play, if you check, some of them have degrees, and
they all have lots of experience. But they need a few token gestures to show
how good the social model is. (Clare, Trainer)
The people with ‘degrees and lots of experience’ were (perhaps unsurprisingly) senior
managers in the organization who sat on the Board. The experience to which Clare
referred was previous experience of working with disabled people rather than
experience of running an organisation. The ‘token gestures’ Clare referred to were
the unqualified disabled employees: some of the trainers and some of the receptionists
and administrative assistants. Andrea claimed that they served to support the
perception that the social model and radical approach to equal opportunities could be
implemented in practice. The notion that theory and practice did not always match in
relation to recruitment was also raised by Tim:
When they want someone it all goes out of the window, they just appoint
someone they know can do it. So this targeting stuff is just a farce, everyone
knows that but you can’t say it. (Tim, Supervisor SMO)
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Clearly the need to demonstrate that the requirement for qualifications and experience
discriminates against the employment of disabled people because they have fewer
opportunities to acquire either, can, on occasion, be overridden. If the choice is
between a non-disabled person with the necessary skills and experience and a disabled
person with no skills and experience then the likely outcome is that the former rather
than the latter will be employed. If both disabled and non-disabled applicants had the
same human capital then under a social model and a radical equality approach, the
disabled candidate would be privileged in order to increase the proportion of disabled
people.
In SMO, then, two different recruitment strategies were operating. One was based on
a liberal approach which was predominantly applied to non-disabled people and the
other was a radical approach which was applied only to disabled people. The
contradictory nature of this was recognized by employees and served to ensure that
neither a social model nor a radical approach to equal opportunities was accepted as
common sense by the majority of employees. In contrast, in NDDP a socio-medical
model of disability and a liberal approach to equal opportunities was applied to
disabled and non-disabled alike and this was accepted as common sense by
employees.
The following section will consider how training was conducted in each organization
and how the two systems of recruitment in SMO had an on the approach to training
and the services provided to their disabled clients.
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Job related training in NDDP
In NDDP, the identification of training needs was based on collective decisions about
how working practices could be improved. For example, a decision might be made on
what kind of information was to be collected and an evaluation made on the adequacy
of existing systems. If it was decided that there was a need for a different system
someone would be identified to undertake training. That person would generally be
someone whose job already included information processing. The long-term aim
would be that everyone would adopt the same system for processing information and
that the person who had been trained would act as an informal resource for people
who were using the new system should they need any help. An example of this
occurred whilst the research was being conducted.
Linda was one of NDDP’s former clients and her job was to collect statistical
information. The organisation had decided to implement a new information system
and she had recently completed an IT training programme. Explaining the approach to
training within NDDP, she reported:
I’ve been on a few short courses [...] I’ve learnt computer training,
working different computer packages, so I am putting back that training
because other people working with me don’t understand what I’m doing
until I tell them. It works vice versa as well; when they go on a course
they tell me what it was all about. Everybody has different strengths and
weaknesses; we try and put our strengths across to everybody else, in the
hope that training courses benefit everybody. (Linda, Clerical assistant
NDDP)
As everyone had a basic level of expertise in IT, the further skills developed by
someone who had attended a training course could be acquired relatively easily by
those who had not attended further training. There was therefore an expectation that
the skills acquired via training courses would become an organisational resource and
could be drawn on by others when required. The skills and knowledge acquired was
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expected to be transferred between staff members (Blackburn & Rosen 1993; Fiol
1991).
The identification of training needs was not conducted at an individual level and
did not include whether or not the individual identified to attend a training
course had a disability because at the recruitment stage all employees were
presumed to have the necessary human capital to be able to perform their work
to an adequate standard. Training requirements were strategically planned and
were aimed at allowing the efficient and effective performance of organisational
tasks. This is a technical rational approach to training and disability played no
part in the identification of training either for individual staff or for
organisational performance.
Job-related training in SMO
The identification of work-related training in SMO while similar in some respects to
that at NDDP also demonstrated some significant differences. As at NDDP,
individuals would be identified to undertake a training course because their work
already entailed some aspect of the task for which the training was designed.
However most of the job related training at SMO was undertaken by non-disabled
employees. Whilst these individuals would be expected to share their newly acquired
expertise with others in the organization this proved more difficult than at NDDP
because (as discussed earlier in relation to the Board) the existing knowledge base
amongst other members of staff was generally very low and there was no expectation
that everyone would be expected to change the way work was performed.
Alison, who had been sent on a course to help the organisation improve its project
planning procedures reported her experiences:
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They sent me on a course to do Microsoft project for the work retention
scheme. It’s very useful in project planning, there’s lots of things going on
in the background. (Alison, Contracts Manager SMO)
Alison then used her new skills to project manage the work retention contract
and prepared a presentation for the CEO:
So I presented the project to the CEO and she didn’t understand it ... So,
because she couldn’t do it that way, I had to go away and do it (plan the
contract) in a way she could understand. (Alison, Contracts Manager
SMO)
It would appear that despite Alison having been trained in more appropriate project
planning techniques as the CEO could not understand the new techniques project
planning methods reverted back to the systems that were already in place. Whilst
Alison may have benefitted personally from the training course, her skills were not
used as a resource by the rest of the organisation to improve its performance. In these
circumstances one might question the value of sending employees on training courses.
However, if the form of rationality that underpinned operations at SMO is considered
the logic of their approach to training is apparent.
The dominant rationality at SMO was a political one which was concerned with
securing the control of financial resources. One strategy to achieve this was to
reassure funding agents that professional management systems were in place which
demonstrated financial transparency and accountability. Hence the organisation could
achieve legitimacy with funding agents if it appeared to be a technically rational
organisation where controls monitored the transfer of resources from inputs to outputs
as would be demonstrated via project management techniques. However, despite the
need for such external legitimacy, the majority of SMO-delivered contracts, including
the ‘work retention scheme’ cited above, were based on an institutional rationality,
where, in practice, no monitoring from the external funding agents took place. Hence
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there was no motivation to ensure that sophisticated software packages were adopted
for the internal systems. Such packages would be used largely for presentations to
external stakeholders. The institutional rationality which underpinned the ELA
contracts also had an impact on a further problem with job related training in SMO
that was closely related to SMO’s recruitment strategies discussed earlier.
Carol was a training supervisor and did not define herself as disabled. Whilst she did
not disagree with the use of a radical approach to recruitment, she was particularly
concerned about the way SMO supported these disabled employees:
If you’re saying people need no qualifications or experience in the area of
training and you interview them and feel they’ve got the skills to be a
trainer, that’s fine as long as they’re not just chucked in and you expect
them to get on with training, which is what happens here. (Carol, Training
Supervisor SMO)
From this account it would appear that unqualified disabled people were employed as
trainers in SMO but were not then provided with any training to perform their job.
Clearly if unqualified people were recruited to training positions the amount and level
of training they would require would be significantly more than those who were
initially employed as qualified trainers. The quality of the training such unqualified
people were able to provide then had an impact on their ability to prepare clients for
the labour market and therefore could undermine the organisation’s mission. Clearly,
such a paradox needs to be reconciled.
In the last chapter it was noted that the majority of SMO’s clients had learning
impairments and it was suggested by their training supervisor that many simply
attended SMO for the social life they found on site. ELA, the funding agent, applied
no contract monitoring systems to demonstrate that clients had gained qualifications.
If no criteria are set and no outcomes demanded, then the training of this group of
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clients could legitimately be to whatever standard the trainer was capable of
delivering. It can be seen that if client expectations had been different; if the type of
training that was required had been different; if clients had different forms of
impairments, or if funding agents had requested some evidence of outcomes, the
employment of unqualified inexperienced trainers would have been difficult to justify.
For example, it is highly unlikely that an unqualified, inexperienced person could
deliver computer training to people with physical or sensory impairments.
SMO appeared to be trapped in a paradox. Whilst it justified its claim to be operating
to the principles of the social model and a radical approach to equal opportunities by
offering employment as trainers to unqualified disabled people without regard to their
impairment, this was only possible because of the nature of their client’s impairment.
In this sense, SMO actively exploited the consequences of impairment and the fact
that the funding agents did not set any standards or targets for the training of learning
impaired clients in order to support a model of disability which, for political ends,
refuses to acknowledge the consequences of specific forms of impairment.
In contrast, NDDP did not try to implement a social model of disability which would
have entailed a radical approach to recruitment. They did have targets they were
required to meet and these were regularly monitored. At least some of their staff were
motivated to meet such targets because this was used as an individual performance
indicator in their appraisals and was linked to bonus payments. Employees were
recruited with the necessary qualifications and experience that could be developed
through further training which enabled all members of the organization to improve
performance. Their clients were drawn from a much wider range of impairments and,
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politically, they could not afford to recruit employees who did not have the necessary
skills to perform their tasks to an acceptable standard.
Whilst the survival of both organisations was dependent on the continued financial
support of funding agencies, the context and expectations of funding agencies, clients
and other stakeholders enabled them to adopt different strategies for demonstrating
that the funds were delivering the socially desirable outcomes that had been promised
(Euske & Euske 1991; Meyer & Rowan 1977). The differences in approach to job
related training in the two organisations were also mirrored in their approach to
disability awareness training.
NDDP: staff disability awareness training
At NDDP, compulsory disability awareness training was provided whenever possible
during five consecutive weeks of compulsory residential courses away from the pilot
office, where staff mixed with employees from other NDDP pilots. However, if the
five-week block proved impractical for individuals then it could be split. For example,
during an interview for a job at NDDP, the manager raised the issue of training with
me. As a single parent, five continuous weeks away would have been problematic
and the manager helped to resolve the issue by suggesting that in such cases training
sessions could be split into more convenient blocks to suit individual circumstances.
Training was delivered by a variety of organisations all of whom were directly
involved in disability issues. Mary was a personal advisor and, after completing the
disability awareness training course, she complained about the length of time she had
been required to spend away from home. Commenting on the course’s content, she
suggested that it had raised several issues she had not considered in detail before. The
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range of topics covered included benefit entitlement and social security rules as well
as the way disability was understood and defined:
We spent some time on the use of correct language, but I think that’s difficult
for many of them. Because, people come here and you can use ‘impairment’,
but they’ll (clients) say, ‘handicap’. They did provide a list of words and their
use, you know, don’t use things like handicap and spastic and those sort of
words. There were some good speakers, we had people from the RNIB,
RNID, and they were very good, and we had a community psychiatric nurse
[...] We had an exercise involving two GPs, where a client would go in and
say I’m depressed or whatever and he’d say here are some pills now go away,
then the other GP would say right, there’s a programme on at the gym and so
on and they’d try and get the person to look at the problems rather than trying
to cure everything through medication. (Mary, PA NDDP)
The emphasis on correct language could be seen as an attempt to change the common
sense understanding of clients by questioning the use of terms now widely considered
to be politically incorrect, such as ‘handicap’. In Mary’s description, two
understandings of disability can be discerned: a medical interventionist one, where
tablets were viewed as a ‘cure’ for impairment, and an alternative view of disability
based on social remedies which had no direct medical intervention. Certainly, it
cannot be said that NDDP staff were encouraged merely to see the impaired body as
the sole site of disability; rather the training seemed to address both medically based
impairment and social factors.
Given the nature of the disability awareness training employees attended at NDDP, it
might be expected that this would have had an impact on their understanding of
disability. Most NDDP employees felt that disability applied only to people with
impairments that limit performance but that, even when these existed, it did not
necessarily mean someone was disabled:
My own father was born with only one arm, I’d never class him as disabled,
and he used to make toys for me when I was little, little dolls houses and
things. I never thought of my dad as disabled. He decorated, climbed ladders
and used to say he can do anything that any other man with two can do. It’s
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true. So what is disabled? It stops him doing certain things say holding a loaf
of bread the way we hold a loaf of bread but he adapts differently. (Elaine, PA
NDDP)
In this quotation, Elaine seems to be attempting to break the connection between
impairment and disability. She does not accept that having an impairment
automatically qualifies someone as disabled. This, of course, supports a social model
of disability. Nevertheless, most people at NDDP argued that both impairment and
social factors together contributed to people feeling disabled. For example, Wendy
argued:
People who come here have some sort of medical condition or other, but
they want to work. It’s up to us and them to find ways of making that
happen [...] It’s not about any medical things, it’s about making changes to
work like special computers, or retraining, or employers just giving
someone a break. (Wendy, PA NDDP)
Wendy was not unusual, the majority of staff at NDDP articulated a socio-medical
understanding of disability and this might be expected given the nature of the training
they had attended. For NDDP employees then the socio-medical model was common
sense.
SMO: staff disability awareness training
SMO’s disability awareness training was also compulsory for all staff. However it
was delivered in-house either by or under the supervision of the CEO. The training
sessions ran once every six weeks and lasted, on average, for three hours. One
particular training session will be used as an example of disability awareness training
in SMO because it was the one that most respondents referred to in order to express
their views about the quality of the training.
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The background to this particular session involved a paper written by the disabled
academic, Tom Shakespeare, in which he had suggested that, in certain cases, the use
of pre-natal genetic engineering should be considered where premature death and pain
would otherwise be expected for the child (Shakespeare 1997c). The article was given
to all staff to review. The training session consisted of staff being divided into groups
of seven people and each group was given a proposition that argued against the use of
genetic engineering. Clare explained what had happened:
It was about trying to make the staff say genetic engineering was wrong, it
wasn’t about discussing it. I personally believe if you’re carrying a child and
it’s got an impairment they can cure while it’s in the womb, so that when the
baby’s born it will be healthy, what mother wouldn’t say, right go for it, do it?
But they say no, you shouldn’t do it because that person is an individual it’s
entitled to be born as nature intended regardless of any problems it might have
through life. I think that’s wrong, but they’re saying no that’s not wrong that’s
right ... they will accept wheelchairs for people who can’t walk, but won’t
accept people should be helped to walk. It’s a question of what suits me. I
mean we all got separate questions, on our table we had to support the
question that abortion or termination should never happen under any
circumstances. It was a table full of women, not one of us agreed with it, but
we had to support it. It was very difficult, because nobody thought it was true.
What we had to say in the end was, before we tell you why this statement
might be true, I just want to say that nobody found it true and that included a
disabled person on our table. But you couldn’t argue why, you were only
allowed to say why it was true. (Clare, Supervisor SMO)
SMO adopted a particularly extreme, radical view on genetic engineering and
abortion. However, some disabled academics have offered qualified support for
genetic engineering (Shakespeare, 1997c) with others upholding a woman’s right to
choose whether to abort or not on qualified medical grounds (Finkelstein and Stewart
1996, 177). This option was not offered in the training session on which Clare
reported.
Disability awareness training sessions in SMO can be seen as attempts to enforce a
particular version of the social model. Many employees felt that the arguments
advanced by the CEO were contradictory. In the extract above, Clare articulated one
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of these contradictions by questioning why the use of a wheelchair to reduce the effect
of a physical impairment was acceptable when medical interventions that might
reduce or prevent an impairment are not. However, the issue which caused most
anger amongst staff was the silencing of any real debate by being required to speak
only in support of the given propositions. This authoritarian approach appears to have
been counter-productive because, as the following extracts demonstrate, some staff
resisted disability awareness training altogether:
I try and make sure I’m out on business when they (training sessions) come
up. I’ve nothing against training, it’s good to be shown different ways of
thinking about disability, but this is more like indoctrination, you can’t
disagree. (Ken, Supervisor, SMO)
Those that were unable to absent themselves on business grounds adopted a different
approach:
I don’t pay attention to them anymore, I just say what they want to hear, and
it’s easier than trying to argue. (Michelle, Administration Supervisor SMO)
In explaining the need for disability awareness training the CEO argued:
It’s very important to train people in what our principles are and how we
hope to achieve them. You know, we’ve had people who have had no idea
at all about disability issues, some of them have been quick learners I have
to say. (Sharon, CEO SMO)
What the CEO did not recognize was that the ‘quick learners’ she refers to may
have been merely paying lip-service to her views. No member of staff interviewed
found these training sessions helpful or relevant to their work in SMO. Whilst the
CEO attempted to reinforce the political ‘good sense’ of supporting the social
model by providing disability awareness training for staff, her unwillingness to
allow any debate ensured that such understandings did not become hegemonic. As
Gramsci (1971) argues, hegemony can only occur with the consent of those over
whom power is exercised. Therefore, in exercising her power to deny any debate
the CEO has unsurprisingly created resistance – a phenomenon which has been
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recognized in other contexts (see Austrin 1994; Bain & Taylor 2000; Callon 1986;
Clegg 1989, 1994; Knights and McCabe 1999; Knights & Vurdubakis 1994;
Rothschild & Miethe 1994; Taylor & Bain 1999).
Given the nature of the training that SMO employees had undertaken, it might also
be expected that they would all define disability in social model terms of
environmental barriers. However, informal conversations with employees showed
that their understandings were not significantly different to those of NDDP
employees:
I went to a conference on independent living and I took a lot of stick for being
there because they said I was not disabled. How they knew that I don’t know,
because I have epilepsy - a hidden disability - and I could have used that if I
wanted. (Clair, Trainer SMO)
Despite having an impairment Clair did not classify herself as disabled, even when
she felt under pressure to declare her impairment. This mirrors the comment from
Elaine at NDDP who did not perceive her father to be disabled. Consequently, Clair
could also be seen to be supporting a social model by breaking the link between
impairment and disability. Others, however, did suggest that there was a link:
I know this doesn’t go down well in here, but for me impairment does matter.
Look at you, we can do what we can, but at the end of the day we can’t make
everything the same for you, it’s just not possible. (Tim, Supervisor SMO)
If you’re in a wheelchair, it’s pretty easy to understand barriers. But what
about most of our trainees, they’ll never work, so how do you find barriers to
explain that? I just can’t accept that everything is the fault of those outside,
you know, employers and the like, I meet some of them regularly and I think
many are genuine when they say they want to help, but how do you overcome
it when they can’t concentrate for more than a few seconds? (Andrea,
Manager SMO)
Both Tim and Andrea recognized the importance of impairment and social factors
which disable people. The nature of the impairment also affects the degree to which
barriers can be removed. In some cases it is not possible to remove all barriers and
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remove the effect of an impairment. It would appear, therefore, that despite attempts
to ensure that employees in SMO were trained to recognize the social nature of
disability, the majority still articulated a socio-medical understanding.
Summary
If organisational rhetoric is considered then a stark contrast is presented between the
recruitment and training offered by both organisations. It has been argued in previous
chapters that, historically, the traditional intellectual understandings of disability can
be represented as predicated on both social barriers and a medical determination of
impairment. NDDP reflected this position in their recruitment and training policies.
Impairment was used principally to determine group membership and for this group,
providing impairment did not restrict their ability to perform prescribed work roles,
alterations to social barriers were undertaken to facilitate their employment. This
reinforces the historical continuity in understandings expressed by Beveridge (1906),
'work for those who can, support for those who can't'. Both technical training and
disability awareness training reinforced this traditional intellectual understanding. On
the other hand, the attempts at SMO to widen a social model ideology into everyday
operations which could be accepted by stakeholders as common sense did not
succeed.
Despite claiming to adopt positive discrimination policies SMO employed
approximately the same percentage of disabled people as NDDP. For technical posts
including finance and operations management, the criteria for recruitment shifted
away from radical positive discrimination to liberal approaches based on the proven
ability and experience of non-disabled people. This elite of educated and experienced
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members of the organisation could then gain similar technical training to that
provided by NDDP although this did not in many cases transfer to a shared
organisational resource but became an organisational tool to confirm technical
accountability to external stakeholders. A significant difficulty SMO had was that
members of staff were aware of the contradictions and inconsistency in social model
ideology which could not be overcome through authoritarian disability awareness
training. One such inconsistency was shown when a person without a visible
impairment was subjected to disabling attitudes by other disabled people with obvious
impairments which visually confirmed a disabled status.
In Chapter 3 the difficulties of conducting research were discussed when traditional
intellectual understandings privilege sight as a 'real' and objective truth. This problem
of sensory elevation has been recognised in disability studies (Hughes 1999) and it
can lead to the disappearance of impaired bodies (Hughes & Paterson 1997; Paterson
& Hughes 1999). This research identifies that this phenomenon is also employed by
disabled people who possess identifiable impairments and hence elevate themselves to
hierarchical, ocular-centric superiority. The problem SMO had was that such
contradictions and inconsistencies were obvious to members of staff who were then
instructed to believe that all disability was created only by a hostile, oppressive,
disabling external world. While inside the organization, the majority of SMO
employees paid lip- service to social model adherence but informally applied
traditional intellectual understandings mirroring those found in NDDP. SMO’s
awareness training sessions never achieved Gramsci's criterion of changing traditional
intellectual understandings and hence did not become uncritically accepted as
common sense and thus hegemonic. The following chapter continues the search for
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models of disability in the two organisations by considering the question of how they
define and overcome issues of access for disabled people.
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Chapter 8
Overcoming Access Barriers
The preceding chapters have considered the achievement of organisational
missions both in relation to the clients of NDDP and SMO and the internal practices
of recruitment and selection in order to evaluate the underlying models of disability
and approaches to equality adopted by each organisation. There is one more aspect of
understanding disability and the exclusion of disabled people from society and
employment which needs to be considered: the issue of access.
As has been discussed, the social model of disability maintains that disability is a
product of the built environment and social attitudes (Campbell & Oliver 1996;
Finkelstein & French 1993; Gleeson 1999; Imrie 1996; Oliver 1996; Skelton &
Valentine 1999; Zarb 1996, 1997) as a result of which disabled people are excluded
from mainstream society and have fewer opportunities than non-disabled people.
Access therefore plays a major part in the social model of disability. Access may be
related to physical access such as where buildings have been constructed on the basis
of the needs of non-impaired bodies. It may be related to communication systems
where the method of communication assumes a non-disabled body or it may also
relate to society’s attitudes towards disabled people which may result in fewer
opportunities for disabled people to gain paid work.
By casting the problems disabled people experience as a result of access problems the
focus for the ‘remedies’ is shifted from the individual impaired body to the collective
and social environment. Indeed, Mark’s argument that it would be difficult to employ
people with learning impairments within the organisation (see Chapter 7, p. 225-6)
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could be seen as evidence that access to employment was being denied to this group
of disabled people on the basis of their impairment. However, as SMO professed
adherence to a social model it might be expected that access barriers would be
removed without any consideration of impairment or type of impairment. The
application of a social model should result in an environment and methods of
communication which disable nobody. This chapter considers whether this was
actually the case in practice.
It would be unreasonable to expect that two organisations could change society’s
attitudes towards disabled people so the issue of access will only be considered in
terms of whether the employees within the organisations altered their views of the
causes of disability. The focus of the discussion will be on how each organisation
dealt with issues of physical access and communication. Information will be drawn
from interviews with employees of NDDP and SMO and the experiences of clients as
well as my own experiences of both organisations.
NDDP: defining and enabling access
Staff at NDDP were aware of the many dimensions of access:
I think access is usually thought about as wheelchairs, but there’s more to it,
what about you? Your access is different to that I’d guess. If you had any
access problems I’d ask you what they were and see if we can find a way
around them. (Paul, PA NDDP)
Access is a tricky one, most of my clients are learning impaired or with mental
health issues, so for me the question is first how do they get access to the
scheme and then access to making their own choices? It’s very difficult.
(Elaine, PA NDDP)
Both Paul and Elaine acknowledged that the ways in which access problems manifest
themselves are dependent on the nature of the impairment an individual may have.
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Concerns about access to the premises and to information had been central to the
setting up of NDDP and to their ongoing work.
Mark had worked as a senior manager in the employment service for several years
and when NDDP was being set up he was very aware of the importance of access to
the premises and to information as he had the responsibility for making the final
decision about which building would be chosen. Issues of physical access were
always a major consideration and as part of the process of finding suitable premises,
landlords were required to provide details of both location and accessibility. Before a
final agreement to lease the premises had been reached, Mark ensured that a disability
access audit was conducted by members of the employment service disability team.
Whilst this team did not include any disabled people and could therefore be criticized
from a social model perspective on the grounds that non-disabled people were
determining the needs of disabled people, in fact, the views of disabled people were
sought and acted upon. Mark reported that as part of the audit, wheelchair users had
advised him on building access. This was just one of several criteria Mark used to
determine suitable accommodation and address access issues.
The first criterion was physical accessibility. Mark needed to ensure that NDDP was
located in premises with wheelchair access both from the immediate external vicinity
and within the organisation. This is perhaps not surprising given that the wheelchair
has become a generic symbol for disabled people and that they have led many highly
visible campaigns to ensure that public buildings and transport systems (both
physically and financially) are accessible to mobility impaired people and disabled
people generally.
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The building that was selected had an underground car park with designated disabled
parking areas and lifts which could accommodate a wheelchair. The building was
located in the busy town centre and the main pedestrian entrance was on street level
within a car- free shopping area. The site also had good public transport links with
bus and train connections within a short walk as Angela pointed out, ‘there are no
problems getting in, the bus is just over the road’ (Angela, Client). For disabled
people within ELA, public transport was free hence transport costs were not a
disabling barrier. As visually impaired, I found moving around within the building
unproblematic. One of the major problems for visually impaired people is doors
especially when they open in different directions. The only doors encountered were
those at the office entrance. Once inside the building, the arrangement of tables and
filing cabinets created walkways which could be touched on both sides and provided a
physical guide and route around the open-plan office area. The latter was particularly
beneficial because as I began to recognise individuals’ voices, these acted as
‘positioning markers’. Physical access to the building for mobility impaired people
and for people with visual impairments had been carefully considered and any
potential barriers had been removed.
However, promoting disabled access as predominantly a product of the built
environment can marginalize those where access is not related to inaccessible
buildings or transport systems. For example, many visually and learning impaired
people may consider the disabling aspect of access to be how to find a building
especially if it is in an unfamiliar location. In these cases, it becomes difficult to
disengage the individual consequences of impairment from their disabling effects.
Nevertheless NDDP had considered access for different people with different
impairments. For people with sensory impairments, two options were available:
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NDDP staff would either meet a client wherever they chose – for example in their
home or in a familiar location such as their local job centre, or a client could be met
by a member of staff in a nearby public place such as the train station or local bus stop
and escorted to NDDP’s offices. These options inevitably individualised disability in
the sense that they accepted that impairment does in some circumstances involve
consequences that cannot be overcome by changing the environment and are therefore
a response to the impairment itself. Disabling barriers, whether socially created or as
a consequence of an impairment, were acknowledged and steps taken to ensure these
did not restrict access.
On the advice of representatives of impairment specific groups a similar approach was
taken towards access to different forms of communication and methods of providing
information to clients. Information was provided in a variety of formats such as
Braille or large print for visually impaired people and the provision of signers for deaf
clients during face-to-face interactions:
I thought I’d have a problem being deaf, but they came with me to see my
boss with Alan the signer, and it was sorted. (Simon, Client communicating
through a signer NDDP)
Clients who had learning impairments were equally satisfied with the service:
it's [NDDP] very accessible, I had no trouble getting here and the staff are
good too, they explain what it’s about and tell you in simple words what’s
going on here. (Dave, Client, NDDP)
Thus in terms of physical access for mobility impaired clients and communication
access for clients who had sensory or learning impairments, NDDP appeared to have
removed many barriers. They did this via consultation with representatives of groups
of disabled people who had particular forms of impairment and through direct
consultation with individual clients. In each case they were responding to their
clients’ particular needs and ensuring that neither the physical environment nor
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communication systems which were based on non-impaired bodies acted as barriers to
the ability of disabled people to access their services. This was extended to the
research for this thesis so that when interviewing deaf clients, signers were provided.
As such NDDP was following a socio-medical model.
SMO: defining and enabling access
As SMO claims to follow the social model of disability, it might be expected that an
environment would be found in which barriers to physical access or communication
systems had been removed in order to facilitate access. SMO’s premises were
provided by the ELA. The building was formerly a single storey primary school and
stood in its own fenced and secured grounds in a suburb outside the city centre. In
consultation with both the CEO and Chair of SMO – both wheelchair and car users the ELA had made a number of adaptations to the building in order to remove
potential barriers.
For disabled drivers, car parking bays had been widened and designated with a logo
close to the main entrance which had been made accessible by ‘dropping’ the
pavement kerbs and installing electrically operated entrance doors. Doors had been
widened and ramps had replaced steps. In addition to the primary security offered by
the fenced and gated perimeter, electrically powered steel roller shutters protected all
external windows and doors and the reasons for this will be discussed in due course.
In order to remove potential problems of access to the building, SMO used their own
two mini-buses to transport their clients to and from home. Both the CEO and Chair
of SMO asserted that the premises were therefore ‘a model of accessible building
design’. Whilst such an assessment may have been correct for wheelchair users, given
my own impairment I would find it difficult to endorse such a claim.
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The wide, long, featureless corridors, punctuated with doors leading to staff offices
and numerous dividing fire doors were difficult to navigate. In order to overcome this
access barrier I had to have a sighted guide to assist me to find rooms and individuals
at SMO. In this example a relatively unproblematic compromise was available,
however it did not provide me with the ability to move around the building
independently. When access is considered in relation to the external environment
compromise became more difficult to achieve and was not singularly related to
disabled people.
For disabled and non-disabled car users, the location and parking facilities at SMO
enabled full independent access. However, for those who relied on public transport
independent access was more problematic. There were neither train stations nor bus
stops within the immediate vicinity. The lack of public transport close to the premises
was rendered even more problematic because SMO was located in a suburb with a
high level of crime. During my period as treasurer access to the premises had been
reduced on two occasions by the police, once in order to investigate a stabbing outside
the premises and the second time in relation to a drive-by shooting. The area was
notorious for drug trafficking, and I was warned several times to follow the implicit
rule adopted by many staff of not venturing outside the grounds unaccompanied.
To ‘remedy’ this access issue, it was agreed that the cost of all journeys to and from
SMO would be undertaken by taxi and the costs classed as legitimate travelling
expenses in my role as Treasurer. Whilst this resolved some of the problems I had
accessing the premises other visually impaired staff who were not Board members
were less fortunate and had to fund their own travelling expenses. During the period I
was Treasurer, no claims for travel expenses for office based staff were seen. For
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staff unable to drive because of their impairment, the financial barrier to accessing
their work premises was not removed by SMO. The reason given for why travelling
expenses were not provided for other staff requiring taxis was that this would prove
too expensive. In other words, a technical rational argument was used. Such an
argument was not necessary in relation to the CEO and Chair because, as wheelchair
users, they received financial assistance to purchase adapted vehicles through the
Government’s ‘motorbility’ scheme (Bury 1996; George 1999) and therefore access
was relatively unproblematic.
However, there was one other problem with gaining physical access to the building
which applied equally to disabled and non-disabled people. As indicated above, the
building was located in a high crime area. On a number of occasions when leaving the
building at night it was clear that taxi drivers were reluctant to enter the area. Hence
on several occasions, leaving the premises after dark became difficult because taxi
drivers chose not to enter the suburb. This, of course, is an example of how, from a
social model perspective, disability is firmly rooted in the local environment. Such a
formulation would need to take no account of impairment because the environment
was equally disabling to impaired and non-impaired people who did not have access
to their own forms of transport. Ironically this would suggest that such groups were
more disabled by the environment and their lack of private transport than those who
have an impairment and private transport. It can be seen that, logically, such an
argument would have to be accepted within the framework of the social model which
attempts to break the link between impairment and disability.
Although the immediate environment in which the building was situated was
problematic there was little SMO could do to alter the situation because the siting of
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SMO in this location was not subject to negotiation with ELA. The building was the
only one available and to have turned it down as unsuitable might have jeopardized
the creation of SMO. Moreover, given that the premises were provided and adapted
by ELA, financially this was an attractive offer and it would have defied political
rationality to reject it. This decision to accept the premises was made by a wheelchair
using senior management who did not use public transport and hence did not face its
disabling problems. The acceptance of this site by these organic intellectuals can be
seen as a contradiction between a good sense and common sense.
Good sense, as embedded within the social model, would suggest that the building
should not present any barriers to access. This would have required that SMO was
located closer to public transport facilities, in a safer area of the city and that the
internal layout of the building enabled everyone to move around independently. A
pragmatic, common sense understanding would suggest that the existing premises
were the best that could be achieved under the circumstances. The contradictory
nature of common sense meant that the problems of access this created could be
resolved for some groups of people but not for others. Those that could not drive and
did not have their own transport were effectively left to fend for themselves. The issue
of compromise is especially evident when considering access to information and
communication systems which are even more difficult to resolve.
In an organisation based on the social model it might be expected that staff are trained
to use different forms of communication. If, for example, it is acknowledged that
speech is a barrier to the inclusion of deaf people then it might be expected that staff
should be able to sign. This would mean that the environment of SMO would not be a
barrier to communication for a deaf person and so they would not be disabled. This
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was not however the case for a number of reasons as the following account
demonstrates.
There were a variety of impairments represented on SMO’s Board of Directors.
Members had mobility impairments, visual impairments, hearing impairments and
dyslexia. The dominant forms of communication used to conduct business were
verbal (speech and visual); visual (in the form of signers), and presentations using
Powerpoint and/or written documents. These forms of communication were
effectively compromises based on the different needs of different individuals with
particular forms of impairments. In other words, the link between impairment and
disability was recognized and acted on. However this by no means eradicated
problems of accessing information or communication.
Communication barriers were present at Board level and could have been removed if
there had been a will to do so. Two members of the Board were deaf and
communicated through signing via two sign interpreters employed by SMO. The deaf
members were thus required to compromise and accept assimilation into the dominant
mode of communication – speech - because other board members had not learnt to
sign. Signing would have provided an alternative to verbal language, removed the
need for signers (and the cost of their services to the organisation) and offered equal
access to deaf members thereby providing integration. However, given the variety of
different impairments represented on the board such a solution would have disabled
blind people.
In order not to exclude blind people from any discussions, deaf/blind signing would
have been required. This system involves tactile signing, where individual letters are
denoted by touching specific parts of the palm of the person with whom one wishes to
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communicate. Whilst this method of communication is appropriate when
communication occurs between two people, it is less satisfactory when meetings take
place with a number of people in attendance. If everyone was to use this method of
communication meetings would take much longer to conduct because the method is
far more time-consuming than other forms of communication. Given all these
potential difficulties and given that I do not use deaf/blind signing this option was not
considered. However even if everyone had been prepared to learn this form of
communication, if learning impaired people had been members of the Board this may
have proved difficult for them to learn. In practice then, the deaf Board members
willingly accepted the compromise of using signers and fully participated in meetings.
Fully participating in meetings however, proved more difficult for me.
As I am visually impaired and do not use Braille, it was requested that all reports and
information be provided in electronic format either in an email or on computer disk.
This would have enabled me to use a speech-output computer system to access any
information required. On the whole these methods would have provided equality of
access. However, for contract monitoring purposes, SMO used a graphical
spreadsheet that highlighted contractual variances through coloured charts. Data
produced in such a format rendered this information inaccessible to me, as a speech
software system cannot describe graphical representations. It was requested that the
same information be produced in plain text format. This request was refused on the
basis that the majority of the Board had little business experience and found it easier
to understand the data when it was presented graphically. Attempts had previously
been made to produce written descriptions of the graphs for everyone. However this
proved to be extremely long, cumbersome and very time-consuming to produce and
served to confuse rather than clarify the issues for many Board members. As I was the
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only person affected by the method of communication, a decision was taken, with my
agreement, for the graphical system to continue. This was a pragmatic solution: it
provided information in formats that disabled the least number of people but it cannot
be seen as the application of a social model.
During the twelve months I was the treasurer for SMO, it was necessary to rely on the
interpretation of the data provided by others. As the other members of the Board had
little business experience these interpretations invariably required rather more careful
exploration than any interpretation I might have reached for myself using plain text
format. I was therefore left to resolve my problem of communication and accessing
data independently. So, within a social model organisation impaired bodies are
rendered invisible (Hughes & Paterson 1997; Paterson & Hughes 1999) which accepts
a secondary status as a participator as a consequence of the neglected impaired body.
In order to achieve a degree of participation it was agreed to make an individual
compromise. This entailed arriving for Board meetings at least two hours before they
began which allowed a detailed examination of all contracts to be discussed in an
accessible format which was via verbal discussions with the finance manager. Rather
than upholding a collective social model of disability, SMO effectively constrained
me to find a solution to my individual medical impairment. In effect SMO could have
been accused of discrimination on the basis of an individual impairment, a point that
Andrea recognized in remarking casually one day:
You could bring this place to a stop by insisting you are discriminated against
by us using written materials. If you said you are discriminated against in
here, you would probably succeed and the place would grind to a stop.
(Andrea, Manager SMO)
The desire not to make the organisation ‘grind to a stop’; the compromise in meeting
with the finance manager before meetings, and the unwillingness to raise
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discriminatory practices were effectively self-silencing measures. However, such a
compromise was not made by other Board members. When physical access became
an issue with other organisations, they took it up vociferously and battles were fought
on a political platform.
When SMO had joined the regional Chamber of Commerce it had found the front of
the Victorian building inaccessible because entry was via a flight of stairs. A side
entrance was, however, accessible with internal lifts available to give wheelchair
access to all floors. The Chamber had stated that it would provide assistants to guide
or help any disabled person gain access. Additionally, documentation would be made
available in any format and signers would be provided at meetings. So, for deaf and
visually impaired people, the Chamber of Commerce provided identical or better
access facilities than SMO and its city centre location provided public transport access
to a less disabling environment.
However, at several SMO Board meetings, the physically impaired members argued
strongly that SMO should make a political gesture by resigning publicly on the
grounds that the premises were inaccessible. Here the issue became one of equality of
access as the mobility impaired members did not wish to accept the compromise of
using a side entrance. Not all Board members were persuaded of the arguments put
forward by wheelchair users. It was pointed out that the ELA’s Town Hall also had
steps at the front with a side entrance for wheelchair access. If SMO was to be
consistent then the Local Authority should also be accused of discrimination.
However, as ELA funded SMO an attack on them might have proved to be politically
and financially fatal.
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The issue of physical access ‘simmered’ at Board meetings but was not allowed to
‘boil over’ by those who were not mobility impaired. It was not resolved during my
term of office and up to the time of my resignation, SMO had not left nor publicly
threatened to leave the Chamber of Commerce. Issues such as these did nothing to
help turn the social model into common sense for the staff in SMO. Andrea
commented:
They’ve got blinkers on, what’s the word, they’re like fanatics […] it’s not
about flying the flag anymore or making compromises, it’s more like it’s all or
nothing. (Andrea, Manager SMO)
Compromises were sought when they resolved problems that senior management in
SMO faced but were not deemed acceptable when other organisations made them in
reducing problems of access.
Staff at SMO were also keen to report a second incident which had occurred. SMO
had arranged for a training course for staff to be held in the premises of a local
education college. The college had arranged for material to be available in either
print, large print, Braille or as audio tapes. One trainee complained to the CEO of
SMO of the use of ‘discriminatory language’ by a member of college staff. The
extracts below are from interviews with a manager who had been given the task of
investigating the incident, and with other members of staff:
One of the staff, I think she’s partially sighted, and she said she wanted print
to be in large print. So the trainer said right, I’ll get you this done in big print
and she objected very strongly because he said ‘big’ and not ‘large’. So from
that the CEO’s sent a memo out to me telling me I must speak to the trainers
because they have no idea about disability and disability issues and they are
offending disabled people greatly by saying ‘big’ instead of ‘large’. Then for
the life of me I think, is that an issue? (Robert, Manager SMO)
When this story was checked with Peter and Carol they confirmed that this incident
had happened and remarked:
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It’s that sort of thing which makes us look ridiculous. Can anyone tell me why
‘big’ is a discriminatory word? (Peter, Supervisor SMO)
You get used to things like that around here, I felt sorry for Bob, he had to go
and tell them (college trainers), but he didn’t believe it. I can’t explain it.
(Carol, Supervisor SMO)
Whilst it is fully accepted that language is an important means by which inequality is
maintained, the majority of employees in SMO could not support the claim that a
trainer had used offensive language and that this was evidence of a lack of disability
awareness. By providing the information in a large print format the trainer had acted
as effectively as possible to remove any barriers the course presented to visually
impaired people.
In Chapter 6 it was argued that the political ethos of SMO relied on organisational
control of the information given to employers when determining what might
constitute a medical condition about which an employer had a right to know. In the
instance of ‘big’ versus ‘large’ print, it is possible to see SMO again attempting to
exert control, this time over the use of language. This may however have been an
effect of treating disabled as a homogeneous category so that if a word offends one
disabled person then it is assumed to be offensive to all. In some cases it may be
necessary to challenge offensive language in order to challenge common sense
understandings of what is discriminatory. However in order for this to be successful
there has to be agreement amongst the larger community. In this case other visually
impaired people did not find the concept of ‘big’ in this context offensive. Making a
formal complaint on the basis that such behaviour was unacceptable from a social
model perspective of disability did little to persuade disabled or non-disabled people
that the social model should be widely adopted as common sense.
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These accounts highlight a number of issues. Despite the political rationality which
underpins SMO, the technical rationality needed in order for it to perform effectively
entailed that compromises had to be made in relation to the removal of access
barriers. This applied to both physical access and to accessing information and
communication systems. However this was not just an effect of conflicts between
political and technical rationality it was also a result of the conflicting needs of people
with different forms of impairment. In SMO wheelchair users seemed very reluctant
to compromise on physical access as it related to their impairment either in SMO’s
premises or with external organisations. In part, this was because they assumed that if
they had no physical access problems then the building must be fully accessible.
When they were made aware that others were experiencing access problems it was
left to the individuals experiencing the problems to resolve them. It can be seen that
this undermines the notion that access should be a collective social responsibility.
This demonstrates that attempts to remove disabling barriers in SMO were influenced
by the type of impairment organisational members were most familiar with. In this
case it was physical impairment affecting mobility. A lot of effort was made to
remove barriers of access to the site and within the building for wheelchair users in
order to integrate people with mobility impairments and enable them to navigate the
building independently but such effort was not extended to those with visual
impairments. Access to information presented in visual format was not a barrier to
integration for physically impaired people or to hearing impaired people but it was a
major disabling problem for people with visual impairments. However, a change to
the format through which such information was presented which would have
accommodated visual impairment could potentially have disabled people who had
insufficient business experience.
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Therefore, people with visual impairments had to accept the status quo and assimilate
into the dominant social practices. Of course, this is in direct conflict with the
ideology of the social model of disability. From the perspective of the social model,
the presentation of information in formats that disabled people with particular forms
of impairment should be addressed if integration rather than assimilation is to be
achieved.
Overall it can be seen that SMO was effectively forced to operate to a socio-medical
model of disability. It was not possible to remove many of the disabling consequences
of impairment and in those cases individuals were enabled to participate by accepting
any compromises which could allow assimilation. The acceptance of limitations
caused by impairment coupled with the recognition that many barriers are
environmentally constructed is consistent with the historically dominant sociomedical model of disability.
Summary
The examination of each organisations’ approach to the removal of access barriers has
shown both similarities and differences. In relation to physical access, as NDDP was
able to select its site it was possible to locate in an area of the city which did not
present any barriers to mobility impaired people. For people with other forms of
impairment an individualistic approach which took account of the impairment was
provided in the form of meeting people in the place of their choice. Within NDDP’s
premises an environment had been created which enabled independent access and
mobility. With regard to communication and information, NDDP provided alternative
methods of communication in response to the needs of individual clients. Such an
approach to access is suggestive of a socio-medical model which acknowledges that
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different impairments require different solutions and treats each impairment on an
equal basis.
Unlike NDDP, SMO had little choice in terms of the site in which it was located.
Whilst the location in a dangerous inner city environment did not present any access
barriers to wheelchair users who had their own transport or to SMO's clients as they
were transported to and from home, it did present access problems for others: both
disabled and non-disabled. Similarly, whilst the organisation had adapted its premises
to remove access barriers for wheelchair users to enable independent access it failed
to extend this to visually impaired people. The removal of access barriers for the
latter necessitated that such people be escorted around the premises.
In relation to access to communication and information, whilst SMO (like NDDP)
provided different methods for people with different forms of impairment they were
unwilling to provide information in a format that would provide independent access to
people with visual impairments who had more business skills than the majority.
These differences suggest that in SMO not all impairments were treated equally but
that a hierarchy of disability had developed which was related to the degree of
positional power individuals enjoyed. At the top was an elite group who demanded
the removal of barriers and refused to compromise. Below this was a second tier who
had accepted some compromises and, finally, a third tier where no degree of
compromise could enable them to have independent access. Such a hierarchy of
impairment was covert because to have openly acknowledged it would have
undermined senior management’s rigid adherence to the social model’s political
rationality. Those in positions of power tended to have mobility impairments and the
inequitable emphasis on the removal of physical barriers at the expense of barriers to
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those with different impairments made integration and ‘equal’ participation an elitist
privilege. For those with sensory impairments, participation was only possible
through compromise, particularly in terms of access to information. As a result, such
people had to settle for assimilation rather than full integration. For people with
severe learning difficulties, however, neither assimilation nor integration was
facilitated and this group was effectively excluded from any participation in
organisational decision making. It can be concluded, therefore, that this attempt to put
the social model of disability into practice actually created disability for some at the
expense of others and thus any claims to be a universally emancipatory model would
seem to be questionable. The social model of disability removes the impaired body as
the origin and site of disability. However, the evidence presented of practices adopted
by SMO shows that those for whom the consequences of impairment had more
salience than the built environment were effectively silenced and marginalised.
The attitudes of disabled and non-disabled people alike have an important affect on
how individuals experience impairment but it is not possible to support an argument
based on any notion that negative attitudes are the exclusive preserve of non-disabled
people. If disabled people are to gain greater independence and remove disabling
practices which have historically largely marginalised and excluded them from labour
markets then an understanding of disability must be produced which better explains
the experiences of impairment. In the first instance, such an understanding would
need to become good sense to a wide population of impaired people. It can be seen
that the Procrustean construction of polar opposite models of ‘disability’ is inadequate
and restrictive. The evidence presented in this chapter has shown that the claims made
by SMO to be operating a social model of disability that disregards the implications of
impairment do not stand up to examination.
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Chapter 9
Research Summary and Conclusions
This thesis has attempted to answer three questions in relation to formulations
of the nature of disability and the ways in which disabled people can be assisted in
gaining greater social inclusion through paid work. Those questions are: whether the
social model of disability is new; whether or not the medical and social models of the
causes of disability are mutually exclusive, and if a practical application of the social
model of disability can facilitate better employment opportunities for disabled people.
Using Gramsci’s concepts of hegemony; traditional and organic intellectuals, and
good sense and common sense, historical data and contemporary practice in two
organisations whose missions were to assist disabled people into employment were
examined. It has been considered whether different practices supported different
approaches to equality and whether different forms of rationality underpinned
practice. Using this framework, this chapter considers what the data suggests would
be the answers to each of the research questions.
Is the social model of disability ‘new’?
This question emanated from the argument made by a number of writers on disability
who have suggested that historically the medical model of disability (which posits that
disability is a direct consequence of an individual impaired body) has been hegemonic
(Barnes 1997; Barnes & Mercer 1997; Campbell & Oliver 1996; Oliver 1990; Oliver
& Zarb1989). Part of the argument has been that the medical model has become
dominant because it was advocated by medical experts and social researchers who
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used traditional methodologies for researching disability. It was suggested that such
experts had neither the experiential knowledge of disability nor had they consulted
disabled people in conducting their research (Barnes 1997a, 2003; Barnes & Mercer
1997; Finkelstein 2001; Hunt 1966; Oliver 1992; Stone & Priestley 1996). The
formulation of the medical model of disability supposedly informed social policies
and legislation which ultimately oppressed disabled people and did not enable their
social inclusion on an equal basis with non-disabled people. Although oppressed by
the medical model, it was argued that disabled people had historically accepted such
an understanding as inevitable.
The application of a Gramscian framework to these arguments would suggest that the
medical model constituted the good sense of traditional intellectuals such as the
medical profession and non-disabled researchers. The acceptance of this form of
good sense by both disabled and non-disabled people would indicate that it became
common sense – accepted by a wider community than just the traditional intellectuals.
When good sense becomes common sense and guides people’s actions, it is accepted
uncritically by the majority of the population even if it serves to maintain social,
economic and material relations of inequality between (in this case) disabled and nondisabled people. When this occurs it can be seen to be hegemonic in that even those
who are oppressed by such an understanding consent to live their lives according to it.
However a significant aspect of common sense is that it is often internally
contradictory and some people will recognize that it supports particular social and
economic relations which benefit particular groups more than others. This leads to
some groups resisting dominant understandings and developing new forms of
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understanding which reflect their own material conditions and their social and
economic interests.
It has been claimed that, since the 1960s, the medical model has been challenged by
disabled people on the basis that it did not reflect their experiences of disability and
that social policies which were based on the medical model discriminated against
them and maintained them in a relationship of dependence on either charity or state
benefits. Disabled people therefore developed a new understanding of disability
which they called the social model and which reflected their own experiential
knowledge of being disabled.
Unlike the medical model, the social model moved the focus of the causes of
disability from the individual impaired body to the collective social effects of a
society which is constructed for the benefits of non-disabled people. Disabled people
called for social and economic policies to be based on a social formulation of
disability that would remove the relationship of dependency established by the
medical model and maintained by a reliance on charity to enable them to live
independently. The move to a social model would include the opportunity to gain
economic independence through employment. It was considered important that
disabled people should be able to take control of research on disability so that
research could be based on a social model and findings could be used by disabled
people for their own emancipation rather than just to enhance the career prospects of
traditional researchers (Finkelstein 2001). However, as a disabled researcher I found
the a priori acceptance of the social model in emancipatory disability research
problematic. It offered no assistance to disabled researchers to counter traditional
intellectual concepts of valid research methodologies which (in the majority of cases)
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assume researchers do not have impairments and need not take account of the
implications of the impairments of research subjects.
A Gramscian framework would suggest that disabled people who no longer accepted
the medical model developed a new form of good sense and that those who advocated
a social model can be seen as organic intellectuals. Their task was to replace the
medical model with the social model so that the latter would become common sense
initially for all disabled people and ultimately for the whole of society so that it would
inform social policies and practice. If such an analysis is correct, then it would be
expected that there would be historical data to support it. However, the historical data
used in this thesis suggests that such an analysis is problematic.
It has been demonstrated in Chapters 4 and 5 that the argument that the medical
model has been historically dominant and that it is only since the 1960s that disabled
people began to challenge it is incorrect. Taking the example of the NLB, it was
suggested that their actions can be seen to mirror those of current organic intellectuals
who have challenged the medical model of disability. Whilst some writers (see Barnes
1990; Campbell & Oliver 1996; Humphries & Gordon 1992) acknowledge the
existence of the NLB they have failed to recognize the significance of these early
political and social struggles for economic emancipation. It has been argued that
disabled people in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries were politically
active, organised and influential in achieving some social change. Therefore claims
that the politicising of disability is a relatively new phenomenon (Oliver & Zarb
1989) are incorrect.
The evidence also questions the implication (Barnes 1997; Finkelstein 1981; Oliver
1990) that, historically, disabled people have been passive victims of medical
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oppression and charities. Some blind people were politically active and aware
individuals who were able to bring about the establishment of schools and training
provision in order to facilitate the inclusion of many blind people into society (HMSO
1951). Using the example of Henshaw’s Blind Asylum it was shown how - insofar as
‘models’ of disability can be said to have been evident - a medical diagnosis was used
merely to confirm impairment group membership, whilst the barriers to inclusion and
participation in society were recognised to be rooted in social practice. So, for
example, once impairment was established children were taught through alternative
methods of communication which included Braille and embossed models to facilitate
their education (Henshaw’s 1928).
Similarly in a review of legislation on disability it was suggested that impairment was
used merely as a means to identify group membership. The remedies that were
prescribed in the legislation involved attempts to remove disabling barriers for
impairment groups and these focused on altering the social environment. Far from
being passive victims of oppressive practices, organized, disabled, organic
intellectuals challenged dominant formulations of disability and created a good sense
understanding which called for economic emancipation (Lawley 1920; PKTBAC,
1923). This gained wider hegemonic acceptance as common sense as shown by
newspaper accounts (Birmingham Gazette 1920; Daily Herald 1920; Leicester Daily
Mercury 1920; Manchester Guardian 1920; The Times 1920) and in the support
offered by other trade unions. This resulted in disabled people resisting their
oppressive relationship with many charities through industrial action and being
proactive in influencing legislation with the introduction of the Blind Persons Act
(1920) (Blind Advocate 1918a, 1918b, 1920; Gregory 1923).
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In their struggle for equality the NLB embraced medical knowledge since, for them, it
represented a common sense response to many of the disabling consequences of
blindness. Medical advances had improved the potential to prevent blindness in
children and it was a senior member of the NLB, Ben Purse, who fought for medical
intervention to prevent children being born blind (The New Beacon 1950). From a
social model perspective this action is likely to be considered disablist. Social model
proponents would tend to argue that by calling for such medical intervention the focus
has been shifted away from the goal of economic emancipation and onto the longer
term potential for cure through medical intervention. It might therefore be argued that
Purse was a victim of ‘false consciousness’. However, it is possible to contest this
view because Purse and the NLB accepted that although the principal battle for
emancipation was to be achieved by changing the political and social environments,
blindness held consequences which could not be alleviated simply by changing these
factors. In other words, some aspects of blindness disable and the enduring common
sense view has been that disability is something which can be alleviated both by
altering social barriers and (in certain cases) by medical intervention. So, far from
being false consciousness this can be described as a realist view. This is entirely at
odds with the social model view that any medical intervention to prevent or mitigate
disability by ‘fixing’ the impaired body discriminates against the disabled by the
elevation of the able-bodied to a preferential social position, because ‘ablebodiedness’ is the ideal state of being. However, this seems to be the ‘traumatic
projectionist’ view where all blame for disability is switched away from the incurably
impaired body. Quite possibly, it is this unresolved trauma that renders impairment
sacred and untouchable within the social model and makes the model itself something
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of a riddle. The paradox is that although being disabled requires an impairment, the
impairment has no effect on disability.
When organisations attempted to engage disabled people in work a problem of the
inherent claim of homogeneity was clear. Henshaw’s tried to engage severely
impaired people, whereas Thermega (although claiming to assist 'disabled people') did
so by selecting those whom could most easily be assimilated. Hence, Thermega
identifies a historical, traditional intellectual understanding which still persists as
using the generic term 'disability' can mask the obvious reality that some impairment
specific groups will always find entry into the labour market difficult (Hibbert 2000).
So it would seem that if (as social model followers insist it should be) disability is
thought of as a generic concept then there will be negative implications for many
disabled people. Only if impairment is acknowledged as a contributory cause of
disability and the social implications of impairment are explored (Hughes 1999;
Hughes & Paterson 1997; Paterson & Hughes 1999) can universal claims of assisting
disabled people into paid employment honestly be made although selection amongst
the group may distort any demographic analysis.
From the evidence of people who gained impairments as a consequence of the Second
World War (when many medical interventions were welcomed and requested) it
becomes difficult to envisage how a radical version of a social model could gain
general acceptance as common sense. If however, as is being suggested, in practice
the dominant model is actually a socio-medical one it might be expected that a
‘weaker’ version of the social model is present in contemporary organisations in ways
that reflect more traditional intellectual formulations of disability. By comparing two
organizations -NDDP and SMO - the remaining research questions of whether
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mutually exclusive models of disability are in operation, and if the application of a
social model can improve employment opportunities for disabled people were
addressed.
Organisational comparisons
Chapters 6, 7 and 8 examined the behaviour of two organisations in order to
determine their intellectual formulations of disability and to ascertain if either
displayed signs of adherence to distinct models of disability. An assessment was also
made of whether either provided better employment opportunities by adopting a
different understanding of disability. Both NDDP and SMO operated with public
funding because stakeholders supported the idea that both organizations were
expected to deliver the socially desirable goal of the improvement of employment
opportunities for disabled people. As a result, both held similar organisational
rationalities and a political desire to confirm to stakeholders that their financial
investment was demonstrably delivering the organisational mission. Both attempted to
achieve their goals and hence improve organisational legitimacy with stakeholders by
adopting a technical rationality to their operations (see Chapter 2). However,
although both applied the generic concept of 'disability', in reality impairment had
more salience in terms of operations and practices.
NDDP had a client base that was voluntary and from a wide range of different types
of impaired people. Hence, as the numbers using the pilot were relatively large in
comparison to SMO and in many cases clients had worked previously, the task of
assisting some of these clients into work was considerably easier than that faced by
SMO. As SMO's clients were predominantly referrals from social services and were
people with varying levels of learning impairment some of whom did not want or
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were not capable of efficient working, finding employment for this group was
significantly more difficult. However, because the organisation was driven by social
model ideology impairment could not be used as a reason to explain failure in finding
their clients paid work. If employees attempted to raise issues of impairment as
contributory factors in creating personal disadvantage they were ruthlessly silenced
with implied threats of dismissal.
The organisation implemented a political rationality which silenced dissent and
promoted the myth of a successful application of social model ideology in practice.
Although SMO produced this political rhetoric, in reality staff unofficially accepted
that their task of finding employment was affected because of the impairment
characteristics of clients. Hence both organisations accepted impairment and social
barriers as contributors in creating disability and both applied similar remedies to
overcome disabling barriers. In a strictly quantative measure, NDDP found
employment for more disabled people than SMO. Although SMO found it impossible
to locate any reasons for their lack of success in the specificity of impairment it can be
argued (as did many of their staff) that this was a significant difference between the
two organisations. Although for the committed, the disabled social model advocates
that disregarding the consequences of impairment represented good sense, it never
became uncritically accepted as common sense by the majority of organisational
members and hence did not become hegemonic. This was despite training sessions
which were intended to explain social model ideology and thus attempt to ensure it
became more widely understood.
NDDP training reflected the view that ‘disability’ is a combination of factors and
recognised that impairment can often impose limitations on performance for many
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disabled people. The remedy lay in altering environmental and attitudinal barriers in
order to increase opportunities for as many clients as possible to participate in paid
work. The approach taken at NDDP towards internal staff recruitment was one of
assimilation where disabled staff could also participate in technical training sessions
to improve their work-related skills. The staff recruited had impairments which did
not require a significant alteration to working practices and procedures, something
that may have been necessary if more severely impaired people were involved. SMO,
however, promoted a rhetoric of non-disabling employment practice whilst in reality
their technical training of staff also depended on assimilation. SMO recruited people
into technical posts who were best suited for the job, placing this criterion over any
considerations of disability status. These non-disabled staff then received technical
training similar to that offered to comparable staff at NDDP. Once the rhetoric is
stripped away, both organisations effectively followed both social and medical
models. In practice SMO could not escape the reality of impaired bodies which meant
they could not operationalise a social model, and so the two models could not be
considered as mutually exclusive.
If disability awareness training is considered again any differences in common sense
understandings of staff were minimal. NDDP provided disability awareness training
based on a combined socio-medical model. The effects of impairment were explored
together with the promotion of an understanding that barriers to participation are
largely social and in many cases can and should be removed. Staff uncritically
accepted this view as common sense and applied the ideology in everyday practice.
In contrast, senior members of SMO attempted to force staff to accept their
interpretations of the social model, a strategy which largely failed. Within the wider
organisation of SMO there was no consensus that social model doctrines represented
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good sense, and the strong element of coercion in training sessions bred resistance
making it less likely that what was being enforced would ever become hegemonic and
uncritically accepted as common sense. Interestingly, if definitions of disability used
to actually inform practice by the two organisations are deconstructed then the
understandings of disability evident in both cases would seem to mirror a sociomedical model.
Unsurprisingly similar conclusions were reached when the issue of disability access
was compared between the two organisations. For many, the issue of disability access
is understood largely to be that of physical access for mobility impaired individuals as
shown by the ubiquitous use of the familiar symbol of a person in a wheelchair.
Although an important aspect of access, physical access alone is not the only issue
when a wider consideration is given. Access must, for example, include access to
information for all impairment groups. So when the accessibility of both organisations
was discussed this wider concept was used to see if distinct models of disability were
applied and if the application of the social model in practice improved access and
hence increased employment opportunities.
Both organisations had no physical barriers preventing wheelchair access to their
premises. However, NDDP provided better environmental access because of its city
centre location close to public transport links. SMO, due to factors outside their
control, was located in an area of high street crime with no good public transport links
nearby. Both provided equal access to information in formats requested by any
disabled stakeholders, wherever possible, so no distinction could be made based on
understandings gleaned from models of disability. However, where NDDP had no
ideological conflict in accepting that impairment sometimes makes access to
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information problematic, SMO upheld a social model fallacy that issues of access to
information can be overcome without any consideration of the consequences of
impairment. As a result, SMO did not provide equal access to information for all
stakeholders. In effect, SMO by ignoring considerations of impairment sought to
ensure that sensory impaired bodies were demoted to a secondary status. What
occurred could be regarded as the disappearance of some impaired bodies (Hughes &
Paterson 1997; Paterson & Hughes 1999) under the 'umbrella' of the social model.
However, SMO fought ideological battles with external agencies that they deemed to
be discriminatory in terms of poor or inappropriate access. SMO presented staff with
an unconvincing rhetoric of token and taboo. The token was the demonstrable fact
that some physical barriers could be removed to provide access whereas the taboo
became the unspeakable knowledge that some consequences of impairment do, in
reality, disable.
Implications of the research
This research has direct implications for both the disability movement and for
government policy. It was found that the attempt to squeeze formulations of disability
into the binary opposites of the social and medical models is highly problematic. The
argument rests on the assertion that if traditional intellectual concepts of disability are
analysed these reveal that dominant understandings throughout history have been
consistent with a much more flexible socio-medical model. Effectively a social
model of disability pre-existed Oliver (1990) albeit ‘wrapped up’ inside the dominant
traditional intellectual understandings of the time.
This research shows that traditional intellectual formulations of disability have a
historical continuity which, despite rhetoric and political influence, survives even in a
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social model organisation. Thermega held contradictory common sense relations with
charities. They considered the philanthropy and pity on which many charities traded
to be a principal cause of oppression for disabled workers despite being funded and
assisted financially by a charity. Likewise, SMO had a difficult and contradictory
common sense relationship with charity. Here organic intellectuals proposed that
traditional charities were the cause of oppression yet the organisation actively sought
and gained charitable status and ran a traditional charity clothing shop.
Thermega homogenised disability. This resulted in the organisation having to select
efficient workers from a pool of war survivors with a variety of impairments for
progression into open employment whilst those with more severe impairments who
were considered irredeemable in terms of such employment were institutionalised.
The claims of homogeneity in the disability movement must be questioned if they
result in hierarchies and leave some impairment groups consigned to silence and
dependency.
If the physically impaired members of UPIAS, when they were designing the social
model of disability, had grasped the idea that disability affected all impaired people
and impairments varied in type and severity then the social model may well have
displayed very different definitions and may have more hegemonic resonance in
wider society. However, even as the model developed towards its political claim to
represent all disabled people, its ideology was always going to prove difficult for
some impairment groups. This was clearly in evidence at SMO where, despite the
efforts to train staff in social model ideology, it failed to become hegemonic and
uncritically accepted as common sense. Only if the organisation had been run by and
for physically impaired people could the social model have had full explanatory
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power. The contradictions, inconsistencies and hierarchy emerged as those with
power in SMO fallaciously claimed that the barriers they personally faced as
wheelchair users were also the primary cause of disability for their learning impaired
clients and sensory impaired stakeholders.
This analysis may be seen to be politically dangerous by some in the disability
movement. Nonetheless, it could be said that the underlying ideology of the social
model is created on a false premise and (as recently argued by Shakespeare & Watson
2002) that the model has served its political purpose and should now be abandoned.
However, such a suggestion rests on the belief that the social barriers model is new
and that oppositional models have historically been in evidence. The analysis
presented in this thesis shows that this understanding is questionable. New models of
disability are unnecessary since common sense understandings of disability that imply
a socio-medical model seem to be an adequate starting point for change. So, rather
than attempting to alter what has become for some a ‘holy grail’ (Finkelstein 2000,
2001, 2002) the social barriers model could be complemented by a sociology of
impairment; something recognised as deficient in social model theory (Abberley
1987; Oliver 1990) although to date this weakness has not been adequately addressed
(Paterson & Hughes 1999). From a Gramscian perspective, what is being called for is
a good sense challenge to traditional intellectual formulations which have been
principally concerned with the social barriers and medical determination of
impairment. It is not being argued that civil rights or matters of equality in
employment for disabled people should not be pursued further but that the social
model is too impairment elitist for the task and would seem to have impeded
emancipatory action in SMO and elsewhere (see for example, Humphrey 2000).
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Policy implications
In the introduction to this thesis the political use of a disabled population as one
means of controlling unemployment levels in the general working population was
discussed. This aspect of 'disability' effectively as a reserve for unemployed people is
still a concern for government today. Research has identified that if many presently
claiming incapacity benefit capable of work were transferred from incapacity to
unemployment benefit, then the present unemployment figures would increase from
900,000 to 2.5 million (New Statesman 2004). Clearly such an increase has political
implications which do not directly relate to impairment but rather the structural and
political implications of policy. When such large numbers of benefit dependent people
enter the political arena then economic rationality dictates 'something must be done'
(New Statesman 2004) to reduce what becomes a homogeneous mass 'the disabled'.
Hence in common with social model ideology, government policy now treats
disability as a homogeneous concept. Policy approaches the employment of disabled
people through liberal and radical measures of providing fair and open policies and
procedures coupled with a monitoring system to quantify progress. This conforms to
liberal and radical approaches to equality as defined by Jewson & Mason (1986) but is
predicated on the assumption that assimilation is the route to equality for disabled
people. As policy applies only the concepts of work or dependency for disabled
people then for those who cannot assimilate the only alternative appears to be
dependency.
As initial results from the NDDP pilots suggest that the programme has not succeeded
in achieving its mission (Calvi 2003; Disability Now 2002; Goss 2001) then it could
be argued that for a considerable number of working age disabled people the
alternative is likely to be social exclusion and state dependency. However, history
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suggests that many more disabled people could be included into the workforce if the
public ‘will’ existed.
It is acknowledged that during the Second World War almost full employment
occurred for many working age disabled people (Humphreys & Gordon 1992). Whilst
this probably occurred only because of the extreme labour shortages and the trend was
reversed after the war when a non-disabled labour surplus returned (HMSO 1951)
what is evident, nonetheless, is that many severely impaired people were
integrated/assimilated into the workforce at that time. There is also evidence from
earlier times that integration strategies were successfully employed in open industries
without undue financial implications for the employer.
In Chapter 4, it was noted that the practices of the Ford Motor Company enabled the
employment of many different impaired workers (Chandley 1943). During the 1920s
in their ‘River Rouge’ Detroit plant, Ford altered working practices and processes to
allow the integration of 10,000 disabled people into the workforce. Chandley
reproduced a pamphlet from Ford which showed how a demographic study of the
surrounding districts had estimated the number of impaired people living there as a
percentage of the local population. Ford instructed managers to employ similar
percentages in his plant. This was achieved by altering the working environment
which allowed the integration of blind, deaf and mobility impaired workers
employing them in similar jobs and at equal pay to their non-disabled colleagues.
Some of Ford’s other employment practices have been criticised as authoritarian
(Corbett 1994) with many of the jobs being repetitive. It could also have been the case
that the high labour turnover rate had some influence on the decision to engage
disabled people; perhaps again it was a response to shortages of non-impaired
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workers. Notwithstanding these considerations, however, the point is that if the ‘will’
exists employment can be found for people with relatively severe impairments.
It is not being argued that all disabled people are capable of paid work in open
employment or that all desire to engage in such work. Nonetheless, for those who do
and if a more equitable outcome is to be achieved, then the present reliance on
assimilation achieved through making 'reasonable adjustments' would appear to be
ineffective. The two examples provided did produce greater inclusion for disabled
people in the workforce but this was achieved by integration and acknowledging
'differences' which required actions in changing working processes and procedures to
enable participation by impaired people. Thus if the government’s rhetoric of social
inclusion through paid work is to become a reality it would follow that similar
equality strategies should be taken seriously. The record of government is no better
than either the private or the voluntary sector when it comes to providing employment
opportunities for disabled people (Disability Now 2001; Hibbert 2000). Perhaps, then,
the government itself should pilot an initiative which would demonstrate to other
sectors that integration strategies work, that a business case can be made and that such
employment practices are not necessarily financially detrimental to business.
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Research limitations and future proposals
The number and size of participating organizations in this research was limited
although the two were of comparable size. Additionally, there were limitations
regarding the time and resources available to conduct follow-up interviews and search
archives for additional historical data.
My own subjective experience of visual impairment and the problems this has caused
me as a researcher have also placed certain limits on the work both in the field and
more especially in an academic context. The very discourse of research with its
emphasis on ‘observation’ assumes a sighted researcher whilst the entire academic
process with its heavy reliance on the written word, privileges the non-blind. It is
largely because it is not possible to submit a thesis in anything other than a written
format that this thesis has taken so long to complete.
The following recommendations are made for further research:

Historical research to look for further evidence of models of disability at work in
organisations and wider society

Studies of more social model compliant organisations so that comparisons can be
made with the findings at SMO

In-depth study of job structures and working environments to identify ways in
which workplaces can accommodate impaired people

A review of government recruitment and selection policies to determine why the
rhetoric of policy does not translate into reality with regard to their own
employment of disabled people in the public sector
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
A methodological review into the ways impaired researchers engage in the
research process which may challenge traditional intellectual understandings of
what constitutes valid research.
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Chapter 10
Conducting Research and Writing a Doctoral Thesis:
Reflections from a Disabled Perspective
As there has been an emphasis on methodological debates within research on
disability and my own methodological arguments in preceding chapters this thesis
would be incomplete without some reflection on my experience of the research
process. There are a number of issues that my experiences lead me to highlight:
working with supervisors; finding a place to work; the use of Non-Medical Helpers
(NMH); the use of adaptive technologies, and writing using computer-generated
speech systems. Whilst the first two of these are often discussed in methodological
texts they are rarely discussed in relation to researching disability. These issues are
raised not just because they are rarely discussed in methodological writings but also in
the hope that other visually impaired students who embark on doctoral research will
be able to draw lessons from my experiential knowledge and in order to raise some
issues which those involved in providing support for doctoral students may consider
for future students.
Embarking on the research: working with supervisors
All the methodological discussions on researching disability suggest that disabled
people are best placed to research disability. As a consequence (and to fulfil the
university’s requirement of supervision by two members) when I first registered as a
PhD student, in conjunction with my Director of Studies, I found a second supervisor
who had previously conducted research on disability. This supervisor self-classified
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as disabled and had a physical impairment. He was active in the disability movement
and supported the social model of disability. Although initially I was sympathetic to
the social model as my research developed I became increasingly critical of its ability
to explain my experiential knowledge of being disabled. My disabled supervisor
however found any criticisms of this model difficult to support and attempted to
persuade me that the difficulties I was having applying the model to my research were
essentially an effect of a lack of understanding.
This did not provide a supportive environment from which to explore my views and
reach my own conclusions based on evidence. Moreover as I began to write and send
him draft documents it became increasingly clear that whilst we were both disabled
our forms of impairment produced very little common ground between us. Although
disabled he did not understand how my impairment and the nature of the
technological adaptations I was required to use in order to write had an impact on
some aspects of my writing. On several occasions he criticized my written work for
the poor standard of layout and inconsistencies of font size. At that stage of my
research, given my lack of confidence in my ability to produce a PhD thesis,
criticisms of this kind only served to further undermine my confidence which my
Director of Studies spent considerable amounts of time counteracting. The problems I
was experiencing with my disabled supervisor were resolved when the Director of
Studies moved institutions and I moved my PhD research with her. My experiences
suggest that a disabled, social model compliant, supervisor may not necessarily be the
most appropriate person to supervise disabled students conducting critical research in
the arena of disability.
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Embarking on the research: finding a place to work
When I began the research for this thesis, I could visually detect text on a visual
display unit (VDU) with a highly magnified screen. This meant that I could read page
numbers from books or articles and thus independently access texts for scanning. My
vision has now declined to a level where I can no longer use a VDU screen but
depend entirely on a computer speech output system. This deterioration in my
condition has affected both the cost of completing a PhD and where the research
could practically be conducted.
Generally universities expect full-time students to be based on university premises for
a significant proportion of their time. In order to comply with this the university
would need to purchase dedicated adapted equipment for my sole use. Often PhD
students are required to share offices and computer equipment. This would mean that
if sighted students needed to use the same computer as I they would need to disable
the speech system and then restore it when they had finished. If the system is not
restored, the visually impaired student is disabled until the adaptive software is
reactivated by someone else. The university’s internal network also has to be capable
of adaptation. For example, my access to computing depends upon the speech output
system software being loaded before any system security checks are required, because
if the speech is not available, then I cannot detect the security questions or confirm I
have entered passwords correctly. Other environmental factors also need to be taken
into account.
When I had some residual visual ability I could only benefit from using a VDU under
conditions of low or no background lighting. Whilst such an environment would
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remove physical barriers to working they would create a disabling, potentially
dangerous environment for anyone sharing the office that did not share my
impairment. Asking a number of visually impaired students to share an office would
not necessarily resolve the problem because some visually impaired people require
high levels of light and this would disable me. It may therefore not be possible to
provide an environment which does not disable people with visual impairments
because the particular form of impairment may require different adaptations to the
environment. Since my impairment has deteriorated, the need for a room with low
level light is no longer necessary. Now I need to be able to use a speech output
system. Unless I was to use headphones, an uncomfortable and isolating piece of
technology when used over long periods of time, using a speech output system can be
irritating and distracting for others working in the vicinity. The solution would seem
to be single occupancy offices which have been adapted to requirements of the
individual. Whilst this is an ideal solution, given that space is often a scarce resource
in universities the possibilities of achieving this in practice is unlikely and could result
in universities indirectly discriminating against disabled students who require
resources that are in short supply.
I resolved these problems by working primarily from home. Whilst this was isolating
and I often missed discussions with my peers, I was able to work in a familiar
controlled environment with no need for headphones. This could not however have
been achieved without the active encouragement and support of my supervisor.
Finding a place to work did not however resolve all my problems.
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Accessing buildings and information: non-medical helpers (NMH)
In order to conduct this research I was provided with a three year research grant and a
disability allowance by the Economic and Social Research Council (ESRC). The
disability allowance enabled the purchase of technological adaptations and the
services of a NMH for the duration of the research grant. In my case, the latter took
the form of a sighted person who largely assisted in overcoming the barriers to
research which confront blind people accessing information in inaccessible formats
and which are discussed in Chapter 3.
The ESRC accepted that my impairment required the assistance of a ‘reader’ but as I
do not have a mobility impairment, they did not accept that they should provide funds
to enable me to access buildings such as libraries located in unfamiliar areas. They
suggested that if I needed assistance to meet a NMH in an unfamiliar location I should
contact the relevant local social services who are obliged to provide me with mobility
training in their area. As I did not know, at that time, where relevant archive
documents were housed and since from previous experience of the local authority, I
knew that I might have to wait up to eighteen months for mobility training this was
not a realistic option. I was therefore constrained to rely on the willingness of my
NMH to provide mobility assistance. I was unable to pay for this service and so was
effectively relying on charity. Clearly this did not enable independent access to
locations.
There were also other difficulties I experienced in using a NMH to assist in this
research. Although the role of a NMH may seem to be straightforward in that s/he
helps find and read texts, in practice the relationship becomes far more subtle. The
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NMH is required to act on their own initiative when searching through what can often
be large amounts of material in archived filing systems, many of which are
unstructured. In order to be able to perform searches in a reasonable time scale, the
NMH needs to be familiar with the subject matter of the research and to understand
the arguments the research is trying to test. It is only by understanding both, that they
are then able to select what they consider to be relevant. When searching through
boxes of non-indexed trade union documents it was impractical for my NMH to read
all the documents ‘out loud’ because this would have taken too long and even if there
had been sufficient time there were insufficient funds to pay for this. From a social
model perspective then, the only way that I could have had independent access to
documentary sources would have been if the owners of the documents had made their
contents available in audio format or electronically so that I could have selected what
I deemed relevant. This facility was not available and therefore my NMH effectively
acted as a ‘filter’ of which documents were relevant and this might have introduced an
element of ‘research contamination’ (Miller & Glassner, 1997, 126-27). Although I
tried to ensure that my NMH understood the nature of my research, I could not,
because of my impairment and because she was not a trained researcher, be sure that
she had not missed information which would have been relevant. This of course
would not have been a problem for a sighted person who had other kinds of
impairments.
Given the nature of my impairment and my need to help the NMH evaluate which
documents were relevant or not, the library provided a small room so we could talk
without distracting other library users. Once relevant documents had been identified,
it should have been possible to photocopy documents and then scan them as text into
my computer. However the quality of documents was often poor, the fonts in which
278
they were printed are not easily recognized and because there were often images on
the documents, this strategy proved to be inappropriate. Therefore once relevant
documents had been identified the NMH then read them onto audio tape noting page
numbers for later citation purposes, and I then transcribed these onto computer files,
as I did with tape recorded interviews and field notes. However whilst the use of
technology was helpful, it by no means removed all barriers to accessing and using
information which had been constructed in formats which assume a sighted reader.
Accessing information: adaptive technologies
Braille is generally assumed to allow equal access to text for blind people. I have
never been taught Braille, so if I had decided to use this method then considerable
time and effort would have been needed for me to learn the technique. In considering
whether to investing time in learning to read Braille I considered other difficulties
with it. If a printed and Braille version of the same text such as the Bible (Jerusalem
version) are compared, the printed copy can be found in one volume, whereas a
Braille version would be in 75 volumes. Considering the number of texts that PhD
thesis refers to, this would have required significant storage space. Finally, the
availability of texts that have been transcribed into Braille is very limited with
(typically) an 18 month wait between a text being published and it being available in
Braille. It is also the case that Braille producers are reluctant to retranslate later
editions of texts due primarily to their limited resources and demands for previously
un-transcribed work to be given a higher priority. For all of these practical reasons,
Braille was not considered as an appropriate adaptive technology and consequently,
alternative methods were required.
279
Any text can be sent to the Royal National Institute for the Blind (RNIB) and they
will transcribe the content onto audio cassette without charge. This has the added
benefit of including verbal descriptions of pictures or graphics. On average, RNIB
will read a twenty-page plain text article onto one side of a C90 audio cassette and
return it within two weeks. However, the turnaround time depends on the demand for
the service and the length and complexity of the information submitted for
transcription and so can take significantly longer than two weeks. When tapes arrive
the cassette has the title of the document in Braille and in print on the outside. This of
course poses the first problem to a visually impaired person who does not read Braille
- that they have no way of knowing what is on the tape unless they either listen to it or
ask someone else to tell them what it contains. As an NMH cannot be with the
researcher all the time, the first task then is to listen to it and then write a summary of
what it contains onto a bibliographic data base. This will enable the researcher to
locate a particular author’s argument at a later date by conducting a keyword search.
Clearly this process is no different from one that might be used by a sighted
researcher. But here the similarity ends. When a sighted researcher has located a
source, they would then go to a shelf or a filing cabinet and look for the text they
need. This is much more complicated for a visually impaired person. A 200 page
book including contents and bibliography would translate into eleven or twelve C90
cassettes. When faced with 500 individual cassettes, finding the right cassette, as
there is no independent way of knowing what is on each cassette without listening to
the first five to ten minutes of each recorded book or article, becomes a time
consuming task. In contrast a sighted researcher would merely read the title of a book
or article and either use or discard it.
280
Retrieving information from audio tapes proved to be particularly difficult and I
switched to scanning documents directly into a computer and used speech output
software to read back to me the scanned document. Whilst this overcame some of the
problems of retrieving extracts of texts, scanning documents raised different
problems. The success of scanning depends very much on the quality of the original
document. If documents had been defaced in any way – such as other users of the
original documents underlining sections, or making comments in margins - this would
be picked up by the optical character recognition (OCR) system that the scanner uses
to translate the document into a format that could be read by the speech output
software. Similarly if there were any visual images such as graphics or photographs
the OCR would attempt to translate such images into plain text. This led to
significant inaccuracies in the electronic text and required a significant amount of
time to ‘clean’ the files so that they could be read back to me by the speech output
software.
In order to meet academic standards required in the submission of a thesis, when
making citations the page number on which the cited quotation appears has to be
included in the reference in the text. In original texts, page numbers may be located
on various places on the page which presents no problems for a sighted person citing
from a document. However when a document has been scanned and the speech
output system reads the page number there is no way of knowing whether the page
number that is read out refers to the page that has just been read out or the page that is
about to be read out. The only way of knowing whether it refers to one or the other is
that the person listening knows whether the page number on the original document
appeared at the top or bottom of a page. For a visually impaired person this is not
281
possible without the assistance of a sighted reader to check that the cited page number
is correct.
The principal method of accessing text that was used in this research was a speech
output based computer. The stability of the speech system is primarily based upon its
use as a companion to word processing, where plain text is standard and any graphical
symbols can be removed. However, when the system is asked to interrogate the
Internet, the variety of website designs and the inclusion of substantial graphical
formats caused, on many occasions, the failure and ‘locking’ of the system. Thus
even when websites provided access to information in plain text format, my speech
output system would ‘lock’ whilst trying to find the icon that would take me to that
format. I made the decision after six months of attempting to use the Internet that my
time would be more effectively used concentrating on writing and scanning
documents and relying on the NMHs to access documents from the Internet. Relevant
documents could then be e-mailed to me as attachments by the NMH once the
graphics had been stripped out and the documents transferred into plain text format.
Thus, the process of literature searching was made possible, although from the outset
I had to develop a system of electronic filing, cross-referencing and secure ‘backed
up’ storage.
Access to printed information is possible for a blind person albeit with much greater
dependency on technology and self-developed retrieval systems. However writing
presents a different range of problems to users who are dependent upon speechgenerated computer systems.
282
Writing the thesis: computer-generated speech systems
Using speech output systems requires time to become familiar with the flat,
mechanical tone of the computer-generated voice. With the system set at the default
speed it takes approximately 75 minutes to read an 8000 word article. Once the
listener has got used to the sound of the voice the speed can be increased so that the
same text can be read in 45 minutes. However, the system has to be set so that it does
not read any punctuation. For example, if the speech output system were to read: ‘said
Smith’ (Jones, A., 1999), it would say,
Left double quotation said capital Smith right double quotation left paren
capital Jones comma capital a dot comma one thousand nine hundred and
ninety nine right paren comma.
Whilst the blind listener is provided with both punctuation and substantive words the
spoken punctuation significantly reduces comprehensibility. With some heavily
punctuated writings, the speech output content can approach an even split between the
substantive text of the article and its punctuation. The same issues of course arise
when writing and reviewing what has been written. Given the amount of editing that
is done when writing, reviewing what has been written takes significantly longer
using this system than it does for someone reading the written word. In order to
reduce the time it takes for the system to read back what has been written, it becomes
necessary to only review punctuation and paragraph construction once the author feels
they have conveyed the substantive argument. However as can be seen by the
example given, when punctuation is included in reading back the text, it can be easy
to omit punctuation and this of course can sometimes completely change the meaning
that the author intended. This in turn means that when supervisors read draft
documents they need to spend more time than they otherwise would trying to make
sense of the authors intended meaning.
283
Supervisors are of course an important resource when writing PhD theses. Their
feedback on the development of the substantive arguments is critical. With sighted
supervisors and students such feedback is generally supplied verbally in meetings and
by writing comments on hard copies of documents. Whilst verbal feedback was
equally appropriate for me, written comments on hard copies was not appropriate.
We therefore developed a system in which written feedback was provided
electronically. This consisted of inserting comments within text in square brackets
and prefaced with my name. A comment would therefore be written as for example
Peter, this point needs to be developed. Writing the comment in bold enabled my
supervisor to visually locate earlier feedback and ensure that the issue had been dealt
with in subsequent drafts. Prefacing comments with my name was beneficial for me
because it did not require the ‘read punctuation’ facility to be active and did not
therefore slow down the reading process. If electronic feedback had been provided
for a sighted student, the ‘insert comment’ facility on word processing software could
have been used and the student would be able to see where a comment had been
inserted. With speech output systems this is much more difficult to use.
In order to use the ‘insert comment’ facility the ‘read punctuation’ facility would need
to be active and speech output system would have to be instructed to ‘read colour’.
When the latter is activated the system reads out not only the colour of the text, but
also the background colour, and style format including font size. This then would
mean that the amount of punctuation, formatting and colour that is read out by far
outweighs the amount of reading of substantive text. This not only becomes
confusing to the listener, but also the more the system is asked to read the slower it
becomes and the greater the possibility that it will lock completely. It may of course
be that it is possible to set the system up differently to eliminate these problems.
284
However my level of technical knowledge did not enable this and training to increase
my technical skills was financially prohibitive.
As a blind author I also encountered other significant problems in writing this thesis
which relate to both my impairment and to the length of theses. As a thesis develops
it may, as in the case for this thesis, go through a number of iterations and require
significant amounts of editing and restructuring. Restructuring may require moving
sections within or across chapters. For a sighted author this can be achieved relatively
quickly because they are able to scan chapters visually, ‘cut and paste’ sections or
remove sections where there is repetition. For a blind author this becomes a major
time consuming exercise. For example, a supervisors’ comment may simply say
Peter, this paragraph seems to be a repetition of the points you made in
paragraph two on page three of chapter two, or is this a more subtle point you
are trying to make?. In order to deal with this comment I would need to return to
chapter two, locate page three and paragraph two. I could only do this by turning on
the “read punctuation” facility on the speech output system which of course makes it
much slower to listen to. I would need to open the file which contains chapter two
and compare the two paragraphs. However having more than one document open at a
time also slows the speech output system down and more often than not the system
locks and requires re-booting. I found therefore that rewriting chapters in order to
address comments from my supervisor was quicker than trying to cut and paste within
or between chapters. This however often resulted in omitting sections in the new
version of a chapter and so the whole process would start again.
As the thesis grew in volume the time required for me to read and review my work
increased in direct proportion to the word length. This together with rewriting and
285
restructuring made it increasingly difficult for me to keep track of whether I had
included particular arguments in the new draft, where I had made them, or whether
relevant sections had been omitted in re-drafting. In order to check this I would need
to listen to the entire thesis a number of times. The amount of concentration required
to listen to a computer generated voice is substantial and this meant that I needed to
take frequent breaks which again extends the amount of editing time and fragments
the process.
Universities generally see the writing up stage of a thesis as one in which the student
requires less rather than more of their supervisors support and time. Supervisors are
therefore often not credited with as much time in their workload for supervising final
year PhD students. In my case, because of my impairment, I required even more
support than I had done in the earlier stages of my research in order to manage what
had become an unwieldy document. Her role became one of not only checking that
my substantive argument met the standards of PhD level research but also one of
editor, ensuring that arguments were expressed clearly and logically, that there was no
repetition, and that relevant sections had not been lost in re-drafting. She was not
however credited with any more time for these activities by her employers. This can
of course have a significant impact on the willingness of academic staff to supervise
disabled students or they may be more willing to supervise disabled students with
particular forms of impairments rather than others. In order to ensure that people with
particular forms of impairment are not indirectly discriminated against, and if disabled
students are expected to produce theses that conform to standards which assume a non
disabled writer, then universities need to ensure that adequate resources are provided
for disabled students, including providing editing and proof-reading services by staff
who are conversant with academic writing conventions. Such a service cannot be
286
undertaken by a NMH who does not have these skills. It should in other words not be
a ‘problem’ which individual supervisors and students have to resolve as best they
can. In my case my supervisor was able to locate an academic colleague who has a
doctorate and provides a proof reading service to proof read the final version of my
thesis. However it is not just universities who need to consider the amount of support
that disabled students need to complete their studies.
As I indicated earlier, the research for this thesis was funded by a three year research
grant provided by the ESRC. This consisted of a maintenance grant, a one off
payment in the first year to purchase the necessary technology and a disability
allowance in order to fund a NMH for the duration of the grant. Although funding is
provided for three years, grant holders can request extra time to complete their
studies. This normally consists of a fourth year to finish writing up their thesis but
there is no financial support provided for any extra time. Given my description of
conducting the research for this thesis and in particular the time it takes me to
complete tasks which would be relatively quick for a sighted researcher, I made an
application to the ESRC to extend my registration initially for a fourth year and then
for a fifth year. Whilst the fourth year was granted without any difficulty, the ESRC
required rather more persuasion to extend the period of study beyond this but
eventually agreed to a six month extension in the fifth year and an agreement to
consider a further six months if this should be required. However, they rejected my
application for continued funding for editing assistance from a NMH. As is evident
from my earlier discussion, without such support, I simply could not have completed
this research.
287
Fortunately I was able to secure a university bursary and a grant from my local
authority to enable me to employ a non-medical helper in the fourth year and fifth
year. However, the total amount of these funds did not provide me with living
expenses. ESRC pointed out that in the fourth year of study (and fifth in my case)
candidates were expected to find part time work in order to support themselves.
Given the difficulties disabled people have in finding employment the ESRC did not
consider whether this was a realistic option. Had I been able to find a part time job
this would have required an even longer extension to my period of study. Moreover
despite explaining the problems I was having, they failed to understand how my
impairment was having an impact on the writing up of the thesis. Whilst the ESRC
will consider an extension of the grant for a fourth year for other groups such as
pregnant women or those facing ‘hard language’ difficulties they refused to consider
an extension of my grant on the grounds of my impairment and the extra time I would
therefore require to complete the thesis. Such a decision seems rather perverse given
that it is in their interests to demonstrate that students in receipt of public funds do
actually complete their studies.
My reflection on the research process demonstrates that through trial and error I have
developed a system which I consider to be none disabling for both me and my
supervisor. The development of this system has improved access for me
tremendously although it has also involved significantly more commitment of time
and work for my supervisor than is usual with non-disabled students. However, it
needs to be stressed that the working relationship I developed with my supervisor has
been a critical factor in the completion of this thesis. Whilst this may be said of all
postgraduate students, given the particular difficulties I have had as a result of my
impairment, it should be recognized that disabled students will need much more from
288
this relationship and so present more of a challenge to their supervisors than nondisabled students.
289
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