Spaces of Education: Finding a Place that Fits
Nancy Hansen, Ph.D. 
University of Manitoba

Abstract: The fluidity of disability, and impairment emerges through a series of interviews 
developed with, and involving, forty women in Scotland and Canada.  Their educational experiences 
are explored. The voices of women with disabilities in this article are important, and what appears 
are rich contextual profiles of women making spaces on their own terms.

Key Words: women, disability, education 

Introduction

  Human Geography explores the use of space, time and place elements in various aspects of daily 
living. The geography of disability is a comparatively new and emerging field within this discipline. 
Geographers are escaping the rigid disciplinary isolated ÒboxesÓ of medical geography in favour of a 
multi-dimensional approach incorporating the more flexible social and cultural aspects of human 
geography. In this article, a more detailed picture of disability in daily life emerges, looking at the 
everyday reality of disability in primary, secondary, college and university Òeducational spacesÓ as 
experienced by women with physical impairments in Scotland and Canada. The women range in age 
from their early twenties to their mid-sixties. Through a series of in-depth qualitative interviews, the 
author moves well beyond individual incapacity to look at wider social perceptions, attitudes and the 
interconnections of education and community. Much can be learned from the phrase, ÒTell me about 
your education experiences.Ó This question elicits the dignity, self-respect, and quiet courage of 
disabled women making space in public places where they must take pains to gain peripheral access 
every day. 

Primitive Beginnings, Primary Elements

  Non-disabled people perceive access to education as a natural rite of passage into the adult world. 
However, education for disabled people is not viewed as a usual element, but rather as a privilege 
granted  on a highly contingent basis (Gleeson, 1999). Indeed, the very presence of disabled people 
in educational space is often perceived as unnatural and disruptive (Chouinard, 1997). Access points 
to education are therefore limited, strictly regulated, tentative, peripheral, often medicalized, always 
on approval and subject to withdrawal. Whereas early education for non-disabled children nurtures 
creativity, where expectation develops potential, the situation for disabled children commonly entails 
a narrow focus on physical deficit correction (Rioux, 1999). The space itself is frequently removed 
from, or on the fringes of, public mainstream spaces. As a result, it has been customary practice to 
educate disabled people, even more notably disabled women, separately from their non-disabled 
counterparts. Often the space itself is residual, and devoid of intellectual stimulation, reflecting a 
lack of expectation. 

  Audrey provides a telling account of what was common practice half a century ago:

ÒThatÕs obviously a long time ago but when it came time for me to go to 
[mainstream] school, I was just about to go to school, and the education authorities at 
home said ÔdonÕt let her goÕ I wasnÕt educable É HadnÕt done any tests or anything, 
they just looked at my medical condition and said Ôpeople like that are not educable.ÕÓ 
(Audrey, 55, Scotland)

  BabetteÕs experience further underscores the impact of the medicalized approach to school 
admission:

ÒI was misdiagnosed as Ômentally retardedÕ because of the condition, it was quite a 
severe condition, it was diagnosed at the age of 9 months and my vision problems, 
although they are congenital as well, they werenÕt diagnosed until I was 5 and went to 
school, where a very attentive teacher said Ôthis child isnÕt mentally retarded sheÕs 
blindÕ!Ó (Babette, 47, Canada)

  What has been the purpose of this segregated or ÒspecialÓ education to which many disabled 
people have been consigned? It appears the focus of ÒspecialÓ education is geared to obtaining an 
arbitrary standard commonly known as Ònormalcy,Ó which is largely unattainable for this population 
group, thus firmly attaching to these individuals the label of different. This is perhaps directed at 
addressing the projected discomfort of the social majority in schools and beyond around physical 
difference, rather than improving the quality of life for disabled individuals. The aim is to develop a 
socially acceptable appearance rather than to improve and to develop intellect. Consequently, the 
education that is provided appears to be adapted to occupy time in a limited space, rather than to 
foster intellectual stimulation:

ÒI used to go to boarding school special school in Edinburgh É physical activity was 
the focus and you had to walk better, talk better and sit right. I remember once I 
missed my English class because they made me walk to class unaided [Stacey uses a 
metal walking frame], so by the time I got there it was finished! É I just thought the 
English was more important. Who cares if you can walk unaided but I needed to 
write.Ó  (Stacey, 29, Scotland)

Ò[B]ut at the time there wasnÕt many people as young, É with a spinal cord injury, 
itÕs more of a thing, that happens when youÕre out skiing, doing things É really at 
that time there wasnÕt a lot of special schools, special schools were really É if you 
had a disability you got shoved into a special school É It was very much emphasis on 
physiotherapy, speech therapy or occupational therapy, which is good, but there was 
practically no emphasis on education.Ó (Elise, 35, Scotland)

  Segregated education did have a positive impact on the lives of some disabled women, particularly 
in circumstances where medical treatment was required in conjunction with educational 
requirements, and some women felt the special school environment may have provided the support, 
formal and also more informal (through friendship networks), that was non-existent in mainstream 
spaces. This underscores the lack of accommodation provided to disabled people in public 
mainstream spaces. Often, one is faced with choosing between two extremes, neither one of which is 
really acceptable; a segregated environment, which has some support but little stimulation, or an 
integrated mainstream environment with no support. The following quotes capture something of this 
ambivalent attitude toward special schools, indicating a few positive assessments, but even here the 
key message seems to be that the women found the schools ultimately limiting in academic terms:

ÒI went to a special school until I was 11, and it was a wonderful experience in terms 
of the range of subjects, it was like primary school, we got a different teacher for 
every subject at primary level and we had languages and all sorts.  I was totally 
challenged by the curriculumÉ I became very unsettled I think it was because my 
sisters had gone to the local grammar, and so their mates were around in the 
community and I wanted to be part of that as well and also I felt that academically I 
had been challenged and stretched to the age of 11/12 and then the pace was slowing 
and I was very unhappy.Ó  (Kim, 49, Scotland)

ÒI went to a special school, didnÕt feel particularly special! I hated it, just found it like 
lack of stimulation, over protectiveÉ I just found it limiting academically.Ó (Vicki, 29, Scotland)

  Interestingly, a few women did wonder if experiences may have been better for them had they 
attended special school:

Interviewer: ÒDid you ever go to special school?Ó 

ÒNo never. When I went to primary school I was fine, 5 Ð11 that was fine I got on 
great but when I went to high school, because I have got like my processing of stuff is 
not as good because there has been some light brain damageÉ but I just felt that in 
high school I could have been doing with extra help.Ó (Brenda, 28, Scotland)

ÒIt was very difficult, I couldnÕt take notes, I wasnÕt sure what the teacher was saying 
so I was studying by myself, I was coming home and was studying, I was only 10 
years old but I was up until midnight studyingÉ I would have felt uncomfortable 
with hearing people, I wouldnÕt have learned how to communicate. IÕm glad I went to 
a regular school, what I miss a lot is if I had gone to a deaf school I would have 
learned sign language, but I donÕt know.Ó (Sahara, 40, Canada)

  The overwhelming impression is nonetheless that segregated education served as a holding area for 
entry into the rehabilitation and social service agencies designed for subsequent entry into suitable disabled spacessuch as sheltered or segregated employment. For many of the women whom I interviewed amendments to education legislation have come too late. The measure of success is dependent upon how legislation is interpreted and applied (Gleeson,1999). Segregated education has in effect, arguably acted as a diversion programme, keeping disabled individuals out of the mainstream economy or at the very most directing them into vocational spaces deemed by others to be ÒappropriateÓ:

ÒWhen I left special school they didnÕt really stretch your mind as to what you would 
like to do, it was all about what you could do. It was mainly guiding you into office 
work and office technology. At that time I just thought IÕll do this because thatÕs what 
I can do but I find it so boring!Ó  (Stacey, 29, Scotland)

Making Primary Spaces in Public Places

  The arrival of disabled children in ÒpublicÓ education space is seen as an anomaly (Kitchin, 2000). 
Making space for them in the mainstream places of learning is not expected or welcomed, and is 
perceived as disruptive to the ÒnaturalÓ social order. Those individuals entering into this 
environment are usually championed by a non-disabled advocate, often a parent demonstrating 
exceptional personal fortitude to fight against barriers of fear, ignorance and simple lack of 
imagination (Rioux, 1999).  ArielÕs story in this respect is telling: 

ÒMy mother had to fight like hell to get meÉ into regular schoolÉ they thought that 
I should be placed in a special school. So the very next day my mother pulled my 
sister out of school and when the Principal called to find out why my sister hadnÕt 
attended school that dayÉ my mother said Ôwell if youÕre not equipped to take care 
of one of my daughters, then youÕre not equipped to take care of either of my 
daughtersÕ, so they saidÉ Ôok weÕll pay for an attendantÕÉ but they wouldnÕt have 
done that if my mother hadnÕt pushed the envelope.Ó (Ariel, 27, Canada)

  The physical difficulties of accessing and moving around in the mainstream school environment 
were often stressed, and the teachers clearly worried about the different ways in which disabled 
children had to move, but the following two quotes demonstrate how, with a little open-mindedness 
and readiness to accept ÒunusualÓ practices, successful integration can be achieved:
ÒI didnÕt have a wheelchair until I was 7! É They didnÕt give out wheelchairs to 
children in those days, and that was another fight!É I only lived around the corner, 
and they eventually got agreement that I could go for a trial period, by this time I was 
8 and they put me in with the 7 year olds, and that lasted a day, and the teacher of the 
7 year olds said Ôah ah, sheÕs far too fast for this.ÕÓ (Audrey, 55, Scotland)

ÒI think they had to fight quite a bit to get me in the local schoolÉ but really I was 
going to be happier in the local school, I was lucky it was a small community, it was a 
small convent, I had two sisters at the school and there was loads of stairs to 
classrooms, there wasnÕt going to be a problem with lifting me up the steps or 
anything, becauseÉ I was always quite light, so my classmates just lifted me, carried 
me upÉ  (Kim, 49, Scotland)

  However, once in mainstream education things are certainly not always straightforward for 
disabled children. CandiÕs and JoyceÕs experience reveals much about the everyday problems of 
bullying, trying to fit in, teachersÕ suspicions and the like:

I was in a regular school all of my academic lifeÉ When I went to school, I was very 
clumsy and so I got teased a lot because I didnÕt know that things were that close and 
I would trip over them or I would run into somebody and IÕd get smacked, orÉ 
somebody would hit meÉ because they just thought I was doing it on purpose.  I 
always sat at the back of the class, I didnÕt sit at the front of the class and they would 
force me by the end of the year to go back to the front of the class which would single 
me out all of the time, because I wasnÕt seeing so therefore I wasnÕt learning, but I 
didnÕt want to be singled out but I also wanted to be part of the group, so I tried to sit 
at the back like everybody elseÉ I quit school when I was 16.  (Candi, 45, Canada)

I always remember the teacher saying Ôlook at your sister she canÕt see and sheÕs 
streets ahead of you, how come you canÕt do this?Õ and sort of making out to É that 
she was really bad and here I was, I couldnÕt see, and I was doing better than herÉÓ 
(Joyce, 34, Scotland)

  The difficulties in mainstream education of adapting to the needs of disabled children is evident in 
many ways, often in the creation of well-meaning regimes which nonetheless still set the disabled 
child apart or seek to be overly helpful to the point of ÒcocooningÓ (Holt, 2003):

ÒThey were very understanding, I think perhaps too much, I think what would happen 
a lot of the time was if I was having difficulty in a particular area they would just take 
my hand and walk me along and give me a passing grade, you know sometimes I did 
really well like English grammar and social studies, but it was the Maths, Geography, 
those areas, so I never learned how to think for myself like other people do, I had help 
all the time, I learned helplessness.Ó  (Dolly, 34, Canada)

  It as if the mere presence of disabled people is somehow threatening to, or compromising of, the 
academic standard of non-disabled students (Rioux, 1999). Again, this lack of willingness to 
accommodate disabled children within mainstream education is due in part to a lack of exposure to 
disabled people or disability issues (Kitchin, 2000). As a result, disabled children can feel isolated 
and alone in mainstream education:

ÒMy first year at school kindergarten was not a happy time for me. My teacher didnÕt 
know how to treat me she didnÕt know how to treat any of the students! She pretty 
much made a big thing that I was not co-ordinated and she tried everything in the 
book to get me out of school É Finally, in grade 1 É they basically put me in the 
library on my own with a [non-professional helper].Ó (Patsy, 25, Canada)

  The mainstream primary education experience of these women can best be described as an 
interesting dichotomy. Although they felt fortunate to have avoided or limited their exposure to 
segregated school, at the same time they were often painfully aware that their presence in the regular 
school environment was perceived as a source of tension and conflict. Indeed, the necessity to provide 
adaptation is frequently perceived as disruptive, and seemingly compromises the education standards 
of non-disabled students. Difference is often emphasized by education authorities in a negative 
fashion, a sign of intellectual limitation rather than a failure on their part to provide effective 
accommodation (Rioux, 1999). Consequently, most of the women rarely felt welcome in these spaces, 
although they believed they had the right to be there. The women also identified the need to struggle 
against Òcommon knowledgeÓ or negative social perceptions of difference in disability. In their efforts 
to gain approval, many of the women identified an internalised feeling of personal inadequacy taking 
root during this period in school at the primary level. To Òfit in,Ó much physical and academic effort 
was spent trying to pass as non-disabled, or to blend in with their non-disabled counterparts, often at 
great personal cost and minimising their own needs. There was a necessity to prove their right to be in 
the ÒregularÓ space, particularly since in childhood there is limited awareness of a larger social or 
environmental inflexibility, yet at no time did the women ever express the wish to be non-disabled as a means of dealing with their physical reality. What can also be added is that from a very early age 
essential lessons were being learned about navigating in an essentially hostile environment, concerning the realities of making space and using time in ÒpublicÓ places, minimising difference in order to gain approval or acceptance.

Secondary Spaces

  In the higher school grades, the pressing realities of time and space and difference are more acute 
on a number of different levels. The nature of study changes in secondary school, both in the 
increased volume of work to be done and the demands on the amount of time required for 
completing it. Movement of disabled students between classes is also a change, placing far greater 
demands on physical effort and navigation skills. The speed/time management skills developed to 
pass and function to this point no longer work to the same extent as before. Academic 
mainstreaming is also a part of high school, and in several instances slower physical processing of 
material was often interpreted as a lack of intellectual ability. Women who could not keep pace were 
placed in less challenging academic or vocational classes. As was the case in primary school, few if 
any changes were made to the existing academic environment, and adaptation was left to the women 
themselves. As a result, many of the women again felt alone or isolated. Feelings of isolation were 
accentuated because notions of body difference and physicality become more fixed and acute in 
teenage years, as does the need to gain social acceptance. Joyce and BrendaÕs experiences provide a 
fitting illustration of the need to Òfit inÓ in the midst of demeaning attitudes and bullying at 
secondary level. The women internalised a sense of what is ÒnormalÓ and of oneÕs distance from 
that:

ÒWe went to secondary school, the blackboard was used a lot for everything and I fell 
way behind, [Joyce has a vision impairment], and then when people are saying to you 
youÕre just thick, well youÕre told that so often, that if youÕre told it often enough you 
just begin to believe it, well IÕm thick, but I used to feel so frustrated because I could 
understand what was going on but I just couldnÕt ÉÓ  (Joyce, 34, Scotland)

ÒThey tended to send you to remedial classes which made you feel thick or stupid and 
I knew I wasnÕt É There was a lot of bullying and name-calling. I had my own 
friends, when you are that age, it is sort of like if you donÕt fit in youÕre not worth 
knowingÉ I think it made me more timid, more self conscious and more unaccepting 
of who I was because I wanted to fit in with everybody else.Ó (Brenda, 28, Scotland)

  Several women gave accounts of missing school or being taken out of school to undergo surgical 
procedures. None of the women questioned the need for the surgery, although, upon reflection, many 
women expressed regret concerning the impact of hospitalisation on attaining long-term educational 
qualifications. The medical model appears to remain paramount to decisions around education,  and 
the quest for ÒnormalisationÓ took precedence over qualifications. The purpose here is not to berate or 
to downgrade the importance of medical intervention, but it is to wonder if more care should be taken 
to co-ordinate better these medical elements to lessen the negative educational impact on the young 
individual. There was little thought given to assisting the women in a manner that best suited them, 
and it was left to the individual women to deal with the situation with limited information or 
resources. Placing medical matters before educational ones clearly had enormous and often-negative 
implications for several of the women who I interviewed, as these quotes reveal:

ÒI left school at 15 to get an operation, it was my bladder problems, I was incontinent 
at school [spina bifida]. I left in MarchÉ because I was going to get an operation.Ó (Brenda, 28, Scotland)

ÒA hip operation put me back a year, the school was wanting me to not go back a year, 
I went no, so it was me that had a choice of whether I could go back a year or not to do 
the yearÕs studying, but I didnÕt want to, so I should have but I didnÕt É life may have 
been different now if I did but I never, so I only really did three years instead of four at 
High School, even though I did sort of do four... but I wasnÕt there for a full year.Ó  (Rhonda, 31, Scotland)

ÒThe Secondary school É was simply not accessible É so I went to special school a 
boarding school for the severely disabled children, and I was there until I was 16, É 
but I spent two and half years of that in hospital É So I came out of school with pretty 
well not a lot of qualifications.Ó (Audrey, 55, Scotland)

  Various women had a positive experience in high school because of a positive self-image and an 
effective support system enabling them to study effectively and to more fully integrate into the social 
academic environment. Patsy gives one example:

ÒIn high school É they had an orthopaedic unit in the school itself, which integrated 
disabled students in the regular curriculum. I was lucky people didnÕt judge me. The 
teachers didnÕt judge me because of the chair [Patsy uses a wheelchair]. They judged 
me for my potential and what I did.Ó  (Patsy, 25, Canada)

  Unfortunately, several women did not have a positive experience. Secondary education proved to 
be a turning point for many women, providing a crucial marker for adulthood: 

ÒI actually filled in an application to go to Teachers College, and it had to go through 
the PrincipalÕs office for them to sign and the Guidance CounsellorÉ The Principal, 
the Vice Principal and the Guidance Counsellor called me in for an interview in their 
office, and É didnÕt they say they were very sorry that they couldnÕt sign the 
application  É [but] I may as well not waste my time because they certainly wouldnÕt 
have hired me to be a teacher in their school system.Ó  (Alice, 51, Canada)

ÒI desperately wanted to be like whoever É I was just so glad to get out É I didnÕt 
realize it would affect the rest of my life. I was going for jobs and I had no formal 
qualifications. I had no confidence and I no self-esteem. It took me until I was in my 
20Õs to accept who I was.Ó (Brenda, 28, Scotland)

  It is important to recognise that even a poor initial school experience can eventually build a bridge 
to fulfilled later education:

ÒWhen I was 16 and they let me go to this other, a different secondary school, I went 
there for a year to sort of catch up on some things and then I left still without 
qualifications apart from shorthand and typing and things like that, then I went to 
college to further that in book keeping and then in the 80s, late 70s, I ended up at 
University, applied to do that, and then after eight years I got an honours degree.Ó (Audrey, 55, Scotland)

Post-Secondary Spaces: College and University Places

ÒIÕve actually been told to my face that I shouldnÕt be complaining so much because a 
couple of years back I wouldnÕt have even been allowed into the university! So yes, 
IÕve actually been told to my face you know that I should think myself quite lucky 
because a couple of years back I wouldnÕt even be allowed in, so itÕs like ÔI am not 
worthyÕ.Ó  (Trudy, 33, Scotland)

  Remnant elements of the medical model still remain as part of the procedure at this level of the 
educational system. Indeed, frequently, the medical profession provides the gate-keeping access 
mechanism to the process of entering further or higher education (Michalko & Titchkosky 2001). 
Academic qualifications are often secondary to the need for an arbitrary level of physicality, which 
is another manifestation of an exceptional status provision. The individual is faced with having to 
prove an everyday coping ability to undertake the course before it has even begun (Michalko & 
Titchkosky).  Whereas non-disabled people are provided access without this added hurdle, it is as if 
disabled students must provide this assurance as added proof of the right to be in the space 
concerned. Access to academic space is hence conditional and regarded as a kind of privilege, which 
is yet another manifestation of an Òon approvalÓ mechanism which is all too often subject to 
withdrawal:

ÒI filled out my application for college when I was in hospital and I remember having 
this enormous debateÉwith a friend of mine who had come to give me a handÉ 
because I had just had surgery on my spine and I was completely flat outÉ I was in 
plaster from my neck down to my knees, completely flat out in bed, but I felt fineÉ 
was just literally recovering, waiting on the bones to knit together. And I was filling 
out this form and it said Ôare you in good health?Õ and I ticked Ôyes,Õ and [my friend] 
was like how can you write Ôyes,Õ you are lying in a hospital bed, and I was like fine 
there was nothing wrong with me.Ó 

Interviewer: ÒThey wouldnÕt have let you in otherwise?Ó

ÒNo, I actually wanted to be to be an occupational therapist for a profession and I 
wanted to do physiotherapy, but I couldnÕt have got into physiotherapy, I wasnÕt 
deemed fit enough at that time. I think maybe things are different now, but at that 
time I wouldnÕt have got inÉÓ (Marilyn, 39, Scotland)

  MarilynÕs story reveals many points, such as the gulf between her understanding of herself, her 
body and her intellectual potential and what others, the gatekeepers of post-secondary spaces, may 
perceive in terms of her as a viable applicant for a place at college. 

  Other issues, of course, arise to do with institutional concerns about an individualÕs ÒfitnessÓ and 
the clichŽd problem of wheelchair accessibility as a reason for blocking someoneÕs application 
cannot be avoided: 

ÒThey said that my academic qualifications were fine but they just couldnÕt have 
somebody in a wheelchair on their premises because it wasnÕt accessible at all, so 
obviously I didnÕt accept that at all, so they had to move lectures from one building to 
another, it was ok, I mean it wasnÕt fantastic for getting about but I got by.Ó (Vicki, 29, Scotland)

ÒIÕm doing an undergraduate course in community education and thatÕs been a real 
struggle, they did say, they knew I was coming four months before I came, they told 
me it would be an accessible courseÉ I got there and some of the lectures we had 
were like three flights up with no lift, so I couldnÕt attend them, so then they 
suggested we had a video link and I said I didnÕt want to be in the library on the video 
link, what if I wanted to ask questionsÉ there would be me viewed to 300 other 
students and there was no way I was going to do that and it would cost more, so I just 
said why donÕt you just move it to a lecture theatre thatÕs accessible, so they did move 
one of them, thereÕs one of them I canÕt attend because I just canÕt get up three 
flights.Ó  (Trudy, 33, Scotland)

  Preconceptions of physical incapacity and access may be used as a convenient means to mask the 
deeper underlying social insecurities or objections about sharing non-disabled spaces with disabled 
people. Echoing earlier comments, it is almost as if the presence of disabled people compromises or 
contaminates these higher education elite ÒpublicÓ ableÐbodied spaces:

ÒI had applied to and was accepted into a Masters programmeÉ in Speech Pathology, 
and the day after I was accepted is the day I had my haemorrhage and I had already 
had a stroke when I was 18 and I had a little bit of neurological residual damage, and 
they said that they shouldnÕt but they would be willing to overlook it because my 
application was strong in other areas, so they overlooked that and they accepted me 
into the programme, but then when I called them and told them IÕd had a 
haemorrhage they said you canÕt come in.Ó  (Babette, 47, Canada)

ÒWell at first they turned me down, they said they couldnÕt provide facilities for 
somebody in a wheelchairÉ even after IÕd been acceptedÉ Well the Head of 
Department came to my house and he saidÉÔdo you actually know what Psychology 
is?ÕÉ I did say to himÉ do you think I would have fought this hard and not found 
out thatÕs what I wanted to do? Of course I found out what it was about,Õ and he said 
Ôoh you have to be really good at maths and biology,Õ and I said Ôyes well thatÕs my 
best subjectsÕÉÓ  (Vicki, 29, Scotland)

  Even in supposedly mainstream post-secondary education, Òspecial needsÓ segregation still occurs. 
There appears to be a will to ÒteachÓ life-skills to people with disabilities (Barnes, 1991), and 
perhaps this is a continuing reflection of the desire to ÒnormalizeÓ this population group in an 
appropriate vocational manner:

ÒI was at College three days a week in administration. The whole course was 
inaccessible to me. It was a very frustrating experience in college. I was in a Ôspecial 
needsÕ class (teaching basic life skills) and it was awful.Ó (Stacey, 29, Scotland)

ÒWednesday when all the other students from mainstream would have a day off to 
study, we would have to participate in some special class [such as] cookery and 
woodwork. It was so hideous I used to not go and lost the time. They would complain 
because that was part of the condition you were at college.Ó  (Vicki, 29, Scotland)

  Disabled students are sometimes called upon to enlighten other students about the realities of life 
with a disability, another manifestation of the novelty and the Òpublic propertyÓ of disability in the 
academic sphere. Disabled students remain very much Òon displayÓ much of the time. TrudyÕs 
experience illustrates the central role that Academics play in a studentÕs experience:

ÒIÕm the only disabled person in the classÉ She said to me, ÔI want to ask you what 
has your life been as a disabled person, have you had hard times?Õ  And I said Ôwell 
IÕm not going to answer that,Õ and she said Ôwhy not?Õ and I said Ôbecause you just 
said to the class that you shouldnÕt assume that everybodyÕs experiences are the same, 
so no matter what I tell you about what my experience is, every other [disabled] 
personÕs experiences will be completely differentÕÉ she was really embarrassed, and 
I also said ÔI also donÕt appreciate the fact that youÕve drawn me as the centre of 
attention.ÕÓ  (Trudy, 33, Scotland)

  Patronising comments from non-disabled people appear to be an everyday occurrence in academic 
life. Often disabled students must justify accommodation requirements while proving individual 
academic competence in the face of social stereotypes:

She [disabled student services advisor] got me a readerÉ and she got me somebody 
to do my exams with me the person who did my exams answered the questions for me 
in a way that he thought was appropriate, not the way I answered them... I was 
stunned because I did really well in university and I got a D in the exam, and the 
ProfessorÕs read of it was that my vision must really be interfering and I said Ôno 
thatÕs not true,Õ so I said ÔI need to go over the answers with you,Õ and he started to 
give me the answers and I said ÔI didnÕt say that, I didnÕt say that,Õ andÉ so I got to 
redo the exam but I mean that was just a horrific experienceÉ (Babette, 47, Canada)

The thing that they keep firing back at us is Ôwell you know itÕs only a couple of years 
since weÕve had disabled students,Õ andÉ IÕm one of the first couple of wheelchair 
using students and itÕs all very new to them and theyÕll learn by their mistakesÉ (Trudy, 33, Scotland)

  Some of the interviewees were far more willing to bring these and other shortcomings to the 
attention of education authorities and to make their own suitable arrangements. Progressing through 
the academic environment, such individuals have refined and developed more skills necessary to 
manage in a largely inflexible academic environment:

Ò[A]t first I didnÕt get into the Fine Arts because there were concerns that I was not 
able to handle the physical aspects or demands of the programme, so firstly what I 
ended up doing was majoring in Art HistoryÉ but I exceeded the requirements, so I 
had to demonstrate... not only that I have the talent, but I was able to meet programme 
requirements. I got accepted into second-year status and I was fine after that, so there 
was very little modification that was needed for me to do the programme.Ó  (Lilly, 34, Canada)

  Although many of the women did not relish the idea of drawing attention to themselves, they 
were aware of the type of accommodation and support they needed to study effectively. Although 
the larger environmental framework remained quite rigid, within individual educational spaces, the 
nature of study could be somewhat flexible. Again, it was left to the individual to negotiate with 
instructors or to form alliances with fellow students to build supports into the environment, 
thereby increasing the likelihood of success. CandiÕs and StephanieÕs accounts in this respect 
demonstrate this aspect, but, as ever, things were never ideal or plain sailing:

ÒI went back to school when I was 18, and went through adult educationÉ which 
was a learn at your own pace so it was a lot better for me because I could sit and 
read the stuff, I didnÕt have to follow along and I didnÕt have to read off the board 
and I didnÕt have to worry about being asked to read something in class and things 
like that, because I wasnÕt able to read at the same pace as everybody else was.Ó  (Candi, 45, Canada)

ÒWhen I was in school [college] I had a lot of doctorÕs appointmentsÉ but every 
time I came back from an appointment he made me feel guiltyÉ He was very 
unforgiving. But most of the time they were okayÉ If I couldnÕt hear IÕd move up 
[Stephanie has a hearing impairment]. If I couldnÕt understand the teacher I would 
ask about it.Ó  (Stephanie, 29, Canada)

  The fact that obstacles are always waiting to Ôtrip you upÕ is strikingly revealed by Babette, who 
also shows the profound frustration associated with trying to secure assistance, even from 
professionals who are supposed to be specialising in assisting students with disabilities:

ÒMy undergraduate years were wonderful up until I had a haemorrhage in my eye, 
and I was at universityÉ and I had a massive haemorrhage that was responsible for 
knocking the vision outÉ I couldnÕt see a thing, and of course I didnÕt have a cane 
or any training at that time, and I got to the university and I asked somebody to take 
me to the disabled students office and I got there, to be told that they wouldnÕt do 
anything for me until my disability had been in place for three weeksÉÓ  (Babette, 47, Canada)

ÒI got really annoyedÉ because thereÕs all the stress about exams and I couldnÕt get 
to the study room because the lift was broke, and they didnÕt have another area that 
I could go to and I said Ôwell canÕt I just use one of the empty rooms?Õ And they 
said Ôoh well,Õ but I said like I need a computer in it and as soon as I said Ôcomputer 
in it,Õ they said Ôoh no we canÕt do that.ÕÓ   (Trudy, 33, Scotland)

  LillyÕs and JoyceÕs experiences illustrate the vital importance of supportive social networks as a 
means of working around the wider inaccessible geographies that often intertwine with the academic 
experience: 

ÒI had a difficult time there, I couldnÕt cope with the change in the environment just 
because I was going through a new course of study and the transportation system was 
terrible at the timeÉ I just ended up dropping out and coming homeÉ feeling 
defeated. At that time I didnÕt understand that having a well established social 
network and also having the resources were important to my academic success, I took 
that for grantedÉ I came backÉ worked for a year and applied toÉ University, got 
accepted and moved into residence and did fine, no problems.Ó (Lilly, 34, Canada)

ÒI actually started to speak to people collectively, there was like five people that I was 
really close friends with, and they said Ôright letÕs look at how we can do this,Õ so 
when lecturers wrote diagrams on the board what they did, out of the five of them 
they would take a week each one, and they took carbon copy paper and they just drew 
the diagram and gave me the carbon copy and they described things to me.Ó (Joyce, 34, Scotland)

  As we have found talking about schools, the individual must fit into the existing and established 
criteria, and it seems that access is controlled and allowed so long as non-disabled students are not 
inconvenienced.  The crisis response approach to policy development and protocol, which is rarely 
produced by or in consultation with individuals who need or use them, is a manifestation of the 
singular approach to the accommodation of disability. The presence of disability within the academy 
is still viewed as an anomaly and disruptive to established routines. Frequently it is left to the student 
to take the initiative to resolve situations, and commonly this will mean trying to figure out micro-
level organisational matters - often to do with Òtime-space relationsÓ - in such a way as to 
accommodate the disabled student but without inconveniencing anybody else too much:

ÒI found that they had no initiative, like they had to be told things, you know I would 
always have to be thinking ahead, like what I needed rather than them saying Ôoh 
youÕve got exams coming up or youÕve got labs coming up, what do we need to do?Õ 
They never asked me that, I always approached them É so I always had to be more 
organised than other students had to be.Ó (Vicki, 29, Scotland)

ÒI sometimes feel angry at the university because I feel as if IÕm doing twice as much 
work as I have to because IÕm fighting and I donÕt want to be fighting, I just want to 
do a degree, and I donÕt want to come in and worry about whether or not the lift is 
working so I can actually get to the lectures...Ó (Trudy, 33, Scotland)

  BabetteÕs experience also shows how tentative and peripheral accommodation for disabled 
students can often be very much secondary to able-bodied aesthetics to do with what environments 
should physically look like:

ÒI went and got hooked up with the disabled students office and asked them if they 
could paint the strips along the kerb yellow, so that people like me with vision 
impairment could see where the indents were and that the kerb was there, and they 
thought that was a really good idea, and they did it, and I went back, I was very 
grateful and thanked them for it, and they said Ôwell we have bad news for you, itÕs 
coming off today,Õ and I was quite puzzled by that, and they told me that they had had 
complaints from faculty  members that it wasnÕt aesthetically appealing so they 
removed it. So I was left again with no awareness of where kerbs were and what not.Ó (Babette, 47, Canada)

Positive Spaces

  Respect, acceptance and support, both environmental and ideological, has a significant positive 
impact on individual educational experience:

ÒEverything at medical school within the university with colleagues, I mean medical 
students, has just been brilliantÉ If ever I need any help at allÉ the only help I need 
is physical helpÉ the time I am walking with someone, I take their armÉÓ (Lynda, 23, Scotland)

ÒThe ProfÕs were really good, I was allowed to tape record my classes without any 
difficulty at all É I never felt badly about it and students were really open to extra 
support and I didnÕt have any problem.Ó  (Babette, 47, Canada)

ÒThe other students IÕve had a great time with, they just treat me as me, thereÕs no 
leeway for me whatsoever, which is brilliant itÕs just like other students, same as 
themÉ Which is fine you know, I donÕt want them to tip toe round me.Ó (Trudy, 33, Scotland)

On Approval: the Stress of Tentative Acceptance in Academia

  TrudyÕs experience illustrates the stress often experienced by disabled students having to deal with 
countless individualised ÒsmallÓ access issues that are a vital necessity to the actual study process. It 
is interesting that the study process itself is supposed to be central to the post-secondary education 
experience, yet it is often secondary to the on-going quest for an accessible educational environment. 
One wonders what the outcome would be if students were able to use the bulk of their physical and 
mental energy solely on study: 

ÒI said to my director of studies, Ôlook I donÕt have time to keep writing complaint 
letters, IÕm here to be a student and get a degree and writing complaint letters to you 
is actually taking up my time, I need to be studying not writing bloody complaint 
letters! No just fix it, IÕm not asking for much just sort it out.Ó  (Trudy, 33, Scotland)

  The presence of disabled students in elite academic space is not commonplace. In many ways 
disability is still looked upon with suspicion or at the very least a curiosity. Perhaps on a much 
deeper primitive level, it is indeed a threat to the Òspatial controlÓ imposed by the dominant non-
disabled social order. A peripheral acceptance is palpable. As a reflection of this phenomenon, many 
women identified the need to perform at an exceptional level as a means of validating their presence 
in the academic environment, gaining acceptance and approval, and thereby affirming their right to 
be present in these spaces.

Conclusion

  The women that I interviewed felt the need constantly to work on several levels at the same time 
simply to be present in the academic environment. Many women spoke of having to maintain an 
exceptional academic standard to be perceived as competent. This situation was of course coupled 
with the need to ÒpassÓ or minimise oneÕs disability according to non-disabled perceptions of 
physicality or aesthetics. There is a type of reflexivity here rarely discussed: the energy used to be 
present both within and outside the academic environment. Established boundaries or comfort zones 
are constantly challenged by the outsiders having a tentative presence on the inside of academia. 
Such efforts use large amounts of physical and emotional energy for a population where energy is 
often at a premium. The question remains what could be accomplished if we as a society could move 
beyond such a grudging acceptance of disability in our mainstream educational spaces. 
Revolutionary changes are needed to achieve substantive results. To facilitate this process, the depth, 
texture and complexity of disability in a relational context must be fully understood. A grounded 
sensitivity to the timings and spacings of everyday life for people with disabilities is needed, without 
which much thinking and policy on disability, education, and social participation seems to be limited 
in scope.

  The knowledge and experience of persons with disabilities has to date been largely discounted by 
mainstream society. Knowledge has in effect been imposed upon them with diagnostic, bureaucratic 
and other labels. Legislation and related disability policy, informed by this knowledge, while 
appearing to serve an ameliorative function, has in reality maintained and reinforced existing barriers 
to full participation by people, especially women, with disabilities. The traditional medicalized 
approach to disability places the onus on the individual to fit into a social structure and system to 
which access for people with disabilities has been tightly controlled from the outset.

Nancy Hansen, Ph.D. is a disabled scholar who holds a Ph.D. from the University of Glasgow, 
Scotland, Department of Geography and Geomatics (Human Geography), (2002), Geography of 
Disability, and has completed a postdoctoral research fellowship jointly funded by the University of 
Toronto and the University of Glasgow (2003).  She has just completed a DAAD (German 
Academic Exchange) Einstein Research Fellowship (Summer, 2004). She teaches in the 
Interdisciplinary MasterÕs Program in Disability Studies,University of Manitoba.

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