Downs With Ups

Many years ago, I went to see internationally acclaimed speaker, Jane Elliott.  She had filled the Sydney Entertainment Centre with people like me, keen to hear her wise words about inclusion and diversity.  (If you have a spare five minutes, Google, ‘Jane Elliott’ or ‘Brown Eyes, Blue Eyes’.  You’ll come across some brilliant thinking.)

In one of her exercises, Elliott selected three people to come up to the stage.  A white man, a white woman and a black woman stood before us.  She asked the white man, “How often are you reminded of the colour of your skin?”  Hesitantly, the man replied, “Er, never.”  Elliott asked the white woman the same question and received a similar response.  When the black woman answered the question, the audience, (which consisted of mostly white people), sat up and paid attention.

“Every day I’m reminded that I’m not white,” replied the young woman.  “Every day I’m reminded that I’m black.  People stare at me because the colour of my skin is different.”

I learned a very sound lesson from this simple exercise and have since tried not to be one of those people who remind other people that they’re different to me.

When we go out, Poppet usually attracts more than her fair share of attention.  It’s usually kids who stare at her, ‘though sometimes grown ups forget their manners too.  When I say ‘staring’, I mean the type of gaze that meets her as she approaches, then follows her as she walks past.  Kids will actually stop in their tracks to stare at her, even breaking away from their family to continue watching.  Poppet absolutely hates it.

The first occasion of this, I’ll never forget.  I was at a city train station with a very small Poppet.  We were sitting on the limited seating available, Poppet on my knee.  From the corner of my eye, I could see a middle-aged woman standing on the platform some metres away.  I could see her frequently turning to stare at Poppet, but hadn’t made eye contact with either of us.

I’ve tried to work out why people are so inclined to stare.  Yes, they look different to someone like Poppet; they don’t share the features of Down syndrome.  Yes, people are curious to see how someone with Down syndrome behaves and yes, Poppet is pretty, so she’d receive looks regardless.  I don’t think people are being malicious when they watch ‘though; they are simply being curious.  It seems our nature is to be inquisitive when it comes to difference.  That being said, children often don’t even notice racial difference.  It must be more the physical difference that intrigues them.  (The more they look perhaps, the more they’ll see similarities.)

Poppet’s gut reaction now, is to scowl.  She’s tired of it.  Sometimes, I’ve even caught her poking her tongue out at the person.  They’re not to know their behaviour is something Poppet has had to live with all her life and that it’s something she encounters several times a day.

I’ve tried to work with Poppet to come up with the best way of helping her respond to people when they stare.  Part of me thinks, ‘sure, go ahead and let them know you’re not happy with their actions’.  I’ve even directed a comment like, “it’s rude to stare’ at the offending person, every now and then.  Sometimes I run interference, creating a physical barrier between Poppet and the sticky beak so that Poppet is none the wiser.  I stay there until the person loses interest.

A part of me though, feels that an aggressive response could be replaced with a more congenial response.  Poppet is a representative of a minority group and whilst she has her own feelings and responses just like everyone else, she will always be scrutinised by everyday people.  With this in mind, I believe she could offer a more open response to people as they stare, to help them understand ‘well, der, I’m a person just like you’.

I usually encourage her to ‘just smile’ at them or even say ‘hello’; sometimes I intervene and start talking to the person myself.  A smile or a ‘hello’ often works to break the tension, sometimes even inviting conversation.

When we were at the train station, Poppet was too little to have formed an opinion about people staring and I hadn’t become the world-weary expert I am now.  When I felt the rush of warm air coming through the tunnel as the train neared, I was relieved to be moving away from the awkward tension I felt.

As I looked to the direction of the train, I could see the woman rifling through her rather large handbag.  Her face softened from the frown of concentration as she pulled something out.  By this stage, the train was approaching the station.  She hurriedly walked towards us and held in her hand whatever it was she’d taken from her bag.  Poppet by now was standing beside me at the edge of the platform.  She looked up at the woman who’d bent over to speak to her.

“Here, please take this,” she said, as she pushed a roll of Mentos into Poppet’s hand.  She stood up.  She didn’t seem to register the puzzlement I had on my face.  “Sorry for staring,” she said and then walked down the platform to board a different carriage.