Being filmed
It finally happened. I know disabled people talk about this happening all the time, especially folk who use wheelchairs. But it’s never happened to me. I thought that Winchester was somehow special, that maybe people now are just better at hiding it. What happened today, though, has revealed just how typical Winchester is.
I was wheeling on my long 7k route. This route is outstanding, through a lot of nature, off road and on, down sweeping hills at speed and up challenging climbs through town. I love it. Some of the most challenging parts of the route happen as I enter Winchester city centre, perhaps because I’ve already gone so far, and I’m beginning to tire. I arrived through the back of Winchester Cathedral, an imposing and beautiful piece of gothic architecture, and I’d been moving for over 3 miles at that point. My core started to get a little splurgy, and my arms had to take more of the strain while my core recovered, unable to control my frame sufficiently to bend low with each push.
I was at this point in my push when on my right I saw someone holding their phone up. This happens a lot in Winchester, it’s a tourist hotspot especially by the cathedral and folks take pictures and film there all the time. But this person was holding their phone up toward me, directly away from the Cathedral.
I looked around and found that there was nothing worth filming here. I was essentially in a backstreet. There were cars parked nearby. A gently cobbled road. Perhaps a particularly attractive curb I hadn’t noticed? But of course I’m kidding myself.
As I wheeled past, this photographer followed me with her phone, I assume recording my every push.
I get it, to some extent. The Rocinante, my wheelchair, is a beautifully crafted device, and the MKII, my front flywheel, makes her look quite unusual. The Roci with the MKII looks like a robot frozen mid transformation. She’s so awesome I’d take photos if my hands weren’t in use.
But I felt quite spotlit being recorded in this way. I wanted to find a car window to check my hair. I wanted to pull myself properly upright, force power through my core that I didn’t have. I wanted to push with the strength and grace I had three miles back.
It’s not just that she was filming me, but how brazenly, how openly she recorded me. I kept looking at her, not quite believing what I was seeing. I kept expecting a baby polar bear to reveal itself from behind me, making clear what she was really filming. But there was no such attraction. I was the attraction. I was the spectacle. And no matter how many times I looked at her, all I received was the unblinking stare of the phone camera lens, pointed right at me.
I don’t know how to react in these moments. Part of me wanted to detach the MKII so that I could pull some wheelies for her. Part of me wanted to take off my shoe to throw at her, I mean I’m hardly using it for anything else. Part of me wanted to ask to see the footage, see how awesome I looked, hoping against hope that I looked more capable than I felt. I did none of these things. I said nothing, kept wheeling, and she disappeared behind me into the distance.
I feel weird about being filmed. I have a blog, I have a podcast, and I’m giving keynote speeches at three conferences this year. I’m not a private person. But something about this experience left me feeling exposed. It’s the coldness of the phone right in front of this person’s face. I couldn’t see her expression. Was she excited, amazed? Did she pity my misfortune or was she inspired by my defiance? Was she in tears or laughing? I have no idea.
That’s the challenge. I get all of those reactions from people. I’ve had folk ask to pray for me, I’ve had folk run at me to offer help. I’ve had people push the chair without warning. I’ve had people question my competence, feel sorry for me, inspired by me, fear for me, believe in me. But this is the first time I’ve seen someone attend to me so purposefully and have no idea what they think, how they’re reacting.
There are always onlookers. People who stop and stare, sometimes openly, sometimes with their mouth hanging low enough to catch a whole bagel. But onlookers can’t help but show you how they feel. A phone camera reflects the faceless people who will view it online when it goes viral. A cold mystery… pointed right at me.
If you want to take my photo, kind onlooker, then I’m happy for you to. But to make it just a little more palatable, so that I know why, so I know a little about how you see me…