After London 2012

Where next for disability arts?

Unlimited”, a major disability arts festival, is currently being held at London’s Southbank Centre to coincide with the Paralympics. Colin Hambrook, editor of Disability Arts Online, talks to Russell Parton about what impact London 2012 might have on the community.

What was the climate like for disability arts in the 1990s?

I began working for the London Disability Arts Forum in 1994, when disability arts was very much linked with cabaret. The scene was buzzing with various disability arts agencies around the country, creating a forum that allowed disabled people to develop their artistic practice and to share their art and their voice. The movement was loud and proud: a fledgling deaf arts community campaigned to make BSL a recognised language, while the blind and visually impaired community campaigned for audio description. An emerging consciousness of the social model of disability created an atmosphere in which disabled people realised the barriers to inclusion were largely created by society, rather than their impairments.

Is there more of a level playing field with mainstream arts now?

I wouldn't say there's a level playing field but certainly more mainstream arts organisations such as the Live Arts Development Agency, ArtsAdmin, Improbable Theatre, Fuel, Arts Catalyst and festivals like Greenwich and Docklands International Festival have done a lot to use disabled artists and to think about disabled audiences.

What brought about these changes? 

They came about as a result of disabled people campaigning, advocating for disability rights, going on to boards and convincing arts bodies that disabled artists can make exciting work that challenges and entertains. For years, the Arts Council resisted making access a condition of funding. Their reason was that they couldn't impose something that they couldn't fund. So when the new arts lottery funding came into place in the 1990s, Paddy Masefield (who then served on the Arts Council lottery panel) insisted the decision be overturned. He argued that it made sense to plan access as an integral part of any new building development for current and future generations.
 

What are the major challenges disability artists face in putting their art across?

I think there is still a sense in which disability arts are seen as a participatory arts product rather than a professional arts practice, though organisations like DaDaFest in Liverpool have done a lot to disperse the myth that a disabled person taking part in the arts is doing so for therapeutic reasons and not because they have something unique, exciting and challenging to say. However, television is rife with freak-show viewing that dresses itself up as educational, documentary-style programming. It makes disabled people more visible as a constituent part of society but reinforces stereotypes rather than raising awareness of impairment as something that is an ordinary part of human experience.

What effect do you think London 2012 will have on disability arts in the UK?

It's hard to say what the legacy of the London 2012 will be in terms of the daily run-of-the-mill effect on disabled people’s lives. In the 1990s, the disability arts movement was so dedicated to opposing the charity model of disability. We challenged the charity model largely because the support it gave was minimal and the messages were patronising. But while we had a tick-box culture, there was at least a sense that the mainstream press wanted to pay lip service to our culture.

For a few disabled artists – especially those who were awarded Unlimited commissions – there is tremendous potential for the development of new work but it's a strange dichotomy that companies like Graeae, Heart n Soul and many of the Unlimited artists find themselves in. There is an element in which, to get mainstream acceptance, they have to pretend they have nothing to do with disability; there is a sense in which disability art is only acceptable if it contains and restricts the amount it says about impairment to a level acceptable by a mainstream audience – and says absolutely nothing at all about disability.
 

The South Bank’s “Unlimited” season runs until 9 September.

Russell Parton is a freelance arts writer. Follow him on Twitter @russparton

The opening ceremony of the 2012 Olympic Games in London (Photograph: Getty Images)
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Do the abusive messages sent to One Direction members reveal a darker side to fandom?

Incidents like this are often used to characterise all young female fans, but this isn’t about fandom. It’s harassment. 

One Direction’s Niall Horan is the internet’s favourite innocent blond goofball. He spends his days tweeting platitudes about golf and the weather, Snapchatting his reactions to whatever is on his TV, and thanking his fans for everything they’ve done for him. His social media presence is generally cheerful bemusement.

So, last night, the web went into maternal #ProtectNiall mode when he took to Twitter to highlight the darker side to fame.

A group of “fans” got hold of Niall’s number, and started frantically texting, WhatsApping and calling him. After two weeks of constant abusive messaging, despite requests to stop, Niall tries to use his platform to get them to stop.

Around the same time, screenshots of the supposed messages started to circle online. (I certainly can’t prove whether they’re real or not, but they first surfaced before Niall’s tweets and feel genuine.) The pattern that emerges seems to be one of frantic, attention-seeking messaging, extreme shock and surprise when he writes back, and, when Niall only requests that they stop messaging him and respect his privacy, the really nasty stuff starts. Messages range from “You invented cancer” to “If [your nephew] was my kid I’d sell it”; from “You’re so stupid and r*tarded” to “I hope your house blows up”.

Niall’s responses are extremely Niall in their politeness. “Why do I deserve to have a bad day?” he asks one. “You guys are bullies,” he tells them. “Go away please.”

As soon as the screenshots emerged, so did suspicions about the identity of the individuals in question. A set of five or six Twitter handles were circled by fan accounts, encouraging people to block and report the usernames to Twitter. Some of the owners of these accounts themselves claim to have been part of the conversations in question, to varying degrees. These account owners are seemingly women, under the age of 18, who have supposedly been involved in other recent One Direction harassment incidents.

One of those incidents came just days before Niall’s tweets. A person suspected to be a member of this group of “fans” got hold of another band member’s phone number: Louis Tomlinson’s. You can listen to a recording of the phone conversation between them that leaked online. After telling him her Twitter handle, Tomlinson asks the caller how she got his number. “You’re a fucking bitch and I hope your baby dies,” she says. Louis responds with a variation on the ancient proverb, “Lawyer up, asshole.” He seemingly tweeted about the incident later that day – and Niall retweeted him.

Fan accounts insist that the same Twitter users were also involved in hacking the iCloud of Anne Twist, Harry Styles’s mother, and leaking hundreds of photos of her son online.

The whole situation is a complicated mess. Parts of the messages feel as though they have been influenced by the style of accounts desperately trying to get the attention of celebrities on Twitter. If you look at the top reply to any tweet from a celebrity with millions of Twitter followers, the responses are calculated to shock the most in an attempt to get noticed. Maybe it’s a weird combination of sexual and violent imagery, or a sexist or racist slur. This is harassment itself, but its ubiquitousness can make it seem less offensive or extreme. Perhaps this kind of behaviour is easier to ignore on Twitter or Instagram – if you have millions of followers, you presumably can’t be notified every time one of them interacts with you online. When it moves into your private sphere, I can image it becomes more terrifying than annoying. Maybe these girls were simply swept up in the cultural moment, and failed to grasp the consquences of their behaviour.

Is it a damning indictment of the hysteria of teenage girls? The scary state of twenty-first century fandom? The problems of anonymity offered by the internet? It’s true that the internet has offered new ways for fans and celebrities to have a more direct connection with one another: for the most part, a mutually beneficial arrangement.

But the revelation of the internet has also been that it is a tool through which fundamentally human behaviours are expressed. Over the last few decades, we have learned that aggressive behaviour online is not limited to largely non-existent stereotypes of spotty virgins in their mothers’ basements, or teenage girls developing “dangerous” sexuality. Grown men and women, mothers, fathers, daughters, sons all do it. It’s also not a behaviour that is inherently connected to online spaces: children and teenagers might experiment with moral boundaries through cyberbullying, but they also might do it via anonymous notes in lockers or whispers in school corridors. People of all ages, professions and genders harass others.

The real problem is not celebrity culture or the concept of teenage fandom or social media. As Louis Tomlinson rightly identifies, it’s that our laws have failed to catch up. If we continue to treat harassment as harassment, in all spaces and by all perpetrators, we’ll have a better chance of minimising it.

Anna Leszkiewicz is a pop culture writer at the New Statesman.