Recognizing that disability is a socially created category, a lived experience with real world consequences, and part of a critical analytical framework, disability historians have illuminated core aspects of modern American history: citizenship, labor, institutions, kinship, daily life, community, material culture, social movements, health, cultural representation, and science and technology.
Centering disabled people has been a signature feature of our field. Foregrounding our experiences and perspectives counters erasure, marginalization, and misinformation—in the archives, in historical textbooks, and in our everyday interactions with the world around us. Many disability historians, including myself, consider the field capacious in part because the very seed of our work—disability—is contextual, contingent, and contested.Footnote 1 In other words, disability is historical in the sense that it is not static, and it reflects the environments in which it appears and is deployed, imagined, and contested. Disability, in all of its manifestations, offers us ways of understanding the past.
As feminist disability activist and scholar Debra Connors wrote in 1985, “Disability is not a medical problem.” But just as importantly, she noted “nor is able-ism just a set of prejudicial ideas about disabled people.”Footnote 2 In modern American history among other contexts, ableism as a system of power draws on culturally specific beliefs that privilege productivity, efficiency, capacity, self-control, independence, and competency.Footnote 3 Particular ideas about time and development become the ableist measure against which all subjects are judged.Footnote 4 Hierarchies undergird ableism: human and other beings, societies, and material worlds are judged and ranked based on ableism’s values. This system of power manifests in many ways—through policies, social connections, institutions, community development, built-world designs, stereotypes, and violence.
To date, historical studies have mostly centered on disability, tracing its significance across the nineteenth and twentieth centuries.Footnote 5 Methodologically, scholarship often centers on physical or mental impairments and the social stigma attached to people judged to have impairments. Colleagues have increasingly looked further back in time, seeking to locate disability in places where the words or values do not neatly align with our current concepts.Footnote 6 This motivates us to expand the vocabulary list related to disability and sometimes to stretch the meanings of disability, but our theorization and scholarship usually occurs separately from considerations of ableism.
With some frequency, both scholars and community members have conflated disability with ableism. Sometimes, disability is presented as a category or identity separate from questions of power, privilege, and marginalization. It is common too that scholarly works focused on locating and defining ableism as a system of power often narrow or neglect historical context or specificity. In framing understandings of ableism around disability, many of us have largely ignored how ableism shape-shifts, how it is connected to other systems of power, or how the defining elements of ableism ebb and flow.
The ways ableism targeted people across temporal and spatial expanse reflects the changing meaning of these core features, their interaction with other power systems, and specific historical, material, and geographic environments. For example, ableist cultural values of productivity and competency in seventeenth- and eighteenth-century America held different meanings, expectations, and outcomes than they do in the Gilded Age and Progressive Era (or the Information Age).Footnote 7 In early British settler colonial society, religious observance, meeting social duties, and contributing to the work of small family subsistence farms strongly informed ideas of productivity and competency. Family and community connections also played important roles in judging and responding to perceived bodymind difference.Footnote 8 At a day-to-day level, this meant that some white Americans who did not or could not read, move quickly, or sustain focus and labor for hours unabated likely were not targeted by ableism because they still conformed to societal standards. At the same time, settler colonists justified land theft, disenfranchisement, and Indigenous erasure based on the belief that Native Americans were inherently incapable of self-determination because they did not exploit their environments “productively.”Footnote 9 The contrast between how productivity and competency applied to white people and Indigenous people highlights the contextual and contingent nature of ableism’s features.
During the Gilded Age and Progressive Era, increasing scrutiny—from politicians and reformers, scientists, physicians, social workers, culture producers, and employers—fixated on people who could not meet the evolving expectations of productivity or competency. Deemed unfit, burdensome, or abnormal, many of these targeted populations were institutionalized.Footnote 10 Concurrently, productivity and competency provided the settler state with the legal category of “incompetent Indian,” and was a justification for creating Competency Commissions authorized to assess whether or when Native individuals would be permitted to have any control over their allotted land and their everyday lives.Footnote 11
In sum: Ableism is dynamic and adaptable with deep historical roots. This power system emerges, changes, and continues over time-place and has taken different forms, altered its borders, and generated varied material outcomes. It buttresses and is sustained by other interlocking systems and structures, including settler colonialism, racism, xenophobia, capitalism, and heteropatriarchy.
Let us stop using disability as a proxy for ableism and instead focus on the system of power itself—historicizing ableism. Making this move expands who we can write about, what sources we look at, and what purposes our historical work serves.
I experienced this shift firsthand while researching people at the Canton Asylum in South Dakota. A federal psychiatric facility run by the Bureau of Indian Affairs (BIA) and designed specifically to detain Native people, Canton incarcerated upwards of 400 people from dozens of Native nations between 1902 and 1934.Footnote 12 Elizabeth Alexis Faribault (Sisseton Wahpeton Oyate) was one of them. In 1915, amidst tribal conflicts with the BIA and her own altercation with an agent on her reservation, Faribault was forcibly taken from her family and homeland and confined at the Canton Asylum.Footnote 13 Eleven years into her detention (in 1926), she gave birth to a daughter, whom she named Cora Winona. In 1928, under very cloudy circumstances, Elizabeth Faribault was found dead on her ward. The superintendent kept Cora, then a toddler, in the locked wards for two more years.Footnote 14 Cora Winona ultimately spent her entire childhood and teenage years confined to institutions: Canton Asylum, a Methodist orphanage, a Native American boarding school, and a home for unwed mothers.Footnote 15
Across the archive, administrators’ justifications for taking and keeping Elizabeth Faribault and deflecting family challenges to her detention—and also for containing Cora Winona within various institutions—hinged on culturally-specific settler concepts of normality, self-management, and competency. Undergirding these institutions and the policies that sustained them was the belief that Indigenous people were inherently deficient.
But the questions that haunt Cora Winona’s daughter Faith O’Neil have never hinged on whether the many diagnoses applied to her grandmother Elizabeth were accurate. O’Neil searches for her grandmother’s remains, wonders what happened to her mother within the confines of locked wards and dormitories, and traces the harms imposed on her family in the name of care and maintenance.Footnote 16 O’Neil seeks to trace the effects of the systems and beliefs that led to the institutionalization of her grandmother and mother. The histories of Elizabeth Faribault and Cora Winona are illuminated less through the concept of disability and more through study of the ableist beliefs and policies that so affected their lives.
As the Faribault family taught me, recognizing ableism as a shaping force in history independent of definitions of disability can expand and reform our understanding of historical events and circumstances. Historicizing ableism draws critical attention to pathologization, using the categories of diagnoses to dehumanize and disempower. One of ableism’s numerous tools, pathologization targets many groups of people, not only those typically labeled as disabled. Following Elizabeth Faribault’s life story without naming her as disabled revealed the cross-generational impact of institutionalization. Reading diagnoses as information rather than as truth sparked research beyond institutional and Western medical sources—to interviews, cemeteries, and family scrapbooks. Recognizing pathologization as rationalization, as an instrument serving multiple purposes, shifted authority from asylum employees and bureaucrats to the people most impacted. Grappling with ableism also clarified the many ways Elizabeth Faribault and her kin, as well as others for whom Canton Asylum is family story, struggled, adapted, perished, continued, and are remembered.
Asking “who was targeted and/or impacted by ableism” rather than asking only “who was disabled” significantly expands the possibilities of our historical study. Grandmothers, children, uncles, spouses, and friends of people contained at Canton also experience ableism’s force. And so did others in relationship with people detained in colonies for the so-called feebleminded, in rehabilitation centers, Crippled Children Hospitals, sheltered workshops, reformatories, prisons, and detention centers. Interventions in people’s lives in the name of productivity, independence, linear development, competency, and self-sufficiency are experienced relationally, not only individually.Footnote 17 The answers to “who was targeted by ableism” holds potential to expand our thinking about Canton Asylum, settler colonialism, histories of institutionalization and social control, and modern America more broadly.
Take, for example, eugenics, which has been a defining ideology in modern American and disability histories. Focusing on its racist, xenophobic, homophobic, and misogynist underpinnings, modern American historians have detailed older taproots that fed eugenic ideas and practices as well as eugenics’ pervasive reach into the present day.Footnote 18 Centering disability in their critiques, various historians have demonstrated how the category of disability became a tool used against many marginalized communities, with dire consequences for people judged to be disabled.Footnote 19 Collectively, these scholarly approaches reveal the multivalent impact of biologizing social problems on diverse and overlapping communities.
Applying a close study of ableism challenges us to extend our critical gaze beyond disability as a category separate from other social identity categories and to avoid the pitfalls of ranking disability in relation to other social categories (i.e., disability vs. race; disability vs. gender and social class, etc.) in order to explain eugenics’ toll. We can trace ways that ableism buttressed White supremacy to justify selective immigration restrictions of people deemed undesirable and deficient, as with the 1924 Immigration Act (Johnson–Reed Act), which blocked or limited Asian and Southern and Eastern European immigrants but admitted British citizens and Western Europeans.Footnote 20 Ableism interlocked with the system of gender and sexual roles and expectations, fueling the pathologization and institutionalization of gender nonconforming people in psychiatric facilities, colonies for the so-called feebleminded, and reformatories.Footnote 21 Ableism and racism also have fed one another: Advocates of Virginia’s Racial Integrity Act of 1924, as just one example, leveraged ableist threats of degeneration and concepts of inherent worthiness based on self-control, productivity, and competency alongside racist beliefs of white racial purity as the highest form of humanity.Footnote 22
We can expand our understanding of the Supreme Court’s landmark Buck v. Bell ruling, which has drawn significant attention from modern American and disability historians, when we consider ableism rather than strictly disability. The 1927 case involved Carrie Buck, a young white woman born into poverty in Charlottesville, Virginia and raised by a single parent. In 1920, her mother, Emma, was arrested for alleged sex work and then confined at the Virginia Colony for Epileptics and Feebleminded in Lynchburg. While living with a foster family, Carrie Buck was raped by one of their relatives. Doctors and community members interpreted Carrie Buck’s pregnancy from the assault as evidence that she was feebleminded. Observers at the time assumed without question that Carrie Buck’s infant daughter, Vivian, must be feebleminded as well. As with her mother Emma, Carrie Buck was involuntarily committed to the Virginia colony. During her detention, Carrie Buck became the test case for Virginia’s forced sterilization law, which ultimately came before the Supreme Court. In the 8-1 decision of Buck v. Bell, the justices upheld the constitutionality of sterilizing individuals with cognitive or psychiatric disabilities confined in state funded institutions.Footnote 23
Critiques by numerous modern Americanists and disability historians have centered on whether Carrie Buck’s diagnosis of feeblemindedness was accurate.Footnote 24 Most conclude that the particular case of Buck v. Bell was unjust because Carrie Buck was not actually feebleminded. This misses the larger point that close consideration of ableism reveals: Carrie Buck as well as her mother, sister, and daughter were all targeted under ableist beliefs and policies. Stigma, dismantling the family, institutionalization, sterilization, and continued segregation are among the constellation of ableist, unjust interventions they experienced. The tens of thousands of other Americans forcibly sterilized across the twentieth century—and the many more involuntarily warehoused in institutions—were also targeted by ableism alongside other systems of power. The material consequences are not simply histories of disability; they are histories of ableism.
In this context, historical critiques of eugenicists’ fixation on defectiveness and deficiency need not depend so heavily on the category of disability. These descriptors, often associated especially with disabled people, are not only applied to people identified as disabled. The capacious, ableist categories of defective and deficient have indiscreet borders by design, making them particularly effective instruments to dehumanize wide-ranging (and sometimes overlapping) groups of people.Footnote 25 Rather than reduce defective and deficient to mere synonyms for disability, engaging with ableism in conjunction with other power systems may open more space to explore the many layers of each concept.
Critiquing eugenics with ableism in mind, for instance, counters the tendency to define ableism as eugenics. Put more directly: Ableism, interlocking with other systems of oppression, spawned eugenics.
Likewise, the historicization of ableism likely will yield more specificity about disability and the relationship between the two. A close critique reveals that disability is a manifestation of this system of power. Understanding this enlarges the scope of histories of ableism and histories of disability and encourages more reckoning with people’s relationship to bodymind difference.
These ideas and re-centering invite many questions, including: Are there signature features of ableism that we have not recognized? What are the fundamental columns upholding this system in addition to medicine, law, and religion? How else does ableism interact with other systems in modern American historical events and themes? Does ableism exist outside of imperial, colonial, and/or settler colonial contexts? How might we redirect our attention beyond human subjects, inviting each other to think about land, air, water, and other-than-human animals in relationship to ableism?Footnote 26 What can we learn about modern America—and other histories—by further exploring ableism as a historical force?