Joined Up Singing

Like most people, I first encountered the Kaos Signing Choir for Deaf and Hearing Children when they performed the National Anthem at the London 2012 Olympic Opening Ceremony.

The Kaos Signing Choir at the Opening Ceremony

(Photo courtesy of Alex Hedley)

At first I was taken aback by the idea of a 'signing choir'. But as I heard and watched them perform I realised that they are a perfect embodiment of the inclusiveness of singing. Singing really is something that everyone and anyone can do.

I was in the choir at school and absolutely loved it. But although I knew how to read music, I could never see any of the music or words I was supposed to be singing. I learnt surreptitiously by ear, secretly copying those around me and mouthing along when I couldn't remember the words. This was fine at Christmas time, when we did the same carols year after year, but it wasn't ideal when we moved onto more complicated music. Even if I wore my reading glasses, I would have to hold the music so close to my face that any sound I made would be immediately swallowed up again.  

About four years ago I discovered that singing can be just as inclusive as the Kaos Choir demonstrates. 'Joined Up Singing' is a community choir based in Headington, Oxford. We sing music from around the world and every song is taught by ear. This means the tutor sings a line and we listen and then sing it back. This is repeated over and over until everyone can sing the whole song. We learn three or four songs a week and have built up a repertoire which we perform at local community events.

Joined Up Singing has taught me to listen better both to others and to myself. It has taught me that singing by ear can help ease stress, improve concentration and promote health and wellbeing. But most of all it has taught me not to hide my blindness. At school I pretended I could see much more than I can. Now I no longer need to pretend because sight is no longer a pre-requisite to singing. I can sing just as well with my eyes closed. And I often do. My favourite part of the session is the final fifteen minutes where we sing in the dark, with only a candle shining in the middle of the circle. I always close my eyes as soon as the lights go out (sometimes before) and revel in the freedoom darkness brings me. When I know that no-one can see me I forget about sight altogether and focus instead on making and hearing sounds.

There is no better time to start singing. The Kaos Children's Choir showed the world that singing can be inclusive. The wonderful Gareth Malone made choirs out of a whole range of unwilling or unlikely singers. And community choirs like Joined Up Singing put inclusivity into action by being open to everyone.

If this post has inspired you to join a community choir, the Natural Voice Network has information on choirs and events running throughout the UK

                   

The Paralympic Opening Ceremony (both good and bad)

 

Something changed last night. It became cool to be disabled.

 

A large-scale reproduction of Marc Quinn's sculpture 'Alison Lapper Pregnant'

(from BBC Website)

The Opening Ceremony of the 2012 Paralympic Games was a powerfully moving celebration of the human body in all its forms. It used music, technology and a re-writing of Shakespeare's Tempest to dare anyone who thinks disability is about tragedy, pity and self-loathing to 'be curious' and embrace the differences which make us who we are.  A multimedia evocation of the complicated multiplicity of the universe, represented by the iconic figure of Stephen Hawkin, called for a radical rethinking of the way disability is represented and understood. It used the theme of 'Enlightenment' to demand a more enlightened approach to disability, an approach which does away with outmoded notions of beauty, perfection and wholeness.

 

British physicist, Professor Stephen Hawking speaking

at the opening ceremony

Lefteris Pitarakis/AP

 

Some of the performers encountered on stage were startling at first sight. The media's obsession with perfection has left us unused to wheelchair dancers or limbless bodies. But the power of the ceremony lay precisely in the way that this initial shock was transformed not into horror, but into wonder and pride. There was a real danger that this ceremony might become a kind of twenty-first century freakshow, a parade of extraordinary bodies to be stared at from a distance.  Instead it was a joyous celebration of the power of disability.

The Paralympic flame is carried by Royal Marine Joe Townsend

into the stadium on a zip wire

Scott Heavey/Getty Images

 

Yet despite its celebration of the differences which make up the world, the ceremony still emphasised  the centrality of sight to our understanding of it. Miranda was told to look, to read, to see. The giant eye, the lack of braille reading during the book scenes and even the theme of Enlightenment itself all suggested that a consideration of blindness was oddly absent from proceedings.

 

It feels churlish criticising an event which has undoubtedly done more for disability awareness both on and off the sportsfield than any other.  But these odd incongruities remind us of the hold the sense of sight has over us. Most people cannot even conceive of a world without it.

 

I have had my doubts about the ethics of holding a separate Paralympic Games but after last night's ceremony (and my quibbles notwithstanding) I am convinced that Paralympic Sport deserves both its own Games and its own Opening Ceremony. This did not feel like a second-best, or second-rate echo of the Olympic Opening Ceremony. It is the second, and most important, act in a drama which has captivated London and the World.

How not to welcome the Olympic Flame

Torchbearer 133 Malcolm Fretter carrying the Olympic Flame on the Torch Relay leg through Oxford. Credit: Danny Lawson/LOCOG/PA Wire

On 6th July 2005 I was sitting on the floor of a rented house in Oxford. I was holding my seven-month-old baby boy in my arms, watching a live announcement on TV and explaining to him why it was such great news that the 2012 Olympic Games would be held in London. I spoke a message of hope, equality and peace into his tiny ear.

Yesterday I took my boy, now an exuberant seven-year-old, to greet the Olympic Flame as it arrived in Oxford. We cheered and clapped as it reached the stage in South Park. But this truly once-in-a-lifetime moment was spoilt for me even before I managed to catch a glimpse of the flame. It wasn't the mass of promotional material for a soft drinks company, a bank and a mobile phone manufacturer that spoiled it (although that certainly did not help), it was one sentence of the welcome speech delivered by the Leader of Oxford City Council just before the flame arrived.

The torch was carried into South Park by sports coach Malcolm Fretter. As he introduced him, Bob Price said something along the lines of, 'Malcolm is in a wheelchair, but has made a huge contribution to sport in Wantage'. The problem with this sentence is the word 'but'. It seems such a small and insignificant word. Yet it conveys a deeply troubling message. The assumption behind this sentnece is that Malcolm is an inspirational coach and community leader because he does his work from his wheelchair. Every day he struggles to overcome the adversity that is his disability, every day he fights, and wins, a battle against his impaired body.

This assumption posits disability as something negative which has to be overcome, triumphed over, defeated. It sets up a hierarchy between the able-bodied and the disabled in which the disabled are second-class, always struggling to do things that the able-bodied take for granted. It implies that we would be better off without disability altogether.  It suggests that disabled people who manage to live a 'normal' life are heroes who should be celebrated for their bravery and tenacity.

I have absolutely no doubt that Malcolm has done great work in his community. And I'm sure that being in a wheelchair must be annoying, frustrating and inconvenient at times. I have no wish to denigrate him or his achievements. What I object to is the persistent assumption, by most people, that disability is a hardship, something that we would be better off without. How do you think that makes the permanently disabled feel? Every time someone makes this kind of assumption, especially in public, in front of a 20,000 strong crowd, the negative image that disability has is strengthened. And the disabled become less integrated, more marginalised.

What if we looked again at disability? How might seeing disability in a positive light be better for both the disabled and the able-bodied? It would remind us that bodies come in all shapes and sizes. It would show us that no-one is perfect: some people's imperfections are more visible than others, but everyone has a weakness. And that is fine. It would allow everyone to be happy with their own body, valuing rather than either hating or denying its particular limitations. And it would remind us that surface appearance can be deceptive, that our most interesting and significant characteristics aren't always visible to the naked eye.

I am taking my seven-year-old boy to the Paralympics in September. I want to try and counter the negative images of disability that he is constantly bombarded with despite my very best efforts. Perhaps Bob Price should try and get hold of some tickets. I hear they haven't quite sold out yet.

** UPDATE **
I sent Councillor Bob Price a link to my blog and a letter objecting to his choice of words. I received the following reply which he has given me permission to post on this blog. I post it unchanged and without comment:

Dear Dr Thompson

I am truly sorry if my use of that particular construction has given rise in your, or anyone's mind, to that negative interpretation.

It was not a carefully constructed speech, having been asked to do it only two hours earlier. And in the two minutes max that was allotted I was seeking to to hold up Mr Fetter as one of the 8000 'local heroes' ,as someone who had continued to work very extensively with sports and community groups despite the limitations deriving from his illness.The 'but' was intended to denote admiration and worth.

Thank you for your consideration in drawing this to my attention. I will be more careful in future.

Good wishes

Councillor Bob Price
Hinksey Park Ward
Leader of the Council

The Paralympic Problem

Almost everyone I know applied for (and mostly failed to get, but that is a different story...) tickets for the London 2012 Olympics. But I am the only person I know who applied for tickets for the London 2012 Paralympics. On Saturday September 1st I am taking my family to see athletics, 5-a-side football, table tennis and wheelchair basketball at the Olympic Park in Stratford. I am looking forward to watching elite sportspeople compete at the highest levels. I am also looking forward to showing my children that disability is not a barrier to sporting achievement, and that the human body is an incredibly beautiful machine in all its forms.. But I am not looking forward to the moment when they ask me why the Paralympics is not as popular or important as the Olympics.  Why, in Trafalgar Square, is the clock counting down to the Paralympics a little bit less impressive than the one counting down to the Olympics? Why will there be not quite as much coverage of the Paralympics on television? Why are their schoolmates unimpressed by the news that Raffy and Zak are going to see paralympic athletics?

I am faced with a problem. I love the idea of the Paralympics: there is no doubt that it promotes disability awareness and gives athletes who could not otherwise the opportunity to compete in an elite sporting environment. But is the rigid segregation between able-bodied and disabled helpful here? I am worried that having an overtly separate sporting event encourages the general public to see the Paralympics (and thus its athletes and then disabled people generally) as second-best sportspeople and second-class citizens. The first incarnation of the Paralympic Games was the International Wheelchair Games which took place at Stoke Manderville in 1948 to coincide with the 1948 London Olympics. Now that the Paralympics has become an established part of the Olympic calendar, perhaps it is time, in this year when the Olympics and the Paralympics return to Britain, to rethink their relationship with each other.

Why not run the Olympic and Paralympic events alongside each other, on the same day and in front of the same crowd? Better yet, why not let Olympic and Paralympic sportspeople compete together? South African 400m runner Oscar Pistorius has qualified (some say controversially) for a place in the 2012 Olympics. What about encouraging others to do the same? What would basketball look like if it was played by a mixture of able-bodied and wheelchair athletes? How would football change if blind and sighted players were on the pitch together? Or, why not blindfold ALL the players and see what would happen then?

**UPDATE** 28th Agusut 2012: on the eve of the Paralympics Opening Ceremony, these comments by Pistorius illustrate the changing relationship between the Olympics and the Paralympics.

Perhaps one of the reasons that the general public do not seem to take the Paralympics seriously, is a perception that it must be easier to qualify as a Paralympic athlete than an Olympic one. Unfortunately my only direct experience of disabled sport bears this preconception out. When I was 13 I was quite a fast runner. I wasn't good enough to compete for the school but I could do a pretty respectable 100m. Despite being only above average at running in school, I was deemed good enough to qualify for and compete in a nationwide Disabled Games at Stoke Manderville. I remember that I was the only person competing in my particular category, and that even though I did nothing like my fastest time, I still won a gold medal. I felt odd about this situation at the time and now I think I know why. I was a good athlete, but not a great one. I didn't deserve this medal. Had I not been registered blind, I certainly would not have won it. I think the powers-that-be were taking over-compensation a little bit too far by rewarding me in this way. Perhaps the Paralympic games would be taken more seriously if its selection criteria were more demanding. I would rather come last in a race with other able-bodied athletes than first in a race that I am the only one running.

I recently heard about a young blind athlete who is competing against her able-bodied peers with her guide dog. I'm sure that if she were running in events for the blind, Sami Stoner would win all the time. But this article suggests that it makes much more sense to see Sami as a runner who happens to have a disability, rather than as a disabled runner.

Annoyingly, this article occasionally falls into the trap of negativising disability. By saying: 'Stone is legally blind but competes...' and 'approaching life with uncommon verve despite her disability...', the writer suggests that her blindness is a hindrance to be got over or struggled against. Surely Sami is good enough to compete for her school because she has the stamina and discipline of a cross-country runner. Probably her uncommon verve comes from her personality, her upbringing and her parents' genes. But despite its flaws, this article is important because it gives a vision of what an Olympic race could look like. I hope I can get tickets for the Olympics the year that blind athletes with guide dogs first run alongside their sighted peers.

With thanks to Michael Gratzke for telling me about Sami.