“I don’t see any reason why we waste resources on severely retarded people,” someone asked in the popular r/changemyview subreddit in 2014. “Why would we ever spend our resources on something like this rather then [sic] people that will benefit far more from them?” The harsh question netted over 300 replies with many people debating whether euthanasia is a “merciful” solution for people who are “not really human beings.” A few commenters said that the entire conversation dehumanized disabled people. Ultimately, the original poster concluded: “Even though my view on the burden on society remain unchanged, you’re right that there’s probably no real way to implement [a way to make value judgements on who should be allowed to live and die].”
While the original question is reprehensible, the conversation echoes a largely held opinion in the environmental movement about who “deserves” resources. The assumption that disabled lives are worth less is at the core of these conversations, and a failure to reckon with that warped premise alienates the disability community. Implying that nondisabled people need and deserve more resources than disabled people also distracts from finding real solutions to issues such as climate change, resource scarcity, and pollution.
Nowhere is this more evident than in the current fight over plastic straws, a cause célèbre of the environmental movement. “Stop sucking,” a cheeky environmental campaign exhorts, noting that millions of straws end up in the trash, and often the ocean, every year. A heartrending video of a sea turtle with a plastic straw sticking out of its nose has become emblematic for the war on straws, just as chilling images of birds ensnared in six-pack ringspushed consumers to demand changes to beer and soda packaging in the 1990s.
Straws represent independence for some disabled people who can’t drink on their own without one and would otherwise need the help of a caregiver to drink. Others need a straw even when drinking with assistance because of hand tremors, limited muscle control, or other issues. Telling disabled people they should rely on support or slop fluids all over themselves is infantilizing, but also dangerous: An aide isn’t always available to help someone take a sip and dehydration can be fatal.
While alternatives to plastic—such as glass, metal, silicone, and paper—exist, some express concerns about their practicality and usability; metal may cut a person’s mouth, for example, while paper isn’t sturdy enough for someone with limited muscle control. Mentioning the effect that banning straws might have on disabled people has become a dangerous proposition. On social media, the anti-straw brigade lectures about alternatives disabled people are already aware of or shames disabled people for needing to drink. “Quit harming the environment because you can’t take care of your own needs,” said one helpful commenter. “Sorry, the trouble cleaning and inconvenience still doesn’t trump the damage caused by plastics,” said another.
Picking a fight over straws may seem nonsensical, but the larger low-waste and zero-waste movements, which tend to be overwhelmingly white and nondisabled, frequently single out products that benefit the disability community, like straws or pre-cut fruits and veggies, as a wasteful use of natural resources. It’s a two-part logic: One, the planet’s resources are limited and growing scarcer, and two, the way to control that is by cutting back on the use of nonrenewables. This does little to explore which humans are using the majority of resources on Earth and where the real choke points of waste lie. And it feeds insidious attitudes about who should be “allowed” to use the resources that are available.