It was pitch-dark, I couldn’t see the chair, and I was afraid of crashing to the floor instead.
Around me, I could hear my teammates waiting for me to sit so that Dialogue in the Dark Singapore’s workshop could begin.
(Funny how I couldn’t see the people around me, but I still felt the pressure not to fall behind.)
I found the chair, felt it repeatedly to gauge its height, took a deep breath – and finally sat down after a few minutes of bewilderment.
In the past month, I attended two experiential sessions which helped me better understand the lives of persons with disabilities.
The experience of being without sight gave me insight into the grit and perseverance with which blind people navigate daily life.
I had honest chats with some of them and learnt how, like the rest of us, they are doing their best within their limitations. And they don’t want any pity.
Dialogue in the Dark Singapore is a centre that allows participants to experience the challenges blind people face on a daily basis. Its programmes are conducted in complete darkness, and are facilitated by blind guides.
For example, it runs “Tour in the Dark”, where participants navigate everyday scenarios without their sight.
It also runs corporate programmes like the three-hour-long “Darkness to Light: Illuminating Possibilities” workshop my colleagues and I were hosted to, where we had to tackle challenges as a team.
I also went for a Resilience Trail, designed and led by guides from low-income backgrounds, such as single mothers and persons with disabilities, and run by a social enterprise called Skillseed.
The guides talk about their lives and the community they live in, and share their experiences of social issues such as staying in public rental housing, food insecurity, mental well-being and social isolation.
ST journalists with Dialogue in the Dark Singapore facilitators (front row, from third left) Hidayat Mohamad Yaakob, Sim Kah Yong and Teresa Ng. PHOTO: NGEE ANN POLYTECHNIC
Stumbling in the dark
Being plunged in total darkness for about two hours was an intensely uncomfortable – and even disturbing – experience for me, as I used to be deathly afraid of the dark.
But as the minutes passed, I learnt to quieten the panic within. I learnt to trust myself and adapt to the tasks asked of us during the session.
Tasks such as finding the table, chair and sitting down. Cutting a slice of cake. Making a cup of tea.
I poured water from the flask over 10 times before I had some tea to drink. In the process, I poured water all over the table and onto my jeans.
But I did not give up. (To be honest, I was also thirsty and needed a drink quite badly.)
Besides learning to trust myself, I also learnt to place my trust in my teammates.
There were four of us in a group, and we had to assemble an unknown structure together.
Each of us were given two parts of the structure, and we had no idea how they would all fit together. We have to figure it out as a team.
I realised – to my horror – that I couldn’t think without my sight.
I was so focused on listening to instructions that my brain shut down. Or perhaps I was just too petrified.
But I had no problems trusting my teammates and I was happy to follow their lead.
When the lights came on, we saw we had assembled a rainbow made of wooden blocks.
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Getting rid of assumptions
Dialogue in the Dark Singapore is a collaboration between Ngee Ann Polytechnic (NP) and Dialogue Social Enterprise, a social enterprise founded in Germany that promotes social inclusion of persons with disabilities.
Ms Sandra Toh, director of NP’s School of Humanities and Interdisciplinary Studies, told me that the Dialogue in the Dark sessions force participants to rely on their blind facilitators.
And this role reversal challenges the participants’ assumptions about disability, and highlights the blind facilitator’s strengths and capabilities.
Participants are also made to reflect on their experience and share it, which hopefully would help them to listen better, communicate more clearly and foster more inclusive practices at work, Ms Toh said.
She said: “When people are able to see beyond differences and relate to one another with care and respect, it strengthens the social fabric and supports a more inclusive and resilient society.”
Looking back, I realised that until I started reporting on social issues, I hardly interacted with anyone with a disability.
And that distance bred assumptions and unhelpful stereotypes.
Without first-hand interactions or friendships, it becomes so much easier to see only the disability.
It becomes so much easier to reduce the person to someone who needs help and is dependent on others; to reduce the person to a symbol of pity.
But I realised that while they have their limitations and struggles because of their disability, they also have aptitudes and abilities, strengths and weaknesses – just like the rest of us.
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And persons with disabilities are not a homogenous group.
Each disability is different, and the extent of disability is also different for each individual.
Listening to our facilitators’ stories during the Dialogue in the Dark session, it hit home how much we share in common.
That they too are individuals with hopes and dreams, and are trying to live their lives with love, hope and dignity.
Ms Teresa Ng, who is in her 50s, was diagnosed when she was 10 with a condition where the cells in her optic nerves deteriorate over time.
Ms Ng, who works part-time as a facilitator at Dialogue in the Dark Singapore, describes her vision as “very blurry” now.
From a young age, she was determined to lead an independent life, and made her living as a tutor for many years.
A divorcee with two children, Ms Ng also started travelling alone in her 20s.
She said: “I wanted to prove to my parents that I could do it. I also wanted to train myself to be more independent, and be less introverted. By travelling alone, I have to open up and make the effort to talk to strangers.”
She has travelled to over 20 countries so far, including a three-week solo trekking trip in Nepal.
Or take Mr Hidayat Mohamad Yaakob, 36, who became blind as a teenager after an accident while playing soccer.
It took him a few years to accept the total loss of sight, but he has learnt to live his best life – a life which he now describes as exciting.
He performs in a theatre group for persons with disabilities and is also in a percussion band. Mr Hidayat, who works part-time as a facilitator at Dialogue in the Dark Singapore, is also seeking a life partner.
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Seeing them as individuals, not stereotypes
Like the Dialogue in the Dark sessions, the Resilience Trail also invites participants to interact with people facing various challenges and see them as individuals – instead of a stereotype.
As Skillseed’s senior community builder Sheryl Yue said: “Rather than portraying under-resourced communities as beneficiaries passively receiving aid, we showcase their strengths and grit, especially in how they have risen up to address gaps in their community.”
The Resilience Trail I went on was led by a 59-year-old woman with a bone condition that made walking difficult, and she uses a mobility scooter to get around.
Madam Lim, as she wants to be known, fell into depression after losing much of her mobility – and independence – after the illness struck her in her 40s.
She also had family problems to contend with.
But a neighbour invited her to feed the cats in the community, and the purpose and joy she found in doing so pulled her out of darkness.
Walking around Ang Mo Kio, where she lives, during the trail, I started noticing accessibility-related issues, such as the absence or presence of ramps in the estate and the amount of space for wheelchair and mobility scooters users to navigate at coffee shops and hawker centres.
I also heard the prejudices and misconceptions persons with disabilities faced. And how little they were understood.
Madam Lim said some seniors threatened to report her to the authorities for using a mobility scooter. Just because she’s younger than them, the seniors felt she must be lazy, not believing that she’s using a scooter due to a medical condition.
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Talking to persons with disabilities, one common refrain I hear is how often they feel they are pitied by others and how much they dislike it.
Pity limits their potential, and closes doors for them. They would prefer you to be empathetic and to learn more about their abilities and limitations instead.
For example, Ms Ng once wanted to help out in her church canteen to cook or sell food, but her church friends stopped her out of fear that she might hurt herself. She knows her church friends are well-meaning. But their reaction also saddened her, as she can cook “quite well” at home.
She said: “I don’t like people to feel that because of my disability, I can’t contribute. I feel that no matter how disabled I am, there’s still something I can contribute.”
Ms Ng is now volunteering, as part of her church group, to befriend marginalised families.
As Mr Hidayat told me, what they need is empathy, not pity.
He said: “When you sympathise, it’s condescending to us like we have no capabilities of our own.
“By empathising, you understand that even though we have our limitations, we try our very best like everyone else.”
Theresa Tan is the senior social affairs correspondent at The Straits Times. She covers issues that affect families, youth and vulnerable groups.
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