Social Geographies of Learning Disability: Narratives of Exclusion and Inclusion

Social Geographies of Learning Disability: Narratives of Exclusion and InclusionAuthor(s): Edward HallSource: Area, Vol. 36, No. 3 (Sep., 2004), pp. 298-306Published by: Wiley on behalf of The Royal Geographical Society (with the Institute of BritishGeographers)Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/20004395 .

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Area (2004) 36.3, 298-306

Social geographies of learning disability:

narratives of exclusion and inclusion

Edward Hall Faculty of Health and Social Sciences, Queen Margaret University College, Edinburgh EH1 2 8TS

Email: [email protected]

Revised manuscript received 15 December 2003

The social geographies of people with learning disabilities, one of the most marginalized

groups in society, have largely been ignored. The paper explores these hidden geo

graphies through the interpretation of narratives of people with learning disabilities in

Scotland, within a social policy framework of social exclusion and inclusion. The paper

interprets the experiences of being excluded from and included within mainstream

socio-spaces, and the safe spaces that many people with learning disabilities have

formed for themselves in between the positions of social exclusion and inclusion.

Key words: Scotland, learning disability, narrative, social exclusion, social inclusion, safe

spaces

Introduction Whilst disability is now an established sub-field of

research within social and cultural geography (Butler and Parr 1999; Gleeson 1999; Hall 1999; Park et al. 1998), issues of learning disability have

been largely omitted.' This relative lack of attention

reflects the marginal position that the majority of

people with learning disabilities (PWLD) hold in the

UK and most Western societies. In comparison to the

overall population and many other disabled people, the estimated two million people in the UK (120 000 in Scotland; Disability Rights Commission 2001)

with mild to severe learning disability2 have fewer

opportunities for employment, less choice over

housing, fewer options in education, and commonly experience discrimination, abjection, abuse, poorer health and a lack of control over the key decisions that affect their lives (Foundation for People with Learning Disabilities 2001). This paper unpacks these hidden social geographies using the method of 'narrative building' (Booth and Booth 1996), giving

space to the voices of PWLD, so regularly excluded from social research. The research takes place within

the context of a state social policy of tackling 'social exclusion' through the economic and spatial inte gration of marginalized groups. Social inclusion offers the possibility of better opportunities for employment and social position, but at the same time establishes criteria that may be impossible or undesirable for many PWLD to fulfil.

Wolch and Philo describe geographical research on learning disability as forming a 'small corpus' of work (2000, 138). Hall and Kearns (2001) argue that it is not only the smaller number of PWLD that explains the neglect, but also their limited public and political presence. The policy of 'protective' care that has shaped the lives of PWLD - for many years within the institutions of the asylum and long stay hospitals (Park and Radford 1999; Radford and Tipper 1988; Philo 1987)3 and now within commu nity contexts (Metzel 1998; Radford and Phillips 1985; Wolpert 1980) - is the product of a deeply embedded sense of mental difference. Parr and Butler (1999, 14) argue that those without mental 'competence' are perhaps the 'ultimate other', be

cause of a presumed inability to reason, exert agency and so be part of a modernist civil society. The lack

ISSN 0004-0894 ? Royal Geographical Society (with The Institute of British Geographers) 2004



Social geographies of learning disability 299

of social presence of PWLD - in contrast to the assertion of rights to public space by many physi

cally disabled people and those with mental health problems - suggests that they are being properly 'cared for' and lead relatively contented lives.

This paper details the social exclusion that many PWLD experience despite physical inclusion within communities, what Dear and Wolch (1987, 6) have termed a life in an 'asylum without walls'. In doing so, the paper draws on the sole exploration of the everyday geographies of PWLD - Laws and

Radford's (1998) study of Toronto - which tells the

story of deinstitutionalization through the voices of PWLD, revealing that while for many their objective circumstances were more favourable - most lived in the community and many were employed - their subjective embodied experience of social interaction and inclusion was less good (see also Dyck 1998). This study largely followed Laws and Radford's (1 998) approach, in its focus on embodied narratives in specific socio-spatial contexts, although unstructured group, rather than structured individual, interviews were used, both to reflect the social networks of

people's lives and to encourage participants to

speak, ensuring their voices are placed at the centre of the research.4

Critiquing social exclusion and inclusion

The principle that binds together the present UK Government's (and indeed Europe's) social policy is the reduction in the number of people and places experiencing 'social exclusion' from mainstream societal activities and the promotion of 'social inclusion' into these activities (Social Exclusion

Unit 2001; Byrne 1999). It is a reformulation of the conditions of poverty, marginalization and discri mination into a problem of access to the spaces of the social and economic majority. Madanipour et al. sum up social exclusion as follows:

[It is] a multi-dimensional process, in which various forms of exclusion are combined: participation in decision-making and political processes, access to employment and material resources and integration into common cultural processes. When combined, they create acute forms of exclusion that find a spatial

manifestation in particular neighbourhoods. (1998, 22)

Its multi-faceted nature, the claim to incorporate lack of access to cultural as well as material re sources and the sense of process, has made social

exclusion a powerful and captivating concept that has permeated the language of social policy and academic debate. From a geographical perspective, the recognition of the social and the spatial in the production of exclusion makes the concept a potentially useful one for thinking about the positions of particular social groups and places.

However, for many, social exclusion is a 'prob lematic' concept (Sibley 1998, 119) that draws a thick line between those who are within and out

with mainstream society. Further, whilst the notion of social exclusion supposedly incorporates par ticipation in all aspects of society, the dominant criterion centres on economic (in)activity, neglecting (non-paid) social, cultural and political activities. This has at least two consequences: firstly, that non-participants in employment are deemed to be 'others' who do not form part of 'society as a whole' (Levitas 1996) and, secondly, that inclusion in work is 'de facto beneficial' (Colley and Hodkinson 2001, 348), disregarding discrimination in employment (and that people on the margins are more likely to have poorly paid, low quality jobs (Gleeson 1999)). This hints at what is perhaps the most troubling aspect of social exclusion, as Colley and Hodkinson argue:

Despite appearing to reinstate a concern for the social, social exclusion locates the causes of non participation and social exclusion primarily within individuals and their personal characteristics. Yet at the same time as focusing on individual deficit, it does so in a way that denies diversity and individuality, and reduces those it describes to categories and stereotypes ... This in turn obfuscates the social aspects of disadvantage, the deeper structural causes of inequality and differential life chances. (2001, 346-7)

As such, it is a dramatic move away from the ana lysis of social problems afforded by marginalization and discrimination, shifting the causation from societal structure to individual agency - and weaving in a moral strand of responsibility for (self) exclusion from the dominant order (Room 1995) - while at the same time aggregating individual experience. Further, the agency and alternative imaginings of 'inclusion' of those deemed excluded is not incor

porated; there is a failure to recognize, value and support the agency and strengths of many disadvan taged groups and communities that provide a sense of inclusion to their members (Colley and Hodkinson 2001). And, lastly, to be excluded is seen as necess arily undesirable for the individual, group or place



300 Hall

involved; it is 'in their interests' to be incorporated (back) into mainstream society (Samers 1998).

The legislatures of England and Wales, and Scot land, have separately published reports that docu

ment the social exclusion of PWLD and advocate their 'reinclusion', principally through increased employment participation and community-based housing (Department of Health 2001; Scottish Exec utive 2000), in what is arguably a reformulation of the long-standing policy of the 'normalization' of PWLD (Nirje 1969) into 'socially valued roles' (Wolfensberger 1983). Although there is a call for PWLD to be 'better understood and supported by the communities in which they live' (Scottish Execu tive 2000, iv), the inclusive solutions are to provide 'the same opportunities as others to get a job, to

develop as individuals, spend time with family and friends, enjoy life and get the extra support they need to do this' (2000, iv); there is little recognition of the structural constraints, institutional discrimina tion and individual stigmatization and abjection (see

Sibley 1995; Kristeva 1982), through verbal and non-verbal abuse, avoidance and victimization, that many PWLD experience. The reports are undoubt edly positive in their intentions and practical poli cies, yet there are concerns over the fundamental basis on which people are to be 'included'. That is, to be socially included a PWLD will have to con form to a mainstream notion of 'normality', through bodily behaviour and appearance, social location (ideally independent living, at least community housing) and/or economic engagement (through paid employment), otherwise they will experience social and spatial rejection (Sibley 1995). To under stand PWLD as excluded - rather than as experienc ing material and representational discrimination and poverty - is to see them as not part of mainstream society, a situation that seems to be acceptable to

many in society (Enable 1999).

Voices from the shadows: developing a methodology

While studies of mental health and broader health geographies have embraced the methodological resources of the 'cultural turn' (Kearns and Gesler 2002; Parr 2000), geographical research on learning disability has been largely historical and descriptive. The single exception is Laws and Radford's (1998) exploration of the 'fine print' of PWLD's complex everyday geographies. This paper adopts a similar approach and in so doing responds to Mohan's

(2002) critique of studies of social exclusion that have tended to focus on structural constraints and welfare institutions to the neglect of the cultural processes of discrimination and stigmatization of those excluded. This paper is an attempt to produce a 'nuanced' account of social exclusion (and inclu sion) (Sibley 1998, 119) through placing PWLD's experiences and voices at the centre.

Dominant constructions of mental incompetence and lack of agency have kept the voices of PWLD firmly 'in the shadows' of research and policymak ing (Laws and Radford 1998, 88). Coles (2001) has argued that many methods, including question naires, interviews and focus groups, are designed in such a way that PWLD do not 'talk', only the 'repre sentative' voices of carers and families are heard. Coles (2001) and Booth and Booth (1996) have pro posed ethnographic techniques, including partici pant observation and narratives or storytelling that enable the recognition and blending of personal experiences and social/place issues.

The method adopted here is 'building narratives' of the everyday geographies of PWLD (Laws and Radford 1998). The participants were recruited through local groups of the Scottish learning disabil ity charity 'Enable'; letters of invitation were distrib uted to the groups and five interview sessions arranged in a location familiar to the participants, to ensure they felt at ease and confident to speak.5 Through group interviews, people were asked to describe their presence in and engagement with social spaces: their homes, their friends and family, their care, their work, where they live, where they socialize, their experiences, concerns and delights (Holloway and Hubbard 2001). Group, rather than individual, interviews were used, firstly, to provide a supportive environment, secondly, to counter problems of 'compliance' common in one-to-one interviews with PWLD (Laws and Radford 1998) and, thirdly, to recognize that people live their lives through social connections and their narrative is in

many cases a collective one (Parr 1998). In a further recognition of the networks that constitute people's lives, also present at the interviews was a 'sup

porter', friend or careworker of one of the individ uals, who was also well known to the rest of the group. As will be clear from the interview extracts

below, the supporters' role was important in helping to create a sense of trust between myself and the group, and in helping people to express themselves (this is very different to speaking 'for' individuals). The data that resulted reflect the method, that is,




they are very much group discussions. This and the

lack of confidence/ability among many of the partic

ipants to speak at length means that the data are

presented as conversations rather than short quotes. Further, in some cases the narratives show that prompting by the interviewer or a supporter was

necessary to elicit details and to maintain the flow

of the discussion; this reflects the lack of confidence

that many PWLD have about speaking in public. Prompt questions were always as open as possible, to minimize the 'leading' of participants.

Narratives of exclusion and inclusion

A brief profile of the 21 participants in five locations in Scotland6 frames the discussion which follows:

firstly, 11 lived with family (parents or children), five lived independently, four lived in a staffed group home and one lived in supported housing; secondly, nine worked part-time and one full-time, two did voluntary work, five were at a local education college and 11 (including some of those already mentioned) attended day care either part or full time.

On being excluded: experiences, places and practices Laws and Radford describe the long-term social and

spatial marginalization of PWLD in 'small action

spaces' on the 'outer fringes of the daily round'

(1998, 99-100). Abjection, discrimination and abuse are common experiences for PWLD and underpin (and run through) their social exclusion from mainstream

society (Foundation for People with Learning Disabilities 2001). As Sibley (1998) argues, social exclusion is

about much more than not having employment and living in separated caring environments (indeed, as shall be argued below, such places may offer some

form of 'refuge' or inclusion). It is also about personal and bodily exclusion on a day-to-day basis, a geography of being 'out of place' that PWLD are acutely aware of. In one location, some cafes and pubs are known to be places of potential rejection and intimidation, from both staff and fellow customers:7

Ed: When you go to the pub or a cafe, do people sometimes say things to you or look at you?

Gordon: Sometimes. Beth [supporter]: Are people rude to you Leanne? Leanne: Mmm. Gordon: If you [go] into White's Cafe you're

welcomed with open arms.

Leanne: Yeah, that's right. Kay [supporter]: How about the Pear Tree or O'Neills,

would you expect to be made to feel welcome or unwelcome?

Irene: Be unwelcome. Ed: What do people say or do to make you

feel unwelcome? Irene: They stare at you and all that kind of stuff.

Gordon: I find that more in pubs than cafes ... Sometimes, I do get a feeling of like feeling unwelcome.

The rejection can be through non-verbal feelings, looks and stares and behaviour - the reverse of

being 'welcomed with open arms' - or verbal rude ness. In another location, it was reflected that, 'In a

lot of cafes, they say just get on with it . . . it's push, "hurry up we haven't got all day" sort of thing'. The response of many people is to, understandably, avoid these places and only visit those venues -

such as Whites Cafe above and a church-run cafe -

where a welcome is assured. There is a process of self-exclusion, individuals and groups experiencing abjection and withdrawing. Further, this 'map' of acceptance and rejection is passed on, through social networks, to other PWLD. A clear social geo graphy of social absence and presence is produced

by processes of othering and the separation or

abjection of the 'out of place' and even potentially dangerous (see Parr 1997) bodies of PWLD from mainstream society.

Another prime site of public space interaction for PWLD is public transport. Families and carers encourage sole travel or travel in small groups to

gain confidence and independence, but it can often be a difficult experience:

Ed: If you go on the bus, do you find that okay? Sarah: Yes, sometimes I'm a wee bit nervous 'cos

people call me 'mongol' and that, it's not very nice!

Winifred: Horrible. Jane: Horrible. Sarah: And people call me 'specky', and all that! Jane: Not very nice.

Winifred: That's terrible. Sarah: And I'm not having it. Jane: No, you're not having it. Sarah: And it hurts my feelings sometimes. And I

often help out the helpless lady and take her bag and trolley onto the bus.

PWLD respond to these uncomfortable, intimidating and sometimes frightening experiences of bodily



302 Hall

and social rejection on public transport in several ways: by travelling together, by giving each other support when the stories of travel are told (note the collective nature of the narrative above, affirming - 'not very nice' - and encouraging - 'no, you're not having it'), and in many cases by self-exclusion through the use of private minibuses, taxis and family cars. Again, absence from public space is a combin ation of discrimination and abuse and self-exclusion.

A more serious, yet not uncommon, experience (Enable 1999) involved the physical abuse of a PWLD on the street, walking between a day care centre and her home. Such an attack is an extreme form of othering of a person seen as out of place, and encourages withdrawal from mainstream social spaces:

Mandy [supporter]: What about that story about something

that happened to Geraldine, that wasn't very nice?

Janine: Yes, the schoolboys hitting stones to her, as she came over from the centre as she

was going home. Winifred: Aye, you told me about that. Mandy: Is she okay now? Janine: Yes, she's fine. The boys hitting her with

stones, the lady looking after her went to sort it out. The boy from the house . .. so they reported it. Just came and hit her

with stones. David: With a stone? Janine: Aye, Geraldine got hit with a stone this

week. David: Oh yeah. Jane: Oh, what a shame! What a shame.

There is a powerful sense of fear and bewilderment about this incident; crucially, the group responds collectively, both in sympathy and anger - 'Oh, what a shame!' - for their friend. In another location, a group of younger people had similar intimidatory experiences, with memories of bullying whilst at school still fresh and which continue for some in local public spaces.

Such actions of othering and exclusion, maintain ing the dominant (mentally capable) order of social space by containing the social threat of mental dif ference (Atkinson et al. 1997), mean that for many PWLD theirs is a 'social life' of physical presence

within communities and simultaneous social absence from mainstream networks (Pinfold 2000). For some this can lead to shrinking social worlds (Dyck 1995), and limited and very particular social and geographical networks of safe spaces.

What being included can mean Those PWLD who are employed, live independently and make choices for themselves are understood as having moved from positions of social exclusion to being socially included, with all of the positive associations the term enjoys (Scottish Executive 2000). However, for many, experiences of exclusion and rejection continue within the 'inclusive' spaces of paid work and independent living. For example, Gordon has worked part-time in a supermarket filling shelves for 12 years. He's 'quite happy' working one day a week, but feels he would maybe benefit from some more hours, both to feel as though he 'belonged

more' and to 'fill in the gaps' in the week. He explains his limited working time partly through the 'needs' of the business - 'I'm just not needed so

much' - and partly through the working hours restric tions placed on recipients of welfare benefits. These restrictions on Gordon's participation are compounded by the negative and openly hostile attitudes and behaviour that he has experienced at work:

Ed: What are the people like that you work with?

Gordon: They're fine. There was a bit of a time, well it happens in every work place doesn't it,

when there was just ... It's not just schools you get it in, it's workplaces as well.. But I don't take it lying down.

Ed: What would people do? Gordon: They would just say all sorts of, they

would just use all sorts of tones, well, put it this way, a couple of months ago, I went to the management because it was just getting ridiculous, it just wouldn't stop.

Ed: What were they doing? Gordon: Well, they just kept on antagonizing and

taunting me all the time. Kay [supporter]: Did it start from one particular person

and then seem to spread? Gordon: Aye. Irene: People calling you names you mean

Gordon? Gordon: Yeah. People call you names. It's

unacceptable Irene. Irene: One person called you one name, and

then someone else says it. Gordon: Yes, it's very contagious. So, what I did

was I just went up to the managers office and said, 'Look, I've had enough', I said, 'I want this to stop', and immediately it

was done. Ed: So the manager knew what you were

talking about and did something?




Gordon: Well, he had to know what I was talking about or otherwise I was going to say 'Cheerio!'.

Irene: Well done. Gordon: And so um, well, before I worked in the

produce I was on the back door, with a chap called Dave, whose very sectarian, very bigoted and all the rest of it. I said to him one day, I said 'Dave, do you get a real kick out of antagonizing people

with learning disabilities?'. And he just said 'you haven't got a learning disability', and I said to him, 'Well, that's the most ignorant statement that I've ever heard in

my life from you Dave, everybody has got a learning disability, and don't you forget!', and after that I just walked away.

Ed: And did he say anything anymore? Gordon: No, he didn't say anything, but I knew

what he was thinking, I could tell in his face.

There are many issues within this narrative. Gordon's restricted social and spatial position at work - filling shelves and dealing with the supplies and waste at the back door, both of which keep him out of direct contact with customers - is reinforced by name-calling and taunting in relation to his learning disability; there is a powerful othering of

Gordon from the company in its job and hours allocation (and his not receiving career develop

ment or promotion in 12 years) and from the other employees in working alongside this person who is for them 'out of place'. Even after Gordon has sought the support and protection of the manager, the abjection continues with looks and perceived thoughts. At one point, an employee challenges

Gordon's 'authenticity' as a PWLD - he has trans gressed into a mainstream social space and hence cannot be a bona fide disabled person (Sibley 1999). Gordon, like many disabled people, experiences a

'hostile environment' at work, both in terms of work allocation and attitudes (Guardian 2003). He says he will continue to work there, but takes a signific ant psychological and physical risk being employed. It is spatial and economic inclusion (to the extent of seven hours' salary), but this also includes the 'normality' of discrimination, abuse (Reid and Bray 1998) and social isolation (Pearson et al. 2002).

Paid employment is the central marker of social inclusion. However, if economic engagement effec tively means intimidation and low pay, then for

many PWLD continued self-exclusion from paid work is an understandable path. Others interviewed

had more enjoyable work experiences, within public sector, voluntary and non-profitmaking organiza tions where organizational structures, training and expectations together tended to produce a 'safe space' of employment.

Making safe spaces Despite slowly changing public attitudes and institu tional policies to improve acceptance and access,

many PWLD (with the advice and support of their families and carers) make the decision to exclude themselves from discriminatory and intimidating

mainstream social spaces and to instead be included in social networks of friends, families and carers (Parr 2000; Pinfold 2000). For example, most of those interviewed attended the weekly social event run by the charity 'Enable', held in a dedicated centre called the 'Cabin'. The evenings are a mix of activities and social interaction:

Ed: Do you go out in the evenings? Janine: Sometimes, on Friday night. Ed: What do you do on Friday? Janine: Club night. Ed: What's that? Janine: Just do knitting or jigsaws. Ed: Where does that happen? Janine: In the Cabin. Ed: Do you all go there sometimes?

Winifred: I used to go years ago . .. I still miss going to the Cabin because it's good, 'cos I like to keep in contact with them all. I ask Janine how they're all getting on.

Ed: So what's the reason you go to the Cabin? Janine: Just get me out for a wee while.

The 'Cabin' and 'club night', plus other Enable social events, holidays and trips, are spaces and times that fulfil many functions: as a place of social interaction for PWLD, as a way of connecting - 'keeping in contact' - with other people and issues, events, problems and so on, and as a change from routine -

'just get me out for a wee while' - and (in the case of this person) from the care home where they live. For all who attend, its most important role is as a space, 'refuge' even, in which people can feel a sense of community and 'safety', and where their identity as a PWLD can be valued and strengthened before the next encounter with mainstream society (Philo et al. 2002; Pinfold 2000). Recently, this has become a much more important issue with the progressive closure of long-stay hospitals (Scottish Executive 2000) that provided places of refuge for some in the past, despite their social and spatial



304 Hall

exclusion (Milligan 1999). Other forms and spaces

of refuge - such as care homes - are being sought as a replacement to avoid the 'fall between the cracks' for those whose support diminishes or disappears in social care restructuring (Gleeson and Kearns 2001; Park et al. 1998).

For many PWLD, it is neither possible nor desir able for them to 'achieve' social inclusion on the prescribed bases of employment, housing and social activity. Instead, for some, institutional care and support may be the most appropriate space for leading a safe and peaceful life, protected from the 'stresses of everyday life' (Milligan 1999, 234). For

others, perhaps those with more ability and confi dence, alternative spaces of inclusion may mean networks and activities that provide opportunities for those (self)excluded. For example, Rhona, through the confidence gained in association with a group of friends (and wider social networks), frequently enters quasi-public spaces - the local cinema, bowl ing alley and pubs - to assert her presence in main stream society. The experiences of life on the 'outer fringes' of mainstream society has for some PWLD been transformed into a sense of collective identity, and even 'a strategy for resistance or survival' (Sibley 1998, 120), through the development of networks of people, groups and spaces where learning disability is accepted, valued and normalized.

Conclusion: beyond social inclusion?

This paper has presented a nuanced account of the everyday social geographies of PWLD. It has argued that the policy of social inclusion establishes criteria that many PWLD cannot or do not want to fulfil and, at the same time, marginalizes the alternative spaces and roles that many generate. Further, what social inclusion does not account for or tackle is the socio-spatial context with i n wh ich people I ive, work (or not) and socialize, specifically discrimination, abuse and rejection by individuals, groups and in stitutions. PWLD have responded by self-excluding from certain public spaces and places and by actively making 'safe spaces' and networks, where new forms of 'normality' and inclusion can be shaped. This everyday support is crucial for many PWLD to sustain their lives and provide places of safety and refuge. However, the growing political activity of some PWLD (Guardian 2001) is broadening their networks beyond these communities and engaging with mainstream spaces and issues.8 It is vital that social geographers respond to this, firstly, through a

sustained critique of the employment-focused social inclusion strategy for PWLD and, secondly, through a strong advocacy of a broad notion of social justice and access. Importantly, this would be an enabling socio-spatial justice - rather than simply inclusion into an unchallenged disablist society - recognizing the need to reimagine the cultural, political and physical structures of society to enable full parti cipation of PWLD (and all people of mental and bodily difference) (Gleeson 1999). This would involve the creation of 'enabling environments' (Swain et al. 1993), that is, the remaking of the public and private spaces within which the participants in this research live their lives - home, street, work and care - into spaces where they could satisfy their material needs (through benefits and/or work), par ticipate in politics and decisionmaking, and achieve socio-spatial inclusion (Gleeson 1999, 150), crucially all on their terms. Self-advocacy is the key tool in this 'raising of the voices' of PWLD (Goodley 2000), both in rearticulating the debate in the interests of PWLD and in working towards including learning disability within the social model of disability and the disability movement (Chappell 1998), a move

which would resocialize, culturize and politicize learning disability (and in doing so regain it from

damaging medicalization and individualization), making further resistance and true inclusion possible.

Acknowledgements

Thanks to all those who took part in the interviews, and to

Lena Gillies at Enable. This paper was presented at a semi

nar in the Department of Geography at the University of

Dundee; I would like to thank all who attended for their

incisive questioning and support. The two referees' com ments were constructive and very useful. The research on

which this paper draws was funded by an RGS-IBG Small

Research Grant 2002.

Notes

1 The paper uses the term 'learning disability', in preference

to 'learning difficulty', 'intellectual disability', 'mental handicap' or 'mental retardation', for the principal reason

that it is the term used in Scottish and UK policy docu

ments (which the paper is partly concerned with critiqu ing), in health and care services and in popular discourse

to describe all those with intellectual impairment. It is

acknowledged that 'learning disability' has a specific (edu

cational) terminological history within the normalization philosophy of social integration which does not include those with mental retardation or multiple physical and




intellectual impairments (Hall and Kearns 2001; Rennie 2001), that the UK self-advocacy movement prefers the term 'learning difficulty' for its progressive connotations (Harris 1995), and that internationally 'intellectual disabil ity' is dominantly used (Park and Radford 1999).

2 There are no reliable statistics for the number of PWLD, due

to non-standardized definitions (see note 1) and assess ments and a significant number of people not registering

for social care support. Estimates, based on research evi

dence, indicate a prevalence of 3-4 per 1000 with severe

and 25-30 per 1000 with mild learning disability in the UK

(Foundation for People with Learning Disabilities 2001). 3 The majority of PWLD were never housed within asylums

(large, isolated residential care complexes). Most lived with their families or in other forms of residential care in

local communities (Bartlett and Wright 1999). Also, formal 'community care' for PWLD was in place long before dein

stitutionalization, beginning with the Mental Deficiency Act 1913, which made it a duty of local authorities to

ascertain, certify and, where necessary, institutionalize 'mental defectives' (Hughes 1998).

4 Laws and Radford (1998) employed interviewers experi enced in interacting with PWLD; in this research the

author undertook the interviewing. 5 The locations were: a college, a learning disability social

club, a training centre, a skills centre and the Enable

offices. Four interviews took place in October and Novem

ber 2002, and one in January 2003. 6 This paper deals with the overall everyday geographies of

PWLD in Scotland; a future paper will discuss differences

between urban, suburban and rural experiences.

7 All names have been changed.

8 Political activity organized by PWLD is a relatively new

development (Hall and Kearns 2001); issues of compe

tency, dependency and mental difference have together kept PWLD out of the broader disability movement

(Chappell 1998). The 'self-advocacy movement' is being

pioneered by the campaigning group 'People First'

(Guardian 2001) and supported by other charities and

organizations (Guardian 2002; Goodley 2000).

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Social Geographies of Learning Disability: Narratives of Exclusion and Inclusion