These Disabled Harvard Students Will Inspire You

(Disclaimer: This piece is satirical in nature, and these students do not exist.)

This week, I decided to sit down with two disabled students to discuss their experiences at Harvard and what “living a disabled life” means to them.

First, I met with Stevie U. Smith, a senior in Lowell. Smith is the quintessential Harvard student: They started out studying History and Literature, but inevitably ended up an Economics concentrator, set to work at McKinsey in the fall.

Or at least they were, until “divine inspiration” struck.

“So, I was at this restaurant with my friends,” Smith said. “And when it came time to order, the waiter asked my friends what I wanted, instead of asking me, even though I was right there. That’s when it hit me: I have invisibility superpowers.”

Smith, a wheelchair user, attributes their superpowers to their disability.

“After that day, I kept noticing it happening. People talk about me like I’m not in the room, or if they do notice me, they talk to me in this weird sing-song baby voice. They can’t see me, so they must be talking to the crewmate plushies I keep in my chair,” Smith speculated, referring to the astronaut characters from the popular social deduction game Among Us.

Smith, a true Harvard Economics concentrator, is nothing if not opportunistic. When they realized they were invisible, they turned their newfound ability towards becoming the Harvard Among Us champion.

“No one ever suspects that I’m the impostor. Ever. It’s kinda sus.”

Smith’s invisibility always lets them escape accusations of being the murderer, effortlessly winning them game after game. Even Smith’s close friends, who are able to see them, never consider accusing them, because they are “just so pure, like an angel.”

“I mean, look at them,” one of Smith’s friends, who wished to remain anonymous, said. “They’re in a wheelchair. How could they be the impostor?”

Following these life-changing revelations, Smith has decided to switch their career.

“I’m training to become a spy for the CIA,” Smith boasted. “With my invisibility, I can infiltrate secret bases all impostor-like and just chill there, listening while supervillains monologue about their evil plans.”

This method is “an earth-shattering revolution in the intelligence field,” according to a CIA spokesperson. “Effective immediately, we’re laying off all of our non-disabled agents. Unfortunately, granting them necessary and reasonable accommodations such as camouflage equipment would burden our operations going forward.”

And Smith owes everything to their disability.

“I understand now. This is the reason I was born with a disability. The spark I lost after becoming an Econ major — it’s finally been rekindled. This is my calling in life.”

Next, I sat down with Justin A. Fukunaga, a first-year in Thayer. Fukunaga, who is blind, unexpectedly found himself becoming the founder of the start-up Ableism Can Be Fun (ACBF) this semester when he invented Ableism Bingo.

“The goal is simple: Pick someone to talk to, whip out your Ableism Bingo board, and see how fast they give you five in a row,” Fukunaga explained.

With spaces such as “told that you aren’t disabled,” “grabbed without consent,” and “called inspirational for living,” among many others, there’s an ableist option for everyone.

The central idea of Ableism Bingo is, unsurprisingly, that “ableism can be fun.”

“It all started one day in Annenberg. I was sitting with this guy. We’re talking about orchestras, and he asks me, ‘Do you know what a cello is?’ And I’m like, ‘Yeah… I know what a cello is…?’ He’d never ask that to anyone abled, but whatever. But then five minutes later, we’re talking about Korea, and he asks me, ‘Do you know what Korea is?’ And I’m like, ‘…Yep! Yep, I know what Korea is!’ And I hightail it out of there.”

(Author’s note: Satire aside, this conversation actually happened to me in Annenberg. It was not the best time.)

Afterwards, Fukunaga realized that if disabled people have to deal with feeling subhuman every day without anyone noticing, they should at least make the most of it.

“Here at ACBF, we recognize a core truth: abled people are weird. If we can’t get them to learn anything, we can at least laugh and practice our bingo speedruns.”

Ableism Bingo exploded into a global phenomenon, selling 20 million units worldwide. In response, Fukunaga expanded the game by adding customizable boards, including the popular d/Deaf, chronic pain, and ADHD editions.

All proceeds go towards improving Harvard’s accessibility.

“It’s a powerful emotional tug for consumers,” Fukunaga noted. “It’s like those charity commercials with cute puppies and sad music. People understand that Harvard can’t afford to fix its own accessibility. The cause resonates with them.”

With Fukunaga’s funding, Harvard is already installing an elevator in the PBHA building and developing fire evacuation protocols that don’t ask disabled students to shelter in place inside burning buildings in the hope that someone from the Operations Center will arrive.

Fukunaga is “proud” to see Harvard proactively responding to its disabled students’ concerns, he said.

“They’re going above and beyond, fixing all these decades-old civil rights violations for us. I feel like they really value us as people.”

And it’s all possible because of Ableism Bingo.

“Who would’ve thought the solution to our problems was for abled people to be abled people?” Fukunaga laughed.

Ben T. Elwy ’23 lives in Quincy House. His column “Living a Disabled Life” appears on alternate Tuesdays.