Last week, The Punch introduced you to The Angry Cripple, a new anonymous contributor. This week, AC explains that despite the complaints of some, s/he will remain anonymous, and reveals the source of the name.
I’m angry for good reason. I’ve used the word cripple for good reason. And I’m anonymous because I have to be…

Whatever I write, some will agree and others will disagree. Some will be downright nasty. I read on another forum that if I turn out not to be a person who uses a wheelchair, there will be blood.
So, my anonymity will remain. It doesn’t matter who I am. I could be a parent or carer of a person with a disability, a deaf-blind actor, a teacher at a special school, a student with MS, or a person with a severed spinal column.
So get over it. There are plenty of more important things to worry about.
Like kids with autism being king-hit at school while others kids watch. Like people still living in institutions that reek of stale piss with 20-year-old faded prints of kittens in bows on the walls, slurping from bowls of lukewarm gruel that has been driven for an hour from “central” to save staff from cooking on-site.
Like children in wheelchairs they outgrew three years ago deforming their growing spines. Like our mentally ill being locked in prisons for lack of treatment options.
This is not some bullshit made-up list. It’s not even exaggerated. I have seen all of these things.
So yes, I’m angry. I have a right to be. And I’ve become sick of waiting for bureaucrats, parliamentarians and governments to do something about it. If my voice can anger you enough, if it can make you talk, if it can make you consider that disability could happen to any one of us, at anytime, then maybe you will start raising your voice too.
And I’ll tell you where the name for the column came from.
I saw this guy a few months ago. I’d been terrified to meet him having followed his posts on a networking site for a while. He calls himself a “crip” and he’s probably the most bitter and twisted person with a disability I’ve ever managed to avoid.
Anyway, his contributions on this Facebook page were always pretty pointy, often downright nasty and I had vowed to dodge him as long as humanly possible.
I got it all wrong.
We were at some conference, when I saw him outside, alone, with his crocheted op-shop nanna rug on his crippled lap, head down, looking for all the world like his dog had just died. I went to see if I could be useful.
Turns out he’d been listening to some bloke talk about life after breaking his back in a “compensable” accident. An accident that was deemed someone else’s fault, which meant he got an insurance payout. He was talking about how he’d gotten his camper trailer retrofitted to be wheelchair accessible, and how he hired his wife as his support worker, and he’d bought an off-road wheelchair so they could still do the big trip around Australia they’d planned together with their six-year-old daughter.
The Crip wasn’t so lucky. He didn’t have anyone to blame for his disability.
He was born with a major physical disability and spent his childhood, abandoned by his parents, in institutions and a series of foster homes. He’s got no “carers” in his life, but a series of ill-educated, poorly paid, transitory support workers. He only gets to shower twice a week (unless a public holiday means he misses one), and he has to go to bed at night at whatever time the worker turns up.
He’s not allowed to hire his own workers, or choose his own wheelchair, and his $379 pension per week ain’t payin’ for no adapted caravan. Actually, that loot barely pays his rent and food, let alone his medications, his catheters or the taxi to the doctors. He gets 1.5 return trips per week by accessible taxi subsidised, and the rest is full fare. The buses don’t all have ramps, so he can’t rely on them either.
Compensible guy lives a decent life. Not flash, but human.
The Crip is stuffed.
The Crip is angry.
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