Some thoughts on white sticks

I have noticed an increase over the last ten years or so in the number of people that I come across who don’t appear to understand the meaning of a white stick. I heard a blind woman on a radio phone-in recently talking about her experience of how her requests for assistance from passers-by, shop-keepers etc, were increasingly ignored and despite using a white stick, its connection with her limited eyesight was often not understood. This is my experience too, as again, when asking strangers for assistance on the street, despite using a white stick, I frequently have to explain that I’m asking because I am blind, the response being “sorry, I didn’t realise”.

 

It seems then that, despite its importance both as an essential  navigation  aid and as a way to let others know that someone is blind, the white stick is no longer the universally understood symbol of blindness. The comment “what’s he got that stick for Mummy?” could just as easily come from a 35 year old as a five year old now.

 

The ‘didn’t realise’ comment is often accompanied with ‘but you don’t look blind’. While probably worth a specific blog post in itself, there is apparently an expectation for a blind person to ‘look blind’ (whatever that might mean) which when combined with the carrying of a white stick (or presumably the accompaniment of a dog) , firmly gets the message home. While the comment “but you don’t look blind” is a common one I’m loathed to contrive an appearance (even if I knew what it was)  merely to fulfil this (apparently necessary) requirement just to  get directions to the train station or be told where the sun-dried tomatoes were.

 

I can see enough not to need to use a long cane, but not enough not to need others to know that I have little sight. I therefore need to use a ‘symbol cane’ (the type of white stick that is intended to provide a message to others, rather than being practically useful in its own right as a navigation guide like a long cane). I need people to know that I cannot see much when crossing roads, asking   directions on the street or in shops, finding out bus numbers etc.

 

Due to a physical impairment, I also need my stick to be strong enough to provide me with some balance support. The ‘symbol canes’ available to buy through blind charities, while conveniently able to be folded up, are generally thin, flimsy and (I judge) convey something of an apologetic and needy image of the blind user. The defensive self-protective stance (with the stick held out near vertically in front) that the user is taught to adopt does little to promote a feeling of self-confidence. This is starkly in contrast with the stance required by the long cane user,  sweeping out in front, both exploring and guiding them through their journey. Blind people don’t design these essential pieces of mobility equipment, they are designed for us by those who have traditionally purported to know our needs better than we do – sighted health and social care professionals and charities that blind people have typically had little say in the running of.

 

Probably due to a combination of the number of flimsy sticks that I broke over the years, my love of trees and whittling wood,  and a desire to shift that charity-created image through taking charge of my own needs, I started making my own white sticks in 1997 and have never used a bought one since.

 

I don’t have a particular design that I follow, because each piece of wood suggests its own unique ways that it might be fashioned into a usable stick. It is important to choose a good straight and strong piece of wood (usually cut from a coppiced tree). I like to find a piece with maybe a knot or some kind of interesting feature that lends itself to some form of decoration or shaping for comfort which will become the top (or ‘handle’).

 

I get my partner to apply layers of undercoat, white paint and varnish to most of the length of the stick and I have the top as stripped wood or highly smoothed bark. I then finish the top with  linseed oil and beeswax .

 

Some sticks don’t get used because while they had enough to work on, the finished product was never quite right or felt comfortable in my hand. Others though, might have been worked on to shape their handle to fit my hand perfectly and I still have after many years.

 

I now have a collection of wonderful white sticks that, like a piece of clothing, I can choose between depending on the circumstances and my mood. Most significantly, they are strong proud symbols of blindness.