Let's Not Overcorrect for Disability Grifting

My Disney Case Study

Ian and Steve in Disney, 2010

When Ian was seven, our family went to Disney Land. Disney is a rite of passage for parents with small children, an event that has to be crossed off the list.

Truthfully, Steve and I weren’t excited about this vacation. We didn’t consider ourselves Disney-kind of people. We went because we didn’t want the fact that we were Disney Delinquents to be one more item to be mentioned to a therapist in the future. Also, we heard it was a great place to bring kids with autism.

When we arrived at the park, we went to the Guest Services Office and showed them a letter from Ian’s neurologist explaining that he had autism. They gave us passes that enabled us to bypass all the lines. At each ride, the staff took us to a separate door that immediately put us on every ride. Other families waited in the hot sun for hours. We didn’t. Despite our too-cool-for-school attitude before going on this trip, we had the most amazing time ever.

At this time, Ian’s disabilities were the most challenging. He was frequently frustrated. His sensory and OCD issues were tough. I was still teaching at the local college, so I was preparing lectures until 3:00 am. I was always apologizing for him to strangers. We were worn out.

By that time, I had gotten used to being treated by schools and the community as second-class citizens. He was reluctantly allowed to make his First Communion at the local church, which was run by a mean nun. He failed Kindergarten Intake at the local school, so he had to be bused to a separate school for autistic kids forty minutes away. Everything that we did was second-class.

At Disney, we were transported to a place where things were actually easier for us than for other families. We weren’t the embarrassing family with the kid who put his fingers in his ears. We were special.

We still had to manage Ian’s autism. We had to avoid the super scary people dressed up as Disney characters. He was inexplicably freaked out on the “It’s A Small World” ride. I think the music was too loud. But those issues were day-to-day realities for us.

Disney’s recognition of invisible disabilities and the extraordinary privileges they provided families like ours was legendary on autism parent listservs and websites. And the obnoxious rich people found out about it. They hired disabled tour guides, so that their abled kids could go to the front of the line. The New York Post screamed about this scam and blamed “Rich Moms!”

Yes, there was a real scam going on, but the media blamed it all on “the moms.” Maybe the dads hired the disabled tour guides. Who knows? But since everyone hates the Karens, Disney cracked down.

Today, Disney and Universal Studios still give disabled children and their families a special pass, but it’s much more limited. If you go to the Harry Potter ride, you can’t just sail in. They’ll give you a specific time to come back. Families don’t have to wait in line, but they do have to wait around somewhere else, drink some butterbeer, and then come back later for the ride. This is the same pass that they officially sell to rich people.

Because Disney and Universal were forced to cut down on the grifters, their disability privileges, while still a lifesaver for beleaguered families, are less robust. From this experience, I learned that any correction of corruption leads to worse benefits for the real recipients.

Two abuses of disability services made headlines this week. The Atlantic had a poorly researched article on Rich Moms — the misogynistic, ageist trope that keeps on giving — abusing disability services at colleges. Well-researched articles on the abuse of Medicaid and autism services in Minnesota by the Somali population have also received a lot of attention. Both incidents are going to lead to over-corrections and a worsening of services for those who deserve them.

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I’ll come back to the Somali/Medicaid thing in a couple of days, because I know exactly how they did it.

Travel Our 2010 trip to Disney:

Disney, 2010