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Health & Place 11 (2005) 107–115

www.elsevier.com/locate/healthplace

The entangled geographies of social exclusion/inclusionfor people with learning disabilities

Edward Hall�

School of Social Sciences, Media and Communication, Queen Margaret University College, Clerwood Terrace, Edinburgh EH12 8TS, UK

Abstract

People with learning disabilities (PWLD) are one of the most marginalised groups in Western society. Social policies

attempting to redress this situation focus on their ‘reinclusion’ into mainstream socio-spaces through engagement in

‘normal’ activities, primarily paid employment and independent living. Drawing on group interviews in Scotland, the

paper develops a nuanced account of the lives of PWLD, exploring their experiences of exclusion and seeming

‘inclusion’, and also the alternative spaces and networks of inclusion developed by many PWLD. The paper argues that

the situations and experiences of exclusion/inclusion are complex and ‘entangled’, shaped by the socio-spatial contexts

within which PWLD live. The paper ‘reimagines’ social inclusion as a transformation of mainstream social spaces to

incorporate PWLD, achieved through self-advocacy.

r 2004 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.

Keywords: Learning disability; Social exclusion; Social inclusion; Self-advocacy

Introduction

People with learning disabilities (PWLD) are one of

the most marginalised groups in Western society,

experiencing severe personal, social and institutional

abjection and discrimination.1 This is manifest in low

levels of employment, restricted choices in housing, poor

educational opportunities, a lack of control over

decisions that affect their lives, and everyday experiences

of intimidation in public spaces (Foundation for People

e front matter r 2004 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserve

althplace.2004.10.007

1 317 3601; fax: +44 131 317 3604

ess: ehall@qmuc.ac.uk (E. Hall).

sability’ is the term used in UK social policy

ealth and care services and in popular discourse

those with mental impairment and, as such, is

he author acknowledges the usage of ‘learning

ning difficulty’ and ‘intellectual disability’ in

d spatial contexts (and as the term used in this

pers) (Hall and Kearns, 2001).

with Learning Disabilities, 2001). Their marginalisation

occurs in the context of the twin social policies of the

deinstitutionalisation of people with learning disabilities

and the ‘social inclusion’ of excluded groups within

‘normal’ spaces and activities.

Prior to the shift into ‘community care’ many PWLD

were housed in long-stay hospitals or asylums located

physically and socially on the margins (Radford and

Tipper, 1988). Metzel (1998) has shown how, as the

asylums closed and PWLD moved into nearby commu-

nities (where the majority of PWLD have always lived),

the experience of separation and isolation continued, a

situation termed the ‘asylum without walls’ (Dear and

Wolch, 1987, p. 6). As Laws and Radford (1998) note,

while the objective circumstances of many PWLD have

improved as a result of deinstitutionalisation—living

within mainstream communities and often being em-

ployed—subjectively it has been less good, as they have

encountered discrimination and abjection. The ‘‘ulti-

mate other’’ of mental difference (Parr and Butler, 1999,

d.

ARTICLE IN PRESSE. Hall / Health & Place 11 (2005) 107–115108

p. 14) that lay behind the building of the asylums

continues, albeit in a subtler form, in the policy of

community care and ‘social inclusion’.

‘Social inclusion’ is the unifying principle of UK

social policy, reformulating poverty and marginalisation

as exclusion from majority social activities and spaces,

and constructing inclusion as a process of incorporation

into these activities and spaces (Madanipour et al, 1998;

Byrne, 1999). For PWLD, social inclusion is framed in

the ‘Same as You?’ review of care and services in

Scotland (Scottish Executive, 2000) and the similar

‘Valuing People’ document in England and Wales

(Department of Health, 2001). The reports assert that

PWLD should be afforded ‘‘the same opportunities as

others to get a job, develop as individuals, spend time

with their family and friends, enjoy life and get the extra

help they need to do this’’ (Scottish Executive, 2000,

p. iv), guided by the ‘‘four key principles of rights,

independence, choice and control’’ (Department of

Health, 2001, p. 3).2 In practice, inclusion within and

exclusion outwith mainstream society are more narrowly

conceived, namely as employment and independent

living (Barnes, 1999; Christie and Mensah-Corker,

1999). Sibley (1998, p. 119) criticises the ‘singular

concern’ with economic (non)engagement as the marker

for inclusion/exclusion, arguing that it masks a far

greater complexity of inclusionary and exclusionary

situations and experiences. Drawing on Sharp et al’s

(2001) disruption of the domination/resistance dichot-

omy in power relations, the paper suggests that far from

being absolute positions, social inclusion and exclusion

are fragmentary and relational, ‘entangled’ within each

other in particular ways and in particular contexts. So,

while getting a paid job is a key criterion of ‘social

inclusion’ for PWLD, the experience of work can be

extremely variable—for some a positive inclusionary

experience, for many a difficult exclusionary combina-

tion of low-waged and low-skilled employment (Baron

et al, 1998). Conversely, many PWLD who do not want

to or cannot be employed are often involved in non-paid

social or cultural ‘work’ (Levitas, 1996), in separate

socio-spaces and networks, providing an alternative

context of ‘inclusion’, yet also ‘excluding’ them from

majority society (Colley and Hodkinson, 2001). What

emerges is a contested concept: the social policy of

exclusion/inclusion that is premised on PWLD achieving

particular social roles and the situations and feelings

of exclusion/inclusion that many PWLD experience

(cf. Parr et al, 2002). This paper attempts what Sibley

(1998, p. 119) calls a ‘nuanced’ account, that incorpo-

rates these policy, individual, material and conceptual

entanglements of inclusion/exclusion, by studying the

2Social inclusion is arguably a continuation of the long-

standing social policy agenda of the ‘normalisation’ of PWLD

(Nirje, 1969) into ‘socially valued roles’ (Wolfensberger, 1983).

‘fine print’ of the everyday lives of PWLD in a range of

socio-spatial contexts (Laws and Radford, 1998).

The research, on which the paper draws, involved

group interviews with 21 PWLD plus their supporters in

five locations in Scotland—Thurso, Perth, Helensburgh,

Glasgow and Annan—in late 2002 and early 2003

(see also Hall 2004). Group interviews, providing

support and giving confidence, and held in locations

familiar to the participants, were used to build up

‘narratives’ of people’s lives of work, home, care and

social life (Booth and Booth, 1996; Coles, 2001) and

their experiences of exclusion and inclusion, in specific

socio-spatial contexts. The narrative approach is re-

flected in the ‘conversational’ format of the interview

extracts.

The paper is in three main sections: firstly, the

‘entangled’ exclusionary and inclusionary experiences

of PWLD in mainstream social spaces in Scotland are

briefly documented; secondly, the paper describes the

spaces of refuge and collectivity being built by many

PWLD to provide alternative forms of inclusion and

raise awareness; and thirdly, the paper ‘reimagines’

social inclusion as a transformation of mainstream

social spaces to incorporate PWLD.

Experiences of social exclusion and inclusion

Documenting the everyday experiences of PWLD in

mainstream society reveals a complex geography of

exclusion and inclusion, from avoidance, verbal taunts

and physical abuse through to indifference, acceptance

and incorporation, in different social spaces (Sibley,

1995). For many PWLD, this means marginalisation

into ‘small action spaces’ on the ‘outer fringes of the

daily round’ (Laws and Radford, 1998, pp. 99–100),

while for some, spaces of acceptance are found. The

examples discussed below begin to illustrate the en-

tanglements of exclusion and inclusion in particular

social spaces.

‘They stare at you and all that kind of stuff’: everyday

geographies of exclusion/inclusion

In one location—Helensburgh, a seaside town west of

Glasgow—the geography of exclusion and inclusion in

the (quasi)public spaces of cafes and pubs is clear for the

PWLD interviewed, with some places known to be sites

of intimidation and rejection from both customers and

staff, and others understood as ‘welcoming’.3

Ed: When you go the pub or a cafe do people

sometimes say things to you or look at you?

Gordon: Sometimes.

3All names have been changed.

ARTICLE IN PRESS

4Enable’ is the main learning disability charity in Scotland.

E. Hall / Health & Place 11 (2005) 107–115 109

Beth [supporter]: Are people rude to you Leanne?

Leanne: Mmm.

Gordon: If you walk 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 y

Sometimes, I do get a feeling of like feeling

unwelcome.

The looks, body language and verbal comments

experienced in some of these spaces are intimidating

and hurtful for many PWLD, and combine to give a

strong sense of exclusion or being ‘unwelcome’. Their

mental ‘map’ of exclusionary and inclusionary spaces,

demonstrated above, guides them to a limited number of

places in the centre of the town—such as White’s Cafe

and a church tearoom—where they are confident of

being treated well. Further, in close social networks such

as the group above, ‘word gets round’ amongst PWLD

of the places within the relatively small town of

Helensburgh to avoid and those to visit.

In another location—Perth, a market town in east

Scotland—the rather more public space of the street

becomes a site of an exclusionary experience for one

PWLD, an event recounted by the group. A friend of the

participants was attacked by some young people whilst

walking between her day centre and care home:

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 y so they reported it. Just

came and hit her with stones.

y

Jane: Oh, what a shame! What a shame.

Physical abuse is perhaps the ultimate form of

othering and exclusion, and experiencing it in a

community space where the individual lives marks out

very clearly the exclusionary sense of being ‘out of place’

(Mencap, 1999). Talking about the incident stirs up

feelings of fear, sympathy and anger amongst the group,

seemingly confirms the exclusionary and intimidatory

nature of certain public spaces, and asserts the value

of the ‘intimate social and spatial worlds’ (Parr, 2000,

p. 226) developed amongst PWLD and their supporters

in Perth and elsewhere to avoid such confrontations.

For example, most of the group now travel between

their homes and other activities by private car, taxi or

minibus, avoiding public transport and the street. For

them, a sense of safety and a type of ‘inclusion’ can be

achieved by self-exclusion from the spaces and activities

of the majority.

‘It happens in every workplace doesn’t it?’: experiences of

‘inclusion’

The policy of social inclusion for PWLD assumes

(and it is a significant assumption) that once PWLD are

‘normalised’ into the social roles of worker, house

buyer/renter and consumer, they will experience less

discrimination and be incorporated into other main-

stream social spaces and activities (Scottish Executive,

2000). However, for some of those interviewed, being

employed and/or living in private rented housing can be

a continuation of feelings and experiences of social

exclusion, as discriminatory attitudes and processes

structure these supposedly inclusive spaces. For exam-

ple, Gordon has worked part-time in a supermarket,

filling shelves in Helensburgh for 12 years, working

1 day a week. His limited work role is compounded

by hostile attitudes and behaviour:

Ed: What are the other 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, and that’s why I’m involved in

the thing that me and Kay [supporter] are involved

in, with the [‘Enable’]4 anti-bullying campaign.

It’s not just schools you get it in, it’s workplaces

as well.

Ed: This has happened where you work?

Gordon: Oh, yeah, 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 Ed, it just

wouldn’t stop.

Ed: What were they doing?

Gordon: Well, they just kept on antagonising and

taunting me all the time.

Irene: People calling you names you mean Gordon?

Gordon: Yeah. People call you names. It’s unaccep-

table Irene. y So, what I did was I just went up to

the manager’s office and said, ‘Look, I’ve had

ARTICLE IN PRESSE. Hall / Health & Place 11 (2005) 107–115110

enough’, I said, ‘I want this to stop’, and immediately

it was done.

y

Ed: And did they say anything anymore?

Gordon: No, they didn’t say anything, but I knew

what they were thinking, I could tell in their faces.

Within this supposed space of ‘inclusion’, a series of

exclusionary practices and experiences are in play—

verbal and non-verbal intimidation from fellow employ-

ees and the management’s treatment in terms of job role,

hours and (lack of) career development. Although

Gordon says he will continue to work in the super-

market—it is near to his home and the hours fit in with

his other activities—he has to do so in the knowledge

that he is seen as ‘out of place’ by others. Social

inclusion policy’s narrow focus on employment per se

makes such exclusionary experiences—workplace dis-

crimination (Guardian, 2003), low pay (Reid and Bray,

1998) and social isolation (Pearson et al, 2002)—

inevitable. For example, Gordon does not have estab-

lished social contacts with his fellow employees;

his friendships are almost exclusively within PWLD

networks.

The other key marker of social inclusion policy for

PWLD is the move from supported accommodation in

the community to living independently in rented or

owner-occupied housing. Of the 21 people interviewed,

five lived independently; the remainder lived with

family or in supported accommodation. Significantly,

these five all accessed their housing through PWLD

networks of family or friends; securing inclusion in the

exclusionary property marketplace necessitates using

alternative inclusionary networks. For some inter-

viewed, usually the more able—for example, Gordon

has a flat in the centre of Helensburgh—living indepen-

dently has been a positive experience. For others, living

on their own has been a difficult and exclusionary

experience. Here, Anne, a supporter, recounts the story

of one PWLD in Glasgow, who was unable to attend the

group interview:

Brian lives on his own, and has lived on his own for

quite a long time, he was in a supported living place

[before]. He’s now in his own flat, but he has said he

doesn’t know if he prefers it or not. He had his own

room in the supported living place, but now he says

it’s really difficult for him to be on his own, he has 24

hour care, he goes to day-care so he’s not with the

carers all the time, but he has said that now he is with

carers all the time, he feels rude saying he wants to be

on his own. When he was in the supported place he

could go to his room and it was okay, now it’s one-

to-one, they’re there all the time. y That’s some-

thing that people would think is the ideal, to be on

your own, but Brian’s not sure.

For Brian, independent living—in a rented flat

provided by a housing association for disabled people

in a housing estate in outer Glasgow—is a complex

experience. Having secured a flat of his own he now feels

more dependent on support staff, who are continuously

present. When living in supported accommodation he

had the support of staff and other PWLD. The

supposedly inclusionary space of independent living

can produce exclusionary experiences for some, parti-

cularly the less able and in particular support contexts,

as PWLD are removed from supportive (and inclusive)

environments and are isolated (French, 1993; Oldman,

2003). Gordon’s and Brian’s cases show how, although

within a space of apparent inclusion, different combina-

tions of housing availability, support, and location—

Gordon lives in the middle of a relatively small

mainstream community, while Brian is in a group of

houses for disabled people within a larger urban

community—can produce highly variable individual

experiences.

Spaces and networks of refuge and collectivity

Many people with learning disabilities are in a

‘double-bind’ of marginalisation, experiencing exclusion

from and abjection and discrimination within the very

social spaces that are the key markers of social inclusion

policy. This section explores some of the ways in which

PWLD are responding to these experiences, from

forming spaces of ‘safety’ and inclusion, to asserting

themselves in exclusionary situations, and acting collec-

tively. Importantly, such strategies presently fall short of

challenging the underlying reasons for and processes of

the social exclusion of PWLD.

Refuge and safety

Milligan (1999) and Pinfold (2000) argue that in the

process of deinstitutionalisation the notion and physical

space of ‘refuge’ was lost, a place of bounded safety

from the rolling turmoil of a discriminatory and often

confusing world for many PWLD. The closure of long-

stay hospitals and asylums, while overwhelmingly

positive, has failed to replace the ‘community’ of the

institution with adequate spaces of care and rehabilita-

tion within an often hostile mainstream society (Gleeson

and Kearns, 2001). Many PWLD, with their families

and carers, have instead formed their own ‘places of

safety’ or networks of ‘safe havens’ (Pinfold, 2000). A

key space is the care home, increasingly sought by those

PWLD (and their families) who are not able to live

independently in their own homes or with their families,

despite being ‘out of fashion’ in policy terms (Scottish

Executive, 2000). Lisa lives in a care home in Perth—she

is dependent on support to live her life, with staff

ARTICLE IN PRESSE. Hall / Health & Place 11 (2005) 107–115 111

helping her to organise her time, money and everyday

living, and even providing some of her social

‘friendships’:

Ed: How many people live there with you?

Lisa: Four.

Ed: What’s that like? You have your own room and

then share other things, is that how it works?

Lisa: Yes.

y

Ed: Are there staff there?

Lisa: Yeah.

Ed: Are they there all the time?

Lisa: Yes.

Ed: What do they staff do for you, how do they help

you?

Lisa: Sort my money out, do my diary.

Ed: Help you to organise things?

Lisa: Yes.

y

Ed: So, you share with other people. Do you do other

things with them?

Lisa: No. I’m doing something else with the staff just

now, go to the gym.

Even though it is seen as a ‘poor relation’ of

independence, living with others provides a ‘nurturing

community’ for Lisa (Gleeson and Kearns, 2001, p. 62)

and arguably affords her more independence, as she is

able, with organisational support, to spend significant

timeout with the care home (Oldman, 2003). Such spaces

of inclusion are not unproblematic, however. Lisa’s

situation, for instance, could be read as one of

dependence, control and continued exclusion from

mainstream society. Further, such exclusionary spaces

and networks, while providing opportunities for build-

ing a supportive, inclusive and empowering ‘stretched

community’ (Valentine, 2001) of PWLD and their

supporters, necessarily accept and reproduce the broad-

er social exclusion of PWLD.

Lisa’s position could also be read as one of privilege,

as the opportunity and ability to access such spaces of

inclusion is dependent on the agency, support and

financial resources of the PWLD (and their family).

Further, some places, such as Perth, have well-developed

networks of safe spaces and support for PWLD, while in

others, such as Thurso—a remote small town in north-

ern Scotland—there are limited spaces in care homes

(most of those interviewed lived with their families) and

a thinly spread PWLD social network.

Self-identity and taking control

In some instances, PWLD use the opportunities

afforded by these safe spaces and networks to move

from coping with everyday exclusionary experiences to

asserting their own needs and identities. Philip has lived

with his mother in a flat in a large estate in east Glasgow

all his life (40 years); when she was recently admitted to

hospital, his non-PWLD siblings came to live in the flat

to look after him. This experience provoked feelings of

wanting to live ‘independently’:

My family was taking over y they more or less took

over the house. I said ‘you’ll no dictate to me what

I’m doing’. We had some rows and all that, and

eventually I said to my mother ‘I’m getting a house of

my own’y I said to my sister, ‘I’ve got to have a life

of myself’. [My family] didn’t think I could do it. y

Some families are over-protective. I made it plain to

my own family, I’ll make my own rules.

Through a family crisis and the ensuing conflict,

Philip made a claim for a change in his circumstances

and, further, asserted his ability to have control over this

change. In doing so, he was contesting the dominant

construction of PWLD identity as without agency and

competence. There is an important caveat, however:

Philip’s part-time job in a campaigning organisation and

voluntary work for Enable have provided him with the

confidence and skills both to know about independent

living and to assert himself to achieve it. This confidence

also encourages him to react forcefully to abuse he

receives from a neighbour in his community:

Philip: I’ve got one neighbour, and every time I pass

she shouts at me. One day I passed and I put the ‘V

sign’ up.

Ed: Why does she shout at you?

Philip: Because of my disability. If she’s got a

problem, I said this to [another] neighbour and she

said she’s got an attitude problem, she’s a bit dotty

in her old age. I’ll put you back in your place. As far

as I’m concerned she can put her nose in the air, for

all I care, but at the end of the day I’m 20 times taller

than her.

Philip’s defiance again challenges the dominant

understanding of PWLD as passive. Further, by placing

the responsibility for the abuse onto his neighbour—

‘she’s got an attitude problem’—and by claiming her

mental incompetence—‘she’s a bit dotty in her old

age’—Philip suggests that learning disability is a social

construction, and disrupts the connection between

competence and learning disability, if only temporarily.

Problematically, in this entanglement of inclusion and

exclusion, Philip only achieves a sense of empowerment

through the discrimination, labelling and exclusion of

his neighbour; shifting the source of exclusionary actions

between different marginalised social groups arguably

deflects attention from the deeper causes of margin-

alisation.

ARTICLE IN PRESSE. Hall / Health & Place 11 (2005) 107–115112

Contesting dominant understandings of learning

disability remains relatively unusual amongst PWLD.

It is perhaps easier for some, such as Philip in a larger,

more anonymous, community, to assert themselves

vocally and demand alternative living arrangements,

with the support of local organisations. For others, such

as Richard in Thurso, living in an isolated rural

community outside the town where residents know each

other well and there are few support organisations, there

are fewer opportunities to act in this way.

Collective action and awareness

For some PWLD, individual assertions of needs and

claims to identity are developing into collective actions.

This is primarily in the form of (self)advocacy, the

representation of PWLD by themselves or fellow

PWLD. This is a significant moment, as PWLD have

for long been (mis)represented by others—mainly family

and carers—based on the assumption that they lack

the competence to make decisions for themselves (Laws

and Radford, 1998). For example, in Helensburgh,

Gordon and Peter, both more able, are involved in

advocacy work:

Kay [supporter]: Gordon and Peter advocate for

other people, they find it easier maybe to speak up for

what the other person needs than for themselves.

Ed: So you do advocacy. Do a lot of people need

help?

Gordon: Yes. It’s support. You’re taking the side of

the one that needs it.

Ed: Do you think life can be a bit of a battle?

Gordon: Absolutely, yes.

Peter: Yes.

Ed: What are the things you really have to battle for?

Peter: Years ago, getting what you wanted. y But

having said that I think we’re getting some success in

that.

Kay: But your battle is still about trying to help other

people to get where you are?

Peter: Yes.

Kay: ‘Cos you’ve been there?

Peter: Help them to get the best for themselves.

This mutual support by PWLD and supporters to

access services and to cope with the ‘battles’ of everyday

life asserts a self-constructed identity of learning

disability, as PWLD speak for themselves (Bersani,

1998; Guardian, 2001) and ‘‘embrace positive self-

perceptions’’ (Goodley, 2000, p. xii; Simons, 1992).

In Glasgow, some of the participants are involved in

the ‘Voice’ advocacy group, a forum for PWLD to

discuss services, care and everyday experiences; the

group is also involved in the selection of staff for care

and support agencies. However, while advocacy can

empower some PWLD and give them some control over

their lives, these can be temporary and isolated

achievements, as not all PWLD are represented and

the terms defining their exclusion and inclusion

remained unchallenged.

Another form of collective action is awareness raising

amongst the mainstream communities within which

most PWLD live yet from which they commonly still

feel separate (Laws and Radford, 1998). In Helens-

burgh, members of the ‘Advisory Committee of Enable’

(ACE), a group of PWLD who ‘shadow’ the manage-

ment of the charity (Enable, 2003), participated in a

town celebration:

Kay [supporter]: ACE’s float was based on playing

cards, wasn’t it? On the ‘ace’ theme.

Gordon: That’s right.

Ed: Were the other floats on all sorts of things?

Kay: It was intended to be, and I think it worked out

quite well, as a way of involving ACE and people

with learning disabilities as part of the community, to

celebrate the town’s 200th birthday, no matter what

part of the community you came from. So, there was

a whole mixture, wasn’t there?

Peter: Aye.

Gordon: That’s right.

y

Ed: Was that unusual?

Gordon: It was, it’s almost as if the town is finally

beginning to wake up.

Such a public presence of PWLD can be read as an

assertion of a positive identity and a claim to inclusion

within the community that is beginning to ‘wake up’ to

its diversity. It can also be read, though, as a temporary

moment of inclusion in a broader context of the

separateness of PWLD within the community in

Helensburgh. Raising awareness of PWLD through

such a public presence—a learning disability ‘themed’

float—can re-emphasise rather than undermine the

separateness of PWLD in this community.

The self-advocacy organisation, ‘People First’,

run by PWLD and supporters, has begun to widen

its interests to issues of discrimination, but is limited

in size, organisation and presence (Guardian, 2001).

Of the five areas, only Thurso has a People First

group and of those interviewed, one individual had

had some rather tentative contacts with the group,

through her involvement with the more ‘legitimate’

Enable ACE group. Collective action amongst PWLD is

largely limited to advocacy for improved care and

services and awareness raising, undoubtedly significant

for a group so under-represented, but limited in its

possibilities for a necessary ‘reimagining’ of social

inclusion.

ARTICLE IN PRESSE. Hall / Health & Place 11 (2005) 107–115 113

Reimagining social inclusion

The narrow policy discourse of ‘social inclusion’

masks a greater complexity of entangled patterns and

geographies of exclusionary and inclusionary situations

and experiences for PWLD. Within places of seeming

exclusion—care homes and non-paid work—can be

found spaces of inclusion, and within apparent contexts

of inclusion—independent living and paid employ-

ment—exclusion is commonly experienced. From the

‘nuanced’ account set out above emerges an approach to

social inclusion that concentrates on the complex

subjective experiences of PWLD, rather than their

objective excluded/included positions (Laws and

Radford, 1998).

Further, the account shows the importance of socio-

spatial context in shaping the exclusionary and inclu-

sionary experiences of PWLD, and begins to identify the

broader uneven and unequal processes and structures

that produce exclusion and inclusion. In short, for the

PWLD interviewed, it matters for their situation and

experiences whether they live in poorer or wealthier

circumstances in Thurso, Glasgow or Perth. From

the geographies of discrimination and acceptance, to

the experience of work and independent living, and to

the ability to assert themselves individually and collec-

tively, for some PWLD exclusionary experiences can be

countered by inclusionary networks of support and care,

while for others there is social isolation and a limited

number of opportunities. Some individual PWLD and

some places are seemingly ‘rich’ in financial and social

resources and others are less so; and this makes a

significant difference to the subjective experience of

PWLD, whatever their objective position. For example,

the availability of care home places, private transport

and a network of support for the PWLD interviewed in

Perth creates a safe and enabling space of ‘inclusion’; in

Thurso, by comparison, spatial isolation and a lack of

adequate support and facilities, produces experiences of

exclusion, even for those ‘included’ in independent

accommodation.

Whether ‘social inclusion’ is imagined as paid employ-

ment and independent living or as safe spaces of

refuge and social networks, it is presently dependent

on the reproduction of exclusion. That is, social

inclusion policy and alternative networks of inclusion

both perpetuate exclusion, as the discriminatory con-

texts are left unchanged and inclusion within PWLD

networks ignores broader exclusionary processes. A

reimagining of social inclusion would critique the

dominant meaning of the concept, shifting the focus

from economic engagement to a broader notion of social

inequality and justice. For example, while there is long-

standing evidence that paid employment and indepen-

dent living are goals for most PWLD (Oldman, 2003), it

can perhaps be argued that it is not employment per se

that people demand, but access to the resources of

the majority and a position of respect in society.

Similarly, the desire for independent living of many

PWLD can be seen as a demand for something rather

broader, a degree of control over their lives. While social

inclusion policy is concerned with providing access to

the (economic) spaces of the majority, it pays little

attention to the structures and attitudes that dominate in

such spaces, the transformation of which PWLD

arguably desire.

Whilst there is a growing recognition of the limita-

tions of social inclusion policy within government

(Social Exclusion Unit, 2004), for the concept of social

inclusion to be reimagined a challenge will have to come

from PWLD (and other marginalised groups) them-

selves. The growth of self-advocacy is the beginning of

collective awareness and critique amongst PWLD, yet

they remain marginalised within the broader disability

political movement. This is partly due to the continuing

control of learning disability charities and informal

networks by non-PWLD families and carers who more

or less consciously perpetuate the concept of ‘normal-

isation’ into mainstream social roles (Walmsley, 1997).

More crucially, the mainstream disability political

movement has not fully recognised the concerns, issues

and identities of PWLD. The social model of disability,

which revolutionised disability theory and provided a

philosophical core for the emerging disability political

movement (Campbell and Oliver, 1996), does not readily

imagine learning disability as a social construction,

as it does other disabilities, largely content for it to be

seen as an organic state (Chappell, 1998). Self-advocacy

and the beginnings of a political activity amongst

PWLD must be nurtured by the broader disability

movement (Guardian, 2001), and learning disability

reconceptualised as a social construction—as a position

of oppression in a society organised socially and

spatially for the able-bodied and minded (Oliver,

1990). More specifically, the focus of social inclusion

must be switched from access to employment and

independent accommodation, to a broader restructuring

of how work and housing are socially and spatially

organised, and, more widely still, to institutional reform

and equality law, underpinned by the notion of social

justice, and driven by PWLD, their networks and the

wider disability movement.

Acknowledgements

Thanks to all those who took part in the interviews,

and to Lena Gillies at Enable. The referee’s comments

were thorough and constructive. Chris Philo and Deb

Metzel provided support and encouragement. The

research, on which this paper draws, was funded by an

RGS-IBG Small Research Grant 2002.

ARTICLE IN PRESSE. Hall / Health & Place 11 (2005) 107–115114

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