Silent Allyship: Navigating NYC as a Disabled Traveler

I’d like to begin by saying that what I’m about to share is purely my personal experience, and I certainly don’t want to paint an entire location negatively based on a couple of challenging moments I had while traveling there alone.

Allyship is a topic that has come up quite a bit recently, especially in discussions on Zamonos.com’s social media. It’s a concept that resonates with me, particularly the idea of silent allyship. For those who aren’t familiar, silent allyship refers to those moments when members of the public spontaneously act as allies to the disabled community. This can be as simple as holding open a heavy door for someone using a walking frame or helping carry a heavy box to a car for someone in a wheelchair. These small acts of kindness go a long way in making disabled folks feel seen, valued, and cared about.

I realize that this can be a contentious issue, as some believe it’s unnecessary to ask if a disabled person needs help, while others feel it’s important to get consent before offering assistance. Speaking from my own experience, there’s nothing worse than someone pushing my wheelchair without asking first.

However, when someone asks if they can help with kindness and courtesy, it’s a beautiful thing. I believe strongly that as disabled people, we have a duty to respond with equal kindness. Whether we accept the offer of help or not, it’s crucial that we don’t dismiss or “shoot down” the person offering their assistance. Doing so could lead to public shaming and might discourage that person from ever offering help to another disabled person again.

Returning to my experience in New York City, I want to share two instances that marred my time there and left me feeling uncomfortable and unwelcome. The first was fairly minor but still shook me a bit. I was on a side street, trying to retrieve something from my bag, unaware of any pavement etiquette. Suddenly, a man in a suit shouted at me to “GET OUT OF THE WAY!” In a city where you already feel like an ant, this interaction made me feel even smaller. Of course, there’s nothing to suggest that this had anything to do with my being disabled, but it set the tone and made me feel out of place.

The second situation was more intense. I was trying to make my way up to street level from a subway station, still struggling to navigate the many floors even after several days. When I found the elevator, it was out of order. Feeling downbeat and tired, I decided to do something I’ve done many times before—climb the stairs, pulling my wheelchair and backpack behind me. It was slow and grueling, with people pushing past me, and not one person offered to help. It was a time when silent allyship would have been more than welcome.

As I neared the top of the stairs, two men behind me started shouting. I won’t repeat the language they used, but it was intimidating, and I genuinely felt scared. I was a young guy in my 20s, alone, disabled, and not yet used to being in a foreign country by myself. Fortunately, nothing came of it, and I managed to get to the top, threw my backpack on the back of my wheelchair, and scurried off as quickly as I could. Moments later, I caught my first glimpse of the Empire State Building, a welcome distraction from the unsettling experience.

There was one instance, however, where allyship did come to the forefront, though this time, it was me who chose to be an ally. I was at another station when I noticed a man using a white cane, struggling to find his way to the correct train for JFK Airport. He was asking passers-by for help, but no one stopped. I approached him, asked if he needed assistance, and when he explained his situation, I quickly Googled the route. I offered to accompany him to ensure he got to the airport safely, and he gladly accepted. We rode together to the airport, where he met his friend who was arriving from Turkey. At the time, it felt like a simple thing to do, and I didn’t give it much thought. But now, with a greater understanding of allyship, I suppose I can allow myself a bit of credit for that act of kindness.

So, what do I take away from these experiences? I think it’s clear that it’s always better to be kind and helpful than to turn away from someone in need. It’s important to show our human side, to be compassionate, and to want to help one another. At the same time, it’s crucial to respect the wishes of those with disabilities. Not everyone will want your help, but you can feel good knowing you at least offered it.