Ten years after Kath Gillespie Sells, Dominic Davies and I started the work which led to The Sexual Politics of Disability (Cassell, 1996), it's good that Disability Now have launched their sex survey.
But it's sad that a survey is needed at all, and that the problem we identified - that it was not 'how to do it', but 'who to do it with' - hasn't gone away.
There have been some feisty films about disability and sex, and there are some full-on role models, but many disabled people are still excluded from intimacy and relationships.
The contemporary world is obsessed with sex. Glossy magazines pump out images of toned, tanned and buffed young bodies while reality TV shows get ever more raunchy with each series. All this makes it much harder to feel desirable as a disabled person and highlights what we are missing.
Many of the people we interviewed for our book reported good sex lives. They had positive self images, and challenged stereotypes. But others talked about their loneliness. Independent living may offer more choice and normality than residential care, but living collectively offers a ready-made social life.
Wider research shows that certain groups of disabled people are particularly vulnerable to isolation. For example, people with severe mental illness are three times more likely to be divorced than the general population.
Older people may become disconnected from their community and abandoned by their family. Many disabled children spend their time with adults, sometimes lacking a single non-disabled friend of their own age. Teenagers with impairments often feel unattractive, and may fear that no one will ever love them.
I found adolescence very hard emotionally. All around me, non-disabled friends were boasting about their conquests. I had a series of crushes. Love was always unrequited. It wasn't until I got to college that romance blossomed.
Neither service providers or the movement have done enough to support friendship, let alone sexuality, despite the importance of intimacy to most people. The myth that disabled people are asexual remains powerful, and authorities worry about vulnerability to abuse or encouraging inappropriate behaviour.
The movement has prioritised public goals - independent living, anti-discrimination - over private fulfilment. It can be challenging to explore personal issues, and painful to acknowledge absences.
Our book talked about sexuality as a disability right. By this, we meant that disabled people should not be denied access to sex; that they should receive proper sex education; and that they should be able to access bars and leisure environments. But even after the barriers have come down, there's no guarantee that disabled people will get the lover of their dreams. Who do you turn to, if you can't get laid, or have no friends?
Of course, it's not just disabled people who have trouble with love and loneliness. From Bridget Jones to Adrian Mole, the goal of finding Mr or Ms Right, and the difficulty of doing so, is a contemporary obsession. Once, life was stable, jobs were for life, community was real and families were forever. Nowadays, people are independent, mobile, competitive, unattached and free to choose. And we spend forever moaning about how unhappy we are.
Many find a way forward through joining a group. Disability rights groups, self-help groups, sports clubs, and churches all offer spaces to make friends and form networks, alongside their explicit campaigning, health or spiritual roles.
For others, the internet has opened up a new vista of long distance flirtation and online dating. Some find companionship through personal assistants, or work colleagues. But too often the disability world seems harsh and unsupportive, as if to acknowledge our emotional needs and vulnerabilities would be to admit defeat.
A first step would be to recognise and encourage the role of groups, projects, meetings and online forums in providing peer support, contacts and company. Another would be to prioritise work around self-esteem. Confidence and communication skills are key to connecting with friends or potential partners, and disabled people may lack both.
Disability politics might have moved us from shame to anger, but neither emotion helps people break out of isolation. Rather than separatism, we should look outwards to non-disabled people as allies, helpers, relatives and friends.
Get the companionship and intimacy right, and the sex will look after itself.
Ten years after Kath Gillespie Sells, Dominic Davies and I started the work which led to The Sexual Politics of Disability (Cassell, 1996), it's good that Disability Now have launched their sex survey.
But it's sad that a survey is needed at all, and that the problem we identified - that it was not 'how to do it', but 'who to do it with' - hasn't gone away.
There have been some feisty films about disability and sex, and there are some full-on role models, but many disabled people are still excluded from intimacy and relationships.
The contemporary world is obsessed with sex. Glossy magazines pump out images of toned, tanned and buffed young bodies while reality TV shows get ever more raunchy with each series. All this makes it much harder to feel desirable as a disabled person and highlights what we are missing.
Many of the people we interviewed for our book reported good sex lives. They had positive self images, and challenged stereotypes. But others talked about their loneliness. Independent living may offer more choice and normality than residential care, but living collectively offers a ready-made social life.
Wider research shows that certain groups of disabled people are particularly vulnerable to isolation. For example, people with severe mental illness are three times more likely to be divorced than the general population.
Older people may become disconnected from their community and abandoned by their family. Many disabled children spend their time with adults, sometimes lacking a single non-disabled friend of their own age. Teenagers with impairments often feel unattractive, and may fear that no one will ever love them.
I found adolescence very hard emotionally. All around me, non-disabled friends were boasting about their conquests. I had a series of crushes. Love was always unrequited. It wasn't until I got to college that romance blossomed.
Neither service providers or the movement have done enough to support friendship, let alone sexuality, despite the importance of intimacy to most people. The myth that disabled people are asexual remains powerful, and authorities worry about vulnerability to abuse or encouraging inappropriate behaviour.
The movement has prioritised public goals - independent living, anti-discrimination - over private fulfilment. It can be challenging to explore personal issues, and painful to acknowledge absences.
Our book talked about sexuality as a disability right. By this, we meant that disabled people should not be denied access to sex; that they should receive proper sex education; and that they should be able to access bars and leisure environments. But even after the barriers have come down, there's no guarantee that disabled people will get the lover of their dreams. Who do you turn to, if you can't get laid, or have no friends?
Of course, it's not just disabled people who have trouble with love and loneliness. From Bridget Jones to Adrian Mole, the goal of finding Mr or Ms Right, and the difficulty of doing so, is a contemporary obsession. Once, life was stable, jobs were for life, community was real and families were forever. Nowadays, people are independent, mobile, competitive, unattached and free to choose. And we spend forever moaning about how unhappy we are.
Many find a way forward through joining a group. Disability rights groups, self-help groups, sports clubs, and churches all offer spaces to make friends and form networks, alongside their explicit campaigning, health or spiritual roles.
For others, the internet has opened up a new vista of long distance flirtation and online dating. Some find companionship through personal assistants, or work colleagues. But too often the disability world seems harsh and unsupportive, as if to acknowledge our emotional needs and vulnerabilities would be to admit defeat.
A first step would be to recognise and encourage the role of groups, projects, meetings and online forums in providing peer support, contacts and company. Another would be to prioritise work around self-esteem. Confidence and communication skills are key to connecting with friends or potential partners, and disabled people may lack both.
Disability politics might have moved us from shame to anger, but neither emotion helps people break out of isolation. Rather than separatism, we should look outwards to non-disabled people as allies, helpers, relatives and friends.
Get the companionship and intimacy right, and the sex will look after itself.