This commentary reflects briefly on 10 of the many lessons that defined the Covid‐19 pandemic. These reflections are taken from one disabled person’s experience but resonate with many. As such they give a flavour of the thematic issue as a whole, while offering a highly personal contribution to the publication project

David Bolt

Social Inclusion

Bolt, David

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www.ssoar.infoRemnants of Community: What I Learned in theFirst Year of the PandemicBolt, DavidVeröffentlichungsversion / Published VersionZeitschriftenartikel / journal articleEmpfohlene Zitierung / Suggested Citation:Bolt, D. (2023). Remnants of Community: What I Learned in the First Year of the Pandemic. Social Inclusion, 11(1),125-127. https://doi.org/10.17645/si.v11i1.6613Nutzungsbedingungen:Dieser Text wird unter einer CC BY Lizenz (Namensnennung) zurVerfügung gestellt. Nähere Auskünfte zu den CC-Lizenzen findenSie hier:https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/deed.deTerms of use:This document is made available under a CC BY Licence(Attribution). For more Information see:https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0Social Inclusion (ISSN: 2183–2803)2023, Volume 11, Issue 1, Pages 125–127https://doi.org/10.17645/si.v11i1.6613CommentaryRemnants of Community: What I Learned in the First Year of the PandemicDavid BoltSchool of Social Sciences, Liverpool Hope University, UK; boltd@hope.ac.ukSubmitted: 15 December 2022 | Accepted: 15 December 2022 | Published: 17 January 2023AbstractThis commentary reflects briefly on 10 of the many lessons that defined the Covid‐19 pandemic. These reflections aretaken from one disabled person’s experience but resonate with many. As such they give a flavour of the thematic issue asa whole, while offering a highly personal contribution to the publication project.Keywordsableism; activism; coronavirus; disability; silencing; social changeIssueThis commentary is part of the issue “Disability and Social Inclusion: Lessons From the Pandemic” edited by Owen Barden(Liverpool Hope University), Laura Waite (Liverpool Hope University), Erin Pritchard (Liverpool Hope University), and AnaBê (Liverpool Hope University).© 2023 by the author(s); licensee Cogitatio (Lisbon, Portugal). This commentary is licensed under a Creative CommonsAttribution 4.0 International License (CC BY).Disability futurity is a concept that, in 2018, I adopted fora project in the Centre for Culture and Disability Studiesat Liverpool Hope University. Many internal and exter‐nal colleagues were ultimately involved (e.g., Murray,2022; Penketh, 2022) and the research followed vari‐ous directions in Canada and the UK (Patterson, 2022;Worthington, 2022). My starting point was an extrap‐olation from epistemology gained from disability, else‐where called cripistemology (Johnson & McRuer, 2014),as a knowledge base for a future in which increasedlife expectancy would bring about widespread depen‐dence on accessible technology and a true appreciationof interdependency. This prediction seemed a bit far‐fetched, as noted by some colleagues, and in all hon‐esty I was thinking decades down the line. Conversely,to explore my position I harked back to a cultural prod‐uct of 1957, Samuel Beckett’s Endgame, which reducedthe final phase of humanity to four disabled peoplewhose very existence relied on what remained of com‐munity (Beckett, 1957/1964; Bolt, 2021; Davidson, 2007;Quayson, 2007). These Beckettian ponderings acquiredpertinence when in March of 2020 I found myself, a lonedisabled figure, navigating the desolate landscape of theusually lively Liverpool suburb in which I had lived andworked for more than a decade. Any speculation I hadmade about disability futurity was consumed in that pri‐mal pandemic moment from which I could only learn.The first lesson I learned was that I was part of ahigh‐risk group. Because I have an autoimmune diseasecalled psoriatic arthritis, I take a disease‐modifying anti‐rheumatic drug,Methotrexate, whichworks by suppress‐ing my rogue immune system (Bolt, 2021). Panic led meto infer that my chronic disease might be preferable tothe treatment in the fearful context defined by the coro‐navirus. I figured I might be better off bearing the full,life‐changing force of arthritis (Felstiner, 2005), ratherthan rendering myself prone to the life‐threatening virusCovid‐19.My inferencewas far fromoriginal, as I realisedwhen I rang the rheumatology nurses to hear an answer‐machine message about being inundated with similarenquiries. The pre‐recorded advice was to keep takingthe tablets and “follow government guidelines.” Thispredicament worsened day by day with news of morecases and more deaths among which I could not helpnoticing a proliferation of references to the high‐riskgroup that embodied the very reason for lockdown.The second lesson was that eating out was not afool‐proof means of sustenance. I have an eye diseasecalled retinitis pigmentosa that has long since progressedto the point of sightlessness, which combines with mypsoriatic arthritis to complicate the preparation of all butthemost basic of meals. I had addressed this situation bymaking my way to a local eatery each day. In lockdown,however, I could only lament reliance on these short butSocial Inclusion, 2023, Volume 11, Issue 1, Pages 125–127 125regular visits for good food, drink, and exercise, not tomention community beyond work.The third lesson was that even huge supermarketchains could not necessarily provide timely supplies.Given that, apart from a fifteen‐minute walk each morn‐ing, I was self‐isolating, I required a shopping deliveryeachweek. However, it was thanks only tomy daughter’sdiligence, checking the websites throughout the day andinto the night, that I secured a delivery slot every thirdweek. I contacted one famously high‐end supermarketseveral times to explain that even before the pandemicI relied on deliveries for basic household items; alas, nei‐ther my manifest desperation nor years of custom car‐ried any weight at all.The fourth lesson pertained to unexpected sources ofsupport in the local community. One restaurant helpedme by setting up a tab, accepting orders via text mes‐sage, and agreeing to collect and deliver my prescriptioneach month; another, in between lockdowns, allowedme to eat outside set hours and settle the bill retrospec‐tively. Given that work had taken me away from familyand friends more than a decade earlier, and the univer‐sity around which I had structured my life was all butdeserted, it is no exaggeration to assert that a fewpeoplein the locality constituted a lifeline.The fifth lesson was that years of extended time oncampus had resulted in a far too basic workstation athome. I found myself working on a decade‐old laptopwith a poor internet connection, which meant I had noaccess to Zoom or anything similar. As such, during thefirst lockdown, in order to join meetings I had to ask ahelpful colleague to call me on the telephone, meaningI could just about listen in and be heard. No stranger toaccess issues, I felt rather outside some discussions butwas nonetheless glad of this substandard communication.The sixth lesson was about the extent to which avisual perspective was taken for granted (Jay, 1993).Shielding letters and other medical correspondenceaside, I was at a loss when my trusty laptop broke downand was deemed irreparable, which left me with nomeans of writing or reading. My institution loaned mea replacement, which was gratefully received but meantI had to learn how to use new versions of all the software,ranging from the operating system and screen‐readerto Word, Outlook, Chrome, and Zoom. This would havebeen difficult enough with sighted assistance but on myown it was frustrating to the extreme. Nevertheless, onmore than one occasion I was saved by a kind colleaguewho made the route to my house part of her daily exer‐cise allowance and stood outside my window just to lookin and tell me what was on my screen. This being so, insubsequent lockdowns it was necessary for me to meetand work face‐to‐face with my academic support worker,in what became known as a support bubble.The seventh lessonwas that someeducators deemedit impossible to teach studentswithout seeing their faces.This ocularnormative assertion was made by tutors whoencountered difficulties when giving sessions via Zoom.The issue was that many if not most students took toswitching off their cameras for the duration of taught ses‐sions. I discouraged this practice in my own classes, wellaware that visual cues and body languagewere helpful tomany people (Barthes, 1992). More concerning were thepedagogical implications for educators who teach with‐out seeing the faces of students as standard (Michalko,2001). Had the assertions of impossibility been followedby requests for experiential knowledge, there could havebeen productive connections; in the absence of suchdiscourse, the normative divide differentiated and dis‐tanced my understandings from those of others.The eighth lesson related to the fact that thedeserted pavements soon became cluttered withe‐scooters, as a result of a rental scheme endorsed bythe City Council. The pleasure principle was not loston me but the normative positivisms translated intonon‐normative negativisms. Where the main obstaclesonce were badly parked cars and unkempt trees, I nowneeded to beware of more random tests of patience.The e‐scooters seemed to take many forms, depend‐ing on how they were parked, and could turn up onjust about any pavement. More than being an obvioushazard, for a long‐cane user they proved disorientat‐ing when having to be stepped over or walked around.Although I never forget that disabled people’s knowledgetends to be dismissed as “complaining” (Wendell, 1989,p. 104), I did wonder what would happen if comparableobstacles became a feature on the roads. I knew for surethat, for the foreseeable future, I would need towalk at amarkedly slower pace to avoid sustaining serious injury.The ninth lesson pertained to haptic perception.Having recently started to use the long‐cane for mobil‐ity, after more than three decades of guide dogs, I wasbecoming increasingly aware that the human sense oftouch was indeed underrated (Classen, 2005). After all,I was learning fine details about the local environmentthat had previously passed me by. The trouble was thatin pandemic times all contact had become problematic.For instance, a banister that once reduced the hazard ofsteps or stairs was now a hazard in itself. This fear of con‐tagion extended to people, manifest in social distancing,which translated into anxieties if not guidelines about aperson who perceives by other than visual means tak‐ing someone’s arm when walking somewhere unfamiliaror busy.The tenth lesson was that, even though its spectrehad lurked at the back of my mind since childhood, thedeath of a parent is not something for which anyone canprepare. My father had been having varied and multiplecancer treatments for a few years and so was deemedclinically extremely vulnerable. Because we were both inhigh‐risk groups, I did not spend much time face‐to‐facewith him even between the lockdowns of 2020 and 2021.We had our final conversation via telephone, which mybrother made possible by ringing me from the hospital.Selfless and understated to the end, my father tried toput my mind at rest by saying he was okay. It seemedSocial Inclusion, 2023, Volume 11, Issue 1, Pages 125–127 126perplexing as much as upsetting that I was not there inperson and this unique mix of emotions persisted whenhe died a couple of days later. Despite the number oftimes I had rehearsed it in the dreadful corners of mymind, the bizarre reality was completely unexpected, forI donned my suit and attended my father’s funeral viathe laptop in my living room. Instead of being just fiftymiles away with my mother, brother, daughter, and therest of the tiny gathering allowed at the crematorium,I was joined by my academic support worker of only sixmonths, who silently and sensitively stood to one sidebutmade andmaintainedmy online connectionwith thefuneral service.Based on 12 months, from March 2020 to February2021, these lessons from the pandemic are indicative ofdozens more; they are profoundly personal but likely toresonatewith disabled people lucky enough to have livedto tell the tale. The lessons have been hard learned bya deflated if not defeated professor of disability studieswho, just a few years ago,was enthused about the idea ofa great tomorrow in which disabled people would shareknowledge and experience as a pivotal means of pro‐gressing society. Granted, in the first lockdown, I noticedsigns that predictions of such non‐normative positivismswere not just rhetorical, as disability was indeed recog‐nised as a knowledge base (Bolt, 2021). However, thesheer violence of pandemic categorisation ultimatelyemphasised the normative social order and deepenedthe normative divide. Deaths were announced in dailyif not hourly news reports with qualifying references tounderlying conditions, from which most people drew ahuge sense of relief. Moreover, the future to which wewere all meant to look was the new normal, somethingvery different from my non‐normative imaginings of dis‐ability futurity. What my ten lessons do demonstrate,though, is that in troubled times even remnants of com‐munity are vital.AcknowledgmentsThanks are due to Owen Barden and the rest of the aca‐demic editor’s for invitingme to contributewith this com‐ment to their thematic issue. In addition, Imust thankmyacademic support worker, Kay Ross, in particular for herhelp during the times to which I refer to in this text.Conflict of InterestsThe author declares no conflict of interests.ReferencesBarthes, R. (1992). The responsibility of forms: Criti‐cal essays on music, art and representation. BasilBlackwell.Beckett, S. (1964). Endgame. Faber and Faber. (Originalwork published 1957)Bolt, D. (Ed.). (2021). Metanarratives of disability: Cul‐ture, assumed authority, and the normative socialorder. Routledge.Classen, C. (Ed.). (2005). The book of touch. Berg.Davidson, M. (2007). “Every man his specialty”: Beck‐ett, disability, and dependence. Journal of Literaryand Cultural Disability Studies, 1(2). https://doi.org/10.3828/jlcds.1.2.7Felstiner, M. (2005). Out of joint: A private and publicstory of arthritis. University of Nebraska Press.Jay, M. (1993). Downcast eyes: The denigration of visionin twentieth‐century French thought. University ofCalifornia Press.Johnson, M. L., & McRuer, R. (2014). Introduction: Cripis‐temologies and the masturbating girl. Journal of Lit‐erary and Cultural Disability Studies, 8(3), 245–256.Michalko, R. (2001). Blindness enters the classroom. Dis‐ability & Society, 16(3), 349–359.Murray, S. (2022). Disability embodiment, speculative fic‐tion, and the testbed of futurity. Journal of Literaryand Cultural Disability Studies, 16(1), 23–39.Patterson, R. (2022). Disability futurity seminar series,Carleton University Disability Research Group. Jour‐nal of Literary and Cultural Disability Studies, 16(1),115–119.Penketh, C. (2022). Historicising an ocularnormativefuture for art education. Journal of Literary and Cul‐tural Disability Studies, 16(1), 5–21.Quayson, A. (2007). Aesthetic nervousness: Disabilityand the crisis of representation. Columbia UniversityPress.Wendell, S. (1989). Toward a feminist theory of disability.Hypatia, 4(2), 104–124.Worthington, N. M. (2022). Disability futurity seminarseries, Liverpool Hope, Centre for Culture andDisabil‐ity Studies. Journal of Literary and Cultural DisabilityStudies, 16(1), 109–114.About the AuthorDavid Bolt is personal chair in disability studies and interdisciplinarity at Liverpool Hope University,where he is also director of the Centre for Culture and Disability Studies and the disability studiesMA programme. He is editor in chief of the Journal of Literary and Cultural Disability Studies, the bookseries editor of Autocritical Disability Studies, and joint book series editor of Literary Disability Studies.Social Inclusion, 2023, Volume 11, Issue 1, Pages 125–127 127

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Remnants of Community: What I Learned in the First Year of the Pandemic

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Social Inclusion (ISSN: 2183–2803)2023, Volume 11, Issue 1, Pages 125–127https://doi.org/10.17645/si.v11i1.6613CommentaryRemnants of Community: What I Learned in the First Year of the PandemicDavid BoltSchool of Social Sciences, Liverpool Hope University, UK; boltd@hope.ac.ukSubmitted: 15 December 2022 | Accepted: 15 December 2022 | Published: 17 January 2023AbstractThis commentary reflects briefly on 10 of the many lessons that defined the Covid‐19 pandemic. These reflections aretaken from one disabled person’s experience but resonate with many. As such they give a flavour of the thematic issue asa whole, while offering a highly personal contribution to the publication project.Keywordsableism; activism; coronavirus; disability; silencing; social changeIssueThis commentary is part of the issue “Disability and Social Inclusion: Lessons From the Pandemic” edited by Owen Barden(Liverpool Hope University), Laura Waite (Liverpool Hope University), Erin Pritchard (Liverpool Hope University), and AnaBê (Liverpool Hope University).© 2023 by the author(s); licensee Cogitatio (Lisbon, Portugal). This commentary is licensed under a Creative CommonsAttribution 4.0 International License (CC BY).Disability futurity is a concept that, in 2018, I adopted fora project in the Centre for Culture and Disability Studiesat Liverpool Hope University. Many internal and exter‐nal colleagues were ultimately involved (e.g., Murray,2022; Penketh, 2022) and the research followed vari‐ous directions in Canada and the UK (Patterson, 2022;Worthington, 2022). My starting point was an extrap‐olation from epistemology gained from disability, else‐where called cripistemology (Johnson & McRuer, 2014),as a knowledge base for a future in which increasedlife expectancy would bring about widespread depen‐dence on accessible technology and a true appreciationof interdependency. This prediction seemed a bit far‐fetched, as noted by some colleagues, and in all hon‐esty I was thinking decades down the line. Conversely,to explore my position I harked back to a cultural prod‐uct of 1957, Samuel Beckett’s Endgame, which reducedthe final phase of humanity to four disabled peoplewhose very existence relied on what remained of com‐munity (Beckett, 1957/1964; Bolt, 2021; Davidson, 2007;Quayson, 2007). These Beckettian ponderings acquiredpertinence when in March of 2020 I found myself, a lonedisabled figure, navigating the desolate landscape of theusually lively Liverpool suburb in which I had lived andworked for more than a decade. Any speculation I hadmade about disability futurity was consumed in that pri‐mal pandemic moment from which I could only learn.The first lesson I learned was that I was part of ahigh‐risk group. Because I have an autoimmune diseasecalled psoriatic arthritis, I take a disease‐modifying anti‐rheumatic drug,Methotrexate, whichworks by suppress‐ing my rogue immune system (Bolt, 2021). Panic led meto infer that my chronic disease might be preferable tothe treatment in the fearful context defined by the coro‐navirus. I figured I might be better off bearing the full,life‐changing force of arthritis (Felstiner, 2005), ratherthan rendering myself prone to the life‐threatening virusCovid‐19.My inferencewas far fromoriginal, as I realisedwhen I rang the rheumatology nurses to hear an answer‐machine message about being inundated with similarenquiries. The pre‐recorded advice was to keep takingthe tablets and “follow government guidelines.” Thispredicament worsened day by day with news of morecases and more deaths among which I could not helpnoticing a proliferation of references to the high‐riskgroup that embodied the very reason for lockdown.The second lesson was that eating out was not afool‐proof means of sustenance. I have an eye diseasecalled retinitis pigmentosa that has long since progressedto the point of sightlessness, which combines with mypsoriatic arthritis to complicate the preparation of all butthemost basic of meals. I had addressed this situation bymaking my way to a local eatery each day. In lockdown,however, I could only lament reliance on these short butSocial Inclusion, 2023, Volume 11, Issue 1, Pages 125–127 125regular visits for good food, drink, and exercise, not tomention community beyond work.The third lesson was that even huge supermarketchains could not necessarily provide timely supplies.Given that, apart from a fifteen‐minute walk each morn‐ing, I was self‐isolating, I required a shopping deliveryeachweek. However, it was thanks only tomy daughter’sdiligence, checking the websites throughout the day andinto the night, that I secured a delivery slot every thirdweek. I contacted one famously high‐end supermarketseveral times to explain that even before the pandemicI relied on deliveries for basic household items; alas, nei‐ther my manifest desperation nor years of custom car‐ried any weight at all.The fourth lesson pertained to unexpected sources ofsupport in the local community. One restaurant helpedme by setting up a tab, accepting orders via text mes‐sage, and agreeing to collect and deliver my prescriptioneach month; another, in between lockdowns, allowedme to eat outside set hours and settle the bill retrospec‐tively. Given that work had taken me away from familyand friends more than a decade earlier, and the univer‐sity around which I had structured my life was all butdeserted, it is no exaggeration to assert that a fewpeoplein the locality constituted a lifeline.The fifth lesson was that years of extended time oncampus had resulted in a far too basic workstation athome. I found myself working on a decade‐old laptopwith a poor internet connection, which meant I had noaccess to Zoom or anything similar. As such, during thefirst lockdown, in order to join meetings I had to ask ahelpful colleague to call me on the telephone, meaningI could just about listen in and be heard. No stranger toaccess issues, I felt rather outside some discussions butwas nonetheless glad of this substandard communication.The sixth lesson was about the extent to which avisual perspective was taken for granted (Jay, 1993).Shielding letters and other medical correspondenceaside, I was at a loss when my trusty laptop broke downand was deemed irreparable, which left me with nomeans of writing or reading. My institution loaned mea replacement, which was gratefully received but meantI had to learn how to use new versions of all the software,ranging from the operating system and screen‐readerto Word, Outlook, Chrome, and Zoom. This would havebeen difficult enough with sighted assistance but on myown it was frustrating to the extreme. Nevertheless, onmore than one occasion I was saved by a kind colleaguewho made the route to my house part of her daily exer‐cise allowance and stood outside my window just to lookin and tell me what was on my screen. This being so, insubsequent lockdowns it was necessary for me to meetand work face‐to‐face with my academic support worker,in what became known as a support bubble.The seventh lessonwas that someeducators deemedit impossible to teach studentswithout seeing their faces.This ocularnormative assertion was made by tutors whoencountered difficulties when giving sessions via Zoom.The issue was that many if not most students took toswitching off their cameras for the duration of taught ses‐sions. I discouraged this practice in my own classes, wellaware that visual cues and body languagewere helpful tomany people (Barthes, 1992). More concerning were thepedagogical implications for educators who teach with‐out seeing the faces of students as standard (Michalko,2001). Had the assertions of impossibility been followedby requests for experiential knowledge, there could havebeen productive connections; in the absence of suchdiscourse, the normative divide differentiated and dis‐tanced my understandings from those of others.The eighth lesson related to the fact that thedeserted pavements soon became cluttered withe‐scooters, as a result of a rental scheme endorsed bythe City Council. The pleasure principle was not loston me but the normative positivisms translated intonon‐normative negativisms. Where the main obstaclesonce were badly parked cars and unkempt trees, I nowneeded to beware of more random tests of patience.The e‐scooters seemed to take many forms, depend‐ing on how they were parked, and could turn up onjust about any pavement. More than being an obvioushazard, for a long‐cane user they proved disorientat‐ing when having to be stepped over or walked around.Although I never forget that disabled people’s knowledgetends to be dismissed as “complaining” (Wendell, 1989,p. 104), I did wonder what would happen if comparableobstacles became a feature on the roads. I knew for surethat, for the foreseeable future, I would need towalk at amarkedly slower pace to avoid sustaining serious injury.The ninth lesson pertained to haptic perception.Having recently started to use the long‐cane for mobil‐ity, after more than three decades of guide dogs, I wasbecoming increasingly aware that the human sense oftouch was indeed underrated (Classen, 2005). After all,I was learning fine details about the local environmentthat had previously passed me by. The trouble was thatin pandemic times all contact had become problematic.For instance, a banister that once reduced the hazard ofsteps or stairs was now a hazard in itself. This fear of con‐tagion extended to people, manifest in social distancing,which translated into anxieties if not guidelines about aperson who perceives by other than visual means tak‐ing someone’s arm when walking somewhere unfamiliaror busy.The tenth lesson was that, even though its spectrehad lurked at the back of my mind since childhood, thedeath of a parent is not something for which anyone canprepare. My father had been having varied and multiplecancer treatments for a few years and so was deemedclinically extremely vulnerable. Because we were both inhigh‐risk groups, I did not spend much time face‐to‐facewith him even between the lockdowns of 2020 and 2021.We had our final conversation via telephone, which mybrother made possible by ringing me from the hospital.Selfless and understated to the end, my father tried toput my mind at rest by saying he was okay. It seemedSocial Inclusion, 2023, Volume 11, Issue 1, Pages 125–127 126perplexing as much as upsetting that I was not there inperson and this unique mix of emotions persisted whenhe died a couple of days later. Despite the number oftimes I had rehearsed it in the dreadful corners of mymind, the bizarre reality was completely unexpected, forI donned my suit and attended my father’s funeral viathe laptop in my living room. Instead of being just fiftymiles away with my mother, brother, daughter, and therest of the tiny gathering allowed at the crematorium,I was joined by my academic support worker of only sixmonths, who silently and sensitively stood to one sidebutmade andmaintainedmy online connectionwith thefuneral service.Based on 12 months, from March 2020 to February2021, these lessons from the pandemic are indicative ofdozens more; they are profoundly personal but likely toresonatewith disabled people lucky enough to have livedto tell the tale. The lessons have been hard learned bya deflated if not defeated professor of disability studieswho, just a few years ago,was enthused about the idea ofa great tomorrow in which disabled people would shareknowledge and experience as a pivotal means of pro‐gressing society. Granted, in the first lockdown, I noticedsigns that predictions of such non‐normative positivismswere not just rhetorical, as disability was indeed recog‐nised as a knowledge base (Bolt, 2021). However, thesheer violence of pandemic categorisation ultimatelyemphasised the normative social order and deepenedthe normative divide. Deaths were announced in dailyif not hourly news reports with qualifying references tounderlying conditions, from which most people drew ahuge sense of relief. Moreover, the future to which wewere all meant to look was the new normal, somethingvery different from my non‐normative imaginings of dis‐ability futurity. What my ten lessons do demonstrate,though, is that in troubled times even remnants of com‐munity are vital.AcknowledgmentsThanks are due to Owen Barden and the rest of the aca‐demic editor’s for invitingme to contributewith this com‐ment to their thematic issue. In addition, Imust thankmyacademic support worker, Kay Ross, in particular for herhelp during the times to which I refer to in this text.Conflict of InterestsThe author declares no conflict of interests.ReferencesBarthes, R. (1992). The responsibility of forms: Criti‐cal essays on music, art and representation. BasilBlackwell.Beckett, S. (1964). Endgame. Faber and Faber. (Originalwork published 1957)Bolt, D. (Ed.). (2021). Metanarratives of disability: Cul‐ture, assumed authority, and the normative socialorder. Routledge.Classen, C. (Ed.). (2005). The book of touch. Berg.Davidson, M. (2007). “Every man his specialty”: Beck‐ett, disability, and dependence. Journal of Literaryand Cultural Disability Studies, 1(2). https://doi.org/10.3828/jlcds.1.2.7Felstiner, M. (2005). Out of joint: A private and publicstory of arthritis. University of Nebraska Press.Jay, M. (1993). Downcast eyes: The denigration of visionin twentieth‐century French thought. University ofCalifornia Press.Johnson, M. L., & McRuer, R. (2014). Introduction: Cripis‐temologies and the masturbating girl. Journal of Lit‐erary and Cultural Disability Studies, 8(3), 245–256.Michalko, R. (2001). Blindness enters the classroom. Dis‐ability & Society, 16(3), 349–359.Murray, S. (2022). Disability embodiment, speculative fic‐tion, and the testbed of futurity. Journal of Literaryand Cultural Disability Studies, 16(1), 23–39.Patterson, R. (2022). Disability futurity seminar series,Carleton University Disability Research Group. Jour‐nal of Literary and Cultural Disability Studies, 16(1),115–119.Penketh, C. (2022). Historicising an ocularnormativefuture for art education. Journal of Literary and Cul‐tural Disability Studies, 16(1), 5–21.Quayson, A. (2007). Aesthetic nervousness: Disabilityand the crisis of representation. Columbia UniversityPress.Wendell, S. (1989). Toward a feminist theory of disability.Hypatia, 4(2), 104–124.Worthington, N. M. (2022). Disability futurity seminarseries, Liverpool Hope, Centre for Culture andDisabil‐ity Studies. Journal of Literary and Cultural DisabilityStudies, 16(1), 109–114.About the AuthorDavid Bolt is personal chair in disability studies and interdisciplinarity at Liverpool Hope University,where he is also director of the Centre for Culture and Disability Studies and the disability studiesMA programme. He is editor in chief of the Journal of Literary and Cultural Disability Studies, the bookseries editor of Autocritical Disability Studies, and joint book series editor of Literary Disability Studies.Social Inclusion, 2023, Volume 11, Issue 1, Pages 125–127 127

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Remnants of Community: What I Learned in the First Year of the Pandemic

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