Leprosy, Heritage, and Art: Histories of Exile in a World Perspective

By Patrick Devlieger

Leprosy is an ancient disease that pertains to most all regions of the world at some point in time. In the Western context, it may be a disease of the far or recent past, while in some countries in Asia and Africa, the disease has still a lot of currency. Nowadays, the world seems to be starkly divided between parts of the world where it is mostly forgotten and a shame if it could not be forgotten. Away from the daily experience, leprosy becomes metaphorical, to refer to something repugnant. The dominant medical discourse is one that pertains to its final extermination, its disappearance, and to relegating the disease to the past. In this blog entry, I wish to evaluate some of the actors that pertain to preserving the history and legacy of leprosy, which leads me in the direction of colonial governance, religion, and especially the arts. Throughout the world, the recent history over the past 150 years can hardly be seen outside the colonial context, its governmental policies of segregation, the response of religions, and the arts. The modern context, according to Michel Foucault, established a relation between knowledge and the legitimation to remove people outside the society. Perhaps more than anything else, it is the arts that have an enduring impact on the way of remembering leprosy, and that capture most the weight of history and the enduring impact of its heritage. While medicine attempts to the disappearance, the arts continue to capture and challenge its existence.

Throughout the world, segregation practices were implemented in the 19 th century. They were quite different from the practices of medieval times that required that people with leprosy announced their presence with a clapper or a bell, before leper houses were established. One chronicler in the 13th century calculated the existence of some 12000 leper houses throughout Europe, for care and quarantine, and these were organized like convents and monasteries (Ashworth 2010). The segregation practices of the 19 th century included the exile of people with leprosy to islands or otherwise isolated areas, in the context of nations states and colonization. Famous examples are Kalaupapa, Sorok Island, Robben Island, and otherwise isolated areas such as the remote villages in China’s southwest, or some remote valleys, such as the Hemel en Aarde Vallei in South Africa’s Western Cape Province, or Anandwan in Maharashtra, India, or Yonda Leprosy Settlement in the Democratic Republic Congo. Such places were often places of heroic collaboration between government and Christian churches, but in some cases like Anandwan, also the ground of non-religious heroism. Its heroism however is always one of service.


“I guess I’m in between” A conversation with my mother about disability.

by Ylva Söderfeldt

“Disabilities? I don’t have any!” This is my mother making a joke when I asked her if I could interview her for the blog. She’s visiting from Sweden to hang out with her grandkids (and me), something she does often as she’s mostly retired from her work as a neurologist. My mother is a professor of neurology, holds an M.D. and a Ph. D., and still practices medicine sometimes. She has four children and seven grandchildren. Born in 1946, she belongs to the post-war generation and although she was quite busy raising children and building a career, she has also been a life-long activist. She is also hearing impaired since birth and now has a cochlear implant. I’m her youngest child, now a historian, and have focused on Deaf history for most of my career, a topic I got acquainted with through her. I wanted to talk with her about the many ways in which disability figures in our lives.

The thought I had was to have a conversation with you about disability from different perspectives.

Do you mean hearing impairments?

Yes, that would be one thing we could talk about. And there are different dimensions to that too, professional, personal…

Well, I realized at a very early age that I had reduced hearing. But to be honest, although I realized that there are many things I just can’t do, like singing, I never thought that it was a real obstacle. I just didn’t have that perspective. I think many others think like that: “I can’t do this because I’ve got this thing”. But I never thought that. Maybe because I did very well in school. I was better than the hearing kids! So maybe that immunized me from thinking that hearing is superior.

You mean you didn’t see it as a problem?

Yes I did see it as a problem. But I never thought that I couldn’t do the things I wanted. OK, I can’t do everything, I was never going to be a ballet dancer for instance, but those are all things I never wanted to do anyway. What I wanted to do, I could do. But it was harder for me than for others, that’s something I’ve realized now that I didn’t before. I had to work harder than other people.

I think everyone else realized that. I know we talk about it, among the siblings. “How did she do it?”

Yes, I realize now looking back that a lot was tough.

When I was little, you had hearing aids, and it’s a favorite anecdote of mine how I used to think I’d get them too when I got older, just like I’d get other things I associated with an adult woman: hearing aids, nail polish, heels… But you didn’t have hearing aids growing up.

No. And that’s a funny story because many disabled kids think their disabilities are going to go away when they grow up. But for you, it was the other way around. Anyway, I’ll tell you: I grew up in the administrative region that belonged to Örebro, and in the 1950’s, they were the most advanced in Sweden when it came to hearing impairments. They had a deaf school there that was very oral-focused, and the kids there were the ones with the most residual hearing, or who were deafened late. So maybe because of that, they were prominent and very modern in audiology, and there was a training facility. I lived in a small town so I didn’t have regular access to this, but I got sent to a summer school for hearing impaired children. I didn’t feel very at home there, I must say. But it made me aware of that Deaf people existed. Some were more deaf. We definitely didn’t sign or anything but a couple of the kids knew Sign Language. So I learned that it existed.
But I still thought, for a long time, that I was only mildly hearing impaired. But then, quite late, in my twenties, I had to realise that I was actually quite severely hearing impaired. And at the same time, it got worse. The high frequencies almost completely disappeared. When I was almost thirty, I got my first hearing aid. I think I had tried some on as a child but I never wore them before that. They weren’t that good back then. And my hearing was better.
So then I got my hearing aid and I did have some troble coming to terms with that at first. And so I got curious, what are my options if I can’t compensate for this with technology? And that’s how I started getting interested in Sign Language.

This was in the 1980’s, right?


Me and my mother in 1984

 So at that time, you were a doctor, you had been working for a few years. And it was also a time when all kinds of disability movements, not least the Deaf movement, really took off and were quite radical. Was that part of the attraction?

Oh yes absolutely. The way that it happened was, there was this organization for deaf and hearing impaired people who didn’t sign, it was called “Höreselfrämjandet”, which means something like “Pro-Hearing”. And I thought that was so stupid! So I wrote something about it, for their paper. And then lots of people contacted me, younger people, my age and younger, who liked what I’d written. And then I suddenly had a new network. I started to connect more with deaf people, went to Sign Language classes, and joined the Deaf club where we lived. And you know I was part of this little group that made the paper. [In the late eighties and early nineties, she was one of the people behind a fanzine-type publication for hearing impaired people with a left-wing profile].
But I never got very good at Sign Language. And I don’t know why.

You can’t have been that bad. I remember you had interpreters.

Yes but that was more Signed Swedish. And I understand better than I sign. I think it was just too much, in my life at that point. I couldn’t go all-in.

Yes, you had lots of children at home in the 1980s. 

Yes I did! But I also chose not to go all-in, because I knew, this is a special world, and I don’t want to live in the Deaf world full-time. I didn’t want to make that transition.

Did you think of that as a choice you made?

Yes, that was a choice. Some people I knew, who had a similar background, they chose to go the other way. I’m not really in touch with them any more.

What I’ve thought about is that the disability rights movement, including the Deaf, they were in opposition to the medical model, and one of the main confrontations was with the medical sphere. 

Yes, and that was another thing, when the cochlear implants came, I reacted against that. So that was one of the issues that also brought me there, that I didn’t agree with the ideology behind that, and I still don’t. Even though I have an implant now.

But at the same time, I think if I’d ask you, as what do you identify? My guess is that your first answer would be “as a physician”. You have a very strong identification with your profession. 

Yes I do! My identity as a physician is very strong. But I had an education in behavioral science as well. And that helped me at the same time to have a more critical view of medicine.

Were there any conflicts though, with people you met in the Deaf movement, and your identification with medicine?

No. I think the opposite. People liked it, that there was a doctor who were on their side. And I also met some people with the same situation, in the United States, who were physicians and Deaf. And that was important to me. They were even more deaf than me, biologically and socially. So I never felt that was a conflict.

How about the way the experience in the disability sphere influenced you professionally? I mean obviously it did, you did a Ph.D. about neuroimaging of Sign Language.

The research I did, that was mostly because I wanted to finish what I’d started before going to medical school, when I studied psychology. Doing a Ph. D. in psychology, which happened to be about Sign Language, was a way to finish that. And the best thing that came out of that was that I got into working with neuro-functional methods, and I’ve kept doing that.. But in the clinic, I never wanted to work with deafness. There are people, you know, paraplegic doctors who work with spinal injuries. I never felt attracted to doing that, working in the rehabilitation or anything. But think I do have a more nuanced view than some colleagues, on what it means to live with a disability. And I had to work harder.
But I don’t want to complain. You should see this facebook group I’m in, for hearing impaired people, they complain a lot! [She starts telling an anecdote about what gets posted there.]

I’ve heard you joke about hearing and deafness a lot over the years. Maybe we shouldn’t do that in a public forum! 

Well but you know within any group it’s ok to joke about ourselves, isn’t it? But in terms of groups, I don’t know which one I belong to. I guess I’m in between. That has it’s own charm!

Recommended Citation: 
Ylva Söderfeldt (2017): “I guess I’m in between” A conversation with my mother about disability. In: Public Disability History 2 (2017) 9.


Futures of able-bodiedness: The dance performance THIS THING I AM

By Martin Nachbar, choreographer
Translated by Ylva Söderfeldt

On December 7, 2016 my team (consisting of dancers Lisa Densem, Sunniva Vikor Egenes, and Benni Pohlig, the lighting designer Bruno Pocheron, costume designer Marion Montel, and the producer Susanne Beyer) and I celebrated the premiere of a dance performance that approaches the subject matter ‘cyborgs’. “This thing I am” is my latest production and will be performed again in a modified version on June 17 and 18 in the Sophiensaelen in Berlin. Because our budget didn’t allow us to actually work on the interface between bodies and technology, I instead focused on two aspects that are technological and fantastic even though they don’t involve proper cyborg technology:

First, we worked with the fact that we as humans have always used different techniques in order to be in the world and survive day by day. Through practice and repetition, numerous of these so-called body techniques are stored within our bodies, allowing us to relate to our environments. One of the most ancient, most pervasive, and therefore perhaps least conscious body techniques is walking. Most of us learn it as infants, through imitation and months of trial-and-error. Walking is a useful example not least because it readily refers to the wide range of possibilities of modifying a body techniques by external means: shoes, crutches, prostheses, wheelchairs – extensions like these also extend the concept and perception of walking as a body technique.

This leads to the second aspect of our work with “This Thing I am”. One of the core features of dance is that it experiments with human body techniques and in doing so enhances and extends the awareness of the body and its surroundings. To a great extent, these processes have an open end. They do not strive towards greater efficiency in order to get ahead in the evolutionary struggle for survival, but explore the leeway offered in action and perception. 

Photo: Dieter Hartwig
This, in turn, means that the imaginary always matters in dance. How does our perception open itself up to a still unknown future? This is the question that our contemporary technologies pose to us, to our changing bodies and our existence in a changing world. This is science fiction, not as u- or dys-topia, but as a sensitive and open play with what is yet to come.

Based on these considerations, we focused on three methods when rehearsing the piece: First, the work with the connective tissue within the bodies of the three dancers. This tissue type has gained increasing attention through the recent popularity of therapeutic and diagnostic methods such as osteopathy and certain types of manual therapy. The connective tissue rests underneath the skin, envelopes muscular fibres, in shape of tendons connect bone with muscle, keeps organs in their places, and thus forms a network throughout the entire body. If we were to extract everything but the connective tissue, we would still be able to recognize the shape of our body, inside and out. Furthermore, the fascia tissue harbors most of our proprioceptors, the sensory receptors that detect the position of our body parts in relation to each other and our position in space. These receptors are found adjoining most acupuncture spots of Eastern medicine, and they react positively to the insertion and slight twist of the needle by which the tissue is minimally wrought. The fascia also reacts to manual touch. During rehearsals, two of the dancers often attempted to put the third dancer’s fascia into motion as a way to make them aware of it.

Photo: Dieter Hartwig
In an increasingly dynamic process, this turned into trio improvisations, and finally choreographies that evoke the feeling and image of three bodies connected in an invisible network. In rehearsals, the dancers spoke of future surgical procedures without cuts and scars, and of the sense of an inner and outer network connecting what’s inside the body with what’s surrounding it. We did not necessarily invent new movements or body techniques. Rather, and that was most important to me, we sharpened the way in which we perceive bodies and the way that they already are connected without technological enhancement. This is the foundation of almost all movement in the piece.

The second method was fictional storytelling. I asked the dancers to imagine an event in their lives that made them into cyborgs. Each of their stories refers to physical alterations that make the contemporary body an extraordinary body in a different time. The result was versions of science fiction that reflected the individual knowledge, wishes, hopes and fears of each dancer. The mental figure was the word “once”, which directs us both into the past and the future. Benjamin Pohlig, for example, relates how he hacked the memory hard- and software of big insurance companies in order to regain control over his own recollection, but then kept getting further and further lost in the Memory Cloud. 

Photo: Dieter Hartwig
Sunniva Vikor Egenes tells us about how she lost her job as a musical performer after cyborgs literally stole the show with their enhanced features. She then goes on to learn new body techniques, which unexpectedly give her a wonderful singing voice.

Photo: Dieter Hartwig
And, finally, Lisa Densem fantasizes about having her consciousness overwhelmed by the injection of a micro-machine that operates on neuronal levels and infiltrates the chemistry of the brain. The micro-machines allow for new connections in the brain and for enhanced abilities to verbalize experience. The process leaves her in a state of constant immersion in the experience, full of complexity and detail but without a sense of time or a way to verbalize it. In the end, she says, “There are things I cannot communicate. There are things I know which you would not be able to think. I have seen things. Sometimes I try to ignore this knowledge. I like to play myself as I used to be, but then I am overcome by guilt and a sense of responsibility. That is why we are here.”

Photo: Dieter Hartwig
This kind of limbo is not the purpose of current efforts within cyborg- and AI-technology. Quite contrary, the involved companies and military organizations want to gain as much financial and strategic advantages as possible for the neoliberal and martial struggle for survival. This is their prerogative. But let’s remind ourselves what dance can make us aware of, and what the cultural theorist Karin Harrasser has repeatedly pointed out: body experiments are always open-ended, since we can never predict with any certainty what technological body enhancement will make possible, and what a body will do with its enhancements.

That we humans, and now I return to the issue of walking, use our hands the way we do results according to some anthropologists from the fact that the bipedal walk freed the hands for other tasks. Evolutionary biologists also see a connection between speech and upright walking, as gravity pulled the larynx down in our throat, making room for the complex oral anatomy needed for speaking. Had the early hominids been confronted with the vast possibilities of their voices and hands, they would probably not have dared to make those first steps.

This leads me to the final method from the rehearsal process. In mime corporel, which is a physical acting technique and not intended for dance, the so-called “point fixe” is an important component. It consists of fixating a hand in space as if it were holding on to a pole or supported by a wall, and then letting the body move around this fixed point, without moving the hand. In mime corporel this serves to create the illusion of an object. 

Photo: Dieter Hartwig
We also worked with “point fixe”, but not to create imaginary objects, but in order to explore and question how hands are connected to bodies. There is already discussion around whether children should still learn to write by hand, when they in the future will surely be writing on keyboards, if at all. So, what will hands be good for in the future? Maybe they will remain only as relics of an earlier design, only to facilitate the transfer from the manual to the next era, when we’ll use them only for gesture and, as the Deaf already do, for language.

What this is going to be like we can only surmise. I imagine it will be exciting to program an app using gesture, and to also use the app by this means. Instead of crouching over the smartphones in our hands, using our thumbs to navigate, we’d see the data with inner eyes, and operate it with gesture. We will see wild and connected choreographies in the streets, every step, each gesture could be directed towards an app, or a passer-by. Every pedestrian would become a dancer and thus a kind of researcher that experiments with the possibilities of their body within an open network with other experimenting bodies.

Photo: Dieter Hartwig
See the entire performance here: https://vimeo.com/198805877
Martin Nachbar is a choreographer based in Berlin.

Recommended Citation:
Martin Nachbar (2017): Futures of able-bodiedness: The dance performance THIS THING I AM. In: Public Disability History 2 (2017) 8.


Does Public Disability History Need a Cultural Model of Disability?

by Anne Waldschmidt, University of Cologne

Until today, efforts to develop a cultural model of disability have been rare. However, in parallel with the development of the social model and its critical discussion and partly independent of it, during the past decades we have witnessed an increase in cultural studies with regard to disability. We can already identify cultural disability studies as an innovative and prolific research field carried out in the humanities (see for example Waldschmidt et al. 2017). Yet, it is striking that in contrast to the social model of disability, which is often accused of dogmatism, the field of cultural disability studies still looks more like a patchwork quilt. The latter has not yet found to unique contours, despite an ongoing discussion on the implications of culture for disability constructions.

The National Gallery architecture and Alison Lapper sculpture at Trafalgar Square, London, UK. Ph: CGP Grey
As early as 1994, Tom Shakespeare called for a stronger perception of cultural representations of disabled people. Inspired by feminist debates and discussing different theories, he suggested "that disabled people are 'objectified' by cultural representations" (287), under which he subsumed theatre, literature, paintings, films and the media. In the following years, prominent scholars in the Anglo-Saxon world such as Lennard J. Davis, Rosemarie Garland-Thomson, Robert McRuer, David T. Mitchell and Sharon L. Snyder, Margrit Shildrick, Tobin Siebers, Shelley Tremain and others, published a great variety of cultural and literary analyses showing the wealth and productivity of treating "disability as a cultural trope" (Garland-Thomson 2002: 2). In 2006, Snyder and Mitchell explicitly introduced a "cultural model of disability," but they defined it narrowly as an approach that was primarily associated with US-American Disability Studies. In introducing the phrase "cultural locations of disability," referring to "sites of violence, restriction, confinement, and absence of liberty for people with disabilities" (Snyder and Mitchell 2006: x), they offered a tool for interdisciplinary works on disability within and beyond cultural studies.

Additionally, some scholars have argued for the usefulness of a cultural model of disability to study intersections between migration, ethnicity, 'race' and disability. In 2005 Patrick J. Devlieger, who teaches cultural anthropology in Leuven (Belgium), pleaded, following Foucault, Derrida and Marx, and focussing on communication and cultural diversity, for a dialectical cultural model (see also Devlieger et al. 2016). Recent works in postcolonial studies ask the question "of how disability is figured in the global, postcolonial history of the modern" and aim "to highlight specific located examples of disability in cultural contexts" (Barker and Murray 2003: 65). Meanwhile, the cultural model of disability has also been acknowledged in religious studies as a 'key term.' In this context, Nyasha Junior and Jeremy Schipper (2013: 35) define it as an approach that analyses "how a culture's representations and discussions of disability (and nondisability or able-bodiedness) help to articulate a range of values, ideals, or expectations that are important to that culture's organization and identity." Disability History, however, has not yet witnessed the development of a cultural model of disability that takes into account the intersections of culture, history and society, although there are attempts that aim at conceptualising this field of research with respect to cultural studies (see Bösl et al. 2010; Barsch et al. 2013).

Generally speaking, we can state that there is an ongoing reflection on the strengths of a cultural approach to disability. At the same time, however, the respective 'model' still seems to have rather blurred features. Further, the debate tends to reproduce the dominance of English speaking disability studies and overlooks contributions from other countries, such as the longstanding works of French philosopher Henri-Jacques Stiker. With regard to Germany, both the interdisciplinary book series "Disability Studies," published since 2007 by Transcript, and the Edinburgh German Yearbook's fourth volume on disability in German literature, film, and theatre from 2010 show a great wealth of works drawing on a cultural studies approach. The editors of the yearbook, Eleoma Joshua and Michael Schillmeier (2010), define the cultural model as "the analysis of the representations of disabled people in the cultural spaces of art, media, and literature" (5) and even speak of a "cultural turn" in disability studies (4).

It is beyond the scope of this essay to discuss these different proposals extensively. Instead, I want to sketch my own approach. Based on contributions published in 2005 and 2012, the latter together with Werner Schneider, I develop a cultural model of disability for the purpose of providing a joint framework for the already numerously existing contributions that analyse disability with the help of methodologies and approaches originating from cultural studies (see also Waldschmidt 2017). My intention is not to suggest that a cultural model should replace the social model of disability. Rather, critical disability studies, including disability history, should acknowledge that disability is both socially and culturally constructed.

What is the core of a cultural model of disability? My main point is that such a cultural model needs to reflect first of all its own understanding of culture. As both a social practice and an analytical category, culture does not only imply cultural activities in the narrow sense, be it so-called high culture or popular culture. Instead, for innovative research it is much more productive to apply a broad conception of culture that denotes the totality of 'things' created and employed by a particular people or a society at a given time in history, be they material or immaterial: objects and instruments, institutions and organisations, ideas and knowledge, symbols and values, meanings and interpretations, narratives and histories, traditions, rituals and customs, social behaviour, attitudes and identities. In this sense the public sphere, be it the public opinion, the public interest, public awareness or any other form of 'res publica,' is ultimately part of the culture of a given society. Hence, if we are going public, for example, in the streets or via social media, we are 'doing culture' in some way or other.In my opinion, if we were to use such a general understanding of culture, a cultural model of disability would not be dismissed as focalising only symbols and meanings, but could broaden our analytical perspective to investigate the relations between symbolic (knowledge) systems, categorization and institutionalisation processes, material artefacts, practices and 'ways of doing things,' and their consequences for persons with and without disabilities, their social positions, relations and ways of subjectivation. Thus, such a cultural disability model differs from other approaches in important aspects: It considers disability neither – as in the individualistic-reductionist model of disability – only as an individual fate nor – as in the social model – as merely an effect of discrimination and exclusion. Rather, this model questions the other side of the coin, the commonly unchallenged 'normality,' and investigates how practices of (de-)normalization result in the social category we have come to call 'disability.' The cultural model of disability implies a fundamental change of the epistemological perspective, since it does not deal with the margin but rather with the 'centre' of society. Against this background, 'doing public disability history' means not only to confront the wider public with disabled persons' perspectives, but to inspire critical self-reflections of those who consider themselves 'non-disabled' and to stimulate a public debate about what it means to be 'normal.'

Recommended Citation:
Anne Waldschmidt (2017): Does Public Disability History Need a Cultural Model of Disability?. In: Public Disability History 2 (2017) 7.

Barker, Clare and Stuart Murray. "Disabling Postcolonialism: Global Disability Cultures and Democratic Criticism." The Disability Studies Reader. Ed. Lennard J. Davis. New York, Milton Park: Routledge, 2013 (4th ed.). 61-73.
Barsch, Sebastian, Anne Klein and Peter Verstraete (eds.) The Imperfect Historian: Disability Histories in Europe. Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 2013.
Bösl, Elsbeth, Anne Klein and Anne Waldschmidt (eds.). Disability History: Konstruktionen von Behinderung in der Geschichte. Eine Einführung. Bielefeld: transcript, 2010.
Devlieger, Patrick J. "Generating a Cultural Model of Disability." Paper presented at the 19th Congress of the European Federation of Associations of Teachers of the Deaf (FEAPDA), October 14-16, 2005. Accessed 02 June 2011 under: <http://feapda.org/Geneva%20Files/culturalmodelofdisability.pdf>.
Devlieger, Patrick, Beatriz Miranda-Galarza, Steven E. Brown and Megan Strickfaden (eds.). Rethinking Disability. World Perspectives in Culture and Society. Antwerp-Appeldorn: Garant, 2016.
Ellis, Katie. Disability and Popular Culture: Focusing Passion, Creating Community and Expressing Defiance. Farnham: Ashgate, 2015.
Garland-Thomson, Rosemarie. "Integrating Disability, Transforming Feminist Theory." Feminist Disability Studies. NWSA Journal 14.3 (2002). 1-32. Accessed 25 Feb. 2013 under: <http://www.jstor.org/stable/4316922>.
Joshua, Eleoma and Michael Schillmeier. "Introduction." Disability in German Literature, Film, and Theater. Edinburgh German Yearbook. Volume 4. Rochester, New York: Camden House, 2010. 1-13.
Junior, Nyasha and Jeremy Schipper. "Disability Studies and the Bible." New Meanings for Ancient Texts: Recent Approaches to Biblical Criticisms and Their Applications. Eds. Steven L. McKenzie and John Kaltner. Westminster: John Knox Press, 2013. 21-37.
Schneider, Werner and Anne Waldschmidt. "Disability Studies: (Nicht-)Behinderung Anders Denken." Kultur. Von den Cultural Studies bis zu den Visual Studies: Eine Einführung. Ed. Stephan Moebius. Bielefeld: transcript, 2012. 128-150.
Shakespeare, Tom. "Cultural Representation of Disabled People: Dustbins for Disavowal?" Disability & Society 9.3 (1994). 283-299.
Snyder, Sharon L. and David T. Mitchell. Cultural Locations of Disability. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2006.
Waldschmidt, Anne. "Disability Studies: Individuelles, soziales und/oder kulturelles Modell von Behinderung?" Psychologie & Gesellschaftskritik 29.1. (2005). 9-31.
Waldschmidt, Anne. "Disability Goes Cultural: The Cultural Model of Disability as an Analytical Tool." Culture – Theory – Disability: Encounters between Disability Studies and Cultural Studies. Eds. Anne Waldschmidt, Hanjo Berressem and Moritz Ingwersen. Bielefeld: transcript, 2017. 19-27. Accessed 22 March 2017 under: <http://www.transcript-verlag.de/media/pdf/c3518f77daff835d007919eeac733c3a.pdf>.
Waldschmidt, Anne, Hanjo Berressem and Moritz Ingwersen (eds.). Culture – Theory – Disability: Encounters between Disability Studies and Cultural Studies. Bielefeld: transcript, 2017.
International Research Unit in Disability Studies at the University of Cologne, Germany: http://idis-eng.uni-koeln.de/
Waldschmidt, Anne, Hanjo Berressem and Moritz Ingwersen (eds.). Culture – Theory – Disability: Encounters between Disability Studies and Cultural Studies. Bielefeld: transcript, 2017. ISBN 978-3-8394-2533-6 (open access) https://www.degruyter.com/viewbooktoc/product/430191