I’ll never play pool at the White Water Tavern I’ll never join you upstairs for a beer. It don’t matter that they shout from the rafters That all sorts of heathens are welcome here There’s things I can’t do in this world, I know And I don’t blame nobody at all But I just want a seat at that proverbial table As I limp across the floor of this old dance hall A building’s history is set into its stone It’s beams tell the stories of age But if history excluded those who cannot Tell me, who can stand on your stage? What about cripplepunks in cowboy boots Just there to hear a song? Is the inclusion you shout for actually complete? Are you willing to admit you’re wrong? Is it solidarity forever Until they think you’ll slow them down? Are certain slurs still acceptable When you think no one’s around? Now, I don’t have all the answers And I’m not saying that you’re to blame But if we do this it must be together You must be willing to say my name.
I am disabled. I walk with the aid of a forearm crutch, and occasionally use a wheelchair if the event or my pain tolerance demands it. I also love going to music shows and concerts. The cross section of these two facts is an interesting one. You’d be amazed at how many small, local venues pride themselves on being old and kinda decrepit. This doesn’t lend itself to accessability and it suuuuuucks.
Now, I’m about to lay out some facts about one of my favorite places to see music: the White Water Tavern in Little Rock, AR. I love this place. It’s got a great vibe. But is it accessible? Meh. You can techinally come in if you’re in a wheelchair. You have to use the ramp out back that they use for sound equipment and such. Okay. But the last time I was the White Water, I arrived early because a really cool market was going to happen before/during the show and I was excited for it! There would be local art and a photographer make tintype photos! How cool is that? I figured they would just set up outside in the not-quite-a-parking-lot area that’s right in front of the building. But no.
Ya see, the White Water Tavern is two stories. To get to the second floor, where the pool tables are, you have to climb a kinda rickety set of stairs. And that’s where they held the market. Upstairs with the pool tables. So there me and my friend were: way too early for the show and just standing around twiddling our thumbs, unable to partake in the festivities.
I hesitate to post this poem or make this post at all, because people hold these sort of buildings as sacred. “Of course the White Water Tavern is barely accessible!” “It’s super old! Nothing was accessible back in those days!”
Way to tell on yourself without meaning to. It’s true: a hundred years ago pretty much nothing about life was accessible. If you were in a wheelchair or used some sort of mobility aid you were out of luck. You certainly weren’t going to be going out on the town and expecting to do so easily. Because disabled people were a different class of citizen. They had no legal protections, so nobody really accomodated them. That’s kinda crappy, isn’t it? So why do we venerate a building from the age where not everyone was welcome?
They make a big deal at the White Water that it was a place where blacks and whites would congregate together, even back in the days before integration. It’s part of the building’s history. But even then the very structure of the building was one that kept the disabled at an arm’s length, if not out all together.
Why does an exclusionary space get to be sacred? I’m not suggesting that we tear it down and replace it with a characterless box with ramps and handrails and elevators. It doesn’t have to be one or the other. Does my ideal version of the White Water Tavern include tearing down the old one? Maybe. But I don’t hold to the fact that the beams and slats that make up the building are what make it special. If it’s so sacred, let’s call it a church? And you know what I’ve heard allllll my life? The church isn’t the building. It’s the people. So are all the people welcome?
What really frustrated me enough to write this poem and this post was that the fact that the bands I saw when I was at the White Water last made sure to speak out when they had the mics. They spoke of “ending injustice” and “inclusion for everyone.” They literally went on and on about how capitalism is evil and that equality was vital. They listed minorities that needed their rights defended. While leaving out on particular group… They said it all on a stage that had no ramp (a physically disabled performer is obviously not welcome there), next to an old staircase that was the only way to partake in half the night’s festivities, in a building where if you were in a wheelchair you had to roll in via the ramp they roll the trash down.
I absolutely love the artists that were performing and I know in my heart of hearts that they have honorable intentions. But man. Existing while disabled is rough and every time people choose old buildings over inclusion, the disabled community hears what your actions are saying.
Thanks for making me look at this in a different way than I had before. I can't remember where I heard this, but it's appropriate here, "You can't find the answer, if you don't ask the question."
I found you through Corey Ryan Forester. I like your Substack.