«I stand staring at myself in my dad's mirror for maybe twenty minutes. I don't understand. I think I'm pretty. Why don't other people see what I see?» So asks thirteen-year-old Maleeka, the protagonist of The Skin I'm In by Sharon G. Flake (translated by Maria Bastanzetti, Giunti 2021). Indeed, why? And what exactly do we see when we look?
A few days ago, my mother handed me a magazine clipping she'd been saving for me: an advertisement for a fashion brand featuring a model with Down syndrome. I'd passed that same ad on the street before, but I hadn't noticed the extra chromosome in one of the young women pictured. Had I seen too much, or not enough? Was I simply a careless observer, or had I shown a truly rich understanding of what normal means?
On Twitter, Melissa Blake, an American journalist and model whose appearance is shaped by a rare genetic condition (Freeman-Sheldon syndrome), posts a selfie every day, claiming her right to be as she is, and to be seen for exactly who she is. She has endured many cruelties, including a vicious TikTok campaign in which parents filmed their children's reactions to photographs of people with disabilities, presented to them as potential new teachers.
«Look at me—this is who I am» is the theme of our focus. It is the phrase a person with disability must first say to herself (Laura Coccia); it is what the fragile person asks of those closest to her—a parent, a sibling—not always in words but always in need (Giorgia Fontani); it is the plea that photographer Christian Tasso heard from his subjects as he traveled the world, from Africa to Europe, from the Americas to Asia (Enrica Riera); it is, finally, the right that vanishes when disability is erased, when we are allowed to look away and pretend it doesn't trouble our sight (Vittore Mariani). The articles gathered here are merely a pebble. Do we dare trigger the avalanche? Can we testify that it is truly possible to see the people we encounter?