Struggling with sameness and strangeness: (Non)-encounters between people with and without intellectual disabilities in two Dutch neighbourhoods

ABSTRACT

Background

In the debate on the social inclusion of people with intellectual disabilities, we find various proposals for dealing with sameness and difference. A more inclusive understanding of difference is needed to ensure that the perspectives of people with intellectual disabilities are taken into account.

Method

This study involved in-depth interviews with 25 individuals with intellectual disabilities, 24 people without disabilities, and 15 professionals; and observations in neighbourhood projects.

Results

Facilitating convivial encounters is a promising way of engaging with difference and an interesting alternative to “othering,” “similarising,” or “romanticising difference.”

Conclusions

Convivial encounters do not promote sameness or difference; instead, they allow groups to jointly develop transient shared identifications. In community projects, sameness and difference can be reinvented so that people can engage with difference in an enriching way. Therefore, convivial encounters, especially when organised, can be seen as a new framing of the ideal of social inclusion.

KEYWORDS:

• Social inclusion
• convivial encounters
• neighbouring
• intellectual disability
• difference

Social inclusion is a leading goal of policy and practice in care for people with intellectual disabilities. The way social inclusion is understood, often as a normative and ideological ideal (Cummins & Lau, 2003; Soldatic et al., 2019, p. 1), has been widely debated and has major implications for its implementation. Similarly, there are differing views on ways of dealing with the differences of people with intellectual disabilities (Meininger, 2010; Soldatic et al., 2019; Stiker, 1999).

In this debate, scholars, self-advocacy bodies, and disability rights organisations have made a strong case for the fundamental equality of all people, regardless of their disabilities (Chapman, 2014; Carey, 2009, pp. 134–159). This was a marked reaction against the practice of institutionalising people with intellectual disabilities, which was common up to the 1960s. An intellectual disability has been used to categorise people as abnormal and deviant. With his critique of the asylum as a “total institution,” Goffman (1963) states that institutions turn normal people like us into patients unlike us. That attitude leaves people with intellectual disabilities defined as “non-humans,” “non-persons” (Bogdan & Taylor, 1989), or “not quite human” (Goffman, 1963, p. 5; see also Bigby et al., 2015). This process of negative categorising – which occurred both during institutionalisation and afterwards – is also known as “othering” (Johnson et al., 2004; Young, 1990, p. 60).

The critique of the dehumanisation of people with intellectual disabilities in institutions gave rise to the deinstitutionalisation and normalisation movement, in which “equality” became the basis for social inclusion (Nirje, 1985; Wolfensberger, 1972). This movement advocates for people with intellectual disabilities as human beings who deserve to be empowered to fulfil valued roles in society (Taylor & Bogdan, 1989; Bigby et al., 2015, p. 285; Nirje, 1985). In this way, people can enjoy social relationships and participate in mainstream society, making use of the facilities and services available to others in the community (Simplican et al., 2015). To be included is to participate fully and live a “normal” life. An ideal of “sameness” is thus promoted in pursuit of equality.

However, research shows that social inclusion on the basis of normalisation – in which sameness is emphasised – is difficult to achieve. People with intellectual disabilities are present in the community, but their community participation is limited. Their contacts are usually limited to family members, other people with intellectual disabilities, and support staff (Bigby, 2008; Forrester-Jones et al., 2006). Indeed, people with and without intellectual disabilities seem to act as relative “strangers” to one another, living segregated from one another (e.g., Bos, 2016; Meininger, 2008, 2010; Stiker, 1999).

Accounts of social inclusion based on normalisation have become tainted with controversy as such accounts fail to consider what to do when people cannot live up to the norm of “normalcy.” Over the years it has been questioned why normative ideals seem to be set solely by people without intellectual disabilities. Furthermore, there were concerns that normalisation implied changing and “normalising” an individual’s differences, requiring them to conform in order to gain acceptance (Culham & Nind, 2003; Cummins & Lau, 2003; Hall, 2004; Meininger, 2010; Oliver, 1993; Simplican & Leader, 2015).

Much of the criticism of normalisation stemmed from the emergence of the social model of disability (Culham & Nind, 2003, p. 68). Nirje and Wolfensberger both were sensitive to this criticism and sought to disassociate their models from it; Nirje (1985) by stating that normalisation did not mean that people should be “normalised,” but that normalisation meant the acceptance of person with disabilities within “normal” society (pp. 69–70) and Wolfensberger by abandoning the term normalisation and adopting the term social role valorisation (Wolfensberger, 1983) (see also Culham & Nind, 2003).

Although the founders of normalisation were sensitive to this criticism of the denial of difference, it remains a point of criticism. Stiker (1999) states that “society’s wish is to make people with intellectual disabilities identical, without making equal” (p. 151) and pleas for a discourse in which societies bring difference back to the norm. Hall (2004) found that a significant number of people with intellectual disabilities lack the desire or ability to reach the standards set by social inclusion policy. In that context, Meininger (2010) states that “a re-conceptualisation of social integration is very much needed” (p. 192), inviting the inclusion of the ideals of people with intellectual disabilities themselves. These scholars argue that, to achieve equity, differences related to the intellectual disabilities must be taken into account.

Various scholars studying the lives of people with intellectual disabilities have acknowledged the potential of “convivial encounters” for promoting social inclusion. They argue that convivial encounters provide a way of engaging with difference without seeking to eliminate difference (e.g., Bigby & Wiesel, 2011, 2015, 2019; Bould et al., 2018; Bredewold et al., 2016b, 2019; Simplican et al., 2015; Wiesel et al., 2013: Wiesel & Bigby, 2014, 2016). These scholars consider “convivial encounters” – fleeting or more sustained interactions in public places such as streets, squares and parks and in semi-public places such as libraries, community centres or community groups (Fincher & Iveson, 2008) – to fall between passive community presence and fully-fledged relationships (Bigby & Wiesel, 2011). Related to the discussion of managing difference, convivial encounters could be seen as a valuable response to the ideal of social inclusion: leaving room for difference and teaching people to deal with the feelings of discomfort that may come with it.

In this article, we investigate whether convivial encounters can provide another way of “engaging with difference,” without setting people aside because of their difference (othering) or seeking to erase this difference (similarising). In this way, we can contribute to the debate on convivial encounters and the social inclusion of people with intellectual disabilities.

Convivial encounters and managing difference

Recently, Australian researchers (Bigby & Wiesel, 2011, 2015, 2019; Wiesel et al., 2013: Wiesel & Bigby, 2014, 2016) advocated a new direction for the investigation of contact between people with and without intellectual disabilities. These researchers argue that much previous research has been inspired by a nostalgic vision of community, characterised by shared values, familiarity, and long-lasting relationships. They state that, in modern urban life, it is much more feasible to strive for “convivial encounters,” as described by Fincher and Iveson (2008). Fincher and Iveson (2008) take a convivial encounter to be

more than the free mingling of people in large public squares and spaces. It is more than the apparently aimless wandering of the flaneur, being pleasant to those strangers he may see. Rather, these encounters have a certain intent namely meeting people who are different, but without the idea to become a homogenous group (p. 154)

Thus, Fincher and Iveson argue that convivial encounters may contribute to conviviality in urban life, encouraging social exchange between people who normally do not meet, and they could therefore be seen as a way of engaging and living with difference. Moreover, they state that people do not need to be reduced to fixed identity categories, either as citizens or group members. They argue that convivial encounters provide opportunities “to step outside a fixed identity” and “explore more transient shared identifications between people who meet” (Fincher & Iveson, 2008, p. 159). They emphasise that there must be room for difference: people do not need to be the same and must rather be enabled to jointly develop transient shared identifications.

Bigby and Wiesel (2019) recently synthesised their own comprehensive empirical studies on convivial encounters and reviewed recent research of others who had taken up a similar lens (e.g., Bould et al., 2018; Bredewold et al., 2016b, 2019; Simplican & Leader, 2015). They conclude that such encounters are an important means of managing difference because they enable people to interact. They state that

through numerous convivial encounters between people with and without intellectual disabilities, a convivial culture could potentially develop, where intellectual disabilities are no longer “insuperable problems of communication” across social differences and connections with other people are forged over more transient, everyday shared identification. (Bigby & Wiesel, 2019, p. 48)

However, relying on recent research (e.g., Bigby & Wiesel, 2011, 2015, 2019; Bredewold et al., 2016b, 2019; Wiesel et al., 2013: Wiesel & Bigby, 2014, 2016), they also conclude that simply being on the street does not automatically lead to encounters and, furthermore, encounters are not always positive. When synthesising the studies on convivial encounters, the authors found evidence of “exclusionary encounters” in which people with disabilities were ignored, laughed at, bullied, or met with impatience, fear, and condescension (Bigby & Wiesel, 2019, p. 43). They state that there are also many “non-encounters,” in which people share a space or bump into one another without any interaction, including a fleeting exchange or sign of recognition (Bigby & Wiesel, 2019, p. 43). Bigby and Wiesel (2019) note that exclusionary encounters and non-encounters appeared to be triggered by the very presence of people with intellectual disabilities, when their behaviour in public places was perceived as “unacceptable” or “transgressing social norms,” such as being loud (Bigby & Wiesel, 2019, p. 43). This could indicate that people with intellectual disabilities may be dismissed because of their difference (othering).

Bos (2016) and Meininger (2008, 2010) studied extensively how people manage difference during interactions with people with intellectual disabilities. Bos (2016) studied interactions between neighbours and people with profound intellectual disabilities, concluding that the neighbours tended to shy away from confrontations with difference. He proposes that this may be because they do not know how to interact in an alternative, pleasant and constructive manner (p. 339). Bos also identifies two other ways of dealing with difference; namely, eliminating difference by emphasising sameness and romanticising or glorifying difference. In line with Meininger (2008, 2010), Bos (2016) concludes that these two methods are an attempt to erase the difference and “strangeness” (see also: Stiker, 1999).

In this work, we will build on these assumptions of how people respond to difference in their day-to-day interactions, while adding the perspectives of people with intellectual disabilities themselves so as to avoid taking the normative stance of people without intellectual disabilities as a starting point. Therefore, it is interesting to consider the kind of images that people with intellectual disabilities have of their ableist neighbours, as well as the role that these images fulfil in non-encounters or exclusionary encounters. Moreover, we want to identify which strategies the two groups undertake to manage and overcome these differences. For this purpose, we turn to the research that we conducted on encounters between neighbours with and without intellectual disabilities in two neighbourhoods in the Netherlands.

Methods

Study design and context

In this section, we explain how our project was designed methodologically (the methods have been described before; see Bredewold et al., 2016a, 2016b). This study was conducted between January and December 2012, in two neighbourhoods in the medium-sized city of Zwolle in the Netherlands. Our research consisted of surveys, in-depth interviews, and participative observations. The survey sought insights into the extent of the contact between neighbours with and without intellectual disabilities, as well as the types of exchange between the two groups. We performed in-depth interviews to determine how people experienced the contact (e.g., what they liked, what they struggled with, what made them decide to continue or end the contact). As this paper focuses on the experiences of people when interacting with one another, interviews and participative observations were particularly helpful. (For the outcomes of the survey, see Bredewold et al., 2016a, 2016b).

Qualitative interviews

We conducted in-depth interviews with 25 individuals with intellectual disabilities, 24 people without intellectual disabilities, and 15 professionals. See Table 1 for the background characteristics of the people with intellectual disabilities. We recruited the respondents with intellectual disabilities and the service providers through care institutions in the two neighbourhoods under study. The people without intellectual disabilities were recruited through the survey, as they indicated a willingness to be interviewed. During the participative observations, we also recruited neighbours without intellectual disabilities.

Table 1. Background characteristics of people with intellectual disabilities.

Overview: people with intellectual disabilities (N = 25)
	n
Gender
male	15
female	10
Living situation
Single house, extramural care	18
Group home, 16 h of care per day	5
Institutions in the neighbourhood, 24 h of care per day	2
Disability
Mild	18
Moderate	5
Severe	2

The interviews employed a topic list rather than a standardised questionnaire, and they were adapted to reflect differences between the respondents’ communication skills. This adaptation also allowed the respondents to exercise control over the direction of the interview and the depth of the discussion. All respondents were guaranteed anonymity; thus, the names in this paper are pseudonyms. While people with intellectual disabilities may feel more at ease in interview situations with their professional care worker present, such a setting can lead the interviewees to give answers they believe their care workers would like to hear. We attempted to avoid this situation, as far as possible. However, the presence of a care worker was occasionally needed to put the respondent at ease or to provide assistance with communication. In such cases, the care worker was asked not to intervene unless the respondent did not understand the question.

Participant observation

Between September and November 2012, the author participated in four neighbourhood projects that sought to encourage contact between people with and without intellectual disabilities. These were held in a public garden, a restaurant, a children’s farm and a fourth concerned an odd-jobs project. The projects were run by local welfare organisations, with traditional community workers collaborating with service providers who support people with intellectual disabilities. In the public garden and restaurant projects, people with and without intellectual disabilities participated in similar social roles. Both groups tended to the garden, picked flowers, and ate in the restaurant, preferably together. On the children’s farm and during the odd-jobs project, people with intellectual disabilities provided services and those without intellectual disabilities were primarily visitors and customers. The animals in the children’s farm were cared for by people with intellectual disabilities. For the odd-jobs project, people with intellectual disabilities provided services such as bike repair and those without disabilities were visitors or customers.

The researcher adopted the role of observer and temporary participant, at times purely observing and shadowing practice, and at others assisting in the different projects – for instance, cooking and performing odd jobs. The research again explored whether social contact developed between neighbours with and without intellectual disabilities and sought to identify what characterised such contact. During the participant observations, the researcher focused on how people experienced the contact and what they took into consideration when deciding whether to engage.

At the start of each interview or participant observation the researcher informed respondents about the aim of this research and the anonymisation of data. All respondents gave verbal informed consent, which was audio-recorded. No formal ethical approval by a board and written consent forms were required according to Dutch regulation in 2015 (The Netherlands Code of Conduct for Academic Practice, 2014).

Data analysis

The interviews were transcribed verbatim by students, and the observations were reported by the author in detailed logbooks. The author then analysed the transcripts and logbooks, working together with the two supervisors of this project. This analysis produced a coding scheme, based partly on a literature study (sameness and diversity in contact) and partly developed inductively. The coding was performed with the aid of the computer program “Atlas-ti.”

Results

The struggle with difference

Like many other scholars (e.g., Alphen et al., 2010; Wiesel & Bigby, 2014), we found that people with intellectual disabilities do not usually meet people without intellectual disabilities (their family members and service providers excluded) in natural settings. Our research found that most citizens without intellectual disabilities (two-thirds of the group we examined) have no contact at all with people who have an intellectual disability. Where the two groups do meet, these tend to be superficial contacts in the street, during which they greet one another and chat (for these outcomes, see Bredewold et al., 2016a, 2016b). An important reason for the failure to initiate contact is the struggle with difference. The intellectual disability or ability is perceived as paramount, and it is difficult for people to move beyond this. In line with other scholars who have studied interactions between people with and without intellectual disabilities, we conclude that such encounters can bring friction, surprise, and disruption (e.g., Bos, 2016; Meininger, 2008, 2010). Various strategies for managing such difference have been proposed, and we will describe these below.

1. Othering

In our study, many people with intellectual disabilities felt that a primary reason for the lack of contact was that people without intellectual disabilities do not look beyond their condition. Our study found that people with intellectual disabilities are regularly ignored on the basis of their disability and that they experience this as a reflection of stigma. For example, one man with an intellectual disability mentioned an experience in which he had felt ignored and doubted whether his neighbour saw him as “fellow human being”:

Respondent: I know a lot of nice people, but I also meet people who are quite arrogant and then they act like this … (looks the other way with a sullen face). Interviewer: Then they ignore you?

Respondent: Yes, because of my intellectual disability, and that’s a pity (CF5).

In addition, many people with intellectual disabilities believe that they are subject to othering. For example, Mr and Mrs Elshout both have a mild intellectual disability, and live independently in one of the neighbourhoods under study. This couple explained to the researcher that they have had conflict with their neighbours and suffered harassment. They argued that these issues occur because of their intellectual disability and because they are “different”:

Interviewer: But why do they bully [you]?

Respondent: Yes, because we are different from them. So, I think it has to do with that. Because we do not get the words right. And yes, that’s all I know (CF16).

Mr Boven, a man with an intellectual disability, said that he was reluctant to make contact with his neighbours because he believed that people were prejudiced against him (self-stigmatisation):

When I go for shopping, I think people have a certain image of me. While they do not know me at all and they can’t see I have a disability … but then you’re that person ‘who can’t keep up’ (die niet helemaal kan meekomen). That’s what you think (CR2).

People with intellectual disabilities often suffer so much from these responses to their alleged differences that they avoid contact and withdraw into their own peer groups. They often interact only with other people who also have intellectual disabilities. Mrs Douw, a service provider, explained this concern as follows:

My clients often have contact with people from the neighbourhood who are experiencing problems themselves or are also having an intellectual disability. (…) It’s easier for my clients to meet them because they spend more time in the neighbourhood than working people and they can make contact on the basis of equivalence (MW8).

The interviews with people without intellectual disabilities show that these differences (the disabilities) prevent them from making contact. The othering that people with intellectual disabilities are so afraid of certainly exists. An abnormal appearance (e.g., visible physical limitations or reduced concern for one’s own appearance) is often a reason for not entering into contact, as Garland-Thomson (2009) also shows convincingly in her research. Mrs Tilleman, a service provider for people with intellectual disabilities, talked about one couple with intellectual disabilities:

I am supporting a couple who both are intellectually disabled. They have become a target of harassment. The man looks ferocious, no teeth, his hair looks weird, wild and upside down and he always has an angry look, even though he’s not. [. . .] His wife has very thin legs and above them a cholesterol full body. Luckily, we have got it under control now, but they have been bullied for a long time (MWF6).

Moreover, it is not only a striking appearance that encourages exclusionary interactions and non-encounters. The neighbours also reported that they do not initiate contact because they fear that their neighbours with intellectual disabilities will not adhere to the “basic” rules and principles of the public domain. For example, Mr Teunissen described his feelings as follows:

I am always afraid that they [people with intellectual disabilities] won’t maintain a proper distance. That they will cross the lines. [. . .] The same applies when I am in the garden. Sometimes I see my neighbours with intellectual disabilities on the balcony watching me. But then I do not start waving or shouting like ‘the weather is nice, is not it?’ I am afraid we would end up shouting the whole day (WB19).

It seems that the neighbours were afraid of the unexpected: namely, the unpredictable behaviour of people with intellectual disabilities. Mister de Jager, a neighbour who lives close to a care facility, reported the following:

A neighbour with Down syndrome who comes to you – such a woman does not stay at arm’s length with you, but she just stands right next to you. Of course, we find that very uncomfortable. At least I do. (WB19)

These examples show that people without intellectual disabilities view people with intellectual disabilities as deviant and unlike them. This attitude leaves neighbours reluctant to initiate contact, and they withdraw in their own peer group.

As a result, people with and without intellectual disabilities often live in separate worlds. Indeed, both groups acknowledge this divide: they talk about “our world” and “their world,” with the world of people without intellectual disabilities usually labelled as “normal.” One of the neighbours who lives next to a housing facility of people with intellectual disabilities described these “two worlds” as follows:

Last year, I went to the neighbourhood barbecue, but this year I did not. It does not make sense, because then you sit there with your own family and the clients sit over there, so to speak. It does not mix. It’s two worlds (WB11).

Service providers also reproduce this dichotomy between “normal” and deviant. They make use of slogans that are frequently used by service providers in the Netherlands, such as “as normal as possible” (zo normaal mogelijk) and “normal-exceptional” (gewoon-bijzonder); and in addition, when talking about daily care practices, they make a distinction between the worlds of people with and without intellectual disabilities (emphasis added):

I think it’s important to go shopping at the regular supermarket. There’s a small shop nearby, but if I go shopping with them (people with an intellectual disability), I take them to the regular supermarket. That’s where they can get in touch with the normal neighbourhood. I think that is important and I want to show all normal people: ‘Look, here we are, this is us!’ (MWF1).

From this, we conclude that most people experience difference as an obstacle and choose not to initiate contact with people on the other side of the divide, instead withdrawing into their own peer group. On the one hand, in line with Cummins and Lau (2003, p. 153), for example, we may question whether it is actually a problem if people choose to associate with their own peers with whom they share a common experience. Potentially, prioritising these encounters between people with and without intellectual disabilities devalues these relationships and suggests an implicit belief that interactions with non-disabled people are superior (Ibid). On the other hand, we found that a lack of “bridging” between these two worlds leads to stigmatisation on both sides. Moreover, both groups find joy in encountering people who are different to themselves (Bredewold et al., 2016b). We found that people with and without intellectual disabilities also reacted in other ways to the differences between them. We discuss these reactions below.

2. Similarising

Many neighbours emphasised the “sameness” of people with intellectual disabilities, claiming that disability did not make a difference. This response to difference do we call “similarising.” People framed difference as a concept that should be de-emphasised. This can be seen, for example, in how Mrs Dekker viewed people with intellectual disabilities in her neighbourhood:

Those people [referring to people with intellectual disabilities] also belong in this neighbourhood, whether they have a psychological or physical or intellectual disability, they just belong here (WB10).

Another neighbour described his feelings about sameness:

For me everybody’s equal; there’s no limit to that. That may also be due to my work, but I’m not going to pretend it’s a small child, not even if someone is in a wheelchair. We’re all the same and that’s how we have to go through the world. We are all the same and need to be approached in the same way (WB2).

Furthermore, some people with mild intellectual disabilities also emphasised sameness. For example, Mr Hermsen, a man in his early 20s with a mild intellectual disability and living independently in one of the neighbourhoods under study, said he had friends with and without intellectual disabilities. During his interview, he repeatedly de-emphasised difference. He talked about a “mild limitation” and emphasised that, “in the end, all people do have something” (CF16). It seemed that he resisted being grouped together with other people with intellectual disabilities and objected to the assumption of homogeneity between people with intellectual disabilities.

On the one hand, this brushing away of difference could be qualified as negative, as suggested by Bos (2016). “Similarising” might bring formerly excluded groups into the mainstream, and this “mainstream” is likely to set the rules against which all are measured (see also Young, 1990, pp. 164–165). Thus, a person with intellectual disability is expected to imitate the “able.” They must “catch up with” the normal. This may lead to the person with intellectual disability to reject their group identity or specificity (as we saw with Mr Hermsen) and could even lead to a devaluation of their own ideas, wishes, needs, and goals – as concluded by Meininger (2010, p. 193) (see also Young, 1990, pp. 156–173). Moreover, blindness to differences can make it difficult to take them into account. On the other hand, the strategy of similarising can be seen as sympathetic – acknowledging others as fellow human beings – and this approach seems to result in neighbours holding light and superficial conversations with one another.

3. Romanticising differences

In contrast, we also observed a strategy of praising difference between people, as was also observed by Bos (2016). We found that neighbours without intellectual disabilities occasionally exaggerated the differences – or even romanticised them – in their pursuit of equality. This way of responding to difference was commonly observed in Dutch care for people with intellectual disabilities in the 1970s, when people with intellectual disabilities were seen as an example for people without (Mans, 2016). Neighbour Mrs Kamp reported having regular contact with a neighbour with an intellectual disability:

I think she is such a sweetheart. Of course, they are not always like that. They have something that children also have. They are just themselves, open. So, they’re not hiding something out of self-protection; they just show their vulnerabilities. I like it when people are so open; it also invites to be more open myself. You do not have to be ashamed when things do not go well in your life (WB8).

Moreover, Mr Summer said he had superficial contact with a neighbour with an intellectual disability. They talk regularly on the street. He found particular pleasure in her being “out of the ordinary”:

She’s acting nice and she’s just a nice woman. And she is a bit out of the ordinary. It’s funny to talk to someone like that (WB1).

People with intellectual disabilities also frequently praised those without disabilities. They talked about them as though they never had worries of their own, enjoying great lives and huge circles of friends:

The only thing … I get a little jealous with able-bodied people. They have everything, because they have children, a car. And that’s not the only thing. They can walk and I can’t (CF5).

For people with intellectual disabilities, however, this “romanticising” results in the avoidance of contact with neighbours without intellectual disabilities. It causes feelings of shame and leads to renouncing and hiding of one’s own disabled identity. The interviews with people with mild intellectual disabilities and their service providers often gave the impression that they wanted to be “like everyone else.” This indicates that people with intellectual disabilities take the normative ideas and ideals of non-disabled people as a point of reference.

Bos (2016) identified this strategy of romanticising as negative. He suggests that it is not really a way of engaging with difference, but rather overemphasising the difference and putting people aside as “different” (Bos, 2016, p. 100, p. 239). Another disadvantage of this strategy of “exoticising difference” is stigmatisation. The difference is magnified to such an extent that people only see this aspect of the identity. This may lead to what Young (1990) calls an “essentialist meaning of difference” (p. 157), where groups are defined as having different natures that are more or less fixed. On the other hand, the strategy of romanticising difference can also be positively framed, as it results in neighbours holding light and superficial conversations, and it seems to be one avenue to the embracing of inclusion. Moreover, romanticising difference can even be seen as a critique of the similarising strategy and may resolve the problem of the apparently “homogeneous group.” On a larger scale, it can encourage a refusal to accept the dominant culture’s definition of normality, as has been done by the anti-psychiatry movement and the activism of deaf people who pursue a reinterpretation of disability as an interesting characteristic, rather than a defect (Mans, 2016; Stiker, 1999, pp. 187–188). These movements have helped to create and display a distinctive self-definition and culture.

 4. Facilitating conviviality

Although light and superficial contacts sometimes arise spontaneously as a result of the strategies of similarising and romanticising, as we saw in the results above, our research also found that contacts can become especially positive and convivial when they are organised. We observed that neighbourhood projects can play an important role in this. The organised contacts at the projects helped local residents to take the step from being strangers to “becoming known” (Bigby & Wiesel, 2019, p. 43). Two people with intellectual disabilities, who were visiting projects in the neighbourhood, reported the following:

Every Thursday, we go out for dinner at the cafe. [. . .] Once a gentleman came to sit with us. We do not know him at all. That’s nice, getting to know other people and you can decide for yourself whether you go or not (CF2).

Occasionally, I get into the neighbourhood house. I am just having a look. Are they playing billiards or cards? And then I’m also going to smoke a cigarette and have a chat with some neighbours (CF15).

These organised meetings in the neighbourhood not only brought relative strangers into contact with one another. With these neighbourhood projects, we also found a promising fourth method of managing difference. The neighbourhood projects were developed by welfare organisations, and traditional community workers collaborated with service providers who supported people with intellectual disabilities. Working together, they designed projects that promoted a shared purpose, reciprocity, built-in boundaries, and the freedom to (dis)engage – all of which can facilitate convivial encounters between neighbours with and without intellectual disabilities. (For more details on these conditions, see Bredewold et al., 2016b, 2019).

The conditions of a shared purpose and reciprocity ensure that both groups have a voice and are heard. It ensures that social inclusion is a two-way transformation (Fraser, 2015). Both groups are able to contribute. Built-in boundaries and the freedom to (dis)engage ensure that people experience familiarity without stifling commitments. People get to know one another through light mutual engagement. Such an approach leaves room for non-demanding situations, and there is freedom to choose whether to engage in the activities (Bredewold et al., 2019).

These principles ensure that both groups experience a sense of belonging, discovering new codes and rules by which to interact, without tending towards homogeneity and the assimilation of people with intellectual disabilities. Sameness and difference thus become ambiguous and relational constructs and are a result of a social process guided by professionals. Together, the parties experience transient shared identifications. This way of responding to difference is in line with what Young (1990) calls an “egalitarian politics of difference” (p. 157). This seems to be the opposite of the “essentialist way of dealing with difference” described before, which defines groups as having different essential natures.

One service provider involved in setting up these projects described them as follows:

I think it is important to stop thinking in terms of target groups. Our starting point is that we simply offer interesting activities for all local residents, in which all residents can participate regardless of their disability. For example, in the public garden, there will be people who love working in the garden; and together with community workers, we will ensure that people with intellectual disabilities who love gardening can also participate. Our starting point is that nothing is obliged. We do not expect informal care relationships, either. They just have to be able to stay each other’s neighbours. And everyone contributes something to that garden in his or her own way; everyone has something to say (SF2).

On one hand, this fourth variant seems positive, as it leaves no room for othering or excluding people on the grounds of their difference. It does not seek to evade the differences between subjects (similarising), which might enforce homogeneity. Finally, it does not want to praise difference (romanticising) to the extent of widening the gap between the groups. Instead, it seems to shift the meaning from otherness and exclusion to variation and heterogeneity. These projects do not take for granted the possibility of group homogeneity; instead, they seem to acknowledge that most people have multiple group identifications and that different social groups are always similar in some respects, while every social group includes differences between it’s members (Young, 1990, p. 171).

On the other hand, this fourth variant also has disadvantages. There is considerably less spontaneity and serendipity to the encounters, as people are required to visit the projects to encounter other people; and the time allocated for the social activities depends on how frequently the activities are organised (see also Soldatic et al., 2019). Moreover, we found that the projects primarily attracted people with mild and moderate intellectual disabilities. Another disadvantage of the encounters facilitated through these projects concerned the role of the support workers. Bos (2016) and Bigby and Wiesel (2019) observed that support workers attempt to ameliorate the awkwardness of encounters of difference, while discomfort and friction can in fact be productive. However, those we observed during these projects had been specially trained in bringing together people with and without intellectual disabilities, thus they have learned how to deal with discomfort and even see it as a productive force.

Conclusion and discussion

While this study expands our knowledge of the social inclusion of people with intellectual disabilities and advocates for a convivial culture that values their needs, ideas, and wishes, it is not without limitations. First, the study draws on a small sample of observations from just four neighbourhood projects, comprising 24 neighbours, 25 people with intellectual disabilities, and 15 service providers. Thus, firm conclusions cannot be drawn from this study’s findings. Second, most of the respondents with an intellectual disability had only mild or moderate intellectual disabilities; thus, we cannot draw any conclusions with regard to people with more severe disabilities. This limitation is unfortunate, because individuals with profound disabilities are often absent from empirical studies on social inclusion (Mietola et al., 2017).

However, our general findings – in particular, that a new way of dealing with difference may arise through organised contact – concur with those of previous research (Hall, 2004, 2005, 2010; Simplican & Leader, 2015; Wiesel & Bigby, 2016; Bigby & Wiesel, 2019). This makes us fairly optimistic about the validity of our main findings. Second, the triangulation of data allowed us to compare the insights from various perspectives. This not only gave us insight into the opinions and thoughts of service providers and neighbours without intellectual disabilities, but also incorporated the ideas, wishes, and values of people with intellectual disabilities.

With this paper, we wanted to contribute to the debate on the social inclusion of people with intellectual disabilities, exploring how convivial encounters could provide another method of responding to difference. Scholars have long debated how social inclusion is best achieved, and we usually find two starting points to this discussion. Some scholars state that equality can be achieved by emphasising sameness, and others argue that equality requires an emphasis on difference (see, for example, Bos & Kal, 2016; Silvers, 1995; Stiker, 1999). Young summarises this debate – which emerges similarly in many other academic fields concerned with minority groups – in the following way:

A politics of sameness assumes that equal social status for all persons requires treating everyone to the same standards, principals and rules. A politics of difference argues that equality can be gained by requiring different treatment for disadvantaged and marginalised groups. (Young, 1990, p. 158)

Our research sought to clarify how people manage difference in encounters with others and whether convivial encounters offer a new way of doing so; and we conclude that, even in day-to-day encounters, people struggle with difference. We found that both groups easily set the other aside as “different” (othering) and are often reluctant to make contact with the other. As a result, we observed many non-encounters and some exclusionary encounters, and the groups identified two distinct worlds: one of people with intellectual disabilities and another of people without. In addition to othering, strategies of similarising and romanticising were also identified.

Some of the people we interviewed pursued sameness by brushing away differences. Those who did so – in both groups – took the normative framework of people without intellectual disabilities as a starting point. This outcome confirms that, in our society, the mainstream seems to set the rules according to which all are measured. Although the founders of “normalisation” emphasised that normalisation does not mean that people with intellectual disability should be normalised (Nirje, 1985; Wolfensberger, 1983), this was noted as a critique, and it has been acknowledged as a risk on accounts of social inclusion on the basis of normalisation and emphasising sameness (e.g., Culham & Nind, 2003; Cummins & Lau, 2003; Hall, 2004; Meininger, 2010; Simplican & Leader, 2015;). However, we also identified positive consequences of this strategy, as those who emphasised the sameness of people with intellectual disabilities acknowledged them as fellow human beings, and this strategy resulted in positive interactions.

In addition to similarising, we found a seemingly opposite strategy – namely, romanticising. This resulted in neighbours engaging in light and pleasant interactions. Moreover, this strategy seemed to encourage diversity, as people praised people with intellectual disabilities for their difference. Therefore, it can be seen as a critique of the notion of homogeneity (which, of course, does not exist, as acknowledged by Young, [1990, p. 227, 236]). This may even result in strengthening recognition of the values, needs, and wishes of people with intellectual disabilities. However, we remain mindful that romanticising risks recreating the stigma associated with difference.

These outcomes do not mean a devaluation of convivial encounters in general. We certainly think spontaneous light and superficial contacts at the streets, parks and shops – even if they bring disruption and discomfort – are valuable as encounters often come with difference (Ahmed, 2000). However, from our research, we conclude that, even in convivial encounters, people find it hard to engage with difference and there is a risk of misunderstanding. Therefore, the fourth strategy of “facilitating conviviality” seems promising. This strategy does not argue for sameness or difference; instead, it assumes that the groups can jointly develop more transient shared identifications in which difference is fluid and relational and the outcome of a social process. While both groups take the world of the non-disabled as normative when meeting in the public domain, in the neighbourhood projects developed to encourage contact, there seems to be more room for the values of both groups, without forcing the promotion of a homogeneous group.

Therefore, convivial encounters, especially when organised, can be seen as a new framing of the ideal of social inclusion: leaving room for difference and enabling practices that teach people how to manage the feelings of discomfort that inevitably come with new encounters.

Declaration of conflicting interests

The author(s) declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.

Acknowledgments

Thanks are extended to the people with and without intellectual disabilities and professionals participating in this study. Besides I express my gratitude towards Prof. dr. E. Tonkens, prof. dr. M. Trappenburg, prof. dr. F. Vosman and S. van der Weele MA. This paper have benefited greatly from our discussions on the sameness-difference debate.

Disclosure statement

No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author(s).

Additional information

Funding

The author(s) disclosed receipt of the following financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article: The research project is supported by the RIBW Groep Overijssel and Frion in the Netherlands.