I’ve spent a lot of time lately talking to disabled people and learning about their hopes and fears. It was a chastening experience.

A large portion of my career has centred around reporting on the lives of folk who don’t have much of a voice in society – the homeless, prisoners, the poor, refugees, minorities of all stripes.

I genuinely became a journalist in my naive youth to stick up for the little guy, to defend the underdog – all that bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, utopian, give-a-voice-to-the-voiceless stuff that the world tries to beat out of you as you get older.

I’ve done my very best not to let the cruelties of modern life coarsen that idealism or purge those beliefs. I’d still rather gargle hot coals than defend those in power, and if there’s someone with their back against the wall I’m naturally drawn to their side.

But I feel I’ve failed somewhat when it comes to disabled people. I’ve not written much about their lives. Indeed, I knew little about their lives.

Read more

Among my friends and family, there are no disabled folk. For that, I count my blessings, but I’m also acutely aware it left a hole in my understanding.

I’ve now tried to rectify that by spending time with disabled people, listening to their concerns. The Herald published the account on Sunday in a long read headed "Abused and terrified: inside Scotland’s brutalised disabled community".

I was pleased to see it affected many readers, though horrified at how pitiless some members of the public were, deeming the disabled a drain on resources.

It’s this brutal economic view of disability which wrought the most change in me.

........

© Herald Scotland