On November Ninth, 2016, I was assaulted at a bar.
By: Colin Buckingham
Tags: Disability, Trump, 2016 Election, Harassment, Assault

I have a form of dwarfism known as achondroplasia.

The best way I can explain to someone what it’s like having dwarfism — in regards to how I see the world — is to ask them to recall what it felt like to be a kid. Growing up, I got to the point where most doorknobs could hit me in the face, and I stopped there while everyone else kept going. So, most things are two times larger for me. A full size bed feels how I imagine a queen or king size feels to other people. I don’t share eye contact with people. I often feel like the sense of connection we make with people — albeit subconsciously — is through eye contact. When meeting people, eye contact establishes a sort of (forgive the pun) equal standing, and that is a rarity for me. I almost never get to look someone in the eyes.

As far as how I’m perceived by others, I could talk about harassment, but that is by no means a unique experience. Having dwarfism is far from the only “reason” to get harassed.

When I’m talking about something I’m passionate about or have strong opinions about, I worry if I’m going to be taken seriously by other people. If I like something that’s perceived as being “for younger people,” I’m worried that I will be considered immature. Sometimes when I’m in a group conversation with people who don’t have dwarfism, and someone’s attention shifts to me- I notice they code switch. Their pitch gets higher, their tone is one of wonder or bewilderment, they talk to me as if I am a child, and they don’t ask the same level of questions.

For a long time I was hesitant to write about my experiences. I didn’t think my perspective was something that people would be interested in or could identify with, or that it was necessary to exist in the public zeitgeist. There are so many other demographics of people who are underrepresented and face much more discrimination, oppression, hate crimes, and inequity than me. I’ve never faced any laws — current or in the past 150 years — that would have prevented me from living my life. I am and always have been able to vote, own property, walk down the street without fear of the police, get married, adopt children, etc… I have felt that there isn’t enough that separated my experience from an average-height, straight, caucasian, cisgender man to warrant my viewpoint receiving a platform.

November 9th wasn’t the first time someone had tried to (literally) pick me up. It was, however, the first time it was sudden and violent. In the past, I have been with friends at bars having a good time, a few drinks in, and new people who I met occasionally thought it would be a “fun” way of engaging with me to (again, literally) lift me up. Their tone and vibe was one of humor as well as general positivity in a way that made them seem non-threatening. In these situations, I was usually face to face with the person and could see it coming, often rejecting the action verbally or pushing them away. I didn’t take it seriously before, and justified it as “something I have to deal with.” It had become normalized for myself and apparently for others. But I ask you to put yourself in my shoes. Imagine that you’re being lifted over someone’s head, by a distance of twice your height, by someone at least twice your size. Imagine having the simultaneous thoughts of hoping they don’t drop you, and if they do drop you, that you land without hurting yourself; all the while forcing a smile on your face as you de-escalate the situation and ask them not to do it again. It didn’t help that I was unknowingly ignoring the reality of how others see me. I don’t go through the day thinking about having dwarfism; it’s only when people treat me differently that I’m reminded of it.

While that night was not the first time someone interacted with me from a position of perceived entitlement (entitlement to touch me or to pick me up against my will for their entertainment) it was the first time I denied that entitlement, albeit a bit more violently, and my “audacity” to defend myself angered them to the point of furthering their assault.

In fairness to you, you’ve probably never been asked to think about it this way. If you’ve ever seen this portrayed on a TV show or in movies, the encounter was likely comical, even when the character with dwarfism expressed anger. The reason that it’s comical is usually boiled down to the point that they’re small. That’s it. That’s the entire joke. Offensiveness notwithstanding, it’s unoriginal at this point, and lazy writing. It’s fair that you wouldn’t think it’s a big deal or consider it assault, but it is.

Two and a half years of therapy later and through meeting people from so many different demographics and walks of life, I’ve learned that my experience is not unique to me; and after encouragement from those close to me, I decided I should write about it.

In the spring of 2019, I’d decided to write a short screenplay about November Ninth, 2016. An immediate obstacle I encountered was that the assault lasted about ten seconds and I had about 10 more pages to fill. Here was an opportunity to tell a bigger story, and I began to incorporate the microaggressions and invasions of privacy I encounter more day-to-day: people ‘marveling’ at me, taking pictures of me, whispering about me. I wanted to put the viewer in my shoes, and to remind them that my human experience can be shared by anybody else: I have friends, I go out, I don’t really like beer, and on that night, I was fearful of a future under Donald Trump. That the night ended in violence shouldn’t have been a surprise in retrospect.

It often seems that just by living my life, my mere presence can elicit strong reactions in people. Maybe they’ve never seen someone with dwarfism before, maybe I remind them that humans aren’t monolithic, I have no idea — but it happens more than it should. I wanted to make an aggressive film that reflects my “aggressive” existence. I wanted to reclaim the event, playing myself, and not allow my assailant or the assault to have power over me.

November Ninth includes a major fight sequence which is played for realism and dramatic value, making it unique to its counterparts within the film industry. Additionally, the majority of the film is shot from my perspective: the eyeline of an adult who is 4’3”(130cm), which to the best of my knowledge has never been done before.

This film couldn’t have been possible without the amazingly hardworking, talented people who I entrusted to help tell this vulnerable and deeply personal story. To them, I say thank you. This short has become more political in the years since the event, as we’ve watched violence and division erupt across the nation. My hope is that by writing, producing, and starring in this film, November Ninth brings a new perspective to the conversation, on-screen representation for people who share my experience, and challenges the antiquated expectations for artists with dwarfism.