Emily Jordan discusses the scandal related to Tempest Photography and how their mistakes are reflective of wider systemic and cultural failures that are impacting disabled people.

Tempest Photography, whose website declares that they are the “UK’s most popular company for portrait and group photography,” has recently been caught up in a scandal littered with disappointment and failure, words all too synonymous with ableism in everyday life.

The firm employs local photographers and has a history of over 80 years in the industry, operating across the country and taking school photos. Despite this, seemingly simple, premise, Tempest has been accused of issuing different copies of a class photo to families, altering the image so that children with complex needs are noticeably absent.

The class at the centre of the scandal, Aboyne Primary School in Aberdeenshire, allegedly had multiple children taken out of the group photos – with the victims including a nine-year-old girl who uses a wheelchair as she has cerebral palsy and another with undisclosed additional needs. After the story broke via Facebook, parents in the local area and beyond chose to boycott the company by refusing to purchase their children’s portraits – something that Natalia Pinnell – the mother of one of the erased pupils – is ‘thankful’ for.

The issue affects disabled children deeply, with another child – who was also removed – having “burst into tears when she learned of what had happened” to her. Disabled people’s self-worth and value should never be dented by the actions of able-bodied people. This sentiment is supported by one of Labour’s members of the Scottish Parliament, Pam Duncan-Glancy, the first permanent wheelchair user elected into the position. The frequency of these ableist actions in educational settings is disgustingly high, with Duncan-Glancy recalling her University graduation, where her wheelchair was covered in her professional photographs, saying:

“I thought that the days of deleting disabled people from aspects of society were long behind us, but the fact of the matter is, they’re not.”

This story comes off of the back of Prime Minister Rishi Sunak’s decision at the end of 2023 to scrap the dedicated role of Minister for Disabled People; with the national disability charity Sense calling for the role’s reinstation to represent the voices of disabled people, those who are notoriously overlooked (more on this in my article for our upcoming print zine Voice).

Now, without getting too emotional, fighting for equity that grants each and every person the ability to share their voice, in whatever capacity they wish, is something I’m deeply thankful for. Having grown up as a young carer for my older brother, Lewis, I’ve seen firsthand the successes and failures of the current social care system. After years of fighting for a place, my brother attended an incredible school for children with all sorts of additional needs, whether that be feeding tubes, degenerative conditions or being non-verbal (like he is). Seeing the work, care, and compassion of those wonderful teachers over the 10 years he attended the setting was incredible, and he loved the place.

He’s attended schools and been in needs-based settings and the like since his early diagnosis, some of which I am too young to remember. Considering the sheer lack of provisions for disabled children, and even fewer as they progress into adulthood, it is hardly surprising that the stigma around having a disability is often carried through into adulthood. If in our children’s formative years, they face discrimination in such vital places as the classroom, such as that enacted by Tempest Photography, how is their sense of self going to be impacted? 

In playgrounds and assembly halls across the nation, slurs against this group are still being thrown around with little to no consequence. How many times have you heard a friend describe something as ‘r*tarded’? Have you ever called someone a ‘sp*stic’ for doing something innoculously silly? People with developmental delays, cerebral palsy and every other disability shouldn’t be used as the butt of a joke for the sake of ‘dark humour’.

So, to you, reader, are you going to stand up and break the cycle? If you are appalled by the erasure of these young children in their school photographs, are you going to reconsider your actions to truly become an ally? Will you sit by if someone uses these slurs next time you are out with friends, or will you choose to defend those who are demeaned by this language? The easy route is to simply nod your head and smile, but will you do the right thing? As we often say as a publication, feminism is not feminism without intersectionality, so I implore you to re-evaluate your own (in)actions and strive for change.