“I only have a mild disability. Uhm, what’s that called? Ah, yes. A mild form of autism. But you don’t really notice that with me,” says Ronnie van Rijswijk (42). He looks at his computer screen and rests his chin on his palms, which have tattoos of a creepy smiley face and a skull devil.
At a desk further away, a colleague is quietly listening. He shakes his green-blue locks and says sarcastically: “No Ronnie, you don’t notice your disability at all.” Both are working today in the editorial office of Multimedia team Pluryn in Nijmegen. The editorial staff consists of approximately seventy people with an intellectual disability.
Over the past ten years, Pluryn has been making four to five commercial, mostly corporate films every week. Clients include colleges, banks, manufacturers and gaming companies. The editorial staff work on a voluntary basis because it is officially a daytime activity for them. Pluryn is a healthcare organization that offers editorial training as a learning path. The Netherlands has around fifty of these types of editorial offices.
If these editors have the ambition and capacity to work in an established newsroom, try Special Media Foundation to help with that. It is the only foundation in the Netherlands that supports people with intellectual disabilities to participate in the media or journalism.
In the Week of the Media literacyan annual awareness campaign about media literacy, foundation director Sonja Heijkamp talks about the importance of this group of people in the media: “The campaign has resulted in phone calls from local newspapers. They want to work with this group of people, but they lack financing and supervisors with experience.”
A few years ago, editor Van Rijswijk was declared unfit for work. “It’s like they leave a mark on you,” he says. Van Rijswijk now prepares interviews or edits videos. “But today I am a bit more busy with my own YouTube channel,” he says, scrolling through his channel. He posts reviews about horror films. “There are some really explicit and nasty images.” That’s why he prefers not to show it. “My dream is to make films myself.”
Typical eyes
In the newsroom, editors wave goodbye to colleagues who are going to film an item. “I’m going to interview a few experts today,” says Jolan van Zanten (29). He usually stands in front of the camera as an interviewer or presenter. He previously worked in Pluryn’s communications department. “Sometimes it was very quiet there and you only heard the keyboards. But here it is really alive.” He gets into the so-called ‘media bus’, others load the equipment. They leave for Amsterdam with a guide.
The rest stays in the editorial office to edit, research or write. There is a chihuahua on the lap of the only writer, Nathalie Verstegen (37). “I post on the socials,” appears on a digital sign. Verstegen types with her eyes, because she cannot speak or move. Her electric wheelchair has a screen built in with a camera; it follows its pupils by means of a special system as they look towards the screen for letters. “No, you are not allowed to pet my dog,” she writes.
From the 18,500 journalists in the Netherlands, about four percent have a physical or other disability. Foundation director Heijkamp notices that although the media is committed to inclusion, this group of people remains virtually invisible. “We see a pattern in which the media talk about people with disabilities, while they should give them a chance to create stories themselves,” says Heijkamp.
In this way, the editorial staff in Nijmegen shows that participating in the media is possible. For example, they receive orders from EA, one of the largest and most influential game publishers in the world, to test gaming products specifically for people with disabilities. After testing, the editors make reviews. They also produce review videos of new healthcare products or special software made for this target group.
The editors also include a number of podcast makers. One of them is Freddie van Krevel (53). In a separate room he is writing the script for his next episode. ‘Freddie’s Fratsen‘ is a podcast “I make them for people with disabilities or people with a low IQ. The regular podcasts discuss too quickly and too much complicated matter.” His ambition is to get this form of podcast into the traditional media. “My next guest is a politician from the SP,” says Van Krevel while holding his computer mouse tightly.
To tears
There is an editor at every desk wearing large neon-green headphones. They look intently at their screens. The interns also become part of the editorial team; are doing ROC training (MBO level 1 to 4).
“In the first few months, the interns learn more from our editors than they do from the interns,” says team leader Joris Ruijs. “The edits of our team are often of a much higher level than those of the interns.” An intern takes off her headphones and nods. “I learned a lot from them about the technical side of filming.” According to Ruijs, the productions must be of good content and quality if they were offered to media, for example.
do not ask for pity and their productions are not intended to be cute or moving because people with intellectual disabilities have worked on them. “Every now and then I have to decline, sometimes they are in tears,” says Ruijs. “I can pretend that I’m okay with it, give a pat on the head. But how does that help someone? We engage in discussions that make them stronger.”
It is not relevant whether you have autism or are in a wheelchair, as long as you do your work, says Ruijs. Heijkamp: “They are also often happy to achieve small goals that they enjoy. Something we can learn a lot from.” According to both, the self-confidence of this group grows when they spend a day in the Media Park in Hilversum, build sets during an award show or do an internship at a newspaper. “In recent years, it has only happened a few times that editors have left the editorial office. They were able to work in the media for pay,” says Ruijs.
Progressing as a full-fledged editor and earning money from it is too rare, say Ruijs and foundation director Heijkamp. For example, practical things such as thresholds and urinals already cause problems. And this group of people sees themselves too little as a source of inspiration in the media. Less than one percent of people with an intellectual or physical disability speak on television, according to research by the Dutch Media Authority (2023). And when they appear in commercials or as guests in TV programs, for example, they often have “stereotypical roles” as heroes, victims or patients.
An example of how things can be done differently is the TV program of presenter Paul de Leeuw, Paul’s Social Club (NTR). “People with intellectual disabilities work with this in front of and behind the scenes,” says Heijkamp.
Never spelling mistakes
An editor wearing a short black leather jacket walks into the editorial office. “I also have something to say about my work,” says Bas van Hoek (26). He previously made a well-intentioned, sarcastic comment about the intellectual disability of his colleague Van Rijswijk, the horror enthusiast. Van Hoek sweeps his green-blue hair back. “I subtitle the videos and there are never any spelling mistakes or anything,” says Van Hoek as he looks at his computer screen later. When he is not doing editorial work, he works on his own design and animations with a software tool.
That animation program is not on every computer, says Van Hoek: “If I want to use it, unfortunately I have to arrive on time in the morning.” He shares his creations with his teacher, an animator who works at the VPRO. “It’s a perfect way to make connections.”
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