For the uninitiated, Istvan’s perspective boils down to the medical model of disability: the idea, popular since the 19th century, that disabilities are medical conditions in need of treatments and cures. It defines disabled bodies as deficient and therefore “the root of the problem” (to borrow Istvan’s phrase) when it comes to disabled people’s diminished access and social position. It’s a close cousin of the oh-my-god-poor-you tragedy model, in which disability is a disadvantage to be either overcome (people love that) or succumbed to. Istvan says millions of Americans are “suffering from mobility issues.” “We could forever change the hardship of physical disability in America and worldwide.” Suffering, hardship — his understanding of disability clearly begins and ends here. He also likes tacking on the word “again” (“make them mobile and able-bodied again”) to imply that all of us knew the joy of able-bodied life before disability snatched it away — another medical model chestnut that’s just patently untrue.

This framework is the one we see everywhere, from those (in)famous “your excuse is invalid” memes to Glee letting Artie walk because it’s Christmas (twice) to Eddie-Redmayne-as-Stephen-Hawking walking over to pick up that pen as the herald trumpets played at the end of The Theory of Everything. All rely on the assumption that disability is categorically unfortunate, that everyone who has one wishes we didn’t, and that able-bodied people should feel lucky they got off easy.

The medical model is the comfortable one for most people because it lets our dominant cultural ideas of disability — namely, that it sucks and is to be avoided — reign unchallenged. It ensures the line between “us” and “them” looks strong, clear, and defined. (Istvan is invested in this line; when he says “imagine if we could give the physically disabled the real ability to be mobile again,” I know who he’s talking to, and it ain’t me.) And it keeps the power to say which bodies are “good” or “bad” right where we think it should be: with able-bodied people.

Istvan’s rhetoric only makes sense if you see disability as an undesirable problem.

Fortunately, this limited understanding of disability isn’t the only one out there. Since the 1980s and ‘90s, the social model — that disability comes from unequal access to education, healthcare, housing, employment, transportation, etc. rather than the body, and therefore that disabled bodies aren’t inherently “broken”— has emerged as its most popular competitor. To Istvan’s assertion that “exoskeleton and other types of technology would give [disabled people] the means to jump right back into the work force,” the social model would say “you know what else would do that? Accessibility. Give me reliable transit to my job, ramps and stairs with handrails to the door once I get there, solid pay and healthcare coverage, and a boss, coworkers, and HR department who know what to do with me, and then we’ll talk.” The social model is also our first clue that Istvan isn’t as altruistic or progressive as he’d have us believe.

Because here’s the thing: Istvan’s rhetoric only makes sense if you see disability as an undesirable problem. Frame it any other way — as a body type, an identity, or a social condition — and his shiny vision of the future starts to show its cracks.