Colour Coded Chaos

Being red/green colour blind was genetic gift passed to Julian Ledlin from his grandfather. His take on how he has navigated life, including an early career as a graphic designer of all things, with his ‘gift’, is amusingly recounted here.

Biting into an unripe banana is not a pleasant experience. When ripe, bananas are a sublime feat of nature: creamy texture, sweet aroma, they’re the perfect mid-morning pick-me-up and they come neatly sealed within their own ergonomic packaging. The unripe banana, however, is the bad boy of the fruit bowl. As soon as you bite into one of these firm, green monsters, a horseman of the apocalypse bolts loose. Woody, stringy and strangely chemically, but you knew what you were in for when you started peeling it… But by then it was too late. Everybody knows that once you’ve started on that impossible peel you can’t just leave it for a couple of days to ripen, you have to fall on your sword and finish it there and then.

Deuteranomaly and Protanopia are forms of red / green colour blind. Tritanopia is blue / yellow colour blind.

Deuteranomaly and Protanopia are forms of red / green colour blind. Tritanopia is blue / yellow colour blind.

“But what did you expect, peeling a green banana?” I hear you ask. Well, I, along with 8% of the world’s male population and 0.5% of the female population, am red / green colour blind. We are the colour-challenged minority in a very colour-centric world. We see little difference, if any, between a green banana and a yellow one. It’s a case of peel at your own peril. Roll the dice and hope like crazy Lady Luck is in your corner. And it doesn’t stop at bananas, cooking takes on a myriad potential kitchen catastrophes. Is that meat cooked? Are the onions brown? What about the potatoes? Are they green and poisonous? Or yellow and delicious?

A colour blind person is unable to fully see red, green or blue light, thus distinguishing between most colours

I fudged a career in television as a graphic designer for two decades. No-one ever knew my dirty little secret. I pretended to know what I was talking about when it came to knowing which colour was what. I relied on the power of suggestion and vague, open-ended questions. I’d let my more “colour-able” co-workers fill in the gaps… much like the way a psychic operates. All of us colour blind folk have varying survival tricks and techniques to help us slink by as undetected as possible. Sometimes though, you have to drop the act and lean on people like shop assistants for accurate colour information. Usually for me, this happens in the fruit shop, sometimes the clothes shop. Apparently, I have bought some very loud fashion items in my time, but what you don’t know won’t hurt you right? Wrong. Sooner or later, someone from colour-correct law enforcement feels compelled to tell you how bright a particular shirt is. Like it’s hurting their eyeballs and they risk being permanently blinded if you continue to wear it. Some people are profoundly unoriginal.

Day to day life constantly throws up seemingly minor challenges for my colour-challenged cohort. In Royal North Shore Hospital the other day I was instructed to take the red lift, NOT the green lift to level 9. The green lift only went to level 6, the red one went to 9… with no-one around to ask for help as I approached some colourful lifts, internal chaos ensued, and getting to level 9 played out like a cheaply written sitcom. Thankfully it wasn’t an emergency, it’s a relief to know that area of the hospital is not mapped out with a trail of colour coded breadcrumbs. Speaking of mapping… The keys down the side of most topographic maps resemble the indistinguishable plethora of “green options” on a Taubman’s paint chart. Put a colour blind guy in charge of your four wheel drive adventure and the rescue chopper will be circling in no time.

Maps are tricky. One morning, during the recent lockdown, I spent way too long trying to work out if I lived in a red zone or a green zone. Do I go to work or not? An hour passes with me sweating over a murky looking map of Sydney that “highlighted” the Covid-19 hotspots. The phone rings. “Julian, where are you? You’re supposed to be at work.”

“Sorry,” I say. “Slept in.” Colour blind bullets are always flying, you’ve always got to be ready to duck and weave! I race off to work, trusting that my boss has perfect colour vision and can read that frustrating map just fine.

If you’re courageous enough to reveal your colour blindness to someone, you can guarantee you’ll be asked the dreaded “what-colour-is-this” question: “Oh you’re red / green colour blind! Wow! What colour is this then?” Usually, they are pointing to the brightest red thing they can see. “Red,” you say,going off experience. “It IS red,” they say, excitedly. “Are you sure you’re colour blind?” It’s then you smile despairingly as you quietly recall to yourself the six unripe bananas you’ve peeled in the last month. “Yep, I’m pretty sure,” you say.

Careers for my colour-defective comrades can be a bit of a minefield. As a fifteen-year-old I desperately wanted to be a cop. I turned up to the police open day with the next 50 years mapped out in my head. I had my sights set on that gold watch and I’d take down some bad guys along the way. Within ten minutes of meeting with one of the constables, my hopes and dreams of donuts and stakeouts were shattered with four sombre words: “Colour blind? Sorry mate.”

Now I’m older, I get it. You need to know what colour hoodie the suspect was wearing… green? possibly light red? maybe burnt orange? Kinda rusty looking? Forget the hoodie, he had brown hair, could have been ginger, maybe strawberry blonde? Complications would then be amplified if you were to join the bomb squad and a wire needed to be cut. Being “kinda sure” you’re snipping the red wire would be a definite concern for your colleagues sweating nearby.

I’ve heard of some colour blind warriors who cheat on the Ishihara colour blind test for certain jobs. This is a complete baller move and while they have my utmost respect, I do worry about it coming back to bite them down the track. Unleaded in the red jerry can, diesel in the green, drinking water in the blue. Simple. What could possibly go wrong!

My brothers are all colour blind, a little genetic gift from our grandfather. When we get together, conversations often worm their way into a support group of sorts. We share public humiliation stories, like trying to force open occupied toilet doors, the ones with the colour coded latches. “Red” means occupied apparently. We speak of coming unstuck in the workplace, cover ups, bluffs and strategies. I miss the days when my Mum wrote the names of the colours on my pencils. Somehow that form of maternal protectiveness is socially frowned upon once you’ve reached 30. As a kid, my roses were red and my violets were blue, now they’re a mish-mash of pink and brown, so I’m told. No wonder my Valentine’s Day cards fall flat.

While my colour blind crew may feel relegated to careers in chessboard manufacturing or penguin rescue, (both of which are noble professions) I believe that other senses are heightened behind our colour-corrupted eyeballs. I’m going to go out on a limb and say what we lack in colour ability is made up in other areas; Like an enhanced ability in seeing the contrast of white light and physical layout. See a sunset through colour blind eyes and you’re treated to an intense, shape filled canvas. Light, lines and huge, unique silhouettes, dance across the afternoon sky. You can have your “intense pinks” and “vivid reds”, massive, light-pierced shapes is where it’s at!

So, while we may not be the best map readers, flower identifiers or bomb disposal experts we do see the world from a slightly different angle. We’re not obsessed with colour or constantly distracted by it. We notice things the colour-perfect miss. It might be subtle audible details or faint tracks in the sand. One thing you’ll never see a colour blind person do is criticise a loud colour choice of clothing! That’s not how we roll. We’re so much better than that!

Don’t let us into the Fire Brigade, we get it, it’s fine, but don’t discount our superhuman ability to approach life a little differently. I guess what I’m trying to say, on behalf of my colour blind pals, is that we might not be able to spot the Waratahs through the bush, but we can see the forest through the trees. We’re big-picture people with a penchant for shapes and ideas. So, resist being frustrated the next time someone attempts to open your toilet cubicle while you’re taking a dump. Chances are, it’s one of my kind, on their weekly mission to evacuate yet another unripe banana.

Before I finish, I’d like to give a shout out to World Rugby who recently have changed the rules on rugby jerseys that are too samey for the likes of me… Banning, yes you heard right, banning, red / green kit clashes. It’s all an effort to help people with colour vision deficiency enjoy the game more. At last, I’ll know who has the ball whenever Ireland play Wales. Clearly, we have someone on the inside in World Rugby who cheated on the colour blind test in their job application. Whoever you are, we salute you. Your secret is safe with us.