While at a meeting of diverse scholars focused on improving diversity and inclusion, I
encountered silencing, albeit unintentional. The leader of the meeting devised
a writing activity involving writing ideas on sticky notes, then posting them
in categorical clusters on the wall. The activity “had to be done on paper,”
and no one was permitted to use a computer. My vision loss makes writing and
reading very challenging - I use assistive technologies to magnify material or
provide text as speech. Although I could
write my own ideas on notes, I could not participate fully in the activity
because I couldn’t read others comments, preventing me from synthesizing themes
or drawing conclusions.
On multiple occasions I asked others to read the post-it
notes on the walls. Almost all ignored my request, presumably not hearing or
not understanding. One person said "ah of course, this must be so hard for
you" and then proceeded to turn away from me, excluding me from the
exercise. Another person provided an interpretation of comments rather than
comments themselves, then informed me how to think about these comments,
removing the space for my perspective and voice. At one point, the group leader
instructed someone reading aloud for me to “read to yourself, I want you all to
engage on your own first,” which removed my access to the material.
Beyond asking others to read aloud, I attempted to use my
phone to magnify materials, though my efforts were futile (red pen on yellow paper
is hard to read, no matter how magnified). I began feeling discouraged. I
requested to type, sharing this was because I couldn't see. I wasn’t being
heard. Why wasn’t anyone listening to my requests for help? I was getting
frustrated. Admittedly, I needed to be more assertive and explain more
thoroughly. At the same time, I was defeated after my many prior requests. As
one of the younger and more junior people present, I frankly perceived myself
as beholden to the power structure when others carried on with activities
without acknowledging my requests for accommodation. My experience would
have been substantially improved if more people were open to making the
activity accessible to my differences in ability.
I left the meeting feeling heavy with my sadness. I was in a
room fighting for inclusion with fellow advocates, and yet still my needs were repeatedly
overlooked. I was struck by the painful irony, and felt moved to use this as a
learning opportunity.
I raised this issue with the committee. There is rarely an
infrastructure to support accommodations in environments like these. I am a
member of the campus’ disabled students program, which provides me accommodations in
classes such as audio note-taking software and digital materials. I have worked
with employment offices in respect to my teaching obligations. I coordinate
with the director and staff of the clinic where I provide therapy and assessment services. And
yet, so many activities lack structural supports for inclusion. How do I alert
every committee, meeting, lecture, or training I attend? Whenever the space is provided, I certainly advocate for myself, explain my needs, and request accommodations. But, sometimes, the space
isn’t provided.
By collectively providing the space for accommodations,
whether it’s digital alternatives to print materials or the use of preferred
pronouns, we become more inclusive. We should deliberately plan to flexibly
accommodate all needs across all settings. My hope is that it becomes our
cultural norm to abstain from assumptions and ask for preferences by always
offering the option for accommodation.
In practice, this involves welcoming the conversation. Had
this committee leader sent an agenda or activity description to the committee
in advance, I would have shared my need for accommodation. Had he opened the
activity by asking if anyone would benefit from alternative formats, I would have shared my
need for accommodation. Asking the questions and formalizing the opportunity ensures accommodations are more likely to be provided. Instead, without the space for
accommodating, I made frequent feeble and ignored requests.
I genuinely believe those around me simply did not expect
someone to be unable to participate in this activity. They could not comprehend
the meaning in my statement “I cannot see.” They likely assume someone blind or
deaf has to look a certain way. With no marker of my difference, how could I
actually be disabled? Or, perhaps they think someone blind or deaf wouldn’t
even be in the room. If I really couldn’t see, how am I in graduate school? How
did I independently navigate to the meeting location? In any case, this
ignorance propagates the underrepresentation of people with differences in
ability. This ignorance stems from privilege, and has the potential to exclude the exact voices that we, especially in this case, strive to include.
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