As a fellow spinal cord injury survivor and member of the disability community, I was disheartened to learn of the event that unfolded at the City Council debate last week, where Councilman Chris Hinds faced significant inaccessibility at the debate venue.
As a fellow wheeler, I can say there is little worse than dealing with an inaccessible situation in a very public way, where you are on display in all your vulnerability. As Hinds remarked, it is humiliating. It is dehumanizing when your body is suddenly thrust into an uninvited space of scrutiny simply because of basic needs that are not met.
But too often, these situations get reduced to simplistic conclusions or accusations rather than examining the complex nuance of accessibility and disability inclusion in our society. Core issues are missed and result in the continual perpetuation of failures.
So I write this not to make excuses or point fingers but to help people – disabled and nondisabled – understand some deeper elements at play. I have no dog in the fight, except that, like Hinds, I have worked as an advocate throughout the last 21 years since my own injury and know that the first step to change is awareness and education.
First, sadly, many stages aren’t wheelchair accessible. As a theatre performer and director, I have been in countless venues where *only* the basics of accessibility are implemented – predominantly for audiences, typically a few wheelchair seats and maybe an accessible bathroom. I frequently cannot access a stage, or where I can, it’s only from one entry point, often lacking audience-to-stage access or the multiplicity of options afforded to my bipedal peers.
It’s not just theatres … bunches of venues of all kinds continue to be inaccessible to musicians, businesspeople, politicians, everyone. Many of these venues were built in a time before the Americans with Disabilities Act when disabled people frankly just weren’t considered. And regardless of the physical structure, ableist stigmas still undergird stale assumptions that perhaps a disabled person will attend as an audience member, but many never think a disabled person will be the one in the spotlight. (For instance, how many award stages have you seen with non-stair access? The Academy Awards finally added a ramp a couple of years ago due to significant pressure from disability advocates…not sure if it will remain.)
Second, accessibility is nuanced, and nuance isn’t covered by the ADA. Make no mistake, the ADA is vital and necessary and benefits most people every day, disability or not, whether they know it or not. It drives equality in work environments, IEPs in education, and the maneuverable paths parents use with baby strollers. It also was intended as a starting point, not an endpoint. Even many “accessible” venues don’t consistently provide features such as built-in captioning screens and audio description software, the regular incorporation of ASL interpretation at events, sensory guides, or wheelchair access backstage and onstage.
Third, one can say, “it needs to be accessible,” but many people have no true understanding of what that means, boiling it down to the accessible parking placard or larger bathroom stall. The common understanding of accessibility has grown a lot over the years, along with the definition of “disability,” but it often connotes different things to different people. What’s “accessible” for me as a wheeler is not the same as my friends who are blind, deaf, neurodiverse, or have Crohn’s Disease.
And the general populace does not get detailed – or any – education about this. Think about it: do you know the history of the disability rights movement? Were you ever required to take a general ed class on disability? Did your school offer American Sign Language along with Spanish and French? The education most people get about disability is largely nonexistent, even in “progressive” spaces like the arts. Their first brush with it (outside of disability in their own lives) is often in the form of a sensational headline, a reprimand, or a lawsuit (the lawsuit often being the only remaining option available to a disabled person facing a barrier).
Lack of understanding, litigation, and public shaming feed each other in a vicious cycle and ultimately alienate the very people we in the disability community are looking to engage as allies.
Fourth, disability is not just a circumstance; it’s a culture. Many people haven’t experienced the culture of disability or access. I can’t hold it against them … I hadn’t either before my injury. And I can’t expect everyone to intuitively know my culture, situation, or needs any more than they can expect me as a white, cis, hetero Denver-born chick to know their complexities as a person of color, or LGBTQ individual, or a boy from Kansas.
Yes, we should all be aware of each other, but generalities aren’t the entirety of the human experience. Making change means communicating and connecting about each other’s situation so that we aren’t just defaulting to a code or a law. Rather we can seek to understand the human element of why things like accessibility or civil rights are important.
Even with understanding, accessibility can be complex. It’s one thing if you’re talking about a brand-new multimillion-dollar arts venue funded by city governments in wealthy districts. (Yes, I am a bit judgmental if these venues spend millions on carpeting while putting stage and dressing rooms on different floors, lacking step-free access to the tech booths or relegating a handful of accessible seating options to the margins. Sure, I can “get in the door,” but have they prioritized making the experience for folks with disabilities as full as possible?)
It is much more complex if you are talking about an area of town where more financial incentives are provided for new high-rise expensive condos than supporting a longstanding cultural institution like Cleo Parker Robinson Dance (CPRD) to assist in overhauling a historical building that, yes, will take a significant chunk of change to make fully ADA accessible on all fronts.
Does that mean I will boycott CPRD until they are accessible? No. Does it mean I’ll provide feedback, build a relationship with them, and help them in their efforts to make things more accessible? Yes … at the same time as I work to understand the challenges they face maintaining their presence in ever-gentrifying environs.
Having worked alongside CPRD when I was co-leader at Phamaly, Denver’s disability-affirmative theatre, I know they have been taking steps toward building a more accessible campus. And I have no doubt that if they had gotten more details about what access was needed for the debate, they would have worked to make it happen. Again, not excusing; just sharing my perspective.
In the end, there were missteps and mistakes here on all sides. If it were me, the first point of order in the future would be to ask all debate participants – not only someone with a visible wheelchair – what their needs are. And to have specific guidelines for all venues on what must be provided to ensure a fully accessible experience to all participants and audience members. We can’t be expected to know everything, but we can put better processes in place to ensure people are supported.
And then how about we all ask ourselves, do we know what accessibility really means? How would someone with a disability – be it a mobility device, someone who is blind, deaf or hard of hearing, or with an intellectual disability – navigate our business/venue/experience? What can we do to better support everyone, particularly those who are historically dismissed, forgotten, or outright excluded?
And then let’s communicate as human beings, face-to-face, about how we can unite to continue making things better for disenfranchised communities. Not perfect, but better.
Regan Linton is a multidisciplinary theatre artist and disability advocate from Denver. She recently worked as Accessibility Consultant on the DCPA Off-Center’s production of THEATRE OF THE MIND. She is former Artistic Director of the preeminent disability-affirmative Phamaly Theatre Company in Denver, and former Board Member of Craig Hospital in Englewood.
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