Why I tell my clients to confess, not hide, accessibility gaps
Many of us are working towards more equitable, inclusive meetings in science and other disciplines. This work is riddled with mistakes, oversights, and gaps in knowledge, oftentimes because those who would most benefit from equity measures are not on the organizing committee, itself often a symptom of both exclusive practice and the exclusivity of the field itself. Further, when folks make mistakes, they often work to hide them as evidence of failure or exclusive practice, even if they are good-faith mistakes (bad actors are a different can of worms for a different post!).
As an accessibility consultant, I work with organizers seeking expertise in advancing equity in their meetings. My advice to all clients is to always admit everything, even bad. Communication is a core equity issue and can compound to make your event even more exclusive or harmful to marginalized attendees.
I’m going to give you a few short thought experiments in how open communication about your lack of accessibility measures is actually really helpful and important. Each case below is based in one or multiple of my own experiences attending conferences and workshops in my field, and so are specific to my experiences, but I hope illuminating. I also would like to highlight that these cases are relevant to religious minorities, parents, and so many more, not just disabled people — accessibility is all-encompassing.
Case 1
I can’t stand for longer than five minutes without significant, lasting fatigue and pain. It’s 2019 and I’m headed to a conference in-person.
Reality
The conference doesn’t have accessibility information for the venue. I email and ask, are there chairs in all rooms? They don’t reply, or say “probably.” I show up and the only chairs in one of the rooms are stools (no back support; for me, basically like standing). A whole networking session is held in this room. I spend my five minutes there, then leave.
Alternate reality
Imagine the organizers had a standard accessibility statement on their registration form and website. It may read something like this: “There are five steps to the entrance. In the main room are sixty fold-out chairs. In the breakout room there are stools with no backs. There is no ASL interpretation.”
I can email ahead of time now, and now the organizers speak with me. We decide to have them swap out a few of the high tables and stools with regular chairs and low tables in the break — not only will I be able to sit, but I will also not be sitting in the corner by myself, being ignored by everyone. I also know to bring my cane and check the train schedule to accommodate an early departure, instead of having to do it last-minute, in tears, in the presence of my colleagues.
What did I gain?
In this scenario, I have gained extra time and knowledge to plan travels as a mobility-limited person. Potentially, I have also regained the networking opportunity my peers received and which I paid to be a part of — i.e., I wasn’t paying a crip tax (in this form, as wasted registration money) on experiencing this event.
Case 2
I have a tendency to get hypoglycemic and I also have a lot of dietary restrictions. For a conference, my fee includes a social lunch for ECRs that is being catered by an unknown service/restaurant.
Reality
The registration form does not ask for dietary or any other special requirements for the lunch. I email ahead and ask. They say “we will have vegan and gluten-free options,” which checks most my boxes.
When I show up to the lunch, there are separate, labeled vegan and gluten-free sections on the buffet table, but no option is both. I have spent the morning at the conference and need food or else I will faint. I am forced to skip the social lunch to walk a mile (recall I can’t walk much without repercussions to my health), find and pay for expensive takeout, and miss the lunch.
Alternate reality
The registration form or the organizers communicate that they cannot accommodate my dietary restrictions. However, they offer a voucher (or, less cool but still nice, reimbursement) to cover a pre-bought lunch. I pack a lunch and join the social event.
What did I gain?
No crip tax on lunch or the social event, and I got to meet and interact with my colleagues. I also didn’t have a hypoglycemic attack, which can screw up my whole day or even week, rendering the rest of the conference a sunk cost and lost networking opportunity.
Case 3
I am headed to another conference, now in 2022. I am immunocompromised.
Reality
There is no information on their site about remote options or masking. I have emailed and they have responded that “masks encouraged but not required.” My colleagues assure me they are all masking.
When I show up, 10% of people are masked and it’s completely unventilated — an old building and no filters. Because I’m on chemotherapy, I have to leave so this career opportunity doesn’t kill me, but not before all my colleagues see me arrive and, again, see me cry as I go.
Alternate reality
The organizers communicate on the website and/or to me that they are not repeating that mask signposting in their communications and signage at the venue, and so in their opinions, uptake is likely to be limited. They also communicate the poor ventilation of the building in their accessibility statement.
I stay home and attend virtually. I do not die from COVID.
What did I gain?
I did not die.
What have we learned?
This last example is a bit different because the lack of this particular access measure is often in tandem with a lack of other access measures.
In the other examples I describing moving chairs around, and vouchers to get lunch. What if no one offers to move chairs? In the real life example, no one did and I left. What if there is no voucher? In the real life examples, I was told there was no reimbursement; I got hypoglycemia and walked a mile (as Lorelai Gilmore says, “in heels, yet.”)
But imagine if these outcomes could kill (and, let’s be clear, the latter could!). And there is no virtual option.
The former calculus: “Do I pack several lunches ahead of time? Do I plan to skip this social event since I’ve yet to attend accessible social events?” (Solutions I have cleverly left out of the above examples, but solutions I now choose over bothering to email organizers, thanks to too many “reality” cases like the above.)
The new calculus: “Do I get the same and equal career opportunities as my colleagues and potentially die or become further disabled in doing so? Or do I stay at home, take the hit on my CV as an ECR, and survive?”
This is why I hammer the importance of not just virtual options, but specifically equitable, fair, and accessible virtual options that integrate virtual participants into the meetings. Virtual isn’t good enough, if it’s equivalent to not attending.
I left out one critical example here — able organizers tend to be accustomed to my case, someone for whom virtual is a stand-in when other accessibility measures are not present (to put it politely). However, long before this pandemic, virtual options were a vital intrinsic accessibility measure that was not made available by most STEM organizations. Some disabled and/or neurodivergent people need virtual for a whole host of reasons. Some disabled and/or neurodivergent people need in-person for a whole host of reasons! You cannot continue to force both groups to choose between participating and not, with the added dose of “do I survive this?” unless you promote removing disabled people from the profession.
The cost we are calculating is surviving and being left out of our professions at an accelerating rate vs. death or further disablement. Are we allowed to be in STEM? If you believe we are, start communicating. Start including us in the organizing committees, or, better yet, cedeing your organizing commitees to minoritized members of the field. Start paying consultants. Start doing the work.
References and further reading
Armstrong, E. S., Persaud, D.M., Jackson, C. A.-L. Redefining the scientific conference to be more inclusive, 2020, Physics World.
Brown, N., and J. Leigh, Ableism in Academia, 2020, UCL Press.
“Crip tax,” Stimpunks Foundation. https://stimpunks.org/glossary/crip-tax/
Favaro, B., Oester, S., Cigliano, J. A., Cornick, L. A., Hind, E. J., Parsons, E. C. M., and Woodbury, T. J. Your Science Conference Should Have a Code of Conduct, Front. Mar. Sci., 2016. doi: 10.3389/fmars.2016.00103
Laursen, L., Getting Value out of Virtual Conferences, inChemistry, American Chemical Society, 2020.
Persaud, D. M., Armstrong, E. S., Access-centred virtual conferencing for planetary science and beyond: reflections from Space Science in Context 2020, Europlanet Science Congress, 23rd Sept., 2020 (virtual)
Persaud, D.M., “Organizing Access-Centered and Interdisciplinary Conferences,” Women in Space Seminar Series, 29th Oct., 2020 (virtual).
Persaud, D. M. (2022), “Don’t delete me from science just because conferences suck,” Medium. https://divyamper.medium.com/dont-delete-me-from-science-just-because-conferences-suck-d2231786ea03
Persaud, D. M. (2022), “What is the future of conferences? And what should be?,” Medium. https://divyamper.medium.com/what-is-the-future-of-conferences-and-what-should-be-b6e0960a6217
Persaud, D. M. (2022). “Resources for Accessibility @ Conferences,” Google Docs. https://docs.google.com/document/d/1WSs99ys12OXkkU0WNTNR02rIA-ndRNZVgDeJMnd3j1E/
Sarabipour, S., Schwessinger, B., Mumoki, F. N., Mwakilili, A. D., Khan, A., Debat, H. J., Sáez, P. J., Seah, S., Mestrovic, T., 2020, Evaluating features of scientific conferences: A call for improvements, bioRxiv.
Serrato Marks, G., 2018, Conferencing while chronically ill, Medium. https://medium.com/@gsm/conferencing-while-chronically-ill-190664c9a4cd
Thomas, R., Access Statement Generator, Cambridge SU Disabled Students’ Campaign. https://www.disabled.cusu.cam.ac.uk/resources/access-statements/ and https://github.com/cusu/accessibility-statement-generator
