Accessibility and Archives: “Reasons to be cheerful”?

In this, the seventeenth in a sequence of blogposts around disability and inclusion from the Accessibility working group of ARA’s Diversity and Inclusion Allies, Philip Milnes-Smith reflects on the recent ARA Conference in Belfast and what it might say about the state of Accessibility for professional conferences in “these isles”.

At the most recent ARA Conference, Accessibility working group members with lived experience of disability, individually and together were programmed to deliver papers, to participate in panel discussion and the less formal “Is it okay?” presentation.  These were not poorly attended.  We have also had feedback from attendees, both at the time and subsequently, suggesting we had been reaching our audience and provoking further thought.  It was also encouraging to see that disabled people and their records were mentioned in other presentations and streams.  There is still some way to go before the proportion matches that of disabled people in the population, and it is too soon to predict whether these green shoots will blossom into sustained progress.

But it is also worth reflecting on the quality and depth of ‘inclusion’ beyond the literal (being welcome to attend and to speak).  To start with the big picture, an in-person conference is not accessible to those who are unable to attend (for whatever reason).  Even if an event has record attendance (and thus seems a success story), It is always good practice to consider who is not there, why, and what further could be done.  Readers will not need to be reminded of the ‘cost of living crisis’ and employment precarity (particularly for, but not limited to, early career professionals).  What is perhaps less obvious is that disabled professionals may be particularly affected by the double whammy of the disability price tag (that increases their living costs) and the disability pay gap which means that they are likely to be earning less than non-disabled colleagues (through factors such as part-time employment, unemployment and under-employment).  If self-employed, they might not feel able to afford time when they are unable to work.  If employed, they may also choose not to attempt to persuade their employers to grant the time to attend, and/or support their expenses, through not wishing to rock the boat. 

Disabled members might also be hesitant about requesting accommodations for their needs (e.g. a carer, interpreters, assistance dog, or accessibility provision in the venue’s conference and bedrooms).  This could be down to a lack of ‘spoons’ for the additional bureaucratic hoops that non-disabled people do not have to clamber through (‘crip time’).  They may also lack confidence that their needs would be taken seriously, or fear that they would be addressed in ways not of their choosing and not, in fact, meeting their needs.  If you have a dynamic condition, you may also be reluctant to sign up for an event still months in the future (to secure the early bird discount) when you have no idea if your health would let you attend at all, or enough to justify the effort and expense.

Although some of the content from Belfast will become available through blogposts, or write-ups in ARC Magazine, for example, we should not kid ourselves that this is equal treatment for those who were unable to attend.  But even for those disabled people who, notwithstanding all the potential barriers note above, make it to a professional conference, how might their experience be different (and potentially unequal)?  Understandably, a professional conference is likely to be timetabled with a non-disabled majority audience in mind, that does not, for example, take account of the extra time it might take someone with mobility to move between sessions (which might be on separate floors) or access facilities.  Seating arrangements in some rooms may be difficult to exit in a hurry, meaning your choice of parallel session might be more limited.  Session Chairs may, inadvertently, draw unwanted attention to you, or make you feel uncomfortable if you insist on sitting in the back row closest to the exit, while they urge you not to be shy and come closer to the front. 

Even if you don’t personally experience mobility issues, I suspect it is easier to take that perspective on board than that of someone managing sensory overload on top of trying to absorb the intellectual content and to communicate effectively to build professional networks and relationships.  A successful professional conference is likely to be more crowded and louder than is comfortable if you have sensory sensitivity, particularly at the times when everyone else is able to dial down their concentration a little (in refreshment breaks, at drinks receptions, etc) when the whole assembled company are talking at once.  Different participants may take different approaches – using ear defenders, seeking decompression time in a designated quiet room, or opting out.  The conference dinner could well be the highlight for some members, while others may view it with dread.  We might fear both the subsequent interrogations if we aren’t there, and the impression we are making on our neighbours if we do, by being unable to follow their conversation because of the volume of the background noise, or retiring early.  Self-exclusion by choosing to eat elsewhere, at your own expense, may be the best for your well-being, if attending provokes discomfort and even pain.

Contributions to this series are welcomed, particularly if you are a disabled student or professional.  If you are interested in contributing, in the first instance, email diversityandinclusion@archives.org.uk .