In work meetings, in the classroom when I’m teaching, at social events, and at conference sessions, I often wonder if I’m the only disabled person in the room. Because disability is so often not apparent and it is seldom spoken about, even when I know there must be other disabled people in the room, I feel isolated and self-conscious about my differences. I feel unspoken pressure to mask my low vision.
That feeling of being alone is powerful. It has swayed me at times to not advocate for myself, convincing me that asking for fairly simple things like more lights on in the room or larger print on slides is disturbing the peace. I have felt shame that I alone want brighter light or larger print. And then often, after the event where I felt such shame, I have learned that others also thought it was too dark or the print on the slides was too small, but we all felt enough shame that we sat quietly in the dark, unable to read the slides.
Ableism and other forms of oppression thrive when the people being oppressed think they are alone. The more alone we feel in our oppression, the less likely we are to ask for help or accommodations.
I want to note that this feeling of being alone is not anyone’s fault. The isolation is a function of systemic ableism rather than of individuals trying to oppress me. Most of the time these days, when I do ask for changes in lighting, people are happy to make them. Most colleagues and presenters keep their grumbling to a minimum when I ask that they make their slides high contrast or use larger fonts.
But the good intentions of people do not make spaces, meetings, and presentations more accessible. The onus is often on the disabled person to educate others around them and ask for accessibility measures. Annika Konrad calls the resulting exhaustion access fatigue.
At last year’s International Writing Center Association conference, I attended the Disability Special Interest Group meeting. I looked around and saw people I had known for years who I never knew were disabled. Others I knew as disabled but hadn’t ever talked to them about disability. Simply being in a room full of other disabled people reduced my anxiety fatigue right there on the spot.
The following semester, I taught a class on disability rhetorics. The majority of students who took the class identified themselves as disabled to their classmates. Students commented many times throughout the semester on how profound it was to have a community of disabled peers. They said that for the first time in their lives, they didn’t feel shame and isolation. They didn’t worry about being the only person in the space with so-called “special needs.”
Seeing the impact of disabled community at the IWCA meeting and in that class motivated me to create a disabled employee affinity group on campus. An affinity group provides a safe space for disabled people to connect, share experiences, and support each other. Simply knowing you’re not the only one is empowering. Although I know logically that I’m probably seldom the only disabled person in the room, being part of a workplace affinity group helps remind me that when I ask for accommodations, I am helping other disabled people, too. I’m not the only one who benefits from brighter lights or larger fonts on slides. Instead of feeling selfish for requesting accommodations, I can understand what I’m doing as advocating for accessibility and inclusivity.
An affinity group makes disability in the workplace visible, both for current and prospective employees. The existence of the group is proof that disabled people work there. It tells disabled people considering applying for positions that they will have a community there. It provides a way for members to support each other, share experiences, and help others navigate the mysterious process of asking for official accommodations.
One aspect of workplace accommodations that is shrouded in mystery is what can you ask for? Many folks don’t know what kind of accommodations you can ask for besides ramps and sign language interpreters. An affinity group provides a space for members to talk about what their accommodations are and how they got them—or how inadequate their accommodations are and how to get more impactful ones.
In a culture that prizes independence, disabled community provides interdependence without shame.
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