Ah yes, anonymous desserts that contain none of the usual allergens. So tasty. Good luck if you are allergic to anything not in that list.
A funny thing happens when you have dietary or accessibility needs at conferences and events – too many bad experiences can leave you a little defensive. A few weeks ago that defensiveness saved me from getting an accidental (and potentially very unpleasant) dose of gluten, as I noticed that serving utensils were happily being swapped between gluten and gluten free foods, meaning the gluten free foods were no longer reliably gluten free. Had I not been alert to the possibility, the results would have been… well… unpleasant. I won’t disturb you with the details.
Mobility impairment, I have discovered, can be similar. I often enter a venue braced for having to find ways to protect myself, to avoid injury, and to remain included. Sometimes I injure myself trying to achieve inclusion, particularly when there’s no option to sit down, so I try to spot potential issues and plan for ways to remain part of the conversation while not actually hurting myself. I often enter an unfamiliar event space braced for struggle, for danger, for potential exclusion. Rather than entering focused on the event, I’m walking in defensive and alert.
For folks who don’t walk in wondering how today’s event might be a danger to them, the act of making an event inclusive might be a bit of a mystery. Here are some things I have noticed.
An important part of leading an event is building trust, and helping people feel safe, both physically and psychologically. The same event where I nearly got glutened started well, from a mobility perspective, as I entered the ground floor using a crutch, and while I was getting myself a coffee, one of the facilitators approached me and said she’d noticed the crutch, and that while the event was on two floors, there was a lift at the back that I could use to access the first floor. That was heartening.
But then the event started. After a brief preamble, we were directed to the first floor, where we were given various ice breaking exercises.
“You’ll have to move around!” proclaimed the facilitator, followed with, as a clear afterthought, “but you don’t have to. You can sit down if you need.”
At the end of the icebreakers she got the group to stand in a circle, in an area with no chairs. Mindful of the injuries I have sustained in the past from standing for too long, I remained sitting. Unfortunately, the position of the circle meant I was excluded from the conversation, and I couldn’t really remedy that easily. Still, it was brief. No real harm done.
After that, we were directed downstairs, where we sat in rows of chairs, and then it was time for audience participation. To try to build energy and break the ice further, the facilitator had a large foam block which contained a microphone. If we wanted to speak, we were told to stand up, and the microphone would be thrown to us by the previous speaker. It was an odd shaped room, and the rows were long, so some of the throws had to be vigorous to make it to the next speaker. Also, even though it was foam, it was large enough that it had real heft to it.
It sounds like a fun, energetic activity, but there were some significant issues with it. For those inexperienced in wielding large foam blocks, it was difficult to throw, difficult to catch, and left some folks feeling quite uncoordinated and unsettled. Inevitably, someone got hit in the back of the head by an unexpected high speed large foam block. They seemed understandably shaken.
This kind of activity can work really well in a small group where everyone knows each other and already feels safe. But in a large room full of strangers, it had the effect of putting folks on the defensive and, in some cases, narrowly avoiding injury. Sure, the foam block was unlikely to cause direct harm, but jerking out of the way, or lurching to prevent it hitting someone else, can cause injury, especially in folks like me with a connective tissue disorder, or arthritis, or just bad joints. Energy built in the room, yes, but so did stress.
An alternative and safer way to build energy could be to have the facilitators act the clown as they ran around with the microphone. It is the facilitators’ job to build energy, after all.
After lunch on day 2, the same facilitator who started out by throwing things at us (puts a different light on it when you look at it that way, doesn’t it?) told us all to head upstairs.
“Don’t have anything in your hands!” she instructed. “Put down any cups of coffee, that will be dangerous! There’s going to be some hip and shouldering!”
As it happened, I was already sitting down on one of the few chairs at the edge of the room, but after the hip and shouldering comment, I was eyeing potential escape routes uneasily. People hip and shouldering each other did NOT sound safe! What’s more, although I was the only one using a mobility aid, I was not the only one nursing an injury. I’m pretty sure I was also not the only one who felt unsafe with the idea of activities involving hip and shouldering!
As it turned out, the activity was to write down an idea on a card, then run around the room swapping cards with people until the facilitator said stop. An interesting way to make sure you are no longer holding your own card, and also to build up energy. Again, though, this could have been achieved without having the whole room running, with a strong emphasis on being fast. For example, we could have sat in a circle and passed the notes as fast as possible, with maybe 4 or 5 volunteer runners mixing things up even more. The activity involved a neat scoring system, and wound up with a ranked list of ideas that was quite useful, but we could have achieved the same effect without the fear factor and risk of injury.
Throughout the two days, there was a lot of emphasis on moving around, usually with a token “You can sit down if you need to,” thrown in at the end. My inclusion, and that of anyone else who wasn’t up for moving around at that point, was a hasty afterthought. Not so much inclusion as “oops, you can’t do that, can you, you can be included if you like.” It drew attention to my lack of mobility, singled me out, and left me feeling like an irritating problem to be solved. Not exactly the vibe they were aiming for!
There was also strong emphasis on interacting with people you don’t know – many of the activities we were told we were not allowed to be with anyone we knew. I can see how this builds mingling and, we hope, connection, but for some folks, especially neurodivergent folks, that could have made the activities impossibly intimidating. For many folks with social anxiety, the only reasonable way to meet new people is with a trusted person by your side. We were under strict instructions not to let that happen.
Now, sure, we could have broken the rules, but that adds a layer of stress and tension to an already tense situation. Now we have to run the calculation in our heads about how we can break the rules, whether we are going to get into trouble for it, and how we can achieve the goals without triggering a panic attack. If the activity had been “pair up and meet a new pair of people”, that would have made it possible for people to pair up with a friend or a stranger, according to need and preference.
A lot of activities are designed around the assumption that everyone is neurotypical, perfectly healthy and mobile, and can eat anything without issue.
An inclusive event would not have people anxiously eyeing the exits and calculating escape routes. It would not have the gluten free food on the same table as the glutenous foods, where serving tongs could become crossed over (or where gluten crumbs might simply fall in the gluten free dishes). It would not have anything being thrown around the room, nor any talk of hip and shouldering. And it would have ensured that people met new people in ways that felt safe and inclusive.
Here are some questions to ask yourself about activities you are planning for a workshop, to try to maximise inclusion:
- Will everyone be able to see the presenter(s)?
- Can everyone, including people who are seated, see everyone else in the group? (this isn’t always necessary, for example if just one person is presenting, but if you want to have a group conversation, you want to maximise this)
- Is any moving around optional? Are people who are not moving around fully included in the activity?
- Are the chairs located in the activity rather than on the edges, are there sufficient chairs for everyone to sit down if they need to – if one person is sitting down, the people who come to speak to them also need to be able to sit down, otherwise the seated person gets a sore neck AND can’t hear the standing people easily.
- Will the noise level be manageable for someone with hearing loss or noise sensitivity? Sometimes this can be mitigated by using a bigger space and encouraging people to spread out, but sometimes you will need to change the activity.
- Do my activities allow for folks to have a buddy with them if they want?
- Is this activity as inclusive as possible up front, or are we going to have to try to bolt some inclusivity on as an afterthought? Will it be obvious that inclusivity was an afterthought?
It certainly takes work to design activities that are inclusive and build trust, but it’s worth it if you want to ensure that everyone can participate fully, and without undue stress.
What have I missed? What are some of the more inclusive (or exclusionary!) activities you’ve experienced at conferences?
