Price / “Transient Spaces and the Traces They Leave” / Symposium on Disability and Change / page 1
Margaret Price This copy is provided for access purposes.
Spelman CollegePlease contact me before citing or
Symposium: “Disability and Change”distributing. Note that some of the work
Temple Universitypresented here is co-authored with Stephanie
March 18, 2015Kerschbaum, Mark Salzer, and Amber O’Shea.
Transient Spaces and the Traces They Leave:
Practicing Access in Higher Education[i]
Before we get started, I want to invite everyone to use this space in the way that is most accessible for you. You might wish to sit or lie on the floor rather than remain in a chair. You might want to stand up, move around, stretch, or go out and come back in. You might wish to stay in one seat, but engage in an activity such as stimming, typing, knitting, or drawing. All these forms of engagement are welcome. [Paper copies are available, and Dr. George has also posted this script online.]
More than ten years ago, I was invited to spend two weeks at a prestigious university engaging with other scholars in various areas of critical theory, including disability studies. I was thrilled; I couldn’t wait to be among like-minded academics and activists. However, the experience was not the two-week festival of access and intellectual comradeship that I had naively imagined. We were given a heavy reading load ahead of time, with just weeks to prepare; and once we got there, I discovered that the seminars were run in one small room for hours each day. The only break during the day was lunch, which we were expected to eat together. Conversation during the seminars was conventionally styled; that is, participants were expected to break in on their own initiative, and to follow complex and intersecting trains of thought without engaging any modes beyond the oral. Now, when I describe the seminar this way, I am not saying that it was an unusually diabolical setup. In fact, what I’m pointing out about this story is that the design of the seminar was completely ordinary. Surrounded by others who seemed to be taking the hours sitting in one small room, the unscripted turn-taking, and the many social events, in stride, I asked myself: “Why can’t I do this?” At the time, I was too afraid to articulate that question publicly, since I was pretty sure the failing must be in myself.
Spurred by experiences like that one, which have left deep traces on me, my research focuses on the design of spaces where bodyminds come together. [SLIDE]In Mad at School, I introduced a concept called kairotic space, which draws from the classical Greek concept of kairos, usually translated to mean “the opportune time,” or simply “good timing.” Kairotic space requires not only good design—which is usually arranged ahead of time—but also good timing in the moment. These are the less formal, often unnoticed, areas of academia where knowledge is produced and power is exchanged. A classroom discussion is a kairotic space, as is an individual meeting with one’s advisor. Conferences are rife with kairotic spaces, including the Q&A sessions after panels, impromptu elevator encounters, and gatherings at restaurants and bars on the periphery of formal events. Other examples from students’ experiences might include peer-response workshops, study groups, or departmental parties or gatherings to which they are invited.
[SLIDE]I define a kairotic space as one characterized by all or most of these criteria:
- Events are synchronous; that is, they unfold in “real time.”
- Impromptu communication is required or encouraged.
- Participants are tele/present. That is, they may be present in person, through a digital interface such as a video chat, or in hybrid form.
- The situation involves a strong social element.
- Stakes are high.
I specify “all or most of these criteria” to indicate that the boundaries of such spaces are neither rigid nor objectively determined. So, for instance, a meeting taking place either in person or via instant message between a graduate student and their assigned academic mentor would probably qualify as a kairotic space. But an informal study session between two students who have been friends for years and who experience minimal risk in studying together would probably not. [SLIDE] The defining element of kairotic space is the pairing of spontaneity with high levels of professional/academic impact. Attention to relations of power is of great importance in understanding kairotic space, as is recognition that different participants will perceive those relations differently. I don’t claim the ability to define what is and is not a kairotic space if I am not directly involved; in fact, that’s part of my point, that one person in a space may feel that it’s entirely low-stakes and friendly (this is a common assumption on the part of academic mentors, for instance), while another may perceive a significant sense of risk.
Despite their importance, kairotic spaces in academia tend to be under-studied. One reason for this is that, due to their unscripted nature, it’s difficult to collect data in them (Ventola, Shalom, & Thompson, 2002, p. 361). Another, more compelling reason is that their impact tends to be underestimated by those who move through them with relative ease. The importance of kairotic space will be more obvious to a person who—for example—can hear only scraps of a conversation held among a group sitting at a table, or who needs more than a few seconds to process a question during a classroom discussion.
Using this notion of kairotic space, in Mad at School I explored a variety of topoi, or common topics. Topoi are ideas that are commonly referred to among a particular community, but whose definitions tend to be fuzzy. This fuzziness often ends up working to the advantage of those who already have more power in the situation. In Sharon Crowley’s phrasing, such concepts “are part of the discursive machinery that hides the flow of difference” (73). I’ve identified a number of topoi which are important in academic space but also under-examined with regard to disability. [SLIDE] These topoi include:
Price / “Transient Spaces and the Traces They Leave” / Symposium on Disability and Change / page 1
- Rationality
- Criticality
- Presence
- Participation
- Resistance
- Productivity
- Collegiality
- Security
- Coherence
- Truth
- Independence
Price / “Transient Spaces and the Traces They Leave” / Symposium on Disability and Change / page 1
In my most recent research, including a study of disability disclosure being carried out in collaboration with Stephanie Kerschbaum, Mark Salzer, and Amber O’Shea, we’ve been working with some additional topoi that bear further examination. These include [CONTINUE SLIDE]
Price / “Transient Spaces and the Traces They Leave” / Symposium on Disability and Change / page 1
- Barriers and supports
- Costs and gains
- Flexibility
- Space/time
Price / “Transient Spaces and the Traces They Leave” / Symposium on Disability and Change / page 1
Of course, this [gesture to slide] represents a huge array of ideas and possibilities for thinking about disability and change; every idea requires a lot of unpacking. You’ll be glad to know that I don’t plan to undertake that whole unpacking project today. Instead, I’m going to “zoom in” and talk about just one of these, which I’ve been thinking about a lot lately: space, and its inevitable companion, time.The question spurring my investigations is this: [SLIDE]How do social justice and injustice play out in the spaces of academe, and how can we stop perpetuating injustice in the spaces we design and inhabit?
When I say “space,” I don’t just mean a measurable or nameable space, like this auditorium we are in right now. My understanding of space draws from cultural geographers, including those focusing on disability, such as Brendan Gleeson and Jos Boys. Space, in a cultural geographer’s conception, means not only the (sort of) container where things take place, but also the discourses, practices, and histories that infuse it—or even haunt it (on haunting, see Jenell Johnson). Such an understanding of space draws upon Edward Soja’s [Postmodern Geographies] notion of the “socio-spatial dialectic,” which posits that space and sociality are interdependent; that is, the way a space is designed does not determine what social relations will unfold within it, nor do the social relations of a space determine its shape. Both are constantly producing each other, all the time. Further, according to Soja, the constant co-production of space and sociality cannot be separated from the relations of power entwined with that process: [SLIDE]“The spatiality and temporality of locales are contextually intertwined and inseparably connected to relations of power from outset to outcome” (150). [ii]
Here’s a concrete example to illustrate this process. [SLIDE] This image shows …[read description off slide, and note that it was part of an accessibility audit assignment completed by Brit Robinson and Amber Hobbs.] Now, if we thought of this elevator only in terms of its literal design, we would think of it simply as a mechanical box that transports occupants from one level to another. As the series of photographs taken by Brit and Amber show, this elevator is operational: its doors work, it ascends and descends between levels, and so forth. However, its purpose has been mediated by the addition of the many cardboard boxes inside, which, as their report indicates, are very heavy (being filled with books). Now this space has been repurposed by the inhabitants of the Spelman bookstore, as a storage space. Although no people are present in this photograph, we can discern traces of the people who are assumed to be users of this space. Note that there is a small cleared area in front of the boxes. This area looks to be about adequate for a single adult person standing up, or possibly two, if they squnched together. It is not large enough for any but the slimmest wheelchairs, if that—and certainly there is not space for a wheelchair to turn around and for the user to access the elevator’s button panel. So this space is constructed not only through metal and carpet and drywall, but also through assumptions—the imagining of who this elevator is for. And the social-spatial dynamic continued through the process of my students’ audit, since they asked an employee why the elevator had been turned into a storage closet. The employee explained that “no one” used this elevator except to transport books. Note that the dialectic outlined by Soja is constructed not only through what is there, but also through the possible futures implied by what’s there. Presumably, if a wheelchair user, a large person, someone who is unable to tolerate confined spaces, or anyone else not able to occupy this very cramped space, saw the interior of this elevator, they would indeed immediately become a non-user of it.
[SLIDE—accommodation, retrofit, access]That understanding of space, as something that both produces and is produced bysocial relations including disability, emphasizes something that disability-studies scholars have been arguing for some time, which is that accommodations, while necessary and important, are only a beginning point. Accommodations, by their nature, identify a single person or small group who has some “problem,” which needs to be fixed. For example, let’s imagine a student named Robert who has ADHD and needs detailed notes for a lecture class he is taking, but is unable to take notes at the pace the lectures usually proceed. An accommodation approach to this issue might be to assign a note-taker for Robert—usually another student, often paid a small stipend, who takes notes during lecture and then gives Robert copies. Note that this accommodation does not do anything to change the structure within which the problem exists: that is, the style of the lecture class is not altered, nor is the pace of the lecture, nor the assumption that each student should have their own personal set of notes. Assigning a note-taker for Robert is a retrofit—that is, it leaves the general structure intact while making a modification that is added on, often awkwardly.[iii]Melanie Yergeau and Jay Dolmage are among the scholars who have identified the link between accommodations and retrofitting; indeed, as Yergeau argues, “to accommodate is to retrofit” (emphasis added) (“Multimodality”).
As an alternative to retrofit style accommodation, disability-studies scholars including Rob Michalko have argued for an emphasis on access, or accessible design, which seeks to transform spaces or situations rather than fix individuals’ problems. [Side note: At this time, both are necessary; I am not saying that we should do away with accommodations. Rather, I’m suggesting that we question the spatial logic within which they operate, and think about how spaces themselves might be transformed.]
My current research project, a study of disabled faculty and their experiences of disclosure, provides further evidence that an accommodation model falls far short in the effort to create a truly accessible and just academic environment. [SLIDE]This study is being conducted in two phases: first, an anonymous survey of faculty with mental disability, co-researched with Mark Salzer, Stephanie Kerschbaum, and Amber O’Shea; and second, a series of in-depth interviews, co-researched with Stephanie Kerschbaum. So in the next part of this talk, I want to offer some thoughts drawn from thatstudy, which is still ongoing, but which has already revealed important insights about the experiences of disabled faculty in higher education.
[SLIDE]First, and perhaps most centrally, disclosure of disability is not a straightforward or one-time event. Disability-studies scholars have been arguing this for quite some time, and our study offers data-driven substantiation of that point, which previously has been advanced in first-person accounts and smaller studies. Disclosure is not an easily identified event in which Person A says out loud to Person B, for example, “I have mental illness” or “I am deaf.” Thus, references to “the closet,” being “out,” or having an “invisible” disability, while useful to some extent, run the risk of misrepresenting an experience with many more dimensions than in/out, or visible/invisible (see Brune & Wilson, 2013; Kerschbaum, 2014; Montgomery, 2001; Samuels, 2003; Siebers, 2004, 2008).
[SLIDE]In the survey that began this study, we found that a large percentage, about 87%, of responding faculty had never requested accommodations for their mental disabilities. The survey asked “Why not?” and participants were able to select more than one option, if they wished, for this item. The most common response was “Do not need them” (about 50%), followed by “Was not aware that they were available” (about 34%), “Feeling that it’s not other peoples’ business” (about 31%), and two categories suggesting potential outcomes—“Possibility that the request would affect tenure/promotion” (about 25%) and “Possibility that people might avoid me or treat me badly” (about 22%). Interestingly, no respondents selected the option “Cannot acquire necessary documentation.”
That same question (Why have you not requested accommodations) left space for open-ended responses. These responses ranged widely: some respondents stated that they feel mental health is a personal issue; some elaborated on their fear of negative outcomes; some stated that they simply felt they didn’t need accommodations, or that accommodations already given to everyone in the office (such as flexible scheduling) met their needs. Fear of stigma is a significant theme that runs throughout many of the open-ended responses. One participant wrote, succinctly, “One word—STIGMA”; another wrote, “FEAR of losing [a]ll credibility.” Yet another elaborated more fully on this concern, which in this case stems from having seen another colleague face negative consequences. This participant wrote, “I do not think that the risk of serious reprisal is high, but I have seen a colleague with a serious mental health issue subjected to constant gossip, originating with administrators, and I believe such would seriously damage my ability to work.”
[SLIDE: just the title part]Now, the survey sampled only faculty with mental disability. The ongoing interview study samples faculty with a wider range of disabilities, including blindness, deafness (both signing and non-signing), multiple sclerosis, autism, bipolar disorder, ADD, depression, mobility impairments, and chronic illnesses and/or pain. We are only in the beginning stages of data analysis, and we are still conducting interviews. But in a preliminary way, we have already found that many of the concerns raised by mentally disabled faculty are echoed in interviews by faculty with other kinds ofdisabilities.
[NEXT PART OF SLIDE]One emergent theme is a strong sense of vulnerability that many faculty have described in their interviews. For example, one respondent, with a chronic illness that affects mobility and stamina, stated that “You don’t know who’s gonna play that card [your having disclosed your disability] against you for any reason without you even knowing it’s happening.” Another respondent, who is blind, explained that she is “very careful” when responding to questions about how she manages her classroom—for example, how she ensures that students are staying on task although she is not monitoring them visually. She explained that disclosing this information could make her vulnerable; for example, it could be suggested that she is not able to manage her classroom adequately. A third participant described taking great care in choosing which diagnoses she discloses when discussing accommodations with her school’s ADA coordinator. Having diagnoses of both attention-deficit and bipolar disorder, this faculty member perceived that disclosing ADHD put her at relatively lower risk, and that information about her mood disorder should be kept “a little more close to the chest.” This same faculty member seems to have a sharp sense of what accommodation requests are permissible and which might be, as she put it, “treading too close to the line.” Requests like a modification of her workload, for example, she thought might put her at some risk even to suggest.