Someone recently accused me of showing ableist behavior. After researching the term - and getting over my feelings - I was inclined to believe the person. As I sat with the reality that there was yet another stone to uncover on my proverbial journey of self discovery, I wondered how I could have missed such a glaring shortcoming. As my understanding of ableism deepens, I have realized that my inability to recognize my own biases is emblematic of how ableism is able to thrive in our society. In a revealing episode of "Be Antiracist", a podcast hosted by leading author Ibram X. Kendi, Rebecca Cokley defined ableism as, “a system that places value on people's bodies and minds based on societally constructed ideas of normalcy, intelligence, excellence, and productivity.” The crux of Cokley's perspective is that ableism and racism are "roots of the same tree".
The ironic part of being called out on ableist behavior is that I was right at the beginning of leading a workshop series on race and racism. The series was structured in such a way that it allowed participants space to identify their own biases, even as they relayed personal traumas. Though this was an opportunity for me to live out all that I was teaching, I can't say that I responded in the best of ways. As we continue to unpack how parents and educators can pass along embodied wisdom to kids, perhaps there is something you can learn from my mistakes.
The initial complaint came via email. My first error was in not fully stopping what I was doing to really hear what the person was trying to share with me. Perhaps if we had been in a verbal conversation my attention would not have been diverted. However, like many people, I was already knee-deep in unanswered emails, and receiving this correspondence felt like a fresh pound of sinking sand had been poured over my head. I knew the email was important, so I gave it that signifying mark of "I'll get to this later" by clicking on the *star* icon to move it to my "important" inbox. The trouble with this is that it fell in the sea of other "important" to-dos that I had yet to get to.
While we may want to respond to these concerns immediately, part of this journey is in recognizing that some responses will take more time than others. Though I was quick to reply to the initial email with a "Thank you for bringing this to my attention. I will get back to you ASAP," it still took me awhile to adequately address the matter.
The first step I needed to take was to develop an understanding of what "ableism" meant. I had never heard the term actively used in any of my prior contexts, so I was ill equipped to respond to the complaint immediately. I had to work in time to educate myself on the matter. The tricky part was that our workshop series was already underway.
As I began the process of educating myself on what it meant to perpetuate ableism, I began to recognize the signs that the person had initially pointed out to me. It wasn't that I didn't believe the person when they first brought it up - I just didn't have the language or understanding to connect the dots between the words shared about how my actions were perceived versus what I thought my actions were achieving.
The next step was for me to determine how to respond with this newfound awareness. I tried reaching out to the person to see if they would be willing to offer more specific details on what I could do to help improve their experience with the workshop series. I knew better than to put the responsibility of my need for education on the person, so I wasn't asking for them to bring me up to speed on all things ableism. What I was asking for was the opportunity to converse with the person so that they could share what they needed from the space, and to offer them an opportunity to speak into how they'd like to shape or contribute to the space. We didn't get the chance to have that one on one conversation I was hoping for though.
I opted to express my desire to keep the line of communication open between us should the person ever want to have that one on one conversation. As far as that person was concerned, that was the best I felt I could do at the moment. However, I did view their initial email as a call for my team and I to examine our entire approach to the workshop series. Ever since, we have been eager to learn more about ableism and to explore new possibilities that could make our spaces more welcoming and accessible for a wider range of people.
As my team and I asked this question, we knew we needed to make sure that other voices were included in shaping and implementing these strategies, even if the strategies meant refraining from solidifying certain aspects of programming that need to be loose and flexible so that others have a chance to communicate their needs and boundaries in real time. This revealed even more layers in the process for us to consider.
These questions and their resulting complexities swim in my mind as I consider next steps for our team and our programs. It is clear that this will be an unfolding process, and I am aware that my first few mistakes will not be my last. That does not mean that I will stop learning and improving though. Taking the first steps in acknowledging these questions has demonstrated that this journey requires that we continually broaden our scope. We are living in a multi-layered network of intertwining systems of oppression, and we cannot adequately address one without addressing others.
Further, as we grow in our capacity to raise and educate antiracist (anti-oppressive, really) kids we also have to recognize that we we will not have it all figured out before it is time to start sharing what we are learning. We have to teach as we go. The benefit of this is that we will have chances to model what it looks like to own up to our mistakes and shortcomings, and to demonstrate what corrective action looks like. If there was only one takeaway I could claim from this experience, it is that learning, sharing, and teaching never stop feeding into one another. Even as we guide and teach we have to recognize that we are never exempt from needing to check our own biases, nor from needing to listen when others are helping us to see our own blindspots.
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