BADD 2016: Battling Normate Space Invaders

[jesse_the_k]

ETA: I wrote this for May 1st, Blogging Against Disablism Day. many more posts
http://blobolobolob.blogspot.co.uk/p/blogging-against-disablism-day-2016.html

Nineteen ninety-three: I got my first powerchair, my city began a growth spurt, and the ADA design guidelines had just been published. This should have meant smooth rolling: many new accessible buildings!

Particularly for chain or franchise establishments, this has been the case. A new Shopko is laid out like all the other Shopkos. Hundreds of access details are done right: push-button door openers; wide aisles marked out with contrasting floor tiles; a family fitting room with low bench, grab bars and room for two adults; price check kiosks and checkout counters at the right height; and many more. Mass-merchandising makes mass access easier, since a seamless experience is the product.

But in 23 years, I've discovered that requiring and constructing wheelchair-accessible space is not enough. Although local retail, restaurants, clinics, and other service businesses are built to the same accessible specs as the chains, I still can't count on that level of access. (Today, I'm narrowing this essay to just one personal experience in my wheelchair; I know that accessibility includes much more than wheelchair access.)

To focus on just one detail, we need to take a brief side trip to the valley of the doors. If only the U.S. accessibility guidelines required push-button door openers, this wouldn't be an issue! Picture a nondisabled person and how they open a door. Chris McTypical has two feet and two hands: to open the door Chris stands in front and pulls the handle towards their chest. But many wheelchair users can't do this front reach over their lap and footrests.

Let's consider Harper O'Para, who has almost full use of their arms. Instead of rolling in straight and pulling back, Harper angles the chair so the gripping hand side is as close to the handle as possible. With this side reach, Harper has more control, power, and leverage. That's why the ADA guidelines require maneuvering space on the handle side of doors.

Back to the real world: the entry door to my local knitting shop. The door opens out, hinged on the left. I control my power wheelchair with my left hand on the joystick, so my right hand is available to grab the door's right-side handle.

The maneuvering space which makes the door accessible is invisible to the building's users. They perceive it as open, extra or wasted space. As the photo shows,

they placed a triangular display and a bench in the maneuvering space. They created a barrier, which makes it impossible for me to get inside.

This is the continual battle against the normate space invaders. This is why accessible design and construction isn't enough.

If you think this barrier wasn't really created on purpose, that it's just the thoughtlessness of the ill-informed, I know that's not the case. I've visited this particular shop to inform them they've recreated barriers unnecessarily, and asked them to stop destroying the built-in accessibility. Their response is Oh, don't worry, we'll be happy to help if you just ask.

Nondisabled people may wonder, so what's so hard about asking? Great effort has been made to create accessible environments. Why should this thoughtless disablism require us to ask permission over and over? We are here; we are the public, as Dave Hingsburger put it so eloquently. When nondisabled people recolonize our spaces, we must regroup, react, and respond.

Comments

[jesse_the_k]

You're most welcome.

One of the reasons I loved working access at WisCon was the opportunity to make all these things visible, through the magic of low-tack masking tape (bright blue, almost the same color as the standardized international access symbol.)

WisCon continues to highlight "our" space -- traveling lanes, parking spaces, and close-in seating -- with blue tape. I can breathe so much easier then! In most situations I have to decide whether I want to expend the effort to advocate or accept being squished into a corner, not a happy choice.