Takeaways from Kennedy Center LEAD 2014

This week, I had the privilege of attending the Kennedy Center's Leadership Exchange in Arts and Disability (LEAD) Conference. I attended sessions on unviersal design/exhibit accessibility, ADA policy, audience engagement, and general best practices for operating an accessible organization. The ideas I was exposed to are still marinating in my brain and I'm excited to explore them more deeply in the way I approach my work in the field. But I thought it would be helpful to distill the most important concepts that resonanted across sessions:

If you're not sure something is going to work for the disability community, just ask. Use experts on your staff and consult regularly with a disability advisory board, or other visitors with disabilities to test concepts and exhibit prototypes at every stage. Working with PwD early and often can help your institution save time, effort, and money to make sure an exhibit works the the widest range of users from the get-go. Consulting PwD add values to your institution by not only ensuring your exhibits will be accessible, but also builds rapport and mutual respect between participants and staff.

Becoming an accessible organization is not a static set of programs and built features, it's a dynamic, on-going commitment to the needs of the disability community. Your relationship with the disability community should not end just because you've updated to ADA standards. Accessibility needs to be built into your core institutional values.

Accessible is not the same as inclusive. Just because a visitor can physically access something, does not mean that they are having the same experience. In the case of historical site/objects, physical access is not always possible, but built interpretation and interactives can help provide the same type of experience. In a conversation about how zoos/aquariums could be more inclusive for the blind, one attendee described his frustration at how the blind do not get to experience the animal in context: an eagle perched on a branch vs. touching a feather, and lion charging prey vs. petting a lion belt.

He said, "Try to keep in mind, it's common to get a pelt on a flat table.. but because most animals aren't flat, these isolated pieces do not make up an animal." and then comically noted, "You can't describe an American Bison in any way that makes sense to a blind person." Touch experiences are a great first step, but it's important to think more carefully about "what is a sighted person getting from seeing animals that a blind person is not?" How can we use tools such as audio describing and multiple layers of sensory experience to match this experience?

First-hand simulations and other illustrations of the visitor experience for a person with a disability can be valuable tools for building institutional support. For disability advocates who are trying to increase support within their institution, first-hand experiences, such as having staff and board members navigate their space in a wheelchair, or communication tools, such as experience maps or user experience models, can be helpful tools to build empathy and support for disability services. Make an appeal to colleagues' professionalism and desire to have their work communicated to as wide an audience as possible. 

People with disabilities are not a small, special interest group. Especially as the core visitors of many arts organizations are aging, it is important not to think of PwD as a small isolated group. Whether the disability was from birth, or as the result of aging or an accident, disability is something that can affect all of our lives. Most of us personally know someone who is excluded from fully participating in arts and cultural organizations as a result of their disability. We must advocate for public institutions to become as inclusive of the widest range of visitors as possible. Only then will we have a thriving arts/cultural sector that is a reflection of our diversity of human experience.

Going to be chewing on all these ideas and more for a while, but looking forward to keeping in touch with all the thoughtful people I met this week. It's upsetting to become more aware of experiences I take for granted, that are daily frustrations for PwD, but I'm excited about all the work this group of people is doing across the country.

“Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed, citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.”

— Margaret Mead

Kermit, Art, and Movement Building

My 2011 senior speech at the GlobeMed Annual Summit

If I had to determine the most important influences on my convictions as an advocate for social change from all of the books, characters, organizations, teachers, travels, and opportunities I have encountered, I would have to say, GlobeMed and Kermit the Frog. For those of you only vaguely acquainted with Kermit, he is the determined little frog at the helm of a bombastic band of Muppets. Though the Muppets face many trials and tribulations in show business, Kermit is always there with spirit and contagious optimism, inspiring his friends to carry on and build a movement of laughter, confidence, and playful anarchy among children of all ages. In the immortal words of Kermit,

“Well, I’ve got a dream too. But it’s about singing and dancing and making people happy. That’s the kind of dream that gets better the more people you share it with. And, well, I’ve found a whole bunch of friends who have the same dream. And it kind of makes us like a family.”

— Kermit

Although GlobeMed is not dealing with singing and dancing, I think that Kermit’s message can speak to all of us. We’re all here because we’re excited. We share a dream about a more equitable world; a dream that gets brighter and more real the more people we share it with. But unlike Kermit, we are making plans to pursue that dream through a unique combination of critical analysis, education, and partnership. GlobeMed’s ability to harness passionate optimism with critical action is the reason I have dedicated so many hours to this organization.

It’s the reason why I’m on a first-name basis with Northwestern’s event scheduling staff. It’s the reason why I have 9 different Gmail labels just for GlobeMed emails. It’s the reason why red and cream craft supplies have completely taken over my bedroom. And it’s the reason I cried for an hour the night we heard there would be a negative article about our fall fundraiser in our school paper. In retrospect, the article was not a big deal, but there’s was no telling me to calm down that night. So, GlobeMed has brought me some strife, but it’s also the reason why I can’t talk about my college extracurriculars without getting so excited that I start lisping, stuttering, and, on some occasions, spitting. It’s the reason why I have been able to participate in such meaningful dialogue on this campus and across this network of extraordinary people. It’s the reason I have had the opportunity to develop my interests within a supportive community. And it’s the reason why I have been transformed from a naïve do-gooder, motivated mostly by deeply entrenched Catholic guilt, to a passionate advocate of social justice, motivated by the beauty and power of collaborative partnership.

When I came to Northwestern as a freshman, I had no idea what was going on. The only thing I had ever considered doing with my life was singing opera. Weird life choice, I know, but I was born a hyper-active noise-maker. I learned to make noise on pitch and then just put one foot in front of the other until, 18 years later, I ended up a music performance major without ever really knowing why. Luckily, my interests began to evolve once I arrived at school. I was referred to GlobeMed by friends and professors at the end of freshman year, and decided to apply for the chapter. But, as some of you know, I was initially rejected from joining. Luckily, I’ve never been the type to ask for permission. I knew from my first impressions of GlobeMed, that I had a lot of learn from these people, so I started showing up to meetings anyway. My obnoxious persistence paid off because I learned more in that first year about the difficulties of responsible activism and the possible solutions for a better future than I had in my entire life preceding. I learned that when it comes to working in global health, nothing is more important than humility. It takes balls to put your ideas out there, but it requires something much greater to listen, to learn, to adapt, and to collaborate. I learned that you must have confidence and vision to relentlessly pursue your goals, but the humility to constantly adapt your means.

So, GlobeMed was already blowing my mind… and then came my first summit. I had never been a part of something like that before. The collective energy and drinking the KoolAid of global health equity imbued with such a sense of determination and conviction. GlobeMed had already changed my worldview, but the summit was when I realized the unique position we were carving out in this larger movement. It was when I realized the gravity of what we were doing and the call we were making to the people around us. For the first time, I realized that it wasn’t just isolated people idealizing a different world; it was something bigger and more powerful. And I was hooked.

That first summit reminded me of some other immortal words from Kermit,

“Who said that every wish/would be hear and answered? When wished on the morning star/Somebody thought of that/and someone believed it/Look what its done so far.”

— Kermit

We all thought of a future with more equitable healthcare and believed in our ability to make it happen. And look what is has done so far: we are 46 chapters and partners strong, advancing health, happiness, and equality from Nepal to Ghana to Nicaragua to Detroit. We have gone from idea to movement, and it’s still growing. This web of inspiration and activism is so beautiful to me, that I think it transcends the idea of a movement. I feel like I can’t call it anything less than art. I don’t want this to turn into an esoteric conversation on the definition of art- too many hipsters have stayed awake late into the night discussing this topic. But, in broad terms, I think art is something that inspires you to go through the world slightly different. Sometimes that means just recognizing beauty somewhere you wouldn’t have looked for it before, but other times, it fosters a complete transformation of your person and purpose, and inspires you to be better. This is undoubtedly how I would define GlobeMed.

People can spend their whole lives searching for something that inspires them to create, act, believe, and come alive, in whatever form that may take. I’m lucky enough to have found it in this community of individuals that combine all the hope of Kermit with all informed capability of pragmatists. The effect of all the events, the dialogue, the friendships, the GROW trips, the meetings, pale in comparison to the inspiration we give to our friends, chapters, partners, and community. GlobeMed is a testament that goodness, hope, and compassion, when met with pragmatic solidarity can inspire people to action. It’s an overwhelming form of beauty that is too vast to be contained by any museum. We are art; we are a movement.

Thank you for letting me be a part of it.

Maya Angelou on "Modesty vs. Humility"

In the wake of Dr. Angelou's death, much has been said of her considerable contributions as a literary figure, woman of color, and all around paragon of humanity. However, this quote, from a recent article on The Atlantic, has resonated with me the most. It's partially due to the humor of her stripper metaphor, but mostly because she so eloquently articulated the difference between these two distinct virtues, one which I find deplorable (modesty) and one which I find absolutely essential (humility). 

“I don’t know what arrogance means,” she said.  “You see, I have no patience with modesty. Modesty is a learned adaptation. It’s stuck on like decals.  As soon as life slams a modest person against the wall, that modesty will fall off faster than a G-string will fall off a stripper. 

Whenever I’m around some who is modest, I think, ‘run like hell and all of fire,’” she said. “You don’t want modesty, you want humility. Humility comes from inside out. It says someone was here before me and I’m here because I’ve been paid for. I have something to do and I will do that because I’m paying for someone else who has yet to come.” Dr. Maya Angelou

Humility means that you have respect for the people and circumstances that have shaped your path and privilege. You know what you can do and who has enabled you, but you also know what you can't, and none of this diminishes your accomplishments. It requires a capacity for deep listening and empathy. You're not just willing to listen to others, but you're deeply appreciative of their contributions and perspectives. 

Modesty, on the other hand, can be a way of deflecting or dismissing praise and accomplishments. It is a conscious affectation in response to expectations for passivity. Following Dr. Angelou’s example, I urge us to examine the social script of modesty from the perspectives of both gender and white privilege. There is a greater expectation of modesty for women than men. Women are expected undermine praise, rejecting the power that comes with command of desirable skills. Going outside the expected script, embracing a compliment instead of deflecting, can make men seem confident while making a woman seem narcissistic.

Modesty is also a function of white privilege. Deliberately undermining your own competence requires assurance that your power and position are not at risk. Not everyone can afford the social or economic consequences of making oneself smaller.

I urge people to stop perpetuating this type of forced modesty or expecting it in others. Create a conversational culture that accommodates confidence. Strive to understand both your assets and your limitations. Eschew forced modesty, but remain deeply appreciative of the world around you.  

No Excuses: How to Start Woodworking as a Young Urbanite

The past 8-odd-years-or-so I have been on a constant quest to learn how to make all the things... ALL the things.  I've picked up a random assemblage of skills through a combination of trial and error, internets, and bothering people who know more than I do. While this may not be the most efficient way to learn something, it's a process that allows me to form a unique perspective on traditional methods and ultimately develop a deeper understanding of "how stuff works." 

So clearly, I like this DIY attitude, HOWEVER, when I decided to pick up woodworking, I didn't feel like this was the best approach. One must exercise caution while cultivating new skill that poses a significant risk to your safety. When there is a sharp learning curve and significant safety risks involved, it's best to look before you leap and listen before you lose an eye... 

The following are a list of steps for how to pick up this skill set, with some specific recommendations for people in Chicago:

1. Try a 1-time beginner's class 

Before investing your time and money into this hobby, test the waters and make sure you enjoy it. A lot of people like the general idea of building stuff without realizing that woodworking is all about accuracy, precision, and meticulous attention to detail. Only go down this path if you DEEPLY enjoy measuring twice, cutting once.

Woodworking is super "in" right now, so lots of arts centers, home goods stores, and salvage sites will offer "make it and take it" classes catered to beginners. For people in Chicago, I recommend checking out ReBuilding Exchange's workshops. They offer a wide selection of beginner projects and even do themed classes for couples (if you're into that.) The quality of their instruction is high and, on a personal note, I find roaming their stock one of the most inspiring/Romantic things to do. So much reclaimed wood, so little time!

2. Invest in an intro level class series

I strongly encourage people to investigate options for an intro level course. A good class will cost you in the range of $500-$1,000, but it is money very well spent if this is something you intend to take seriously (and would like to avoid loss of limb). 

The class I took at Woodsmyth's consisted of 10, 3-hour classes during which you made 3 projects: a bookshelf, storage box/seat, and a tool box. The quality of instruction was really high and the value of the projects alone is worth the price!

The instructor framed the entire 10-week class as about safety and risk management. The first day of class on on shop safety felt a little bit like a "scared straight" lecture, but it was very effective. The two biggest ways to manage risk in a woodshop are 1. NEVER lose your focus and  2. use the right tool for the job. Sounds simple, but it takes a lot of knowledge to really understand the capacity of these tools. Some straightforward instruction and dedicated time in class will give you a huge leg up in learning how to use tools appropriately and navigate your way around a woodshop. SAFETY FIRST PEOPLE.

3. Get access to some equipment and community

This could be the most difficult step, depending on where you live. Owning and maintaining a personal woodshop requires lots of: money, space, and time (3 things us young urbanites have in scarce supply). And even if you do have all those things, belonging to a community of people who can give advice and collaborate with on projects is so helpful when you're just beginning.  

So, search your local area for a place that offers memberships or whatever kind of paid access that fits your needs (daily, monthly, annually). Depending on which place you go to, they might require you to have taken classes or at minimum, get certified on tools. So make sure to investigate these things before buying any classes (as per steps 1 and 2). 

I belong to Pumping Station: One (otherwise known as the greatest place in the world). They have a full wood shop in addition to welding equipment, 3d printers, laser cutters, electron microscope (wut?), a knitting machine (woah), and lots lots more. It's a monthly-membership fee (a pittance at $40 or $70/mo. if you want storage and community voting rights).

4. projects, projects, projects!

You've done all the learns and legworks now, so get building! There are lots of free plans online. Ana White is one of my favorite resources; the projects are well-curated and very pro-lady-building. I recommend starting off with projects ear marked as "beginner" or using only 2 X 4s. There are lots of simple projects out there you'd like to have in your home, so don't snub them. Build your skills up slowly. No one becomes Ron Swanson overnight!

My DIY Philosophy

I just wanted to share some of my guiding principles for how I approach and engage with all things DIY. The world is a do-acracy, so get making!

• Move beyond Martha! There is more than one way to approach artful living. Nothing is more inspiring than a space or object that expresses who you are.
• Enjoying baking, sewing, or taking pride in your space does not make you less of a feminist or less of a man.
• DIY isn’t a skill set; it’s an attitude! It’s about recognizing your ability to alter your environment and define your own way of living.
• Engaging in material culture better equips you to question means of production and empowers you to become a more critical consumer.