Reciprocal design process, trying too hard, learning from my mistakes and emancipating myself from regret.
Last week we were assigned another reading, Reciprocal design: inclusive design approaches for people with late stage dementia by Gail Kenning (click here to check out the article). In this research article, the author discusses the importance of reciprocal design when dealing with vulnerable communities, such as those with dementia, and the ethical implications. During the reciprocal design process, co-design and participatory methods are used to engage the participants with the research (hence the reciprocity). And not merely engage, but engage in an enjoyable, fun and social way. The well-being of the participants was considered throughout the entire research process, and ensuring people were able to participate according to their abilities.
In research settings, there is commonly an unspoken power dynamic: "I am the smart science person here to observe you and make conclusions about your community, because I know better than you." A huge aspect of inclusive design research is addressing and deconstructing these power dynamics and hierarchies, liberating the participant's voice. They are the expert at hand, not us. They are the ones with lived experience.
As I was reading this article and discussing it during yesterday's class, I couldn't help but think back to my mom. All the different situations where other people made decisions for her. When she was not included in the problem-solving process. She was surrounded by people (including myself) who loved her immensely and wanted to help her. But did she feel like she was included? I pride myself in having had, and I quote, "authentic, real-life opportunities to design creative solutions to inclusivity obstacles" because of my mom's condition. But was I actually being inclusive?
Trying Too Hard, My Epitaph.
"She tried too hard." Write that on my headstone when I die. I can remember coming up with different solutions to my mom's problems, or at least what I perceived to be a problem, and her flat out rejecting my idea, or my little invention. I was always so puzzled, and slightly offended, when she did so. I couldn't understand why she wouldn't want to use this really clever gadget or idea that I came up with to overcome this problem that I observed. Looking back at the situation, I feel an overwhelming sense of regret and newfound perspective on the situation. I wasn't including her in the design process AT ALL. I wasn't encouraging her autonomy or her decision-making or independence. She was trapped in a body that was constantly degenerating, every day losing more and more of her independence and ability to engage and participate with her environment. I have tears in my eyes as I write this, but I now see how I was, at times, sometimes doing more harm than good. Even when we have good intentions, we can unknowingly be creating more damage. This is why reciprocity design and co-designing are so imperative to the inclusive design process. We are limited by the narrow understanding of our own reality.
Using our senses, imagination, and empathy, we can better construct an idea of another person's reality, but we can never really know what it's like. That's why we must emancipate and liberate their voices and lived experiences, and make decisions according to these accounts.
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