Starting my journey as an inclusive designer, exploring critical thinking, reflecting back on my own lived experiences of exclusion, and a MASSIVE case of imposter syndrome.
Yesterday I attended my first course as an Inclusive Design MDes student at OCAD University in Toronto, Canada. Besides the first-day jitters, I was beyond excited to step into a room with likeminded people and learn from their expertise and lived experiences. The day started off on a good note: complete audio malfunction. Since this is a hybrid learning program, we have students attending remotely and in-person (a recipe for technical errors). We operate class in such a way that we broadcast the online students on a projector, our instructor has a camera and mic where they lead the lecture, and those of us sitting in the classroom also join the Teams meeting online to create a more personable and immersive experience for the remote students. After a few minutes of trouble-shooting, I nominated myself as sound technician and started to play the audio from my own laptop at max volume, so everyone in the classroom could hear what the online students were saying, without creating major audio feedback from the in-classroom system. This immediately melted the tension in the class, and the instructor and myself communicated via various eye-movements as to when to turn the corresponding mics on and off. So I would say my design career is off to a pretty good start.
"The tradition of research into critical thinking reflects the common perception that human thinking left to itself often gravitates toward prejudice, over-generalization, common fallacies, self-deception, rigidity, and narrowness."
—Paul, R. W., Elder, L., & Bartell, T. (1997)
Critically thinking about critical thinking.
As a class, we started to discuss critical thinking. What does it mean to think critically? Being the overthinking, philosophical person I am, I started to reflect on what does it mean to think? What do I do when I think? Am I conscious of my own thinking? And as I swirled deeper down the rabbit hole of my own thoughts, we were presented with a quote (shown above) from a study on critical thinking. As discouraging as it may sound, I can't say I disagree. As a former scientist, I understand that we, as humans, have certain innate synaptic hardwiring in our brains to help us process the constant flood of information and stimuli the brain receives. We categorize to understand. We make assumptions to devise a false sense of predictability, which makes us feel safe. We surround ourselves with people who look and behave similarly as us because that is when our existence feels validated and understood. But what happens when we face people who are different than us? When we categorize, assume, and are prejudice against others merely by their appearance or ability? We might miss out on an opportunity to form a new connection, to learn, to deepen our human experience.
Luckily, our brains have a unique characteristic called "neuroplasticity." This is our ability to literally REWIRE our brains. We can make actual, longterm structural changes in our brains and the way it functions with a few environmental tweaks. And that unique feature of our brains makes that discouraging quote feel a little less daunting.
My relationship with exclusion.
I have spent the first 25 years of my life having the honor of caring for, loving, and losing my mother, Renee Benoit. She was diagnosed with a rare genetic disorder called Friedreich's ataxia. Long story short, her neuromuscular system degenerated exponentially over time, and she passed away a few weeks after my 25th birthday. Being my mother's daughter, I have faced the rigid, bigoted barriers that society has built for those that fit outside the realm of “normalcy”. From toothbrushes to toilets, health care services, and rock concerts, the world wasn't designed for people like my mom, and I understood that from a very young age. This sparked my passion for helping others, especially the disabled community. This passion has carried me through nearly a decade-long academic career within the biomedical research field. Before this turns into my autobiography, let's get back to my relationship with exclusion. As I co-experienced these barriers with my mom time and time again, I always felt like things could be done differently. That they SHOULD be done differently. Yes, I understand the human brain categorizes, makes assumptions, has prejudice, and is quite narrow when left to its own accord. But how could things be done differently, more inclusively?
What is inclusive design?
There are a couple of definitions out there, but the UK Design council defines inclusive design as such:
"Inclusive design aims to remove the barriers that create undue effort and separation. It enables everyone to participate equally, confidently and independently in everyday activities."
This sure does sound like a dream come true. But what does that mean practically? Luckily our program is affiliated with the IDRC (Inclusive Design Research Center) right here in Toronto, and they outline a pretty awesome framework for designing inclusively:
Recognize, respect, and design for human uniqueness and variability
Use inclusive, open, and transparent processes
Realize that you are designing in a complex adaptive system
Seems easy enough, right? Well, step on in and buckle up, because we are starting an uncomfortable, vulnerable, yet thrilling journey towards my future as an inclusive designer.
Kommentare