3.5 rounded up! A little repetitive and not grounded enough in disability justice for my liking, but there are some cool takeaways, including:
▪ Ask a hundred people what inclusion means and you’ll get a hundred different answers. Ask them what it means to be excluded and the answer will be uniformly clear: It’s when you’re left out.
▪ Inclusion isn’t nice. It’s challenging the status quo and fighting for hard-won victories. The opportunity is to be clear and rigorously improve our lexicon for inclusion. We can work on clarifying what we mean and why we care. We can create better resources through education and awareness. Asking questions, and then simply listening, is often the most courageous way to start.
▪ As a result, the work of inclusion is never done. It’s like caring for your teeth. There is no finish line. No matter how well you clean your teeth today, over time they require more care. With inclusion, each time we create a new solution it requires careful attention in its initial design and maintenance over time.
▪ Designing for human diversity might be the key to our collective future. It’s going to take a great diversity of talent, working together, to address the challenges we face in the 21st century: climate change, urbanization, mass migration, increased longevity and aging populations, early childhood development, social isolation, education, and caring for the most vulnerable among us in an ever-widening gap of economic disparity. You never know where, or who, a great solution will come from.
▪ You can’t say “you can’t play.” Effective immediately, if anyone wants to participate in your project you must agree to let them join. Yes, you will still be held accountable for the success of your work.
How would you react? Although the exact results might vary, there’s a good chance that most adults might mirror the reactions you’d find with a group of young children: anger, defiance, and a few tears.
▪ When they could no longer exclude each other, they learned how to adapt their games. They also adapted the roles they were willing to play within a game. They tried on different identities. The kid who was always the villain could now be the newborn baby. The heroes could be the villains. The father could be the mother. Despite all initial concerns, their games were still fun to play.
These childhood fears ring true in our adult lives. We meet the same concerns when improving the inclusivity of our workplaces, products, and public environments. Paley’s classroom experiment illustrates that exclusion isn’t based on a fixed circle.
It’s a cycle of our own
▪ Some of these are modifications of existing solutions. Others were created by applying inclusive design in the early stages of a new business or product. We don’t need to tear down existing solutions to make inclusive ones. The cycle of exclusion is pervasive and ongoing. Similarly, a shift to inclusive design means we are constantly looking for and resolving mismatches through all stages of a development process
▪ Whether by lack of awareness, siloed decisions, or simple neglect, it can be difficult for organizations to drive toward inclusion if they don’t have a full picture of how their existing culture perpetuates exclusion. As a result, the default state for most organizations is a cycle of exclusion (this should go under every workspace benefits from DT)
▪ The power to change that cycle doesn’t just belong to the person who starts the game, but to all who participate in it.
▪ Grouping people based on oversimplified categories like “female” or “disabled” or “elderly” can seem like a helpful shorthand when making business or design decisions. But there’s one big problem:
Some categories of people are always last on the list of priorities, or wholly forgotten.
▪ If we could prove that exclusion causes physical pain, what would we change about the design of our classrooms? Our workplaces? Our technologies?
We have rules in schools and society against physically harming each other, but for some people being left out is treated as a fact of life. It’s just part of the way the game was designed. It’s fairly common for people to treat social rejection as a necessary part of learning to survive in the world of humans.
Yet multiple studies show that social rejection might manifest in our bodies in ways that approximate physical pain.
▪ Sometimes creating limited access can have positive benefits.
The problem comes when there’s a mismatch between the stated purpose of a design and the reality of who can use it.
When a solution is meant to serve any member of society and then doesn’t, the effects of exclusion can be negative. The experience can feel like rejection from society itself. Especially in the shared physical and digital spaces where we learn, work, share, heal, advocate, create, and communicate.
▪ An exclusion habit is the belief that whoever starts the game also sets the rules of the game. We think we don’t have power to change a game, so we abdicate our accountability. We keep repeating the same behaviors, over and over.
In short and simple games, it might be easy to call on the one who’s responsible for changing the rules to make it more inclusive. Over time, games get more complex, leaders change, and we can forget who authored the original rules. In some organizations, the cultural behaviors were set a long time ago and the founders of that culture are long gone. Or we believe it’s someone else’s job to rewrite the rules, maybe the leaders in our business or community.
We also forget that those rules were initially written by human beings and can be rewritten. Those of us who are now playing the game have a responsibility to adapt it as needed. If we don’t, we are accountable when someone’s left out—not some leader from the distant past. We can respect the intent of the game, but also adapt the rules to make it more inclusive.
▪ Deciding Who Designs
The power of shifting who makes has had a similar effect in industries beyond gaming. More designers are focused on how to adapt objects to make them work for a diversity of people. Open-source tools enable more people to contribute to the design of everything from education to artificial intelligence. The cycle of exclusion shifts toward inclusion when more people can openly participate as designers.
Anyone who has ever solved a problem is, in a certain sense, a designer. The only real difference comes in how much ownership you take over the identity of yourself as a designer. You might be a designer if you say that it’s not enough to design for yourself and you want to design experiences for other people too.
Consider the rigid ways that companies hire new employees. Many companies require candidates to complete an online application, an often-tedious process that requires specific language competencies, access to the Internet, and an ability to focus on detailed information for long periods of time. (add this to who is a designer?)
▪ Of all the biases that designers bring to their work, ability biases are the sneakiest (I disagree... we're acting like this is the most changing and independent identity but I'd argue racism and misogyny are really close up there too)
▪ Ideally it would be difficult, if not impossible, to produce an inaccessible product
▪ The traditional design professions are rapidly changing, especially in areas of technology where the required skills change so quickly that many universities are struggling to maintain a relevant curriculum. Much of today’s design work isn’t limited to people with the word “design” in their professional titles. Among those evolving design roles there is a new category of skills in inclusive design.
▪ In addition to business criteria and technical requirements, a design is shaped by the history of events that precede it. This means that shifting a cycle of exclusion toward inclusion isn’t simply a matter of designing an object in new ways. We also need to disrupt the momentum of how things have been done for a long, long time
▪ But credentialing matters, because critical decisions about the future of our cities are often made from positions of seniority and power. And these leadership positions are heavily gated by required credentials.
▪ There was a student who was struggling in one of our architecture workshops. The task was to create a city block, using Lego pieces. She didn’t have a logic behind why she’d laid out her city block in a particular way. As designers we try to have some kind of reason for what we did and some kind concept that we start with. Rather than jumping to a design and then rationalizing why we did it. You get to a design because something led you there.
I asked her to think back to something that was emotional for her. She had placed a lot of stores along the front of the city. She explained that shopping was something she did with her mom when she was alive.
I knew right then that she had an emotional story to tell. We talked as she created this block filled with things that she liked to do with her mom. She didn’t have to understand design thinking. She just needed to take a step back and clarify the reason why she was making certain choices. Why is this needed? Why is this important?
▪ There’s a rise in interest in designs that have a positive social impact. A number of projects are focused on “designing for” a community of people that’s presumed to be disadvantaged. New technologies for students in developing countries. Design contests to create solutions for elderly people or people with disabilities.
While these are often well-intentioned, there are some potential pitfalls to designing for people with this superhero-victim or benefactor-beneficiary mindset. It can lead to specialized solutions that cater to stereotypes about people.
▪ Many of these demographic categories have more to do with business or social power structures than with how people actually interact with the world. It’s unclear why a software designer needs to know the gender identity of a customer, or whether or not they have two X chromosomes, in order to create a better way to organize photos. Unchecked assumptions about any group of people, especially when treated as a monolithic group, might misdirect us toward ineffective, even offensive, solutions
▪ Make promises that you can keep. Acknowledge the current state of inclusion in your organization and address fundamental issues of access before moving on to other areas of inclusion. Greater damage to inclusion comes from declaring it a promise while having no plan for how to implement the change. Or building new innovations on top of systems that lack basic accessibility. A broken promise is more detrimental than making no promise in the first place.
▪ Set an expectation that inclusion is a long game. Balance the cultural history that led us to where we are today with the reasons why inclusion matters to the future of an organization. Have measured plans for how to address entrenched exclusion habits. These have to account for the tradeoffs in resources that need to be made in order to build inclusive solutions. Specific people need to be accountable for completing the work. The work is hard and the road is long. But, as progress begins to happen, inclusion can be one of the strongest ways to mobilize people around a shared purpose.
▪ If investments in inclusion, like accessibility, are treated as an added tax, paying that tax will always be deferred in favor of other business priorities. What we measure shows what we value.
▪ It isn’t organic. It doesn’t happen purely through goodwill. It takes intention, planning, and stamina.
▪ Taking time to qualify human depth and complexity, even with a relatively small number of people, can help balance the shortcomings of “big data.” “Thick data” is gathered information that explains human behavior and the context of that behavior. It was first described as “thick description” by anthropologist Clifford Geertz in his book The Interpretation of Cultures. Thick data is a way of understanding how people feel, think, and react and their underlying motivations
▪ Balance big data with thick data. Use big data as a heat map to reveal key mismatches between people and your solution. Use thick data to investigate the reasons behind these mismatches and gain insight into better solutions
▪ The same is often true in the creation of digital products. When a solution is treated as “for disability” or “for accessibility,” there’s often little or no attention paid to the design. A solution might meet all of its functional requirements but still lead to emotional or aesthetic mismatches that can be equally alienating.
▪ Many of these examples are love stories. In fact, love is a common trait in the creation of inclusive solutions. Some stories center around a person who was personally affected by a mismatched design. Their love for a profession or lifelong passion for an activity put a sharp focus on how it could be improved. Then they worked directly on building a better solution.
Other stories come from a mismatch that loved ones faced when something interrupted their connection to each other.
In all cases, people worked with their intimate understanding of exclusion, and with the participation of excluded communities, to design a solution that went on to benefit a wider group of people.
▪ Conversely, they will assume that demographically underrepresented groups of people, like people with disabilities, are edge cases, a small percentage of the population that doesn’t represent large opportunities for revenue. This is simply a myth. The myth of the minority user
▪ Now, can we again ask ourselves, why do we make?
Why would we sign up for the hard work of building inclusion without the guarantee of success? Why would we fight the inertia of a cycle of exclusion that’s been spinning for generations?
Certainly, there are business justifications like gaining new market share, creating better customer experiences, and operating in more efficient ways. There are opportunities to connect teams to a meaningful purpose for their work and a new way of thinking about the people who interact with their solutions.
There are professional reasons why inclusion matters. It expands our own thinking about problems that are worth solving. It sparks our creativity to think in new ways, in partnership with new people.
And there’s our collective future. A future that is built on the choices that we make today, to create great solutions that connect people to each other and to opportunities in the places where they live. Some designers will make choices that reach millions of people and will endure for many years. If nothing else, I hope this book illustrates the weight of that privilege and opportunity.