A Writer's Notebook, Day Seven-Hundred-And-Eighty-Seven

I have been thinking a great deal about the issue of inclusivity within the poetry community.  In large part this is due to Jay Dolmage, whose recent tweets on this subject inspired me to share some of my own experiences and some of the issues I have encountered.  I also would be remiss if I did not mention Jillian Weise, who broadcast those original posts onto my timeline.  It is a very large issue, and I am only here starting with some small steps.  In truth, I am quite nervous about speaking about these issues, because I have had many experiences where expressing my concerns or needs became a cause for my being viewed as a trouble-maker or other-wise dismissed.  This has not always been in the poetry community, of course, but I cannot say my experiences within this realm have been out of line with the larger reality I inhabit.

For me, as a person whose disabilities are primarily not apparent, I am always in the position of having to prove my needs, but this can be impossible with some people who do not seem to understand the reality that their experience of the world is not universal.  To offer an example, I attended a one day generative writing workshop with a poet who does not like people using computers.  I had a laptop with me and was preparing to turn it on and load it up, but the teacher was quick to state that they did not permit computers.  I would have spoken up, but another person, also a computer user, raised an objection and was told that it would not be considered.  The instructor made clear that they believe the physical act of writing is inherently different than using a computer, that their is a magic to the physical and neurological act.

Now, this may well be that writer's experience, and I am not going to deny that they are entitled to that, or that it is proper for them to suggest to others attempting to alter their normal way of doing things.  However, I cannot help but be insulted by the concept put forward by the individual leading this class, who essential stated that writing by hand created superior work than what can be done using a computer.  Again, I do not deny this as an experience for some people, but, as a person whose disability prevents me from writing by hand without severe distress, literal physical pain, and mental strain, that is not my experience.  If my hands were physically deformed, I wonder if he might have said the same thing, and if not, I still wonder if their would have been any real understanding, or if the writer I mention would merely have seen it as a pitiable condition, would actually presume this individual could never achieve what they believe can be achieved through the holding of a pen against a piece of paper.  

The point is, there are many times when I have encountered those who do not have the ability to recognize where they are being able-ist, and who would be shocked and offended at the claim that they are marginalizing and excluding others without consideration.  A few months after my father died in 2015 I was offered a sudden opportunity to attend a workshop with a poet who I first met when I was an undergraduate and who I have admired and thought of fondly both in terms of the work and as a person.  I was very excited, particularly because I was in a vulnerable, grieving state and trusted this poet as someone who knew me and who I believed to be a nurturing and understanding person.

The workshop in question involved a set of specific rhetorical lenses for analyzing and revising work that this poet uses in their own process.  The point was stressed again and again that it was very important to take notes, specifically to write down information presented on notecards with the name of the lens, examples and definition all organized in specific ways.  It was made clear that this would be an essential tool for anyone in the class, and, even more, that the class was largely a training for how to use this process in revision when working alone.  As I find it impossible to take notes, an issue that has caused me trouble since grade school, I asked the instructor for help.  I knew that the class was being led from written notes, and I just wanted the information being presented in a written format.  However, the response I received was to tell me that, though the instructor was sympathetic they could not share the notes they had, as they were planning to use them as the basis for a craft book.  They suggested that I could go ask someone in the class for copies, and did not even offer to arrange this for me.  Indeed, it was clear that they viewed my asking as an act of imposition, as me asking for something that I did not deserve, when, from my perspective, I was merely seeking an opportunity for equal inclusion.

I could go on a great deal about this, but I think that the key point I want to make, at least for the moment, is about that core notion of inclusion.  Many of those I've encountered who balk at offering true help seem to be stuck in a frame of mind where they view the request as unreasonable.  I can relate to the sense that a person might have about their notes on a project, for example, and does not feel comfortable sharing them, however, to only see it from that perspective denies real needs.  While I am speaking from my experience, I am not unaware of a great many other examples.  I have friends with vision problems who need to navigate the same web interfaces and programs we all use for submissions, even if a particular journal does not make them accessible through a screen reader.  I've heard writers with physical handicaps discuss their inability to attend events or be included in parts of programs they were supposed participants in because of the choice of venue.  I once saw a well known poet scream at a young man on crutches who had been delayed in entering his lecture because the handicap entrance was not open.  The entrance in question was located near the front of the auditorium and the lecturer was irate at someone entering in a way that drew attention from him after he had started, and berated the man further as he made his way through the room about how slow he was in finding a seat.  This was a long time ago, to be honest, and I am certain that behavior would no longer be tolerated, but how different is it to make a person feel unwelcome for using a handicap door and being told that a person like myself who cannot write effectively by hand that using a computer to write is not as good as writing with a pen?  This is a matter of inclusion and hospitality, of making a community that welcomes people to come and bring their own identities.  If we cannot do that, who is it that will be left out?  Who will be shown that poetry is not a place where they are welcome?