All it Requires is a Little Compromise

As we look to close out April, and for many of us, what is now approaching seven weeks of sheltering in place at home, there are certainly a lot of different ways to describe the impact the current COVID-19 pandemic has had on our collective way of life.

For an overwhelming majority of us, the pandemic has certainly been disruptive, and no doubt a huge inconvenience. At the same time, for far too many of our friends and neighbors who have been laid-off or lost jobs, this past month is quickly becoming a disaster, a catastrophe as bank accounts and personal savings are drained and they find themselves struggling to pay their rent, mortgages or put food on the table for their families. 

And then there are those for whom this health crisis has hit even closer to home. There are people in our community who have fallen ill, and in some cases, have succumbed to the disease. The non-discriminating and relentless nature of this contagion is absolutely terrifying, and for those who have paid the ultimate price, the suffering and resulting loss of life is completely devastating for the loved ones and communities they have left behind.

And then there are our health care workers, first responders and others serving on the front lines. There are postal workers and delivery drivers, sanitation and utility workers, people who continue to staff the restaurants, gas stations, grocery stores and pharmacies. We all owe them an immense debt of gratitude. It is these unselfish, courageous, brave professionals who continue to knowingly put themselves in harm's way, never hesitating to risk—or potentially even sacrifice—their own personal safety and well-being for the greater good.

Disruptive, inconvenience. 

Disaster, catastrophe, terrifying, devastating.

Selfless, brave, courageous.

Sacrifice.

As I sit here, I find myself struggling with how to make sense of, and ultimately reconcile all of these conflicting realities. How is it that we can have these brave men and women on the front line waging the war against the virus, while the main thing being asked of the rest of us is to simply do our part and stay at home? How is it that we have people in our community dying from this disease every day, but for a majority of us, our day-to-day lives have yet to be significantly affected by the health crisis? How can any of us, with a straight face, complain about having to adapt to working remotely or take on the added responsibility of homeschooling our kids, when there are so many economically disadvantaged people living in our community on the brink of  bankruptcy or in danger of being evicted from their homes?

Maybe more importantly, since we are nowhere near the end of this crisis and things are likely to get worse before they get better, how in the world are we all going to keep it together when the one thing that we will need more than anything is one another?

The best I could come up with, the only way I think we are going to make it through this crisis, is by continuing to find common ground. That means listening to and trying to understand one another. It means putting our individual needs second, and each of us doing our part for the collective good. It means abstaining from inflammatory rhetoric meant to divide, not unite us, and instead focusing on constructive, productive dialogue. It means that even though we each have our own opinions and viewpoints, and might not always see eye to eye, we still need to be respectful, and display compassion and empathy for one another. And above else, it will mean compromise.

As I have been thinking about all of this I couldn’t help but relate it to some of my recent blog posts focusing on accessibility. What is an accommodation other than a compromise, in this case, society agreeing to make certain concessions in an effort to look out for the general welfare of a relative few.

When, for example, you provide amenities such as an accessible kayak and canoe launch, it doesn’t just benefit individuals with disabilities. Just about everyone will find this innovative system for launching their kayak or canoe to be easier and safer.

When our friend Stacie Vandenberghe had referred me to Walt Sutterlin, the Principle of Washington Woods Middle School in Holt because she knew that they were working with the township and Ingham County Road Commission on a project to upgrade the crosswalks near the school, she thought I might be willing to provide a letter of support to request that an audible crosswalk signal be installed. Stacie knew that I had to cross that busy intersection every day to walk my son Ryan to school, so the audible signal would make it safer for me to cross Holt Road, especially those times when I was by myself. But, as I explained in my support letter, I probably wasn’t the only person with a visual disability living in our neighborhood, plus this sort of upgrade would continue to pay dividends over time, as there would most likely be other blind residents and students who would benefit from this technology. Not only has the new audible crosswalk signal been a life-saver for me (literally), it has made that intersection much safer for those younger students participating in the Walking School Bus program, the high school kids walking back and forth to North Campus, and the countless bikers and joggers who have to cross over Holt Road to access the Ram Trail.

Just like how all of our small contributions will continue to make a big difference in the ongoing COVID-19 fight, accommodations don’t have to be overly complicated, it can be as simple as recognizing a need and then deciding to try and do something about it.

Back in the ’90s I could have easily felt excluded after my buddies all started playing roller blade hockey together. Instead, they decided to make me all-time goaltender which was perfect for me, because with my limited sight I could still follow the action by listening to everyone skate around and position myself in front of the goal accordingly. Similarly, when I first met my brother-in-law Jeff, he invited me to an open skate at the Summit. All he knew was that I liked hockey, neither of us had any idea whether it was something I would actually be able to do. But if I hadn’t tried it, I would have continued to doubt myself. Now I can look back and credit that one specific act of kindness as the thing that got me back into ice skating.

In my April 20 blog post, I talk about how Teresa and I bought our first tandem as a way to reintroduce me to bicycling. Again, me biking by myself, not advisable, but the two of us on a tandem was a relatively easy, safe alternative that ended up being one of the best decisions/investments we ever made. Years later, I even got back into competitive sports. Well, sort of. Teresa and I joined an adult kickball league, the perfect activity for someone with limited vision and only marginal athletic skills. Of course it didn’t hurt that no one took it seriously. Heck, most people took their beers with them when they ran the bases or went out to field their positions, so seeing me run up and awkwardly whiff on a giant red ball being slowly rolled toward home plate was pretty much par for the course.

The point is that these accommodations didn’t exist until someone made an intentional effort to include me. It was a two-way street, there was give and take. I’d like to think that by finding a way to involve me, they got more enjoyment out of the experience as well.

The same holds true for when you make your web sites and other technology accessible—it ends up benefiting all of your users and customers because accessible web sites and systems are web sites and systems that are more usable for everyone.

Like the current COVID-19 pandemic, when it comes to accessibility, we are all in it together. By simply putting the greater good ahead of our individual needs, we can have a tremendous impact on people's lives—people who we might not necessarily know or ever get the chance to meet. All it requires is a little compromise.