Learning by doing it wrong: an autoethnography inviting critical reflection of lecturers’ disability awareness

ABSTRACT

Unawareness of student diversity among lecturers in higher education remains a barrier for some students’ opportunities to participate in educational settings. In this autoethnography, cultural unawareness of diversity in regards of disabilities, is the practice under inquiry. This piece elucidates my personal journey towards increased disability awareness and a more inclusive teaching practice. The aim is to offer my story as a pedagogical tool to prompt self-reflection. You are invited to connect with my story through your own experiences and partake in a critical reflection on diversity awareness and – for those of you who teach – on ways in which you create an inclusive or excluding learning environment for disabled students in your courses.

KEYWORDS:

• Inclusion
• disabled students
• lecturer perspective
• autoethnography
• diversity
• awareness

Introduction

In a meeting, I talked to a group of disability scholars about my ongoing study on lecturers’ experiences of teaching disabled students in higher education. ‘At the outset of their teaching careers, the participants were often unaware that some of the students might have health challenges,’ I said. ‘It was something that simply had not occurred to them.’ Hearing this, one of the researchers around the table straightened her back, visibly upset. ‘What? How is it even possible not to have thought of that?’ she blurted out and continued: ‘Seriously … what does that say about them?’ She shook her head and sighed.

I interpret the researcher’s outburst as a statement: One should expect lecturers in higher education to be disability aware. While I agree that this would be ideal, it is not uncommon for lecturers in higher education to be unconscious of such diversity among students (e.g. Madriaga et al. 2010; Matthews 2009; Svendby 2020a). Truth be told, I was taken aback by the researcher’s reaction because it hit home. I had myself been a lecturer who had failed to be disability aware in teaching situations. Luckily, my ignorance was interrupted in a memorable encounter where I experienced what Trigger, Forsey, and Meurk (2012) have described as a ‘revelatory moment.’ This concept refers to intense subjective experiences that often involve feelings of surprise and discomfort. Such experiences have an instructive and transformative quality, as they might give the subject new insights. Originally, the concept was developed in relation to episodes that ethnographers experience in the field. In this paper, the context is extended to include experiences that have occurred in teaching situations as well.

I will present ‘revelatory moments’ in combination with an autoethnographic approach. The aim of autoethnography is to use personal experience as a way to elucidate and purposefully comment on cultural practices (Ellis, Adams, and Bochner 2011). Here, cultural unawareness of disabilities is the practice under inquiry. In accordance with an autoethnographic approach, the language is deliberately accessible and experimental (Smith and Sparkes 2008; Holman Jones, Adams, and Ellis 2016). Subjective experiences, including my understandings and feelings, are used as data. Throughout the study period, I have used a field diary to express my experiences and embrace a process of reflexivity. All the descriptions occurring in this story are based on notes in my diary. I use pseudonyms to protect the integrity of others appearing in the text.

While I use hearing impairment as the main illustration to make my points, I hope I will succeed in encouraging reflection of disabilities and inclusion in general. In an attempt to achieve this, I invite you to partake in my journey on your own premises, reflecting on your own similar or different experiences, feelings and opinions of the issues under consideration along the way.

Becoming aware of my unawareness

The ‘revelatory moment’ that brought diversity awareness to my immediate attention occurred at the start of a university course where two people approached me minutes before I was about to start my first lecture of the semester. They hastily explained that as one of the students in the group was deaf, they would be standing on my right-hand side during the lectures and interpret what I said in sign language.

I taught in a Norwegian university setting where lecturers sometimes got formal notice beforehand when a student needed accommodation. From my perspective, it would have been easier to support the student if I had been informed ahead of time. From a student point of view, however, there are many reasons why one might choose to avoid disclosure in formal channels. For instance, bad previous experiences, the burden of bureaucratic paperwork, or a preference of negotiating accommodations situationally (Svendby 2020b). Moreover, studies have revealed that unfortunately, disabled students in Norway often end up coordinating their own accommodations. One of the reasons is lack of knowledge and communication between the Disability Office and other staff (Brandt 2011; Magnus 2009) which might explain why I had not been informed this time.

While the encounter with the sign interpreters was undramatic in itself, it became a significant moment in my teaching career. I was somewhat unsettled by the unforeseen situation. It did not help that the room was crowded and short of space. I felt distracted by the unfamiliar experience of having someone standing right next to me gesticulating as I spoke, and sometimes interrupting me to ask me to explain a word or repeat a sentence. The discomfort I experienced in the situation was increased by the sudden insight that I had not reflected on the possibility that some of the students in my classes might be disabled. Can you relate? On my part, I was acutely aware that it was rather strange not to have considered this in the process of developing my teaching strategies and, moreover, unacceptable from a position of power in the classroom.

As the course proceeded throughout the semester, I had a series of ‘revelatory moments’ where it was revealed on the spot that my teaching habits were not designed to create an inclusive learning environment. For example, I sometimes used movie clips as a point of departure for discussions. Often, these were without subtitles. Soon, I was confronted by one of the sign interpreters:

Today, the sign interpreter brought to my attention that the ability to hear differs vastly among individuals and that lack of subtitles makes it difficult for hearing impaired students to grasp the content – had I not thought of that … ? (I had not)

Solving this particular challenge was easy. I chose to simply abandon the movie clips without subtitles. Is it reasonable, though, always to expect a lecturer to change their teaching plan to include one student? Is inclusion of all students even possible in every learning situation? Probably not, as one and the same accommodation may include one student and exclude another. Nevertheless, it is my belief that one should always strive towards the inclusion of all students. I support Ashwin (2015) stating that due to the diversity of disabilities, there is never one solution or fix to achieve inclusion. Instead, one must continuously seek to create an open learning environment and be flexible and reflexive. One cannot expect lecturers to have expert knowledge of particular disabilities. But, one may expect general knowledge, openness and awareness which are necessary traits to embrace the student diversity.

A cultural practice of ignorance

Digging into the research literature on disabled students’ experiences of higher education revealed a complex picture. On one hand, disabled students had positive experiences in encounters with some individual lecturers. These were open to offer accommodations and understood the students’ needs (Fuller et al. 2004; Holloway 2001; Langørgen and Magnus 2018; Moriña and Orozco 2020). Often, the ability to provide adequate support is linked to personal experience. For instance, a study from UK suggested that lecturers’ recognition and provision of support for dyslexic students depended on their personal experience with this condition (Cameron and Nunkoosing 2012). On the other hand, disabled students reported that some lecturers displayed ignorance of disability or straight out prejudice; some were unwilling to offer accommodations; some did not know how to use the technical aids that the students depended on, while others forgot to use adaptations or simply chose not to (e.g. Brandt 2011; Cameron and Nunkoosing 2012; Fuller et al. 2004; Holloway 2001; Langørgen and Magnus 2018; Madriaga et al. 2010; Matthews 2009; Redpath et al. 2013; Svendby 2020a). These latter findings in the research literature point towards a cultural practice of diversity ignorance among lecturers in higher education. Moreover, the total picture suggests that the support given to disabled students is random and closely linked to the personal effort of individual lecturers. If so, the institutions do not offer a fair and coherent program of education to all students – as is their responsibility (Svendby 2020b).

In effect, intentional or indeed unintentional disability ignorance excludes a range of students from participation. This consequence came to the fore when I attended a course in pedagogy at the university where I taught. One presentation was about universal design and an interesting interaction occurred:

The lecturer asked the audience, which consisted of lecturers from different departments: ‘Has anyone here taught students with some type of disability?’ Almost everyone raised their hands. ‘How did it go?’ the lecturer asked. Nobody said a word. The lecturer waited. There was hesitation, throat clearing. Then finally someone spoke up: ‘It didn’t go very well. The student fell behind and withdrew.’ Someone nodded. ‘That happened in my class as well,’ said another. More people nodded and told their stories. I waited to hear someone tell how a student had completed the course and everything had worked out like it was supposed to. Nobody told that story. How about you, reader, do you have a story of this kind, or do you relate to the experiences of this audience? I went up to the lecturer afterward and said I found it startling that so many instructors had experienced that disabled students had withdrawn from their courses. She nodded. ‘Yes, it’s unfortunate,’ she said. ‘I’ve given this presentation many times, and the stories of students dropping out come up again and again.’

Reflecting on inclusion through experiences of exclusion

It was the encounter described above that inspired me to initiate the study on inclusive teaching in institutions of higher education that I have referred to earlier in my story. As part of this study, I left my hometown in Norway and went on a 14-day field trip to Italy to learn about inclusion strategies at a university known for its innovative approach to such issues. Ironically, my difference became a barrier that in effect excluded me from opportunities to learn of their inclusion strategies while I was in the field. An excerpt from my field diary exemplifies a situation in which my difference came to the fore:

I felt weird during the meeting today. What happened was that … Rosa was going to present me to her colleague, Carlotta. Before Carlotta arrived, I felt relaxed. I enjoyd talking to Rosa. Then Carlotta arrived, and after shaking my hand, she turned to Rosa and start talking to her in Italian. The thing is that … she kept talking in Italian through the entire meeting. I had expected that they would talk in English while I was present, I guess. It felt more and more awkward when they didn’t. I didn’t understand a word of what was said and it started to feel really uncomfortable sitting there, listening to them speaking over my head. I didn’t know what to do. Rosa occasionally tried to bring me into the conversation, but Carlotta didn’t respond to this. Ultimately, I tried connecting with her through a direct approach, but no such luck. She answered only yes and no to my questions before continuing to converse with Rosa in Italian. I fell completely silent and just … well … I have rarely felt so left out and beside myself.

Let me emphasise that the two researchers were inclusive in many ways; they kindly invited me out on their own initiative and spent their valuable time with me. Rosa, in particular, showed great generosity, guiding me around the city and inviting me to dine with her. Rather than describing intentional exclusion, therefore, I seek by this example to express my personal experience of difference in a particular situation. I was learning how vulnerable it feels not to be able to fully participate on equal terms with the others as a consequence of this difference. Have you ever been in a social situation where you have felt left out in a similar manner? To me, it hurt and I was confused about what was going on.

Later, I came to realise that Carlotta did not speak much English. In fact, most of the locals did not speak English at all – and I did not know one word of Italian. Being prevented from verbally communicating with people and the isolation that followed prompted empathy and new understandings of how it might have felt for hearing impaired students to take part of my courses where methods that in effect excluded them from the collective conversation were used in a taken-for-granted manner. I wrote:

How could this effect of exclusion have been reduced, I pondered. Well … in relation to the situation of hearing impaired students, one might for instance organise discussions and group work on online platforms … and use chatting! Cause in written conversations, hearing impaired students would not be disabled at all, now, would they!? Hmmm … although a student with dyslexia just might. So, several groups and different tools, then. Awareness and creativity is indeed the very core of the art of inclusion.

In extention of these thoughts, I started to critically reflect on student diversity and inclusion in general from a lecturer perspective. What occurred to me with increasing clarity was that unfortunately, the learning environment of which I had been the creator was unconsciously organised to suit one particular, homogenous, non-disabled student group. Who had I seen and who had I not seen in the auditorium? Who was I talking too? Who did I ignore? Ashwin (2015) encourage us to ask ourselves such questions and make explicit our core values, beliefs and expectations when it comes to learning. In the book, Ashwin et al. provide resources on how to become more inclusive. For instance, they suggest that uncovering our biases and biases integrated in our courses allows us to critically adjust our teaching from the outset to include as many as possible. For example, they ask us to look at the curriculum and ask: Who is represented? Who is absent? Can the content be adapted to make it ‘speak to’ more students?

How to embrace inclusive practice

The encounters I had experienced made me realise how dependent we all are on being included by others in settings where someone else has the privilege of constructing the scene on which we play a part. In the teaching setting, lecturers administer and create learning situations and, therefore, have the power and responsibility to create an environment that enables all students to participate.

Disability researchers working in the field of inclusion in higher education suggest a need to move towards inclusive education for all while at the same time providing individual adaptation in exceptional cases (Collins, Azmat, and Rentschler 2019). Often, inclusive learning will benefit all students, independent of their functional capacities, and increase the overall quality of the teaching (Fuller et al. 2004). Also, inclusive practice has the positive effects that some disabled students can keep their health situation private if they wish and yet are still enabled to participate on equal terms as other students due to the welcoming teaching format (Collins, Azmat, and Rentschler 2019). There are many simple measures disability aware lecturers can take to safeguard individual students as well as the group as a whole in teaching situations. For example, making PowerPoint slides and handouts available online may be sufficient learning support for students who have difficulties attending to many visual cues at once during a lecture (Matthews 2009). Talking at a comfortable pace, always facing the audience while speaking and waiting to remove visual material until the students have had time to digest the content are other inclusive practices that are easy to implement (Fuller et al. 2004). Also, providing the students with information about available technical aids (Langørgen and Magnus 2018) and making use of them are helpful initiatives. For example, using a microphone on a regular basis is beneficial for the whole group and prevents (some) students with hearing variation from having to ask for accommodation. Creating a safe space to disclose disabilities is an example of good practice too. In the study I conducted, lecturers sought to achieve this by language sensitivity in relation to diversity and by displaying a supportive attitude towards disabilities by routinely informing the students at the start of each semester that they may reach out to the lecturer if they need adaptations (Svendby 2020b).

Let me be the first to admit that sometimes it might seem impossible to offer adequate accommodations no matter the good intentions. In the study I conducted, for example, the lecturer Joakim regularly experienced that (some) students diagnosed with asperger would insist on working alone due to their condition (some find socialising challenging). This happened although Joakim’s course was based on group work and discussions. In fact, cooperation was part of the learning outcome. While advising against it and offering other accommodations – such as smaller groups and increased structure to ease the social interaction and secure predictability – he allowed students to work alone. He knew from experience, however, that these students would fail due to the work load. To this particular challenge, he had not found any good solutions – yet.

Sometimes we must accept that we do not have the means or opportunities to be inclusive in a given situation. However, we may always strive to be reflexive and seek to discuss our dilemmas with others. You see; one recurrent finding in my study is that it was by connecting with others that the participants were enabled to mature as lecturers: ‘Connections with disabled students, colleagues, and past experiences prompted new insights, enabled the participants to imagine new realities, and to creatively develop strategies of inclusion in response’ (Svendby 2020b, 282).

Final remarks

Through an autoethnographic approach, I have attempted to reach out to you by sharing my personal experiences of learning by doing it wrong with the purpose of creating connections of empathy and understanding of the issues under consideration (Sparkes 2002). Hopefully, my story will have brought to the surface some of your own experiences, thoughts and feelings regarding disability awareness, inclusion and exclusion, and prompted self-reflection and motivation to create learning situations that are available to the whole student population. In my view, lecturer awareness of student diversity is the first step in creating an inclusive environment, followed by willingness to provide adaptations and expertise in inclusive practice. To increase the quality of your teaching and opportunities to participate in your lectures, I encourage you to seek and explore pedagogical resources that are available in the literature on inclusive practices. I end by inviting you to continue this reflexive conversation from your own point of departure, in thoughts, actions, feelings or words.

Acknowledgements

Thanks to Andreas Beito for inspiring me to think broader and harder about pedagogical issues. You are one of a kind! Thanks to my colleagues in Italy for your support during my visit. Thanks to the two anonymous reviewers for your valuable comments on how to improve the text.

Disclosure statement

No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author(s).

Additional information

Funding

This work was supported by Sophies Minde Foundation [grant number 1213].