On Not Waiting to Send the Elevator Back Down but Sharing It
To Set the Scene
So, real talk. I’ve wanted to discuss this for a long time, but I could never find the right words. It’s easy to sound conceited when it comes time to try and lead by example. I realize that fretting about being misread and putting it off is selfish. It’s important we talk about sharing the elevator and what that even looks like in practice.
For those that don’t know the metaphor: “sending the elevator back down” is a reference to passing success to other marginalized people when we’ve ‘made it’. This is especially important when we’ve had to work hard to open doors that were previously closed to people like us. Most importantly, it’s about not keeping that hard won success for ourselves.
Last year I passed on some big opportunities. I mean, seriously Big Deal opportunities.
There were many, but one of them was to be flown (short notice) to NYC and be on Good Morning America. A dream — I’ve always wanted to go to New York! Let alone for a big thing like GMA! It was a thrill to even be asked.
I declined; I wasn’t the right person. This wasn’t the only opportunity I passed up for this reason. Or more, I passed it on.
I also passed on opportunities that weren’t accessible or couldn’t (wouldn’t) accommodate my disabilities. That was different because I’d hoped by politely saying no and explaining why, it would educate and help them see how they were excluding people. Sadly, it likely doesn’t work that way in practice. cough, CBC.
Unfortunately, it’s often our only form of protest. This is especially true if we’re trying to keep doors open and not be blacklisted for speaking out on injustice. This one is a thankless and fruitless fight. They’re always ready to move to someone (or something) else without addressing the inequalities.
Visibility
But, I’m here to talk about passing opportunities on when there’s someone better suited, or when it’s time to pass the mic. I didn’t talk about any of the opportunities I passed on at the time(s), despite them often being really difficult personal moments. I wanted to just quietly do it. It’s really important to me not to do any of this for brownie points, but because it’s the right thing to do.
It’s the way I want to move through the world. It’s better for our communities — it gives us more robust and nuanced culture change or progress. So, I kept quiet to avoid being given credit for what I consider an integral and basic part of dismantling systems of harm and inequality.
There’s a problem with this. We can run out of breath telling people to do the right thing, or what that right thing is, but unless we we visibly lead by example it’s all words on a page (screen). By showing our communities that we actually do what we say, we create accountability.
Wait, it can be more than that — acknowledging that it’s not easy, that we have to work against a lifetime of bias and external pressure to Be The Best (at the top, like a Monarch).
It’s such a tightrope though. How on earth do we do this without being seen as smug? I don’t know if that’s possible, but that shouldn’t stop us having the conversation.
“Success”
We have a problem in all spaces, but especially gaming, with only a few at the top getting the spotlight, the opportunities, and having a voice. That leads to this idea that they’re the number one authority for that community. That’s never a good thing.
I was very aware of this from previous lives in other industries. So it’s something I’ve been quietly working to address where I have the power or influence to do so. I want to be honest too: I haven’t been great at it, and I could have done better. It requires stepping back, self reflection, and fighting the deep urge to be “successful” (at all costs).
It helps that I’ve never wanted fame. I don’t tremendously enjoy being in the spotlight. I say that a lot. There are people who don’t believe me; they’ve outright told me. Some have a hard time understanding how someone could end up with a platform without craving that kind of success. It happens, though. Some of us simply trip and end up here.
Of course, it’s nice to get recognition for hard work and credit where it’s due. That’s not the same, although it’s often conflated.
I mostly enjoy teaching others, sharing knowledge, and helping to approach or see issues from the right lenses that avoid mistakes (correcting biases and reworking unjust systems). It just so happens that these days I do this in games and largely via design.
So, it’s easier for me in some ways. If I don’t want or need fame, that kind of drive for success is removed from the equation.
Some day perhaps I’ll be brave enough to talk about my past lives and how I thought this was what I was working toward then, but I ended up manipulated by greedy and abusive men instead. I learned a significant set of lessons about how vulnerable we are to having our passion misdirected and our alliances with those like us twisted so that we end up competing against them. Sometimes it gets ugly. Inevitably, we can become pawns in systems of oppression. I slowly came around and realized I was everything I’d worked hard to dismantle. It was awful, but it was a lesson I hold dear.
Even if I may not want fame or a spotlight, I still have to fight that ever present urge for “success”. It’s capitalism. It’s our highly competitive industries that impress on us that this is what we should be too, and it’s what we should strive for (or deserve). And, sure, we all deserve success.
Success can be really personal though. For me, one aspect of “success” is being party to progress and change for the better. I’ve tried to measure success in how much the industry is growing around me, how much it’s picking up speed, and how much the community (games accessibility) is growing with with so many voices with first hand experience. It’s been beautiful to sit back and watch people come into their own, seeing them say things I’ve been working toward for years, but now, as a chorus.
Well, it’s beautiful as long as I can stop panicking about things being perfect.
None of this negates that deep in my heart I still feel competitive. I still get sad when I’m passed over or excluded (and it still happens a lot). I even get sad when I choose to pass on big opportunities, no matter the reason.
Opportunities Knock
So, last year I passed up a lot. Almost as much as I took on. That probably seems like an exaggeration if you know how much I did in 2019, but it’s not. I was even invited to speak in front of the Canadian Government.
I’m not always the right person for all the opportunities that come my way, even if they would bring me big leaps in personal “success”. There’s many reasons it might be better suited to someone else — it could be that there’s someone with more relevant first hand experience, someone who should be more visible on a topic or situation, someone with more expertise, or even that there’s been enough white people on the mic and it’s time we pay attention to discrimination.
Starting in May 2018, when the Xbox Adaptive Controller (XAC) was announced I accidentally became a voice for that device. I never meant to. In my mind this device was much more important for people who’s lives it dramatically improved. Especially where it opened roads to aspects of gaming they’d been shut out of. I was getting by without the XAC before it existed.
Still, it was important to me. So, when it announced I was anything but quiet. I broke down in front of an audience at the exact moment it was made public, I spoke out relentlessly about why it was so important to me personally, and the community.
It represented the future: I have a progressive and fluctuating disability. There are times where I can’t play. There may be times in the future where I can’t use traditional controllers or keyboard at all. The XAC gave me hope, and it renewed my dedication to accessibility as a discipline; it showed me success is possible. Most importantly it said loudly, there is a place in gaming for disabled people. Nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing, had said it so loudly before the XAC.
It represented progress: years of hard, unforgiving work in advocacy for so many. I’ve been doing this a long time (nearly 10 years) and was exhausted the moment I began. There are others who‘ve been at it even longer. Those are the people that made the XAC a reality. It blew my mind. It was a true community effort with people at the helm wielding their power for good.
Sure, I was part of the project, but only at the very end — I was brought in long after the prototype was final. My contribution was minuscule and mostly just another perspective on different use cases for milder disabilities. I contributed photos, a tiny alternate view, and eventually a voice.
What happened after the announcement I didn’t expect and for a moment I didn’t pause to think about. I was caught up in this tornado of action and attention. I was invited to speak on pretty big panels, I was interviewed endlessly, on talk shows, in videos — the list goes on.
I think in part because I’d been a prominent person in the industry (in accessibility) for a while. I’m good at talking about it both technically and emotionally. I did have small input, and it was somewhat important to have a cross section of perspectives from those with the most profound disabilities to those with milder weakness and fragility/chronic injuries like mine. It’s not that I don’t think I ever deserved a seat at that table.
It’s that before I knew it I was taking up more space than I should have.
I knew how that likely felt for people that the XAC had completely changed their lives but weren’t being seen. It must have been hard to see someone like me get so many opportunities to speak on the importance of this device. It improved my quality of life (and hope). On my worst days, it meant I could play games where previously I couldn’t. Otherwise, on better days I could still game without the XAC if I needed to. I was not the most deserving voice in that tornado.
Passing it On
I began to make a concerted effort to not only step back but put other people forward when I did. I made the mistake of not checking in on myself sooner, and I decided to quietly work to undo that as much as I could. There was a day, I don’t remember which, in late 2018, where I decided I would no longer talk on the XAC except in passing as a professional in the accessibility space. Perhaps it was around the time of the release when the community finally got their hands on their own — I’d had a late prototype for most of 2018.
After the Super Bowl advert in early 2019 it blew up for real. For a few days it became a full time job just to decline interviews and pass on other people’s contact details.
The exception I made was when I was invited to consult on the Logitech G Adaptive Gaming Kit. Instead, I also made sure that they included others who could benefit the most from this incredible pack of accessories for the XAC. There were several players with profound motor disabilities who were well known, had been part of the XAC project and usually included.
I also wanted to make sure they included others I knew had been excited about the XAC and hadn’t had the chance to try it due to the exorbitant cost of making the XAC useful to them with overpriced adaptive switches.
The most incredible things about the Logitech kit was the completeness of the accessories included, the price point, and the inclusivity with which it was developed — it was similar astonishing quality and rigorous research as any of their E-Sports peripherals.
Logitech were on board with bringing others with more direct user experience into the project and I was really grateful to have the opportunity to expand who they included. I stayed involved and offered my feedback because I do have a set of expertise and knowledge that’s valuable. I also contributed by doing interviews and various other media opportunities for the kit. I can’t deny that I have a platform and a voice, so I felt like I could lend that to imparting the importance and success of this incredible kit to a wider audience.
Everything else pertaining to the XAC I passed on and recommended others who I believed were better, and more important voices. This included the GMA opportunity.
The Elevator
These days all that experience I gained in the community from the XAC informs my work as a developer. I’m immensely grateful to everyone for their perspective, and how open they are with their experiences. Without the community I could not be working as I do on control systems and gameplay design. I learned so much, and I now work to pass that on among developers from the technical and design side.
It’s vitally important to share the elevator. We can’t do anything alone, we can’t expect to do anything alone, and we absolutely shouldn’t take up the crown of Monarch of Whatever.
The thing is, it takes active work to avoid that. It’s not easy. It takes stepping back, surveying where we are, what we’ve been doing, and being honest about our part in everything. The XAC wasn’t the only thing I passed on to others.
It was difficult at times, I’ll be honest. It was sometimes painful to know I probably could have had “more success”, especially when it simultaneously coincided with simply being passed up or ignored in other spaces where I felt my voice or contributions were valuable. None of this work is easy, but the more we actively include other people, the less we do it alone.
When we have to work hard to open doors for ourselves, we have to work hard to hold them open for others. It’s not easy, but then nothing is. We’ll mess up sometimes (we’re human) and losing sight of the bigger picture, or perspective is an unfortunate consequence of success.
It’s no good to wait to get to the top, grab the spotlight, then send the elevator back down. It’s too late by then. It’ll only be crumbs. How do we know when we reach the ‘top’ anyway?
One day, we may find we’re a significant part of the power imbalance we were working to undo. We may catch ourselves in a mirror and realize we’ve been used to uphold the systems of inequality we meant to bring down.
