As someone working in the equity, diversity, and inclusion (EDI) field, my job has been to give companies and organizations a clear and effective plan to help make workplaces less toxic and more inclusive. These solutions have tended to be knowledge-based, educational tools, or currated forums for discussion. I learned to prioritize building relationships and creating supportive, caring environments in every project space because that is how I could connect to people on a deeper level.
Overtime I have found that employers are looking for EDI strategies that focus on ideas and 'from the neck up' actions. We have tended to forget about the sensory and physical realities of inclusion. Our bodies, which sit with us in cubicles, in meetings, and trainings, are almost invisible in the trainings on unconscious bias and microaggressions, however, our learning on EDI goes beyond our thoughts. It impacts our feelings and our senses.
Our feelings (i.e. joy, sadness, anger, confusion, despair, etc.) and how we feel in our human bodies need to be part of how we implement EDI. In fact, when something terrible happens to folks, when they are oppressed and exclused, it is felt psychologically, physiologically, and neuro-chemically in their bodies. Trauma and stress caused by racism, colonialism, trans and homophobia, ableism, and sexism shows up in our bodies. If we are working to address oppression, then we have to acknowledge that inclusion and equity is something that is felt in a physical way.
Most everyday spaces (i.e. offices, schools, streetscapes, etc.) tend to negate or exclude the presence of Indigenous stewards of the land, people with disabilities, 2SLGBTQ+ individuals, people of colour, and seniors. These spaces are dominated by a colonial corporate design, which seems to erase a diversity of identities and lived experiences. It is difficult to find a space that feels supportive of challenging or upsetting feelings of trauma and oppression. Rather we are generally discouraged from showing our feelings in our everyday spaces, especially if we are living in marginalized bodies.
I am able-bodied and also neurodiverse. As a person living in a world designed for my general body type, I am priviledged in many ways. There are also great resources on supporting neurodiverse employees out there, but they read like a checklist. The lists include colour and noise levels, but mostly they are about addressing hiring practices and biases.
https://www.neurodiversityhub.org/resources-for-employers
https://www.edutopia.org/article/6-strategies-help-neurodiverse-students-fully-engage-class/
If inclusion is felt in a physical way, what kinds of rooms or spaces would be ideal for healing past traumas or working through feelings of isolation and discimination? How can 'from the neck up' trainings make space for difficult feelings that arise when we are talking about our own or others' white priviledge?
Our everyday spaces directly affect our ability to be physically comfortable and psychologically calm, regardless of our physical or mental (dis)abilities. I believe the design of our physical spaces also affect our capacity to be empathetic to each other, or to find the inner strength to acknowledge painful truths about our complicity in systemic oppression.
Building inclusive spaces requires radical acceptance of ourselves and others. It requires clarity, humility, and compassion in the face of difference. If we want to think of ourselves as patches in a large blanket we are all weaving together, then we have see and accept our feelings and those of others in the process. Inclusion, especially for those in the dominant culture, is not only about learning definitions or how to pronounce the name of a place, but it requires folks to be emotionally vulnerable in order to address their own power and priviledge. Otherwise, how could we ever hope to make the connections stick?
Photo credit: Jules Morgan
