In the 1990’s, I began working concurrently on two assignments: managing a federal grant aimed at improving employment opportunities for college students with disabilities, and assisting in conducting week-long seminars to enhance team-building and conflict management skills. Over time, I learned that people from underrepresented groups share similar frustrations, and that strategies used to build relationships between white men and those from underrepresented groups worked equally well in forging connections between disabled and non-disabled people. Since then, I have been bothered by the separation of programs serving people with disabilities from those serving other underrepresented groups.

So I was pleasantly surprised when I read about the release of a new book entitled “Disability as Diversity in Higher Education: Policies and Practices to Enhance Student Success,” co-edited by Eunyoung Kim and Katherine C. Aquino and published in 2017 by Routledge. The book, however, has problems.

To start with, it is written in academese, the American English dialect that revels in ornate titles; places a preference on a plethora of polysyllabic verbiage; and contains a multiplicity of run-on sentences interrupted by lists of up to six references to research literature. Guaranteed to turn off most people not steeped in disability or diversity studies. I ended up skimming most of the book.

Several chapters highlighted the intersection between disability and diversity. In Chapter Three, the authors explored the connection between the “coming out” experiences of those with hidden disabilities and those who are lesbian, gay, bisexual, or transgender. In Chapter Five, the authors focused on how the cultures in which people with disabilities were raised influenced their perceptions of their disability. In Chapter Seven, the authors spoke about “using a spatial lens to examine disability as diversity.” Yet much of the content could have been included in any anthology focusing exclusively on disability and higher education.

Like too many diversity consultants, the authors address problems using a social justice lens. Most people don’t know what “social justice” means, and most to the right of Senator Bernie Sanders who are aware of the term view it as a politically correct weapon aimed at their character. And we need some of these people to work with us.

Furthermore, most university employees, instead of advocating for “fairness in the distribution of wealth, opportunities, and privileges within a society” (a rough definition of social justice), spend their time supporting students to gain knowledge and skills to become “successful.” Isn’t it more sensible to “sell” needed changes as something that will make employees more effective at what they’re currently doing?

Widening the lens from “social justice” to “organization effectiveness” or “systems change” also allows practitioners to zoom in on a rich literature of best practices that support teams to move in a better direction. (hint: “sensitivity training” is usually not a best practice.) None of the authors in “Disability as Diversity” mention any of these best practices, except perhaps in Chapter 14.

One of the more regularly-stated best practices for supporting change is to identify and build on strengths. So what are some of the strengths of those clueless bureaucrats in impersonal systems that seem to focus only on weaknesses of those “different” from them? Respected professors who have learned to adjust to the quirks in each of their classes? Administrators who have developed programs popular with diverse audiences? Students and staff who somehow always make things better? Planned change efforts successfully under way that, with a little tweaking, can benefit people from underrepresented groups? A member or two from the “leadership team” who “gets it?” How can we leverage these and other strengths to get us closer to where we want to go?

The problems addressed in “Disability as Diversity in Higher Education” are annoyingly real: people with disabilities being ignored, disrespected, pushed aside, admired for the wrong reasons, treated like children, and the like. The systemic problems — barely accessible or inaccessible spaces and technology, websites that hide programs aimed at disabled students, and hostility from members of other underrepresented groups — are also frustratingly real. But often, the best approach is to treat others in the way we want to be treated, hoping that others will return the favor. And sometimes, explaining how addressing our needs will benefit the entire organization will yield something positive.

That’s what universal design is all about.

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