Disability Rhetoric

Artist Statement:

Three years ago, I helped with the annual Global Health conference on Western’s campus. The theme was Criminalization of the Body, meaning we investigated why, how, and in what ways certain demographics experience marginalization of the body. One of the demographics we spent time on was the disabled community. Ironically, the conference was held in Arntzen Hall, arguably the most ableist building on campus. From there forward, I took notice of the potentially inequitable structures on campus.  

For my project, I compiled a zine that elaborates on the ableist characteristics of Arntzen Hall. Arntzen Hall was built in the late 60s and still stands as one of the most trafficked buildings on campus. It houses the largest lecture hall on campus, making it a hub for intro classes. Arntzen Hall stands as an example of the discriminatory rhetoric of space at WWU. There are countless other examples that piece together a message for Western staff, students and visitors, and that message is, “if you don’t fulfil our constraining, ableist ideals, you are not welcome here.”  

Terms:

Author’s note: many of these terms are nuanced beyond one definition; the definitions listed below are not stagnant or complete

• Zine: Informal, small magazine, typically 8 quarter pages
• Space: the tangible, spiritual, “atmospheric”, and contextual environment made up of relationships; persuasive place, cultivating e(a)ffect
• Disability Studies: as defined by O’toole, Linton, Dolmage, folks in Disability Visibility, Brueggemann, Siebers, Johnson, and so many others, disability studies take on many hats; it is a field that challenges the normalization of being and embraces embodied rhetoric, centering the voices and stories of disabled folks
• Arntzen Hall: A building on Western Washington University’s campus, constructed in the 60s; houses the largest lecture hall at WWU

Weaving Together Rhetoric of Space, Disability Studies, and Arntzen:

The importance of space extends beyond the physical makeup of infrastructure. Space cannot and does not exist in a vacuum; it has rhetorical power that produces and is produced by canonical perspectives. Often, the canonical perspective is designed by and for nondisabled people. The rhetorical power of space and the social model of disability braid together beautifully to give us a comprehensive look at ableist design. The social model of disability is explained by Bess Williamson as a model that sees the structures of the world as the producers of disability (Keywords For Disability Studies). This means that without the “space” we create, disability does not even exist; for example, a 3-story building that only has stairs (no other means of getting floor to floor) suggests that only folks who walk belong on the second and third floors. This example is a simplistic breakdown of rhetorical space, but as I am learning, rhetorical space can be philosophically complex, and even more complicated when trying to combat ableist structures (they are everywhere!).

Rhetorical space includes conceptual space as well; for example, time, communication, capacity for belonging, knowledge/education, and so much more is implied by space. In this research I hope to push the bounds past just “inclusive design” and into all-encompassing ideas of spatial equity. Throughout the past couple years, I have been looking into the distinction between inclusion and belonging. Any space can include tangible aspects of “inclusivity”, but what does it mean to create a space of true belonging? This project has given me further insight on belonging (and lack thereof).

Throughout this process, I was able to dive into the nuances of disabled space/time. The Question of Access: Disability, Space, Meaning, written by Titchkosky, dives into the complexities of space and its meaning-making tendencies.The author writes, “Disability is a way to make disruptions to the normative order sensible, and it does so even for orders steeped in the norm of disruption itself, such as moving; classroom design; and any other space/time issues” (Titchkosky pg. 47). The term “disruptions” came up frequently throughout this reading. Disrupting the “norm” is revolutionary, but for so many it is just living. Students and faculty members have made disruptions to Arntzen Hall since the 60s, but there is much more work to be done, in the physical, intellectual, and intimate/emotional space that Arntzen provides. I hope to portray the undisrupted aspects of Arntzen to draw attention to the importance of looking at rhetorical space through a disability studies lens. I do not offer alternatives, as it is beyond my scope of understanding, but I hope to find ways to pass on the microphone to folks living the disruption.

 I do navigate the university with mental/learning disabilities, but I am not physically disabled; because of this, I am unable to accurately see all the ableist structures in place. I do not embody the disruption I am arguing for, but I hope to articulate it in a way that respects those who do.

Zine: Page 1

Page 1: Image description
            Cover page with title across the top reading, “Braided: Weaving Together Rhetorical Space, Disability Studies, and Arntzen Hall”. Below the text is an image of two trees in front of a large building (Arntzen Hall). Between the trees is text that reads, “Notice! The door is closed: Arntzen’s structural design closes the door to so many. Let us learn how!”

Page 1: Author’s note
            The theme I chose for this zine is “braiding/weaving”. This theme stems from a concept brought to me by author, professor, and equity expert, Anu Taranath. Anu believes justice is a braid; it is a woven piece of art that contains multitudes of creativity, logistics, and humility. The theme is present throughout my images and dialogue. The primary braiding in my zine is of the concepts: rhetorical space, social model of disability studies, and the tangible building, Arntzen Hall. Weaving together these concepts, I aim to introduce and give examples of the physical, intimate/social, and intellectual space in Arntzen Hall.

Zine: Page 2

Page 2: Image description
            The title says, “Acknowledgements – No matter of words could pay proper respects to the Indigenous peoples of this land: Nooksack, Coast Salish, Lummi, and Duwamish peoples. They have and continue to watch over and tend for the land and waters in which WWU settles.” Below the text is an image of mountains cascading into the ocean as the sun sets. Below the image is a text that reads, “Additionally, I have a nondisabled body – I must acknowledge how space has privileged me and skewed my scope of Arntzen Hall. This zine was compiled via observation and academic reading, not first-hand experience.”

Page 2: Author’s note
            Arntzen Hall will always be an inherently imperial space. It is a settlement on Indigenous land, built by the colonial structures of academia. Academia is wildly inaccessible to people from diverse backgrounds, especially folks who intersect with disability. In acknowledging that Arntzen unrightfully sits on stolen land, I hope to draw the audience’s attention to the deeper systems of oppression that perpetrate the ableist features of Arntzen Hall and Western’s campus. Ableism, white supremacy, and heteropatriarchy run rampant through the physical, intimate, and intellectual spaces at Western. The foundations of Arntzen are grounded in genocide and erasure, the design and rhetorical impact of the building follows suit.
            Although I do navigate university with mental/learning disabilities, I am not physically disabled; because of this, I am unable to accurately see the ableist structures in place. I do not embody the disruption I am arguing for. My second acknowledgment is in hopes of recognizing my own positionality in this project. I cannot see what does not impact me or those around me. I took notes, pictures, and spoke with friends openly, investigating ableist aspects of Arntzen, but this zine and my research is not comprehensive or complete. I hope I articulated that in a way that respects those who are impacted everyday by the inequitable structures at Western.

Zine: Page 3

Page 3: Image description
            The title reads, “Meet Our Key Players”. Three “Hello, my name is…” tags stagger across the page. The top one is rhetorical space, then disability studies, then Arntzen Hall. The text says, “Through this zine, we will be observing 3 types of space in Arntzen Hall through a disability studies lens.” A sketch of glasses is in the lower right corner. Next to it is text reading the three spaces: “1. Physical, 2. Intimate/Social, and 3. Intellectual.”

Page 3: Author’s note
            Introducing each “key player” in my zine was more difficult than I anticipated. Aside from Arntzen Hall, these are expansive concepts that would need pages upon pages to truly define. I hoped this page would pull together my idea of braiding; I have included so many ideas on such few pages, ideally this page acts as a summery, explaining how they all fit together.

Zine: Page 4

Page 4: Image description
            The title says, “Physical Space-”. Below the text is a women’s restroom sign. An arrow notes that the sign does include braille, but maps, the elevator, and signs leading to the 5^th floor did not. Below the restroom sign is a sign that reads, “closest accessible RR is one the 1^st floor of the environmental building”. An arrow points to that sign and notes, “sign is on the 5^th floor of Arntzen: 4 floors and 1 building away from this RR.” Text at the bottom of the page reads, “Rhetorically, this sign uses the imperial gender binary- an intimate aspect of one’s identity. The same imperial structures that built Arntzen’s ableist infrastructure.” piece

Page 4: Author’s note
            I chose physical space as the first of the three spaces because it is the easiest to explain/understand. We are all capable of calling out designs that are not wheelchair friendly or visually accessible. The women’s restroom sign stood out to me as the most impactful image. It embodies the imperial influences of ableism and heteropatriarchy. Disability studies is intersectional, so I included bits about the violence of the gender binary in addition to my analysis of the ableist design in Arntzen. When I was strolling around every floor in Arntzen, I was appalled by how few accessible restrooms there were. Additionally, I could not find a single gender-neutral restroom. I got to the fifth floor and saw it was no different; four floors and an entire building away from an accessible restroom! The physical space of Arntzen Hall does not only influence the amount of time it would take a wheelchair-user to get to an adequate restroom, it influences the amount of time they must miss class/work. Space and design work rhetorically in expansive ways.

Zine: Page 5

Page 5: Image description
            The title says, “Intimate Space – Intimate/Social space is made up of tangible designs that produce conceptual ideas – the mainstream lecture hall design produces ableist ideals, stemming from hierarchical discourse.” Below is an image of the Arntzen Lecture Hall 101. Arrows point out that it is the biggest hall on campus. The text notes that the accessible seating is in the back of the class, furthest from the board and professor. It notes how the seats are assembled in a way in which students do not interact with anyone but the professor, giving the professor all the power.

Page 5: Author’s note
            Intimate/social space is a bit more nuanced than the physical space. Arntzen 101 is set up in a rank-and-file system, meaning the seats are situated in columns and rows. Every chair faces the same direction toward the front, where the professor/instructor is. It is well accepted that classrooms have a front and back, no matter where the door may be, creating a hierarchal structure of closest to power, and furthest. The dynamic that is produced by and from a classroom set-up is one of dominance and submission. The language itself, “front” and “back”, is entangled with hierarchy and hegemony. Hegemony, as explained by Marx, is produced by the superstructures in place that conceal inequitable distribution of power. A classroom acts as a superstructure, leading the teacher to power and the students to oppression (for a lack of other language).  

The space of a classroom was designed—produced, to uphold specific dynamics, rules, and boundaries, but it also produces dynamics, rules, and boundaries. These dynamics of hierarchy pertain to all students, but those who are disabled take the brunt. In the image I drew, I noted that the accessible seating was only in the back, furthest from power. This is an isolating design that rather than includes/immerses disabled folks, segregates them.  

Zine: Page 6

Page 6: Image description

            The title says “Intellectual Space – Whether it be academic or not, space informs our existence.us. Arntzen hall assumes so much about its attendees; it assumes nondisabled body, nondisabled means of communication, nondisabled way of processing. The building, like so many university halls around the US was produced by and continues to produce white, nondisabled, academics.” Below the text is an image of a nondescript white man and text that reads, “Arntzen was a white man who was deemed important enough to have a building named after him” “that building was then designed by a white man from Seattle named Ibsen Andreas Nelsen. That same building produces thousands of nondisabled, white academics every year”

Page 6: Author’s note

The space in Arntzen Hall is dark (or florescent), outdated, and uncomfortable. Unsuitable for learning. I thought for so long how to best portray the intellectual space. Academia is often normalized to be for nondisabled, white people. I chose a man, despite white women being the largest demographic of college attendees because white men have held the historic representation for intellectual space for so long. I chose to draw Arntzen himself (or what I think he looks like; I could not find any images of him).

Zine: Page 7

Page 7: Image description
            The final page is titled “Other Observations – of physical, intimate/social, and intellectual spaces in Arntzen Hall and their rhetorical impact: (all through a disability studies POV). Braiding Together Disability Rhetoric and Arntzen Hall,” There are images of a braided money tree, a door handle and a sticker reading, “Automatic Door Caution,” a door with brick flooring, and a rigid desk. Arrows point to the images noting that the handle is hard to grip, the “automatic” door was not function 2/3 times I visited, and the desk is for a thin, nondisabled body. One note, pointing to the desk says, “What does this furniture tell its audience? What are the constraints?”

Page 7: Author’s note
            This final page is simply a compilation of honorable mentions. I spent a lot of time observing Arntzen and gathered far more insight than what could be included in a zine. As I observed Arntzen Hall, I took photographs and made notes of what I saw. Throughout this process I was unsurprised, yet incredibly disappointed by what I found. Moving forward I hope to continue taking note of the ableist spaces around me and how they influence folks’ lives. I hope to consider the disruptive and revolutionary lives of those consistently fucked over by ableist spaces

Questions to Ponder Moving Forward:

How do we cultivate space beyond just inclusion into true belonging?

How does access play a role in being a student at Western? In the school of Humanities?

What does spatial equity look like to you? Might there be opposing equitable spaces? How do we balance these oppositions?

Work Cited

Dolmage, Jay Timothy. “What Is Metis?” Disability Studies Quarterly, vol. 40, no. 1, 2020, https://doi.org/10.18061/dsq.v40i1.7224.

Keywords for Disability Studies, edited by Rachel Adams, et al., New York University Press,
2015. ProQuest Ebook Central, https://ebookcentral-proquest-com.ezproxy.library.wwu.edu/lib/wwu/detail.action?docID=3564341.

Titchkosky, Tanya. The Question of Access: Disability, Space, Meaning. University of Toronto Press, 2011.

Wong, Alice. Disability Visibility: First-Person Stories from the Twenty-First Century. Vintage Books, a Division of Penguin Random House LLC, 2020.