When I was a kid, I was very curious about disabilities. I don’t know why; I didn’t have any friends or family members who were disabled, or at least not in the ways I could recognize. Yet in elementary school I avidly read biographies of Helen Keller, her teacher Annie Sullivan, and Louis Braille. By the time I was nine I had taught myself the sign language and Braille alphabets, and directed a video about Keller, in which I played the lead role (and left my glasses on in several scenes).
I never actually wished to be disabled, but I wanted to know what it was like for the people I’d read about. And reading wasn’t enough. I spent some days at my house blindfolded, navigating by touch and tripping over the cats. I spent a day at school not allowing myself to say a word. And I tried to “deafen” myself with earplugs and other improvised methods, only to be frustrated that I could still hear sounds.
Now I’ve had years of experience in college disability offices, been a sign language interpreter and teacher for deaf students, and know many people in “real life” and/or online with a range of disabilities. (I put that in quotes because who can tell the difference anymore?) And of course, I’m somewhat newly nerfed.
Speaking of the nerf bat, I’m writing a game review for AbleGamers, a website and foundation dedicated to improving accessibility in videogames, which I’ve recently joined as a staff writer. This means a new and challenging way to look at both games and disability. The questions I have to ask of a game force me not just to imagine what it might be like to be color blind, for example, but to really examine the functional implications of that. Is there any game information that is solely presented in colors without any other explanation? What about captions — are they available for both in-game and cutscenes, and what size and font are they, and how long do they stay on the screen? What if you only have the use of one hand? Are there gameplay or difficulty options for people with cognitive impairments?
It’s not just a checklist or a matter of scrutinizing the game’s options. When I’m considering all these questions and others, I play the game imagining, to the extent that I can, that I really need those captions, or can’t distinguish between green and red, or can’t use both mouse and keyboard. It’s like those experiments I used to do as a kid, testing an imagined lack of function against a world that’s mostly built to make use of that function. And something happened after I did my first game session analyzing its friendliness to color blind players: I found myself noticing some billboards or websites with problematic color schemes.
It’s good to look at the world this way from time to time. As more than one wise person has said to me, we’re all disabled in one way or another, or were, or will be, even if only temporarily. Maybe the next time you’re playing a game, turn down the volume all the way and see how it changes your experience. It doesn’t come close to the experience of being a deaf person, of course, any more than my day in a wheelchair at Blizzcon comes close to the experience of using a chair every day of one’s life.
But as I found out when I was young, even a short or small visceral experience can deepen your empathy, or help you consider the world for a moment in a new way. And besides, odds are relatively good that if you read this blog, you’re going to be playing a videogame soon anyway. (Anyone want to take a little survey on that? Leave a note in the comments or contact me.) And you can check on AbleGamers via Twitter or Facebook — one exciting development is an impending segment on CNN. And if I may end this post with a little fundraising, they will send you this limited edition poster by Justin Russo, the guy who did that other awesome videogame art, for a donation of $55 or more. It’s got a message that no gamer could disagree with.
This post contains only my own opinions and does not necessarily reflect those of AbleGamers. Full disclosure: I have been requested to plug this poster. Fuller disclosure: I didn’t actually know this before I wrote the post. Also: Many deaf people do not consider themselves to be disabled. In this post I’m using a very broad definition of “disability,” which does include deafness, for simplicity’s sake. And thanks to Patrick and Desiree for their kind assistance.
