Acknowledging my dark passenger

Over the years, it’s become a bit of a habit of mine to analyze how other speakers deliver their content. I find myself pointing out the most common mistakes they make with regard to inclusion. How they address differences and diversity in the way they communicate with their audience. The kind of assumptions they make. How unaware they are of audience differences and true diversity. The type of ableist language that they use. I do it against my better judgment.

Most people would call that a professional bias, and brush it off. But I can’t. I often find that it takes all the space in my head. That might also be why I’m writing these posts. Much like Dexter in the TV show, I call it my dark passenger. Though mine is significantly less deadly, of course.

My passenger is a dark one because, really, ignorance used to be bliss. I’m not going to lie. There are moments when I’m preparing content for a presentation, where I’m fine-tuning my delivery, and I wish I didn’t know the things that I know. Days where I wish I could forget that people have such things as special or different needs. That no matter how smart I think I am, how much I think I know, or how great I think my idea might be, a one-size-fits-all approach just won’t work for everyone. This dark passenger is always there, by my side, reminding me that I need to pay attention to those details.

That I have no choice but to pay attention to them.

Overall, this knowledge and skill set I’ve developed over the years has served me well, and my dark passenger has pushed me towards new heights. It has allowed – and still allows – me to travel around the world. Or at least it did before the pandemic. It provided me with a very comfortable income to care for my family. It allowed me to develop much sought-after expertise in an otherwise admittedly quite narrow field.

But much like when I discovered that the Tooth Fairy was a hoax, or that the guy under that weird-looking Santa Claus beard was in fact my dad, this knowledge about accessibility and inclusion has taken away a part of my innocence. I can no longer pretend that I don’t know about the many ways in which we can exclude people.

My dark passenger makes sure I will never forget.

A good curse, but a curse nonetheless

Take something as trivial as leaving a slide deck behind after delivering a talk. Using powerful imagery to illustrate a point. Posting an image on social media. For most of us, none of these are a concern. We upload or share the file, and we’re done. We don’t even think twice about it…

Not me. Not anymore. My dark passenger is there, nagging for me to explain this stuff. To make it accessible.

Describe it in text for those who might not be able to see it with their own eyes. Even work some magic, so the document will be compatible with the assistive technologies these people use (more on that in future blog posts). If I don’t go that extra mile, my dark passenger is there, lurking in the shadows, waiting to push my buttons. Given the discipline that I’m in and the expectations that this creates, some people will notice. Some people will talk. Some of them might even do so publicly. It adds additional pressure, and sometimes, it means that I’m not going to publish something at all. Either way, my dark passenger wins.

Between you and me, he’s a bit of a pain in the butt, but he does push me towards inclusion. So I still kind of like him. Most days.

In other words, the goal of always wanting to become more inclusive comes at a cost. A cost in terms of time, energy, and resources spent. A cost in terms of expectations before I can feel satisfied with my own work. A cost in terms of what I can allow myself to talk about, and the words I can use to talk about it. Is that a cost you are ready to pay?

As speakers, trainers, and professional communicators, our message is important. It needs to be shared far and wide. Part of sharing that message in an inclusive way is something you might want to do because you’re a decent human being. Good for you. But part of it will also be about helping your speaking business reach more potential customers. Neither have to be mutually exclusive.

You may not want to go as far down this path as people like me are willing to go. Not everybody needs to carry a dark passenger with them. Mine keeps me honest. But whether you make it a life’s mission or not to advocate for inclusion, following a path for inclusion will help you develop more awareness and more sensitivity towards those situations that may cause your audience members to fade.

And that, in and of itself, to me is a victory, and a step in what I would consider to be in the right direction. At least I can find solace in knowing that I’m not walking down that path alone.