I became a notetaker with Services
for Students with Disabilities entirely
by accident. One April evening during
my freshman year, I was having dinner
with my best friend and her friend. Her
friend happened to mention that he was
a notetaker, and he gave me the email
address of someone I could contact about
getting involved. I was looking for a second
job, and I knew I was good at taking notes.
I also liked the idea of sitting in on classes
I would not have otherwise been able to
take. I emailed Jill Rice, coordinator of
Services for Students who are Deaf and
Hard of Hearing, and she added my name
to the list of notetakers.
I then went home for the summer and
forgot about the whole thing.
Last fall, I was quickly initiated into
a world I didn’t know existed. SSD
coordinates a variety of accommodations
and programs for students with disabilities
ranging from from mobility impairments
to learning disabilities to hearing loss. I
became part of the notetaking division, a
small army of students who attend classes
and take notes for students registered with
SSD. Some classes are straightforward,
requiring notes to be taken on a computer
and emailed to the student. Other times,
an assignment may come with special
instructions — take notes with a special
black marker provided by SSD, for example.
Notetaking can be a strange job, because
I often take notes for upper-level classes in
unfamilar subjects. In fact, the first class
I ever took notes for was an upper-level
Economics course, and I knew absolutely
nothing about the material. As I took notes
and as the semester progressed, I began to
relax into the fluid mindlessness of writing
words that I had no need to understand.
Over time, the initial peculiarity of the job
transformed into something soothing and
even meditative.
Despite working for
the SSD for two years,
and becoming an expert
on the mystery that is
notetaking, I remained
incognizant
of
the
many stories shaping
disability on campus.
Being
a
notetaker
has made me aware
of a set of challenges
that
my
privilege
as
an
able-bodied
student had previously
allowed me to ignore
— though I recognize
that even with this
understanding, I have
barely scratched the
surface. The specifics
of
the
challenges
remained abstract. I
imagine that for many
able-bodied students, the experiences
of students with disabilities is similarly
obscure.
Ignoring the needs of disabled students
at the University of Michigan means
overlooking a very significant minority.
During the 2016-2017 school year, 6.3
percent of the 46,000 students at the
University registered with SSD. Of course,
the experiences of these students are as
diverse, if not more, than the experiences
of able-bodied students at the University,
and it would be a mistake to lump them all
together.
Last week I spoke to LSA senior DeAnna
Jerore. Jerore is studying Political Science
with a minor in Sustainability. For her first
three years at the University, she was an
able-bodied student. On Aug. 24, Jerore
suffered a fall that severed her spinal
cord. The accident left her unable to walk
without the use of a four-wheeled walker.
The severity and permanence of Jerore’s
injury means that she has been forced
to quickly adapt to life with a mobility
impairment. Adjusting physically and
emotionally while also communicating
with her professors has been challenging,
but it has not stopped her from taking
classes.
Jerore
explained
that
the
availability of SSD resources has been
instrumental in allowing her to return to
her studies just weeks after the accident,
despite doctors encouraging her to put
school on hold.
Jerore
explained
that
becoming
registered with SSD required a variety of
paperwork and in-person meetings, which
posed some difficulty since she spent
three weeks in the hospital following her
operation. However, she explained that
overall she has a had a positive experience
with the SSD.
This semester, Jerore commutes to
campus periodically. SSD coordinates with
Information and Technology Services
to provide Jerore with audio-visual
recordings of her classes, allowing her to
keep up from home until she is ready to
return to campus full-time.
After graduation, Jerore plans to pursue
a master’s degree in Urban Planning.
She’s interested in how climate change is
beginning to impact everyday life, and she
hopes to design sustainable spaces that
foster cohesion and community among
people of all identities and cultures.
“This
experience
has
changed
my direction in terms of what those
community places look like, and how they
operate to encompass everyone, where it
doesn’t feel like someone is being othered,”
Jerore explained.
Though Jerore has found the SSD to
be helpful, she noted that she has faced
challenges with faculty.
Jerore has noticed that her professors
and graduate student instructors don’t
seem to understand the severity of her
injury. “The biggest challenge for me is
that coming back and sending out emails,
professors and GSIs were like, ‘Oh, hope
you get better soon!’” Jerore said.
Jerore
said
she
understands
that
these emails came from a place of
misunderstanding, not malice. Before
her accident, she didn’t know much about
spinal cord injuries either.
“I didn’t say this, but it sort of burned
me up a little bit,” she explained. “I think
that some of the awareness needs to be
there. Because that was very, very difficult
— I was even sending multiple emails
and having doctor’s letters and whatnot
in terms of trying to give (professors and
GSIs) a sense of how serious this was. That
took up a lot of my time.”
A lack of awareness among faculty
about disability is a symptom of the
University’s insufficient efforts to make
campus
accessible.
While
Jerore’s
experience with SSD has been largely
positive, the campus remains largely
inaccessible — both literally, for students
with mobility impairments, and also in
regards to attitudes toward disabilities.
The University’s 2015 Diversity, Equity and
Inclusion strategic plan is notably silent on
disability.
Some disabled students have also
questioned
SSD’s
requirement
that
students register to receive services,
pointing out that students with other
marginalized identities are not required to
“prove” their identity.
While the University ranks high on lists
of disability-friendly schools, this may
say more about the state of accessibility
in higher education than it does about the
University’s accommodations for disabled
students. While SSD has many programs
that benefit registered students, the office
does not have the power to alter class
requirements for students. University
professors are provided with a handbook
on how to best accommodate disabled
students, but SSD cannot compel faculty
to make any changes to their curriculum,
even for students with SSD documentation.
While the staff of SSD works hard to
provide accommodations, it is important to
note their budget appears somewhat limited.
SSD is funded by both a general fund and
an Americans with Disabilities Act Provost
Fund. According to a 2014 presentation,
the general fund budget has been cut by
1.5 percent every year since 2007. The
2014 general fund allocation was $18,000,
down from $32,000 in 2007. The ADA
Provost Fund provides between $300,000
and $700,000 per year to ensure ADA
compliance. SSD also receives money from
individual donors.
Given that SSD provides resources to
6.3 percent of students, their operating
budget is quite small compared to other
organizations that serve an equal or
lesser number of students. There are 1,011
student-athletes, for example, meaning
that student-athletes make up a little over 2
percent of the general student population.
For the 2018-2019 fiscal year, Michigan
Athletics has projected a $2.5 million
budget surplus; its total budget for the year
was $188.1 million.
This is not, of course, a perfect
comparison. Michigan Athletics creates
revenue, while SSD does not. Sports
also holds a cultural, communal and
aesthetic value that disability resources
and awareness lack. Still, the difference
between the SSD and Michigan Athletics
operating budgets are striking.
As an able-bodied notetaker, I rarely
considered the people receiving my notes.
Before learning more about SSD, notetaking
was a simply a job for me. After researching
the University’s accessibility, many of my
preconceptions about what it means to be
disabled on campus have been challenged.
The ways campus and classes are
designed for able-bodied students are
glaringly apparent. How would a student
with a mobility impairment navigate the
stacks in Hatcher Graduate Library, for
instance? How would a blind student have
their obscure class readings translated
to Braille? How would a student with a
learning disability convince an unwilling
professor to provide extra time on an exam?
I’m humbled to have spoken to Jerore,
and
hearing
about
her
experiences
has radically changed my perspective.
Obviously, the stories of SSD and the
experiences of disabled students at the
University are sometimes contradictory.
Hearing these stories and recognizing
their rich complexity is perhaps the first
step toward a more accessible and equitable
campus.
3B
Wednesday, October 10, 2018 // The Statement
Notes on accessibility
BY MIRIAM FRANCISCO, STATEMENT CORRESPONDENT
Courtesy of DeAnna Jerore
LSA senior DeAnna Jerore