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