One of the unique aspects of the URJ Kutz Camp (z"l) was its gibush (G as in good, gee-boosh) program, a parallel program for developmentally disabled people ranging in age from 9-20. This program was unique because, while not an integrated program in the way we think of it, gibush was integrated in that members of Kutz's main program could choose the gibush "major" or "minor" at camp and spend their time working, playing, and learning with disabled people. While a few mainstream participants during my time there were ableist and unkind towards gibush participants (there was one memorable incident in which an abled girl mocked and imitated a boy with mobility issues), and others simply ignored them, many of our mainstream campers, both in and out of the major, befriended and respected the gibush campers. When Kutz closed down the gibush program a year before their own closing, the reports I heard were that the camp tried and failed to match gibush participants with similar programs; the reality is that this program exists almost nowhere else.
I loved the gibush program, and I learned a great deal from it and the people who were part of it. I learned how to manage panic attacks, both others' and my own; how to care less about others' opinions and more about my own joy; countless factoids about various kids' special interests; how to communicate effectively with people across a wide range of communication styles. I also learned something that has stuck with me since I was 18:
There is no such thing as universal access.
At any given moment in gibush, we had people with opposing needs. We had kids who needed quiet and kids who needed to make noise; kids who craved movement and kids who required stillness; kids who wanted to socialize and kids who wanted to be left alone. Gibush did its level best to accommodate everyone, but it was hard, and no one space could accommodate every need at once. (This is to say nothing of Kutz's own failings with regard to access, particularly in the gibush program.)
Opposing needs are a fact of life, both within and outside of disabled spaces. For example, I need a quiet environment in order to have phone conversations, but I work in an office where some people need others to speak louder. Sometimes this means it's hard for me to do my job. There is no inherent moral value in this; it's just part of being a person.
And yet, oddly, abled people love to point out opposing needs as a reason to not accommodate others. Anytime I ask for subtitles in a group setting, I brace myself for "well, what if someone gets distracted by them?" When I tell people I need direct communication, I often get complaints that people are uncomfortable with directness and I shouldn't demand it.
My beloved friend Celeste (they/it/she) wrote about this phenomenon recently, and voiced its frustration with how people approach this:
"It feels very infantilizing. It feels like we are being told that, because other people also suffer, we just have to deal with it. It feels like because we are disabled, we must not be intelligent enough to know that other disabilities might exist and that we NEED reminding.... When we say something is ableist, such as banning cars, we aren't saying we shouldn't ban cars. We are reminding y'all that you're leaving the rest of us behind in your progression - that we need different forms of accommodation to be able to survive. And that's something you're gonna HAVE to get used to if you want to be a disability ally. Our accommodations are built in the context of our environment and society. When you change that, our accommodations will change to fit the new one."
They, and I, and most other disabled people, see this constantly, and what abled people don't seem to be grasping is that disabilities won't simply cease to exist when we remove other societal barriers. While some people's disabilities only feel disabling in the context of the world we currently live in, most of us will still be disabled in a postmodern world and will still need accommodations. And that's okay! It doesn't have to be onerous. It just has to be acknowledged.
Universal design is a myth; we will always need to create different spaces for different people. The solution isn't to accommodate no one, or to try to make every space accessible to every person - it's to make sure that there is a space for everyone, whatever that looks like.
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