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The Mind’s Eye

  • Posted on January 21, 2011 at 8:26 PM

I am currently taking a course on writing poetry.  Writing poetry is how I gained my teachers’ interests in my writing ability when I was in grade school.  The first piece I had published for pay was a poem.  While I want to improve my understanding of poetry forms and improve my craft, I’m not under-confident in my ability to write poetry.

So, it was a surprise when I read the following passage from my textbook:

At the pedagogical heart of this book is the notion that no matter what kind of poetry anyone wishes to write (whether it’s free verse, narrative, formal, spoken word, ect.), a poet must paint a picture in the mind’s eye of the reader.

(The Mind’s Eye by Kevin Clark, 2008, pg. xii)

Furthermore, Kevin Clark relates imagery—a writing device used to evoke sensory experience in writing—directly to the experience of a mind’s eye.

You might be asking: What’s the big deal?

Well, to be entirely blunt, had I read a statement like that when I was in middle school, I would never have tried to write poetry.  Had I read it in high school or in the first five years after I graduated high school, I would never have written the poem that I had published.  Why?  Because my mind has no eye.  I don’t see images in my mind.  I cannot call up an image of my children’s face by mental will power, let alone imagine an image of something I’ve never seen. 

As this textbook is written, Kevin Clark assumes “the mind’s eye” is a universal experience.  It may be a common experience, but it’s not universal.  By relating the mind’s eye to effective imagery, he risks alienating anyone who doesn’t experience mental pictures.  Someone like me.

It is incorrect to assume that because I do not experience mental picture that I cannot this read, write, or evoke imagery.  Imagery is an important writing tool, but the mind’s eye is not the only way to experience it.  I don’t think in pictures; I think exclusively in words, emotions, and ideas.  Written imagery translates words into images in the mind’s eye; my mind requires no such translation.  Visual imagery, on the other hand, requires translation for me.  For example, impressionism is an artistic genre that I require translation to understand, and often cannot appreciate.

I’m sure I’ll find Kevin Clark’s book useful.  In fact, I already have.  However, there’s a risk of alienation when a person in authority assumes a common experience is universal, and then leaps to connect that common experience with the way to do something.  Clark made this mistake. 

I proved to myself I could write effective poetry before I ever read this book.  I also gained an understanding of myself as a neurodiverse individual, and have learned not to accept the limits others try to attribute to my abilities.  (Which is entirely different from recognizing and accepting my own limitations.) 

While Clark’s assumption will not alienate me from poetry, I worry that it might prevent others who experience sensory impressions the way I do from writing poetry.  I imagine that if I had been more vulnerable to the author’s influence—because I was less sure of my own potential—I might have foregone my poetic goals as unattainable.

The Neurodiverse Workforce

  • Posted on January 18, 2011 at 7:58 AM

The first proposed chapter for my book, tentatively entitled “Neurodiversity at Work: A Manager’s Guide,” is designed to introduce the concept of neurodiversity in a business-friendly context.

Most of what is written about neurodiversity is from a social justice perspective.  While there are very real reasons for this, a consequence is that information about neurodiversity is not presented in the language most business people speak.  So this first chapter will ground the relevance of the social justice issue to the business world by translating the social justice language to the business language.

What does it mean to be neurologically diverse or neurodiverse?

As used in this book, neurologically diverse and neurodiverse are two different terms.  Understanding both is important to understanding how neurodiversity impacts the workplace.

Neurologically references the structures and mechanisms of the nervous system, including the brain, and the effects the nervous system has on how people experience life.  Diversity references the fact that there is no one neurological state.  We all are neurologically diverse.

Neurodiverse, on the other hand, represents a sense of identity.  Someone is neurodiverse, in this sense, rather than being neurotypical.  Societies tend to prefer a certain set of neurological traits; this set of preferred traits is perceived as neurotypical.  In some societies, including the United States, traits that deviate from this preferred “norm” are perceived as damaged or insufficient.  This creates stigma and an environment of prejudice against anyone who demonstrates neurodiverse traits.  This prejudice can be extreme, such as the prejudice faced by people with so-called low functioning autism, which is considered an extreme deviation from the norm.  This prejudice can also be relatively mild, such as the prejudice faced by people with depression, which is considered a less extreme deviation from the norm.

So, what does it mean to be neurologically diverse?  It’s means you’re a human being.  Humanity is neurologically diverse.  What does it mean to be neurodiverse?  It means you are part of a perceived “undesirable minority” and will face stigma and prejudice as a member of the workforce.  This prejudice and stigma will continue unless managers learn to manage a neurologically diverse workforce or you learn to hide your undesirable differences.  It also means you may carry a label of mental disorder, as your neurotype may have been medicalized due to its undesirability. 

At least an estimated 26.2% of the American adult population could identify as neurodiverse, or one in four adults.  According to the 2004 census, that’s an estimated 57.7 million people in America alone.  This minority is too large and too important to ignore, but the business world often ignores the needs of this population.

What is neurodiversity?

Neurodiversity is about the confluence of two distinct beliefs:

1) People are naturally and normally neurologically different.  Some of these natural, normal differences are labeled “abnormal,” “disorders,” “syndromes,” or other value-laden labels that interferes with our ability to understand the different subsets of human neurology.

2) Human beings are valuable, in all their diversity, in and of themselves.

As such, neurodiversity is a social justice movement that is affiliated with the disability rights arm of the civil rights movement.  Neurodiversity is also strongly tied to autistic advocates, who advocate for acceptance and accommodations for autism, so they can better interact with societies that devalue the autistic ways of being.  As used in this text, neurodiversity is not exclusive to autistics, but encompasses the wide set of neurodiverse individuals who participate in the workforce.  This includes individuals with autism, mood disorders, attention deficit disorders, and other neurotypes that may or may not involve a medical diagnosis.

How does this social concept apply to the business environment?

Consumers are neurologically diverse.  Workers are neurologically diverse.  Business is, by extension, an interaction of neurologically diverse individuals for profit.

Understanding, respecting, and accommodating neurological diversity is an important business survival strategy as the world changes in the face of social pressures from neurodiversity advocates.  Businesses have long struggled with issues stemming from a neurologically diverse workforce, but have yet to come to terms with these issues.

The time is now; because, as pressure mounts, if businesses cannot or will not respond, consumer and legislative pressure will force businesses to respond in ways that suit bureaucratic form rather than the flexible business environment and the needs of your workers.

Implications of Therapy

  • Posted on September 20, 2009 at 12:00 PM

Bev, of Asperger Square 8, has taken on an excellent project that has opened my mind to many new thoughts.  It’s called: A Checklist of Neurotypical Privilege.  While the entire document is worth reading (I highly recommend it) one piece stuck out and pricked me – mind, body and soul.

13. For a child of my neurotype, everyday teaching of the skills they will need to live in this society is called education or parenting—not therapy, treatment, or intervention.

The implication here is that for neurotypical children education is called education, but because neurodiverse students sometimes require different lessons, different teaching styles, and different techniques, their education is called therapy.

I consciously try to foster my children’s sense of worth and power.  I try to build them up so that they and others can better recognize their potential.  I do not, in any way, consider my children “less” because they are not neurotypical.  And yet, I never consciously thought about the implications of the use of “therapy” to describe our efforts to meet their educational needs.  The specialists who assist us in designing strategies and “interventions” to help my children learn are called therapists and they perform services that are funded as therapy.  I never once questioned these labels.  Now, after reading this document, thinking about it, and letting the issues it brings up fully penetrate my mind and my heart, I’m amazed and chagrined that it never occurred to me.  I’d long lost my comfort with the use of “intervention strategies,” which is a common phrase that’s applied to services intended to assist individuals with special needs.  But therapy always seemed completely innocuous.

When I think about the purposes of therapy, however, the point becomes clear.  The reason my children require therapy is because they do not learn all the things they need to know in a neurotypical manner.  Therefore, to teach them the things they need to know, we need to use different strategies, techniques, and behaviors to help induce learning.  Learning is still the goal.  So, whatever the means, teaching and educating are still the verbs.

Comparatively, consider the teaching strategies sometimes used with at-risk youth.  There are many, from charter schools to special programs, but they’re not called therapy.  These are children who often have neurotypical development, but face challenges not experienced by mainstream society.  To educate them as we should, we need to find ways to compensate for those challenges and this requires changes in teaching techniques.  In our language, we recognize that these differences and unfortunately we sometimes use language that denigrates the worth of the children, but we don’t call it “therapy.”  That’s reserved for students with disabilities.

Just as kids who perform below average or have problems due to their experiences, children who perform above average get specialized educational programs as well.  When I was a student, I attended classes that were labeled “differentiated.”  More was expected from me and my fellow classmates than our regular peers.  Specialized lessons were prepared for us and techniques were used to prevent the typical boredom children with above-average intelligence often experience in school.  It was differentiated, but still education – not therapy.

So, why do we use therapy to describe techniques used to teach students with special needs?  One obvious answer is that it hasn’t occurred to well-meaning people that the word might be offensive or inappropriate.  This is not a reason to continue using it, but it does explain part of the problem.  Like myself, there are others who have never considered the word might be controversial.  If this were the only barrier, change would be relatively easy.  Not genuinely easy, but more easy than it would otherwise be.  Unfortunately, this isn’t the only reason.  There is one good reason I can think not to change the use of the word.  Now, I caution you, it’s not a very good reason, in that it’s ethical or right.  It’s a good reason in that it benefits those the educational services are intended to benefit.

Simply put, the reason to keep the “therapy” label is funding.  Specialized educational services are expensive.  Funds are not readily available for these services.  In many American schools, the only reason these services get the funding the need is because it is federal law that they be available.  In many American schools, parents have to fight to get school officials to recognize that the services provided must be dictated by the needs of the child, not be the availability of resources.  This is a legal right won in the courts.  And it’s still an issue.  By changing the wording from “therapy” to “specialized educational services” one risks losing some of the oomph that “therapy” has.  Whether it’s accurate or not, whether it’s ethical or not, whether it’s true or not, “therapy” has a more respectable reputation with hints of medical necessity that “specialized educational services” lacks.  It’s all about shades of meaning here.  The research behind therapy and that supports its use is better funded and better supported than the research behind specialized educational services.  Programs for at-risk youth and for children with above average intellects are cut before students with disabilities, because the programs for students with disabilities have been propped up by law through the research that supports the benefits of therapy.  By changing the wording, you change the meaning in the minds of some of those you communicate with (which, admittedly is part of the point) in such a way that it’s detrimental to the programs being funded.

Now, again, I’m not saying that it’s a good thing that other programs are so easily cut from school budgets.  I don’t believe that.  I believe that all children, regardless of what their needs are, should get the educational services that fill those needs.  Society’s sense of the value of unique individuals has not progressed to that point yet.  By pushing for the human rights implications of education over therapy, I perceive a risk in damaging the fundability of those education services.  Ideally, the human rights implications would take priority.  They should.  But, the reality is that these services are often necessary.  I’m reluctant to advocate anything that would endanger their availability.

Which is not to suggest Bev’s document does any such thing.  I believe the purpose of the document was to open our minds.  If that’s true, then it certainly worked for me.