Inclusion is a path to knowing.

Virginia Methodists for a New Thing is interested in the intersection of LGBTQIA+ inclusivity with broader inclusivity issues. They have asked me to share a little bit about my work and passion for inclusion.

First, I want to address the hesitation I have for posting anything at such a time as this.

Then, I want to address the responsibility I have for posting anything at such a time as this.

Among many things, I am a heterosexual, abled, white woman. And, I am doing a lot of listening right now. We should be paying attention to the voices of those who are continuously oppressed and quieted. Specifically, it is important to listen to Black voices at this time. For that reason, I wasn’t sure I should share right now.

Then, as I stand with protests and listen to Black voices, I am aware that while quiet reverence is valuable, silence is not. In fact, silence is terrible. And I am required, as an ally to the Black Lives Matter movement and to the Inclusion movement, to speak up. I am navigating how to continue working in the arts and in inclusive community building while championing, supporting, and defending Black life. Black people and especially Black men who have a disability are in serious danger of being misunderstood or misjudged. My friends who hug, flap their arms, dodge eye contact, take time to process information, scream, or cheerfully sing to you may be killed because of who they are. I repeat, they may be killed because of who they are.

I want to be super clear: Black Lives Matter. That’s where I am right now and that’s where I will continue to learn and act.

And, because the next part of this post highlights my experience with a different aspect of inclusion, I needed to address that first.

From racial justice educator, Rachel Ricketts, “You stepping into your discomfort allows others to step into more ease.” So, tag me in. I hope that as I work to battle racism and other types of systemic injustice, that more and more people can step into more ease.

Among many things, I am an artist. A lot of the youth and adults that I create beside have a disability. I find the places where I sit to be rich and deep because of the people who sit near me. I guess one of the most important aspects of inclusion is proximity. Something hard to achieve in this COVID climate, nearness is conducive to relationships.

It is easy to say we love someone and never have to be next to them. I would prefer to phrase that more like, GET to be next to them. I think in faith communities love can be thrown around as a way to make exclusion ok. We love so and so. And then there may not be the action of love beyond that statement of love.

When you love someone, you include them.

In my work with students, I have seen countless groups of children or adults come to the literal table and have an impact on one another because they were simply given the opportunity to be there. When we throw the arts in the room, the playing field becomes more exciting, nerve wracking, liberating, etc. Because those emotions tend to exist in everyone, suddenly we are all similar.

Human beings are amazing. I can worry all night about curriculum or schedule, and I can arrive to a wind of connection that develops among a group in spite of my attempt to control or plan. It proves to me that one of the most important aspects to inclusion is invitation. I often try and facilitate partnerships or seating charts that encourage community and support in the classroom, but more often than not some unexpected relationship happens and the student in the corner has two other students befriending their comfort stuffed animal like it’s their job. Like they are the teachers... And, then I realize so often that they are.

I work with an artist who draws and paints with his mouth. When children see this they are excited by it and mesmerized. The adults with these children tend to steer their glances away and whisper sternly, “don’t stare!” But once, a young boy leapt up next to this artist and bent his arms to show only his elbows. He said, “look, me.” He was not trying to be like the artist. He was showing that he actually was like the artist. He was proud. They were smiling. This kind of moment happens when we engage.

I think our biggest obstacle is fear. I know often mine is. And fear is frequently based on an unknowing. Inclusion is a path to knowing. Being near to, inviting, and learning about someone builds a relationship with them. We remove the unknowing.

In my experience it has become more and more clear that the idea of inclusion is not about access only. It is deeper because we learn more about one another. Having a quiet room for someone to slip into if they are over stimulated goes beyond access and becomes support. Support is needed in that way for that specific person to thrive. When someone feels safe and supported, they are free to really express themselves. That’s how I personally feel. When I go into a group of new people and have maybe one friend with me, then wow I am much more open to be myself. We can add ramps, we can add staff, but we must pay attention to the kind of support that is needed for thriving and not just existing.

Once I found out my student felt braver if they wore a cardboard hat I made as a demo. I try to think now.

What cardboard hat does this person need?

The climate in the rooms where I teach is safe and kind. It is cool to support one another and celebrated when we catch someone anticipating a need or being a friend. This goes all ways. Whether our students have a disability or not, all human beings want to feel supported, needed, or seen.

I want all of my students and the artists I work with to feel like they are

Supported. Needed. And Seen.  

I speak a lot in the creative world and I don’t always cite the depth of my faith, but the truth is that my faith is who I am. It isn’t a list of rules or a badge I wear because I earned it. It is my spirit that is connected to something greater. I identify that as God. I look to Jesus for examples of service, forgiveness, and kindness. My relationship with God is a knowing. I know it more than I have words for it.

God is love.

And I know that is what I am called to do. To share love and to fight for what is just.

Church is a place to feel Supported. Needed. And Seen. We are not showing love when we say we love but do not completely include. If someone is not able to do everything in the church because of something about who they are, then they are not being loved.  They are not.

And it is awful.

I will keep fighting for justice for people with disabilities, the LGBTQIA+ community, and Black Lives. The causes seem too great. But with God we do not charge forward in fear, we charge forward in hope.

Abernathy Bland is an artist, educator, designer, and writer. She is a teacher and the Art Director for SPARC Theater’s Live Art, a collaborative theater arts program for students with and without disabilities. She works as an artist mentor with Milk River Arts, a studio providing career-focused support for adult artists with disabilities. She is a member of the Welborne UMC faith community in Richmond.