First to my Seattle friends and neighbors, please be extra kind to the educators and kids. The news that another student has died because of gun violence at school is hitting hard, especially during a time of the school year that is often marked with celebrations and graduation. If you can take care of another person, please extend that to the POCs, students of color, and allies. I re-read the blog post I wrote in 2022 after another school shooting in Seattle. We need to do better.
I welcome back my favorite guest blogger Carrie to tell us why many mainstream fundraisers are not disabled friendly or inclusive.
![](https://fakequity.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/06/pexels-photo-2116094.jpeg)
Recently, I was invited by friends to several, let’s say, mainstream, fundraising events– one for a large nonprofit and another for a campaign. (Before you decide this is my thing and you want to invite me to yours, please read on and know that I feel fully satisfied with mainstream events for 2024.) Then I had the honor of being the crone auntie for graduating Harvard students with disabilities by telling them about all the unpaid labor they could expect to do. Apparently, I left out one of those tasks– cripping fundraisers.
Now, when my friend invited me to be part of her diversity efforts for the large nonprofit, I felt like:
- These folks don’t need my money.
- I love her, so I will do it, and she will endure whatever postmortem comes her way— especially if my very arrival at the event involved an elevator that has been broken for weeks and a path of travel missing curb cuts.
Attending the event reminded me that fundraising professionals of all kinds are fully missing out on exploiting me for my crip-dough (i.e., disabled lady dollars). While disabled folks are at least 20% of the population, they are absent from most of these rooms. At the large nonprofit, I found some of my people when I took over a tiny table in the corner when others were expected to meander and learn before the plated chicken unveiling. I should have charged for those seats and donated the money to a smaller institution. My people and their family members will find the quiet nooks.
Similarly, at the campaign event, I was heartened to find friends trying to eat snacks in a corner or hoping to have conversations where they weren’t just nodding along and not hearing anything. I was also grateful to my host for providing the parking options, finding me when I arrived, and saving me a spot to rest.
For the nonprofit event that hosted 400 or more people, access features were decidedly absent. The room arrangement was poor, so there was no clear line of sight to the speakers. A few monitors were placed in awkward positions around the room, but they weren’t working consistently and there was no captioning. (For a donor base of older folks, who might not identify politically as having disabilities, but need to hear or read your heartwarming appeals for $500,000, this is a misstep.) There was no ASL interpreter. I was the only person with a visible disability– which is a surveying past-time I enjoy when I can’t always hear or see the speaker and have no idea where to direct my body. My other pro bono service was processing with several other attendees– some strangers– how they didn’t realize that one of the gender-inclusive bathrooms was a wall of urinals. Let’s be trauma-informed with our signage. I redirected them to search for the other door that had disability and stall signs, though not all stalls were accessible.
For a lot of focus on bringing services to communities, there was no mention (or I couldn’t hear it) of disability and youth. If you want me to give and bring along my people, I have to exist in your appeal. At the campaign fundraiser a few days later, I was sucked in by calls for representation, but I was still wondering what that meant about commitment to issues in my community. I tried not to deduct frustration points for having to remove sandwich boards near the only elevator to get to my seat. Something about that event made me feel like I should run for office, which I realized was a sign of too much Kool-Aid for me, so I sought fresh air after those feelings. However, seeking that fresh air meant I had the choice of either charging the stage to reach the elevator when 500 people were walking towards me to take the stairs.
Here are some next steps for fundraising professionals, executive directors, campaign managers, and Board members:
- If you’re a large organization, build in basic accessibility and relevant information about access needs to your event. Don’t wait for someone to ask for inclusive planning – see my previous post about having to be a disability doula, don’t put that burden on disabled people, orgs this is your burden. Communicate what you’re already providing and know that I will spam my people to highlight what you’re signaling to us. Build it and they will come– unless you’re committed to keeping your broken elevator and also asking us for money.
- If you are in a leadership role where you feel as if you are pushing a group for diversity and inclusion, yet you do not identify as having a disability, use your position to advocate that the organization do better and learn together.
- Provide as many details about the event so that people can identify their access needs. What is the schedule? What spaces and transitions are part of the event? What’s the format? Where are the closest entrances? Public transit options? Access request contact and turnaround?
- Include us in your work genuinely throughout the year so that we are appearing in your heartfelt pleas, promotional images, and leadership.
- Pay disabled consultants to assist you with event planning and debriefs.
- Know that accessibility and belonging efforts are always evolving and that you shouldn’t treat missteps as an excuse for avoiding access entirely. The problem isn’t disabled people, buildings, or stages with stairs– it’s that we aren’t having open and proactive conversations that lead to welcoming, affirming experiences for people we note casually in our standard DEI language. You will mess up, but the biggest mistake is the failure to try and then the avoidance of any feedback.
- Attend events run by disability-led organizations to understand what those spaces look and feel like. While you’re there, donate some money. Most of our organizations can’t get $500,000 over a lunch; they are excited to raise $20,000 at an event and yet they commit to accessibility as a baseline.
- Forge authentic relationships with disability organizations that evolve into shared resource-generation spaces and strategies.
I’m waiting to be wooed. Meanwhile, I’ll try to get better at capitalism so I have more to donate to you once you find your way into my heart.
Carrie Basas (she/they) realized after several chicken lunches and dinners of cheese and cookies that her heart is in assisting organizations with building their capacity for disability as belonging. She is now consulting through CoDesignWorks. carrie@codesignworks.com
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