Let’s just say this upfront:

1. Accessibility at SF/F events has vastly improved in the last ten years.
2. Even better, open conversations around disability and accommodations are becoming standard and normalized.
3. Making the world fully accessible is hard work.

Accessibility can sometimes be resource intensive and complex. Sometimes there can be contradictory needs (example: there’s an attendee with a service dog and also an attendee with a severe pet dander allergy).

Sometimes it is utterly frustrating.

And disabled people would be the first to agree with you. Because we are constantly navigating these problems.

This is not an essay about why accessibility is important. There are many essays about that already (for example, here) and many guides on how to do it well (here, and a really good one here).

I’m writing this essay because in recent years, I’ve noticed a gap between accessibility plans and what happens when that plan doesn’t play out as expected. This is often where communication breaks down between the event organizers and disabled attendees. Admittedly, it is difficult to fix things on the fly or when the venue has already been picked, but there’s a couple of ways of dealing with this.

The trick is to approach the problem like an engineer. Which means:

1. Always believing there’s a good solution somewhere, you just have to find it.
2. Being paranoid and having a bunch of contingency plans mapped out beforehand.

This may seem like a lot of work for a group that only makes up a fraction of your attendants, but let’s reframe the problem:

What happens if right before the event your headliner breaks a leg?

Or is recovering from a major surgery?

Or suddenly, absolutely cannot get sick or get a family member sick?

Imagine this: What if instead of having an event with a massive programming hole, you already had the right infrastructure in place to handle these unforeseen twists?

From the outset, there are a couple of things that event organizers should do to make their lives easier before the event:

1. Have an accessibility team or person in place.
2. Have an easy way for attendees to reach the accessibility point of contact before, during, and after an event.
3. Budget more than you think you’ll need for accessibility needs.
4. Have disabled people be part of the process, especially when choosing a venue.

Below are a couple of scenarios I’ve seen or heard secondhand in recent years that could have used this engineering mindset technique. It’s not a comprehensive list, but hopefully, it’ll illustrate some problems and potential solutions:

 

Scenario 1: Resource Shortages

We only have X amount of resources and can only make a percentage of the programming accessible.

Solution:

Well, that sucks, but it’s a very real and common issue. If say, for example, there are only enough ramps available to make seven out of the ten panel stages accessible, be honest and upfront about it. Make sure every panelist knows and then make sure at least one of those rooms is empty during the event just in case your Guest of Honor or any other panelist suddenly needs an accessible stage (see above example of broken leg). That way you can switch panel rooms with very little notice.

 

Scenario 2: The Venue Is Not as Accessible as It Seemed

The hotel/conference space/dorm rooms/castle is not as accessible as promised.

Solution:

Sadly, another common problem. And the remedy varies depending on the exact issue. One good place to start is to ask other event planners and disabled attendants if they faced this problem before and if they found workarounds. Here are a couple of problems I’ve seen in events over the years in spaces that were, on paper, accessible, and some potential solutions.

• If the hallways are too narrow and crowded, the elevators are too slow, or the distances too large, shave five minutes off of every panel and let the people who need the space and time leave panels first.
• Have big breaks between panels anyway: twenty–thirty minutes.
• If the space is truly inaccessible, this is where you offer a full refund and a virtual membership or some other invitation. Above all, apologize and do better next time.

 

Scenario 3: The Space Will Simply Be Inaccessible to Some Attendees

The venue is amazing, but this is definitely going to exclude some disabled attendees.

Solution:

Well, that really sucks and is kind of bad form, but here are a few things to try:

• Don’t assume. Be honest and ask if this is going to be an issue for a potential attendee. You might be surprised by the answer. For example, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been excluded from an invitation because people assumed I can’t use the stairs, where in reality I use them all the time. Assuming a person can do something, despite them telling you they can’t is fucking ableism. Assuming someone can’t do something because they are disabled is still fucking ableism.
• Is there a hotel or some other venue that is nearby that is accessible and can act as a bridge between the two spaces? Again, not ideal but better than being completely excluded.
• If there’s really, really no way around it, make sure the venue next time is accessible and give disabled people priority in attendance.

This problem in this scenario is not so much about being excluded from this event as it is about being constantly excluded from events without any counterbalance or change. Especially after this problem has been pointed out to organizers in previous iterations of the event.

 

Scenario 4: There’s Been a Spike in Contagious Diseases

Unfortunately, the pandemic is not over, and it’s made respiratory illness season(s) all that much more intense.

Solution:

Instate a mask policy from the get-go. Period. Always. Con crud existed before COVID-19, and the pandemic has only made contagious diseases all the more scarier. Sadly, having good ventilation in the meeting spaces and vaccinations are not enough to protect attendees anymore. Especially the most vulnerable attendees who these diseases can literally kill.

 

Scenario 5: The Microphones (or the Closed Captioning) Don’t Work

Where there’s technology in play, something is bound to glitch.

Solution:

Yeah, by now, we are all well acquainted with faulty technology and we don’t hold it against you. But that doesn’t mean the issue shouldn’t be addressed. For audience members who use hearing aids and/or rely on microphones/captions for comprehension (and no, it doesn’t matter how well a panelist can project their voice), it’s the difference between whether the event is enjoyable or a waste of time. A quick workaround is having someone “live-post” the conversations on Discord or Bluesky or whatever social platform your event is using. There are also a number of AI captioning services available that are not completely terrible. And while neither will capture 100 percent of the conversation, it’s a serviceable enough solution until the tech problems can be resolved.

I’ll reiterate, accessibility is hard work. Problems will arise and they will probably be frustrating. But as in Naomi Kritzer’s “The Year Without Sunshine,” where a town comes together and goes out of its way to build an infrastructure that helps a single vulnerable member, it’s that infrastructure that ends up keeping the lights on for the entire town. It is a perfect example of how, by doing the upfront work to help out marginalized people, you end up building a more versatile, resilient space that can weather unforeseen problems and disasters.

Don’t believe me? Just look at how the cons and readings that have hybrid models are able to handle the chaotic attendance of panelists post-pandemic lockdown. Look at how much more diverse and well-attended hybrid conferences, reading, and workshops have become.

I’m hoping to put together a document of accessibility problems events have faced and how event runners and disabled attendants found solutions for them. It’d be a collection of knowledge and lessons of sorts, so that the strides in accessibility that the community has made don’t stall and can be transferred to new event planners. But most importantly, it would be another channel for open dialogue between disabled attendees and organizers.

A good engineer understands that there’s no shame in mistakes or when plans don’t quite pan out. They are part of the process when you are assembling something new or trying to grow and improve. Mistakes are only terrible when they are thoughtless or are repeated over and over without improvement or communication.

Making an inaccessible world more accessible is a work in progress, but from an engineer’s perspective, it’s just another opportunity to make your event a little more robust.

 

© 2025 A. T. Greenblatt