At the start of the year, I announced my plan to step down as CEO of Arts Access Australia.
Now, I love my job. I’m good at it. I think that I’ve been useful here. But on the same day I accepted the position last February I also did something else. I gave notice of my resignation, and undertook to hand over the organisation by the end of 2012.
The reason? Because I believe that Arts Access Australia should be led by a person with disability.
AAA is the peak national body for arts and disability: the voice of the sector and its figurehead. We work to improve access and opportunities for people with disability to engage in all areas of Australia’s arts and culture, including in employment and leadership roles.
We are already a disability-led organisation, which means that at least 50% of our Board has to be made up of people with disability, and we have fully-inclusive employment policies.
But although I don’t discount my own experience, knowledge or suitability for the job that I’m doing right now, I personally cannot justify continuing to run this flagship organisation when I don’t identify as a person with disability.
I was first asked to write about my reasons for leaving by Arts Queensland for its aqblog. In less than a month, it became their most-read article ever. Since then, I’ve had phone calls and emails from all over Australia, and even overseas. Clearly, this is an envelope that needs to be pushed.
The feedback I’ve been getting has started to fall into some distinct groups.
On the whole, people with disability just get it. They say ‘thanks’ or ‘good on you’. Some of them say that me wanting to leave is exactly the reason why I shouldn’t, and ask me to stay involved somehow.
From people without disability, the response has been more mixed.
The most positive remarks have come from people with a history of working within similarly marginalised communities; those who have stepped up to lead Indigenous or multi-cultural organisations, and then stepped back down again.
I’ve had positive responses of a different kind too, from people who’ve told me I’m brave or inspirational to have fallen on my sword and to sacrifice a job I love for the greater good of the organisation. These are meant kindly and I appreciate the support, but to me this isn’t an act of altruism. It’s really just common sense.
Depressingly, the one thing that has come up time and time again is the belief that we won’t find someone to replace me. But there’s clearly not a lack of candidates out there. People with disability make up nearly 20% of the Australian population. And although education and job opportunities have not always been accessible, the majority of people aren’t born with their impairments, but acquire them over the course of their working lives. Which means there’s a wealth of qualified and experienced job applicants out there who perhaps just aren’t being given the opportunity to lead.
This is not a token gesture. We’re not putting someone in the post just because they identify as a person with disability. We’re not setting someone up to fail. We’re focused on finding the very best person for the job. So when we launched the application pack, we set out very clear criteria for the sort of skills and experience that we’re looking for.
We have also made the process as accessible and inclusive as possible. Which means that we will interview every applicant with disability who meets the basic selection criteria and that we’re flexible with where the new leader could be based or how many days they might work.
One of the other sorts of responses has actually been a little bit creepy, though I’m sure (or I hope) that it’s all been meant in jest. But I must admit that I have found suggestions that I cut off a toe or stick something in my eye so I would ‘qualify’ for the role slightly more disturbing than flattering.
And of course, I’ve also had some more uncomfortable conversations with people in positions like my own: managers without disability who head up disability organisations. There’s been some defensiveness. But there’s also been a bunch of people who have given it some serious thought, discussed it at their Board meetings, or started to think about their own succession plans. And that’s what it’s all about.
The other thing we’re doing this year is starting some research into employment rates in the arts and cultural sector in particular. But in spite of the sector’s potential to lead the country in terms of inclusive employment practices, we know that these figures will be low. In the UK, for example, people with disability make up less than 3% of the arts and cultural workforce. And these figures decrease even further for leadership and governance roles.
Australia ranks 21st out of 29 OECD countries in employment participation rates for people with disability, who are half as likely to be employed as people without disability.
In the vast majority of cases, people without disability (myself included) are still making decisions, running organisations and delivering services on behalf of the people we represent. Like AAA, many spend time advocating for inclusion of people with disability in the workforce. Yet people with disability are sadly underrepresented within these organisation’s own staff, management and leadership roles.
The Women’s Liberation movement saw dramatic improvements in the representation and remuneration of women in the workforce. We need a new wave of the Disability Rights movement to do the same.
I’m not suggesting that everyone else who’s leading a disability-organisation as a person without disability should immediately send in their resignation letters. But I do encourage them to think about their positions and their succession plans.
I believe that those of us already in leadership roles have an obligation to practice what we preach. We’re all talking the talk. And you know what’s supposed to come next.
This article was originally published by ABC RampUp. It was based on a blog post, ‘Smashing the last glass ceiling’, originally commissioned by Arts Queensland for the aqblog.
LARSEN | KEYS 