Tag: iPhone

Adopting The Bunny Approach

I wake in the morning – there’s an app for that.

I check the weather – there’s an app for that.

I look at Twitter – there’s an app for that.

I check my emails – there’s an app for that.

I send a text – there’s an app for that.

I navigate my environment to a place I have never visited;

I read a book or document;

I browse the web;

I listen to the cricket from overseas;

I operate my home music system;

I read blogs;

I listen to podcasts.

My life with my iPhone, it’s my favourite possession. But it only works if the apps are accessible.

It’s my life – one of the Twenty Years Twenty Stories with which I was involved at the Australian Human Rights Commission related to Geoff scott. He just wanted to make a TTY call when everyone else made phone calls. In those days phones were provided as part of the rental, but TTY’s were not. Telstra opposed Geoff in the human rights commission, but they are clearly a company who can change. They have adopted the bunny approach.

They now support the TTY scheme, but do lots of other things to support access to the telephone system – landline and mobile – and the internet for people with disabilities.

The Convention on the Rights of People with Disabilities, which I like to call the DisCo, promotes, through Australia’s international commitments, a new approach to and for people with disabilities. We are no longer to be viewed as objects of pity and charity. Rather, we are to be regarded as subjects and citizens, and as the bearers of rights, in the same way as other citizens.

The Disability Discrimination Act and equivalent legislation in each State and territory, provide a mechanism to lodge complaints if app developers do not make their app accessible.

This convention, and the legislation which supports it in most countries of the world, is only worth the paper it is written on if it is not put into practise.

We live in a society where the smartphone is playing a more and more important part in all of our lives. Those of us with disabilities must be able to use smartphones on an equal basis with others, in order to participate in society on an equal basis with others.

There are two ways in which this can be achieved. One is that people such as Geoff Scott and Bruce Maguire, who are prepared to lodge discrimination complaints, could lodge complaints against app developers who do not make their apps accessible. That is the stick to enforce the Convention.

But the easier way is the bunny approach. App developers can be proactive, and build their apps accessibly from the start. And in the same way as buildings are cheaper if built accessibly, rather than having to be modified, apps are cheaper if built accessibly rather than having to be modified. That’s the carrot.

Congratulations to all the app developers who have adopted the bunny approach, and who participated in Accan’s accessible apps competition. I regard you all as winners, for joining us in the journey towards a society which includes everyone, not just people without disabilities. Keep eating those carrots – I’m sure there is an app for carrot selection.

(Graeme Innes likes nothing better than eating a raw carrot, and is a devotee of Bugs Bunny.)

Invisibility out of my control

I have an invisibility cloak. You think I’m joking, but I guarantee it. I will show you how it works any time you like. The only problem is, I can’t control when it operates – someone else always does that.

Let me tell you about it.

My brother Brian and I had just bought our first car. It was a blue Chrysler Galant. It was five years old, with a few miles (yes they were miles when that car was made) on the clock, but we thought it was the best thing since sliced bread. We never missed an opportunity to take it for a spin.

I had been asked by a social club in Wollongong to give a presentation to their afternoon meeting on people with disabilities. So Brian and I decided to drive. For him, four or so hours behind the wheel of our little beauty was worth the tedium of listening to one of my presentations.

I spoke about the importance of including people with disabilities in all aspects of society, and how disability was just one part of our lives. I encouraged people to focus on the person, not the disability, and to ask if assistance was needed rather than making assumptions (often negative) about what we couldn’t do, and acting on those assumptions. During question time I reinforced these points, and commented how critical it was to talk to the person themselves rather than about them.

At the end of the meeting we were invited to afternoon tea, and were happy to partake of the excellent cakes and biscuits on offer. One of our hosts approached me, and said to Brian who was standing right next to me, “Would Graeme prefer tea or coffee?”

I winced in disappointment, given that my presentation had referred to talking to the person, not about them. However, “coffee” was Brian’s calm reply.

“Does he take milk,” she asked.

“Yes,” Brian replied.

“And what about sugar,” she continued.

“Two sugar’s please,” was his calm response.

In contrast my temperature was rising, steam was beginning to trickle from my ears, and I was planning the tongue-lashing he would receive during the drive home.

“By the way,” Brian said with a wry smile, as our host was about to leave with the coffee order “would you like me to drink it for him as well?”

Suitably chastened, she apologised to me, and my recompense was an excellent cup of coffee, and an extra lamington. She worked out the way to my heart.

My invisibility cloak had been in evidence. She had switched it on as she walked up to Brian and I.

This is a regular occurrence. It happens in shops. I walk up to the counter with my wife or daughter, indicate to the sales assistant what I want to purchase, and they immediately start talking to the person with me. Or often, they will hand my goods or my change to that person, despite me standing there with my hand out.

It happens in restaurants – when the only advantage of my invisibility cloak is that the bill usually gets delivered to the person with whom I am dining rather than me.

It happens on aeroplanes. On one memorable occasion my wife was scolded by a flight attendant for letting me use the business class rather than the economy class toilet.

And it happens to people with other disabilities as well. People who use wheelchairs often find themselves being discussed – in their presence – as if they were a package or simply not there.

I’m told that this invisibility cloak is also worn by women of a certain age, who can stand in shops for ages waiting for attention, whilst men and younger women are served.

I wouldn’t mind having an invisibility cloak if I could switch the damn thing on and off myself. It would be pretty useful when I wanted to walk between my family and the television screen, or to pop across to the bar or buffet table for that second cake or fifth beer.

But I’ve lost the remote control. It’s attached to the cloak somehow, but always seems to fall into the hands of the person with whom I am seeking to deal, rather than into my hands.

Why does this happen to people with disabilities? We’re not any more difficult to talk with than the rest of society, once you get started. In fact, some of us are quite engaging people.

It’s really a demonstration of the way people with disabilities are viewed by society. Either people are afraid to talk to us because of the stigma that goes with our disability. Or they just can’t be bothered; viewing us as less than equals. Not everyone does it, but my invisibility cloak is regularly in evidence.

What do you think are the reasons for this behaviour? How might we change it? I would welcome your comments.

Graeme Innes is excited by the possible alternative uses of his invisibility cloak if he can only find that remote control, and is geeky enough to think that someone might have developed an app. by which he could control it. He can often be found wandering the corridors of the app. store carefully reading product descriptions.

A day in the life

I was not surprised when I read in the Australian government budget papers this week that one Commissioner position at the Australian Human Rights Commission would be cut. The papers indicated that the measure would take effect from July this year, when one position became vacant. My term at the Commission ends on 4 July, so it is not difficult to conclude that the reference is to the position of Disability Discrimination Commissioner.

I was not surprised, but I was angry and profoundly sad. Because Australia clearly needs a full-time Disability Discrimination Commissioner, and it must be a person with a disability. We would not appoint a white person to the role of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Social Justice Commissioner. Nor should we appoint a person who does not have lived experience of disability, and an understanding of the disability sector, to this position.

Some people have asked me why we need a Disability Discrimination Commissioner. The statistics speak for themselves. 37 % of complaints lodged with the Commission – more than one third – relate to disability, and this figure has been constant since the passage of the Disability Discrimination Act. 45% of us live in poverty. We experience 30 % lower employment participation than the general population. Completion of Year 12 high school is at 50% for the general population, and 25 % for people with disabilities. A higher proportion of us are in prisons. We experience a higher level of domestic violence. By any measure we are significantly disadvantaged.

Let me tell you of just one day in the life of a Disability Discrimination Commissioner. It’s yesterday, and I woke in Darwin.

iPhone ever on hand, I checked Twitter for budget reaction and other news. As I took my guide dog for a walk, and grabbed coffee and a quick breakfast, I read more news articles. I read of the young people with disabilities, including some in my family, who will continue to be disadvantaged in education, and not be able to remain in regular schools, because the extra funding for kids with disabilities in the Gonski proposals had been cut.

Tears came to my eyes at the memory of the many stories I have heard from kids with disabilities bullied in school playgrounds, and the distraught parents I regularly talk to. What could I say to the parents of kids with disabilities with whom I am meeting this Sunday on the Sunshine Coast? Suck it up – there’s no more money? Of course not – I’ll strategise with them, and try to empower them to find a way.

My first meeting was with people from the National Aboriginal Justice Centre. They told me of the high proportion of Aboriginal people with disabilities in the prison system. They talked of people in prison like Rosie and Malcolm, who had not been convicted of a crime – they had been found “unfit to plead”, and prison was regarded as an acceptable accommodation option. We talked about justice diversion, and how people with disabilities would be better off supported by disability services in their communities. Corrections budgets would also be better off, as this would be a cheaper option.

I left seeing little hope of change, but admiring the passion and commitment to carry on in their work. I was able to provide some hope by noting the on-time and in-full rollout of the National Disability Insurance Scheme in the budget.

I then met with the NT Public Service Employment Commissioner. Unlike the Federal Government, who have a welfare plan in their budget, Craig has a jobs plan. He is committed to increasing the number of people with disabilities employed in the NT public service. In the federal system it is a shameful 2.9 %, and probably similar in the Territory. But he was happy to strategise about how this might change- using plans and targets, strong senior leadership, a link through Australian Network on Disability to other committed employers, and the establishment of peer support networks. I was encouraged- he has the will to create change.

I then spoke at the lunch with which the NT Law Society celebrate law week. I told many stories of how people with disabilities cannot access the criminal justice system- stories set out in the Equal Before The Law report. My speech, and this report, are both on the Commission website at http://www.humanrights.gov.au I encouraged the Territory to follow the example of South Australia, and develop a Disability Justice Strategy.

Following some quick TV interviews where I spoke of the need for a full-time Disability Discrimination Commissioner who has a disability, I met with the Chief Minister and Minister for Disability Services. I talked to them of the need for a diversity of services in the justice system, more jobs for people with disabilities, and the benefits to be gained from the rollout of the NDIS.

I then hurried back to my hotel, to catch up on the many emails, texts and tweets. I continued the planning for the delegation of young people with disabilities being sent to the meeting of countries who have ratified the Disability Convention in New York in June. I have not talked to a more excited bunch in a long time. It is a great way to develop leadership capacity in the disability sector.

I planned for my meetings next week with representatives of government to discuss the review of the Transport Standards. There has been progress getting people with disabilities “on the bus”, but recent experiences show us we still have a long way to go. Sam – who cannot bend his leg – was recently forced to stand for most of a Perth-Brisbane flight because staff would not let him have an appropriate seat. An international airline was prepared to carry Peter but not his wheelchair. And a Darwin taxi would not pick me up because I travel with a guide dog.

I communicated with Josh who has autism, very concerned about re-assessment of his Disability Support Pension, but no real jobs plan to move him off welfare. Jess was very pleased about the rollout of the NDIS, but worried that co-payments in the medical system for her ongoing health issues would eat away at her small income. I talked with Eliza, concerned about how the sector would now have a more muted voice, because the ABC Rampup site would not be funded by the government, and the ABC could not pick up the funding. And I heard from Sharon, who shared my views about the need for a full-time Disability Discrimination Commissioner, who has a disability, and who wonders what will happen to people like her when my term ends.

I also talked with people from government, about developing a jobs plan, and supporting employers to find jobs for people with disabilities through use of targets and financial incentives. I pointed out – as I have for several years – the waste and ineffectiveness of the current system.

And I talked to large and small private employers, and tried to encourage them to find jobs for people with disabilities. I strategised with Jocelyn at one major employer about setting targets, and planning how to achieve them. I thanked John for the fact that 50 % of his workforce of 20 people are people with disabilities. And I congratulated Dominique for ensuring that her online business had an accessible website.

I did this because my job is not just about throwing rocks. It’s about working co-operatively, with government and private sectors, as well as people with disabilities, to remove the barriers constituted by those rocks. When we have an accessible path of travel, people with disabilities will fully participate in, and contribute to, our community; and the Australian community will reap the benefit of that diversity and extra strength. Without a full-time Disability Discrimination Commissioner, who has a disability, the path will be that much rockier for that much longer.

Fifteen responses that show Siri is like sooo a teenager

“The single biggest problem in communication is the illusion that it has taken place”. George Bernard Shaw.

As a person who can’t see the screen of my iDevice I rely quite a lot on Siri. Whilst as a male over fifty, with some level of hearing loss, I find the male voice (available in the latest upgrade) easier to understand, I fear I may have lost somewhat in emotional intelligence following the change. But that would be assigning gender qualities to my iDevice wouldn’t it?

I asked Siri to do something for me last Sunday morning at about ten o’clock, and the response was incredibly slow and a bit sulky. This caused me to wonder whether Siri was, in fact, a teenager.

Now I have some experience with this particular self-sustaining life form, having been more or less successfully trained by one some years ago, and then submitting myself to the training process all over again during the last four or five years. So I considered the general approach of the teenage life form, and realised that my hypothesis was further supported by the latest adaptation for Siri, in which you can just lift the i-Device to your ear rather than pushing the button to talk. This seemed to equate well with the teenage preponderance for an immediately oppositional position to anything which requires movement, or “leaving the cave”.

I decided to try fifteen (note the amount) of the phrases I regularly use with teenagers, and check Siri’s responses. The results – as well as looking remarkably like the lists in most Buzzfeed articles – confirmed my hypothesis.

So here they are-

Comment 1. You need to clean up your room!
Siri: You are certainly entitled to that opinion.

Comment 2: You can’t go out wearing that!
Siri: Is that so!

Comment 3: (As asked by a grand-parent or older aunt or uncle in a vain attempt to sustain conversation with teenager) So, how tall are you? Siri: Not exceedingly big, but my gravitational pull is quite strong.

Comment 4: Have you done your homework?
Siri: I found an article on homework in Wikipedia. Shall I read it to you?

Comment 5: It’s a beautiful day. Why don’t you go outside?
Siri: I don’t understand it’s a beautiful day, why don’t you go outside. But I could search the web for it.

Comment 6: What time are you getting out of bed?
Siri: Checking my sources on the web for that.

Comment 7: I don’t care what you say, you are not going.
Siri: Ok, you don’t then!

Comment 8: When are you going to have something to eat?
Siri: I can’t really say.

Comment 9: Can you clean the bathroom?
Siri: I’m not sure if I’m able to do that or not, but I’m always learning new things.

Comment 10: Just listen to me!
Siri: You’re coming through loud and clear.

Comment 11: Have you considered that, as an adult, I might just have a bit more experience on the subject? Siri: Who? Me?

Comment 12: Should we talk about sex, and taking precautions? Siri: I’m sure I don’t know.

Comment 13: Just do it! don’t answer back!
Siri: I’m not sure I understand.

Comment 14: I will count to ten before I answer that.
Siri: I’m not sure what that means.

Comment 15: It’s not that I don’t trust you, I’m just not sure you’re ready to do that yet. Siri: If you insist!

All of the above comments and responses by Siri are true, and I can assure you that – although it was close at times – no iDevice was harmed in the writing of this blog.

Much silly comments! Very annoying! Wow!

What’s your funniest experience with Siri, and how old do you think Siri is? Siri tells me that a gender has not been assigned, so I have refrained in this blog from using female or male pronouns.

Graeme Innes is a doting dad, who constantly annoys and embarrasses the teenagers in his life by emailing them articles from Buzzfeed, and persistently failing to be too cool for school.