Too often, people opine blanket statements about tech that fail to consider key viewpoints.
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“One man’s trash is another man’s treasure.”
So goes the old axiom. Pull the string a little more on this idea and it’s not difficult to see where lessons can be learned when it comes to technology. In this context, what many in the tech commentariat regard as gimmicky (the trash) can also be seen by others as useful (the treasure). To name two high-profile examples from the last several years, Apple’s 3D Touch and Touch Bar are technologies that were more or less disparaged by the mainstream tech press. Pundits groused over the former’s lack of discoverability while also grousing the latter’s lack of utility. It is notable that Apple put 3D Touch out to pasture two years ago, and rumors suggest the Touch Bar is being removed for the Apple silicon MacBook Pros. Still, both were unduly criticized on balance; whatever constructive criticism there was completely missed benefits both have for accessibility. It was emblematic of the hive mind: “The Touch Bar is stupid!”
It is entirely fair—and truthful—to point out flaws in a gadget or piece of software. That’s what professional tech reviewers are supposed to do. Apple introduced the Touch Bar five years ago, then never really touched it again so it languished. Haptic feedback would’ve been a killer enhancement, but it never came to pass. On the other hand, it is entirely unfair to unilaterally pan something as gimmicky or useless because such proclamations gloss over important use cases, like how the Touch Bar genuinely helps someone with a disability. To do so reeks of abled privilege (it’s a thing!), whether intentional or not. Tech rarely is so binary—so black and white.
The ridicule goes beyond Apple. Look no further than novelty hardware from Amazon like the AmazonBasics microwave and Echo Wall Clock for proof. Most in the tech media sneer and poke fun at the company’s admittedly scattershot approach to tech hardware; the running gag is Amazon will shove Alexa into anything—and they do try! More to the point, journalists openly wonder why in the world would anyone need or want Alexa in their microwave or clock? Products like these are decidedly not high-end or luxurious—certainly nothing Jony Ive or Dieter Rams would ever fawn over in the slightest. Both the microwave and clock are no-frills devices that serve as means to a strategic end for Amazon. On some level, the criticism is justified insofar as Amazon is the anti-Apple in terms of the discipline held by its industrial design group.
Look deeper, however, and it’s not hard to see how, like 3D Touch and the Touch Bar, products like the Alexa microwave and Echo Wall Clock are unjustly roasted. Indeed, both have potential to have an enormous amount of appeal to certain people with disabilities. I wrote about the microwave last year for this very column, saying in part: “For something priced so inexpensively [at $60], Amazon’s microwave punches way above its weight class in terms of assistive technology that makes it worth its weight in gold.” I said it was one of my favorite new pieces of tech last year, and remains so today. I use and appreciate it every single day. Lest you think I’m exaggerating its usefulness for accessibility, think about the fact Amazon offers a Braille overlay for the keypad before volleying a retort. Amazon is clearly not marketing the microwave as an accessibility aid, but the overlay (and Alexa’s presence) means they had the foresight to realize how the thing could be a de-facto assistive tool for a faction of customers.
Same goes for the Echo Wall Clock. It really is a nondescript, plasticky clock first and foremost—nothing special. Beyond that, the device’s appeal to accessibility is far more special. For one thing, the white-on-black face is high contrast and the numerals large, so telling time is easy, even from a distance. For another, the white LEDs around the clock means seeing time left on a timer is more accessible than merely asking Alexa. The bimodal sensory input is important; I enjoy being able to see my timer(s) in addition to having Alexa keep track of it. Although we recently transitioned to go all-in on HomeKit as our smart home platform—but, to paraphrase Alton Brown, that’s another story—we keep a previous-generation Echo Dot in the kitchen specifically for the microwave and clock. They make cooking infinitely more accessible for me.
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Pull the string even further on the Amazon-as-accessibility concept and it’s applicable on a broader scale as well. Consider their retail strategies and services. The commerce giant often finds itself in the crosshairs of regulators and progressives, as both take issue with how the Seattle-based behemoth quashes small business and plays fast and loose with its employees. The battle cries are twofold: Amazon needs to be cut down to size by way of governmental oversight, and consumers should boycott them for their antipathy towards workers and, crucially, their unions. Like its Big Tech brethren in Facebook and Google, Amazon is often seen as pure, unadulterated evil. Your opinion of them can seemingly only be black or white: You either support workers’ rights and the little guy, or else you’re a boot-licking lackey for a trillion-dollar conglomerate.
The political attitude towards Amazon is not necessarily wrong. Big Tech surely ought to be held accountable for their actions; indeed, holding those in power accountable vis-a-vis accessibility reporting is to call them out when warranted. The problem with such a binary, either/or stance is it ignores any gray areas. In this case, what lies in the gray is accessibility and the real needs of disabled people deserving of amplification.
The fact of the matter is Amazon is a godsend for countless scores of disabled people. The canonical example is the super popular Prime delivery service. Not everyone with a disability can afford the $119/year service, but for those who can, the accessibility gains can be substantial. For those whose mobility is compromised, for instance, the ability to order paper towels or even groceries online and have items arrive at their doorstep in days (or hours, with Amazon Fresh) is hugely empowering in terms of survival, but also independence and self-reliance. Rather than possibly burden family and friends to help run your errands all the time, you can instead use the Amazon app or website to shop for yourself. Especially for something like grocery shopping, having a gallon of milk or a carton of eggs brought right to your door frees someone with a disability from having to deal with navigating a store and wrestle with logistics on how to get stuff home. Maybe a person can’t even literally get to a store easily, for travel or health reasons. Thus, Amazon to the rescue. The bourgeois idea people should shop locally instead of on Amazon is nice and romantic, but it’s also steeped in privilege. After all, not everyone can get out to a farmer’s market or corner store to get food.
It should be noted the anti-Amazon rhetoric is equally relevant to other companies. Ride-hailing services like Uber and Lyft, as well as food delivery apps UberEats and Instacart, are seen as bad because they add to traffic congestion and delivery people miss out on tips. Yet, as with Amazon, pushers of this narrative utterly fail to recognize the benefits an UberEats can have for disabled people. The pandemic notwithstanding, food delivery can be an essential tool in a disabled person’s arsenal in order to, you know, ensure they subsist. Not everyone can cook or go to a restaurant or grocery store to get food. Same goes for Uber or Lyft for ride-hailing; they indeed have had their issues with accommodating disabled passengers. Generally speaking, the ability to call for a ride on-demand is indisputably transformative for many disabled people (like myself) who otherwise would struggle to get around their city.
Even the common refrain that everyone delete their Facebook account has some degree of ableist root. Facebook may well be the only way a not-insignificant number of disabled people communicate with their far-flung, and not-so-far-flung, family and friends. To pretend otherwise is fantasy while letting your ableism fly loud and proud.
Lastly, there’s Apple TV+ and disability. The lion’s share of the attention for Apple’s streaming video service goes to Ted Lasso, which is all well and good. The problem is, Apple has two other shows on its roster, See and Little Voice, that are just as buzzworthy in their own right—but which are largely ignored. Both do exemplary jobs of authentically portraying disability, something which has historically been a big problem in Hollywood. Not liking a show is one thing, that’s personal preference. It is another matter entirely to disregard See simply because it’s ostensibly a badly-made show that you think no one is watching. The representational angle is a huge deal, and the show has won acclaim just as Lasso has. It’s unfair to trivialize and not acknowledge it because television critics think the plot is somehow too contrived.
At the end of the day, the moral here is that so much of life and the use of technology lies in nuance. Both things can be true: Amazon and its ilk do shady stuff that should be scrutinized while also providing legitimately life-changing tools for people. To support Amazon so you can live your life does not automatically signal complicity with the organization’s dark underbelly. No disabled person should feel the tiniest pang of guilt for making Jeff Bezos that much more obscenely wealthy if what they get from his company does more for them than some misguided sociopolitical trope. Likewise, just because the tech press and Twitter peanut gallery proclaim the Alexa microwave and the Touch Bar superfluous and useless does not mean the technologies are abject failures. The cognitive dissonance is astounding. There is a ton of nuance, a middle ground, most can’t comprehend because they’ve never had to. To be sure, ableism runs just as rampant in society as racism and sexism. The steady drumbeat of furthering diversity and inclusion is a real thing—except of course, disabled people often are left out of the conversation. We’re marginalized and underrepresented too; we’re people too and want our voices heard. We need and deserve allies too.
Disabled people shouldn’t need to justify their right to live by being pressured into some self-righteous Sophie’s Choice dilemma of using Amazon or not. This is why accessibility in tech is an evergreen topic—we will forever need to explain why our lives matter in a society that routinely ignores or, even worse, pities our existence.
Saying all this is not to accuse everyone the world over of being overtly ableist. People should be given the benefit of the doubt. Sometimes, though, it’s necessary to remind people, as Ice Cube did, to check themselves before they wreck themselves. What makes for tech blockbusters or clunkers depends on one’s perspective. Technology’s impact on disability can suss true treasures from the trash. Society needs to be more appreciative, not condemn every feature or company in such absolute, damning terms.
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