Tuesday Discussion - Inclusion

Mr. Laubersheimer's off in the pursuit of his own mysterious errands this week, and he's been foolish enough to cede this slot to me in his absence. I'd been planning to do a little something about rules bloat, maybe, or perhaps edition warfare, but honestly? Everyone and their dog has some perspective on how we should deal with WFB 8, sixth edition 40K or D&D Next, and I don't see that adding another leaf to the storms in any of those particular teacups is going to do my nerves or your electronic earholes any good whatsoever. Then Sunday's HoP Idol post happened, and now I'm coming over all Gaming Curriculum, so I suppose that means it's time to talk about a teacher word.

Inclusion, in educational terms, is a worldview which "constructs differences as natural, acceptable, and ordinary... a truly inclusive school reflects a democratic philosophy whereby all students are valued, educators normalize difference through differentiated instruction, and the school culture reflects an ethic of caring and community."

To be frank, this sounds like hippy crap even to me, and I believe in inclusion wherever it's possible. Whenever people start talking about 'caring' and 'community' my instinct is to snap and spit and point out that I do care and that's why I'm harsh, because I don't want people to let themselves get away with being rubbish. I always feel guilty afterwards, though, because the gentle, cooing vocabulary that so aggravates my sensibilities is obscuring a valid instructional point.

You see, inclusion in gaming... troubles me. (I'm not the only one, either). There's the big, red-flag, hot-button failures to do this - the ones that invoke discussion-ending power words like "sexism", "racism", "ablism" and so on. This is a Thing. It occasionally stops me sleeping at night, because while I don't think the situation is quite as bad as the piece of hackwork that got Lefteris so worked up, I do see a lot of what I'm trained to call "uncritical engagement with problematic ideologies" in gaming groups. Doesn't matter what groups - some are worse for it than others and some are better. In every group I've ever been part of I've heard racial, sexual and disability-based terms of abuse bouncing around, and I've seen far-right iconography deployed without any apparent thoughtfulness (my American housemate and Coop have both noted the, umm, unfortunate implications of sticking double-headed eagles on everything, and yes, it's deliberate on <i>GW's</i> part, but I suspect the irony is lost on a significant minority of the audience...).


That's not what does my nerves up the most, though. What does my nerves up most is the way that trivial differences, of interest only to hobbyists, and entirely natural in a community of opinionated folks with a lot of choice in their luxury goods, are exaggerated into things that provoke such... such vitriol! Fluff vs. Filth, Fluff vs. Crunch, Tournament vs. Casual, Paint vs. Play, Veteran vs. Noob, GW vs. PP, Industry vs. Indie, Old School vs. New Stuff - on and on and on it goes, this fundamental failure to include effectively.

I've seen this 'un a few times and all.

The argument about pre-measuring always flares this one up for me, because it manages to be a trivial little hobby thing and a wider hot-button thing. Not the hottest of hot buttons, for sure, but there's a creeping spectre of ability privilege lurking around this conversation - and it does have a place here. I've met people who are struggling to play games that are quite clearly beyond their capabilities - people with diagnosable and serious conditions who, in the cause of being Included, are playing the same 40K as everyone else in the room.

I've also met people who think this is somehow the right thing to do - that 'inclusion' is about opening the same one-size-fits-all experience to everybody. Even if they can't reach across the board to move their own dudes or draw lines of sight properly because they're in a wheelchair. Even if their, ahm, "specific learning difficulties" make parsing the rules of the game accurately nigh-impossible for them. Even if there's something different about them which demands that process of "normalising difference through differentiated instruction."

But what does that actually mean? It means accepting that one size can't fit all. Some people are going to need a smaller and simpler game; some people might need some slack cut with the strict terms of measurement because they physically can't interact with the board in the same way as you can. And, moving away from the hair trigger of disability for a moment, it also means accepting that sometimes the veterans need to cut the less experienced/skilled/talented players some slack.

They don't see things like you do. They can't see things like you do. And they're not going to want to even try to see things like you do if you're quibbling over distances smaller than will ever occur in the rules, painstakingly ensuring that you get the most reliable win (the one that comes from winning before the other guy's done anything, or not letting the other guy do anything until you're ready to win) and taking that "gonna smack you down so you LEARN, son" principle to heart.

It's one thing GW has always done right. In their demo games, many staffers do everything in their power to ensure that the new player doesn't get totally smashed without a chance and walk away thinking "man, I blow goats at this game, I guess I should stick to Wii Fit after all." They don't have to win. They just don't have to walk away thinking that this is a game for pedants and sticklers that demands years of honing inconsequential abilities to even participate in.

Okay, so maybe not as inconsequential as some stuff gamerculture deems important...

There's a flip side to this, of course, and it's only fair of me to point it out. Inclusive practice isn't for everyone. Some people are just not going to be able to play games like you can. My arch-nemesis, Mr. Stanford, has been very clear on this issue with me - he refuses to play Magic with me, ever, on the grounds that he is utterly incapable of playing down to the level on which I engage with the game. I don't feel patronised by that. I feel respected. The dude has spotted something that could be annoying and humiliating for me, and he's been courteous enough to warn me off it rather than grinning like a loony and picking up his best seal-splatterer. Sometimes inclusion means you put your Warmachine away for the night and play Zombies! instead. Sometimes inclusion means you tell people you're practicing for a tournament, but that guy in the hat on the end table isn't, and there might be a more fun game to be had with him.

All right, I'm done. Tell me I'm wrong in the comments, and I'll see you on Saturday.