Seattle's Library Frightens Me

I want you to picture a large, all-glass, strangely shaped building in downtown Seattle. It is one of the most celebrated buildings in our entire region. It’s the Seattle Public Library’s main branch. The New York Times called it the most iconic building in Washington State.

I love books. I love learning. And you’d be right to think I love hanging out in libraries. But frankly, Seattle’s celebrated library scares me to death. I avoid it.

The elevators have glass windows so riders can see the machinery. It has open stairwells that end at large panes of glass, exposing the floors below. And it has a five-story escalator taking readers up to the books.

I have acrophobia—an extreme, irrational, and persistent fear of heights and high places. Believe me, my brain is very good at being irrational.

A few years ago, I attended a technology accessibility symposium in the Seattle library. We talked about all kinds of disability issues—software, hardware, web design, and the things people have to use every day in their jobs.

There were blind people. Deaf people. People using wheelchairs. People with all kinds of disabilities. Everyone was having a great time. I was there because accessibility is an important part of the work I did.

Physically, I don't look—or feel—disabled. I'm ambulatory. I have full use of my hands and eyes. I hear reasonably well for an old rock-and-roller.

When I left the conference with everyone else, building security directed us to use the elevators. That's when things changed. I walked into the elevator, straight to the back—leaned my forehead against the rear wall, clenched my fists, and refused to look forward.

Meanwhile, the people around me were talking and laughing. Blind. Crutches. Wheelchairs. Disabilities I couldn't even see.

Remember, I said there are glass windows in the elevators. Not good for my anxiety. No one else seemed concerned about the windows or the machinery. I realized something. In the context of that elevator—I was the disabled person.

That was when I began to understand accessibility differently. Because I had spent years thinking about accessibility as something that applied to other people. People who need ramps to ride buses. People who need elevators because stairs aren't accessible to wheelchairs. People who need accessible websites for screen readers and color blindness.

But there I was—in an elevator designed to be an interesting architectural experience. And for me, that experience was terrifying. The building hadn't changed. The elevator hadn't changed. What changed was my perspective. Suddenly I understood something very simple: Accessibility isn't about whether a building works. It's about whether it works for you.

The old Seattle library was a boxy affair, built in the 1950s. It had well-constructed solid walls. Not many windows. The elevators were enclosed. The stairwells were enclosed. The shelves of books were enclosed. I thought it was beautifully functional. I grew up with that library. I assumed it would grow with Seattle.

The voters of Seattle had a different idea. Seattle was becoming a city famous for daring architecture. They wanted something new, so the old library was torn down. A modernistic design was developed by the award-winning Dutch architectural firm of Rem Koolhaas.

The new library does exactly what it was intended to do. It's spectacular. It's open. It's innovative. It's designed to let people see how a library works. You can see the structure. You can see the books. You can see people moving through the building. I understand all of that. Really, I do.

The irony is that the very things that make the building exciting to some people make it inaccessible to me. I don't want glass elevators. I know how elevators work. I don't want to see the entire book collection in a panorama every time I'm looking for the right book. I don't even want them to tear out that enormous window. Some people love it. I just want another way to get to the ground floor.

That's the distinction I think we sometimes miss when we talk about accessibility. We tend to think accessibility means changing the thing. Changing the way it's designed. Changing how it functions. But sometimes accessibility doesn't require changing the experience for everyone. Sometimes it simply means providing another way for someone who needs it.

The library is famous for giving people views. I need them to give me a wall.