Seated at the bar, a woman says to the server, "This is a con where none of that matters."

"That's about right," he says.

The con she referred to is a speculative fiction convention with panel discussions on science fiction and fantasy novels, film, and television. There is also traditional Celtic music and dance, rpg and board games (rpg = role playing games like Dungeons and Dragons) with a few people dressing in costume for the event. Steampunk is a favorite theme, and supergirl payed a visit.

In the conversation I reported above, I don't know what aspect of acceptance she referred to; I missed overhearing that part of the conversation. But I had to agree. From the moment we arrived, the practice of accommodation was clear.

At registration, everyone is given a name badge. This helps identify the program participants, volunteers, and those who have paid to be enjoy the con. Those with a specific role add a ribbon to the bottom of their tag holder to make the role public. This year, there was a set of purple ribbons all were invited to attach beneath that, which said: "my pronouns are" with three options. The choices were "she-her", "he-him", and "they-their".

Most chose to add the purple ribbon. This way, those for whom it mattered were not singled out. Here's a picture of my name tag.

When I passed the public washrooms, there was a large sign outside which read: "Gender neutral washroom and quiet room: #147". They could not change the gendered structure of the hotel restrooms, but they could ensure there was an option that did not require specific gender identification.

My son remembers the first year we came to this con when a person in a wheelchair pointed out to a volunteer that the only place for them was at the back. The volunteer immediately moved a set of chairs out of the way at the front. The thing that really impressed him was that when he went to a panel in another room, chairs had been moved to make space there as well.

This year, each room had a space at the front clearly marked with tape on the carpet.

One panel I was part of focused on naming stories in which religion played a positive role. In a lot of post-apocalyptic stories--such as A Canticle for Leibowitz or The Chrysalids--religion became a stifling force, a bulwark against chaos which also oppresses difference and any movement toward change.

In our discussion, we identified some great books where spirituality is described, where religious practice is a positive part of the story. But at the beginning, we each had to self-identify. The moderator spoke as an educated, practicing Jew. The next man declared his scientific skepticism. The woman beside me spoke as an initiated Wicken who has reached a level where she is encouraged to teach. The woman on the other side said she looks at religious practice from a sociological perspective. In this setting, I both named the religious tradition I am part of and my specific role. People who asked questions also tended to identify the place from which they addressed the question of science and religion.

All these perspectives were welcomed. The variety gave a multi-faceted view of the topic.

During the weekend, a visually impaired woman was occasionally guided along the hall by a companion, but more often she attended the panels she was interested in alone, made her way carefully with her white cane. I saw her ask random people for directions when she needed to. She trusted the crowd.

One panel talked about people living with some form of autism and the portrayal of the autism spectrum in literature. This panel expressed appreciation for the quiet room.

And of course, the service dog was accepted without hesitation.

Perhaps this con is good at accommodation because there is already space made--with joy and appreciation--for those who write weird and wonderful imaginative fiction and for those who want to dress to fit into the stories we are talking about. Other spaces are created with the same positive attitude. No adjustment is made grudgingly.

From the weekend, I take away a couple book sales, some story ideas, good writing hints, new friendships with authors in the fiction genre I write in. And I bring the reminder that while inclusion takes attention and work, it is a joyous celebration of the variety of human life, the diversity of our society.
Cathy Hird is a farmer, minister, and writer living near Walters Falls.