Hello, I’m Shelley Tremain and I would like to welcome you to the one hundred and eighteenth installment of Dialogues on Disability, the series of interviews that I am conducting with disabled philosophers and post to BIOPOLITICAL PHILOSOPHY on the third Wednesday of each month. The series is designed to provide a public venue for discussion with disabled philosophers about a range of topics, including their philosophical work on disability; the place of philosophy of disability vis-à-vis the discipline and profession; their experiences of institutional discrimination and exclusion, as well as personal and structural gaslighting in philosophy in particular and in academia more generally; resistance to ableism, racism, sexism, and other apparatuses of power; accessibility; and anti-oppressive pedagogy.

The land on which I sit to conduct these interviews is the traditional ancestral territory of the Haudenosaunee and Anishinaabeg nations. The territory was the subject of the Dish with One Spoon Wampum Belt Covenant, an agreement between the Iroquois Confederacy and the Ojibwe and allied nations around the Great Lakes. As a settler, I offer these interviews with respect for and in solidarity with Indigenous peoples of so-called Canada and other settler states who, for thousands of years, have held sacred the land, water, air, and sky, as well as their inhabitants, and who, for centuries, have struggled to protect them from the ravages and degradation of colonization and expropriation.

My guest today is Agnès Berthelot-Raffard. Agnès is an eclectic philosopher and multidisciplinary researcher, currently serving as an associate professor in Critical Disability Studies at York University (Canada). She has published philosophical articles on feminist ethics and critical disability studies‒particularly with respect to caregiving of disabled people and elders‒as well as articles on Black feminist epistemology. While Agnès loves philosophy, she regularly practices Afro-Caribbean traditional dance and yoga. She enjoys crafting handmade jewelry, collages, and photography as mindfulness methods. 

[Description of photo below: Agnès, a dark-skinned woman with short black hair and glasses, is smiling widely as she speaks into a cordless mic in a session at the Black Mental Health week conference in Montréal last year. An installation can be seen on the wall in the background of the shot.]

Welcome to Dialogues on Disability, Agnès! You hold a Ph.D. in Philosophy and subsequent degrees in Education. Currently, you teach in a critical disability studies program. Please tell us about your background, including your educational background, and how it led you to employment in a field of the institution outside of philosophy.

I am deeply grateful, Shelley, for the opportunity to share my insights with you. It is a great privilege to participate in this remarkable series. Perusing these interviews with my colleagues has been an invaluable learning experience, affording me a novel viewpoint on philosophy of disability.

I am a philosopher, a fundamental aspect of my identity that I have consistently recognized. This identity holds greater significance for me than my gender or race, insofar as it does not confine or define me in the same way that societal interpretations of womanhood and blackness do. Being a philosopher is a choice that I made for myself rather than a label imposed by society. However, I have never envisioned myself within a philosophy department, as my journey is characterized by marginality.

I grew up in Paris, France, in a Caribbean family. Neither my parents nor other loved ones pursued higher education. Nevertheless, my parents, maternal grandmother, and aunt consistently prioritized my education and enrolled me in private schools. I am incredibly grateful for their support, as it instilled in me the determination to work hard and achieve my goals despite the various challenges that I faced in life.

As a Black girl navigating a class-based society, I found myself marginalized within the French academic system. Furthermore, during my secondary education, I experienced a disconnection with the prevailing pedagogical model, which did not accommodate my distinct learning style, resulting in a sense of disengagement.

Indeed, as a teenager, I often found myself alone with a book, immersed in my own world, my bubble. Even now, I consider myself a contemplative individual. While my classmates were engaged in arts or sports during days off school, I would retreat to libraries, passionately devouring books on various subjects that piqued my interest. In many ways, I felt different from my peers.

On one hand, I excelled as a student; on the other, I struggled significantly in certain subjects. This discrepancy made it challenging for my teachers to categorize me neatly. Consequently, I was placed in a technical school that offered little hope for my future; that is, I was enrolled in a secondary vocational diploma program, considered a low-level qualification reserved for students whom the educational system deemed less deserving of academic opportunities. Many of my peers came from low-income families, were in foster care, or were from marginalized racial backgrounds.

I often felt like I was trapped in a world where classmates bullied me due to my affinity for reading because, to escape this sleazy academic environment, I was always with a book. Despite that, I admired the philosophers that I read at the time‒mostly French philosophers such as Sartre and de Beauvoir. I was committed to becoming a philosopher, with or without an academic degree.

My calling has a name: its “philosophy”! Embracing my journey, I returned to classical education and entered university. Only 1 percent of individuals with a technical school degree achieve their final secondary degree, known in France as the “baccalaureat.” From this small group, only 3 percent leap into university and complete their undergraduate degree. My unconventional secondary-school experience left me somewhat unprepared. I faced my struggles head-on, managing feelings of imposter syndrome and performance anxiety, particularly at Sorbonne University when I was enrolled as an undergraduate student. I often found myself to be the only Black woman in my classroom and a large amphitheatre of 150 white students, mostly men. Yet my purpose led me and was the only thing that mattered, even though I confronted perceptions that I was an outsider in academia. 

My journey exemplifies the power of perseverance and the extraordinary outcomes that can arise from statistical exceptions. Nevertheless, I am not exceptional. I was led by my purpose, determination, and desire to understand and transform the world. I am convinced that I succeeded because I was driven by the importance of my identity as a philosopher and its existential dimension. Thinking, creating, innovating with ideas, and writing have set me in motion and actualized me throughout my unusual life’s journey.

From the outside, my credentials‒my social position as a university professor, the accolades, the achievements, and the impressive number of diplomas‒suggest that all this has undoubtedly been achieved linearly and is the fruit of a linear mind. Linearity, whether existential or reflexive, does not reflect me. Thanks to my capacity to think outside the box, be creative, and dare to enter spaces which nobody expected me to do, I invented myself! Literally! This creativity has saved me more than once, since I’ve defied a system that automatically excluded me.

Considering that, I will undoubtedly offer an alternative perspective on the philosophy field. Philosophy is my purpose, and following my passion saved my life from a catastrophe heralded by the social statistics that dictate that the only way out for a Black woman from a so-called lower social class is to be the world’s mule.

Moreover, I found navigating the realm of philosophy quite manageable, not merely due to the stereotype that philosophers can be socially awkward‒like I am, as an introvert–but because this field allows for a deep exploration of one’s specific interests.

Additionally, the norms of philosophy are straightforward once one becomes familiar with them. When writing or presenting one’s work, it’s essential to adhere to the prompts and specific guidelines provided. Now that I know that I am autistic, I have a clearer understanding of why this environment aligns so well with my ways of seeing the world. I was not surprised to learn about the prevalence of neuro-atypical individuals among philosophers.

I discovered a profound sense of belonging in philosophy, especially in Montréal, where I pursued my Ph.D. I cherish Montréal’s philosophy community as my “family.” It was the first academic environment of which I felt a part and still is. That means the world to me!

I knew that it would be complicated for a Black woman who is Francophone and not native to Canada to pursue a career in a philosophy department. In Canada, there are very few Black professors in philosophy: only five Black men, if my statistics are still accurate. Despite receiving a few job interviews at esteemed institutions in philosophy departments, I found it more fitting to serve as an associate professor in critical disability studies. My atypical journey and unwavering determination to succeed in a system not designed for individuals like me have fueled my passion for contributing to critical disability studies. I have valuable insights to offer in the field of critical disability studies, as I can see what my students want and can give them the pieces of advice that I wanted when I was in their shoes.

Critical disability studies challenges the prevailing norms surrounding able-bodiedness and able-mindedness, while philosophy often elevates these concepts, placing a premium on cognition and logocentric knowledge. It is not surprising that the issue of neurodiversity emerges within the philosophy of disability, as it relates closely to cognitive development and our modes of thinking. However, I am concerned about the potential for ableism to overshadow other essential dimensions of disability, which may be less centred on cognitive and neuro-functioning. Despite this, it is invigorating to witness many philosophers, particularly neuro-atypical philosophers, engaging with these topics.

Being in critical disability studies exposes me to various issues not yet seen in philosophy, such as the acceptance of an identity guided by mental-health issues. Involvement in critical disability studies also allows me to do philosophical work with my students through other mediums in addition to argumentative texts. I am interested in disability narrative retrievals, such as memoirs and plays. I am convinced that they offer other perspectives from which to philosophize and generate new concepts. Since I became involved in critical disability studies, my interest in embedded knowledges has grown.

Agnès, in 2017, while at the Université du Québec à Montréal, you created the first and only accredited university course in the Francophone world that is devoted entirely to Black feminist thought. Please explain the motivating factors that led you to do so and the process in which you engaged to successfully launch and institutionalize this course.

In 2016, I gave six public lectures on Black feminism for a participatory alternative university in Montréal. This alternative university took place in a bar. The courses offered at the grassroots level turned out to be an astonishing and unexpected success. The venue could accommodate approximately 100 people, with some sessions fully booked and people waiting outside of the bar to join us. It was challenging to determine who should attend and on what basis, race or gender.

During the open mic that followed each class, it was particularly interesting to observe how Black men and white women engaged, or not, with the content of the classes and the kinds of questions that they brought to the discussions. The open mic was a unique opportunity for many Black women to express their thoughts. They were grateful for the opportunity to have a space like this. They were prioritized to share their perspective and were so happy to be there. It was a community-care experience for me, even a healing one. The first initiative of its kind in Québec and a great experience.

Meanwhile, the University du Québec à Montréal (UQAM) asked me to develop a course to improve their curriculum, which mainly focused on liberal feminism and, most notably, on Québecer feminism. I agreed to create such a course, since I was motivated to overcome the epistemic injustice towards racialized women in feminist studies.

The course that I created represents the first accredited French-language course on Black feminism within Canadian and other French-speaking academic circles across the globe. A long time ago, in 1983, Esmeralda Thornhill created the first Black women’s studies course in Canada at Concordia University, but it was in English and has not been offered for a while. Nothing has been done in French or in the Francophone world. For me, that created a need for a course at the grassroots. I was truly honoured to be invited to design and teach a university course on Black feminism. My objectives included providing critical tools to encourage reflection on the invisibility of “race,” illustrating the philosophical depth of Black feminism, and engaging in a form of “mise en abyme” to explore the challenges of its integration into academia, especially in a context where the “decolonization of knowledge” has become a trending theme.

Launching this course was an incredible experience for me.  Since I had never encountered Black feminism content as a student and learned all about the area by myself, it was exciting to develop the curriculum for the course. Nevertheless, I quickly identified institutional limitations.

First, the student cohort was predominantly white in a university that strongly emphasizes Québec’s identity and its specific national narrative, namely, a university with many Black female students. Why weren’t they registered in this course? The problem was due to the way in which the course was publicized. Second, I discovered that Black feminism is often not regarded as a legitimate philosophy in academia; instead, it is primarily regarded as a framework for anti-racism efforts. This perception undermines the intrinsic essence and objectives of Black feminism, reducing it to a challenge against mainstream feminism rather than acknowledging its unique contributions.

This realization prompted me to reflect on the connections between racial injustices and epistemic injustices through the lens of Black disability studies. I believe that the failure to recognize Black feminist knowledge as inherently valid—rather than merely a reaction to dominant epistemologies—stems from both implicit cognitive biases, such as unconscious racist and sexist prejudices, as well as explicit biases against individuals of African descent. Both men and women from Black communities are frequently not recognized as intellectuals or rational thinkers. Thus, the denial of Black women’s epistemic agency is known as a direct legacy of historical racism.

However, this explanation remains simplistic. I think, Shelley, we must associate this phenomenon with another oppression: disablism. Disablism is discrimination towards people who do not fit the criteria of able-bodies and whiteness norms. In the particular case of Black women, the denial of their epistemic agency relates to what I call “racial ableism.”

I conceptualize the term racial ableism to express the continuity of the historical dehumanization of Black people and the fact that, socially, they are perceived as less worthy of respect due to their assumed cognitive impairment. Racial ableism accompanies historical racism, helping to build and perpetuate it through the centuries. Racial ableism is closely intertwined with what philosopher Charles W. Mills calls the “racial contract” (Mills, 1997), which is the social contract that shaped the European domination system that separates individuals along colour lines and entitles only white people to partake in it, as others are seen as lesser beings.

Black feminism is often overlooked as a legitimate philosophical discipline, despite its inclusion within the broader framework of Africana philosophy, primarily because Black women are frequently viewed as cognitively impaired.  In the book that I am currently writing, I explore this idea in my examination of the epistemology of Black feminism. I aim to demonstrate that this epistemology provides a fresh lens through which to understand knowledge, a lens inspired by a critical disability perspective.                         

You founded the Black Students’ Mental Health Project-BSMHP, which is a non-profit organization. What is the mandate to which the BSMHP is dedicated? What motivated you to establish the project, Agnès?

I founded this organization in response to academic ableism and racism that I observed. I heard so many heartbreaking testimonies coming from Black students. I was also led by a sense of giving back to the community, considering the challenges that I faced in my education.

The Black Students’ Mental Health Project-BSMHP is a non-profit organization dedicated to social innovation for equity in Canadian universities and applied research about the connections between mental health and race, sustaining two projects for which I was the principal investigator.  I led The Promoting Black Students’ Mental Health: A Pan-Canadian Research and Intervention Project on Social Determinants of Health and Equity in Canadian Universities funded by the Public Health Agency of Canada (2021-2024) and also the incubator stage of this project (2019-2020).

The Black Students’ Mental Health Project fosters Black students’ participation, social inclusion, leadership, and mental health promotion alongside capacity-building efforts. While mental-health challenges affect individuals of all ethnicities, our responses to these issues are deeply influenced by our cultural backgrounds and the perspectives shaped by our origins. Consequently, mental-health providers must develop initiatives, programs, interventions, and services that are culturally appropriate and relevant to their communities.

At the heart of this project was the promotion of activities designed to better integrate, publicize, and highlight knowledge of the history, culture, and identity of Black people and racialized communities within Canadian spaces of knowledge-production.

I found that conducting scientific research—theoretical, participatory, collaborative, or action-based—and disseminating its findings is quite challenging. This difficulty arises partly from the self-stigma experienced by Black students, who can be reluctant to participate, as well as the reality that funding for such research often comes from governmental agencies that may not fully align with the perspectives of the target community. For this reason, I decided to ground my work in a community-based participatory approach (CPBR), which authentically allows for the reframing of social issues from the actual perspective of the target group and ensures that the research conveys their narrative.

How do your own experiences as a Black and neurodivergent philosopher shape your research and teaching in critical disability studies?

As an instructor in the unique Ph.D. program in Critical Disability Studies in Canada‒yes, the only one among 90 universities in this country!‒I teach marginalized students facing challenges due to disabilities, health issues, neurodiversity, and non-gender-conforming identities. Teaching in this atypical context requires awareness of classroom dynamics, adaptability, and emotional labour to support my students, while respecting role boundaries. This journey has taught me to recognize my limits, set boundaries, prioritize well-being, and embrace creativity and art-based pedagogy.

Critical disability studies explores sensitive issues. Due to the interplay of experience, identity, and social theory, course material may unintentionally trigger reactions in participants, including myself, as a Black neurodivergent woman. Therefore, my teaching adopts an anti-oppressive and trauma-informed approach. Art-based pedagogy—such as video journalism and role-playing—facilitates self-reflection and comprehension of course content. Indeed, integrating practical knowledge and artistic methods in my classroom allows me to foster community care.

I have embraced these alternative teaching methods because I am an autodidact and had a background as an adult trainer before I relocated to Canada many years ago. I also fully understand and endorse that each student has a specific interest and way of learning. In my previous work as a trainer, I incorporated role-playing techniques, drawing on my experience in amateur theatre during my young adult years. I introduce art-based methods such as video journalism or role-play, for example, to enable understanding of course content while limiting intellectual stimuli through traditional methods, giving the brain a kind of rest, and allowing my students to feel their bodies and emotions better and learn through them.

As someone who received a late diagnosis of autism, I find that staying grounded and attuned to the classroom’s energy through alternative teaching methods and assignments is incredibly beneficial for me. It allows me to embrace what scholars like Ellen Samuels, Alison Kafer, and Margaret Price refer to as “crip time,” in addition to fostering a sense of “crip kinship” in the classroom. This approach not only enhances my teaching experience but also strengthens the connections within the classroom community and prevents me from experiencing more autistic shutdowns, as I have gone through many times in my life journey.

Interestingly, I developed a strong interest in neurodiversity long before I knew my own neurodivergent identity. I intuitively recognized my differences from neurotypical individuals from the very beginning. I immersed myself in the literature on various forms of neurodiversity, which ultimately guided me to the diagnoses that I received as I recognized familiar patterns and behaviours within myself. I am eager to work on the stigma associated with autism in academia and how addressing the needs of autistic individuals can help reshape academic expectations.

What research, community, or activist projects—in either academic contexts or nonacademic contexts—are your working on at present, Agnès?

I am currently working on my monograph that examines the interconnection between racial domination and epistemic injustices from a Black disability feminist perspective. My focus is on Black feminist epistemology as I seek to propose a new conception of knowledge and knowledge-production that moves away from logocentrism. This process of writing is progressing slowly for me. Typically, I am a fast writer, but I am approaching this project not with the intent to advance my academic career—such as achieving a better rank or securing a position at a different institution—nor am I rushing to align with current trends. Instead, I view this project as a personal and intellectual journey. I hope it will introduce new concepts and perspectives, while offering insight into my identity as a philosopher and a human being.

I am also working on Black women’s experiential knowledge in a small study that seeks to promote empowerment and epistemic agency and foster gender-inclusive social innovation by examining the knowledge that Caribbean women from Martinique, Guadeloupe, and Haiti produce on their reproductive and sexual health. Due to colonialism and slavery, Caribbean women have been subjected to infringement of their sexual and reproductive rights and bodily integrity by the colonizers. Motherhood and reproductive justice have always been resistance pillars. Specifically, the study explores how cultural and spiritual traditions inform Caribbean women’s knowledge and practices, drawing on the medicinal knowledge, community-care praxis, and healing practices that Black women have developed to counter gendered and racial violence and reproductive coercion.

In 2023, I contributed regularly to “À échelle humaine,” a program on Radio Canada that aired throughout Ontario, focusing on philosophical topics. This experience prompted me to consider how I could share my knowledge, research, and insights beyond the confines of academia, as I did with the Black feminism course that I gave in a bar. I am eager to start a podcast that fosters dialogue with others who share my interests. I do not yet know the themes at the center, but I want to give back to the community and use my voice for a larger audience.

This initiative resonates with what you are doing, Shelley, through this interview series, which enables philosophers and those outside the field of philosophy interested in disability to gain a deeper understanding of this area of study. While academia provides a space for creative exploration, knowledge generated outside of it holds significant value, offering a gift to those who may find it challenging to access that environment.

Agnès, how would you like to end this interview? Are there topics or concerns that we have not discussed that you would like to address? Would you like to recommend some books, articles, blogs, or videos that readers and listeners should explore for more information about the issues that you have addressed?

I would like to use this forum to encourage my fellow philosophers to engage with the issue of disability, particularly the significance of hiring disabled philosophers in their departments. When I refer to a disability, I do not mean to limit this definition strictly to neurodivergence‒some neurodivergent people do not see themselves as disabled. The field of philosophy needs to consider this topic not only as a subject of study but also as a focal point for new courses and practical applications, such as the inclusion of disabled students and instructors.

I never took a course in the philosophy of disability in France or Canada while studying. Looking back, it is because such a course did not exist. Nevertheless, this topic is crucial for comprehending significant philosophical issues, such as time, productivity, embodiment, autonomy, human connections, vulnerability, and responsibility. In the wake of the COVID-19 pandemic and the rise of artificial intelligence, we find ourselves discussing a new organization of labour production. Philosophy of disability can offer fresh perspectives on these specific matters. I hope to inspire someone to explore these areas through the lens of disability.

Additionally, we have distinct learning practices in philosophy, much like any other discipline. Philosophy‒often considered the foundation of all fields‒tends to be quite logocentric. This logocentrism is something we need to change. We can explore philosophical ideas in various ways, utilizing different forms of media. Having once sought to conform to the traditional norms of philosophy—valuing them excessively—I find it surprising to make this statement, yet it stems from my current journey.

I learned to be a philosopher in a traditional way, but I always feel that I am an eclectic one–uncommon to my peers–inspired by the field, the grassroots, and the ordinary life, a philosopher whose research is motivated by a phenomenology of injustice and marginality. I believe that critical disability studies is prompting me to reevaluate my discipline, much like the insights offered by Black feminism. I appreciate this meta-cognitive perspective on philosophy. It allows me to deconstruct what I learned and how I learned it. The world is in constant motion, and we cannot afford to remain stagnant. Otherwise, we will lose what makes philosophy philosophy: a way to analyze the world and participate in transforming it.

Thanks so much, Shelley, for this tremendous opportunity to share my perspective with you and your audience. I was so delighted to answer your questions. Most importantly, thank you so much for your invaluable work, which is like a lighthouse for all of us.

Thank you so much for taking the time to write this fascinating interview, Agnès. Your enthusiasm for the work that you produce and the practices that you embody is so uplifting in these deeply troubling times, both within the university and apart from it. Finally, thank you for underscoring the need for philosophy departments to hire disabled philosophers, who remain significantly underrepresented in the profession.

Readers/listeners are invited to use the Comments section below to respond to Agnès Berthelot-Raffard’s remarks, ask questions, and so on. Comments will be moderated. As always, although signed comments are preferred, anonymous comments may be permitted.

The entire Dialogues on Disability series is archived on BIOPOLITICAL PHILOSOPHY here.

From April 2015 to May 2021, I coordinated, edited, and produced the Dialogues on Disability series without any institutional or other financial support. A Patreon account now supports the series, enabling me to continue to create it. You can add your support for these vital interviews with disabled philosophers at the Dialogues on Disability Patreon account page here.

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Please join me here again on Wednesday, February 19, 2025, for the 119th installment of the Dialogues on Disability series and, indeed, on every third Wednesday of the months ahead. I have a fabulous line-up of interviews planned. If you would like to nominate someone to be interviewed (self-nominations are welcomed), please feel free to write me at s.tremain@yahoo.ca. I prioritize diversity with respect to disability, class, race, gender, institutional status, nationality, culture, age, and sexuality in my selection of interviewees and my scheduling of interviews.