History: what can it teach us about accessibility?

At the Museum of Zaragoza the other day, I chanced on this old stone tablet from 1713. It states that on the morning of February 13th, a fire destroyed the old bridge. Between June and November the same year, the bridge was rebuilt. It states this alongside the names of those who contributed to the reconstruction. While it now resides in the museum, once the tablet marked the road into Zaragoza, one of only two routes accessible on foot, and so would have been seen at one time or another by most visitors to the city.

It’s a large stone, expensively carved and prominently displayed. Quite a lot of detail (‘between 10 and 11 in the morning…’) Yet what was the point of it? Barely 20% of Spain could read in 1860. In 1713, there weren’t even enough literate people for it to be worth a survey.?

Why create a memorial that is inaccessible to almost everyone?

Why not carve a graphic depiction of what happened? After all, people in these times were far from squeamish (see below medieval art, with chap calmly having his skin pulled off) and the fire doesn’t seem to have actually killed anyone. Then everyone would have known right away what it represented. It might also have reminded them to be careful with fires. And, while it might have been nice for the philanthropists to have their names publicly displayed, it seems unlikely they would have expected to have remained anonymous in doing so.

So perhaps the decision to limit accessibility was deliberate. But why?

There’s a painting at the museum (see below) that perhaps illuminates this. Here a young son reads a letter home from his older brother. All the family gathers around the child - he is the only one who can read.

Thus reading becomes a shared, collective activity. Something that brings families (and communities) together.

This may also be the case with the memorial tablet. The literate might have walked with a group of their illiterate friends and family to read the tablet together. They could share the experience, note the philanthropic town elites. Maybe gossip about and criticise prominent names that were not included on the tablet, and the reasons for this. More positively, they might have run their fingers over the carved names of friends or family members.

Perhaps what the carvers in 1713 considered to be important was not that each individual could access the information on the tablet. What was important was that individuals were forced to come together as a community to share an experience of collective identity.

So long as there was one among you who could read, you could have that shared experience together. The experience of a city where people come together to make things work.

In this sense, the limited accessibility forced collaboration and reliance on others onto individuals. Which is kind of what the tablet is celebrating too, when interacted with. The reader and their illiterate friends are also working together.

Perhaps the lack of accessibility at an individual level created and enhanced a sense of community.

Today we are obsessed with data, with user testing. Elements that require interpretation are mistrusted. We must not forget that data is inert without interpretation, which is why it’s so important to include individuals who interpret the world differently in the early testing process.

For example, we know some older users are less confident online.

But when we try to improve that, do we stop after we have addressed issues such as text size (many older users have experienced degeneration of their eyesight), or online norms (older users may be less familiar with the current norms of button placement etc)?

Or do we ask whether something is missing from their online experience, such as the community they find in the retail environment? The ability to speak to a real human when they have difficulties? The opportunity to share the highs and lows of the experience with friends, and to forge new friendships through the gaming experience?

When people gamble, either in the retail space or online, we know they are goal focused. They want to place their bet. It’s likely that, when interviewed, they will tell us that completing this goal is of primary importance.

But is that all there is to it?

Our data may show that online users aged 65 plus drop out at a particular point in their online journey. We may mitigate that to some extent by increasing, for example, the text size. Does that mean we have created a perfect experience? Far from it.

That’s why our user research needs to go beyond user journeys and pain points. We need to speak to our customers and learn what they love about gambling.

Maybe we could ask questions like:

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What first drew you to gambling?

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What are your favourite memories associated with placing a bet?

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What role does gambling play within your friendship groups?

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It’s up to us to take this information and interpret it. Not merely by listening to what our customers say they want. But the insights beyond the data. What are they missing? How could their experience be healthier, happier and more complete?

They might not be able to tell us this directly. After all, as Henry Ford, famously said, “If I asked my customers what they wanted they’d have told me ‘faster horses’.”

Information might have been far less accessible in 1713. But that might have resulted in a different experience, rather than a lesser one. It’s something we should bear in mind when we try to do better.