Month: September 2024

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Quinn stood at the edge of the café’s bustling patio, listening to the hum of conversation and the clink of dishes. The uneven floor beneath her posed a challenge as she scanned the tightly packed tables, finally spotting friends in the distance.

Taking a deep breath, she began navigating the crowd—dodging a stroller here, a distracted server there—feeling the familiar pull of curious glances. Each step was a reminder of the daily balance between comfort and accessibility. Her walking poles felt heavier, burdened by the day’s strain.

Chairs were pressed together, leaving barely enough room to squeeze through. She heard one of her friends laugh at a table tucked between others, the cramped space made reaching them difficult. The lively atmosphere only highlighted the quiet, invisible walls Quinn kept running into.

Should she ask her friends to move? The question lingered, as familiar as it was uneasy. It wasn’t just about finding space—it was about deciding, once again, whether to express needs or quietly navigate around them.

Defining Self-Advocacy: Speaking Up for Needs

Moments like these go beyond simply finding a seat; they highlight the larger challenge of ensuring spaces accommodate the needs of individuals with disabilities. For Quinn, and many others, this is the essence of self-advocacy. It is not about convenience—it is about fostering accessibility and participation, leveling the playing field so that everyone can engage in shared spaces.

Self-advocacy means recognizing and communicating needs, even when it is uncomfortable. It often involves requesting adjustments in settings not designed with those needs in mind. It is not about special treatment—it is about ensuring needs are met in feasible and practical ways that promote accessibility, comfort, and dignity.

For Quinn, self-advocacy might mean asking her friends to move to a table with more space. Others who have disabilities might request accessible seating at a concert, appropriate lighting in a meeting room, or an assistive listening system in an auditorium. These requests aren’t overreaching—they are tools to support equitable participation. Each request helps create a more inclusive environment, where accommodations support equal access for all.

Everyday Acts of Self-Advocacy

Requesting a different table may seem minor, but for Quinn, daily decisions like these carry weight. Self-advocacy is not always about major changes—it’s about affirming that the needs of individuals with disabilities are valid, even in the simplest moments. Whether asking for more space, better lighting, or a supportive chair—each act reinforces that accessibility is a fundamental part of any shared space.

In that moment, Quinn realized speaking up wasn’t about causing discomfort or making a scene. It was about enhancing accessibility—not just for herself, but for others facing similar challenges. Self-advocacy becomes an act of care and inclusion.

Redefining Accommodation: Fairness, Not Favor

Living with Cerebral Palsy (CP), Quinn’s advocacy isn’t about seeking attention—it is about making sure needs are met. Self-advocacy often involves straightforward asks: a clearer path, better seating, or more space to move.

These requests challenge misconceptions about disability, showing that accommodations are practical necessities, not special treatment. For Quinn, asking for what was needed was a quiet yet powerful reminder that needs matter. Her request shifts perspectives that adjustments or accommodations are special treatment to essential tools for equal participation. This challenges the idea that accessibility is optional, emphasizing that accommodations help level the playing field and ensure everyone can engage in shared spaces.

Steps Toward Self-Advocacy: Listening to Needs

Before advocating for herself, Quinn had to acknowledge her needs. Self-advocacy begins with recognizing what’s required to function comfortably and expressing those needs when necessary.

Requests like Quinn’s aren’t extras; they help create spaces that are welcoming and functional for all. Over time, these requests built her confidence, emphasizing the importance of addressing discomfort rather than silently enduring it. Each successful advocacy effort reinforced her sense of agency and self-worth.

Living with CP sometimes means that routine tasks leave Quinn more fatigued than others might realize. Her walking poles aid mobility but also add strain as the day progresses. Previously, she had pushed through fatigue, ignoring her body’s signals. After experiencing injuries, she reassessed her approach, learning to pace herself and respect her limits.

Building Confidence Through Advocacy

For Quinn, speaking up not only made daily life easier—it also revealed the often-invisible challenges others face. The hardest part wasn’t always the lack of ramps or accessible seating; it was deciding whether to ask for what was needed.

For many, the toughest challenge is balancing self-advocacy with not wanting to inconvenience others. Overcoming this barrier is key to creating a culture of openness and support, where needs are met with understanding, not hesitation.

The Role of Allies in Supporting Self-Advocacy

Quinn’s self-advocacy didn’t evolve in isolation. With the support of friends and family who understood her needs, she developed the confidence to speak up for herself. Instead of taking over, her allies learned to offer help when needed and step back to let her advocate, creating a balanced, respectful partnership.

Allies play a crucial role in helping individuals with disabilities build self-advocacy skills. Their role is to stand alongside, offering support when necessary and space when appropriate. Self-advocacy is an ongoing process, driven by the belief that everyone’s needs must be recognized.

For Quinn, speaking up wasn’t just practical—it was a powerful affirmation that her voice mattered. In a genuinely inclusive environment, every voice must be heard and valued.

Achieving true inclusion depends on the persistent efforts of individuals like Quinn, supported by allies who understand the importance of accessibility. By speaking up and making necessary requests for adjustments and accommodations, they challenge barriers and create spaces where everyone can participate. Each act of self-advocacy reinforces that accessibility is not a favor but a fundamental right, ensuring that all voices are heard and respected.

References

• Campbell, F. K. (2009). Contours of ableism: The production of disability and abledness. Palgrave Macmillan.
• Dunn, D. S., & Burcaw, S. (2013). Disability identity: Exploring narrative accounts of disability. Rehabilitation Psychology, 58(2), 148-157. https://doi.org/10.1037/a0031691
• Iezzoni, L. I., Rao, S. R., & Ressalam, J. (2015). Accessibility of medical equipment for patients with mobility impairments: Can common equipment be made accessible?. Journal of General Internal Medicine, 30(2), 205-212.

The bookstore was quiet that afternoon, with only the soft rustle of pages turning and the occasional sound of footsteps on the wooden floor. Quinn had been coming here for years, finding comfort in the predictability of the space. She always gravitates to the same chair in the back, where the dim lighting isn’t ideal for reading but still offers a sense of peace and calm. Yet, even in this familiar setting, there are reminders that the space isn’t designed with her in mind. The narrow aisles and tightly packed tables barely leave enough room for her walking poles, a small but persistent reminder of the space’s limitations.

Over time, Quinn had learned to navigate these elements, making adjustments without thinking too much about them. Adapting became second nature, part of her routine. However, today, as she settles into her chair and opens her book, she can’t shake the thought: Why do people with various disabilities often have to adapt and make these adjustments?

The small accommodations Quinn makes—like angling her body to fit more comfortably or maneuvering her walking poles through tight spaces—are reminders that public spaces are often not designed for her. She adjusts her pace to avoid jostling others in crowded areas, carefully navigates around obstacles that others might not notice, and uses her poles to gauge the depth of uneven surfaces. Each of these adaptations underscores the daily challenges faced by individuals with disabilities in environments that often lack thoughtful design.

The ability to adapt in environments like this is often seen as a positive trait. Those who adapt and adjust are frequently praised, as if overcoming barriers in inaccessible spaces is an accomplishment in itself (Campbell, 2009). For Quinn and others with disabilities, adaptation is a necessity, not an accomplishment. Quinn is not seeking praise for navigating a system that wasn’t made for her; she’s seeking one that has accounted for her needs from the very beginning.

Most people without disabilities or specific health needs rarely have to think about whether spaces accommodate them. The environments they visit—such as bookstores, cafes, and public buildings—are inherently designed with their needs in mind, requiring no special adjustments. However, these spaces often fail to account for individuals with different needs. For Quinn, getting around involves constant evaluation: Will her walking poles fit through narrow aisles? Can she move without obstruction?

The subtle exclusion Quinn sometimes experiences in spaces like the bookstore isn’t intentional. Accessible features such as ramps and wider doorways are often added later, rather than thoughtfully incorporated from the start. While these features offer help, they don’t fully address the broader need for accessibility and inclusion.

What Quinn and others with disabilities want isn’t just accessibility; it is a rethinking of how spaces are designed from the outset. True inclusion isn’t just about adding accessible features. It is about designing spaces that work for everyone. Inclusion, in this sense, is less about solving problems retroactively and more about ensuring that no one feels out of place to begin with.

As Quinn settles into her chair with her book, she reflects on how instinctive her daily adaptations have become. She realizes that spaces should be designed with accessibility in mind from the outset, allowing everyone to move comfortably without constantly questioning their fit. True inclusion goes beyond adding wider aisles or lower counters; it’s about creating environments where everyone, regardless of their needs, feels genuinely welcomed.

As Quinn leaves the bookstore, her sense of familiarity and comfort is mixed with a quiet frustration. While she finds comfort in the space, its design still doesn’t fully accommodate her needs. The constant adjustments she and others with disabilities must make highlight a broader issue: many public spaces are not designed with diverse needs in mind from the start.

True inclusion involves a shift in how spaces are envisioned and designed. It is not just about adding features later but about integrating accessibility from the outset. For Quinn and others with disabilities, the goal is for environments to be welcoming and functional from the beginning. Moving forward, designing spaces that embrace everyone ensures that no one has to constantly adapt to fit in.

References

• Campbell, F. K. (2009). Contours of ableism: The production of disability and abledness. Palgrave Macmillan.
• Shakespeare, T. (2006). Disability rights and wrongs. Routledge.

I found it by accident, tucked between the pages of an old notebook from my twenties. Back then, I was driven by ambition and a desire for adventure. Among the notes and plans, I stumbled across a poem I had written—a poem that spoke to a journey I hadn’t fully understood at the time.

Living with Cerebral Palsy (CP) and depending on walking poles, I often found it easier to leave certain challenges unspoken. Revisiting this poem now, I see how deeply silence has shaped my journey.

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“Silence Lingers” by Kerry A. Wiley

Silence lingers, thick as air—
A breath withheld, but is it fair?
Is it peace, or hidden dread?
A message lost, a line of thread.

Beneath the scream, a deeper tone,
Not just sound, but truth unknown.
Is it anger? Is it pain?
Words too fragile to sustain.

Silence speaks, though none may hear.
Is it warning, or is it fear?
A scream is never noise alone,
But a voice unknown, its own.

Silence hides within the skin,
Holding truth that lies within.

In silence, there’s a heavy pause—
Unsaid words without a cause.
Is it shelter? Is it fear?
A space where nothing feels too clear.

A scream that shatters silent night—
Is it despair or fierce delight?
Between the breaths, a fragile state,
Is this the point where we both break?

A scream erupts, but what’s the cause?
What’s the rage? Is it freedom or a cage?
Is it longing to be free,
Or a cry lost in mystery?

In echoes deep, the silence grows;
What’s left unsaid, no one knows.

Silence speaks, even when no one listens.

Silence is not passive; it carries its own strength and depth.

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The opening line—“Silence lingers thick as air”—hit me in a way it hadn’t before. Silence, for me, isn’t just the absence of sound. It is the pause after someone notices my walking poles but doesn’t ask.

It is the gap between stares and questions that I have grown used to. In these moments, silence is more than quiet; it’s a space filled with unspoken emotions, assumptions, and sometimes, relief that I don’t have to explain myself.

Living with a visible disability often means navigating a world that expects silence from me—silence about the why and how of my life. Sometimes, that silence feels like a weight, heavy with unasked questions. Other times, it feels like protection, giving me space when I don’t have the energy for more explanations.

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The Dual Nature of Silence

Silence isn’t one-dimensional. At times, it is a welcome pause—freedom from having to constantly explain my condition or defend my independence. Other times, it can be overwhelming, especially when it feels like my thoughts are stuck in a loop, replaying things I wish I could say out loud.

The poem’s line “A scream erupts but what’s the cause / Is it freedom or a cage?” speaks directly to that internal conflict. Is the scream a release of frustration, or is it a reminder of the limits imposed on me by a world that doesn’t always understand?

For me, my walking poles represent both freedom and constraint. They allow me to move forward, but they are also a visible marker of the boundaries I live within.

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The Power of the Unspoken

“In echoes deep the silence grows / What’s left unsaid no one knows.” These lines capture the weight of the unspoken. There are moments in life when words fail to express the full depth of an experience, and silence steps in to say what words cannot.

This is especially true when living with a visible difference—there are stares, assumptions, and unasked questions that often go unanswered, not because I’m avoiding them, but because silence can carry more meaning than a long-winded explanation.

Sometimes, silence becomes a choice. Rather than constantly filling the space with words, I have found strength in letting silence speak for me. It is not about withholding information, but about recognizing when it is unnecessary to explain myself or seek validation.

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Silence as a Form of Resistance

Silence can also be a form of resistance. Johnston (2018) points out that silence allows individuals to control their narrative by choosing when and how to engage. By not always answering the unspoken questions or justifying my experience, I can resist the expectation to conform to others’ assumptions. Silence gives me control over my story.

Revisiting “Silence Lingers” highlighted the meaningful role silence has had in my life. Living with Cerebral Palsy has involved moving through spaces where silence holds emotions, questions, and assumptions. Instead of viewing silence as a challenge, I now see it as a space for thoughtful reflection and an opportunity to shape my narrative with intention.

The line “Silence speaks even when no one listens” holds significant meaning for me. Silence is not passive; it carries its own strength and depth. By discerning when to speak and when to remain silent, I have learned to navigate life without the need for constant explanation.

Ultimately, silence has not limited me. Instead, it has provided room for reflection, clarity, and the freedom to walk my path at my own pace.

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References

• Davis, Lennard J. The Disability Studies Reader. 5th edition, Routledge, 2017.
• Johnston, Claire. “Silence and Disability: Navigating Social Spaces.” Journal of Disability Studies, vol. 32, no. 2, 2018, pp. 45-61.
• Siebers, Tobin. Disability Theory. University of Michigan Press, 2008.

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Quinn entered the restaurant, her crutches clicking in a rhythm she had long since become accustomed to. This cozy place had become her Saturday ritual, a comforting escape from the chaos of the world. As she neared her usual table, she noticed a couple glance in her direction before quickly looking away, as though they hadn’t been caught observing her. Quinn offered a polite smile and settled into her seat, but the familiar weight of being noticed settled over her, an unspoken presence she had grown to tolerate but never quite accept.

These moments are a regular part of Quinn’s life. Each outing in public carries the expectation that she will be seen not as Quinn, but as “the woman with crutches.” Her crutches often draw attention before her smile, kindness, or passion for books. After so many years of managing these interactions, her response—quiet, polite, deflective—has become almost automatic. Yet, despite the familiarity of this sense of otherness, it remains exhausting, a reminder that the world perceives her as different first and as an individual second.

What Is “Otherness”?

Quinn’s experience reflects a common theme for many people with disabilities, known as “otherness” by disability scholars. It is the feeling of being set apart, not because of who you are, but because your body doesn’t fit society’s unspoken standards of “normal.” Imagine walking into a room where everyone moves and interacts with ease, and you stand out—not for your personality or abilities, but simply because your body moves differently. That is the essence of otherness: being defined by your differences rather than being seen as a whole person.

For Quinn, otherness isn’t just about using crutches. It is reflected in how people subtly alter their behavior around her, often without realizing it. The waiter, for instance, speaks more slowly, assuming she needs extra time to understand. A stranger hurries to open the door, assuming she can’t manage it herself. While these small acts are usually intended as kindness, they serve as a reminder of the gap between Quinn’s experience and that of others. It’s not the help itself that stings, but the assumptions behind it—assumptions about what Quinn can or cannot do.

The Impact of Social Norms on “Otherness”

A key aspect of Quinn’s experience is how society shapes the idea of “normal.” Public spaces, workplaces, and social settings are typically designed for people without disabilities. Accessibility features like ramps and automatic doors can often feel like add-ons rather than essential parts of the design. When accessibility isn’t seamlessly included, it sends a clear, though unspoken, message to people with disabilities like Quinn: “This space wasn’t designed with you in mind.”

Quinn’s trips to the grocery store often bring these challenges into focus. She navigates the aisles with ease, but when she reaches the checkout, the counters are too high. The card reader, just out of reach, forces her into an awkward stretch. While these tasks are not impossible, they serve as regular reminders that the space wasn’t designed to accommodate a wide range of physical needs. Over time, these seemingly minor inconveniences accumulate, reinforcing the reality that the world isn’t built with people with disabilities in mind as it is for others (Shakespeare, 2006).

This disconnect is further compounded by social interactions that are influenced by non-verbal cues, such as body language and facial expressions. In the context of disability, these cues can create implicit expectations about how people with disabilities should be treated, often accentuating their differences. For example, Quinn frequently encounters well-meaning strangers who offer help without first asking if she needs it.

While these gestures are intended to be supportive, they can unintentionally emphasize the separation between her and those offering assistance. Research indicates that actions like speaking slowly, or praising someone for everyday tasks can inadvertently reinforce the perception that people with disabilities are fragile or incapable (Campbell, 2009).

Design and the Role of Accessibility

This sense of otherness is not limited to personal interactions; it extends into the very design of public spaces. Despite progress toward greater accessibility, accommodations can often feel like an afterthought. Spaces that are not designed with different needs and abilities in mind send an implicit message that certain people don’t fully belong.

For instance, Quinn loves visiting her favorite restaurant, but each time, she faces the same challenges. The tables are placed too close together, making it difficult to navigate, and the bathroom, while technically accessible, has a door so heavy that opening it is a struggle. These design choices—though not intentionally exclusionary—speak volumes. When spaces fail to accommodate diverse needs, individuals with disabilities may feel as though the environment is not intended for their participation (Shakespeare, 2006).

Breaking Down the Barriers of Otherness

When environments fail to meet the needs of all individuals, people with disabilities can feel excluded or unwelcome (Shakespeare, 2006). To address this, it is important to shift how disability is perceived. Rather than viewing it as a deviation from the norm, disability should be recognized as a natural variation in human ability.

Language and behavior play a crucial role in dismantling the notion of “otherness.” Instead of making assumptions about Quinn’s abilities or needs, the better approach is to ask her directly. Her crutches should not define her; they are simply a tool. What matters is her individuality, shaped by her unique qualities, experiences, and insights.

Breaking down the barriers of otherness requires more than physical accommodations; it begins with changing how disability is understood. Quinn’s story shows how small behaviors and design choices can unintentionally make people feel excluded. True inclusion goes beyond ramps and accessible bathrooms.

Small, meaningful changes in language and behavior can challenge the assumptions that create a sense of otherness. Instead of defining Quinn by her crutches, simply asking her about her needs, rather than making silent assumptions, makes a big difference. It acknowledges her as a person first, not just as someone with a disability.

These small changes don’t require big gestures, but they deeply affect how welcoming and inclusive a space feels. When people are truly seen, without limiting assumptions, the weight of being different fades. Spaces open up—not just physically, but emotionally and socially. This way, everyone can feel valued, accepted, and like they genuinely belong.

References

• Campbell, F. K. (2009). Contours of ableism: The production of disability and abledness. Palgrave Macmillan.
• Garland-Thomson, R. (2005). Disability and representation. PMLA, 120(2), 578-580.
• Shakespeare, T. (2006). Disability rights and wrongs. Routledge.

Inclusion for women with disabilities is often discussed but still feels more like an aspiration than a present reality. Policies may be in place, but they often fail to address the day-to-day challenges women with disabilities face from systems and environments that can overlook their specific needs.

Women with disabilities live at the intersection of two sets of barriers—those related to their disabilities and those shaped by gender inequality. In areas like healthcare, education, employment, and safety, they face obstacles that have long been ignored or inadequately addressed. Current statistics make this clear: the disparities are significant, and the need for targeted solutions is critical.

Key Statistics on Women with Disabilities

Globally, women with disabilities represent approximately 20% of all women, yet their needs are often not fully addressed (UN Women, 2021). In the U.S., over 36 million women live with disabilities, including mobility impairments and chronic illnesses (CDC, 2020). Despite their significant numbers, the unique challenges they face are frequently not included in broader discussions and policy considerations.

The lack of comprehensive attention to the needs of women with disabilities can contribute to ongoing disparities in access and opportunities. A more inclusive approach that acknowledges the specific experiences of women with disabilities is essential for developing more effective policies and fostering more equitable environments.

Education and Employment Barriers

Education is key to personal growth and financial independence, but for women with disabilities, accessing it comes with serious challenges. From lack of support systems to inadequate school accommodations, the obstacles are deeply rooted.

As a result, women with disabilities are three times more likely to have lower literacy rates compared to men without disabilities (UN Women, 2021). This gap affects their advancement in both the social sphere, where they face fewer opportunities for community engagement and building networks, and the economic sphere, where it hampers their job prospects, financial stability, and overall economic independence.

Women with disabilities experience unemployment rates nearly twice as high as their male counterparts (CDC, 2020). They often encounter workplaces that fall short in providing necessary accommodations or equitable opportunities. As a result, a significant gap persists between their potential and the opportunities offered to them.

Social perceptions of both gender and disability often compound these challenges, reinforcing harmful stereotypes. These limiting views not only affect access to education and employment but also restrict their participation in leadership and decision-making roles. The result is a persistent cycle of exclusion that keeps women with disabilities from reaching their full potential.

Health and Safety: Systemic Vulnerabilities

Women with disabilities also face persistent challenges in healthcare. According to the CDC in 2020, they are three times more likely than men without disabilities to have unmet medical needs (CDC, 2020). This is frequently due to healthcare facilities being inaccessible and a lack of awareness among providers. These gaps not only increase health risks but also limit their ability to live independently.

In addition to healthcare barriers, women with disabilities are disproportionately affected by violence. They are two to three times more likely to experience abuse, whether from domestic partners or caregivers (UN Women, 2021).

This heightened vulnerability is exacerbated by increased isolation, which complicates their access to support and safety nets. Addressing these systemic vulnerabilities is crucial for enhancing their health, safety, and overall well-being.

Representation in Leadership: Missing Voices

The under-representation of women with disabilities in leadership roles further exacerbates these issues. Women with disabilities remain largely absent from leadership positions. Only 2.3% hold leadership roles in legislatures or organizations (UN Women, 2021). Their limited presence in decision-making spaces can result in policies that do not fully address their needs. This under-representation perpetuates the cycle of exclusion and maintains existing barriers. Without their participation, achieving meaningful change is challenging.

A Call to Action: Moving Toward True Inclusion

The barriers that women with disabilities encounter are well documented, but they are not insurmountable. True inclusion requires more than policy discussions; it requires tangible actions that break down the obstacles. This includes improving access to education, employment, healthcare, and leadership opportunities for women with disabilities.

To make progress, we need to ensure that the voices of women with disabilities are heard. By including them in discussions that affect their lives and addressing the barriers they face, we can work toward a future where women with disabilities have the same opportunities as everyone else.

References

• Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. (2020). Disability and health data for women with disabilities. https://www.cdc.gov/ncbddd/disabilityandhealth/women.html
• Pew Research Center. (2023). 8 facts about Americans with disabilities. https://www.pewresearch.org/fact-tank/2023/07/14/for-disability-pride-month-8-facts-about-americans-with-disabilities/
• UN Women. (2021). Facts and figures: Women and girls with disabilities. https://www.unwomen.org/en/what-we-do/ending-violence-against-women/facts-and-figures

Inclusion is a powerful and often misunderstood concept, especially when it pertains to people with disabilities. Many believe inclusion simply means bringing individuals into public spaces or fulfilling diversity quotas. However, true inclusion is much more profound—it’s about creating environments where everyone, regardless of ability, can participate. Too often, well-meaning but incomplete practices get in the way of this vision. To truly understand inclusion, we must first explore what it is not.

Proximity Isn’t Participation

One of the most persistent misconceptions about inclusion is that physical proximity automatically leads to participation. Take, for example, students with disabilities placed in general education classrooms. At first glance, this may seem inclusive, but if no additional support or adaptation is provided, proximity becomes nothing more than a superficial fix (Lindsay, 2007). Simply being present doesn’t equate to being involved.

In many schools, mainstreaming is implemented, where students with disabilities are placed alongside people without disabilities. The problem arises when there is no thoughtful effort to foster meaningful engagement. Physical presence without social or academic interaction leaves students isolated, and feeling invisible, despite being in the same room (Lindsay, 2007). True inclusion requires more—adaptations, peer interactions, and individualized support—to ensure every student is not only present but included.

Tokenism Isn’t Inclusion

Another harmful practice is mistaking tokenism for inclusion. This happens when people with disabilities are given symbolic roles in events or organizations, primarily to showcase diversity, rather than ensuring their voices are truly heard (Goodley, 2014). Often, these individuals are present in name only, their opinions sidelined or ignored. Tokenism may satisfy surface-level optics, but it fails to empower or include in any meaningful way.

Tokenism diminishes the contributions of people with disabilities by reinforcing harmful stereotypes and maintaining power imbalances. In contrast, true inclusion fosters meaningful engagement, values the input of people with disabilities, and recognizes their role in decision-making as crucial, not just optional (Goodley, 2014).

Segregation Isn’t Support

The idea of “separate but equal” has been debunked in many areas, yet it still appears in discussions about disability inclusion. While specialized programs offer needed support, they often come at a cost—isolating people with disabilities instead of including them in typical settings (Slee, 2011).

Inclusion should involve offering support within shared spaces, aiming to create environments where everyone can take part. While specialized services are important, they shouldn’t undermine social inclusion. Creating inclusive spaces helps reduce stigma and build a more empathetic, connected community (Slee, 2011).

One Size does not fit all

The principles of equality and fairness are often misunderstood, particularly in discussions about inclusion. Many people assume that treating everyone in the same way is the key to fairness, but this fails to account for the unique challenges individuals with disabilities face. As Tomlinson (2012) explains, fairness isn’t about offering uniform treatment to all. Instead, it involves recognizing and addressing each person’s specific needs to ensure that everyone has an equal chance to succeed.

For example, a person with cerebral palsy may need different accommodations than someone with a hearing impairment. Providing the same support for both wouldn’t enhance inclusion; it could actually create new barriers. True inclusion understands these individual differences and offers personalized support that empowers each person to thrive based on their own circumstances (Tomlinson, 2012).

Charity Isn’t Inclusion

The charity model, although often well-intentioned, tends to view people with disabilities primarily as recipients of help. It overlooks their role as active participants in society. The model assumes that individuals with disabilities are dependent on others, which can unintentionally foster a sense of helplessness. As a result, it reinforces the idea that they hold a subordinate position. Even when driven by kindness, this mindset can create a barrier to genuine inclusion.

In reality, inclusion means recognizing that people with disabilities are capable, independent, and have a right to participate in society. It is not about just giving them help; it’s about creating opportunities where they can thrive, be empowered, and contribute in meaningful ways, shifting the focus from dependence to independence (Barnes & Mercer, 2010).

Moving Toward True Inclusion

Inclusion is not about ticking boxes or assuming that physical presence is enough. It’s about reimagining spaces, relationships, and systems to genuinely embrace people with disabilities. True inclusion requires ongoing effort, meaningful action, and most importantly, listening to those who experience disability every day.

The journey toward true inclusion is continuous, requiring constant reflection and the willingness to challenge assumptions. By moving beyond these common myths, we can work toward a more equitable society, where inclusion is not just an idea but a lived reality for everyone.

References

• Barnes, C., & Mercer, G. (2010). Exploring disability: A sociological introduction. Polity.
• Goodley, D. (2014). Dis/ability studies: Theorising disablism and ableism. Routledge.
• Lindsay, G. (2007). Educational psychology and the effectiveness of inclusive education/mainstreaming. British Journal of Educational Psychology, 77(1), 1-24. https://doi.org/10.1348/000709906X156881
• Slee, R. (2011). The irregular school: Exclusion, schooling and inclusive education. Routledge.
• Tomlinson, S. (2012). A sociology of special and inclusive education: Exploring the manufacture of inability. Routledge.