A Personal Reflection on Accessibility and Respect
This past weekend, I had the opportunity to attend a truly special event, something that felt monumental and meaningful. I was genuinely honored to be invited, and I want to start by saying how grateful I was to witness it. Moments like those are rare and deserve to be cherished. That said, I want to talk about something that left a sour taste in an otherwise beautiful experience: the way accessibility, and basic respect, was handled.
To be clear, I understand that issues happen. I was informed that the event organizers were hacked, and as a result, the original link was not sent out in the typical way. While that’s an unfortunate situation, let’s be honest, replacing a Zoom link is not impossible. There are always ways to securely share new access information.
What was most disappointing to me wasn’t the tech hiccup, it was how the situation was handled in regard to accessibility. As someone who is blind, I rely on screen readers and accessible design to navigate the digital world. Clicking a Zoom link is something I can do independently. Typing in long meeting IDs and passcodes? Not so much. I was lucky that I had someone nearby who could help me input the information, or else I would have missed the entire event.
Afterward, I sent a polite and heartfelt message of thanks for the opportunity to attend. I also added a small note, just a kind suggestion to consider accessibility when planning future events. I pointed out that inclusive spaces need to actually be inclusive, and that something as simple as sending a clickable link can make a world of difference for someone with a disability.
Unfortunately, what I received in response was not openness or appreciation, but hostility. The message I got back was rude and dismissive. It made me feel unheard, unvalued, and, quite frankly, unwelcome.
And that’s the hardest part. I want to show up in spaces that are welcoming and inclusive, not just in name, but in action. Spaces that acknowledge that people with impairments exist, and that being inclusive means considering our needs without defensiveness or disdain. The response I received made it abundantly clear that my presence, and my perspective, weren’t truly welcome.
So, I’ve made the difficult decision not to return to future events by that group or organization. I won’t force myself into spaces that only claim inclusivity while actively excluding people like me through their actions (and reactions).
This isn’t just about me. It is about the many people with disabilities who are constantly expected to “figure it out” while others make no effort to meet us halfway. True inclusivity requires more than just a mission statement, it requires empathy, adaptability, and a willingness to listen when someone says, This doesn’t work for me.
To anyone planning events, online or in person. Please think about accessibility. Please consider what it means to be truly inclusive. And most of all, if someone offers feedback with grace and gratitude, don’t respond with hostility. Respond with humanity. We all deserve to feel welcome.