Stuck Outside the Gate: The Hidden Costs of Inaccessible Engagement
My Unintentional Exclusion from an NHS Event - And What We Can All Learn About True Inclusion
Oh, the irony! As I sit here tapping away, sipping a lukewarm herbal tea, I should have been buzzing with the energy of an NHS engagement event. An event I was genuinely excited about, one where my lived experience as a military spouse and my research insights into healthcare could truly contribute. It was all about a fantastic new NHS-MoD medical centre, the kind of innovative space that promises so much for our community, and my GP surgery was even moving into it.
But instead, here I am. At home. Not by choice, mind you, but because the path to participation turned into an obstacle course, barrier after barrier, until I simply couldn't get through.
Frustrating? Absolutely. But more than that, it’s a stark, real-life example of what exclusion looks like in practice. It’s often unintentional, a by-product of systems not designed with everyone in mind, but the impact? No less significant. So, I want to walk you through what happened. Not to point fingers or name names, that’s not my style. Instead, I want to share some vital lessons for anyone passionate about engagement, accessibility, and truly inclusive practice. Think of this as a storytelling session, a chance to learn together.
The First Hurdle: Booking - If You Can Even Find the Starting Line
The initial spark of excitement ignited when I saw the event advertised for military spouses like me. "Yes!" I thought, "This is it!" But then, the first whisper of a problem. The promotion was an image-only post. No alt text, no text version of the link, no image description. Just a QR code, floating in the digital ether.
I had to ask my partner to literally photograph my phone screen so I could scan the QR code on his phone. Imagine that! I was lucky he wasn't deployed, lucky I wasn't home alone. For many, that initial hurdle would have been the end of their journey right there. This workaround might seem small, a minor inconvenience. But for countless disabled people, this is a daily reality, a constant dance of finding creative, often exhausting, ways around barriers that simply don't need to exist. For others, this registration hurdle, this extra mental load, may have been one decision too many in an already full day.
When I finally, landed on the registration page, what did I find? No space to request accessibility adjustments. Not a tick box, not a free text field. Nothing. So, I awkwardly copied the contact email from the original image and sent a manual request for a BSL interpreter.
That's not just clunky, my friends. That's exclusionary by design. How many others did not sign up, because there were too many obstacles at the starting line?
The Waiting Game: Delayed Replies and Last-Minute Scrambles
I get it. Events are often organised under immense time pressure. We've all been there, juggling multiple plates. But accessibility planning? That absolutely cannot be an afterthought. My access request sat unacknowledged for over a week. A whole week! This delay chewed away at any chance of arranging suitable support well in advance. I assumed, perhaps charitably, that the person was on a half-term holiday break.
Eventually, an offer came: a remote interpreter. Better than nothing, yes, but my mind immediately raced. How would that even work in a large, in-person group? Would they be able to hear and relay every speaker, every question, every nuanced interaction? Was there a clear strategy to support smooth communication?
Answers? They never arrived in a timely manner, and when access solutions feel uncertain, when you're left guessing how you'll truly participate, confidence plummets.
Stuck in the Past: The Outdated Technology Trap
A loop system was mentioned as an alternative. Now, even if a loop system and lip-reading could miraculously work in a large group setting (a big "if"), here's the kicker: many hearing aid users today, myself included, rely on Bluetooth-compatible aids. Loop systems are, for many, a technology of yesterday. And guess what? I've been told this newly built NHS facility is being designed with loop systems. My hearing aids, perfectly equipped with programmes for my previous NHS post, simply have no space to add a programme for the rare, antiquated, often untested, and broken loop systems that might be used.
If our brand-new buildings are already outdated in terms of accessibility, it means that disabled and Deaf people aren't just being left behind in the past. We're being actively excluded from the future.
The Voucher Problem: When "Good Intentions" Miss the Mark
When I tentatively suggested a local interpreter might be available, the response was… a voucher for their time. A voucher. Now, that might sound like a kind gesture, a nod towards good faith. But let me tell you, it was miles away from good practice. I was later informed the NHS Engagement Team assumed I was inviting a friend. They clearly didn't grasp how fiercely I champion engagement, professionalism, and codes of conduct amongst NHS professionals. That includes not expecting family and friends to be used as interpreters.
Interpreters are professionals. They are specialists who deserve to be booked, briefed, and paid properly, just like any other contractor the NHS would work with. A voucher doesn't recognise that. And if this interpreter wasn't registered with their agency because of the specific location of the NHS body, that contractual issue was their problem to solve, not mine.
Separate, Not Equal: The Isolation of "Special" Treatment
The interpreter issue, being scrambled together with less than a week to go, proved to be an insurmountable barrier. So, what was the solution? I was eventually offered a separate session to share my feedback. On my own. After the event.
While perhaps well-intended, this creates separation, not inclusion. Engagement isn't just about hearing from people; it's about bringing people into a shared space where they can hear from each other, where ideas spark and connections are made. As a military spouse, feeling that my experience is shared by others, that we are a collective voice, is particularly important. Being invited to speak in isolation only deepens the sense of exclusion. It’s like being told, "We want your voice, but not with everyone else."
The Final Hurdle: Getting through the Gate - Literally
The last email I received held one final, almost comical, barrier. VIPs, it stated, could drive directly to the gate. Everyone else was told to park elsewhere, including over a mile away, and call a number for entry.
But what if you can’t call? No alternative was offered. No mention of accessible parking, either.
Even if I had somehow navigated every single previous barrier, I might still have been stuck. Just outside the gate. My contribution, my voice, my lived experience, all trapped, quite literally, at the doorstep, or in military terms; outside of the wire: 'no entry here'.
Lessons for Truly Inclusive Engagement: Let's Build Better Together
If this is your first foray into organising inclusive engagement, please don't be discouraged. Mistakes happen. We're all on a learning curve. What truly matters is our willingness to learn from them and to commit to building better, more equitable systems.
Here are some clear, actionable steps to start with. Think of these as building blocks for a future where everyone feels genuinely welcome:
- Make Booking Universally Accessible: This is foundational. Use alt text, image descriptions, and always repeat key information in plain text. And crucially, include a simple, clear field for access requests right there on your registration forms. Don't make people hunt for it!
- Plan for Absence, Always: Life happens, holidays happen. Have a backup person, a clear chain of command, for responding to access requests. Access shouldn't pause just because someone is on annual leave.
- Avoid Segregated Solutions: Offering someone a separate session might seem like a solution, but it can feel incredibly isolating. True inclusion means being part of the main event, sharing the same space, the same air, the same experience.
- Update Your Technology (Seriously!): Accessibility technology evolves rapidly. Ensure your buildings, your systems, and your event tech reflect the needs of today, not just yesterday. Let's not build the future with outdated blueprints.
- Cover the True Costs of Access: Professionals deserve to be paid fairly for their expertise. Avoid asking attendees to arrange or subsidise their own access. That's a burden that should never fall on the individual.
- Start from the Edges: When designing your engagement, start with the people who are most often excluded. Build your approach around their needs first, then expand it for the majority. This is true universal design.
Final Thought: The Burden Shouldn’t Always Fall on Us
I'm not writing this from a place of anger. My heart is in this, truly. I believe passionately in engagement. I believe in professionals who care deeply and genuinely want to get things right. And I believe that most exclusion isn't born from malice; it's born from systems and practices that simply weren't built with us, disabled and Deaf people, in mind.
But here's the uncomfortable truth: good intentions alone don't make events inclusive.
Engagement doesn’t count if people can’t access it, and asking disabled or Deaf people to repeatedly point this out, unpaid, unsupported, and after the fact, only adds to an already heavy burden. We are not free consultants for accessibility.
If you’re serious about inclusion, start early. Build in access from the very beginning, bake it into the very fabric of your plans. Value lived experience not just as insightful anecdotes, but as profound expertise that deserves to be welcomed, resourced, and truly, genuinely included. Let's build a world where everyone can walk, roll, or sign their way to the table.
#coproduction #engagement #deaf #disability #inclusion