National Accessibility Week 2026

We are here today to raise a flag celebrating National Accessibility Week—an act meant to symbolize visibility, recognition, and a commitment to: accessibility, inclusion for people with disabilities, and a barrier free Canada.

Today, as we raise this flag, I want to bring attention to something that is often invisible, often misunderstood, and too often treated as though it belongs to “someone else.”

Accessibility and inclusion.

For a long time, many of us have been taught—directly or indirectly—to think about disability as something that affects a small group of people. We picture very specific images of support needs: a wheelchair, a cane, perhaps a service animal. We imagine specialized services for a limited few that we can validate upon sight.

But that is NOT the whole picture.

Because disability is not a small, separate category of people.

Disability is part of the human experience.

In Canada today, nearly 1 in 4 people—about 8 million individuals—live with a disability. That number has been rising, and it will continue to rise. Among seniors, it’s over 40%. Among youth, it’s growing rapidly, especially in mental health. And perhaps most importantly, around 80% of disabilities are invisible.

That means most of the time, we cannot see disability.

It might be chronic pain.
It might be anxiety or depression.
It might be a learning disability or ADHD.
It might be hearing loss, trauma, or a cognitive difference.

It might be the person standing beside you right now.

And here’s the truth we don’t say often enough:

If you live long enough, disability will touch your life.

Through aging.
Through injury.
Through illness.
Through the natural changes that come with being human.

Accessibility, then, is not about “helping others.”

It is about designing a world that works for all of us—across the full span of our lives.

Because our abilities are not fixed.

They change. They shift. They evolve.

And yet, our systems: workplaces, schools, and public spaces—have often been built as if there is only one “normal” way to move, to think, to communicate, to learn, to participate and to belong.

When someone doesn’t fit that narrow definition, we don’t question the system.

We question the person.

We ask them to adapt.
To disclose.
To prove.
To overcome.

But what if we flipped that mindset?

What if accessibility wasn’t something we added on after the fact?

What if it was where we started?

Because when we design with accessibility in mind, something powerful happens.

We don’t just support people with disabilities—we improve experiences for everyone.

Think about captions on videos: originally designed for people who are Deaf or hard of hearing.

Now captions are used:

By people in noisy environments.
By people learning a new language or
By anyone who wants to better understand or retain information.

Everyone knows about curb cuts on sidewalks: designed initially for wheelchair users.

Now used by parents with strollers.
Travellers with luggage and overburdened shoppers.
Delivery workers and even cyclists.

What about Audiobooks? Originally designed for blind and low vision readers, but now enjoyed by everyone:

who is busy multitasking,

who processes information better by hearing,

and who want to learn but cannot read well.

Accessibility is not a niche solution.

It is a universal design that includes everyone.

We have all heard these well-worn examples. We know the benefits for both ourselves as individuals and the communities we live in.

And yet, despite this, barriers remain everywhere.

Over 70% of people with disabilities report encountering barriers in their daily lives—not just physical barriers, but attitudinal ones.

Assumptions.
Misconceptions.
Bias.

In fact, about 37% of people with disabilities experience barriers rooted in misunderstanding or lack of awareness.

Let’s unpack an important assumption: that barriers are experienced equally by people with disabilities. When we talk about accessibility, we must also talk about equity, because barriers are not experienced equally.

Data from Ontario schools show that Black and Indigenous students face disproportionate streaming, discipline, and exclusion in schools, specifically related to their “perceived” abilities. They are under-identified as gifted and overrepresented in certain special education categories—not because of differences in their abilities, but because of systemic bias. Instead of being accommodated for their disabilities, these students are often penalized for their behaviour.

This is what happens when ableism intersects with racism.

 

When systems decide—often unconsciously—who is seen as capable, who is supported, and who is left behind.

Accessibility is not just about ramps and technology.

It is about fairness.
It is about dignity.
It is about who gets to belong.

And belonging is not something we should have to earn. It should be the starting point.

We also need to recognize that accessibility is deeply connected to something many of us don’t immediately think about: literacy and communication.

In Canada, nearly half of adults—48%—struggle with everyday reading and comprehension tasks.

That means complex forms, dense policies, unclear instructions—these aren’t just inconvenient.

They are barriers.

Barriers to education, to employment and even to healthcare.

When we make communication clear, simple, and accessible, we are not lowering standards.

We are removing unnecessary obstacles to participation.

We are opening doors to communication.

So today, as we raise this flag, I invite all of us to shift how we think about barriers and accessibility.

To move away from the idea that accessibility is about “them” — a small group of others with specialized access needs

And toward a new understanding:

that accessibility is about all of us and our diverse minds and bodies.

It is about our families.
Our colleagues.
Our communities.
Our future selves.

To remove barriers, we need to think about creating environments where people do not have to fight to be included.

Which means designing our businesses, institutions, and public spaces for the maximum variety of use cases.

Where difference is expected, not accommodated as an exception.

Where asking for support is not seen as a weakness, but as a normal part of being human.

Because inclusion is not an initiative.

It is not a checklist. It is a way of thinking.
A way of designing.
A way of leading.
A way of treating one another.

This doesn’t have to be a radical idea with sweeping change, in fact small everyday choices can lead to a big difference.

Let’s start with some simple questions:

Do we make space for different ways of communicating?

Do we assume competence?

Do we listen when someone tells us what they need?

Do we design meetings, classrooms, and workplaces that are flexible and responsive?

Do we challenge our own assumptions about what people can and cannot do?

This is the work of inclusion.

And it belongs to all of us.

A flag-raising ceremony is symbolic.

But symbols matter—because they remind us of our commitments. As this flag rises, let it represent more than mere awareness.

Let it represent action.

Let it remind us that accessibility is not a favour. It is a human right.

Let it challenge us to build systems that don’t just include people when it’s convenient, but include them by design.

And let it ground us in this simple but powerful truth:

Disability is not a small, separate group.

It is part of the human experience.

And when we design for that reality, we create a world that is more just, more compassionate, and more usable—for everyone.

Thank you.