This is from the 2024-25 edition of the Knowledge Forum.
Working in a university disability support office has been an eye-opening experience, but it has also been a deeply frustrating one. Despite my best efforts to advocate for students and provide them with the accommodations they need, I’ve repeatedly found myself up against a system that is not only under-resourced but actively resistant to meaningful change. From the constant struggle to get faculty and administration to take disability rights seriously to the overwhelming bureaucratic red tape that makes even the simplest requests feel like monumental tasks, the daily reality of this work has become a battle.
These are just symptoms of a larger problem: the disconnect between the institution’s lack of support for long-term structural issues and the constant pressure put on diversity and disability workers to push through despite limited resources. These workers are often forced to comply with systems that don’t address the real problems, perpetuating them without meaningful change. As many accessibility professionals will tell you, students with disabilities are particularly vulnerable to this system’s failures. They are left trying to navigate a maze of paperwork and unclear rules, where help is often nonexistent.
While universities have rigid, hierarchical systems where those in power decide what concerns are worth addressing, this often dismisses the voices of those who are impacted. Airing grievances becomes a tool of resistance for those who feel unheard—especially in cases of systemic failure. It can be an act of resistance, helping to bring attention to problems that would otherwise be ignored.
Moreover, open and honest communication is vital. Staff working in accessibility services are often blamed for issues that stem from more extensive systemic failures. The frustrations of students, faculty, and staff are usually directed at them, even when the root causes lie elsewhere. Collaboration and open communication are needed to truly address these problems. Recognizing patterns and sharing responsibility can help tackle these issues more effectively rather than placing blame on individuals. It’s time for the institution to stop ignoring the real structural problems and start addressing them head-on.
Below is a personal reflection on this systemic ableism—an email sent to university administrators after I decided to move on professionally from a previous employer:
To say that I am tired would be an understatement. This school’s systemic discrimination against students with disabilities is beyond frustrating. How the school has not found itself before a human rights tribunal is beyond me. Except it’s not. My office has worked relentlessly, often weekly, to prevent student complaints from escalating to that point.
I have been told time and time again to stay in my lane, not make waves, and to play nice. As an ally, this reeks of ableism, and that’s a problem.
When research (Brown et al., 2020) concludes that the average caseload a disability specialist carries is 133 students; however, the numbers are realistically upwards of 250 students, that’s a problem.
When the average annual budget of a Disability Service office is less than one-sixth of the average salary of a varsity football coach (Dolmage, 2017), that’s a problem.
When courses are not accessible, and we make it seem like it’s the student's fault, that’s a problem.
When you have instructors who blatantly disregard accommodation letters and don’t bother to open them, much less read them, that’s a problem.
When you work in silos, and you don’t think about how your actions will affect students and other departments, that’s a problem.
When you must tell instructors that calling students out based on their disability in front of the whole class is not ok, that’s a problem.
When you keep calling disability in higher education “special education”, that’s a problem.
When there are rumblings of university executives who don’t believe in the Accessibility for Ontarians with Disabilities Act (AODA), that’s a problem.
When you face pushback from instructors and higher-ups who are unwilling to make necessary accommodations or who fail to understand the legal and ethical responsibilities to support students with disabilities because they believe students are faking their accessibility needs, that’s a problem.
When students are afraid to disclose their non-apparent disability because faculty are generally more accepting of visible disabilities and tend to question the legitimacy of non-apparent disabilities like mental health or learning challenges because they deem them harder to detect (Carroll et al., 2020), that’s a problem.
When you must remind staff that conversations around a student's accessibility needs are confidential, that’s a problem.
When you have instructors chatting secretly behind a student's back to their peers regarding their disability, again, a problem.
When students are too afraid to talk to their instructors because of their hurtful comments about disabilities—such as claiming people with disabilities aren’t employable, that’s a problem.
When the director of field training needs to be warned that it is their duty to support students with disabilities and be their ally, that's a problem.
I bet you're worn out just reading that. Now, picture dealing with it every day in your work environment.
The biggest issue is that these actions have no consequences—bad behaviour keeps getting rewarded, and no one is held accountable. This creates a toxic, unsafe learning environment. While we work with students with disabilities, this often means that environmental barriers prevent full participation. Disability is as much about the environment as it is about something you’re born with or acquire.
We ask students to sign accommodation letters as contracts, ensuring they understand and agree to the terms. When they breach it, the school is quick to point it out, but when the school is called out, we retaliate or label the student as difficult.
Do you see the problem?
These aren’t just isolated issues—they’re glaring barriers that show precisely how broken your system is and why it needs to change now.
Do better.
References
Brown, K. R., Wilke, A. K., & Pena, M. (2020). Persuasive metrics: Caseload benchmarking and data-drive tools for budgetary advocacy. Journal of Postsecondary Education and Disability, 33(3), 291-300.
Carroll, J. M., Pattison, E., Muller, C., & Sutton, A. (2020). Barriers to bachelor’s degree completion among college students with a disability. Sociological Perspectives, 63(5), 809–832. https://www.jstor.org/stable/26968022
Dolmage, T. J. (2017). Academic ableism: Disability and Higher Education. University of Michigan Press.
Aleksandra Vojnov (Aleks) is a dynamic practitioner-scholar with a decade in post-secondary accommodation and accessibility support. Having just completed the first year of their PhD program, they bring a unique blend of hands-on experience and academic insight to the field of disability services. With career-spanning roles as an assistive technologist, accessibility and accommodation specialist, unit manager, research and teaching assistant, Aleks has empowered both undergraduate and graduate students, ensuring they thrive throughout their university journey—including during critical professional placements. As a passionate advocate for equitable education, Aleks continues to bridge the gap between practical support and scholarly research.