A Systems-Thinking Approach to Digital Accessibility as a Human Right in Higher Education
Introduction
The expansion of digital platforms for accessing public services has made equal digital access a practical and ethical necessity. In response, the 2024 ADA Title II Web and Mobile Application Accessibility Rule mandates that state and local governments—as well as businesses and organizations that either do business with or receive funding from the federal government—comply with WCAG 2.1 Level AA standards for websites and mobile applications. Public and private universities, which are governed by states or receive federal funds, fall under the scope of this rule. However, the specific obligations for educational institutions remain unclear, given the distinctive roles, functions, and complexities of research and teaching environments. Nonetheless, many universities have launched Digital Accessibility Initiatives (DAI) to demonstrate progress toward compliance, often prioritizing surface-level technical adjustments rather than substantive inclusion.
This essay argues that digital accessibility is not merely a technical or administrative requirement, but a fundamental human-rights obligation rooted in dignity and equitable participation. Drawing on principles of systems thinking, the essay examines how isolated, metrics-driven interventions can mislead students, burden faculty, and undermine the ethical purpose of accessibility policy. The analysis proposes a more holistic and transparent model—one in which universities acknowledge discipline-specific limitations, use nuanced course-tagging practices, and commit to pedagogically equivalent alternatives that foster genuine inclusion. The essay stresses the need to distinguish between compliance-oriented measures and true accessibility interventions, which require significant institutional investment and systemic coordination far beyond superficial technical tweaks.
The Pitfalls of Compliance-Driven Academic Practices
Digital accessibility initiatives have multiplied across universities, government agencies, and private institutions in response to the ADA reforms. The new Title II rule, issued by the Department of Justice in April 2024, updates existing regulations to ensure full digital access to public services. Public universities must comply by April 24, 2026. Yet beyond legal obligations, these institutions bear a moral responsibility: ensuring that disabled students can access educational content on equal terms is central to dignity, participation, and the right to learn.
However, many institutions are interpreting DAI through a narrow compliance lens. When initiatives are implemented in isolation from the broader academic ecosystem—pedagogy, technology, classroom practices, and student support—they can inadvertently cause harm. A comparable pattern occurred with some Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion (DEI) initiatives, where conceptually weak programs invited political backlash and undermined the credibility of the underlying principles. Digital accessibility risks a similar fate if institutions rely on checklists and software-generated scores rather than a coordinated, systems-oriented design.
A guiding principle from consumer protection—“truth in advertising”—is particularly relevant here. As institutions race to present themselves as leaders in accessibility, some have begun to claim that their curricula are “DAI compliant” or “fully accessible.” Such claims, when unqualified, are misleading and potentially harmful. Large research universities offer thousands of courses across diverse disciplines, many of which rely on inherently complex visual materials—scientific diagrams, historical manuscripts, layered graphs, medical imaging, or artistic composition. Simple adjustments such as adding alternative text or captions may improve accessibility but cannot replicate the cognitive and experiential dimensions of such materials.
The limitations of metric-driven accessibility approaches become especially clear when examined through practical instructional scenarios. In a general education course on the history of writing systems, I often use PowerPoint slides featuring Arabic script, manuscript fragments, and other paleographic materials. When these slides are uploaded into Microsoft Office programs, the software flags them as containing “accessibility issues.” The recommended fix prompts the addition of a heading and a brief alternative text description. Without altering the image itself—or addressing any substantive barrier—I added a description—few words in English. Instantly, the accessibility checker reported that the entire presentation was now accessible.
This classification is not merely imprecise; it is a dangerous illusion. While a blind student might now hear a generic description of an image, they still cannot access the content that makes the manuscript pedagogically meaningful: the structure and form of the letters, the historical context conveyed through script style, the interaction of ink and parchment, or the visual reasoning that underlies paleographic analysis. Achieving genuine accessibility—meaning cognitively equivalent insight—would require far more sophisticated interventions, such as tactile reproductions, expert descriptive transcription, or advanced AI tools capable of rendering visual information through nonvisual modalities.
Metric-based systems, however, are not intended to achieve genuine accessibility. They exist to satisfy procedural requirements and demonstrate compliance for regulatory purposes. The result is a system that rewards superficial modifications—placebo interventions—while leaving the core learning inequity intact. When a student is told that such materials are “accessible,” responsibility shifts unfairly to them, even though their access remains fundamentally limited.
The consequences extend beyond students. Faculty increasingly feel pressured to modify or remove pedagogically rich content, not because it is educationally unsound, but because it fails to align with the constraints of automated accessibility scoring tools. This pressure risks distorting academic judgment, incentivizing instructors to prioritize what the metric will “pass” rather than what the discipline requires. Over time, this erosion of pedagogical integrity undermines the quality of education for all students, not only those with disabilities.
A more principled approach requires investment in tools and technologies that genuinely enhance accessibility. Advances in artificial intelligence, multimodal rendering, tactile imaging, and specialized assistive technologies hold significant promise for making complex visual, auditory, or textual materials accessible across sensory modalities. However, many institutions—and, at times, government bodies—have shown reluctance to commit resources to such innovations. Instead, they shift responsibility onto faculty and academic staff who lack the training, time, and institutional support necessary to develop meaningful solutions. This cost-shifting transforms accessibility, an essential human right, into an unfunded mandate imposed on individuals rather than a collective institutional responsibility.
These practices underscore the need for truth, transparency, and systems thinking in the design and implementation of accessibility policies. Without these foundations, universities risk creating policies that appear equitable on paper but perpetuate inequity in practice. Students deserve more than the illusion of access; they deserve genuine pathways to participation, comprehension, and intellectual growth.
Meeting the Letter of the Law Without Sacrificing Its Spirit
Universities can achieve compliance and make real progress toward accessibility at the same time if administrative leaders prioritize transparency and safeguard the academic integrity essential to equitable education. The more transparent approach acknowledges that accessibility varies by discipline, modality, and individual need. Universities should avoid declaring universal compliance and instead adopt systems for tagging and flagging courses based on the nature of their content and the types of accommodation that might be necessary. Courses reliant on complex visual or auditory material may require adapted versions, specialized technologies, or alternative pathways to ensure meaningful participation. Such transparency respects students’ autonomy and supports human-rights norms of dignity and informed choice. It also situates accessibility within a broader institutional framework rather than reducing it to technical adjustments imposed at the course level.
Digital accessibility cannot be achieved through a one-size-fits-all metric and or boilerplate templates. It requires flexible, diverse, and systemically coordinated approaches that reflect the realities of varied academic content and the lived experiences of students. Institutions must be willing to state openly when full accessibility of certain content is not technically possible—while simultaneously committing to pedagogically equivalent alternatives that uphold students’ rights and learning outcomes. In matters of social justice, truth must supersede institutional optics. The path toward genuine accessibility begins with honest assessment, coordinated design, and meaningful investment. By moving beyond the illusion of accessibility, higher education might be to fulfill its commitments to equity, integrity, and justice in the digital age.