When the Americans with Disabilities Act was passed 25 years ago, it was intended to usher in a new age of accessibility. It promised recourse from discrimination in employment, transportation and communication---in other words, greater access to the physical world. Since then, the world has evolved in radical ways---physical boundaries have come down as our lives have transitioned by varying degrees to online spaces. It is almost impossible to imagine our daily routines without the use of personal technology. For people with disabilities like myself, technology has opened new doors in ways the historic legislation never could have conceived.
As a person with autism and apraxia---a condition that leads me to have great difficulty with planning and organizing everything from moving my mouth when I speak to the steps needed to wash my hands---I rely upon personal technology for many things. A device that translates my typed words into a voice is my link to the world. And the rise of social media and online classrooms has expanded my networks and ability to participate in activities once closed to me.
But often these are positive outcomes of technology made for the masses rather than benefits baked into the design. And as technology is iterated, I can already see ways in which it has and will continue to create new barriers unless its creators consider a more universal approach. Handheld devices are of little use to someone who can’t use her hands. Apps like Google Maps, Instagram, Snapchat, Vine, Pinterest, and scores more don’t benefit the visually impaired.
For me, every step forward in making things lighter and smaller is a new obstacle. Often, the buttons I need to hit are too small, the screen too sensitive, or the glare off the screen too distracting to allow me to make use of my device. Updates to operating systems or apps that create slight changes to the size and position of buttons throw me off for days. While these changes might go unnoticed by a typical user, I endure a relearning process that slows me down and makes it more difficult to communicate.
It doesn’t have to be this way. There are a growing number of institutions, organizations and companies committed to spurring design for those living with disabilities. A great example is a tech challenge co-hosted by New York University’s Ability Lab and AT&T. They are offering $100,000 to developers worldwide to create apps, wearables and other tech that address daily challenges faced by those with disabilities.
Last month, I attended a hackathon where more than 100 developers showed up for the weekend with the goal of creating tech for people with challenges similar to my own. A group of us had the chance to talk to them about the struggles we face so design can better fit the actual need. Winners included an app that uses image recognition technology to quickly describe images on Twitter and other social media and a bio-sensing system that can predict and prevent anxiety attacks. As someone who occasionally suffers from acute anxiety, such technology could be life-changing. I’m excited to see what comes next.
Make no mistake. Technology is playing an important role in fulfilling the equity promise that began with the passage of the Americans with Disabilities Act 25 years ago. But we also want to ensure these advances continue to open up access to the disability community and don’t create new barriers to our participation in society. By designing from a place of empathy, with an eye on accessibility and universal design, developers have the power to improve and enhance the lives of millions of people like me.
