Accessibility, Inclusion, and Decolonization

Inclusion, to me, is not a department or a checkbox : it’s the quiet architecture beneath everything I design, write, or manage. It shapes how stories are told, who gets to tell them, and who finally feels seen when they listen. My work in this field unfolded along three intertwined paths: practice, voice, and reflection.

 

With Diversci, I joined a network of professionals determined to move beyond good intentions and into structural change. Together, we developed practical tools and shared resources for institutions that wanted to open their doors wider — not only in spirit, but in structure. It was a bottom-up effort, sometimes improvised, always sincere, built on the conviction that accessibility begins where theory ends: in the everyday details of how people are welcomed.

 

Through Minorités, I found another form of advocacy — the editorial one. Writing about identity, culture, and social justice for an international readership meant building bridges between realities that rarely meet. Each article was a conversation — with activists, with readers, with silence itself. It taught me how words can serve public good when they hold space for complexity instead of reducing it.

 

Finally, in “Race and Sociocultural Inclusion in Science Communication” (Bristol University Press, 2024), I explored the invisible scaffolding of “normalcy” — how museums and science centres, often unintentionally, reproduce colonial perspectives under the banner of neutrality. That chapter became both a critique and a reconciliation: an attempt to show that decolonizing communication is not about rewriting guilt, but about rewriting participation.

 

From these experiences, I learned that inclusion is a craft of attention. It begins with listening, grows through shared authorship, and only succeeds when every voice, hesitant or loud, can find its place in the story we tell together.