From 'accommodation' to true allyship for disabled students

Mangaluru: In recent years, universities have proudly showcased ramps, lifts among others as proof that they are “inclusive”. Yet for many students with disabilities, especially those who are visually impaired, higher education still feels like a daily struggle against systems that were never designed with them in mind. Their lived experiences tell a simple truth: inclusion is not just about infrastructure, but about relationships, attitudes and support structures that affirm dignity and belonging.

The Rights of Persons with Disabilities (RPwD) Act, 2016 and similar frameworks worldwide mandate inclusive education, barrier-free campuses and reasonable accommodation in exams and classrooms. Yet on the ground, policies remain in files. The gap between rights and reality is where exclusion quietly persists. Visually impaired students experience this gap in painfully concrete ways.

Accessing reading material is still a major battle: many libraries lack Braille printers or high-quality screen readers, course content arrives late or in inaccessible formats, and digital platforms are not always designed to work with assistive technologies. The absence of basic tools such as OCR devices or accessible library services forces students to depend on friends for reading and note-making, eroding both their time and independence.

Technology has the power to radically change this picture, but only when institutions invest in it and integrate it with trained staff and supportive policies. Examinations are another arena where good intentions collapse under rigid procedures. The scribe system, meant to level the playing field for visually impaired students, is frequently undermined by impractical rules and poor awareness.

Students struggle to find qualified writers, invigilators are unsure of extra-time rules and 'substitute scribes' are turned away even in emergencies. The result is that disabled students invest more energy on writing applications, following up in offices, clarifying rules, pleading for flexibility, negotiating approvals and paperwork than preparing for their exams.

Simplifying procedures through digital forms, shorter processing times, and clear, uniform communication to all officials is not a favour; it is a matter of justice. Beyond exams, campus life itself is built on assumptions that many disabled students simply cannot meet. Attendance rules presume that everyone can travel independently, stay from morning to evening, and commute without help.

But students who rely on escorts—often mothers or other family members—live with unpredictable transport and safety concerns. One of the most promising directions emerging globally is the rise of peer-led support structures. One such model, conceptualised under the name “MITRA” (Mutual Integrity, Trusted, Reliable Ally), sensitises student volunteers to support visually impaired and other disabled students in concrete ways.

They help to procure accessible study materials, digitise books, act as scribes, escort students on campus, provide regular academic and emotional support. Such peer ally networks can humanise universities in ways rules alone cannot. When peer networks, disability cells, inclusive infrastructure and empathetic governance work together, campuses start to feel less like bureaucratic machines and more like communities.

The real test of a university is not how it treats its most privileged students, but how it stands with those at the margins. If higher education is serious about justice and human dignity, it should build campuses where a blind and other disabled student does not have to fight for every basic facility; where assistive technology is routine, not exceptional and where student-led groups like MITRA are as integral to campus life as any other club or society.

(Anwith G Kumar, visually impaired, is a Research scholar, Department of political science at Mangalore University)