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Accessibility Regulations Compliance Learner Experience Productivity/assistive technology

Signals from the System: Shadow Accessibility

The hidden world of everyday accessibility work.

Now, I know that title might sound like the opener for a new sci-fi series, but stay with me. Here’s what’s been absorbing my thoughts recently.

What do we do when the digital systems and resources in our organisations don’t quite work for our students or staff?

Most people don’t abandon writing the essay or walk away from the task. They problem-solve, ask for help, and find another way to get the job done.

In supporting students, we might copy text into another tool. Or provide human support to read something aloud. Maybe, we show them how to generate captions. Or maybe they paste content into an AI tool to simplify the language.

But… we don’t always kick it back for remediation. We don’t always formally request an alternative format. We don’t always log a formal ‘ticket’ with the service desk.

We help the user find a solution so they can get on with their work and simply keep the system functioning.

Naming the pattern

When students and the staff supporting them quietly adapt digital resources, or bypass a step in the process, just to allow full participation — and the organisation never sees it — what do we even call that?

For the sake of this blog, I’m going to refer to it as shadow accessibility.

Not because it’s secretive or subversive, but because it happens in the background, out of sight.

Shadow accessibility happens when people adapt digital systems, tools, or processes to overcome a barrier — without those remediations being formally recognised, recorded, or addressed.

We all talk about being time-poor. Many people feel like they’ve been running on empty since Covid. Not formally recording every time we find accessibility is absent happens because the priority is to minimise time lost, work with limited capacity, or conserve energy for the individual. In this context, this isn’t about people cutting corners or ignoring policy. And it certainly isn’t about criticising colleagues who are doing their best.

When digital doesn’t quite work, people step in and bridge the gap. They do what they need to do to keep learning, teaching, and contributing.

What might it look like?

Here are some examples that may feel familiar:

  • A student pasting lecture slides into an AI tool to simplify the language.
  • Learners generating captions themselves because none were provided.
  • Staff reformatting a PDF into Word because it can’t be navigated or read aloud.
  • Browser extensions restyling websites so they’re readable.
  • Using a tool to summarise or interrogate a research paper or article.

Yes, sometimes these are preferences and sometimes they’re framed as “productivity hacks.” And sometimes they are the only way someone can access the content at all.

Is AI helping or hiding the issue?

To be clear: I don’t think generative AI has created this pattern. But by making workarounds faster and more widely available, it may be creating the impression that there are no accessibility issues left to fix

When the ability to summarise, rewrite, reformat or interrogate content can now be done in seconds, shadow accessibility begins to accelerate. The friction can start to feel deceptively manageable.

But here’s the question I keep coming back to:

If learners are using these tools not for enhancement but simply to make content usable, where does productivity end and necessary remediation begin?

The question isn’t really about the tools — it’s about what happens when the workaround becomes the default and where does that extra effort land?

The hidden effort

When this effort is absorbed quietly, it becomes invisible.

It doesn’t show up in:

  • Accessibility statements
  • Procurement reviews
  • Audit reports
  • Leadership dashboards

If students and staff are working to resolve barriers themselves — and don’t have the time, energy, capacity or confidence to escalate — then on the surface, everything appears to function.

But the effort required to participate hasn’t disappeared. It’s simply moved. And often, it ends up as the burden of the very people we’re trying to support.

From silent workarounds to insight

What if we viewed every adaptation as data – an extension of user research?

Every instance tells us:

  • Where friction exists
  • Where knowledge gaps sit
  • Where training hasn’t reached
  • Where processes unintentionally exclude

Not to blame or to point out failure, but as feedback.

If we could surface those patterns safely and constructively, what might that change?

For those of us working in accessibility and assistive technology, this isn’t abstract. We often see these patterns first — because we’re the ones helping people navigate them.

The challenge is how to surface that hidden effort in ways that inform systemic change — without placing further burden on the people already adapting and supporting.

Shining a light on unmet need

Shadow accessibility shows that people want to participate. They are resourceful, creative, and determined. It signals there are real people filling the gaps within our digital systems and workflows.

Would surfacing shadow accessibility help us evidence unmet need and strengthen the case for more accessible, inclusive systems?

So, this is something I’ve been thinking about — Signals from the System: shadow accessibility. Not a science fiction series, but still something worth watching.

If this sparks some thoughts for you, I’d genuinely love to read them here in the comments or in our community spaces.

One reply on “Signals from the System: Shadow Accessibility”

This resonates. I spend quite a bit of time doing this kind of work myself, making things accessible for me or for others. Before meetings, for example, I might reformat an agenda so it is easier for me to navigate during the session. Or I will find a template we use that isn’t accessible and quietly edit it so it gives others a more accessible starting point.

What struck me as I was reading, though, is that building in accessibility itself is often shadow work. For those of us who try to do make things accessible by default, because it is the right thing to do but also because it’s ostensibly required, there is an ongoing time cost. The cost is not necessarily because each individual action takes ages, but because it does take extra time and thought, and that time and energy is not equally shared.

Colleagues who do not routinely build in accessibility do not carry that same burden, even if they should. Those of us who do can end up paying an accessibility tax, one that others won’t realise we are paying.

I would love to know how we might begin to quantify that hidden labour, too.

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