Inclusion without a structural lens just reproduces exclusion

Universities often present their approaches to inclusion, assessment, and widening participation as neutral and well-intentioned.

Policies are framed around “reasonable adjustments,” “closing awarding gaps,” and “supporting student success.” Yet despite decades of reform, inequitable outcomes persist, especially for students who are racialised, disabled, or both.

A key reason these gaps persist is that race and disability are usually addressed separately, through distinct policies and processes. Disability Critical Race Theory (DisCrit) offers a useful alternative way to understand the problem. DisCrit views race and disability not simply as individual traits but as intersecting systems of power that shape ideas about ability, intelligence, behaviour, and merit within education.

This matters because practices labelled as “inclusive” can, without a structural lens, unintentionally reproduce exclusion. DisCrit’s central claim is that racism and ableism are not rare distortions of otherwise fair systems – they are built into those systems. It invites us to question not only who is supported but also how norms around learning, assessment, and behaviour are produced and who benefits. This isn’t always comfortable, but if we want real inclusion and equity, it’s necessary.

Quick fixes aren’t enough

Inclusive teaching and assessment strategies – Universal Design for Learning or Flexible Assessment, for instance – are now widely discussed in higher education. These approaches are valuable, but when applied without attention to power and structure, they can become quick fixes rather than lasting solutions. DisCrit doesn’t replace these frameworks but pushes us to ask tougher questions: who is expected to adapt? Who must disclose? Whose ways of learning and communicating are treated as “normal”? And why?

Take the widespread reliance on student disclosure for adjustments. While often presented as pragmatic or student-centred, disclosure systems frame disability as an individual problem that must be proved and justified. This places the burden of inclusion on students, particularly those less likely to disclose, less likely to trust the system, or more likely to face stigma. Racialised students are affected most acutely – while they might benefit most from personalised support, they’re often least likely to access it.

Who’s really underperforming?

The same issue arises in how universities discuss awarding gaps. These are often framed as deficits within the student, rather than as outcomes of teaching, assessment, and institutional culture. Even the term “gap” shifts the focus from systems to individuals. DisCrit asks: why do particular groups consistently underperform? And what assumptions about ability are embedded in the measures used? These questions may be uncomfortable, but they’re necessary for meaningful change.

This pattern has deep roots. Historically, ideas about disability and race have been closely linked – supposedly scientific judgements about intelligence and capacity were used to justify exclusion. Intelligence testing and special education placement were presented as objective yet targeted working-class and racialised students in ways that were anything but. Even now, deficit thinking and subjective judgements influence who is disciplined, who is supported, and who is seen as capable. Racialised students are more likely to be placed in subjective disability categories, more likely to be disciplined for behaviour, and less likely to receive a diagnosis or support.

DisCrit helps us see these outcomes as systemic rather than accidental. Students are measured against norms rooted in white, middle-class, non-disabled ways of learning, and when those norms are treated as neutral, inequality becomes invisible and difficult to challenge.

Science isn’t neutral either

This can be particularly uncomfortable in science and health care subjects, where objectivity and meritocracy are core values and disability is often understood through clinical or biological models. DisCrit can seem ideological or at odds with scientific rigour, but the discomfort is telling. Assessment, participation, and professional behaviour are never purely technical. High-stakes written exams, timed assessments, and narrow participation norms tend to privilege certain forms of thinking and communicating, even when the aim is fairness.

DisCrit doesn’t ask us to reject biological understandings of disability. Instead, it prompts us to examine how “objective” knowledge is applied in real-world contexts. Broadening assessment to include practical problem-solving, oral assessments, or applied clinical reasoning can more effectively measure professional competence and reduce unnecessary barriers. Across disciplines, lecturers can consider how to make participation, group work, and assessment accessible to all, particularly for students with less visible disabilities or from diverse backgrounds.

DisCrit also matters for curriculum content. Take science and health care subjects as an example. Textbooks have historically centred on white, male bodies – and this affects patient care: clinicians may miss or delay diagnoses if they’ve learned only about conditions on white skin. A study by Parker et al. (2017) found a significant overrepresentation of male bodies and a lack of ethnic diversity in anatomy textbooks, and multiple studies since have shown the problem persists, especially in dermatology and primary care. Revising curricula to reflect diversity isn’t just about representation; in this context, it can literally save lives. But this is relevant beyond health: wherever a subject’s examples, readings, or case studies reflect only a narrow set of experiences, students from other backgrounds are subtly told they don’t belong.

Fair objections

Some critics argue that DisCrit is too ideological or that it assumes disparities are always due to structural oppression, worrying it might overlook individual differences and biological variation, or discourage engagement with competing perspectives. These concerns are worth taking seriously. Efforts to challenge dominant norms need not ignore clinical realities or individual agency – but they do need to ask who gets left out and why.

DisCrit isn’t a complete solution, nor does it offer step-by-step guidance. Its value lies in the questions it prompts – about power, about norms, and about whose needs have historically been marginalised. If higher education is serious about equity, it can’t rely on good intentions alone.

In practice, this means moving beyond technical fixes such as disclosure-based models or generic gap-closing policies, and carefully examining the assumptions embedded in curricula, assessments, and support systems. If you’re planning group work or a seminar, ask yourself whether all students can participate fully, including those with less visible disabilities or from different backgrounds. Traditional participation rules – requiring everyone to speak out loud, for instance – can exclude students who communicate differently, and offering written contributions or digital polls as alternatives costs very little.

If you’re reviewing teaching materials, check whose perspectives are missing. When updating a reading list or preparing case studies, actively seek examples that reflect the diversity of your student body and the wider world. In health or science modules, ensuring that images and scenarios represent a range of skin tones and backgrounds can make a real difference to student engagement and future professional practice.

Consider inviting students to share how they learn best or what barriers they face. You might discover that simple changes – flexible deadlines or asynchronous learning options – make your course more inclusive. When you receive feedback, use it to shape your teaching rather than to tick a box. Open conversations about inclusion within your subject area, and genuine listening to students and colleagues, build trust and a sense of belonging in ways that policy documents rarely do.

Engaging with DisCrit is not about adopting a single framework but about committing to a more honest examination of how power operates within higher education. Without that, efforts towards inclusion risk remaining superficial. With it, there’s a real opportunity to build systems that are not only more inclusive but also more accurate, effective, and just.