We need heart in the conversation about social inclusion

In the discussion about inclusivity, people living with intellectual disability are being left out of the conversation, says Amy Clark. 

There’s no question Australia needs to be inclusive of all abilities. However, there’s an exceptional irony in the parameters currently being set; they exclude a large cohort from the picture: people living with an intellectual disability (PWID). 

PWID predominantly work together in Disability Social Enterprises. Despite supported employees and Australian businesses holding these roles in high regard, some stridently argue that they don’t qualify as “meaningful” jobs because they are done in largely segregated, disability-exclusive settings; for society to be truly inclusive, everyone must be in mainstream employment. While well-meaning, that idyll omits the aspirations of my brother and many of the other 16,000 supported employees around the nation, people who deeply value the culture of these enterprises and the people they work with.  

Imagine for a moment you’re attending the Bledisloe Cup, ready to watch the fierce rugby rivalry between Australia and New Zealand play out. You’re barracking for the Wallabies, donning yellow-and-green and raring to take your place among a sea of fellow fans. 

Then, as you walk in, you’re given an assigned seat among the All Blacks supporters. 

Suddenly, you have no one to share the wins and excitement of the game with. A goal is scored and you’re the only one cheering within a fifty-seat radius. Your favourite player hits the field but the people on either side of you have no idea who they are. Meanwhile, fans of the All Blacks are having a grand old time, unified by the intangible bond of going for the same team. Yet when they chant as one, you’re silent. When they stand and clap together, you’re seated.

You could purchase the ticket, get into the stadium, and join everyone at the game. No one was blocking you at the gate. Your seat was no different to anyone else’s. All excellent outcomes, absolutely. And yet, if you can’t be with the team you want, one must question whether these pillars of inclusion are strong enough to create a meaningful experience for every rugby lover.

You’re welcome to form your own opinion of course, but here’s mine.

Being the sole Wallabies supporter in a crowd of black would be a hollow time for many of us, especially if we primarily wanted to watch the game with our fellow fans. Such inclusion would feel rather empty, lacking heart and genuine human connection. 

And it is exactly how many supported employees would experience a forceful transition into mainstream employment. 

Last year, I spoke to countless workers (and surveyed close to a thousand of them with my fellow advocates). Consistently, they shared that the reason why they love going to work is because they can contribute to society while being part of a community where they are seen and valued, among co-workers who share their lived experience. The culture of “we-ness” within a Disability Social Enterprise was what many cherished most. It’s the same truth the Federal Government learned five years ago, when the Department of Social Services revisited its strategy for supported employment in Australia.  

A shared identity, a thread of commonality. These are essential markers of social inclusion for all. The roots which enable friendships and connections to easily flourish. By nature, we gravitate towards people who are like us. We seek (and are evidenced to prefer) similarity in relationships. Look around and you’ll see examples of self-segregation everywhere, reflecting our natural tendency to congregate with similar people. 

Meaningful social inclusion requires community connectedness. Rather than condemning contemporary Disability Social Enterprises for being disability-exclusive, we should be recognising how that purposeful culture enables PWID to celebrate themselves and experience a true and powerful sense of belonging. 

We all feel left out when our lived experience doesn’t resonate with the people around us. PWID are no different. They aren’t going to feel more attached or connected to people who exist outside their identity and culture, who possess vastly different interests, life experiences and attributes. They aren’t going to somehow thrive in a workplace where they need to play down their unique and authentic self to avoid feeling “different” to everyone else around them. 

To be clear, I’m not suggesting that segregated settings should be mandatory for anyone. Or that mainstream employment isn’t a wonderful and exciting pathway for many PWID. I’m merely pointing out that my brother doesn’t want assigned seating any more than you or I do.

In the pursuit of equality, PWID should maintain the same freedoms as the rest of society; the same choice to pick who they want to be around.  And considering our shared human nature, we shouldn’t be surprised or critical if they exercise that right to work with people who are most like them.  After all, there’s plenty of us without an intellectual disability who prioritise company culture and meaningful bonds with co-workers when weighing personal job satisfaction.

Moving forward, we need to place the heart back into conversations about social inclusion. We need to reframe it around feelings of belonging and community connection, rather than pure physical integration. We need to distinguish between those with disabilities who freely decide to be together and those who do not. Otherwise, it’s people like my brother who will be sidelined in a “more inclusive” Australia, cordoned off from the rest of his team. 

Amy Clark’s brother lives with complex intellectual and physical disabilities and faces significant barriers to self-advocacy as a result.  She draws on her experience as a sibling, carer, and advocate for PWID to ensure policymakers understand his wishes regarding disability policy, as well as those of supported employees around Australia.