How to Organise Inclusive Conferences and Workshops is not a conventional handbook on conference planning; rather, it is a serious, humane argument about what professional gatherings reveal about power, access, and belonging. Why was it important to state upfront that no conference can ever be fully inclusive?

I open the book with a statement that I felt had to come first: no conference or workshop can ever be fully inclusive. I chose to say this immediately, before anything else, because I wanted readers to understand that what follows is not a promise of perfection but an invitation to honest, sustained effort.

The reason I state this so plainly is that human needs are varied, complex, and dynamic. Some needs align, others conflict, and many shift over time. No amount of careful planning resolves all of these tensions, and I think it would be dishonest to suggest otherwise. I draw on Silverman’s concept of access friction to name what I had observed repeatedly in practice: that decisions made to improve inclusivity for one person or group can simultaneously create new barriers for others. Placing posters close together at a poster session reduces the distance some attendees must travel, yet risks sensory overload for others. Offering a hybrid format widens participation for people who cannot attend in person. However, this approach can unintentionally make the online participants feel quietly marginalised by the people able to physically attend. These are not failures of imagination or care. They are structural realities of human diversity, and pretending otherwise would undermine the very honesty this book depends on.

I also wanted to reframe what I was asking of organisers from the outset. Inclusivity, as I understand it, is not a destination. It is a continuous practice of asking, listening, adapting, and responding. That is why I deliberately chose not to offer checklists or quick fixes. I wanted readers to sit with the discomfort that inclusive practice can never be completed, and to commit to the work anyway.

Underlying all of this is something I feel strongly: the barriers people face, whether disability, caregiving, visa restrictions, or financial hardship, are not incidental. They are rooted in systemic inequality. Naming the impossibility of full inclusion is my way of insisting on moral seriousness rather than goodwill alone.

Which “invisible” barriers do organisers most often overlook?

There is often a particular kind of exclusion that happens in events that consider themselves inclusive. It is quieter than a missing ramp or a broken lift, and it is far more common.

The first is the hidden curriculum of professional gatherings. McCalmon, Ugiagbe-Green, and Mohammed-Chapman in Chapter 7 show how conferences reflect unwritten rules about tone, language, and behaviour that quietly privilege those already at home in institutional settings. People who are unfamiliar with these norms are not excluded loudly; they simply fade into the background, their contributions going unrecognised within spaces that claim to be open. They frame their chapter around three questions that sit at the heart of inclusion: who decides, who gets to rest, and what changes as a result.

Closely related is the invisible burden of advocacy. Clarke and Gagné in Chapter 2 show how the responsibility for arranging accommodations almost always falls on the person who needs them, consuming time, energy, and emotional resources in ways that function as a hidden form of exclusion others in the room rarely see. They argue that this begins earlier than most organisers realise, pointing to calls for papers and registration systems as gatekeeping mechanisms that routinely create accessibility barriers before a disabled scholar has even decided whether to attend.

There is also the question of time. Chapter 9, by Donald, Yarovaya, and Georgiadou, draws on research into timeism to show how rigid conference timelines marginalise people who need different rhythms of engagement, creating hidden hierarchies that go largely unacknowledged. People who need flexible arrangements often invest the most time simply to secure basic access, a form of double jeopardy that proactive design could dismantle.

Finally, there is the exclusion embedded in financial structures. Castelle and Ho in Chapter 6 are direct about this: affordability is rarely treated as an accessibility issue, yet cost is one of the most consistent barriers to participation. Tiered pricing, bursaries, and scholarship access, as modelled through the Cannexus conference, are not peripheral gestures but structural responses to a barrier most organisers leave unexamined.

What does it mean to design with disabled participants rather than for them?

For me, designing with disabled participants rather than for them is, at its heart, a question of power and not just practice.

The disability movement’s foundational principle, nothing about us, without us, runs as an ethical thread through the book. Clarke and Gagné in Chapter 2 establish this from the outset, arguing that accessibility must be built into every stage of conference planning rather than retrofitted in response to individual requests. They are clear that when diverse voices are not centred in planning and governance, professional development spaces risk reinforcing the very exclusionary norms they claim to challenge. Cook, Brown, and Beaumont-Bilsby in Chapter 3 extend this through their own lived experience as a wheelchair user, a neurodivergent pracademic, and an inclusive service design specialist. They argue that disability representation on organising committees is not a nicety but a structural necessity, and that systems which appear neutral, such as standard venue designs and funding structures, often reinforce exclusion precisely because they were not designed with diverse ways of moving, thinking, and participating in mind. Decisions made without disabled voices embedded in the planning process tend to produce accommodations that are reactive, inconsistent, and poorly communicated, turning participation into what they describe as a negotiation for survival rather than an opportunity for genuine engagement.

Paul Vincent, Soltani, and McAteer in Chapter 4 are direct about the limits of well- intentioned innovation: live captioning and hybrid formats have improved access in measurable ways, but without sustained investment and disabled input at the design stage, these solutions lack consistency. Crucially, they challenge the assumption that offering a remote option excuses an inaccessible venue. Face-to-face interaction matters, and disabled participants deserve access to it.

McCalmon, Ugiagbe-Green, and Mohammed-Chapman in Chapter 7 reframe the question entirely, asking who gets to decide what inclusion looks like in the first place. They argue that true inclusion must be grounded in justice and the redistribution of power, not merely representation or legal compliance. This means examining whose voices are prioritised in programme design, who carries the emotional and physical labour of making an event run, and who is asked to advocate for their own access while others simply participate. Designing with rather than for, in their framing, is ultimately about shifting that burden from individuals to institutions.

Lin-Stephens, Maze, Lau, and Chen, in Chapter 8, bring a different dimension through their Sustainable Professional Development model, which insists on co-creation with local partners rather than importing solutions from outside. Their experience organising the APCDA conference across Asia shows how cultural contexts shape what inclusion requires, and how assumptions embedded in Western-centric design can themselves become barriers.

Chapter 9 by Donald, Yarovaya, and Georgiadou synthesises this by framing inclusion as a shared responsibility rather than a service delivered to people who need it. The call is clear: when disabled scholars, international participants, caregivers, and others from underrepresented groups are genuinely welcomed and recognised rather than accommodated at the margins, it strengthens a shared sense of belonging for everyone in the room.

Which practical changes tend to have the most immediate impact on inclusion?

The question of which practical changes have the most immediate impact is answered most compellingly through the practitioner voices running through the middle and later sections of the book.

Foote, in Chapter 5, makes the strongest case for proactive communication as the single highest-impact step. Her accessibility package, a detailed, screen-reader-compatible document sent to attendees before the event, covers everything from parking routes and flooring types to lighting conditions and session engagement expectations. The insight behind it is simple: people cannot request accommodations they do not know are available, and they should not have to disclose a disability to access a well-designed event. Placing fidget toys on all tables rather than just in sensory kits, and reserving easy-access seating for anyone who wants it without requiring justification, are low-cost changes that normalise inclusion rather than marking it as exceptional. Foote also recommends providing later start times, earlier end times, and sufficient transition time between sessions, noting that this benefits not only attendees with mobility requirements but anyone who needs time to process information or prioritise self-care.

Castelle and Ho, in Chapter 6, demonstrate what this looks like at scale. The Cannexus conference treats financial access as an inclusion issue, not an afterthought, using tiered pricing, bursaries, and targeted scholarships to widen the pool of who can realistically attend. Their hybrid model, offering nearly full access to keynotes, workshops, and networking online, has proved especially beneficial for caregivers, people managing health conditions, and rural or international participants.

Lin-Stephens, Maze, Lau, and Chen, in Chapter 8, drawing on their experience organising the Asia Pacific Career Development Association conference, add that feedback mechanisms are themselves a practical inclusion tool and one that is frequently overlooked. Seeking input from people who did not attend, not just people who did, is how organisers begin to understand the barriers that prevented participation in the first place.

Donald, Yarovaya, and Georgiadou in Chapter 9 offer a useful frame for all of this: small, intentional actions matter. Inclusion does not require waiting for institutional policy or a new budget cycle. It begins with what an organiser chooses to do next, and those choices, made consistently and with the people most affected in mind, are how larger structural change builds momentum.

Anything else?

I’d just like to take the opportunity to thank everyone who contributed to the book. When I was first approached, the publisher asked if I would be the sole author. I am genuinely pleased and grateful that they agreed to my leading an edited collection instead, because it brought together far richer insights from a wider range of lived experience.

Finally, I’d like to thank the entire team at Literary Titan for the opportunity to share these additional reflections. I hope How to Organise Inclusive Conferences and Workshops will have a meaningful impact as we work together to build a more inclusive and sustainable ecosystem. Thank you.

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