The irony of accessibility terms being inaccessible

I've noticed a rise in terms like a11y, a11yship, l10n, and i18n among colleagues who advocate for diversity and inclusion. But the fact is, this type of lingo is not accessible—and here’s why.

Do you know what all of those mean? Maybe, but probably not. And are they easy to read? Of course not!

Who Does This Exclude?

Let’s start with the most obvious lens—my dyslexic one. For people with dyslexia, replacing letters with numbers can make words nearly impossible to read. Most immersive readers don’t pick up on these subtle nuances either. Abbreviations might save time for some, but they create extra effort for others—including me.

And dyslexics aren’t the only ones who rely heavily on text readers. Visually impaired individuals and many others do too. To mention a few other who benefit from text-to-speech tools: people with reading difficulties, multitaskers, students and researchers with different learning styles, individuals with fatigue or eye strain...

Beyond accessibility, this also seems to be a generational and community trend. But do boomers understand what these abbreviations mean? Maybe some do—but without stereotyping, I’d argue many older generations don’t. And what about non-native English speakers? Should they just guess? Who gets left out when we prioritize brevity over clarity? Let’s face it: using insider jargon is a form of social privilege, assuming that everyone “just knows” what these terms mean is not accessible.

Allyship Means Making Things Easier, Not Harder

Being an ally means making things easier, not harder. Accessibility and DEI teams should prioritize clarity over cleverness or coolness.

And what does allyship really mean? Simply put, allyship is the active practice of supporting people who face unfair treatment, even if you’re not part of their group. It involves using your privilege to uplift others. (That’s straight from a quick Google search!) While writing this, I came across multiple resources—from Harvard to individual contributors—on how to increase allyship.

The Power of Clear Language

Language is a core part of accessibility—not just in digital spaces but in conversations, policies, and education.

I’d encourage the creation of a glossary of DEI terms—and honestly, a glossary of workplace jargon in general. I once worked with a manager who used so many acronyms that everyone else seemed to understand. I thought, Wow, I must be slower than everyone. Later, as I got closer to the team, I asked, By the way, what do all those acronyms mean? Turns out—most of the team was clueless too.

I’ve caught myself doing this as well—using acronyms that seem obvious to me. But in an context where many colleagues don’t have English as their first language, I realize I need to be more mindful. If I truly aim to be accessible, and it's alright to make mistakes. This is why I love to write so much as it allows me to self-reflect and improve as well as I share with you.

So, What’s the Fix?

First, we acknowledge that we need to do better. I wrote this article as a reflection on practices that don’t align with true allyship—hoping to raise awareness among my peers and, ideally, see change. Accessibility isn't just about compliance; it's about creating environments, systems, and experiences where everyone—regardless of ability—can fully participate, contribute, and thrive.

And, in the ultimate irony of accessibility:

"1f w3 c0nt1nu3 2 u53 1nglu0stic 5hortc0d35, w3 w1ll 0n1y 3xclud3 m0r3 p30pl3."

Or, in plain English:

"If we continue to use linguistic shortcodes, we will only exclude more people." ??