It’s funny how some of the best conversations happen in the most random places.
One lunchtime, a friend and I were washing our hands when he happened to look up at the restroom doors.
“You know,” he said, “what if someone is blind with dwarfism? How would they reach those signs? How would they know which bathroom to use?”
I didn’t answer right away. Not because I disagreed with him, but because, in all my years of talking about accessibility, I’d never actually thought about it.
Like many blind people, I’m always happy to see Braille signage. If I walk into a building and find Braille on the restroom doors, my first thought is usually, “Great! Someone remembered us.”
Here in Trinidad and Tobago, Braille isn’t yet as prevalent in public spaces as it should be. I still get excited when I come across Braille on a medication box or bottle. It means I can identify it independently, something that wasn’t always possible before. Those little moments matter.
But after my friend’s question, I started wondering whether I’d been asking enough questions myself.
Not long afterward, I found myself having another conversation, this time about Braille signage in general. Someone was telling me about staying at a hotel where the room doors had Braille signs, and naturally, the conversation drifted back to the question that had been stuck in my head.
We started thinking about who those signs are actually designed for.
What about a blind child staying at that hotel? Perhaps they’ve dashed ahead of their parents after an afternoon at the beach and are trying to find the family’s room on their own. Would they be able to reach the Braille sign? What about someone with dwarfism? Or anyone else whose reach is different from that of the average adult?
Then another thought came to mind.
Why is Braille so often placed at the same height as the visual sign?
Sighted people need signs where they can see them from a distance. Blind people don’t. We have to walk right up to the door and read the sign with our fingers. It’s not like we’re standing across the hallway admiring it. More often than not, we’re feeling around until we find it.
Now, before anyone points out that there are accessibility standards for tactile signage, I know. Those standards exist for a reason, and I’m certainly not suggesting we throw them out because of one lunchtime conversation.
What I am saying is that accessibility shouldn’t be a finished conversation.
As blind people, we spend so much time advocating for accessible features that we sometimes celebrate the fact that they exist without stopping to ask whether they could be even better. And honestly, I understand why. When accessible features aren’t always easy to come by, every bit of progress feels like a victory.
For years, that was enough for me too. If I found Braille on a restroom door, I was pleased it was there. If a building included tactile signage at all, I saw it as evidence that someone had remembered blind people during the design process.
But accessibility doesn’t have to stop at “better than before.” Accessible design should evolve just like everything else. Every improvement we’ve seen over the years began because someone looked at the way things were being done and asked whether there might be a better way.
Could this be easier?
Could this work better?
Who else haven’t we thought about?
Those questions are what push accessibility forward.
Disability isn’t one-size-fits-all. Blind people come in all shapes, sizes and ages. Some are children. Some have dwarfism. Some have additional disabilities or mobility challenges. Accessibility that works well for one person may not work quite as well for someone else.
Does that mean there’s an easy solution? Probably not.
I don’t know whether Braille signs should all be lower. I don’t know what practical challenges that might create, or whether there are reasons the current standards are the way they are.
But I do know that one simple question changed the way I look at accessibility.
I still get excited when I come across Braille. I probably always will. But now, I’ll also find myself wondering whether everyone else who needs that Braille can reach it just as easily as I can.
This column is supplied in conjunction with the T&T Blind Welfare Association
Headquarters: 118 Duke Street, Port of Spain, Trinidad
Email: ttbwa1914@gmail.com
Phone: (868) 624-4675
WhatsApp: (868) 395-3086
