Ambrose Murangira

Sustainable Impact for Disability Inclusion

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  • Owning perspective: Why lived experience is not bias

    This morning, during a conversation about bias, Godfrey and I explored a topic that kept us thinking long after it was over. What started as small talk quickly turned into a deep discussion that lingered in our minds for a while. We laughed, questioned, and challenged each other. By the time we reached the airport, I realized that this small chat had touched on one of the biggest misunderstandings in academic work.

    Reflecting on our conversation, I realized it centered on a common theme in research training: the focus on avoiding bias to preserve scientific integrity. However, over time, I have observed how misleading this advice can be, particularly when studying people, culture, and lived experience.

    Avoiding bias often means ignoring one’s own experiences and insights. It requires researchers to set aside their personal stories and values, as if the truth only belongs to those who observe others’ lives from a distance. However, people’s realities aren’t lab experiments. They are complex, emotional, layered, and meaningful. Pretending we can study them without bringing our humanity into the process doesn’t lead to objectivity; it creates distance.

    In many academic circles, this misunderstanding appears clearly when Deaf researchers present their findings. They are often asked, “But aren’t you biased because you are Deaf?” The same question, however, is rarely asked of hearing researchers who study hearing people. Somehow, neutrality seems to belong only to the majority.

    What occurs when we view lived experience as bias?
    We lose depth. A hearing researcher might miss the subtle visual cues that guide a group conversation in sign language. They might overlook how eye contact, timing, or fatigue influence the flow of communication. We also lose trust, because when Deaf people see that only hearing researchers are considered “objective,” it signals that their own voices, knowledge, and ways of knowing are undervalued. Additionally, we lose fairness, as those who decide what counts as bias often determine what is accepted as truth.

    For me, lived experience is not a weakness; rather, it is wisdom. It helps me understand silence, attention, and connection in ways that books cannot teach. My background provides me with a perspective that enhances, not distorts, my research. The key is to embrace who we are, be open about it, reflect on it, and allow readers to see clearly through our lens.

    Maybe the main question is how to make our perspectives honest and clear. Every researcher has a story. The most responsible thing we can do is to recognize it, learn from it, and use it to create connections of understanding.

    Ultimately, research inclusion should not only consider who is being studied but also who is doing the studying. Equity in knowledge production means opening doors for diverse perspectives, valuing different ways of knowing, and creating systems that trust the insight of those who have lived the realities they study. When research welcomes multiple lenses, it does more than describe the world—it understands it more completely.

    #InclusiveResearch #Reflexivity #DisabilityInclusion #EquityInKnowledge #MurangiraInsights

  • Why good laws have not translated into good lives for persons with disabilities?

    Dear Friends,

    For many years, persons with disabilities in Uganda have shared a simple truth with me. Our laws sound good, and our policy documents promise inclusion, but daily life still falls short. Ramps are absent, forms are not accessible, interpreters are not budgeted, and basic accommodations are delayed. We often blame Parliament or the ministry headquarters. I want to encourage us to look at this issue from a different perspective that might help us act more effectively.

    The street-level perspective

    A street-level perspective centers on where a person interacts with the state, such as at a clinic desk, a parish office, a school bursar window, or a bank teller. Frontline workers interpret rules, meet targets, and solve problems with the tools available to them. Under pressure and with limited time or budgets, they make quick decisions that quietly shape the policy a citizen experiences. If inclusion isn’t straightforward, well-resourced, and easy to see at that counter, even the strongest laws will remain promises on paper.

    How good intentions get lost in daily routines

    Below are brief examples across some kinds of impairment. The environments differ, but the pattern remains the same. Discretion within constraints creates micro-policies that influence lives.

    1) Deaf and hard of hearing

    • Parish program enrollment: A Deaf applicant arrives. No interpreter is present. The officer, facing a long queue, asks the applicant to return with a hearing relative. The formal rule says equal access. The routine says come back when you fit how we work.
    • Clinic counseling: A nurse wants to give detailed HIV information. There is no captioning and no budget line for interpretation. The nurse offers a leaflet in English and moves to the next patient. The guideline promises informed choice. The routine delivers a leaflet that cannot be used.

    2) Visual impairment

    • University registration: Online forms are not screen reader friendly. The help desk suggests that a friend fill in details on the student’s behalf. The official policy says independent access. The routine normalizes dependency.
    • Banking hall: Queue management depends on visual screens. Staff forget to announce turns verbally. The person waits longer or gives up. The policy says fair service order. The routine says those who see the screen go first.

    3) Physical impairment

    • District office visit: The ramp is steep and the toilet is not accessible. A guard suggests using the back entrance through a store room. The rule says dignity and equal access. The routine offers a workaround that signals second-class status.
    • Agriculture subsidy collection: Payment points are far from public transport and there is no seated waiting area. A person who uses crutches leaves without finishing the process. The program intends broad uptake. The routine filters out people with limited stamina.

    4) Intellectual and psychosocial impairment

    • Social protection eligibility interview: Questions are complex and fast. Staff assume refusal when a person needs time or a supporter to rephrase. The rule allows support persons. The routine expects rapid answers without accommodation.
    • Outpatient department: A person with an intellectual impairment becomes anxious in a noisy waiting room. Staff ask the caregiver to come another day. The policy promises reasonable accommodation. The routine moves the challenge out of sight.

    None of these scenes demand hostility. They stem from exercising discretion under constraints. When multiplied by thousands of daily interactions, they become the reality of national implementation.

    The strategic mistake we keep repeating

    Our movement has been effective at shaping laws and policies. This is a significant achievement. The mistake is that we invest far less in the area where policy becomes practice. We celebrate new provisions, then walk away before frontline routines change. We seldom co-create short, practical notes that tell staff what to do tomorrow. We rarely set aside a small, flexible budget for interpretation, accessible formats, personal assistance, or transportation. We seldom train supervisors to ask the only question that matters at the frontline: how will this work in your next shift when the expected tool is missing? We measure adoption of policies, not adoption of routines.

    What changes when we look at the street

    A street-level perspective does not excuse exclusion. It helps us design for reality.

    • Discretion is unavoidable. We can shape it with simple checklists, examples, and quick authorization rules for reasonable accommodation across Deaf, visual, physical, and intellectual impairments.
    • Constraints drive behavior. When time, staff, or tools are scarce, workers simplify. If inclusion is not the simplest path, it will be the path rarely taken.
    • Co-production matters. Outcomes depend on both worker effort and the person’s capacity to engage. If sign language, accessible formats, step-free access, plain language, or a quiet space are missing, many citizens cannot co-produce the outcome. That is a design failure.

    Practical design, not slogans

    Here is a compact action set any ministry, district, university, hospital, or bank can adopt in one quarter. It is disability-inclusive by design and it works across impairment groups.

    1) Write the counter note

    A one to two page instruction for each service that answers four questions in plain language:

    1. What to do today when a Deaf client arrives and there is no interpreter, when a client with visual impairment needs a form, when a wheelchair user faces a barrier, or when a client with an intellectual impairment needs simplified communication.
    2. Which costs count as reasonable accommodation for this service, for example interpretation, braille or large print, personal assistance time, step-free access workarounds, transport support, or a quiet room.
    3. Who can authorize those costs on the spot.
    4. How to document the action quickly, for example a tick box and a receipt photo.

    2) Fund a micro line for access

    Create a small flexible fund at the service point that staff can use for:

    • Sign language interpretation or remote captioning for Deaf clients.
    • Accessible formats for persons with visual impairment, for example braille, large print, or readable PDFs.
    • Personal assistance and short transport support for persons with physical impairments when the site design fails.
    • Plain language materials and supported decision making for persons with intellectual impairments.
      Keep ceilings clear and reporting light.

    3) Track three street-level indicators

    Pick metrics that force attention to practice:

    • Proportion of interactions delivered with the requested accommodation, disaggregated by impairment category.
    • Time from request to first service for clients requiring accommodation.
    • Number of accommodation requests met, with a short reason when not met and the fix attempted.

    4) Run a monthly peer clinic

    Bring five to ten frontline workers together for one hour. Each shares a barrier they faced, the workaround they used, and one change that would make the inclusive action easier next time. Document workable micro routines and revise the counter note.

    5) Involve persons with disabilities in testing

    Pay OPDs representing Deaf, visual, physical, and intellectual impairment to mystery shop services and to co-design improvements. Their feedback will keep the focus on what happens at the counter.

    A human reminder

    Behind every complaint is a person who tried to participate and went home without the service. A Deaf mother who missed counseling because interpretation was not budgeted. A student with visual impairment who relied on a friend to complete a private form. A man who uses a wheelchair and was routed through a store room. A young person with an intellectual impairment who was told to come back later. These are not small inconveniences. They are walls that shape a life.

    Frontline staff usually want to help. Give them a clear one pager, a small budget line, and a supervisor who backs inclusive choices, and they will deliver more than we expect.

    A practical call to action

    If you are in a ministry, district office, university, hospital, bank, or OPD, consider launching a Street-Level Inclusion Pack where you work. The aim is simple, to turn good laws into good lives across various types of impairments.

  • What language do persons born Deaf think in?

    A few years ago, one of my supervisors for my master’s degree program asked me which language I dream in as a Deaf person. It was a thought-provoking question. Today, in a WhatsApp group for scholars, a PhD student asked: “In which language do persons born Deaf think?” I would therefore like to talk about this briefly. Someone out there could do more research. I will highlight a few points.

    1. Those born deaf without early language

    For many Deaf persons, access to language is delayed. If a child is born Deaf and is never introduced to sign language, they might grow up without a structured linguistic system. However, this does not mean they lack the ability to think. Their thoughts often manifest as pictures, emotions, and feelings. They may imagine what they want, retrieve memories through visual images, or connect ideas via sensations rather than words. In fact, some Deaf adults who have experienced this describe their early inner world as “like a silent movie.”

    2. Those with early sign language exposure

    When a Deaf child has access to a natural sign language from birth or early childhood, their thoughts are structured in sign language. They “see” themselves signing in their minds, sometimes with full facial expressions, movements, and even role-shifts. This inner signing is just as real as inner speech for people who are deaf or hard of hearing. Many describe it as watching themselves sign on an invisible screen in their mind’s eye. For them, thought flows in a visual-spatial form, rich and expressive.

    3. Bilingual Deaf persons

    Some Deaf persons are exposed to both sign language and written or spoken language. In such cases, their thinking becomes more flexible. They might imagine themselves signing when preparing for a conversation with Deaf peers, but then switch to visualized English words (or another written language) when writing an essay or email. It is common for them to blend both signs, words, and images, allowing them to flow together depending on the task or audience.

    4. The broader point

    These variations remind us of an important truth: thinking does not rely on sound. Whether it’s in sign, images, words, or a combination, Deaf people think as deeply and richly as anyone else. Their inner worlds are simply shaped by the languages and communication methods available to them.

    Reflection

    So, in which language do persons born Deaf think? The answer is: it depends. Some think in pictures, some in sign language, some in written words, and some in a mixture of these. What matters most is not the form of thought, but whether Deaf children have early and full access to language. Because language, whether signed or spoken, is the key that unlocks not only communication, but also imagination, reasoning, and dreams.

    That is my brief reflection. Someone out there could take this further, perhaps through deeper research, narratives, or comparative studies. But I hope this sparks curiosity, and maybe the next time you wonder how someone thinks, you will remember: thought is universal, even if its “language” looks different.

  • Why do Deaf Muslims go to Church in Uganda? Let’s talk about it

    I belong to many different WhatsApp groups for the Deaf, and sometimes the short exchanges there say a lot more than they seem to at first. Today evening (EAT), in the “UNAD – Deaf Community Forum,”

    Harriet wrote: “Abdul and Nasser, I see many Deaf Muslims going to church instead of the mosque.”

    Fatuma quickly replied:

    “Church Sunday is socializing. Friday they go to mosque.”

    This simple back-and-forth stopped me in my tracks. As a Deaf person, I have observed the same thing, but we rarely pause to unpack what it really means. Allow me to share some reflections, maybe together we can build on this conversation.

    Church as a place of belonging

    For many Deaf people, church is more than prayer. It is a space for friendship, community, and connection. Sunday services often come with opportunities to socialize, meet peers, and feel included. In some churches, there are Deaf fellowships, sign language interpreters, or even Deaf choirs, making participation possible and enjoyable. It is not just about religion; it is about being part of something bigger where you are seen and valued.

    Living in two worlds

    From the outside, it may look like Deaf Muslims are “abandoning” their faith by going to church. But Fatuma’s comment reminds us: Friday remains a day of devotion at the mosque, while Sunday is for socializing at the church. This is not contradiction. It is balance. It is the ability to live in two worlds, honoring faith while also seeking the human need for connection.

    When accessibility shapes choices

    Behind this pattern lies an uncomfortable truth: many mosques are not yet accessible for Deaf people. Sermons are rarely interpreted, and learning Islamic teachings in sign language is still limited. In contrast, some churches have invested in making their spaces welcoming and accessible. Naturally, this makes church more attractive, not as a substitute for Islam, but as a place where Deaf persons feel included.

    More than worship: Building social networks

    Going to church also expands social opportunities. For Deaf Muslims, it may open doors to new friendships, community support, and even economic opportunities. These networks are powerful sources of confidence and belonging. What might seem like a simple choice of where to worship is, in fact, a practical strategy for navigating a world that often excludes Deaf people.

    A question for us all

    Harriet and Fatuma’s exchange may have been brief, but it opens up big questions. What does it mean when one religious space is experienced as more welcoming than another? What would it take for mosques to be just as inclusive through sign language, Deaf leadership, and recognition of Deaf culture?

    The truth is: Deaf Muslims are not confused. They are adapting, balancing, and making the best of the options available to them. Their choices should challenge all of us to think about how inclusive our religious and social spaces really are.

    So, what do you think? Have you seen this dynamic in your own communities? How might faith spaces (mosques, churches, or others) do more to welcome Deaf people fully?

  • Visual overload is real: Reflections from a Deaf Professional

    By Ambrose Murangira

    Not long ago, I shared an update on LinkedIn about something that resonates deeply with many Deaf persons: visual overload. It is a challenge that I, too, navigate in both professional and online spaces. While my post sparked some great conversations, I felt I only scratched the surface of this complex experience due to the platform’s word limits.

    With this blog, I have the opportunity to delve deeper and provide more context, share personal stories, and offer practical insights. This post marks the beginning of that journey.

    Let’s take a closer look at visual overload. Not just as a concept, but as a real and pressing barrier to inclusion that many of us face every day.

    What Is Visual Overload?

    Visual overload occurs when our brains are overwhelmed with more visual information than they can process. It’s similar to having too many tabs open on your computer, except it’s happening in your mind. For individuals who are Deaf or those who depend heavily on visual cues, such as some people with autism or certain learning disabilities, this isn’t just a minor annoyance; it’s a challenge they face every day.

    Think about a typical virtual meeting. Picture this: a speaker is talking rapidly, a PowerPoint presentation is being shared, a sign language interpreter is tucked away in a tiny corner of the screen, captions are scrolling at the bottom, the chat box is buzzing with side conversations, and on top of that, notifications and emails keep popping up in the background.

    Now, try to process all of that visually without the option to just listen and let some things slide by. It’s overwhelming, right? It’s likely that you would miss critical information, struggle to keep your focus, and end up feeling more drained than informed by the end.

    This is the reality of visual overload, and for many, it’s a constant hurdle in navigating everyday interactions.

    It’s Not Just Fatigue—It’s a Barrier

    When we talk about visual overload, we often think it’s just about tired eyes or time spent in front of a screen. But for many, it becomes a real barrier to participation.

    We often assume that if something is made “visual,” it’s automatically “accessible.” However, true visual accessibility is more than just being able to see it; it’s about managing that visual information effectively.

    When there’s a clash of multiple visual inputs vying for our attention, especially if there’s no structure, pauses, or user-friendly design, inclusion starts to fall apart. Those of us who rely solely on visual input can face a number of challenges in these environments, like:

    – Missing out on important information or only getting part of it

    – Feeling mentally exhausted

    – Dealing with stress and anxiety

    – Struggling to participate and losing confidence

    – Being present physically, but feeling excluded emotionally

    What’s tough is that this struggle often goes unnoticed by those who don’t experience it.

    A Personal Reflection

    I can’t count the number of times I have been in high-stakes meetings where everything “looked” right, slides were there, interpreters were present, captions were rolling, and chat was moderated. Still, I felt overwhelmed. It was a juggling act: watching the interpreter, reading the captions, glancing at the slides, and keeping an eye on the chat, all while trying to think and contribute meaningfully.

    It wasn’t that the content was particularly difficult; the challenge lay in how it was visually communicated. Unlike my hearing colleagues, who can close their eyes and simply listen, I don’t have that luxury. My brain is constantly engaged in decoding visual information, and that effort takes its toll on me.

    What We Need: Visual Equity, Not Visual Excess

    Visual overload points to an essential aspect that often gets overlooked in inclusion efforts: equity isn’t about making everything the same.

    To truly include those who rely on visual communication, we need to rethink how we design our communication environments, especially in fast-paced, multi-sensory settings. Here are some practical ways to foster visual equity:

    1. Avoid Visual Multitasking: Don’t overload the screen with complex slides while someone speaks quickly. Include pauses between visual and spoken content to allow for transitions.
    2. Integrate Interpreters and Captions Seamlessly: Keep the interpreter in a larger view, speak at a reasonable pace, and avoid sharing multiple screens unless absolutely necessary.
    3. Simplify Slides: Use clean layouts, minimize text, and emphasize key points instead of just reading from the slides.
    4. Provide Materials Ahead of Time: Share slides, transcripts, or discussion guides before the meeting. This helps everyone, especially Deaf participants, to orient themselves and follow along better.
    5. Build in Visual Rest: Just as we take auditory breaks to combat “Zoom fatigue,” we must also create intentional visual breaks to reduce cognitive overload. Schedule short pauses during longer meetings.
    6. Ask, Don’t Assume: It’s crucial to check in with those you want to include. Ask them what works best for them; universal design can’t replace insights gained from user-informed design.

    Why This Matters for Disability Inclusion

    As a disability inclusion advisor, I often get asked how to make workplaces, programs, and digital spaces more accessible. The focus usually is on what can be added, like sign language interpreters, captions, and alternative formats, which are all essential. However, accessibility isn’t just about adding tools; it’s about designing the flow of information to respect everyone’s cognitive and sensory abilities.

    Inclusion can’t be an afterthought or based on the idea that anything visible is inherently accessible. Real inclusion means acknowledging and tackling hidden forms of exclusion, like overwhelming visibility that can lead to confusion.

    Conclusion: Creating Space for True Inclusion

    Visual overload serves as a powerful reminder that true inclusion goes beyond checklists, it’s a mindset. For individuals who depend on visual input to communicate, learn, and engage, equity means providing the time to see, the space to focus, and the permission to pause.

    Going forward, this blog will continue to explore these often-overlooked aspects of accessibility, shifting from technical fixes to deeper, systemic changes. I’m excited to share more insights from my journey, along with examples, evidence, and concrete suggestions.

    Let’s continue this journey of learning and growing together.

  • Hello World: Introducing my Disability Inclusion Blog!

    I am excited to announce the launch of my new blog—ambrosemurangira.wordpress.com, where we will explore, in depth and without word-count constraints, the“How” of disability inclusion. Over the past decade, I have shared reflections on Facebook, Twitter, and LinkedIn drawing on both my lived experience as a Deaf person and my professional journey as a Senior Expert in Disability Inclusion. This blog offers a dedicated space for rigorous discussion, peer learning, and the exchange of emerging insights.

    Why this Blog matters
    1.   From Theory to Practice
    Having worked across various settings, from community-based organizations of persons with disabilities (OPDs) to mainstream NGOs, from roles as a timekeeper to serving as CEO of a national umbrella organization and as a council member evaluating government programs, I have firsthand experience of the dynamics of inclusion and exclusion. This blog will focus on evidence-based strategies and practical tools drawn from those experiences.

    2.   Deep dives on “How”
    Here, we will unpack concrete processes and tools that you can apply immediately:

    • Designing inclusive programs
      Step‑by‑step guidance for co‑creating Disability Inclusion Action Plans (DIAPs) that align with the Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities (CRPD), including stakeholder mapping, barrier analysis, budgeting, and monitoring frameworks.
    • Sector‑specific case studies
      In‑depth looks at how to integrate inclusion in agriculture value chains, digital‑economy initiatives, creative‑arts projects, and care‑economy services—highlighting successes, challenges, and lessons learned.
    • Mentorship and capacity building
      Practical frameworks for establishing peer‑to‑peer support systems, buddy networks, and coaching circles that empower emerging inclusion practitioners and ensure sustained skill transfer.
    • Measuring impact
      Tools for defining clear indicators, collecting qualitative and quantitative data, and validating progress so you can demonstrate the real‑world effects of your inclusion efforts to donors and partners.

    3.   Interactive Learning Community
    This is not a monologue. I invite you,practitioners, researchers, policymakers, and persons with disabilities, to contribute questions, share examples, and challenge assumptions. Together, we will iterate on tools, refine methodologies, and spotlight emerging issues (e.g., inclusive AI, accessible public transport, care economy integration).

    A Call to engage
    Today’s question is not what we ought to do to make the world more inclusive, but how we remove the concrete barriers that prevent full participation of persons with disabilities. I look forward to learning from your insights as much as I share mine.

    All views expressed here are mine alone and do not represent those of my employer or other associates. Let’s learn together—one post at a time.