Digital Accessibility as a Teaching Practice
Author: Gabrielle Likavec, Teaching & Learning Consultant, Office of Curriculum & Instructional Support.
I’ll be honest: for a long time, digital accessibility felt like something I should be doing better, but didn’t quite know how to fit into the realities of teaching. Like many faculty, I care deeply about my students, and I want my courses to be fair, rigorous, and welcoming. I just didn’t have extra time to completely rebuild everything I had already created.
What eventually helped me wasn’t a new checklist or a better tool (though those matter), it was a mindset shift: treating accessibility as an ongoing teaching practice, not a remediation project or a compliance task I had somehow failed to complete in the past.
I teach, and I also support other faculty who care deeply about students and feel stretched thin. This post isn’t about perfection, and it isn’t about becoming an accessibility expert overnight. It’s about how I’ve learned to work toward more inclusive digital courses in ways that are realistic, sustainable, and aligned with how teaching actually happens.
Why accessibility belongs with teaching—not just policy
There’s no avoiding the fact that accessibility expectations in higher education are clearer and more enforceable than they were even a few years ago. Public institutions now have explicit responsibility for ensuring that digital content, including all course materials provided in digital format, meets recognized accessibility standards.
But the reason I stay engaged in this work has much less to do with regulations and much more to do with teaching.
When course materials are inaccessible, students don’t experience that as a technical problem. They experience it as confusion, frustration, or an unspoken message that the course wasn’t built with them in mind. That might look like struggling to navigate a weekly module, not being able to interpret a chart in a slide deck, or spending extra cognitive energy just figuring out what’s due and when. Accessibility problems quietly become learning problems.
When I shifted my mindset to treat accessibility as a regular part of instructional design, rather than an external requirement forced upon me, it became possible to make progress without burning out.
The turning point: letting go of “fix everything” right now
One of the most important decisions I made was to stop trying to make entire courses accessible all at once. That approach almost always led to one of two outcomes:
- I didn’t start, because the task felt impossible.
- I started ambitiously, got overwhelmed, and stalled.
Instead, I began working one week at a time. Now, when I prepare for the upcoming week, accessibility is folded into the same routine I already use for content updates:
- revise slides,
- check links,
- update due dates,
- and check accessibility needs.
I ask myself a small set of questions for content in Blackboard, but also any attachments:
- Can students navigate this week’s materials logically?
- Did I use the built-in header styles?
- Are tables for data, not layout?
- Do my links describe purpose, rather than just the web address?
- Do my images have alternate text?
- Are videos captioned?
That’s it. This approach respects the reality of semester‑based teaching. It also means changes benefit students immediately, rather than waiting for a future redesign that may never come. More detailed information on digital accessibility is available from The Office of Curriculum and Instructional Support’s Accessible Course Content Pages. Still, I have found that these six questions will address the vast majority of course content issues.
Making documents work for students (and for me)
Accessible documents are one of the places where faculty often feel stuck, especially when content already exists. I felt this way too. Over time, I focused on a few high‑impact practices that fit naturally into document creation and revision.
Using headings instead of visual formatting
I stopped relying on bold text or font size alone to signal structure. Instead, I consistently use built‑in heading styles in Word (or Blackboard). This change matters for screen reader users, but it also has benefits I didn’t initially anticipate:
- documents are easier to scan,
- makes an outline readily available,
- and students can more quickly locate what they need.
Clear structure supports comprehension for everyone, not just those using assistive technology.
Being intentional with tables
I no longer use tables for layout or visual alignment. When I do use tables, it is for actual data, and I include header rows and keep structures as simple as possible. This reduces confusion for screen readers and prevents content from appearing fine visually but becoming nonsensical when read aloud by assistive technology.
Images, alt text, and the myth of “extra work”
For a long time, alt text felt like an intimidating expectation. What helped was reframing it as “instructional clarity”. Now, when I add an image, I ask:
- Why is this here?
- What information does it convey?
- Would a student miss something important if they couldn’t see it?
If the image is decorative, I mark it as such. If it conveys meaning, I describe that meaning briefly and plainly. I avoid phrases like “image of” and focus on what matters instructionally. For example:
- “Bar chart showing enrollment growth from 2018 to 2024, with the largest increase in 2021.”
- “Diagram illustrating the relationship between formative assessment and feedback cycles.”
This practice has also made me more thoughtful about whether an image belongs in the material at all, and how I convey its meaning to all students.
Color, contrast, and visual clarity
I don’t consider myself a graphic designer, largely because of the massive limitations on my artistic eye; however, I do pay attention to a few fundamentals necessary for students with visual impairments, but they also help students to work in challenging environments, such as bright rooms, small screens, or long study sessions.
- Avoid using color alone to convey meaning.
- Choose high‑contrast color combinations for text.
- Avoid red/green combinations that are difficult for color‑blind users.
Readable materials reduce fatigue. This matters for all students in any course.
Links that actually help students
One small change that made a surprisingly big difference was improving how I write links. Instead of “click here” or “read more,” I use descriptive link text that makes sense on its own:
- “Review the accessible course content resources for document design.”
- “Register for upcoming teaching workshops.”
This helps screen reader users, but it also benefits anyone scanning the page or revisiting materials later. Links become signposts instead of interruptions.
PDFs as a deliberate choice
I’ve also become more cautious about PDFs. A document that looks polished isn’t necessarily accessible. Whenever possible, I share Word Docs instead, especially for materials students will interact with or reference frequently.
If I do use PDFs, I make sure they’re created from properly structured documents and that accessibility tags are preserved during export. I also run an accessibility checker before uploading them to the LMS.
Captions, video, and realistic expectations
Video is an area where faculty often feel stuck, especially when older materials are involved.
My approach is pragmatic:
- Videos for students are captioned using Panopto.
- Automatically generated captions are reviewed, especially for disciplinary language.
- If a video includes essential visual information not explained verbally, I provide additional context in text.
I don’t aim for cinematic perfection. I aim for comprehension. Captions help students with hearing impairments, but they also support learners who process information better through reading, students watching in noisy environments, or those reviewing content quickly.
Why I lean on the LMS structure
For a long time, I treated the LMS as a necessary container rather than a design tool. That changed once I realized how much accessibility work it can do for me if I let it. I focus on:
- consistent weekly modules,
- meaningful page titles,
- clear headings,
- and predictable navigation.
I avoid using tables for layout and keep formatting simple. When content order matters, I make that explicit. Students regularly comment that courses designed this way feel “organized” or “easy to follow.” Those comments are often evidence of accessible design at work, even if accessibility isn’t named.
Templates changed the game for me
If I had to identify the single most impactful change I’ve made, it would be adopting accessible templates, some I have designed, others (especially PowerPoints) I find in the Microsoft Templates. These templates already include:
- built‑in heading styles rather than manually formatted text,
- readable, standard fonts at appropriate sizes,
- sufficient color contrast,
- and consistent spacing and structure.
The biggest benefit isn’t that the final documents are “better,” it’s that I don’t have to make accessibility decisions from scratch every time I create something, and they are still visually appealing.
When accessibility is baked into the starting point, it becomes part of the normal workflow instead of a retrofit project. Updating an assignment or revising instructions doesn’t mean re‑checking everything from the ground up. For faculty who are overwhelmed, this is a critical distinction: templates conserve cognitive energy. They let you focus on teaching decisions rather than formatting mechanics.
Choosing what to prioritize and what to release
This is the part I emphasize most when supporting other faculty. Accessibility is not about fixing every artifact you’ve ever created overnight. It’s about making reasonable and thoughtful decisions about your effort and the impact of those artifacts on your students.
I prioritize:
- materials students rely on repeatedly,
- high‑stakes assignments,
- instructions and core learning resources,
- and content I reuse across semesters.
I don’t spend a disproportionate amount of time remediating old materials unless they’re instructionally critical. Instead, I find accessible substitutes or evaluate if they are truly needed. Letting go of the idea that everything must be perfect made it possible for me to keep going.
A starting place that respects faculty reality
If you care about digital accessibility and feel overwhelmed, my advice is simple:
- Start where you are.
- Focus on what your students need next week.
- Use templates and tools that reduce decision‑making.
You do not need to become an expert. You do not need to fix everything immediately. You just need to begin and then fold accessibility into the teaching rhythm you already have. A great place to start is joining CIS for Accessibility in Action: From Compliance to Connection on May 11, 2026. This will serve as an introduction to digital accessibility and the tools we have at CMU to support this crucial work.
Accessibility as a long game
Over time, accessibility has stopped feeling like an add-on and has become part of my teaching identity. My courses are easier to maintain. Updates take less time. Students ask fewer clarifying questions, and when unexpected issues arise, as they always do, I know my materials are more flexible and resilient.
Yes, accessibility connects to institutional responsibility. But for me, its value is deeply practical: it supports learning, reduces unnecessary barriers, and makes teaching more humane. Small improvements accumulate. Barriers come down quietly. And over time, courses become clearer, more inclusive, and easier for everyone involved.
That’s a goal worth working toward—one week at a time.