We talk a lot about systems in inclusion work — the education system, the employment system, the healthcare system, “the system” in general.
It’s common to hear phrases like “The system is broken,” or “The system needs to change.”
But here’s the uncomfortable truth:
The system doesn’t enforce itself. People do.
Systems aren’t entities that exist in isolation. They’re built, sustained, and protected by people — through the policies we design, the assumptions we accept, and the behaviours we normalise.
And until we’re willing to name that, systems will keep doing exactly what they were designed to do: reproduce the same outcomes, for the same groups, over and over again.
The myth of the faceless system
It’s easy — and sometimes comforting — to treat “the system” as something separate from us. Something we can critique without being implicated in it.
But systems are made of people, and people make choices. Every hiring decision, promotion, meeting format, or policy review either challenges or maintains the system’s existing logic.
When we say “the system is ableist” or “the system is exclusive,” what we’re really talking about is a pattern of human behaviour that has become so normalised that it now operates automatically.
And while it may feel safer to point to “the system” as the problem, it’s often the accumulation of smaller choices — who gets a voice, who’s assumed competent, who’s invited in — that keep those structures intact.
Systems are sustained by behaviour, not intention.
Many organisations proudly state their commitment to inclusion, but commitment without examination can still uphold harm.
Think about these examples:
- A hiring process that prizes “cultural fit” but excludes disabled or neurodivergent candidates who present differently.
- A leadership team that approves an accessibility budget but never checks how the funds are used — or if they reach the people who need them.
- A workplace that celebrates Disability Pride Month but fails to question why disclosure rates are low or why adjustments take months.
None of these situations stems from malicious intent. They come from systems built on unquestioned norms — and people who rarely pause to ask who benefits from them.
That’s why inclusion work isn’t about blaming individuals. It’s about understanding how everyday decisions either reinforce or disrupt what already exists.
Calling out systems, calling in people
There’s a difference between calling out and calling in. Both are necessary, but they serve different purposes.
Calling out is about visibility. It shines a light on what’s wrong — the processes, decisions, or assumptions that cause harm. It’s the moment of truth-telling that breaks the illusion of neutrality.
Calling in is what happens next. It’s the invitation to responsibility — the space where people examine their role within the system and begin to make different choices.
Both approaches matter. If we only call out, we risk reinforcing shame and defensiveness. If we only call in, we risk maintaining comfort without change.
Real inclusion requires both the courage to name what’s wrong and the care to bring people into the work of making it right.
The human face of “the system”
When we strip away the jargon, “the system” is just a collection of habits — some conscious, some not.
It’s the team that always books the same inaccessible venue for events—the hiring manager who unconsciously favours confident communicators. The policy drafter who assumes everyone can attend a 9 am meeting. The leadership team that talks about diversity but doesn’t model inclusion.
Each of these actions might seem small, even reasonable. But together, they form the operating logic of a system — one that continues to exclude, even as it claims to evolve.
So when we talk about dismantling ableist systems, we’re really talking about interrupting these patterns of comfort, convenience, and habit. And that starts with people.
Discomfort is not failure — it’s feedback.
One of the most brutal truths in inclusion work is that discomfort is part of progress.
When someone is called in, the instinct might be to defend, explain, or rationalise. But discomfort isn’t a sign you’ve failed — it’s a sign you’re starting to see what’s been invisible to you.
And that visibility is where accountability begins.
Good intentions don’t maintain inclusion; it’s sustained by willingness — the willingness to be questioned, to unlearn, and to rebuild.
That’s why “calling in” isn’t about blame. It’s about care. It’s about believing that people can grow, that systems can change, and that accountability can be a form of respect.
Accountability is how systems change
There’s no such thing as a system that changes without people changing first. Policy reform, new strategies, and awareness campaigns mean little if the culture beneath them remains untouched.
If inclusion is to be more than a statement, it requires consistent, visible accountability:
- Leaders modelling transparency and responsiveness.
- Teams tracking not just activity, but outcomes.
- Decision-makers’ understanding that “we didn’t mean harm” isn’t the same as “we didn’t cause it.”
Because when accountability becomes part of culture, systems start to shift. People begin to act differently, decisions are made with greater awareness, and inclusion stops being a side project — it becomes the standard.
The system isn’t an entity on its own
The system isn’t a separate thing we can dismantle from the outside. It’s a reflection of us — our comfort zones, our routines, and our willingness to evolve.
When we talk about changing systems, we’re really talking about changing ourselves and how we show up inside them.
That’s what “calling out systems and calling in people” means. It’s a recognition that while systems hold power, people hold agency. And when that agency is used with courage, care, and intention, that’s when real progress happens.
Because systems don’t enforce themselves, people do.
And that means people can change them, too.
Over To You
When you think about “the system” in your workplace, what actions or habits keep it running as it is — and which ones could you start to challenge or reimagine?
