Cognitive Accessibility and Beyond: Designing Heritage Experiences for All

Content warning: This article contains mentions of historical trauma, eugenics, and ableism.

Ramps and lifts are just the beginning. True inclusion in our heritage spaces demands a radical redesign that welcomes a diversity of minds, bodies, and identities, transforming a museum visit from an endurance test into an act of welcome.

From Ramps to Narratives: Redefining True Museum Accessibility

The journey towards truly inclusive museum design begins with expanding our definition of access beyond the physical. A visitor who can enter the building but cannot understand the exhibits is not experiencing genuine access. Cognitive accessibility addresses how people acquire, process, and comprehend information, ensuring that interpretation is available to everyone, regardless of their learning style or neurological profile. In my work, I find this shift from physical compliance to cognitive welcome is the most significant challenge facing cultural institutions today. It requires a conscious move away from one-size-fits-all presentation methods towards a more flexible and varied approach.

This expanded understanding is rooted in the social model of disability, which I believe provides the most robust framework for institutional change. It identifies societal barriers as the primary source of exclusion. For instance, a dimly lit exhibition with small-font labels presents a significant barrier for a person with low vision, just as a loud, overstimulating gallery does for someone with sensory processing sensitivities. Therefore, the responsibility falls on the institution to adapt its environment, not on the individual to overcome it. This perspective shift is fundamental to creating spaces that are welcoming by design, not by special request.

Many institutions are beginning to implement practical changes that reflect this new consciousness. The Smithsonian in Washington, D.C., for example, hosts “Morning at the Museum” events, which are sensory-friendly programmes for families of children with disabilities (Smithsonian Institution, n.d.). These events feature modified lighting and sound, quiet zones, and hands-on activities, providing a model for sensory-friendly museums. This approach demonstrates that creating an inclusive learning environment does not mean “dumbing down” content but rather diversifying its delivery. It is about offering multiple entry points to the same rich narrative.

These initiatives are part of a broader movement towards universal design in museums, a set of principles that aim to create products and environments usable by all people to the greatest extent possible. Universal design benefits everyone, not just individuals with disabilities. I have seen this repeatedly in my research; for example, clear and concise label text written according to plain language principles aids visitors with cognitive disabilities, those for whom the language is not their native language, and even hurried visitors who just want the key points. This principle of universal benefit dismantles the idea that accessibility is a niche concern.

Access Audit Vignette 1: Amara, a university student with ADHD, visits a modern art gallery. The main exhibition hall is a single, vast white room with dozens of paintings and minimal direction, causing immediate sensory overload and executive dysfunction. In a smaller side gallery, however, the museum has grouped art by theme, provided short, bullet-pointed summaries next to each piece, and offered an audio guide with artists’ interviews. Amara finds she can fully engage here, spending an hour absorbed in the art, demonstrating how simple barrier-free communication and structural changes can transform an experience from overwhelming to meaningful.

The challenge lies in making these practices standard rather than exceptional. Interpretive accessibility must become a core competency for curatorial and exhibition design teams. This means training staff to understand the diverse needs of their audience and equipping them with the tools to meet them. From my perspective as an educator, this involves questioning traditional modes of museum authority, where the curator’s voice is the only one that matters. Instead, it invites a more collaborative and responsive method of storytelling.

This requires moving past a checklist mentality of accessibility features. While access audits for cultural sites are an important diagnostic tool, they must be complemented by qualitative, human-centred evaluation. It is not enough to ask if a building has a ramp; we must also ask if the stories told inside that building reflect and respect the full spectrum of human experience. The ultimate goal is to foster a sense of belonging for every single visitor. This feeling is generated not just by physical infrastructure, but by narrative and atmospheric considerations.

Therefore, the work of inclusive tourism extends into every aspect of an institution’s operations. It influences marketing, which should feature diverse representations of visitors, and programming, which should be co-created with the communities it aims to serve. It affects digital strategy, ensuring that websites are screen-reader compatible and that online collections are presented with accessible language. This holistic integration is what separates institutions performing accessibility from those that truly embody it. It is a deep, structural commitment to equity.

Diversifying interpretative methods is a cornerstone of this work. Multi-sensory installations, tactile models, and olfactory components can provide non-visual pathways to understanding for visitors with vision impairments or those who learn kinaesthetically. The Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam, for instance, offers “Feeling Van Gogh,” a multi-sensory tour that allows blind and partially sighted visitors to touch replicas of his paintings (Rijksmuseum, n.d.). Such initiatives are not merely aids; they are innovative forms of multi-sensory interpretation that can provide a profound connection to the artwork for anyone.

Eventually, the redefinition of access is a creative and intellectual challenge. It asks us to be more imaginative, more empathetic, and more rigorous in how we construct public memory and cultural space. It requires us to listen to voices that have historically been marginalised within the heritage sector. By embracing cognitive accessibility, museums can fulfil their public service mission more completely. They can become places of genuine discovery and connection for all.

Achieving this requires sustained investment in training, research, and community partnership. It means allocating budgets for accessibility coordinators, user testing with disabled consultants, and the development of new interpretive technologies. This is not an optional extra but an essential cost of operating an ethical and relevant cultural institution in the 21st century. The return on this investment is measured in expanded audiences and deeper, more meaningful engagement.

The path forward demands a culture shift within the heritage sector itself. It requires moving from a position of authority to one of facilitation, where the museum acts as a platform for diverse stories and perspectives. This is the foundation upon which truly accessible cultural experiences are built. It is how we ensure that our shared heritage is genuinely shared by everyone.

The Intersectional Imperative: Why Identity Matters in Museum Access

A singular focus on one axis of accessibility, such as mobility or cognition, is insufficient because, as my own identity as an asexual woman in academia reminds me, people do not live single-issue lives. The concept of intersectionality, first articulated by legal scholar Kimberlé Crenshaw, explains how overlapping social identities—such as race, gender, class, and disability—combine to create unique experiences of discrimination and privilege (Crenshaw, 1989). Applying an intersectional accessibility lens to heritage spaces reveals that a disabled person’s experience is also shaped by their other identities. This framework is essential for designing truly equitable solutions.

For example, the access needs of a Black, neurodivergent woman visiting a historical plantation site are complex. In my research, I have spoken with many people who face such compounded barriers. She requires not only cognitive accessibility in how information is presented but also a curatorial approach that acknowledges the traumatic history without re-traumatising her. She needs an environment that feels both neurologically and racially safe. A museum that provides a quiet room but fails to offer a decolonising museum experience framework through its narrative has only solved part of the problem.

This highlights a critical gap in many current diversity and inclusion initiatives. They often operate in silos, with one department handling racial equity and another handling disability access, without acknowledging the person who exists at the intersection of both. A truly inclusive institution must dismantle these internal divisions and adopt a unified strategy. This is central to achieving cultural equity in tourism and ensuring that our heritage sites are welcoming to all members of our diverse society. It answers the question of what intersectional accessibility means in a practical, operational sense.

Inclusive storytelling in museums and heritage sites is a powerful tool for intersectional practice. When a museum’s collection and exhibitions reflect a wide range of experiences, visitors are more likely to see themselves and their histories represented. This requires a commitment to non-tokenistic representation, moving beyond a single “diversity” display to integrate these stories throughout the institution. The “Queer British Art 1861–1967” exhibition at Tate Britain, for example, did not just display art by LGBTQIA+ individuals; it situated their work within the broader context of British art history, affirming its central importance (Tate, n.d.).

Access Audit Vignette 2: Leo, a transgender man who uses a wheelchair, attends a special exhibition on local history. The museum is physically accessible, with wide corridors and accessible toilets. However, every historical narrative and portrait on display is of a cisgender, non-disabled person, and a staff member repeatedly misgenders him when offering assistance. While the museum met its physical access obligations, the lack of representation and staff training created a hostile, exclusionary environment, demonstrating that true access is a social and cultural practice, not just an architectural one.

Co-design with disabled communities is the most effective way to address these complex, intersectional needs. Institutions must move beyond tokenistic consultation and engage in genuine partnership with people who hold these lived experiences. This means bringing disabled people, particularly those from other marginalised groups like people of colour and LGBTQIA+ individuals, into the design process from the very beginning. Their expertise is not just valuable; I argue it is essential for creating authentic and effective solutions.

This approach challenges the traditional power dynamics of the museum, positioning community members as experts in their own right. It requires humility and a willingness to cede some institutional authority. For instance, an exhibition on the history of the psychiatric system should be co-curated with members of the Mad Pride and neurodivergent communities. This ensures the narrative is framed with dignity and accuracy, avoiding harmful stereotypes.

Also, an intersectional lens requires us to consider economic accessibility. High admission fees, expensive cafés, and costly special exhibitions create barriers for low-income visitors, a group that disproportionately includes disabled people and people of colour. Institutions like the National Museum of African American History and Culture in Washington, D.C., which offers free admission, provide a powerful model for lowering economic barriers (National Museum of African American History and Culture, n.d.). This makes a profound statement about who is welcome to participate in the nation’s cultural discourse.

The language we use within our walls is another critical site of intersectional practice. Adopting identity-first language (e.g., “autistic person”) or person-first language (e.g., “person with a disability”) should be guided by the preferences of the communities themselves. Similarly, gender-inclusive language on signage and in audio guides signals a safe and respectful environment for transgender and non-binary visitors. This attention to detail communicates a deep and genuine commitment to inclusion.

The physical design of space must also be considered through this lens. For example, a gender-neutral accessible toilet is more inclusive than a gendered one, as it serves the needs of disabled people, transgender and non-binary individuals, and parents with children of a different gender. This single design choice addresses multiple, intersecting needs simultaneously. It is a practical application of intersectional theory.

Yet, intersectional accessibility is not about creating an endless list of accommodations for every possible identity combination. It is about adopting a flexible, empathetic, and human-centred design philosophy. It means asking not just “can this person get in?” but also “do they feel seen, respected, and valued once they are here?”. This deeper question gets to the heart of what it means to build a truly public institution.

The work is ongoing and requires constant learning and adaptation. As our understanding of identity and equity evolves, so too must our institutional practices. By embracing the complexity of intersectionality, heritage sites can move from being passive repositories of the past to active agents of a more just and inclusive future. They can become spaces not just of history, but of healing and connection.

Designing for the Mind: Practical Strategies for Neuro-Inclusive Travel

Creating a neuro-inclusive environment is a central pillar of cognitive accessibility. This means designing experiences that cater to the wide variation in how human brains process information, sensation, and social cues. For the growing number of people who identify as neurodivergent—including autistic people, those with ADHD, dyslexia, and other conditions—a typical museum visit can be an exhausting ordeal of sensory overload and cognitive strain. Proactive design can transform these spaces into sources of joy and learning, directly addressing how to make museums accessible for neurodivergent visitors.

One of the most effective strategies I have seen in my fieldwork is the implementation of quiet spaces in museums. These are designated areas away from the main exhibition traffic where visitors can decompress from sensory stimulation. A quiet space is not merely an empty room; it should be intentionally designed with soft furnishings, low lighting, and sound-dampening materials. The Children’s Museum of Houston, for instance, offers a “Calm Down Corner” with sensory tools, providing a sanctuary for children who feel overwhelmed (Children’s Museum Houston, 2023).

Another key component is applying the principles of universal design for learning (UDL) to exhibit interpretation. UDL is a framework that guides the design of learning environments to be usable by everyone without the need for adaptation or specialised design. In a museum context, this means presenting information in multiple formats: visual (text, images, video with captions), auditory (audio guides, recorded narratives), and kinaesthetic (tactile models, interactive displays). This redundancy ensures that visitors with different sensory processing differences and learning preferences can all access the core content.

Clear and predictable navigation is also paramount. Large, complex buildings can be disorienting for many people, especially those with anxiety or executive function challenges. Simple, high-contrast signage, logical floor plans, and the availability of visual schedules or storyboards can significantly reduce cognitive load. The Intrepid Sea, Air & Space Museum in New York provides detailed social narratives on its website that describe what a visitor can expect to see, hear, and do, allowing neurodivergent visitors to prepare for their experience in advance (Intrepid Museum, n.d.).

Access Audit Vignette 3: Chloe, a teenager with dyslexia, is visiting a science museum for a school project. In the first hall, the exhibits rely on long paragraphs of technical jargon printed in a small, serif font, making them almost impossible for her to read. Frustrated, she almost leaves before discovering a newer wing designed with UDL principles. Here, each exhibit features a short, simple introductory sentence, an interactive touchscreen with adjustable text size, and a QR code linking to a short video explaining the concept, making it one of the best examples of cognitive accessibility in heritage sites she has seen.

The language used in exhibition text is a powerful tool for inclusion or exclusion. Adhering to clear language principles is essential for cognitive accessibility. This means using short sentences, common words, and an active voice, and avoiding jargon and abstract concepts without explanation. The Plain Language Action and Information Network (PLAIN) in the United States provides excellent guidelines that can be adapted for museum labels and panels, making content more accessible to a much broader audience.

Beyond text, visual storytelling for inclusion offers a potent alternative. Infographics, timelines, graphic novel-style panels, and well-chosen photographs can convey complex information quickly and intuitively. This benefits not only people with reading disabilities but also visual learners and visitors who are short on time. The goal is to create layers of information, allowing visitors to choose between a quick overview or a deeper dive, depending on their interest and cognitive capacity.

For many neurodivergent individuals, social interactions can be a source of stress. Staff training is, therefore, a critical component of any neurodivergent travel strategy. Personnel should be trained to recognise signs of distress and to interact in a patient, non-judgmental manner. They should be prepared to offer assistance, such as guiding someone to a quiet space or providing clear, literal directions, without making the visitor feel singled out.

Offering sensory tools can also make a significant difference. Some institutions, like the Explora Science Centre and Children’s Museum in Albuquerque, provide “sensory backpacks” that contain items like noise-cancelling headphones, sunglasses, and fidget tools (Explora, n.d.). This simple provision allows visitors to self-regulate their sensory experience, giving them the autonomy to customise their visit to their own needs. This is a practical example of how to create sensory-friendly museum experiences.

The scheduling and timing of a visit can also be adapted. Offering “sensory-friendly hours” or “relaxed openings” outside of peak times, with reduced visitor numbers and softened environmental stimuli, has become a popular and effective practice. This practice acknowledges that the when of a visit is just as important as the what.

These practical strategies are not about diminishing the intellectual or aesthetic richness of an institution. On the contrary, they are about ensuring that more people can access that richness. By designing for the diversity of human minds, museums and heritage sites can foster a more profound and widespread appreciation for the stories they hold. It is an investment in creating a truly public and democratic cultural commons.

Finally, designing for neurodiversity is an act of empathy-led heritage design. It requires institutional leaders and designers to imagine the world through a different neurological lens and to adjust their practices accordingly. This approach moves beyond mere compliance towards a culture of care. It is this culture that will define the truly accessible and welcoming institutions of the future.

Co-Design as Radical Practice: “Nothing About Us Without Us”

The principle of “Nothing About Us Without Us,” a mantra popularised by the disability rights movement, must be the guiding ethos for any institution serious about accessibility. It asserts that no policy should be decided without the full and direct participation of members of the group affected by that policy. For museums and heritage sites, this translates into what I consider a radical but necessary shift: from designing for disabled people to designing with them. This is the essence of co-design with disabled communities.

This practice moves far beyond superficial consultation, such as one-off focus groups or feedback surveys. True co-design embeds disabled individuals, in all their intersectional diversity, as paid collaborators and experts throughout the entire lifecycle of a project. This includes everything from the initial concept development and curatorial research to exhibition design, user testing, and staff training. It is a fundamental redistribution of power and expertise.

A leading practitioner in this field is Sina Bahram, an accessibility consultant and researcher who founded Prime Access Consulting (PAC). Bahram, who is blind, and his team work with institutions like the Cooper Hewitt, Smithsonian Design Museum to build accessibility into digital and physical experiences from the ground up (Cooper Hewitt, n.g.). Their work on projects like making museum collection data accessible to screen reader users exemplifies how user-centred design in heritage leads to more innovative and robust outcomes for everyone.

This collaborative approach directly addresses the weakness of tokenistic engagement. When institutions design in a vacuum, they often rely on assumptions and stereotypes about disability, leading to solutions that are clumsy, condescending, or simply ineffective. Co-design ensures that the solutions are grounded in the lived reality of those who will use them, resulting in a more dignified and functional experience. This is one of the best practices for designing accessible exhibitions.

Access Audit Vignette 4: A history museum plans an exhibit on the eugenics movement and its impact on disabled people. Initially, the curatorial team, composed entirely of non-disabled academics, drafts a narrative that is historically accurate but emotionally detached. The museum then brings in a co-design committee of disabled activists and historians. The committee reframes the narrative to centre the voices of the victims, incorporates personal testimonies and art from disabled creators, and insists on including a section about the modern disability rights movement as an act of resistance, transforming the exhibition into a powerful statement on social justice.

Again, co-design is an essential tool for decolonising museum experiences. The same logic that demands the inclusion of disabled voices in telling their own stories also applies to Indigenous communities, people of colour, and other marginalised groups. Curatorial authority must be shared with community stakeholders to ensure that their histories are told accurately, respectfully, and without perpetuating colonialist narratives. This creates a richer, more truthful historical record.

This process also enriches the institution itself by bringing new skills and perspectives into the organisation. Disabled co-designers are often expert problem-solvers and creative thinkers, having spent their lives navigating a world not built for them. Their contributions can lead to innovations that benefit the entire visitor population, aligning perfectly with the principles of universal design for learning (UDL).

Implementing a co-design model requires a genuine institutional commitment. It means allocating budget lines to fairly compensate community experts for their time and labour. It requires project timelines that are flexible enough to accommodate a truly collaborative and iterative process. It also demands a culture of humility among museum staff, something I advocate for strongly, pushing them to acknowledge that they are not the sole experts in the room.

The impact of this practice extends beyond a single exhibition. It builds lasting relationships between the institution and the communities it serves, fostering trust and a sense of shared ownership. This is how museums become true community anchors rather than remote and intimidating temples of high culture. This sustained engagement is the bedrock of inclusion in museum programming.

When co-design is done well, the result is an experience that feels authentic and deeply considered. It avoids the pitfalls of “inspiration porn”—the objectification of disabled people for the emotional benefit of the non-disabled audience. Instead, it presents disability and difference as integral parts of the human experience, deserving of nuanced and dignified representation.

This commitment to collaborative creation is also a key component of ethical, inclusive travel experiences for disabled people. Tourists are increasingly looking for authentic experiences that align with their values. A heritage site that can demonstrate a genuine commitment to co-design and community partnership is not only more ethical but also more attractive to this growing market of conscious travellers.

In essence, co-design is the practical application of the social model of disability. It actively works to dismantle the barriers that the institution itself has created. It is an ongoing conversation, a dynamic process of listening, learning, and adapting that makes the museum a more democratic and vital public space.

Charting a Course for Universal Heritage

When I began my career in disability studies, the conversation around access felt confined to legal compliance and architectural blueprints. Today, I feel a tangible sense of momentum towards something far more meaningful. The work outlined here—embracing cognitive accessibility, applying an intersectional accessibility lens, and committing to co-design—is about more than just opening buildings. It is about fulfilling the fundamental promise of public culture: to create spaces of shared understanding and belonging.

The path forward requires a sustained and honest commitment from all of us in the heritage sector. It demands that we move beyond our traditional roles as authoritative experts and become facilitators, partners, and, most importantly, listeners. It means seeing every design choice, from the font on a label to the narrative of an exhibition, as an opportunity to include or exclude. This is how to make historical sites inclusive for all visitors.

My research and advocacy are driven by a simple belief: that everyone has a right to see themselves and their histories reflected with dignity in our collective spaces. The strategies for achieving this are not mysterious; they are practical, achievable, and deeply human. As we continue this work, we are not just building better museums—we are building a more just and empathetic society, one accessible cultural experience at a time.

References

Children’s Museum Houston. (2023). Sensory friendly day. Retrieved from https://www.cmhouston.org/events/sensory-friendly-day

Cooper Hewitt, Smithsonian Design Museum. (n.d.). Accessibility. Retrieved from https://www.cooperhewitt.org/accessibility/

Crenshaw, K. (1989). Demarginalizing the intersection of race and sex: A black feminist critique of antidiscrimination doctrine, feminist theory and antiracist politics. University of Chicago Legal Forum, 1989(1), Article 8.

Explora. (n.d.). Visiting Explora. Retrieved from https://www.explora.us/visiting-explora/

Intrepid Museum. (n.d.). Social narratives. Retrieved from https://www.intrepidmuseum.org/access/social-narratives

National Museum of African American History and Culture. (n.d.). Visit the museum. Retrieved from https://nmaahc.si.edu/visit

Rijksmuseum. (n.d.). Feeling Van Gogh. Retrieved from https://www.rijksmuseum.nl/en/visit/people-with-disabilities/feeling-van-gogh

Smithsonian Institution. (n.d.). Morning at the museum. Retrieved from https://access.si.edu/morning-at-the-museum

Tate. (n.d.). Queer British Art 1861–1967. Retrieved from https://www.tate.org.uk/whats-on/tate-britain/queer-british-art-1861-1967