by Mark Britz, Director of Event Programming & Content at the Learning Guild

I began my career in the mid-1990s as a high school history teacher in Central New York. Like all new teachers in the state, I knew I needed to complete a master’s degree to remain certified. I wasn’t looking to branch out, I was committed to social studies education, so I chose the most convenient option: a satellite graduate program offered by Syracuse University in Inclusive Education.

At the time, I saw the decision as practical, even selfish. I didn’t expect it to alter my thinking... let alone my career.

What I walked into was nothing short of an ideological awakening. The faculty didn’t just teach inclusive education, they lived and breathed it. They saw the separation of students with disabilities not as a logistical necessity, but as an act of segregation. Their stance was fierce, passionate, and unrelenting. They drew powerful parallels between the marginalization of students with disabilities and other forms of social exclusion—racism, sexism, elitism.

At first, I was taken aback. Their energy bordered on militant. But it was equally compassionate. Grounded. Over time, their vision cracked something open in me. I began to see students not as categories or diagnoses, but as individuals whose humanity was too often obscured by labels. I corrected people when they referred to “the Downs kid.” "No," I’d say, "he’s a kid, who happens to have Down syndrome." I read about the Deaf President Now movement at Gallaudet University and felt inspired, not just by its outcome, but by the unapologetic demand for dignity. I had fully bought in!

When I moved to Arizona in the late 1990's, that belief system became a lifeline. I was hired quickly as my master’s degree in Inclusive Education made me a unique candidate, but what I found was disheartening. The system there was overtly segregationist. Students with disabilities were clustered in one classroom, regardless of the nature or extent of their needs. From profound autism to cerebral palsy, every student with an IEP was placed with me. It wasn’t inclusive. It was unjust.

I couldn’t change the system overnight, but I could start with knowledge. I educated parents on their rights. I found allies among general education teachers and helped them adapt their classrooms, not just to accommodate, but to welcome. My role evolved. I became a bridge, a support for teachers who were willing to stretch, and an advocate for students who deserved more than containment.

We weren’t trying to mold every student with Down syndrome into a straight-A scholar. That was never the point. The goal was mutual transformation: to help students with disabilities learn how to navigate and thrive in broader environments, and to help their non-disabled peers grow into more compassionate, understanding human beings. These were life lessons... mutual ones. Learning to share space. To listen. To adapt. To belong.

Eventually, I moved into corporate learning and development, but the principles stayed with me. The work I had done in public education became a lens I brought to everything. I came to believe that inclusion (true inclusion) isn’t about placement or policy. It’s about design.

That belief is now baked into my work in organizational design and learning strategy. My focus on “Social By Design” is an extension of the same values. Whether in classrooms or corporations, people flourish when the environment is intentionally crafted to remove artificial barriers—be they labels, roles, or hierarchies. Humans are naturally social. We want to learn from and with each other. We just need space, and systems that allow us to do it.

Funny. I began this journey by signing up for a degree, I didn’t realize I was stepping into a lifelong mission.

One Thing You Can Do Right Now

Examine one system you touch and open it up. Whether it’s how meetings are run, how feedback is gathered, or how team decisions are made, take a fresh look at one process in your sphere of influence.

Ask yourself: Who does this unintentionally exclude? What assumptions are baked in? Where is transparency missing?

Then, make one small change that opens it up.

Maybe that means rotating facilitation roles so more voices are heard. Maybe it’s making project documents accessible by default. Or sharing draft ideas earlier, to invite input from people who don’t always speak first.

Real inclusion doesn’t start with big proclamations. It starts by redesigning the rules we often take for granted. Systems shape behavior. Open systems create open cultures.