Skip to content
Search

Latest Stories

‘Collective effort needed to build an inclusive society’

By Atif Choudhury with Raphaele Von Koettlitz

IT’S no secret that we all benefit from diversity, both in business and beyond, in terms of in­creased innovation, productivity, wellbeing and even profitability.


For many people, it simply represents a sense of belonging. Yet when you consider we have a disa­bility employment and pay gap that costs our nation £52 billion a year, it’s clear we still have some way to go to achieve “belonging” for everyone.

There are deep-seated ine­qualities running across many powerlines – gender, race, class, sexuality, (dis)ability and so on. This exclusion is felt socially, economically and emotionally and it’s all of our responsibilities to fix it. Build­ing an inclusive, anti-racist and unconditionally kind society is going to take all of us.

The Black Lives Matter movement and gender pay gap scandal are just two examples of people saying they have had enough. And what’s important to recognise in all of this is that the two aren’t mutually exclusive. A poor, black, disabled woman is unlikely to say it’s ok to fix racism, but to forget about misogyny and ableism. People’s identities, experiences and histories are interwoven and we need to be thinking about all these different layers in order to create the shifts that really matter.

This is the same for understanding mental health and psychological safety in the workplace. Mental health concerns are not going to be the same for white, brown and black folks. This is why I believe sincere inclusion can only move at the speed of trust. Black and minority ethnic communities, fac­ing a legacy of oppression and discrimination, won’t feel the same level of safety to disclose a hid­den difference as a white colleague might. They have every reason to be wary. The work to ensure diversity and inclusion are authentically woven in­to the fabric of our society is tangled up in issues around trust, which has to be earned.

In this sense, we need to rethink our under­standing of mental health, moving away from med­ical disabilities and deficits. Instead, we need to be talking more in terms of disablement and impact; the attitudinal barriers and socio-economic blocks we face in accessing resources and advocating for ourselves, or simply being ourselves.

To share my own story, growing up on a council es­tate in Thamesmead as a young Bangladeshi with dys­lexia, I often spent my time at school navigating racism and the fact that I seemed to think differently from my peers.

I had to leave school when I was 16 to go and work in order to help sup­port my family. I started working in a bank and while I was great with customers, my anxiety of dealing with numbers made work a daily stress.

I bring this up as neurodiversity – at the time – was not on my radar, nor on my family’s or com­munity’s. It’s often still the case, but particularly at that time, dyslexia was rarely picked up in working class or migrant BAME communities, and it certainly wasn’t recognised as an innovative or creative force.

I’m in a position now where I have set up the organisation I desperately needed when I was younger. Diversity and Ability (D&A) is an award-winning, disabled-led social enterprise that has supported more than 70,000 disabled and neurodivergent peo­ple in education, the workplace and through social justice projects. In our team, 85 per cent identify as disabled or neurodiverse, and it’s this diversity that makes us so good at what we do. The team shares important life experiences with the people we sup­port and there’s safety in this.

Representation can be about shared understanding and experience, but it also shows us what is possible – the opportunities and doors open to us. To guarantee equal participation and even the psy­chological safety of individuals from marginalised communities, role models and representation are vital. We achieve diverse representation only when we actively seek to include people from varied backgrounds, with different talents and identities, giving everyone a seat at the table. This is a chal­lenge faced by all industries and sectors of society.

Making shifts towards greater inclusion means listening to the voices of those with authentic lived experiences. Often the most powerful changes are brought about through grassroots movements powered by those most affected because they really need the change they seek. We need people to rock the boat – doing so is what is needed to discover new shores. But without embedded equity and emotional security, this is profoundly tough work. And it’s work that will rarely be supported in an agenda founded in reactive HR speak.

Hence, just as our parents and grandparents did before us when settling in the UK, we as a society, evolve through the courage of shared experiences and mutinies led by those wanting better inclusion for their children. How else could this ever have been made possible without the power of diversity?

Hearing from the voices which are so often hid­den or spoken over is the only way to understand the barriers to participation. If we acknowledge that our understanding of mental health outreach is steeped in bias of class, race, gender, and ability, we can start to unpack how we might foster a true sense of belonging for everyone.

We need to be anticipatory in welcoming the di­versity of thought, to make sure all children, regard­less of culture and colour, can access the support they need to soar. Trusting the assets of learning differ­ences and unique lived experiences can change the world – perhaps it’s the only thing that ever does.

Atif Choudhury is the CEO and co-founder of Diversity and Ability (www.diversityandability.com) and co-founder of Zaytoun (www.zaytoun.org/). Raphaele Von Koettlitz works on D&A’s communi­cations and project manages inclusion projects for clients spanning across the higher education, workplace and the charity sectors.

More For You

Does likeability count more than brilliance?

Higher education participation is 50 per cent for British south Asian students

Does likeability count more than brilliance?

THE headline in the Daily Telegraph read: An 18-year-old with a higher IQ than Stephen Hawking has passed 23 A-levels.

The gushing piece went on to report that Mahnoor Cheema, whose family originate from Pakistan, had also received an unconditional offer from Oxford University to read medicine.

Keep ReadingShow less
Comment: Why it’s vital to tell stories
of Asian troops’ war effort

Jay Singh Sohal on Mandalay Hill in Burma at the position once held by Sikh machine gunners who fought to liberate the area

Comment: Why it’s vital to tell stories of Asian troops’ war effort

Jay Singh Sohal OBE VR

ACROSS the Asian subcontinent 80 years ago, the guns finally fell silent on August 15, the Second World War had truly ended.

Yet, in Britain, what became known as VJ Day often remains a distant afterthought, overshadowed by Victory in Europe against the Nazis, which is marked three months earlier.

Keep ReadingShow less
Judicial well-being: From taboo to recognition by the UN

The causes of judicial stress are multifaceted, and their effects go far beyond individual well-being

iStock

Judicial well-being: From taboo to recognition by the UN

Justice Rangajeeva Wimalasena

Judicial well-being has long been a taboo subject, despite the untold toll it has taken on judges who must grapple daily with the problems and traumas of others. Research shows that judicial stress is more pronounced among magistrates and trial judges, who routinely face intense caseloads and are exposed to distressing material. The causes of judicial stress are multifaceted, and their effects go far beyond individual well-being. They ultimately affect the integrity of the institution and the quality of justice delivered. This is why judicial well-being requires serious recognition and priority.

As early as 1981, American clinical psychologist Isaiah M. Zimmerman presented one of the first and most comprehensive analyses of the impact of stress on judges. He identified a collection of stressors, including overwhelming caseloads, isolation, the pressure to maintain a strong public image, and the loneliness of the judicial role. He also highlighted deeply personal challenges such as midlife transitions, marital strain, and diminishing career satisfaction, all of which quietly but persistently erode judicial well-being.

Keep ReadingShow less
Fauja Singh

Fauja Singh

Getty Images

What Fauja Singh taught me

I met Fauja Singh twice, once when we hiked Snowdon and I was in awe he was wearing shoes, not trainers and walking like a pro, no fear, just smiling away. I was struggling to do the hike with trainers. I remember my mum saying “what an inspiration”. He was a very humble and kind human being. The second time I met him was when I was at an event, and again, he just had such a radiant energy about him. He’s one of a kind and I’m blessed to have met him.

He wasn’t just a runner. He was a symbol. A living contradiction to everything we’re taught about age, limits, and when to stop dreaming. And now that he’s gone, it feels like a light has gone out—not just in Punjab or east London, but in the hearts of everyone who saw a bit of themselves in his journey.

Keep ReadingShow less
“Why can’t I just run?”: A south Asian woman’s harrowing harassment story

Minreet with her mother

“Why can’t I just run?”: A south Asian woman’s harrowing harassment story

I was five years old when my parents first signed me up for a mini marathon. They were both keen runners and wanted me to follow in their footsteps. At the time, I hated it. Running felt like punishment — exhausting, uncomfortable, and something I never imagined I’d do by choice.

But one moment changed everything. I was 12, attending a gymnastics competition, and had gone to the car alone to grab my hula hoop. As I walked back, a group of men started shouting at me. They moved closer. I didn’t wait to hear what they had to say — I ran. Fast. My heart was pounding. It was the first time I felt afraid simply for existing in public as a young girl. I never told anyone. But I remember feeling thankful, strangely, that my parents had taught me how to run.

Keep ReadingShow less