As I explore the role of Augmentative and Alternative Communication (AAC) in inclusive education, the articles I’ve read so far have made me think critically about how we define access for students with complex communication needs. AAC is often treated as a tool that supports students after they’ve demonstrated certain skills, but what if access to learning, friendships, and community depends on offering AAC from the start, not later?

In my teaching experience in India and student teaching placements here in the U.S., I’ve worked with several students who rely on AAC devices or other forms of communication support, such as picture boards or sign language. I’ve seen how powerful AAC can be when it is used intentionally, not just for communication, but for real academic engagement. For example, during a reading activity, I supported a student in using their speech-generating device to answer comprehension questions. It gave them a voice, both literally and figuratively. But even then, the process was not easy.

There are many challenges. Teachers often don’t know how to integrate AAC into whole-group instruction, and peers may not understand how to interact with someone who communicates differently. Sometimes, I’ve observed that students who use AAC are unintentionally excluded from classroom discussions, not because they don’t have something to say, but because they need more time, or their communication takes a different form. In some cases, I’ve even seen students looked down on or underestimated simply because they use AAC. It’s heartbreaking to see a student’s intelligence or personality overlooked just because their speech is unconventional.

One idea from my readings that really stayed with me is the danger of the “pre-requisite” mindset, the belief that students must first become proficient in AAC before they are granted full access to academics or peer interaction. But in reality, I’ve seen students with very limited AAC skills still engage meaningfully with peers, especially when those around them are willing to adapt. This shows that communication isn’t just about devices or vocabulary, it’s about relationships, respect, and responsiveness.

This has led me to ask new questions:

• What would classrooms look like if we treated AAC as a starting point for inclusion, not a condition for it?
• How can we better prepare educators and peers to support communicative diversity?
• What systems and policies need to change so that AAC isn’t just viewed as an individual support, but as a shared classroom and school-wide responsibility?

This project is helping me connect my classroom experiences with what research shows is still missing: the authentic, everyday inclusion of students who use AAC in both academic and social life. I want to keep exploring how to break down these barriers, not by focusing solely on the students who use AAC, but by shifting how we design, support, and value the environments they are placed in.