I keep coming back to this: an interface is an expression of empathy. But it is even more than that.
The reason I talk so much about accessibility isn’t guilt. It’s not compliance. It’s not even about “doing the right thing,” though that should be enough.
It’s because when you build an interface with care—when you follow semantic HTML, use labels properly, and use buttons as buttons—you’re building something that can literally change someone’s life.
Not metaphorically. Literally.
We treat accessibility like it’s a cherry on top. Optional. A “nice-to-have.”
But it’s not the cherry. It’s the batter. It’s the pan. It’s the whole dang cake.
I watched my son, when he was seven, learn the entire interface for Mario Maker in under ten minutes. Within an hour, he had built his own playable game levels—something it would have taken a whole team of adults to do when I was a kid.
That interface gave him a superpower.
That’s what good interfaces do: they empower people.
And if you know that simply doing your job well—writing accessible, semantic HTML and CSS, occasionally testing your interface with a screen reader, and fixing problems as they arise—can empower someone with a disability to live, work, bank, learn, or even just exist a little more independently…
Then you stop asking, “Why should we?” and start asking, “Why the hell wouldn’t we?”