Disability Inclusion Isn’t “Special Needs”—It’s Smart Philanthropy

In a matter of just a few months, the US Department of Education has gutted nearly all staff responsible for special education oversight, leaving many disability-related programs across agencies to face growing uncertainty about the future of their funding.

One in four adults lives with a disability, but only 2 percent of grant funding goes toward disability-related work. That approach is not only outdated; it’s strategically flawed.

These cuts will impact 7.5 million children with disabilities across the nation by yanking funding for—and oversight of—the disability services they need in order to learn, leaving families scrambling to find specialized care for their children. Divestments in social service provisions at the federal level are also an alarming bellwether for the direction our nation is headed as major corporations continue to roll back their DEI policies.

The enormous progress our country has made on disability inclusion risks being completely decimated, and philanthropy has a uniquely powerful role to play here: Quite simply, fund disability inclusion. Funders shape what is possible. They influence what gets measured, prioritized, and sustained. Funders, together with cross-sector and grassroots leaders, can create the conditions where every child, every adult, every family has access to the resources they need to thrive.

For too long, disability inclusion has been funded as a side project—a “special needs” program or a single accessibility grant. One in four adults lives with a disability, but only 2 percent of grant funding goes toward disability-related work. That approach is not only outdated; it’s strategically flawed.

Disability is not a side issue. It’s a systems issue—and systems are philanthropy’s domain. This work belongs at the core of every funding strategy. Education, mental health, leadership development, workforce equity, and community wellbeing all intersect with disability. If funders say, “That’s not our area,” they’re missing the point.

The Risks of Exclusion

When disability inclusion is siloed—and funded as such—the consequences are measurable, with marked inequities reflecting the fact that our systems are not designed to accommodate everyone. People with disabilities face higher risks of poor health outcomes and often experience stigma, discrimination, and barriers to accessing education and employment. The recent reductions and restructuring in federal funding for disability-related programs only compound existing inequities.

Disability is not a side issue. It’s a systems issue—and systems are philanthropy’s domain.

As a result, gaps emerge and existing disparities deepen, while critical needs go unmet. For example, proposals to restructure or reduce funding for programs such as Medicaid and SNAP would shift costs to states or further restrict eligibility, threatening health coverage and nutrition assistance that millions of people with disabilities rely on. And when supports shrink in an already fragmented system, services become harder to access. Fewer accommodations are available, and individuals face greater barriers to maintaining employment and financial stability. The burden shifts to families and loved ones—many of whom already reduce their own working hours to provide unpaid care—further decreasing household income and deepening economic instability.

In other words, beyond economic indicators lies a quieter loss of participation.

Society rarely considers the families who have disappeared from American communal life because the barriers to participation are simply too great. The social sector frequently asks how to expand reach, grow engagement, and build belonging—the answer cannot exclude one-quarter of the population.

Fortunately, there are several foundations and philanthropic funds that have already stepped forward to showcase how a commitment to disability inclusion can be more than just occasional grants.

Advancing Disability Inclusion Together

Through its US Disability Rights Program, the Ford Foundation has committed to incorporating a “disability lens” across its grantmaking. This allows for intentional examination of how policies, programs, and funding decisions affect people with disabilities, even when disability is not the primary focus of a grant. Rather than treating disability as a separate or niche issue, this approach considers accessibility, participation, and equity at every stage of a grantmaker’s work.

Similarly, through their Disability Inclusion Fund (DIF) for grantmaking, Borealis Philanthropy has found a way to help others invest directly in disability-led organizations and grassroots inclusion efforts. These initiatives have helped bring disability-focused grantmaking to the forefront. They demonstrate that intentional, inclusive philanthropy can produce meaningful change. By elevating disability as an intersectional priority rather than a peripheral concern, funders like these are improving the lives of people with disabilities while also modeling how philanthropy can operate more equitably.

If we are working to create social change, we have a collective responsibility to stand for disability inclusion. Nonprofits and funders must ensure every initiative fosters a sense of belonging for the disability community, which is likely represented among the communities served.

If a foundation funds education, workforce development, mental health, leadership pipelines, arts and culture, or community wellbeing, it already funds disability—whether intentionally or not.

As an advocate for advancing disability inclusion within Jewish communities, I know firsthand that organizations can move beyond isolated programs and toward systemic change by identifying their strengths, uncovering barriers to inclusion, and implementing inclusive practices. A report released by Matan, the organization I lead, found that while good intentions run throughout the Jewish community—which has lagged in disability inclusion for years—standalone programs cannot sustain long-lasting inclusion.

Over the past 11 years, Matan has studied Jewish communities across North America. In every region studied, 20 to 25 percent of people have identified disabilities, including but not limited to learning, developmental, and mental health challenges, which mirrors national averages. Yet fewer than one-third of Jewish schools employ a dedicated inclusion coordinator or learning specialist; approximately 70 percent of early childhood and congregational schools report inclusion but no formal policies or structures; and 70 percent of communities rely on external service providers or temporary paraprofessional support rather than building long-term internal capacity.

Early on, Matan helped create classes and programs so children with disabilities could participate more fully in Jewish life, ensuring they could learn in religious school classrooms, join holiday celebrations, attend summer programs, and take part in the Jewish community alongside their peers. In many cases, this meant providing trained staff, adapting curriculum, or creating sensory-friendly spaces so children who might otherwise have been excluded could engage meaningfully in learning, ritual, and recreational activities. These efforts led to important successes: children who had previously been turned away were welcomed in, and families who had felt on the margins found a place in their communities.

Over time, however, these isolated programs, though well-intentioned, could not transform institutions or the community as a whole. Disability inclusion was dependent on a single program, a short-term grant, or one dedicated staff member—it was not yet a part of the fabric of these organizations.

By contrast, when organizations moved beyond these isolated programs toward systemic change, leadership teams embedded inclusion into strategic planning. Educators designed lessons with the expectation that diverse learners would be present. And organizational policies took disability accessibility into consideration. In those environments, participation is not something that must be negotiated case by case; it is simply the way the community functions.

These principles apply everywhere: Inclusion is strongest when it’s built into the system itself. It will take leadership, resources, and accountability to transform our institutions into places where belonging is the rule and not the exception. It has to be a collective effort from philanthropies, nonprofits, and community leaders to close the gap.

For community leaders, this is not about creating a separate disability initiative. It’s about ensuring that people with disabilities and their families are not inadvertently designed out of the systems we build.

For funders, many foundations do not “do” disability. But if a foundation funds education, workforce development, mental health, leadership pipelines, arts and culture, or community wellbeing, it already funds disability—whether intentionally or not.

Three Foundational Pillars: A Framework for Disability Inclusion

Real inclusion becomes possible when organizations invest in three foundational pillars: champions, funding, and permission to act.

Here are some practical steps all funders can take now:

• Champion Inclusion

Inclusion needs leadership—not just goodwill. Too often, responsibility for accessibility falls to the most empathetic staff member, without budget authority or executive backing. That model almost guarantees burnout and limited impact.

When leadership signals that inclusion is mission-critical, culture begins to shift.

This could look like supporting full-time inclusion leadership roles within grantee organizations, funding cross-departmental inclusion teams, encouraging board-level oversight of accessibility goals, and investing in leadership development for people with disabilities.

• Invest in Funding

Intentions do not build ramps, provide interpreters, train staff, or redesign systems. Budgets do. If inclusion is not reflected in financial planning, it will remain peripheral.

Funders can take practical steps that advance disability inclusion without placing additional administrative burden on nonprofit partners, an approach that aligns with the growing movement toward trust-based philanthropy. For example, funders can provide multiyear, unrestricted funding that allows organizations to integrate disability inclusion into their overall operations rather than into short-term or program-specific grants. This enables nonprofits to invest in ongoing initiatives like staff training, accessible infrastructure, and inclusive program design as part of their core work.

Another approach is community-informed grantmaking, in which people with disabilities and community leaders help define success and guide strategy. This shifts decision-making power toward those most affected by funding decisions rather than asking nonprofits alone to translate community needs into preexisting funder priorities.

• Permission to Act

The third pillar is often overlooked: Institutions need permission—and incentives—to prioritize inclusion. When accessibility is optional, it is postponed. Too often, professionals are resistant to inclusion because they are afraid—afraid of making mistakes, saying the wrong thing, or promising access and not getting it exactly right.

Funders have the power to let organizations know that they don’t have to be perfect to begin, that honest learning will not jeopardize funding, and that efforts will be met with partnership.

At their best, these three pillars reinforce one another. Champions advocate for sustained change. Funding makes that change possible. Clear expectations create accountability. Together, they transform inclusion from a charitable gesture into institutional design.

Let’s build systems that reflect our values and, in turn, create a future where everyone belongs.