The Great Promise of Inclusion?

1. Introduction

Inclusion has become a key concept in discussions of education, social policy and disability studies. It refers to the philosophy of acceptance, belonging and being valued, as well as the practical arrangements that enable participation in communities and institutions of society [1]. The normative appeal of inclusion is strong: it is difficult to resist it without also having to defend exclusion. This is precisely why inclusion is also politically useful. It can serve as an ethical guideline and a legal objective, but it can also function as an administrative slogan, which names actions that do not actually change the structures of exclusion. This creates the central paradox of inclusion: the welfare state can be seen as an enabler of inclusion, but at the same time, as inclusion progresses, new forms of exclusion are constantly encountered [2].

In this article, I analyze the concept of inclusion in relation to its related concepts (equality, non-discrimination, diversity) and examine the inclusion– exclusion arrangement from the perspectives of power, norms and stigma. I also analyze the implementation of inclusion in key areas of disability life: in education, housing and the service system, in working life, as well as in crises and digitalized everyday life. I approach inclusion in stages: accessibility (access), participation (being with others) and agency (the power to influence the conditions of participation) [3]. These levels can be used to distinguish between formal “inclusion” and inclusion in which belonging and agency are realized.

In terms of conceptual and theoretical framework, I draw on classical exclusion analysis [4,5] and connect them to the ableism debate of critical disability studies, which makes visible the hidden conditions of inclusion: what kind of bodies, minds and lifestyles are considered “functional” and “valuable” in society [6]. I also draw on the distinction between “narrow” and “broad” conceptualizations of inclusion: inclusion is often studied as a technical question of placement and impact, but it also contains normative and value-related conflicts that cannot be resolved by mere metrics [7]. My starting point is that the great promise of inclusion is not automatically fulfilled by institutional reforms, but requires simultaneously resourcing, challenging norms and strengthening the agency of people with disabilities in different areas of life.

2. Conceptual and Theoretical Framework

The concepts of equality, non-discrimination and diversity are often used as synonyms for inclusion. Equality can be understood as the effort to provide everyone with equal opportunities and protection from discrimination. Equality emphasizes that the same formal rights are not enough if people have different de facto opportunities to participate due to different life situations and historical barriers. Diversity, on the other hand, emphasizes the recognition and appreciation of differences. These concepts are not synonymous with each other, and the tension between them is central to understanding inclusion [8].

The relationship between equality and justice becomes particularly apparent when people need different support. The “same” effort for everyone can produce unequal outcomes. Therefore, equality often requires differentiation: for example, accessibility, accessible communication, decision-making support, personal assistance and reasonable adjustments. This also raises a political question: with what effort is society prepared to support its citizens so that equal opportunities are realized? [2] If diversity remains a mere value statement without resources and structural changes, it easily becomes an “ornament”: diversity is celebrated, but the conditions of belonging and agency do not change.

The inclusion– exclusion arrangement can be examined discursively. One discourse emphasizes citizenship and social rights: inclusion means the right to services, security and social membership. The second discourse is moralistic: exclusion and inclusion are explained through the behavior, values and “deservingness” of the individual. The third discourse is related to integration: the task of the welfare state is understood to be the provision of universal services and security and the maintenance of social order [8]. These discourses coexist and can also collide: for example, in social security, rights can be invoked and activity demanded at the same time. A discourse based on moralism can produce a pseudo-inclusion, in which participation is tied to obligations and control. In the integration discourse, universal services can increase equality, but at the same time they can involve standardization and classification, in which individuality is diluted.

The question of “who is included and on what terms” is always also a question of power. Foucault’s analysis of the history of exclusion and the control of discourses reminds us that societies regulate what can be talked about and in what way, and that institutions have been central to the production of the boundary between “reason” and “irrationality” [4,9]. Goffman’s stigma theory, in turn, illustrates how stigma produces “tainted identities” and narrows interaction, whereby exclusion also occurs at the micro level of everyday life [5,10]. In light of these perspectives, inclusion is not only about access to services, but also about the order of esteem, recognition and social relations.

Critical disability studies introduce the concept of ableism. Ableism is an ability norm: the assumption that full empowerment and dignity require a “functioning” body and mind, and often productivity and independence. Ableism is not only individual discriminatory acts, but also the production of normality : society determines what kind of bodies, minds and lifestyles are “right” and attaches moral and economic expectations to them [6]. When inclusion is understood in practice as adaptation to these norms, it becomes conditional: one can only “get into” the system if one is able to adapt. Inclusion is then simultaneously inclusion and norming.

This paradox can also be clarified through multiple identities: individuals belong to multiple groups simultaneously, and inclusion in one dimension can produce otherness in another. For example, inclusion policies can strengthen the recognition of the “disabled” identity, but at the same time create new expectations about what kind of disabled person is acceptable – for example, “active”, “independent” and “rehabilitating”. In this case, the experience of belonging and exclusion can be simultaneous and situational [11].

At the same time, inclusion is linked to how people’s lives are managed in society. Governance analysis emphasizes that modern institutions continuously produce classifications, metrics, and standards that are used to manage life “economically” and “efficiently” [12]. This is reflected in disability policy, for example, in the assessment of service needs and eligibility criteria: the system needs classification to function, but classification can also produce stigma and exclude people if the criteria are narrow or if decisions are based on the assumption of a normal life. The promise of inclusion cannot therefore be understood without the mechanisms of management and classification.

The degrees of inclusion are also linked to political economy. Gidley et al. (2010) point out that the narrowest inclusion (accessibility) is often linked to neoliberal thinking, which emphasizes human capital, social capital and market logic, while broader interpretations (participation and agency) require an examination of social justice and power. This distinction helps to understand why inclusion can in practice remain “access” to services or schools without changing the conditions of participation. Broad inclusion specifically requires that barriers to participation are also dismantled in institutional practices and everyday cultures.

3. Inclusion in Key Domains

Education is the most visible application area of inclusion, but it is also the area where the gap between the rhetoric and practice of inclusion is often particularly stark. Research on inclusive education has long examined the effects: whether inclusion improves learning outcomes or socio-emotional well-being compared to separate solutions. Norwich [7] notes that such research is important, but it can narrow the concept of inclusion if inclusion is defined “narrowly” as mere placement and technical arrangement. The value conflicts surrounding inclusion – for example, the tension between difference and the goal of a common school, or the tension between personal choice and public responsibility – need to be made visible, because they guide policy as much as the indicators [7]. This is also relevant in the Finnish debate, where inclusion can mean both goal-oriented equality and “integration without support” under resource pressures.

The perspective of pupils and students makes the everyday nature of inclusion visible. A review of qualitative research shows that children and young people’s experience of inclusion is built on the support and attitudes of teachers and adults in the school, concrete adaptations, a safe physical and social environment, managing transitions, and friendships and strengthening one’s own sense of self [13]. Such findings challenge the idea that inclusion is just “access to mainstream education”. Inclusion does not occur if a student is in the same space but is an outsider, alone or subject to constant stigma.

In Finnish school discourse, inclusion is also linked to curriculum texts and their interpretation. Discourse theory analysis has shown that the language of inclusion can become a tool for exclusion if inclusion is defined administratively and at the same time an ideal of a “normal learner” is produced [14]. In addition, research on experiences of discrimination shows that the education system can produce exclusion even despite the goals of equality [15]. In this case, the success of inclusion requires both pedagogical and structural changes: resourcing, skills and practices that support belonging.

The controversy surrounding inclusion is particularly evident in the case of students with intellectual disabilities and those who require extensive support. Some of the research debate criticizes the ideal of “full inclusion” from the perspective of practical implementation and individual goals. Hornby and Kauffman [16] emphasize that the key goals of students with intellectual disabilities are often also related to social, vocational and everyday skills and the transition to adulthood, and the system is not always able to provide this support in everyday mainstream education [16]. This criticism alone does not resolve the normative question of inclusion, but it reminds us of two things: (1) inclusion requires sufficient resources and competence, and (2) inclusion is always also a question of how we define the goals of education.

In addition to education, inclusion is produced in the service system and in the governance of the welfare state. New public management (NPM) has emphasized cost-effectiveness monitoring, competition, decentralization, and managerialism , which has changed the organization and measurement of services [12,17]. This development can support transparency and consistent processes, but it can also steer services towards measurable outcomes and cost-effectiveness in a way that leaves individual participation and agency aside. Inclusion can then become an administrative categorization: people are placed in service options, but their everyday conditions and choices do not change.

In terms of housing, a key inclusion promise has been the shift from institutions to communities. In the Nordic countries, deinstitutionalisation has long been considered a success story, but more recent research questions the simplistic “mission accomplished ” narrative. Tøssebro and Gustavsson (eds.) examine deinstitutionalisation 1960–2020 and show that the development is contradictory: institutional features can return “in a new guise”, even though institutional structures have been dismantled [18]. This is also an important perspective on the situation in Finland, where large institutions have been dismantled, but at the same time the size of group homes and housing units has been able to increase [19].

Engwall , Jørgensen and Katsui [20] introduce the concept of “ transformed institutionalization” institutionalization ) and analyze Denmark, Finland and Sweden. They show that housing solutions classified administratively as “non-institutional” can retain institutional features: the size of the units increases, institutional cultures persist and individual support is lacking [20]. The examples from Finland of the size and concentration of group homes illustrate the risk that “community living” turns into mini-institutionalization. In this case, it is essential to distinguish between “living in the community” and “belonging to the community”: location alone does not guarantee inclusion if everyday life is built on standardized routines, staff power and restrictions.

This is where a critique of inclusion is needed. One critical observation concerns the “phobia” of inclusion: the fear of including people with disabilities in the larger society and culture, thereby isolating them [21]. Another observation concerns the “cliché” of inclusion: actions are labeled as inclusion even though they do not increase participation or agency [22]. When institutions are dismantled for economic reasons, one can talk about inclusion even though new, large units and routines are produced that reduce choice. The cliché of inclusion is particularly risky in situations where the goals are politically popular, but the resources and implementation are not commensurate with them.

Working life is a key arena for inclusion. From the perspective of working life citizenship, paid work is linked not only to livelihood but also to social rights and status: pension accrual, occupational health, holidays and the predictability of life. Low paid employment of people with disabilities and social security earnings limits can create income traps and limit the reconciliation of work and benefits [23,24]. This shows a structural tension: employment is promoted, but systems can also limit working hours and income generation in such a way that full participation in working life is not possible.

The norm in the workplace is often ableist. Organizations can embrace diversity and inclusion rhetoric while maintaining norms of efficiency and productivity that effectively exclude disabled workers. McKenzie and Khan [25] illustrate this in a university context: inclusion discourse can mask structures that require hyper-productivity , constant efficiency, and individual “getting by” [25]. This illustrates why inclusion cannot be just a system of individual accommodations where the disabled worker has to constantly “beg” and justify: it also requires structural change in work arrangements, assessment, and support provision.

Inclusion in everyday life is also built in leisure time, culture and civil society. Social inclusion means meaningful relationships, being welcomed and ready to meet new people; economic inclusion means the opportunity for paid employment and community membership; political inclusion means the opportunity to influence decisions about one’s life and participate in civic activities [3]. Barriers are often everyday and cumulative: lack of transportation, insufficient assistance, financial costs, inaccessible facilities and attitudes can all together narrow the possibilities for participation. When inclusion is not realized at the everyday level, political belonging also weakens.

From a political inclusion perspective, the question is not limited to formal rights, such as the right to vote, but also to whether the practices and environments for participation are accessible. Political participation can include, for example, voting in elections, citizen initiatives, organizing, and co-developing services. If meeting places are not accessible, materials are not accessible, or decision-making proceeds at a pace that does not allow for understanding and supported decision-making, political rights remain formal.

In Finland, economic and social inclusion are strongly linked to social security. This is particularly evident in situations where a disabled person is partly employed and partly dependent on benefits. A structural problem arises if the system penalizes earnings too sharply: even a small increase in income can cut off the benefit or transfer the person to complex investigations, which weakens incentives and predictability. Teittinen [23] describes this in particular in the case of the coordination of disability pension and wage income. Tarvainen and Hänninen [24] in turn structure the working life citizenship of a disabled person more broadly: the conditions for citizenship are produced by the service system, the physical dimension and meaning of work, and disability policy.

In crises, the true level of inclusion is quickly revealed. The COVID-19 pandemic moved everyday life online: services, communication and transactions became digital. At the same time, it made the digital divide visible, which particularly affects people with disabilities and is highlighted in connection with cognitive difficulties and support needs. Chadwick et al. [26] show a twofold development: remote connections enabled some to maintain connections and continue services, but at the same time, digital poverty (lack of devices, connections and support) limited participation and increased loneliness and service interruptions [26]. Pérez- Escolar and Canet [32] also emphasize that the digital divide is made up of several dimensions (access, skills, use, benefits) and that vulnerabilities overlap. Digital inclusion is therefore a new kind of condition for citizenship.

Crises also highlight the tension between security and autonomy. Restrictions can become normalized, and people with disabilities can be seen primarily as objects of protection, thereby weakening autonomy. Ethical debate has highlighted that prioritizations during times of crisis can reflect ableist assumptions if the value of the lives of people with disabilities is assessed through “functioning” or “benefit” [27].

War and humanitarian crises make the minimum conditions for inclusion concrete. UNDP [28] describes that in Ukraine, the evacuation and access to assistance for people with disabilities have encountered significant obstacles. The World Bank [29] highlights the disproportionate impact of war on people with disabilities (injuries, rehabilitation, service disruptions, poverty). The implementation of rights and services is often also linked to documents and administrative practices that can be difficult to access [30]. EDF in turn emphasizes the importance of disability organizations: people with disabilities are not only targets of assistance, but also actors whose participation improves the accessibility and targeting of assistance [31]. The same principle can also be applied to national crisis management: accessibility and inclusion must be built in, not only during the crisis.

The realization of rights is the foundation of inclusion. Formal rights do not automatically become practices if decisions are difficult to understand, resources are insufficient, or appeals and legal protection are difficult to access. Ervasti et al. [32] emphasize that a large part of problems do not end up in the courts, so direct research data on the experiences of people with disabilities and how rights are realized in everyday life is needed [32]. This also involves “accessibility of rights”: information must be understandable, processes predictable, and support available. When exercising rights requires individual performance, there is a risk that some people will be systematically left out.

In Finland, this contradiction has also been examined in the welfare state debate, where disability serves as a critical lens: although Finland is described as a universal welfare state, the experience of people with disabilities can still include poverty, inequality and insecurity about services. Katsui and Laitinen compile related research and emphasize interdependence : independence and dependence are not opposites, but the everyday life of many people with disabilities is built on forms of “independent dependence” in which support enables choice and agency [33].

4. Discussion

Inclusion thinking is paradoxical: every step forward can reveal new forms of exclusion. This is not a reason to abandon inclusion, but a reason to take it seriously analytically and politically. First, inclusion needs to be treated as a “broad” concept, containing values and contradictions. A narrow inclusion that is reduced to placement or access is not enough. A debate is needed about what we consider a good life, how we support different forms of life, and how we reconcile individual needs with shared spaces [7].

Second, dismantling ableism is a condition for inclusion. If dignity is tied to productivity and normative autonomy, inclusion remains conditional and some people are excluded, even if programs talk about “inclusiveness” [6]. Third, the service system must be assessed post-institutionally: deinstitutionalization alone is not enough if “transformed institutionalization” is created through the growth of group homes, institutional cultures and lack of individual support [18,20]. Fourth, digital inclusion must be built to be accessible and supported; otherwise, digitalization can deepen exclusion [26,34]. Fifth, in crises, it is necessary to ensure that people with disabilities are actors and not just targets [31].

5. Conclusions

Finally, assessing inclusion requires combining structures and experiences. Registers and metrics are important, but the essence of belonging and agency is often reflected in experiences and everyday practices – such as school climate, support delivery and interpersonal relationships [13]. Inclusion is thus both policy and everyday life: it is constructed in services, workplaces, schools and crises – and its promise is only fulfilled if belonging, rights and agency are realized simultaneously.