alto voices

July, 2025

Disability is often overlooked in equity conversations, though it shouldn’t be. Zary Amirhosseini has spent decades pushing for change in healthcare and beyond. We spoke with her about what true inclusion requires, and why this moment demands we center disability in our equity work. She also shares her personal and professional sources of pride as a disabled Iranian immigrant working as the Disability Program Manager at Massachusetts General Hospital for the past decade and a half.

ALTO:  Many people still don’t realize that disability is a critical part of DEI efforts. In your experience, why does disability so often get left out of the discussion, and what does it look like when it’s truly centered?

ZARY AMIRHOSSEINI:  Disability is often left out of DEI discussions because it forces people to confront their own discomfort with difference—and the reality that our systems weren’t built with disabled people in mind. In my experience, disability is either invisible or overly medicalized. It’s seen as an individual issue to “accommodate” rather than a critical equity issue that cuts across race, gender, age, and socioeconomic status.

As someone who has navigated both personal and professional experiences with disability, and who has spent the past 15 years leading the Disability Program at Massachusetts General Hospital, I’ve seen firsthand how disability gets sidelined, even in well-intentioned spaces. People often don’t know where to start, or they fear getting it wrong. 

One example that stands out is when I helped organize a system-wide event for the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA’s) 30th Anniversary. Initially, it was viewed as a standalone celebration. But I pushed to reframe it as part of our broader DEI mission. We invited speakers with disabilities from across disciplines—healthcare, law, education—who spoke not only about access, but about leadership, innovation, and identity. The response was overwhelming. People said, “I’ve never heard disability talked about this way before.” It shifted the narrative from compliance to culture change.

When disability is truly centered, you see more than ramps and interpreters (though those are essential). You see accessible hiring, leadership development, mentorship, and policy that is co-created with disabled voices. You see people no longer having to ask for inclusion because it’s already built in.

That’s the future I’m working toward. Not just in my job, but in how I live, advocate, and mentor others coming up in this work.

ALTO: With rising political and financial pressure to abandon DEI, how can organizations strategically defend disability inclusion and demonstrate that equity isn’t optional, but mission-critical?

ZARY:  With the increasing political and financial pressure to scale back DEI efforts, it’s more important than ever for organizations to defend disability inclusion as a civil right. Disability touches every part of society. It’s the only identity group any of us can join at any time, and when organizations build access into their core operations, everyone benefits.

One of the most strategic ways to defend disability inclusion is to align it with mission, not politics. At hospitals like Massachusetts General Hospital (MGH), for example, our mission is to provide exceptional care to all. That includes patients with disabilities who face significant disparities in health outcomes, communication access, and trust in the system. Inclusion isn’t a luxury—it’s essential to delivering safe, equitable care.

A true inclusion in an organization is seen as an accessible environment, reducing risk, improving patient experience scores, enhancing staff retention, and attracting a broader pool of talent. When we ensure communication access, we reduce errors. When we design inclusive workflows, we improve efficiency and safety. These efforts reflect progress and effective outcomes, not chasing political points.

And, finally, it comes down to leadership. We need to tell the stories of people with disabilities who are thriving, innovating, and leading. It is essential to demonstrate that disability inclusion is focused on creating a future where all individuals are valued and included—not solely due to requirements, but because it strengthens our society.

ALTO:  You have been an expert, an advocate, and an educator. What does Disability Pride mean to you professionally? Can you talk about some of your proudest moments over the course of your career? 

ZARY:  Disability Pride, to me, means showing up fully—as a disabled person, a leader, an advocate, and an educator—and creating space for others to do the same. It means pushing back on shame and stigma, and embracing disability as a vital part of identity, culture, and community. Professionally, it means refusing to separate who I am from the work I do.

Over the past 15 years at MGH, one of my proudest accomplishments has been building and sustaining a Disability Program that moves beyond compliance toward cultural change. Through our many initiatives, we’ve shifted the conversation from “how do we accommodate?” to “how do we design inclusively from the start?”

Some of the moments I’m most proud of, though, are the quiet ones—like when a staff member once told me that, after attending one of our trainings, they realized their patient wasn’t being noncompliant—they just needed a different communication approach. That shift in understanding led to a real breakthrough in care. Or when a young disabled employee reached out to say that seeing someone like me in a leadership role gave them hope for their own future in healthcare. That’s when I know the work is not just policies, it’s personal, and it’s powerful.

Disability Pride is about those moments of transformation. It’s about being visible in spaces that weren’t built for us and helping rebuild them so they are. 

ALTO: What about your personal experience? How has your identity as a disabled Iranian immigrant shaped the way you show up in this work?

ZARY: My identity as a disabled Iranian immigrant is inseparable from the way I show up in this work. I carry layers of identity that have shaped how I see the world, and how the world sees me. As a disabled woman, and an immigrant, I’ve lived through the pain of being underestimated, overlooked, and left out of conversations that directly impact my life.

When I first came to the U.S., I was still adjusting to a new language and culture—while also navigating a disability in a system that wasn’t designed to accommodate either. I remember going to medical appointments where providers spoke about me, not to me. They assumed I didn’t understand English or didn’t understand my own body. And when I spoke up, I could feel the discomfort in the room. That experience taught me early on how critical communication access, cultural humility, and disability awareness are—not just for patient care, but for human dignity.

I also come from a culture where disability is often hidden or viewed with shame. So even claiming my identity as a disabled person was a political act. It took time to shift from internalizing that stigma to embracing disability as a source of strength, insight, and community. That journey has made me more patient and more persistent because I understand what it takes to unlearn messages that tell us we don’t belong.

ALTO: For people just beginning to understand disability justice, what’s one misconception you wish they’d unlearn?  And one truth you wish more people knew?

ZARY: One of the biggest misconceptions I wish people would unlearn is that disability is only about limitations or medical diagnoses—that it’s something to “fix” or feel pity for. People still see disability through a medical lens rather than understanding it as a social and cultural identity. They assume the problem lies within the person, rather than recognizing the barriers in the environment, attitudes, and systems around us. That mindset leads to ableism, exclusion, and missed opportunities for real change.

And one truth I wish more people knew is that disability justice benefits everyone. When we build access into the foundation of how we work, communicate, and care for others, we create systems that are more compassionate, flexible, and effective for all. Access isn’t charity, it’s a universal design that works for everyone.

I remember once working with a department that was struggling to support a Deaf patient. Initially, they saw the request for real-time captioning and other accommodation as burdensome. But after implementing the changes, they realized how much it improved communication—not just for the patient, but for the entire care team. It also led to fewer misunderstandings and better outcomes. One nurse later told me, “I wish we’d always done this. It just makes sense.”

That’s what I want more people to understand: disability inclusion isn’t extra work. It IS the work. It’s how we build systems that truly serve everyone, not just those who already fit the mold.