Introduction

In 2023, the Australian Government published the final report of the Royal Commission into Violence, Abuse, Neglect and Exploitation of People with Disability (Disability Royal Commission [DRC]). A key finding from the DRC was that ‘[accessible] information and communications are a critical safeguard against violence, abuse, neglect, and exploitation’ and ‘are necessary for people with disability to exercise autonomy’ (Commonwealth of Australia, 2023, p.39). This finding underlines the crucial role accessible information (AI) can play in safeguarding people and their well-being. The term accessible information is defined as ‘… information which is able to be read or received and understood by the individual or group for which it is intended’ (NHS England, 2015) and encompasses many different inclusive formats such as braille, large print, audio description, live captioning and so forth. AI is generally an umbrella term for all forms of information that positions accessibility at the forefront of its delivery; however, for this chapter, it refers to written content that is designed to be readable, comprehensible and actionable for individuals with low literacy to counteract information deprivation resulting from low literacy challenges.

In emphasising the significant role that AI can play in protecting against harm, the DRC has also drawn attention to the reality that ‘many people with disability in Australia still cannot access information and communications on an equal basis with others’ (Commonwealth of Australia, 2023, p. 50). Historically, public institutions have been spaces that have been situated as ‘safe’ spaces or spaces that are ‘informed’ about how to work with people with disabilities. On the contrary, people with disability, according to the Council for Intellectual Disability (2023), ‘often find information and communications inaccessible, in contexts including health care, disability service settings like group homes, education, employment, and prisons’ (Accessible information and communications, 2023).

Accessible information is often understood as an accommodation that is legally required for people with disability under human rights law (Meltzer, 2020, p. 478) or viewed as a necessity for a minority that ‘does not attain a functional level of literacy skills’ (Basterfield, 2019, p. 19). However, low literacy is the recurrent theme of the need for accessible information making accessible information formats, such as Easy English, increasingly relevant to a wide audience (Basterfield, 2019, p. 17).

In this chapter, I argue that persistent exposure to inaccessible information, not low literacy, precedes information deprivation and disrupts the social participation of those with low literacy. This chapter examines the prevalence of low literacy and how linguicism excludes people with low literacy from effective autonomous social participation, comparing it to the lived experience of a profoundly deaf person who does not have a natural sign language. After describing my lived experience of linguistic and information discrimination, I introduce the theory of atypical linguicism as a form of linguicism concerned with the relationship between expectations of ability and resultant linguistic exclusion and information deprivation. Following a brief overview and critical analysis of written AI formats available in Australia, this chapter concludes with policy and research recommendations for a path forward.

The global prevalence of literacy: Accessible information implications for social participation and inclusion

The Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD) defines literacy as ‘the ability to understand and utilise printed information in daily activities, at home, at work, and in the community—to achieve one’s goals and to develop one’s knowledge and potential’ (2000, p. x). This definition of literacy extends beyond reading proficiency to encompass functional understanding and application, recognising that individuals with low literacy will likely encounter difficulties in everyday reading tasks. Literacy is typically measured according to the International Standard Classification of Education 2011 (ISCED, 2012), which can be condensed into three corresponding levels:

• ISCED 0–2: Low education;
• ISCED 3–4: Medium education; and
• ISCED 5–8: High education

Globally, more than 750 million people 15 years of age or older are deemed to have literacy skills at or below ISCED level 2 (UNESCO, 2017), indicating a need for AI across a significant proportion of the global population. This statistic indicates a significant global policy challenge within developed and developing nations. Moving forward, AI is needed to mitigate the effects of low literacy on social participation and inclusion. For example, Garcia et al. highlight the association between low literacy and a poor understanding of medical information, an association that ultimately has ‘implications for the quality and costs of healthcare for patients with low health literacy’ (2010, p. 65). Beyond difficulty with reading, comprehension or utilising written information appropriately, low literacy tacitly weakens the individual’s core knowledge base due to reduced access to information from the outset.

In present-day Australia, literacy is critical for individual participation in private, social and public life. However, while literacy is necessary for people’s ability to access information, accessible information cannot be discounted as a viable means to mitigate systematic exclusion and subsequent poor outcomes associated with low literacy. Failure to provide a person with low literacy access to information in a way they can understand is tantamount to refusing a non-native speaker access to translated information. Such exclusion is a form of language discrimination known as linguicism.

Linguicism and social exclusion

Linguicism was first defined by sociolinguist Tove Skutnabb-Kangas as ‘ideologies, structures and practices which are used to legitimate, effectuate, regulate and reproduce an unequal division of power and resources’ (1986, p. 41). This ideology is shared by other theorists such as Pierre Bourdieu, a French sociologist, who viewed language as a signifier of social stratification and a mechanism of power (1991), and Michel Foucault, a French historian and philosopher, who saw language as a tool of the powerful to construct knowledge and truths as a means of social control (1998). This concept of language as power can be derived from its centrality to society, as both contemporary and historical social phenomena, and its systematic weaponisation throughout the time when language was used to keep the ‘othered’ subordinate (Fairclough, 1989; Bryan & Herrera, 2023).

Such underpinnings of linguicism are not limited to language bias or dialectical snobbery but also extend to exclusion from linguistic participation through inaccessible modes of communication. Crip Theory engages with intersectionality from the shared perspective and experience of the role normativity plays within power relations. At the centre of this intersectionality is the invisibility of the ‘normal’ (Karlsson & Rydstrom, 2023). In Crip Theory, it is able-bodiedness (McRuer, 2006); in queer theory, it is heteronormativity (Kafer, 2013); and in critical race theory, it is whiteness (Morris, 2016). This shared concept between minority-centred ideologies focuses on the contrast in attitudes when distinctions are drawn between the ‘othered’ and the ‘normal’, with normativity seen as the ideal to marginalise those that deviate from the norm. Certain inherent characteristics and aspects relating to social status (such as socioeconomic status) exist as normate; normate is defined as ‘an idealised position that has dominance and authority in society’ (Garland-Thomson, 1997, p. 8). Able-bodiedness is one form of normate; literate is another. The concept of able-bodiedness within Crip Theory is not only thought to define disability, but it is also deemed responsible for creating disability through default provision for ability overall. In this context, society sets the stage for information deprivation when it fails to make information accessible to those who experience low literacy. This is evident when I consider the lived experience of linguistic and information deprivation, as has been the case in my lived experience of deafness.

My lived experience of linguistic and information deprivation

In the late 1980s, I lost most of my hearing in over a period of six months. By the time I was 7 years old, I was profoundly deaf:

Determined not to let me fall through the cracks, my parents encouraged me to continue communicating, as I had before, with a suspected mild hearing loss, through lipreading and speaking. There is no manual for raising children, let alone one for raising a child with a disability, and my parents did the best they could with what information they had at the time. Guided by state education policies, my parents were eager to follow recommendations of best practices.

In the 1980s, the world had not progressed in understanding the psychology of deafness or disability to the extent it has today. To be a close fit to ‘normal’ was considered best practice under the accepted medical model of disability. The medical model of disability focuses on disability as a malfunction of the individual, designating it as the root cause of any problems arising from being disabled. It ignores societal barriers, instead focusing on the disability as the barrier to successful independent social participation (Australian Federation of Disability Organisations, 2025). For this reason, many parents of d/Deaf children received rigid instructions about how to approach language development: ‘We were told that we should sit on our hands and not use any kind of sign or gesture. The sole means of communication would be through lipreading…’ (a research participant in Payne et al., 2022, p. 76).

Skuttnabb-Kangas refers to this mentality as audism , a form of linguicism directed at deafness (Skuttnabb-Kangas, 1986; Phillipson, 2012). Audism fosters the idea of deafness as an anomaly to be minimised in favour of conformity in the hearing world. It sets the expectations for d/Deaf people to achieve hearing-centred norms (Humphrey & Alcorn, 1995). It also fosters the belief that listening is superior to other linguistic modes and modalities of receiving information, such as sign language. This belief continues to be prevalent within many societies; speech is the ‘normal’ linguistic modality and should be adhered to at all costs. For far too long, this view has denied deaf children access to language and education, negating their ability to access information and exposing them to information deprivation.

Such attitudes were reflected in the insistence that I practice using my residual hearing.

I remember a fluorescent light and a small brown-haired boy. His hands moved deftly, his smile earnest, his voice inaudible – if not by my deafness, his own. As a mirror image of my sensory constraints sat across from me in the waiting room, I can remember the intense joy I felt to not be alone in my silence. I understood his hand movements as much as I could understand speech, but it did not matter:

All that had mattered when I was playing with the small brown-haired boy was the fleeting sensation of ordinariness that I had experienced.

Once back home, I stubbornly refused to speak, instead moving my hands around nonsensically as I tried to position myself in a place of belonging. My parents’ reaction to my self-imposed silence was both swift and effective. Although they never intended to insinuate that my differences were best unseen, the eagerness of adults to praise me for not embodying my deafness juxtaposed against the clear message that I was not to identify as a non-speaking ‘capital D’ Deaf person was quickly absorbed by my young mind. My mother did take me to sign language classes not long after; however, rather than embrace the opportunity, I stoically told her I was ‘not one of those Deaf people’, and that was the end of that.

Oralism , like audism, is a form of linguicism that others deafness. It results in d/Deaf people being expected to speak and labelled deficient compared to their hearing and speaking counterparts when they cannot (Kusters & Lucas, 2022, p. 89). This form of linguicism rejects sign language outright in favour of listening and speech, often requiring the d/Deaf person to undergo extensive therapies contrary to their abilities (Mathews, 2017, p. 3). According to Kusters and Lucas, oralism existed as early as the nineteenth century and has long resulted in professionals routinely discouraging parents from promoting sign language use in their children (2022, p. 89).

I was in grade one when my mother and my integration aide pushed for sign language again, asking for a sign language teacher to come to the school so that I would be learning with my hearing peers and there would be another means of communication accessible to me. The visiting teacher said I would benefit from my peers learning sign language alongside me. The benefits would be better quality communication between myself and others in the school community; it would alleviate the high degree of concentration required by lipreading and promote social participation and well-being. Then, underlined in bright red ink:

After discovering this school correspondence, I messaged my childhood integration aide. Soon after exchanging pleasantries, I began questioning her about why signing during Auslan had not been mandatory for me. She seemed confused at first but explained that instead of Auslan, I was taught Signed English. Some years ago, I learned that Auslan has a different grammatical structure from English, and I often wondered why my signing lexicon included certain words, such as ‘is’, ‘to’ and ‘the’.

In the weeks following the introduction of sign language in my classroom, the teacher had reported, ‘Sign language has been a big help for Cassie with her peers’ (Teacher report to Integration Support Group, personal communication, 26 October, 1988).

The realisation that while I thought I was learning to sign like ‘my people’, I had not been learning their language at all hit hard. Could it explain why many of my interactions with Deaf children had seemed just as complicated as with hearing children? Just as my ‘spoken’ voice was othered in the hearing world, my ‘sign’ voice had been ‘lacking’ in the Deaf world. Despite the benefits of the communicative repertoire reported by my teacher, the inclusion of Signed English in the classroom was abandoned within 2 years of starting:

The correspondence from the meeting did not specify reasons, but Signed English functions as a sign system to bolster English language skills by reinforcing grammar and syntax (National Deaf Children’s Society, 2025; Scott & Henner, 2021), and according to the school report of the same year, my literacy met the expected level. The new focus for my integration was to improve my residual hearing and ensure ‘equal access to information’ for me as a ‘hearing-impaired’ student (Integration Support Group, personal communication, 15 August, 1990).

The role of atypical linguicism in information deprivation

In my ongoing research, I propose a new theory I call atypical linguicism. Atypical linguicism is a phenomenon that relates to an individual’s ability to engage with linguistic modes (speaking, writing, listening and reading) rather than meeting expectations of linguistic competence. It may be defined as language discrimination, that is, consciously or unconsciously, directed towards people unable to utilise specific forms or modes of communication for reasons beyond their control, such as physical, sensory or intellectual disabilities, learning disorders or socioeconomic barriers. Atypical linguicism is present in interactions or engagements with people who face barriers in communication due to an atypical semiotic repertoire rather than the language in which it is communicated. The semiotic repertoire is ‘the totality of semiotic resources that people use when they communicate (such as speech, image, text, gesture, sign, gaze, facial expression, posture, objects and so on)’ (Kusters, 2021, p. 183). As such, atypical linguicism relates to the expectation of linguistic assimilation regarding the ability to utilise semiotic sources rather than the language itself. For example, the American Library Association based in the United States defines information literacy as having the capacity to ‘recognise when information is needed and have the ability to locate, evaluate, and use effectively the needed information’ (1989). For people experiencing low literacy, the inability to effectively engage with information written for the public inherently forms the basis of the individual’s exclusion from social participation. For example, to engage with and obtain support from government agencies, such as health, legal or financial services, people are typically provided with written information and required to complete forms. For those with low literacy, this can present an insurmountable barrier. Inaccessible information may preclude people from:

a. Accessing government support.

b. Understanding their rights and obligations (e.g. local bylaws).

c. Understanding contracts and providing informed consent (e.g. rental agreements).

d. Understanding medical conditions or how to take medication (OECD, 2000).

The foundation of atypical linguicism is heavily derived from Jonathon Henner and Octavian Robinson’s Crip Linguistics theory that language is dependent on bodies. The term ‘crip’ has had long-held derogatory connotations, but has since been reclaimed by disability groups and consequently adopted into critical disability theory’s lexicon. The renewed use of the word seeks to redefine the current status quo and forge a transformative path forward (Henner & Robinson, 2023a). However, not all share the optimism about this extension of disability theory. Bone (2017) argues that crip theory silences the disabled experience and fails to address the gaping chasm between theory and the lived reality of disability, while Jenks (2019) believes that the assumption of a unified disabled identity poses problematic in understanding the politics of disability and the failure of ‘crip identity’ to acknowledge the role of impairment in disability politics. This focus shares similarities with Bone (2017) concerning the implications of denying people with disabilities a voice but from the failure to differentiate between the disabled experience of impairment.

‘Crip theory’ conceptualises the intersectionality of disability and queerness through recognition of their thematic similarities in identity politics. Exploring queer and disabled identities in ‘Feminist Queer Crip’, Kafer views crip theory through the lens of the typical mainstream view of heterosexuality and able-bodiedness as the status quo (2013). They argue that the queer and disabled identities exist as a construct of difference. These views echo the sentiment of McRuer: ‘Able-bodiedness, even more than heterosexuality, still largely masquerades as a non-identity, as the natural order of things’ (2006, p. 1). Those who cannot secure a non-identity are identified by their inherent traits within society, which provide them with the identity of ‘other’, an identity of difference.

The underlying argument for atypical linguicism aligns with Critical Disability Theory, which puts forward that people with disability experience oppression within similar contexts to those who experience racism and other forms of cultural, historical, social and political oppression (Hall, 2019). Atypical linguicism embraces the notion of intersectionality within crip theory due to vulnerable minorities sharing the experience of being ‘othered’. As with able-bodiedness, functional literacy is considered normate within Australia and other Western countries. This phenomenon supports the need to expand the context of the social conditions that contribute to the lack of accessible information made available to those with stigmatised attributes.

Margrit Shildrick, an Emeritus professor in Critical Disability Studies, explores the shift from rehabilitation perspectives toward pragmatic solutions, but highlights the need to deconstruct normative assumptions within the societal narrative of disability (2012). She further characterises the coexistence of ‘the formal integration of disabled people into the standard rights, obligations, and expectations of normative citizenship’ as a failure to deconstruct the perception of disability as exceptional (Shildrick, 2012, p. 2). Atypical linguicism shares Shildrick’s observations on these conventions. It likens the deconstruction of normative assumptions necessary for removing the presumption of literacy when creating information for public dissemination. Additionally, it views the need to deconstruct the perception of disability as exceptional, instead manifesting the need for a universal design approach to information to normalise inclusion and accessibility in information.

Crip theory calls for a greater understanding of how people with disability experience aspects of life in contradiction with the experience of non-disabled people. For example, Kafer explores the concept of crip time, which explores how people with disabilities experience or relate to time (2013, p. 25). Kafer, like Shildrick, calls for the deconstruction of the normative through ‘reimagining our notions of what can or should happen in time’, viewing the focus on cure and referral as framing disability as a failure (Kafer, 2013, p. 27). In context with information, a focus on adult literacy programmes to address low literacy or presume that a support worker will support a person with a disability to know required information continues to ‘bend’ the person with the disability rather than addressing the issue of inaccessible information. Failure to address this issue gives rise to social inequities, such as poorer health or exclusion from accessing government supports.

The third principle, in Henner and Robinson’s Crip Linguistics, states that ‘Disability in languaging cannot be separated from normative expectations of language use’ (Henner & Robinson, 2023, p. 1), suggesting that stigma exists with the deviance from normative linguistic expectations beyond the scope of raciolinguistics. Raciolinguistics focuses on the relationship between language and race. For example, where standardised English exists as a denominator for social inclusion, the standardisation serves to marginalise those whose linguistic practices fail to meet those standards; this extends to linguistic practices deemed not only foreign but also deviant, such as dialect, accent or inflections (Alim et al., 2016, p. 165). One of the more apparent perceived deviances associated with a disability is multimodal approaches to languaging; for example, sign language deviates from the heavily misguided presumption that speech (and only speech) is normative. Therefore, those who use sign language may have their language marked as disordered. Other multimodal ways of languaging viewed as disordered may also be intrinsically interwoven with a disability that removes the presumption of speech, such as Augmented and Alternative Communication (AAC). Crip linguistics inherently resists the view that there is only one way to language (Henner & Robinson, 2023a, p.15).

Similarly, atypical linguicism argues that limited access to information rather than an individual’s perceived linguistic deficiencies creates barriers to accessing essential public information, for example, health information or information about their rights. As such, the barrier to information is created by social expectations of ability, which are incorporated into information formats, including many AI formats. Much AI becomes unnecessarily inaccessible to a large proportion of the intended audience in the context of public information.

Critical discussion of three dominant types of accessible information in Australia

The issue of inaccessible public information is a product of the systematic entrenchment of linguicism within public institution processes. It is in direct conflict with human rights instruments that Australia is a signatory to. In the Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities (CRPD), two articles are specifically relevant to the issue of accessible information – Article 9 and Article 21. Article 9 relates the right of people with disabilities to ‘live independently and participate fully in all aspects of life’, highlighting the responsibility of the state to act to ‘include the identification and elimination of obstacles and barriers to accessibility,’ including in regard to Section 1(b): information, communications and other services, including electronic services and emergency services (United Nations, 2006, Article 9). Article 21 mandates that information provided for the public should be available ‘to persons with disabilities in accessible formats and technologies appropriate to different kinds of disabilities in a timely manner and without additional cost’ (United Nations, 2006, Article 21), providing people with information in a way that they can understand is a human right that honours their autonomy and right to make informed choices.

Accessible information formats are language varieties with reduced linguistic complexity that ‘aim to improve readability and comprehensibility’ (Hansen-Schirra & Maaβ, 2020, p. 17). However, the appropriate language variety within written communication remains increasingly subjective, with each of the written formats having their supporters and critics, and then further division within those that support the use of the same formats.

In Australia, the three dominant types of accessible information are Plain Language, Easy Read and Easy English.

Plain Language

Plain Language is ‘an approach to language and design for producing accessible and readable public documents’ (Matveeva et al., 2017, p. 336). According to the Plain Language Association International, Plain Language requires careful consideration of the audience and the purpose of the information. It should use a logical structure familiar to the target audience, supportive visual elements in the design, careful use of syntax and evaluation of readability for the audience before dissemination (Plain Language Association International, 2025). Willerton argues that Plain Language is a response that affords people access to their rights, combatting ‘the information apartheid that convoluted, overly complicated documents generate’ (2015, p. xiii).

Easy Read

The Australian Government Style Manual classifies Easy Read as suitable for 4–6-year olds (Digital Transformation Agency, 2021; Australian Bureau of Statistics, 2013b). According to Buell et al., Easy Read refers to large print documents with simple language and are typically supported by a visual cue such as a photo, icon or image (2020, p. 220). Hurtado defines Easy Read as the construction of ‘information in a way that is easy for the recipient to understand’ and states that it ‘exceeds simply simplifying the vocabulary and grammar’ (2014, p. 823); it is this that differentiates Easy Read from Plain Language. Townsley et al. (2003) promote simplification processes such as short sentences, one idea per sentence and the use of active tense when creating accessible information. It also underscores the importance of direct and consistent language and using examples to help the reader process the information. These characteristics are important to allow the reader to understand the information and assist them in putting the information into practical use.

Easy English

Easy English material is broken down to show one idea and supports the concept using a concrete image (Basterfield, 2019). According to Scope, one of the largest not-for-profit disability services providers in Australia, Easy English aims to introduce key information to the reader through the removal of non-essential details (2015). Specific features are ‘simplified language and grammar, minimal punctuation, simplified font, layout and design, and images that illustrate headings and key messages’ (Scope, 2015, p. 2). The earlier definition of accessible text by Townsley et al. (2003) aligns with Plain Language and Easy Read rather than Easy English. In contrast, Basterfield outlines Easy English as having shorter sentences, using the consumers’ everyday words and life experiences and specific font type and size while incorporating significant white space and concrete images that support the content it is situated with (2019). This approach significantly differs from the existing Plain Language approach. However, as there is a lack of consensus on what constitutes an acceptable level of accessible information, there is also currently no universally accepted definition for Easy English.

While each format falls under accessible information, they vary greatly in terms of accessibility, with the Plain Language being the least accessible content and Easy English being the most accessible (Basterfield, 2019, p. 16). Plain Language is currently the standard accessible information format that the Australian Government uses. However, Plain Language assumes the reader has a reading and comprehension capacity of up to ISCED level 3, which is associated with medium education. The Australian Government’s preference for Plain Language as the primary accessible format overlooks that 44% of Australian adults have literacy levels between ISCED levels 0 and 2, associated with low education (Australian Bureau of Statistics, 2013).

Chinn and Buell discuss the Equality Act 2010 in the United Kingdom as a legal instrument which determines that public services make ‘reasonable adjustments’, including accessible information, and highlight the interpretive nature of what constitutes reasonable (Chinn & Buell, 2021, p. 629). Various standards and definitions have emerged globally from different regions or organizations. These guidelines often conflict with one another and may lack comprehensive justification for their variations (Mander, 2015). For example, UK Easy Read tends to be written for people with intellectual disabilities; however, research by Buell found that the spectrum of accessibility was widely variable and could require up to ISCED level 5 literacy (2020). This outcome highlights the problematic lack of predictability with Easy Read and is indicative of the lack of predictability within any format of accessible information.

Although beneficial to an extent, existing readability tools, such as the Flesh-Kincaid Reading Ease or the Coleman-Liau Index, cannot provide the qualitative data required to establish the basis for the standardisation of AI (Mac et al., 2022). This highlights the opportunity for investigative research into evidence-based ways to develop tools to assist the everyday person in ensuring their content is accessible to their audience.

Summary and recommendations for future policy and research directions

The policy issue of information deprivation is widespread and responsible for the exclusion of autonomous social participation of people who experience low literacy. It is also an issue that can be amended through the application and dissemination of an AI format designed to be accessible to the greatest number of people. This is achievable by employing a standardised AI format for those whose literacy abilities fall within the ISCED 0–2 level. Even with the current AI formats, the lack of consistency surrounding standards means accessibility continues to be increasingly subjective.

My lived experience of linguistic deprivation preceded a lifetime of information deprivation. Although highly literate, my access to information often depends on others to provide alternatives to listening. While we are not in the 1980s anymore and have greater access to resources, more is needed in a society that remains disabling for those who cannot bend. For example, my education has been predominantly online for over 5 years due to better access to written materials. However, audio lectures were still available to other students a week before my transcripts could be accessed. This type of experience and inequity impeded me from active participation in tutorial discussions and the learning often derived from them. Had I been taught Auslan (not Signed English), an interpreter would have been available in all situations where information was imperative to my social participation, including situations such as those in education, healthcare, work and legal settings.

The lived experience and outcomes provided in this chapter, combined with the existing and developing theories within linguistics and critical disability spaces, demonstrate the need to integrate policies to address the issue of information deprivation. The policy recommendations are:

1. Investigative research into accessible information and information deprivation. Potential areas for further research include:

a. The structural and systematic barriers contributing to information deprivation.

b. The financial impact of inaccessible information practices on taxpayer-funded institutions, for example, investigating the statistical relationship between low health literacy and the incidence of preventable disease.

c. Develop evidence-based measures to create comprehensive tools for gauging accessibility of written content beyond the existing measures, which only gauge limited features relevant to the accessibility of written information (Shedlosky-Shoemaker et et al., 2009, p. 57).

d. Find evidence-based methods for developing accessible information to ascertain the most accessible approach to its creation.

2. Allocation of research funding to inform and establish AI best practices.

3. The incorporation of AI best practices in settings that contribute to social participation and socioeconomic well-being within government organisations.

In conclusion, policymakers for governments and public institutions can meaningfully address information deprivation that results from inaccessible written communications via the incorporation and action of informed AI policies. Taking an AI-informed approach to written communications will reduce negative outcomes associated with information deprivation and improve access to essential information within the health, legal and financial contexts. The existing evidence establishes that information in Easy English is accessible to more people than in Plain Language or Easy Read. Further research to better understand the key characteristics that contribute to the accessibility of Easy English will assist in the development of best practices to be applied consistently within Easy English information. Therefore, utilising Easy English as the dominant accessible information format, or its equivalent in the applicable language, will ensure that essential information becomes accessible to the greatest number of people. Adopting this approach will increase effective social participation and promote positive social outcomes for people with low literacy worldwide, inherently reducing the prevalence of information deprivation experienced by people with disabilities.