Being blind on the Internet

A conversation between a blind digital accessibility consultant and a UX designer

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Sylvie Duchateau has been a digital accessibility consultant for over 20 years. After working for the association BrailleNet and later for Access42, a cooperative specialising in accessibility, she decided to go freelance. An expert in screen readers, she offers training, awareness sessions, and accessibility testing while also being actively involved in several organisations. Since 2021, Sylvie has also been volunteering for Paris Web, the French-speaking conference dedicated to a high-quality and accessible web.

It was at the 2024 edition of Paris Web that we met. Her guide dog, Shiva, immediately caught my attention. Sylvie Duchateau has been blind since birth and has been using a guide dog for nearly 20 years. A few months after our meeting, I wanted to ask her about her needs online and her vision on accessibility. Yes, pun intended.

Sylvie told me about the obstacles she regularly encounters, such as impossible-to-bypass CAPTCHAs, poorly designed cookie banners, and inaccessible virtual keyboards. She also explained how her braille display works— a device that allows her to read the screen line by line through 40 tactile characters.

We also discussed the progress of artificial intelligence. While some advancements are useful, others stand far from what blind people really need. One anecdote particularly stood out to me: to understand colour nuances, Sylvie uses music. Each shade is translated into a sound or musical emotion.

Our conversation also touched on broader topics, such as the importance of raising awareness and training people in accessibility. 

Sylvie joined our call on Microsoft Teams, camera on, and asked if she had turned the light on correctly. That set the tone right away.

Challenges of online navigation for blind people

What is your disability, and what are your needs online?

I’m not afraid of words. I’ve been blind since birth, and I’m proud to say it. It’s not a bad word, despite what people say. I can't stand the term “visually impaired” anymore. Why are people afraid of words? We need to say what we are. I’ve lived with this since birth, so I embrace it. But to each their own.

I read in braille and use a screen reader. Right now, for example, my braille display tells me it’s 6:07 pm without you knowing. It’s more discreet. As for my needs, they are the same as any person who cannot see. I need alternatives for images, in particular.

What impact does AI have on your digital accessibility?

When I’m using an app, my iPhone describes everything and anything. For example, “image of little birds with people walking in circles and shaking hands.” But you don’t know what the image is actually for. I need to know if it’s for logging in, to understand the function of the image, but not necessarily that it depicts little birds.

I have dedicated apps that describe a lot of things. For instance, “you have a document from X organisation with a yellow logo on a blue background.” But, honestly, I couldn’t care less about the logo. Some of it is impressive, but I think there are details that are unnecessary.

Speaking of colours, how did your collaboration with a graphic designer go when creating your visual identity?

Since I’ve been blind since birth, colours are abstract to me. They’re just words. When my graphic designer created the logo for my company, it was quite a challenge because she had to describe the message she wanted to convey. Sometimes, I couldn’t quite imagine what it would look like. So, I asked friends and family what they thought. They’d say the blue was “too this” or “not enough that.”

My designer then found musical equivalents to describe these nuances to me. She’d compare them to “the musical note of a triangle in a symphony.” Something that adds a little extra touch. She tried to draw parallels with things I understood, like music or cooking. Like adding a bit of spice to a stew to make it tastier!

Even though my designer wasn’t especially familiar with digital accessibility, I trusted her because she fosters guide dogs and understands our challenges. Also, she worked closely with Julie Moynat, who handled the development of my website, so she learned a lot.

Do you think accessibility is improving over time?

Tools are always changing, so difficulties shift. The web is becoming more complex and increasingly visual. What I find tricky is that there are so many platforms—websites, Facebook (which I dislike), Instagram… You don’t know where to go. If you tried to use all the platforms, you’d waste your whole day. So, it’s not easy to choose.

And then, something that was accessible suddenly becomes inaccessible overnight. That ongoing struggle is frustrating. The laws in France have been here for 20 years, and we’re still stuck in the same place. Suddenly, you’re hit with a CAPTCHA out of nowhere. Another security code. The so-called frenemy relationship between security and accessibility.

But I’m sure we could make them work together. Instead, security says, “we’re facing a lot of cyber-attacks, so let’s add a CAPTCHA.” And then accessibility loses the battle. That’s the problem; today’s tools don’t even have a clean code.

What does your digital accessibility advocacy involve?

I try to share anecdotes; it’s crucial to show how I struggle on different websites. There was one site I always used as an example, but they’ve improved, so I won’t name them. At the time, their screen reader output was entirely in English because they hadn’t correctly set the site language.

Another issue was that the form fields weren’t labelled properly. For example, when entering your email to create an account, a sighted person would see a message saying, “you’ve received a code by email.” But I couldn’t see it because there was no aria attribute to read it aloud. That’s the kind of thing I point out to people.

I also used to split people into two groups—one that used a screen reader and another that looked at the screen. I’d ask the group using a screen reader to tell me what site we were on. They couldn’t because the page title was just “login.” Then I’d ask, “Do you know what site we’re on?” Well, neither do I! That’s the issue if you don’t set a proper page title. The same goes for logos. Sighted people recognise the site’s logo. For me, if the image alt text just says “logo,” I have no idea where I am. These activities help people understand why accessibility is important.

As a UX designer, if I could do just one thing for you, what would it be?

Clients often just want to please themselves. They forget who’s going to be using their site. We should make it so everyone can use it without hassle.

We really need to stop using CAPTCHAs. I struggle to distinguish the letters through the screen reader. Sometimes it’s a child’s voice, sometimes an adult’s. Plus, there’s background noise that makes the audio hard to hear. Is it an S or an F? It’s not easy.

Sometimes you’re asked to pick the geometric shape that’s different from the others. I tried asking AI to describe the images for me. So, imagine there are four circles and one square. But then I had to find and click on the square, and I never managed to because the click area wasn’t split into images with alt texts. After a while, the time runs out, so you start again. Often, you’re not given enough time to do these things. You get disconnected and have to start over. It’s also essential for someone with motor disabilities and who types slowly, to have enough time to complete such actions.

There are also virtual keyboards, like when you log in to your bank. The numbers are in a random order for you to enter the code. It’s really frustrating because you have to memorise the numbers' order to find and select the correct one.

And cookie banners are often poorly done. You have loads of options to tick... It’s a nuisance because you’re asked to go through this on every single site.

If we focus beyond the interface, what about service design?

There’s an insurance company that offers a policy for guide dogs. It’s really great—you pay €150 a year, and if something happens, you and your dog can be repatriated easily. If you have an accident or your dog falls ill, you just fill out an online form. That part is fine.

But then, the insurance company refunds you by cheque.

So, as a blind person, you have to go to the bank to deposit the cheque. Except you can’t do it at the counter anymore. You have to use the ATM, which doesn’t have speech output. So, you have to ask a staff member for help, with no confidentiality at all. You have no idea if they put the cheque in the envelope correctly—or at all.

User experience doesn’t stop at the online interface. And when I raised the issue with the insurance company, they told me it was a software problem, that they’d have to reprogram it, and that it would take time to fix. I wonder if they realise that we’re the ones struggling the most to get a refund because of these complicated processes!

Can we use verbs like “see” on a button label?

Everyone sees in their own way. Antoine de Saint-Exupéry said: "One sees clearly only with the heart. What is essential is invisible to the eye." That’s beautiful, isn’t it? Seeing is also about perceiving.

In our association, ANM’ Chiens Guides, some blind people prefer saying “we’ll hear each other soon” instead of “see you soon.” It makes us laugh. Because yes, we do have a sense of humour. I think it’s other people who have an issue with these things, more than I do.

I remember when I was a kid, I was in the Netherlands visiting my cousins who lived there. People had never seen a blind person before. All these little kids were staring at me strangely. And my cousin, who was just a little girl herself, turned to one of them and said something in Dutch: "Why are you staring at my cousin like that?"

It’s true—people look at you like some kind of curiosity. But honestly, I think they feel more awkward about it than I do.

I “see” content with my fingers when I read braille. I “see” my surroundings by listening, by smelling the smell of bread as I approach the bakery. We perceive things in different ways, but we use the verb see because that’s just how language works. Even if it doesn’t mean seeing with your eyes.

Assistive Technology

Do all blind people read braille?

Unfortunately, no. Some people who lose their sight later in life don’t want to or can’t learn braille. Developing fingertip sensitivity takes training. I read with my index and middle fingers, but if you asked me to use a different finger, I wouldn’t be able to. And some people will never learn it—just like many adults who lose their sight later on.

Braille also takes up a huge amount of space. I always use Les Misérables as an example—it’s 50 volumes in braille, so you can’t exactly carry it on the tube! When I was in secondary school, a friend had dreamt that I was sitting my exams with a shopping trolley full of books.

Luckily, there’s something called contracted braille. It uses combinations of letters and symbols to shorten words and reduce the number of volumes needed. For example, the word “braille” has the short form contraction of “brl”. But with a braille notetaker, you can load books onto an SD card, which saves a lot of space.

Do you only read books in braille?

The braille display I showed you costs €5,000, so it’s not for everyone. That can also be a barrier to reading braille.

For me, the easiest option is listening to an audiobook in bed. It’s more discreet, too. Every time the braille display refreshes, it makes a clack clack sound. Not ideal if you’re in bed and your partner is trying to sleep!

How does a braille display work?

My braille display has 40 characters per line, but there are smaller ones too—from 12 to 80 characters. Each character is formed by two columns of four raised dots. Depending on the character, some dots pop up while others stay flat.

When I reach the end of the 40-character line, I press a button to load the rest of the text. For me, reading braille is like looking at a screen that only shows 40 characters at a time. I have no idea what’s around that text. If someone says “it’s at the top” or “on the right,” that means nothing to me. But if they tell me the button I’m looking for says “Confirm,” I can find it by searching for the text.

The page is continuously reformatted into 40-character sequences. This process is called decolumnising—columns are removed, and the text is displayed in the predefined reading order. If the page structure is done properly, I can also jump from one heading to another instead of reading everything 40 characters at a time.

What’s the difference between a screen reader and text-to-speech?

A screen reader is software that interprets the information displayed on a screen. Based on data from the operating system and browser, it can tell you whether you’re on a link, a button, or an image. It can also indicate if a link has been visited or how many items are in a bulleted list.

This information is then converted into text. That text can be displayed in braille on a braille display or spoken aloud using text-to-speech (TTS). As the name suggests, text-to-speech is a synthetic voice generated by a computer or mobile device. When you talk to your favourite voice assistant, the voice you hear is a form of text-to-speech.

The limits of compliance

Compliance vs accessibility: a false debate?

I don’t think we need to oppose them. The other day, I was asked to test a form. It had major accessibility issues: no page title when moving to the next step, an image button with either too much or too little information… In short, it was unusable. Before asking a disabled person to test a site, you need to make sure it meets at least basic accessibility standards. Otherwise, it’s just discouraging.

But what bothers me about compliance is this percentage-based approach. If a site is 75% compliant… fine, but there’s still 25% left. And often, within that 25%, you’ll find a CAPTCHA, missing alt text… What matters to me is being able to complete a task from start to finish without being blocked. Whether a site is 75% compliant means very little if I can’t get to the end.

How do you experience activism as a Disabled person?

I get it from my mum—she was very active in associations. She was deeply involved in the parents’ association for blind children.

Activism has sometimes been hard to balance, especially when I was employed. People expected me to be available during the day for meetings, but no—I was working! It’s like when you ask for the schedule of an audio-described cinema screening, and they give you a time when most people are at work. As if Disabled people don’t have jobs.

I even wondered whether I should continue working in digital accessibility. But Paris Web helped me stay in the field and gain visibility. It’s a great conference, and it allows me to meet people instead of being alone at home. But it’s all volunteering, and I struggle to step back. I’m also involved in a guide dog charity, which is still close to my heart—we need to keep pushing things forward.

Is anti-ableism an important cause for you?

I struggle with that term a little. Some people can be quite aggressive about it—saying, “You can’t say that, it’s ableist.” I prefer raising awareness instead. Helping people realise why change is needed. Some may be ableist, but they mean well. They just haven’t learned how to do better. I don’t get angry about it.

What frustrates me more is that we’ve had a law in France for 20 years, and the web still isn’t accessible. Every day, I face accessibility issues—whether digital or physical. I’m tired of the lack of progress. I leave my house, and roadworks block the pavement, so I’m stuck. In the metro, sometimes there are two doors—the train door and the one on the platform. Earlier today, the train door didn’t open fully, so I couldn’t get out. By the time I found another door, the train had left, and I had to get off at the next station.

These are the things that really annoy me—more than ableism itself. It feels like no one cares, not the government, not policymakers, not decision-makers. We’ve been fighting for 20 years, and we’re still at square one.

What’s the solution to drive change?

I don’t know if it’s intentional, but there’s a clear lack of training—at least in the digital space. We need more training, more awareness. We need to get into schools. I’ve done accessibility talks for Master’s students at the University of Paris 8, but it was just 90 minutes for the whole year. That’s not enough. Accessibility should be integrated into curricula, just like security or data protection.

Is a perfectly inclusive society realistic?

I’m not sure why, but I struggle with the word “inclusive.” It’s everywhere these days, for everything and anything. It’s become a buzzword that doesn’t really mean much. In my day, we talked about “integration”—as in, “I’m in a special school, but next year, I’ll be integrated into a mainstream secondary school.”

I prefer talking about accessibility. I feel like people avoid using certain words. Like when they say, “person with a disability.” Or when they say, “I suffer from a disability” or “I have been affected by…” I don’t suffer—I’m just blind.

But to answer your question, for our society to be truly accessible, we need to commit to it. And I’m starting to wonder if that’s even realistic. We’ve been waiting 20 years. The 2005 law came in, and since then, all we hear is, “Oh, it’s too complicated,” so let’s make exceptions. Especially in the built environment. “Oh, it’s an old castle, so we can’t make it accessible.”

One thing that really bothers me is touchscreen payment terminals. The European Accessibility Act says they must be accessible. But only new terminals will have to comply. The old ones will still be used and not necessarily replaced because of “budget constraints.” So they won’t be fully accessible until at least 2030.