Shawn Murinko sits in his power wheelchair in Olympia, Washington, reading a dense legal document on his screen—something that once would have been impossible. In law school, towering stacks of casebooks confronted him with a brutal reality: for someone living with cerebral palsy, the simple act of turning a page could take minutes, or leave him unable to proceed at all. His professors understood what mattered—his mind, not his mobility—and allowed him to use online legal databases instead of physical books. That accommodation changed everything. Today, artificial intelligence has extended that same principle far beyond what even those professors could have imagined, and Murinko has become an advocate ensuring that its benefits reach everyone.
AI has given Murinko something he once had to fight for every day: independence. He uses AI-powered tools to read, synthesize, and navigate complex information without physical limitation, removing barriers that stood between him and full participation. For people with disabilities, AI is not a luxury—it is a lifeline that opens doors long sealed shut. Screen readers now interpret visual content with unprecedented accuracy. Speech recognition breaks down communication barriers. Adaptive systems customize how information is delivered, meeting people where they are instead of forcing them to adapt to rigid structures. A student who cannot hold a pen can now write essays using voice-enabled AI. A worker who once struggled to organize tasks can now manage their workload seamlessly. Someone who has spent a lifetime excluded—not because of a lack of talent, but because of a lack of access—can finally participate fully.
Yet Murinko acknowledges the legitimate fears surrounding AI. Workers worry about losing jobs as automation expands. Artists fear their creativity will be replaced. Educators see students leaning on AI tools and wonder whether critical thinking is at risk. Environmental advocates point to the immense energy consumption required to power these systems. These concerns deserve respect, not dismissal. They are also familiar echoes—photography was once seen as a threat to art; the internet brought fears of misinformation and intellectual decline; social media raised urgent questions about mental health and privacy. But each time, humanity adapted. Labor protections emerged. Digital literacy programs were introduced. Safeguards were implemented.
The lesson is clear: technology does not shape society alone—we do, through how we choose to engage with it. This will be true for AI as well. But safeguards require vigilance. A content filter doesn't protect a child if a parent doesn't know it exists. A classroom policy doesn't preserve critical thinking if educators aren't equipped to teach alongside new tools. Policymakers, technologists, educators, disability advocates, workers, and parents must sit at the same table. Collaboration—not adversarial relationships, not unchecked development—is the harder work that progress demands.
For people with disabilities, the stakes are personal. These are not conveniences opening. They are lives being transformed, participation being restored, and the simple, profound dignity of being able to compete and contribute on equal footing. Whether AI becomes a tool of genuine equity or merely another system that excludes depends on who gets a voice in shaping it. Murinko's question is clear: if we are not shaping AI, what will it shape us into?