When people think about accessibility, they usually imagine ramps, captions or maybe extra time on a test. True, these features are extremely important because they are often the difference between being completely shut out or able to participate. Students with disabilities wouldn’t be able to show up to class, attend an event or even live on campus without them.

The important thing to note, however, is that access is the starting point, not the finish line.

I have rolled into plenty of spaces at USC that are technically “accessible,” but it is obvious that students with disabilities were not at the forefront when they were designed. The ramp that isn’t at the main entrance but tucked away by the dumpsters? It gets me in, sure, but it also tells me I wasn’t the kind of person they pictured entering through the front door.

There are also lecture halls that proudly offer “wheelchair seating.” In reality, they only have one spot, and it’s placed dead center in the front row. Or worse, way in the back. That’s not belonging; that’s just being put on display.

Even events that advertise inclusion can fall short, such as programs at Tommy’s Place or Bovard Auditorium, where captions are provided, but the dim lighting makes lip-reading impossible. Technically accessible? Yes. Actually inclusive? Not so much.

When football season rolls around, the campus is filled with talk about tailgates and games because they’re the glue of our school spirit as Trojans. If getting into the stands at Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum is a logistical nightmare and weaving through tailgate crowds on campus means bracing yourself not to get knocked over, the “Trojan Family” doesn’t exactly feel like family for everyone.

Housing has its own version of this story.

Dorms labeled “accessible” often meet the bare minimum requirements, but living in them can feel like a daily obstacle course. They have laundry machines stacked so high students need an NBA-level toss just to switch a load. The common spaces also technically fit a wheelchair, but it’s a tight fit. Additionally, the doors are heavy enough to make students feel like they’re trying to break into Fort Knox.

On paper, these spaces meet the bare minimum requirement of accessibility, but the lacking designs constantly remind students that they weren’t part of the original blueprint.

Accommodations and retrofits almost always come as afterthoughts, and they’re reminders that the space was never designed with people with disabilities in mind from the start. That’s why “access” alone can feel hollow.

Belonging is when people are expected from the beginning. It shows up in the small details that say, “We knew you’d be here. This space was always meant for you too.”

The difference between being an afterthought and part of the foundation is exactly what I want to write about in this column.

We all know USC is extremely proud of its reputation, history and traditions. The measure of a community, however, isn’t just whether people can get in the door. If people still don’t feel like they truly belong once they’re inside, are we really living up to our own high standards?

Throughout this semester, I’ll be exploring what that looks like here on campus. I’ll write about classrooms that meet legal requirements but still leave students isolated. I’ll highlight events that succeed at creating genuine belonging, not just checking a box. I’ll bring in stories from the USC disability community that push us to think bigger about inclusion.

If we want to build a campus culture that actually reflects the values we say we hold, such as integrity, community and accountability, we need to be honest about the gap between access and inclusion.

Yes, ramps matter. Yes, captions matter. Of course, accommodations matter because they get people through the door. But culture? Culture is what tells students whether they’re just tolerated in a space or truly welcome.

Access lets students in, but belonging makes them stay. Personally, I’m not interested in just showing up. I want to stay.

Lilly Grossman is a social work graduate student writing about accessibility and campus culture in her column “The Quiet Part,” which runs every other Thursday. She is also the diversity, equity, inclusion and accessibility director at the Daily Trojan.