Article
As disabled people, we are horrendously underrepresented in the decision-making and leadership roles that govern our lives. Our politicians have attempted to fix this by funding an abundance of free disability leadership courses, but our leadership skills (or lack thereof) were never the problem.
There are many areas where government could better meet the needs of disabled people in Australia: accessible infrastructure, inclusive education, an application process for the NDIS that doesn’t take three years and half your soul to complete … but the one thing we have endless access to is free disability leadership courses.
The focus and subject matter vary. Some are about building your advocacy skills. Some help you identify your personal values, matching them with fields you might like to lead in. Some are about making masks out of coloured feathers, pipe-cleaners and paper plates, then sharing with the group how your masterpiece represents your leadership potential (real example).
The courses are generally run by non-profits and funded by government departments with few (if any) disabled people in actual leadership roles. Our lack of representation sits at the foundation of a lucrative micro-industry where our struggles are commodified, but we are not being paid.
Don’t get me wrong, participating in disability leadership courses can be advantageous. They are known to build confidence and community. Powerful networks of disabled advocates and artists can often trace their connections through the disability leadership courses they’ve done.
But there’s also a communal sense of frustration. Free disability leadership courses have been everywhere for over two decades. Ambitious and motivated disabled people have committed many, many unpaid hours to building their leadership skills by now, but we remain consistently and hopelessly under-represented in mainstream leadership.
And it's hard not to notice that non-disabled people don’t seem to need decades of free leadership training before being significantly over-represented at all levels of government, corporate management and the boards of NGOs. So, what is it that non-disabled leaders have that the graduates of disability leadership courses don’t?
As a non-disabled 21-year-old, I more or less fell into a paid leadership role managing a community television production house. I had next to no experience, inevitably made mistakes, learned on the job, and remain very proud of what I was able to achieve there. No one asked if I’d done leadership training before giving me the job.
At 22, I became disabled by chronic illness, and it wasn’t just leadership opportunities that were suddenly out of reach, but employment generally.
In 2006, the part-time, work-from-home job with flexible hours that I desperately needed was a myth. Post-pandemic, work-from-home culture has improved things somewhat, but most of my employment and leadership opportunities have been created by me, for me, as a freelancer obtaining grants and recruiting my own teams. Mainstream employment remains largely inaccessible.
When disabled people are shut out of entry-level positions by rigid employment practices, we are not getting access to the same networks, mentorship and shadowing opportunities that our non-disabled counterparts are afforded in these roles. There’s no climbing a corporate ladder when the bottom rung is out of reach.
But when recruiters for mainstream leadership positions can’t find disabled people with the appropriate experience and connections, the assumption is somehow that the problem lies with us and our lack of skills (hence the prolific availability of leadership training).
In reality, we have an employment culture designed by non-disabled people, for non-disabled people, and the catch-22 is that without disabled leadership, it is unlikely that the culture will change, so the problem persists …
Perhaps it’s time to stop trying to fix us and start fixing the system.