Article
We live in a world that does not prioritise disabled access.
Despite the fact that one in five Australians are disabled—and that access benefits everybody—most non-disabled people don’t even think about it. And when we tell them how bad it can be—like how I went to an event recently and the disabled bathroom didn’t have working plumbing—they’re shocked. But it’s still rare for them to help us advocate for better access. And worse: sometimes they just tell us that we are the problem. We are overreacting. That if things are so hard, we should just stay home.
Sure. It’s not like disabled people have jobs and lives or anything *insert eye roll here*.
I live with multiple mental and physical disabilities—and being in constant, agonising pain while managing soul-crushing fatigue means I usually use a mobility aid, like a walker or wheelchair, when leaving the house. Mobility aids give me the freedom my body cannot: but that freedom is short-lived, when our world is so inaccessible—and trying to create change feels a lot like yelling at a mountain and hoping it will move.
Every time I leave my house, I have to check accessibility: are there stairs, or lips my wheelchair won’t be able to go over? Is there accessible parking? An accessible bathroom? Is the space big enough for me to use—and turn around in—my chair? And that’s just the accessibility questions for one aspect of my disabilities. It was a lot harder when I had my manual wheelchair and also had to consider: are there slopes? Is there thick carpet? How far away is it? Will I be able to independently wheel myself, or will I need someone to push me?
It is exhausting, especially when most events and businesses don’t list their accessibility information online—probably because they didn’t even think about accessibility and the fact that disabled people exist. You have to call or email—which isn’t accessible for a lot of disabilities—and even then, it’s rare someone gets back to you. Or if they do, it’s likely they won’t understand what accessibility even means.
For example, I went to a magazine launch last year at a fancy restaurant which was advertised as “wheelchair accessible”. There were multiple steps and lips, meaning I couldn’t access a lot of the venue. Their “wheelchair ramp” was just a piece of broken wood that cracked when I used it—and once I was inside, I couldn’t even go to the bathroom because the doors were too heavy to open on my own, and my wheelchair wouldn’t fit. I am lucky to be an ambulatory wheelchair user, so I was able to still use the bathroom, but a lot of people can’t—and that’s just not good enough.
Some people even respond with anger when you point out this lack of access—but most just flat out ignore you: because they can. Because their lives don’t revolve around accessibility.
It infuriates me.
And it’s not just physical accessibility—there are so many different disabilities and important access needs, but we’re almost always forgotten, and it prevents the disabled community from participating like anyone else. Inaccessibility rears its head in the community, on transport, in our healthcare system, and in the workplace. And it’s so hard to constantly battle it.
It's not good enough when accessibility isn’t considered—or when it’s a last-minute addition. The bare minimum is not enough. Because when we can’t access the world like everyone else, it sends us the message that this world is not for us.
And it is.
Our access needs matter. And sooner or later, time disables everybody. Help us fight now.