Article
The disabled community is one of the largest marginalised groups in the world - and yet, we’re rarely represented, even in spaces that claim to champion diversity and inclusion. So often, people don’t even consider that we exist, with our access needs unmet, which prevents us from getting opportunities and entering leadership spaces. If we want to be included, we constantly have to fight to be heard. It’s not uncommon to be treated like a hindrance because of it—sometimes, we’re even met with outright hostility.
If I’m being honest with you, I am so, so, so tired of fighting.
And I know it’s not just me. I know so many of us are frustrated, exhausted, and furious at a world that largely doesn’t consider our existence. When it comes to mainstream representation, disability is often either angled as a tragedy, or inspiration porn. At best, an organisation might get one token disabled person—usually someone who’s exceptionally privileged—and think that’s enough: but it’s really, really not.
There is so much diversity in the disabled experience. We have all kinds of disabilities, all kinds of backgrounds, and all kinds of intersectionalities that impact us. Like being LGBTQIA+, from a culturally and racially marginalised background, from a low socioeconomic or rural background, from a migrant or refugee background, or existing with multiple kinds of disabilities and chronic illnesses. These experiences deserve to be seen. Our lived experience can truly change the world, and make it a far more accessible and inclusive place.
But so often, we can’t even get in the damn door.
As a disability advocate and journalist who is autistic, chronically ill, LGBTQIA+, and from a low socioeconomic background, there are so many barriers for me to enter leadership spaces. I attended an event where I won an award for my work in diversity and inclusion, but ended up having a panic attack because they’d made the space neurodivergent hell—and their so-called “sensory space” was a storage room where the lights couldn’t even turn off. People treated it as a dressing room. I literally sat in the corner, holding my head, trying to breathe and block out all the sensory overload. Ironically, my work talking about access needs had been a big part of why I’d won that award. I also almost set the stage on fire with my wheelchair because they hadn’t considered turning circles, and had candles and dry flowers arranged on stage: oops! But it’s a perfect example of people wanting to “champion” disability, without actually including us—and in fact, actually often harming us.
We shouldn’t have to squeeze ourselves into non-disabled boxes, or be grateful for any tiny morsels of accessibility people give us. Our bodies and minds might be disabled, but it’s society that truly disables us. And it’s so disappointing, because we represent 20% of the population—and people become disabled every single day. If we live long enough, age disables us all.
Accessibility and inclusion literally benefits everybody, and yet I feel like I have to scream and beg for organisations, businesses, and events to hear me. Even for really basic things, like captions on a video, alt text and image descriptions, having the option to communicate in various ways, wheelchair accessibility, remote or hybrid access, or even just communicating about accessibility at all. Whether it’s getting a job, going to an event, applying for an opportunity, or just trying to exist in the world, it’s so hard. And it shouldn’t be.
There are literally billions of disabled people worldwide. Disability also isn’t new—although it’s only in the past few decades that we’ve started having a voice, thanks to the tireless work of the advocates who came before us.
But we shouldn’t have to fight to be included. We should just be included.
Some days, I feel like I’m making a difference. I challenged Qantas and won after they refused to fix my broken wheelchair, which resulted in hopefully better processes and training. I called out metal festival Good Things for their truly horrendous accessibility, and this year, they actually hired someone to look into it. I’ve made people think about disability and accessibility who might not have previously considered our existence. But I’m so, so, so tired. With extreme chronic fatigue, I do not have the energy for this, especially when it doesn’t pay me. I—and so, so many other people—shouldn’t have to fight. But I do it, because I know it benefits us all—and I truly believe that every little act does make a difference.
I guess I just wish it made a little more of a difference.
I wish that it wasn’t largely the exhausted and already disadvantaged disabled community spear-heading this.
I wish our communities would consider our needs, and welcome us, just like any other human being.
Instead of “celebrating us” and calling us inspiring, we need more organisations to adjust their workplace and recruitment policies so we can actually work and thrive.
We need events and businesses to consider accessibility, and make sure this information is clearly communicated. We need to be on committees, boards, and leadership positions. We need meaningful change. We need people to at least try.
I think a lot of the time, this lack of inclusion comes from a lack of awareness, and because a lot of people don’t really understand disability and are afraid of getting it wrong. But this is a really easy fix: you can learn! There are so many disabled businesses and entrepreneurs that do exactly this. And if hiring a consultant isn’t in your budget, so many of us have already done so much work in this space: there is so much information online for free if you just Google it.
We all have a part to play when it comes to creating an inclusive, diverse future. And it’s time for so many organisations and spaces to do better.