Access Denied

When people are asked to write about inequality, it’s very tempting to go straight for capitalism. A lot of online activists would jump at that opportunity immediately. And yes, the global economic system is unequal — often by design. But there’s another inequality that affects people far more personally and far more physically, and that’s accessibility.

Accessibility is one of those words that sounds simple but really isn’t. It doesn’t just mean ramps or subtitles. It includes blind and deaf people, wheelchair users, people with neurological conditions, chronic illnesses, mental health disorders — and even those who simply don’t have the money to access the same spaces and tools as their peers. Accessibility determines who can move through society freely and who has to fight for basic participation.

I want to focus specifically on disabled people, because even when discussions about accessibility happen, we’re often talked about rather than listened to. Sometimes people mean well. Sometimes they genuinely want change. But talking for someone easily turns into talking over them. As a disabled person myself, I think those of us who can speak should.

According to the World Health Organization, around one billion people — about 16% of the global population — are disabled. That’s not a small minority. That’s a significant chunk of humanity. Around 60% were born with their disability or developed it through genetics or illness. But the other 40% became disabled through injury, including workplace injury.

That part rarely gets enough attention.

The International Labour Organization reports that roughly 395 million people sustain non-fatal occupational injuries every year. Not all of those injuries result in permanent disability, but many do, and many more leave people temporarily unable to work. We like to believe health and safety laws protect us, and in theory they do. But over the past few decades, there has been a push in many places toward deregulation and lighter enforcement. The rules often still exist — what’s weaker is the accountability.

I’ve worked multiple jobs in my life. I remember health and safety briefings. What I don’t remember is being clearly told what would happen if something went wrong — who would support me, how compensation would work, what long-term protections were in place. My mother remembers unions and clear pathways to accountability. That shift matters. When enforcement weakens, risk quietly shifts onto the worker.

So we end up with a system that disables people — and then expects them to absorb the consequences.

Because being disabled is expensive. Estimates suggest it can cost 25–65% more to live as a disabled person than as a non-disabled one. Extra transport costs when public transit isn’t accessible. Additional housing space for medical equipment. Carers. Assistive technology. Reliable internet for remote work. None of that is optional.

At the same time, disabled people are typically paid less - between 12–26% less per hour for similar work. So the system works like this: higher costs, lower income.

Unsurprisingly, around 54% of disabled people are in debt (compared to able bodied people which is 34%), and they are twice as likely to be in “problem debt,” where repayments take up more than a quarter of monthly income. Around 25% rarely leave their homes because transport is inaccessible. In lower-income countries, over 90% lack access to even basic assistive technologies like wheelchairs or hearing aids.

Technology companies took nearly two decades after the rise of modern computing to treat accessibility as a core feature rather than a patch. Even now, it’s often an afterthought.

And here’s the uncomfortable part: many disabled people exist because the world wasn’t built safely or accessibly when they were able-bodied.

We don’t just live in an unequal system — we live in one that creates disability through poor design and then treats the resulting cost as a personal problem. In much of the West, there’s an attitude that everyone is responsible for their own circumstances. But when workplaces are designed around cutting costs, when transport systems exclude, when machinery prioritises efficiency over ergonomics, that isn’t personal failure. That’s structural choice.

As someone with a neurological disorder, it isn’t my job to “overcome” bad design. It’s society’s job to design better.

Disabled people aren’t a hindrance to society. If anything, we reveal where it’s weakest. That’s why I believe so strongly in Universal Design — building systems, products, and services that are accessible from the start rather than retrofitted later. Instead of designing around the able-bodied and wealthy, you design for the person who is disabled and broke. If it works for them, it will work for almost everyone.

Designing accessibly doesn’t just help disabled people. It reduces injury risk, lowers stress, increases participation, and prevents future disability. If you design for the disabled, you re-enable the abled.

There’s also a clear economic case. The “Purple Dollar” — the collective spending power of disabled people — is one of the largest underserved markets in the world. Yet many businesses treat accessibility as niche or expensive. In reality, it’s often just about thinking earlier and thinking differently.

The real barrier isn’t cost. It’s a mindset.

Disabled people are often expected to be activists rather than experts. We’re invited to raise awareness, but rarely to lead design or policy. The people with lived experience are sidelined, while those without it shape decisions. We’re frequently the first group to face benefit cuts because we’re politically quieter and socially less visible. And we’re often the last considered when a new product, system, or service is created.

Design is never neutral. If you make a factory lever deliberately stiff to prevent accidental use, you may reduce one risk — but you increase strain and shoulder injuries. That design choice shifts the burden onto someone’s body. We’re not in the 1930s anymore. We have better engineering, better materials, better technology. If workplaces still disable people at scale, it’s not because we lack solutions. It’s because we prioritise short-term savings over long-term human sustainability.

We’re constantly warned about automation replacing workers. But if we continue designing systems that injure and exhaust people, the real threat isn’t automation — it’s attrition. A society that disables its workforce faster than it protects it isn’t just unequal. It’s misaligned.

Disability isn’t simply an unfortunate reality. Often, it’s the predictable outcome of how we design our world. And design is a choice.