Who Gets To Tell The Story Of Disability?

Representation matters. Yet when it comes to disability, the voices we hear most often are not always the ones living the reality.

So here’s a question worth asking: Should able-bodied people be the ones promoting wheelchairs? Or should that role belong to disabled people, the individuals who actually rely on them every single day?

At first glance, it might not seem like a big issue. A demonstration is a demonstration, right?

Someone shows how a wheelchair works, how it fits into an accessible vehicle, and how a ramp folds out. Job done.

But look a little closer.

Imagine a typical promotional demonstration. A person sits in a wheelchair. They roll toward

an accessible vehicle and stop at the back. Then they stand up. They open the hatchback.

They reach inside and pull out a heavy ramp. Next, they stand beside the wheelchair and push or guide it up the ramp into the vehicle.

After that, they fold the ramp away, place it back into the vehicle, climb into the driver’s seat,

and drive off.

The demonstration is smooth. Efficient. Problem solved.

Except it isn’t.

The moment that person stood up, reality changed.

For someone who cannot walk, the situation looks very different. They cannot simply step

out of the chair to pull down a ramp. They cannot stand beside the wheelchair and guide it

easily into the vehicle. They cannot quickly jump into the driver’s seat once everything is

packed away.

For many wheelchair users, transferring in and out of a vehicle is a complicated, physical,

and sometimes exhausting process. It may involve lifts rather than ramps. Assistance from

another person. Careful manoeuvring. Time. Planning. Strength.

Sometimes it involves barriers that able-bodied demonstrators never even consider.

And yet the version presented to the public often looks simple, effortless, even convenient.

This isn’t just about accuracy. It’s about authentic representation.

When able-bodied people demonstrate equipment designed for disabled people, something important is lost: the lived experience. The daily reality. The knowledge that comes from navigating a world that was not designed with your body in mind.

Wheelchair users are not theoretical users of this equipment. They are the experts.

They understand the weight of a ramp not as a specification on a product sheet, but as

something they might struggle to manage independently. They understand how a vehicle

layout affects whether they can travel alone or must rely on someone else. They understand

the difference between accessibility that works in theory and accessibility that works in real

life.

So when their voices are missing from demonstrations, advertising, and discussions, the story

becomes incomplete.

And sometimes, misleading.

The disability community has spent decades fighting for visibility, inclusion, and the right to

speak for themselves. Yet in many areas, marketing, product demonstrations, and awareness

campaigns, disabled people are still too often pushed to the margins while others speak on

their behalf.

It raises an uncomfortable question: why are the people most qualified to talk about

disability so often the last ones invited to the conversation?

This is not about excluding able-bodied allies. Allies matter. Support matters.

But there is a difference between supporting a voice and replacing it.

If a company is promoting wheelchairs, accessible vehicles, or assistive equipment, disabled

people should not simply appear in the background as symbols of inspiration. They should be leading the conversation. Demonstrating the equipment. Explaining what works, and what doesn’t.

Because real accessibility isn’t about appearances.

It’s about reality.

And the reality is this: no one understands disability better than the people living it.

Written by: Briony Beattie

The Busy Bee Initiative

Nothing about us without us.