I was granted Freedom of the City but – in my wheelchair – not the freedom of the room

Last week I proudly rolled my wheelchair through the gilded halls of Mansion House, set to be awarded the Freedom of the City of London for my work in disability campaigning. But the honour soon soured into indignity when I could not access the Ceremony stage because it didn’t have a ramp.

I suppose I was worthy of being granted the Freedom of the City, but not the freedom of the room.

The stage itself was not a historic feature and sat barely half a metre off the floor. The organisers knew I was coming and had assured me of wheelchair access. So why did this happen?

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We’d be better off asking why it’s such a regularity. Twenty-nine years after the passage of the Disability Discrimination Act and 15 years after the Equality Act which replaced it, disabled people like me still experience regular, avoidable access fails every day. 

I call this phenomenon “Access Roulette”. Spin the wheel and hold your breath – maybe you’ll be allowed onto the bus today, rather than the driver speeding off without putting the ramp down (1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6). Perhaps train staff will meet you with the ramp you booked, rather than you being denied boarding or whisked past your destination when no one shows and the doors close (1, 2, 3, 4).

Around 15% of booked assistance is not delivered or is delivered unsatisfactorily – that’s more than once per week if you commute to work each day.

It’s possible, certainly, that this time the hotel really did book you an accessible room, rather than you being forced to sleep in the lobby (1) or thrown out because of your guide dog (1, 2, 3). And sure, maybe that restaurant you want to try down the block did fulfill their obligation to buy a ramp for the small step out front (1, 2, 3). 

As a researcher and activist, I work within what I’ve termed the disability law implementation gap: the space between our beautiful (or at least passable) access laws, and our reality on the ground. The gap is wide, and we have no choice but to mind it every day. 

I quietly accepted my Freedom of the City from the floor beneath the stage, knowing that despite the legal obligation for disabled people to be granted “reasonable adjustments” like a ramp to ensure access, if I made a scene it would be I who was branded “unreasonable”.

As disabled people, we’re forced to make rapid, calculated decisions during emotionally intense situations of discrimination in desperate attempts to assert our rights in the “correct” way, remaining palatable and polite.

We manage the comfort and emotions of those committing acts of discrimination against us and learn the personal cost of asserting our rights; forfeiting time, energy, peace, career achievements and dignity to the hungry gap where the law should be.

But this is far from inevitable. We could, for instance, enforce the law. The greatest weakness of access laws globally, including in the UK, is their lack of enforcement mechanisms; there’s no police force or government department one can call to report a violation. Instead, the only way to force compliance is for disabled people ourselves to start a civil lawsuit – an action far outside the means of most of us. 

This needs to change. We’ll never see full implementation of the Equality Act if the burden for enforcing it continues to fall to disabled people ourselves. Instead, this government must show leadership on one of the greatest issues facing the 2.96 million Britons Britons who have a mobility disability. (Disabled people more broadly make up 24% of the UK population.) 

Our options for pulling the levers of policy are many: create an Ombudsman to which violations can be reported, move the minister for disabled people out of the DWP once and for all and into equalities so they can work on more than benefits, give local councils the resource and responsibility to do random access inspections, and much more. 

Others have made the case for encouraging access as a matter of courtesy or a smart business decision – but after decades of facing the failure of laws which are older than I am, I find myself tired of gentle persuading and ready for the law to fend for itself.

For decades the UK government has claimed to be a global leader on disability rights, while disabled people across the country lack basic access to elements of daily life. We can fix this – and give disabled people the true “freedom” of the cities they call home.

Anna Landre is a wheelchair user and international disability policy researcher.

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