More like this

A dark stage with two Auslan interpreters in dim orange lighting, wearing black, in the foreground. In the background, two actors wearing casual clothes are brightly lit and surrounded by large metallic boxes.

An Auslan-interpreted theatre production at Sydney Festival. Image: © Victor Frankowski/Sydney Festival

Nobody likes being told what they do and don’t want, like or need. Those things are often fundamental to who we are as people, so naturally, it is uncomfortable and at times downright harmful for somebody else to make those choices for us, or tell us what our choices should be.

It took me a little while, but I happily and proudly identify as a disabled person. Using the social model of disability, meaning I am disabled by societal and attitudinal barriers rather than my impairment, which in my case is total blindness.

My disability informs and is a huge part of my identity. But it isn’t my whole identity. And I suspect many other disabled people feel the same way.

I talk about disability and being disabled a lot, because those societal and attitudinal barriers are still firmly in place. If we don’t make noise about disability and access, nothing will change. Sometimes it feels like we’re just shouting into the void. Sometimes it feels like we never stop talking, explaining, asking and educating, but have very little impact.

Sometimes we need a break. I have been a lover of theatre and performance for as long as I can remember. There is nothing like the thrill I get from performing or, more so these days, watching somebody else perform. Ask most people who know me, they’d tell you that, like being disabled, being obsessed with performance and storytelling is another giant part of my identity. So of course, in my free time, and as part of my work, I go out to see a lot of live theatre and performance. Unfortunately, though, I can’t enjoy nearly as much as I’d like to. I can’t take advantage of all the weird and wonderful experiences my city has to offer, because so much of it is inaccessible to me. Or at the very least, I am not able to access it independently.

One of the biggest barriers faced by disabled people is the lack of choice we are afforded by limited accessibility. Right now, as I am writing this, I am wrestling with the decision of whether or not to attend a performance I really want to see because it seems like one hundred percent my thing, but has no Audio Description or tactile tour, essential to accessibility for blind or vision impaired audiences. This is a production at a major theatre in a major city, and someone has decided (or simply assumed) that I would have no interest in seeing it. I’m genuinely conflicted. I will probably end up seeing the performance and relying on a friend to describe it for me. Absolutely not ideal. It feels like giving in, no matter which decision I make.

I can’t take advantage of all the weird and wonderful experiences my city has to offer, because so much of it is inaccessible to me.

There is no doubt that things are shifting, slowly slowly getting better. More meaningful accessibility, a wider range of accessible options. But by and large, disabled people’s choices for experiencing theatre and performance are limited to either big, mainstream productions, or shows created by or about people with disability.

Shockingly, those options aren’t to everybody’s tastes. Disabled people are not a homogenous group. Interestingly enough, just like everybody else we have wildly varying preferences for the culture we consume.

It is not enough to put on one audio described, captioned, Auslan interpreted, relaxed performance of whatever hit musical is currently playing (even if I personally love musical theatre). That, to me, feels like a box ticking exercise. And not every disabled person is going to be able to see it on whatever random Thursday night or Saturday afternoon you designate they should.

And not every disabled person necessarily wants their only other option to be art directly related to disability. Almost nothing makes me happier than supporting disabled artists and work that has positive disability representation. It’s one of the things I am most passionate about. It gives me great joy, and it’s often very accessible. But I’m also passionate about other social issues, and tiny weird musicals, and cabaret and comedy, and any number of strange things. And usually in those cases disability access is an afterthought, or not a priority. Because nobody thinks, or cares, that a disabled person might want to experience whatever experimental, small, alternative bit of art or culture they’re producing.

By and large, disabled people’s choices for experiencing theatre and performance are limited to either big, mainstream productions, or shows created by or about people with disability.

It is great that festivals and events are starting to include accessibility guides as part of their programs. Just recently Adelaide Fringe and Melbourne Comedy Festival have included access guides and made their programs searchable by access requirements. It is an exciting development—it becomes less exciting, however, when you search the program for Auslan interpreted shows and are only given 17 results, or filter for audio description and are given no results. What about if a show is Auslan interpreted, but in a venue that is completely inaccessible to a wheelchair user? The way I’ve noticed access guides getting around this is by allowing search results to be filtered by ‘suitability for deaf and hard of hearing audiences’ and ‘suitability for blind and low vision audiences’. Who gets to decide what is suitable? If audio or visual ratings are used, which give a percentage rating of audio or visual content so that deaf/hard of hearing and blind/low vision audiences can make informed choices about what they might enjoy, I think that is fair enough, as long as they’re accurate. But nobody is entitled to state whether something is or is not suitable for any disabled audience except the disabled audience themselves. And of course, this is not prescriptive or enforced in any way—I can decide whether or not to see whatever I like, but I am still being told what somebody, somewhere thinks will be suitable for my accessibility needs. And by continuously not having those access needs met, I and other disabled people keep on having our choices and experiences limited.     

Why is it that artists, venues, organisations think they have the right to dictate what sort of art and performance disabled people should be allowed to enjoy?

The simple answer is that they don’t think that—because they don’t think about disabled people at all. It doesn’t ever occur to them that someone with access requirements might want to come and support their art, and with this lack of awareness and intention they are actively gatekeeping.

And often even when they do give a thought to potential disabled audiences, it is tokenistic at best, because anything meaningful that creates real, equal access is too difficult or too expensive, and just not worth it. Because no disabled people will come and see this anyway.

Why is it that artists, venues, organisations think they have the right to dictate what sort of art and performance disabled people should be allowed to enjoy?

Maybe more disabled people would show up if you didn’t actively keep them out. If you didn’t make it so they have no choice but not to come. Even if only one disabled person is a potential audience member, that one person should be allowed to make that choice for themselves. Not have their taste dictated to them. It is up to nobody but the individual to decide what they are or are not interested in, whether they are disabled or not.

We wouldn’t accept this anywhere else. No other groups are excluded and made to keep out in this way. So why do we expect disabled people to sit down, shut up and put up with it?

*

I consider myself on the luckier side of things. Yes, many works and performances that I want to see are not provided with audio description, are not audio described at a time that works for me, or are not accessible to me in some other way. But I can still go see them; I just rely on a friend to describe a bit of what’s going on. Maybe I get a bit lost and have to clarify some things afterwards. But I can still mostly appreciate the work.

People who are wheelchair users, or who have mobility impairments that make climbing excessive stairs or navigating labyrinthine venues difficult, are literally unable to get in the door sometimes.

People who are D/deaf or hard of hearing can’t be expected to sit through a performance that relies on dialogue without captions or Auslan interpretation.

And I shouldn’t have to consider myself lucky. What’s lucky about only being able to half enjoy something? What’s lucky about having to rely on another person, who is also trying to enjoy the experience, to help you understand what’s going on? What’s lucky about not being able to decide on a whim to go enjoy some art or performance because the venues website has no accessibility information? What’s lucky about being so used to meagre scraps of access that you’re satisfied with the fact you can at least get into the building, sit in a seat and only be confused some of the time?

Disabled people are taught to be grateful for what we’re given. And most of the time we are grateful when an effort is made, if that effort is meaningful rather than harmful or tokenistic. But we deserve better, and we deserve much, much more. Disability access should not be an afterthought or an optional extra: it should be built into art and performance from the very earliest stages, and disabled people should be consulted and paid for their expertise on access and inclusion.

Disability access should not be an afterthought or an optional extra: it should be built into art and performance from the very earliest stages.

‘Sorry, we didn’t think anyone disabled would be interested,’ is not, and never has been, a good enough excuse. You’re not in the head of every disabled person. You don’t know what every single one of them is into. And you do not have the right to make those decisions for us and keep us out.

So many disabled people are put off from trying new experiences, seeing different types of performances, because we have to play the familiar guessing game: Will it be accessible enough for me to actually enjoy it? Should I risk spending money on something if I may not be able to take advantage of the whole experience?

I shouldn’t have to deal with the conflict of whether or not to attend a performance I really want to support, or how far to take a complaint about the lack of access, when I’m just trying to plan a fun night out at the theatre. It comes back to the social model of disability. My blindness isn’t stopping me from seeing this play; what’s stopping me is the barriers to access, whatever the thought process was behind not providing audio description. There are already so many extra steps and decisions that take up disabled people’s time and energy when we are being out in the world. We should be able to know that our accessibility needs are going to be met and that we will be able to fully enjoy the art we want to. It doesn’t matter whether that art is the biggest million-dollar Disney musical extravaganza, or the smallest one-person play tucked away in a laneway somewhere. Disabled people deserve that choice.

This piece was commissioned as a runner up in the 2021 KYD New Critic Award.