Transcript:

Hi everyone!

A lot of people have been asking me lately about the proposed NDIS legislation and what it could mean. And I want to start by acknowledging that there are already some really excellent resources out there explaining the detail.

Organisations like People with Disability Australia, Children and Young People with Disability Australia, the Justice and Equity Centre and the Growing Space, among others, are already doing extraordinary work helping people understand these reforms and their potential implications. So I encourage you to Google them.

But today, I don’t want to repeat what others are already doing so well. What I do want to talk about is the elephant in the room, and that is that the process itself is fundamentally inaccessible. And I don’t just mean inaccessible in a technical sense. I mean emotionally, cognitively, and practically inaccessible.

We’re talking about a complex, life changing reforms introduced with incredibly tight timeframes in a system many disabled people are already struggling just to survive within. Imagine being a disabled person already fighting every day to secure the supports that you need to live safely and to participate in your community. Every phone call matters. Every review matters. Every piece of paperwork matters.

Then a bill over 100 pages long lands in front of you. You’re expected to understand legal language, predict future consequences, and prepare a submission in a matter of weeks while carrying the very real fear of what these reforms might mean for your future. That’s not meaningful accessibility. And I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how often disabled people are still forced to rely on goodwill instead of systems, whether it’s air travel, government processes, or essential supports.

Too much still depends on whether an individual person chooses to help us, rather than whether accessibility has been properly built in. And then there are the barriers that should not exist in 2026. I still receive ministerial correspondence in formats that are inaccessible to me by default, not occasionally. Regularly. So I have to ask for workarounds again and again, just to access information independently.

Because somebody has decided that the system is too costly to fix. And if that’s still happening to me, a CEO of a national disability organisation, what does that say about the broader system? Disabled people are constantly expected to adapt ourselves to systems that were never designed with us in mind. Last week, DANA Staff came together in person for the first time since I started as CEO.

Most of us are people with disability, and what staff spoke about over and over again was the experience of care, not perfection care. We had some significant accessibility failures during the gathering, but people extended grace to one another because there was trust. People could see that everyone was genuinely trying to listen, learn and adjust. Because accessibility isn’t something you’re ever completely finished learning.

And sitting in that space made me reflect very deeply on how different that experience feels from what so many disabled people are experiencing right now. Because when people with disability can’t meaningfully participate in decisions that may fundamentally reshape our lives, that’s not consultation. It’s exclusion. At DANA, we’ve made the decision to give staff time during work hours to prepare submissions if they wish to, because meaningful participation takes time, takes emotional energy and labour.

And at exactly the same time, these reforms are unfolding. The new Disability Advocacy Support Program tender has opened, with applications closing on the 16th of July. That matters because independent advocacy is essential infrastructure, particularly during periods of reform like this one. Advocacy helps people understand systems, exercise rights, and participate in processes that would otherwise look us out. Yet advocacy organisations themselves are operating under enormous pressure while demand continues to grow.

This moment also requires us to show care towards one another as a community. Fear and uncertainty can understandably create frustration and anger, but disabled people shouldn’t have to carry additional harm from division and hostility within our own spaces. While we’re already fighting to be heard, and this all sits uncomfortably beside the language, we keep hearing about a budget of care and opportunity.

Because care isn’t a slogan. An opportunity isn’t a media line. Care looks like giving people enough time, enough support, and enough accessibility to genuinely participate in decisions that affect our lives. Opportunity looks like systems designed so disabled people don’t have to fight simply to be heard. I’m trying very hard to remain hopeful, because I know there are people inside systems who genuinely care and want things to improve.

But I’m also deeply disheartened that in 2026, disabled people are still expected to fight this hard just to participate in decisions about our own lives.

Because ultimately, the question isn’t whether disabled people are resilient enough to navigate inaccessible systems. The question is whether Australia is willing to build systems that truly include us.