I realized my own physical disability at a grocery store, when I became instantly overwhelmed by the fluorescent lights, blaring pop music, and lack of public seating. My body ached, my head pounded, and I felt moments away from fainting. As I prepared to check out, I collapsed, and it took me a few minutes to recover. Fortunately, I was there with my mom, who was able to help me. As I hobbled to our car, I was relieved that nobody had approached me, as they had in the past. All I wanted was to be ignored.
Over the past year, I’ve developed mobility issues that warrant the occasional use of a wheelchair. At 17, I was going through bodily developments that usually don’t show themselves until someone is in their 50s or 60s. The experience of being visibly disabled has been educational. Good-intentioned interactions — an overly friendly cashier, a concerned friend, or a stranger providing unsolicited help — serve as reminders that I don’t have the privilege of accomplishing tasks on my own, unnoticed by those around me. I wasn’t prepared for the constant judgment, and it reminds me that there are many aspects of the world we can’t detect until we’ve seen them for ourselves.
Those of us who are not able-bodied have lost not only our ability to move, but also our ability to socialize. While a wheelchair has given me the opportunity to once again take part in society, it has also discouraged me from engaging in potentially inaccessible activities. I rarely feel fully accommodated at events, seated in the back of a room, away from everyone else. Often, I’ve been left to sit by myself while those I’m with go enjoy themselves, a situation that’s ruined my passion for live music.
My eyes were also opened to the dysfunction of my beloved city. In 2022, inclusivity nonprofit The Valuable 500 ranked Las Vegas among the world’s 10 most accessible cities. Vegas Means Business, a website of the Las Vegas Convention and Visitors Authority, claims the city is known for its amazing accommodations. But this could only be true for tourists, who focus on points of interest, or those who aren’t disabled themselves.
“Accessibility features only exist in affluent neighborhoods or tourist areas,” says Benny Jurado, a community organizer and disability justice activist (and — full disclosure — my friend). “Just blocks away from upgraded accessibility features for tourists is crumbling infrastructure that segregates wheelchair users to their homes … What good is it to live in one of the most accessible cities if it was never meant to be accessible for most of its residents?”
In my experience, our city still has work to do. Our sidewalks are too narrow and riddled with obstacles. Poorly placed poles block anyone who might require more space than the average person, including those who are visually impaired. Ramps and pathways are often absent or difficult to navigate. I’ve injured myself trying to navigate areas where sidewalks give way to empty dirt lots. And our city’s prevalent flashing lights can put those with epilepsy in life-threatening danger.
Measures meant to address homelessness are a particular problem. Las Vegas’ anti-homeless architecture limits the availability of comfortable seating. Toilets are barred from public access to prevent unhoused people from taking refuge in them, causing problems for not only the unhoused, but anyone with incontinence or urgency issues. The National Association of County and City Health Officials reported that one quarter of unhoused individuals have a disability. Homelessness is a huge issue for Las Vegas, but the city’s priority is to ignore or eradicate these community members, rather than provide them with aid.
Bias can also affect aid for the disabled community. Many able-bodied people freeze up, becoming resistant or defensive, when someone suggests change. It’s easier for them to pretend disabled people’s issues don’t matter because they don’t affect the so-called “majority” than it is to imagine or support a different way. Despite widespread leaps in progress for many systemic social justice issues, ablism continues to be normalized.
“I have tried coping with the social aspect of disability by becoming more active in organizing spaces,” Jurado says. “Unfortunately, the disability community often struggles for acceptance even in progressive spaces.”
What’s the solution? In conversations about accessibility, it’s important to remember that a truly accessible space is a work of fiction; there’s no conceivable way to cater to everyone’s (sometimes opposing) needs at the same time. I would also never ask a place as gloriously chaotic as Las Vegas to tamp down what makes it special; I enjoy the bright lights and crowded streets quite a bit, thank you very much.
But this shouldn’t discourage efforts to improve our city for all its inhabitants. In a more accessible city, disabled people would have the freedom to complete tasks with efficiency, not requiring the help of others. The change starts small. Organization of independent locations and businesses, as well as improvement of city infrastructure, could create accessible spaces for disabled people.
A more efficient public transportation system would be a good start. Relative to other large cities, our bus system is small, slow, and prone to delays that make it unreliable. Although the monorail on the Las Vegas Strip is a wonderful convenience, it isn’t a widespread option. I’ve found myself stranded at the bus stop, dehydrated and on the verge of heat exhaustion, forced to sit on a dirty sidewalk for more than an hour awaiting a bus.
Jurado maintains that Las Vegas’ greatest obstacle to accessibility is ongoing construction. If an area isn’t accessible for cars and pedestrians, then it is even less accessible for the disabled. “The impact is felt disproportionately by disabled folks, especially wheelchair users, but is seldom talked about,” he says. “My daughter missed the first week of school in 2022 due to roadwork in my neighborhood making all pedestrian routes inaccessible. It is segregation, full stop.”
The idea that accessibility protects us all isn’t new. The curb-cut effect is an example: Curb cuts helped those with wheelchairs while benefiting cyclists and parents using strollers as well. Accessibility features such as audiobooks and electric toothbrushes have been universally well-received, despite their original intent being to help those with disabilities.
To change our mindset about accessibility, we have to stop thinking about it as a distant concept — anyone could become disabled at any time. According to the American Bar Association, a quarter of U.S. young people will become disabled in their lifetime. Disability is practically inevitable with age. Spending the effort to improve disabled quality of life significantly improves all citizens’ lives and guarantees a more comfortable future later in life.
Perhaps the hardest lesson for me as a disabled person, and one I still struggle to keep in mind, is to be comfortable taking up space in the world. To survive, like many others, I have adapted to demanding that my needs be met. We refuse to be seen as an afterthought. It’s only by occupying the heart of our city that we can be noticed by its leaders. I implore the able-bodied citizens of Las Vegas to keep this same lesson in mind: Take up space on our city’s streets and sidewalks. What’s more accessible for me is more accessible for you, too.