Rethinking Disability Narratives [March 27th Episode]

David Carlisle

Alright, welcome back to Beyond the Label folks—David here, and as you know, I can’t get through an episode without tripping over the word neurodiversity—did it again, and now the whole crew’s got a running joke about it. But really, let’s chat about why that word—and, well, this whole conversation—matters. I’ll never forget last summer, my uncle, classic Aussie BBQ, beer in hand, looked at me like I’d sprouted a third eye when I mentioned 'neurodiversity' and 'identity-first language'. Turns out he thought neurodiversity was a brand of vitamin water. I spent twenty minutes standing by the grill, trying to untangle “person-first” versus “identity-first” without putting everyone off their sausages. Harper, didn’t your group have a similar ahh... spicy debate?

Harper Bennett

Oh, full-on spicy. The first month we started Fresh Perspectives, it was a swirl of “wait, should it be ‘disabled student’ or ‘student with a disability’?” Some did care, some honestly didn’t, but it felt like we were picking teams for language dodgeball. What I learned—and I’m still learning—is just asking people what works for them, and not assuming. If you dodge that question, though, things get even messier than me trying to push my chair up that old ramp on campus! Ruby, you always make the shift from theory to real life look easy—how’s it gone at home?

Ruby Sturt

Oh, messy’s a good word, Harper. Back home, there was this quiet revolution. Like, our town used to throw charity fetes “for the disabled,” kind of putting everyone on a pedestal, but also boxed in. A few years back, they flipped it—now it’s pride parades, accessible art walks, and participation. Sam and Tash can show up as themselves, not someone’s project. It’s funny, you notice the difference when your sister laughs at a community mural instead of having to pose for that forced “thank you” photo. Everyday stuff’s just... friendlier, more natural. I’m curious, Eric, as someone tuning in from media world—what are you seeing, especially with how stories get told?

Eric Marquette

It’s true, narratives shape so much of how we see disability. Media often defaults to those “overcoming” tales or, worse, painting people as objects of pity, and it leaves little room for the messy, brilliant, normal lives we’re all describing. I might be echoing last week’s episode on self-advocacy—where real stories actually moved listeners—but, honestly, just letting disabled voices author their own stories is half the battle. Let’s dig into how these new stories shape our spaces—Ruby, you just led that playground revamp, right?

Ruby Sturt

Yup, still got sand in my shoes from that—classic hazard of playground consults! This was a wheelchair-accessible playground in regional Oz, and we kicked off by actually listening to, you know, kids who’d use the thing. I brought in Sam and some mates for the design sessions—they picked out colours, swing heights, where the shade should be, even the snack bar angle for easy rolling. It’s wild the things adults overlook—one eight-year-old said, “Can we make sure my wheels don’t get stuck in the tanbark every time?” So, we swapped the ground cover. Little details, huge difference.

Eric Marquette

That’s brilliant. But, can I throw a curve in? I just read about a city unveiling this “revolutionary” online booking for public facilities... but totally forgot about screen-reader compatibility. All the money and hype, but if you can’t even log in with your assistive tech—what’s the point? Do you all find digital is catching up to physical access, or is it the opposite where you live?

Harper Bennett

That happens everywhere, honestly. My favourite is when a website says “wheelchair accessible” and then buries the real info six clicks deep—or, it’s all pictures and no alt text. Even at school, I remember the “inclusive” science lab... except my chair couldn’t fit between the benches. Actually, David, you ever bump into that with your own students?

David Carlisle

Oh, you wouldn’t believe. I made this cracking reading nook—cushy pillows, low lights, felt so inclusive. One week in, a student rolled up and just... stopped. Couldn’t even get their wheels past the beanbags. That was humbling. We changed it straightaway, but it shows—doesn’t matter how good your intentions if you miss the basics. It’s easy to think, “Well, the website’s accessible, so we’re sorted!” but if the door sticks, or the nook’s blocked, you’re just swapping one barrier for another. Should we go into how we keep pushing past those roadblocks—both big and small?

Harper Bennett

Absolutely, because sometimes advocacy looks like a press conference, and sometimes it looks like me—frantic—leaning under a café table because I dropped my lucky climbing carabiner. Spoiler, I found it! But it reminds me, bringing adaptive climbing out in the open wasn’t about one big campaign; it’s dozens of tiny nudges—posting about new gear, inviting gyms to “try an adaptive night”, even laughing through the stumbles. And hey, every new climber who tries it, that’s a trophy in itself!

David Carlisle

You nailed something, Harper—those little wins. It’s like baking sourdough—people think it’s all about that perfect, Instagram swirl, but really, it’s the sticky, unpredictable dough that teaches you the most. Advocacy for my kids at school is just like that: some days, you rise, others you collapse in on yourself. If I celebrate only the 'perfect loaf', I’d have quit ages ago! What about you, Ruby? You’ve been at the thick end of policy chats—how do you get folks fired up to take part, when, to be honest, “policy” sounds about as exciting as a wet weekend?

Ruby Sturt

Ha! I get jittery just saying “policy.” But here’s the trick: we started this council initiative where actual lived experience gets a seat at the table for every local planning convo. It’s not top-down; it’s making sure Sam, or the neighbour up the road, get to say, “Hey, this works for me—this doesn’t.” That switch from tick-a-box tokenism to everyday voice makes people feel seen. And it means councils aren’t just ticking a box either. What if we opened up—how can listeners get their own voices, or someone else’s, onto the local agenda?

Eric Marquette

Good question, Ruby. Whether it’s your local walking street or the city library, just showing up to community meetings and asking those “has this been tested by people who actually use it?” questions can shift the energy. Let’s talk teamwork—when groups, big or small, actually let disabled people steer, big things happen.

Eric Marquette

I love that, because genuine inclusion is a team sport. Some of the best projects I’ve come across were where councils worked hand-in-hand with advocacy groups and—crucially—community members. No egos, just shared goals. There was one local council in the UK that brought in a disability theatre troupe, council planners, and neighbours to redesign a public square. Not only did it become way more usable, but people stuck around after launch, proud because they saw their feedback shape the place.

Ruby Sturt

Oh, yes! Like inviting everyone to a backyard barbecue—except now everyone brings something for the menu. And when people leave their “expert” hats at the door and just listen, even small towns fill with those, “Hey, why didn’t we do this sooner?” moments. Our council’s started hosting open “idea breakfasts”—bring your best, wildest ideas, and the coffee’s strong. Listeners, you can totally do this—host a feedback night, or, if you’re a little shy, start by popping a suggestion in your council’s inbox. It’s those little connections that build momentum.

David Carlisle

Spot on. It’s not about grand gestures—maybe you spend an hour a month helping out with an inclusive sports club, or you’re the one who reminds the school to add alternative text to their digital newsletters. All that stuff adds up, quietly but powerfully. Harper, you’ve wrangled more than your share of event committees!

Harper Bennett

Yeah, or crashed a few—intentionally! My tip—just ask, “Who’s not in the room who should be?” Then don’t wait for some mythical super-committee to appear. Find allies, form little squads, lean on each other. That’s how Fresh Perspectives started—just three of us, a whiteboard, and way, way too many snacks.

Ruby Sturt

So much comes back to how we think. Like, individual attitudes aren’t just “nice to fix,” they’re the gears turning all the big changes. The moment you believe inclusion’s possible—and that it’s everyone’s job—your world view starts shifting. For Sam and Tash, the best changes in our town began when neighbours went from “those poor kids” to “hey, what do you want to join in?” If you find yourself starting an email with “I know it's not my place but...,” maybe it actually is your place, you know?

David Carlisle

I love that—and I’ll add, as someone who’s spent a career slipping up and learning publicly, challenge your own snap judgements. Next time you catch yourself thinking, “Oh, that person needs help,” check—maybe, maybe not! And listen more than you talk. That’s a tip that never gets old, in or out of the classroom.

Eric Marquette

Couldn’t agree more. Try this: next time you’re in a workplace or group chat, notice whose voices are missing, then bring them in. Sometimes all it takes is, “Hey, want to weigh in?” or giving someone space to share their story. Self-checks matter, too: reflect, ask questions, and, if you flub it, own up—everyone’s on the learning curve.

Harper Bennett

And let yourself make mistakes! I mean, I’ve introduced myself as “wheelchair-bound” more times than I care to admit—habit from another era. But when someone called me out with kindness, it actually stuck. Find one small thing—use someone’s preferred language, watch a video from a disabled creator, invite questions instead of avoiding them. It’s little, but it all plants seeds.

David Carlisle

Here’s the big one—education. Schools are the launch pads for change. I’ve seen the difference a single lesson can make, like when we ran a “difference is normal” week—suddenly, the quietest kid had the best insight. Inclusion works best when it’s part of the daily fabric, not a once-a-year assembly or, heaven help us, another PowerPoint.

Ruby Sturt

And it can start anywhere, honestly. You can push your school to run workshops or bring in lived-experience speakers. In one of our regional schools, student committees led disability awareness days, and the ripple effect was massive—parents, teachers, everyone started seeing ability and access as core topics, not side issues.

Harper Bennett

Plus, shoutout to all the organizations out there doing the real grunt work—running after-school mentorships, making lesson kits, just showing up for families. Volunteering or spreading the word about them helps more than people realize. Even sharing a resource on social makes a difference.

Eric Marquette

And, if you’re not sure where to begin, just check in with your local school or advocacy group. Sometimes it’s as easy as attending a meeting, other times it’s supporting inclusive policy proposals. It all stacks up—and honestly, seeing change unfold in classrooms, you know you’re building a better future, bit by bit.

David Carlisle

Ah, I hate to say it, but that’s our cue to wrap for today. But as always, this is just another slice of a much bigger loaf we’ll keep baking together.

Harper Bennett

Yep, love chatting with all of you—and can’t wait for next time. Thanks for tuning in, everyone.

Eric Marquette

Cheers folks, always a pleasure diving deep with you three—see you on the next episode.

Ruby Sturt

Take care all, and keep asking the good, slightly uncomfortable questions. See you soon!