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Roula Khalaf, Editor of the FT, selects her favourite stories in this weekly newsletter.
The writer is a UK-based comedian and founder of a new charity The Rosie Jones Foundation
When I started work in 2011, I quickly became part of the new employee tour. “This is the kitchen, these are the loos, and this, THIS, is Rosie,” went the patter. “She is disabled. And she works here.”
I am a shameless attention seeker so I lapped up the excuse to chat extensively to the office newbie. But, there’s no getting away from the fact that this stop on the induction tour was the company’s way of saying: “Look at us, we employ a person with a disability. Aren’t we fantastic? Now let’s all pat each other on the back.”
Funnily enough, they never mentioned the fact that they had to prepare the accessible toilet for me by clearing it out because they had been using it as a store room. Or that the lift to the third floor office was broken for 50 per cent of the time that I worked there. Or that I was the only physically disabled person to work at a place that employed more than 100 people.
I was 21, fresh out of university and grateful to have a job: disabled people are almost twice as likely to be unemployed as non-disabled people, according to an October 2024 report from The Health Foundation, an independent charity for healthcare in the UK.
I was not the confident, direct person that I am today. I was a disabled person who did not know the true meaning of ableism. Ableism is discrimination against people with disabilities based on a belief that typical abilities are superior and policies and rules result in unfair treatment. Even now, people know about sexism, racism and homophobia but are unsure when it comes to ableism and often stumble over their words.
“Ableism? Is that even a thing?” has been said to me over and over again. If we live in a world where we are unsure what ableism is, how can we move towards a place where everybody feels comfortable to call ableism out?
I now recognise that my old workplace using the accessible toilet as a storeroom was an act of ableism. It is more than an oversight; it is a message to me and future disabled employees: “People like you are not welcome here.”
But back then I accepted it. I had to. It was my way of surviving in a world that has so often made me feel unwelcome. I am a disabled person navigating a society that has been set up by, and for, non-disabled people.
My story is not unique. I have been invited by phone to a job interview and, on hearing my slow, slurred speech, a symptom of my severe cerebral palsy, the prospective employer has laughed and hung up. Little do they know that they missed out on working with a future national treasure. Their loss.
The reason for the lack of disability representation is uncomfortable: when a business wants to employ a non-white person, it does so. When somebody wants to employ a queer person, they employ a queer person.
But employing a disabled person is rarely as simple. It takes time, money and consideration. Is your building accessible? Is your company open to flexible working hours or prepared for the disabled person to work from home? What is your policy on employing a person with health issues who might need to take chunks of time off without any notice?
Employing a disabled person can initially seem harder and more complicated. But the time, money and consideration that an employer invests will be returned in abundance. A work environment that is welcoming and inclusive to all is a place where everybody strives to be the best version of themselves. Everybody wins.
Fourteen years on from being part of the office tour, I feel like I am a different person. I am older, (marginally) wiser and often find that I am one of the loudest and most powerful voices in work situations. These factors make it easier for me to call out ableism, demand reasonable adjustments and champion other diverse and disabled voices.
And I do, every single day.
Nowadays, in every television project that I am part of, I make sure that an access co-ordinator is present so everybody’s needs are heard and put in place. I make sure we have trainee schemes to encourage more people with disabilities to enter television production. It cannot ever be the case that I am the only disabled person on a project. We all benefit from the entire spectrum of disabled voices, which only enhances the team.
I will continue to be an advocate for disabled people, but this level of access and support should not be limited to my projects. I hope this will be a model to demonstrate what is possible and drive broader change. With an alarming number of — predominantly US — companies eliminating their diversity, equity and inclusion initiatives, we all need to champion disabled voices.
Disabled people are so much more than a fleeting stop on the pat-on-the-back office tour. Employ us, listen to us and stop treating us like second-class citizens who should feel lucky to have a job. We’re here to stay and, by God, we are not going anywhere. So deal with it.
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