Wheelchairs vs. Pushchairs: The Unnecessary Debate on Public Transport
Accessing public transport as a disabled person, especially one that uses a mobility aid of any kind, is far more than just difficult. It’s fear-inducing.
It requires ample amounts of planning, research and communication in ways that able-bodied people simply cannot understand.
Recently, however, there has been an absurd number of videos, posts and comments heavily debating whether disabled people, specifically wheelchair users, should be allowed to use buses when there are parents using pushchairs and occupying the wheelchair user spaces on said bus.
The debate started almost two months ago, but rather than dying down, it has continued to grow, not only in scale, but also in its volatility and hostility towards wheelchair and mobility aid users, disabled people more broadly, and the ableism they face.
Disabled people struggle enough as it is when it comes to accessing public transport, with instances of disabled people being left stranded on trains when there is no ramp enabled for them to use; of being denied passage on buses due to ‘a lack of space’; of wheelchairs being damaged or broken, sometimes irreparably, by airline staff; and more.
The cost of that is so much more than just monetary. It manifests as anxiety surrounding future experiences of using public transport, with fear of the what-could-have-beens and the what-could-bes.
Something that I have seen online is that there has often been someone on board public transport who is willing to speak up for disabled passengers, but we, disabled people as a whole, can’t rely on that. There won’t always be someone there who is willing, who is educated enough, who is kind enough, to put themselves forward and back us up, or to be in our corner.
I am someone who has experienced using public transport at varying stages of my disability, when my disability was very much a hidden, invisible one, and when it became as it is now, which is very much visible.
The treatment you receive may be different, but that does not necessarily mean it is any better, especially when you consider that people with invisible disabilities may also need a seat on public transport or rely on ‘Please Offer Me a Seat’ badges and sunflower lanyards to communicate their needs.
The undercurrent of ableism is the same. It’s just the way that it is directed that has changed.
I am incredibly lucky in that, when I leave the house, I am either driven by one of my parents, or I have one of them by my side, willing and able to help me and advocate on my behalf if issues like these arise.
But not everyone is that lucky. Not everyone has access to private transport or fair, real advocates.
The comment sections of these difficult-to-watch videos have been deeply divisive. While some people simply do not understand why disabled people may be given additional consideration, others seem to refuse to understand it. They question why disabled people are, in their eyes, treated as ‘more important’. After all, what makes us more special than them?
The disabled community has been called selfish, leeches, a waste of resources, entitled and more, and all because we want fair access to what disabled people before us fought and protested so valiantly for.
After all, the accessible spots on public transport only came into existence after a long and hard battle, one that is hardly heard of or recognised.
It’s incredibly easy, especially when you’re not and never have been in the disabled person’s shoes, to look at the spaces created for disabled people and bemoan their unfairness, to look at these spaces and see nothing but someone being rewarded for ‘kicking up a fuss’.
But these spaces coming to fruition was anything but easy. It wasn’t a situation where, if you asked politely, they were subsequently handed out freely.
They weren’t provided by the government, TfL, National Express, etc. without so much as a second thought. No, it was much more complex, so much harder, than that.
The fight for accessibility on public transport is recognised as having started in the 1980s, after the Greater London Council made the unjust move to abolish funding that would create ease of access to public transport.
In the face of further inequality and societal ableism, disabled people made the bold and courageous decision to unite, collectively striving for a much-needed change.
Disabled activists, such as Barbara Lisicki and Alan Hodsworth, members of the organisation Disabled Access Network, would chain themselves to buses and stop traffic, causing what others might call mass disruption, but what is actually immense bravery.
But despite the valiant efforts of disabled activists and allies, the fight for accessibility, in order to make the world a better, more accessible place for the disabled community that would come after them, continued and remains ongoing.
When you hear about things like this, you expect it to be an older problem, like it should be archaic, almost. You’re inclined to pair it with a problem that no longer exists.
If only that were the case.
Instead, in 2026, accessing public transport as a disabled person remains an exhausting and stressful experience, one that requires far more planning and effort than, unless you’ve experienced it firsthand, you will never be able to fully understand.
Because, in reality, ableism is so deeply ingrained in every facet of society, with inequality constantly happening, often right under our noses. That can be seen in how disabled people are being spoken to and about where this very ‘discussion’ is concerned.
The rules, the laws, have long been written. But what will it take for the general public to listen to and respect disabled people enough to recognise that?
Despite the influx of information from disabled people as they attempt to educate others who clearly don’t understand, or possibly don’t care, the divisive debate continues to rage on, demanding evidence as to why disabled people are prioritised over parents and babies.
The answer to that is very simple: becoming disabled isn’t a choice. Nine times out of ten, becoming a parent is.
Beyond that, if an able-bodied parent boards a bus with a pram and parks themselves in the wheelchair-accessible seating, they are typically able to fold their pushchairs and hold their baby. Disabled people, more namely those in wheelchairs, do not have that privilege.
In fact, if a disabled person were to just try to transfer out of their wheelchair on a potentially moving vehicle, it could be very dangerous and result in injury.
Of course, there will always be exceptions to these rules, and you don’t always have to understand, but respecting disabled people takes absolutely nothing.
So when you’re on any mode of public transport, or you’re watching a video online about this very thing, and you find yourself thinking, ‘Why does this disabled person have more of a right to a seat or the wheelchair access space than a pushchair or a mother and baby?’, I implore you to look into it, read the history, and recognise why this is not just important, but vital for this to be common knowledge.
For the sake of the disabled community, vitriol and misunderstanding create sparks and further an already starkly evident divide, but understanding and education? That creates communities, and it creates a mutual respect that is essential for living peacefully and recognising one another’s importance.
Written by Bee Jenkins
