Why I Refuse to Speak from Inaccessible Stages And Why You Should Too

Recently I delivered a keynote presentation at a conference in Cairns. When I arrived, I discovered that the only way to access the stage was via a flight of stairs, rendering it inaccessible to wheelchair users. When it transpired that a ramp was not available, I politely but firmly declined to speak from the stage, electing instead to deliver my presentation from the floor. This is a policy I have quietly upheld for many years, to refuse to speak or perform from inaccessible stages.

This might seem surprising. After all, I am not a wheelchair user. I could, technically, get up there. But that is exactly the point. Inclusion is not about what I can do. It’s about what we should do to ensure that no one is excluded — now, or in the future.

Emma on a dark stage performing with a keyboard, singing into a mic.

Why this stand matters — and why it’s about more than just stages

Refusing to use an inaccessible stage is one way of practising allyship. Allyship, in this context, means using our influence to challenge exclusion and create equitable spaces — even when a particular barrier doesn’t affect us directly. It’s about recognising that access is not confined to some disabled people, but for all of us.

Let’s be clear though, inaccessible stages are just one example of a much bigger issue. Every day, people with disability encounter events and spaces that signal, (sometimes unintentionally), “you don’t belong here”.

This happens when:

  • Stages have steps but no ramp or lift

  • Auslan interpreters, captioning and audio description aren’t provided

  • Materials aren’t available in accessible formats

  • Lighting makes it impossible for some people to see the speaker

  • There’s no quiet space for neurodivergent attendees

  • Registration forms aren’t screen-reader friendly

When we speak from inaccessible stages, or participate in events that overlook these and other accessibility basics, we become part of the problem, no matter how well-intentioned we are.

What allyship looks like in action

Allyship is not a label we give ourselves. It’s demonstrated through choices like:

  • Declining to participate unless access is assured. This doesn’t mean being combative, it means respectfully and consistently making inclusion a condition of involvement.

  • Asking the right questions up front. Don’t assume access has been covered. Ask. Offer to help think through solutions if needed. This is something I regret to admit I neglected to do prior to my recent keynote, which put the organisers under pressure and made me feel very uncomfortable on the day.

  • Normalising access expectations. Every time we treat accessibility as standard, we shift the culture. Every time we let it slide, we reinforce the status quo.

Advice for event organisers

If you’re hosting an event, here’s what you can do:

  • Embed accessibility into the planning process, not as an afterthought, but as a core requirement.

  • Budget for it. Accessibility is part of doing business and is a fundamental human right, not an optional extra.

  • Consult disabled people early. We are the experts in our own access needs.

  • Be proactive, not reactive. Don’t wait for someone to complain. Get it right from the start.

A call to action

To my fellow speakers and performers, whether or not you have a disability, I encourage you to join me in setting a higher standard. Let’s commit not just to refusing inaccessible stages, but to insisting on fully inclusive spaces wherever we speak or perform.

Finally, to organisers: remember that accessibility is not just a checklist item. It’s how you demonstrate that everyone is welcome.

Together, through small and consistent acts, we can create events and spaces where no one is left behind. Let’s raise the bar, because anything less is not good enough in 2025.