Joonba, Junba, Juju

For over three decades, I have made a living asking the questions. As a radio broadcaster and manager, I prided myself on having the “full picture.” I believed I understood the varieties of the human condition, and I certainly considered myself a “good ally” to the disability community. I did lots of interviews, I helped develop content, I used the correct terminology, and I slept well believing I was on the “right side of history”.

Then, two years ago, the script changed.

Becoming a lower-limb amputee didn’t just alter how I navigate the physical world. It exposed my own profound blind spots. In some ways, it shattered the illusion of my allyship and replaced it with a stark reality that no amount of research could have prepared me for.

Before, when I walked into a studio or a meeting room, my authority was taken as read. But as I returned to work, I started to find my capability was being questioned or debated before I’ve even reached the microphone.

But today, on International Day of People with Disability (IDPWD), I am reminded that my learning curve has only just begun.

I am taking part in a panel discussion here at work at today, sitting alongside colleagues who live with a range of different disabilities. Listening to their stories, I know my experience—visible, physical, obvious—is just one fragment of a much larger picture.

I have had to learn that disability is not a monolith.

There are 5.5 million Australians living with disability. That is more than 1 in 5 of us. But if you are picturing a wheelchair, you are missing the vast majority of the story.

• 90% of disabilities are invisible. They are neurodivergence, chronic pain, sensory impairments, and psychosocial conditions.
• It is not just about birth. While many disabilities are congenital, the majority are acquired. It is the only minority group that anyone can join at any moment—a car accident, a stroke, a fall, or simply the process of ageing.

By treating this as a “niche” issue in our newsrooms, we are ignoring 20 per cent of our audience. We are missing stories of innovation, resilience, and systemic failure because we are too busy looking for tragedy. Or “inspiration porn”, as disability advocate Stella Young oce described it. referring to stories about people with disability who are “amazing”.

Do you need to have a disability to report on it well?

No. You don’t.

You don’t need to be an amputee to understand the importance of a ramp, just as you don’t need to be a politician to report on parliament. Good journalism is about empathy, rigour, and curiosity, not just lived experience.

But let me tell you: it helps.

Having lived experience acts as a filter. It helps you distinguish between a “heartwarming” fluff piece and a story about systemic neglect. It stops you from asking “What happened to you?” and starts you asking “Why isn’t this building accessible?” It shifts the focus from pity to rights.

So, as I join this panel later today, I have rewritten my own editorial guidelines.

If you are an able-bodied journalist, your job today is to listen—really listen—without the filter of sympathy. And if you live with disability, speak up. Your perspective is not a “special interest”; it is the vital, missing piece of the national conversation.

For me, and others, this is where the story begins.