Modern-Day Stigma and Discrimination of Persons with Disabilities: A Quiet, Stubborn Fight

I’ve seen it in little moments—the way a stranger’s voice softens when they talk to my friend in a wheelchair, as if she’s a child, or how my cousin with a hearing aid gets left out of plans because people assume he won’t keep up. Stigma and discrimination against people with disabilities aren’t what they used to be—no one’s locking folks away or laughing in their faces like decades ago.

Advocacy and laws have chipped away at that. But today? It’s sneakier. It’s in the air we breathe, the systems we lean on, the quick glances that say more than words ever could. Here’s what I’ve noticed about how it plays out now, from the stories I’ve heard and the things I’ve experienced.

People don’t always mean harm, but they still look at disability like it’s something to feel sorry about. You’ve probably heard it too—someone calling a guy “inspirational” just for grabbing a coffee or getting to class on time. Or there’s that loud, slow talking, like the person rolling by in a chair can’t hear or think straight. It’s not outright hate; it’s pity dressed up as kindness.

But it stings all the same—it assumes you’re less, not just different. I read somewhere that in 2023, a UK group called Scope asked disabled folks about this, and 62% said they’ve felt that patronizing vibe. Even in places trying to get it right, that old habit of seeing weakness first hangs on. Then there’s the online world, where everything’s supposed to be connected, but it’s not for everyone.

I’ve got a friend who’s visually impaired—he relies on software to read websites aloud. Too bad most sites don’t bother with things like alt text for pictures or menus that actually work with his tech. Some outfit called WebAIM checked a million big websites in 2022 and found 97% had glitches like that. It’s not just annoying—it’s a wall.

Imagine wanting a job, filling out an application, and the form’s buttons won’t click with your gear. That’s not a small thing; that’s exclusion with a digital face.

Work’s another mess. Here in Kenya, we’ve got the Persons with Disabilities Act from 2003—sounds good on paper. But talk to anyone trying to get a job with a disability, and you’ll hear it: bosses think they’ll be slow or cost too much to help out. The National Council for Persons with Disabilities said in 2020 that only about 1% of disabled folks had formal jobs, while 70% of everyone else who could work was clocking in somewhere.

I have seen it myself, someone with a solid degree, a sharp mind, and a cane gets passed over because the manager’s worried about ramps or whatever. And if they do get in, good luck moving up. “Not the right fit,” they’ll say, and that’s that. It’s quiet, but it’s heavy. Even hanging out can feel like a battlefield. Places like restaurants or movie spots often don’t have ramps or hearing loops—unspoken signs that say, “Stay out.” But it’s not just buildings. Sometimes it’s people. Friends might not ask my cousin along to a film because they figure he won’t get it without sound, or they’ll skip inviting someone who gets anxious in crowds without even checking what might help.

There was this study from 2020 by the National Disability Institute—disabled folks said they felt lonelier, not just because of locked doors but because others don’t know how to act around them. Here’s the flip side, though: if you’re not pitied, you’re supposed to be a superhero. TV loves those stories—Paralympic champs, viral videos of someone “beating” their disability. It’s cool to cheer for, sure, but why should my friend have to climb a mountain to prove she’s worth a damn? She just wants to roll to the shop without a fuss. That pressure to be amazing—or else you’re nothing—misses the point. We’re all just people, not headlines.

Doctors can mess this up too, and that hits hard. I’ve heard tales of pain brushed off—“Oh, it’s just your condition”—or worse, assumptions that a disabled life isn’t worth as much. Back in the COVID days, some places had rules that nudged disabled patients to the back of the line for care. A 2022 Health Affairs piece said they’re more likely to miss out on treatment, often because the folks in white coats don’t get it or don’t try. It’s trickier when you’re more than one thing—a Black woman with autism, say, or a queer guy with chronic pain.

The world’s quick to pile on extra baggage: “lazy” instead of “disabled,” or no help because your community is already stretched thin. The Williams Institute in 2021 found LGBTQ+ disabled people catch more flak than others like them, and you can feel how those pieces crash together.

Words slip out too— “That’s lame,” “You blind or what?”—and they stick. On TV, only 2.1% of characters have disabilities, per a 2023 GLAAD count, and they’re usually sad sacks or saints, not real people. It’s like we’re still teaching folks it’s fine to tune out anyone different. This stuff hangs around because it’s not loud anymore, it’s baked into how things work, how people think without thinking. But there’s a shift. On X, you’ll see #DisabilityTwitter folks calling it out, sharing what’s real. Lawsuits are popping up to fix online access, and cool tech—like AI tricks I’ve written about before—is starting to open doors.

Still, we’re not there. It’s not enough to swap pity for respect or see a cane as just a cane, not a sob story. It’s about letting disability be normal, not a side note. Until that clicks, stigma and discrimination are like shadows—soft, steady, and keeping too many people on the outside, waiting to be seen.

Article by: Emmanuel Brian Mbuthia