By Mustapha Lawal
Each year on December 3rd, the world marks the International Day of Persons with Disabilities. In Nigeria and a host of other countries, the day is typically accompanied by a flurry of speeches, branded T-shirts, and sympathetic hashtags, #InclusionMatters, #LeaveNoOneBehind, #DisabilityIsNotInability. These gestures are not without value, but they are often surface-level signals that do little to disrupt the underlying structures of exclusion and stigma.
Trapped Between Public Pity and Policy Neglect
Disability rights in Nigeria remain trapped between public pity and policy neglect. Even when laws are passed, as with the Discrimination Against Persons with Disabilities (Prohibition) Act of 2019, their spirit is often lost in a national attitude that views disability primarily through the lens of charity rather than rights and sympathy rather than dignity. The act signalled an institutional commitment to the rights of persons with disabilities, aligning with Nigeria’s obligations under the UN Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities.
However, Blessing Oladunjoye, publisher of BONews Service and a disability rights advocate, critiques the inconsistency of the act and its implementation:
“The Act says violators should be penalised, but who has actually been held accountable? The absence of visible enforcement sends a dangerous message: that inaccessibility carries no consequences.”
Public attitudes toward persons with disabilities frequently oscillate between sympathetic patronage and subtle exclusion. Many people still view disability as a tragedy to be pitied or, worse, a punishment to be endured. While this may manifest in acts of kindness, giving money to someone in a wheelchair, for instance, it often reinforces a harmful narrative: that people with disabilities are objects of charity, not equal citizens entitled to autonomy and participation.
This culture seeps into how policies are made, how institutions operate, and how society functions. Schools often discourage the enrolment of children with disabilities not because of malice, but because of a deeply held belief that such children “may not cope”. Employers cite “concerns about productivity” to avoid making reasonable accommodations. Even the media often portrays persons with disabilities either as helpless victims or as heroes who “overcame all odds,” both extremes that ignore the normalcy and complexity of disabled lives.
As Blessing Oladunjoye, a disability rights advocate, puts it:
“Disability rights are human rights. We can’t keep approaching inclusion as a favour or a political gimmick. People with disabilities should be equal partners in building our institutions, not passive recipients of sympathy.”
She also adds that:
“The goal of accessibility is independence. Every time we build spaces that exclude, we’re saying: you don’t belong here. That has to change, because inclusion isn’t charity. It’s justice.”
This failure of cultural understanding translates into institutional inaction. Professor Julius Ihonvbere, Leader of the House of Representatives, recently described the lack of enforcement of the Disability Act six years after its passage as “a joke”, calling for legal amendments and stronger penalties. Meanwhile, civil society groups like CARE Nigeria and CISLAC continue to push for adequate budgetary allocations and meaningful political will.
Hashtags Without Inclusion
While social media has amplified conversations around disability, it has also enabled a form of performative inclusion. Disability-themed campaigns appear during awareness days and vanish the next morning. Politicians pose for photos with disability groups during election season, only to disappear until the next round of votes is needed. Rarely do these gestures lead to institutional change, budget allocations, or measurable progress in accessibility, education, or healthcare.
In Edo State, The Guardian Nigeria reported several cases where this systemic exclusion is felt daily. Ann Ojugu, a wheelchair user and chairperson of JONAPWD in Edo, had to abandon her master’s program because lecture halls were inaccessible. Joseph Osakwe, who is visually impaired, was defrauded at an ATM due to the lack of assistive technology. Samuel Oboh, a deaf entrepreneur, suffered a misdiagnosis because his doctor couldn’t communicate with him in sign language. These aren’t isolated incidents. They reflect the lived experiences of millions of Nigerians who, despite legal protections, remain structurally excluded from education, employment, healthcare, and civic life.
“If I need medical care,” Oladunjoye explains, “and the section I must visit is on the top floor of a hospital with no lift, then my right to health is denied, not by policy, but by structure.”
These structural failures aren’t just theoretical; they manifest in real communities, with real consequences. This reality is even more evident in places like Karimajiji, a PWD community in Abuja, where residents report dilapidated roads, underfunded schools, and broken promises. “We don’t want to beg on the streets,” one resident said, “but how can we be self-reliant without power, teachers, or jobs?”
Adaobi Chuma-Okeke, a disability inclusion advocate, underscored the need for accessible school buildings, ramps, elevators, and equal employment opportunities. She lamented how, despite the existence of a national law, exclusion persists across schools, government offices, and public transport simply because accessibility is not prioritised. These testimonies highlight the gap between policy rhetoric and lived experience, a gap that only sustained funding and genuine political will can close.
The Civil Society Legislative Advocacy Centre (CISLAC) has echoed these concerns, calling on the federal government to significantly increase budgetary allocations for persons with disabilities in both the 2024 supplementary and 2025 budgets. “Despite commendable efforts on paper”, said CISLAC Executive Director Auwal Rafsanjani, “current allocations are grossly inadequate to meet the needs of over 30 million Nigerians with disabilities.” He stressed that without deliberate investment in education, healthcare, and skill acquisition programmes, millions of PWDs will remain economically excluded.
“The government cannot say it respects the rights of persons with disabilities if it does not dedicate at least 1% of the national budget to making inclusion real.”
Civil society organisations such as CARE (Centre for Ability, Rehabilitation and Empowerment) and other CSOs, in concert with OXFAM and VOICE Nigeria, recommended dedicating at least 1% of the national budget to PWDs. Arguing that this is essential for sustainable inclusion, they also urged a shift from symbolic “integration” to structural inclusion that removes barriers rather than offering access alone
Moving from Awareness to Action
Awareness without accountability creates an illusion of progress. It becomes possible to celebrate inclusion while practising exclusion, to post about access while maintaining inaccessible schools, hospitals, and polling stations. People with disabilities do not need more sympathy; they need dignity-based inclusion rooted in equality and agency.
Dignity-based inclusion means recognising that persons with disabilities are not defined by their impairments but by their humanity. It involves challenging stereotypes that reduce individuals to either burdens or inspirations, centring disabled voices in policy design, implementation, and evaluation, and investing in accessible infrastructure not as a favour, but as a constitutional responsibility.
Importantly, dignity-based inclusion must also tackle language and representation. Casual ableist expressions, such as calling someone “crippled” or using “blind” as a synonym for ignorance, reflect deep-seated bias. The way we speak reveals the way we think, and the way we think influences the way we act.
“Most institutions don’t even know their compliance status,” Oladunjoye said. “They think it’ll cost millions to retrofit their buildings. But with proper audits and simple changes, you can go from 40% to full inclusion without tearing down a wall.”
To move forward, Nigeria must address several core gaps in the disability community, including conducting regular accessibility audits across public and private institutions, training architects and contractors on universal design principles, empowering the National Commission for Persons with Disabilities (NCPWD) to partner with state disability offices for decentralised enforcement, treating private sector actors not just as donors but as co-implementers of inclusion, and creating awareness among institutions still unaware of their legal obligations.
The Future of Disability
The future of disability inclusion in Nigeria will not be secured by hashtags or handouts. It will be built through the hard, often uncomfortable work of reimagining who we are as a society, one where no one is ‘given a chance’, but where everyone has one by right. Inclusion must move from the margins of sympathy to the centre of justice. Until then, the rights of persons with disabilities will remain a constitutional promise that too often stops at the top of a staircase.
It is time for Nigeria to treat disability inclusion not as a ceremonial checkbox but as a benchmark for democracy, development, and dignity.
About the Author
Mustapha Lawal is a dedicated researcher, fact-checker, and youth development advocate with a passion for leveraging media, education, and technology to empower communities and demand accountability. Reach him via lawalmustapha1000@gmail.com or on @themuslaw on X (formerly Twitter).
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