I was halfway through tweeting about how terrifying TSA security screenings are when I got to the front of the airport security line, and I flinched when an agent yelled for help: “Women excluded!” If my wheelchair wasn’t already startling people, that loud announcement certainly was.
While my fiancé went through the full-body scanner, I was directed to a side gate because I hadn’t actually chosen to opt out, but I had no choice because I’m a wheelchair user, and have been for the past two years.
I am a seasoned traveler. My father is an airline pilot, so I have traveled thousands of miles and hours. This means I have experienced traveling both as an able-bodied person and as a disabled person who uses a wheelchair. The dichotomy of experiences can be disheartening and unsettling.
Take, for example, a recent travel experience. The TSA agent did not ask me if I had any pain or sensitive areas. This is a question they would always ask me during screening, and if asked, I would have answered a resounding “yes.” I have Ehlers-Danlos syndrome, a degenerative collagen disease that causes my joints to dislocate easily and randomly. That day, my shoulder had already been dislocated, and possibly my ribs as well.
The attendant didn’t even ask if I wanted a private screening room, another option that attendants typically offer passengers before interacting with them. Many people walked past us, furtively casting glances at me, then looked away when our eyes met.
“I experienced what it’s like to travel as an able-bodied person without a disability and as a disabled person who uses a wheelchair.”
I spread my arms at my sides and fought back tears as the attendant caressed my chest with the back of her hand, like a stranger posing as a security guard walking with me to second base. She eventually ran her gloved hand along the inside of my thigh, pulled the waistband of my skin-tight leggings forward, and dragged her hand along my stomach, presumably to make sure I wasn’t bringing any contraband onto the plane.
The only people in my life who are allowed to touch me like this are my sexual partners and doctors – how would able-bodied people feel if they had to let strangers touch them in public every time they traveled?
While searching my wheelchair seat, the TSA agent said something was wrong with the contents. Without asking any questions, he stuck his finger through the velcro that holds the seat in place. I had been polite up until this point, but I couldn’t stand having to disassemble my wheelchair any longer and I yelled out in protest. After three agents searched my wheelchair (and my aching body), I was released. I drove in my wheelchair to my fiancé, who was secretly recording the whole thing on his phone, and I broke down in tears.
The frustrations and humiliations that people with disabilities experience while flying don’t end at airport security. When I arrived at the gate that day, an agent pulled out a bright green claim tag, clipped it to my wheelchair, and asked me to sign it. “Conditional Acceptance. Please read carefully. Accept at your own risk,” the green tag read.
“Customer satisfaction is important for travelers with and without disabilities.”
I was supposed to check my wheelchair with the airline to be returned upon arrival, but I was hesitant. Airlines are notorious for damaging or destroying wheelchairs and then not providing a replacement (despite being legally required to do so) or delaying replacing damaged or destroyed wheelchairs. Between 2005 and 2015, damage complaints to airlines more than doubled to 30,289, and the number filed directly with the Government Accountability Office increased from 511 to 944.
Airlines operating in the US were supposed to start reporting lost or damaged wheelchairs and scooters in 2018, but the Department of Transportation delayed implementation of the rule until 2019.
The fact that it took more than five years to try to introduce standards for tracking accessibility devices damaged by airlines is a perfect example of how little airline authorities care about people with disabilities, especially since airlines have been successfully tracking lost baggage since at least 2007, and possibly even earlier.
My wheelchair cost over $6,000.00. I fought with the insurance company for years before it was approved. I refused to sign the green tag.
Travelers with disabilities are given priority boarding under the Air Carriage Access Act. Enacted in 1986, this law prohibits discrimination in air travel because of disability and provides passengers with disabilities many protections while traveling.
But planes don’t always lead to the long boarding bridges most of us are used to. Recently, I backed out of Gate 10, took an elevator, and descended into a battered white minivan that had no wheelchair fastenings whatsoever, either for my wheelchair or for me, even though the Department of Transportation requires that wheelchairs and mobility-aid fastenings be provided in addition to seat belts and shoulder harnesses. The van dropped me off at the bottom of a two-story ramp. Very Steep I couldn’t lift the car without my fiancé’s help.
“How would a non-disabled person feel if they had to let strangers touch them in public every time they traveled?”
Disabled people aren’t safe once they board a plane either. Like many wheelchair users, I can walk sometimes, but wheelchair users who cannot walk must use a transfer chair specially designed to fit the narrow rows on an aircraft. Not surprisingly, disabled passengers suffer severe abuse during these transfers, and trying to go to the bathroom mid-flight is a terrifying experience. Last month, I received a $50 coupon as an apology after an airline employee was so embarrassed that he yelled, “Oh, OK,” when he saw me stand up and take a few steps to my seat.
And what about that humiliating TSA experience at security? “I investigated the incident in question, taking statements from those involved as well as reviewing security footage,” Miguel Benitez, a customer service and logistics oversight program specialist at the TSA and Chicago O’Hare International Airport, later explained to me in an email.
“In terms of the process itself, it appears that officers conducted their review appropriately… We give officers some discretion… if they feel that additional scrutiny is necessary to resolve any concerns they may have,” he wrote.
If what I experienced was just a little margin, I hate to think what it’s like to have a lot of margin.
The poor accessibility and ableism that plagues air travel reflects ableism throughout our society. When I traveled as an able-bodied person, I never encountered the issues I so frequently experience now as a disabled traveller.
We can and must do better. Benitez told me that the TSA offers a Passenger Assistance Specialist program to help passengers with disabilities get through the checkpoint if requested 72 hours before boarding, but this was the first time I’d heard of it. Passengers with disabilities need to be informed of these programs before they have any problems during screening.
“The poor accessibility and ableism that plagues air travel reflects the ableism that exists everywhere in our society.”
And the burden of ensuring such assistance is available should not be placed on travelers with disabilities. Contacting the TSA three days in advance is an unnecessarily stringent requirement that should not be imposed on passengers without disabilities.
An even better solution? Find an actual person with a disability to act as a proxy to oversee the physical examination process.
It is unacceptable to delay for years the implementation of a law to track damage to airline accessibility equipment. If airlines can track lost luggage, they can certainly collect statistics on wheelchairs and scooters. Information is the first step to minimizing damage and improving compensation schedules for disabled passengers when damage occurs.
Customer satisfaction is just as important to travelers with disabilities as it is to travelers without disabilities. Disabled people make up 20% of the U.S. population and 15% of the world’s population, and our money is spent just as much as non-disabled people. Ensuring that the equipment we rely on doesn’t break (or replacing it when it does) will encourage disabled people to fly more often.
We need these airlines to take people with disabilities seriously. Sharing our horror stories is an important part of that process, but I would like to see airlines and the TSA put more effort into hiring people with disabilities. Daily interactions between non-disabled employees and their disabled coworkers build empathy and understanding. It’s much harder to treat a wheelchair carelessly at the departure gate when you know firsthand how it can impact a person’s life upon arrival.
Traveling is a great way to broaden your understanding and appreciation for all the world has to offer, and we all deserve to experience take-off and landing without pain and tears.
Ace Ratcliffe has Hypermobile Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, Dysautonomia and Mast Cell Activation Syndrome, which leaves her with a particularly rebellious body. Her activism revolves around intersectional feminism, with a particular focus on disability rights.