Disabled people should not have to rely on kind strangers for basic access
By Debbie Ward, National Disabled Leadership Coordinator, CCS Disability Action
Disabled people should not have to wait for a generous stranger to step in before they can safely enter their own homes. A recent story Funding falls short as father tries to get a lift for his disabled daughter, published on RNZ, shows just how broken Aotearoa New Zealand’s housing modification system has become.
For more than a year, Wellington dad Dinson Thomas has been lifting his teenage daughter from her wheelchair up the stairs to their front door because a platform lift they were approved for could not be built within the capped funding available.
The whānau were granted the maximum equipment and modification funding of just over $15,000, only to discover the quote came in thousands of dollars higher. The shortfall kept growing while the lift stayed on hold and the family carried the risk and the strain. After RNZ ran the story, a Queenstown farmer, moved by what he heard, offered to pay the difference, as covered in Farmer offers to pay for lift for family of disabled child. His generosity is, of course, incredible – but it should never have been needed in the first place.
As someone who works in an organisation supporting disabled people and whānau across the motu – and as a disabled person – I know this is not an isolated story. Many families live in homes that are functionally inaccessible, or wait months and years for essential equipment and modifications. People invest significant effort into a complex process – working with occupational therapists, gathering documentation, liaising with tradespeople, and dealing with agencies like Enable – only to find that what they are “entitled” to does not meet their actual disability‑related needs. Often, a ramp, lift, or bathroom modification is recommended and even approved, but the funding cap falls thousands of dollars short of what is required in a tight construction market. Projects stall, people remain stuck, and whānau shoulder the physical, emotional, and financial burden.
Housing modification grants are also means‑tested, which can push additional costs onto families who are already stretched. In principle, looking at household resources is not inherently unfair – but only if it is balanced against real disability need, Enabling Good Lives principles, and basic health and safety. Where there is no upfront clarity about how much the system will actually fund, and no transparent agreement about any shortfall, families are left exposed. In situations like the Thomas whānau, people can be told they are eligible, only to learn later that they will need to cover thousands of dollars they never planned for. That is not informed choice; it is a system that shifts risk and cost onto those who can least afford it.
The broader economic cost of this failure is enormous. When people cannot safely get in and out of their homes, they are more likely to experience injuries such as falls, which can lead to ACC claims and hospitalisations. Whānau members who are lifting and carrying loved ones up stairs are at risk of harm themselves, and the stress of constantly managing unsafe environments takes a toll on mental health and relationships. Isolation grows when people cannot leave their homes easily; participation in work, education, and community life becomes harder. All of this has flow‑on costs to health, social services, and the wider economy – not to mention the lost contribution from disabled people whose skills and leadership our communities need.
A human rights issue, not an optional extra
Under the United Nations Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities (UNCRPD), which New Zealand has ratified, our Government has clear obligations to ensure disabled people can live independently and be included in the community on an equal basis with others. Article 19 affirms the right to access in‑home and community support services to prevent isolation and segregation, while Article 9 requires housing and public facilities to be physically accessible. These are binding commitments, not nice‑to‑have aspirations, and they should shape how we design and fund our housing and equipment systems.
Yet our housing policies and funding settings have not kept pace with these obligations. Successive governments have failed to ensure an adequate supply of accessible housing stock, despite repeated advice that regulatory requirements and universal design standards are urgently needed. Kāinga Ora’s Accessibility Policy commits to ensuring that at least 15 percent of new public housing builds meet its full universal design standards, with the rest meeting as many universal design standards as possible. This is an important step, but in a country where at least 17 percent of the population is disabled – and where that proportion will increase as our population ages – it is not enough. External guidance for disabled people also notes that those needing wheelchair‑accessible homes face particularly long waits. That gap between need and provision is not a technical oversight; it is a systemic breach of disabled people’s human rights.
Timeliness is a human rights issue too. I routinely hear of disabled people waiting 12 to 18 months for essential equipment or housing modifications, only to find that what finally arrives still falls short of what they actually need. During that wait, families are left to improvise – carrying people up steps, squeezing mobility equipment through narrow doorways, or going without safe showers. The overriding focus appears to be on cutting costs, not treating disabled people with dignity and respect. A rights‑based system would measure success in days or weeks, not years.
When accessibility depends on a feel‑good story
The Thomas whānau’s experience has captured public attention partly because of the emotional contrast: a father lifting his daughter up stairs each day, and a farmer stepping in to fix what the system did not. “Funding falls short as father tries to get a lift for his disabled daughter” and “Farmer offers to pay for lift for family of disabled child” have rightly sparked outrage – and reflection on what it says about us as a society that basic access only arrived after national media coverage. As Dr Rebecca Graham outlines in her article Does housing accessibility now depend on a feel‑good story? asks a hard question: are we effectively running accessibility by lottery, where some people get a benefactor and others remain invisible?
As National Disabled Leadership Coordinator at CCS Disability Action, I see first‑hand how these narratives intersect with the models we use to think about disability. As a disability organisation, we rely on the generosity of donors to extend our work, and community giving plays a vital role in enabling us to respond quickly when formal systems are slow or inflexible. The Queenstown farmer’s gift in this case is a powerful example of aroha in action, and it will make a real difference to this family. But it is important to be clear: private generosity should never be expected to plug structural gaps in under‑resourced public systems. When we normalise that expectation, we reinforce an outdated charitable model of disability – one that treats access as a favour rather than a right.
The charitable model frames disabled people as passive recipients of help, dependent on individual acts of kindness, rather than as rights‑holders and leaders in their own lives. It encourages stories that highlight personal hardship and “inspirational” rescues, while leaving the underlying power imbalances and policy failures unchallenged. A rights‑based approach, aligned with the UNCRPD and with disability leadership at its heart, starts from a different premise: that disabled people are experts in their own lives and entitled to participate in, design, and lead the systems that affect them. It demands structural solutions, not one‑off fixes.
What needs to change
If we are serious about honouring disabled people’s rights in Aotearoa, we need to move beyond tinkering with caps and grant criteria. At a minimum, Government should:
Allocate Equipment and Modification Services funding based on assessed disability need, not arbitrary caps that bear little relation to real‑world costs.
Commit to clear timeframes, so that people who require essential equipment or housing modifications receive them within weeks, not months or years.
Set a target that all new public housing – and, over time, all new housing – complies with universal design principles, ensuring accessible homes are the norm rather than the exception.
Work in genuine partnership with disabled people and their organisations to redesign systems that uphold mana, dignity, and choice, rather than creating de‑humanising hurdles.
At CCS Disability Action, our strategic priorities (Te Aronui) centre disability leadership because we know that lasting change will only come when disabled people are at the centre of decision‑making, shaping the policies and systems that affect our lives. We are committed to using our voice nationally to call out inequities, share lived‑experience expertise, and partner with others across the sector to advocate for accessible housing that is treated as a fundamental human right, not a bonus that arrives if your story happens to make the news. You can read more about our strategic priorities and how we are working towards a more accessible, just Aotearoa on our Strategic Priorities page.
The Thomas whānau deserve more than a one‑off fix; so do the many disabled people and families who will never have their stories told on morning radio. A truly inclusive Aotearoa would not leave people waiting on the kindness of strangers to access their own front doors. It would ensure our systems, funding, and housing design reflect what should have been true all along: accessibility is a right, not a charity.
About CCS Disability Action
CCS Disability Action is the largest pan‑disability support and advocacy organisation in Aotearoa New Zealand. We support people with all types of impairments and have been working alongside disabled people since 1935.
We are at the forefront of service provision, advocacy, and information sharing in the disability sector. We partner with disabled people, their families, and whānau to enable them to have choice and control in their lives. Our vision is to see every disabled person and whānau hauā interwoven into the lives of their whānau and community.