If Your Version of Accessibility Still Leaves Autistic Humans Begging for Basic Accommodations, It’s Not Accessibility. It’s Performative.
When disabled people speak about accessibility, especially in the context of public spaces, we’re talking about much more than ramps, reserved seating, or posted signs. True accessibility means creating environments where all individuals can participate fully and comfortably, without having to ask for what should already be there. For autistic humans, however, the concept of "accessibility" often remains deeply flawed, forcing us to ask, negotiate, and even plead and beg for simple accommodations. The most basic of things to make our lives tolerable. This is not true inclusion - it is performative accessibility.
Many spaces, from public transportation to workplaces, are labeled "accessible" based on superficial criteria. Seats may be marked for "priority use," or sensory-friendly hours may be offered on rare occasions. But the reality for many autistic and disabled folx is that accessibility ends up being something we have to actively seek out and often defend. Having to "fight" for access is not accessibility; it's a form of exclusion masquerading as inclusion.
Performative accessibility is when organizations and politicians pat themselves on the back for meeting the minimum, while those who actually need those accommodations are left to fend for themselves. In practice, performative accessibility doesn't take into account the emotional toll it takes to keep asking for accommodations. For autistic humans, the experience of masking, adapting, and enduring overstimulation is exhausting enough. Being expected to manage the logistics of our accessibility adds unnecessary weight to an already difficult burden.
In a truly accessible environment, we wouldn’t have to explain our needs over and over again. Autistic people often face sensory overload, social anxiety, and mental exhaustion from navigating public spaces designed without our experiences in mind. If an "accessible" environment still requires us to repeatedly advocate for ourselves, then that environment isn't accessible at all.
Think of it this way - when accessibility is truly built into a space, the people who need it shouldn't have to beg or bargain for it. We wouldn’t need to speak or move to get it. Priority seating, for example, shouldn't require an autistic person to confront others, justify their need, or wait for someone to "give up" their seat. True accessibility is preemptive, built into the structure of the space itself, so that people who need it can use it without hesitation or hassle.
Performative gestures don't solve the fundamental problem of exclusion. Accessibility must be rooted in an understanding of multiple needs-physical, sensory, and social. Environments that only accommodate people with visible disabilities, or those who fit a narrow definition of "disabled," fail to serve the broader community. For autistic people, accessibility may look like quiet spaces, reserved seating that's actually enforced, and environments that consider sensory needs as a baseline, not an afterthought.
The path to true accessibility begins when spaces are created by and with disabled and neurodivergent voices. Inclusion requires listening, collaboration, and a commitment to designing spaces that support all people without placing additional burdens on those with unique needs. For autistic people, this means considering our sensory, social, and emotional needs as fundamental.
Accessibility is not a privilege - it's a right. When spaces force autistic people to justify their needs, it's not accessibility; it's just another barrier. Let's push for environments where we don't have to fight for accommodations, but where they are woven into the fabric. True accessibility doesn't make us beg; it welcomes us without question.
