The objects we take for granted that were designed by disabled people

Spectator

31-07-2025

Back in the 1990s, if you were disabled in the UK or US, and you believed that being disabled was more about self-determination and less about being left in care homes, you might have protested with banners declaring 'Nihil de Nobis, sine Nobis' ('Nothing about us without us').
The call – allegedly first used by a 15th-century Polish political party – was taken up by disability activists who wanted the non-disabled world to consider how the material world was rarely designed or included disabled people. This fact itself was 'disabling'. Thus, they asked, why not build a ramp, instead of a staircase, so we can all use it? Or make print readable for everyone, as we all will need glasses at some point? And why did we not listen to the very people, who had their own experiences and expertise?
A new exhibition at the V&A in South Kensington, simply described as Design and Disability, considers these questions, and aims to show the 'radical contributions' disabled people have made over the past 100 years to the worlds of design, photography, fashion, art and architecture. Rather than approaching the subject through an objectifying lens (pity; charity; medical) it looks at disability as its own identity and rethinks it through the very people who use and often create the designs for themselves.
Displaying 172 objects that we all now take for granted (Xboxes, iPhones, etc) but that few of us know were designed by disabled people or included disabled people in their manufacture from inception. I particularly liked the gaming consoles designed for disabled users which Xbox – among others – then rolled out in the mainstream.
Much thought has gone into this exhibition and it is timely and long overdue. Conceptually, too, it has been carefully considered; dividing the rooms into three sections – 'Visibility', 'Tools' and 'Living' – showing us a lot of information within a short space of time.
What is also appealing about it is how it is accessible to all; from the integrated tactile signs for blind and visually impaired people, (like shag-pile carpet but smoother) to the BSL videos, and the deliberately wide-open spaces for wheelchair users to roam the low-laid exhibits. There are even seating places for those of us who simply get knackered simply wandering around.
And yet after I left, tapping my white cane down to the Tube, I felt swamped with information and objects. But I didn't feel like I had learnt enough about the disabled people who had designed the objects themselves. I also didn't understand why there were not more touchable models. While some things were tactile, much was under Perspex or hung on walls. Yes, there was a superb audio guide, but none of it explained how or why these objects are 'radical' rather than simply part of life?
As a disabled friend murmured to me after seeing the show, it seemed the exhibitions was made by the disabled intellectual elite for the intellectual elite. It felt vague, the subject too big, the themes too ambiguous. Much had gone unexplained. A bike was hung on the wall and while I was told this was to show the had designed for the Paralympics, there was nothing to indicate how these were different from other bikes. Perhaps I missed something.
Disabilty is a complex subject. I can only imagine how hard it must have been hard for the curator to make her choices. How far back do you go to explore a subject that touches us all? Nonetheless, there is not enough of a guide here. Perhaps this was done on purpose – to grant the visitor the freedom decide for themselves what to take or leave. But I felt a bit lost.
ENDS