DISABILITY JUSTICE
More collaboration between legal profession and disability community key to breaking down barriers CATIA MALAQUIAS
W
hen my son Julius was born 12 years ago, my husband and I welcomed him into the world in the same way we had welcomed his older sister, as a precious child with a clear future of possibilities. Our approach didn’t change when we were told the next day, “We believe that your baby has Down syndrome”, but suddenly looking through a very different prism, clouded with doubt, fear and confusion, his future possibilities were obscured. I didn’t actually know anyone with Down syndrome, and like most people of my generation, I didn’t grow up attending school and getting to know children with disabilities; instead, I had good oldfashioned myths and stereotypes, prejudice and low expectations to refer to. But prejudices are learned, and they can be unlearned, and I’ve been trying to unlearn mine ever since then. Today, Julius is a happy, thriving child. He is no longer just a little brother, but a big brother as well. And next month he will graduate from year 6 at our local Primary School, leaving his younger sister behind and joining his big sister at our local high school. Parenting Julius is not particularly different to parenting his sisters; there are joys and challenges for each of them and each is their own person, needing some of the same things and also some different things. The real difference in parenting Julius is in the way that my husband and I have had to advocate for him, to protect his rights and to ensure that he has the same opportunities for participation as his sisters and most children their age; starting with his fundamental human
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right to inclusive education - learning in a regular class at his neighbourhood school with non-disabled peers and disabled peers. A right that is subconsciously and consciously resisted by many who assume or think his place should be a “special” place - for “special” people – starting with segregated “special” education. We have certainly faced those challenges along the way, but with my husband and I being lawyers, it’s fair to say that Julius has a level of parental-school engagement, rights-based advocacy and socio-economic privilege that many other children with disability do not. The fact is, many Australians with disability, who represent approximately 1 in 6, or 4 million of us, continue to experience significant discrimination, exclusion and victimisation in a variety of ways. In 2019 the Australian Human Rights Commission reported that 43.7% of complaints were about disability discrimination. There are other statistics in relation to unemployment and poverty, sexual abuse and incarceration, in particular for First Nations people with disability, that are even more shocking. A Royal Commission established by the Federal Government is currently examining violence against, and the neglect, abuse and exploitation of, people with disability. As a lawyer, I placed a high level of trust in the legal system to deliver justice to people with disability, like my son, through equality of rights and protections against discrimination. But as a parent and an advocate, I came to understand the different ways in which disability can be used to circumvent people’s rights and to realise that, too often, laws either fail to protect people with disability from
discrimination or, in many cases, they actually legitimise the denial of equal rights. A few years ago, I met George Newhouse, the CEO and Principal Solicitor of the National Justice Project, at a human rights event in Sydney. I was aware of the important work of the National Justice Project in using legal action to break down barriers to justice and welcomed the opportunity to talk to him about some of these problems and the challenges that Australians with disability continue to face in realising some of the most basic human rights: access to education and health, reproductive rights, accessibility including to housing and public spaces, restrictive practices, denial of legal capacity and incarceration. So, this year, when George asked me to be involved in the National Justice Project’s “Law Hack 2021: Disability Justice” as the Lead Mentor for Advocacy, I jumped at the chance. I couldn’t wait to be involved and was excited about the possibilities. As Scott Avery, an Indigenous disability advocate and senior lecturer at Western Sydney University, said of the event, “We’re going to change the world and we’re going to disrupt the system.” “Law Hack 2021: Disability Justice” didn’t disappoint. The event was held across two days on 14 October and 22 October. It brought together bright minds, passionate hearts and brilliant professionals, around the idea of strategic litigation as a tool for legal reform or as a potential catalyst to publicly expose inequality or unfairness, create public debate, empower people with disability to have a voice in that debate and build pressure for change.
