disabled court users shouldn't be ambushed by inaccessibility
Across the United Kingdom, disabled people seeking to participate in the justice system — as jurors, lawyers, witnesses, and social workers — are encountering a profound gap between legal promise and physical reality. The Equality Act obliges courts to make reasonable adjustments, yet broken lifts, inaccessible toilets, and stairs-only exits continue to exclude wheelchair users from the very spaces where rights are determined. What emerges is not merely an infrastructure problem but a question of whether justice, as an institution, truly means to include everyone it claims to serve.
- Wheelchair-using jurors and barristers are being forced to participate in hearings remotely from nearby conference rooms — sometimes just metres from the courtroom — because lifts are broken or entrances are unsafe.
- Disabled jurors face dignity violations that compound physical barriers: escorted through public areas past defendants and their families, left alone outside courthouses, and told they are 'lucky' to be permitted to participate at all.
- The system has no centralised record of which courts are accessible, leaving disabled people to discover barriers only upon arrival — an 'ambush by inaccessibility' that imposes a heavy cognitive and emotional toll before proceedings even begin.
- The human cost is measurable: disabled social workers have left their professions, jurors have abandoned civic duty, and lawyers report that the exhausting navigation of barriers undermines their ability to represent clients effectively.
- Courts and tribunals services cite mandatory staff training and efforts to list cases at accessible venues, but these incremental measures sit uneasily against a backdrop of temporary wooden ramps, missing accessible toilets, and systemic indifference to disabled professionals' dignity.
Vikki Walton-Cole arrived at Guildford Crown Court having spent weeks trying to answer basic questions about access. There was no nearby disabled parking. The courtroom was reachable only by stairs. She wept when she found out. She had wanted to serve on the jury — to be part of the society a jury is meant to reflect — but the experience proved too exhausting, and she eventually withdrew.
Her story is one of many. Across the UK, disabled court users are navigating a justice system that, despite the Equality Act's requirement for reasonable adjustments, remains riddled with physical and attitudinal barriers. Barrister Holly Girven, a wheelchair user, has been denied access to upper floors on fire safety grounds, confronted a dangerously steep temporary ramp at Edmonton County Court, and participated in a hearing from a conference room while her own client sat in the courtroom ten metres away. The situation, she observed, would be unthinkable in a hospital.
The harm is not only physical. Victoria Gerrard, a juror at Paisley Sheriff Court, found no accessible toilet in the jury area and no explanation of how she might manage. Unable to use the stairs-only exit, she was escorted repeatedly through public spaces past the accused and their family. On the final day of the trial, the other jurors left together. Gerrard was left sitting outside the building alone.
Equality law barrister Gregory Burke, who founded the access information service AccessAble, argues that the problem runs deeper than broken infrastructure. It is about information, attitudes, and dignity. He has been told by a coroner he was 'lucky' to address the court while seated, and warned by a judge — in front of his client — not to 'wreck the place.' Burke's central concern is that the extra cognitive load imposed on disabled court users can affect the quality of evidence and advocacy, with consequences that ripple outward into people's liberty, family life, and livelihoods.
When the BBC sought centralised data on accessible facilities from courts across England and Wales, the Ministry of Justice replied that no such information existed centrally. The HM Courts and Tribunals Service says it is working with disability groups and prioritises accessible venues; Scotland points to jury liaison officers and an information webpage. These are steps — but they remain modest against the scale of what disabled professionals and citizens are still being asked to endure simply to access justice.
Vikki Walton-Cole arrived at Guildford Crown Court in Surrey already exhausted. As a full-time wheelchair user, she had spent weeks asking what should have been straightforward questions about access. The court had no nearby disabled parking. The courtroom itself was accessible only by stairs. When she discovered this, she wept—not the response anyone wants to have before stepping into a professional role. She had been called for jury service, and she wanted to serve. But the experience proved so stressful that she eventually withdrew, despite repeatedly being told she could simply be excused. "As a jury, we're supposed to reflect society," she said later, the weight of that principle still evident in her words.
Walton-Cole's story is not isolated. Across the UK, disabled court users—jurors, lawyers, social workers, witnesses—are navigating a justice system that, despite legal obligations under the Equality Act to provide reasonable adjustments, remains fundamentally inaccessible. The barriers are concrete and varied: broken lifts that force lawyers to join hearings remotely via Microsoft Teams from separate rooms, metres away from their clients and the courtroom itself. Steep temporary ramps that require security staff to push wheelchair users up them. Accessible toilets positioned in ways that create fall hazards. Stairs-only exits that force disabled jurors to be escorted through public areas, past defendants and their families, leaving them feeling exposed and vulnerable.
Barrister Holly Girven, herself a wheelchair user, has encountered these obstacles repeatedly. At one court, she was initially denied access to upper floors due to fire safety concerns. At Edmonton County Court in London, the "accessible" entrance was a wooden temporary ramp so steep and unstable that she described it as unsafe. When the lift at Wandsworth County Court broke down, she had to participate in her hearing from a conference room while everyone else, including her own client, sat in the courtroom proper. "I must have been 10 metres from the courtroom," she said. The absurdity of the situation—a hospital would never operate this way—seemed to crystallize something about how the system treats disabled professionals.
The human cost extends beyond inconvenience. Vikki Walton-Cole, before her jury service, worked as a social worker. Access issues in courts were a major factor in her decision to leave the profession entirely. The barriers were simply too numerous, too exhausting, too demoralizing to navigate repeatedly. A report by the Magistrates' Association found that inaccessibility "severely damages morale and has led to resignations." Victoria Gerrard, who served as a juror at Paisley Sheriff Court in Scotland, experienced a different kind of harm. There was no accessible toilet in the jury area. No one explained how she might manage bathroom breaks. She could not use the stairs-only juror exit and had to be escorted through public spaces, repeatedly passing the accused and their family. On the final day of trial, all other jurors left together and arranged travel in groups. Gerrard was left sitting outside the building alone, feeling exposed. "No one even came to the door with me," she said.
The legal framework exists. Courts are required under the Equality Act to make reasonable adjustments. Yet when the BBC contacted courts across England and Wales to gather data on accessible facilities, the Ministry of Justice responded that this information was not centrally available. Some courts provide detailed accessibility information; others provide almost none. The system lacks basic transparency about what disabled people can actually expect when they arrive.
Equality law barrister Gregory Burke, a wheelchair user and founder of AccessAble, a website producing detailed access guides, frames the problem in terms that go beyond physical infrastructure. Accessibility is about information, attitudes, and dignity. He recalls a coroner telling him he was "lucky" they allowed him to address the court while seated. A judge told him—in front of his client—"not to wreck the place" as he navigated the judge's chambers in a wheelchair. Burke emphasizes that these are exceptions; the judiciary has generally been inclusive. But he argues that disabled court users should not be "ambushed by inaccessibility" or forced to "undergo a resilience test" simply to access justice. That extra cognitive load—the mental and emotional toll of navigating barriers—can affect a lawyer's or witness's ability to give their best evidence. And that, Burke notes, can have consequences that ripple outward: affecting someone's liberty, custody of a child, whether a business survives.
The HM Courts and Tribunals Service says it is working with disability groups to reduce barriers and prioritizes listing cases at accessible venues. Staff receive mandatory training on reasonable adjustments. The Scottish Courts and Tribunals Service points to a webpage for jurors with accessibility information and jury liaison officers. These are steps. But they exist against a backdrop of broken lifts, temporary ramps, missing toilets, and a system that still requires disabled professionals and citizens to prove their resilience simply to participate in justice. The question now is whether incremental improvements will be enough, or whether the system will finally undertake the deeper work of making accessibility not an afterthought, but foundational.
Citações Notáveis
As a jury, we're supposed to reflect society.— Vikki Walton-Cole, disabled juror
Disabled court users shouldn't be ambushed by inaccessibility and have to undergo a resilience test in going to court.— Gregory Burke, equality law barrister and wheelchair user
A Conversa do Hearth Outra perspectiva sobre a história
Why does it matter that disabled people can't easily access courts? Isn't the legal outcome the same whether someone participates in person or remotely?
The legal outcome might be the same on paper, but justice isn't just about the verdict. It's about dignity, about being present, about being seen as equal. When a lawyer has to join a hearing from a separate room while their client sits alone in the courtroom, something fundamental breaks. The client loses their advocate's physical presence. The lawyer loses the ability to read the room, to respond in real time. And both of them experience a message: you don't belong here.
But courts are old buildings. Retrofitting them for wheelchair access is expensive. Isn't that a legitimate constraint?
Disabled people acknowledge that. They're not asking for the impossible. What they're asking for is basic information—tell us what's actually accessible before we arrive. And they're asking for dignity in the process. A temporary wooden ramp that requires security to push you up it isn't accessibility; it's theater. It says we did the minimum and called it done.
The court says it provides reasonable adjustments. What's the gap between what they're offering and what disabled people actually need?
Reasonable adjustments are supposed to be proactive, not reactive. Right now, disabled people have to ask, repeatedly, for basic things. They have to spend weeks on "basic access questions." That shouldn't be the burden. And when a court says they've done everything they can, but there's no accessible toilet in the jury area, or the only exit is stairs, they haven't actually done everything. They've done what's convenient.
What happens if this doesn't change?
Talented disabled professionals leave their careers. Disabled citizens avoid jury service, which means juries don't reflect society. Witnesses and lawyers perform worse because they're exhausted and stressed before they even begin. And the system loses credibility—how can justice be blind if it can't see disabled people at all?
Is there a simple fix?
Start with transparency. Make accessibility data centrally available so disabled people know what they're walking into. Then actually maintain the infrastructure—fix the broken lifts. Then listen when disabled people say what they need, and believe them. It's not complicated. It just requires treating accessibility as essential, not optional.