One of the simplest ways to determine deeply the term “disability” resonates within our national consciousness, particularly from a socio-political perspective, is to track its presence in the written speeches of national cabinet members. The results are telling. Even among those tasked with championing disability rights, the term itself remains astonishingly rare and largely symbolic.

In 2024, written speeches by cabinet members who are not directly responsible for disability portfolios, including the President and ministers within the Government of National Unity (GNU), referenced “disability” fewer than ten times. This numerical silence is more than a statistical oversight, it is a mirror of national neglect.

It invites unsettling questions: Do our leaders truly grasp the lived experiences of disabled South Africans? Are they familiar with the systemic exclusion and everyday discrimination disabled people face across education, employment, housing, healthcare, and political participation? Have they internalised any lessons from the horrors of the Life Esidimeni tragedy, where over 140 mentally ill patients died due to government negligence? Do they understand that disability is not just a welfare concern, but an intellectual, academic, and political issue, so robust that one can now obtain a PhD in Disability Studies?

The foundational truth is this: South Africa’s progressive legal framework, lauded globally for its inclusive provisions, is rarely matched by practical commitment. While we can point to Section 9 of the Constitution, the White Paper on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities, or South Africa’s ratification of the United Nations Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities (UNCRPD), implementation remains sporadic, underfunded, and disconnected from broader socio-political strategy. Policy without power is performance. It is a masquerade of progress that conceals inaction behind well-written documents.

In fact, the disconnection between legal protections and political reality becomes especially evident during election cycles. Despite the active participation of disabled citizens in the democratic process, many through special votes, institutions like the Independent Electoral Commission (IEC) do not transparently disclose how many disabled people register, vote, or encounter accessibility barriers. This lack of disaggregated data reinforces invisibility. If we cannot count the disabled electorate, how can we expect to truly serve it?

Estimates suggest that South Africa is home to at least 2.73 million disabled adults, representing roughly 7.5% of the population. However, this is likely an undercount.

Even within Parliament, the record is sobering. Since 1994, South Africa has elected very few visibly disabled parliamentarians. This absence speaks volumes. It is not simply about representational politics or symbolic diversity, it reflects a systemic failure to create pathways for disabled leadership within party structures, legislatures, and local government.

The silence around disability is not just political, it is cultural. South Africa remains a country where disability is often discussed in the language of pity, not justice; of charity, not rights. Many disabled people are still framed as dependents rather than citizens with agency. This framing is especially dangerous because it erases the political and activist traditions of disabled communities

The absence of disability from national speeches also reflects a broader failure to professionalise disability. While grassroots Disabled People’s Organisations (DPOs) have done crucial work in advocacy, mobilisation, and litigation, they are often underfunded, overstretched, and excluded from high-level decision-making.

It is not enough to outsource disability work to NGOs or appointed disability desks within departments. Government itself must build internal disability competence, from the hiring of disabled professionals to the creation of inclusive workspaces to the transformation of policy analysis through a disability lens.

South Africa cannot remain a country where disability is whispered about only in policy papers or commemorated on International Disability Day. It deserves to be heard loudly, in cabinet meetings, in legislative debates, in presidential speeches, in school curricula, and in national budgets.

Disability is a political issue. It is a human rights issue. It is a democracy issue. To remain silent is to be complicit in exclusion. And to speak is not merely symbolic, it is the beginning of justice.

Lucky Tumahole is a Disability Advocate