🎢 The Dignity of Risk: Why Disabled Riders Deserve a Say in Theme Park Safety

Kyrby Brown
Oct 11
3 min read

In recent months, many major theme parks have begun quietly changing their accessibility policies — revising ride eligibility criteria, tightening safety rules, and, in some cases, removing certain disabled guests’ ability to choose whether to ride at all.

I completely understand that these changes come in the wake of a tragic and heartbreaking incident at Universal, where a disabled individual sadly lost their life. No one should ever go to a theme park for a day of joy and excitement and not come home again. It’s right that parks review their safety procedures and ensure their rides are as safe as possible for everyone.

But what’s happening now feels reactionary — and worse, it feels like it’s being done without meaningful consultation with the disabled community.

As a disabled person who loves theme parks and rollercoasters in particular, the idea that one day I might be told I can’t ride, despite being an adult with full autonomy of mind, fills me with sadness and frustration.

My Experience: The Question of “Can You Brace?”

During a recent visit to Alton Towers, I was questioned on my ability to “brace” — a standard they’ve now introduced for certain rides. I have limited use of my upper body, but I can grip the restraints with my arms and, crucially, my legs are fixed and strong enough to brace me far more securely than most people’s.

I was able to explain this, but that moment — being assessed, questioned, and subtly judged by a stranger — left a bitter taste. It’s not that staff were rude or unkind; they were following new rules. But those rules were clearly written by people who don’t understand the variety and nuance of disabled bodies.

The Dignity of Risk

When I choose to go on a rollercoaster, I do so fully aware that I’m taking a risk. We all are. Whether you’re walking, wheeling, or flying through a loop-the-loop at 60 miles per hour, life itself involves a certain amount of danger.

But the dignity of risk — the right to make informed choices about your own safety — is fundamental to being treated as an adult, and as a human being.

Throughout my life, I’ve taken calculated risks that have led to some of my most rewarding experiences. I’ve cage-dived with great white sharks. I’ve hurtled down mountains on a sit-ski. I’ve raced across finish lines on my frame runner. Each time, I made an informed decision, accepted the risk, and took responsibility for the outcome.

That’s the same principle that should apply to theme parks. If a ride meets all operational and safety standards, and if a disabled guest understands the potential risk and still chooses to ride, that should be respected.

The Problem with Blanket Policies

The danger of these new rules is that they risk stripping away autonomy from disabled adults in the name of “protection.” Instead of promoting safety through understanding, parks are defaulting to blanket bans and over-cautious assessments.

And let’s be honest — being told you can’t do something because someone else thinks they know better than you is exhausting. Disabled people are already used to having strangers make assumptions about our abilities. The last thing we need is to have that judgement institutionalised at the front gate of our favourite theme parks.

For me, this isn’t about thrill-seeking — it’s about equality.

Safety and Equity Can Co-Exist

I want to be clear: I’m not arguing against safety. Parks absolutely have a duty to protect their visitors and staff. But genuine safety comes from consultation, collaboration, and understanding — not from fear.

Theme parks should be working with the disabled community to review their policies, not imposing them on us. Involving lived experience will lead to better-informed risk assessments, fairer policies, and staff who feel empowered to make decisions based on actual capability rather than assumption.

A Hope for the Future

My hope is that this period of reaction will turn into one of reflection. That parks will begin to see the value in co-designing policies with disabled riders. That “accessibility” won’t just mean a step-free entrance, but also the freedom to participate equally — to share in the thrill, the joy, and, yes, the risk.

Because life without risk isn’t safety — it’s limitation.

And disabled people already spend enough of our lives fighting those.