Open letter to Councillor Tami Jackson

An open letter from the Board of the Western Cape Network on Disability, on behalf of the Dial-a-Ride Steering Committee and affiliated groups.

It has come to our attention that, in a recent Urban Mobility meeting, you declared that, as a rate payer and as a Councillor, you were “shocked to hear that the criteria for eligibility included visits to family members and to the beach”.

Let's unpack that, shall we?

This wasn't an idle coffee-break comment. It was said in a meeting about Dial-a-Ride, the City's own paratransit system, currently collapsing under the weight of cuts that have left hundreds of disabled residents stranded. Instead of outrage at why those cuts exist, or why disabled people are being denied their right to move freely, the Councillor's contribution was to clutch her pearls over “criteria” and remind everyone that she's a ratepayer. Because apparently, that's the credential that matters most when people's basic rights are being violated.

Freedom of movement isn't optional, it's constitutional

Let's start with the basics. Section 21 of the Constitution guarantees everyone the right to freedom of movement. It doesn't say: “except disabled people, because where would they be going anyway?” It doesn't say “only if your destination is respectable enough in the eyes of the nondisabled powers that be”. Going to the beach. Visiting family. Living a life. Those are not luxuries, they're acts of belonging, of dignity, of citizenship.

When the City decides that those trips make you “ineligible” for transport, it is quite literally policing disabled people's private lives. That's not administration. That's discrimination, period.

And let's not forget: Dial-a-Ride users pay for their trips. Like everyone else who uses public transport. So spare us the tax-payer theatrics. Nobody checks where your car goes when it rolls down City-funded roads, Councillor. No one audits whether your petrol allowance covered a trip to brunch. Nobody questions whether your beach outing was “essential” or demands you produce a letter from your doctor to prove that you had to go there for the fresh air on account of your health. And nor should anyone question where you go in your free time, but that doesn't just apply to you.

Imagine the scandal if we declared that public transport users were wasting public money because they used it for socialising. Imagine the outrage if someone said you shouldn't be allowed to visit your family over the festive season on public funds. Imagine, if you will, that South African citizens of some group were expected to carry pass cards, and only be out and about during work hours? Would that not be just a little disturbing? Yet that's exactly the warped logic applied to disabled citizens; the idea that their participation in ordinary life is somehow not only extravagant but shocking.

The White Paper, the CRPD, and a City that missed the memo

The White Paper on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities (2015) is not a suggestion. It's national policy aligning South Africa with the UN Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities (CRPD), both of which the City claims to uphold.

The White Paper calls for dismantling systemic barriers to access, participation, and equality. The CRPD enshrines personal mobility “in the manner and at the time of their choice”. Neither of these frameworks leaves room for bureaucrats to decide whether a person's outing is “worthy”.

When disabled people are told that visiting their mother on her birthday or that experiencing the ocean makes them ineligible for transport, what's really being said is: “Your joy, your community, your autonomy… they don't matter.” That's not just offensive. It's unconstitutional.

The audacity of comfort

Let's be honest. It's easy to moralise about transport costs when you may have never needed to rely on the system yourself. It's easy to be “shocked” when your car keys are in one hand and your privilege in the other.

This is what happens when decision-makers view disability from a distance, as an administrative inconvenience rather than a lived reality. They don't see the person waiting hours for a ride that never comes. They see a number on a balance sheet.

And when a councillor's biggest contribution to an urban mobility discussion (a space meant to ensure equitable access to the city for all) is to declare surprise at the humanity of disabled people, not surprise at a discriminatory policy that her own government perpetuates, that says far more about the councillor than the commuters. It says that an elected official is so insulated by her own comfort that she cannot fathom why her constituents should have the same freedoms she has. It says that she is comfortable upholding regressive relics of a paternalistic mindset that treats disabled people as burdens who should stay out of sight behind closed doors, unless of course they're actively contributing to the economy by working, in which case… eh… they can go to work, as long as they're grateful that they can, and as long as that's the only place they're going.

So yes, Councillor, you're shocked, we hear you loud and clear. But we, the voters, taxpayers, and citizens you represent, are… gasp… equally shocked. Shocking, we know.

We're shocked at your ignorance. Shocked that someone tasked with shaping accessible transport policy could so effortlessly reveal how little she understands about constitutional rights, public transport, or even basic empathy. Shocked that the phrase “as a ratepayer” still gets thrown around like a moral trump card in a democracy where everyone pays in some form, whether through taxes, fares, or the daily cost of exclusion.

So perhaps next time, Councillor, before announcing your shock, you could try something more useful, like action, accountability, or, heaven forbid, empathy.

Until then, the only thing truly “shocking” here is your privilege.