When disasters strike, not everyone can just get up and go. For people who use wheelchairs, rely on oxygen, or need assistance with daily tasks, “just evacuate” isn’t a real option. And yet, they’re often left behind—not out of neglect, but because systems weren’t built to support them under pressure.
Disability keeps getting treated like an afterthought in public health. It’s rarely included in emergency plans from the beginning. By the time someone thinks to ask, it’s already too late.
In this blog, we will share how public health leaders can build crisis care models that include, prioritize, and protect people with disabilities from the start—not after everything else is in place.
Disability Isn’t Rare. So Why Is It Still Treated Like It Is?
One in four U.S. adults lives with a disability. That’s not rare. It’s reality. Yet in crisis after crisis, disability is treated like a footnote.
During Hurricane Ida, power outages left ventilator users and wheelchair users stranded. Shelters lacked basic accessibility. During COVID-19, public health messaging wasn’t accessible and transportation for the homebound was largely ignored.
These failures weren’t accidents—they revealed a system not built for people with disabilities. It’s a public health gap that demands leadership trained to design with inclusion from the start.
The Role of Education in Redesigning Emergency Response
People interested in changing how crisis care works at scale often look to specialized leadership roles in public health. Doctor of Public Health (DrPH) degrees, for instance, prepare professionals to lead real-world health solutions, with a focus on equity, policy, and system-wide impact, including disability care. Graduates often take on roles improving emergency response plans, accessible alerts, and medical protocols for high-risk patients. These efforts directly address the gaps exposed during past crises.
In addition, the flexibility of online DrPH programs also allows professionals with lived experience—such as disabled healthcare workers, caregivers, or advocates—to stay in their communities while pursuing leadership education. That’s not a small thing. We need people shaping policy who understand the physical and emotional cost of being excluded when it matters most.
Where Emergency Plans Still Get It Wrong
One of the clearest places where crisis care breaks down is in communication. Alerts sent by text, radio, or sirens often fail to reach people with sensory disabilities. A Deaf person might not hear the alarm. A blind person might not see the flashing lights. And someone with cognitive disabilities may need simplified instructions to respond effectively.
Solutions exist. But they require planning. And funding. And most of all, the political will to treat accessible communication as a non-negotiable part of public health—not an optional feature.
The same goes for sheltering and evacuation. Far too many emergency shelters still don’t meet ADA standards. Some can’t accommodate wheelchairs. Others don’t have staff trained in helping people transfer from bed to chair. There are stories of evacuees sleeping in their chairs for days because cots weren’t usable. Or worse, being turned away altogether.
Transportation is another obstacle. Paratransit services may not operate during emergencies. Families are told to get to shelters “any way they can.” For someone without a car or who can’t drive, that’s the same as saying, “You’re on your own.”
We can’t keep treating accessibility as something we’ll figure out later. “Later” is too late when the storm is already on the radar.
Real-World Fixes That Start at the Top
Improving crisis care for disabled populations doesn’t require reinventing the wheel. But it does require rethinking who gets to sit at the table.
Here are a few changes that public health leaders can act on today:
- Build disability into every emergency plan, not just some. That means more than checking ADA boxes. It means consulting disabled people from the beginning—not just surveying them after things go wrong.
- Train responders in disability etiquette and support. Emergency staff should know how to assist someone using a wheelchair, communicate with non-verbal evacuees, or support someone with a sensory processing disorder.
- Make emergency communication truly multi-channel. Texts, audio alerts, plain-language updates, and ASL interpretation should all be part of the same system.
- Stock shelters with adaptive equipment. Transfer boards, privacy screens, oxygen, accessible bedding. These aren’t luxury items—they’re survival essentials.
- Fund community disability liaison roles. Having someone embedded in local emergency response teams who understands both systems and lived disability experience can close major gaps.
- Develop rapid-response disability task forces. These mobile units can assess needs on the ground during a crisis, distribute assistive gear, and support overwhelmed caregivers or shelters with specialized knowledge.
- Run community drills that include disabled participants. Testing plans with real-world scenarios—and real people with lived experience—uncovers gaps you can’t find on paper and builds public trust in the system.
Most of all, public health leaders need to treat disabled people as part of the population, not an add-on category. That’s not just moral. It’s practical. People with disabilities often manage complexity every day. In a crisis, that kind of lived insight can save lives. When systems are built with that perspective in mind, everyone benefits—including those who never thought they’d need it.
The Bigger Picture Is About Power
At the end of the day, this isn’t just about logistics. It’s about who we plan for. Who we listen to. And whose safety is treated as a baseline versus a bonus.
We love to talk about resilience in public health. But there’s a difference between personal resilience and system resilience. Expecting disabled people to “be prepared” while offering no real support isn’t resilience—it’s abandonment.
Real leadership means building a system that doesn’t just survive disaster—but adapts, protects, and includes. And that kind of leadership doesn’t happen by accident. It’s taught. It’s trained. And it’s demanded by people who see disability not as a flaw in the system, but as proof that the system needs better design.
That’s how we stop telling the same story every time disaster strikes. And start writing one that actually includes everyone.