Without consistent support, accessibility and disability reporting in the gaming industry will become a thing of the past

I’ve been writing about accessibility and the disabled perspective for nearly 7 years. I’ve had the absolute privilege and immense responsibility of breaking some of the biggest stories in the gaming industry, holding powerful organizations accountable, and even helping disabled players process uncomfortable truths about a community that doesn’t always have their best interests at heart. For almost 7 years, I’ve been pushing myself to be a better journalist, not for myself, but for disabled individuals that deserve to have a voice in the gaming space. But for the past six months, I’ve realized that things need to change.

When I began writing for Can I Play That in September 2019, I sought to produce high quality journalism exploring the relationship between disabled players and the gaming industry. I wanted readers to understand that accessibility and disability reporting is not only essential, but capable of sitting alongside the same daily beats that regularly fill the pages of standard gaming publications. This sentiment still rings true. The work that I and other disabled reporters do can be both timely and evergreen. And it’s still true that publications struggle to understand this fact. I’m not here to convince you that the work disabled reporters do matters. I’m here to tell you that unless this style of reporting is consistently supported, the industry risks losing coverage of a beat that will only grow in necessity as time goes on.

I Have Severe Burnout

Seven years is a long time. I’ve had the privilege of breaking stories like the reveal of the PlayStation Access Controller, exposed decades of alleged corruption at a prominent gaming accessibility charity, and even grappled with the reality that the start of my entire career was built on the alleged lies of someone I thought was a friend. I’ve written about mass layoffs and how they impact both disabled employees and disabled consumers and even highlighted the removal of tools by companies that once proudly championed accessibility.

I’ve written so much. I’ve watched my disabled journalist colleagues do the same. For seven years, I’ve watched us receive nothing but likes and shares across varying social media platforms. And I’ve watched as this industry quickly moves on to the next thing that jingles its keys, never giving disabled reporters a proper chance.

Everything in the gaming industry is on fire.  Developers, content creators, journalists like me, we are all fighting for the same few scraps. It’s not sustainable. It’s forced so many, including myself, to create our own spaces just for the chance of capturing lightning in a bottle. But when you’re a marginalized writer in a space that fights against the inclusion of all those that may look and sound different, it makes every struggle more intense. We are all burnt out. We are all trying to survive. But, there is no camaraderie in misery when you are truly on your own.

A Disappearing Art

For seven years, I’ve watched what was once a prominent and loud beat be reduced to a shell of its former self. During the pandemic, accessibility and disabled perspectives were everywhere. From freelance bylines, to podcast and show appearances, to the creation of brand-new publications, it wasn’t difficult for disabled readers to find an author, creator, or publication that spoke directly to them. With remote events, and even public acknowledgments of accessibility in games through awards (like it or not, The Game Awards elevated the disabled experience to an audience of millions), my colleagues and I were able to stand (or sit in my case) shoulder to shoulder with our able-bodied peers. And even though our knowledge and expertise wasn’t fully understood, it was respected and sought after.

Toward the end of 2023, when pandemic restrictions largely loosened, something shifted. What started with companies offering fewer remote events quickly turned into disabled stories seemingly vanishing from the industry altogether. We couldn’t preview games as easily nor attend events like Summer Games Fest when there were no remote alternatives. And without a way to accurately and properly assess the accessibility of a title before its release, our expertise couldn’t be put to use. How could we provide an analysis of any game if we weren’t given an opportunity to do so?

This departure from actively seeking disabled voices only worsened, especially as political tides shifted. As major companies fought to enter the good graces of the current administration, they abandoned policies and ideals that actively supported disabled individuals. In July, I reported that round one of Microsoft’s mass layoffs heavily impacted all forms of accessibility, like hardware, game offerings, and even legal requirements like website accessibility. Combine that with drastically reduced publication budgets, and most outlets only have enough money for the newest announcements. And if those announcements don’t include accessibility, disabled writers and creators are passed over.

It’s even more frustrating that the current iteration of accessibility journalism in gaming is now nothing more than a mouthpiece for the accessibility efforts of major corporations. Interviews highlight what developers are offering in terms of accessible features and designs but do little to push back on the societal and political issues that continue to plague this industry. It is impossible to properly analyze a game based on its accessibility without addressing how layoffs are impacting disabled consumers. But if disabled journalists want to get paid, we’re forced to conform to what generates clicks. While I’ve been fortunate to maintain my voice within each piece, I have had to shelve numerous story ideas if they weren’t deemed relevant. These stories, whether exploring the benefits of gaming and rehab for spinal cord injuries or documenting the journey of disabled streamers, cannot be told unless they are relevant to current game releases or SEO trends.

I’ve spent seven years covering a beat I dearly love. I’ve spent seven years watching my disabled colleagues push for a better industry. And after seven years of blood, sweat, and so many tears, I don’t know how much fight I have left. While I am eternally grateful for what this industry has given me – a platform, friends, a loving partner – for the first time in my career, I have no concept of what the future looks like.

For this Disability Pride Month, my message continues to be the same – the gaming industry needs to support disabled voices, or they’ll be pushed to the sidelines. But after seven years, I’m afraid I don’t know how much longer I can keep sharing that message. As opportunities continue to diminish and burnout continues to creep into my life, I’m acutely aware that my time in this industry is coming to a close. But not being able to write isn’t what scares me the most. Instead, I’m fearful that without consistent disability reporting, disabled people won’t have their stories told at all.

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