Journey to safety: our user-led research project

A visually impaired person with epilepsy experienced a hate crime while traveling on a train from Selly Oak station in southwest Birmingham. As they began having a seizure while getting off the train, someone took advantage of their vulnerable state and stole their phone and travel pass. Despite CCTV evidence of the theft, the police failed to recognize the discriminatory nature of the crime, leaving the victim feeling unsafe and excluded from public transport.

“I never expected that day to change the way I see public transport forever. I was just getting off the train, heading back from Selly Oak station after an appointment when I felt the all too familiar sensation of an epileptic seizure coming on. I don’t remember the seizure itself, but what happened after still haunts me.”

“When I regained consciousness, I was in the post-ictal state, the confused, disoriented period that follows a seizure. My head was spinning, my body weak, and for a few moments, I wasn’t even sure where I was. Then, as my awareness slowly returned, I reached for my phone. It was gone. My travel pass, gone. Someone had taken advantage of me in my most vulnerable moment, stealing the very things I relied on to get home safely.”

“Panic set in. Without my phone, I had no way to call for help, no way to navigate, no way to even pay for a journey home. I am visual impaired, so I depend heavily on my phone for directions. But in that moment, I was stranded, alone, and terrified.”

“I’m at a point now where I’ve got a disability that I can’t hide. I have to wear it. More often than not I feel very vulnerable because of it.”

“Once I had come ‘round, I was advised by a witness they had seen a woman running away, CCTV caught it all, but that didn’t help me in the moment. I was lucky that a group of doctors happened on the train and stopped to help me. But what if they hadn’t been there? What if I had been left alone, disoriented, unable to reach anyone?”

“I reported the theft to the police, but their response crushed me. They didn’t seem to care about the fact that I had been targeted while having a seizure.”

“I know that I have insurance. I’m telling you because someone had done this to me.”

“All they cared about was that my phone was an iPhone and this was insured, they could see where my iPhone was by using ‘Find My iPhone,’ they said, as if that was the point. It wasn’t about the phone. It was about what had been done to me. But they dismissed it, and in that moment, I lost faith in the system.”

“I wouldn’t report it again because it would feel like a bit of a waste of time, to the point where the police had a very clear CCTV image to the point where the person was named. The person was identified, and to the point where they even said the name of the road she lives on”

“The impact of that day hasn’t faded. For years, I avoided public transport altogether. Even now, I only take trains if I’ve planned everything in advance, knowing the route, arranging support, minimizing risk. Buses? I don’t even consider them. Just the thought of being trapped in a crowd, unaware of who’s around me, fills me with anxiety. I used to travel independently. Now, I rely on Uber or friends. Because that day taught me that when something happens, I’m on my own.”

“I feel excluded. I just feel like I physically can’t do those things so I’m not going to.”

A wheelchair user faced repeated hate crimes and discrimination while using public transport in London. In one incident, a woman aggressively pushed them out of their wheelchair and off the ramp while boarding a bus, prioritizing her large buggy over the victim’s safety. Despite the bus driver’s intervention, the emotional and physical trauma left the victim feeling unsafe and unwelcome on public transport.

“On public transport, I had one occurrence where I was in London, and this woman pushed me off the ramp onto the bus, out of my wheelchair, off the ramp because, she wanted to go on the bus. But she had a buggy with her, in one of these non-collapsible silly buggies, and her baby was asleep. She was just furious that she wouldn’t be able to get on the bus, basically.”

“That was dealt with okay by Transport for London at the time.”

“The bus driver just didn’t let her on the bus and put me back on the bus and was like, ‘Are you okay?’ I was like, ‘Well, no, but that’s not your job.”

“But what else could he do? It wasn’t his fault, but at the same time, it wasn’t right. I was the one who had been pushed, the one who had been hurt, and she was the one who was angry, as if I was the inconvenience.”

“I’ve had a lot of occurrences, particularly on public transport actually, where I used to live in London. You spend a lot of time on public transport. Yes, it was just, I think, a lot of really angry commuters. Then, obviously, the whole tube network is delayed while they’re trying to move this tube to get you out of this gap,

“Then everyone’s then shouting more abuse at you because you’re delaying their trip home. My trip home also wasn’t delayed!”

“But it didn’t matter to them. It was like I was the problem, not the fact that the transport system wasn’t designed for people like me.”

“Stuff like that. I think buses are particularly bad because many times I’ve had people throw drinks on me and stuff like that. The first time it happened, I was shocked. The second time, I just felt numb.”

“For me, it’s always been sort of very, like, violence when I’ve experienced hate crime. It’s not been people shouting at me or stuff like that. It’s always been aggressive and people touching me against my will.”

“I’ve had quite a few experiences of being sexually assaulted on public transport. It doesn’t leave you. The fear, the anger, the exhaustion.”

“The solution for me is not to take public transport, but it doesn’t do anything for the wider issue of people thinking that that’s an acceptable thing to do.”

“Prams and then stuff, I think, is the other issue I’ve had, particularly in London. People move everything on the bus, which I really understand, but I need to go to work. The bus driver isn’t going to ask them to get off the bus. So, you’re just like, ‘well, here we are. I’ll wait for the next one.’”

“It’s terrible, but we have such a mentality of be as small as possible because there’s too many people here. Disabled people, particularly those of us that use wheelchairs, inherently take up room because we have a device. So, I think particularly emotionally and socially for me, I really didn’t leave my house very often.”

An individual faced a distressing hate crime on the London Underground when a man aggressively demanded to see their free travel pass after noticing their ‘Please offer me a seat’ badge. Feeling unsafe as the hostility escalated, they exited the train early, only to find no staff available for support. The emotional toll led them to stop wearing their accessibility badge, highlighting the wider issue of disability hate crime and societal discrimination.

“I was on the underground when I was approached by a gentleman in his 40s or 50s. He had mental health issues, but he didn’t claim any sort of disability-free travel pass or anything like that. Because I had the badge that said, “Please offer me a seat,” at the time, this particular guy demanded to see my free travel pass. Before I even got on the train, other passengers had already reacted negatively to him because he was abrupt and loud.”

“He demanded to see my pass. I was with my partner at the time, and she was like, “Don’t do it, don’t do it,” hinting to me to ignore him.”

“The guy was so hostile at the situation, we had to get off at the next stop because we didn’t know what he was going to do next.”

“There was so much going on, and my partner got upset when we got off the train. We had to find alternative routes because the guy stayed on the train. Then, as we got off, he got off. I thought, why are you following us? Eventually, he got back on the train, but he changed carriages. I was like, okay, but we didn’t get back on, just in case he decided to walk through the carriage.”

“The Underground doesn’t have staff on the trains while they’re moving, only on the platforms, but the issue happened on the train. When we got off, there was no staff on the platform either, so we couldn’t approach anyone for help. That’s the thing about the underground, there’s meant to be staff to assist, but in this situation, there weren’t any, so we had to deal with it ourselves.”

“He was quite hostile, and when he demanded to see my pass, my partner tried to stop me. Another passenger sitting next to her nudged her and said, “Oh, don’t say anything, just go through with what he wants.” They had already witnessed him doing things that were abnormal, talking to himself. I think I was shocked at the time, but I didn’t want to experience it again. My partner got emotional, she cried.”

“From my experience, I’ve not worn the pass to offer me a seat badge since because I’ve got such a negative experience from it a few times and not even on public transport.”

“People in public, not just on transport, would come up to me. One time in Tesco, a young lad grabbed me, turned me around, read my badge, laughed, and started filming. I thought, “Why are you doing this? I don’t need to experience this.” That was the moment I decided to take it off for good.”

“Disability hate crime happens because people don’t respect disabilities. Some people see it and target you, while others don’t know how to react. I’ve reported a few incidents, but the rest I couldn’t. Without staff to report to, the online process is a hassle, and it doesn’t make it obvious how to report things.”“Regarding hate crime against disabled people, I think as a society, a lot of, especially the older generation, and the, I’ll say 50 onwards, they probably obviously grew up in a society where disability wasn’t really much of a thing back then. Then obviously this generation, it’s like we can’t ignore the thing, the norm for people to understand disability, but I think there’s still people in society that don’t respect people with disabilities.”

A neurodivergent individual experienced a hate crime while traveling on a bus from Halifax to Leeds, West Yorkshire during the school holidays. A group of teenage boys targeted them, pulling at their headphones and Sunflower lanyard to provoke a reaction, while other passengers failed to intervene. After escaping the situation and reporting it to the police, they were dismissed, reinforcing the stigma around hidden disabilities and the lack of support for victims.

“I was on the bus from Halifax to Leeds during the school holidays. A few teenagers were on board, and we know they can get rowdy. I normally wear headphones to block out the surrounding sounds, but these individuals saw the sunflower lanyard and the neurodiversity one and must have assumed I was an easy target.”

 “Especially with the disability hate crime, is I have hidden disabilities, so no mobility aids, and the stigma surrounding hidden disabilities, it’s still really bad, even in today’s society, and I want to be that person that can be the voice for people who daren’t speak up”

“I was sat at the front of the bus where they put the prams and wheelchairs. As I normally do, I stayed distracted, looking at my phone. When I looked up, I was surrounded by six males, all my height and build, just trying to get a reaction from me. They were pulling my headphones, trying to grab hold of the lanyard. People on the bus didn’t even want to get involved. They were too scared. I had to push my way through just to get off the bus, not even at my actual stop, but just to get away in case things escalated.”

“When I reported it to the police, their response was, “Well, you’re older, and you seem fit enough to walk away.” I had to challenge the officers, saying, “Well, if I had started on them, I’d have been arrested for antagonising the minors.”

“But when they’re balaclava’d up on public transport, it makes people not want to go out. This affects your mental health. In today’s world, you’d think the police would take it more seriously. I took it further within the police force, raising it with one of the chief inspectors. He wasn’t happy. He couldn’t apologise enough. I told him, “If it happens to me, and those teenagers see I have no mobility aids, and they see my build, what are they doing to people that daren’t speak up, who are more vulnerable than me?”

“People just stared. Even when I stood up to defend myself, they were too engrossed in their phones to care. That was worrying. In a confined space, on something we rely on to get out and about, you start thinking, what’s going to happen next time? You’re always on guard. Your anxiety is through the roof. If it escalated into an assault, would the police just shrug it off, or would they intervene?”

“I’ve been assaulted before, working on club doors and even while out hiking. But the police say, “Because you’re older, or bigger built, just walk away.” They defend these teenagers, saying, “They’ve got ADHD.” But I have ADHD and autism, it doesn’t just go away. If I feel intimidated, I have to get out of that scenario.”

“Luckily, more people are opening up about neurodiversity, and awareness is growing. But you could wear a big sign with your hidden conditions, and people still wouldn’t care.”

“Councils are pushing public transport, but people are too scared to use it. That’s going to put people off supporting local shops, and the economy will suffer. They can try to blame someone else, but they’ve seen what’s happening. They just won’t intervene.”

A visually impaired individual experienced a hate crime while traveling on a train from Menston to Leeds, West Yorkshire. A man questioned how they could read despite being blind, then escalated to accusing them of faking their disability and being a “benefit scrounger.” With no bystanders intervening, the victim felt unsafe and has since become anxious about using public transport alone.

“I was on a short 20-minute train journey from Menston to Leeds, just reading my Kindle, my long cane resting on my knee. The text was as large as possible, with only four words on a page, but I enjoyed reading. I was minding my own business when a man opposite me asked, “What are you reading?” I told him the title, and he immediately questioned, “How are you doing that?”

“I tried to explain, but I was exhausted. It had been a long day, and I was simply going to meet a friend. As a disabled person, I get asked a lot about my sight. People often assume I am training my guide dog or that I don’t “look blind.” It’s frustrating, but I’m used to it. However, this man wasn’t satisfied with my responses. His questions became more invasive, and soon, his tone shifted. His voice grew sharper, more aggressive, and suddenly, it was no longer curiosity – it was suspicion.”

“Then, he started shouting. “You’re faking it! You’re the problem with this country! A benefit scrounger!” His words hit me like a slap. My heart pounded in my chest, my hands clenched my Kindle tighter. I told him I worked, but even if I didn’t, it was none of his business. But he wasn’t listening. He was fixated on me, his anger building, and I felt completely exposed.”

“I think it definitely made me more wary of being on public transport by myself. This sounds ridiculous, but it made me really anxious to essentially use any sight I have while out in public, because now I’m registered blind, my sight is worse than it was then, but I can still read my Kindle, I can still use my phone. I still don’t look stereotypically blind, which is something I get told a lot, but it makes me wary to sit on a train and read my Kindle, because what if other people have that reaction and that happens again? Which is ridiculous because I should be able to use the sight I’ve got left, but it’s kind of, you don’t want to make yourself stand out any more than you already do, for fear that that just brings attention and the wrong person will be there. “

“The worst part? The carriage was half full, yet no one stepped in. Not one person asked if I was okay or told him to stop. They just looked uncomfortable. Their silence was deafening. I felt isolated, vulnerable, and deeply humiliated. My breathing quickened, but I forced myself to stay composed.”

He moved seats, getting closer. I could feel his presence looming, his hostility filling the space. My body was frozen with fear, my mind racing with what-ifs. When we pulled into Leeds, I kept ignoring him, not because I chose to, but because I was in shock. I put my Kindle away with shaking hands and texted my friend, who is also disabled. She’s a wheelchair user, and I worried about her safety. I told her not to meet me on the platform as planned but to wait beyond the barriers where there would be staff.”

“As I got off the train, he followed, still shouting. My stomach twisted, my legs felt weak, but I pushed forward. I hurried along the platform, my pulse hammering, trying to get away. Then, suddenly, he was gone. Relief and confusion flooded me all at once. I met my friend, and we waited, ensuring we weren’t being followed. The last thing I wanted was for both of us to be at risk.”

“If there was a dedicated way of reporting incidents, I think that would help, but also just being taken seriously, and also, not condoning that behaviour. If you’re staff on that train, you should have known that one of your passengers was being shouted at for being disabled.”

“Afterwards, I questioned myself. No one reacted, was I overreacting? The self-doubt crept in, gnawing at me. In hindsight, I should have found staff, but in the moment, the silence from others made me doubt my own experience. The weight of their inaction lingered, making me feel as though my fear wasn’t valid.”

“I always try to report to some level. I do try and at least follow up and email people, but if it’s more constant then there’s only so many emails that I can send in a day alongside life, and a lot of the time, it’s like, if it’s somewhere I know I’m never going to go again, is it worth the hassle? It’s a lot of time and energy, and yes, we want things to be better, but the admin of it is a lot, especially if you experience these things quite regularly.”

“The experience left me wary of public transport. Now, even reading my Kindle in public makes me anxious. The fear hasn’t left me; it lingers in the back of my mind, whispering reminders of that day. I should be able to use the sight I have left without fear, but I worry – what if it happens again? What if next time, it’s worse? The feeling of helplessness, of being abandoned in that moment, is something I can’t shake. And that’s what haunts me the most.”

“So, I think the public’s almost unclear about what’s appropriate and what’s not. I get asked all the time, if I’m by myself, whether I’m lost. I’m not normally lost. I normally know where I’m going, but there’s this human nature to help the poor, disabled people because we don’t know what we’re doing, and it’s like, I don’t need your support then, but if I’m in the middle of a hate crime, then yes, please.“