Theme parks have always walked a fine line when it comes to accessibility. They want to create experiences that everyone can enjoy, while also making sure the system feels fair for all guests. Recently, both Disney and Universal have made significant changes to their disability access systems—and while those changes are clearly trying to solve real problems, they may be creating new ones in the process.
Have you ever watched a movie where the villain explains their plan and you catch yourself thinking, “they kind of have a point”? That’s how I’ve felt following the recent changes to disability passes across both Disney and Universal. The reasoning makes sense. But the outcome feels… complicated.
A few years ago, shortly after the opening of Galaxy’s Edge at Hollywood Studios, I was talking with family about plans to visit. One of my nieces had just returned from a school trip and mentioned that they rode Rise of the Resistance multiple times in a single day—at a time when the average wait was pushing three hours.
I asked how that was possible.
Her answer was simple: some of her friends had disability passes, and the group used them together.
That felt like abuse of the system—but it also wasn’t that simple. My niece was just along for the ride, and her friends weren’t doing anything they weren’t allowed to do. They weren’t going to ride alone. Still, something about it felt off, even if I couldn’t fully articulate why at the time.
That tension stuck with me—and it feels even more relevant now.
For context, one of my children has a significant, life-altering medical condition. Rides themselves aren’t the issue. Exhaustion is. On recent trips, we’ve had days completely thrown off because they simply did too much. The need is very real—and for many families, it’s not about convenience, it’s about making the day possible at all.
Disability passes helped in some ways, but if I’m being honest, they often functioned more like a complimentary Express Pass or Lightning Lane. And that raises an uncomfortable question: is that actually what most guests with disabilities need?
Probably not.
What many people actually need is flexibility—the ability to move at their own pace, to step away when necessary, and to avoid situations that can quickly become overwhelming.
On a recent trip to Epic Universe, I went through the updated accessibility process. That included providing medical documentation and speaking with Guest Services about our situation. Most of the conversation ultimately centered around one question: can your child wait in a line?
The answer is… mostly yes.
But “mostly” doesn’t tell the full story.
Waiting in a line can be manageable—until it isn’t. Just like walking around in the Florida heat can be fine—until it suddenly isn’t. Or needing to grab food or a drink becomes urgent instead of optional. These moments don’t fit neatly into a yes-or-no system.
And that’s where the disconnect starts to show.
I understand what the parks are trying to fix. What may have started as a system designed to provide support gradually became something closer to a workaround for long waits—something that, fairly or not, was increasingly being exploited. Stricter rules were inevitable.
But in tightening the system, it feels like we may have lost sight of what accessibility support is actually supposed to provide.
Because for many guests, the challenge isn’t standing in line—it’s everything else.
It’s the heat. The crowds. The noise. The constant movement. The lack of places to truly step away and reset.
What if the solution isn’t faster access, but better flexibility?
What if the goal isn’t getting through a day more efficiently, but making it possible to experience that day at all?
That could look like more accessible rest areas. More shaded or indoor spaces. Ticketing options that allow families to spread a three-day trip over five or six days without dramatically increasing cost. Even planning support from teams who understand how to navigate the parks with different needs.
Right now, it feels like the system is trying to solve the wrong problem.
And in doing so, it risks creating new barriers for the very guests it was meant to support.
I don’t think there’s an easy answer here. This is complicated. Abuse of the system was real. Changes were necessary.
But accessibility isn’t just about fairness—it’s about making sure people can fully participate in the experience.
For now, families like mine will keep adapting. For our upcoming trip to Halloween Horror Nights 35, I booked a Private RIP Tour so my child—after a difficult medical year—can experience HHN for the first time the way so many of us do: seeing everything, without the stress of navigating it all.
Do I cringe a little at the cost? Of course.
But I also know it will be worth it.
— Mike Bundy, Park Brief
The Park Brief 
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