Dmytro Shchebetiuk: "They fought for our freedom on the front lines, so they should feel free here"

Why is accessibility the least we can do to thank our defenders? What benefits can Ukrainian businesses gain by creating accessible spaces? Dmytro Shchebetiuk, founder of the organization “Dostupno.UA” and the “Open Road / Vidkryttia” initiative, gave an honest assessment of accessibility in Odesa: from unique barrier-free beaches to the failing infrastructure in Arkadia and Pryvoz. In an interview with Intent, he also spoke about his first book, *Hitchhiking in a Wheelchair*, born out of chaos and a desire for freedom. Watch the full exclusive interview on our YouTube channel.

What was the initial idea behind the book *Hitchhiking in a Wheelchair*? Was Odessa part of it? We always want everything to start with Odessa.

Yes, maybe I’ll start the next book in Odesa. People don’t have this book yet, but it’s available in Odesa—you can pre-order it. People have already asked me about it and bought copies. Actually, it all started with chaos, as always. I didn’t know how or what to write. I just wrote down the approximate date when I left home. And from there, I began to write the story, simply recalling what had happened. There was nothing brilliant about it. And every chapter started the same way: sometimes you sit there for 10 minutes and don’t know what to write, but you have to write something.

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Because it’s a craft. It’s a job.

And I just took the plunge one time and wrote a word. Once you take that first step, it gets easier.

Why did the idea to publish the book come up right now? Maybe it’s the right time? Or is it because we just finished it?

I wanted to publish it on a full scale from the start. We were in talks with one publishing house, but our communication didn’t quite work out. And eventually, I returned to Ukraine. I had a plan when I was studying in the UK for three years. I was supposed to stay there another year, but I came back a year early. Fortunately, I graduated from university—everything went well. I thought I’d take a year off, finish the book, work on music, and start doing a little of that thing that’s deep, deep down inside me—my creative side. And try to see if it’s possible to make a living just from what you create.

But then everything shifted completely—just like it did for so many people. And finally, after going around in circles and coming back home, I thought, “That’s it—it’s time to publish this book.” The main idea for me is motivating people—regardless of whether they have a disability or not. I never emphasized the fact that I have a disability. But at the same time, there was still a sort of lifting of the veil: what’s going on behind this active stance, behind these trips, these carefree journeys, as if everything were easy. What’s going on in my head, so that people can better and more deeply understand why we need to make spaces, cities, and the country more accessible and convenient. And, on the other hand, regardless of disability, if someone is feeling down or doesn’t know how to take that first step, perhaps this will inspire them. Books like this have always inspired me—especially when they’re travel stories. Not the kind of blunt, in-your-face motivation like: “Get up, go, you can do it, take the first step, take the second step.” But simply through my own example, through my own worldview, and sometimes, despite the difficulties, trying to help someone take a deep breath and take that first step.

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So does that mean this book isn’t about disability, but about freedom?

Yes, it’s about freedom, without a doubt. It’s not just mine—it’s in Ukrainians. We’re all very freedom-loving when it comes to travel; we want to do what we want. That’s exactly what this book is about: the freedom to choose, the freedom to move around, the freedom to change your actions and plans in life—no matter what situation you find yourself in or how old you are. I’m saying this now because when I wrote that book, I was 27. And the idea behind my next book is precisely that, no matter how old you are, you can change the course of your life.

When you started writing, you were 27. And now?

When I was traveling—27. When I started writing, I was 31. And in the end, I always wondered: who are these people who spend years writing a book? I think: How can you write a book for so long? Because when I started writing, I realized what it is—exactly what you said, a craft—and that any creative work is still measured in hours. I thought it would be like with music: you sit down, inspiration is supposed to strike, and you don’t know when it will come. But you sit down and write. In three hours—if you have the inspiration and the desire—you can write a chapter in three hours. If you went to make coffee, made tea, or scrolled through Instagram—and nobody replied—you just kept going. Five hours later. I realized that in two months, I’d written the bulk of the book.

Belarus was part of this journey. And I got stuck in Brest because the “Soviet” vibe was very palpable there. And I started thinking about the famines, how my great-grandmothers survived them, and how my grandfathers were dispossessed—one of them was shot right in front of my grandmother. I got completely bogged down in a completely different story—one that had nothing to do with motivation. And somehow, that brought me to a halt. And then, on a larger scale—Belarus had chosen the wrong side. And I thought that maybe I shouldn’t write about Belarus after all. That made it easier for me to finish the book.

What message do you want to leave readers with after the last page? What should they be thinking about?

Once again, it’s about freedom. About the fact that we’re free to choose, that we’re free to make our own choices. No matter how difficult our decision may sometimes seem, if we take the first step, we’ll see the path ahead, and the world will take a step—or even more—toward us. We gain strength along the journey; we aren’t born that way. That’s how I see it, in my world. I understand that I grow stronger through the process of training. When you get injured in sports, you don’t recover instantly. For example, in my situation, I can’t become super active right away. At first, they were just getting me back on my feet, and so on. I didn’t mention that. Maybe there will be a next book where I’ll delve deeper, but in this one, I wanted to focus specifically on the journey, on freedom, on possibilities, on moving forward—to motivate people. So that they’ll read it, and if they’re in a difficult situation, they’ll simply believe in themselves, make a decision, and take action.

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You’re in Odesa for a book presentation and a public discussion titled “Accessibility Isn’t Charity—It’s a Business Advantage.” Why that title?

Because that’s exactly how it is. We need to speak the language of business. According to a survey of winners of the “Open Doors” award from “Dostupno.UA,” this advantage ranges from 12 to 55 percent. Our respondents reported that their highest profit from people with limited mobility is 55 percent. Profits increase by at least 10 percent. Don’t assume that just because a person in a wheelchair doesn’t visit a business, all this accessibility wasn’t necessary—because accessibility is needed by all people with limited mobility. This includes parents with strollers, older adults, pregnant women, and those who have temporarily sustained injuries. And right now, in particular, this is especially important because our defenders are returning home with injuries. And this is the very least we can do to thank them. Sometimes people choose to visit a particular establishment because it’s accessible—because it’s run by socially conscious people—and they want to support that specific business.

If a business makes people’s lives better—which is, in fact, the goal of every business—then in this way we’re making our country’s life better, because we’re empowering precisely those people who can’t get around easily. When they can get there, they don’t think about how to navigate stairs or other obstacles, or how to overcome barriers—they think about creating something. And maybe they’ll even spend money there with ease. Well, there are all kinds of situations: sometimes you look and see that one place is accessible, while another isn’t. Even when there’s a cooler coffee shop, but the other one is accessible and you need to get there quickly, you go to the one that’s accessible.

As far as I know, “Dostupno.UA” has a whole guide for businesses and support for people who want to build a facility with doors of the correct width, ramps, restrooms for people with disabilities, and so on. How popular has this option become since the full-scale invasion began?

Demand has increased significantly over the years of the full-scale invasion. The accessibility office at “Dostupno.UA,” which provides these consultations, is constantly busy. There are a lot of requests. And clients don’t understand that this expertise needs to be paid for—it’s not just a matter of “we’ll call you now because you need this.” Other organizations also provide consultations. We’d like to see more of these requests, more changes, but the situation has nonetheless changed dramatically. At the start of the war in 2014–2015, young men and women began returning and making changes. Then things quieted down, with a gradual decline starting around 2016. But since the war began in full force nationwide, activity has been increasing—more and more. So we’re hopeful that the process will gain momentum at an exponential rate.

What successful examples of developing accessible areas have you seen?

I’ve traveled extensively throughout Ukraine, and there are various driving forces: sometimes city authorities, sometimes the public, and sometimes businesses spearhead these initiatives. When two of these components are already in place, that’s a good start. And you don’t have to go far: right here in Odesa, you have the first inclusive beach, which was created even before the full-scale invasion. Finally, there’s an example. And the authorities are already thinking about it: businesses are already active there, so we need to make some changes. I’m talking now about the past, about how businesses influenced the situation. The same goes for the “Starosinna” bus station. They did the same thing there—they made the area around it accessible and convenient. And that’s another example. Everyone else in the area starts to feel ashamed, thinking, “We’re not like that, but they did it.” These are precisely the hotspots spreading the “contagion” of accessibility to the surrounding areas. And especially considering that the state lacks the tools to influence how accessible businesses are. It’s not that there are none, but overall, we’re in very poor shape when it comes to protecting rights. Now they’ve opened a second beach.

You’ve noted the positive changes already taking place in Odesa. But what has been disappointing? By the way, how did you get to Peremoha Park for our shoot? Was it comfortable for you?

I drove there, so it was comfortable. But no, I’ve walked there before—there were curbs, I had to hop over here, hop over there; it was better at the crosswalk. Privoz, that area—it’s super difficult there. No matter how often we come—finding hotels that are accessible both in terms of architecture and at reasonable prices is still a problem. Having an elevator is already considered accessible in Odesa. The entire Arkadia district is inaccessible and inconvenient. You can walk through it, but you won’t be able to enter any of the establishments off the main street. There are very few places you can get into easily, on your own, and without difficulty. There’s still a lot of work to be done. The same goes for public transportation. Bus 51—or whatever number it is—recently released data on low-floor buses, right? And that’s for the whole city—it’s very few. So there’s a lot of work to be done. You have a sea of accessible options.

And then people ask, “Why aren’t there any people with disabilities?” Well, they can’t even leave their homes.

Yes, exactly—from home. My sister, my nephews, and I are currently renting an apartment near Arkadia. There are curbs everywhere there, too. It’s a huge complex, and if you can’t jump high, you can’t get anywhere. And that’s very difficult—it’s a challenge for people.

The accessible beach provides transportation by electric cars—that’s really cool. They’re doing a great job. There are shelters. Sometimes Europeans could learn a thing or two from this and take a cue. And I’ve gotten used to the fact that there are accessible showers, restrooms, and so on. Today we’re heading to another inclusive beach. And I’m wondering if it will be as convenient there as it is here. But there’s a question: were the people who drove there able to get to the parking lot where the electric car picks people up? But most people don’t have a car, and we have to ensure that anyone can use this service regardless of whether they have a car or not. Of course, these are the next steps. The point is that inclusion and accessibility are never a static process. It’s not a matter of just doing something and calling it a day. There’s always a higher level, a new stage, where we need to think about access to certain places and how to ensure it.

It’s a shame that the funicular in Odesa isn’t running right now. It’s a real shame, because it’s accessible. And we once filmed a video about the “funicular battle” to call out Kyiv. Because the funicular was operating in Odesa, but not in Kyiv. What do I want to emphasize? The square in front of the central train station and the surrounding area. There are underground crossings there, and even those elevators probably haven’t worked for 100 years. They haven’t even addressed the issue of accessibility there. We were there this winter, and we had to run across the street, which was very difficult. There’s only one route you can take to get out. But you have to go so far out of your way just to get to where everyone else goes. As far as I’m concerned, this is a major issue for the city. It’s the first thing people notice when judging accessibility and ease of movement. You step outside and immediately think, “This is going to be tough.” That’s your first thought, and you start preparing for it right away.

On a scale of 1 to 10, how would you rate the city’s accessibility today?

We need to provide some context here. Let’s put it this way: a score of 10 represents the most accessible city—let’s say Lviv. Although when it comes to Lviv and Vinnytsia, one could still argue which of them is actually more accessible. But even that doesn’t mean the city is fully accessible: perhaps we’re only talking about 10 percent, or even less. Based on this hypothetical scale, Odesa would score around 5–6 points—maybe 6. Overall, accessibility levels are low across the country, and there are cities that could easily be given as low as three points.

And how many points would you give Kyiv?

Kyiv is also a very complex city. I’d also give it 6–7 points at most. There are some neighborhoods that are better and more convenient. It’s important to evaluate cities over time—what the situation was a year ago and what has changed since then. We started compiling this accessibility ranking of Ukrainian cities, and there was an idea to develop it further, but again, because of the full-scale war… City council chairs say they inherited this situation. And so, for the five years of their term, they say it’s all their predecessors’ fault, that they aren’t to blame, and that they’re doing everything they can. But after five years, nothing has changed, and their successor inherits the same situation. Okay, you inherited this—but what have you done in the past year? And then you realize: okay, the city is horribly inaccessible. But it’s moving in the right direction, and here’s how many stages of progress have already taken place, what’s been done, and what’s changed. By the way, there’s some good news about Odesa, too. Although many people still park in spaces reserved for people with disabilities, there’s been a slight decrease in the number of people parking there. Maybe there are more of these parking spaces now?

Or are they issuing more fines?

This is also a very important educational and enforcement measure. In 2019, we came with an accessibility map, and Councilman Obukhov met with us. Back then, all the parking spots for people with disabilities in front of the opera house were occupied by just about anyone. So I parked my car on the corner. I asked if I could leave it there. I was told it wasn’t in the way. And then my car was towed. It’s absurd.

And in Kyiv, I was fined because the spaces for people with disabilities were occupied, and they can’t be fined. So my car was towed, I paid the towing fee, but those who were parked in the spaces for people with disabilities got off scot-free. That’s why things are slowly starting to change. And actually, it’s sad, because we’re at war. But thanks to the veterans, society is responding, and more people are beginning to understand the importance of all this. And fewer people are parking in spaces reserved for people with disabilities.

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And it is precisely veterans—both men and women—who are a powerful force in advocating for accessibility, equal rights, and opportunities for all. We thank them for their service and for not giving up here either. At the same time, our task here is to do everything possible to ensure that upon their return—especially after being wounded—they feel just as free. Because they fought and continue to fight there for our freedom, and they should feel free here and be able to move about freely wherever they go.

Ольга Лопатюк