Fighting for equality

Words: Bess Manson Image: Cameron Burnell

The instant Paula Tesoriero got her first bike she wanted to ride like the wind. She wanted to be the fastest, not just in her Ka¯ piti Coast neighbourhood. The fastest in the world.

She was aiming high. Being the slowest on foot may well have ignited this powerful urge to be quick.

How deeply satisfying it would have been for that 5-year-old kid to look 28 years into the future and see herself on the podium at the 2008 Beijing Paralympic Games receiving a gold medal for the 500m cycling time trial.

These days she has a different goal but she is just as determined to reach it.

As Disability Rights Commissioner she’s resolved to making New Zealand a better and more inclusive place for those with disabilities.

She’s got her work cut out. Just consider a few recent incidents: Last year National Party candidate Katrina Bungard reported being routinely ‘dobbed in’ for parking in a disabled parking space. Bungard is in fact disabled and entitled to use them.

‘‘Why would you think that a successful person in a role like that would not be parking in a disabled car park?’’ Tesoriero asks indignantly.

The sinister bullying of Wellington schoolgirl Holly Reed reported in November was particularly nasty and ‘‘utterly unacceptable’’ in today’s day and age.

Our attitudes as a nation towards disability is one associated with stigma, fear and uncertainty, she says. ‘‘If young people don’t understand disability then we shouldn’t be surprised with what we see in the bullying space.

‘‘Our attitudes are at best indifferent and at worst discriminatory. We do have some way to go in acknowledging the value that disabled people bring to the workforce, to our communities, in understanding how to provide adequate services and infrastructure.’’

The role of Disability Rights Commissioner was one she was destined for, she says.

Growing up with a disability in New Zealand, her journey as a paralympic athlete, her engagement with disability organisations, and her legal background made it a perfect fit.

‘‘If I look back to the last 15-20 years I think all roads were leading to this role.’’

Ultimately, though, she hopes there’ll be no need for a Disability Rights Commissioner. ‘‘I hope in my 5-year-old son’s lifetime we will live in a world where everyone can participate in a fair way. I certainly hope there will not be a need for my role because disability is just business as usual.’’

Tesoriero was born with amniotic banding, a condition where a baby’s limbs become entangled, restricting blood flow.

In her case, both legs and one hand were affected. She had many surgeries throughout her childhood and at 13 had a leg amputated below the knee.

Her childhood memories are mostly associated with being in hospital.

It shaped her in many ways. ‘‘It gave me a very real sense of making the most out of life. When you go in for these big surgeries you wonder if you’re going to come out or if your disability will get worse. It built in me a very real sense of needing to do as much as possible in my life as quickly as possible. I still think that, despite the fact there is no actual medical threat.’’

Her parents were a huge support, instilling in her the mantra that anything her older brother and younger sister could do, she could do too.

There was certainly no view that her disability should slow her down. She was in, she says, boots and all. ‘‘I just went for it.’’

But she grew up with the distinct feeling of being left out once outside the family realm.

‘‘I was called names that would amount to bullying. I was acutely aware that I was different from other kids. I couldn’t walk as fast or run. I could ride a bike fast though.’’

She got her first set of wheels aged five. It was a seminal moment

‘‘It was a beautiful machine, a Heeling 16 with a basket on the front, a flag, training wheels and because I was short I had these orange blocks on the pedals.

‘‘A bike gave me that sense of freedom and speed that I didn’t have walking. I felt more of an equal on a bike. I was able to join in. It was a great source of independence. I could go fast and that was a thrill.’’

Even before she had reached double figures she wanted to be one of the fastest cyclists in the world.

At that stage she wasn’t thinking about disability or the distinction between the Olympics and Paralympics. She just wanted to be the fastest and whizzed round the streets of Ka¯ piti with that in mind.

Her surgeon had told her she’d never be able to fulfil her desire to become a professional sportswoman. She was encouraged to work hard at school and forget about the sports arena.

But what he didn’t know was that the best way to get Paula Tesoriero to do something is to tell her she can’t. So she did both.

She’d wanted to be a lawyer since she was a kid. It was her innate sense of fairness that persuaded her this was the academic path for her. That, and her desire to demonstrate her mental strength. ‘‘I wanted to prove that I was as competent or more competent than the rest of the kids in class. I painted a lawyer as a definition of success.’’

She studied law at Victoria University and later worked at the Ministry of Justice in policymaking, ending up as general manager of the higher courts.

While at university she got into spinning classes at her local gym. She started doing duathlons and triathlons and did pretty well in terms of her own relativity to non-disabled people. It sparked a curiosity as to how she would fare when racing against people with disabilities similar to hers.

So she got in touch with Paralympics and that’s where her journey to gold, and acceptance of her own disability, began.

As a young adult, Tesoriero had become angry and frustrated with what she perceived as her limitations. During her university years she made a very deliberate decision to shut disability out.

It was when she decided to cycle competitively that all changed. ‘‘I thought if this goal is big enough and important enough then I’m going to have work at accepting and understanding my disability.’’

Tesoriero, 42, went on to break the world record and won two silver medals at the 2006 UCI Track Cycling World Championships.

But her gold medal at the 2008 Beijing Paralympic Games in the 500m time trial was the real jewel in the crown.

Standing on that podium was quite a moment. But it was more than the prestige that bit of precious metal brought, says Tesoriero, who was made a Member of the New Zealand Order of Merit in 2009.

‘‘These days I talk about the medals themselves being great but it was the journey around accepting disability that was the ultimate prize because it’s led to me being a better person. It’s led to me being able to make a contribution to a number of organisations. It’s led to this role. These were the big prizes.’’

That said, she did think of her 5-year-old self as the national anthem played. ‘‘I was like, ‘Yeah, I did it!’ It felt like I was claiming that 5-year-old ’s place in the world.’’

’’When you go in for these big surgeries you wonder if you’re going to come out or if your disability will get worse. It built in me a very real sense of needing to do as much as possible in my life as quickly as possible.’’