Seven years ago today, Professor Stephen Hawking passed away, leaving behind a legacy extraordinary enough to need little introduction. The iconic British scientist is often remembered for his groundbreaking contributions to theoretical physics, remarkable wit, and distinctly American voice.
Those with a deeper understanding of physics than I have can speak more eloquently about his scientific achievements, but over the course of six decades, he contributed much to the field, such as extending the singularity theorem, applying Einstein’s general theory of relativity to the principles of quantum mechanics, and showing that black holes emit radiation—a controversial finding later regarded as a significant breakthrough.
Hawking received numerous awards. He was a Fellow of the Royal Society and a lifetime member of the Pontifical Academy of Sciences. He also held the position of Lucasian Professor of Mathematics at the University of Cambridge, a position widely regarded as the most celebrated academic chair in the world. His 1988 bestseller A Brief History of Time launched him to stardom and made him a household name. The book used accessible language to describe the structure and development of the universe. It sold millions of copies.
In addition to his professional success and fame, Hawking’s love life was, quite literally, the stuff of films: his relationship with his first wife was the premise for the award-winning The Theory of Everything. The pair raised three children together, an experience which Hawking described as bringing him great joy.
Hawking maintained his celebrity status until his death, appearing on educational programmes, talk shows, and sitcoms, and voicing himself in cartoons like Futurama and The Simpsons. He travelled the world, and even experienced a zero-gravity flight.
Of course, Hawking also had amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS), a form of motor neurone disease that progressively paralysed him over the course of his life. Diagnosed in 1963 at 21, Hawking was given a life expectancy of two years. He lived until the age of 76.
Admittedly, Hawking didn't have much positive to say about motor neuron disease. However, he did acknowledge the ways in which his disabilities enabled his success in theoretical physics. During the early years of his career, his condition meant that his wife Jane took over management of all household responsibilities, leaving him with more time to think about physics. Later on, his disabilities freed him from lecturing and administrative duties, allowing him more time to focus on research and writing.
In an interview at age 69, when asked what moment he would revisit if time travel were possible, Hawking picked the birth of his first child in 1967—a moment five years after his condition began to affect him physically. He also said that he was happier now than before his diagnosis, advised others with physical impairments not to become disabled in spirit, and expressed hope that his experiences would help people.
And they did. Upon his death, many members of the disability community spoke about the profound impact his visibility had had on them—a respected and beloved individual changing the world from his wheelchair, a person who, though stripped of his voice, established himself as someone to be listened to.
There’s no doubt that Hawking’s successes resulted from his intelligence, charisma, and dedication to science. However, because of his personal circumstances, his brain, and—later on—his fame, Hawking also benefited from environments and supports that enabled him to pursue these successes while living with a disability.
To begin with, Hawking lived in the United Kingdom with access to universal healthcare. He strongly supported the NHS, saying that it took great care of him for more than 40 years.
By the time Hawking received his diagnosis, he had already graduated from Oxford and begun his doctoral studies at Cambridge. His friends and colleagues supported him in continuing his work. Upon learning of Hawking’s prognosis of an early death, his supervisor encouraged him to move forward with his research regardless. When his mobility impairments progressed, his wife Jane postponed her own doctoral studies to assist him. After Cambridge refused to fund the ramps he needed to continue his work on campus, she campaigned alongside him for improved campus accessibility.
By the mid-1970s, because of his brilliance, lively personality, and growing reputation, graduate students were eager to live alongside him, learn from him, and help with his care. They would also pick him up from home and assist him on his half a mile journey to the department, stopping traffic along the way.
As his condition advanced, many aids enabling his speech and mobility came from customised solutions provided by those invested in his success.
In the mid-1980s, Hawking underwent a lifesaving tracheotomy, resulting in loss of speech and the need for around-the-clock nursing care. When the NHS could only fund nursing-home care, a private foundation funded at-home support, enabling him to continue to live in a comfortable environment conducive to work and study.
After his tracheotomy, Hawking initially communicated with a spelling card, using eyebrow movements. Soon after, a physicist friend reached out to Words Plus, creators of Equalizer—a computer program that enabled communication with a hand clicker. Learning it was for Hawking, the CEO said he would donate whatever was needed. Equalizer only ran on a desktop, so the husband of Hawking’s nurse adapted it for portability and attached a small computer to his wheelchair. Eventually, in 2008 when Hawking could no longer move his thumbs, a graduate assistant developed the "cheek switch," allowing him to select letters using his cheek muscle.
By 2011, Hawking had grown frustrated with the slow process of producing speech. He reached out to Intel co-founder Gordon Moore, who had once teased him about his wheelchair computer's AMD processor, asking if he'd prefer a "real computer" instead. Intel, which had provided Hawking with customised PCs ever since, developed a tailored version of SwiftKey’s predictive text program by feeding it thousands of Hawking’s documents.
In the latter half of his life, Hawking—like all celebrities—had the wealth and status to help achieve many of his personal dreams. He continued to travel extensively, but as the years went on, he increasingly did so by private jet because of the accessibility challenges on commercial flights.
In 2001, during a trip to India, he expressed a desire to sightsee in Delhi, and his hosts—with the support of the prime minister—had ramps installed at monuments overnight so that he could visit them. Similarly, in 2006, when Hawking publicly expressed his dream of space travel, Richard Branson invited him for a free flight on Virgin Galactic once operational. The next year, to test whether he could withstand the g-forces involved in space travel, Zero Gravity Corporation invited him on a specially-modified Boeing 727-20 where he experienced weightlessness—moments he described as wonderful and amazing.
Without question, Hawking deserved the opportunity to use his talents, achieve professional success, have a family, and pursue his personal dreams. Yet, this truth extends beyond a single individual.
Shouldn’t everyone have these opportunities?
Accessible and inclusive environments make that possible. They shouldn’t be privileges earned as the result of success and fame: they’re the foundations that allow everyone to live a life defined by their ambitions. There are more than 1.3 billion people on this planet—myself included—with disabilities. Imagine how many more Stephen Hawkings we might discover by creating environments where every individual, including those with disabilities, can flourish.
Stephen Hawking once said he wished to be seen as “a scientist first, popular science writer second, and, in all the ways that matter, a normal human being with the same desires, drives, dreams, and ambitions as the next person.”
With the right support and enabling environment, he was. Let’s ensure others can be, too.