Disability with Dignity: Compassion with Consequences

In this excerpt from Monopoly Nation, author Steven K. Williams examines how Canada’s disability support system, though rooted in compassion, often fails the very people it’s meant to protect. Through personal insight and sharp critique, he reveals how rigid rules and outdated policies trap individuals in financial limbo for simply trying to participate. With humour and humanity, he calls for a support model that rewards initiative instead of punishing it, one that balances dignity with accountability, and compassion with common sense.

CHAPTER 18: DISABILITY WITH DIGNITY: Compassion with Consequences (and a Bit of Common Sense): Excerpted from Monopoly Nation by Steven K. Williams

Canada’s disability support system operates like a light switch: you’re either “on” and fully disabled or “off” and completely on your own. There’s no middle ground for the millions of Canadians with episodic, partial, or fluctuating conditions. If you can’t work full-time in a traditional 9-to-5 setting, the system doesn’t see you. It treats disability like a binary yes-or-no instead of a spectrum of capacity, contribution, and need.

At its core, this is a monopoly problem—just not the kind stamped on a box. It’s a monopoly on authority. Thirteen separate bureaucracies all claim control over who is “officially” disabled, how much help they deserve, and what their future should look like. There’s no competition. No alternatives. Just layers of government gatekeeping, each with its own forms, rules, and budgetary limits, none of which answer to the people actually living with disability.

The real kicker? There isn’t even one system. There are thirteen. Each province and territory runs its own program: ODSP in Ontario, AISH in Alberta, and PWD in British Columbia, all with different rules, rates, and hoops to jump through. Then there’s the federal Canada Disability Benefit, which currently offers a whopping $200 a month. It was supposed to be a national standard. Instead, it’s a symbolic top-up with no real power to lift anyone out of poverty. Worse still, earning too much from one program can reduce or eliminate your eligibility for another. We don’t stack supports. We booby-trap them.

This isn’t just outdated; it’s absurd. We’re treating human beings like malfunctioning lightbulbs: either fully lit or worthless. It’s about as helpful as a moose in a marching band and just as subtle. Instead of adapting to people’s needs, the system punishes them the moment they try to improve their situation. It traps people in poverty, not because they won’t work, but because they’re punished the moment they do.

And while all this bureaucracy plays out, the actual support being offered is an insult. The federal benefit maxes out at $200. Provincial support is barely better, averaging $1,200 to $1,800 a month, depending on where you live, with constant reapplications and income restrictions. It doesn’t even cover rent, let alone food, transit, or any semblance of a life. It sends a clear message: we’ll help you survive, but we’ll never help you thrive.

Meanwhile, Canadians are being taxed to the point of exhaustion while billions flow offshore through foreign aid, corporate write-offs, and untapped resource giveaways. We don’t lack money. We lack priorities.

So, let’s fix it. Not by layering on more paperwork but by building something smarter. Something that actually works.

The Reform Model: Tiered, Fair, and Adaptive

Disability isn’t one thing. It’s many. It ranges from lifelong, total impairments to episodic conditions, invisible illnesses, and everything in between. Trying to fit all of that into a one-size-fits-all policy is like handing out one type of shoe and telling everyone to start running.

Someone living with advanced ALS or full paralysis doesn’t need to reapply every three years to prove they still qualify for help, their condition is permanent, and their need is clear. But others, those living with PTSD, autoimmune disorders, neurodivergent conditions, or long-term mental health challenges, may have good days and bad ones. Their capacity to work might shift over time. Some will improve. Others may relapse. A rigid system doesn’t account for that; it just kicks people on or off the benefit switch.

The current model fails because it tries to treat all disabilities the same. A smart model recognizes the difference between stability and fluctuation, between no work capacity and partial capacity. It adapts. It scales. It treats people like individuals, not boxes to be checked. That’s what the tiered model does. It reflects the real spectrum of disability and builds a support system that is strong enough to hold people and flexible enough to let them grow. This model accounts for the real spectrum of disability by grouping recipients into clearly defined tiers, each with different support levels, expectations, and pathways forward.

1.      Tier 1: Permanent Severe Disability:  For individuals with no realistic capacity for employment due to permanent, debilitating conditions (e.g., full paralysis, late-stage ALS).

o   Benefit: $3,100 per month

o   Features: No re-evaluations. Lifetime support with optional additional assistance (mobility, care, housing).

o   Goal: Security and dignity for those who cannot work, ever.

2.      Tier 2: Significant Disability with Limited Work Capacity: Includes individuals who may work part-time with accommodations or flexible schedules but face major barriers to full-time employment.

o   Benefit: $2,200 per month

o   Features: Re-evaluated every three years. Can earn up to $45,000 per year tax-free. Clawback begins gradually above that.

o   Goal: Encourage limited, supported work without punishment.

3.      Tier 3: Episodic or Partial Disability: For conditions with fluctuating capacity, such as MS, chronic fatigue, or severe anxiety, where the ability to work varies over time.

o   Benefit: $1,200-$1,800 per month, scaled monthly based on health and reported hours

o   Features: Flexible support. No harsh penalties for short-term work.

o   Goal: Stabilize income while encouraging meaningful contributions when possible.

4.      Tier 4: Transition to Independence: For individuals recovering or stabilizing after treatment or rehabilitation.

o   Benefit: Up to $1,200 per month

o   Features: Includes job placement help, coaching, and return-to-work incentives.

o   Goal: Provide a soft landing as people return to independence.

Core Program Features (Applies to All Tiers)

1.      Minimum Monthly Benefit: Every registered recipient receives at least $1,200 per month, with higher tiers receiving additional benefits based on their individual needs.

2.      Tax-Free Earnings Threshold: All recipients can earn up to $45,000 per year without paying federal tax.

3.      Clawback Above $45K: Benefits are reduced gradually (e.g., $0.50 per $1) after $45,000 to avoid disincentives.

4.      Enhanced GST Rebates: Annual tax-free credit of up to $1,500 for low- and mid-income recipients, scaled by tier.

5.      Medical Re-evaluation: Every three years (except Tier 1), reviewed by an independent practitioner to prevent fraud but reduce red tape.

6.      Monthly Adjustment Option: Recipients can report changes in capacity and employment to adjust benefit levels without penalty, protecting against income gaps during relapses or job losses.

The Price Tag

A national, tiered disability model that actually works, one that provides livable support to those who truly cannot earn a living and empowers those who can, is not cheap. But failure is far more expensive.

Estimated cost: $35 billion per year, covering 1.5 million Canadians across all tiers:

1.      Tier 1: Full $3,100 per month for permanent, severe conditions.

2.      Tiers 2-4: Scaled support from $1,200 to $2,200 per month, including many mental health and episodic cases with shorter-term needs.

3.      The program also includes enhanced GST rebates, tax exemptions, and employment transition supports.

This estimate accounts not only for long-term disability but also for recovery-focused assistance. Many Canadians currently on disability are not permanently impaired but are stuck in a broken system with no path to healing. Under this model, Tiers 3 and 4 offer temporary, flexible support over a period of two to three years, allowing sufficient time for proper treatment, coaching, and a smooth transition back into the workforce. These recipients are not locked into lifelong payments, which helps contain long-term costs and restores human potential.

Savings and clawbacks:

• Roughly $5 to $7 billion per year is recouped through income-based clawbacks, increased workforce participation, and reduced pressure on emergency housing, shelters, crisis services, and long-term healthcare.

• Net new funding requirement is $28 to $30 billion per year.

This is not a handout. It is a smarter investment in people, one that avoids the far higher cost of permanent dependency and unlocks value from a group the current system quietly gives up on.

Funding the Gap: Build, Don’t Cut

We don’t need to squeeze working Canadians. We need to start acting like a country that’s sitting on one of the richest resource endowments on Earth. Here’s how we generate real national wealth instead of handing it away:

• Resource Rent Tax on oil, gas, LNG, and mining super-profits: $6 billion per year

• 1.5 percent Royalty Surcharge on companies extracting Canadian-owned resources: $1.5 billion per year

• 15 percent Minimum Flat Tax on book profits for large corporations (over $2M revenue): $20+ billion per year

• 1 percent Tariff on Non-Essential Imports (exemptions for food, medicine, and essential goods): $7 billion per year

Total new revenue: $34.5+ billion per year

And not one penny needs to come from working Canadians.

Make It Canadian-Owned

This only works if the wealth stays here. Right now, too many foreign-owned firms operate here, exploit resources, write off taxes, and ship profits offshore. That’s not capitalism. It’s extraction economics—Canada takes the risk, and someone else takes the reward.

To fix it:

• Canadian equity requirements for all new major projects

• Mandatory reinvestment for foreign firms operating in Canadian industries

• Preferential procurement for Indigenous- and locally owned ventures

Clean Up the Spending Side

And while we’re at it, maybe we should stop pretending that Canada can afford $12 to $16 billion a year in foreign aid while disabled Canadians get less than welfare. This isn’t about turning our backs on the world. It’s about getting our own house in order so we can actually help others without falling apart ourselves.

1.      Cap foreign aid at sustainable, measurable levels.

2.      Tie every dollar to transparent, outcome-based reporting.

3.      And above all, make sure Canadians aren’t being left behind in the name of global optics.

It’s like helping out your neighbours, you want to. Of course you do. But you don’t let your own kids go hungry so the neighbour’s teenager can buy a rifle. That’s not compassion. That’s negligence with a flag on it.

And like they say, when the oxygen masks drop on a plane, you put yours on first. Not because you’re selfish but because it’s the only way you’ll be strong enough to help anyone else. A country works the same way. If we take care of our people first, we’ll be in a far better position to show up for others with integrity, not image management.

Because if we’re cutting cheques to impress the UN while people at home can’t afford a bus pass, we’re not running a country; we’re running a PR campaign.

The Math of Recovery: What We Could Build Instead

Canada is spending more than $11 billion a year giving long-term disability payments to people suffering from mental health conditions. Anxiety, depression, trauma, and ADHD are the most common diagnoses among the 640,000 Canadians currently receiving disability benefits for non-physical, often invisible conditions. And the numbers are rising, especially among younger adults. But here’s the problem: Most of these people cannot access proper care. Publicly funded therapy is scarce, waitlists are months long, and private sessions cost hundreds of dollars that these recipients simply do not have. So we do the bureaucratic thing. We label them permanently disabled, send them a cheque, and call it compassion.

But it is not compassion. It is quiet failure by design. The system is not set up to help people get better; it is set up to keep them dependent. And it is costing us— \not just in dollars, but in human potential. For the $11.5 billion we spend each year keeping people stuck, we could instead fund a national mental health workforce of 16,000 trained professionals working across the country to provide every one of these recipients with real, ongoing care. Total cost? About $2.3 billion a year. That is less than one-fifth of what we are spending to maintain the status quo. We are not short on money. We are just spending it all wrong.

And here is the kicker. The cost to help someone recover over two to three years, therapy, wraparound services, and income support, would average just $72,000 per person. Compare that to the $450,000 we spend per person to keep them on disability for twenty-five years, and the logic becomes painfully clear. We could help six people recover for the cost of keeping one person trapped. That is not just better for the budget. It is better for people. It turns so-called compassion into genuine care and wasted dollars into transformed lives.

Here is what no one seems to factor in: what happens when we stop labelling people as broken and actually help them get better? If just 30 percent of those 640,000 Canadians on mental health-related disability benefits were able to recover and re-enter the workforce part-time or full-time, we would not just save money. We would gain taxpayers. That is nearly 200,000 people contributing to the economy rather than being carried by it. Even if each of them earned a modest income of $35,000 per year, that would be $7 billion in taxable earnings added back into the system, plus reduced strain on healthcare, housing, and emergency services. That does not just offset the cost of a proper mental health workforce. It turns this from a deficit into a dividend.

I have known people who waited years just to see someone, and when they finally did, the only thing offered was a prescription. No therapy. No conversation. Just pills. And while medication has its place, it is not the same as healing. What these people needed was real help, someone to talk to, consistent support, and a reason to believe they could move forward. Instead, they were labelled, managed, and forgotten. A disability cheque might keep the lights on, but it will not fix the damage. It will not bring back a sense of purpose. It will not reconnect someone to the world. It just buries the problem deeper while another life quietly disappears into the system.

Part of the problem is that we are going to the wrong kind of help. In Canada, psychiatrists, who are medical doctors, are publicly funded, while psychologists, who actually provide therapy, usually are not. So when someone finally gets in to see someone after months or years of waiting, it is almost always a psychiatrist, and the appointment lasts fifteen minutes. You receive a diagnosis, possibly a prescription, and a follow-up appointment in a few months. No conversation. No ongoing therapy. Just chemical management. Meanwhile, psychologists and counsellors, the ones trained to do actual talk therapy, are either fully booked or completely unaffordable. We have built a system where we pay for medication but not healing, and then act surprised when people do not get better.

The Canadian Contract

Disability isn’t a weakness. It’s a reality, one that demands honesty, dignity, and a system designed to serve people, not just shuffle paperwork. How we treat those living with a disability is more than a policy decision. It’s a mirror. It reflects our priorities, our courage, and our willingness to do more than manage decline while patting ourselves on the back for being “inclusive.”

This model protects those who truly cannot work and empowers those who still can. It offers lifelong security to those who need it and an actual path forward for those who can recover. It’s not about adding more red tape or requiring people to fill out forms in triplicate every time they seek help. It’s about unlocking the human and financial potential we’ve left idle for too long and doing it without squeezing working Canadians one penny more. This is not about cutting. It’s about building. That’s the real Canadian way: less paperwork, more purpose.

Imagine a Canada where being disabled doesn’t mean being discarded. Where getting help doesn’t mean signing your freedom away. Where support is built around people’s real lives, not the cold logic of a federal spreadsheet. A country that understands some people can’t ever work again and doesn’t make them prove it every three years with a letter from a doctor, a psychic, and three notarized witnesses. And one that sees potential in those who can recover and offers something better than a pamphlet and a pat on the back.

How It Should Work

This model doesn’t require scrapping provincial programs—but it does require national standards and a unified floor. The federal government should set the structure, fund the base benefit, and enforce the income and eligibility rules. Provinces can still deliver the services, adjust support programs, and coordinate housing or employment, but no one should receive less than the national minimum just because of their postal code. In short, Ottawa sets the standard, provinces fill in the rest—and the person at the center finally gets a system built around them, not twelve others.

Imagine a Canada where therapy doesn’t come with a six-month wait and a three-minute prescription. Where we don’t treat burnout with benzos or depression with direct deposit. A country where we actually offer care, not just cheques and paperwork. Where people are allowed to get better without losing everything and maybe even find the strength to laugh again. Because let’s be honest: if the system can’t heal you, it should at least stop trying to diagnose you by mail.

That Canada isn’t a fantasy. It’s just a better use of what we already have. The numbers make sense. The logic is sound. And the only thing stopping us is the fear that compassion might actually work. So let’s stop treating survival like success and start building a system that believes in people, even the ones who’ve been sitting on hold so long they’ve started harmonizing with the music. It’s time to pick up the line and offer something better.

Because if we can do this—if we can fix the way we handle disability—then why stop there?

Next, we turn our attention to the broader safety net. The one meant to catch all Canadians in hard times, but now tangled in so much red tape, it could double as a fishing net. Let’s talk about welfare and why the real answer isn’t to tighten the rungs. It’s to rebuild the ladder.

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Steven K. Williams is the author of Monopoly Nation, a provocative and often humorous critique of systemic inefficiencies and monopolies in Canada. He’s also the frontman for the gritty rock band Swilly and the founder of Bigfoot Business Development Strategies. A proud advocate for economic reform, common sense policy, and real accountability, Steven splits his time between creative projects and consulting work across the country. Learn more at www.monopolynationbook.com.

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