Grounded by Turkish Airlines — for having Parkinson’s

On Saturday, Turkish Airlines decided I wasn’t fit to fly.

Rest assured, I wasn’t drunk, violent or even late. No, my sin was having Parkinson’s.

I was flying from Istanbul to Gatwick. Checked in, bag gone down the chute, but before I even got through security, I’d been chucked off the flight. My eldest son Jake and I went to the assisted-boarding counter — I’d already said when booking that I’d need help getting on the plane. In the last year, I’ve done it quite a few times with other airlines. It’s never been a problem.

Then came the shock.

They told us I couldn’t board without a doctor’s letter. At first, I thought they wanted proof that I had Parkinson’s, which was absurd enough. But no — the letter had to say I was safe to fly. Apparently, Turkish Airlines has decided that people with Parkinson’s are a danger to themselves or others.

I’ve only been using assisted boarding for about a year, but, as far as I can discover, no other airline in the world makes such assumptions.

Let’s be clear: this isn’t about paperwork. It’s prejudice dressed up as policy. It’s ignorant, insulting, and frankly medieval. Parkinson’s is the fastest-growing neurological condition on the planet. If you think that means we shouldn’t be allowed on planes, you’ve got a problem — and it’s not neurological.

And Parkinson’s is singled out: “Passengers who have Parkinson's disease are admitted to the flight with a doctor's report stating that ‘There is no harm in travelling by plane’. The report must include a statement specifying that the passenger can travel accompanied or unaccompanied.”

They also say reports must be recent (typically within ten days) and on official letterhead. There were reports last year that an autistic child was banned, but as far as I can see autism isn’t mentioned — only Parkinson’s.

Obviously, I am not going to spend the effort going through every airline in the world, but the major carriers — British Airways, Lufthansa, American, Emirates and Qantas — all have general medical clearance rules for specific situations (recent surgery, oxygen, late pregnancy). None of them name Parkinson’s. Turkish Airlines stands alone in demanding that people with Parkinson’s must bring a doctor’s note. That’s not “assistance”; that’s a barrier.

Most staff we encountered were unhelpful; one woman in particular seemed actively intent on blocking my travel and took evident satisfaction in doing so. When another member of staff accepted my son’s description that my difficulty related to a foot condition (which is also true), she intervened to reverse that decision, pointing to trembling in my fingers (which, in my case, is not a symptom of Parkinson’s).

She told me it was for my “own good”. Then left me to stagger around the airport alone for hours trying to find my bag (Jake lives in Berlin and had to leave to catch his flight). Nobody offered help. Nobody knew where it was. The prevailing atmosphere at the counters was one of indifference and contempt toward passengers, particularly those needing assistance.

Front-line teams appeared to treat passengers as an interruption to their own conversations.

Nobody cared. I was passed from one desk to another until another passenger, Dalma, saw I was having trouble, took pity and helped me. Given that she is fluent in both Turkish and English, her initial help in explaining to the staff what had happened set me on the path to getting my bag back — eventually. Frankly, just the emotional support of caring enough to come up and talk to me, and ask if I needed help as I tottered up and down the concourse, prevented me from dissolving into an anguished puddle.

But Dalma had to disappear off to catch her own flight. After a couple of hours, there was progress of a sort as we were taken through to the baggage area airside, which was unnerving as we had our passports taken off us and were faced with a whole bank of people studying lists of paper and occasionally shouting, “one more hour — wait please!”

Eventually, as I sat surrounded by a whole disgruntled community of other bagless persons, I could contain myself no longer and launched into a bit of a rant about my anger at the discrimination and their general uselessness. One of the staff, Gizem, seized the situation and took control, saying, “I will help.”

She did so by asking the elementary question of what it looked like and relaying that information to those looking for the various missing bags. They found the bag within three minutes. When I suggested they should sack the rest of them, double her salary and put her in charge, she laughed — and told me she would make sure a wheelchair arrived. It did, but it was broken: there was only one footrest. I could manage by putting one leg on top of the other. Not everyone who needs to be pushed around could manage that. It seemed rather symbolic of the airline’s careless, callous attitude.

Gizem and Dalma were bright spots in an otherwise dismal day — kind, caring people who reinforced my conviction that you can often rely on the kindness of strangers, but you shouldn’t have to.

Spending seven hours finding my bag was annoying, but I guess these things happen a lot. What has never happened before was to feel humiliated, the object of contempt because of my condition. I had to rebook, stay in a hotel, and spend the night stranded — all because I have a medical condition, not a contagious disease.

People with Parkinson’s everywhere need to know about this airline’s outrageous policy. I’ll be making sure they do, through Movers & Shakers and beyond.

I have written to them asking for:

• an explanation of the medical or regulatory basis for the policy and how it complies with applicable equality and consumer-protection obligations;

• details of their disability-training programme;

• immediate review and withdrawal of any policy that singles out Parkinson’s disease for special restriction.

Until they do, I would urge you to avoid them like the plague.

Airlines that treat disability as a danger should be the ones grounded, not us poor parkies.

UPDATE:

It’s now over 48 hours since I first filed four complaints and a request for a refund with Turkish Airlines. I’ve had no official response to any of the emails. The only reply I’ve had is something on Instagram yesterday morning — basically saying they’re sorry and they’re investigating.

But it’s got worse. Substantially worse.

The one easy bit — well, it wasn’t very easy, but it seemed to be the one straightforward thing — was getting a refund. At the desk, when they refused to let me on the plane, they said I could go to one of the Turkish Airlines help booths in the airport and get a refund. Which I thought sounded remarkably efficient. I think it was Post 4.

Anyway, I went there and asked the woman about the refund. She was perfectly friendly and helpful, but she said that because it was paid in a foreign currency — presumably British pounds rather than Turkish lira — I had to go to a call centre.

She didn’t give me any details of the call centre. I have to admit I didn’t ask, because I was more concerned about getting my bag back — something I couldn’t do then.

So I left it, hoping they would come back to me. This morning I rang what I think was the right call centre, and they told me there’s no note on my ticket number of having been stopped from flying. It simply says the flight was delayed. Obviously I didn’t get on it, but I don’t know whether it records that or not.

Anyway, she said there was no record — which is disgusting.

I’ve just filed a feedback complaint. Don’t know whether that will have any more impact. It’s relatively early in the day, and I’m not yet at the end of my tether — but I don’t think my tether is going to last too long.