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americans with disabilities act
The Fight for Adult Autistic Self-Empowerment in a MAGA World
My situation is emblematic of a broader problem faced by Autistic people: There is so much public misunderstanding of our condition and, in spite of some progress, nowhere near enough ways for us to advocate for ourselves.
Oct 12, 2025
Recently there has been highly welcome indignation and pushback against the quackish treatments and attitude of stigmatization advocated by President Donald Trump against Autistic people during his infamous September 22 press conference. Some of the most forceful criticisms have been made by Autistic individuals and Autistic-led organizations. It has also been satisfying to see a major political figure like Illinois’s Democratic Gov. JB Pritzker offer enlightened rhetoric on the subject. In an executive order in May designed to protect Illinois’s Autistic persons’ privacy from Health and Human Services Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr.’s proposal to create a nationwide registry of Autistic persons, Pritzker stressed that “autism is a neurological difference–not a disease or an epidemic.”
In recent years activists and writers like Eric Garcia Jr., Temple Grandin, and the late Steve Silberman have pushed back against the stigmas attached to Autism by Trump and RFK Jr.: that Autistic people represent a diseased, anti-social segment of the population that are in need of a “cure” for their condition. Silberman’s best selling 2015 book NeuroTribes was a particularly notable contribution to the public discourse, describing Autism not as a mental illness but a normal and healthy variation of human neurological development. Writers like Silberman have stressed that Autistic people have the potential to use their unique intellectual and emotional gifts to make valuable contributions to the broader society—if that society is willing and able to offer accommodations to allow Autistic people to thrive.
Unfortunately, while the relatively enlightened approach toward Autism outlined above has made some progress in positively impacting public understanding, that progress has also been relatively limited. That limitation is illustrated perfectly by the Trump administration’s focus on finding a “cure” and other aspects of its harmful, reactionary approach to Autism. The Trump administration’s approach to Autism is part and parcel of its punitive and uncaring approach to underprivileged Americans in general, as demonstrated by its draconian gutting of an already devastated American welfare state.
Adult Autistic Employment: A Personal Story
Some of the most serious problems in Autistic policy in the United States run much deeper than Trump’s cruelty and ignorance or the medical quackery promoted by RFK Jr. One of the most deep-seated problems relates to Autistic adults in the job market. The unemployment rate for Autistic adults in the United States is extremely high—85% according to one estimate.
I have direct experience with the subject of Autistic adult employment. As an adult in my early 30s—in 2012—I received my first official medical diagnosis of Autism Spectrum Disorder: I was diagnosed with Asperger’s Syndrome. This diagnosis was supposed to help me receive disability accommodations in future employment after I received my master’s degree. After all, according to the Americans with Disabilities Act of 1990, employers are supposed to provide “reasonable accommodations” to persons with documented disabilities in order to help them overcome barriers to performing a job.
Over the past 15 years, I have had about seven employers—all low wage jobs—and have mostly gone without disability accommodations—not because I don’t need them but because I’ve found it impossible in most cases to obtain them. In most of these jobs, it was a psychologically shattering strain for me to try to succeed at them and try to compensate for my learning disabilities and moderate verbal communication impairment.
As far as I can tell, one of the reasons for my difficulties in obtaining employment accommodations is that, looking at me on the surface, I appear “high functioning.” As a job counselor with my state government’s Department of Vocational Rehabilitation (DVR) said to me 15 years ago, “You have a master’s degree, you shouldn’t be working at McDonalds,” when I suggested the latter as a possible employment route. When I had my first meeting with a supervisor at a job with a medical company in 2021, she remarked—thinking she was giving me a compliment—that I “didn’t look” like I had Asperger’s Syndrome. According to her I appeared “well put together” and well spoken. However, before long, previously invisible manifestations of my disabilities became apparent to her; I quit the job after four months as the supervisor made clear she was preparing to write me up for ineptitude.
The Trump administration’s approach to Autism is part and parcel of its punitive and uncaring approach to underprivileged Americans in general, as demonstrated by its draconian gutting of an already devastated American welfare state.
Although at one point the supervisor suggested she would be willing to give me disability accommodations, the company’s corporate office refused, saying that I would have to go through the costly and lengthy process of getting a new diagnosis of Autism before they would consider granting accommodations. The corporate HR official said that my 2012 Aspergers diagnosis was obsolete because of new diagnostic criteria for Autism embodied in the 2013 publication of the fifth edition of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders.
However, perhaps the most important reason for my frequent failure to secure disability accommodations is that, in many cases, the willingness of employers to provide accommodations often comes into conflict with the need to maximize worker productivity in the interests of profit. Even when accommodations are officially provided, they can easily become reduced to irrelevance as supervisors feel the pressure to maximize efficiency and productivity and lash out at employees. I myself have been bullied at a previous job for aspects of my personality related to my Autism—in spite of this job being one of the few instances where I was provided with formal disability accommodations—and have seen other Autistic coworkers similarly treated.
Meanwhile, I can report that I have been employed in a full time job for the last four years with the same company, currently making per hour approximately $3.49 more than my state’s minimum wage. I work with no disability accommodations at this job and have only told one coworker that I am Autistic. Within the last year, the company has assigned me a more public-facing role in tasks especially incompatible with my Autism-related disabilities. I’m highly tempted to ask HR for accommodations—to at least minimize my work in the public-facing role—but fear rejection and unduly antagonizing my supervisor who has long faced a staffing shortage in the public-facing role.
I think my situation is emblematic of a broader problem faced by Autistic people: There is so much public misunderstanding of our condition and, in spite of some progress, nowhere near enough ways for us to advocate for the manner in which society can respect our needs.
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Recovering Takes A Village, Not A Stereotype
This National Recovery Month, learn about an Ohio community agency taking a stand for recovery justice.
Sep 25, 2024
As we mark National Recovery Month this September, I find myself reflecting on my own journey with Substance Use Disorder, or SUD, and the vital role that community plays in both addiction and healing. My experience is a testament to how crucial a supportive environment is for people to rebuild their lives with dignity, especially now, as communities across our country try to close the door on those who deserve a chance at recovery.
My story is not unique. Like so many others, I struggled in silence. Substance use was a topic never openly acknowledged in my family—it was treated like dirty laundry, something to be disregarded, not diagnosed. As a nurse and a loving mother, I presented a picture-perfect life to those around me. I was in denial myself, too: I believed I was immune to any of the pressures that could lead to substance use, despite living in a city and state where it was so prevalent. And even with my medical background, I was unable to see my own addiction for the health issue that it was.
It wasn’t until I confronted my internalized stereotypes and became vulnerable with others that I began to heal. Since there was a lack of official recovery services in my hometown, I realized recovery cannot occur in isolation, it requires a supportive community and dedicated spaces and professionals. Even with a lack of drug courts, reentry drug courts, and support groups available in my city at the time, my own recovery was made possible because of my friends and family: the very community I had feared to share my truth with.
Shunning and shaming does not stop SUD. Our siblings, children, and friends deserve our support and should not be labeled as “dangerous” or “criminals.”
Once my truth was laid bare, others became more vulnerable with me and began to share their own stories. There were fellow parents, neighbors, and friends all of whom believed they were the only ones struggling. I learned that SUD thrives in secrecy. This experience inspired me to create a recovery center so others could heal within the community and find the support they need, free from stigma.
Alongside my family, I founded Lawrence County Recovery, LLC (LCR), an agency dedicated to breaking the cycle of shame surrounding SUD, and providing recovery services that empower individuals to reenter their communities with pride. Too often, people in recovery are met with judgment instead of compassion, turned away when they should be welcomed. Recognizing that peer and community support makes the recovery process more sustainable, LCR has set up recovery housing, or sober living homes. In these homes, small groups of people in recovery can live together, support one another, and hold each other accountable as a step toward independent living.
Despite these successes, and after more than five years of supporting over 1,500 people in recovery, I am still witnessing firsthand how discrimination harms and stigmatizes LCR’s clients.
This past August, LCR filed a lawsuit against the Village of Coal Grove, Ohio for engaging in a uniquely egregious and discriminatory campaign targeting individuals in recovery from SUD. The complaint alleges that Coal Grove has imposed a moratorium on new recovery homes, enforced invasive and restrictive requirements on existing providers, and pursued criminal charges against LCR’s leadership, all based on unfounded fears and prejudices.
It is deeply painful to watch as some of my local leaders and neighbors turn their backs on members of our community. Shunning and shaming does not stop SUD. Our siblings, children, and friends deserve our support and should not be labeled as “dangerous” or “criminals.”
People in recovery are protected under federal and state disability laws, including the Fair Housing Act and the Americans with Disabilities Act, which are designed to ensure access to the resources necessary to rebuild lives. This lawsuit is about more than just one city or one recovery provider—it represents a broader struggle for recovery justice.
In Lawrence County alone, zoning proposals in Ironton and South Point have threatened treatment facilities. Throughout Ohio and across the country, local governments are enacting policies that actively hinder recovery services, often driven by misinformation, fear, and stigma.
If we are to make real progress, we must dismantle the harmful stereotypes that surround substance use disorder and embrace the true values of community—belonging and acceptance. My hope is that this stand against discrimination sends a message across the state, that hate has no place in our homes and that healing takes a village.
Recovery is possible, but it cannot happen in the shadows. As a society, we must do better—opening our communities and our hearts to those who need support. This National Recovery Month, let us remember that addiction does not discriminate, and neither should we.
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To Protect Landmark Victories for Disability Rights, Fund Community Care
A lack of investment in home- and community-based services and the low wages that result threaten to turn back the clock due to a severe national shortage of direct support professionals.
Jul 07, 2024
This past June 22 marked 25 years since the Supreme Court ruled in the landmark case
Olmstead v. L.C. that individuals with disabilities have the right to live in their communities and in the most integrated setting possible.
To think about it a different way, it was only 25 years ago that our nation codified its rejection of the warehousing of human beings in large, state-run institutions, isolated from their families and from opportunities to enjoy independence and autonomy.
The two plaintiffs in the Olmstead case, Lois Curtis and Elaine Wilson, cycled through numerous institutions and hospitals through their childhoods due to their disabilities before they ended up at the state-run Georgia Regional Hospital. Doctors decided both women were ready to transition to community-based treatment that would offer greater independence, but the state stopped the women from moving, confining them to the institution several years beyond what was necessary.
Olmstead and the ADA were milestones meant to ensure the civil and human rights of people with disabilities, and we must protect them against the possibility of going backward.
The lawsuit these women filed against the state declared that the unjustified isolation they suffered as the result of their disability was discrimination under Title II of the Americans with Disabilities Act of 1990 (ADA).
Like the ADA, which will celebrate its own anniversary later this month, the court’s Olmstead decision came with a promise: It is “appropriate and required” that individuals with disabilities receive the support they need to thrive in our communities.
Since these landmark human rights victories, we have made significant progress. But a quarter-century later, a lack of investment in home- and community-based services and the low wages that result threaten to turn back the clock due to a severe national shortage of direct support professionals, or DSPs, who are the backbone of the disability service delivery system.
In fact, a survey of hundreds of disability service providers across the country in 2023 found that severe staffing challenges had them facing impossible choices. More than 3 in 4 providers reported that they are no longer accepting new referrals, while 63% were forced to close programs. Meanwhile, nearly a half a million people nationally are languishing on waiting lists for services.
DSPs support people with intellectual and developmental disabilities (I/DD) to carry out activities of daily living, find and maintain employment, develop and sustain meaningful relationships, and so much more.
One of us, Doug, is a DSP whose interest in supporting others dates back to childhood. When I was 10 years old, I often babysat a little boy with Down syndrome. Even at my young age, I was aware of how his family struggled to find resources for their son, cover mounting costs, and make ends meet.
But throughout my tenure as a DSP, I’ve only seen things get worse. The people I support see skyrocketing costs for everyday essentials. Whereas I used to be able to open my wallet to help with these costs from time to time, I’m finding my own finances stretched thinner and thinner. I recently agreed to begin supporting a second person, thinking it would help me bring in more income. Instead, the additional bills mean I’m only falling farther behind.
Nevertheless, I will continue committing to this work because of the impact I know I’m having in the lives of those I support. One of the people I work with is a 65-year-old disabled trans person. When we first started working together, he experienced debilitating anxiety, had no support from family or other natural networks, and felt completely ostracized from his community. By building trust, connecting him with local support groups, and supporting him to find safe spaces, he developed the courage to come out as trans and begin his transition.
The other one of us, Barbara, leads a national association representing thousands of disability service providers like those that employ outstanding DSPs like Doug. Our entire service delivery system rests on the civil rights promises made possible through legal landmarks like Olmstead. But without increased funding for these services to improve DSP wages, more people with I/DD will struggle to find—and keep—people like Doug committed to person-centered support. And that means longer waits for services and a higher risk of unnecessary institutionalization.
Olmstead and the ADA were milestones meant to ensure the civil and human rights of people with disabilities, and we must protect them against the possibility of going backward. Both state and federal leaders have the power to do just that, but they must be willing to commit to the long-term sustainability of the DSP workforce.
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No, the ADA Did Not Fix Ableism in America
Disabled people have waited and struggled for decades for another round of legislative and cultural justice—and we are fervently organizing for it with renewed energy.
Jul 31, 2023
Every year in July, like clockwork, many Americans repeat the myth that one law passed three decades ago—the Americans with Disabilities Act, or ADA,—cured America of ableism.
I’m not just talking about former Sen. Bob Dole (R-Kan.) saying that “under the ADA, we are all winners” in 1990. Rep. Andy Kim (D-N.J.) tweeted two years ago in celebration of the ADA’s “equal access and opportunity for all,” and Minnesota State Rep. Liz Lee said last year that the ADA “ensured that all people deserve equal respect and treatment in all aspects of life.”
Many disabled people can also rattle off stories about bosses and colleagues telling them how the ADA fixed ableism.
“ADA is only the beginning. It is not a solution. Rather, it is an essential foundation on which solutions will be constructed.”
The truth: the ADA, passed on July 26, 1990, isn’t enough to defeat ableism—and it never has been. Disabled people have waited and struggled for decades for another round of legislative and cultural justice—and we are fervently organizing for it with renewed energy.
The ADA established crucial protections for many people with disabilities, but always provided the most protection for those with time and money, especially the means to hire a lawyer. Accommodations in schools and workplaces, accessibility in businesses and on public transportation, and the overall right to exist in public spaces has increased exponentially since the ADA was passed, but it is still spotty and unequal across the United States and often dependent on your disability and access to wealth.
The frequent necessity of hiring a lawyer to access ADA protections has restricted many benefits of the law to the most privileged disabled people from the very beginning.
The ADA was never supposed to be the end. As Justin Dart, Jr., considered by some to be a father of the ADA, said when it was passed: “ADA is only the beginning. It is not a solution. Rather, it is an essential foundation on which solutions will be constructed.”
The ADA mirrored the Civil Rights Act of 1964 in many ways and was a win for disability rights activists because it promised basic protections against discrimination that didn’t exist before. But just as the Civil Rights Act fails to adequately protect Black Americans and other people of color from things like racial bias, voting restrictions, violence at the hands of law enforcement, or wage and wealth gaps established through decades of government-backed plunder, the ADA also falls short.
This is why I recently co-founded an organization called New Disabled South. Our mission is to fight for liberation, justice, and fundamental rights for all disabled people in the South—and in doing so, all disabled people across the country.
It’s a big fight, because disabled people in the South are under attack—and the ADA isn’t enough to protect us. So we are fighting to expose the depth of the problems and for brand new legislative solutions. We are fighting against impossible voting barriers, like the restriction of access to absentee ballots and the criminalization of assisting disabled voters.
Our main struggle and campaign is to pass five disabled voting bills of rights over the next five years in state legislatures across the South.
These disabled voting bills of rights will protect disabled voters’ legal right to vote. We need these protections because without them we simply can’t access the polls in the ways voters should be able to easily access the polls. Given our physical restrictions, that means we need a low administrative burden right to vote by mail, to accessible polling locations, to get assistance with our ballots, and to drive-through voting—all methods of voting under attack across the South.
We have also seen extreme state violence against disabled people across the South, particularly over the past decade with high-profile cases like Ethan Saylor, Sandra Bland, Tanisha Anderson, and the fatal shooting of Magdiel Sanchez.
Those tragedies unfortunately aren’t exceptions. Nearly half of people killed by police in the United States have a disability—and these are frequently disabled people of color. Meanwhile, 55% of Black disabled men have been arrested at least once by the time they are 28, and 40% of the current prison population is disabled. Police, prisons and courts are a disability justice issue because they are hurting disabled people.
That’s why at New Disabled South we are also fighting to end such criminalization with targeted campaigns and grassroots organizing to educate disabled people around the harms of policing and to mobilize our communities to dismantle these systems. The ADA doesn’t address the dire need for systemic changes in how we are treated by cops, courts, jails, or prisons.
Our people, across every single issue you care about, need you to care about disability—because at the margins of every issue you care about you will find us.
Poverty in the disabled community, especially across the South, hasn’t been solved by the ADA. Despite supposed equal access to jobs and housing—our people are living in poverty at twice the rate of non-disabled people. And we are seeing disabled people forced out of communities and into nursing homes, at all ages. A staggering 655,000 people are on state waiting lists to receive Medicaid waivers to receive care in their homes, and parents with disabled children are often separated from their kids or forced to live in poverty because they themselves have to stay home and provide critical care. We are fighting across every single one of our states to end this inhumane backlog, investing nearly $100,000 in ad campaigns calling on state leaders to fund waiver slots. We won’t stop until every single Southern disabled person waiting to come home is home.
Everything progressives fight for is bound up in disability. Racism, environmental injustice, climate change, sexism, homophobia, transphobia, capitalism, colonialism, xenophobia—all of these are disabling forces. Our people, across every single issue you care about, need you to care about disability—because at the margins of every issue you care about you will find us.
The ADA simply doesn’t account for our multi-issue lives. We need you to be on our side.
It’s time for our political and cultural leaders to do better for disabled people. Let’s stop racist police and courts and prisons from killing Black disabled people, let’s fight for our right to vote, and let’s ensure our people come home and can afford our bills. Let’s allow all disabled people to live and thrive.
The time is now to make the lives of all disabled people better. If you’re celebrating the ADA this month, transform your celebration into action for a better future for disabled people. The ADA isn’t enough, it never was, and we need more.
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Judy Heumann, 'Mother of Disability Rights Movement,' Dies at 75
"Disability only becomes a tragedy when society fails to provide the things we need to lead our lives—job opportunities or barrier-free buildings, for example," Heumann told one reporter.
Mar 06, 2023
Disability rights advocates were joined by labor leaders, progressive politicians, and other advocates for justice on Monday in mourning the death of influential activist Judy Heumann, who began decades of advocacy work fighting for employment as a teacher and was credited with paving the way for numerous federal laws to protect people with disabilities. She was 75 and died on March 4.
Known as the "mother of the disability rights movement," Heumann's first experience with advocacy work came in 1970 after she was denied employment at a New York City public school, with the school citing her "paralysis of both lower extremities" as the reason and saying she would not be able to evacuate students and herself in case of a fire.
The denial harkened back to her treatment as a young child, when a school principal stopped Heumann's mother from enrolling her in kindergarten and said her wheelchair—which she used as a result of contracting polio at 18 months—rendered her a "fire hazard."
Heumann sued the New York City school district and won her case, becoming the city's first teacher who used a wheelchair and drawing national attention to the issue of discrimination against people with disabilities. One newspaper ran an article about the case titled, "You Can Be President, Not Teacher, with Polio," in which Heumann told the outlet, "We're not going to let a hypocritical society give us a token education and then bury us."
"Disability only becomes a tragedy when society fails to provide the things we need to lead our lives—job opportunities or barrier-free buildings, for example," she told journalist Joseph Shapiro years later. "It is not a tragedy to me that I'm living in a wheelchair."
Seven years later Heumann led more than 100 people in San Francisco in joining nationwide protests to demand that President Jimmy Carter's health, education, and welfare secretary, James Califano, implement a crucial statute within the 1973 Rehabilitation Act.
The law had been signed by President Richard Nixon and included Section 504, which prohibited institutions that receive federal funding from discriminating against disabled people. Califano delayed implementing the provision and failed to meet a deadline—April 4, 1977—set by disability rights advocates. The next day Heumann led a sit-in at a government office which turned into a weekslong occupation, culminating in Califano signing Section 504 on April 28. According to The New York Times, Heumann's action was the "longest nonviolent occupation of a federal building in American history."
"We will no longer allow the government to oppress disabled individuals," Heumann told a representative for Califano at one meeting. "We want the law enforced. We want no more segregation."
Section 504 paved the way for the Americans With Disabilities Act, which extended protections to the private sector.
"Judy's impact is vast," said the Disability Rights Education and Defense Fund. "Each action she took built on the one before it. In her early life, she learned perseverance and patience from witnessing her mother's ongoing advocacy to have her go to school with her non-disabled peers... Those years of segregation sparked her thinking about disability and identity."
Becky Pringle, president of the National Education Association, noted that Heumann's work was instrumental in securing the passage of the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act, then known as the Education for All Handicapped Children Act, in 1975.
Organizer Ady Barkan, who has amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS), wrote on social media that Heumann's decades of advocacy made it possible for people with disabilities to take part in numerous aspects of public life.
"We owe so much to Judy Heumann," he said.
Heumann served for eight years in the Clinton administration as assistant secretary of the office of special education and rehabilitation services and for seven years in the Obama administration as the State Department's first special adviser for international disability rights.
"I join the disability community in mourning the passing of Judy Heumann," said Independent Sen. Bernie Sanders of Vermont. "From leading the 504 sit-ins to fighting for the passage of the Americans with Disabilities Act, Judy dedicated her life to advancing the rights of people with disabilities. We must continue her work."
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When Courage and Love Smash Unexpected Barriers
The gentle soul and thoughtful man I know as Councilman Chris Hinds was able to take the moment of personal humiliation and struggle and turn it into a vibrant teachable moment for millions of people.
Mar 04, 2023
You may not have seen the news or you may have forgotten all about it by now. Last month, Denver City Councilman and candidate for re-election Chris Hinds was forced to crawl up onto the stage for a scheduled debate or forfeit the matching election funds from the city. The story drew attention not only locally but throughout the country and even globally. Councilman Hinds has used a wheelchair since 2008 when an accident left him paralyzed from the chest down.
Many people have wondered why any person would feel forced or compelled to respond as he did to the barrier presented. I didn’t. Our society remains grossly and intentionally uninformed about what it is like to face physical barriers due to a disability. We passed the Americans With Disabilities Act, the ADA, 29 years ago yet we still build and maintain most buildings and even our cities to accommodate people without physical disabilities. Often, until a property’s owner is confronted by a legal challenge to become ADA compliant, barriers remain unchanged.
I wasn’t in Denver when this week’s barrier-busting occurred. I was sitting in my daughter’s home relaxing on the couch when my daughter asked me if I knew anything about the disabled man she saw crawling on that stage. What? I knew who it had to be when she asked that question. Chris Hinds is the only man in a wheelchair I know who is actively campaigning right now. I pulled up the story, and when I saw and read the piece, I was dumbfounded. I was also angry and horrified. How could a venue known to celebrate the diversity of the Denver community never have needed to accommodate anyone in a wheelchair before? A dancer’s dream, that stage has launched careers and helped break cultural and economic barriers. Yet on that evening, no one had even considered a person in a wheelchair needing access. That was more than an oversight. It had never been necessary for that stage to allow disabled people to dance.
Yet, the gentle soul and thoughtful man I know as Councilman Chris Hinds was able to take the moment of personal humiliation and struggle and turn it into a vibrant teachable moment for millions of people. Undoubtedly, that particular venue will rectify the lack of access to their stage. They have already said so. It remains to be seen if the wider lesson for stages and performance venues everywhere will be truly absorbed and learned. In 2023, it ought not be necessary for any disabled person to point out that need.
Chris said today that sometimes he thinks people view the disabled as "less than" other elected leaders when they advocate for the disability community as if it's the only issue for which they are capable of advocating. Funny thing is, I see Chris as more able than most elected officials to truly understand what makes a community more fully integrated for all its people. Most disabled people understand that being highly competent in as many ways as possible is the only way to be seen and heard over the often unconscious and immediate impact their physical limitations make so obvious to the non-disabled. Even people who consider themselves compassionate can be unaware of the dynamics of their own reactions to those who are disabled.
Disabled men and women are candidates for office like Chris Hinds. More need to run, and more need to be elected. Disabled men and women are also speakers, dancers, painters, sculptors, authors, business leaders, and more. It turns out disabled people are actually complete and full human beings. And until we can actually embrace our diversity, we are all disabled by our prejudice and our arrogance.
I was at a community meeting this week with Councilman Chris Hinds and candidates Tony Pigford and Sarah Parady. Beforehand I had written a note to Chris, and I read it to him there for everyone to hear:
February 25, 2023
I have had scoliosis since I was in my 20s. It has been progressive, and doctors told us in the 1990s that I would be in a wheel chair by the time I was 55 years old. I have fought with walkers, canes and more for many years to keep myself walking. It hurts. I cannot do the things I used to do. But when I am left to hoist myself into the back of an uber ride in a huge GMC truck as my husband pushes on my ass, I feel humiliated and alone. It’s not very ladylike or even decent to feel like your body won’t do something and therefore you cannot do whatever that thing is.
I was sitting in my daughter’s home when she asked me about a news story she was seeing. She mentioned your name, Chris. I quickly read the story and saw the photo and pounded my own leg with rage. My throat hurt and I was there with you, trying so hard to do the thing I could not do – and I was broken. Then you turned it into something others might learn from. Thank you from the bottom of my heart and the crookedness of my back.
Chris, you are a hero. My hero.
Peace and power... together,
Donna
My hope, my humble ask is that everyone who reads this essay will share it and donate to the effort to make sure these wonderful people are part of making sure every human being in Denver is valued and protected equally. A great city deserves no less. Great people do too.
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