A couple of weeks ago, someone published a tweet making fun of Vice President Kamala Harris for introducing herself at a Disability Committee meeting by stating her pronouns and describing what she was wearing. The tweet comes with a link to a video so followers can hear for themselves: “I am Kamala Harris,” the vice president says. “My pronouns are she and her, and I am a woman sitting at the table wearing a blue suit.” The poster claimed it was “one of the weirdest things” they’d ever seen and said the video left them LOL=laughing out loud.

Disability advocates who responded to the tweet explained that the vice president was introducing herself to a Disability Committee, and that giving a description of her appearance like that is “accessibility protocol” for people who are blind or visually impaired.

A few followers responded with short replies like “Thanks, I hadn’t thought of that” and “Oh, that makes sense.” What was shocking was seeing how many of the loyal followers took their cue from the influencer and left rude comments about people who are blind or visually impaired — ridiculous replies like, “I wear glasses, do I count?” and “What if you’re color blind?”

Declaring something as “accessibility protocol” and the idea that people choose cruelty over understanding has left me pondering two questions:

1. What makes people be this mean?
2. Who decides what qualifies as “accessibility protocol”?

Pretty heady questions, eh? I had to do some research! If you ask me, we could have all the assistive technology and accessible protocol in the world, but if we can’t conquer the fear average people have about disability and address the assumptions they have about us, disability discrimination and ableism will never go away.

Philosopher Bertrand Russell said that fear is one of the main sources of cruelty, and that: “To conquer fear is the beginning of wisdom.” I don’t see enforcing “accessibility protocol” as a good way to conquer the fears people have about us – at its worse, it could leave people worrying about doing or saying the wrong thing and not engaging us at all.

Being blind or having another disability does mean we do some activities differently than someone without a disability, but “helper tools” can make nearly all activities possible. I am blind, and in the past year or so I’ve attended more and more events (live and virtual) where the speakers or participants are told to “self-describe” themselves before starting their presentations. You know, for the “benefit of people in the audience who have a visual impairment.” But asking people to describe what they look like can be awkward. It points out what people who are blind or have visual impairments are lacking.

I haven’t asked many of my friends who are blind what they think of self-describing. They might enjoy hearing people say what they look like, and if they do, that’s great. I’m not going to call them “weird” or make a joke about it just because it’s not something that personally benefits me.

As for the accessibility protocol itself, I’d like to have whoever it is who decides what accessibility protocol is to figure out who needs it, what situations come up where they need it, and think of ways to make changes less complicated. Hopefully, this way of implementing “accessibility protocol” will begin to build bridges.

Every July since 1990 when the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) was passed into law, I’ve felt the urge, or more accurately the pressure, to write something thoughtful that includes the essential message that disability is just one of many factors of the human experience and those of us who live with disability are no less human for the experience. Of course, I deliver this message all the time both at work and in my personal life, not just during Disability Pride Month. I have been delivering this message since I was old enough to understand that a lot of people have a large knowledge gap about disability and their fear of what the experience might be prevents most from really thinking about it beyond something to avoid at all costs. As a result, this fear/avoidance translates into poor performance when encountering people with disabilities and a world designed without due consideration of the needs of all the people living in it. Yes, the ADA and similar laws were passed to help offset this discrepancy and we are seeing an improvement in the design of buildings, public spaces and when really smart people are involved, less discrimination in the workplace and in service delivery.

While my 43-year career has focused on increasing equity for people with disabilities, disability is also deeply personal for me. I find that at 63 years old, I am well and truly angry about disability discrimination and the willful, continuing ignorance that allows that discrimination to linger and even grow. I find that some people are only giving lip service to disability equity while they are all too ready to abandon the concept whenever it is openly challenged. Technology companies large and small develop software and web-based applications as tools to enhance productivity in the workplace, and every day I struggle to keep up because how these technologies interface with my screen-reading software is at best inconsistent, cumbersome and lagging behind every upgrade release, or at worst never considered at all, making it difficult for me to compete with my colleagues. I’ve instead risked my health over the years by developing a pattern of overachieving in other ways in order to make myself a beneficial employee despite the difficulty in filling out time sheets or collaborating on documents in shared spaces. The fact that this has been necessary frustrates me. True equity would afford me the opportunity to maintain employment while being an average worker. The number of people who I personally know who are blind and who have been seriously injured by drivers who didn’t see them because they weren’t considering pedestrians as they maneuvered their vehicles through traffic, continues to grow, while legal remedies for such negligence are still mostly nonexistent, and this enrages me almost beyond rational thought.

So, am I turning into a curmudgeon who shakes her fist at all perceived infractions against people with disabilities in this still mostly inequitable world? Probably not, though I reserve the right to shake my fist when I feel like it. I still believe that the best path forward is to continue to educate and allow people to build their knowledge base around disability and evolve into a social consciousness that no longer shuns diversity, but I’m also done pretending that ignorance is acceptable. It’s just not. Most of what people need to learn about the disability experience are things I can’t actually teach. Real change requires that knowledge shared is internalized, processed and used to inform thought and action. Each of us must take on that responsibility for personal growth if we want to really create change. So rather than waiting for me and others like me to teach you what you need to know about disability, try educating yourself.

The next time you are walking around the neighborhood, think about what the experience would be like if you were sitting in a wheelchair. How would that change your line of sight as you look around? Would it change the path you choose? What would it feel like? Is the path smooth and easy to roll across or are there barriers that limit progress?

Stop wherever you are right now and use senses other than vision to experience the space you are in. Close your eyes if that is helpful, but it’s not necessary. Just focus on sound or smell, or touch. What do you hear? What can you deduce about your surroundings through sound alone? How would adding touch to the experience improve what you know about what is around you?

When people are asked to think about what it is like to be blind, they spend a lot of time thinking about the not seeing part. I get it. It scares a lot of people and makes even more feel uncomfortable. But you’re not being asked to go blind, just to think about it rationally. What happens after you spend an inordinate amount of time pondering the concept of not seeing? Can you make yourself work past this just a little bit to think about alternative ways of accomplishing the things you already know how to do? Would you really choose to give up on experiencing life because one of your five senses doesn’t work like everyone else’s? Isn’t it more likely that after you are done wallowing in this sense of loss for a while, that you’d start to adapt? And once you start adapting, might you also then start to consider how to build some serious skills that would provide even more independence? And if you’ve made it this far, can you entertain the notion that there are advantages to developing a better sense of touch, hearing, smell, and taste? Might it actually change your view of life around you because you now have additional perspectives from which to observe the world?

So, this is my disability pride message for 2022. I’m blind. I use my other senses and select tools I find useful to do the same things everyone else does. I’m not amazing. I’m not subpar. I am a subject matter expert in a few things, and am of average intelligence in a lot of other things. I try to be kind , but I’m not very patient. I am generally upbeat, but I can also be a grouch with a sharp tongue.

Wait. Is this becoming an song? “And what it all comes down to is that [we] haven’t got it all figured out just yet. I’ve got one hand [on my cane] and the other one is giving a peace sign.”

My Disability Pride month story starts with the truth – I wasn’t always so proud.

15 years ago, lying in a hospital bed in Atlanta, I was insecure and depressed. I was paralyzed.

At first, I didn’t want to live – it all just seemed too hard to handle. Life wouldn’t be the same and wouldn’t be worth living. A few weeks passed, and I was halfway convinced I was living in a bad dream. Surely, I would soon wake up to my old life, where I could walk, throw a baseball, and wax my truck.

After a few months, the reality of my injury slowly set in, and I started to accept what had happened. In doing so, I regained a bit of my humor, but lacked confidence.

As I tried to cope with my new normal as a quadriplegic, I was incredibly lucky to have a unique security blanket in the nurses and therapists at the Shepherd Center. Shepherd, a traumatic brain injury and spinal cord injury hospital, was an excellent place for me and my family to learn our new normal. It was at Shepherd where I got my first wheelchair, learned voice recognition, and started my first therapies.

Shepherd was full of people who understood spinal cord injury. As I rolled around the hallways halfway dressed, a halo attached to my head, and a ventilator tube attached to my neck, no one looked at me differently. We were all normal. We were all there to support each other. It was home.

After four months at Shepherd, I returned home to Evansville, but I felt very vulnerable. No longer were we surrounded by nurses who always knew what to do. We were “out in the wild” of the world, where most people didn’t know a thing about spinal cord injury. It scared the hell out of me.

I can distinctly remember my first trip to the movie theater in Evansville. My friends were ecstatic to check out the newly released “Superman,” who coincidentally – with the influence of Christopher Reeve, a fellow quadriplegic – had quickly become my new “superhero icon.”

We loaded up in my big, clunky blue van, and made our way to Showplace Cinemas. That first van we owned was awful. It was way too big, it rode terribly rough, and worst of all, IT WAS A VAN. As a young man who prided himself on his bad ass trucks, I was now stuck in a blue Ford van! Depressing.

As we parked at the theater, I felt a tingle of excitement to check out a new film, and bond with my friends. But, I was nervous as to how people in the movie theater would react to the sounds of my ventilator (much like a loud Darth Vader breathing) during the quiet parts of the movie. Would that bother people? Would I be an inconvenience? I told myself all would be okay.

“Errrgg……” the bulky ramp folded out from the side of the ugly blue Ford van. It was time to get out.

I rolled out on the pavement in front of the theater, and it was in that moment I was struck by a sight I’ll never forget – a school bus full of kids staring straight at me, watching my every move. Panic.

I knew those young kids were judging me. This wasn’t the experience of the Shepherd Center, where everyone knew about spinal cord injury. I was outside my element, and I was, quite literally, paralyzed with anxiety. I didn’t want to go see a movie anymore. In that moment, I wanted to go home.

“Just breathe. Look away. Don’t worry about it. Let it go,” I told myself.

Knowing going home wasn’t an option (my friends would have kicked my butt for cowering down to some kids), I tried to act as nothing happened, and we continued to see Superman with most of my initial excitement. The movie was lovely, a trip out with my friends was fun, but those daunting sets of eyeballs – and the following fear of insecurity as a person with disability – was blazed into my memory forever.

Years later, I look back on that moment – a still young, newly injured Ben – and I’m proud of how far I’ve come. In fact, I often share the story of “those damn kids” when I speak to audiences about my journey after spinal cord injury, and the pursuit of confidence, and regaining my sense of humor and purpose.

At that time in my life, I was insecure. I still am to some degree, but I’ve become very proud of who I am.

If those kids were looking at me today, I’d say “hey, what’s up y’all” and wouldn’t think twice about it.

I was once very insecure about my disability. After 15 years, graduating college, working a full-time job, finding my advocacy voice as a National Ambassador for Easterseals, traveling across the country to advocate for accessible airlines, and even running a political campaign and getting elected – I’m damn proud. And yes, that very much includes my disability.

As we celebrate Disability Pride month, it’s more important than ever to discover what makes you proud of who you are, and even more importantly, the journey that got you to where you are today.

My Disability Pride story starts with a simple trip to the movie theater, how about yours?

The Chicago U.S. Attorney’s office announced it was suing the Chicago Cubs over the recent years-long renovation of Wrigley Field to force them to comply with the Americans with Disabilities Act. Hearing that news got me thinking about what happened at Wrigley Field the first and only time I ever went to a Cubs game with my Seeing Eye dog. When we got there, the man taking tickets said he didn’t know if the dog was allowed. I pointed to her harness, told him she was a Seeing Eye dog, and he sent me to a different gate. The man at the second gate wasn’t sure, either. He’d have to get a supervisor to come and check us out.

Turns out a week earlier someone had brought their untrained puppy to Wrigley, claiming the dog was a service dog. The dog misbehaved, fans sitting nearby complained, and after that, the people working the gates were told to scrutinize anyone coming in with a service dog.

So my Seeing Eye dog and I stood there and waited for the guy at the second gate to summon a supervisor to come and “approve” us.

We didn’t have to wait long, but we sure stuck out just standing there while all the other ticket holders breezed by and waltzed right into the ballpark, no problem. It just didn’t seem fair somehow.

When the supervisor arrived, she saw my dog’s harness and immediately gave us the thumbs up. She even guided us to our seats. We enjoyed the game. I never considered suing, but that’s only because mine was an easy fix. I did get in, I had a seat, my Seeing Eye dog could guide me in and out of the restrooms when I needed to go, I could reach the paper towel dispenser after washing my hands there, and the cashiers could see me when I walked up to the counter to order food.

For people with physical disabilities – those using wheelchairs, scooters or crutches, for example – the fixes are not that easy. The Fed’s suit against the Cubs claims Countertops in restrooms and at concession stands at Wrigley are too high for people using wheelchairs to reach paper towels or order food. An article in the Chicago Sun-Times reports the feds’ investigation of Wrigley’s ADA compliance became public in December 2019, when lawyers for the team filed a letter as part of a lawsuit brought by David Cerda, a Cubs fan with Duchenne muscular dystrophy who uses a wheelchair. His father, David Alberto Cerda, is also his attorney.

The Cubs have spent a lot of time and money renovating Wrigley Field these past few years, but an article in Sports Illustrated says the 2019 lawsuit states that while the Cubs “significantly enhanced the gameday experience for many fans, particularly those able to take advantage of premium clubs and other luxury accommodations, the same can not be said for fans with disabilities.” You can check out the entire 19-page lawsuit here — the suit also highlights how the Cubs failed to remove architectural barriers where they could, and instead they placed wheelchair seating in the last row of general admission.

I haven’t studied ADA regulations to know if relegating people using wheelchairs to the last row in a stadium is an infraction, but I do know this: Cub fans stand up and cheer a lot during games. If you are seated in a wheelchair in the last row with all those people standing in front of you, your sightlines will be terrible –you’re bound to miss a lot of the action on the field.

The Chicago Sun-Times article quotes the team as saying they are “disappointed in the lawsuit” and hoped the suit could be “resolved amicably.” The team also said it would “defend Wrigley Field” and defend their position that Wrigley meets accessibility requirements for fans.

I’m eager to see how it all, ahem, plays out.

We are happy to introduce a guest blogger today – Grace W. Dow. Grace is an advocate and a writer. Through her writing, Grace places a spotlight on various disability issues and perspectives as a person with cerebral palsy.

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The 32nd anniversary of The Americans with Disabilities Act takes place on the 26th of this month. While this was a defining moment for the community, equality for disabled people in the United States still has a long way to go. Physical access to restaurants, stores, and schools is excellent. Because of the ADA, I attended local public schools when I was growing up. This meant that I could go to sporting events and other activities at school as well. I could watch my younger sibling’s sporting events because the gym was ADA compliant. However, physical accessibility is only one aspect of equality. Ableism and related attitudes hold us back more than you may think.

I’ve been looking for work for the past three years and have been unsuccessful. Too often, when employers find out that I have Cerebral Palsy, they are no longer interested in hiring me. Such discrimination is illegal according to the ADA, yet it still happens. Employers need to embrace having those with disabilities as a part of their workplaces. Ableism is the real reason why I am unemployed right now.

I’d love to see a day where more Americans with disabilities are employed in their communities alongside non-disabled people earning fair wages. Hiring people with disabilities makes sense from a business perspective as well. We are creative thinkers and excellent problem solvers because living with a disability often requires ingenuity. In addition, employees with disabilities are dedicated to their jobs. They routinely outperform their non-disabled peers in terms of the number of missed workdays, daily punctuality or adherence to a regular work schedule, and retention in their current positions.

Those with disabilities are also eager to work. According to research, having persons with disabilities in the workplace boosts staff morale, strengthens teamwork, and improves the quality and efficiency of other employees.

Hiring people with disabilities also makes financial sense. The organizations that have committed to changing their diversity policies to be more inclusive in recruiting, hiring, and retaining individuals with disabilities have experienced a positive impact on their bottom line, enhancing productivity, customer loyalty, and profitability.

A diverse, inclusive workplace is seen favorably by others. Companies that are socially conscious are more successful in today’s economy. Customers care about your business practices since they have a direct impact on their decision to buy. The vast majority of customers have higher opinions of businesses that employ a diverse, equitable, and inclusive workforce, including persons with disabilities on their teams and in their branding and marketing initiatives.

Americans with disabilities are also left behind in other ways. In recent years, America has come a long way in the fight for marriage equality. The Supreme Court determined in 2015 that same-sex marriage is a constitutional right in the United States. This was unquestionably a huge step forward in terms of marriage equality. However, many disabled people who rely on programs like Medicaid and Supplemental Security Income (SSI) are still unable to marry without having their benefits reduced or taken away entirely.

I am one of the many Americans who still can’t marry in the United States. I rely on Medicaid and SSI to survive because, without these programs, I’d be unable to live in my community. I dream of getting married in the future, but I won’t be able to unless these rules change.

While the Americans with Disabilities Act was a landmark piece of legislation, we still have so much work to do in the fight for true equality for disabled people in America.

Works Cited:

• “All in: Easterseals Plan for Disability Equity.” Easterseals, Easterseals, https://www.easterseals.com/our-programs/employment-training/all-in/.
• Liptak, Adam. “Supreme Court Ruling Makes Same-Sex Marriage a Right Nationwide.” The New York Times, The New York Times, 26 June 2015, www.nytimes.com/2015/06/27/us/supreme-court-same-sex-marriage.html.
• Star, Eryn. “Marriage Equality Is Still Not a Reality: Disabled People and the Right to Marry.” Advocacy Monitor, National Council on Independent Living, 14 Nov. 2019, advocacymonitor.com/marriage-equality-is-still-not-a-reality-disabled-people-and-the-right-to-marry/.