Portrait of Angeth Mayen

May 24, 2024, is a date I will never forget. Before last year, I didn’t fully understand the struggles faced by people with disabilities. I knew disability existed, but it felt distant from my everyday life. That changed overnight when I was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes. Suddenly, I had to confront inequities in the healthcare system, the lack of public understanding of disabilities, and how having an invisible disability can change the way you navigate the world.

I had some resources when I was diagnosed that others do not have. I have an older brother who also lives with Type 1 Diabetes, so I had someone to guide me through the toughest early months. However, when I transitioned from high school to college, I found myself navigating a system that I barely understood. For the first time, I was a disabled student, and I didn’t even know what accommodations were. I still saw myself as the same person I always was, but my body and my needs had changed significantly. I could no longer sit through a two-hour exam without monitoring my blood sugar. I needed snacks readily available. I needed breaks. I needed professors and administrators who understood.

It took me almost two months to understand what my university’s Student Disability Services office actually did. Once I connected with them, I was supported, respected, and given every accommodation I needed. That experience was validating, but some students with disabilities across the country do not have such a positive experience. It reminded me that the right to learn, participate, and succeed should not depend on luck or whether you happen to know the right resources.

Disabled students’ rights to education exist because of the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act (IDEA). IDEA is a law that guarantees students with disabilities a free, appropriate public education tailored to their specific needs. It was enacted in 1975 as the Education for All Handicapped Children Act. Before that, disabled students were often institutionalized, excluded, or denied access to education altogether. I grew up in a world where IDEA already existed, so I took it for granted. Many of us do. However, as IDEA turns 50 years old, it’s clear that merely having this law is insufficient. States are expected to follow IDEA, but their actions tell a different story.

On June 20, 2025, the U.S. Department of Education issued the annual determination letters regarding state implementation of IDEA. Each state receives a rating based on its performance in implementing IDEA, as assessed through its State Performance Plan. States fall into one of four categories: meets requirements, needs assistance (one year), needs assistance (two or more consecutive years), or needs intervention.

These ratings are important because they clearly demonstrate whether states are meeting their legal responsibilities to students with disabilities, and the 2025 figures are concerning. 

This year, ratings improved in only three states, while dropping in five states. Over the 12 years from 2014 to 2025, only six states consistently earned a “Meets Requirements” rating each year. Every other state in the country has failed to meet IDEA requirements at least once in the past decade. This means that less than half of school-age students with disabilities live in states that meet the IDEA requirements. That fact alone should be concerning. But the deeper issue is structural. It’s not that states have suddenly worsened; the system used to evaluate them has worsened. 

Starting in 2014, the Department of Education introduced the Results Driven Accountability (RDA) system. RDA aimed to shift focus from paperwork to real student outcomes. On the surface, that seems helpful. However, in practice, it created a scoring system that ranked states against one another.

Even if all states improve at the same rate, some would still end up in the lowest categories. This creates a system where it’s nearly impossible for every state to earn a “Meets Requirements” rating, regardless of their overall improvements. All states could be doing well, yet the scoring would still classify them as winners and losers. The RDA system depends too much on ranking and too little on properly assessing students with disabilities through long-term goals and accurate performance measures. This makes it hard to identify which states are genuinely succeeding and which are falling behind, leading to difficulties in determining which states need more intervention from the federal government.

However, it’s challenging to focus on fixing the inner workings of a system that is being dismantled at the helm. The Department of Education faces budget cuts and significant staff reductions, including those responsible for enforcing IDEA. When oversight diminishes, accountability decreases too. And when accountability weakens, students like me who rely on IDEA protections are the ones most impacted.

The recent government shutdown highlighted the Trump administration’s and the Department of Education’s stance on disability rights and federal oversight. The administration used the shutdown to argue that the Department of Education is merely a channel for distributing funds to the states, and they claimed that states can manage the money independently. However, this view overlooks the department’s true importance. Currently, there are proposals to move the Office for Civil Rights (OCR) and the Office of Special Education and Rehabilitative Services (OSERS) into agencies like the Departments of Justice and Labor, which lack the expertise and institutional knowledge needed to protect the rights of students with disabilities. During the shutdown, OCR cases went unresolved, and districts were unable to access important information.

Additionally, recent office closures and staff reductions have already led to thousands of dismissed cases and fewer investigations, leaving students without meaningful protections for their rights. IDEA, OCR, and OSERS are not optional programs, funds, or administrative chores; they are lifelines. They are the reason students with disabilities have a chance at equal education, and weakening them jeopardizes all of that.

If we want the next 50 years to be different from the last for disabled students, we must speak out. We need to advocate for federal investment in special education, stronger oversight, and reforms that guarantee fair and meaningful accountability. Students with disabilities deserve more than just the bare minimum. They deserve schools and states that consistently and fully meet their obligations.

IDEA transformed everything. Now we have to fight to keep it alive.

Angeth Mayen is a second year at the University of Chicago studying political science with a focus on law, public policy, and disability rights. She serves in multiple campus leadership roles and is currently a Policy Fellow with the American Association of People with Disabilities, where she researches federal programs like SSI and SNAP. She hopes to pursue a career in public interest law and policy centered on access, equity, and community impact.

The post IDEA at 50: Why Disability Rights in Education Cannot Be Taken for Granted appeared first on AAPD.

Photo of Dr. Jackee Jackson

This Election Day, local elections across the country will shape the policies and choose the leaders that influence our daily lives. In addition to hundreds of local elections, New Jersey and Virginia will vote on statewide offices, like Governor and Lieutenant Governor, and state legislators.

As millions of disabled voters head to the polls today, we asked Dr. Jackee Jackson, a leader from REV UP New Jersey, to share her journey as a voter and why building the power of the disability vote matters.

When I turned 19 years old, I had an opportunity to cast my first vote in my local township. Being a first-time voter was a huge milestone for me because it symbolized adulthood and civic responsibility as a United States citizen. It gave me a sense of pride and feeling of empowerment. It was a liberating experience knowing that my vote has power and that my vote is my voice. 

Reflecting back on my ancestors who “fought, bled, cried and died” for the right to vote motivated me to become actively engaged in the election process for the rest of my life. I sincerely honor the brave men and women who sacrificed their lives for African Americans and other minorities to vote.

I am grateful for the 15th and 19th Amendments to the U.S. Constitution which granted African American men and women the right to vote. I am also grateful for the Voting Rights Act of 1965, the Civil Rights Movement, and Affirmative Action for securing voting rights and other opportunities for African Americans.

Voting is a fundamental right for all citizens, yet people with disabilities continue to struggle to vote. Over the years, I have served as a poll worker and I learned that many polling sites were not accessible or accommodating to people with disabilities. 

Sadly, even though July 26, 2025 marked the 35th Anniversary of the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA), not all polling places are accessible. Architectural barriers, including a lack of accessible parking spaces, curb cuts, or automatic doors, can make it difficult for voters with disabilities to vote in person and even keep them from accessing the ballot entirely.

This inspired me to advocate for accessible polling sites to ensure that people with disabilities can register and cast their votes. I realized that one way for me to do this was to join REV UP, which stands for “Register, Educate, Vote, Use Your Power”. 

As a strong disability advocate in New Jersey, I am part of the REV UP Voting campaign with the Alliance Center for Independence (ACI). REV UP is composed of state and national coalitions, as well as other disability organizations. Their goal is to increase the disability vote through voter registration drives and voter education in order to protect and foster community civic engagement for Americans with disabilities. 

I am involved with REV UP and ACI to help make the disability vote count. I am passionate about being the voice for the voiceless and speaking out on behalf of the disability community. 

According to the Rutgers Program for Disability Research, the voting turnout of people with disabilities is on the rise. Close to 62% of people with disabilities voted in 2020, compared to 56% in 2016. These statistics reveal the importance of motivating the next generations to register and vote.

However, voting suppression also continues to rise. Therefore, it is crucial for voters with disabilities to urge Congress to expand and improve the John Lewis Voting Rights Act to preserve our democracy and protect the rights of people with disabilities. 

As a seasoned voter for over 45 years, I have learned that every vote counts and every election matters, whether it is the school board or the Presidential election. Voting is the best way to voice your opinion on issues that are important to you. In the disability community, we advocate for “Nothing About Us, Without Us”.

The theme of REV UP, “Register, Educate, Vote, Use Your Power”, is of vital importance to me because it sends a powerful message to voters with disabilities. I strongly believe that it is crucial to inform voters with disabilities that they have options when planning to register to vote.

As a voter with a disability, you have the right to:

• Vote privately and independently
• Have an accessible polling place and accessible voting machines
• Seek assistance from workers at the polling place who have been trained to use the accessible voting machines
• Bring someone to help you vote. (As long as that person is not your employer or union representative. Different states may have additional restrictions on voter assistance.)

For this upcoming election, and all elections, I encourage voters with disabilities to use your power to vote and join REV UP. The final message that I want to send to all voters with disabilities is to remember that:

Our vote matters!
Our vote is our voice!
Our voices deserve to be heard!         

Remember what Justin Dart, known as the Godfather of the ADA, said…

“Vote as if your life depends on it … because it does!”

To get connected to REV UP New Jersey and or find a REV UP coalition in your area, go to: www.aapd.com/revup-join/. You can find state coalition calls and national calls on our REV UP Event Dashboard. The next REV UP National Call will be on November 19, 1-3 p.m. ET. Stay connected to the REV UP movement by joining our listserv.

Bio: Doctor Jacqueline Jackson, is a “Voice for the Voiceless” and a strong well-known advocate in New Jersey and is passionate about restoring the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA). 

Jackson has been instrumental with her advocacy efforts with the Association for People with Disabilities (AAPD/REVUP), Alliance for Independence (ACI) and the National Multiple Sclerosis Society (MS) lobbying on the local level, the state level in Trenton and on the federal level in Washington DC. Jackson has visited the White House many times and has personally met President Obama.  

The post The Disability Vote Matters appeared first on AAPD.

Photo of Emma O’Neill-Dietel

Can a historian’s work be linked to activism while still giving a fair and balanced account of history? As a Master’s of Public History student at the University of Massachusetts Amherst, I spent the summer confronting this question while I researched queer disability history for my degree. 

In the field of public history, which refers to history outside of an academic setting, like in museums, historic sites, and digital media, scholars and practitioners have long debated how historians should walk the line between academia and activism. Because I am queer and disabled, my scholarship, activism, and identities are difficult to separate.

I spent the summer of 2025 researching and writing about disability history for the Rainbow History Project, an archive of local queer history in Washington, D.C. This research culminated in an interactive map and digital exhibit on Deaf LGBTQ+ history in D.C., along with internal resources on disability history for the archive. 

Outside of work, I attended political and cultural events within D.C.’s queer and disabled communities: protests, rallies, speeches, and even a disability pride cabaret. Come August, I protested the federal occupation of D.C., too. These events were more than just how I spent my free time; they were reminders of why I wanted to work in this field in the first place.

While I was working in D.C., the White House announced an internal review of Smithsonian exhibits, which will no doubt target LGBTQ+ history, disability history, and other so-called “DEI topics.” This review follows efforts to erase queer history in schools and historic sites, attacks on trans people, an attempt to challenge gay marriage in the Supreme Court, and the dismantling of Medicaid. 

In the face of all of this, it was easy to feel discouraged and feel like my work is minuscule compared to the urgent needs of my community. But gathering with friends and strangers to protest, and even to celebrate in spite of it all, gave new meaning to my academic work. People I met at community events were excited to learn about my research and pleasantly surprised to know that there are still institutions willing to fund it. I tapped into the most pressing issues facing queer and disabled people today to better understand how they relate to our historical struggles. Even the simple act of seeing and talking to fellow disabled people on a regular basis kept me grounded and reminded me how much our shared history connects us.

I often think about a set of photos I encountered in my research that show Deaf Washingtonians partying at Pride and walking in the March on Washington for Lesbian and Gay Rights from the 1970s to the 2000s. In the photos, people beam with pride while waving colorful banners and signing “I love you” to onlookers. 

I also think about the disability activists who held the line with queer activists when they demanded that people with HIV/AIDS be included in the Americans with Disabilities Act. These moments in history bring me hope, joy, and recognition of a piece of myself.

The Rainbow Alliance of the Deaf and the Lambda Alliance of Gallaudet University marching in the 1987 March on Washington for Lesbian and Gay Rights (Steven Frank & Ed Knight, March on Washington Collection, Rainbow History Project)

At a recent event honoring queer disability activist Stacey Park Milbern at the Smithsonian National Museum of American History, Stacey’s friends and colleagues Yomi Young and Mia Ives-Rublee talked about the importance of ancestors in the disability community. Because many of us are born to families that don’t share our disabilities, and because our community is vast and disparate, it is up to us to seek out our ancestors and honor them. 

The two speakers talked about Stacey as an ancestor and recalled how hard she worked to connect disabled people to each other in a long lineage of community. For queer people, the search for queer ancestors is much the same. It wasn’t until that event that I fully understood my desire to see myself in history as part of my search for my own ancestry.

History is political because the lives of the people and communities I study are inherently political. Queer people and disabled people are currently under continual political threats that mirror what we have endured in the past. Celebrating our history, especially when paired with action in the present, has the potential to buoy us through hard times. 

My work as an aspiring historian is balanced, thoughtful, and factual. But as long as queer and disabled identities are politicized, my work cannot be neutral. Aligning with activism will remain part of my historical practice.

Emma O’Neill-Dietel is a master’s student at the University of Massachusetts Amherst studying public history at the intersection of gender, sexuality, and disability. Emma is currently a Totman Fellow with the DC History Center and has worked on public history initiatives for numerous organizations including WETA PBS, the National Park Service, National History Day, and the Smith College Historic Clothing Collection.

The post Queer Disability History Can’t Be Neutral appeared first on AAPD.

The Fall Internship Program, now in its third year, builds on the success of AAPD’s Internship Program model to develop stronger disability identities within students and recent graduates with disabilities, so they can better shape the future of our workplaces and communities. Due to the fully virtual and part-time opportunity, our Fall Internship Program provides more flexible opportunities for disabled students and recent graduates to access meaningful employment, gain leadership skills, and connect to the broader disability community. 

During the program, AAPD provides interns with a competitive wage, technology support, mentorship, and many networking and educational opportunities. Interns also participate in AAPD’s Disability Advocacy Certificate Program and learn about effective advocacy methods and key issues within the disability community. The Fall interns met in-person at the end of July during the week of the anniversary of the Americans with Disabilities Act, prior to the start of the internship, to build connections and get to know each other (and some of the summer interns!).

ID: A group of AAPD interns wearing masks are gathered around the yellow AAPD sign at the AAPD office.The interns in the group are diverse in their  races, genders, and disabilities. 

During their visit to DC in July, the AAPD  AAPD interns attended many disability community events and activities, such as:

• Welcome Dinner with fellow fall interns and the AAPD Internship Staff
• Disability Object Talk with curator Katherine Ott at the National Museum of American History
• AAPD’s American with Disabilities Act Anniversary Celebration with NCIL
• Disability Trivia 
• Dessert Social to network with AAPD staff 
• Professional headshots by Jeevan Portraits

The 2025 Fall Internship Class is:

• Ahna Guillaume (he/they) – National Black Justice Collective
• ileim moss – Partnership for Inclusive Disaster Strategies
• Jason Green (he/him) – Caring Across Generations
• Joshua Blackwell (he/him) – Unlock Access
• Kemper Gingerich (he/him) – Center for Democracy and Technology
• Maddox O’Rourke (he/him) – World Institute on Disability
• Makayla Allen (she/her) – Autistic Women & Nonbinary Network
• Marrow Kilgore (they/them) – Project LETS
• Nicole (they/she) – New Disabled South
• Rocío Díaz (she/her) – National Disability Rights Network

You can read the Fall 2025 Intern’s full bios and learn more about them here.

The 2025 AAPD Fall Internship Program would not be possible without the generous support of Arconic Foundation.

The post Introducing the 2025 Fall Internship Program Cohort appeared first on AAPD.

Photo of Emmett Lockwood

Content warning: this post discusses disturbing topics including environmental disasters, wildfires, Indigenous residential schools, death, and educational abuse of Indigenous children.

Our bodies bear the scars of the land and the land bears the scars of our bodies. I use this phrase when trying to explain how I conceptualize my own embodiment. I am a mixed white and reconnecting Pimicikamak Cree person. I am also a disabled, Crip, and Mad person. I find that Cree cultural beliefs help me frame my embodiment. The ongoing climate crisis shows us how warfare and environmental collapse are making us all more disabled. While this awareness is important, it is worth noting how for many Indigenous people, our bodies and the land can’t be nicely separated.

Our bodies bear the scars of the land. This summer I watched in horror as wildfires ripped through Pimicikamak Cree Nation reservation land. While I grew up disconnected from the community living in the U.S., the images left me grieving. Pimicikamak people were forced to evacuate down to Winnipeg, nearly 500 miles away. Evacuees did not know what would be left of the community or whether the Kichi Sipi, the river running from ᐄᐧᓂᐯᐠ Wînipêk (Lake Winnipeg) to ᐐᓂᐹᒄ Wînipâkw (Hudson Bay), would keep out the fire. 

These fires were life threatening. The primary road route to Winnipeg, highway MB-6, went directly through the path of the fire. For many people, the quickest way to escape was by plane. While the tribal government stepped in to arrange hotel accommodations and priority evacuation for those with asthma, pulmonary conditions, or other disabilities that would be exacerbated by the smoke and fire, the wildfire smoke spread throughout the province, affecting air quality for everyone.

The tribal government had to scramble to cover the medical and food costs for over 800 of the wildfire evacuees, and external organizations attempting to replace medications and medical devices encountered delays. Evacuation and wildfires are especially dangerous for disabled people who often experience the worst effects of smoke, lack accessible communication about planned evacuations, and face barriers to medical care during protracted evacuations.

Destruction of land is not new. Indigenous land, whether it be through wildfires or flooding, has disproportionately faced the environmental impacts of settler colonialism for centuries. For instance, in 1979, Manitoba Hydro built the Jenpeg dam right off Pimickimak Cree reserve land as part of a larger hydroelectric project. This dam led to flooding of treaty land, including land often used for traditional ceremonies. 

This destruction doesn’t just disable the land, but disables us along with it. Environmental exposure to wildfire smoke fills our lungs. The loss of our land is a form of generational trauma. Colonization keeps burning and flooding our homes and our bodies along with it.

The land bears the scars of our bodies. In 2024, ground-penetrating radar was used to locate mass graves of children. These children, many of whom were Pimicikamak, were killed while attending the Cross Lake residential school. The Cross Lake residential school was run by the Catholic church from 1915 to 1969. 187 ground anomalies were found in a survey of school grounds and other areas formally held by the residential school.Each anomaly was a child’s body. Before the use of radar, there had been records found that suggested 85 students died while attending the school. The radar discovered close to 200 children’s bodies, found without names. 

These children’s spirits, descendants, and communities do not have any  closure. The land holds our children. The land holds our ancestors deep in its dirt. The land keeps their small bones safe from the elements. The land waited for us to one day discover the scars in the land. The land waited for us to acknowledge the trauma we all carry as First Nations people from the brutal history of residential schools.

My body and history can’t be dissected from the land. ᐊᐧᐦᑯᐦᑐᐃᐧᐣ wahkôtowin is a Cree belief that we are in relation with the land, plants, animals, each other, spiritual beings, our ancestors, and our descendants. Wahkôtowin includes understanding that violence against the land harms people and vice versa. As we work towards decolonial disability justice, we can’t keep using conceptions of disability that continue to locate disability only in the body. We must remember that our bodies and the land are connected, and we must build systems that honor that truth.

Emmett Lockwood (he/they) is a mixed white and Pimicikamak Cree, queer, disabled, Mad and Crip scholar and current graduate student at York University pursuing an M.A. in Critical Disability Studies. Lockwood was a 2024 AAPD Summer Intern and has served in various non-profit and legislative disability policy roles. Their current research interest is looking at how Indigenous Data Sovereignty and data privacy play out in healthcare systems that are increasingly driven by artificial intelligence.

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A picture of Marcy Hannah Waring standing in front of a grey background. She is a light skinned Latina/Asian woman with shoulder length blonde hair, brown square glasses, and red lipstick. She looks at the camera with a slight frown. She wears a beige blazer over a white shirt.

Content warning: this post discusses disturbing topics such as eugenics and anti-autistic ableism.

Robert F. Kennedy Jr. made an announcement back in April that Donald Trump gave him a mission on day one of his presidential term — find the cause of the supposed autism “epidemic”. I have previously debunked the “autism epidemic” lie as a combination of expanded diagnostic criteria, increased knowledge, and greater diagnoses among marginalized communities. Many others in the autistic community have made similar fact-checks. 

Yet, on September 23rd, Kennedy ignored our evidence-based outcry and claimed to have reached his goal. In this announcement, the Trump administration advised pregnant individuals to avoid acetaminophen products, commonly sold under the brand name Tylenol. The administration referenced studies that found an association between prenatal exposure to acetaminophen and neurodevelopmental disorders like Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD) and labeled prenatal acetaminophen use as a supposed cause of ASD. 

Fact checkers were quick to jump on this claim and label it an inaccurate stretch of science. Zero studies have shown a causational relationship between prenatal acetaminophen use and ASD. Only an association has been suggested. An association is very different from a cause.

The Trump administration took this imaginary causal relationship and ran with it despite its scientific flaws. They suggest that ASD is something to be prevented – and that expecting mothers should play a role in that by refusing acetaminophen. During the September announcement, President Trump directly appealed to mothers:

“You shouldn’t take [Tylenol] during the entire pregnancy…[Only in cases of] extremely high fever that you feel you can’t tough it out, if you can’t do it…that’s what you’re gonna have to do. You’ll take a Tylenol…Fight like hell not to take it” (President Trump, 2025)

This is a clear, though inaccurate, guide for mothers to avoid having an autistic child. This creates a real risk that mothers to autistic children could be socially stigmatized and blamed for their child’s autism. A PBS documentary titled “Refrigerator Mothers” platformed mothers of autistic children in the 1960s to tell their stories. Their message was clear: maternal blame leads to familial separation. 

A serious question needs to be asked – Why is this administration trying to tell individuals how to avoid birthing an autistic child?

The answer is in eugenics. Eugenics has three principles.

1) Humans with undesirable qualities should be prevented from being born into society.
2) There should be attempts to cure undesirables if they manage to enter society.
3) These undesirables should avoid reproduction due to the risk of creating more of them in society.

We heard these principles clearly throughout the administration’s announcement:

“[We are discovering] how patients and parents can prevent and reverse this alarming trend” (Kennedy, 2025)

But I do not want a cure. I do not think my mom should have prevented me. And I certainly do not want a crucial part of my identity to be reversed. What I want is for U.S. politicians to stop bemoaning my existence and to actually fund supports for my community.

People might say I am overlooking the stressful aspects of autism or ignoring the parents of children with profound autism who do want a cure. I am not overlooking this, I just have a different perspective. 

Yes, I hit myself during meltdowns. I get exhausted from my strong emotions. I go nonverbal at the worst times. And, yes, my sensory issues are so intense that sometimes I even forbid my partner from holding my hand. 

But I get treatment for these issues. My concern is not with voluntary treatment that helps us manage the difficult symptoms of ASD. My concern is with the harmful ideas of a “cure” and  “prevention.”

Stop conflating ASD treatments with ASD cures and preventions. You cannot honestly claim to love an autistic person while simultaneously wishing they weren’t born the way they were. You cannot claim that changing someone’s identity is in their best interest unless you are a proponent of conversion therapy. 

I ask you to consider that autism itself has the power to bring people joy. I experience happiness to the extreme. My partner loves my vocal stims. I can be entertained by the simplest things. I show people love in the most unique ways. 

Autistic people deserve acceptance and support. Not a cure, prevention, or reversal.

Marcy Hannah Waring (She/Her) is an autistic self-advocate of color. She speaks on behalf of herself in this piece, though she hopes her voice can be a comfort to other autistic people in this difficult time. Outside of writing, she is a government affairs intern at The Arc of Massachusetts and a Research Assistant at The Lurie Institute for Disability Policy.

The post I am autistic. No, I don’t want a cure. appeared first on AAPD.

Photo of Valois J. Vera

I was born at the intersection of Broken Street and Brown Avenue. These are not literal roadways nor locations that can be found on Google Maps. Instead, these are the identities gifted to me at birth; the characteristics that define my existence. 

On Broken Street, I stroll through the dark alleys of stairs, stares and stereotypes; medical appointments, medical devices, and medical mishaps. I shed tears and absorb endless pain on Broken Street. As a matter of fact, Broken Street can be a long and lonely road. 

However, there is a beauty that breathes beneath the bowels of Broken Street. A tangible underground of resiliency, pride, and community. I can be my full and complete self there. I am seen and celebrated there. I am respected there. I Am, there. More often than not, this is where I hang my hat. This is where I’m from; the hidden part of Broken Street that can be hard to find, but worthy of the time and effort to get there. 

There’s also the other half of the intersection, Brown Avenue. Brown Ave. is ancestral. It is the foundation rooted in resilience, pride, and community.

Brown Avenue once looked like abuela’s house filled with aroma, laughter, and faith. It was iglesia six days a week and birthday parties filled with familia, friends, and random stragglers who found their way. Holidays were welcomed with early morning spices wafting through the traditions passed down from our ancestors. 

Things look a little different on Brown Avenue these days. Many of the elders who laid the foundation for my generation have passed on. They left behind the art of storytelling, the rhythms and recipes that feed our souls, and the footprints that lead us back to the beginning. 

Brown Ave. feels more like memory lane these days. Recollections and reminders of the magical qualities that come with living on Brown Avenue. I speak Spanish and Spanglish there. I vibe to salsa, merengue, bachata, and cumbia there. I discovered my indigenous roots there. It is home to me. Yet, I rarely feel at home there. 

Brown Avenue tends to treat those of us who also reside on Broken Street somewhat differently. I am coddled there. I am infantilized there. I am not seen there. I bleed and breathe Brown Avenue. It is my skin, my hair, my eyes, and my tongue that speaks of its beauty in two languages. Yet, it doesn’t recognize me. 

I am from the streets of Broken and Brown; the beauty and richness, the pride and defiance, the passion that propels the pen to pour pulse onto page. It is also the dark and isolation, the infantilizing and indifference, the passion that propels the pen to pour pulse onto page. 

I live at the intersection of Broken Street and Brown Avenue. I will die there too. I wouldn’t want it any other way. 

Valois J. Vera is an award-winning Poet, Author, and Cultural Worker out of Denton, TX. As a Disabled Puerto Rican, Valois’ work centers on uplifting and amplifying both of his cultural identities.

The post At the Corner of Broken and Brown appeared first on AAPD.

Shruti Rajkumar, a brown femme presenting person with curly black hair, sitting in their wheelchair and smiling with the Manhattan skyline in the background. They are wearing gold hoop earrings, a black top, a red checkered skirt and a brown bag around their body.

Growing up, I was stripped of my autonomy in medical spaces. Mental health was stigmatized in my family and culture, so I didn’t feel comfortable seeking care. In terms of my physical health, doctors never treated me like a person with agency and autonomy, and all medical decisions were made by the adults in my life who thought they knew better than me about what my body needed. I never felt like I had a voice to advocate for myself, for what I felt would increase my quality of life.

Last year, I was in a very privileged position. I was working in my dream job, and had access to incredible health insurance that allowed me to take my physical and mental health into my own hands with the help of my psychiatrist, therapist, and holistic practitioners. Through these supports, I was able to check myself into a partial hospitalization program, attend bi-weekly therapy sessions, and attend sessions for physical therapy, acupuncture, massage therapy, and chiropathy. 

But everything changed at the start of the year when I lost my job in February. Since then, I have been living on savings and unemployment benefits, and am now on Medicaid. Recently, President Donald Trump made sweeping policy changes that will harm the lives of millions of disabled Americans. A new bill recently signed into law will reduce Medicaid spending by $911 billion over the next 10 years, which could cause 10.3 million people to lose Medicaid coverage.

I can already see the ways I am losing medical autonomy and access. Since getting on Medicaid, I have lost significant support, such as needing to reduce the number of weekly sessions I have with my therapist because they don’t accept Medicaid, and I can’t afford to pay out of pocket for more sessions. I had to stop going to my holistic practice for the same reason, and I have been watching my physical health decline ever since. Of course, I could find other practitioners, but doing so is a risk: it’s rare to find physical therapists and other specialists who actually respect disabled autonomy and set you up to reach your own goals, rather than goals imposed on you by doctors who think they know better. Still, Medicaid has given me the security of knowing that if anything were to happen to me, I would be able to be treated by the necessary doctors at a cost that is affordable to me.

I’ve struggled with my health needs while on Medicaid, and yet it’s still a huge safety net for me, which demonstrates the importance of having access to health insurance. Even with minimal income, I’m still able to see doctors and specialists, and it’s been a huge relief to know that I would have access to them if I faced any urgent medical challenges. But imagine what would happen if we all didn’t have access to health insurance at all? I worry for those who will be disproportionately impacted by what’s to come. 

Disabled advocates have warned legislators and the public about the dangers of the cuts to Medicaid. This will have a detrimental impact on all disabled Americans, and particularly on low-income Black and brown disabled people. Not only do we need to protect access to Medicaid, but we also need to ensure that the government is continuing to fund it so that myself and people with higher support needs still have access to quality healthcare while on Medicaid. Disabled people, and all people, deserve to be able to live their lives with all the support that they need, and the government needs to make that a priority.

Shruti Rajkumar is a freelance reporter and former AAPD intern (‘22). They have bylines in NPR, HuffPost, The Boston Globe Magazine and more.

The post Medicaid Cuts Are Going To Threaten the Autonomy of Disabled Americans appeared first on AAPD.

Photo of Luanjiao Hu

“As an immigrant, you have the fewest rights in this country. So, stay away from controversial issues, stay silent if you can.” This is what a respected lawyer friend once suggested to me when I was being vocal about current issues in the US. It was such a sad reminder of our current reality. 

It’s been more than a decade since I came to the US. I left my home country and chose to pursue graduate education in the US largely due to my unequal lived experience as a disabled woman back in my home country. For my first eight years in the US, I struggled to complete graduate school, conduct research, find a partner, and overall adapt to life in a new country. 

During those years, I also had a major surgery and spent significant time recovering. I was in a wheelchair and later used crutches for over half a year. My priority shifted from getting my degrees to securing a permanent residency, work visa, and stable job post-graduation. Many of the timelines for my goals are completely out of my control, due to the long immigration queues for the countries my partner and I are from. 

For a long time, my disability affected my work and priorities. I care deeply about disability issues around the world, but as a member of the Chinese diaspora, I am especially invested in advancing disability rights and inclusion in global China. As a disabled researcher and advocate, I understand that disability is a normal part of human experience. In my own case, I made peace with my disability a long time ago and accepted my newly decreased physical capacity after a 2016 surgery. 

Disability has led me to where I am today, and it has opened a new world and perspective to me, for which I hold deep gratitude. I manage the challenges that come with a physical disability, and I enjoy life as a disabled person with access to diverse disability communities. I wear my prosthetic devices visibly and mostly do not care much about what others think of me. As a disabled woman, I found a partner, got married, and started a family in the US. 

In recent years, my immigrant identity and experience have become more prominent in my everyday life. As my number of years living in the US as an immigrant increased, I started to feel and think more strongly from an immigrant perspective. The combination of my multiple intersecting identities of being an immigrant, disabled person, Chinese woman, and mom affects my life in subtle and profound ways. Many of my immigrant-related experiences, unfortunately, are riddled with challenges and stress. 

For example, my post-graduation employment opportunities have been directly dictated by when my current visa status expires and who would sponsor me with a work visa next. I spent significant energy, time, and money to navigate the US immigration system, keep my status as a legal immigrant, and seek employment as an immigrant on a visa.  

Many disabled people plan and live their lives based around their disability. As a disabled immigrant, I also plan and live my life based on my immigration status. The lengthy and consuming process of consulting attorneys, preparing various administrative tasks, and waiting for documentation and application approval was my reality for several years. I had experiences with incompetent and careless lawyers who messed up my work visa applications, and I ended up losing multiple employment opportunities. By the time I received my work authorization, the widespread federal funding cuts and uncertainties in the disability field led to a hiring freeze and a disability policy organization retracting my job offer. I was suddenly rendered jobless and scrambled to seek my next employment. 

Taking on an additional mothering role with limited childcare support from overseas family members means I have limited time and energy to balance my other responsibilities as a disabled organizer, a working professional, and an immigrant. Under the new administration, news breaks frequently about how new policies and government priorities will affect immigrants’ lives. The news exhausts me, and it is hard to ignore its impact on me as an immigrant. 

I know I have come a long way from my humble origins. But I have also felt disempowered by some of my experiences and challenges as a disabled person, immigrant, and mother in this country. Events in recent years related to my immigration status and disability status have taken a toll on my career and mental health. Part of my activist identity has diminished as I struggle to navigate personal and professional life in the US. 

I often think of my friend’s suggestion to “stay away” and “stay silent”, and for a long time, I wondered if or when I would regain the courage to break my silence. Writing this piece is one step forward.  

Dr. LuanJiao Aggie Hu is a Visiting Research Scholar at the Lurie Institute for Disability Policy, Brandeis University, and adjunct lecturer at the University of Maryland, College Park. She published her first book entitled Inclusion, exclusion, agency, and advocacy: Experiences of Chinese women with disabilities, with Worldwide Implications (Emerald Publishing, 2024). She is also a book series editor for the Palgrave Studies in Disability in Asia and the Pacific.

The post Living an Immigrant Life with a Disability appeared first on AAPD.

Naomi Hess in front of the AAPD sign

We all know that public policy is personal. But there is often so much time and attention devoted to the technicalities of public policy that the human nature of the impacts gets neglected.

AAPD has long worked at this intersection of the personal and the political. AAPD’s programs focus on the personal and career development of people with disabilities through initiatives like internships and scholarships, and our policy work advocates for improvements in public policy to make life more accessible and equitable for disabled Americans.

That’s why AAPD is so excited to have recently launched our guest blog program, which spotlights amazing members of the disability community and how our communities’ stories reflect the policy reforms AAPD fights for. 

AAPD’s guest blog program seeks to amplify disabled voices and allow members of the disability community to share their unique perspectives. Each post draws on the writer’s lived experiences, demonstrating why a particular policy area matters to the blogger, and/or celebrating their disability pride. Contributors write one post on a topic of their choice, and they will receive a stipend for their work.

Bloggers will benefit from this program by adding published work to their portfolio and developing skills in sharing their stories. All disabled people are welcome, and our guest blog program focuses on uplifting the voices of people with disabilities who are also members of other marginalized communities. Some bloggers will be disabled activists who already have a following, and some will be emerging leaders whom you may read about for the first time through their blog. 

In case we haven’t met, my name is Naomi Hess and I’m AAPD’s new Editorial Manager. I’m extremely excited to serve as the editor of the blog! I’m a disabled person myself whose life has been improved by various AAPD’s programs and policy advocacy. I’m an alumna of the AAPD internship program in 2020 and 2021, and being an AAPD intern transformed my life and career. Through the internship program, I confirmed that I wanted to work in disability rights professionally, and found friends and mentors who have helped me get to where I am today. I’m so honored to be able to give back to this amazing organization.

In addition to my experience in the internship program, my time as a news editor for The Daily Princetonian and my time working on disability rights programs in the Administration on Community Living gave me the skills and perspectives needed to lead this blog. I have benefited from opportunities to hone my writing skills throughout my life, and I’m happy to be able to give this platform to other members of the disability community. 

Right now, AAPD is not yet seeking public submissions for our blog. In the months ahead, be on the lookout for opportunities to pitch your own blog idea to me. We will put out an announcement and interest form when we are ready to review public submissions. I am already excited to hear from you and meet more members of this amazing community. 

As you prepare your own blog idea, I encourage you to check out some of the first guest blogs we’ve published for insight into the diversity of subjects and lived experiences you can expect to see on AAPD’s blog moving forward. 

I hope you’ll check out: 

• “Disability Advocacy and Intersex Advocacy Have a Lot in Common” by Courtney Felle
• “Becoming An Inspirational Story While Disability Rights Are Threatened” by Alma Silver
• “Protesting While Deafblind” by Haben Girma

The post Blending the Personal and the Political: An Introduction to AAPD’s Blog Program appeared first on AAPD.