July 26th, 2024 will mark the 34th anniversary of the passage of a pivotal piece of American law in defense of and for the dignity of disabled people: the Americans with Disabilities Act, otherwise known as ADA. It is due to this that many participate in an observation of Disability Pride Month during July.
The history of the buildup to the passage of the landmark piece of legislation includes an event known as the Capitol Crawl, a demonstration in March 1990 that took place in Washington, DC and was attended by over 1,000 demonstrators. This demonstration began at the White House and culminated in front of the US Capitol.
During this demonstration, in an act of civil disobedience, several dozen physically disabled demonstrators— including a child who wasn’t even ten at the time of the protest named Jennifer Keelan-Chaffins—got out of their wheelchairs and crawled up the steps to the Capitol. This was done to demonstrate the inaccessibility of many public spaces and to show the indignity of having to navigate the world without spaces meant to enable easy passage for you if you are not able-bodied.
Police arrested demonstrators at the Crawl, totaling over 100 activists, many of whom were in wheelchairs. This dramatically showed off the essentialness of accessible spaces for the physically disabled and helped able-bodied people see firsthand how cruel inaccessible architecture can be when one has a physical disability.
I myself am disabled. I have a chronic illness which sometimes prevents me from speaking for long periods of time without mild to sometimes debilitating discomfort, and I was in a car crash in early 2021 that prevents me from walking even short distances without experiencing mild pain. Disability Pride Month, and the historic nature of the Americans with Disabilities Act are personal to me, and they have positively impacted my life in a variety of ways.
I’ve been disabled on some level for about half the time I’ve been an atheist, and for the lion’s share of the time I’ve identified as a humanist. Being a disabled person has shaped my perspective on many issues, particularly the importance of recognizing that we as people deserve to be able to live dignified lives even if we can’t work and the critical necessity of accessible spaces and proper accommodations for disabled people.
The chronic pain I suffer when I walk is exacerbated when I have to do the extra work needed to do things like climb stairs. I have lived in an apartment on the third floor of a building that lacks ramps or elevators the entire time I’ve been physically disabled. It makes tasks that I should be able to do grueling at best and outright impossible at worst despite the fact that, as someone whose disability is classified as invisible, to the naked eye I can mask as an able-bodied person. Accessible spaces, including the addition of something as simple as ramps, can do wonders for making life better for the disabled.
My disability makes working in-person quite difficult since it is virtually impossible for me to stand for long periods of time. The remote job boom of the post-COVID United States has been of great benefit for me personally, since it has made it easier than ever to write and work for an assortment of organizations and businesses that have been increasingly amenable to remote work, which is absolutely essential for me economically if I desire any level of financial stability (and is also necessary for many other disabled people whose disabilities make mobility an issue). I also know several other disabled people who have benefited from the cultural shift towards remote work and towards improving accessibility so that people could have things to do during the COVID lockdown of 2020.
That said, part of how being a disabled humanist has changed my perspective on things, economically and culturally, is that I have realized the necessity of fighting for a world where people can live dignified, enjoyable lives even without the ability to work. I am very lucky, despite the real and perpetual pain I am in, that I have been able to make connections both before and after I became disabled that have tremendously helped me in the wake of the car crash that made working in person incredibly difficult for me.
Other disabled people are not as lucky as I am, and many of us suffer due to our disabilities. I have gone months where I have relied on the friends I have made, itself something I can only do due to my luck, and I know that in the future I will need the support of the networks I am a part of, even if I am fighting for a day where I have the financial independence to not worry about the impact my disabilities have on my life. I desire to build a future in which myself and other people do not have to choose between survival and dignity.
My disability coupled with my humanism has greatly enhanced my compassion and empathy, powerfully motivating me to fight for a better world for everyone. While the pain I suffer from is frustrating, I no longer view my disability as something totally negative and I am proud of the ways it has altered my life and attitude for the better. I look forward to the day when disabilities do not negatively impact anyone’s quality of life, nor affect their ability to live meaningful, dignified lives, and society is as equitable as it should be to create a truly equal playing field for everyone.
The post The Humanist Power of Compassion and Empathy during Disability Pride Month and Beyond appeared first on TheHumanist.com.
Read More TheHumanist.com
About Author
