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CNN

Break down the barriers facing disabled students

It’s not always a label you’re born with. Sometimes, being disabled is something that happens to you over time, after years of living a healthy life.

This is precisely what happened to me.

It was a cold, fall day during fifth grade. Like most kids, I was preparing for my yearly physical and expecting to receive a clean bill of health. But in less than two minutes, the diagnosis of a rare heart condition changed my life forever.

I was blindsided. And as I matured, my illness only progressed. By the time I was 11, I had received both a heart and kidney transplant, turning me into a person living with multiple disabilities, such as limited mobility and chronic illness. This new identity brought a host of challenges and complexities I had never considered before.

My public school system officially identified me as disabled, but it treated me as able-bodied because I did not appear “sick” – my struggles were internal and not outwardly obvious. My illnesses caused a weakened immune system, resulting in missed classes for weeks at a time, which educators met with suspicion or resistance.

NBC News

Why Black History Month needs to feature the stories of the disabled

We should honor the legacies of disabled Black history makers to stand up to the double-headed monster of ableism and racism.

When I was growing up, I lived in a community of me. I was the only other child with a disability that I knew. I'd never met an adult with a disability. There were no prominent people with disabilities on television or in books that I could see. The most I knew about disabled people's history was a small section of my 11th grade U.S. history course about the passage of the Americans With Disabilities Act of 1990. This landmark legislation ensured that people with disabilities had protections against discrimination.

According to the version of American history I was taught in the public education system, it's as though people with disabilities didn’t make any significant contributions to our society. The same was largely true for African Americans, a major difference being that we use February to commemorate Black History Month and celebrate African Americans' contributions to American history. Black history and disabled history are intertwined. The disability rights movement took cues from the civil rights movement.

News One

Jordan Neely And The Lost Lives Of America’s Young, Black And Disabled 

We are disabled. We are Black. We are women, and just like Fannie Lou Hamer, “We are sick and tired of being sick and tired”. It is not solely our physical disabilities that exhaust us but constantly being forced to witness the murder of people who look like us. We see it on the news and when we log on to social media and listen to how people defend the unlawful murders and assault of Black disabled people like Jordan Neely. Like Neely, Hamer was poor, Black, and disabled, forced to battle the triple-headed monster of racism, classism, and ableism.

Hamer became disabled after contracting polio as a child, which left her with a permanent limp. She was nearly beaten to death by police officers in a Mississippi jail. Neely became disabled as the victim of a violent crime when his mother was murdered by a partner when he was just 14 years old. From then on, he was in the throes of depression, mental illness, and a system that criminalizes disabled people. Mental illnesses are disabilities, and disability has been historically whitewashed.

Though Black people are more likely to identify as disabled than their white counterparts, there has been an intentional erasure of their presence in disability representation. In the leadership of mental health advocacy nonprofits, policy think tanks, and organizations, why are they mostly white and non-disabled people? It’s due to racism, ableism, and a lack of intersectional approach to mental health care policy. It costs the lives of hundreds of disabled people like Neely, who was choked for 15 minutes on a New York City subway train.

SELF

Black Girl Magic Extends to Disabled Women, Too

Don’t feel sorry for me.

In fifth grade, I was diagnosed with hypertrophic cardiomyopathy, a heart condition that makes it difficult for my heart to pump blood through my body the way it should. This changed my life forever. By the time I was 11, I had received a heart and kidney transplant, turning me into a person living with limited mobility and chronic illness—a person living with disability.

For years, I despised being disabled. I’d hide my heart transplant scar by rarely wearing any clothes that showed my chest. I lived in fear of people discovering my transplants because I saw the pity in their eyes once they learned the truth. But eventually, I got tired of concealing my existence as a black woman with a disability. The world was already doing that for me.

Being a disabled Black woman essentially makes me invisible to much of society.

Every year during BET’s Black Girls Rock! Awards, my eyes are glued to the television. I’m always stunned by the great leaders who take the stage and remind us that black excellence often starts with the contributions of black women. From former first lady Michelle Obama to the founders of Black Lives Matter and musical visionaries like Janelle Monae and Missy Elliot, these women have all inspired me in their own way. But I’m still waiting to see an honoree who looks like me: not only black but using a wheelchair, too.

Black Girls Rock! has celebrated at least one person with a disability before; 2017 honoree Haben Girma is a deaf and blind disability rights lawyer. But there is so much stigma and misperception specifically around my wheelchair that I’m still holding out hope of seeing an honoree roll across the stage one day.

Huffington Post

When Adults Don't Quit on Youth, Youth Won't Quit on Themselves

At 24 years old, I feel like I've lived the life of someone who's 80. I've overcome obstacles I never thought I'd make it through, endured pain most young adults should never have to experience. In my few years on this earth, I've survived two major organ transplants, a high school nicknamed "Knife Point High," and the challenges that come with being a student with a disability.

I'm from Prince George's County, Maryland, home to five of the richest African American neighborhoods in the United States. From the outside looking in, we're a community draped in wealth. And yet, we hide a painful secret: we suffer from high dropout rates and ever-growing police violence.

My earliest memories from grade school include the constant presence of police officers on my middle school campus. I saw students arrested and watched others rally up juvenile criminal records.

In high school, I witnessed a police officer inform a tardy student that, at 16 years old, he was old enough to drop out of school. "If you're going to be late, you might as well not come to school," he said. "The legal drop out age is 16. How old are you?"

He wasn't trying to encourage the student to come to school on time. Instead, his words were a dismissal of this student's right to exist in the public school system. This student eventually became one of the nearly half a million teenagers who leave school without graduating every year.

Seeing what happened to him, and to so many others, taught me a tough lesson: Without the presence of caring adults and support systems, students often leave the public school system feeling unwanted and rejected.

Marie Claire

Putting an End to Global Violence Against Women

The past few days have been hectic, consisting of early morning meetings and late nights spent writing this blog. I find myself reaching for more coffee instead of orange juice to boost my energy. Being tired is worth it, though, because learning how UNFPA and the women of Guatemala are empowering their adolescent girls has strengthened my mind, body, and soul.

This morning I attended a briefing with Anna Luisa Riva, who is UNFPA Guatemala's Assistant Representative. Ms. Riva explained that UNFPA's work can be analyzed in three parts or pillars, which include: sexual and reproductive health, gender equality, and population and development. My hands were glued to my notepad — I couldn't stop writing about the many UNFPA success stories. At the core of all pillars, UNFPA's work enables women to find strength and courage within themselves, by giving them the tools to advocate for their own rights. According to Riva, "Our role is to support [women]. We see our work through what they do."

At that point, I couldn't have been more proud to be a student ambassador for Americans for UNFPA.

Glamour

How Beyoncé Inspired Me to Fight for Disability Rights at Work

Our fight for disability rights is your fight too, so I encourage all hiring managers and professionals to advocate for inclusive hiring. It’s simple. Just use these lyrics as your guide:

"When you hurt me, you hurt yourself. Don't hurt yourself" —“Don’t Hurt Yourself,” Lemonade, 2016

The reality is that a number of businesses aren’t trying hard enough to be inclusive. Even if your company has a diversity program, it may fail to address all marginalized groups, including those with disabilities. Recent research demonstrates that hiring people with disabilities not only increases diversity but also leads to higher retention rates, increased productivity, boosts in employee morale, and reduction in the cost of training and workman’s compensation. Bottom line: When you fail to hire us, you’re hurting your business as well.

“Let me upgrade you.” —“Upgrade U,” B’Day, 2006

Make sure you have the right accommodations in place to make everyone feel welcome and comfortable in your workplace. One way to do this is to hire accommodations professionals. They are familiar with laws and regulations surrounding employees with disabilities, and they will teach staff the dos and don’ts (like asking inappropriate interview questions or treating accommodations as preferential when, in fact, they’re based on need).

“I woke up like this, flawless.” —“Flawless,” Beyonce, 2013

Contrary to popular belief, many disabled people don’t wake up wishing they could walk, feeling as though they are flawed, waiting for a cure, or praying to be healed. That’s why we ask you to view us as your equals. I don’t want to hear how proud you are of me for having a job while being in a wheelchair. I don’t want to be your inspiration porn or morning motivation to thank God you’re not me, as if my condition is a curse or the result of bad karma.

White House - Obama Administration

The Summer That Changed My Life

On September 27, 2007, I found myself at Prince George’s Community College in Maryland as a sixteen-year-old high school student with two of her best friends. We waited in line for hours with hundreds of other people waiting to hear then-Senator Barack Obama speak.

As a student living with disabilities, I faced greater challenges than most. As his voice echoed through the crowd, he made a staunch commitment to act to change America’s healthcare system and to work to eliminate discrimination against those with pre-existing medical conditions. At that moment, I had no doubt that this Senator would one day become the President.

When I became older, I wanted nothing more than to work for the Obama Administration, an Administration on the forefront of changing the lives of millions for the better. In the spring of 2010, I decided to apply for the White House Internship Program. Soon after, as I read my acceptance letter, I was unspeakably excited by the thought of spending my summer in the Office of Public Engagement and Intergovernmental Affairs.

As intern, I assisted staff with the work of the White House Council on Women & Girls. In 2009, President Obama created the Council on Women & Girls "to ensure that each of the agencies in which they are charged takes into account the needs of women and girls in the policies they draft, the programs they create, and the legislation they support."

Business Insider

I'm a disabled Black woman and a longtime fan of Lizzo's music. The ableism allegations against her don't surprise me.

Last week, as I scrolled through my Twitter feed, I came across the news that Lizzo had been sued by her former dancers, who accused her of fostering a hostile work environment. Most of the news stories focused on the dancers' claims that they were weight shamed and sexually harassed.

What seems to have gotten lost in the salacious reporting about strip clubs, bananas, and religious extremism is that one of the former dancers is accusing Lizzo of disability employment discrimination.

I can only imagine the barriers disabled dancers like Arianna Davis face in the entertainment industry. Davis has an eye condition and says in the lawsuit she recorded performance notes to refer back to due to her disability. The lawsuit alleges that Lizzo was furious that someone had recorded the meeting. When Davis said she explained her condition to Lizzo, she said Lizzo responded, "There's nothing you can say to make me believe you." Davis said she was fired, prompting her to file a lawsuit.

Under the ADA and Section 504 of the Rehabilitation Act, a disabled employee recording performance notes due to their disability may be classified as a reasonable accommodation an employer can make since it doesn't cause the employer an "undue burden" since it's cost-free.

Ironically, this news story broke a little over a week after the anniversary of the Americans with Disabilities Act, a law barring employment discrimination against disabled people.

I'm a disabled Black woman and have long admired Lizzo's music and what she represents as an artist. 

Nonetheless, the allegations against her did not surprise me.