Why Are We Left Out: The Whitewashing of American Disability History
In contemporary American disability history, it is noticeable that Blacks, in particular, are largely left out of the story.
I’m Anita Cameron, a 59 year old Black disability justice activist who has spent almost 40 years in the movement.
I find it extraordinary that the contemporary disability rights movement borrowed and appropriated so much from the Black Civil Rights Movement and Black Liberation Movements, yet, all but erased us from disability history.
Why are we left behind? White supremacy plays a major part in this. In my experience, disabled folks were trying to get on the map, to show we were human and competent. It was all about how disabled you were and us speaking out for ourselves. We were all one, joined by disability - and that’s all we were and all we were to be seen as - disabled. More women and queer folks joined, but we were all still disabled. We weren’t allowed to see ourselves as nothing but disabled, so white supremacy, the status quo, continued.
As time passed, I could no longer bear what I saw around me and pushed for an Intersectional attitude and approach to disability justice. I was met with hostility, even hatred. Although there are Black and people of color led disability organizations that do disability justice and liberation, the mainstream disability rights movement continues to whitewash and erase history. It continues to be averse to dismantling racism, except to be performative.
Historically, disabled people, our movement, culture and history, have been ignored. You don’t hear much about us on the news or in media, and when you do, it’s biased. We’re presented as weak, vulnerable, incompetent, powerless, useless, drains on society because that’s how we’re seen, how we’re thought of by society, in general, yet we have contributed to American history and culture in many, many ways. As disability becomes less and less stigmatized, more and more famous people are revealing that they have disabilities.
Still, when it comes to the telling of disability history, the stories of Black activists are at best, whitewashed and at worst, erased. In a climate here in the United States, where Black history is being erased, the stories of Black disabled activists are especially compelling and important; they must be told and preserved.
Racial bias and discrimination is the reason that our stories aren’t told. The societal default is white, therefore, the face of disability, of the disability community and of disability rights is white.
This glaring fact was ignored for at least the first 40 years of contemporary disability history in the United States. The disability rights movement seemed to be egalitarian. It seemed to have this camaraderie and comradeship that couldn’t be found in other movements. I certainly felt it.
However, looking closely, one could see that beneath the bonhomie, the same overall tensions were there - misogyny, racism, ageism, ableism - all made worse because people didn’t want to admit that these things existed in the disability community. People truly believed that the presence of disability negated racism, that in the fight for disability rights, race was unimportant. Race didn’t exist. In this way, racism and racist behavior were allowed to flourish. Blacks, even beloved ones, were seldom given leadership roles or positions and when it happened, that role was at the pleasure of the white “real” leaders.
That extended to the narrative and media coverage and representation. The faces in front of the cameras saying the important things were always white. When Black people got the chance to speak, we were often made to look ignorant or inconsequential.
Bias is how you get the narrative that the Black Panther Party served breakfast to the activists at the 504 sit-in at the federal building in San Francisco, the only one of the 504 sit-ins that was sustained, not that Black Panthers were full participants in the sit-ins and attended the meeting in Washington, DC, with Secretary Joseph Califano.
The Americans with Disabilities Act is landmark civil rights legislation, yet one who played a critical part in its passage, Rep. Major Owens, a Black congressman from New York, is never mentioned in that history. He used his influence as Chair of the Congressional Black Caucus to get it passed, and set up a Task Force on the Rights and Empowerment of Americans with Disabilities to collect peoples stories and gather information to show the extent and prevalence of disability discrimination. The ADA was the legislation he was proudest to have worked on, yet, he is erased. Most people still don't know who he is!
Here are some more.
Harriet Tubman had epilepsy and was an abolitionist leader who helped hundreds of enslaved people escape through the Underground Railroad. She also served as a spy, scout, nurse, and cook for the Union Army during the Civil War.
Fannie Lou Hamer had polio and was a civil rights leader who co-founded the Mississippi Freedom Democratic Party and organized voter registration drives for Black people in Mississippi. She also spoke out against forced sterilization of Black women.
Johnnie Lacy had polio and was a disability rights leader who helped establish the Berkeley Center for Independent Living, one of the first independent living centers in the country. She also served on various commissions and councils for disability rights and affirmative action in California.
They were all Black, they were all disabled, and they were all incredible leaders. But their stories often go untold.
Now, here are some Black disabled activists whose names you don’t know. They were members of ADAPT, a national, grassroots disability rights organization that I joined at age 21. ADAPT was instrumental in helping with the passage of the Americans with Disabilities Act, in 1990 and the saving of Medicaid in 2017. These activists lived their lives fighting for freedom and justice. They came from all walks of life. I knew them all. Some were close friends. I have been arrested with each of them. Each of them are now with the Ancestors. They are the ones whose stories I will tell in my project, We Were There, Too: Blacks in the Disability Movement.
I remember Rev. Willie Smith, Jerry Eubanks, Gwen Jackson, Charles Baker, Charlie Baker, Lillian Baker, Irene Norwood, Emmanuel Taylor. These were my Chicago folks who welcomed me into the movement. They taught me disability activism and made me into who I am today.
There was Bobby Coward, from Washington, DC, an Air Force vet, who opened all kinds of doors for me when I was there, Marva Ways, from Detroit, whom everyone mistook me for; she was a grandmother who was first runner up for Miss Wheelchair America in 2004, Ernest Taylor (E.T.), a Black Panther who was always so kind to me, Gwen Bailey, from Syracuse, NY, and Edith Harris, from Hartford, CT, two back-East badass women.
My Atlanta friends, Leonard Roscoe, who was a rapper and DJ, and Lee Jackson, whose heart was as big as the universe.
My dear Martina Robinson, from Boston - poet, lover of all, one of a kind.
All of my friends in Philadelphia were so special - Gary Isaac, Zachary Lewis, Marshall Brown, Mark Jacobs, Miss Dorothy - we made so many activist memories in those streets!
Dear, funny, Sheila Dean, who escaped from a nursing home in Denver, to tell her story around the country and quiet, fierce Latonya Reeves, who fled Tennessee to avoid nursing home placement and wound up changing lives in Colorado, were very special to me. They wanted to live free and now, there’s a bill in Congress named for Latonya, that would give disabled people the civil right to live in the community.
So, what can be done to address and end the erasure of Black disabled activists from disability history?
First, we need to listen to Black disabled activists - let us tell our stories. Encourage mainstream media to seek out and focus on Black disabled activists when doing human interest pieces. Feature the work of Black activists on disability websites. Document and archive our history in libraries, museums, films, blogs, books – you name it. That way, we can finally set the record straight and make sure the incredible contributions of Black disabled activists aren't forgotten.
I’m Anita Cameron, a 59 year old Black disability justice activist who has spent almost 40 years in the movement.
I find it extraordinary that the contemporary disability rights movement borrowed and appropriated so much from the Black Civil Rights Movement and Black Liberation Movements, yet, all but erased us from disability history.
Why are we left behind? White supremacy plays a major part in this. In my experience, disabled folks were trying to get on the map, to show we were human and competent. It was all about how disabled you were and us speaking out for ourselves. We were all one, joined by disability - and that’s all we were and all we were to be seen as - disabled. More women and queer folks joined, but we were all still disabled. We weren’t allowed to see ourselves as nothing but disabled, so white supremacy, the status quo, continued.
As time passed, I could no longer bear what I saw around me and pushed for an Intersectional attitude and approach to disability justice. I was met with hostility, even hatred. Although there are Black and people of color led disability organizations that do disability justice and liberation, the mainstream disability rights movement continues to whitewash and erase history. It continues to be averse to dismantling racism, except to be performative.
Historically, disabled people, our movement, culture and history, have been ignored. You don’t hear much about us on the news or in media, and when you do, it’s biased. We’re presented as weak, vulnerable, incompetent, powerless, useless, drains on society because that’s how we’re seen, how we’re thought of by society, in general, yet we have contributed to American history and culture in many, many ways. As disability becomes less and less stigmatized, more and more famous people are revealing that they have disabilities.
Still, when it comes to the telling of disability history, the stories of Black activists are at best, whitewashed and at worst, erased. In a climate here in the United States, where Black history is being erased, the stories of Black disabled activists are especially compelling and important; they must be told and preserved.
Racial bias and discrimination is the reason that our stories aren’t told. The societal default is white, therefore, the face of disability, of the disability community and of disability rights is white.
This glaring fact was ignored for at least the first 40 years of contemporary disability history in the United States. The disability rights movement seemed to be egalitarian. It seemed to have this camaraderie and comradeship that couldn’t be found in other movements. I certainly felt it.
However, looking closely, one could see that beneath the bonhomie, the same overall tensions were there - misogyny, racism, ageism, ableism - all made worse because people didn’t want to admit that these things existed in the disability community. People truly believed that the presence of disability negated racism, that in the fight for disability rights, race was unimportant. Race didn’t exist. In this way, racism and racist behavior were allowed to flourish. Blacks, even beloved ones, were seldom given leadership roles or positions and when it happened, that role was at the pleasure of the white “real” leaders.
That extended to the narrative and media coverage and representation. The faces in front of the cameras saying the important things were always white. When Black people got the chance to speak, we were often made to look ignorant or inconsequential.
Bias is how you get the narrative that the Black Panther Party served breakfast to the activists at the 504 sit-in at the federal building in San Francisco, the only one of the 504 sit-ins that was sustained, not that Black Panthers were full participants in the sit-ins and attended the meeting in Washington, DC, with Secretary Joseph Califano.
The Americans with Disabilities Act is landmark civil rights legislation, yet one who played a critical part in its passage, Rep. Major Owens, a Black congressman from New York, is never mentioned in that history. He used his influence as Chair of the Congressional Black Caucus to get it passed, and set up a Task Force on the Rights and Empowerment of Americans with Disabilities to collect peoples stories and gather information to show the extent and prevalence of disability discrimination. The ADA was the legislation he was proudest to have worked on, yet, he is erased. Most people still don't know who he is!
Here are some more.
Harriet Tubman had epilepsy and was an abolitionist leader who helped hundreds of enslaved people escape through the Underground Railroad. She also served as a spy, scout, nurse, and cook for the Union Army during the Civil War.
Fannie Lou Hamer had polio and was a civil rights leader who co-founded the Mississippi Freedom Democratic Party and organized voter registration drives for Black people in Mississippi. She also spoke out against forced sterilization of Black women.
Johnnie Lacy had polio and was a disability rights leader who helped establish the Berkeley Center for Independent Living, one of the first independent living centers in the country. She also served on various commissions and councils for disability rights and affirmative action in California.
They were all Black, they were all disabled, and they were all incredible leaders. But their stories often go untold.
Now, here are some Black disabled activists whose names you don’t know. They were members of ADAPT, a national, grassroots disability rights organization that I joined at age 21. ADAPT was instrumental in helping with the passage of the Americans with Disabilities Act, in 1990 and the saving of Medicaid in 2017. These activists lived their lives fighting for freedom and justice. They came from all walks of life. I knew them all. Some were close friends. I have been arrested with each of them. Each of them are now with the Ancestors. They are the ones whose stories I will tell in my project, We Were There, Too: Blacks in the Disability Movement.
I remember Rev. Willie Smith, Jerry Eubanks, Gwen Jackson, Charles Baker, Charlie Baker, Lillian Baker, Irene Norwood, Emmanuel Taylor. These were my Chicago folks who welcomed me into the movement. They taught me disability activism and made me into who I am today.
There was Bobby Coward, from Washington, DC, an Air Force vet, who opened all kinds of doors for me when I was there, Marva Ways, from Detroit, whom everyone mistook me for; she was a grandmother who was first runner up for Miss Wheelchair America in 2004, Ernest Taylor (E.T.), a Black Panther who was always so kind to me, Gwen Bailey, from Syracuse, NY, and Edith Harris, from Hartford, CT, two back-East badass women.
My Atlanta friends, Leonard Roscoe, who was a rapper and DJ, and Lee Jackson, whose heart was as big as the universe.
My dear Martina Robinson, from Boston - poet, lover of all, one of a kind.
All of my friends in Philadelphia were so special - Gary Isaac, Zachary Lewis, Marshall Brown, Mark Jacobs, Miss Dorothy - we made so many activist memories in those streets!
Dear, funny, Sheila Dean, who escaped from a nursing home in Denver, to tell her story around the country and quiet, fierce Latonya Reeves, who fled Tennessee to avoid nursing home placement and wound up changing lives in Colorado, were very special to me. They wanted to live free and now, there’s a bill in Congress named for Latonya, that would give disabled people the civil right to live in the community.
So, what can be done to address and end the erasure of Black disabled activists from disability history?
First, we need to listen to Black disabled activists - let us tell our stories. Encourage mainstream media to seek out and focus on Black disabled activists when doing human interest pieces. Feature the work of Black activists on disability websites. Document and archive our history in libraries, museums, films, blogs, books – you name it. That way, we can finally set the record straight and make sure the incredible contributions of Black disabled activists aren't forgotten.