Sophomore journalism major Dillon Rosenlieb poses for a photo Nov. 7 in the Art and Journalism Building in Muncie, Ind. Lexie Huys, Ball Bearings
To me, being disabled in this country feels like trying to speak without being heard.
It’s like being in a library where you’re forced to whisper, and everyone else’s voices echo loudly around you and drown out your own. Their concerns, issues, and opinions are amplified and taken seriously, while yours are dismissed. It’s as if you’re mute, unseen, and invisible.
Growing up with a disability in this country, you quickly learn this society wasn’t built for people like you.
Unfair and ignorant stereotypes prevail, and people make up their minds about you just by looking at you. They’re convinced they’ve got you all figured out in a single glance. Maybe it’s a wheelchair, a limp, or a stutter — whatever it is — society sees even the slightest difference and in an instant, puts you in a box. More often than not, they write you off.
As someone who struggles to live independently, get a well-paying job, or maintain a career, society assumes you’ll never be able to pay your own bills, have an intimate relationship, get married, or raise a family. You’re seen as someone without opinions or perspective.
If you manage to accomplish these things with a disability, society and the media often reduces you to a heartwarming story of perseverance, instead of recognizing it for what it truly is — someone simply trying to make a name for themselves and put food on the table just like any other American.
As a kid, I experienced a lot of what I just described. People would stare at me, silently wondering why I looked different, and their eyes would follow me wherever I went. As I got older, I realized it’s because people see you and immediately make judgments.
No one says it outright, but I can see it on their faces. I can’t help but think — ‘You got all that from the wheelchair, huh?’
If I had a nickel for every time I saw that look, let’s just say I’d be doing pretty well. I know everyone faces doubters; it’s part of life. But most people don’t have to deal with every single person they meet making assumptions based solely on how they look, or how they navigate the world.
My wheelchair doesn’t fit the narrative society expects.
As presidential elections come and go, I often see both candidates vying for support from religious and minority organizations — groups that represent many of the diverse perspectives and opinions across the nation.
Yet, I don’t see where my community comes into play.
According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention(CDC), people with disabilities make up one of the largest minority groups in the United States, with over 61 million adults living with a disability.
So why aren’t the voices and perspectives of the 61 million adults living with disabilities in this country a priority for politicians and candidates during election time?
I believe it’s because people with disabilities were segregated when the electoral process was established, just like many
other minorities.
At that time, there was no need to campaign toward people with disabilities. Protection against discrimination for people with disabilities wasn’t passed until the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) in 1990 — more than 200 years after the first presidential election in 1789.
This act required state and local governments to ensure that people with disabilities have equal opportunity to vote.
Even after the Civil Rights Act of the 1960s, it took nearly three decades for the ADA to pass, further highlighting how long our political systems have operated without considering the perspectives or issues of the disability community.
Growing up with my parents and three siblings, our family was often called ‘interabled’.
This term describes how our family was made up of both able-bodied members — my parents and siblings — and one member with a disability — me.
Like most young adults, I built my political beliefs based on the values my parents held and which party aligned with those beliefs.
No one says it outright, but I can see it on their faces. I can’t help but think:‘You got all that from the wheelchair, huh?’
If I had a nickel for every time I saw that look, let’s just say I’d be doing pretty well. I know everyone faces doubters; it’s part of life. But most people don’t have to deal with every single person they meet making assumptions based solely on how they look or how they navigate the world.
But as I grew older and started forming my own opinions, I realized that outside of the hot-topic issues that every American has an opinion on, no candidate or party addresses the needs of my community.
There’s a variety of issues that people with disabilities face on a regular basis that have been overlooked. Most planes require passengers using electric wheelchairs to transfer into a regular plane seat, but for some in my community, due to physical limitations, sitting in those seats is impossible, especially for the duration of a flight.
As a result, many people in the disability community are unable to travel outside the country because the aviation system simply can’t accommodate us. Those who can fly face the risk of their mobility device, an expensive and essential item, not being safely stored. A 2019 study by the Open Doors Organization found that only 11 million passengers with disabilities took flights that year, representing about 7% of all air travelers in the U.S.
Another key issue many in my community face is constant battles with insurance to get funding for medical equipment that helps us gain more independence in our everyday lives.
We are often told that what we need doesn’t fit the criteria of “medically necessary”— a classic line used by insurance companies to avoid paying for essential items. According to the National Council on Disability, more than 50% of people with disabilities report struggling to get proper insurance coverage to meet their needs.
On a personal note, managing college life is a challenge when it comes to activities of daily living. I rely on a personal care assistant to help me every morning and night with tasks I cannot do independently, but most colleges leave the responsibility of finding and funding this care to the students and their families.
I’m fortunate enough to have parents who can pay for my care out of pocket, but many others in my position aren’t so lucky and often have to settle or give up on their dreams altogether. The average cost of personal care assistance for someone with a disability can range from $1,000 to $4,000 per month, amounting to up to $48,000 per year, according to Care.
Every four years, I will be faced with a ballot, and aside from deciding who I want at the helm — a right that every American citizen has to form their own opinions on — most of the issues on the ballot have nothing to do with improving the lives of people in my community. Our issues aren’t in the minds of those who craft legislation, leaving us feeling like we don’t matter or have a say.
Many in my community remember not having the right to vote, and while we’ve come a long way in gaining that right, it doesn’t mean much if the ballot still doesn’t allow us to be heard, seen, or even thought of. It’s as if we’re just going through the motions, but this isn’t something I’ll stay silent about.
As Martin Luther King Jr. once said, “Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter.”
Sources: Centers for Disease Control and Prevention(CDC), Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA), Open Doors Organization, National Council on Disability, Care
