Saying Goodbye: A Message from Emily Ladau, Former Editor in Chief of the Rooted in Rights Blog

After five years, the Editor in Chief of the Rooted in Rights Blog, Emily Ladau, will be stepping down from her role. In this message, she shares why and what's next for the blog. Image: On a yellow table, there is a blue notebook stacked under a pink notebook, next to some blue and pink binder clips and an open notebook with a pink and a blue pen resting on it

I’m not particularly good at saying goodbyes, but I know the time is right for this one. As of January 1, 2022, I am no longer the Editor in Chief of the Rooted in Rights Blog.

I came to this decision not because it’s easy to move forward, but because after five years in this role, I want to make space for someone else. In October 2016, I was given the humbling opportunity to begin building this blog from the ground, up. Since then, I’ve gotten to support more than 150 disabled writers to publish nearly 400 blogs posts. And most importantly, I’ve been able to ensure they were paid. In the many moments that the media has ignored or erased perspectives from the disability community, the writers I’ve worked with have come through to fill the gaps and shed light on their truths. Getting to play a role in amplifying the wisdom of so many disabled people has been a privilege I don’t take for granted.

Serving as Editor in Chief was an ongoing learning process. I’ve made mistakes, errors in judgment, and let my own biases and ignorance get in the way. I’ve also grown as a writer and activist, and the lessons I’m taking away are ones that I will carry forward with intention in my work. I owe a debt of gratitude to everyone who has taught me with patience and grace along the way.

To everyone who has pitched the blog, to everyone whose words I have gotten to publish: thank you, from the bottom of my heart. Thank you for trusting me with your stories.

I often think about the fact that there are more than 1 billion disabled people in the world, which means there are more than 1 billion experiences of disability. No form of media can or should claim to represent everyone. There will always be more stories to tell. But in far too many cases, when disability is put in the spotlight, only certain narratives are centered (those of white, physically disabled people). This is in large part why I’m ready to pass the torch. It’s another person’s turn to fill the Editor in Chief role and to help shape the conversation.

I’m genuinely so excited to see what the future holds not just for the blog, but for Rooted in Rights as a whole. Working with everyone who has been part of the Rooted in Rights team over the years has been an immense gift—and that’s an understatement. They’re some of the most passionate, creative, dedicated people I know, and the media they’ve put out into the world has been truly game-changing.

Going forward, the team will be leading a search for a new Editor in Chief. I’ll remain available to support the search and transition process, as well as to offer guidance and mentorship as needed. And then, even though my time as Editor in Chief of the Rooted in Rights Blog will be behind me, I’ll still always be rooting for Rooted in Rights, and the powerful work I know they’ll continue to do.


Rooted in Rights exists to amplify the perspectives of the disability community. Blog posts and storyteller videos that we publish and content we re-share on social media do not necessarily reflect the opinions or values of Rooted in Rights nor indicate an endorsement of a program or service by Rooted in Rights. We respect and aim to reflect the diversity of opinions and experiences of the disability community. Rooted in Rights seeks to highlight discussions, not direct them. Learn more about Rooted In Rights

Click here to pitch a blog post to Rooted in Rights.

Too Disabled? Or Not Disabled Enough?

A row of curved mirrors that distort reflections.

Imposter syndrome–the feeling that you are pretending to be someone you aren’t–slowly devours me from two sides. On the one hand, I feel “not disabled enough.” My first time voting, I couldn’t reach or see up to the tiny tables in the booths that floated above my head. Yet, I hesitated to use the lower booths marked with the blue wheelchair sign. I was not a wheelchair user, so that wasn’t my place, right? For the longest time, I stood, the tip of my hair brushing the table I was supposed to be writing on, frozen. My mind tried to calculate all of the reasons I should or should not use the accessible booth. I fluctuated between feeling like I didn’t have a right to take up space in a “disabled” area and feeling a sense of shame, which I would later recognize as internalized ableism. I didn’t understand these feelings at the time, but they kept me glued to where I was standing. I ended up pressing the ballot against the slightly felted grey divider wall and carefully filling out the bubbles. For months, this step into adulthood lingered on my mind as I kept coming back to that shame and whether I should consider myself disabled.

Shortly after that first time voting, I went to the Department of Motor Vehicles (DMV) to get my driver’s license. I needed pedal extenders to drive. Massachusetts didn’t have any clear guidelines on adaptive driving equipment for people getting their license. This created confusion amongst the people at the DMV, who ended up turning me away from my driving test the first time, claiming my adaptive equipment was “unsafe.” (It wasn’t.) It took another week and a call from the medical office of the DMV (who I had already been to see before being turned away) to get me another test. I was given another test date and passed, precisely one week before my permit expired. But the exhaustion of fighting for my rights and wading through unclear protocols changed my outlook. For the first time in my life, I considered myself disabled without the feeling of imposter syndrome or shame creeping up in me. It was good timing. I got my license in June. When I started college at the end of that summer, I was more confident in claiming my disability.

That’s not to say that I didn’t, or don’t, still struggle with imposter syndrome sometimes. However, I found that college, and adult life in general, necessitated strong self-advocacy skills. I can’t advocate for myself if I’m not honest about what I need to succeed in an environment. Whether that’s using the accessible booth when voting or wearing ear defenders on public transport to control sensory stimulation, I’ve learned to understand myself and my disabilities better. The other side of imposter syndrome hits me when, instead of feeling undeserving of accommodations or accessible resources, I feel ashamed of them or hyper-aware that I might look a little silly with my giant ear defenders and sunglasses.

A couple of years ago, my family was traveling home by plane, and my parents noticed that I was particularly anxious in the airport during boarding. They heard the airline announce that those with disabilities such as physical disabilities or autism could board early. During the flight over, I’d gotten sensory overload during boarding. The people on all sides trying to squeeze down the aisle was too overwhelming. So as we headed home, my mom decided to go up and ask the flight attendants if we could participate in early boarding since I was autistic and overwhelmed. I balked at her suggestion.

“We don’t have any documentation with us saying I’m autistic,” I said.

She looked me up and down and let out a small laugh. “I think we’ll be fine.”

I caught a glimpse of myself in one of the windows. I was wearing my ear defenders, sunglass clip-ons over my prescription glasses, and a fidget around my neck. At the time, my mother’s comment and seeing myself as someone others might perceive as disabled bothered me. There was a particular shame that came with it to me at the time. I wanted to seem “normal.” Now, I’ve become much more comfortable with my disability. I care more about being at my best and accommodating my disability than what others think. Every day when I take the bus to and from work, I wear my ear defenders. Sometimes I get the odd stare or confused look, but I’m more self-aware, which leads me to be a better advocate for myself and others.

Self-advocacy and imposter syndrome are intertwined parts of my experience with disability. It’s an awkward dichotomy at times. I’ve found myself back in that space deciding between the unreachable voting booth or the accessible voting booth. Now, even if I pause, I go for the accessible booth.

Getting my license was the first time I ran into significant roadblocks related to my disabilities, but it wasn’t the last. However, it shouldn’t have taken discrimination to prove to myself that I am disabled. Accessibility is about using the tools and accommodations that you need to function in an inherently inaccessible world. Whether that’s mobility aids, sensory aids such as ear defenders or fidgets, or more invisible accommodations, these all allow disabled people to exist in a world that wasn’t built for them. A big part of the imposter syndrome I experience means trying to fit myself into not what I want to be or even what I think I should be, but what I think society at large thinks I should be. And as I work on accepting my right to exist in a space, the imposter syndrome starts to dissipate.


Rooted in Rights exists to amplify the perspectives of the disability community. Blog posts and storyteller videos that we publish and content we re-share on social media do not necessarily reflect the opinions or values of Rooted in Rights nor indicate an endorsement of a program or service by Rooted in Rights. We respect and aim to reflect the diversity of opinions and experiences of the disability community. Rooted in Rights seeks to highlight discussions, not direct them. Learn more about Rooted In Rights

Click here to pitch a blog post to Rooted in Rights.

Finding Disabled Transgender Pride

A vertical painting reminiscent of the transgender pride flag

Being transgender and disabled are interlinked for me. In both of these identities that I hold, my body does not function or present the way I want it to, or in a way that society would perceive as “normal.” Both are also- in many ways- about perception. As a disabled person with both visible and invisible disabilities, there will always be a disconnect between how people perceive me at first glance and how I perceive myself. The same is true of being a non-binary transgender person. I identify as non-binary: neither a girl nor a boy. However, society is conditioned to view people in a binary system: either boys or girls. Anything outside of that norm is startling and daunting, the same way that disabled people often end up stared at or asked invasive questions by total strangers.

Most of my disabilities are invisible; I do not use any mobility aids that would make my disability readily apparent. The only evidence of my disability is my height, which often means I am mistaken for a child in most public settings. As I’ve gotten older and started working, I’ve encountered plenty of nosy strangers. Once, back in high school, while having a conversation with a co-worker at my local public library, a total stranger walked up to me and started asking me about my height and my medical history. I tried to brush her off with my usual rebuffs of “oh, I was born premature,” but she just kept prodding. My co-worker stood behind me, seemingly frozen, shocked by this encounter, until finally blurting out that we needed to get back to work and that she should really mind her own business. The woman stared, startled, and quickly retreated in a huff.

“I’m so sorry, that was so bizarre. I had no idea what to do,” my co-worker said.

“It’s fine,” I replied. Sometimes I didn’t know what to do either.

Just a couple weeks before, a man had approached me down in the children’s room and asked me if his son could work at the library. I responded that I was just a page and that his son should probably speak to one of the librarians. He continued to ask me questions about my job and how I obtained it. I finally asked him how old his son was, to which he replied, seven. I tried not to laugh.

“In our state, you need to be fourteen to legally work,” I explained.

Instead of simply accepting this answer, the man became visibly angry and insisted that I could not be older than seven. He even dragged a librarian over to point me out and ask why his seven-year-old couldn’t work there. The librarians explained that I was sixteen and steered him away as he still didn’t seem to believe them.

The impulsiveness of strangers to label me as a child often helps prevent awkward gender conversations. I have not started HRT (Hormone Replacement Therapy) yet and still have the (rather large) breasts I was stuck with during puberty. Recently, however, top surgery, a surgical procedure to remove breast tissue, became a possibility for me in the near future. In my excitement, I dove into research on the different types of procedures and groups for people planning on having top surgery to try to gather all the information I could. Finally, I felt excited to begin taking this step that I’ve been wanting and thinking about for years.

These groups are supportive and informative, and I scrolled through post after post, reading about different people’s experiences. Soon, though, I started to feel a disconnect between my experiences and those of many in the group. Much of the conversation around top surgery is about after-care and specifically scar care. Most scar care aims to have the least visible scars possible to obtain a “passing” body. Part of this, for some people, is safety. Many want to walk around shirtless after top surgery and are afraid of being asked invasive questions about their scars and their bodies by strangers. However, as a disabled person with a long medical history, I will never be able to hide my scars. Having “invisible” scars seemed a  strange goal to me. I wasn’t sure what I would be trying to hide–there would be so many other scars on my body for people to see. And people will always stare at me in a public space, if not because they are silently trying to determine my gender, then because of the visible parts of my disability. For disabled transgender people, it’s often harder to “pass.” Our bodies are both disabled and transgender: an intertwined cacophony of identities.

For many in the top surgery groups, it was their first time navigating the medical and insurance systems and even their first time having surgery. I felt slightly out of place and longed for a community of other disabled transgender people. I’m sure that they exist and I’m sure that some of them are in these groups and it’s only a matter of finding them. There are specific thoughts I have about my own desire for a flat chest. Will people be more likely to perceive me as a child without a large chest? I wonder if others have similar experiences or how their experiences in recovery and perception of their scars may have differed from their able-bodied peers. Ultimately, the prospect of having surgery excites me, and my chest is something that’s brought me nothing but anxiety, but I do wish I could share these emotions, thoughts, and questions with other transgender disabled people.

My experiences bring to light the similarities and disconnects between the transgender and disabled communities. So much of both identities rely on social constructs that build an inaccessible and binary world. This year, I embrace both my transgender and disabled identities and search for community within this intersection. For pride, I bought a shirt with a rainbow in the background and read, “disability pride.” It’s the perfect symbol of my intertwined queer and disability pride.


Rooted in Rights exists to amplify the perspectives of the disability community. Blog posts and storyteller videos that we publish and content we re-share on social media do not necessarily reflect the opinions or values of Rooted in Rights nor indicate an endorsement of a program or service by Rooted in Rights. We respect and aim to reflect the diversity of opinions and experiences of the disability community. Rooted in Rights seeks to highlight discussions, not direct them. Learn more about Rooted In Rights

Click here to pitch a blog post to Rooted in Rights.

On Zoom, No One Can See My Disability. It’s Changed How People Perceive Me.

An illustration of a laptop screen with two rows of three people in a video chat. They are all wearing various shades of pink, blue, and purple.

Zoom turned out to be an equalizer of sorts. Everyone is enclosed in the same, small, pixelated box which only fits their head and maybe some shoulder. On Zoom, no one sees me in full. No one looks down at me because for once, we’re all on the same head level. No one glances awkwardly at me, trying not to stare, but wondering how I got here. The worst part of Zoom is meeting people in person after only seeing them in pixelation. I try to warn them.

“I’m short,” I say.

“I have short stature.”

“I’m four foot six.”

They nod, wave it off, say they can’t wait to meet.

Yet, in that first minute when I meet them, there’s always a pause. Their eyes scan me, as if they must be missing something. Sometimes, they glance over my shoulder as if expecting someone else. Then they let out a nervous chuckle.

Sometimes I get, “Wow, you really are short.”

As if they thought I was exaggerating.

I wasn’t who they expected, but they never skirt my expectations.

I pause. I smile. “Yes. I’m four foot six.”

If I just repeat facts maybe they will stop staring.

“I was born one pound.”

If I give them an explanation maybe they won’t ask any further questions.

Their eyes widen in surprise.

A doctor congratulates me on my existence.

I smile. I nod. It’s a useless compliment.

Before we all met in pixelated boxes, I always felt I had to justify myself and prove that I belonged. As a child, I was a walking talking vocabulary list, reading book after book. If I sounded smarter than my classmates, maybe they would believe I belonged. Maybe I wouldn’t accidentally be ushered into the kindergartener’s line only to protest all the way back to their classroom before they realized their mistake.

I stare too. I stare at other little people. I feel bad; I’m doing what other people do to me. But I don’t stare in a gawking way. I’m not trying to figure out how they got here or if they belong. I stare because my brain goes there, there, it’s someone like me. I stare in admiration. The other person doesn’t know my reason for staring. They probably assume I’m a nosy child.

Once, on the Boston Subway, a man started ragging on me for holding the metal pole and not the straps attached to the bar above. He said I was too close to his son. The train was crowded, normal for rush hour.

“I can’t reach the straps, sir,” I said. “I’m not touching your son.”

I made sure to keep as much distance as possible, but the train became more and more packed, and everyone was squished against each other.

“Just hold the freaking bar, lady.”
“I can’t reach the bar sir.”

His agitation grew. I started to get scared. Just as I thought he was going to grab my arm, a small woman elbowed her way through the crowd, her strong Boston accent booming over the crowd.

“Get your hands off of her.”

He jerked his arm back. The woman was about my height, maybe a bit shorter.

“The girl isn’t touching you, or your son.”

He mumbled something.

“You really should treat people better, we’re all on a packed train for God’s sake.” She led me back to where she was standing and made the people let me through.

“Thank you,” I said. My own tiny guardian angel.

She nodded. “Be careful, kid. You gotta’ stick up for yourself. Don’t let people push you around.” I admired the way that she commanded attention.

Usually when I fly, I let the TSA make their assumptions. Last year I flew to my grandpa’s funeral with my younger brother, two suitcases and two suits zipped in a garment bag. My brother was a minor. I was an adult. I had a passport, a driver’s license, and a birth certificate just in case.

I didn’t trust people to take me at my word.

All my brother had was his school ID. He was too young for a license and my mom didn’t want him to lose his passport. I spent the time in line nervously arranging my documents. My brother laughed at me, “You’re not going to need all that, you just need an ID.”

The TSA agent asked my brother for the paperwork.

“He’s the minor, I’m an adult,” I explained.

My brother was a foot and a half taller than I was.

The TSA agent laughed.

I stared, straight face, not even a hint of a smile.

He sighed, “ID?”

I handed him my passport.

He flipped it around, stared at me, and called his buddy over. They both stared at the passport. They chuckled to each other.

“Do you need further identification?”

“Is this really yours?” they asked.

I threw my license and birth certificate at him.

They both stared at it, as if checking its authenticity.

“Do we have a problem?” I asked as they smirked at each other.

I was a freak show in the middle of a crowded Boston airport.

Finally, they let us through, telling me it’s always good to double check.

I wasn’t in the mood. I stuffed my IDs back in my bag.

“You see that?” I said to my brother.

“Yeah. So that’s why you bring three different forms of ID.”

I nod. “Sorry, guess you’re right.”

After a Lyft driver threatened to call the police on me because he thought my ID was fake, my dad taught me to be prepared. Always stand up for yourself, he said. Threaten legal action if necessary, that scares people. I doubt he ever had that conversation with my brother. It wasn’t necessary.

In the past ten or so months, since we’ve all been on Zoom, my right to be in a space hasn’t been questioned. No one’s stared at me over a computer, trying to figure out how or why I am as short as I am. In our pixelated pandemic world, I appear “normal”. Before video calls became the norm, I wondered if this was all in my head. Maybe, people really don’t notice my height. Maybe, it’s not such a big deal.

But people do notice my height. That’s never going to change. I don’t blend into a crowd or slip unnoticed into a room. I elicit stares and once-overs. I can hear the gears turning in people’s heads. But in this new existence, I’m finally an equal. In these unusual times when nothing is normal, I appear to be “normal.”  From the shoulders up, I don’t need to prove myself. However, the “normal” version of me is just the illusion of a small, pixelated box in a virtual world.


Rooted in Rights exists to amplify the perspectives of the disability community. Blog posts and storyteller videos that we publish and content we re-share on social media do not necessarily reflect the opinions or values of Rooted in Rights nor indicate an endorsement of a program or service by Rooted in Rights. We respect and aim to reflect the diversity of opinions and experiences of the disability community. Rooted in Rights seeks to highlight discussions, not direct them. Learn more about Rooted In Rights

Click here to pitch a blog post to Rooted in Rights.

A Statement from Rooted in Rights

On April 7, 2020, Rooted in Rights published a piece entitled “In Our New Reality of Virtual Learning, We Can’t Leave Students with Disabilities Behind,” which we have since taken down from our website. Here is an explanation of why:

As multiple self-advocates with intellectual and developmental disabilities (I/DD) rightly pointed out to us, by publishing the piece, we explicitly promoted harmful, ableist patterns of how people with I/DD are all too often treated by society, including by people with other types of disabilities.

The piece was rooted in ableist concepts of “normal” behaviors and behavioral “regression,” as well as the use of segregated learning environments. Not only was this unacceptable, but further, segregated learning environments and concepts of what are considered “normal” behaviors should not exist at all.

Further, we did leave students with disabilities behind. Their experiences are their stories to tell. And by publishing a piece that not only didn’t include a range of viewpoints from students with disabilities about the challenges they’re experiencing with virtual learning, but instead came from and included sources involved in the world of these ableist practices, we erased the perspectives that matter most.

We take full responsibility and make no excuses for our role in contributing to these oppressive patterns of harm and exclusion. We understand that these issues are deeply entrenched in our mindsets and our systems, including within our small team at Rooted in Rights. We are committed to being part of the work to change this and while this doesn’t happen with one apology, we do sincerely apologize for adding to existing harm and causing hurt by publishing the post. We will be reevaluating our internal review processes and working on our editorial guidelines to ensure this does not happen again. Moving forward, we remain committed to not using our platform to support any harmful, ableist treatment of people with I/DD and to publish work that actively fights this harm.


Rooted in Rights exists to amplify the perspectives of the disability community. Blog posts and storyteller videos that we publish and content we re-share on social media do not necessarily reflect the opinions or values of Rooted in Rights nor indicate an endorsement of a program or service by Rooted in Rights. We respect and aim to reflect the diversity of opinions and experiences of the disability community. Rooted in Rights seeks to highlight discussions, not direct them. Learn more about Rooted In Rights

Click here to pitch a blog post to Rooted in Rights.

Reflecting on the Disability Community’s Shake-Ups and Important Moments of 2018

Idyllic open road leading toward setting sun with 2019 written on the road with a big forward pointing arrow.

2018 is coming to a close, and what a year it’s been for the disability community. To recognize and recap all the the shake-ups and important moments that transpired within the past year, Rooted in Rights co-hosted a Twitter chat with the Disability Justice Initiative at the Center for American Progress.

Participants reflected on the highs and lows, the wins and losses, the good and bad that 2018 held. We celebrated some of the biggest successes of the disability community’s advocacy, like our collective efforts to stall passage of H.R. 620, which would roll back civil rights protections from the Americans with Disabilities Act, and the cross-disability efforts to push back against the Public Charge rule, which would impact disabled people seeking to immigrate to the United States. We also shined on spotlight on individual triumphs, such as Liz Weintraub’s powerful testimony before the Senate during the Kavanaugh hearing and Senator Duckworth’s voting on the Senate floor with her baby in her arms.

Those who joined us for the chat also took some time to look toward the future, expressing hopes for what’s to come for the disability community in the year ahead. From employment to health care, from immigration to accessibility, there’s much work to be done to continue our work for disability rights, and Rooted in Rights is ready to continue our work in solidarity with the disability community in 2019!

Below are tweets from the conversation, so you can read what everyone had to share. And if you’d like to add to the conversation, you still can! Just head on over to Twitter and add your thoughts and responses to our questions using the hashtag #DisYearInReview.

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Rooted in Rights exists to amplify the perspectives of the disability community. Blog posts and storyteller videos that we publish and content we re-share on social media do not necessarily reflect the opinions or values of Rooted in Rights nor indicate an endorsement of a program or service by Rooted in Rights. We respect and aim to reflect the diversity of opinions and experiences of the disability community. Rooted in Rights seeks to highlight discussions, not direct them. Learn more about Rooted In Rights

Click here to pitch a blog post to Rooted in Rights.

Call for Blog Posts and Videos on the Disability Vote

A pile of red, white, and blue buttons that say 'Your vote counts."

With November 6th midterm elections rapidly approaching, it’s time again for disabled Americans to prepare to go to the polls. To shine a spotlight on this crucial political moment, #CripTheVote and Rooted in Rights are partnering to call for stories about voting.

We are asking people with disabilities to take the #CripTheVote Challenge by sending us their stories in one of two ways: video or blog post. All submissions must be non-partisan (meaning you do not say who you are voting for or which party you endorse) and focused on the importance of the disability vote.

Deadline for submissions: Close of business, Sunday, October 21, 2018

How to Participate

Submit a Video

If you identify as disabled and would like to submit a video, here’s what to do:

Begin your recording by sharing the following:

  • Your name
  • Where you’re from
  • Anything you’d like us to know about your identity

Then, briefly answer any of the following questions:

  • Why do you vote?
  • Why is it important for disabled people to vote?
  • What barriers to voting have you encountered?
  • How are you planning on voting?
  • What’s a disability-related question you want to ask Midterm Election candidates?

We will selecting responses to release on Rooted in Rights social media in advance of the November election. You can record the video using any camera, including a webcam or phone camera. Submit the video file by clicking here. You can upload the video file directly, or upload it to YouTube and submit the video link. If the form does not work or is inaccessible to you, please email us at info@rootedinrights.org.

Pitch a Blog Post

For people with disabilities who are interested in writing a blog post, we are seeking pitches about the importance of voting and political participation. Why do this year’s midterm elections matter to you? What is voting like for people in your local community? Have you experienced voting discrimination or inaccessibility? Have you had a positive voting experience? Pitches can be sent in the form of ideas or full drafts (no more than 1,200 words in length) and should be focused on personal narratives, with background reporting or information where needed.  Check out Rooted in Rights’ blog post submission page for more details.

#CripTheVote is a nonpartisan online movement encouraging the political participation of disabled people started in 2016. For more, check out their website and schedule of upcoming #CripTheVote chats.

Questions?

Contact Editor in Chief, Emily Ladau, at emilyl@rootedinrights.org.

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Rooted in Rights exists to amplify the perspectives of the disability community. Blog posts and storyteller videos that we publish and content we re-share on social media do not necessarily reflect the opinions or values of Rooted in Rights nor indicate an endorsement of a program or service by Rooted in Rights. We respect and aim to reflect the diversity of opinions and experiences of the disability community. Rooted in Rights seeks to highlight discussions, not direct them. Learn more about Rooted In Rights

Click here to pitch a blog post to Rooted in Rights.

Call for Stories: #MeToo and the Disability Community

Cubes with alphabet letters are scattered around a table. In the middle, cubes are arranged to spell "Me Too."

In partnership with the Disability Visibility Project®, Rooted in Rights will publish a series of stories to bring attention to the omission of disability from larger conversations taking place within the #MeToo Movement. All disabled people are welcome to submit stories – in particular disabled women, disabled women of color, disabled femmes, and disabled non-binary people. Much gratitude to activist Tarana Burke, founder of the me too movement.

How to Participate

Pitch a Blog Post to Rooted in Rights

Submit your idea for a blog post on #MeToo and disability. While the #MeToo movement spans many different issues, we are seeking pitches from people who identify as disabled on rape culture and sexual coercion, violence, abuse, and harassment in the disability community. Pitches can be sent in the form of ideas or full drafts (no more than 1,500 words in length) and should be focused on personal narratives, with background reporting or information where needed. Check out our blog post submission page for more details.

Take Part in the Conversation on Twitter

Tweet @rootedinrights and @DisVisibility your #MeToo story or thoughts about the movement and disabled people. Don’t forget to use the hashtag.

Join us on Wednesday, February 21st, 7 pm Eastern/ 4 pm Pacific for a Twitter chat on #MeToo and the disability community. Follow @rootedinrights and @DisVisibility on Twitter and check this page for the more about the chat.

Share Your Published Work

Do you already have a blog post, op-ed, podcast or video about #MeToo and disability? Email us links to your work and we may amplify it by sharing on social media. For each link, please include the following:

  • Author
  • Date of publication
  • Title
  • Link (URL)
  • Accessibility: Audio/video content should include a text transcripts or captions

Please note: emailing your work to Rooted in Rights does not guarantee it will be added to the page.

Questions?

Contact Editor in Chief, Emily Ladau, at emilyl@rootedinrights.org

Check this page again for new storytelling opportunities and updates!

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Rooted in Rights exists to amplify the perspectives of the disability community. Blog posts and storyteller videos that we publish and content we re-share on social media do not necessarily reflect the opinions or values of Rooted in Rights nor indicate an endorsement of a program or service by Rooted in Rights. We respect and aim to reflect the diversity of opinions and experiences of the disability community. Rooted in Rights seeks to highlight discussions, not direct them. Learn more about Rooted In Rights

Click here to pitch a blog post to Rooted in Rights.

True Activists Don’t Just “Drive-by”

Yellow file folders filled with papers. One folder is labeled "barrier."

Here’s an unpopular opinion: Anderson Cooper’s recent coverage of “drive-by lawsuits” on 60 Minutes wasn’t nearly as egregious as many disabled people seem to believe. Such lawsuits, named for the speed and lack of warning with which they are initiated, are filed against business owners whose locations do not fully comply with the accessibility standards set forth by the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA). Cooper’s angle was, unfortunately, strongly slanted against the importance of adhering to the laws set forth by the ADA. But even from my vantage point as a wheelchair user and activist who fights fiercely for accessibility, I’m not fully on board with the disability community directing the majority of their anger toward Cooper. Though his reporting on these lawsuits missed the mark in multiple ways, it shouldn’t go unnoticed that Cooper exposed a major issue: there are lawyers out there undermining the hard work of activists, and the ADA itself, by recruiting disabled people to sue for even the most minor ADA violations as a money-making scheme.

Drive-by lawsuits lead to small gains in accessibility, but at what cost? One of the interviewees on 60 Minutes made this point well, noting that slapping people with lawsuits before trying to work with them to correct accessibility issues only serves to make business owners wary of the disability community. Indeed, such wariness and animosity was clearly evident in the demeanors of the business owners that Cooper interviewed.

Arguably, then, the lawyers who are supposedly working in the interest of the disability community by filing these lawsuits are actually fanning the flames of discrimination toward disabled people.

None of this is to say there weren’t glaring omissions of information in Cooper’s reporting. He should have addressed the history behind the ADA – the relentless, often unrecognized activism of people who have been fighting for full accessibility for years. And he should have covered the very real accessibility issues that millions of Americans still encounter each day. John Wodatch, former chief of the Disability Rights Section of the Department of Justice, who Cooper interviewed, was absolutely correct in his assertion that since the ADA was passed in 1990, over 25 years is an excessive “grace period” for following the law. It is certainly beyond ridiculous that we’re still fighting for basic access needs so many years after the passage of the ADA. But lining the pockets of greedy lawyers shouldn’t be a first line of defense.

As such, the segment would have been more effective if it addressed alternative advocacy tactics to work with business owners for proper accessibility, acknowledging the countless advocates who are doing the work of educating business owners and providing accessibility trainings and technical assistance each day. These people should be the ones who members of the disability community turn to if they find a business to be inaccessible. If a business owner refuses to comply with the law after initial advocacy steps are taken, then that is when legal action should be considered.

After all, the right to sue for ADA violations is an important tool for the disability community, but when lawsuits are thrown around like confetti, it ultimately subverts the weight they are intended to hold.

On the whole, Cooper indeed failed to cover the issue of drive-by lawsuits in a balanced way, but I urge the disability community to think carefully about how we respond. I know how exhausting it is to live in a world where people so often cannot be bothered to follow laws meant to protect our civil rights, but I choose to view the 60 Minutes segment as an opportunity. We can use this as an opening to reach out to 60 Minutes, and to further our efforts to publicize more information on the accessibility resources and information available to business owners on local and national scales. Keep in mind that true activism leaves far more than lawsuits, bitter business owners, and a new swimming pool lift or a few extra feet for an accessible parking space in its wake.

Even if we have to painstakingly accomplish it one person or location at a time, true activism forges deeper understanding, lasting connections, open communication, and unconditional acceptance among people. And that’s how accessibility and inclusion are achieved.

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Rooted in Rights exists to amplify the perspectives of the disability community. Blog posts and storyteller videos that we publish and content we re-share on social media do not necessarily reflect the opinions or values of Rooted in Rights nor indicate an endorsement of a program or service by Rooted in Rights. We respect and aim to reflect the diversity of opinions and experiences of the disability community. Rooted in Rights seeks to highlight discussions, not direct them. Learn more about Rooted In Rights

Click here to pitch a blog post to Rooted in Rights.

Letter from the new Editor in Chief of the Rooted in Rights Blog

Emily in front of the Capitol in Washington, D.C.

The writing that flows from the disability community has long been a well from which I’ve drawn strength and power. When I speak out, the words of other disabled writers remind me I am not alone. And when my voice falters, I turn to those who have found within themselves the words to articulate what I struggle to say. It is this sense of solidarity, this feeling of being understood, that I hope to foster through my new role as Editor in Chief of the Rooted in Rights Blog.

But I don’t want anyone to get too comfortable, either. I believe in challenging the status quo and pushing readers and writers alike to think beyond the tired tropes of disability. This blog won’t be the place to come for those in search of their daily inspirational fix. Nor will it be a place for people to recount empty tales of woe. The pieces published on the Rooted in Rights Blog will be rooted in disability rights. I’m looking for writers who will share compelling stories and crucial facts that shine a bright spotlight on disability rights issues in all areas of life: inclusive employment, accessible housing and transportation, affordable healthcare, criminal justice reform… the list goes on.

The experiences of disabled people and the issues we encounter do not occur in a vacuum. Disability is but one aspect of the human experience, and it intersects with all other experiences and identities. All too often, the disability community and society as a whole fail to recognize this, especially in regard to the experiences of people with multiple marginalized identities. As such, one of my top priorities in managing the Rooted in Rights Blog is ensuring strong intersectional representation.

Moreover, the ways in which people connect to disability – and the ways in which they connect disability to themselves – are deeply personal. For many, disability is at the core of their identity; for others, it is not. These identity preferences usually manifest in the form of language choice, either through use of person-first language or identity first-language (i.e., “person with a disability” or “disabled person”). I won’t get into a full tangent on the difference between the two, but this is to say that contributors to the Rooted in Rights Blog will always be the authority on how they identify themselves.

And of course, it’s important to me to share that all authors of the pieces we publish will be compensated by Rooted in Rights for their time and efforts. We are dedicated to investing in building a strong community of writers. Because of this, not every pitch sent our way will be accepted, and the pieces that are published will be held to consistently high standards. My role in this process will be not only to provide guidance to our contributors, but also to challenge them to dig deep for every word they write. As someone whose career primarily centers on writing, I know well that this can be mental, physical, and emotional labor all at once, and that the words resulting from that labor are incredibly valuable.

Writing can cultivate human connection and strengthen understanding, call people to action and drive change. I’m excited for the opportunity to harness this power by working with writers from across the disability community. Together, we’ll share perspectives on disability, amplify key issues and ideas, and make it known loud and clear that disability rights are human rights.

Please submit pitches via this form: https://rootedinrights.org/about/submit-a-blog-idea/


Rooted in Rights exists to amplify the perspectives of the disability community. Blog posts and storyteller videos that we publish and content we re-share on social media do not necessarily reflect the opinions or values of Rooted in Rights nor indicate an endorsement of a program or service by Rooted in Rights. We respect and aim to reflect the diversity of opinions and experiences of the disability community. Rooted in Rights seeks to highlight discussions, not direct them. Learn more about Rooted In Rights

Click here to pitch a blog post to Rooted in Rights.