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americans with disabilities act
Recovering Takes A Village, Not A Stereotype
This National Recovery Month, learn about an Ohio community agency taking a stand for recovery justice.
Sep 25, 2024
As we mark National Recovery Month this September, I find myself reflecting on my own journey with Substance Use Disorder, or SUD, and the vital role that community plays in both addiction and healing. My experience is a testament to how crucial a supportive environment is for people to rebuild their lives with dignity, especially now, as communities across our country try to close the door on those who deserve a chance at recovery.
My story is not unique. Like so many others, I struggled in silence. Substance use was a topic never openly acknowledged in my family—it was treated like dirty laundry, something to be disregarded, not diagnosed. As a nurse and a loving mother, I presented a picture-perfect life to those around me. I was in denial myself, too: I believed I was immune to any of the pressures that could lead to substance use, despite living in a city and state where it was so prevalent. And even with my medical background, I was unable to see my own addiction for the health issue that it was.
It wasn’t until I confronted my internalized stereotypes and became vulnerable with others that I began to heal. Since there was a lack of official recovery services in my hometown, I realized recovery cannot occur in isolation, it requires a supportive community and dedicated spaces and professionals. Even with a lack of drug courts, reentry drug courts, and support groups available in my city at the time, my own recovery was made possible because of my friends and family: the very community I had feared to share my truth with.
Shunning and shaming does not stop SUD. Our siblings, children, and friends deserve our support and should not be labeled as “dangerous” or “criminals.”
Once my truth was laid bare, others became more vulnerable with me and began to share their own stories. There were fellow parents, neighbors, and friends all of whom believed they were the only ones struggling. I learned that SUD thrives in secrecy. This experience inspired me to create a recovery center so others could heal within the community and find the support they need, free from stigma.
Alongside my family, I founded Lawrence County Recovery, LLC (LCR), an agency dedicated to breaking the cycle of shame surrounding SUD, and providing recovery services that empower individuals to reenter their communities with pride. Too often, people in recovery are met with judgment instead of compassion, turned away when they should be welcomed. Recognizing that peer and community support makes the recovery process more sustainable, LCR has set up recovery housing, or sober living homes. In these homes, small groups of people in recovery can live together, support one another, and hold each other accountable as a step toward independent living.
Despite these successes, and after more than five years of supporting over 1,500 people in recovery, I am still witnessing firsthand how discrimination harms and stigmatizes LCR’s clients.
This past August, LCR filed a lawsuit against the Village of Coal Grove, Ohio for engaging in a uniquely egregious and discriminatory campaign targeting individuals in recovery from SUD. The complaint alleges that Coal Grove has imposed a moratorium on new recovery homes, enforced invasive and restrictive requirements on existing providers, and pursued criminal charges against LCR’s leadership, all based on unfounded fears and prejudices.
It is deeply painful to watch as some of my local leaders and neighbors turn their backs on members of our community. Shunning and shaming does not stop SUD. Our siblings, children, and friends deserve our support and should not be labeled as “dangerous” or “criminals.”
People in recovery are protected under federal and state disability laws, including the Fair Housing Act and the Americans with Disabilities Act, which are designed to ensure access to the resources necessary to rebuild lives. This lawsuit is about more than just one city or one recovery provider—it represents a broader struggle for recovery justice.
In Lawrence County alone, zoning proposals in Ironton and South Point have threatened treatment facilities. Throughout Ohio and across the country, local governments are enacting policies that actively hinder recovery services, often driven by misinformation, fear, and stigma.
If we are to make real progress, we must dismantle the harmful stereotypes that surround substance use disorder and embrace the true values of community—belonging and acceptance. My hope is that this stand against discrimination sends a message across the state, that hate has no place in our homes and that healing takes a village.
Recovery is possible, but it cannot happen in the shadows. As a society, we must do better—opening our communities and our hearts to those who need support. This National Recovery Month, let us remember that addiction does not discriminate, and neither should we.
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To Protect Landmark Victories for Disability Rights, Fund Community Care
A lack of investment in home- and community-based services and the low wages that result threaten to turn back the clock due to a severe national shortage of direct support professionals.
Jul 07, 2024
This past June 22 marked 25 years since the Supreme Court ruled in the landmark case
Olmstead v. L.C. that individuals with disabilities have the right to live in their communities and in the most integrated setting possible.
To think about it a different way, it was only 25 years ago that our nation codified its rejection of the warehousing of human beings in large, state-run institutions, isolated from their families and from opportunities to enjoy independence and autonomy.
The two plaintiffs in the Olmstead case, Lois Curtis and Elaine Wilson, cycled through numerous institutions and hospitals through their childhoods due to their disabilities before they ended up at the state-run Georgia Regional Hospital. Doctors decided both women were ready to transition to community-based treatment that would offer greater independence, but the state stopped the women from moving, confining them to the institution several years beyond what was necessary.
Olmstead and the ADA were milestones meant to ensure the civil and human rights of people with disabilities, and we must protect them against the possibility of going backward.
The lawsuit these women filed against the state declared that the unjustified isolation they suffered as the result of their disability was discrimination under Title II of the Americans with Disabilities Act of 1990 (ADA).
Like the ADA, which will celebrate its own anniversary later this month, the court’s Olmstead decision came with a promise: It is “appropriate and required” that individuals with disabilities receive the support they need to thrive in our communities.
Since these landmark human rights victories, we have made significant progress. But a quarter-century later, a lack of investment in home- and community-based services and the low wages that result threaten to turn back the clock due to a severe national shortage of direct support professionals, or DSPs, who are the backbone of the disability service delivery system.
In fact, a survey of hundreds of disability service providers across the country in 2023 found that severe staffing challenges had them facing impossible choices. More than 3 in 4 providers reported that they are no longer accepting new referrals, while 63% were forced to close programs. Meanwhile, nearly a half a million people nationally are languishing on waiting lists for services.
DSPs support people with intellectual and developmental disabilities (I/DD) to carry out activities of daily living, find and maintain employment, develop and sustain meaningful relationships, and so much more.
One of us, Doug, is a DSP whose interest in supporting others dates back to childhood. When I was 10 years old, I often babysat a little boy with Down syndrome. Even at my young age, I was aware of how his family struggled to find resources for their son, cover mounting costs, and make ends meet.
But throughout my tenure as a DSP, I’ve only seen things get worse. The people I support see skyrocketing costs for everyday essentials. Whereas I used to be able to open my wallet to help with these costs from time to time, I’m finding my own finances stretched thinner and thinner. I recently agreed to begin supporting a second person, thinking it would help me bring in more income. Instead, the additional bills mean I’m only falling farther behind.
Nevertheless, I will continue committing to this work because of the impact I know I’m having in the lives of those I support. One of the people I work with is a 65-year-old disabled trans person. When we first started working together, he experienced debilitating anxiety, had no support from family or other natural networks, and felt completely ostracized from his community. By building trust, connecting him with local support groups, and supporting him to find safe spaces, he developed the courage to come out as trans and begin his transition.
The other one of us, Barbara, leads a national association representing thousands of disability service providers like those that employ outstanding DSPs like Doug. Our entire service delivery system rests on the civil rights promises made possible through legal landmarks like Olmstead. But without increased funding for these services to improve DSP wages, more people with I/DD will struggle to find—and keep—people like Doug committed to person-centered support. And that means longer waits for services and a higher risk of unnecessary institutionalization.
Olmstead and the ADA were milestones meant to ensure the civil and human rights of people with disabilities, and we must protect them against the possibility of going backward. Both state and federal leaders have the power to do just that, but they must be willing to commit to the long-term sustainability of the DSP workforce.
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No, the ADA Did Not Fix Ableism in America
Disabled people have waited and struggled for decades for another round of legislative and cultural justice—and we are fervently organizing for it with renewed energy.
Jul 31, 2023
Every year in July, like clockwork, many Americans repeat the myth that one law passed three decades ago—the Americans with Disabilities Act, or ADA,—cured America of ableism.
I’m not just talking about former Sen. Bob Dole (R-Kan.) saying that “under the ADA, we are all winners” in 1990. Rep. Andy Kim (D-N.J.) tweeted two years ago in celebration of the ADA’s “equal access and opportunity for all,” and Minnesota State Rep. Liz Lee said last year that the ADA “ensured that all people deserve equal respect and treatment in all aspects of life.”
Many disabled people can also rattle off stories about bosses and colleagues telling them how the ADA fixed ableism.
“ADA is only the beginning. It is not a solution. Rather, it is an essential foundation on which solutions will be constructed.”
The truth: the ADA, passed on July 26, 1990, isn’t enough to defeat ableism—and it never has been. Disabled people have waited and struggled for decades for another round of legislative and cultural justice—and we are fervently organizing for it with renewed energy.
The ADA established crucial protections for many people with disabilities, but always provided the most protection for those with time and money, especially the means to hire a lawyer. Accommodations in schools and workplaces, accessibility in businesses and on public transportation, and the overall right to exist in public spaces has increased exponentially since the ADA was passed, but it is still spotty and unequal across the United States and often dependent on your disability and access to wealth.
The frequent necessity of hiring a lawyer to access ADA protections has restricted many benefits of the law to the most privileged disabled people from the very beginning.
The ADA was never supposed to be the end. As Justin Dart, Jr., considered by some to be a father of the ADA, said when it was passed: “ADA is only the beginning. It is not a solution. Rather, it is an essential foundation on which solutions will be constructed.”
The ADA mirrored the Civil Rights Act of 1964 in many ways and was a win for disability rights activists because it promised basic protections against discrimination that didn’t exist before. But just as the Civil Rights Act fails to adequately protect Black Americans and other people of color from things like racial bias, voting restrictions, violence at the hands of law enforcement, or wage and wealth gaps established through decades of government-backed plunder, the ADA also falls short.
This is why I recently co-founded an organization called New Disabled South. Our mission is to fight for liberation, justice, and fundamental rights for all disabled people in the South—and in doing so, all disabled people across the country.
It’s a big fight, because disabled people in the South are under attack—and the ADA isn’t enough to protect us. So we are fighting to expose the depth of the problems and for brand new legislative solutions. We are fighting against impossible voting barriers, like the restriction of access to absentee ballots and the criminalization of assisting disabled voters.
Our main struggle and campaign is to pass five disabled voting bills of rights over the next five years in state legislatures across the South.
These disabled voting bills of rights will protect disabled voters’ legal right to vote. We need these protections because without them we simply can’t access the polls in the ways voters should be able to easily access the polls. Given our physical restrictions, that means we need a low administrative burden right to vote by mail, to accessible polling locations, to get assistance with our ballots, and to drive-through voting—all methods of voting under attack across the South.
We have also seen extreme state violence against disabled people across the South, particularly over the past decade with high-profile cases like Ethan Saylor, Sandra Bland, Tanisha Anderson, and the fatal shooting of Magdiel Sanchez.
Those tragedies unfortunately aren’t exceptions. Nearly half of people killed by police in the United States have a disability—and these are frequently disabled people of color. Meanwhile, 55% of Black disabled men have been arrested at least once by the time they are 28, and 40% of the current prison population is disabled. Police, prisons and courts are a disability justice issue because they are hurting disabled people.
That’s why at New Disabled South we are also fighting to end such criminalization with targeted campaigns and grassroots organizing to educate disabled people around the harms of policing and to mobilize our communities to dismantle these systems. The ADA doesn’t address the dire need for systemic changes in how we are treated by cops, courts, jails, or prisons.
Our people, across every single issue you care about, need you to care about disability—because at the margins of every issue you care about you will find us.
Poverty in the disabled community, especially across the South, hasn’t been solved by the ADA. Despite supposed equal access to jobs and housing—our people are living in poverty at twice the rate of non-disabled people. And we are seeing disabled people forced out of communities and into nursing homes, at all ages. A staggering 655,000 people are on state waiting lists to receive Medicaid waivers to receive care in their homes, and parents with disabled children are often separated from their kids or forced to live in poverty because they themselves have to stay home and provide critical care. We are fighting across every single one of our states to end this inhumane backlog, investing nearly $100,000 in ad campaigns calling on state leaders to fund waiver slots. We won’t stop until every single Southern disabled person waiting to come home is home.
Everything progressives fight for is bound up in disability. Racism, environmental injustice, climate change, sexism, homophobia, transphobia, capitalism, colonialism, xenophobia—all of these are disabling forces. Our people, across every single issue you care about, need you to care about disability—because at the margins of every issue you care about you will find us.
The ADA simply doesn’t account for our multi-issue lives. We need you to be on our side.
It’s time for our political and cultural leaders to do better for disabled people. Let’s stop racist police and courts and prisons from killing Black disabled people, let’s fight for our right to vote, and let’s ensure our people come home and can afford our bills. Let’s allow all disabled people to live and thrive.
The time is now to make the lives of all disabled people better. If you’re celebrating the ADA this month, transform your celebration into action for a better future for disabled people. The ADA isn’t enough, it never was, and we need more.
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