I’m not known for staying quiet. I never have been. I never will be. If I did, I wouldn’t be who I am.
And yet, I find myself surrounded by silence—the kind that cuts deeper than words ever could.
I fight for my rights because history has proven, time and time again, that if I don’t, no one else will. When those in power start chipping away at protections, they don’t stop until there’s nothing left. And what keeps me up at night—what I still can’t wrap my head around—is how many people I know, people I’ve laughed with, worked with, even called “friends,” are choosing to stay quiet while my rights, and the rights of millions like me, are being stripped away.
Are they really my “friends”? Or is that just a convenient title—one they like to use when it makes them feel good, but not when it actually matters? Right now? That word is getting quotation marks until further notice.
Do they have my back? Or is there a knife wedged in there, slow and deliberate?
It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see where this is heading. Seventeen state attorneys general want to gut Section 504 of the Rehabilitation Act—the very law that guarantees disabled people access to education, employment, and basic civil rights. Seventeen people in positions of power have decided that our rights are up for debate.
And what’s worse? Hardly anyone outside the disability community is talking about it.
I searched every social media platform, hoping—praying—that my so-called “friends” would be just as outraged as I am. But all I found were posts about other political nightmares, other injustices. Important issues, yes. But somehow, the targeted erasure of disabled people’s rights didn’t make the cut.
My disabled friends? Some of us are screaming into the void.
My non-disabled friends? They’re silent.
And silence, in moments like these, is complicity.
But you know who else is silent? The physically disabled people who voted for these conservatives—the very ones now leading the charge to dismantle our rights. And even as these politicians come after Section 504, even as they attack disability protections, these disabled voters refuse to denounce them. They sit back, arms crossed, acting like they had nothing to do with this. Maybe they think they’ll be spared. Maybe they believe their “good disabled” status will shield them. Maybe they’re in denial—telling themselves, over and over, that this isn’t what they voted for.
And here’s where the excuses start rolling in. “I voted for Trump, but I didn’t vote for these attorneys general!” Yeah? Well, too bad. Because Trump did vote for them. He opened the door for them. He packed the courts with judges who will back them. He gave the green light to strip away the rights of minorities, especially those with disabilities.
So no, you don’t get to act surprised. You don’t get to claim you didn’t sign up for this. You did. The minute you voted for the man who made it clear he didn’t care about disabled people, you cast your lot with the very people who are now coming for your rights.
Well, guess what? It doesn’t matter if you didn’t ask for this. It doesn’t matter if you thought you were voting for something else. What matters is that your vote helped put these people in power. And now that they’re coming for your rights, where’s your outrage? Where’s your voice? You had no problem defending your vote when people warned you about these politicians. So why are you so damn quiet now?
Are people really this obtuse? Do they honestly not see it—that disability is the one marginalized identity anyone can join at any time? Maybe that reality is just too uncomfortable to face. Maybe they won’t see it—won’t admit it—until it’s too late.
Because I promise you, ignoring it won’t make it go away. When people scroll past our warnings, when they choose not to engage, not to share, not to speak up, they’re setting up a future where their rights—or the rights of someone they love—might not exist.
So, I have to ask: Are my “friends” clueless? Are these disabled conservatives just that selfish? Or do they simply not care?
Either way, I’m done assuming people will do the right thing. I see them. I hear their silence loud and clear. And I won’t forget it.
But hey, that’s just my bellybutton—take it or leave it.
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