A Christmas Party for Advocates

"It's all related," my friend across the table from me at the Christmas party said yesterday. Bob, like everyone at the party has had his own life greatly impacted by disability. Even though four of the seven of us, including Bob, had arrived in wheel chairs, he wasn't referring just to civil rights issues having to do with disability. To him, all civil rights issues are related. And those who suffer do not need to suffer aloof from the other groups. That's the beauty of the advocacy world. While we may not all see eye to eye, we understand oppression from the underside--for most advocates have experienced great losses, either personally or vicariously through a dear friend or family member.

Empathy is the connecting piece. Along with courage.

Bob was talking about gender issues, racial issues, and the lack of government funding for the most economically disadvantaged families in our society--each an issue requiring a thorough understanding of power dynamics and politics.  Like most people who have discovered the joys and frustrations of advocacy work, everyone at the table was far more likely to connect the dots between all of these issues than those in the general population. Yet, so frustrated we were at times, thinking of how many vulnerable individuals do not identify with vulnerability nor do they care to be advocates, standing up to patriarchal, closed systems.

For the time being, we acknowledged, it is hard to imagine there being a light at the end of the tunnel, even with all the protests going on. Still, the overall mood of this holiday event was friendly. Not as jovial as I remember in years past, however.  We found it impossible to be celebratory with the current political climate, which seems to mock the validity of our concerns by it's choices to cut anything having to do with humanitarian issues. 

The mutual support and camaraderie could not have been more heartfelt, however, and it seemed to show to the crowd in the restaurant as we each made our way to the table--one with a white cane, tapping his way along, escorted by "Muscle Man," as I call the young adult who has no difficulty getting around, yet relishes the way he manages, as a para-professional, to assist others who do encounter barriers. This energetic, young man even boldly goes into businesses to confront owners on his own, if need be, about the changes he often spies himself on their property. These violations prevent his friends with mobility issues to enter with ease, he tells them, and that's not fair!

Without Muscle Man proudly pushing my wheel chair when the slope was too much for my under-developed biceps to navigate, I would have been hard-pressed to make the last leg of my journey. Like a pro, he knew when to let go, when to ask if that was enough, sensing every need and listening carefully for my voice in case he missed anything.

To my right, a very good friend about my age, a social worker with the State of Kansas, happens to be a man of very short stature with a huge heart for the oppressed, especially children and teens coming out of foster care, often unprepared to take on independent living.  Anyone watching our table would not have had difficulty seeing the love flowing in our smiles and conversation, so happy and privileged to be in this good company.

"Are you overwhelmed with the calls you are now getting?" I asked the social worker, imagining his phone ringing off the wall, same as mine once did when working in public health when funding was flowing freely to meet psychosocial needs.

"No," came his surprising answer. It seems that most have just given up and resolved themselves to the fact they aren't going to have their needs met, he explains. No need to ask.

The man with the white cane, sitting to my left, explains what a rough time he and his wife, also blind, are having since she lost her job. Due to lack of funding, this was a job that had her often  disseminating help to individuals with the same special needs as she and her husband. Then, adding to the blow, she was unable to even think of coming to the party because of a very serious foot injury caused by a fall. 

Perhaps, more than most, this group understands the interconnections of advocacy and the power of protest. We have no difficulty affirming one another. Especially in this day when every group is scrambling to keep going against the tide of dissent.

Yet there certainly is hope in one area--the area that happens to be my greatest focus and has been for decades--the mental health issues now being openly addressed morning and night, changing the conversations in a way unlike anything we've ever seen when it comes to gender-based violence. Seeing the pyramids overturned so that suppressed voices are now being heard and believed. Even most recently seeing election results impacted, giving hope and validation to the #MeToo movement. This movement is a perfect illustration of the fact that money isn't always the driving force behind social change. Money is power--yes. So is owning one's story and electing to speak out in spite of the cost. That's power and freedom rolled into one. It's standing up to say:  "I cannot stop bearing witness to what I know. I refuse to be silenced no matter what the cost!"  Saying this requires guts, not money.

This turn-around has been hard-fought by a small percentage of women and men, myself among them, speaking out to the media a quarter century ago when we found ourselves having to teach the press how to even formulate questions about sexual harassment and child abuse, as we struggled to find journalists even interested in listening to those of us with any degree of expertise. For the issues of violence and abuse were just way too scary and depressing, even for most professionals to dare pick up the passion. 

Our efforts in advocacy writing, reminding the next generation of the need to remember the past while imagining a brighter future, has never been more needed. In that vein, we celebrated  accomplishments that had required far more effort than would seem necessary--today, my husband Ron, in a power wheel chair, celebrates the changes made in the parking lot just outside the door we'd entered for this celebration. Without his persistence, he no longer struggles as wheel chair users have had to do in the past, to get into one of the most popular restaurants in the city!  Yet why should it take so much work? That's the complex question in all the issues this little flock is asking.

Before leaving, I suggested, as I have several times in the past, that to bring about real change, it seems necessary to force the change agents and inspectors to walk the same path as the handicapped for only a few hours (or roll around in the same seats that power chair users must occupy in order to get around). This would change everything, I suggested.

Power wheel chairs for all in power--that's my recommendation, Mr. Trump.  Everyone in Congress!  I dare say the tune in Washington would no longer be off key, producing dissonance for the disenfranchised. How about we add this new line item to this most drastic tax reform bill that seems to be a done deal?