Nothing About Us Without Us

From Pity to Power: How Disability Rights Began

A parent quietly shuts a bedroom door while a neighbor passes coins through a window, showing 19th-century charity toward a disabled child.

You might be surprised how not long ago people with disabilities were rarely seen as equals. Charity, not inclusion, shaped opinions. Neighbors handed out spare coins, parents often hid children, and institutions kept people out of sight.

Even in the 1970s telethons paraded children to pull at heartstrings. Help came so donors felt good, not to create real fairness.

A stern doctor examines a wheelchair user in a bright white office, emphasizing clinical detachment and focus on defects.

Medicine took over. Diagnosis replaced dialogue. If you couldn’t be cured, you were told to settle for less—school, work, freedom. A student who used a wheelchair met stairs and a closed door. Blind riders met silent crosswalks. Limits felt normal, not unjust.

Strained hands grasp concrete stairs outside a building, capturing the struggle of an inaccessible entrance.

The charity and medical views shaped cities and schools. Barriers like missing ramps or captions sent a clear message: you are the problem. People learned not to expect much and seldom got asked what they wanted.

Two figures walk in a tranquil park, one guiding with a white cane amid soft watercolor greens.

A simple, radical idea emerged: maybe disabled people aren’t the issue—barriers are. The social model asks us to look at steps, silent videos, and low expectations, not bodies.

Two children—one in a wheelchair—face an elevator beside stairs in a neon-lit future classroom, highlighting accessible design.

Picture two students: one rolls, one walks. A second-floor class has only stairs. Under the old view, the child who rolls stays behind. The social model flips it: build a ramp or elevator and the class opens to everyone.

Glowing chalk icons of ramps, curb cuts, and captions invite diverse hands to point with hope.

This shift changed questions from “what’s wrong with you?” to “what’s wrong around you?” A small curb cut or caption unlocked access for all. Demands moved from pity to rights and equality.

Layered collage of veterans, Ed Roberts at Berkeley, and bold protest slogans signals the rise of disability activism.

The Spark: Early Activists and the Birth of a Movement

Real change began when people with disabilities spoke for themselves. Veterans returned from war to find doors closed. Ed Roberts, paralyzed by polio, insisted on attending Berkeley and set up supports that helped thousands.

Abstract figures chained to railings outside a modern government building portray a bold wheelchair protest.

Judith Heumann fought New York City’s ban on her teaching and won. Advocacy grew louder. Inspired by civil-rights and women’s movements, activists used media, sit-ins, and their own stories.

Bold stencil art shows wheelchair users blocking buses and activists chaining themselves to doors in urgent red and black.

Society first called the demands unrealistic. Protests—blocking buses, fighting schools, occupying offices—forced attention. These actions seeded laws like the Rehabilitation Act and the Americans with Disabilities Act.

The first waves of activism rewrote the story. Disabled people moved from helpless to powerful, insisting on “nothing about us without us.” Every curb cut, ramp, and inclusive classroom today traces back to their courage.