Next month is the 50th anniversary of my paralyzing spinal stroke.
I’m widely recognizing this milestone, one that doctors told me I’d never live to see. But even more so, I’m celebrating being a person with a disability, who with the support of countless people, has been able to live a big, joyful life.
A friend living in a large city read that Traverse City was recently recognized as the “2026 Food City of the Year” by Midwest Living magazine.
She’s never been to Traverse City and wants to treat me to a meal at a few of these restaurants. She’s intrigued that our rural area can have so many great food establishments.
As she describes each place on the list I tell her which ones are universally accessible.
My friend, a female of color, is a successful businessperson. She says “Wow, I’m surprised. Wasn’t the Americans with Disabilities Act(ADA) signed in 1990?”
I doubt any of these places would refuse to serve me because of the color of my skin.
Maybe you should hold a sign in front of the inaccessible places that reads “Wheelchairs Not Wanted.”
Inaccessibility is segregation.
Holding the phone tightly to my ear, my face feels hot, red. I’m aware of the messiness of it all. I’m embarrassed by this aspect of the place I call home.
Before I can say something, she asks “Give me some other examples of inaccessibility in your community.”
I say, “They are everywhere and anywhere the laws aren’t enforced.”
My friend asks “What’s this like for you emotionally?”
I say, “It feels sad, scary and maddening. It seems as if I’m being systematically separated from other people. Actions are taken and enforced that directly exclude people like me from these places. These are disability justice issues. Who gets invited and is seen. When I confront the people in charge, they’re rarely mean. If anything, they respond with compassion or pity. Still, able-bodied people have the power to create these divisions. I’m put in an “othering” category and nothing changes.”
“Say more,” my friend says.
“Airport and hotel shuttle buses are inaccessible. During a recent travel snow emergency, a hotel charged me more for a larger suite because their so-called ADA room was too small for my wheelchair to navigate in. Lots of public bathrooms are noncompliant as well as venues that only offer tall tables. Often I’m told ‘Why don’t you just skip this experience, Susan.’ I’ve also come to realize all of the ways I self-segregate to avoid the hassles and heartache. It’s part of my own internalized ableism.”
Inaccessibility is segregation.
During COVID many people struggled with the restrictions and isolation. Lately, several people have told me that the winter storm triggered similar feelings. Snow problems are universal and folks wondered about our emergency preparedness for seniors, the disabled and the economically vulnerable.
My friend and I discuss how every protected class overlaps with disability, for example immigrants, military veterans and the LGBTQ+ community.
The history of movements reveals how each movement influences another. Diversity of voices creates change and strength not dilution of individual movement missions and visions.
I suggest two books I’m reading to my friend: “Disability As Diversity” by Dr. Erin E. Andrews and “A Disability History of the United States” by Kim E. Nielsen.
Inaccessibility is segregation.