To our disability community:
Let’s not sugarcoat it. Right now, we are under attack.
The systems that support our right to live independently—transportation, healthcare, home and community-based services, accessible housing, personal care support, civil rights protections—are being undermined, devalued, and in some cases, outright dismantled. All across the country, people with disabilities are being told—again—that our lives are too expensive, too complicated, too inconvenient to prioritize.
But hear me when I say this: We are not going anywhere.
This community has never been handed anything. Every right we have, every ramp, every lift on a bus, every piece of accessible technology, every law that protects us—we fought for it. We bled for it. And we will not stand by quietly while others try to strip it away.
In 1977, when the federal government stalled on implementing Section 504 of the Rehabilitation Act—one of the first federal civil rights protections for people with disabilities—activists didn’t wait patiently. They occupied federal buildings across the country. In San Francisco, disabled people and allies staged a sit-in that lasted 26 days, withstood government pressure, and won. They forced the country to listen.
In 1978, in Denver, 19 wheelchair users—later known as the Gang of 19—blocked traffic and shut down buses that refused to accommodate them. They rolled into the streets and refused to move. That protest ignited a national push for accessible public transportation, one of the building blocks of the Americans with Disabilities Act.
And in 1990, dozens of disabled activists crawled up the steps of the U.S. Capitol to demand passage of the ADA. They showed this country the raw truth: that we were still being locked out, literally and figuratively, from our own society. That act of courage and rage cracked the foundation of exclusion wide open.
And when the COVID-19 pandemic hit, our community once again had to rise up. We watched as states drafted “crisis standards of care” that deemed our lives less worthy of treatment. We fought back—through policy advocacy, public protest, and legal action—and we changed those standards. Because our lives are not disposable.
This is the truth: adversity has always been part of our story—but so has resistance. And every time we’ve been pushed to the margins, we’ve pushed back harder. We’ve organized, we’ve shown up, and we’ve never, ever backed down.
At LINC, we stand on the shoulders of these warriors. And we are continuing that fight every single day—for accessible and affordable housing, for reliable public transportation, for personal care services that let people stay in their homes and out of institutions, for healthcare that sees us as whole people.
This is the Independent Living Movement. And let’s be absolutely clear: Independent Living is not charity. It is not pity. It is power.
We are not asking to be taken care of. We are demanding the right to care for ourselves, on our terms, in our communities, with the supports we choose. We are demanding the right to live, not just survive.
So, if you’re feeling tired—good. That means you’ve been in the fight. If you’re feeling angry—good. That means you still care. And if you’re wondering whether it’s worth it—remember that every inch of progress we’ve made came from people just like you refusing to accept the unacceptable.
We are stronger together. We always have been. And we are not done.
We will not be erased. We will not be silenced. We will not be pushed back into the shadows.
We’re still here. We’re still rising. And we’re just getting started.
In solidarity,
Mark Leeper
Executive Director
Disability Action Center NW
Michael Lefevor
Executive Director
LIFE, A Center for Independent Living
Jeremy M. Maxand
Executive Director
Living Independence Network Corporation