Everyday Advocacy
“We hold these truths to be self-evident that all men and women are created equal.”
On July 9, 1848, five women gathered in the small town of Waterloo, NY for tea. Their children likely played at their feet or outdoors as the friends discussed their frustrations about being second class citizens. Not allowed to speak in public, lead churches, hold jobs, vote, or own property, the women asked each other what it would take to effect significant change. They decided to place an ad in a newspaper inviting people to "a Convention to discuss the social, civil and religious rights and condition of woman." Ten days later, 300 people gathered in nearby Seneca Falls for the first national Woman’s Rights Convention, an event now considered the birth of an enduring national movement.
Last week, we stopped at the Women’s Rights National Historic Park enroute from a family vacation in Michigan. The story of Seneca Falls is remarkable when you think about it. Five women sharing conversation, tea, and a dream of someday enjoying equality. It was a good reminder that advocacy begins with the tiniest of steps and often among like-minded friends.
As we walked the length of the site’s monument, E and I talked about how sometimes we think change is impossible or too hard. But really it happens over long periods of time, in small incremental steps. And sometimes, we may never see the results of our labor.
When people hear through the grapevine that Mark and I advocated for K to attend the local private school where we teach, we often hear these words. “Good for you. I never could have done that.” But the truth is, anyone could have, because anyone can be an advocate. As parents, we wanted K to go to the same school his sisters attend. As educators, we wanted to open doors for other families like ours. And we wanted to live in a community that welcomed people of all abilities, because those are the best kinds of communities to belong to. To share our vision, we hosted small groups of friends and community members in homes. We asked like-minded allies to commit their time or money. At times it was tiring; it was often humbling; but it wasn’t extraordinary. Friends and allies joined in, and the change we hoped for happened. This year, Kaleb will enter grade 6, just one student among many in his inclusion class.
I share these two anecdotes to make a point: advocates aren’t heroes. If the five women who unknowingly launched a national movement were asked if they saw themselves as heroes, I’m sure they would have laughed the weighty moniker off. Advocates are dreamers. Problem solvers. Doers. Yes. But they’re not in possession of anything other than a passion to create a more inclusive world. Who doesn’t want that?
To paint advocacy as something heroic, places it on a pedestal out of reach to the average person—it’s seen as too time-consuming, too stressful, or too (fill in your own blank). Does it take a special kind of boldness? Faith? Access to large coffers of cash? Nope. Nope. And nope.
I’m an introvert, terrified of public speaking. I’m also a doubter by nature. I have a houseful of children, pets and plants, with far more dust bunnies than time or cash floating around. Yet, Mark and I see advocacy as an everyday part of our family’s life. Why? Because it gets the job done. Because it’s both our obligation and privilege to stand by K and make sure he has access to the same, basic dignities we expect for all three of our kids. For ourselves. It’s that simple. At our house, we try not to get tied up in knots attempting to achieve grand feats of social justice or flying balloons and streamers around the results. Anyone can be an advocate.
At the heart of advocacy is simple attention—noticing what others need and understanding that fairness doesn’t mean everyone gets the same thing. Sometimes it’s speaking up or signing a petition or changing the way we teach so all students have the chance to learn or show what they know. Sometimes the problems are bigger. What can we do about the low employment rate of adults with disabilities? Or the fact that until recently, K wasn’t legally allowed to have more than 2,500.00 in savings without sacrificing his disability insurance once he turns 18. (Advocacy changed that law!) Advocacy also solves smaller problems. When the “r” word is used in jest, I can point out the harm it causes. When K gets stared at in public, I can teach him to break the ice and say “hi.” Advocacy improves everyday interactions by building little footbridges across perceived or real differences. And one step at a time, things get better.
K has become his own best advocate. He regularly deconstructs stereotypes and discomfort just by showing up, introducing himself, and showing interest in the people around him. One morning in a blueberry field, I listened to the birds, the distant traffic, the sound of my husband and son chatting with each other as they picked fruit side-by-side a few rows away. Two women who were clearly teachers (I admit to eavesdropping) chatted non-stop beside me. When K came to find me, they saw him, and their conversation instantly fell silent. One woman caught my eye and smiled. The tables turned. Instead of eavesdropping on them, it was apparent they were suddenly eavesdropping on us. I heard a little chuckle after K said something funny. He moved back to Mark. They moved toward K. Minutes later, I found all four chatting in another row, two pairs of strangers, suddenly not. That’s advocacy, too.
Advocacy is when your 10-year-old nephew asks his mom to buy him a baseball cap with the words “not broken” on it from a coffee shop that employs people with disabilities. It’s when he proudly wears it around town, because he already understands that people with disabilities aren’t broken, just the lens through which we view them is. Advocacy is setting new goals and delegating appropriate resources at an annual IEP meeting. It’s community leaders meeting with a mom or a dad or a person with a disability in order to understand how they can foster more inclusive communities. It’s a school saying yes to inclusion. It’s an article in a magazine. It’s making a donation or asking for one. It’s friendship. It’s most especially friendship. And anyone can be a friend.
If there is breath in you, you have exactly what you need to make the spaces you inhabit welcoming and diverse and just. What matters most to you? And what small steps can you take to effect change? History shows us, little choices and small moments do add up. We can’t all be heroes, but we can definitely ALL be advocates.
“Everything the cause had accomplished…was once impossible. Until it wasn’t.
—Elaine Weiss, The Woman’s Hour
