Black History Month is a time for celebration, reflection, and reckoning. We uplift our leaders, our movements, and our culture. But many times, the contributions of Black disabled activists, who fought for both racial and disability justice, are erased from the whole picture.
I am personally familiar with this suppression. I exist at a crossroad that many people don’t recognize since I’m a Black neurodivergent woman. I’ve lived my entire life negotiating areas that weren’t intended for me, having to establish my place in places that ought to have been welcoming to me from the beginning. The fight is about society’s systemic refusal to accept us as human beings, not just about being Black or disabled.
Yet, for decades, Black disability activists have led the charge for change. Despite the disability rights movement’s historical whiteness, their work helped to influence it. So let’s honor these revolutionaries today.
Brad Lomax: The Black Panther Who Brought Disability Rights to the Movement
If you don’t know Brad Lomax, it’s time to change that. A disabled Black Panther member with multiple sclerosis, Lomax was instrumental in bridging the gap between the disability rights movement and the fight for Black liberation.
In 1977, he played a pivotal role in the “504 Sit-ins”, one of the most significant but under-discussed disability rights protests in American history. The sit-ins were a direct response to the federal government’s refusal to enforce Section 504 of the Rehabilitation Act of 1973: a law that on paper, prohibited discrimination against disabled people in federally funded programs. But what’s a law without enforcement? A broken promise. So, disabled activists across the country mobilized, demanding action.
The San Francisco sit-in, where Lomax took a leadership role, lasted 26 days, making it the longest nonviolent occupation of a federal building in U.S. history. And this is where things get even more revolutionary, because fighting for disability rights wasn’t just about disabled people. It was about “solidarity”.
Lomax understood that oppression is interconnected. He knew that if you’re fighting for the liberation of Black people, you can’t ignore Black disabled people. So he turned to the Black Panther Party for support. And they showed up.
While disabled protesters occupied the federal building, the Black Panthers brought them food, supplies, and media attention. They provided hot meals to activists every single day, proving that community care isn’t just a concept, it’s action. It’s survival.
And yet, despite his critical role, Lomax’s name is rarely mentioned in mainstream disability rights conversations. The faces of disability activism are still overwhelmingly white. His legacy, like that of so many Black disabled activists, has been pushed to the margins. But let’s be clear: there is no disability justice without Black voices.
Where Are We Now? The Ongoing Struggle for Black Disabled Voices
Despite the contributions of Black disabled activists, the disability rights movement still has a whiteness problem. When people think of disability activism, they often picture white faces. The history taught in schools centers figures like Helen Keller and Judy Heumann, but where are the Brad Lomaxes? Where are the Black, disabled voices that shaped this fight?
Meanwhile, within Black activism, disability is treated as an afterthought very often. But let’s talk about the reality:
- Black disabled people are overpoliced and underprotected.
- Police violence negatively affects disabled people, especially those who are Black. Studies estimate that up to “half” of people killed by police have a disability. But when those victims are Black, their disabilities are often erased in public narratives. Instead of being seen as disabled, they’re criminalized. They’re perceived as “threats,” as “noncompliant,” as anything but human.
- Neurodivergent Black children are criminalized instead of accommodated.
- If a white child has a meltdown in a classroom, they’re likely to be met with patience, maybe a referral for support. A Black child exhibiting the exact same behavior? Suspended, expelled, or worse: pushed into the school-to-prison pipeline. Black autistic kids, kids with ADHD, and other neurodivergent children are constantly mislabeled as “defiant” rather than supported for their needs. I was this child. Constantly being suspended, because my early childhood teachers saw me as defiant.
- Black disabled women are dismissed in medical settings.
- We already know how Black women are treated in healthcare: our pain ignored, our symptoms downplayed. Now, add disability to that equation. Black women with chronic illnesses, mental health conditions, or disabilities are met with even more medical neglect. We are gaslit by doctors, written off as “exaggerating” or “drug-seeking” when we’re simply asking for care.
- Disability diagnoses are often inaccessible for Black people.
- I can speak from experience here. As a neurodivergent Black woman, I know how difficult it is for us to get diagnosed, especially in childhood (despite how I was diagnosed before I started primary school). Many of us go undiagnosed for years because our symptoms are overlooked or misinterpreted. When we do seek diagnoses as adults, the barriers: financial, medical, and systemic make it even harder. And yet, disability spaces often expect Black disabled people to just “show up” and advocate when the system was never designed for us in the first place.
We cannot talk about Black liberation without talking about Black disabled liberation. We cannot afford to separate these struggles when our very survival depends on both.
Disability Justice Needs to Be Intersectional
There’s a hard truth that needs to be said: The mainstream disability rights movement was not built for Black people. It was built with the assumption of whiteness: whiteness as the default, whiteness as the experience that dictates advocacy.
This is why disability justice exists. Unlike traditional disability rights advocacy, disability justice coined by queer disabled activists of color, recognizes that disability doesn’t exist in isolation. It’s intertwined with race, gender, class, and more. It demands that activism be intersectional, because how can you fight for accessibility in a world that still criminalizes Black bodies?
And yet, even within these conversations, Black disabled voices are still fighting to be heard. We are expected to show up, to educate, to share our trauma, all while being told we are “too angry,” “too aggressive,” or “too much.” But the truth is, we have every right to be angry. We have every right to demand more.
So, during Black History Month and beyond, here’s what needs to happen:
Center Black disabled voices in activism spaces. Stop treating us like an afterthought. We’ve been here. We’ve been leading. It’s time people start listening.
Demand accessibility in racial justice movements. Black liberation is not just for the able-bodied. Protests, organizing efforts, and activism spaces need to be accessible. Period.
Acknowledge the full history of disability rights. That means talking about Brad Lomax. That means remembering the Black disabled activists who made this movement possible.
We are not footnotes in history. We are the revolution itself. And like Brad Lomax, we aren’t going anywhere.