Meet Jimothy, a disabled raccoon in Seattle.    In the last couple days, Jimothy’s fame has stretched far beyond the Pacific Northwest.  People have become so enamored that there are pictures and murals, countless videos, someone even got a tattoo.

So, what’s my problem?  Aren’t I always pushing for more awareness and centering of disability?  Yes, but I’m against the way people are responding to this story.  It’s the same harmful cycle every time.  Society rallies around a story that involves disability and they turn to into inspiration porn and then move on. I’ll remind you that inspiration porn is the term disabled people use when something involving disability happens and it is used as a way for non-disabled people to feel better about themselves.  Inspiration porn distorts the lived experience of disability for society’s benefit.  It often tokenizes and strips people of the full humanity.

My issue with the reaction to Jimothy is about a deeper concern I have with how society treats disability overall.  Most people don’t even know that July is Disability Pride Month and is celebrated every year in commemoration of the Americans with Disabilities Act becoming law on July 26, 1990. The same ooey-gooey saccharine “aww, isn’t this cute?” moments pop up over and over; they get national attention and then everyone moves on.  I have personal experience with this.  Meanwhile, disabled people are under daily attack from the federal government.  I have written about the cuts to Social Security and Medicare (and how I’m likely to lose my health insurance), the dismantling of Section 504 (which protects equal access to education), my personal experience of ongoing isolation and neglect and the failure of the state to help me, and most recently the government trying to re-institutionalize disabled people.  Guess what?  None of that has gotten hardly any attention.  Society would much rather get distracted by how cute a disabled raccoon is than they would get active in protecting the rights and vital services I as a human being need to survive.  To paraphrase the legend Andre 3000, y’all don’t want to hear me, you just want to look at a raccoon.

The caged bird sings   

with a fearful trill   

of things unknown   

but longed for still   

and his tune is heard   

on the distant hill   

for the caged bird   

sings of freedom.

–Maya Angelou

June 22 is a landmark day in disability justice.  In 1999, the Supreme Court issued their decision in Olmstead v LC.  This case began when Lois Curtis and Elaine Wilson, two women with intellectual disabilities,  sued the state of Georgia to be able to get treatment in the community rather than being isolated in a state hospital where they were held.  Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg offered the Court’s majority opinion, which said that under Article II of the Americans with Disabilities Act, disabled people had a right to receive in-home and community based care.

To understand why this was a seismic moment for disabled people, you need to understand how we were treated prior to this decision.  From 1867 to 1974, various cities had what became known as the “ugly laws.”  Their purpose was to shield non-disabled people from seeing or interacting anyone who might disturb or upset their sense of society.  The first of these laws was passed in San Francisco and said that anyone deemed “diseased, maimed, mutilated or in any way deformed” could be charged with a $25 fine (equivalent to $562 in 2026), 25 days in jail, or both.  This led to a  massive rise in imprisonment and institutionalization.  Disabled people were literally not to be seen, families thought it was a better option for their relatives; social stigma won out.  They couldn’t dare to lose their place in the hierarchy.  What this became is a system of abuse and neglect.  As the saying goes, “out of sight, out of mind.”

Time isn’t linear and what’s past not only influences the present, sometimes it repeats.  Just a few days ago, the Trump regime announced that it is challenging Olmstead v LC.  The memo issued by the Department of Justice says that they don’t believe states are required to offer in-home or community based care.  Let me break down what this could mean in practical and personal terms using myself as an example.  I lost my parents in 2019.  As a result, I needed to get assistance with what are called “activities of daily living” or ADLs; for me this includes getting dressed, showering, and food.  I need help getting in and out of my wheelchair.  I have talked out this a lot on this and other platforms but it is central to my life right now: I am being neglected and isolated by my family. Unfortunately, Oregon has failed me. I mention this again to highlight that my caregiver who only comes five days a week is the only person I currently interact with face to face.  When she leaves at 2pm on Friday afternoon, I am in bed and alone until she returns at 8:30am on Monday.  If I were to lose in-home care, it would be a life altering experience.  I receive this service as someone dual enrolled in Medicare and Medicaid; recent action by Trump likely means to I am going to lose my health insurance.  To be a disabled person in the country is to be reminded over and over again that you are seen as worthless, whether that’s from the government or family, or in my case, both.

We cannot afford to go back, we’ve come so far.  Even though it’s never been enough.  But that’s the work.  We keep pushing and pulling because if we don’t, no one will.  Disabled people have always been at the forefront of, but also main targets in, the struggle for justice.

I was born three months premature and the lack of oxygen to my brain resulted in cerebral palsy, a lifelong disability.  I am on SSI, Supplemental Security Income.  I receive $1,381 a month, it is my only source of income.  The payment is all I have to survive; I pay my utilities and for necessities like food.  There are many misconceptions about what it’s like to rely on programs like this.  If you listen to lies conservatives tell, you probably think people like me are rolling in cash and just refuse to work.  That couldn’t be further from the truth.

Under the strict guidelines of SSI, I can’t have more than $2,000 a month in assets.  You read that right: $2,000 is the limit.  No, I can’t save up for an emergency.  I can’t even get married without the possibility of losing the money I need to get through daily life because a spouse’s money would put me over that limit.

In 2025, the federal poverty line for an individual was $15,960 and I was just over that at $16,126.  I am not now or ever have been, a “moocher” or a “welfare queen.” I don’t have much further to fall.  Still, if Donald Trump gets his way, things will get worse for me and hundreds of thousands like me.

ProPublica reports that Trump and his sycophants are currently working on a new rule for the Social Security Administration.  The rule, would cut benefits by up to a third for disabled adults by deducting the cost of their bedroom.  This is expected to cut payments by up to one-third and could eliminate payments completely for some people.  From my calculations, I would lose $460 and end up with $921 and month.  That would be a devastating blow.

This latest attack comes after HHS Secretary and anti-vaccine conspiracy theorist Robert F. Kennedy Jr said in testimony before Congress that Medicaid is “rife with fraud” and criticized family members who are paid to be caregivers for their loved ones because they are doing things for money that they used to do for free. There is a caregiving crisis in this country; as someone dual enrolled in Medicare and Medicaid, I experience this firsthand.  I rely on an in-home care company to help me with activities of daily living after the deaths of my mom and dad in 2019.  I live with family but they isolate and neglect me.  If I didn’t have the support of this company that is paid for because I am low income, I would have no one.  I may not have the loving care of family but I did once and Secretary Kennedy has no idea what he’s talking about.  Caregivers and under paid and overworked; burn out and turnover in the company I work with is high.  Finding caregivers who can adequately help with my needs has not been easy.

Government enforced poverty is real.  I live it every day.  Despite there being legislation to raise the limit of assets I could have monthly  on SSI and end the marriage ban, there is no hope of passage as long as Republicans control Congress).  Disabled people are always out of sight, out of mind.  We are constantly targeted and bear the wait of policy aimed at destroying the things we need to live. Maybe someday we will be taken seriously but I’m not betting on it.

for nothing real can be threatened

true love breathed salvation back into me

with every tear came redemption

and my torturer became my remedy

People think of me as the guy who met Beyoncé .  It’s true.  I did, but that’s not the beginning or end of my story.  Today marks the tenth anniversary of her magnum opus LEMONADE and I wanted to talk about why her music and that album continues to matter.

At the time the album was released, it was earth shattering.  Beyoncé had never directly addressed the rampant speculation about her marriage.  This album put that to rest as she sonically and visually takes the world through the feelings of hurt, anger, sadness, and ultimately healing and reconciliation after infidelity.

A decade later, its cultural impact cannot be overstated.  There are writers far more skilled than I am have written beautifully about it.  What I want to say is about its personal impact.  Beyoncé has and will always mean the world to me.  Destiny’s Child released their first album exactly a week after my ninth birthday.  Instantly, I saw women who looked like me.  As a Black disabled kid, I was visibly different from everyone around me, even my other non-disabled Black friends.  I was drawn to the power and confidence Beyoncé and Destiny’s Child showed.  As a pop culture obsessive, I consumed everything I could about her from albums to performances, I vividly remember watching Camen: A Hip Hopera on MTV in 2001.

Fast forward to July 2019. I am 30. It is four years after the death of my older brother. I then suffer the loss of my mom to metastatic breast cancer and the two months later, unexpectedly my dad. Six months after my dad came my grandpa in March 2020 just as the world shut down for the pandemic. A year after that, I answered a knock on the door to find a sheriff there to tell my little brother had died. In the midst of all this I went through three years of hell as a family member who had promised to help navigate the probate process turned on us and tried to make my siblings and I homeless. I turned to social media as a last resort and raised $106,000 in two weeks to save the home my parents remodeled to meet my accessibility needs.

I did it! I saved my house. My years long nightmare was over. Right? Now I find myself neglected and isolated. For the last three years , I have spent 20 hours a day in bed, completely by myself. Once the probate was over and in mine and my siblings names, my sister turned on me and has taken control of the house. Despite being a joint owner, my access has shrunk down to my bedroom. The only person I see is my caregiver who comes five days a week to help me get dressed and get food. I don’t even have use of the accessible bathroom that was built for me.

This is what I was living with when I met Beyoncé and what I returned to. Music has always been sacred to me. It has helped give voice to my hardest and happiest moments. In the silence of my day to day, I will put on Beyoncé and her years of music speak to my past and the present I’m trying to make possible for myself. On LEMONADE, I identify with the lyrics that I began this post with; from the song All Night. True, honest love, whether intimate in a romantic relationship or friendship can breathe salvation (meaning wholeness) into us. Right now in my life, I am trying to create community around me; chosen family because I have lost my family. The next lyric is one I hope is coming true, that every tear I have cried in the last 11 years is leading to my redemption. That sharing my story (both online and in the book I’m writing) hasn’t been for nothing. I believe that my experience and all the emotional torture I’ve dealt with can be a remedy, not just for me but for anyone who finds value in what i have to share. There is so much that needs to change. Too often, marginalized people, especially disabled people, are invisible. Believe me, it hasn’t been as simple as reaching out for help. When I have done so over the years, the state has failed me.

I hold Beyoncé as one of my inspirations because she too has struggled and made it through.  Obviously, there are differences between us but that doesn’t change that fact that she exemplifies hope.  I draw strength from the lyrics of Freedom:

freedom freedom i can’t move

freedom cut me loose

freedom freedom where are you?

cause i need freedom too

i break chains all by myself

won’t let my freedom rot in hell

hey! i’ma keep running cause a winner don’t quit on themselves

LEMONADE remains a significant guidepost in culture because it speaks truth about pain and resilience. It has wisdom to share, if we are willing to listen. Ten years later and its impact hasn’t diminished; if anything, it resonates more than ever.

What does it look like when marginalized communities are pitted against each other and the world is confronted by the reality of institutional failure?

On Sunday we witnessed the latest example. At the BAFTAs, the British film industry’s highest award, Michael B. Jordan and Delroy Lindo were presenting when the N word was shouted from the audience. The man who shouted it, John Davidson, has Tourette syndrome. Tourette syndrome, is a disability that is characterized by vocal and physical tics. A tic often includes the repetition of words, phrases, and sounds. It’s important to say there is a condition often associated with Tourette syndrome called coprolalia that is the involuntary expression of offensive language. Not everyone who has Tourette syndrome has coprolalia. John Davidson does.

Apparently prior to the ceremony, people in the room were told of Davidson’s disability.  While not as extreme as the N word, he reportedly experienced tics and said other things during the ceremony before choosing to leave.  According to Hannah Beachler, the production designer of SINNERS, she was at the receiving end of Davidson using the N word again later that evening.

There has been much discourse in the aftermath of the ceremony.  Delroy Lindo shared that no one from the BAFTAs spoke to him or Michael B. Jordan.  John Davidson released a statement saying that he is always mortified if his involuntary tics are interpreted as reflecting his feelings.  He thanked the BAFTAs for their announcement about him prior to the ceremony.  The BAFTAs released a statement where they took full responsibility for their horrendous handling of the incident days later.

What I have noticed and experienced in the days since the ceremony is this unconscious positioning of the Black and disabled communities against each other.  It’s even weird for me to write that sentence as a Black disabled person who has always been clear about them being central to my identity; there is no either/or, it is both/and always.  I first became aware of this incident through a video on Instagram.  In the comments of the video I wrote that Tourette syndrome doesn’t automatically mean that people shout cuss words and certainly not racial slurs.  The response is hasn’t stopped for 72 hours and counting; I have been told I’m “an idiot,” that I need to educate myself, one man who got in an extended back and forth told me I was spreading hate against disabled people.  All of these comments have come from white people. If we simply accept this logic uncritically, we are making broad assumptions about people with Tourette syndrome. Does the defense that yes, this is just how it is and every person with this disability shouts racial slurs make sense? Doesn’t that seem like a horrible generalization?

In both the statements from John Davidson and the BAFTAs, it was interesting to me that there was no mention of Michael B. Jordan and Delroy Lindo.  I have seen over and over that the reasoning given is that John Davidson’s tics are involuntary.  I completely understand that, but that doesn’t change the fact that they and Hannah Beachler were subjected to violent, dehumanizing, racist language.  Why is it too much to ask that they receive apologies?  If harm is done, even unintentionally, wouldn’t that be the appropriate way to address it?  I have to wonder why it is that an apology is being framed as some sort of impossibly huge demand?  Personally, my assumption is that John Davidson is a good person who wouldn’t have any hesitation giving it.  However, it seems to me that Black people are instead being asked to accept that these were involuntary actions as a form of apology and move on.  Not only does that not sit right with me, I think it feeds into an ableist perception that non-disabled people weaponize against us all the time; they infantilize us and don’t see us a fully equal.  “Oh, poor guy, he can’t control it, how awful his life must be.”  I want to state this clearly: disability is not a justification for racism.  I am not saying that John Davidson is racist, but use of the N word by a white person is an act of racism.  The BBC came under intense backlash and criticism because even though the BAFTAs were prerecorded, edited, and aired two hours later, they didn’t edit out the slur but they did edit out the portion of an acceptance speech that said “free Palestine.”  That was certainly a choice and for whatever reason, the BBC thought ableism was offensive, calling for the end of genocide was abhorrent, but racism was perfectly acceptable?

I also want to talk about ableism.  In the comments of that same video where  learned about what happened, I saw a comment from actor Mario Lopez, once famous for his role on Saved By The Bell.  He commented that John Davidson should not have been allowed at the ceremony in the first place.  I vehemently disagree.  Davidson was there because a film about his life called I Swear was not only nominated, it won Best Actor.  What Lopez was advocating is that disabled people shouldn’t be allowed in public if they’re going to have outbursts.  Let me say this unequivocally: disabled people belong everywhere.  At a time in the United States when the leader of the regime occupying the White House has said disabled people should “just die” and is destroying the social safety net that we need in an effort to make that happen, it is incredibly violent for Lopez to promote the idea that we don’t belong in public spaces.  The U.S. actually had a period of time where it was illegal for disabled people to be in public, the “Ugly Laws” are not something we should ever return to.

Racism is wrong.  Ableism is wrong.  The power structure pit them against each other and failed everyone in the process.  Black people should not be subjected to dehumanization and told to get over it because it wasn’t intentional.  Disability doesn’t exempt anyone from offending a direct apology.  Frankly, I’m tired of hearing commitments to doing better and seeing no accountability, structurally or interpersonally.

Unless you’re living under a rock or you simply have a very busy schedule, you probably already know that the current pop culture obsession is a show about two queer hockey players called Heated Rivalry.  Based on the book of the same name, which is book two in the larger Game Changers series by Rachel Reid, Heated Rivalry centers on the story of Russian Ilya Rozanov and Canadian Shane Hollander.  As the title says, they are intense rivals on the ice but things quickly change as they begin a decade long secret romance.

I’ve never been a romance fan, it just never seemed like something I’d be interested in.  As a matter of fact, I spent my life teasing my mom because she loved Harlequin romance novels with what I would call cheesy plot lines; even though I had never read them,  they seemed so generic that every book my mom read could literally be copied and pasted from story to story.  I never understood the appeal.  Until now.

Go on social media and you’ll find video after video and meme after meme of people reacting to the show and quoting scenes.  They rewatch the episodes multiple times and when a new episode comes out at midnight on Friday, it’s appointment television that can’t be missed!  Produced by a small Canadian streaming company and only picked up by HBO at the last minute for distribution in the States, the instant and overwhelming success of the show means that books are now sold out everywhere and won’t be available for physical purchase until January.  The main thing you’ll hear about is how hot and steamy the sex scenes are.  The show doesn’t shy away in its depictions of sex and that certainly has people in their feelings, but I would argue that there’s something else creating the kind of emotion that has queer men and women, and straight women so invested.  Yearning.

It isn’t just the sexual expression between Shane and Ilya that speaks to so many people. It’s also the intimacy of Scott and Kip. In episode three, Scott Hunter and Kip Grady take center ice. Scott is a player on a third team that rivals both Ilya and Shane’s teams. He meets Kip, a barista at a local coffee shop and they instantly begin seeing each other. This is different from Ilya and Shane, who only hook up with each other when their teams face off, meaning there are long periods of time where they do see each other. The issue in their relationship is that Scott is in the closet and worries about how coming out will affect his career. Kip starts to feel the weight of having to hide and Scott is regretful about making him do it. Despite that, Scott is clear about his feelings from the start; so much so that he makes a point of going to the coffee shop under the guise of wanting a blueberry banana smoothie just to see Kip when they first meet and has him move in.

For me personally, as a disabled person who hasn’t experienced people desiring me in a romantic or sexual way, this show taps into something I have always felt like is missing.  To be brutally honest, I don’t talk openly about my desire for that kind of intimacy and connection because one of the messages society communicates very loudly is that disabled people shouldn’t be sexual.  Whether consciously or not, we often get instantly stripped of our sexuality.  It’s perfectly fine if everyone else talk about their sex lives, but that’s not acceptable if you’re disabled.  I think doing it subverts the image society has of us and that makes them deeply uncomfortable.  Unfortunately, as much as I try to undo the damage, I have internalized this messaging and accepted the idea that I am not desirable.  I knew from a young age that I was never going to meet society’s standards of attraction and have adjusted accordingly.  I would never be as bold as Ilya is; expressing to Shane exactly what he wants.  I think that’s why the show is so cathartic for so many.  We get to see the kinds of relationship we yearn for.  To be desired and loved is a beautiful thing.

For queer viewers of the show, we can all identify with the experience both couples have of being in the closet and desperately seeking authentic connection. We know what it feels like to have to outwardly deny who we are. For those of us who’ve only seen the show and not read the books, we’re eagerly waiting for the moment when these men to have that moment of freedom. We are yearning for the fulfillment of their yearning.

Heated Rivalry would be an important show regardless, but I think it is vital given the current state of America. America has fallen into the grip of fascism. Queer people are one of many targets by the regime occupying the government. At this time in history, it matters that we yearn. Why? To yearn is to feel, to hope, and it is in our collective hope that we can find the strength to survive.

In 1957, Dr. King offered the above quote in a speech titled Give Us The Ballot urging the government to give Black Americans the right to vote. Sadly, those words could be spoken in 2025 and are just as relevant. On October 15, the Supreme Court heard oral arguments in a case from Louisiana that is seeking to strike down a congressional district map that gave Black voters a majority. The argument from the state is that such map relies too heavily on race

The well founded fear from the civil rights community is that ruling in Louisiana’s favor will then open the door for states to redraw all congressional maps where minorities have majorities and effectively eliminate their voting power entirely. Even more terrifying is how they plan to do this. This case would essentially eliminate their voting power under the last remaining pillar of Section 2 the Voting Rights Act of 1965. Why does that matter? Section 2 is the heart of the VRA. The Court already ruled against Section 4 of the Voting Rights Act, which held that states that had historically discriminated against Black people had to get clearance from the federal government to prove they weren’t disenfranchising voters before they could change their voting laws. That changed in 2013 when the Court ruled that “pre-clearance” was unconstitutional. It is now widely understood that Chief Justice John Roberts doesn’t believe racism is a pressing concern that still operates in America. So, are we really supposed to believe that the conservative majority won’t gleefully kill the Voting Rights Act? The portion of Section 2 now under threat says that people have a right to challenge discrimination against them. If people can’t even raise legal concerns, the country will have effectively returned to the days of making Black people count jellybeans in a jar.

Horrifically, this is the greatest dream of conservative ideology.  They want nothing more than to create their (albeit false) utopian ideal of white, heterosexual, able-bodied, Christian patriarchy they’ve been fantasizing and lying to themselves about forever.  June Cleaver has never left the kitchen of their mind.  I cannot fully encapsulate the feeling of seeing these mythic, fundamental pieces of justice that giants like Dr. King, Bayard Rustin, and Diane Nash put their lives on the line to achieve, be destroyed.  The blood, sweat, and tears that made my life possible will never be forgotten.  I am acutely aware that it is my responsibility and our collective duty to carry on the work.  As I often do in these times, I return to the words of another of my heroes, John Lewis who told us in a final essay posthumously published, “When you see something that is not right, you must say something.  You must do something.  Democracy is not a state. It is an act, and each generation must do its part to help build what we called the Beloved Community, a nation and world society at peace with itself.  Ordinary people with extraordinary vision can redeem the soul of America by getting in what I call good trouble, necessary trouble. Voting and participating in the democratic process are key.  The vote is the most powerful nonviolent change agent you have in a democratic society. You must use it because it is not guaranteed. You can lose it.”

I took a class called Suffering & Meaning in college, this was where I first encountered Toni Morrison.  In her seminal book The Bluest Eye, the character Pecola is a young Black girl navigating her identity who sees how white girls are treated and desperately wants to become white as a way to escape the violence of her life.  Ultimately, the trauma she endures spirals into a psychological breakdown.

The question poised by this class is: why does suffering happen and what meaning, if any, is there in it? Without taking you through all the philosophical and theological arguments, here’s where I land: suffering is a part of life and there is no inherent meaning in it; only the meaning we choose to give it. What I mean by all that is, suffering is not some divine punishment that we have to go through to learn a lesson or to become better people. Sometimes suffering breaks us in irreversible ways like it did Pecola. We decide for ourselves what something means and how to interpret it.

Love was never any better than the lover.  I am acutely aware of this in my isolation and neglect.  I no longer feel like I have family, there are none of the hallmarks by which society defines love: care, concern, or respect. I spend the vast majority of my time alone.  I am invisible to the people I live with.  I’d liken my current situation to Cinderella but even she interacted with her family more than mine interacts with me.

I am a very intelligent person, I know that what I’m dealing with isn’t loving. Believe me, I once had a life full of family and friends who love me. In the years since my parents died, so did that reality. I get more response to what I write here and post to be read by strangers on the internet than I do when I share these posts on Facebook where I’m only connected to people I know personally. That isn’t to say that there aren’t people in my life who know about my situation, there are but I have been surprised by the lack of response I’ve received.

Love is so central to my identity that now being so deprived of it has changed me. I have someone in my life who has become family. She doesn’t live close but has made it a point to be actively present in my life. She encouraged me to start writing on Substack. As I write, she always wants me to dig deeper and talk about what all this feels like. How does it feel to be isolated and neglected? What goes through your mind as you spend 20 hours a day alone when you live with family who are living whole lives just on the other side of your bedroom door? You know what I tell her? I don’t know. I don’t know because having emotions about what’s been done to me feels useless. What purpose would being angry serve me? It wouldn’t change my circumstances. Also, anger comes from a place of caring, I am indifferent to the people I live with. As I said before, I stopped seeing them as family a long time ago

So, what does love look like?  The kind of love I’m referring to, is powerfully described in a quote from my favorite theologian, the Rev. Dr. Carter Heyward.  In her book, Our Passion for Justice: Images of Power, Sexuality, and Liberation she writes,

“To say ‘I love you’ is to say that you are not mine, but rather your own.

To love you is to advocate your rights, your space, your self, and to struggle with you, rather than against you, in our learning to claim our power in the world.

To love you is to make love to you, and with you, whether in exchange of glances heavy with existence, in the passing of a peace we mean, in our common work or play, in our struggle for social justice, or in the ecstasy and tenderness of intimate embrace that we believe is just and right for us—and for others in the world.

To love you is to be pushed by a power/God both terrifying and comforting, to touch and be touched by you. To love you is to sing with you, cry with you, pray with you, and act with you to re-create the world.

To say, 'I love you' means— let the revolution begin!  God bless the revolution!  Amen.”

Navigs this time in my life is hard.  I feel like it’s me against the world.  Do I wish things were different?  Sure.  Will I ever get back to the kind of love and sense of security I once had?  I think that was something that belonged to a version of me who doesn’t exist anymore.  I’m just trying to love and show up for myself in the best way possible.

Filmed over four years, it is the product of a Palestinian-Israeli collective.  The film follows Basel Adra, a young Palestinian from the West Bank who documents the destruction of his community by Israeli Defense Forces.  Seen through his lens, you see and feel what it’s like to have families displaced as their homes are either taken from them or bulldozed.  In a striking moment, a woman is asked what her family will do now, do they have anywhere to go?  Her answer is what gives the film its name, “There is no other land.”

As someone who has studied the religious and theological roots of this situation, that quote really hits home with me. No only is there nowhere for Palestinians living under occupation to go, there is truly no other land in the sense that both sides of this enduring struggle are rooted in this place. This may be a controversial statement, but this land is meant to be a place of shared determination. I could write endlessly about that, but it is well worn and has been explained far more eloquently than I ever could.

It is beyond devastating to bear witness to the brutality of the IDF. You watch more than one person be shot; one is permanently disabled by it, another is Basel’s cousin who is shot near the end of the film which is less than a week after the October 7th 2023 attack that began Israel’s current genocide in Gaza after the Hamas mass murder. Basel’s cousin dies from his injuries.

It is critically important in my opinion to call what is happening in Gaza a genocide. To say anything less is a denial of humanity. I will not participate in downplaying it. Children are starving to death. Unequivocally, the Israeli government under Benjamin Netanyahu with the aid of the United States, bears full responsibility.

No other Land predates what we are currently witnessing but it is a snapshot of something that, like I said in the beginning of this piece. goes back thousands of years. I find something else crucial to say: the actions of the Israeli government do not represent all Israelis. Basel’s co-director on this film is Yuval Abraham, an Israeli journalist who wants nothing more than the end of the occupation and settlements. Anyone who thinks Netanyahu speaks for everyone has not been paying attention. The same is true if you believe Hamas represents all Palestinians. What is happening should be an affront to every human being on earth.

I said that I wouldn’t be surprised if you hadn’t seen this film. Despite winning the Oscar, no one in the U.S. would distribute it. I found it on YouTube with English subtitles. Doesn’t that speak volumes to you? It definitely does to me. A film about the land where a genocide is being funded American taxes is so acclaimed that it wins the highest honor from the film industry, but if you want to see it in America, you have to search out a bootleg online. That in and of itself is suppression of information.

No Other Land is an unflinching and raw film about people who just want to live normal, everyday lives like everyone else all over the world. Children who want to go to learn shouldn’t have to watch as their school is demolished. Mother shouldn’t have to worry about the future of their now disabled son after an occupying force shoots him. Basel shouldn’t have to wonder if he father is going to live after being taken in the middle of the night. Please go seek out this film and watch it. If we truly meant Never Again all those years ago… well, not only are we failing, our government is now funding it. None of us are free until we all are.

“We must take sides. Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim. Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented. Sometimes we must interfere. When human lives are endangered, when human dignity is in jeopardy, national borders and sensitivities become irrelevant. Wherever men and women are persecuted because of their race, religion, or political views, that place must - at that moment - become the center of the universe.” –Elie Wiesel

Khloé Kardashian just shared that she is the primary caregiver for Amari Thompson, the brother of her ex, Tristan.  Amari has Lennox-Gastaut syndrome or LGS, which is a form of early onset epilepsy that typically begins before the age of 4.  It is characterized by a variety of seizures that cause both stiffening of the body and a loss of muscle tone; another symptom of the seizures is sudden muscle jerking.  Khloe said that she has hired two caregivers who take care of Amari on a daily basis.  I think this is a wonderful choice Khloe has made.  I just wish it was available to everyone who needs it.

There are an estimated 63 million paid and unpaid caregivers in the country. Out of that number, there are five million who are paid and work in various settings like nursing homes or do in-home care, they are already underpaid and overworked.  Things are dire and will get worse because of the $880 billion Medicaid cut that the Trump administration pushed for and passed in the Big Beautiful Bill. In-home care is a major victory for disabled people who spent decades and decades locked away in institutions where they were abused and neglected out of sight and out of mind to society at large.  Horrifically, Trump just signed an executive order that criminalizes homelessness and allows people with mental health disabilities to be institutionalized again.

For me personally, I rely on the daily help of caregivers who come to my home and help me with “activities of daily living” such as bathing, dressing, shopping, getting food, and taking me to appointments.  I have written and talked about how I am being neglected and isolated by my family, how the state of Oregon has failed me, and that caregivers are the only help I have.  When my parents died in 2019, my life changed instantly.  Unfortunately, that change was for the worse.  I needed support and now I don’t know what I’m going to do in 2027 when this disastrous Trump bill takes effect. Frankly, I don’t see how it won’t kill the in-home care company I use and severely damage the industry as a whole. Without that help, I’ll literally be left stuck in bed alone. I love that Khloe Kardashian loves and cares for Amari, but what about the rest of us?  I don’t have any family left, let alone a globally recognized billionaire backing me up.  I live off of $1300 a month in Social Security and even that is under threat from those in power.

I believe care is a right not a privilege, that should be accessible to everyone.  We need people with the influence Khloe Kardashian has to use their platform to speak out and say that in-home care and caregiving in general is vital.  We need investment in better training and pay for caregivers.  To be brutally honest, I don’t think we’ll get the type of advocacy we need from Khloe because it would put her in direct opposition to Trump, and her family’s direct relationship with his family is well documented. Khloe’s incredible choice is being framed in the media as yet another example of inspiration porn and I expect that’s where it will end.  That’s what’s unbelievably infuriating to me, the story doesn’t have to end there; it could be a moment for many people with the resources to step up.  Will they?  I’m not holding my breath.

Signed into law on July 26,1990, it was the result of decades of work by disabled activists. A central piece of legislation that predated the ADA was Section 504 of the Rehabilitation Act of 1973, which also mandates accommodations across several areas, such as education. This was met by resistance from the government and led to the 504 Sit-In, where activists took over federal offices of the Health, Education, and Wellness Department. Beginning on April 5 and lasting until May 4, the longest of the protests that happened around the country was led by Judith Heumann in San Francisco; she became known as the “mother of the disability rights movement.” After the sit-in and passage of the Rehabilitation Act, disability began being seen as a social issue rather than through the medical model, which said that disability is a problem that can be solved through medical treatment. In other words, the problem isn’t the disability, it’s the society’s response to it.

I have never known a life without the ADA. It is the reason why I was taken out of primarily special education classes and moved into a “mainstream” classroom alongside my non-disabled peers. It is the reason why I was still able to receive specialized instruction in math because that is the one subject where I have a learning disability. As a kid growing up, I had an aide who helped me with everything, including writing and getting lunch. I had both physical and occupational therapy during the day. When I went to college, I had someone to dictate written exams to. All of this is possible because of the ADA.

More than just the institutional leveling, the ADA literally requires the physical redesign of society.  There must be curb cuts in sidewalks and wider entrances, for example.  Buildings have to meet standards of accessibility.  My life is full of stories of just how much I’ve  dealt with on a daily basis, both good and bad in terms of structural barriers.  I majored in religion in college; the Humanities building where all the classes for my major would normally be held was inaccessible.  As a result, all my classes were moved to other places on campus, even in spaces that weren’t necessarily designed to be classrooms.

The ADA is foundational but disability pride is so much more than just that.  It is about being visible and challenging stereotypes and centuries long beliefs about what it means to be disabled.  We do not exist to serve as inspiration porn, we are not burdens who should “just die.”  We are on the frontline in the fight to save healthcare.  Even as the country strips us of life saving programs like Medicare and Medicaid, Social Security, we refuse to be silent!  Many people will die without these basic and necessary programs, but as usual, our pleas were ignored and people voted for this inhumanity.  In the interconnected postmodern world, we have more ways than ever to share our stories.  Social media connects people across class, race, gender, and abilities; disabled creators are able to share our lives directly destroying myths about how we should be gawked at and pitied.  I know I hope my story isn’t one that people just felt good about and forget, I want it to start discussions and provoke change.  The more people get to know me, they understand that I’m so much more than a viral moment.

In 2019, Ann Magill, a disabled artist created the Disability Pride flag.  The flag shows five colors across a charcoal gray background.  The meaning of the stripes:

Red- physical disabilities

Gold- neurodiversity, including autism and ADHD

White- invisible and undiagnosed disabilities

Blue-Emotional and mental health disabilities

Green- sensory disabilities

The charcoal background represents mourning those lost to and enduring ableist violence.  Originally, the design of the flag featured zigzagging lines and bright colors that caused problems for people with epilepsy, so it was redesigned.

Disabled people are an integral part of American and global history.  We have reclaimed narratives and continue to find a way, despite living in a society built to exclude us.  We have always been and will always be here.

This doesn’t just impact seniors, I’m 36 and on Social Security.  On the third of every month, I receive $1300 because I’m physically disabled and unable to work.  Contrary to what the administration is saying, this bill will make life exponentially harder for me and millions of Americans.  As someone on Supplemental Security Income (SSI), I’m not allowed to make more than $2,000 a month or have savings, or I could lose the money I need to survive.  On top of that, anyone on SSI isn’t allowed to get married because a potential spouse’s income would put me over the limit.  Can you imagine having to choose between having your daily needs met or the person you love?  Disabled people are forced to way below the poverty line and punished if we’re able to dig ourselves out.

Here’s a reality check: the bill that Republicans just passed is projected to kick at least 12 million people off their health insurance over the next decade.  It’s easy for Republicans to tout tax relief when who they’re going after won’t even benefit from the alleged relief because they won’t be on the program anymore.  Not only will this bill affect my insurance, it’s also going to cut an estimated $185 per month from Social Security checks.  Trust me, it’s already a struggle to get by with the little amount I receive, not to mention the price of food and gas going up.  This would only further compound the effects of the neglect and isolation I’m experiencing.  By losing my insurance, the in-home care get four hours a day, six days a week will be gone.  I’ll no longer have help to do normal tasks like bathing and getting dressed.  As I’m typing this, a caregiver is out picking up food for me.  Do “family values” conservatives care about this?  If they did, they wouldn’t have ever proposed the legislation in the first place, let alone cheer its passage on the House floor.

Disabled people are treated like we’re invisible unless we’re part of a story that makes society feel good about itself; disabled people call that “inspiration porn.”  This country has shown over and over again that we aren’t seen as fully human, we’re definitely not equal in the eyes of the world.  The government can write all the big beautiful emails it wants, it may fool countless non-disabled people into cheering for the destruction of their own lives, but I am crystal clear.  Any government that goes after the most vulnerable in its society, including stealing food out of children’s mouths, isn’t a government, that’s a regime.    For people who claim to be “pro-life” (that’s a misnomer), they LOVE to profit off suffering and death.  It’s time to get to work and make sure that Mike Johnson’s fear becomes a reality.

It’s all fun and games for billionaires to get another yacht from what is the biggest wealth transfer in American history; but I’m a real, live, breathing human being. This isn’t a game for me or the millions like me. Our lives will be changed, and unlike the beloved song from Wicked, not “for the better,” some of us won’t survive.

Every year I post about Frederick Douglass and his speech, “What to the Slave is the Fourth of July?”  Delivered on July 5, 1852 in Rochester, New York to the Rochester Ladies Anti-Slavery Society.

It is a seating speech about the hypocrisy of the country celebrating its high minded ideals while enslaving human beings as property.  It remains as relevant as when it was first spoken.  While I won’t quote the full text, I highly encourage you to read and/or listen to it. There’s a powerful video of James Earl Jones reciting it.

Douglass begins by telling his audience that he knows how they view the day, the reverence it holds for them.  He likens it to the celebration of Passover, a commemoration of freedom, “This, to you, is what the Passover was to the emancipated people of God. It carries your minds back to the day, and to the act of your great deliverance; and to the signs, and to the wonders, associated with that act, and that day.”  He then gives a long history lesson on how the nation came into existence, from the tyranny of England and the act of breaking from that oppression.  As he concludes this portion he says, “With them, nothing was ‘settled’ that was not right. With them, justice, liberty and humanity were ‘final;’ not slavery and oppression. You may well cherish the memory of such men. They were great in their day and generation. Their solid manhood stands out the more as we contrast it with these degenerate times.”  Interesting framing, isn’t it?  It reminds me of how we still talk about and juxtapose those men today.  If it feels strange that Douglass would praise these men who were, despite their ideals, enslavers themselves I think it is important context for the heart of the speech.

In words so honest and with eloquence I aspire to, Frederick Douglass says, “I am not included within the pale of this glorious anniversary! Your high independence only reveals the immeasurable distance between us. The blessings in which you, this day, rejoice, are not enjoyed in common.—The rich inheritance of justice, liberty, prosperity and independence, bequeathed by your fathers, is shared by you, not by me. The sunlight that brought life and healing to you, has brought stripes and death to me. This Fourth July is yours, not mine. You may rejoice, I must mourn. To drag a man in fetters into the grand illuminated temple of liberty, and call upon him to join you in joyous anthems, were inhuman mockery and sacrilegious irony. Do you mean, citizens, to mock me, by asking me to speak to-day?  This is a sentiment that resonates with me 173 years later.  Douglass then runs through a list of arguments he wonders if his audience of abolitionists thinks he should make: that people are entitled to liberty, that it is wrong to enslave them, that it isn’t God’s will?  He says, I’ve already done it and to continue doing so gives credence to ideas that are inherently wrong.  He doesn’t want to give them a platform.  There’s a lesson in that for all of us in 2025.

What was true then, remains true now.  America is in under existential threat.  What we need are people who will speak the truth about what is happening, not clouded in appeals of greatness that never extended to everyone.  People are being stripped of their rights and the care they need to survive.  People will die from the policies being implemented.  Facing the death dealing agenda of the government, we need this kind of courage, “At a time like this, scorching irony, not convincing argument, is needed. O! had I the ability, and could I reach the nation's ear, I would, to day, pour out a fiery stream of biting ridicule, blasting reproach, withering sarcasm, and stern rebuke. For it is not light that is needed, but fire; it is not the gentle shower, but thunder. We need the storm, the whirlwind, and the earthquake. The feeling of the nation must be quickened; the conscience of the nation must be roused; the propriety of the nation must be startled; the hypocrisy of the nation must be exposed; and its crimes against God and man must be proclaimed and denounced.”

Frederick Douglass knew firsthand what he had been asked to speak about on “July 5, 1852.  He escaped slavery in 1838.  When he asked about the meaning of the Fourth of July to those who had never experienced freedom, he already knew the answer.  “What, to the American slave, is your 4th of July? I answer: a day that reveals to him, more than all other days in the year, the gross injustice and cruelty to which he is the constant victim. To him, your celebration is a sham; your boasted liberty, an unholy license; your national greatness, swelling vanity; your sounds of rejoicing are empty and heartless; your denunciations of tyrants, brass fronted impudence; your shouts of liberty and equality, hollow mockery; your prayers and hymns, your sermons and thanksgivings, with all your religious parade, and solemnity, are, to him, mere bombast, fraud, deception, impiety, and hypocrisy—a thin veil to cover up crimes which would disgrace a nation of savages. There is not a nation on the earth guilty of practices, more shocking and bloody, than are the people of these United States, at this very hour.”

Personally, I can’t celebrate this holiday.  It isn’t for me and never has been.  I’m sure there are people who will read this and say I’m un-American.  That reminds me of a quote from another hero of mine, James Baldwin, who wrote this more than a century after Frederick Douglass gave his speech, “I love America more than any other country in the world and, exactly for this reason, I insist on the right to criticize her perpetually.”

None of us are free until we all are.  This sentence has always carried deep meaning but in this particular time, it becomes even more important.

The United States is under the control of fascist governance.  People are being terrorized by ICE raids and kidnappings across the country.  In Georgia, Adriana Smith was used as an incubator by state officials while her family had no say in her care.  Queer people are marking a particularly muted Pride Month that has seen extreme rollbacks in access to gender affirming care for trans youth, thanks to the far right majority on the Supreme Court.  Disabled people are fighting to maintain basic needs to live as Trump and his allies propose and try to push through the largest cuts to Medicare and Social Security in history.  Without question, people will die as a result.

So, what’s the solution?  I’ll be honest and say that all these issues don’t have one quick fix.  What I can say is that if we want to survive in these times we need solidarity.  The goals of fascist regimes are accomplished through a tactic we all know well: divide and conquer.  Their greatest hope is that we separate ourselves into categories and think, “Well, I’m not an immigrant or ‘I don’t have a disability, their concerns have nothing to do with me.” If you think that way, you couldn’t be more wrong.  This truth isn’t simply a philosophical idea for me; it is my lived experience.  As a Black, queer, disabled person I exist in the intersection of these communities.  There is no part of my identity that is compartmentalized from the rest.  My full humanity, my history, experiences, worldview, everything is intertwined.

Today is Juneteenth, the day Black Americans celebrate the end of chattel slavery.  It is a reminder of the truth where I began this piece: none of us are free until we all are.  I’m mindful of another saying we have in the Black community, “making a way out of no way.”  Even if it seems that there isn’t a way forward, if hope feels lost, we always find a way.  I’m telling you that in this moment, that way is together.  There are no guarantees in life, I can’t tell you what the outcome will be.  All I can promise is that I’m here and will am in this fight with you.  We don’t face any of this alone. As Dr. King told us in the Letter From Birmingham Jail, “Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.  We are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny.  Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly.” Our hopes, dreams, our oppression, and our freedom are interconnected. May we take that seriously and pursue a vision of the world in which we all have what we need.

I’ve wanted to see SINNERS ever since I first heard about it. I love Ryan Coogler’s work and have ever since Fruitvale Station. The way he tells a story grips you completely: heart, mind, and body. More than the way he tells it, what truly draws you in is the story itself. SINNERS is no different. To be frank, it is his magnum opus.

Set in 1932 Mississippi, it tells the story of two brothers, Smoke and Stack. They’ve returned from time in Chicago back to the South to chase a dream: Black ownership. They challenge and disregard the restrictions of Jim Crow. The juke joint they open in a place of safety, community, and joy for various marginalized communities. As part of the joint, they enlist their cousin Sammie aka “Preacher Boy,” who is a virtuoso Blues guitarist and wants to pursue a life beyond the confines of being a preacher’s son. His father believes that the Blues is music of the devil; he warns Sammie that he will bring evil if he keeps playing it. Meanwhile, Stack runs into an old girlfriend Mary who he abandoned for Chicago and Smoke reunites with Annie, his love and mother to the daughter they lost.

That night the juke joint opens and in one of the most beautiful scenes I’ve ever witnessed and is at the heart of this film, Sammie plays a song that it brings together the past-present-future. I want to take a moment and say as someone who believes in a process-relational view of the world, this scene speaks deeply; we are interrelated, our past shapes who we are in the present and what possibilities may lead us to become. Related to that in general, I LOVE the centrality of music in the film! As a massive fan of music, this film really makes it another character and i think rightly makes it a conduit for liberation.

Given that I don’t intend this to be a straight forward review of the film, I’ll assume if you’re reading this you’ve seen it, because I want to talk about themes and deeper meanings. I love that Ryan brought in the experiences of Chinese Americans, Indigenous, and Irish immigrant communities. Don’t get me wrong, this is a film about the Black experience in America, but it shouldn’t be seen as just that. The message here is much broader. Through Annie we see the African traditions and spirituality that was stripped away by enslavement. As a theologian, I can’t help but see the juxtaposition of Annie and the dare I say evangelical and white Christianity preached by Sammie’s father? Ryan Coogler is brilliant so I know that was no doubt intentional.

One thing that I really enjoy about Ryan’s work is how he writes “villains.” Whether it’s Erik Killmonger or in this case, Remmick, they always have a point of view that makes them sympathetic (at least in my opinion) and the reasoning behind their actions makes sense. Remmick is an immigrant from Ireland who has experienced the discrimination and ostracism of other white people. His motivation in turning others into vampires is out of a deep loneliness and desire for connection.  For him, this isn’t about racial superiority; yes, the first person he bites is a member of the KKK, but it turns out that he did that to save Smoke and Stack from being attacked by white supremacists.  He believes in the clan (in the ancestral family sense) not the klan. He welcomes everyone regardless of ethnicity. Near the end of the film, he tells everyone that they’ll never be accepted by society.  On that point, he’s right.  While extremely misguided in how he goes about it, his desire for community is relatable.

There are deep themes of racism, colorism, religion, loss, and identity.  It hit me hard watching Smoke lose Stack as someone who has lost two brothers.  It is a pain I wish on no one. The mid-credits scene was beautiful.

So the question begs, who are the sinners and what is their sin? I submit this to you: we all are. No, I don’t mean that in the religious sense that we have done something that justifies our suffering. I mean that any of us who fall outside the categories of what society has deemed normative. Smoke, Stack, Mary, Annie, Sam, Remmick, you, and me. What is our sin, the irredeemable act that has cast us out? Existing. Our joy. That we dare to dance to music that liberates and affirms us. To speak and shout. To live and breathe. Pushing and pulling. Loving and being loved. SINNERS asks us to think about who is pushed to the margins and why. Who gets to label who a sinner, anyway?

Thank you Ryan Coogler, Michael B. Jordan, cast and crew, for this masterpiece. It is truly one for the ages. Never in my life have I sought out a horror film, but this is instantly a classic, across all genres. I feel as if calling it horror does a disservice because that fails to explain its scope; it is something singular that everyone should see.

I can hear the predictable pushback, “Can’t you let it go? Slavery was so long ago.” Have you been following the news lately? Adriana Smith complained of headaches on February 9th and went to two different hospitals for help. Sent away, she was found unresponsive days later. Doctors determined she was brain dead but due to Georgia’s new “heartbeat” law, Adriana would be kept alive because she was two months pregnant at the time of her death. Under this law, pregnant people aren’t allowed to terminate pregnancy after heartbeat activity is detected. Adriana’s family has no say and weren’t informed before she was placed on a ventilator.

Can you imagine the horror, anguish, and agony Adriana’s family is living through? As if it wasn’t enough to lose her, now her body has been enslaved by the state and turned into an incubator and their suffering prolonged. Make no mistake: this is enslavement. Just as during the antebellum period, Black bodies as being controlled and used to give birth without consent. That’s not hyperbole. To say this isn’t what America is, seems to me to be a denial of historical fact. This is not what America should be, but it most certainly is part of American DNA.

And yet, there is hope. In these dystopian times, I want us all to know that we have the power to change things. We don’t live in a predetermined universe. If we take our power seriously, we must act to create the world we want. Octavia Butler’s Parable of the Sower gives us these words for a moment such as this:

All that you touch

You Change.

All that you Change

Changes you.

The only lasting truth is Change.

God is Change.

Adriana needs us to speak out against what is being done; not only for her dignity, but for those who may come after her. I have no doubt that what we are witnessing now is just beginning. If we don’t stop it, this will be the first of countless many. All that you touch, you change. Let’s get to work!

I recently went back and read what I wrote for her memorial service. What follows are those words:

Most parents don’t get to choose their children. This wasn’t the case for us. You chose me; the choice was never hard, you always told me that you woke from a dream one night and firmly believed you heard a voice say, “I already told you it was the right thing to do!”

What wasn’t easy was the fight you went through to keep me. 30 years ago I was born. A baby who would come with a lifetime of challenges. Those challenges, a result of being a premature baby born with cerebral palsy, weren’t what almost kept us apart. The reason you had to fight so hard had to do with the difference in the color of our skin. The state of Missouri didn’t want a white woman to adopt a Black baby; they put up every barrier they could: they wouldn’t come to our home and see whether you were capable of caring for me. They should’ve known that you never liked being told what you could and couldn’t do; so you got a friend to do the home study. Did you know then that that fight would be the first of so many?

There wasn’t a moment of my life when I wasn’t your son. To this day, you are the reason there are automatic doors on Cottage Grove High School. When I got stuck outside in the rain for 20 minutes on the first day of my freshman year, you went and fought with the principal who didn’t see a problem; after all, there was a ramp to the front door, that’s all the law required. As was typical, you didn’t stop until you got your way.

You weren’t just my fiercest advocate, you nurtured my greatest qualities: I’m outspoken and don’t like being told what to do because of you. The only problem was when the person telling me what to do was you. We had some good fights where I just couldn’t understand why you didn’t see things my way. I learned from the best. You modeled unconditional love by welcoming so many foster kids into our home. You always let our friends stay and made sure they were fed. If they needed clothes to wear, you gave those, too. You are the love in my life, it started with you.

Maybe the greatest lesson you ever taught me was that I should never let other people’s opinions about me determine who I will be. I’ll never forget the day I came home from my first day of seventh grade in tears; how I told you the other kids spent all day calling me “a retard” simply because I use a wheelchair. How could I go back? You told me I didn’t have a choice; you told me I was stronger than their assumptions about me. Years later, I remember how you stood up at the Caravan huddle where I gave my first sermon, that you helped me write, and told everyone that that experience had stuck with me and that it was the reason I never wanted anyone else to feel the way I had.

There’s no way for me to say everything about you that I want to: how I had my first surgery at 2 years old and you stayed in the hospital with me over Christmas; how I was in such excruciating pain after my second surgery and you’d come sit with me at night when I cried. I’ll miss teasing you about the “crap” you’d bring home from Goodwill or yet another garage sale; I’ll always hate garage sales because of the hours I spent sitting in the car while you went through boxes and boxes of some stranger’s junk. What I wouldn’t give to roll my eyes and make some remark about the Harlequin romance novel you’re reading on the couch. The truth is that my room full of books because you instilled your love of reading in me. I may be the only person my age who writes text messages in complete sentences with proper punctuation and grammar. That’s what happens when you’re the son of a teacher. I’ll never hear you playing piano on a Saturday afternoon. I’ll miss all these little things.

Nothing will ever fix the hole in my life. You didn’t give birth to me, but you gave me life; I know it’s cliche, but I can honestly say that I don’t know who or where I’d be without you. You saved my life. This isn’t goodbye. You will be in my heart, together with David and grandma, forever. Thank you Mom, I owe you everything. I’ll never stop loving you.

Two years later and nothing has changed. I’m running into the same barrier that denied me that initial flight in September 2023. I had to cancel and was given a flight credit that I’m not sure I’ll even be able to use. For whatever reason, my local airport doesn’t seem to use the type of plane that can easily take my chair very often. That left me with an all but impossible solution: find a way to make the two hour drive to Portland and fly out of there. Unfortunately, that’s not so easy when the only help I have is from caregivers who are only here four hours a day, six days a week. I am not free to just get up and go wherever I want at any time; I spend the vast majority of my time alone in bed.

I’m writing this not to complain, but because I think it’s important to highlight that despite the platform I have, structural barriers still exist. Sure, I met Beyoncé and had my fifteen minutes of notoriety, but I still wake up in an ableist society. If I can’t make it work, what about people who are less visible than I am?

Just like I said in every interview I did back when my story had global attention, this is bigger than one concert. It’s about a serious lack of accessibility. I want every disabled person to have the freedom to do whatever they want. It shouldn’t be a question of whether we have the transportation available to enjoy the experiences everyone else does. We shouldn’t have to resign ourselves to missing out simply because society has built itself without us in mind.

To be brutally honest, it’s hurtful to be two weeks away from the shows and watching people prepare when I should be there, too. Adding further insult is the fact that suddenly no one seems interested in buying the tickets, even at what will be a financial loss for me. I’ve lowered the price more than $100 less than I paid and if they do sell, I’ll make just over the face value of one ticket total. More than the money, I’m surprised at how they seemingly went from the hottest commodity to not being able to sell them.

Times are hard and terrifying for so many. My form of self-care is concerts. That seems to be moving more and more out of reach for me. Even if I can’t make it to the shows, my work continues so that someone else can without the same barriers that I face.

There are no words to describe what happens when you lose your parents. The deep painful emptiness is beyond the grasp of language. Even less so when those losses are in quick succession at a relatively young age. To say the world as you’ve known it ceases to exist is an understatement. Suddenly, it’s you in the vastness of life making all the decisions. There are people to inform, services to plan, appointments to be canceled. That’s to say nothing of the grief.

Today is Easter, a day when many focus on a story about the power of life over death. If you’ve read any of my posts about how I see the world, you won’t be surprised to hear that I view things differently than most. Growing up, I hated being in church on Easter; I simply couldn’t get onboard with the central idea of the day: resurrection. What do you mean Jesus rose from the dead? Logically, that didn’t fit my analytical brain. One person in the history of humanity experiences this phenomenon, this miracle, and it never happens again? Not only that, but what does that say about a God who requires a bloody, violent death? That certainly isn’t a God I want anything to do with!

It wasn’t until I reached college and majored in religion that I discovered the way that Easter would resonate with me. It’s worth noting that I have a very complicated and nuanced relationship to things like the Bible. I understand and appreciate it as a compilation of writings by various authors over a vast period of time that were written in a variety of contexts with different audiences in mind. It is in my opinion, humans trying their best with the information they have, to make meaning of their experiences.

With that context, I remember an assignment for a class on feminist theology where we had to come up with what it would look like if we had to start a faith community rooted in feminist theology and its methodology. After extensive research, I settled on the name Emmaus, which comes from a story in the gospel of Luke. In the story, Jesus has just died and some of his followers are walking on the road. They meet a stranger and after traveling together for a while, invite the stranger to share a meal. It is in the sharing of the meal that they recognize Jesus.

Do I really believe they saw Jesus on that road? No, I don’t. The great theologian Marcus Borg would say that there is a difference between whether a story is historically, factually accurate, but that it can still hold deep truth. For me, it is in the sharing of a meal and the connection of community that we can glimpse the presence of those we love and know that even if they’ve died; they still remain with us in our hearts and minds. That’s why I say the Emmaus story is one of resurrection. It isn’t that life overcomes death, it’s that life persists in the midst of it. Years ago I wrote that one doesn’t have to believe in the physical, bodily resurrection of Jesus to celebrate Easter. I still believe that is true. Resurrection isn’t something that happened once to one man, thousands of years ago. It is the daily, moment-to-moment choice to somehow keep going despite great loss or defeat. It’s making a way out of no way. Jesus’ friends experienced it, nature displays it as frost gives way to spring, I continue to strive for it in my life as I search for freedom in the midst of isolation and neglect. The phrase often heard during Easter is ‘He is risen!’ but I find a more accurate one might be ‘We are rising!’

History repeats itself.  For reasons I can never get behind, Christians call the day they remember the violent torture and death of Jesus “Good Friday.”  Frankly, I see nothing good about the brutal murder of anyone in the name of social order, but nonetheless, here we are.  Billions of people hold a deep reverence for this day.  I think a lot of people should feel that, but my view is a little different.

Traditional Christian theology uplifts Good Friday because of its place in Jesus’ story.  Many will tell you that it is one of, if not the most important moment, because Jesus had a mission. He had to die in order for something necessary and good (hence the name).  I don’t see it that way.  To me, this day isn’t about the necessity of violence as a means to achieve a better outcome; it’s about a person who believed so passionately in a radically inclusive world that he pushed and pushed until those in power couldn’t ignore his impact. The message wasn’t that only he alone was the hope of humanity; it was that we all have the power to transform the world and make it more just and equitable.  The world as it is now is not the way it has to be.

Yet, history repeats itself over and over.  Jesus of Nazareth, a poor Brown man was put to death by the state for upsetting the status quo. I don’t believe he was the first and he is far from the last.  What if I told you the first paragraph of this post wasn’t about Jesus?  Go read it again and this time, think about Kilmar Abrego Garcia.  Think about the multitude of trans men and women who are currently under attack from our government.  Read it again.  Can you picture disabled people who are fighting to keep their access to life-saving care?  What about women who are losing their bodily autonomy and potentially losing their right to vote?

There is nothing good about any of this.  Full stop.  I do hope though that whenever you think of this day, you hold reverence for what it can represent: who are we crucifying every day in this country and around the world under authoritarian regimes?  Whether it’s a literal cross a millennia ago or a cell filled with 80 people in El Salvador, are we doing everything we can to dismantle death-dealing systems of oppression?  That is work that matters whether we’re religious or not. May we have the courage to speak out. Solidarity calls us to be in community with those who need us, even if it comes at a great personal risk.