Disability is an Important, Intersectional Component of Diversity, Equity, and Belonging
For the April issue of the Bar Bulletin, I am pleased to share space with Carrie Griffen Basas, JD, Med. Carrie is the Executive Director of Disability Rights Washington. Prior to joining Disability Rights Washington, Carrie led Disability Law Colorado and the Washington State Governor’s Office of the Education Ombuds. Carrie has long worked to create strategies for equity, accessibility, and social impact and I am appreciative of her taking the time to share the following with the KCBA and our Bar Bulletin readers.
As an attorney with disabilities and a former law professor specializing in employment discrimination and inclusion in our profession, I am frequently asked how to attract more disabled people to the profession.1 Where I like to begin, however, is with the reminder that we are already here. A demographic study from the Washington State Bar in 2012, found that 21% of the members identified as having disabilities.2 Disabled attorneys ranked second to lawyers of color in experiencing professional barriers in employment. Almost half of them were also working in solo practice.3 While allyship includes removing barriers to the profession or serving clients with disabilities with a commitment to belonging and respect, we do not need to wait to become allies because disability is already a part of our profession.
I am often not sure if reminding nondisabled people that disabled people are everywhere is freeing or fear-inducing. I have watched nondisabled colleagues struggle to do the right thing, find the “correct” language about disability, and be helpful, while others avoid discussing disability at all out of concern that they will not know what to say or do. One of the reasons that 21% might feel like a startling figure to some people is that there is a lot of shame around disability, especially in the legal profession. I have seen colleagues try to self-accommodate because employers have failed to meet their needs. Others worried that asking for assistance would put them at risk of being fired or demoted. Disabled or not, we struggle as lawyers with a pressure to be composed, superhuman, efficient, powerful, responsible, and dependable. To admit that we as humans have bodies and minds that function differently — in fact, bodies and minds that can sometimes feel like they are conspiring against us and visions of success — can be isolating and torturous.
Rather than getting angry at our bodies that will all age and decline, and our minds that experience stress, depression, anxiety, and trauma, and the humanness of it all, I would like to suggest that we redirect that frustration, which is internalized ableism. The work ahead of allyship is making a profession that serves us all better. The most liberatory offering I have for clients and coworkers is for me to be myself, though most messages I have received professionally are for me to be less disabled, to not necessarily share my nonapparent mental health disabilities, and just try to overcome the stigma of my mobility impairments. Make people feel comfortable. Remind them that you are competent. Do not be an angry disabled person. Be reasonable. Show that despite your cane, your mind works exceptionally. However, what I have found with clients, colleagues, and my former students is that presenting a version of lawyering that encompasses all of me is what allows them to see themselves in our profession, too.
What if we just stopped telling ourselves that narrative of what it means to be a real lawyer? One of my favorite former colleagues said in an interview for a job with me years ago that she wanted the right as a disabled woman of color to just be average or even mediocre at times and for that to not be tied to a permanent reading of what disability or Blackness meant. As a disabled person now leading Disability Rights Washington, I reminded my team recently that being an ambassador for people’s impressions about disability is exhausting, but wherever I go, with the disabilities that are on the surface, there I am to shape what someone’s impression of disabled leader looks like. In every employment situation, I hear the voices of internalized ableism that disabled people are litigious, unreliable, or even just meant to inspire, and I do my best to fend them off from how I show up daily. I am still working on it. To succeed in the law, even on a nontraditional path, has meant that I am keenly aware of what I should be.
What we do not see about disability often in our Bar magazines, law school classrooms, firms, and other settings is that disability can be a positive identity and source of community. I would never offer to run a nonprofit if I did not see it as an opportunity to change what leadership looks like and open doors to more people who have experienced far greater marginalization than me. I chose to raise a disabled child because I grew up without a sense of identity. Success and disability were separate in my household. The more I succeeded, the less disabled my parents believed I was — and that is also how schools treated me mostly.
Prospective employers and colleagues were a different situation because I went from the inspiring disabled girl to the coworker who was different from them. I knew, however, from conversations with colleagues that there were more of us, even beyond WSBA 21% figure. People sometimes did not see the value of sharing their disability experiences at work because our profession had made disability a liability and weakness rather than a source of creativity and commitment.
When law students would ask me if they should come out about their disabilities, I would often encourage them to out of selfishness for wanting a more visible and vocal community around me, while also caution them that they were right to worry about discrimination and isolation. That is not a decision I can make for someone else, but I would love to live in spaces where we claim our full selves and declare that perfection and professionalism are making us sicker and sadder.
Just as I do not believe the law is a complete solution for disability justice, I do not believe that we improve our profession merely through compliance with the Americans with Disabilities Act. We will have more conversations about disability at work and in our professional networks when we acknowledge disability as an important, intersectional component of diversity, equity, and belonging rather than merely accessibility requirements.
Disability is not a superpower or an inspiration. It is an experience. What my disabilities have taught me is how to survive in a world that was never designed with me in mind. One of the honors of being a leader in the legal profession is that we hold the power to change systems for each other and our clients. Rather than going immediately to how to fix our websites, hold an accessible meeting, work with ASL interpreters, or use the most acceptable language, I would invite us to center our relationships within the profession and the messages we communicate about disability, health, and wellness. Name disability in conversations about belonging and diversity. When you hold power, use it to make space for people to share their access needs and disability identities.
1 In this article, I use person-first (“people with disabilities) and identity-first (disabled people) language interchangeably. While person-first language is often suggested as the safe route for discussing disability, I identify as a member of the disability community and see disability as an integral part of my being. Therefore, I often refer to myself as disabled.
2 WSBA Membership Study (2012). Executive Summary. Last accessed: wsba-membership-
study-executive-summary-(updated-5-2-12)5d8f63
f2f6d9654cb471ff1f00003f4f.pdf
3 WSBA Membership Demographic Highlights for WSBA Members with Disabilities/Impairments (2012). Last accessed: factsheetfordiversity-
disabilitiesimpairments.pdf (wsba.org)
