Billion Strong

Empowering people with disabilities and changing the world so that it's more inclusive and accessible is a huge undertaking. We need your help. Please donate today at https://lnkd.in/g4jXV9Tm. #pwd #crowdfunding LaMondre Pough

Let’s call it what it is—normalizing euthanasia, or whatever sanitized term it’s going by now, is not just a slippery slope; it’s a free fall into moral apathy. The language has evolved so seamlessly, we barely even notice the shift anymore. First, it was euthanasia. Now, we’re down to abbreviations like "MAID" or "AD," terms so sanitized they could be mistaken for benign medical treatments. We’re systematically numbing people to the gravity of what’s really happening: institutionalized killing, masked under the veil of “compassion.” A long time ago, I watched a documentary clip where a doctor described how they’d wrongfully killed elderly disabled people due to the slippery slope of whatever euphemism was in vogue at the time. They didn’t call it murder, of course. They called it “care.” But when care involves ending lives rather than saving them, what are we doing? The eugenics crowd must have been just thrilled by the pandemic. Elderly and disabled people were conveniently “thrown under the bus,” as if their lives were somehow expendable. It wasn’t framed as cruelty. It was framed as efficiency—just another cost-saving measure in a society that doesn’t have the time or patience for those deemed “less productive.” Ableism didn’t just grow during the pandemic, it exploded. And here’s the most insidious part: euthanasia, or whatever we’re calling it today, is quietly selling the idea that some lives simply aren’t worth living. That if you’re old or disabled, there’s a dignity in choosing death. But let’s not fool ourselves: this idea has horrifying historical precedents. It promotes the dangerous notion that life has value only when it conforms to certain standards of “health” or “ability.” The echoes of eugenics are deafening. The MAID program’s messaging is chilling: ● “Everyone has the right to choose their own death.” ● “Die with dignity.” ● “Will you make your family watch you suffer?” The message is loud and clear: death is marketed as dignity, suffering as shame. The idea of making death dignified sounds compassionate on the surface, but dig a little deeper, and it’s clear that it’s being pushed on the most vulnerable—those already marginalized by society. We’re normalizing the notion that some lives aren’t worth living, and in the process, we’re desensitizing ourselves to the gravity of taking those lives. This isn’t care. It’s surrendering to ableism. It’s reinforcing the idea that some of us are disposable. And that should terrify us all. ID: A tweet by Amanda Achtman posted on October 5, 2024, that reads: "First it was euthanasia. Then is was physician-assisted suicide. Then it was medically-assisted dying. Then it was medical assistance in dying. Then is was MAID. Then is was assisted dying. Then it was AD. No wonder people are desensitized about killing." The tweet received 12.9K views, with 31 retweets, 167 quotes, 685 likes, and 39 bookmarks.

Climate change doesn’t just make bad things worse—it rips the lid off the inequities we’ve allowed to fester for far too long. It’s a brutal reminder that, while we’re all affected, some are hit much harder. And who bears the brunt of it? The disabled and marginalized communities. It's not a coincidence. It’s a glaring symptom of systemic neglect. Let’s not sugarcoat this. When a natural disaster strikes, or when extreme weather sets in, people with disabilities are often left behind. A World Bank study shows that people with disabilities are four to five times more likely to die during such events. Imagine that: four to five times. And yet, the voices of the disability community are missing from most climate conversations. Why? Because society still pretends that climate justice and disability justice exist in separate worlds. Spoiler alert: they don’t. Let me make this personal. During a severe heatwave in Delhi, our home turned into an oven. The air became suffocating, the sun oppressive, and water—a basic necessity—was scarce. My mother’s chronic conditions spiraled out of control. My dyspraxia made the simplest daily tasks exhausting. The heatwave wasn’t just a weather event; it was a full-on assault on our lives. And for so many in the disabled community, this is our reality during climate disasters—ignored, unsupported, and left to fend for ourselves. This is why I founded Green Disability—a community-based initiative with over 600 members, all dedicated to advocating for inclusive climate action. We’re pushing for the intersection of disability and climate justice to be at the forefront of policy-making. Because when 17-22% of the world’s population is disabled, we can’t afford to be an afterthought. #GreenDisability is working on the ground to document the experiences of disabled individuals in climate-sensitive areas. We’re making research more accessible and digestible because, frankly, it’s often too complicated for most people to engage with. But we can’t do this alone. The media, policymakers, and the public need to wake up to the reality that there is no climate justice without disability justice. We’re not asking for charity—we’re demanding a seat at the table. Because accessibility and sustainability are two sides of the same coin. It’s time to start treating them that way. Let’s stop ignoring the obvious. Climate change is our crisis too. If we’re serious about creating a sustainable future, the disabled community must be part of the solution.

We need to stop pointing fingers at disabled people for staying behind during evacuations. It’s not a choice—it’s often impossible. Evacuating comes with costs and logistics many can’t manage, especially with the shortage of accessible spaces. Thinking of everyone in Florida right now.

Let’s get something straight: we, as disabled people, have been silenced, isolated, and trapped—not by choice, but by a society that’s built with its back turned toward us. We are continually oppressed, discriminated against, and alienated because of a world steeped in ableism and inaccessibility. And yet, the world wonders why we’re angry, why we demand change. The image here—intended for "little people"—perfectly sums up this struggle. It’s both literal for those of short stature and symbolic for the entire Disability community. Whether it’s communication, employment, mobility, healthcare, or education, we are continually told “welcome,” but never given the key to the door. Let me say it loud and clear: our needs are not “special.” Our need for communication, connection, mobility, healthcare, and agency? They’re regular, boring human needs—just like yours. The only difference? We access them slightly differently. Yet, every time we ask for accommodations, it’s as if we’re asking for the moon. No, we’re asking for the same damn thing as everyone else—just in a way that suits us. But here’s the part that really grinds my gears: people think they’re invincible. Really? Let me break it down for you. Here’s what can put you in our shoes, unexpectedly: ● A virus ● A car accident ● A fall ● An infection ● Losing your vision or hearing ● Age ● Cancer ● Mental Health Conditions and so many other reasons. Still think it can’t happen to you? Reality check: you aren’t invincible. Disability isn’t a distant concept, a problem for “other people.” You are one twist of fate away from understanding exactly what we go through. And guess what? That makes the push for accessibility and inclusion your fight too, not just ours. Now, let’s talk about governments—those lovely institutions that love to make big, flashy promises. We’ve been hearing for decades about how they’ll “champion the rights of Disabled people” and “ensure our voices are at the heart of what they do.” What a joke. We’re still endlessly waiting for them to act on these promises. We’re still waiting for real change, for meaningful action. We are tired. We are done waiting. Disability doesn’t discriminate, and the sooner society and governments wake up to that fact, the sooner we can build a world where everyone can thrive. Image Credit: David Hayward ID: A closed door with a sign that reads, "We Welcome Short People." Several figures can be seen peeking over the top of the door from inside. Outside, a person is attempting to reach the door handle, standing on the backs of two other individuals who are on all fours, supporting them. The image humorously, yet powerfully, symbolizes the barriers that people with disabilities or physical differences face. It conveys how access is theoretically "welcomed," but only with extraordinary, often degrading effort, reflecting inaccessibility and ableism. #DisabilityInclusion #SDGs #WeAreBillionStrong #Accessibility #Equity

If your employees with disabilities are too afraid to ask for accommodations, let’s not sugarcoat it—your leadership doesn’t care. Full stop. If people are staying silent about their needs, it’s because they’ve learned that speaking up won’t get them anywhere. Worse, they’ve been taught that it’s not even worth the risk. That’s not just a small issue. It’s a giant, flashing neon sign that your workplace culture is toxic. And before you start patting yourselves on the back for “diversity initiatives” or offering "flexible work," ask yourself this: How inclusive are you, really, if people are terrified to request basic accommodations? If employees feel like their request for a reasonable accommodation will lead to backlash, judgment, or worse, being seen as a “problem,” then guess what? Your culture is broken. Don’t make the mistake of thinking silence means satisfaction. It’s not compliance. It’s survival. People shouldn’t have to weigh their livelihood against asking for what they need to do their job. If someone is too scared to speak up, the message is clear: you’ve built an environment that punishes vulnerability, honesty, and authenticity, and nothing more tragic is left to be done. Want to fix it? Start by actually listening—without judgment. Make it easy, safe, and normal to ask for access. If you’re not ready to foster a culture where everyone can thrive, then you’re not ready to lead. Simple as that (but not easy for sure). ID: A social media post by Debra Ruh, featuring her profile picture, which shows her smiling and wearing a red badge that reads "Creator Accelerator Program Member." The text in the post reads: "If your employees with disabilities are too afraid to ask for reasonable accommodations/access and go silent. It’s a glaring sign: leadership doesn’t care, and your organization is a breeding ground for toxicity. Your Culture is broken." The post has a maroon background with white text.

Its Dyspraxia Awareness Week, let’s get one thing straight: dyspraxia is not what most people think it is. It’s not just about being clumsy or uncoordinated, and it’s definitely not something you can see from the outside. Most of the time, the struggles of someone with dyspraxia are completely invisible. First, coordination—do you know how frustrating it is to tie your shoelaces or ride a bike when your brain just refuses to connect the dots? We’re not lazy or careless; our brains just work differently, making these "simple" tasks feel like climbing a mountain. Then there’s speech. Ever felt like you know exactly what you want to say but the words just won’t come out right? You try to communicate but end up stammering or tripping over your words. People might think we’re shy or hesitant, but inside, we’re fighting a constant battle just to be heard. And let’s talk about organization. You know those people who make managing daily tasks look easy? Yeah, that’s not us. Planning, organizing, managing time—it’s like juggling a hundred things at once and trying not to drop any. From the outside, we might look forgetful, but inside? Total chaos. Add to that the sensory overload—light, sounds, touch—sometimes they’re too much, sometimes they barely register. Our environment can feel like an assault on our senses, but we’ve learned to mask it just to fit in. And the fatigue? It’s real. We’re not disengaged or uninterested. We’re exhausted—mentally, physically, emotionally—from constantly navigating a world that isn’t built for us. But here’s the kicker: we’re often highly creative, intelligent problem solvers. Yet, because we struggle with the basics, people underestimate us. So the next time someone says they have dyspraxia, believe them. You might not see it, but trust me—it’s real. Disclaimer: This post is based on my personal experiences, interactions with others who have dyspraxia, and my readings on the subject. It’s important to recognize that dyspraxia can manifest differently in each individual. This post is intended to raise awareness and foster understanding, but it is not an exhaustive or definitive account. ID: The image is a visual representation of dyspraxia, with a central bubble labeled "Dyspraxia" and surrounding bubbles describing various challenges people with dyspraxia face. These challenges include: Difficulty with time management, planning, and organization Differences in spatial awareness, leading to frequent bumps Fine motor difficulties, such as poor handwriting Speech and language differences Challenges with short-term memory and information processing Poor coordination, balance, and posture Gross motor difficulties, such as kicking a football or riding a bike Finding it hard to learn new motor skills Image Credit: Emily Katy #Dyspraxia #DyspraxiaAwareness #Neurodiversity #Disability #Neurodivergence #NeurodiversityAtWork #DyspraxiaAwarenessWeek

Think about this—why do we say a leader is “blind” or “deaf” when they ignore certain groups? Or mock a government’s failure with a walker or a wheelchair? Why, when we want to insult someone’s supporters, do we throw out the "R-word," as if intelligence is something to mock? Here’s the truth: using these words doesn’t make you clever or sharp. It shows something else—a lack of awareness or, even worse, a lack of care. You’re not making your argument stronger. You’re just throwing entire communities under the bus. Here’s what I’ve learned about ableist language: Words shape the way we see others. When you use slurs to mock someone, you’re not just attacking them—you’re reinforcing harmful stereotypes about entire groups. Ignorance isn’t an excuse. Once you know the impact, using those words shows indifference, not innocence. And yes, every moment is a choice. Every word you use either lifts someone up or tears them down. Real strength? It’s in empathy, not insults. Using ableist slurs to express frustration or disagreement doesn’t make you sound smart. It makes you sound like you couldn’t bother to try harder. Change starts small. You don’t have to fix the world overnight, but you can start by choosing better words, speaking up, and encouraging others to do the same. Chances are, you’ve used ableist language without even realizing it. Ever called someone “blind” to an issue or “deaf” to a concern? You probably didn’t think twice, but here’s why it matters: words do hurt. They create a world where disabled people are seen as less. Dismissing this as “too sensitive” misses the point entirely. When we ignore the harm in our language, we reinforce biases that make life harder for disabled people. We block real conversation. We forget the one thing that matters most—our shared humanity. What can you do instead? Recognize when your words cross the line, apologize sincerely, and replace outdated thinking with empathy. Speak up when it’s uncomfortable. That’s where the real change begins. Let’s stop missing the point. ID: A social media post by Puneet Singh Singhal reads: "Mocking disability for a cheap insult just reinforces harmful stereotypes. Words matter. Using 'blind,' 'deaf,' or the 'R-word' as insults isn’t clever—it’s lazy and harmful." The post features a profile picture of Puneet Singh Singhal, with the text presented in white font on a dark blue background. The message emphasizes the negative impact of using ableist language in everyday conversation.

I'm excited to share that Tiffany A. Yu, MSc, is releasing an incredible new book titled THE ANTI-ABLEIST MANIFESTO: Smashing Stereotypes, Forging Change, and Building a Disability-Inclusive World, which will be available on October 8, 2024! On a personal note, Tiffany has had a significant impact on my journey through establishing organizations that supports Persons with Disabilities. I secure my first international funding for my nonprofit through the Awesome Foundation Disability Chapter, which she founded. Later, I was honored to be recognized as one of Diversability®'s D-30 Honorees in 2022 for my disability advocacy work, another incredible platform Tiffany created to uplift disabled voices. Now, about her book—The Anti-Ableist Manifesto is a powerful, thought-provoking guide that breaks down ableism and offers tangible steps toward meaningful allyship. Tiffany addresses how we can foster disability inclusion across personal, professional, and political spaces. She weaves together insights from disability advocates, scholars, entrepreneurs, and educators, presenting an intersectional approach to disability justice. In her book, Tiffany guides readers on how to truly support disabled people within our communities, offering practical ways to recognize and eliminate microaggressions and ableist language. She emphasizes the importance of increasing accessibility in both public and professional settings and provides insights on designing events that are truly inclusive and accessible for all. I’ve learned so much from Tiffany’s approach to disability inclusion, and I’m incredibly grateful for the community she’s built through Diversability, where I’ve connected with amazing friends like Nico, Nicole Luongo, Mary Fashik, Nidhi, Jay, Marie, Arwyn, and Sean. I highly recommend pre-ordering your copy of this essential book. Trust me, you won’t want to miss it! ID: A promotional image for Tiffany Yu's book titled The Anti-Ableist Manifesto. The image features a photo of Tiffany Yu, smiling and looking at the camera. To the right of her image is the book cover, which is bright orange with bold white text that reads: "The Anti-Ableist Manifesto: Smashing Stereotypes, Forging Change, and Building a Disability-Inclusive World." Below the author's name is information about the book's release, stating it will be on sale starting October 8, 2024, with a preorder option available. Tiffany Yu's social media handles and icons for Twitter, Instagram, Facebook, and LinkedIn are shown at the bottom right of the image.

The world is constantly shifting, and let’s be real—it’s intimidating. But instead of shrinking under the weight of it all, now is the time to stand tall in who we are. Not just for ourselves, but for each other. Because here’s the thing: if we don’t, who will? It’s exhausting, isn’t it? Always being told to fit into some neat little box, whether it’s about our culture, abilities, age, gender—or whatever society decides is "acceptable" this week. But guess what? We’re done with that. There’s power in diversity. But not the Instagrammable, corporate buzzword kind. I’m talking about the real, messy, raw truth of who we are. It’s time to own our identities, unapologetically. And while we’re at it, how about we support others in doing the same? Real strength isn’t pretending to be something you’re not. Real strength is saying, “This is me, deal with it.” And let’s be honest, there’s no thriving in a world that keeps trying to shove you into a corner of conformity. That’s why we have to uplift each other. Your truth might not look like mine, but that’s the beauty of it. When we let people own their identity, we’re not just supporting them—we’re creating a world where everyone, yes everyone, gets the chance to actually live, not just survive. So, what are we doing here? Are we standing united in our shared humanity, or are we still playing the same tired game of trying to "fit in"? It’s time to stop letting fear of difference keep us from owning who we are and from supporting others who are brave enough to do the same. Enough of the half-hearted slogans about diversity and inclusion—let’s see some action. We move forward together, or we stay stuck pretending to be something we’re not. And I don’t know about you, but I’m not interested in going backward. Are you?