Yesterday, Donald Trump stood in front of the nation and blamed disabled people for a tragic plane crash. Instead of discussing the victims, their families, and how to prevent such tragedies in the future, advocates were forced to process yet another attack on our community. In just two weeks, I have had to defend my daughter’s worth more times than I care to count. She stands to lose her education, her access to medicaid, and now her dignity and rights as an adult. No mother should be forced to feel this way.
Sienna is a gift to this world. She is beautiful, smart, loving, feisty, and empathetic. She has much to contribute, and she experiences emotions on a depth that Trump will never comprehend. She may have an intellectual disability but she has more emotional intelligence than our current President. She feels my sorrow right now, just as she feels joy, love, and frustration with the same fierce intensity.

Yesterday, I talked to my therapist about my struggle with consuming information versus letting it consume me. When Biden was elected, I was finally able to turn off the fight-or-flight mode I had been living in. I redirected that energy toward my community, focusing on local politics and how they impact Sienna’s education and our neighborhood.
I live in a vibrant and diverse pocket of Pittsburgh. Every day, I see a melting pot of people—college students from all backgrounds, senior citizens, families with two moms or dads, and individuals with different abilities. This is the kind of community where I want my daughter to grow up. People often ask why we haven’t left the city for the suburbs and a “better” school district. What they don’t see is that when Sienna becomes an independent adult, this will be her home. Here, she will have access to public transportation, support services, inclusive employment opportunities, and a community that embraces her fully. This is the space where we want to live, surrounded by people whose hearts are full of acceptance.
Yes, our school district struggles with funding, but it also has one of the best transition programs in the state. Fierce advocates in the disability community ensure that students like Sienna are not forgotten.
Our family has endured crisis after crisis over the past four years. Grief has surrounded us, and we are still navigating its aftermath. But just as we started to find stability, we were reminded of the fears that come with Trump’s presence in power.
Trump’s latest remarks weren’t just another case of casual bullying. They were targeted, dehumanizing, and historically dangerous. By explicitly stating that disabled people should not exist in certain jobs, he reinforced the idea that disabled individuals are inherently incapable of participating in society. This is not just an attack on disabled people; it is a deliberate strategy of scapegoating and social conditioning.
We’ve seen this playbook before. Extremists don’t start with genocide. They start by convincing the public that certain groups are burdens—unworthy of existence, unfit to contribute, and ultimately, disposable. One of the first groups they target is always disabled people. The Nazi T4 program, which led to the mass murder of disabled individuals, was justified through the same rhetoric Trump is using now—that certain people lack intelligence, productivity, or value.
The goal is simple: Normalize dehumanization. Convince the public that some people are “defective” and should be excluded, and you can justify anything. This isn’t just history—it’s happening now.
This is a real-time strategy unfolding before our eyes. The linking of disabled people to incompetence and societal failure is how leaders manufacture public approval for discrimination, exclusion, and eventually, violence. And Trump is not alone in this. RFK Jr. has spread ableist and transphobic conspiracies, positioning disabled people and LGBTQIA+ individuals as “problems” to be contained or eradicated. Now, he has been given power over public health.
This is not an accident. It is a broadening of the scapegoat.
Privilege allows people to ignore injustice. I know because I did—until I became Sienna’s mom. Through this lens, I have learned so much about why leadership matters, why policies impact our most vulnerable citizens, and why fighting injustice is not optional. I have wept over systemic failures, and I have fought battles with all my strength. I will never stop fighting.
My aunt once told me that anger is a holy act when it is harnessed for change. I struggle with balancing that anger—how to use it without letting it consume me. I struggle with not blaming those who voted in ways that threaten my daughter’s future, but blame won’t change anything. Instead, we must act.
So What Can We Do?
Stay informed. Recognize when history is repeating itself.
Amplify disabled voices. Support activists, filmmakers, and educators speaking out.
Push back against dehumanization. Challenge harmful rhetoric whenever you hear it.
Defend legal protections. Disability rights laws exist for a reason—don’t let them be eroded.
Build coalitions. Marginalized communities must stand together because when one group is targeted, others follow. Follow groups like the ACLU.
We cannot afford to be silent. The cost is far too high.
Call and email Congress every week. Find your representatives at congress.gov. Tell them no cuts to Medicaid, education, or DEI programs. Demand that they vote against every unqualified cabinet pick—if they truly care about meritocracy as they claim to, they must act accordingly.