ABSTRACT
Sure enough, on the docket of potential grants there were still no proposals focused on disabled women. The fund had, in fact, received two related to disability, but, I was told, neither was quite right: One was in too early a stage of development; the other was in a topic area not typically covered by the fund. ‘‘Maybe we need to be a bit more creative or flexible if we want to support disabledwomen’sprojects,’’ I said toClaudia and the rest of the board. ‘‘Perhaps we need to give some planning or start-up grants. Or consider supporting projects even if they are not exactly in the areas we typically fund.’’ ‘‘Maybe,’’ Claudia said. ‘‘But you know, we have sucha limited grant-makingbudget. I’d hate to dilute our focus. We can’t bend over backward tomeet the needs of every group.’’ But they already had ‘‘bent over backward’’ for groups of women that they considered ‘‘priorities,’’ including women of color and poor women. Of course, racism and poverty had severe consequences for women, but I could never quite make sense of this notion of the hierarchy of oppressions. How canwe say that one group of oppressed women has suffered more than another? Besides, what about disabledwomenof color or, better yet, poor disabled women of color (a group I knewwell frommyworkwith thementoring project for disabled girls)? Where do they fit in? But I held my tongue and my questions. I was still learning the ropes and trying to findmy place. I didn’t want tomake trouble. And then the conversation shifted. ‘‘So
what type of gown is everyone wearing to tonight’s fund-raising event?’’ one of the longtimeboardmembers asked. ‘‘Gowns?’’ I had thought that my simple black cocktail dress would do. Even that was a stretch for me. I had given up wearing dresses or even skirts some timeago. ‘‘And justhow feminist is it to be comparing gowns?’’ I wondered. Quite feminist, I discovered, as each of the strong, powerful, politically savvy women sitting around the table began to describe in great detail the gown she was planning to
wear. I had to tell them that I hadmisjudged the dress code and had brought from home, several hundred miles away, only a plain black sheath. ‘‘Not to worry,’’ said one of the women. ‘‘I have a fabulous gown you can borrow; it’s just your size.’’ ‘‘And if that doesn’t work,’’ said another woman, ‘‘there’s a darling dress shop right around the corner from here. I’ll help you pick something that’s just right.’’ It was my first experience with feminists as fashionistas. Live and learn. The fund-raising event itself was a who’s
who of feminism, including founders of some of the other women’s funds and, of course, a lot of very wealthy women (and men). Claudia made it a point to introduce me to everyone who was anyone. Maybe she was eager to show off her token ‘‘crip,’’ but frankly, I didn’t care. I kept thinking, ‘‘If I make a few or even one of these big-shot people aware of the issues of disabled women, that will be an achievement.’’ I was hopeful that some of the contacts I made at this event would lead to opportunities to promote my work and, to be honest, myself. I wasn’t disappointed. People that I met at this fund-raising event and others would lead to a host of speaking engagements, invitations to join the board of directors of other women’s organizations, some honors formywork, and even the sale of a few of my paintings. Ego stroking aside, with each successive
board meeting, I was seeing little evidence of disabled women benefiting from my participation on the board. ‘‘So what’s the story?’’ my disabled women friends would ask. ‘‘Any more dollars from that fund of yours going to disabled women?’’ ‘‘No,’’ I had to confess. ‘‘They’re not receiving too many proposals from disabled women.’’ ‘‘Oh, please. I’ll bet that’s just the kind of excuse they used to use to keep out African American women from knocking on their door,’’ said one of my more outspoken friends. ‘‘Oh, no,’’ I said. ‘‘Women of color
have a great deal of power in that fund.’’ ‘‘And how about ten years ago? Or even five? Did they have power then, or were they tokens like you?’’ she asked. I didn’t know, but of course she was right. The fund had been started by white, middle-class women, as had the larger women’s movement. Women of color had to scream, yell, pressure, threaten, boycott, and fight their way into both the fund and the movement to lessen if not fully overcome the racism they encountered. Other minorities didn’t have a much easier time. A chance encounter a few years into my tenure on the board told the tale. I met a Native American woman and a Latina who had joined the boardwhen I had, but eachhaddroppedout within the first year, claiming too many other responsibilities. But they both toldme they had left because they found the fund unresponsive to their community’s needs. And later on, after I had left the organization, I met a woman who was one of ‘‘the first and only’’ African American women on the board. She, too, had departed early and could barely describe her experiences without becoming enraged. I regret that I hadn’t paid closer attention
to my friend’s comment-or hadn’t met those women earlier. Then I might have seen the resistance to including disabled women that I was beginning to encounter in a larger context of the organization’s resistance to change. The fund continued to receive few if any
proposals involving disabled women that fit its criteria, and I didn’t push the planning/ start-upgrant suggestion.WithoutClaudia’s support, I didn’t think that ideawould stand a chance. I dobelieve that if therehadbeena will, that group of women on the board would have found a way. For example, they could have mandated that all community groups receiving funds must make an effort to include disabledwomen in their projects. Or they could have provided a financial incentive, maybe a few thousand dollars
extra, to groups that included disabled women in their programs. Eventually, by pushing and shoving, I got
a few results for my efforts. For example, a special initiative to promote the career development of young women included a project for disabled women that got a fair amount of press. But there were not nearly enough grants to show a strong, clear commitment to disabled women. The funding of projects with specific
disability content wasn’t the only way the fund fell short. The presence of disabled women in programs designed to raise awareness of general women’s issues was, from my perspective, limited. For example, there was a big ‘‘women’s right to choose’’ campaign that includeda surveyofwomen’s attitudes and a blitz in the media. I encouraged the inclusion of disabled women in the survey, reminding Claudia that theymighthavesomedifferentattitudes toward choice than nondisabled women, particularly regarding when and how disability is used to justify abortion. ‘‘We already knowabout the attitudes of disabled women,’’Claudia toldme.And I suppose she did, because unlike some other media campaigns on choice that I had seen, there was nothing in the materials about aborting disabled fetuses. But I would have preferred to have the voices of disabled women included in a more direct way. Also, in a poster promoting the fund’s youngwomen’s career project that included images of a diverse group of young women, there were no women with visible disabilities. When I expressed my concern to one of the department heads of the fund, who was Latina, she said, ‘‘Well, there are no Latina womenportrayed in theposter either.’’ And I thought to myself, ‘‘Just because you are a poor advocate for your community, I should be one too?’’ Increasingly over time, I felt like a one-
song Suzie, constantly repeating the question, ‘‘What about disabled women?’’ I grew
to hate my own ineffective voice among these women, raging atmyself asmuch as at them. I kept thinking if only I were a better activist, if only I screamed louder, if only I weren’t soeager to fit in, if only Iwereabetter conversationalist and could sweet-talk some of the other boardmembers into supporting my issue, if only, if only. Not all my rants against myself were unwarranted. I was not the ideal ‘‘first andonly’’ disabledwoman for this organization. I was not willing enough to go out on a limb for what I believed in and run the risk of being rejected by this group of feminists that I was so eager to be part of. Although I had been ‘‘out of the closet’’ as disabled for more than 15 years, I was still a bifurcated woman, struggling between and straddling the disabled and nondisabled worlds. I wanted to belong somewhere but wasn’t at home anywhere. I was afraid to make waves, ambivalent about power, and hence too often kept quiet to keep the peace, to find my place at the table. In fact, part of the problem was that I was trying to create change by myself, a Lone Ranger who really needed to be part of a posse. In the midst of my disillusionment,
Claudia began moving the fund in a new direction. Thanks to a huge donation from a private donor, she was transforming the organization into a much larger, stronger, and more powerful resource, voice, and presence for women. The move would have a price, one that made my goal of including disabled women even more difficult to achieve. The transformation started with a change inboard functions. Theboardwould no longer review and approve grants but would focus instead on ‘‘higher-level’’ tasks like setting overall fund policies and building a substantial endowment. Claudia must have known that I would be upset by the board’s loss of its right to review the grants docket because she called me before the meeting to let me know that a vote on this issue was on the agenda. Of course, I was upset. Thiswas theonlymodicumofcontrol
I had over the fund’s grant making with regard to disabled women, paltry though it was. I voted no at the meeting, but most of the rest of the board voted yes, so I was overruled. Later on, a few other board members said they wanted to vote no also but felt it was pointless. They knew Claudia would ultimately have her way. The new emphasis on fund-raising finally
led me to leave before the end of my second term. Requiring board members to raisemoneywasnotunique to thiswomen’s fund; it became increasingly common among most women’s organizations. While I understood that this was essential for survival, I was disturbed by its effects on the board and theorganization. ‘‘Weneed to invite some women of wealth-or at least women who know some women of wealth to join our board,’’ Claudia had remarked. ‘‘I thought board members are supposed to represent the diverse communities of women that our fund serves,’’ one of my sisterboardmembers responded. ‘‘Weknow enough about diversity. Now we need money,’’ Claudia explained. And at that moment, I felt corporate America descending on us. Over time, we did have increasing numbers of women of wealth and women who held prominent positions in large corporations join our board or in other ways become involved with the fund, in someways shifting it in amore conservative direction. I felt increasingly impotent since I was by no means a woman of wealth, had no connections to wealthy people, and represented a constituency of women who were among the poorest of the poor and hence were not potential donors. After I quit the board, I became tempor-
arily preoccupied with my lack of effectiveness. I felt that, overall, I hadn’t done much for the fund-a few grants here, a few programs there; mainly I felt like a thorn in the fund’s, and particularly the executive director’s, side. But as other women who hadbeenthroughsimilarexperienceswould
later reassure me, the first and only of any group who joins amainstream organization never does much. My presence was just a beginning, a baby step. I don’t regret the six years I spent there. I learned a great deal about the slow pace of progress and the need for patience, perseverance, and most important, realistic expectations. Being on that board also gaveme a higher
level of credibility in the women’s community. Now I was associated with not only amentoring project for disabled adolescent girlsbutalsoawell-known,highly respected women’s fund. The connection with that fund led to invitations to join the boards of other women’s organizations, also as the first and only disabled woman. ‘‘What? Again? Didn’t I learn from experience?’’ I would ask myself each time I accepted another invitation. Actually, I did. While I didn’t have a major impact on any of these organizations, I was less frustrated and depressed because I didn’t expect to make a big dent. By then, I was pleased to have any impact, even if all I did was open the door a bit. There were some considerable achievements: a number of grants for disabledwomen’s projects from the second women’s fund I joined; a heightened awareness of accessibility when another women’s group whose board I served on was purchasing a new building; and, one of mymost excitingmoments, a congressional hearing on the issues of young disabled women, orchestrated by a third group. I have to acknowledge that those hearings were not my idea. They were the brainchild of the president, who had been advocating for the rights of disabled women, not exclusively, but as part of her work on behalf of all women, for more years than I had, even though she had never before invited a disabled woman to join her board. My presence on the board served as a catalyst to further her work on behalf of disabled women and girls, but I didn’t have to do much advocacy. My tenure on that
board demonstrated how much easier it is to promote inclusion when the leader of an organization has some knowledge and experience with disability rights issues; then change, while not necessarily easy, can be much smoother and less disruptive. But such people are hard to find. To this day I still wonder about Claudia’s
notion that disability was the hardest issue for her organization to address. I regret not pushing her for an explanation. Maybe I thought I knew at least some of the reasons, such as that for this or any group of feminists invested in seeing themselves as strong, competent, and independent, disabled women, stereotypically viewed as needy and dependent, stirred up anxieties about their owndependency needs, especially as they age. Or perhaps they felt resentful that they would have to take care of their disabled sisters, as they have had to care for sick, aging, or otherwise dependent family members. Or maybe the presence of disabled women precipitated these women’s doubts about
the intactness of their own bodies or their fears of vulnerability or reinforced stereotypes of women as victims. Or, more mundanely, perhaps they were afraid that accommodating disabled women would be expensive, draining limited funds and resources. Now, some 15 years later (and 30-plus
years since I first began pushingmyway into the women’s movement), feminists have become more inclusive. Virtually every women’s conference addresses disabled women’s issues in at least a few sessions, and a small number ofwell-knownwomen’s organizations have sponsored entire conferences on disability. Yet few disabled women serve on governing boards or in leadership positions in mainstream women’s groups, and those who do are often ‘‘the first and only.’’ Even today, disabledwomenaremore likely to be included out of obligation than out of appreciation of the contribution they can make. They are not seen as a rich source of diversity. The welcome mat is not yet out.
