They asked disability justice
Photo by Erik Mclean on Unsplash
They asked disability justice
to be softer.
More inspiring.
More curable.
More convenient
for nondisabled imaginations.
They wanted ramps
without reckoning.
Access
without surrendering power.
Inclusion
that never interrupted
the comfort of the majority.
But justice is not
a pity project.
Justice is not
a telethon smile
or a prayer circle
asking God to erase us
until our bodies resemble
someone else’s idea of whole.
Justice is a world
where disabled children
are not abused at higher rates.
Where survival is not mistaken
for gratitude.
Where no one asks
whether our lives are tragic
simply because they are ours.
Because ableism
has always tried
to turn disability itself
into the problem.
As though the injustice
is the wheelchair
instead of the stairs.
The autistic child
instead of the cruelty.
The chronically ill body
instead of the systems
that abandon it.
But disability
is not the injustice.
Ableism is.
And maybe that is why
Jesus kept walking toward
the people society labeled
burdens, sinners, cautionary tales.
Not to make them disappear.
Not to make them inspirational.
But to say:
you belong here too.
The kingdom of God
was never built
for only the strong.
It was built
by wounded hands,
scarred bodies,
people the empire
called disposable
who still insisted
on being loved aloud.
