An MLK Day Reflection on Why I Can No Longer Stay Silent
How I Got Here
I never wanted to be political.
I know that might sound strange coming from someone whose father was a union representative for the Detroit auto industry, working alongside Lee Iacocca during the years that shaped American manufacturing. Regardless of what you think of Iacocca, that tells you something about my upbringing. Growing up, standing up for workers’ rights wasn’t a political statement in my household. It was simply what you did when people faced unfair treatment.
But me? I was content in my little corner of the world. I wasn’t trying to change systems or challenge institutions. I was a grandmother raising my three autistic grandchildren, and all I wanted was for them to get what they needed to thrive.
Then a school psychologist looked at my grandson and told me not to expect too much from him.
Something in me broke open that day. Or maybe something finally came together. All those years of watching my father advocate for dignity, all those values about standing up when people are pushed down. I couldn’t unhear what that psychologist said. And I couldn’t pretend it wasn’t happening to other families every single day.
That’s how SOAR Educational Services came to life. Not from a desire to be an activist, but from a grandmother’s refusal to accept that her grandchild didn’t belong.
The Work That Shaped Me
For years now, I’ve worked with families across this country, helping them navigate IEP meetings, understand their rights, and advocate for their children. My approach has always been collaborative, not combative. I believe in asking, “Help me understand…” rather than making demands. I believe in rightful presence, the understanding that our children belong in schools by right, not as a privilege to be granted.
I still believe in collaboration. I still believe most educators want to do right by our kids.
But today, on Martin Luther King Jr. Day, I find myself unable to stay silent about what is happening in this country.
The Dismantling
We are witnessing the systematic dismantling of 50 years of civil rights protections for children with disabilities.
Officials have gutted the offices responsible for ensuring 7.5 million children receive the education they’re legally entitled to. The staff who investigated discrimination complaints are largely gone. Congress has defunded parent training and information centers that helped families understand their rights. Piece by piece, the very infrastructure that held schools accountable for serving our children is being torn apart.
Before IDEA became law in 1975, schools routinely turned children with disabilities away. Institutions warehoused them. Schools and lawmakers told them, by law, by policy, by practice, that they did not belong. Society deemed them unworthy of an education.
We made a promise as a nation that those days were over.
We cannot go back.
What Dr. King Understood
Dr. King dreamed of a nation where people would be judged by the content of their character rather than circumstances beyond their control. His fight centered on the fundamental belief that every human being has inherent dignity and worth, and that when our systems deny that dignity to anyone, we all suffer.
His words still ring true: injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.
The disability rights movement has always been a civil rights movement. Parents who fought for IDEA understood this. Advocates who pushed for the ADA understood this. Self-advocates who continue to demand “nothing about us without us” understand this.
The children in our special education classrooms are not “Democrat children” or “Republican children.” Political pawns and budget line items, they are not. Simply put, they are children. Children who want to get on the school bus, make friends, and learn alongside their peers. Children who have every right to be there.
My Father’s Daughter
I think about my father often these days. Union work didn’t feel political to him either. He saw it as basic human dignity. When someone exploited workers, you stood up. When families struggled, you fought for fair wages and safe conditions. That wasn’t about Democrats or Republicans. It was about right and wrong.
Now I understand that I’ve been doing the same work he did, just in a different arena. The families I serve aren’t asking for special treatment. All they want is for their children to receive what every child deserves: an education that meets their needs, delivered with respect for their dignity.
That’s not political. That’s human.
But when officials dismantle the systems designed to protect these rights, when they fire the people tasked with enforcement, when they treat 50 years of bipartisan consensus as expendable, staying silent becomes a choice. And silence, in the face of injustice, is its own kind of statement.
What We Do Now
Dr. King said the arc of the moral universe bends toward justice, but he also knew it doesn’t bend on its own. It bends because people push it.
This is our moment to push.
Start by raising your voice. Show up at school board meetings. Call your representatives, and keep calling. Document everything. Connect with advocacy organizations. Support each other. Refuse to let our children become invisible again.
If you’re a parent navigating special education right now, I want you to know: You are not alone. Your child’s rights still exist under the law. And those of us who do this work? We’re not going anywhere. Count on us to keep fighting alongside you, keep showing up, keep pushing that arc.
Collaboration still matters to me. I still believe in asking questions instead of making accusations. Most people want to do the right thing, and I hold onto that belief.
But I also believe, as Dr. King taught us, that there comes a time when silence is betrayal.
A Final Word
“In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends.”
I will not be silent.
Will you stand with me?
From Chaos to Collaboration℠, Latina