Messages from our CEO: Kickin’ It with Kimberly
It’s essential to us that we keep you well-informed about current issues and barriers affecting people with disabilities. Our CEO, Kimberly Tissot, recognizes that you are at the heart of our efforts to promote disability rights, justice, and freedoms. Letters will be written to you, our key supporters, about the injustices we uncover and the solutions we can offer as a disability-led organization.
September 2025
Kickin’ It with Kimberly: If You Can’t Say Disability, That’s the Problem
If you have to twist yourself into knots to avoid saying disability, the problem isn’t the word. The problem is how you think about it. Disability isn’t shameful. It’s not something to tiptoe around with cutesy replacements or watered-down phrases. It’s not “special.” It’s not “less.” It’s human and it’s us.
And yet, people keep trying to rebrand us with made-up words that sound nice but actually push us down. Case in point—I was once told I had a “diversability.” What?! Y’all, I held my poker face, but inside I was screaming. I kindly shot down that description because, well, it doesn’t make a bit of sense. And the kicker? This came from someone working in the disability field. Imagine thinking so little of us that you invent a word to dodge the one that matters in so many ways: disability.
That’s the problem. Words that were supposed to be “polite” have become weapons of stigma. If we’re serious about respect, we’ve got to call those words out and toss them in the trash where they belong.
So let’s line them up. Court is in session.
Exhibit A: “Special needs.”
Let’s start with the classic. Everyone needs food, housing, healthcare, and love. None of that is “special.” It’s called being human. Slapping “special” onto disability rights makes access sound like a bonus perk. But access isn’t a perk. Inclusion isn’t a perk. They’re rights. Period.
Up until recently, South Carolina had an agency called the Department of Disabilities and Special Needs (DDSN). Even the name branded disabled people as “other.” After years of advocacy, it was renamed and merged with other agencies to pull us out of a broken system made of silos. We now have the Office of Intellectual and Developmental Disabilities within the Department of Behavioral Health and Developmental Disabilities. Notice what’s gone? “Special needs.” Because it never belonged there. Who was that even legally describing? No one.
Exhibit B: “Handicapped.”
Next up, the one still hanging on in parking lots. The word “handicapped” traces back to the phrase “cap in hand.” Picture someone holding out a cap while begging for coins. That’s what it meant. And over time, society slapped it onto disabled people to suggest we were pitiful, dependent, or charity cases.
It wasn’t just slang. It worked its way into laws and policies, branding disabled people as objects of pity instead of full citizens with rights. For decades, we were literally written into law as “handicapped.”
That’s why disability rights laws like the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA), the Rehabilitation Act, and the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act (IDEA) use the real words: disability and disabled. The laws stay pretty updated as to the language preferred by the disability community. Because those words are accurate, neutral, and grounded in dignity.
So when you see “Handicapped Parking,” remember, it’s not just outdated. It’s a relic of the days when the law itself treated us as less-than. And we’re not going back.
Exhibit C: “SPED.”
And finally, the recent schoolyard favorite. “SPED” gets tossed around as if it’s just harmless shorthand for special education. But kids mostly use it as an insult. Kids fling it like the new “R-word.” SPED is creating stigma with a fresh coat of paint.
Special education services under IDEA exist to guarantee kids with disabilities have the accommodations to learn alongside their peers without disabilities. It’s not a place, it’s not a label, and it definitely should not be used as an insult. It’s a service. And yes, even that word “special” to describe the service is still sitting in the law. It doesn’t belong there either. There isn’t anything special about individualizing education so that a student can learn. Disabled kids don’t need nicknames—they need rights, respect, and opportunity.
A Small Success
Recently at a Columbia Fireflies game at Segra Park, I saw signs for “ADA Parking” instead of “Handicapped Parking.” That matters. Words carry weight. And when our laws say “disability” instead of “handicapped,” it’s because that’s who we are, and there’s nothing wrong with it.
Another acceptable term is accessible parking because that’s what it is—parking for people with disabilities so they have access to places. It’s not parking for beggars. We aren’t beggars.
And Please—Stop Inventing Words
“Handi-capable.” “Differently abled.” “Diversability.” (Yep, still not over that one.) If you can’t say disability, what you’re really saying is you think it’s shameful. Imagine being on our end of it—nondisabled people have a hard time saying disability, yet we say it, and that’s the legal and preferred way our community chooses to be called.
Disability is nothing to be ashamed of. It is simply a physical, mental, intellectual, or sensory reality colliding with barriers in society. We aren’t the issue here.
The Challenge:
This isn’t about being “politically correct.” It’s about being seen.
- Disabled people: Say disability with pride. Our voices matter, our words matter, and we are not invisible.
- Allies: Don’t just nod, speak up. Correct the bad words. Push back on the lazy ones. Language is culture, and culture changes when you demand it.
- Lawmakers and leaders: Listen to us. Use the words that disability rights laws already gave you. Stop allowing us to be erased with labels that hide who we are.
Because if you can’t even say disability, the problem isn’t with us, it’s with you.
Say the word. Respect the word. And if you can’t? Step aside, because we’re not waiting for permission to exist.
– Kimberly Tissot, President and CEO, Able South Carolina
Disability is not a dirty word—it’s a proud identity and a powerful community.
If we can’t even say disability, we risk silencing an entire community. Able SC is on the frontlines—dismantling stigma, demanding rights, and refusing to let disabled voices be erased.
Join us in creating a South Carolina where disability is spoken with pride, stigma is left behind, and respect is the standard. Donate to Able SC today.