As a person with quadriplegia, I am often asked why I don’t write a book about my experiences and that my struggles deserve a voice. And, I’ll be honest, I’ve had more than a few false starts. Something always prevents me from diving headfirst into a project that deals with the trials and tribulations of someone with different abilities.

How can I sit here, in my comfy house, in my safe neighborhood, with my full belly, and jockey for my spot on stage when little kids are bleeding out as the people who are supposed to protect them stand around with their thumbs up their asses? When it is easier to buy an assault rifle than it is to buy baby formula? When terrorists are executing seniors in supermarkets? When Europe is dealing with ANOTHER megalomaniacal fascist. When America is dealing with two? When cops are drilling 98 rounds into unarmed American citizens? When nine people have the power to strip 167.5 million of their autonomy? When a sports hero, a WOMAN at that, gets nearly ten years in a Russian prison for carrying a vape in her luggage? When an irate mob of white supremacists have a kegger at the capital and make the brilliant decision to overthrow the government because their overlord was having a temper tantrum? When not a small number of people think this is appropriate behavior? When the entire country watched a man get lynched on national television? On. National. Television. Do I need to go on? Because, tragically, I could.

How can I justify grabbing the mic so I can lament over the insults I have suffered because someone I don’t know and likely never will said something insensitive? Is my skin that thin? Wouldn’t it be better to suck it up and leave that mic open for voices that demand to be heard? Voices that have been silenced for centuries?

Staying silent, however, isn’t the best approach. It’s a decidedly cowardly one, or just a lazy one. (Which, arguably, are one in the same.) Two voices (or ten, or fifty) talking at the same time aren’t inherently discordant. Ok, so let’s use music as the metaphor here. One violin playing Moonlight Sonata is haunting and beautiful. But, with the weight of an orchestra behind it, it’s transcendent. And, even though the soloist is the focal point, the orchestra has its own voice. In order to create that transcendent  beauty, you need both soloist and orchestra. You might even argue that the orchestra allows the violin to extend its reach. I mean, think about it. One violinist on the street might entice a few to stop and listen, but most people are so ensconced up their own asses they’re not even going to register that there’s music playin. But, if the New York Philharmonic was playing you can bet people are going to notice.

Let me carry this metaphor to its conclusion. Bear with me another moment. If I’m in a symphony, I’m really helping no one if I don’t play my instrument. On the contrary, I’m likely causing problems by not playing. I’m certainly not taking my responsibility seriously. I could be courting the extreme displeasure of my fellow band nerds.

My voice is an instrument. But, more, it’s a specific instrument. I played the flute when my arms worked. I wasn’t bad, I practiced and developed my talent. I didn’t try to play a sax or a trumpet or a clarinet. I stayed in my lane and did the best I could. I showed up. I participated. My voice is only beneficial if I use it to speak on issues about which I know something. So, I’m going to use it to bring awareness to how people with different abilities are marginalized. I’m going to use it to encourage and motivate differently-abled people. My voice will only be dissonant if I use it improperly. If I use it to spread hate, and fear. If I use it to speak in half-truths and baseless conjecture. Truth is on pretty shaky ground these days (thank you Occam). It needs all the help it can get.

There’s arguably no more critical issue in America today than the Black Lives Matter movement. I will never sit first chair in that symphony. I won’t even play a key instrument. I cannot co-opt another’s experience. But being quiet doesn’t help Black Americans. So, how do I use my voice productively? I do it by providing harmony, by helping the voices of Black Americans to carry farther. I have a better chance of getting through to a bigoted asshole by the simple fact that we share skin color. Staying silent just isn’t going to cut it anymore. If I’m not using my voice to speak out against systemic racism, I have no right to expect justice for myself. Or, let’s instead say I’m not worthy.

So, really, keeping quiet about ANY injustice is not only irresponsible, it’s reprehensible. It’s cowardly. Keeping quiet so another can talk is an inherently flawed approach for the simple reason that not only the righteous have voices. As we know all too well in this country, it’s often the loudest voices that spew the most offensive crap. I’m not giving up my mic to the Marjorie Taylor Greens, the Lauren Boberts of the world.

I don’t know if I answered my own question. What even was it again? How do you speak your truth amidst so many other, more important, truths? Because the alternative is worse, because my truth doesn’t negate the others, because I hold myself in solidarity with anyone who’s ever been silenced, oppressed, marginalized, misunderstood, alienated, abused. I stand with all person’s of color, with everyone sitting in limbo in immigration detention centers, with the LGBTQ community, with every woman who feels like we’re in a Margaret Atwood novel, with the incarcerated, with anyone living in a nursing home, with Ukraine. And, of course, I stand with my brothers and sisters who have physical “disabilities.” I will continue to use my voice because I can, and more importantly, I must.