Pinnock Has Adopted A Passive Nature In The Philippines

Jul 22

Written By United African-Asian Abilities Club

By: Dr. Theodore Arthur Pinnock

July 21, 2026

“If you’re a handicapped person and you happen to have a passive nature about you, you’re really screwed.”

In 1973, I found myself in a state-run institution, cut off from mainstream society and daily life. I was a teenager then, struggling to understand why the world seemed so inaccessible to people like me. At that time, I was completely unaware of the burgeoning disability rights movement that, in later years, would profoundly shape my sense of identity and open doors I never knew existed. I had not yet heard of trailblazers like Judy Heumann, Ed Roberts, or the rolling protests in Berkeley and New York that were quietly rewriting history. My days in the institution were marked by routine, restrictions, and a sense of invisibility—mealtimes and activities set by a schedule I had no control over, staff who rarely listened, and a general sense of resignation among the residents.

Instead, my earliest role models in disability leadership were Todd, Dick, and Tony—my friends who, despite facing their own unique challenges, showed me the power of camaraderie, resilience, and mutual support. We found ways to subvert the monotony and isolation of institutional life. Our greatest escape was Camp Harkness, a special summer camp for people with disabilities in Connecticut. There, we could temporarily leave behind the limitations imposed by society, experience outdoor adventures like swimming and bonfires, and build lifelong friendships. Camp Harkness was the first place I truly felt a sense of belonging, acceptance, and the freedom to express myself. It was there that I learned how important it was to have a community that saw my value beyond my disability.

But eventually, the teachings of the disability rights movement found their way to me through whispered conversations, underground newsletters, and the stories shared by other disabled students. I began to notice the daily struggles and quiet acts of defiance within our community: friends refusing to be left behind on inaccessible buses, classmates demanding materials in formats they could use, and group discussions about the right to make decisions for ourselves. Our conversations constantly revolved around the concept of disability freedom—the right to determine our own futures, make choices for ourselves, and challenge the restrictive expectations placed upon us by an inaccessible world that often saw us as burdens rather than contributors.

In 1980, I enrolled at the University of Connecticut, a campus with its own set of barriers: stairs without ramps, buildings with inaccessible restrooms, professors who doubted my abilities. It was there that I was first introduced to Section 504 of the Rehabilitation Act—a landmark regulation prohibiting discrimination based on disability in programs receiving federal funding. Learning about Section 504 was eye-opening: it was the first time I realized that the law could be a tool for empowerment, not just a barrier. I poured over the regulation in the law library, learning its clauses, and discussed its meaning late into the night with other disabled students. Empowered by this knowledge, I actively advocated for the university to comply with the law—writing letters, organizing sit-ins, petitioning administrators, and even staging protests to highlight inaccessible spaces. All this while still unaware of figures like Judy Heumann and her colleagues who had fought so hard for these changes on a national level. My activism was born out of necessity and the encouragement of my peers, rather than direct mentorship from national leaders.

On July 26, 1990, I first heard about the passage of the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) while watching CNN. I remember the exact moment—the news anchor announced sweeping protections for people with disabilities, and I felt a surge of hope and disbelief. This pivotal moment would redirect the course of my career and expand my understanding of the possibilities for real, systemic change. I spent days studying the text of the new law, highlighting sections that mirrored the hard-won rights I’d fought for under Section 504. The ADA promised a new era: public spaces, workplaces, and transportation would, at least on paper, finally be accessible to all.

By 1992, I launched a disability law practice—not because I was inspired by the well-known activists at the time, but because local disability leaders in San Diego recognized a need for legal advocacy and pushed me in that direction. Community organizers and PWD business owners approached me, sharing stories of being denied entry to restaurants, facing workplace discrimination, and encountering public buildings where basic access was impossible. My original ambition was to become a corporate lawyer, using my earnings to invest in businesses owned and operated by people with disabilities, believing that real liberation required financial independence from government programs and non-disabled organizations. However, fate had other plans for me.

I adapted the workers’ compensation law firm model to pursue ADA Title III lawsuits, focusing on enforcing accessibility requirements for public accommodations. My firm became known for holding large corporations and small businesses alike accountable for barriers to access—sometimes resulting in settlements that funded future advocacy. This approach created a pathway for other lawyers, such as Mark Potter, to join the cause and build legal practices around disability rights. Despite my efforts and successes, I faced relentless backlash from the courts, media, and the state bar, as well as hostility from within the disability community itself. The media painted us as opportunists, the courts often resisted our arguments, and some activists accused me of being too aggressive in my tactics. In 2012, after enduring fierce criticism from the predominantly white disability community, including false allegations about my practice, I chose not to contest the charges and agreed to disbarment. This marked the beginning of a more passive chapter in my advocacy—a deeply painful period during which I wrestled with feelings of betrayal and loss, both personal and professional. Looking back, I see this as a turning point that forced me to reconsider the meaning of advocacy and my identity as a disabled leader.

During the state bar investigation, feeling isolated from the white disability leadership, I founded the United African Asian Abilities Club in 2011. This initiative provided a space for disabled people of color who, like me, felt marginalized within mainstream advocacy circles. My wife and other non-white allies became my core support system. Although I became less active in public advocacy during this period, I poured my energy into writing books and articles, using the written word to advance disability rights. In 2016, the birth of two extraordinary children renewed my sense of purpose. I became determined to model empowerment and resilience for them. I also established two corporations focused on disability empowerment and continued to mentor a young woman with a disability, helping her become a leader in her own right. Additionally, I encouraged my wife to return to law school so she could further her own advocacy work.

Despite these efforts, I continued to feel hurt and disillusioned by my exclusion from the white-dominated disability community. By this point, I knew of Judy Heumann’s legacy, though not in detail. One day, I came across a Facebook post about a disability rights rally scheduled for July 21. Normally, I scrolled past such posts, but that day was different. Just before seeing it, I had watched 'Crip Camp,' the powerful documentary that reminded me of my beginnings in New Britain, Connecticut, and the formative influence of my three disability mentors. Compelled by the film’s message, I clicked on the post and read more about the rally, reaching out via the provided email address. That inquiry led to a Zoom conversation with the executive director of the National Council on Independent Living. When his face appeared on my screen, I was surprised—and encouraged—to see that he, too, was Black. This moment rekindled my hope for a more inclusive movement.

This powerful quote from the Oscar-nominated Netflix documentary [Crip Camp: A Disability Revolution](https://www.google.com/search?q=crip+camp:+a+disability+revolution&kgmid=/g/11frdzqtlw#sv=CBwSyQQK-gMS9wMKtwNBSmlUNHRKX0dueWRiZE9Gb3pTTklMSnFhd2NKbkU0Vlk0TXgyRHNCcXVCaVJ4bVRWTHZBQjRMaFIwMVg5elloRVpNRC1RelRIRDdvRkhXTldDcGk4a1R4V3hRU00wbTJZSl93c1NydkdhTFFQN1VDdFBnakFyNnFFbW5tbk9lNlA4NGJPNEtXSWxnVm9Idm1zeEJLWjVFbGQtVk1MdWJTUjBFWkFWLVdOVzFyYW51d2xwRXNudXkwa2ttVG5DQnA3MUNHVXdaZjNQb0RIV29lUVZ1MmxvalVUcFRjZ1Z3VFJDOFBnU0ZRZ2pIUF9jQWxTNkFhQ216TnNxbTduV1BRRmNTenBMNFNyODNFYnZpNld6Z3Ffanh2ejV4STFXZC1iY1pSb0ZSRk1IdXh3Vm1JNGRtV20zZVYtbjdqQzJYM0liSzlocmNJOHA1NEJtOHFxSUJNR3hoYW9TZXBiMUdtNW5VN0NXa0V4Y1VRQTVFempMWl8zbzRZLU90ZnlJeF9jTHR1OFB2UUZVLXVpT3Y1QUpNTTBFNmotN0VaUTBKUmtiYjZzWXp5dHQ5SlR1c3pMWnRMVS1BEhdWaDljYXI3M0JjMk12cjBQNzl6d29RaxoiQURzcjlmUm5CQWxuekk3MWFTbFNRVUp4NVNXWGloRERWZxIENzg1NBoBMyInCgFxEiJjcmlwIGNhbXA6IGEgZGlzYWJpbGl0eSByZXZvbHV0aW9uIhYKBWtnbWlkEg0vZy8xMWZyZHpxdGx3KAAYRSDQjvjkCg) emphasizes that systemic barriers require disabled individuals to aggressively advocate for themselves because society rarely defaults to being accessible. [1, 2, 3, 4]

The exact quote from the film is: “If you’re a handicapped person and you happen to have a passive nature about you, you’re really screwed.” [1]

Context of the Quote

Who Said It: Steve Hofmann (1950–2017), a camper with cerebral palsy. [5]

The Setting: He stated this during a recorded group dinner discussion in the early 1970s at Camp Jened, a free-spirited summer camp in New York tailored for teenagers with disabilities. [5, 6]

The Meaning: Hofmann was highlighting a harsh reality: in a world completely unequipped for accessibility, passive compliance meant being entirely left behind or ignored. To suirvive and achieve basic rights, disabled individuals had to become assertive, “feisty” self-advocates. [1, 5, 7, 8, 9]

I learned to be assertive from Tony and my family.

The Movement It Sparked

This exact line foreshadows the shift from the campers’ personal liberation to radical political action. The campers of Camp Jened—including legendary activist [Judy Heumann](https://www.google.com/search?q=judy+heumann&kgmid=/m/0fpty0#sv=CBwS7wMKugMStwMK9wJBSmlUNHRMYmk1d2s2MG4xSHE1WGFCTWZxV3ljMU9HUjN1NW1wZmRpZEx1QmtEZHR2bjJINm1lcERoNWdhY0xLdWNiRUh1bUtsVXlRNHd1cXVKU2JUT0t1eW0yMC1vdEEtTW84QjFMeldCZzFGWlY1UE9WTGpPR1FVdE9IMkJDMGlnVkhkNWt4Nl8yclZDbm55cGhWZ1gxdkhwXzJUbXJta1VaWnJTbnQwNGUyWHB0bmtIZlNEd3BwcVJmbzA3OVBmZzVjeldtZFNNOVk5bzZWOEFMRmNRNDhNTlpXVER6RzRHcDR3LURPaDk3RXpMTEpMc0c2TC1tUXlMelNWRWRWbm1FWDBsdTNFN2dMckRfSlYyZ0Z0cEh2d2xkMVdjUndoOThZUTNNejVLbWs5azNwdExObFhkWFAtU3N2QUpkbUpWQTE3U3pQcC1BNTFoempBZW9GbGxBTG90OGlvNnpWLXBlakF0ZGFDcHBzcWtMZTJ5cnpjcGsSF1ZoOWNhcjczQmMyTXZyMFA3OXp3b1FrGiJBRHNyOWZSLWpabDZhUU1ZWlFkQkVydjdzTTg4bFBzS0dnEgQ3ODU0GgEzIhEKAXESDGp1ZHkgaGV1bWFubiISCgVrZ21pZBIJL20vMGZwdHkwKAAYRSDX7ta9AQ)—went on to lead historic civil rights actions: [8, 10, 11, 12, 13]

1972 NYC Street Shutdown: Wheelchair users blocked traffic in Manhattan to protest President Nixon’s veto of the Rehabilitation Act.

1977 504 Sit-in: Activists staged a 25-day occupation of the federal HEW building in San Francisco, which remains the longest occupation of a federal building in U.S. history, successfully forcing the government to sign regulations for Section 504. [5]

How did 504 change my life?

In 1974 I went to the New Britain Memorial Hospital school. Then in 1975 I was mainstreamed at Slade Junior High school. New Britain had a contract with a yellow cab company to drive the disability student lift bus. Andy was the bus driver. Unknown to me, the Individuals With Disabilities Education Act and 504 was the reason for the bus and my mainstreaming.

Unknown to me, 504 caused me to attend the University of Connecticut in September of 1980.

Total Concern

Two seniors with disabilities needed a replacement for the Total Concern president. No one wanted the job. I was always drinking and going to Kathy Brown, a senior with cerebral palsy to have an orgasm without copulation. The two seniors told me what 504 was and forced me to be Total Concern president.

I went to the law library all the time to learn the 504 regulations. For three years I fought the University of Connecticut for it to implement 504. I even had my younger brother Joshua Josiah Pinnock Jr carry me up three flights of stairs to the office of the university president to protest against campus inaccessibility.

So on July 27, 1990 we I took three San Diego buses to read about the new ADA at the law library, I was pleasantly surprised that the new law was the 504 regulations extended to all entities even if they did not receive federal funds. So I knew ADA because I mastered 504 at UConn. But evening knowing the law, I had no desire to be a disability lawyer but the “different Messiah” had other plans.

My brother Hubert Norman Pinnock use to twist my arm behind my back, yelling while laughing, "Don't be a weak pussy, motherfucker." After 2012 this is what I became; a passive natured man who screwed himself without an orgasm. My passivity is over thanks to Theo Braddy and watching "Crip Camp."

The NCIL rally was conducted but no news covered it. This is not the 1970s where the community cared about “we”. Now, most care about “me”. The disability movement avoids using marketing strategies that the corporations and politicians used to convince this new public. Disability community is now too passive and therefore they are screwed. We need to use google ads, TikTok ads, LinkedIn marketing, Facebook ads, and x thread ads to convince the public that people with disabilities have value. I will no longer be passive.

[1] [https://www.rollinginspiration.co.za](https://www.rollinginspiration.co.za/a-camp-that-inspired-change/)

[2] [https://journeysinfilm.org](https://journeysinfilm.org/film/crip-camp/)

[3] [https://www.latimes.com](https://www.latimes.com/entertainment-arts/movies/story/2020-03-24/crip-camp-review-netflix-disability-rights)

[4] [https://www.cliffsnotes.com](https://www.cliffsnotes.com/study-notes/4561619)

[5] [https://liberationnews.org](https://liberationnews.org/film-review-crip-camp-a-disability-revolution/)

[6] [https://en.wikipedia.org](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Crip_Camp)

[7] [https://thewheelchairteen.com](https://thewheelchairteen.com/2021/05/29/i-used-to-be-ashamed-of-my-disability-not-anymore/)

[8] [https://www.instagram.com](https://www.instagram.com/accessnowapp/)

[9] [https://esmemazzeo.substack.com](https://esmemazzeo.substack.com/p/crip-camp-review-netflix)

[10] [https://cdrp.indiana.edu](https://cdrp.indiana.edu/student-initiatives/doctalk/crip-camp.html)

[11] [https://www.washingtonpost.com](https://www.washingtonpost.com/lifestyle/style/netflix-crip-camp-interview/2020/03/25/607b0546-6a2d-11ea-b313-df458622c2cc_story.html)

[12] [https://www.nbcnews.com](https://www.nbcnews.com/think/opinion/netflix-s-crip-camp-one-most-important-films-about-disability-ncna1176456)