History has never been changed by those who stayed quiet.
Progress didn’t come from the people who averted their gaze, folded their arms, or whispered, “It’s not my fight.” It came from people who said, “Enough.”
Think of Rosa Parks – a seamstress. A quiet woman. Not a politician, not a lawyer. She was tired, not just from working all day, but from watching dignity be rationed out like a privilege. She sat down in the wrong part of the bus and refused to move. That simple act sparked a movement. Because silence had gone on long enough.
Or Claudette Colvin, just 15 years old, who said no to segregation before Rosa did – but her story was buried, because she was a child from the wrong part of town. She did it anyway. She had no fame, no following – just courage. Without her, the legal challenge that dismantled bus segregation might never have begun.
And Viola Desmond – a Black businesswoman from Nova Scotia who refused to give up her seat in a whites-only section of a movie theatre in 1946. Her act of defiance came nine years before Rosa’s. And it echoed through Canadian history, all the way to the $10 bill.
And then there’s Temple Grandin – a woman with autism who became a world-renowned scientist, bestselling author, and a tireless advocate for people with neurodivergent minds. She forced industries to adapt. She made classrooms rethink inclusion. She showed the world how much it had overlooked.
She once said:
“I am different, not less.”
None of these women were elected. None were wealthy. None were powerful in the way we often define it. But they changed everything. And they didn’t do it by waiting for someone else to go first.
We invoke their names not to romanticize the past – but to remind you: they were ordinary people. Just like us. Just like you.
So, what does this have to do with a condominium board in Waterloo?
Everything.
These women faced a system that said: You don’t belong here.
And now, in a quieter but no less harmful way, so do people with disabilities – especially those whose conditions can’t be seen.
Today, the words are softer, more bureaucratic. But the impact is the same.
Instead of “You’re not allowed here,” it sounds like:
“You didn’t submit the right form.”
“Your disability isn’t clear enough.”
“We have to enforce the rules equally.”
“We’re just following process.”
It isolates. It excludes. It silences.
We are no better than the ones who looked away from the front of the bus.
The truth is, Rosa, Claudette, Viola and Temple weren’t extraordinary because they had power. They were extraordinary because they stood firm when the rules were used to keep them out. And they forced society to confront what it had grown far too comfortable ignoring.
Change won’t come from the people who post a comment and disappear.
It won’t come from those who attend meetings and say nothing.
It will come from the people who refuse to bend one more time.
Like Rosa.
Like Claudette.
Like Viola.
Like Temple…
