Tony Coelho Op-Ed, 2026
The ADA Is 36. AI is the New Frontier of Work. Our Fight Can’t Retire.
By Tony Coelho
I’m often told that the Americans with Disabilities Act is “just there,” like the curb cuts at street corners or the accessible parking sign outside a grocery store. I understand why people—especially younger people—feel that way. The best civil rights victories become part of the scenery. But I also know what it cost to put them there, and how quickly they can fade if we assume they’ll stand on their own.
I didn’t grow up thinking I would spend my life fighting for disability rights. I grew up on a dairy farm in Central California. As a teenager, I began having seizures—epilepsy—though no one explained it to me. In those days doctors spoke to parents, not to the kid whose life was changing. In my family’s world, epilepsy carried shame and fear. People whispered old superstitions about being “possessed,” about God’s punishment.
When I was finally diagnosed, I learned another hard truth: the institutions I loved could shut their doors on me. I had wanted to become a Catholic priest, but I was told I couldn’t. Then job applications asked the question that ended conversations before they began. I checked the box, and I never got an interview.
I’ve said publicly that I hit a point where I didn’t want to be here anymore. That is not a detail I share for drama. I share it because stigma isolates people, and isolation can be deadly. What saved me was a decision—one I made in an instant and then had to remake every day: no one, and nothing, was going to stop me from doing what I wanted to do. I “got my mojo back,” as I like to say. And soon after, a friend offered me an unexpected opportunity that changed my direction. I ended up in politics, and I began to see, up close, the machinery of power.
In Congress, I tried to add disability protections to bills on housing, transportation, and other issues. Then it hit me: we weren’t missing a few amendments. We were missing the foundation. People with disabilities did not have basic civil rights protections, the way other groups had fought to secure them. That’s why the ADA mattered. It wasn’t a favor. It was a civil-rights law—an extension of the promise that you cannot be shut out of public life because of who you are.
When we wrote the ADA, we obsessed over language. Not because we loved legal jargon, but because we knew this law had to outlive us. We had to protect people with disabilities then—and write it in a way that would still make sense when the world changed. We also had to anticipate resistance. For example, we used a standard that recognized real differences in resources: a small “mom and pop” store might need a simpler, affordable solution, while a large corporation could and should do more. The goal was always the same: access. Dignity. A fair chance.
Today the ADA is 36 years old, and it is still expanding and evolving—because discrimination evolves. When we passed the law, the internet wasn’t what it is now. But as soon as work, shopping, banking, school, and health care moved online, digital access became a civil-rights issue.
Here’s what too many people miss: a right on paper is only a right in real life if it is enforced. The ADA sits within our civil-rights framework, and that means enforcement matters. If leaders decide not to enforce civil rights, the promise of the ADA doesn’t disappear in a headline—it disappears in a job interview, a classroom, a courthouse, and a storefront.
That is why I tell the disability community—especially young people—this: you don’t get to be a spectator. You have to vote. You have to pay attention to who is asking for your support and what they will do with power once they have it. And you have to speak up afterward, too. I’ve never believed that disabled people should whisper politely from the margins. I believe in speaking up to power—whether that power is a president, a CEO, or an institution that has decided you’re “too much trouble.”
One line I repeat everywhere I go is simple: “If you give me the opportunity to fail, then I have an opportunity to succeed.” That’s not a slogan. It’s the core of equal opportunity. People without disabilities are allowed to try, stumble, learn, and prove themselves. People with disabilities deserve the same room to be human. If I can do the job, hire me. If I can’t, fire me. But don’t decide my outcome before I ever get a chance.
Stigma still keeps too many talented people from disclosing a disability, asking for accommodations, or even applying for jobs. I understand that fear—I lived it. But we don’t erase stigma by hiding. We erase it by being visible and successful, by telling the truth about who we are, and by refusing to treat disability as a secret to be managed. Every time one of us speaks openly, it gets easier for the next person.
Now we’re entering another era of change—artificial intelligence, automation, and tools that can either open doors or quietly build new barriers. AI can create extraordinary access: better captioning, better navigation, better support for people who are blind, deaf, or have mobility impairments. But it can also be used irresponsibly, replace jobs without protections, or amplify bias in hiring and education. The lesson is the same as it was in 1990: if we are not at the table when the future is built, we will be on the menu when decisions get made.
So, to the young disabled person who thinks the world has always been accessible: it hasn’t. To the young advocate who is tired: you’re allowed to be tired—but you still can’t quit. The ADA was never meant to be a museum piece. It was meant to be a living promise, tested by every generation and strengthened by every person willing to insist, again and again, on equal dignity.
Stand up for yourself—in the workplace, in school, at the doctor’s office, in your community, and at the ballot box. Join with others, because we are strongest when we act like what we are: a family. Demand access, demand enforcement, demand respect. And when you find your voice, use it for the person coming behind you—because the next curb cut, the next caption, the next accommodation, and the next breakthrough will exist only if you are willing to speak up to power.