Lessons from “Being Heumann”

This year’s film festival got off to a strong start, with several highly anticipated films premiering on Saturday night. One of these was “Being Heumann”, a biopic telling the story of Judy Heumann, an iconic activist and a leading figure in the fight for disability rights. The film focuses specifically on her leadership during the 1977 Section 504 Sit-In protests, when activists occupied a federal building in San Francisco to demand the implementation of Section 504 of the Rehabilitation Act. Section 504 prohibits discrimination against people with disabilities by federally funded programs and activities, helping establish the foundation for greater accessibility and equal opportunity. The protests paved the way for future protections for people with disabilities, including the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA).

For me, the biggest takeaway from this film wasn’t something it explicitly mentioned, but rather something it prompted me to think about deeply. Nearly five decades have passed since Section 504 was signed into law, yet we still act as though designing accessible spaces is an inconvenience. As an architecture student, I recognize that the same mindset that once framed accessibility as too difficult or expensive to implement remains prevalent today. I’ve heard countless conversations, and have even participated in some myself, about how difficult it is to incorporate a ramp or how inconvenient it is to make a restroom larger, all in the interest of preserving a design. I appreciate that complying with the ADA is a legal requirement, but I believe we should, especially in school, learn not only what these requirements are, but also why they matter and the struggle that made them possible. This understanding is essential to designing empathetically. We shouldn’t merely do what the law requires; we should go beyond it to ensure that everyone can not only access a space but also navigate it comfortably and feel welcomed as a user.

Many people without disabilities, including those of us who design the built environment, may see more of themselves in the film’s antagonist, Joseph Califano, the Secretary of Health, Education, and Welfare who held the authority to implement Section 504. Although viewers may initially perceive him as the villain, the film resolves this portrayal by presenting him as a product of a deeply prejudiced social order, shaped by those who held far greater power than he did. While we can recognize the absurdity of people with disabilities being denied the right to fully access spaces and opportunities, it would be hypocritical not to examine why it took so much pressure for him to sign it. At the heart of this resistance was an issue that continues to serve as a barrier today: money. After leaving the theater, however, it was hard not to notice the curb ramps and tactile paving lining the streets. These features, which Califano and others argued would be too costly to implement, are now ordinary parts of many cities across the country. So, the barrier was never money, but rather greed. We can now see that many of the fears surrounding affordability were baseless. The money existed, and there was plenty of it. What this reveals is how much funding is directed toward the wrong places, how often it remains in the wrong hands, and how much pressure it takes to redirect it toward something that genuinely matters. It took the extraordinary determination of Judy Heumann and countless other activists to make people recognize this, even though it should never have required such a fight. 

Ultimately, this film made me realize just how limited our efforts toward accessibility remain. The fight waged in the 1970s, and for decades afterward, was too difficult for us to become complacent about why it happened. Equity and inclusivity are intentional decisions, and unless we’re purposefully designing around them, then we ultimately fail the very people design is meant to serve.