Dark Writings

The FBI cut the phone lines during the 1977 disability rights sit-in. Then they turned off the hot water.

They locked the doors from the outside. One hundred and fifty people were trapped on the fourth floor. Half of them used wheelchairs. The government assumed they would leave.

Kitty Cone was thirty-three. She had muscular dystrophy. Her muscles were failing, but her logistics were flawless. She knew how to organize people.

The federal government had promised to sign regulations protecting disabled Americans from discrimination. The policy was known as Section 504. They printed the promise on paper. Then they stalled. Without a signature, it was just typography.

The protesters entered the regional Health, Education, and Welfare building in San Francisco on a Tuesday morning. They took the elevators to the director's office. They brought sleeping bags and catheters. They informed the staff they were not leaving until the law was signed.

By sunset, the police surrounded the exits. Kitty sat near the windows. She organized the floor plan. She assigned committees for security and sanitation. She kept her medication in a small cooler.

According to federal memorandums released decades later, the strategy to end the occupation relied on medical attrition. The building was not equipped for long-term habitation. The FBI calculated that a population requiring ventilators, specialized diets, and daily medical aides would voluntarily evacuate if the environment became sufficiently hostile. They instituted a blockade.

The blockade went into effect immediately. No food deliveries allowed. No medical supplies permitted through the lobby. Guards stood at the main doors checking identification.

Kitty's muscles deteriorated faster under the physical strain. She couldn't walk. When the phone lines went dead, the fourth floor lost contact with the press. The government waited for the quiet.

Kitty dropped to the floor. She realized the barricades were designed for standing adults. The police had blocked the hallways at waist height. They hadn't blocked the linoleum.

The floors were covered in cigarette ash and spilled coffee. She dragged her body through it. She crawled under the barricades to reach the restricted elevator shafts and unguarded offices.

She carried notes in her pockets. She found a single working payphone the FBI missed. She called the local news desks. She called the mayor's office.

She crawled back. When her arms failed, someone pulled her by her ankles. The Black Panthers heard the news reports. They crossed the police lines with hot meals. The FBI could not stop them without a riot.

They shut off the elevators, so she crawled.

The occupation lasted twenty-five days. It remains the longest non-violent occupation of a federal building in American history. On April 28, the Secretary of HEW signed the regulations without a single alteration.

The protesters left the building the next morning. They went back to their apartments. The Rehabilitation Act regulations laid the groundwork for every accessibility law that followed. The HEW building still stands on United Nations Plaza. The elevators run on a schedule. The doors are heavy glass.

Kitty Cone: the woman who crawled under the barricades.

Source: Kitty Cone's oral history, Bancroft Library.

Verified via: National Museum of American History.

The first photo is from 1956. It shows a Black woman watching members of the Ku Klux Klan (a terrorist, racist, far-right organization focused on white supremacy) walking along a sidewalk in Montgomery, Alabama (USA). I couldn't find the photo's author, but most sources state that it was taken in 1956.

The second photo shows members of the Patriot Front group (a white supremacist and nationalist group, formed in 2017, that openly advocates what they call "American Fascism") traveling on the subway during the 250th anniversary of the U.S. independence in Washington D.C., while a Black woman watches them. The photo is by photographer Cheney Orr, taken on July 4, 2026, 70 years after the first photo.

I used my storymatic cards to come up with this one! Enjoy!

“Say goodbye to your city, Hero,” Villain cackled, “once I’m done with you, no one will be able to- what is this?”

Hero had shoved a folded piece of paper into Villain’s hands. They didn’t say anything despite Villain’s raised brow. The latter rolled their eyes at the former and opened it.

“Really, darling, passing notes in class?” they asked, but read the paper all the same.

To Whom It May Concern,

Please excuse Hero from crime-fighting from June 27th to July 5th due to medical complications related to their injuries.

Signed, Doctor

East City Clinic

“What the heck?” Villain blurted.

Hero was already walking away.

“Don’t you turn your back on me!” Villain grabbed Hero by the shoulder and spun them around, “explain yourself!”

“What’s there to explain?” Hero asked flatly, “I can’t fight you today, I have a doctor’s note.”

“Wha- but- are you serious!?”

“It’s completely legal, Villain, and you have to honor it.”

“The heck I do!” Villain disintegrated the note into dust with their powers, “now, back to what we’re here for-”

Hero shoved another, identical note into Villain’s hand, which earned them a loud curse from the criminal.

“I’ve made copies, a lot of copies,” Hero said, “now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go rest up. Doctor’s orders.”

Villain was about to destroy the second note when the glint of a deliciously devious idea shone in their eyes.

“Oh, very well,” they sighed in a dramatic fashion, “if you must, you must. We can’t go against the word of a medical professional, now can we?”

“Exactly,” Hero said, walking away once more, “see you next- gah!”

Villain chuckled. It was just too easy. They pocketed the now-empty syringe into a compartment in their utility belt.

“Villain! I just said-”

“You have to rest, doctor’s orders, I know,” Villain grinned, “but your precious physician didn’t say where you had to do so. And I feel such dreadful guilt over causing those injuries of yours, it only makes sense that I would facilitate your recovery. Besides, you need someone to look after you.”

“I do not!” Hero slurred, wobbling on unsteady feet, “you just… wanted an… excuse to… mm…”

Hero collapsed right into Villain’s waiting arms. Villain tutted, shaking their head.

“Look at you, all tuckered out,” they cooed, “I told you we shouldn’t fight today.”

Hero opened their mouth, no doubt to take Villain’s bait, but they just couldn’t get the words out. They gave Villain one last indignant look before going under. Villain watched Hero’s expression shift from frustration to the peaceful calm brought on by a deep sleep.

Villain practically skipped off of the rooftop. They deposited Hero in their car, which had been disguised as an ordinary station wagon. As soon as Villain’s hands were on the wheel, the vehicle shifted into something much more sleek and dark. They began the trip back to their lair, humming along to their custom playlist. All the while, Hero slept on, with at least five copies of their doctor’s note sticking out of their suit pocket.

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My parents pulled me for the fourth grade, and I was homeschooled until the end of high school. Nine entire years. They pulled me from the public schools for a perfectly reasonable reason — my mental health was in the toilet and I needed to be away from other kids who might hurt me as they had spent all of my third grade year doing. My mom has a fucking PhD in neuroscience and tutors math professionally. She was, during the ten years that my siblings and I were homeschooled, the best, kindest, most caring, understanding, lovely teacher you could ask for.

But I'm still broken. That's the thing about homeschool. You can have the best experience possible in homeschool and still come out a fundamentally broken person. My social development stopped at the age of 10. I'm a 22 year old adult woman with the social skills of a 10 year old. That's not to say that that COULDN'T have happened in public school, but being homeschooled only made it more of a certainty. Both of my siblings and I have fewer coping strategies on average than our peers with similar neurodivergencies because we basically did not live in the real world for a decade during key developmental years.

Don't ban homeschooling because of the religious nuts. There are plenty of them. Hell, I KNEW plenty of them. But there are also plenty of quote unquote "good" homeschool families. Ones that do everything you would hope the model homeschool family does. And they are still hurting their children, even if unintentionally, because homeschooling is an inhrently traumatic experience. It's isolating. For seven entire years of my life, I had no friends. Not because I was a social outcast, but because I didn't even SEE anybody regularly enough. But, nonetheless, I knew people. You generally do if you get involved in the community.

Ban homeschooling because it breaks and utterly destroys everyone who goes through it.

Everyone.

My parents made it a priority for us to do regular (at least once a week and typically at least 2-3 times a week) activities with large groups of other homeschoolers. I have always been a straight A's student (and also scored above average on standardized tests such as the ACT and SAT), even through college, and no one nowadays is able to guess that I was homeschooled because I was properly socialized as a child.

I want to homeschool my children if I have children one day.

That really sucks, I'm sorry 😞

Pandemic was my graduating year and I was supposed to graduate with a group of other homsechool students. I was very upset that I didn't get to.

My parents pulled me for the fourth grade, and I was homeschooled until the end of high school. Nine entire years. They pulled me from the public schools for a perfectly reasonable reason — my mental health was in the toilet and I needed to be away from other kids who might hurt me as they had spent all of my third grade year doing. My mom has a fucking PhD in neuroscience and tutors math professionally. She was, during the ten years that my siblings and I were homeschooled, the best, kindest, most caring, understanding, lovely teacher you could ask for.

But I'm still broken. That's the thing about homeschool. You can have the best experience possible in homeschool and still come out a fundamentally broken person. My social development stopped at the age of 10. I'm a 22 year old adult woman with the social skills of a 10 year old. That's not to say that that COULDN'T have happened in public school, but being homeschooled only made it more of a certainty. Both of my siblings and I have fewer coping strategies on average than our peers with similar neurodivergencies because we basically did not live in the real world for a decade during key developmental years.

Don't ban homeschooling because of the religious nuts. There are plenty of them. Hell, I KNEW plenty of them. But there are also plenty of quote unquote "good" homeschool families. Ones that do everything you would hope the model homeschool family does. And they are still hurting their children, even if unintentionally, because homeschooling is an inhrently traumatic experience. It's isolating. For seven entire years of my life, I had no friends. Not because I was a social outcast, but because I didn't even SEE anybody regularly enough. But, nonetheless, I knew people. You generally do if you get involved in the community.

Ban homeschooling because it breaks and utterly destroys everyone who goes through it.

Everyone.

My parents made it a priority for us to do regular (at least once a week and typically at least 2-3 times a week) activities with large groups of other homeschoolers. I have always been a straight A's student (and also scored above average on standardized tests such as the ACT and SAT), even through college, and no one nowadays is able to guess that I was homeschooled because I was properly socialized as a child.

I want to homeschool my children if I have children one day.

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