The New York Times recently published a troubling article titled “The ‘R-Word’ Returns, Dismaying Those Who Fought to Oust It.” The piece documents what many of us already know firsthand: a slur long understood to demean people with intellectual disabilities is being used again – openly, publicly, and deliberately – by people with enormous power and influence.

Let’s be clear.
This is not a misunderstanding.
This is not ignorance.
This is not casual language slipping back into use.

This is a choice.

For decades, disability advocates, families, educators, and, most importantly, people with intellectual disabilities themselves fought to remove the R-word from our culture. We didn’t do it because we were “politically correct.” We did it because the word hurts. Because it dehumanizes. Because it has been used for generations to justify exclusion, mockery, lowered expectations, and worse.

At John’s Crazy Socks and through our advocacy work, we have long taken a public stand against the use of the R-word. Not quietly. Not politely behind closed doors. Publicly.

When Leaders Use Slurs, Culture Follows

When President Donald Trump used the R-word to insult Minnesota Governor Tim Walz, I spoke out immediately. I wrote to the President to express my anger and to offer him a different way of speaking. He did not respond, but what followed surprised even me: more than 7 million views on Facebook.

That response told me something important. This issue resonates far beyond the disability community. People understand, instinctively, that when a president uses a slur, it does more than insult one individual. It gives permission. It signals that cruelty is acceptable. It tells kids in schoolyards and employees in break rooms that mockery is fair game again.

In that same post, I did more than criticize. I invited the president to come meet my son, John, and our colleagues, people with differing abilities who show up every day to work, contribute, serve customers, and build a business. I invited him to see what people with differing abilities can do. And to hear, directly from them, how that word makes them feel.

Because this is the part that gets lost in the shouting: words land on real people.

We Didn’t Just Talk. We Acted.

This wasn’t the first time we stepped forward.

When Elon Musk repeatedly used the R-word on his platform, I wrote to him as well. Not to shame him. Not to score points. I invited him as well to come meet John and our colleagues. To spend time with people who live with the consequences of that language. To understand that dismissing the word as “just meaning stupid” ignores its real impact.

We seek to call people in, not all them out.

Several years ago, we created a video campaign calling for an end to the use of the R-word. That effort brought together advocates, allies, and people with lived experience. Coincidentally, and meaningfully, Dan Barry, one of the authors of the recent New York Times article, contributed to that video. Long before this resurgence was newsworthy, he understood that this story mattered.

This Is About Power, Not Free Speech

Defenders of the R-word argue that this is about free speech, about pushing back against “wokeness,” about refusing to be told what language to use.

That argument doesn’t hold up.

No one is silencing these voices. They have platforms measured in millions. What they resent is not censorship, it’s accountability. Using the R-word is a way to assert dominance: I can say this, and you can’t stop me.

Disability has always been the easiest group to marginalize. Less political power. Less visibility. Fewer defenders in the room. When society starts rolling back norms of respect, people with intellectual disabilities are often the first to feel it.

The New York Times article documents a staggering rise in usage of the word on social media, especially following its use by influential figures. That’s not accidental. Leadership behavior cascades. Always has.

Words Matter Because People Matter

I’ve sat with people who have intellectual disabilities who describe hearing the R-word as something that makes them want to disappear. To hide. To curl up. Not because they’re fragile, but because they’ve heard it before. In hallways. On playgrounds. In workplaces. Accompanied by laughter.

We made real progress. Rosa’s Law mattered. “Spread the Word to End the Word” mattered. The decline in usage mattered. But progress that isn’t protected can be reversed. And right now, we’re watching that reversal in real time.

This moment calls for more than outrage. It calls for visibility. For employment. For leadership. For showing every day what people considered “other” actually contribute when given the chance.

That’s the work we will keep doing. And we will keep calling this out when it resurfaces because silence is how slurs regain power.