The concept of the American Dream, as defined by the Oxford Dictionary, is described as “the ideal by which equality of opportunity is available to any American, allowing the highest aspirations and goals to be achieved.” In the United States, there is a notion that everybody has access to the American Dream, that hard work alone guarantees success, regardless of ethnicity, gender, race, class, or starting point.

In the United States, there is a fascination with a rags-to-riches story. Examples of pulling yourself up by your bootstraps are celebrated in television, movies, books, and in oral tradition, making it a cornerstone of society. The character Little Orphan Annie was ingrained in the United States culture through her story of moving from an orphanage to a mansion in Manhattan. Her story was first created in comic strips by Harold Gray in 1924, memorialized on the radio in 1930, and adapted for the big screen with releases in 1982, 1999, and 2014. For over a hundred years, multiple generations have seen this story portrayed in society.

The embodiment of the rags-to-riches narrative has been glorified in the lives of past and current figures, including Andrew Carnegie, John D. Rockefeller, Madame C.J. Walker, and modern-day figures such as Oprah Winfrey, Dolly Parton, and Jim Carrey. It makes for good storytelling in books, movies, and daily conversation.

The terms “Cinderella story” or “poverty to prosperity” have become obsessions in the United States as we look at ways to acquire more possessions and increase wealth. Yet fewer people actually experience a rags-to-riches scenario. Statistics show that if you are born into poverty, you will more than likely remain there for your lifetime. The University of California, Davis’s Center for Poverty Research published a report, Transitions into and Out of Poverty in the United States, which found that the longer one is in poverty, the lower their chances of escaping it, dropping from 56% after one year in poverty to just 13% after 7 or more years. Likewise, if you were born into high wealth, you will most likely remain in high wealth over your lifespan. The middle class is the most vulnerable, where one major life event can push you into poverty or elevate you slightly upward. Yet, movement between socioeconomic caste systems is rare and minimal. Communication between the socioeconomic caste system is even more unlikely.

The concept of the American Dream has been a recurring theme in many stories and narratives, reinforcing the notion that grit alone can lead to a better life. Body size, for instance, has long been documented as a point of discrimination in the United States. The prevailing assumption is that if a person simply stopped eating unhealthy foods, they would lose weight. Aubrey Gibson, in her soul-baring book What We Don’t Talk About When We Talk About Fat, sheds light on the United States’ judgment that to be fat is to be viewed as an undeniable failure – unlovable, unforgivable, and morally condemnable.

This explains society’s obsession with dramatic weight loss. The television show The Biggest Loser, which ran from 2004 to 2016, created a national conversation around weight loss. Its central theme was that if you lost weight, your life would automatically improve. Fit for TV: The Reality of the Biggest Loser, a Netflix documentary, reveals the harmful tactics used on contestants to create good television. Similarly, The Swan, a short-lived plastic surgery show, continued this same theme – that cosmetic transformation would not only improve appearance but also grant access to the American Dream.

Let’s shift our thinking to address disability and the way it is portrayed in the United States. News reels, social media posts, and streaming shows often frame disability as something to “overcome” to be considered “normal.” The person who miraculously triumphs over their disability becomes clickbait for buzzworthy moments. As an able-bodied person, I have watched, liked, and shared videos of a student in a wheelchair walking across the graduation stage.  Emily Ladau, in her book, Demystifying Disability, labels this phenomenon “inspiration porn.” She explains it as, “How disabled people and their stories are objectified by the media to make observers feel warm and fuzzy or better about themselves.” This term may sound jarring or even perplexing at first. Still, reflecting on the so-called feel-good stories about disability, it is clear how accurately it describes the way society portrays these moments. Ladau writes, “If you buy into that lie that we’ve been sold then your feelings aren’t really coming from a place of genuine inspiration they’re about pity which is a patronizing way to think about people with disabilities” (Ladau, 2021, p. 123). That statement is both powerful and convicting, challenging the cultural narrative that frames disability through the lens of pity or as something to be conquered through sheer determination.  

The United States idolizes individual transformation, even when it masks systemic realities. The culture is deeply ingrained with the false notion that working hard leads to a better life. Yet fundamental transformation comes not from isolated triumphs but from a collective voice for justice.

Instead of individual bootstraps or grit, the United States needs a collective story that calls for justice, equity, and solidarity.

Justice can be found in the everyday, seemingly simple things. For example, when I encounter someone who is of a different socioeconomic status, ability, race, sexual orientation, or body size than I am, I must ask: What is my body language conveying?  My words may be inclusive, but what about my nonverbal communication?  It’s the small gestures, expressions, and reactions that I must think about. Rebekah Taussig shares this in her book, Sitting Pretty: The View from My Ordinary, Resilient, Disabled Body, about what it feels like to live under the able-bodied gaze. She explains how pushing someone’s wheelchair without permission is deeply offensive and disempowering. Perhaps to placate feelings of guilt or to create a sentiment of helping.

This is where a deep analysis of social justice efforts needs to be reconciled. Do we engage in social justice activities and social justice movements to make policies and practices advance or do we do it to make ourselves feel better? Deep soul searching is required to ensure that our motives are pure and not distorted by myths handed to us by the United States society. It is easy to sit in the comfort of our homes and claim to believe in justice, equity, and access; it is far harder to truly embody these values.

Despite the progress of civil rights and representation, stereotypes remain deeply ingrained in the minds of able-bodied, white, middle-class, English-speaking people of the United States – and, truthfully, stereotypes are ingrained in all of us. What matters, and what I can control in a world that often feels out of control, is myself. How do I show up, every day in every moment?

It is in the small moments that my real response toward justice is determined. How do I respond to a person on the street corner asking for money? How do I respond when a person of larger body size sits next to me on an airplane? How do I respond when the ramps on a sidewalk are crumbling, making them unusable for wheelchairs? How do I respond when looking for an open parking spot, realizing that the open spot I was eying is reserved for someone with a disability? Even more so in a moment when no one is looking, do I use the restroom stall that is accessible for a person in a wheelchair because it is bigger? How do I respond when in a restroom, I see someone using the stall of their gender identity? How do I react if someone is trying to communicate, but their primary language is not English? While walking alone, how do I respond when a person of a different race and gender approaches me? Do I cross to the other side of the street? Do I hold my purse closer to my body? What immediate thoughts come to mind? Because in those raw moments is how I genuinely feel about justice.

Justice is not about the grand, public demonstrations or perfectly crafted social media posts that gather thousands of likes. Those moments are needed and inspire, but true justice is measured in the ordinary; it is our DAILY heart posture.

The United States glorifies powerful stories, but when the illusions fade, what remains is the truth that real justice is not flashy, fast, or performative. It is lived in small choices, everyday encounters, and quiet commitments to see one another fully. It is a commitment to moving outside of our normal and into a posture of perspective-taking, considering someone else’s point of view. If we can show up in these ordinary moments with equity and compassion, then the winds of change will not be illusions at all, but the very real transformation we long to see.

References

“Definition of American Dream.” Oxford Dictionary, 2008.

Gordon, Aubrey. What We Don’t Talk about When We Talk about Fat. Boston: Beacon Press, 2020.

Ladau, Emily. Demystifying Disability. Random House, 2021.

Stevens, Ann. “Transitions into & out of Poverty in the United States – UC Davis Center for Poverty Research.” UC Davis Center for Poverty Research, 12 Sept. 2012, poverty.ucdavis.edu/policy-brief/transitions-out-poverty-united-states.