Most chapters are titled after a medical condition (exceptions are “Hubris” and “Melodrama”). Some of the headings are familiar – Trauma, Infarct, Aneurysm, Meningioma. Other chapter titles flaunt delicious medical terminology that mingles the mysterious and the poetic with nomenclature such as Angor animi, Neurotmesis, Photopsia, and Anaesthesia dolorosa.

Included are riveting accounts of both mundane and seemingly miraculous patient outcomes. One success story involves a pregnant woman losing her sight due to a brain tumor that compresses the optic nerves. Her vision is restored with an operation performed by the author. Her baby is born healthy too. But tales of failure and loss – malignant glioblastomas that are invulnerable to any treatment, operative calamities including bleeding of the brain, paralysis, and stroke – are tragically common. The author describes his humanitarian work in the Ukraine. He admits his aggravation with hospital bureaucracy and is frequently frustrated by England’s National Health Service.

Sometimes the shoe falls on the other foot, and the doctor learns what it is to be a patient. He suffers a retinal detachment. He falls down some stairs and fractures his leg. His mother succumbs to metastatic breast cancer. His three month old son requires surgery for a benign brain tumor.

As his career winds down, the author grows increasingly philosophical. He acknowledges his diminishing professional detachment, his fading fear of failure, and his less-hardened self. He becomes a sort of vessel for patients to empty their misery into. He is cognizant of the painful privilege it is to be a doctor.

The title of Do No Harm is spot-on. After all, this commandment is a crucial caution to all doctors. And for neurosurgeon Marsh, it signifies the restraint he must exercise in his medical decision-making. His approach to the doctor-patient relationship features a gentle medical paternalism that incorporates plenty of honesty and kindness. He writes about his struggle (and occasional clumsiness) with breaking bad news.

His professional life is portrayed as paradoxical – constant anxiety and contagious confidence, phases of futility and strings of inspiring operative accomplishments. The gift of forgiveness, how uncertainty tortures doctors, and the process of dying are significant topics for Marsh. In the last few decades, there has been a proliferation of medical memoirs. Do No Harm rises above them all. The book informs doctors that it’s okay to be vulnerable and fallible, as long as they are also compassionate, truthful, and caring. 

Primary Source Do No Harm: Stories of Life, Death, and Brain Surgery 
Publisher Thomas Dunne Books/St. Martin’s Press 
Place Published New York 
Edition 2015 
Page Count 288 

A previous version of this review was published in the NYU Literature, Arts, and Medicine Database.   
Web image by Medhum.org.

Although Stevenson’s fieldwork was unusually thorough, mainstream scientists rejected reincarnation as a viable explanation and instead focused on potential methodological weaknesses such as retrospective testimony, cultural influence, and the difficulty of ruling out information leakage. Stevenson described the cases as “suggestive,” but he made clear that reincarnation—or at least the survival and transfer of some aspect of personality—was, in his view, the most plausible interpretation.

The twenty cases in the 1966 volume represented only a fraction of the material Stevenson had been collecting since 1960. His early publications had attracted the attention of Chester Carlson, the inventor of the Xerox process, who left a bequest of one million dollars to the University of Virginia upon his death in 1968. The Department of Psychiatry used the gift to establish the Division of Perceptual Studies (DOPS), with Stevenson as its founding director. The name provided an academically respectable umbrella for research that included, but did not explicitly advertise, the study of children’s past-life memories.

Over the next three and a half decades, Stevenson and his colleagues expanded their investigations across Asia, the Middle East, Africa, Europe, and the Americas. By the time of his death in 2007, Stevenson had published twelve additional books and more than three hundred papers, documenting over 2,000 cases. In 1999, journalist Tom Shroder’s detailed investigation, Old Souls. The Scientific Evidence for Past Lives offered an intimate portrait of Stevenson’s fieldwork and helped bring the research to wider public attention.²

Leadership of the program passed to child psychiatrist Jim Tucker in 2002, when Stevenson retired.³ Tucker became Director of DOPS in 2014 and, in 2021, published Before, an updated synthesis of his own two earlier books. ⁴ Tucker reports that the DOPS database now includes more than 2,500 cases worldwide, including many from North America. Only a minority—roughly 15–25 percent—qualify as “strong cases,” meaning that the child’s statements were independently verified as matching a specific deceased individual.

The strongest cases share several converging features: verified statements about the previous life, verified identification of the deceased individual, physical correspondences such as birthmarks or birth defects, behavioral continuities, and early onset of statements. One of Stevenson’s most striking findings involved physical correspondences. By 1997, he had documented 210 cases in which a child had a birthmark or birth defect corresponding to a wound on the deceased individual, and in 49 of these, he obtained autopsy reports confirming the precise wound locations.⁵ These findings were presented in detail in Where Reincarnation and Biology Intersect and in his massive two-volume monograph Reincarnation and Biology.⁶

Here is an example of one of Ian Stevenson’s earlier strong cases. When Swarnlata Mishra was three years old, she began singing unfamiliar songs and performing dance steps her family had never seen, dances from a region of India more than a hundred miles from the family’s home. Soon she was describing a former life as a woman named Biya Pathak, recalling the layout of Biya’s house, the names of her children, and even a stash of money hidden in a wall. Stevenson documented her statements before any contact with the Pathak family, and when they eventually visited, Swarnlata greeted them with an ease and specificity that startled everyone present. She correctly identified family members, teased one man with a childhood nickname only Biya had used, and pointed out a brother’s limp. The encounter had the uncanny feel of a reunion rather than an interview, and for Stevenson it became one of the clearest examples of a case where detailed memories, personality traits, and verifiable facts converged before any possibility of normal information transfer.

More than half a century later, Jim Tucker encountered a very similar pattern in the case of “Ryan,” a young boy from the American Midwest. At age four, Ryan began speaking urgently about a previous life in Hollywood—describing movie sets, agents, and a bustling life in Los Angeles. His parents, who had no interest in reincarnation, tried to reassure him, but the boy’s distress grew until Tucker became involved. Using Ryan’s spontaneous statements, Tucker and the family identified a long-forgotten bit-part actor and Hollywood extra from the 1930s and 40s. Ryan had given more than fifty details about this man’s life, including the street he lived on, the name of a restaurant he frequented, and the fact that he had danced on Broadway before moving west. Many of these details were later verified in archives and autobiographical sources unavailable to the family. What made the case especially compelling to Tucker was not only the accuracy of the statements but the emotional tone: Ryan spoke of the former life with longing and confusion, as if caught between two identities, until the memories gradually faded around age six.

Here is an example of a case in which the child had birthmarks corresponding to the deceased person’s wounds. In rural Burma, a young boy began speaking at age three about having been a man who was shot from behind while walking along a road. His parents were startled not only by the specificity of his statements but by his two unusual birthmarks: a small, round mark on his chest and a larger, irregular one on his back. When Stevenson later investigated, he found that the boy’s descriptions matched the death of a man from a nearby village who had been killed by a close-range gunshot. Eyewitness accounts and medical documentation confirmed the wound pattern, which corresponded closely to the boy’s birthmarks. The child also showed a deep, visceral fear of guns and loud noises, reacting with panic in ways that seemed disproportionate to anything in his current environment. The case combined early and detailed verbal statements, independently verifiable information about a violent death, and physical marks on the child’s body that mirrored the trauma he described.

Stevenson’s long-term research program—and Tucker’s continuation of it—poses a direct challenge to the assumption that consciousness is wholly generated by the brain. Across more than 2,500 investigated cases, they documented young children who spontaneously described memories, behaviors, and emotional dispositions corresponding to identifiable deceased individuals. While most cases are incomplete or ambiguous, a substantial minority meet stringent evidential criteria, and more than two hundred combine multiple independent lines of evidence: verified statements, behavioral continuities, and physical correspondences. Critics have proposed cultural contamination, suggestion, fraud, or loose investigative methods, but none of these explanations plausibly account for the best-documented cases, especially those with medical records, multiple independent witnesses, and physical anomalies. Even the most skeptical reviewers have struggled to articulate a coherent alternative hypothesis that explains the full pattern of data.⁷

For more than sixty years, however, mainstream scientists have dismissed the research. Critics argue that the stories of past lives are most likely due to coincidence, misinterpretation, parental influence, observer bias, or other sources of error. They emphasize the complexities of contextualizing and translating these “memories,” especially in cultures with strong beliefs in reincarnation.⁷ Yet critics rarely engage with the case narratives themselves; instead, they rely on hypothetical sources of error. To attribute all of these cases solely to flawed methodology would require assuming that Stevenson, Tucker, and DOPS have repeatedly committed the same errors for six decades despite their detailed rebuttals of such claims.

The deeper criticism, however, is philosophical. Although surveys show that most Americans and physicians believe in a soul or spirit, most philosophers and neuroscientists endorse a materialist-reductionist view: the brain creates the mind through electrochemical activity, and consciousness ends with the death of the body. Clinically, there is ample evidence that consciousness depends on a functioning brain—brain injuries and diseases clearly alter mental states, and imaging techniques reveal neural pathways associated with various emotions and thoughts. For clinical purposes, consciousness appears entirely dependent on the physical brain.

Yet this dependence does not settle the metaphysical question of what consciousness is. Critics of Stevenson and Tucker often assume, without argument, that the physical world as described by contemporary physics is the totality of what exists, and that consciousness must therefore be a byproduct of physical interactions. But subjective experience—the interior world of personal identity—does not obviously follow from any known property of quarks, electrons, photons, neutrinos, or the forces that govern them. The gap between third-person description and first-person experience is conceptually radical. No arrangement of particles, however complex, seems to entail subjectivity, i.e. interior life, in the way that arrangements of particles entail objects, organisms, or chemical bonding. To assume that this gap will close through further study of neural circuitry is to smuggle in a metaphysical conclusion under the guise of scientific optimism.

The quantum world is exceptionally weird – in many ways it violates common sense. Particles are also waves and waves are particles. An electron can be in multiple places at once. The behavior of one particle may determine the behavior of another, even though they are too far apart for a message to pass between them. Particles can tunnel through barriers apparently without having enough energy to do so. However, none of this weirdness suggests that large accumulations of particles (e.g. atoms, molecules, brains) could generate an interior world of personal identity There must be a deeper, more complete, theory of what exists in the universe that does account for the generation of consciousness; a quantum of subjectivity, if you will. As science writer Jim Holt summarized in Why Does the World Exist?, “The properties of a complex system like the brain don’t just pop into existence from nowhere; they must derive from the properties of the system’s ultimate constituents. Those ultimate constituents must therefore have subjective features themselves.”⁸

This is why the possibility that consciousness has a fundamental place in the universe is not mystical speculation but a legitimate philosophical alternative. Some philosophers and neuroscientists propose that consciousness may be an intrinsic aspect of matter, or that the universe contains a fundamental “interior” dimension alongside its measurable exterior. Panpsychism—the view that consciousness is woven into the structure of matter—is endorsed by a small, but growing, minority of philosophers, including David Chalmers⁹, Philip Goff¹⁰, and Galen Strawson.¹¹ Another group, notably Thomas Nagel¹² and John Searle¹³, acknowledge that our current physical ontology is incomplete, although not fully endorsing panpsychism. Physics has repeatedly revised its understanding of matter; it is not unreasonable to suspect that consciousness may require a similarly deep revision. To quote Thomas Nagel, “Consciousness is the most conspicuous obstacle to a comprehensive naturalism that relies only on the resources of physical science. The existence of consciousness seems to imply that the physical description of the universe, despite its richness and explanatory power, is only part of the truth.”¹²

Given these considerations, the continuation of consciousness, at least in some form, after death seems at least a possibility. Stevenson and Tucker’s work may well represent the identification of a previously unknown natural phenomenon, perhaps analogous to reported near-death experiences — well-documented yet difficult to explain. To my mind, this conclusion is more likely than is six decades of repeated errors.

However, that doesn’t mean the “former lives” data necessarily support a traditional doctrine of reincarnation, in which a unitary soul passes from one body to another. If a psychic dimension of the cosmos exists, a one-to-one transmission of “mind-stuff” to a newborn baby in the same country and culture seems overly simplistic, more in line with supernatural beliefs than with an unknown natural phenomenon. It is notable that the phenomenon is rare and the memories transient and strongly associated with traumatic death. Could it be that, under certain conditions, a “package” of psychic impressions may transfer from a dying person to a newborn, occasionally even influencing the child’s body? This, like any other scenario, is speculative, given our ignorance of the origin and meaning of consciousness in the physical world.

The broader point is that most philosophers and neuroscientists begin with an unexamined premise: that everything real must be physical in the sense described by current physics. But consciousness—the one phenomenon we know from the inside—does not obviously fit within that framework. Before declaring that mind must be reducible to matter, we should ensure that our conception of matter is adequate to account for mind at all. Consequently, Stevenson’s and Tucker’s six-decade quest to understand the experience of children who report having lived former lives should, if anything, leave us wondering whether we really know what we think we know about the way the universe works.

References 

1. Stevenson, Ian Twenty Cases Suggestive of Reincarnation, University of Virginia Press, 1980 [First published in 1966] 
2. Schroder, Tom. Old Souls. The Scientific Evidence for Past Lives. New York, Simon & Schuster, 1999 
3. Tucker, Jim B. Ian Stevenson and Cases of the Reincarnation Type, Journal of Scientific Exploration. 2008; 22: 36-43 
4. Tucker, Jim. B. Before: Children’s Memories of Previous Lives, St. Martin’s Press, 2021 
5. Stevenson, Ian. Where Reincarnation and Biology Intersect. Westport. Praeger, 1997 
6. Stevenson, Ian. Reincarnation and Biology: A Contribution to the Etiology of Birthmarks and Birth Defects, Westport, Praeger, 1997 [Two volumes] 
7. Matlock, J. G. ‘Reincarnation Case Studies: Criticisms’. Psi Encyclopedia. London: The Society for Psychical Research. <https://psi-encyclopedia.spr.ac.uk/articles/criticisms-reincarnation-case-studies/>. (2022, retrieved 24 March 2026) 
8. Holt, Jim. Why Does the World Exist? London, W. W. Norton & Company, 2012, p. 194 
9. Chalmers, David J. The Conscious Mind: In Search of a Fundamental Theory. Oxford University Press, 1997 
10. Goff, Philip. Galileo’s Error. Foundations for a New Science of Consciousness. New York, Pantheon Books, 2019 
11. Strawson, Galen. Consciousness and Its Place in Nature, Imprint Academic, 2024 
12. Nagel, Thomas. Mind & Cosmos. New York, Oxford University Press, 2012, p. 35 
13. Searle, John. Mind: A Brief Introduction, Oxford University Press, 2005 

Web image by Medhum.org

Field Guide to Falling Ill: Essays by Jonathan Gleason 

New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2026, 256 pages 
ISBN 9780300282948

In these ten exemplary essays, Gleason mingles illness memoir, the challenges of caregiving, and loss (of health and spirit). Disease is portrayed not only as an aberration of the body’s normal homeostasis but also a distinctive event with social, cultural, and possibly historical meaning. Contagions (viruses, prejudices, even love) receive special attention as catalysts of uncertainty, anxiety, and sometimes terror. Spaces – inner, close, distant, and built – are similarly scrutinized. In 1623, the English poet John Donne declared that “the greatest misery of sickness is solitude.” The narrator of the title essay echoes that sentiment, describing “loneliness” as the world’s greatest sorrow. He volunteers as a part-time medical interpreter at a free clinic but suddenly becomes a patient himself with a blood clot in the left arm. These experiences lead to an understanding of the power and limitations of both language and empathy. Other essays explore organ donation, AIDS, mental illness and the demise of large psychiatric hospitals, Tay-Sachs disease and xenophobia, pain, addiction, and the trial of an Ohio doctor charged with multiple counts of murder. Throughout these pages, Gleason points out the hubris of medicine as well as its shortcomings. He writes, “We like to believe we know the vastness of the world, that everything can be explained through our current models of understanding” (p3). At some point (or maybe many times), however, we will all fall ill and become a patient. And that immense world with all its scientific knowledge will dramatically contract to our single suffering body longing to be comforted and cherished by others. 

“An Eye in the Throat” in Good and Evil and Other Stories (pages 57-96) by Samanta Schweblin, translated by Megan McDowell  

New York, NY: Knopf, 2025, 192 pages 
ISBN 9780593803103 

It’s every parent’s nightmare: a serious (and potentially preventable) injury to their child that occurs right in front of them. Here, the setting is Argentina in the 1990’s. Inquisitive two-year-old Elías chokes on a lithium battery from his grandmother’s digital calculator while his father is in charge of watching him play. A visit to the ER and then an appointment with the family doctor the next day offers little reassurance for the parents. On the third day, Elías begins coughing and develops a fever. An operation is performed to remove the lodged battery and repair tissue damage to the esophagus. A tracheostomy is performed, and he undergoes four operations in a span of six years. He is unable to speak. At one point, he mysteriously gets out of his car seat and briefly becomes lost at a gas station. Soon after, a landline phone at home eerily rings each night. When the father answers, there is no voice at the other end. The parents eventually separate. Elías comprehends that all family members are casualties, and with an amazing capacity for empathy concludes, “There is a hole in my throat, a hole in my body that hurts in theirs” (p79). He is enrolled in a special school for deaf and mute children and becomes an outstanding student who is enthralled by language and mathematical physics. Schweblin’s searing story about parental guilt and grieving, failed communication, and the remarkable resiliency of youth is guaranteed to leave you with a lump in your throat. 

A Prescription for Burnout: Restorative Writing for Healthcare Professionals by Carolyn Roy-Bornstein 

Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2026, 208 pages 
ISBN 9781421454733 

Burnout among physicians and nurses, accelerated by the emotional and physical crush of the Covid-19 pandemic, continues to be an urgent problem. Causes of burnout among health professionals include an erosion of autonomy, truncated time allotted for patient visits (but increased time required for inputting data into the electronic medical record system), feeling underappreciated, unrealistic expectations from patients and employers, and the daily exposure to the suffering of others. Roy-Bornstein, a pediatrician and a former RN, enthusiastically endorses reflective writing as an effective remedy for dealing with burnout (or perhaps preventing its occurrence). While not a new concept, her discussion includes research on the utility of restorative writing, some commentary on narrative medicine, and most importantly, more than 85 writing prompts (or Rx’s as she refers to them) for reflection and as a kind of therapeutic exercise. Organized into three sections – Addressing Emotional Exhaustion, Countering Cynicism, and Restoring Self-Efficacy – the book addresses issues of vulnerability, self-compassion, self-awareness, resilience, and optimism. There is no doubt that reflective writing can be healing and hopeful. Roy-Bornstein offers a helpful pathway to reducing the risk of professional burnout.  

Vesalius’s illustration, “Skeleton Contemplating a Skull” from Wellcome Collection

Soto explores his uncertain status in relation to his family, and to the larger society in “You’ve Gone Too Far.” Detailing the “evolution” of his siblings and cousins, who “were no longer Mexican rednecks,” but “held down jobs” and “stopped jamming parking meters for free time,” Soto describes how his family nevertheless feels uncomfortable about him. “My family feared that I had evolved too far.” Drunken Christmas horseplay with his brothers reveals their distaste and distrust of his intellectualism and sophisticated clothes. “They tore my book in half, / and stripped me of my Italian belt.” Only when they have succeeded in making him sick/drunk do they accept him (at least temporarily) back into the family fold. The poem illustrates well the difficulties that can arise when one member of a family elects to live life differently from the rest yet wants to maintain a relationship with its members. The situation has resonance for the children of immigrants, for children who are more educated than their parents, or for anyone who has chosen a life unfamiliar to family or friends.  

“TV in Black and White” focuses on the role of television (in the 1950s/1960s) in shaping, reflecting, and failing to reflect American society. Soto remembers his childhood in which “[we] were sentenced to watch / the rich on TV …”. Sitcom characters played golf, ate steak, and dressed fashionably (the Donna Reed Show, Ozzie and Harriet). “While he swung / we hoed / Fields flagged with cotton . . .”  

Now life is for many relatively luxurious, “Piano lessons for this child, / Braces for that one — “ “But if the electricity / fails in this town, / a storefront might / be smashed /” “and if someone steps out / with a black-and-white TV, / it’s because we love you Donna, / we miss you Ozzie.”  

Soto’s critique is still relevant today. The ubiquity of television and streaming, even in low-income households, confers enormous power on the images and narratives presented. Now there are many more options for viewers of different cultural and economic backgrounds. Yet the dominant culture still exerts a major influence. The gap between representation and reality continues to be an important source of social dissatisfaction and unrest. 

Gary Soto 
https://garysoto.com/
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/gary-soto#tab-poems

Mexicans Begin Jogging
Online: https://www.zocalopublicsquare.org/by-gary-soto/  
New and Selected Poems, Chronicle Books, San Francisco, 1995, p. 51

You’ve Gone Too Far 
Published in Junior College, Chronicle Books, San Francisco, 1997, p.24

TV in Black and White 
New and Selected Poems, Chronicle Books, San Francisco, 1995, p.50

Web image by Jr Korpa 

In that drawing a mother leans back in her chair, surrounded by clamoring children who snuggle, kiss, pull at her. Clothing is scattered about – on the floor, on a basket. Several dogs lean toward the figures, adding to the domesticity of the scene. 

Web image from National Gallery of Art.

Change Not Charity traces the grassroots movement leading to the passage in 1990 of the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA), the law that mandates accessibility for the disabled.  

People with disabilities have a long history of being isolated, excluded socially as well as physically from facilities that were not accessible. Beginning in the late 1960’s, Jerry Lewis’ Labor Day Telethons were watched by nearly half of the country and raised millions of dollars towards finding a cure for muscular dystrophy. But despite its good intentions, by arousing the audience’s pity of the disabled to attract donations, the telethons also heightened the distance between “normal” people and people with disabilities. 

Children were among those whose disabilities affected them in harmful ways. In one of the many interviews, Cynthia Jones describes how, at the age of five and a half, she was selected as a poster child for the March of Dimes because she was “blonde, blue-eyed, and braced.” When her teacher passed around a flyer to promote polio vaccines in class, she was horrified to see a picture of two children, one labeled “This”, the other “Not This.” Cynthia was the “Not This.” At that moment, she realized that no one wanted to be like her. In fact, many young children with disabilities were institutionalized and kept out of the public eye. 

In February 1972, reporter Geraldo Rivera’s broadcast from inside Willowbrook State School, an institution for disabled children on Staten Island, shocked the nation and helped spark the disability rights movement. At the same time, a group of disabled college students in Berkeley, with a donation from the Rotary Club, formed the Center for Independent Living (CIL), offering services which included applying for government assistance, counseling and transportation. CIL drew disabled people from throughout the country who wanted to live in a place where they could find support and practical help. Judy Heumann, a disability rights advocate who had successfully sued the NYC Board of Education when she was denied a teaching position, became the Center’s Deputy Director.  

 In 1973, an update to the Federal Rehabilitation Act was enacted to help veterans. At the end of the document there was a 46-word clause, Section 504, barring discrimination against the disabled in federally funded institutions. People with disabilities took note, but the new regulations languished unsigned until demonstrators occupied the Federal Building in San Francisco and protested in Washington DC. The demonstrations drew national attention and led to Health, Education and Welfare Secretary Joseph Califano signing the regulation into law. Years later, the passage of the Americans with Disabilities Act expanded the earlier regulation to include private institutions and businesses.  

The story of the disability rights movement has elements that resonate today. Letter-writing campaigns and connections forged with members of Congress and the Executive Branch helped garner support for pending legislation and advance the movement’s agenda. Justin Dart, Vice Chair of the National Council of the Handicapped, crisscrossed the country holding town meetings to find out about discrimination in local communities. He issued his findings in a report titled “Toward Independence,” which served as a roadmap for disability legislation. 

The Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) was initially introduced in 1988, at which time opponents called it the bankruptcy bill because the cost of creating accessible spaces was considered too exorbitant. In Washington DC, people parked their wheelchairs and maneuvered up the steps to the US Capitol into the Rotunda where over 100 protesters were arrested. ADA was finally passed two years later in 1990 with the support of President George H.W. Bush.   

The disability rights movement led to significant change in large part because people showed up repeatedly over the years in multiple venues across the country to ensure their voices were heard. And while much has been achieved, the documentary ends with a reminder that there is still more work needed, citing that two out of three adults with disabilities are not in the work force.  

Change Not Charity, part of the PBS’s American Experience series, is a comprehensive overview of the pivotal events leading up to the passage of ADA, using archival footage of demonstrations and interviews with participants, Congressmen, and legal advocates. The documentary is directed by Jim LeBrecht, who won the Academy Award for his previous documentary Crip Camp, a more personal documentary, with its focus on some of the key people in the movement beginning with their experiences at the sleepaway camp. Both documentaries provide insight into the struggles faced by the disabled and the efforts to advance disability rights.  

Change Not Charity Film Trailer

CHANGE NOT CHARITY  

Director: Jim LeBrecht 
Narrator: Peter Dinklage
A STEWARD/GAZIT PRODUCTIONS FILM FOR AMERICAN EXPERIENCE 2025 
RT 53 minutes 

Crip Camp: A Disability Revolution 

Carol Schilling Jan 3, 2025

A powerful film celebrating disability rights, resilience, and community, revealing untold struggles and triumphs that demand greater recognition and action