Through a series of national security legislation, the CIA is exempt from doing things it decides would jeopardize national security. On disability issues, they wear those exemptions as both sword and shield—something I watched play out throughout my entire career.
My first job there as an intelligence analyst was everything I hoped it would be—exciting, fast-paced, and important, covering issues I loved but had only ever studied in text books. However, there was not an accessible restroom near my office and it took six months for the agency to install an automatic door opener for me. Each time I went in and out of the office, I had to ring the doorbell for someone to open the door. I had been warned on my very first day that my reputation mattered almost more than anything else in the tight-knit agency community and I worried that my dependence on other people would quickly label me a nuisance.
The few fellow employees with disabilities I met in those early days confirmed my fear, warning me that I needed to downplay my very visible disability if I did not want it to affect what we at CIA call my “hall file.” Best to ask for as little help as possible, they advised, or else be seen as a problem-child. This became a theme in my career. I could either speak up or have a successful career, but not both.