Gloria Steinbring, a charismatic and fiery leader of Minnesota's disability rights movement for four decades, died last month in Minneapolis. She was 71.
Born with a developmental disability on the Iron Range, Steinbring endured years of abuse at institutions before becoming a leader in early campaigns to fight the isolation and social stigma associated with disabilities. She was a founder of Advocating Change Together (ACT), a self-advocacy organization that has grown to have six chapters across the state.
In a particularly powerful episode in the early 1980s, Steinbring testified at the Legislature against the use of punitive restraints, solitary confinement and food deprivation at institutions housing people with disabilities. She moved lawmakers by recounting, in excruciating detail, her own experiences at Portland Residence, a large Minneapolis group home, where she was once locked in a closet for hours without food, water or access to a toilet. She was also put on a near-starvation diet, returning home one year weighing just 60 pounds. "They used me as a guinea pig," Steinbring said in a documentary. "I almost died."
Her testimony and grass roots organizing led to the creation of state rules limiting the use of restraints and seclusion at such facilities.
Born in Hibbing with rickets, a severe vitamin D deficiency, Steinbring had bones that were abnormally thin and weak, forcing her to wear special high-top shoes for much of her childhood. Neighborhood boys called her "stupid" and pelted her with snowballs packed with rocks, recalled her sister, Norma Toman.
After high school, Steinbring spent 11 years in a sheltered workshop for people with disabilities, performing menial tasks like placing thermostats in plastic bags for 88 cents an hour. When the workshop denied her request for a raise, Steinbring quit and told the managers to "go to hell" as she walked out, she later recounted.
While at the workshop, Steinbring fell in love with another worker, Dean Steinbring, from International Falls, who also had a disability. The two married in a small ceremony kept secret from their caretakers, for fear they might intervene and try to stop the marriage, Toman said.
Steinbring's brash wit, youthful spirit, and high-pitched voice became familiar to many in Minnesota's burgeoning disability rights movement. She appealed to a new generation of advocates who were unsatisfied with vague promises of incremental reform and staunchly opposed the custodial model of care for people with disabilities.