The Rights That Defined Us—and the Blind Spots That Remain

An end-of-year reflection on the rights we’ve gained, the harm we’ve justified, and what we must leave behind to move humanity forward

This year has made me reflect on both the progression and regression of human rights. Many of us were fortunate enough to be born into a time and place that provided the basic rights needed to live fulfilling, safe lives. Yet many of us rarely, if ever, stop to consider what it took for us to step into that privilege.

When I went to vote last month, I walked into my local voting center thinking: if this were 1920, it would have been the first time I was allowed to vote as a woman. And if I were a Black woman in 1920, that right wouldn’t come until 1965. The fact that some women had to wait decades longer simply because of the color of their skin is infuriating. She is no different from me—her voice, her vote, her worth, all equal to mine.

My parents remember things that, to me, are incomprehensible, like separate water fountains for people of different races. I grew up with friends of every ethnicity and background. I can’t imagine having that kind of separateness forced between me and the children I was inseparable from.

It’s hard to fathom that within a single lifetime, people were segregated by skin color. That women needed a husband’s signature to open a bank account. That someone could be fired or even imprisoned for who they loved.

Every decade has brought new rights that seem, in hindsight, obvious. But the truth is, those rights weren’t always accepted, and some still aren’t. There have always been groups (and regrettably, still are) who resist progress. History reminds us that progress doesn’t happen because time moves forward; it happens when people challenge what’s been normalized and refuse to stop. The rights and freedoms most of us enjoy—often without even recognizing them as rights and freedoms—were fought for and often came at great cost.

As we prepare to bid farewell to 2025, this is an invitation to pause and reflect on some of the U.S. rights—from 1950 onward—that reshaped humanity, so that as we enter a new year, we do not forget how close the past still is or ignore what continues to hold us back.

Content note: This reflection discusses themes of discrimination, violence, assault, and human rights violations.

1954 Brown v. Board of Education
The Supreme Court declared racial segregation in public schools unconstitutional, dismantling the false notion of “separate but equal.” This decision overturned decades of legalized segregation that had denied Black children equal access to education and opportunity. Yet it was met with deep resistance across much of the country, revealing how fiercely some would cling to injustice rather than embrace equality. Many states delayed, evaded, or outright defied integration, leaving most Black children in the same segregated schools for years after Brown was decided. It would take another decade and federal enforcement to make meaningful integration a reality. It’s staggering that the right for children of all races to learn side by side had to be granted at all—and that dismantling segregation required courts and activists to do what conscience alone never compelled the nation to do. The fact that segregation is still fought for today, just in new forms, shows how tightly some will grip the illusion of their own hierarchy, even when it means abandoning humanity.

1963 Equal Pay Act
Mandated equal pay for equal work, marking one of the first federal steps toward gender equality in the workplace. Before this law, it was perfectly legal for employers to pay women less than men for doing the exact same job, regardless of skill, experience, or performance. This act confronted the long-held belief that a woman’s work was worth less and affirmed that fairness in opportunity must also mean fairness in compensation. But while the law changed, attitudes, assumptions, and structural biases did not. Nearly 60 years later, women—especially women of color—are still paid less for the same work because the power structures that created the gap have been slow or unwilling to change.

1964 Civil Rights Act
Prohibited discrimination based on race, color, religion, sex, or national origin. This was a landmark for equality, and a painful reminder of how deeply injustice had been woven into the fabric of American life. Passed only after decades of protests, sit-ins, boycotts, and unimaginable courage, the Act finally made segregation in workplaces, public spaces, and schools illegal, allowing the federal government to force districts that had chosen to ignore Brown for ten years to finally dismantle segregated school systems. For the first time, real integration began to take place on a national scale. The nation was forced to confront the systems that had long normalized inequality, proving that progress has never arrived through goodwill alone; it has been demanded, insisted, and fought for by those who refused to accept anything less than the dignity and equality owed to every person. And all these years later, the fight continues. Not because equality is unclear, but because some still resist it. We are still watching rights weaponized, identities debated, and entire communities framed as problems to be managed rather than as people deserving, at minimum, basic dignity and consideration. The Civil Rights Act stands as evidence of a truth we continue to relearn: equality written into law means nothing if those clinging to the past are allowed to chain the future to their smallness—and if the rest of us fail to find the courage to break the chain by demanding better.

1967 Loving v. Virginia
Struck down laws banning interracial marriage, affirming that love and the right to marry are protected freedoms, not privileges. For decades, interracial couples had faced imprisonment, separation, or exile simply for being together. Mildred and Richard Loving’s quiet courage, rooted in devotion rather than activism, challenged those laws and exposed an uncomfortable truth: love sees no color, but for far too long, society and the law did. Their victory was more than a legal ruling; it was a reckoning for a nation that had criminalized love itself and a reminder that equality must include the freedom to love without fear. Marriage equality corrected something that never should have been forbidden in the first place—and yet it remains something too many still resist today.

1972 Title IX
Prohibited sex discrimination in education, opening doors for women in sports, science, and leadership that had long been locked. Before Title IX, women were routinely denied admission to schools, athletic programs, and scholarships simply because of their gender. This landmark law didn’t just expand opportunities—it redefined what women were allowed to dream. It challenged generations of bias about what women could achieve and proved that equality in access creates equality in possibility. Title IX didn’t give women ability—it gave them access to the opportunities they’d always deserved, forcing society to catch up to the talent it had foolishly overlooked.

1973 – Roe v. Wade
Recognized reproductive autonomy as a constitutional protection, a right women have fought and died for. Despite our own history proving the urgency of this protection, in recent years it has been stripped from many and remains under threat for all. Removing women’s and girls’ fundamental bodily autonomy doesn’t only take away their say over their own bodies and lives. It has forced children in some states to carry pregnancies before their bodies or minds are ready and required survivors of rape in jurisdictions with few or no rape or incest exceptions to stay pregnant and give birth with no choice, compounding the violation of their bodies. It has also led to women and girls sustaining serious medical harm and, in some cases, death from nonviable or dangerous pregnancies that could not be terminated after Roe’s overturn, forcing their bodies into a completely preventable medical crisis. Decisions of this magnitude belong to the woman living in that body with her medical team—and, for a girl, with her caregivers and medical team. Not strangers. Not judges. Not lawmakers. Not the government. These are not “opinions” or policy disagreements; they are real human consequences happening to real women and girls right now. The overturn of Roe v. Wade revealed how fragile progress becomes when a woman loses the right to her own body and it is seized by others as something they believe they have the right to debate or control. If protecting life were truly the priority, the protection would be with the pregnant person. She is the life that already exists, and pregnancy only becomes life through her.

1974 – Equal Credit Opportunity Act
This Act gave women control over their own financial lives for the first time in history, underscoring that independence and equality are impossible without economic freedom. And yet financial bias against women still persists today. From unequal mortgage approvals and lending terms to assumptions about reliability tied to gender, we are reminded that even freedom on paper can be quietly undermined in practice. The consequences of this imbalance are real: when women are denied equal access to credit, loans, and financial trust, it affects where they can live, how they can build wealth, whether they can leave unsafe relationships, and the stability they can provide for their families. Economic equality is the foundation of every other freedom women are told they already have.

1978 – Pregnancy Discrimination Act
Prohibited workplace discrimination on the basis of pregnancy, childbirth, or related conditions. It affirmed that starting a family should never mean losing a career. Before this law, women could be fired, demoted, or denied promotions simply for becoming pregnant. The act challenged the belief that motherhood made women less capable, less reliable, or less worthy of opportunity, reinforcing that equality at work must include the right to both career and family without penalty.

1986 – Immigration Reform and Control Act
Legalized certain undocumented immigrants who had already met specific criteria—such as residing continuously in the United States since before January 1, 1982—ultimately granting legal status to approximately 2.7 million people. Many had long contributed to the economy even as they lived under the constant threat of being treated as invisible and disposable. IRCA also prohibited employment discrimination based on national origin or citizenship status for individuals legally authorized to work in the United States, reinforcing that employees should be evaluated based on qualifications and performance, not on where they were born. Decades later, the struggle continues as immigrants—documented and undocumented—still face discrimination, hostility, and threats to their safety, belonging, and family stability. Even those who follow legal immigration channels can experience abrupt policy shifts, delayed processing, or sudden barriers that disrupt families who have done everything asked of them. Many immigrants contribute billions of dollars each year to Social Security, including some who will never be eligible to receive benefits—an often-overlooked reminder of how deeply they support the systems our country relies on. Americans have understandable concerns about safety and the need for a well-managed immigration system. But equality under the law must include protecting those who build, grow, and sustain the nation they call home. Immigrants built this country, and they continue to build it every single day. Apart from the original Native American peoples who have always belonged to this land, every American has immigrant origins. That history is not peripheral to our identity—it is our identity. Immigration isn’t someone else’s story; it is the American story. And whether we acknowledge it or not, no one who calls themselves an American stands outside this shared, blended story of who we are.

1988 – Indian Gaming Regulatory Act
Recognized the right of Native American tribes to govern and benefit from economic enterprises on their own land—land that was theirs long before the United States existed. The Act didn’t grant sovereignty; it acknowledged a sovereignty that had been unjustly taken. And it forces us to confront a deeper truth many of us were never taught honestly: this land was taken, not discovered. The story of how America became “America” was rewritten to create a cozier narrative—one meant to comfort, not to tell the truth—and grossly misrepresented in both our culture and our classrooms, turning invasion and displacement into myth. Honoring Native sovereignty means choosing truth over the narratives we inherited and understanding that justice requires not only correcting the record but also respecting the authority, autonomy, and dignity that were denied for centuries. It is a commitment to see Native communities not as symbols of the past but as sovereign nations whose rights, stories, and futures deserve more than footnotes in someone else’s version of history.

1994 – Violence Against Women Act
Expanded federal protections and funding to combat domestic violence, sexual assault, and stalking. For the first time, violence against women was treated as a crime instead of a private matter to be ignored or endured. Before this law, abuse was routinely dismissed, minimized, or blamed on the woman instead of the abuser. Survivors were expected to stay silent, stay hidden, or stay alive long enough to escape—with little to no support. The Act created resources for shelters, victim services, and legal aid, sending an unmistakable message: safety and justice are not privileges; they are rights. But while the law shifted policy, it didn’t fully shift perception. Decades later, survivors still struggle to be believed, and far too many still face judgment before help. Just a few months ago, even a sitting president publicly referred to domestic violence as a “little fight with the wife”—a reminder of how easily abuse is still minimized in our culture. Until we stop questioning the credibility of the abused more than the character of the abuser, we cannot call ourselves a society that protects women—and it’s on each of us to change that.

2003 – Lawrence v. Texas
Struck down laws that criminalized same-sex relationships, affirming that no one should ever be punished for who they love or forced to hide who they are to be safe. This ruling overturned a decades-old precedent that had allowed states to intrude on people’s private lives and treat love itself as a crime. It marked a major turning point for LGBTQ+ rights by establishing that dignity, privacy, and freedom apply to every person—not just those whose relationships make others comfortable. And yet, LGBTQ+ people continue to face discrimination, hostility, and attempts to restrict their rights—proof that the legality of love is still being treated as something up for debate. Love has never been the problem. The problem has always been prejudice. No belief system, political platform, or personal discomfort makes prejudice acceptable.

2009 – Matthew Shepard and James Byrd Jr. Hate Crimes Prevention Act
Expanded federal hate-crime law to include crimes motivated by race, sexual orientation, gender identity, or disability, and strengthened federal power to prosecute hate-based violence. Matthew Shepard, a young gay man, and James Byrd Jr., a Black man, were both brutally murdered in crimes that exposed the depths of prejudice still present in our society. This law was more than legislation; it was an acknowledgment that violence born of hate is beneath our humanity and everything we should ever strive to be. And yet, hate-based attacks continue—a reminder that laws can punish violence, but only people can prevent it.

2010 – “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” Repeal Act
Allowed LGBTQ+ individuals to serve openly in the U.S. military, affirming that authenticity and service are not mutually exclusive. For nearly two decades, “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” forced service members to hide who they were, deny who they loved, and live in constant fear that honesty could destroy their careers and their futures. Its repeal ended years of fear and silence, reminding the nation that courage isn’t defined by conformity. If you have the bravery to serve and the strength to endure, you’ve already proven everything that matters—more than most of us, myself included, will ever have the courage to do.

2015 – Obergefell v. Hodges
Legalized same-sex marriage nationwide, marking a milestone in dignity, equality, and love as a universal human right. Marriage equality determines access to housing, medical decision-making, parental rights, inheritance, and end-of-life care—real lives in real families. And yet this right remains under threat when personal belief is used as a reason to control someone else’s life and freedom. When love between two consenting adults causes discomfort for others, the answer isn’t to restrict the freedom of the people in the relationship—it’s to broaden the perspective of those who feel uncomfortable with the relationship. Agreement isn’t required. Equality is. People don’t have to support same-sex marriage to accept that others deserve the same legal protections they rely on for their own families. Equality doesn’t require shared belief—only shared rights. And rights shouldn’t become negotiable simply because someone disagrees or feels uncomfortable.

Final Thoughts

Each of these rights represents a battle won—but also a troubling truth: human dignity is still up for debate.

Do you know someone who has benefited from these rights? Do you understand the struggles that person would face today if the rights that protect them had never been passed? It could be as simple as having a daughter or sister who can build her own life—free and independent. And if she chooses to share that life with a man and he ever abuses her, she now has protections and resources to help her get out of that situation safely—and alive.

How would you feel if you knew someone you love didn’t have rights to protect them? How would you feel if you knew they had to stay hidden because it isn’t socially safe to be themselves, or worse, if the person you love were in danger every single day simply for existing as they are?

It took activism, courage, and often unimaginable loss to force societies to see what should have been seen all along. We’ve come a long way, but for a species that prides itself on being “superior,” why did we need to come this far in the first place, and why do we still have so much further to go? If history teaches us anything, it’s that today’s norms can become tomorrow’s outrage. Fifty years from now, what might future generations look back on and ask, “How could they have accepted that?” 2025 didn’t move us forward; it revealed how quickly we can slide backward. And unless we course-correct, we risk becoming the cautionary tale future generations study, not the progress story they hope to repeat.

Human rights aren’t just a global issue—they’re a mirror. So ask yourself: is there anything you still accept that harms someone else’s free will or humanity? Is there someone you’ve cast aside because they challenge the limits you’ve placed on others? Have you stayed silent when you’ve witnessed discrimination or injustice? Step outside your own experience—beyond the familiar voices of family and friends, and beyond any faith-based or cultural beliefs that may quietly limit compassion or openness to truths beyond your own. Take a hard look at how your beliefs might impact others and consider whether they should ever be imposed on people you don’t even know—people who may see the world differently, follow a different faith, or no faith at all—and who still deserve the same dignity and autonomy you expect for yourself. Would you want someone you don’t know imposing their beliefs or values on you if they conflict with your own? We live in a beautifully diverse world, and if your rigidity limits others, strips away rights, or causes harm, is that really the side of history you want to be on? And if it is, how does that align with your definition of being a “good” person?

As we step into a new year, it isn’t only about setting resolutions—if that’s your thing—it’s also about reflection. Who have we been this year? What have we stood for, what have we supported, and what kind of humans do we want to become in the year ahead? Each new year gives us the chance to challenge ourselves to grow and move beyond who we were before. For you, maybe that means questioning beliefs or assumptions that narrow your understanding or diminish your compassion for others. If you’re someone who usually stays quiet to keep the peace, maybe it means finding the courage to speak up when something doesn’t feel right—or creating distance from people whose beliefs cause harm or hold others back. And sometimes growth is quieter but just as powerful, like becoming a more conscious consumer and choosing not to support companies whose actions don’t align with your values. Your circle, your silence, and your spending are your values in action. Think about how you can grow beyond who you are today to create a greater impact tomorrow—because whether you realize it or not, in this very moment, you are shaping history.

Every human-rights milestone begins with one person who chooses to see what others ignore and refuses to look away. Expand your awareness to see what is unjust—and refuse to look away. One day, each of us will be remembered as the reason someone gained a right—or the reason someone lost one.

I’ll leave you with a quote to carry into the rest of this year and the beginning of the next: “In the course of history, there comes a time when humanity is called to shift to a new level of consciousness, to reach a higher moral ground. A time when we have to shed our fear and give hope to each other. That time is now.” — Wangarĩ Maathai