More on the Syracuse Scandal

I have continually noted that ableism is part of the social fabric of society. Ableism surrounds us on a daily basis and it is impossible to escape its tentacles. People unfamiliar with disability don't get it. Few people are even familiar with the word ableism. Fewer still could define what ableism means. The social ramifications are profound and deadly. Disability based prejudice exists and is not examined. Disability based oppression goes unchecked. Life for people such myself, a wheelchair user, is needlessly difficult. The ordinary is impossible. The psychic toll this takes is immense. Every day is a battle. Battles can be large and small. Nothing is ever easy because disability rights is always subsumed by media representations of disability that are antiquated and dehumanizing. Stories of overcoming disability and cure narratives are rampant. Stories about disability rights are absent in the media and not taught in secondary schools and universities. When I teach about disability history and disability based oppression students are often shocked and ask me "why have I never heard about this?" The answer is simple and depressing--no one cares--that is until disability enters one's life.

The situation at Syracuse deeply saddens me. An ugly incident was bound to happen. I could feel it coming. I never could have predicted the form it has taken but the undercurrent of anger and hostility was readily apparent. The administration I am sure is shocked by what took place. To me, this highlights the ablesism on Syracuse campus and well beyond. Academia is hostile to the presence of disabled students and particularly faculty members with a disability. If you doubt me please read the ground-breaking book Academic Ableism.

Pre ADA cripples such as myself who came of age before the law was on our side are familiar with hatred. I have been spit on for having the nerve to get on an MTA bus in New York City. I have been refused service in restaurants (no wheelchairs). I have been denied boarding on airplanes because I was deemed a flight safety risk. I have been mocked on the streets. I have been denied health insurance. Strangers have suggested I should just die. A physician once offered me assisted suicide. The list of civil rights violations I have been subjected to is lengthy.

Ableism and hatred go hand in hand. The Theta Tau videos amply illustrate the hatred we people with a disability encounter on a daily basis. Today Stephen Kuusisto wrote:

Now I’m an old hand at hate. Disabled, bullied in childhood, discriminated against in education and employment, I’ve lived a long time in hate-ville. Here’s the thing: able bodied white people don’t understand that if you’re from a historically marginalized background you have to put yourself together anew every day. I don’t mean putting on your makeup or shaving. I mean a full scale, internal, hot to the touch assembly of hope, aspiration, belief in the future, and a reserve of irony—you’ll meet people who don’t get you all day long and you’ll manage them with humor, forceful insistence, passion, and compensatory self-regard. Able-bodied white people don’t need to do any of this. The worst thing they can imagine is a bad day in junior high.  Link: https://stephenkuusisto.com/2018/04/25/hate-at-the-university/

The life of people with a disability is unimaginable to your ordinary able-bodied white person. They often shudder as we cripples go by. Some are openly hostile. Others only express their views behind closed doors when we cripples are not present. What is one to do? I for one maintain this blog (it is a labor of love). I teach. I write. I research. I advocate. All this feels inadequate. I struggle with the sense of helplessness to make significant social change as I do not want any person to experience what I have had to endure.

What can be done at Syracuse? I urge readers to take 15 minutes and listen to what Diane Wiener has to say about the crisis and scandal at Syracuse University. She is more optimistic than I am and gives me hope Syracuse University can indeed transform into an inclusive campus--a campus where even I might be welcomed.

 

Syracuse University Scandal

In the last week multiple people have asked me to comment about the scandal at Syracuse University.   I have refrained from writing about the shocking videos released by Syracuse University Daily Orange--the student newspaper. For those unfamiliar with what has happened, two videos of the engineering fraternity Theta Tau were exposed that depict intersectional bigotry.  The crass and offensive behavior in the first video did not surprise me. The homophobia, racism and dehumanizing behavior depicted behind closed doors is indicative of the unwelcoming social environment on campus. During my three year tenure at Syracuse University I was made to feel deeply uncomfortable (any reasonable accommodations requested were met with stiff resistance and extended delays). When I left the university I simply I could not tolerate the hostility directed to people with a disability and other minority groups on campus. The social and intellectual environment was toxic. 

The first video exposed was without question horrific. However it was the second video that has prompted me to write because it was far worse than the first. I refuse to embed the video in this post. It is too upsetting and vile. Since its release I have had nightmares every night and do not want to risk hurting others. However, I will provide a link to a Washington Post news report on You Tube. Be forewarned, the video is triggering and displays hatred under the guise of "humor" and I can only presume a "boys will be boys" attitude. Link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zdj16cqOxdg    

To date, the university is doing it's best to handle this crisis. I have no doubt a crisis team has been formed and Chancellor Syverud has tried to address the repercussions and the national press it has garnered. Nothing Syverud has publicly stated has impressed me. I am not sure anything the man says or does can help the situation. I have followed this story as closely as possible and only two people have offered true insight--Diane Wiener (Director of the Disability Cultural Center) and Stephen Kuusisto (professor and poet). In response to the scandal, Wiener eloquently wrote: 

At Syracuse University, and in the City of Syracuse, we have a proud and long history of disability rights being at the heart of political work. In what is an anathema to all that disability activists have striven for at Syracuse and elsewhere, Theta Tau’s video is not only a representation that demeans, dehumanizes and objectifies disabled people, it does so by utilizing toxic masculinity, homophobia, racism and other forms of systemic oppression and violence to accomplish its strategy, hiding behind the false narrative of “humor,” and “boys will be boys.”

Disabled people are not to be pitied; disability is not a devastation that needs to be cured and about which triumph and shame are the necessary or desired aims and outcomes. Yes, some individuals are ashamed of their disabilities, and others would just rather live differently. Some people do not want to be known as disabled, or might prefer only to be called Joe, who happens to have a disability, but disability is not the entirety, let alone the center of Joe’s life. There is no monolithic disability perspective or experience. Some would assert that shame and stigma around disability reflect internalized oppression, highly understandable in a world that was and remains often not built or shaped for us, the same world that has often feared, ignored, dismissed and even, in some cases, killed us.

Disability identity is comprised of a nuanced and variegated set of realities, existing always within and enhancing the workplace, interpersonal relationships, scientific discovery, arts and culture and, of course, the university, among other spaces and landscapes, geographic, political, social, virtual.

Rape culture and locker room talk will never be tolerated at Syracuse University. Ableism and other forms of interlaced oppressions must be denounced and undermined.

We have a lot of collaborative work to do. And, we will continue the labor.

I am not sure how effective Wiener's words will be. The labor as she puts it to me is overwhelming and depressing nearly thirty years post ADA. Yet, the sort of hatred spewed by members of Theta Tau's are something people with a disability deal with on a daily basis. I know this to be true because  Syracuse students sought me out on a regular basis. They told me of university wide failures to provide the most basic accommodations. Stories of harassment abounded. I too was harassed on campus and on the streets of Syracuse. When I walked to the bus stop my last year in the city it was not uncommon to be called a "retard" by strangers and mocked.

Who is to blame for the scandal? Not the many fine people I know who still work at Syracuse University.  Today Stephen Kuusisto wrote that the Theta Tau videos were a "wake up call". Here Kuusisto is being polite in the extreme.

This morning walking my guide dog I thought “maybe a more representative motto for the university should be “Buildings Over People” as opposed to our current motto “knowledge crowns those who seek her”?” We’re great at putting up buildings that show us in the best light. We have “Ernie Davis Hall” but guess what? Ernie Davis’s developmentally disabled son was rejected from SU. We have a multi-million dollar Institute for Veterans and Military Families going up on the site of the former Disability Studies Program’s building. We dispersed the disability faculty across campus without a place to meet. Meanwhile veteran-students have related to me their disappointment at SU, remarking that the campus is an unwelcoming place. This is what I think is most central to our dilemma and which only the Board of Trustees can address: SU is not and I repeat “not” a welcoming institution for veterans, the disabled, people of color, LGBTQ students and staff, foreign students, women, it’s a long list. Link: https://stephenkuusisto.com/2018/04/24/syracuse-university-is-in-a-jam/

The list is indeed long and I would add depressing. Syracuse is a grim decaying city in the grips of poverty and despair. As the city crumbles, Syracuse University builds beautiful building for beautiful people. Cripples need not apply. People of color need not apply. LGBTQ students need not apply. Any person who is in some way different is not welcome and their presence will begrudgingly be tolerated publicly. But behind closed doors at a university that severely struggles with transparency
a radically different narrative emerges. That narrative is dark and ugly. We caught a glimpse of it in the Theta Tau videos. Back to Kuusisto:

Buildings over people is the proper latinate maxim for us. I believe the Trustees bear more than a little responsibility for this situation. So keen are they to cut budgets and put the university on a strict business model management system they’ve forgotten that the buildings don’t mean a thing if the people feel disparaged, maligned, under served, ignored, and of little value.

I’m a disability rights activist among other things and I’ve been asked by students and faculty to weigh in on what’s going on here and I’m trying hard to be measured. Syracuse is a good university with lots of great people. We must reaffirm what’s good here and resist what’s deleterious about our community. We need to do this with brave leadership and a true commitment to change. Buildings and heated sidewalks and underfunded resources in community services and academic programs won’t cut it.

I agree with Kuusisto--Syracuse is a first class educational institution. Many fine people work hard to make the campus a welcoming environment. When I think of Syracuse University I think of people like Diane Wiener, Stephen Kuusisto, Michael Schwartz and others who tirelessly champion the rights of marginalized people. But I also bemoan the way universities are now run. A university is not a for profit enterprise and should not be operated like a business where the bottom line reigns supreme. People like Bruce Harreld have no place running the University of Iowa. Many such businessmen run universities these days much to our detriment. So like Kuusisto, I think the Board of Trustees and the Chancellor bear a great deal of responsibility here. The Theta Tau videos did not emerge from a social vacuum. Campus wide hostility toward marginalized people is a real problem and all the lovely photographs of campus are not going to change that fact. Leadership is required and it is past time for faculty to assert themselves. They are, after all, the people charged with educating the members of Theta Tau. Who knows, perhaps one of the men in the fraternity was in my classroom--a thought that makes me shudder.  

Road Races: The Bad Old Days

I continue to go through Denver Public library archives about the disability rights movement in Colorado and beyond. It strikes me as shocking how recently blatant disability based discrimination was accepted as the norm. I lived a good bit of this history and experienced significant discrimination as a young man. I recall being turned away from multiple airlines because I was deemed a "flight safety risk". I was spit on when I tried to get on New York City MTA buses when lifts were being introduced in the early 1980s. I had cab drivers in New York City refuse to stop for me on a regular basis. I have encountered inaccessible elevators to subway systems nationwide. I was once taken out of Yankee Stadium in handcuffs by the police who had no idea how to arrest me in 1978.

Pardon me if I do not wax nostalgic about the olden days. The olden days were ripe with disability based discrimination. Lives, careers and dreams were shattered on a regular basis. I came of age before ADAPT and well before legislation existed to empower people with a disability.  I was continually barred from participating and attending many public events in New York City where I came of age in my 20s. Concerts at Lincoln Center or sporting events at Madison Square Garden were grossly inaccessible. At old Shea Stadium handicapped seating was behind a chain link fence next to barely functional toilets that stunk of urine. Using a wheelchair guaranteed the worst seat at all venues--disability was ghettoized. This was not a New York City problem--the presence of people with a disability was an affront. By the late 1970s and early 1980s we anonymous people with a disability had reached a saturation point. Countless people had enough and pushed back. I was among those that pushed back. I had it easy--I was among the 1% and privileged. Sure I encountered disability based discrimination on a regular basis but I was not fighting to get out of a nursing home. I was fighting for the right to privileged activities--going to college, graduate school, and, for a while in my early 20s, to participate in road races. I was interested in marathons. Racing wheelchairs were about to be developed. The wheelchair industry was about to radically change and adaptive sports was in its infancy. I was an early pioneer in wheelchair racing but I was truly a peripheral figure. I was an ordinary young man who simply wanted to stay in shape and see how fast I could cover some serious miles. I was not a serious athlete nor was I designing adaptive sports equipment. I wanted to be a scholar and remain in good shape. To this end, I tried to enter New York City Road Runner events. Here I hit a veritable brick wall. The founder of the New York City marathon, Fred Lebow, hated the idea of wheelchair participants. For years the NYC Road Runners club fought tooth and nail to exclude wheelchair racers. Lebow, at a notorious closed door meeting, supposedly said with ferocity that he would not allow the marathon to be turned into a "freak show".  Unlike other major marathons that quickly incorporated wheelchair racers, Lebow and the NYC Road Runners Club did their level best to make the NYC marathon inaccessible to all people with a disability. Wheelchair racers were deemed a significant risk to themselves and others (a common place charge at the time). Marty Ball was among the first serious marathoners to push back. He registered to participate in the NYC marathon under an assumed name. For more on Ball see: http://www.wheel-life.org/marty-ball-lifelong-warrior-for-better-wheelchairs-wheelchair-sports/

I have written about the long sordid history of the NYC marathon elsewhere. See: http://www.raggededgemagazine.com/focus/26miles.html Suffice it to say, it took decades for the New York City to be inclusive to elite and ordinary wheelchair racers. Much work remains to be done to this day as wheelchair athletes have continually encountered problems in NYC and other large events. As I now live in adaptive sports mecca of Denver and nearby Colorado Springs I naively thought Western states would have been far more inclusive. I was wrong. Last week I came across a story about the first Bolder Boulder Run. The first Bolder Boulder run was held in 1979. Since its inception the Bolder Boulder run has grown exponentially. It is now the premier 10k run in the nation. It is also one of the largest running events in the world (it is the 3rd largest running race in the USA and 7th largest in the world). In 1979 however just 2,700 people participated. By 1990, when the first pro wheelchair race was introduced, over 26,000 people participated. A few years ago over 50,000 participated. See: https://bb10k.bolderboulder.com/about-bb10k/bb-history/ Note the year 1990--the first pro wheelchair race was introduced. Yes, it took nearly two decades for wheelchair athletes to be recognized. Like the NYC marathon, I suspect the main reason it took so long was because of the Bolder Boulder race organizer. Like Fred Lebow, Steve Bosely was adamantly against the inclusion of wheelchair athletes. After the inaugural race I read a story about Bosely: "Bolder Boulder Not So Bold When it Comes to Wheelchair Racers". Marty Ball participated and he along with many other wheelchair racers complained about multiple needless obstacles during the race. After the race, officials were angry and publicly vowed to exclude wheelchair racers from the race the following year. Among those officials opposed to the participation of any wheelchair racer was Bosley. While Bosely "sympathized with the plight of wheelchair racers" for unspecified logistical reasons he firmly believed they represented a risk to themselves and others. Bosley noted accidents had taken place involving wheelchair racers and they had the obligation to avoid future accidents. He petulantly noted "Our staff has discussed the wheelchair issue probably more than any single issue in the last seven or eight years and we've pretty much come to the conclusion that what we're putting on is a foot race and wheelchairs have no place".  Bosley went on to state:

First, a wheelchair racer who completes the course in 32 minutes and a runner who completes a race in 32 minutes are two completely different things. A wheelchair racer goes extremely fast--up to 35MPH on downhills--and very slow on the uphills. So a runner and a wheelchair racer who start at the same time will constantly be conflicting with each others paths during the race. Second, some of the slower wheelchair racers take more than three hours to complete the course. This causes us problems because we're on a very tight schedule.

This is the exact logic Fred Lebow used in NYC to effectively bar wheelchair athletes from participating. Toward the end of his life, Lebow changed his mind about the inclusion of wheelchair racers. I have no idea if Bosely had a similar such change of heart. Regardless, Bosely spent much of his life expanding and advocating for the Bolder Boulder race. As of 2017, Bosely was on the Board of Regents at the University of Colorado and member of the Runner USA Hall of Fame. Clearly, his opposition to the inclusion of wheelchair racers in 1979 did not hurt his reputation nor impede the Bolder Boulder 10k race from becoming a premier event.

While I no longer have an interest in participating in marathons or running events, discrimination at road races continues. The Paralympics continue to operate in a media vacuum and receive virtually no press. Worse, the X Games that once highly touted adaptive sports has discontinued Mono Skier  X events that was quite popular. The few stories that appear in press about adaptive athletes are uniformly terrible. These serious athletes are reduced to feel good stories about "overcoming disability". Few if any Paralympians are household names. Perhaps the best know Paralympian, Tatyana McFadden, refused to participate in the Red Bull's Wings for Life Run in 2015. McFadden wrote:

New rules within the Red Bull Wings of Life event stipulated that I couldn’t race in my racing chair and would be, instead, required to race in an everyday wheelchair and accompanied by a “support person.” I was both bewildered and upset. I felt it would be like asking other runners to run in flip flops.

The goal of Red Bull’s Wings of Life program is, admirably, to find a cure for spinal cord injuries. Their efforts should be applauded and encouraged. More companies need to step up to the plate, like them, and become socially responsible.

However, this change is inadvertently reinforcing the idea that those of us with existing spinal cord injuries are somehow less than whole persons. My injury is permanent. It has resulted in atrophied legs that I will never be able to walk on. That is the reality of how my body works. I accept this. But it does not define who I am. In the course of my life, I have discovered my own talents and abilities within the body that I have been given. I dislike the term disability, it infers I do not have ability or my abilities are somehow less than that of others. On the contrary, I have abilities others don’t.

In addition, by creating one rule for all disabled people Red Bull is perpetuating a stereotype that people with disabilities are all the same and all need assistance — and, by themselves, are not capable of doing something like racing. Instead it should be a person’s right on how they choose to race, be it with a guide runner, prosthetic leg, everyday wheelchair or a racing wheelchair. http://tatyanamcfadden.com/redbull/

Last year I had a similar the same experience. I wanted to participate in a handcycle race and a few days before the event was informed via email that any person with a disability participating using a hand cycle had to be accompanied by a support person. Here we are nearly 30 years post ADA and the infantilization of people with a disability remains firmly entrenched. Imagine if a woman was told she could not participate in a running race without a support person. Outrage would ensue. This is why I remain furious and frustrated that ableism stubbornly clings to disability. We people with a disability remain the other--always on the outside looking in--liminal in more ways than I can articulate. I for one have had it. Enough is enough.

Crossing the Street Unaccompanied

Disability based street harassment in Denver is minimal. This is, of course, a sweeping generalization. Afterall, just a few months ago a well-dressed businessman in a swanky part of downtown Denver stated: "Why don't you just die already". Such comments directed my way always take place when I am alone and have the audacity to venture out the door by myself. I never cease to be amazed how people react to my presence. Yesterday, however, I was truly stunned by one person's reaction to my presence. I was going to the train station--something I have done countless times. I am on the sidewalk when I hear a car jam on the brakes. I did not think much of this. The car was on the other side of the road median and going in the opposite direction. Something seemed odd and I looked across the road to see a woman come to a complete stop, put her hazard lights on, get out of her car and walk across two lanes of road traffic in my direction. As she approached me she said in a loud voice "You can't cross the street by yourself!" The woman appeared to be highly agitated. In a voice getting louder and more shrill by the minute she stated "You just can't cross the street by yourself. I will help you." I am instantly wary and somewhat concerned for my safety as well as hers. Is this woman mentally altered? She just crossed two lanes of traffic to help me cross the street--this is not remotely appropriate behavior. And then she said what were to me the magic words: "Where is your caretaker?" Guarded but relieved I figured this woman was just an ignorant ableist and not a threat. I simply gave the woman an icy glare, moved perpendicular to the sidewalk making it impossible for her to attempt to push my wheelchair. Realizing her failure to help, and I assume save me, the woman returned to her car. She was unhappy and decidedly unimpressed with me. The feeling was mutual.  Without further commentary or assistance crossing the street the woman returned to her car and I continued on to the train station.

Welcome to the wonderful world of paralysis. Social interactions for all wheelchair users can and often are severely skewed. Over the last day or so since the above interaction I have wondered where do people learn about disability and more specifically about wheelchair use. Many I have known without a disability need to think if I use a power wheelchair versus a manual wheelchair. To me the difference between a power wheelchair and a manual wheelchair is profound--they can never be misunderstood for one another. My frustration is that ignorance and stigma stubbornly cling to people that use a wheelchair. The fact is ableism abounds. Ableism is part of the fabric of society. All the laws in all the courts of this nation cannot root out ableism without the social demand for equality. No such demand exists. People with a disability are damaged goods, our existence profoundly inferior. My civil rights are always open to question. I am routinely underestimated and regularly congratulated for doing the ordinary. As I wondered about this woman, I had to accept a basic truth--such interactions hurt. I am filled with hurt. I am wary of typical others. Every time I go out the door I know I might be harassed. Frankly, I am sick of it. When, I wonder, is it going to end? The answer to the aforementioned question is a depressing never. The sort of ableism this woman absorbed is almost impossible to root out. Indeed, it will take generations.

The woman in question made me realize just how casual ableism is. Ableism is also as casual as it is deadly.  It is easy to internalize ableism. It is all too easy to think something is wrong with me--how else does one explain a never ending sea of insults, slights, and outrageous behaviors. It is easy to wonder do I have the right to get on a bus or plane or train? As I pass dozens of inaccessible restaurants on Larimer Street am I content that in seven blocks there is one restaurant without steps and adequate room to navigate the dining room aisles. Why is it that when I went out for a fancy meal a week ago I was stunned when not a single server or fellow diner bumped into my wheelchair? Should this not be the norm? Should I not be able to enter all restaurants? The answer is, of course, an emphatic yes. But casual ableism abounds--ableism is everywhere. Only once in a while is ableism over the top--the businessman who said I should just die. The unknown woman who stopped her car and insisted on helping me across the street. These people I do not fear. It is the closet ableist, the good-natured pillar of the community who has my best interests at heart that I fear. These people can justify anything. Justifying a lack of access and inclusion is quite easy--a litany of excuses have been used in the past and present. I just cannot be positive for I see the hard won civil rights we people with a disability fought for under attack on multiple fronts--from a complete stranger who harassed me to a GOP bent on eliminating all social services that enable people to live and work in the community.

The Joy of New Wheelchair Discoveries

I am still getting accustom to using my new wheelchair. After nearly four months, I can relax as I navigate the world. I am no longer worried about falling nor am I in pain at the end of the day. I am, to use silly wheelchair manual lingo, an expert user. This does not mean I enjoy the symbiotic relationship I enjoyed with my old wheelchair. That wheelchair was part of me--it was an extension of my body and perhaps my soul. With my new wheelchair, I am awkward in certain ordinary situations. I am extremely cautious at curb cuts and often come to a near stop before popping a slight wheelie to get over rocks, large cracks in the cement, and rough terrain. I especially struggle night. I cannot see small rocks (if I am not leaning back on my rear wheels enough and I hit a rock with the front wheels I will get jarred). I am especially wary of late night tranfers from bed to wheelchair as I do not want to end up on the floor. Transfers in and out of cars remain awkward and time consuming in comparison to the past. Despite these observations, every day I become more comfortable with my new wheelchair.

The above is the downside to using a radically different wheelchair--and not by choice I should add (thank you United airlines for altering my life). Yet I am rapidly learning the strengths of my new wheelchair. At Union Station in downtown Denver there is an underground portion of the station that connects the furthest to closest tracks. There is a wide concourse at least two or three blocks long. I love this part of the station. I move fast--when alone I move at warp speed with little effort. I pass bipeds left and right. I have no idea how fast I go but it gives me great pleasure. If I were bound to my feet for locomotion, I would guess I travel at a brisk jog or slow run. As I sped through the concourse I often think I cannot wait to go to an airport! I will speed through a concourse like never before.

Over the weekend, I discovered two new wheelchair joys. I was out with a friend to enjoy a rare dinner out. Unfortunately, the restaurant we ate in was atrocious. The inside of the building was dirty, the food was terrible, and my wheels felt greasy when we left. We each had indigestion on the way home. I felt bad. The restaurant was one I picked out. Oops. On the walk back to the train station I was pretty grumpy. Suddenly, the wind kicked up. It had been windy all day but as anyone who has spent time in the West knows the weather can change dramatically in minutes. During the day we had strong wind gusts up to 40 to 50 MPH. However, by early evening the wind had died down--or so I thought. Suddenly a strong gust of wind hit us from behind. I started to fly forward. I could feel the wind blowing me in a way I have never felt before. I started to go fast--I mean really fast. I started to hold on the push rims to slow my momentum and thought to myself why? Why am I slowing down? Well, I was trying to be polite. The poor biped with me felt no such joy. I thought screw it, laughed loudly, held my arms out to catch more wind and let myself go. Without pushing the wind started to propel me forward. It was the best sensation I have felt in years! I once again felt one with my wheelchair.

The symbiotic relationship with my wheelchair is coming back in fits and starts. I realized this with a second wonderful experience. I have started to understand downtown Denver. Without any semblance of directional ability, it has taken me seven months to not get lost in the city center. Since arriving in July I have mastered the train system and am now trying to learn the bus system. I have always been drawn to mass transit and thanks to ADAPT Denver has one of the nations most accessible systems in the nation. The main tourist area in Denver is the 16th street mall. There is a free shuttle bus that I use often and on a crowded weekend I used it to go from Union Station to Civic Center Park. Rather than take a crowded bus back to Union station I decided to walk the length of the mall. I knew the walk back was largely down hill. What I did not know was how much fun I was going to have. It was indeed downhill but thanks to the free bus, peddle cabs, bipeds on long boards, and the bike lane the mall is ideal for navigating on wheels. I took great joy in speeding along and meandering between side walks, the street, and bike lanes. I think I made the mile long walk in under 5 minutes. I was able to weave in and out of traffic, around gaggles of bipeds, and tourists. Better yet, not a single person person made an unwanted or inappropriate comment--a rarity when I am alone in a major city.

I wish bipeds understood the wheelchair human connection. The idea that one could be "wheelchair bound" is laughable--it is one of the most ignorant statements I have come across in 40+ years of wheelchair use. I am no more bound to my wheelchair than a biped is bound to his or her feet. I am as protective of my wheelchair as I am of my body. If any person sits in my wheelchair I am instantly angry. If anyone so much as touches my wheelchair I will make a cutting remark. The bottom line--do not mess with my wheelchair. Indeed, anyone that touches or makes an unwanted contact with my wheelchair is in my estimation committting a crime. Imagine if the courts recognized the importance of a wheelchair. Imagine if we as a society valued those that use wheelchairs and acknowledged how empowering a wheelchair is. Imagine if we valued the inclusion of those that use wheelchairs. Imagine if we forcefully rejected the notion people with a disability were special. Imagine if all public venues were accessible--and I do not mean an abscure rear entrance no one knows how to locate. Imagine if wheelchair users could get in the front door of all buildings and all hotels, motels, trains, planes, and buses. This sort of utopia does not exist. Unfortunately I doubt I will live long enough for such a utopia to emerge. I suppose this puts me in the same position as Thorstein Veblen who I have long admired. He too imagined utopian societies. He was a social critique as am I. What we need however is much more fundamental. We need the social mandate and will to demand society be made accessible to all. What we need are policy prescribers who seek to revolutionize society. I have no interest in incremental changes but rather a social revolution. Simply put, when it comes to access and inclusion there are no half measures.

Gang of 19 Plaque Change

In the Wade and Molly Blank papers are a number of boxes with great photographs. I love photographs of the disability rights movement. Obviously it is fun to look at how fashions and hair styles have changed over time but what really sticks out is the evolution of the wheelchair. I shake my head in wonder when I see old fashioned E&J folding wheelchairs and the very first power wheelchairs. Each and every time I see old photographs I am delighted by the technology incorporated into manual and power wheelchairs that empower people with a disability. But I digress here. 

I was surprised and disappointed to learn the original plaque dedicated on July 26, 1992 was replaced in 2005 to commemorate the 15th Anniversary of the ADA. I went by the plaque this morning and it is looking well worn. The plaque is dirty and slightly chipped in one corner. The surrounding area where the plaque is located is dominated by groups of homeless men. It is not a place to lounge around and I doubt the flower I placed on the plaque will last long. 

The Gang of 19 chose where to protest and surround a bus wisely. The intersection of Broadway and Colfax is a major hub.  If you shut down this intersection as they did the streets branching off will become grid locked. I can readily imagine absolute bedlam in terms of traffic jams. The Gang of 19 were smart and veteran civil disobedience protesters. 

The current 2005 plaque:

The Original plaque in the Wade and Molly Blank papers:

I object to the change from the 1992 to 2005 plaque. The RTD, like every other major mass transit bus system in the United States fought tooth and nail against making the buses accessible to wheelchair users. I was a small part of this fight in New York City. I use the word fight for good reason--it was a bare knuckles brawl. I have read through the RTD correspondence with Wade Blank and the Atlantis Community and it reveals the RTD did its level best best to prevent lifts from being put on buses. The Governor of Colorado, a Democrat Richard Lamm, sided with those opposed to placing lifts on buses nationally. At the 1983 APTA conference held in Denver he explicitly rejected the effort to make all buses accessible to wheelchair users. In his address to convention goers he stated he was a "friend" of the Atlantis Community but could not in good faith advocate for making all buses accessible. When he stated this the crowd gave him a standing ovation. His remarks started with a long description of how America's industrial might had eroded badly in the post World War II era. He likened America to a sick person that was in desperate need of help. Here I quote directly from his speech:

The point is that we cannot make America economically healthy without offending someone. Our combined inability to say no to a variety of well meaning but inefficient programs is an economic sickness that is striking at our very ability to survive. 

Can we afford to spend 8 billion dollars to put a lift on every bus in America when St. Louis, for instance, reports $600 per person per ride and Philadelphia $300 per person per ride? When the Congressional Budget Office estimates that by vans we can serve 3.5 times as many people for one-sixth the cost?

It’s not a question of transportation. We should provide transportation  for the handicapped. But just as handicapped citizens have a right to be transported, so we have a right, no, a duty, to make sure that transportation is provided in an efficient manner. History will judge us harshly—as trustees of America’s limited resources—unless we make both compassionate and efficient decisions. 

America is a Gulliver bound by a thousand threads of special interest Lilliputians. We cannot rise until we throw off those threads. 

America will not make its economic comeback without each of a wide variety of special interests to contribute. Adversity, thus—those whole last 10 or 15 years of adversity—should be our teacher, not our undertaker. 

We won’t win unless we offend everyone a little: Unless we tell the handicapped we sympathize and we will provide the most cost efficient transportation, but not the most expensive. 

I found Lamm's words shocking even in retrospect. Lamm went on to argue for the expansion of "special transportation" or para transit. This is the same man who in 1984 drew wide spread antagonism when he stated that the elderly, terminally ill, and disabled have "a duty to die and get out of the way so that our kids can build a reasonable life". He was no friend of Atlantis Community or people with a disability. He was an ableist bigot. 

I have no idea why the original plaque was replaced. However, I object to the deletion of the Gang 19 members being listed on the 2005 plaque. I object to the deletion of the line "We Will Ride" that was repeatedly chanted from July 1978 and through the early 1980s. I suspect Wade Blank would agree with me. He did not put his body on the line--the Gang of 19 did. They were the people threatened with arrest. To be blunt, the 2005 plaque is a historical white wash. The Gang of 19 is not mentioned. The Atlantis Community is not mentioned. The RTD is made to sound too good. They did indeed vote to become accessible but only did so because of highly effective legal, social, and civil disobedience actions. There is a large measure of irony here. The RTD that vigorously opposed placing wheelchair lifts on buses is now proud to be among the first major cities in the United States to be 100% accessible. When I get on the bus I do not think of the RTD but rather an anonymous group of people who have been ignored by historians--and that includes those who work within disability studies and disability history. I for one remain forever grateful to the Gang of 19.

A Little Dose of Ableism Courtesy of an RTD Train Driver

Since moving to the Denver area, I have relied entirely on mass transit. Mass transit is always interesting and the people watching is amazing. On any given day I can be exposed to exceptionally well dressed people, the poorest of the poor, homeless parents with wide eyed children, the elderly, mentally ill and the crippled like me. I have found the light rail system (RTD) easy to navigate and the vast majority of train drivers to be excellent. The RTD bus drivers in contrast are a mixed bag. Most are unpleasant or unhappy to all. I get it. Being a bus driver is not an easy job. RTD buses are grimy and based one my experience homeless people use the bus on cold days (I presume to stay warm). Bus drivers also hate to tie down wheelchairs and are clear when I get on: "You don't need to be tied down, right?" Let me translate this statement. I am not getting out of my seat to tie down your wheelchair. Fine, I am well aware should the bus be in an accident I will become a human projectile.

I find the bus versus drive train driver dichotomy interesting. Last night I had my first interaction with a  train driver that was unpleasant. Unpleasant here is misleading. My short exchange at the end of my ride was an example of ableism and ignorance. When you get on an RTD light rail train the RTD driver lowers a ramp and asks where are you getting off. Deploying the ramp is easy and takes seconds. Train drivers are invariably polite and easy going. I have never had an RTD train driver be rude to me or complain about deploying the ramp. Train drivers as a group are a pleasure to deal with. Disability is never a factor. I am just another guy getting on and off the train. Riding the train is about as ordinary as ordinary can be. For this reason alone, riding the train is an absolute pleasure.

Last night I had the following experience. I got on the train with a friend at Union Station. I told the driver my destination. As is the norm, the driver writes down my destination on a little board below the windshield. No driver has ever forgotten my stop. Last night was about as routine as humanly possible until I got off. At my stop the train driver got out of the front cab as the door opened and went to deploy the ramp. The driver looked at me and asked "Where is your care taker?" I replied as pleasantly as possible "My friend got off to pick up their car". Not impressed the driver replied "You should not be out by yourself. You need a caretaker". The driver proceeded to shake her head and glare at me in clear disapproval--like a nun who was putting the class clown in place with an icy stare.

As I walked home I wondered how do people learn about disability. Whenever I am alone people will ask about my caretaker. This happens at airports, bus terminals, and car rental hubs on a regular basis. Often airline personnel appear shocked I am traveling by myself. When I am questioned about the location of my care taker my heart sinks. I never get angry when confronted with such an ignorant comment.  I never reply with a cutting comment. Instead, this level of ignorance makes me sad and weary. Nearly 30 years after the ADA was enacted the level of ignorance associated with disability remains high. The ADA is rarely thought to be civil rights legislation. The ADA is routinely disparaged in the news and popular media.  When some asks me "where is your care taker" I am repeatedly reminded disability rights is in its infancy. We as a nation have a very long way to go before people with a disability are treated as sentient human beings. The train driver's comment was a buzz kill. I went to a fun event at Union Station last night and had not one but two Old Fashioned drinks. On the train, my guard was down and after I was asked about where my care taker was I felt like a boxer that just got hit with a wicked and unexpected upper cut. Then again maybe the train driver has been reading the user manuals for my Apex wheelchair.