Barriers of the Mind

Message from the president of the Canadian Federation of the Blind (CFB) Elizabeth Lalonde

In this piece, I introduce the theme of education, which is central to this issue of the “Blind Canadian.” The articles, essays and stories in this volume illustrate different perspectives on the theme of education, and discuss the necessity of educating the sighted public about blindness, and perhaps more importantly, the need to educate and empower ourselves as blind people.

The other day, I read an e-mail from a listserv that a blind couple in the United States were turned down for a daycare license. Apparently, they appeared on a news show where the public could vote about whether they believed blind people should be able to have a license to run a day care. Only 23% of the nearly 3000 voters believed blind people should have this right.

Many blind people raise children successfully, and we are just as responsible as sighted parents. Level of competence, not level of vision, determines good parenting. (See “The Playdate,” by Mary Ellen Gabias).

The lack of understanding about the abilities of blind people presents barriers to our independence. Many blindness organizations in Canada and the United States fight to break down physical barriers for blind people in the hope that such tangibles will ease the way for blind people in society. These groups advocate for things like clear sidewalks, audible traffic signals and yellow strips on stairs. As they achieve their accessibility goals and move on towards the next “inaccessible intersection,” they leave a pathway of misconceptions behind them.

As blind people, we may receive thousands of large-print labels intended to improve our lives, but in the end, the labels of incompetence, ignorance and tragedy stamp us with invisible permanence.

For example, audible traffic signals, which are useful in some situations, sometimes cause blind people more harm than good. Many sighted people have questioned how I could possibly cross the street without one of these chirping birds to aid me. The sighted public forgets, or never realized, how blind people crossed streets prior to the invention of this technology.

I don’t discredit the benefits of physical accessibility. In some cases improved physical access is necessary, but we must remember the real barriers in our way are not physical, but rather the attitudes and misconceptions of those around us.

One vital issue for blind people is access to information. The Canadian Federation of the Blind (CFB) attended a consultation with the Greater Victoria Public Library Board to stop cuts to staffing levels at the local talking book library. The proposed cuts would have closed the talking library during evenings and weekends. CFB members, along with members of other blind organizations that attended the meeting, convinced the board to maintain staffing levels.

Underlying this important access issue was the lack of understanding on the part of sighted board members about blind people. Prior to the meeting, they didn’t consider our point of view. They didn’t consider we even had a point of view. For example, library board members didn’t think some blind people, like many sighted people, work during the weekdays when the library would be open. They didn’t think that blind people, like sighted people, pay taxes and thus we pay for our library services. Board members didn’t think we would visit the library on our own, without sighted assistance, and that we might consequently need a staff member to help us choose talking books. If library board members had thought of us as citizens, with the same rights as sighted people, they would not have proposed the $20,000 cuts to staffing levels at the Victoria talking library. These kinds of misconceptions lie at the root of many of the difficulties blind people face.

I was walking down the street the other day with my white cane, pulling my son in his baby carriage. A friendly woman leaned from her car window and asked if I needed assistance. I shouted back politely that I was fine, thanked her and continued on my way. She yelled again and told me what street I was on. Since I walk this route every day and knew the street, I nodded and thanked her once more. Thinking the conversation was over, I turned my mind to the walk my son and I were enjoying. But then I heard her voice calling again. “You are doing a fabulous job.” This woman meant well. But I wonder how many strangers lean out their car windows to explain to sighted mothers where they are, and to rave over their motherly achievements.

These underlying attitudes about blindness and about the abilities of blind people sour our daily interactions with the sighted world. While greater physical access may be more understandable and more palatable to the general public, it does not address the most important questions. People understand why a blind person needs a better handrail or a tactile stair marking. Advocacy to reduce physical barriers may help blind people in the short term, but in the long term it’s an easy way for the sighted to feel they are helping, while failing to address such critical issues as employment, proper instruction of blindness skills and the empowerment of blind people.

Lack of confidence in the abilities of blind people and misunderstandings about blindness are not limited to the sighted. We as blind people must understand that the real barriers to our advancement are attitudinal and socially constructed. The real problem of blindness is not the lack of eyesight. We must believe in our own potential and take charge of our own destiny. The Canadian Federation of the Blind is committed to the pursuit of this awakening, in others and in ourselves.

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What’s Up with the CFB

Advocacy:

The Canadian Federation of the Blind is active. We regularly write letters, lobby organizations, politicians and government and raise awareness about the abilities of blind people.

CFB Meetings:

Once a month CFB members meet at the Travelers Inn, City Centre in Victoria British Columbia. Long-distance members join us via speakerphone. Visitors are always welcome to join these meetings. Please contact us for details.

Public Education:

Members work hard to educate the public about blindness and the positive achievements of blind people. We set up information tables at public events, such as universities and community festivals, where we hand out brochures, talk to people about blindness issues and demonstrate Braille, adaptive technologies and other tools for independence.

Our Website www.cfb.ca provides information materials about blindness and the Federation, and we are focusing on increasing the resources available on the site. We hope “The Blind Canadian” will raise awareness of the personal and political challenges and successes of blind people in Canada. (Issues of the magazine are available in Braille, audio format and in full-text on our website.)

Mentoring:

CFB believes blindness skills are best learned from other blind people, not from “experts.” We hold Braille classes for people with varying levels of Braille knowledge where learners work with one another to improve Braille literacy. Members help each other with issues like adjustment to blindness and travel techniques. The Federation also holds regular social gatherings.

Community Outreach:

Through the Walking Proud Program, the CFB gives NFB-style long, white canes to blind people free of charge, as funding permits. When it comes to white canes, size does matter. Our Technology Share Program provides restored donated computers to blind users. CFB members also give information and assistance to anyone with blindness-related questions or concerns. Call us at 250-598-7154, or 1-800-819-8789, or send us an electronic mail us at info@cfb.ca.

Affiliation with the National Federation of the Blind:

CFB members are also members-at-large of the National Federation of the Blind (NFB) of the United States, the largest grassroots movement of blind people in the world. We foster exchange and cooperation with this remarkable organization, as it has significantly improved the lives and status of blind Americans, and its model and philosophy are positive and successful. Though CFB is uniquely Canadian, its members feel they can learn much from the example of the National Federation of the Blind.

Larry Scharschmidt, CFB Treasurer, shares his experience of attending the 2004 Atlanta convention in his article, “An Awesome Adventure.” Some of our members also attend conventions of the NFB of Washington state. Both national and state conventions give blind Canadians an opportunity to experience the sense of confidence and empowerment that comes from meeting with hundreds or thousands of independent and motivated blind people–of being for once in the majority.

Philosophy Sessions:

In April 2004, the CFB held its fourth philosophy session. These are day-long sessions that give members and members-to-be a chance to learn and understand Federation beliefs and a positive approach to blindness. Participants listen to speeches given by NFB and CFB leaders and discuss what they hear. These sessions allow people to explore deeply-held beliefs about blindness and learn from one another’s experiences. At this session, we welcomed Michael Freeman, NFBW President, and Kay Burrows, Secretary of NFBW Greater Seattle Chapter, who traveled from Washington to attend. We thank Michael and Kaye for the warmth and the wisdom they brought to our session.

Fundraising:

The CFB holds fundraising events such as garage sales and bottle drives. We also distribute Smile Cards from Thrifty Foods, a Vancouver Island grocery store. Thriftys registers these cards in CFB’s name, and then anyone can use them when they shop at the store. Like a calling card, you can put money on the Smile Card, and use it to buy groceries, and the Federation gets five per cent automatically. It’s a great fundraiser because it’s easy to use and doesn’t cost shoppers anything extra. Participants help the Federation at no cost to them.

]We are currently exploring other fundraising avenues for our movement. Starting in August 2005, members will be selling calendars. This will also provide an opportunity for public education, as we will hand out CFB materials at the same time.

The CFB is fortunate to receive donations from the public. We appreciate all donations, as they are helpful to our cause. But ultimately, we are not asking for money. We are asking people to open their minds to a new and more positive concept of blindness and blind people.

We have come to realize that we must organize. We know now that we cannot solve our problems on an individual basis. We cannot face the power of government single-handed, nor the tyranny of unthinking, groundless discrimination, nor the desolation and frustration of enforced idleness, nor the absence of organized opportunity to earn a livelihood and to become self-respecting, active participants in the life of our communities…

Jacobus tenBroek, scholar and first NFB President

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A Drop of Education

By Mary Ellen Gabias

The most annoying stereotype about blindness is the notion that we do not know where we are. Once, a well-intentioned stranger informed me that I was in Kelowna, British Columbia. Another person told me I was outside, rather than inside. I am heartened by their desire to be of service, and I strive to respond to that helpful intention, rather than to their assumption of my helplessness. Yet I always cringe inwardly. How would a blind person fare if he or she asked such a person for access to opportunity, like a job, civic participation, or any activity that involves moving around?

Perhaps, the most symbolic example of the myth that blind people are helpless appears on the website, www.shepherdtheblind.org. I found this site the other day when I was surfing the net. Without demeaning the benevolent intent of the site, I wrote a letter to the organization and explained my perspective as an independent blind woman.

By referring to their volunteers (by implication sighted people) as “shepherds,” and to the blind as “sheep,” the writers of the Website defined the two groups as unequal. The sighted people are always the shepherds in charge; the blind people are always the sheep who need protection and care.

This organization fails to acknowledge the numerous situations in which the roles are reversed. Blind people take care of and give service to their sighted neighbours and loved ones. Some examples of this relationship include: blind parents who raise sighted children; blind people who nurse their sick or injured sighted spouses; and the countless blind volunteers who work in their communities.

Both the blind and the sighted want to serve their fellow human beings, and all of us, at times, need to be served.

As blind people, we could easily become discouraged by the patronizing attitudes of some sighted individuals. But we cannot afford this luxury. We must keep interacting positively with those around us, whether they “get it” or not. After all, if we know we can move around, does it matter if others are ignorant of our mobility? If a web site refers to us as sheep, do we have to act that way?

Some recent incidents occurred that give me hope because they indicate a change in the public’s perception of blind people. I live with my husband and children in a house on a corner where three streets come together. Tourists and newcomers find this intersection confusing and often pull into our road to look at their maps. In the last few months, some of these people have called me away from my outdoor tasks to ask for directions. My blindness wasn’t an issue; they assumed I could tell them what they needed to know.

Compared to the problem of an 80 plus per cent unemployment rate for blind Canadians, giving directions to a sighted person seems a small matter. We need a torrent of education to erode the stone barrier of misconceptions. But each time we are perceived as people who can give help rather than people who need help, this drop of education erodes a bit of ignorance.

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An Awesome Adventure

My First Experience at an NFB Convention
By Larry Scharschmidt

Hello all you Federationists. The idea of attending an NFB convention manifested itself innocently enough during a glum, grey week of March in Victoria. Looking for a destination to enjoy a break from work, I thought why not. Planning an adventure would be just the right diversion. Little did I realize the impact it would have on my life.

I received a vote of confidence an support from several CFB members who had attended previous NFB conventions, and so I decided to go to the 2004 NFB convention in Atlanta Georgia. I booked all flights and hotel reservations using the phone and internet.

The day arrived, and my sister and I set off. We woke at 4:00 am for a 7:00 am departure from Victoria to Toronto, then on to Atlanta. The morning’s entertainment started when we checked in with Air Canada. Our hand luggage weighed over the 22kg per bag limit. We transferred shoes and other articles and met the criteria, much to the relief of the growing line of passengers waiting to check in behind us. I understand now why airlines require at least two hours between flights. Airport travel, security, customs, immigration and re-boarding take an inordinate amount of time.

When my sister and I finally arrived in Atlanta, we found the subway to town, and discovered the hotel without any problem.

The opening session of the convention started at 9:00 am, and I experienced some culture shock among the loud, raucous group of between 2000 and 2500 blind folk from several countries. NFB President, Dr. Maurer made his address full of inspiration and promise.

Themes of blind people’s challenges to overcome political, economic, and society’s reluctance to treat the blind as equals echoed through the sessions I attended. The Washington State affiliate gave us newbie conventioners a warm welcome and much-appreciated hospitality. The extraordinary manors and dignity from those in Georgia State eclipsed all other welcomes, including that of an unsolicited street guide who shepherded us to the Coke Cola headquarters.

The convention featured enormous opportunity and diversity. Some of the highlights included: 30 students who received substantial bursaries to further their college and university education; presenters from a range of professional, technical and social backgrounds who spoke on a variety of subjects and new technologies; and meetings for blind Webmasters, travelers and members of the Washington State Caucus. Numerous programs and activities also took place for children, parents, students and blind professionals. Unfortunately, I couldn’t attend all of these events due to time restraints and simultaneous programs.

The exhibit area, which featured low and high tech devices, inhabited its own world.

I felt in this short time at the convention, as a CFB friend put it, that “Blindness rocked and blindness ruled.” I can only say it was awesome.

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A Time for Change

By Graeme Mccreath

It is time for blind Canadians to stand up and speak out. The barriers that confront us are social not physical.

Government off-loads many public services to the national agency for the blind. This negation of responsibility is wrong. Elected officials should strive to provide services, such as job preparedness, travel skills and library access, to blind people directly, and should not expect charities to deliver these federal obligations.

The government should honour our individualism and our rights as citizens. We are not a commodity. Under the freedom of association in the Charter of Rights, Canadians have the right to choose whether or not to belong to an organization, such as the national agency for the blind. The Charter gives us the ability to choose, but the government does not provide blind people with any choice.

Governments must demonstrate their commitment to blind people, guarantee us equal opportunity and make sure we receive effective and appropriate services.

As blind people, we wish to participate fully in Canadian life. To become true citizens of this country, we must determine our own destiny.

Hand-outs and concessions promote negative images of the blind and reinforce misguided stereotypes. A new, positive philosophy must replace the old attitude of benevolence.

As blind people, we need to demand full citizen’s rights and not remain second-class dependents. Only when we are treated as individuals with abilities can we truly achieve citizen status on a par with other Canadians.

NFB Conventions:

The annual, national NFB convention is the supreme authority and policy-making body of the National Federation of the Blind and voice of the nation’s blind. Approximately 3000 blind people from the states and other countries gather for this week-long event to pass resolutions, attend workshops on a range of topics pertinent to blind people such as employment and technology, and enjoy the solidarity, camaraderie and unusual excitement of being part of a majority.

To learn more about conventions and the NFB, go to www.nfb.org

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The Play Date

by Mary Ellen Gabias

(This article is reprinted with the kind permission of the Braille Monitor, where it appeared in January 2005).

I choked back the tears as I hung up the phone. It had started as a routine call to arrange a play date for my son Jeffrey. He was four at the time and attended preschool. His older sister Joanne had been at the school for three years and had moved on to first grade. I’d arranged dozens of play dates for the two of them by then, so I was completely unprepared for the embarrassed silence on the other end of the line. Sue (not her real name) hesitated for a long moment and then said, “Well, I don’t know how to say this, but — “

I let the silence hang for what seemed like hours (though it was probably only seconds) while I collected my thoughts. Then, as gently and calmly as I could, I asked, “Are you uneasy about letting your boys come here to play because both my husband and I are blind?”

“Well,” Sue replied, “I’m sure you manage very well, but I don’t know how, and I refuse to take any chances with my children’s safety.”

“First of all, Sue, I want you to know how glad I am that you’re a mother who takes the responsibility of keeping children safe seriously. Knowing that makes me more comfortable in letting Jeffrey visit your home. I’m the same way. I won’t let being politically correct interfere with that responsibility. So we’re starting from the same values. But we’re not starting from the same level of information. Is this the first time you’ve known a blind mother?”

“Yes. I don’t understand how you can look after a child when you can’t see. I’m constantly looking to see what mine is doing.”

“As they say in those bad old movies, We have our ways.’ Seriously, though, I’d be glad to answer any specific questions. But it might be easier for you to talk to one of the other mothers in the class. Do you know Wendy? Her son has been here several times. He’s never gone home with an injury. Perhaps you could call her and then call me back with any questions. I’ll check back with you in a few days.”

Now I had to decide what to say to Jeffrey. He really liked Sue’s boys and wanted to play with them. Sue had made it clear that Jeffrey was welcome at her home, but that wouldn’t do if she wasn’t willing to let her children visit us. We certainly couldn’t allow Jeffrey to get the idea that his home was not an acceptable place for his friends to come. Better to put an end to this friendship and cultivate relationships with families who respected us and the way we parented. Still, losing contact with those boys would be deeply disappointing for Jeffrey, and it would be hard for him to understand.

But I had a more immediate problem. I’d just put my friend Wendy on the spot. I had to let her know what I had done.

“I’ll be glad to talk to Sue,” Wendy said. “I’ve never told you this, Mary Ellen, but I had some of the same worries when I first met you. I really liked Jeffrey immediately, and so did Ryan. I watched you interact with him and Joanne and went home and told my husband Rick what a neat family I thought you were. We have a lot of the same ideas about how to treat children. But when you invited Ryan over, I wondered out loud to Rick whether it was a good idea to let him go.

“Rick said `Wait a minute! You just spent the last three minutes telling me how much you liked this family. They have two children who seem to be safe and well cared for. You like their approach; you just don’t know anything about blindness. Do you really have to know the details? If what they’re doing works, and you just told me that it does, then why do you care exactly how they do things? If you keep Ryan from going there just because of what you don’t understand, you are being prejudiced.

“He was right. I’ll be glad to tell Sue that.”

That night over dinner I told my husband Paul about what had happened. He wasn’t sad; he was furious! “What’s wrong with that woman? We have three children. They’re all obviously doing fine. How dare she question your competence as a mother? You don’t have to justify yourself to her or anyone else. Tell her you don’t want Jeffrey associating with children who have such a stupid, ignorant mother.”

But it was Joanne who put the whole thing in perspective. “What’s the matter, Daddy? Why are you so mad, and why is Mommy so sad?”

“Sue doesn’t think your Mommy can take care of children safely.” Joanne looked from her father to me, threw back her head, and laughed.

A few days later I called Sue. “I’d be glad to have my boys come to your house, Mary Ellen. What day works for you?”

She had talked to Wendy and to the preschool teacher. Whatever they told her, it was enough to calm her fears. I let her know that I couldn’t guarantee that her children wouldn’t fall off the swing and break a leg, but I could guarantee that nothing would happen to them that could be prevented by good adult supervision. She replied that the same was true at her home.

I don’t remember many details of the visit. I think her boys preferred wheat bread to my multigrain variety. I suspect I probably hovered over them a little more than necessary. I am sure the boys took turns being Batman, Superman, and the villain.

The next year the boys went to different schools. As so often happens with preschool friendships, they lost touch with one another as they grew older. But I will never forget Sue and Wendy and the lessons they taught me.

I’ll always be grateful to Wendy and her husband Rick for having the wisdom and courage to trust the results they observed without needing to know the details of the process that created those results. If we hadn’t had the conversation about Sue, I might never have known that Wendy had stretched her thinking to let herself trust me with her child. And I will always remember Sue with respect for having the courage to ask the questions she did and for being willing to be socially uncomfortable to ensure her children’s safety.

My husband’s instant and vigorous affirmation of my mothering skill has stuck with me, especially during those times when I, like all mothers, have doubted myself. And Joanne’s unrestrained laughter sticks in my memory and reminds me not to take myself or my problems too seriously.

In the National Federation of the Blind we know that the public has good will, but not always good information, about blindness. It was through my participation in the Federation that I learned to respect the sincerity of the questions Sue asked, deal with them candidly, and not be discouraged or diminished by her lack of knowledge.

One other mother raised the same issues Sue did, and she was far less willing to be educated. I decided not to allow my youngest son to continue playing with her children because of her lack of respect for me as a blind mother. Though this is sad, I have learned through the Federation that her attitude says more about her than it does about me. I wish her well. Perhaps over time she will come to a different understanding. In the meantime the world is full of people with the willingness to entertain new ways of thinking about blindness. The National Federation of the Blind is creating a climate that is turning this willingness into positive change, not only for blind people, but for the sighted people whose horizons are being expanded in the process.

I have a serious question to ask the sighted persons present: would you swap vision for a good chicken dinner? On the face of it this is an absurd question, for no one who has vision would swap it for anything.

But for those of us who are blind, this question is not necessarily absurd. It is not that we prefer to have lost our eyesight, but having been deprived of it, we have discovered it is dispensable. There are even some blind among us who assert that blindness is a joy; for, as they point out, those who lose their heads are decapitated; those who lose their clothes are denuded; does it not follow, therefore, that those who lose their eyesight are delighted?

Jacobus tenBroek,

scholar and first NFB President

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The Power of a Decision

Living the Philosophy
By Mary Ellen Gabias

We might classify many things in our lives as nice, but not necessary. We might like to have a home on the beach, an updated wardrobe, or a more exciting job. But we know life can still be full and rich without these things. Perhaps the main factor that differentiates members of the National Federation of the Blind in the U.S. (NFB) and the Canadian Federation of the Blind (CFB) from most people is that we would add eyesight to the list of things that are nice, but not necessary.

People in the CFB and NFB value sight. Those of us who have had sight, miss it. But we know that life is full and rich without it. For us, living fully as blind people doesn’t mean making the best of a bad situation. Blindness gives us the chance to explore potential in ourselves we might not have realized we possessed.

Many people regard our attitude as delusional or Pollyanna’s. For example, these people might say ‘though blindness presents a severe limitation, most blind people can learn, with great struggle, to manage almost normally. A few exceptional blind people lead lives as full as most sighted people, but I don’t know how they do it.’

Federationism involves many things, such as group advocacy, peer mentoring and support, and public education, but its most defining feature consists of the positive attitude about blindness and the achievements of blind people.

The attitudinal difference exists between those who embrace Federationism and those who do not. Some sighted people do not regard blindness as a severe limitation, and some blind people do. Writers describe the details of Federationism; our literature celebrates their stories. The details vary, but all share a theme–Federationism involves an on-going decision.

People in the CFB and NFB believe blindness doesn’t prevent them from doing what they want to do, and they do whatever it takes to live up to their potential. This decision reflects itself in lifestyle choices, like attending an NFB rehabilitation centre, or in actions, like helping to clean up after coffee hour at church, or courteously declining an offer to cut ahead in a line-up.

Federationists don’t wait to see if the philosophy works before choosing to believe it. They decide to believe, and that decision leads to hundreds of actions that make the philosophy work.

Dr. Jernigan, former NFB President, put it this way: “First you must say you believe in a thing. Then, unless you are willing to be a hypocrite, you act as if you believe what you said. Finally, after you’ve done all that, real belief comes. If you wait until you truly believe in yourself as a blind person before you start acting as if you do, you’ll spend your whole life waiting.”

Fear of danger holds many of us back. Fear stands for “forget everything and run.” Then there’s the fear rooted in our minds. This fear stands for “false expectations appearing real.” What will others think? What if I don’t succeed? What ifs go on forever.

People find it hard to face fear all at once. But if each of us made a decision to face one fear every week, that might allow us to cross that busy street alone, or say I’m “blind” rather than “visually impaired,” or ask for help when we need it and decline help when we don’t. The circumstances vary among individuals, but the solution does not.

Anyone familiar with the CFB and NFB movements knows the power of this process. We all know people who changed their lives with the decision to believe in themselves.

Many blind people today expect more from themselves than they would have a generation ago. At that time, most people would not have said that blind people, with great struggle, could learn to live almost normally. More likely, they would have said, “what a tragedy to be blind.”

Though blind people do not universally accept federation philosophy, Federationism has contributed to more improvement in society’s attitudes about blindness in the past 64 years than in all of history.

When it comes to blindness, we as blind people must expect the most of ourselves, confront fear, and act to fulfill our potential. We know it. We believe it. We live it.

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In Memoriam

Roy Walter Hornosty

Born May 7, 1933, in Edmonton, Alberta. Died suddenly in Victoria on April 7, 2005.

Roy submitted the following paper to the “Blind Canadian” a few weeks before he passed away. Members of the Canadian Federation of the Blind will miss Roy very much. We are grateful for the contributions he made to the organized blind movement in Canada.

Rebels with a Cause

Changing What it Means to be Blind in Canada: A Challenge for the Canadian Federation of the Blind
By Roy W. Hornosty Ph.D.

(The following article is based on a paper, “Blindness is Not a Handicap, but a Characteristic: The Unmaking of Blind Men (and Women),” presented by Dr. Hornosty at the 19th Annual Qualitative Analysis Conference, McMaster University, May 23, 2002)

Introduction

Members of the Canadian Federation of the Blind (CFB) believe blind people should speak for themselves. This radical, positive and proactive organization is committed to converting the negative, stereotypical image of the blind into positive social and self identities. The CFB allies itself with the National Federation of the Blind (NFB) in the United States, the largest grassroots movement of blind people in the world with more than 50,000 members.

Stereotype of the Blind

A stereotype is a set of unfounded attributes imputed to a social role. Robert A. Scott (1969) identified the attributes of the blindness stereotype as “docility, helplessness, melancholia, dependency, pathos, gratitude, a concern for the spiritual and the aesthetic.” He notes that some blind people internalize these characteristics and the attitudes, feelings, and behaviours that go with them, and make them a significant part of their self concept. Scott called these people “true believers.” Blind people who resist the stereotype, we might call “rebels.” The rebels face the difficulty of interacting with normals who hold the assumptions of the stereotype. A disjunction then exists between the imputed social role and the refashioned self. Scott noted blind people who find themselves in this position often develop an “acquiescent facade,” where they comply with the expectations of normals and drop these expectations when the occasion permits. Both true believers and “acquiescents” sustain the stereotype; only the rebels try to transform it.

Response of the CFB to the Stereotype

CFB members respond to the stereotype in three ways: they create a set of attitudes and behaviours antithetical to those of the stereotype; they internalize these expectations and then live according to these expectations; and they assert a new concept of blindness when dealing with outsiders.

Members of the CFB believe they are the vanguard of a new and exciting social movement that will lead to first-class citizenship and full integration of the blind into society. The concluding sentence of their brochure reads: “We are asking you to open your mind to a new and more positive concept of blindness and blind people.” Their enthusiasm carries over into their personal lives. An objective observer who witnessed a meeting of the group described the members as: “upbeat,” “cheerful,” “good-humoured,” “full of good will, camaraderie, and quiet confidence,” “supportive of one another.” In her view, this was one of the most positive and inspirational groups she had encountered in a long time.

The act of organizing themselves into a radical advocacy group defies the stereotypical attribute of “docility” and distinguishes the CFB from other groups and blind agencies that tend to perpetuate the stereotype.

Federationists stress independence in life-skills, mobility skills, finances, and personal development. One member referred to the US NFB training centres as “boot camps,” because of their rigorous training programmes and insistence on self-reliance in performing daily activities.

The concept of independence is best illustrated by a three-stage developmental process of learning to live as a blind person in a sighted society. The three stages are: dependence, rebellious independence, and interdependence. In the first stage, a blind person experiences fear and insecurity, but with the acquisition of some basic skills and self-confidence, that person moves to the stage of rebellious independence, the “obnoxious” stage, similar to that of the adolescent in society, with its exaggerated sense of self-sufficiency. This second level helps propel the blind person forward into the third stage. At this point, a blind person can take his or her place in society as an independent citizen, who can look after him or herself and can also do things for others, including the sighted.

Many blind people develop travel, job, social and other skills to improve their chances in life, and the more well-developed such skills are, the more they counter the negative public attitudes about the competence of blind people.

CFB members believe the social and economic inequality of the blind results from social prejudice, and not the biological incapacity to see. Members insist that with proper training and opportunity, blind people can compete on terms of equality with the sighted. CFB members include skilled workers, professionals, business owners, labourers, homemakers, parents and students. Members regard the incapacity to see as a normal characteristic. They view the white cane as a symbol of respect, and carry it proudly.

Normalization reverses the negative effects of the socialization of blind people. Federationists see themselves as normal and attempt to re-socialize the blind and the public. One member explained that the public often responds to blind people in one of two ways: “They think everything we do is amazing, or they pity us.” When the sighted respond with amazement about blind people doing ordinary things, like getting dressed, cooking, crossing a street, they are damaging the status of the blind. Pity also negatively affects blind people. Pity, in this situation, implies inequality and assignment of an inferior social role to the blind. Pity is based on the false assumption that blindness is a “horror” to be avoided. Federationists feel blindness falls within the normal range of human variation and ought to be treated as such. Members of the CFB seek to create relationships of equality and interdependence, and achieve full integration in the community and the workplace.

As Federationists pursue full integration into society, they do not compromise their anti-stereotypical concept of blindness, or pretend acquiescence when dealing with others. One member stated that rejecting the stereotype and working together with others to transform it is built into the NFB rehabilitation programme. “What you’re really doing,” she said, “is becoming rebellious, in the sense that you’re no longer accepting the societal attitudes about blindness, and you are working together with other blind people to change them.”

Whether responding to items in the media, dealing with other groups, or lobbying businesses and government agencies, the CFB challenges any policy, practice, or portrayal of the blind that fits the stereotype. Here is one example to illustrate this point. The CFB sent a letter to the Canadian Diabetes Association to protest a radio commercial that raised awareness about diabetes. This ad featured the sound of a cuckoo bird, the tap of a cane, and the screech of car tires, with the audio caption: “20-20 hindsight does not make up for 20-20 vision.” The CFB letter concludes with the following admonition: “This commercial presents inaccurate information about the abilities of blind people and exploits us to deliver a message. . . . Though the sound affects may be sensational and ear-catching, they blatantly misrepresent the skill and intelligence of blind people. We ask you to take the ad off the air immediately, and that in future you do more research before launching a public awareness campaign. We are more than willing to provide you with material about our organization and about the positive achievements of blind people.” The commercial was taken off the air.

Sustaining the Anti-stereotypical Self

Sustaining the self is a social process. In this process, group members regularly interact and adopt a set of organized attitudes, which in this case, consist of the anti-stereotype. Members of the CFB achieve this result in three ways: through public education; differentiation from other blind organizations; and internal socialization (which involves interaction among themselves and periodic attendance at NFB national and state conventions). The conventions help CFB members maintain contact with the “mind-set” of their Fellow Federationists. One CFB member noted how attending the NFB convention helped her feel normal, “like when you go to the convention and there are three thousand other blind people and very few sighted people, and you’re the majority, and all of a sudden, blindness is normal.” Another member recalled his experiences in Philadelphia, where there is an active NFB chapter. He noted how important it was to be around blind people “who share the same kinds of attitudes and are integrated into the movement.” Participating in NFB events revitalizes group identity and positive self-image.

The CFB meets as a whole once monthly. Members also interact between meetings and discuss issues on the CFB listserv. Individual members help one another in a variety of ways, such as setting up computers, sharing books and information and offering shopping tips. Small groups draft letters, prepare applications and proposals, consider new projects, and investigate changes in government legislation. Through these activities, CFB members come to identify with one another and with the Federationist’s perspective.

Another source of group identity comes from the CFB and NFB’s attitudes toward blindness agencies. Federationists feel these agencies do not represent the interests of the organized blind and that they perpetuate the stereotype.

A considerable gap exists between the self identity CFB members gain from group participation, and the social role society assigns to them. CFB members agree that to succeed, society must change. They feel most of the problem stems from the public’s misconceptions about blindness. “The real problem,” they write in their brochure, “is the lack of positive information about blindness and the achievements of blind people.” CFB members believe educating the public contributes to solving many of the problems faced by blind people. Members petition for changes in government legislation, lobby politicians, protest unfair business practices and human rights violations, write letters to the media, demonstrate competence in performing normal social roles, celebrate the achievements of blind people, participate fully in community life, serve as role models for other blind people, educate through lectures and discussions, and provide positive information about blindness for teachers and parents of blind children. The CFB works to enlighten the public, especially people in positions of power, about unfounded prejudices and biases.

Conclusion

CFB members are confident that their message is right, and that in the end, their positive attitudes about blindness will transform society and improve the lives of blind people.

References

Scott, Robert A. 1969. The Making of Blind Men: A Study of Adult Socialization. New York: Russell Sage Foundation

“When one comes to think of it, there are no such things as divine, immutable or inalienable rights. Rights are things we get when we are strong enough to make good our claim to them.”

Helen Keller

Helen Keller was not a miracle. She was not a genius. She was not a person to pity. She was a blind, deaf woman, an activist, a scholar, an ordinary citizen.

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Forward Motion

Short Story
By Elizabeth Lalonde

The alarm clock shrills; its synthetic voice skewers the silence. “It’s 6:30 AM, beep, beep. It’s 6:30 AM, beep, beep.” My legs droop over the edge of the bed, but they don’t seem capable of holding my weight. They feel like the jelly snakes I used to get at the corner store as a child, those snakes that took forever to chew and longer to digest, the ones that left the trail of sour taste on my tongue and kept my attention after they were gone. Those were the days when a candied reptile could make me forget my problems I put on my slippers and pad into the kitchen. The smell of tomato, cheese and garlic festers in the air as my husband John finishes his breakfast of leftover spaghetti. My stomach churns. John pushes his chair back from the table and walks quickly across the floor. His arms come around me. “Oh, don’t look like that, Julie. You’ll be fine. You’ve done this before.” His words don’t help, but I’m grateful for the solid feel of his body. Too fast, it’s over. “Got to go. See you this afternoon.” John rushes out the back door, treads heavily down the stairs of our patio and leaves me alone with a sick stomach and dwindling confidence.

A few minutes later, in the shower, the hot water pounds against my body, burns my skin, washes away the hopelessness, but when I turn off the shower and let the cold air in, the feeling returns. I’ve been to so many job interviews in the last few months. “You did so well. We were so impressed with your performance.” “Maybe when you have more experience…” “I know you’re very capable, but I don’t think, with your lack of vision, you’d be able to do some aspects of the job.” “You came in second you know, not many people come in second.” Yes, not many people come in second, and the person who said that has a job and I don’t.

My hand reaches for a towel, touches air. Please let this not be a sign. My hand stretches farther, connects. I’ve got to change my attitude. Just because those jobs didn’t work out, doesn’t mean this one won’t. Maybe, if I pretend to be confident, the actual feeling will follow, like in those books about positive thinking. I step on the bath mat, focus on the feeling of confidence, that old, barely-remembered state of mind, that lightness, that quickness of response, that tolerance of other people’s imperfections. Now it’s a cube, a three dimensional object that lands with a thud in my solar plexus. My mind tries to absorb its energy, but the water dripping from the ends of my hair distracts me, and the cube bursts like a ball of bath oil.

I dry off, go into the bedroom and think about what to wear. My fingers run along the clothes in the closet: a silk blouse, wrinkly from lack of use; John’s jeans, he must have put them there by mistake; a wool blazer with matching slacks, the outfit I wore to the last interview, that was supposed to bring good luck.

I remember the scratch of the wool against my legs as I walked into Working Women’s Magazine last month.

“Have a seat, Julie, Ms Biggs will be with you in a few minutes,” said a receptionist at the far end of the room. As my cane tapped lightly on the floor, the receptionist took a sharp breath, and squeaked her chair back abruptly. “Oh.” This one-syllable utterance warned me what to expect. She took three rapid steps towards me, clutched my arm with a claw-like hand and steered me in front of her as if pushing a shopping cart. “There’s a chair over here.”

“Thank you, but please let me take your arm instead. It’s easier if you lead.” I gently pulled away from her grasp and tried to clasp her elbow, but our arms tangled and we walked the rest of the way to the chair joined like mismatched dance partners. A strand of hair fell over my eye as I sat, and the crotch of my pants tightened uncomfortably. I was unprepared when Ms Biggs called my name. I stood abruptly and gripped my cane. Ms Biggs coughed. “Will you be all right? Can I help you?” “I’m fine thank you.”

I hope that didn’t sound defensive. What a way to start an interview. My cane slid smoothly for a few steps, then jarred over a ridge where hardwood met carpet. As I moved closer to Ms Biggs, the scent of her perfume grew stronger and clung to the air like lilies at a funeral. She coughed again, started to speak, then stopped. I needed to put her at ease. If she was this uptight, the interview would fail before it started. I stretched out my hand, hoping she would shake it. “Hello Ms Biggs. It’s good to meet you.”

Ms Biggs paused, then clasped my hand with a clammy grip. She pulled me ahead into another room that smelled dusty and airless. She took my cane and placed me in a chair. My bum slid on the vinyl surface of the seat, and I pushed hard against the floor with my feet. I gripped the armrests tightly as if the wood could penetrate to my blood, my bones, give me courage. Sweat dripped from under my arms, and my stomach lurched. Ms Biggs walked to the other end of the room and spoke to someone in a quiet voice. Another woman answered, still in the same hushed tones. This couldn’t be happening. It was all in my mind, like those thoughts that kept me awake at night about how an interview could go wrong.

“Well, Julie, as you know, I’m the managing editor of this magazine.” Ms Biggs spoke slowly, drawing out each syllable as if expecting me to read her lips.

“With me, is my assistant, Barbara. We are pleased to have you here.” Her voice trailed off. Was I supposed to say something? Perhaps I should acknowledge Barbara, but she hadn’t spoken yet, and I wasn’t sure where she was sitting. I turned my head to the left, prayed it was the right direction. A soft voice greeted me, but before I could take comfort in Barbara’s tone, Ms Biggs cut in brusquely. Papers rustled. “I can see from your resume you have some experience as a reporter. Tell me about this?”

My body relaxed, and I talked about my degree in journalism, my practicum at the weekly paper in Kelowna, and my most recent paid job as a communications officer with a municipal government. No one said anything. My heart beat fast. Did they want me to continue, to elaborate, to wait for the next question? The silence settled in the room like a damp fog. Were Barbara and Ms Biggs still there? I couldn’t hear them breathing. Panic pushed me ahead into speech. “I’m an excellent candidate for this job. I write well and enjoy working with language to deliver a message.” God, how pretentious that sounded. Where did that line come from? “I’m also good with people, an important quality in this kind of job. I’ve done many interviews and know how to get people to open up.” Get people to open up, I can’t even get these people to breathe. My mouth went dry. My voice faltered. My mind went blank.

Finally, the silence lifted. Ms Biggs cleared her throat. “Well, it appears you have a solid writing background.” She coughed, started to say something else. Then stopped.

As if wordlessly cued, Barbara spoke. “You have a gap in your resume, Julie. What have you been doing for the last year?”

Anger rose in my chest like acid reflux. What do they think I’ve been doing, lying on the beach in Mexico? I force the anger down and took a deep breath. “I’ve been looking for work and doing some freelancing.” My words fluttered across the room like feathers.

Ms Biggs coughed again. Then followed with the next question. “What do you think this job entails?”

“You need an assistant who can devote time to writing in-depth feature articles. As a blind person, I have some unique perspectives to offer. I could feature women who normally don’t get much attention in the media.” Oh no, now they would think I’d accuse them of being superficial. Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned my blindness. It already made them uncomfortable. But I couldn’t hide it. It was an obvious part of me. I had to use it to my advantage.

Barbara asked the next question. “Julie, you do understand this job involves a lot of…” – she paused, as if trying to find the right word – “movement. You must be able to get from place to place to do interviews and make contacts, sometimes on short notice.” Ms Biggs’s voice wavered. “So how, um, with your impairment, would you handle the transportation?”

I wasn’t surprised at her question. The issue had come up before in previous interviews, but usually I was the one to bring it up. I would choose an appropriate time, and then discuss my blindness, my talking computer, reading machine, tape recorder and other equipment, but this time I’d missed my chance, lost control. I hurried to explain my independence with taxies and buses, my white cane, my ability to get around on time and on my own.

“Well, I can see you’re very self-sufficient,” Ms Biggs said. Her words sounded false. I imagined what she was thinking, how the magazine would pay for my cab fares, the extra time needed to take a bus… her thoughts reverberated through the room as clearly as if she’d spoken them. Ms Biggs wasn’t going to give me a chance. She had already made her decision. The interview droned on for another 10 minutes, though it had already ended.

The memory of that interview makes me shiver. I rest my head against the closet door. The cold metal stings like ice against my cheek. Shocked into action, my body straightens. I must forget about that interview, replace it with a more positive experience. I decisively choose a cotton shirt and blazer. I don’t remember wearing this outfit to an interview, so maybe it will bring good luck. I pull on a pair of pantyhose, slide my hand down each leg, no runs. The smoothness of the fabric gives me courage. I pull a brush through the snarls in my hair. I’ve made it through things before, university exams, other job interviews. I can do it again.

My brush catches on a snag. A piece of hair pulls at my scalp, makes my eyes water. Why did all those other times seem so far away, as if they’d happened to another person. Where is that confident woman who stood up for herself, met challenges? What happened to her over the last year? I pull the hair free from the brush. I’ve got to snap out of this. That person is still there inside. Great, now I sound like a psychotherapist. This is silly. It’s only a job interview. I touch my head, and my hair feels smooth, nothing sticking up.

I get my portfolio from the other room. The folder sits on the edge of the desk. John helped me organize it last night. I count the pages inside and make sure everything is there: a news release, three speeches, a profile; it’s all here. I hope they’re right side up. Of course they are. John checked them last night. I put the folder in my bag and look for my shoes, my low-healed leather ones, but they aren’t where they should be, in the front left side of the coat closet. I reach farther back and find the vacuum cleaner, John’s running shoes, a bike helmet perched on top of a cardboard box. God, where are they? Dust covers my hand. There they are, pushed against the wall. I relax. Oh no, those are my high-heeled shoes for parties. I can hardly walk in those. My heart pounds. John must have moved them. I always ask him to leave things in one spot so I can find them, but does he listen? Damn, I’m going to miss the bus. I sit on the hall floor. My chest tightens. Tears gather in the corners of my eyes. Maybe it’s time to give up, forget about finding a job, about proving myself, about other people’s expectations, about my own expectations. I rest my head against my knees. It’s easier than getting up.

The morning dove coos from my bird clock in the kitchen, signaling eight o’clock. Three more minutes and it will be time to leave for the bus. The thermostat clicks on. Heat wafts from the vent beside me. The house is warm, peaceful, safe. My eyes close, and my head grows heavy against my knees. Then a memory jerks me onto my feet. My shoes, I remember putting them by the back door last night with my coat and my cane, so everything would be ready this morning. The pulse in my neck starts to throb. I move quickly to the back door. My shoes stand neatly together, soft, polished leather. There are no more excuses.

Outside, the November wind stings my face. Yesterday it rained–the usual damp, Victoria drizzle–but today the air is cold, clear and scented with pine. I unfold my cane and turn onto the road outside my house. There are no sidewalks, so I stay to the right and push my cane in front of me to check for parked cars and recycle bins. A couple of minutes go by, and the sound of traffic from the street at the end of the road grows more distinct. My cane hits the sign pole at the corner. I turn right and walk along the main road towards the bus stop.

My legs are light, and my heels click in rhythm with the tap of my cane. Then my shoulder brushes the bus shelter, and I start to rehearse answers to interview questions in my mind. “Ms Donalds, how do you handle conflicting deadlines?”

“I make a list of priorities, and I’m good at multitasking. At my previous job…” Before my thought fully forms, the bus comes around the corner. Its brakes hiss, and the warm wind blows as the automatic door opens. “Hello, Julie, this is the number six.” The driver speaks in a low tone. His voice is familiar. I had the same driver last year when I took this route to work. His familiarity helps me relax. “All the front seats are clear,” he says as the bus begins to move.

I grab onto the side panel to get my balance and take the nearest seat. My body rocks with the motion of the bus, and a feeling of confidence rises in me. The feeling is familiar, like the driver’s voice, like the vibration of the motor under my seat.

For a few minutes, no one speaks. The bus moves quickly down Esquimalt Road and hums across Johnson Street Bridge. As we turn right onto Wharf Street, I know my stop is coming up. I ask the driver to let me off at Fort and Douglas. As if my voice has turned on a switch, people start talking. The driver asks me where I’m going. I tell him about my job interview. Funny how the words “job interview” don’t fill me with dread; they don’t echo, or break, or fall on the floor. Instead, they flutter lightly off my tongue, float for a while and then evaporate.

“Here’s your stop, Julie. Good luck.” The office of Perspective, a community magazine, is on the first floor of the building behind the bus shelter. I stand outside for a few minutes and centre myself. The morning is filled with the sounds of commuters on their way to work. People pad along the walkway in front of me and bicycle wheels whir along the side of the road. Cars slow, then quicken, then slow again in the rush-hour traffic. My fear returns. Where’s that confidence I had on the bus? I want to stay here amid the noise and people, where I’m invisible and anonymous. But I raise my head, take a deep breath and force myself to walk into the building, down the carpeted hallway, toward the sound of clicking computer keys and the smell of freshly brewed coffee.

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Convention Blues

by Fikru Gebrekidan

The deafening hubbub at the Atlanta Hartfield Jackson International Airport echoed in every direction, submerging the words from the public address system that never seemed to shut up. I strained my ears for any sound of a white cane or dog in harness, but all I could make out was the cry of a toddler in

the distance, the rhythmic steps of a woman wearing high heels a few yards away, and the endless procession of suitcases rolling in both directions. The friendly tap-taps of white canes were long gone as was the good-natured pushing and shoving of my fellow Federationists. The relatively well-trained and eager-to-help group of volunteers at the Marriott Marquis seemed a world away and from another century.

“Does he have his ticket?” inquired a voice, addressing the airport agent whose arm I held as he escorted me past the security gate. Under normal circumstances I would have insisted that I be spoken to instead of the person with me, but given my foreign name and the paranoid nature of airport security, I chose to forego this commonplace courtesy. I reached for the ticket in my shirt pocket, reminding myself that this was the way the world had been before the convention and the way it would continue to be afterwards.

In 1992, while a first-year graduate student at Michigan State University, I attended my first annual convention of the National Federation of the Blind (an organization of the blind speaking for themselves) then held in Charlotte, North Carolina. I have since traveled to six more conventions, which roughly translates to one convention every other year. When I missed a convention it was usually the result of being abroad doing research, and last summer I was moving to Canada, having just landed a faculty position at a university there.

As I finally eased myself into a window seat in a Boston-bound Boeing 737, I began to reflect on my decade-long love affair with National Federation of the Blind conventions: the friendships I have established (some temporary, some permanent); the lazy strolls through the exhibit halls, where samples of the latest adaptive technology are always on display; the tears and laughter at the professionally executed plays performed by the Louisiana Center Players; the hypnotizing eloquence of the late Dr. Jernigan; and the climactic banquet addresses by President Maurer, often punctuated with light-hearted humor.

Although these are in themselves enough reasons to make one a regular attendee at the conventions, I admit that one other factor overrides all other explanations for my frequent participation. During fifty-one out of fifty-two weeks of the year, I live my life and work by the standards and expectations of the world at large. At the National Federation of the Blind convention, however, where thousands of blind people converge to strategize about their struggle for acceptance and equality, I am part of the majority. It is a world without stares and prejudgment, a world of freedom; it is my world, where I can afford to be myself and still be understood–liked or disliked for what I am and not feared or avoided for what I am not. It is also the place where blind people speak up with power and confidence.

As my plane taxied and took off into the dusky Atlanta skies, I knew I was leaving behind another memorable week of convention. On the entire flight to Boston I found myself reliving my Atlanta experience with wistful nostalgia, in the same way one replays an old graduation video. Everyone I met had that youthful air of sweetness and vigor. Everything seemed to fall in place. Even the vast and open lobby of the Marriott, where nothing seemed to be in the same place twice, exuded beauty and elegance.

As we descended into Logan International two-and-a-half hours later, a gentle tap on my left shoulder roused me from my reverie. It was the flight stewardess advising me to stay behind until everyone was out, at which time she would come and get me. I remembered walking past the same flight attendant as I preboarded the plane. Why are we the first to board and the last to deplane, I silently wondered. It reminded me of some of my friends’ kids who like to dash into my high-rise apartment before their parents and are the last ones to be cajoled out.

Do the sighted perhaps think that the blind enjoy the tube-like atmosphere of the plane? Are the extra minutes in the plane a sympathetic gesture to prolong our experience of flying? I did not know the answer, nor did I follow the stewardess’s advice to stay put. I waited for my turn in the aisle, got up, opened my collapsible cane, collected my bags from the overhead bin, and headed for the exit, humming to myself Ray Charles’s classic, “Georgia on My Mind,” although what I really had in mind was not the Peach Tree State, but the convention.

(This article is reprinted with the kind permission of the Braille Monitor, where it appeared in August/September, 2004)

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