The Canadian Federation of the Blind Celebrates the 200th Anniversary of the Birth of Louis Braille

News release by Elizabeth Lalonde, CFB President

The Canadian Federation of the Blind is celebrating the two-hundredth anniversary of the birth of Louis Braille (1809-1852), the inventor of the reading and writing code for the blind that bears his name.

“The ability to read and write Braille competently and efficiently is the key to education, employment and success for blind people,” says Elizabeth Lalonde, President of the Canadian Federation of the Blind.

Despite the undisputed value of Braille, Braille instruction is in decline. Blind children are being denied the opportunity to master this essential skill. Braille is currently taught to only about 10 percent of blind school children. Many blind post-secondary students are unable to receive their text books in Braille.

“We must raise awareness of the importance of Braille literacy, reverse the downward trend in Braille literacy and make sure equal opportunities in education and employment are available to all blind people.”

Braille IS literacy. Reading Braille for the blind is what reading print is for the sighted.

The Braille code, a system of making raised dots on paper to form letters and words that are read by the blind with their fingertips, became dominant in North America during the twentieth century, and served as a gateway to education for the blind.

Braille readers can read up to four hundred words per minute, comparable to the speed of print readers. Braille is also essential for note-taking, mathematics, and the study of foreign languages.

The Federation works to increase awareness of Braille and its importance in the literacy of blind people; one of the Federation’s major goals is to re-emphasize Braille in education for the blind.

The Canadian Federation of the Blind is a grassroots movement of blind people committed to the equality and independence of blind people. The Federation educates the public about the abilities of blind people; promotes learning blindness skills such as Braille and travel with the long white cane, and provides blind people with mentoring, role modeling and a positive perspective on blindness.

To learn more about Braille, see www.braille.org

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Canada
Province of British Columbia
A Proclamation

ELIZABETH THE SECOND, by the Grace of God, of the United Kingdom,
Canada and Her other Realms and Territories, Queen, Head of the
Commonwealth, Defender of the Faith

WHEREAS 2009 is the 200th anniversary of the birth of Louis Braille, the inventor of the raised dot reading and writing method which brought literacy to the blind, and

WHEREAS experience demonstrates that eighty per cent of employed individuals who are blind are literate in Braille and use it on a daily basis, and

WHEREAS the unemployment rate among blind people as a whole is estimated to be over 80 per cent, and

WHEREAS despite its proven value, Braille literacy rates among blind children and adults are declining, and

WHEREAS Literacy skills are part of the foundation of good citizenship and economic productivity, and

WHEREAS the Government of British Columbia is committed to building the best system of support in Canada for persons with disabilities and this includes ensuring that people who are blind or vision impaired have access to quality services that educate them to read and write effectively using Braille in order to help create inclusive communities, and

WHEREAS The Canadian Federation of the Blind is marking the anniversary of the birth of Louis Braille at its “Louis Braille: From Literacy to Liberty” convention in Victoria, May 1-3, 2009 and working to increase the Braille literacy rate of blind British Columbians, and

WHEREAS Our Lieutenant Governor, by and with the advice and consent of the Executive Council, has been pleased to enact Order in Council 903 on October 11, 2002;

NOW KNOW YE THAT We do by these presents proclaim and declare that May, 2009, shall be known as “Braille Literacy Month” in the Province of British Columbia.

IN TESTIMONY WHEREOF We have caused these Our Letters to be made Patent and the Great Seal of Our Province to be hereunto affixed.

WITNESS The Honourable Steven L. Point, Lieutenant Governor of Our Province of British Columbia, in Our City of Victoria, in Our Province, this twelfth day of June, two thousand nine and in the fifty-eighth year of Our Reign.

BY COMMAND.

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What is Braille?

(reprinted from www.braille.org)

Named after its creator, Louis Braille, it is a system of making raised dots on paper to form letters and words that are read by the blind with their fingertips. The basic Braille “cell” consists of two columns of three dots. The dots are numbered 1-2-3 from top to bottom on the left side of the cell and 4-5-6 from top to bottom on the right side of the cell. Each Braille letter, word, punctuation mark, number, or musical note can be made using different combinations of these dots. Braille can be written with a Braillewriter (similar to a typewriter) or by using a pointed stylus to punch dots down through paper using a Braille slate with rows of small “cells” in it as a guide. This method of writing Braille compares to writing print with a pen or pencil.

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The Life of Louis Braille

Speech by Doris Belusic
CFB “Louis Braille: From Literacy to Liberty” Convention 2009

It is a pleasure to tell you about Louis Braille, the French inventor of the raised 6 dot reading and writing code for the blind. Yes, he spent his short life of 43 years, in brilliant pursuit, to find a method of reading and writing for the blind, that would be efficient, and could be quickly felt by touch – the fleeting touch of the end of a fingertip. But, Louis was much more than this brilliant inventor.

In Louis’ lifetime, France was in turmoil. Many of the population were poor and hungry. France suffered through revolutions, depression, high unemployment, pilagings, burnings, riots, bloody massacres, times of persecution and a potato disease. In Louis’ short lifetime, France had been ruled by 3 different kings, and then Napoleon.

Life for the blind was grim. Lucky were they who had supporting families or wealth or who found their place as musicians or singers. Most of the blind lived in squalor and begged as a means of survival, some worked in traveling circuses to amuse audiences. The government authorities and royalty, even when asked over and over to help, had little concern towards the plight of the blind.

Reading by the blind at this time was laborious for those educated to finger-read by feeling embossed Roman alphabet letters. This was very time consuming and cumbersome and books made in this method were very large and heavy.

On January 4, 1809, Louis Braille was born in the small town of Coupvray, near Paris, He was the fourth child of a saddlemaker.

Louis often accompanied his father at his father’s workbench, watching his father make saddles and harnesses. His father encouraged him, with supervision, to try to use the tools. His father had hopes that Louis one day would take over the business.

In 1812, at the age of 3, Louis had an accident with what he later described as a “sharp pointed instrument” in his father’s workshop, which pierced into his right eye. With only peasant remedies available, Louis soon lost the sight in his right eye.

Not long after, his left eye also became blinded, possibly from infection, but more likely from sympathetic opthalmia, a self-attacking immune reaction.

Louis was blessed with caring parents. His father, using upholstery tacks pinned to boards, in the shapes of letters, taught Louis the alphabet, then later to write with pen and pencil. Louis’ father laid the foundation for Louis to read and write.

Louis attended the one-room school in Coupvray and soon was a top student.

At age 10, it was decided, in Louis’ best interest, that he attend the school for the blind in Paris. In February 1819, Louis and his father rode four hours by stagecoach to Paris and Louis was enrolled into the school. Louis was given student number 70, which was hung at the end of his straw mattress bed, on his locker and pinned to his uniform. He was the youngest of 70 students. Louis would spend the rest of his life in this school as student, tutor then teacher

Louis’ father on that day was shocked at the deplorable look of the 5 story school building. Hidden from him was the severity of how the students were treated and the conditions in which they lived.

This 500 year-old school building had once been an orphanage, a seminary, a whorehouse, and a prison for priests. Less than thirty years before it became the school for the blind, the building was the site of a 2 day bloody massacre in the deaths of 170 priests. The building was cold, damp with mildew, had poor ventilation and had what many reports called “putrid emanations”. Another report later said the building was “perilous to life.”

Living in the confines of this building, the students were often sick. Malnourishment, muddy drinking water and long hours of study and work didn’t help. Digestive problems and tuberculosis were common. One of the directors, a doctor, but a strict, oppressive disciplinarian felt that discipline was more important than health. A later director, a kind, fatherly figure, made many pleas for help to government authorities and royalty but the pleas were ignored. The students got used to being cold and hungry.

Here, Louis studied many subjects using the cumbersome raised Roman alphabet books. He studied music, learned to play the cello, piano and organ, and was in the school orchestra. Here, he gained his lifelong love of music.

This, the first school for the blind, was also the first workhouse for the blind. Louis worked in the slipper-making workshop. Students wove material for their uniforms on looms. One massive project in the workshop was to weave material for bed sheets for a Paris hospital, which had 10,000 beds.

An army captain had come to the school for the blind to show the students his ‘night writing’ code. It was two vertical rows of 12 dots, which could be read without eyes. It had been meant for military purposes, but later he thought it might be useful to the blind. This code was only based on phonetical sound and was found to have many flaws. But, a seed had been planted in Louis’ brain.

Louis won many top student awards in school. Being gifted, he became frustrated at the limited amount of information available to him and at the cumbersomeness of the letter-embossed finger-reading books.

Louis said to his friend, a fellow student, “The methods we now use take up too much room on the paper and too much time. We have to think of space. We need the least possible number of signs to express our thoughts.”

In 1824, at age 15, in his 5th year at school, Louis spent every spare minute trying to create a better code for the blind. He was so driven and preoccupied that it was the first year he did not win awards at school. The kind school director, later said, “When the day’s work was done and when others were resting, I would find him sitting in some quiet corner, with the ruled board, paper and stylus. Sometimes he would fall asleep in utter weariness from constant search (of the code).”

That summer vacation in Coupvray, Louis would sit day after day under the chestnut tree on the hill, with rough paper and awl in hand. Neighbours would comment on seeing Louis “playing with pinpricks.” This was the time of Louis’ great achievement.

Interestingly, that summer, the game of Dominos 6 had become popular in France. This link is close enough to guess that Louis’ 6-cell pattern and Dominos 6 was more than co-incidental.

Louis would spend the rest of his life refining his code. One friend said, “He never lost sight of this work, never for an instant did he shirk the task of refining, developing and practicing his new way of writing and reading.”

The kind school director noted, “The value of Braille’s new code rapidly became apparent and its advantages were quickly noticed in the work of the students. For the first time pupils could take notes in class in the same way as sighted people. The enthusiasm was such that some children set work to compile their own Braille libraries….It must be admitted that writing by the means of raised dots gave study at the institute a boost.” The effect on speed alone was remarkable.

This new-fangled code, had not taken well with the governmental authorities or royalty of the day. Change was opposed and France was not in a position to spend money. And, the new code worried sighted teachers that their jobs might be taken over by blind persons. It was argued that what was good for the sighted, was good for the blind. The blind, too, should manage with the Roman alphabet. They did not want the blind to gain too much control.

Before Louis’ 18th birthday, in his 8th year at the school for the blind, he was appointed as a school tutor. Louis taught classes, supervised the slipper-making workshop and taught piano.

Louis taught with persuasion and example. It was said, “He conducted his lessons with deep understanding of the special problems of the blind and he taught with such charm….the students hung on his words and his classes became such a pleasure that they not only held him in esteem, but also saw him as a wise and trusted friend.”

Louis gave selfless dedication of thought, time and energy to his work. He said to his students, “….We do not want to be shut away from the world because we cannot see and so we must work and study to be equal with others, not to be despised as ignorant, or objects of pity. I will do all in my power to help you all attain dignity through knowledge.”

Louis, at the age of 20, devised a code for written music for the blind. For the first time blind musicians could read and compose music. It was widely acclaimed as “the stuff of genius.”

In May 1831 Louis learned of his father’s death. During his summer vacation in Coupvray, he helped his widowed mother financially, by tuning pianos.

In 1833, at the age of 24, Louis became one the first fully-fledged blind teachers at the school. From then on, the blind were able to teach the blind. Later he received the title of professor.

Louis’ style of teaching was described as, “Precise, clear, his explanations to the point. Without unnecessary elaborations he was always willing to reiterate his teachings if his students had, at first, not properly understood.”

Louis was also appointed as organist at a few churches, where he’d perform the first musical works ever translated to the Braille code.

In 1835, at age 26, Louis showed the first signs of tuberculosis- weakness, breathlessness, coughing, and blood from his lungs. He had seen it happen to others before him and he knew he had the seeds of death in his lungs. The sixteen years he had spent at the school had taken their toll.

The 6 dot code was still not accepted officially. Government still insisted on previous teaching methods and held to the dictum “The blind must always be brought closer to the seeing.” But, among the student body the code was alive and well.

A well-known poet at the time visited the school and saw the decrepit conditions and it was he who convinced government to pass a bill for a new school for the blind to be built. Five years later a grand new school would be opened.

Louis went on his mission more determined than ever – the perfection of a simple, effective means of communication for the blind. There was still so much to do. Over the next few years he improved Braille and the code for music, published the first books about and in Braille, and together with his friend, invented raphigraphy, and a keyboard printer so that both the blind and sighted could communicate with each other by reading and writing.

Not quite 30 years old, Louis’ health had become more debilitating. He was offered a post of personal tutor to a blind royal prince. It was tempting, to live with royalty, make a good wage and to breathe good alpine air. But, Louis was loyal and could not turn his back on his pupils and friends, and there was still work to be done in the pursuit of his life’s mission with his code. One of his friends said of him, “There were many examples such as this of his generosity and kindness, as well as a duty and he would often sacrifice time, health and money….”

The school, again, had a new director. He believed in the status quo and was opposed to the new code. So, the Roman alphabet was forced upon the students. But, the blind tutors and students secretly used the code in their daily work, knowing that if the director found out, it could result in severe punishment. But, punishment could not suppress the six dot code system.

This impressed and intrigued the new deputy director and he decided to learn the Braille code. He became the first sighted person to be able to read and write Braille and this had far-reaching effects.

It was through this deputy director that Louis’ code became accepted in the school and by the government, and later became known throughout France and around the world.

By 1844, at age 35, Louis had stopped teaching due to his health, but continued as organist at a church.

Louis was known for his acts of charity. It was written, “Using great discretion he carried out many acts of charity and he never talked about the good that he was able to do. Many of his deeds were not known until after his death….. He paid for books, for boards and equipment for his poor students. He paid for his own writing machines and he lived a very frugal life.”

Louis spent the last weeks of his life in the school’s infirmary. On January 6, 1852 Louis died.

Louis was buried in his hometown of Coupvray in the graveyard at the top of the hill, where he lay under a granite stone for 100 years.

June 1952, on the centenary of Louis’ death, France honoured Louis Braille as a national hero. In Paris, there was a large ceremony. Many proud and respectful blind people were in attendance from around the world.

Louis’ bones were lifted from his grave in Coupvray to be buried in Paris, in the Pantheon, with France’s other national heros. But, Coupvray was where he was born and raised and where he lay for 100 years. So, it was decided to separate his hands from his body. His hands were left in the grave in Coupvray and the rest of his bones were buried in the Pantheon.

If only Louis could know that his code became the primary means of communication for the blind worldwide and how it improved the lives of countless blind people. If only he could know he is a hero.

Helen Keller wrote: “Braille has been a most precious aid to me in many ways. It made my going to college possible – it was the only method by which I could take notes of lectures. All my examination papers were copied for me in this system. I use Braille as a spider uses its web – to catch thoughts that flit across my mind for speeches, messages and manuscripts.”

Louis’ home in Coupvray is now a museum, unchanged from when he lived there as a boy. A plaque on the wall reads, “He opened the door to knowledge to all those who cannot see.”

After learning about Louis Braille, I am in awe and he holds my deepest respect. Not only was he a genius, but he possessed the best traits of human nature. He was kind, gentle, hard working, patient, generous, loyal and humble. And, he never complained, although, throughout his life, it seemed he had much to complain about. The blind could not ask for a better role model. Thank you Louis Braille for all you have given us.

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In Praise of Louis Braille

A poem written and presented by Dr. Abebe Teklu
CFB “Louis Braille: From Literacy to Liberty” Convention 2009

Louis Braille, who are you?
Physically, I’ve never met you.
You’ve passed on to Heaven,
Yet still you are my companion.

You are my inner soul, my sight,
My trusted right hand for life,
A hero, who brings ever lasting light.
You’ve changed our lives, others and myself.

When my sight was taken away,
I thought I couldn’t run and play.
I had to follow someone’s lead.
No longer could I hope to read.

Before long I realized,
My life was not compromised!
The spirit of Braille whispered in my ear,
“You lost nothing; do not despair.”

“You can still read”, I heard him say
“Stories on paper and in other ways.”

One door closes, and another opens.
No more losing second chances.
I trusted your advice, and went to school,
It was there, there, I met you, dear Braille!

Let me admit, when we first met,
Braille made no sense to me.
But, the more I touched each dot and letter,
The more I began to see.

I regained my sight! Touching is seeing.
Nothing’s better than this! I’m an equal human being.

I could excel at everything!
Truly, I lost nothing.
I achieved alongside my sighted friends;
Nothing was lost to my blindness.

No other closeness can embrace my spirit;
You restored my worth and merit.

Hopelessness merits defeat!
Braille, you’ve made my life complete.

A teacher and an alphabet, your name signifies;
Now, with Braille, I write Braille’s praise:

B . you made me Brave and Bright.
R . you Restored my confidence and sight;
A . since I met you, Braille’s Always been with me;
I . you gave me Independence; you made me free;
L . again, I am always Learning;
L . you Lift my spirits, as I am achieving;
E . you are Ever my companion, always Enduring.

Although Braille the man
Passed on a long time ago,
Still you are with us,
Giving joy, not woe.

The gift of your invention
Spreads literacy world wide;
You create change for many that are blind,
Restoring power and pride.

As we learn your system
You open doors for many.
We thank you Braille for being the hero
You help us on our journey.

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Why Do We Need Braille?

By Michelle Creedy

I first came across the logo “Braille is Beautiful” when I joined the Canadian Federation of the Blind (CFB). Upon first seeing this logo, I wondered why anyone would need to be convinced that Braille is a necessity. Braille is as important to a blind person as print is to a sighted person yet Braille is still seen as a novelty by the general public.

When I first moved to Canada from South Africa I was astounded to learn that many blind children in Canada do not learn Braille. Those with some remaining vision are encouraged to use their remaining vision as much as possible to read large and sometimes very large print. Their parents glow with pride that their child can read print and does not have to learn Braille. It makes them a part of the sighted world somehow. I often sit with my friends as they strained to look at computer screens with very large print and by the time these people have struggled through a sentence I have read three or four sentences in Braille. “Why don’t you learn Braille?” I ask.

“Well, I was never encouraged to learn it as a young child and now I have nowhere to go and learn Braille.”

How can it be that we teach sighted children to read and write but we do not teach blind children how to read and write? If a sighted adult wants to improve their literacy skills there are programs they may attend in order to learn to read and write yet blind adults have nowhere to go when they want to learn how to read and write. Braille is literacy for someone who is blind. This lack of resources is denying people the right to read and write! Last time I checked, learning to read and write was a basic right in Canada and here we are denying people this basic right.

People often think that the blind do not need to be taught Braille now that we have computers with synthetic speech and other talking aids. While these aids are helpful, they cannot replace the basic skills of reading and writing. People who rely only on speech technology without learning to read can have trouble with spelling and grammar and blind people who know Braille have a higher rate of employment. When technology breaks down, people who are reliant on it have no way of even taking down a phone number. People who know Braille can simply take out their slate and stylus and write down the phone number without hesitation. I am in no way dismissing the importance of computers and other technology. Nowadays, computer skills are a basic requirement when looking for a job and blind people should have access to the training that will enable them to acquire the computer skills needed to function in this technological world we live in today. There are Braille displays that can be connected to computers which promote the use of Braille by allowing the person to read what is displayed on the computer screen on a Braille output device. I believe that every Braille reader needs a Braille display for their computer. I have found that when using my Braille display I can more accurately correct my papers for school. They do not come back full of comments about missed punctuation.

I can honestly say that I would never be where I am today without Braille. I am currently in training to be a Diaconal Minister in the United Church of Canada. Sometimes I am asked if I will be what is known as pulpit supply. This means that I am asked to lead church services when the minister of the church is away and cannot lead Sunday worship. I use Braille throughout the planning of the service and in the service I am totally reliant upon Braille to ensure that the service runs smoothly. I cannot imagine having to listen to a talking computer while preaching at the same time although I know of people who do so and who seem to manage using this technique. It just wouldn’t work for me! Braille allows me to find that quiet center I need when leading worship because it is a quiet way of accessing information. I have a refreshable Braille display which I can use to scroll through the service and read my notes. I believe that all blind people with computers should be entitled to funding for a Braille display.

I also use Braille to label my cans, boxes and other items after buying groceries. Without Braille, I would have to open the can or the box to find out the contents. Now I can simply run my fingers over the label and find out what is in the box without having to open it or rely on the next person who comes to visit to tell me what is inside. Of course, this only works when I am not too lazy to label the cans and boxes in the first place! Yes, I have found myself having custard instead of soup because I failed to put a Braille label on the can. Dinner was a real mix of foods that night!

I also use Braille to read to my niece and nephew and to the children at the Sunday school. One of the most touching moments in Sunday school was when a family of children presented me with a Braille thank you note they had written for me. They had taken the alphabet and figured out the spacing for the Braille and then gone through the back of the paper with a pin. Good way to make their teacher shed tears of gratitude! These young people understood the importance of Braille more than any of the adults in the church. My little nephew even knows that the only books his Aunty can read are the ones with the Braille in them. Sometimes he will open books containing only print and remark that there is no Braille. What a great little advocate!

As you can see, Braille is very important to me. In fact, Braille is so important to me that I am currently trying to help a little boy in Haiti who is blind to learn Braille. I hope to provide him with a way of writing Braille and would really like to start teaching him how to read and write Braille. I wish I could access more books in Braille and I wish Braille was not seen as a novelty but as a basic right. Why shouldn’t I as a blind person have access to the same information as my sighted peers? I dream of the day when I can go into any restaurant and the menu will be in Braille. I long for the day when I can access any book of my choosing in Braille and I can get lost in its pages without having to listen to the voice of someone else who is interpreting the characters in their own way. It is my wish that all students who are blind be taught Braille so that they can compete on an equal playing field with their sighted peers. Braille truly is beautiful! Braille is a right not a privilege. Braille is how I read and write.

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Listening is not Literacy

By Jen Goulden

On one hand I am thrilled to have an opportunity to convey the incalculable value of literacy in my life. On the other I am baffled as to why, as a Canadian citizen living in the 21st century, I am called on to demonstrate a need for, and a right to, literacy. It is important to note that Braille literacy for me, a blind woman, is the equivalent of print literacy for a sighted individual.

Two years before I started kindergarten my mother began a lengthy campaign to convince our local board of education that I should be permitted to attend classes just like any other child. It was an arduous battle for her, but it was a battle she eventually won. I attended public school from kindergarten until my OAC (grade 13) year. I am one of the fortunate mainstreamed blind children in that I received excellent Braille instruction. Furthermore, during my early years my mother spent countless hours reading to me, instilling in me a love of books which is with me to this day. After graduating from high school I went on to the University of Ottawa and completed a Master’s degree in linguistics in 1998.

Sadly, roughly 90% of blind Canadians are not as fortunate as I am in this respect. Although Braille has existed for nearly 200 years its merits are still — inexplicably – being debated. I should qualify this statement by adding that it is not the blind who question the value of Braille. I have never heard a blind person say that Braille is inefficient or inconvenient. As to its uses and benefits, it is hard to know where to begin.

Time and time again studies have shown that a person with strong literacy skills is more likely to attend a post-secondary institution and be gainfully employed. But literacy is much more than a ticket to university or a good job. Anyone who loves to read can readily attest to this. For those who possess the skill, literacy means independence, dignity and pure enjoyment.

I am no exception. With the aid of my literacy skills I graduated from university magna cum laude. While a student I took notes, wrote exams and completed assignments, all because of my ability to read and write Braille. Having said that, I wasted valuable time and energy
attempting to convince university officials that I deserved to have access to textbooks, just as my fellow students did and that my blindness had not rendered me unintelligent.

Of course the benefits of literacy did not come to an end when I finished school. Using an electronic Braille display (the blind person’s equivalent of a computer screen) I proofread documents at work in English and French. This same device allows me to check email and read information on the internet. By means of Braille I read the Bible, musical scores, Braille menus (when they are available); in short, everything from J.R.R. Tolkien to accounts of Canada’s involvement in World War II. By means of Braille I read birthday cards from my mother, my husband and my best friend, who have all taken the time to learn from me the basics of the code. I keep a journal, read aloud to others, play games such as monopoly or scrabble and access financial statements independently. I wear a wristwatch and have labelled my extensive CD collection, as well as my household appliances. All of these things are done with the aid of Louis Braille’s code.

The uses of Braille are as varied as the people who rely on it. By means of Braille I am able to read the blog my aunt is writing while she and my uncle spend a year in Australia. With a slate and stylus (the blind person’s equivalent of a pen or pencil) I copy recipes, make grocery lists and prepare notes for presentations I give at work. By means of Braille I am currently reading the United Nations Convention On The Rights Of Persons With Disabilities. By means of Braille I can access the world, both past and present.

None of this would be possible if I were functionally illiterate, if I lacked the ability to read and write Braille proficiently.

It has been argued that blind people can “just listen to it instead”, or
“just get someone else to read this”. I have been given both of these
suggestions more often than I care to remember.

Imagine walking into a restaurant only to discover that there is no menu for you to read. Or imagine that you open your mail but the information is presented in a font which you are unable to read. Finally, imagine that your child’s teacher contacts you to inform you that instead of learning to read, your child will somehow acquire an education by listening to live readers and automated speech. How would you respond to any or all of these scenarios? These are situations faced by blind people every day.

It is a well-known scientific fact that the cognitive processes involved in listening versus reading are very different. This is true of blind and sighted people alike. Simply put, listening is not literacy. It is by learning to read and write that we – whether blind or sighted – learn proper spelling, grammar, and use of punctuation. To deprive someone of the opportunity to become literate is to drastically limit his or her potential.

Various factors have contributed to the decrease in literacy rates among blind Canadians: a lack of qualified Braille instructors, limited resources, and negative attitudes and misconceptions about Braille. Children with residual vision are required to use large print, regardless of whether or not they can read it efficiently (at a reasonable speed and without eye strain) and regardless of the fact that many of these students will eventually lose some or all of their usable vision. This practice stems from the erroneous belief that Braille is inferior to print, a misconception which has been – and continues to be – detrimental to blind people in this country and around the world.

The National Federation of the Blind, an organization of blind people in the United States, publishes a magazine called The Braille Monitor. The May 2009 issue featured an article describing the Braille literacy crisis in the U.S., a situation which is comparable to that which exists in Canada. The final paragraph sums up the perspective of proficient Braille users perfectly:

‘For over 150 years Braille has been recognized as the most effective means of reading and writing for the blind. Hundreds of thousands of blind people have found Braille an indispensable tool in their education, their work, and their daily lives, even as professionals in the field of blindness continued to debate the merits of the system. Certainly more empirical evidence is needed to break down the wall of misunderstanding that still stands between all too many blind people and proper Braille instruction. The Braille codes and the technology to reproduce them can and will continue to improve. But
the lives of successful blind people testify to the usefulness of Braille,
and in the face of that testimony the only truly professional and moral course of action is to ensure that all blind people have access to competent Braille instruction. In the hearts and minds of blind people, no alternative system or new technology has ever replaced Braille where the rubber meets the road – in the living of happy, successful, productive lives…’
(The Braille Monitor, vol 52, no. 5)

As a child I took my ability to read and write for granted. It wasn’t until, as an adult, I met blind people who, for one reason or another, did not become proficient in Braille. I am both saddened and frustrated by this state of affairs, especially given the fact that an illiteracy rate of 90% would be considered outrageous and completely unacceptable if it existed in any other segment of Canadian society.

I recently had a conversation with an acquaintance which clearly illustrates society’s attitude regarding literacy for the blind. The woman in question was proudly informing me of a blind man she knew who had made it through university without being able to read or write Braille. I responded initially by saying that I couldn’t imagine having to complete a university degree without the advantage of Braille literacy skills. (I had often been frustrated at having to settle for cassettes – or nothing at all – when I should have had Braille.) She then told me with some smugness that her friend was “really smart”. Regrettably, I said little at the time; however, when I thought about it afterwards I wished I had asked her if she would have been so quick to boast about a sighted friend who was functionally illiterate, or if she believes reading and writing are only for those who aren’t intelligent enough to get through university without them.

This all-too-prevalent attitude (the belief that Braille isn’t really that
important) is probably the biggest hurdle we face when it comes to improving Braille literacy rates among blind people. It is my sincere hope that Canada, a nation known the world over for its positive stance on human rights issues, will make literacy for the blind a priority. Braille literacy is not a luxury; it is as essential to the blind as print is to the sighted. Blind Canadians are entitled to proper Braille instruction in the same way that sighted Canadians are entitled to proper instruction in the reading and writing of print.

As a Braille user – and an avid reader – I cannot even begin to fathom what my life would be like without this invaluable skill. At present I am in the minority (10%). But with government action and increased public awareness this percentage can change. Then the future for blind Canadians would be one in which Braille literacy – and all the opportunities and benefits that accompany it – is available to all.

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The Importance of Braille in My Life

By Erin Lacharity

I started using Braille when I was four years old. It was the only way that my fingers could be strengthened due to my underdevelopment from a premature birth.

I can remember struggling as a little girl, trying to understand the meaning behind these tiny bumps. What were they? How was I supposed to wrap my tiny brain around the complex structure of dots and contractions? I persevered and gradually it became the miracle of the English language. It became a special tool that was my own.

Books became a world which I could escape to whenever I wanted. Braille became a source of freedom for me. In both elementary and high school everything was provided for me in Braille, including texts, assignment handouts, and exams. When I entered post-secondary school, however, things were quite different. Braille is sorely missed when it is not available to you.

When I was a child, Braille opened the door to reading, learning and communication – doors that might not have been open had I not learned Braille.

Every blind child should have Braille as a building block for his/her education because it advocates for literacy, competence skills and independence. It instills a sense of pride in the blind woman or child when she knows that she can read the restaurant menu by herself or know which room she’s entering with the help of a Braille sign.

I believe Braille is one of the most valuable skills that a blind person can have. Braille has made my life much more meaningful and enjoyable. Braille is beautiful and Braille is literacy! Louis `Braille, you rock!

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Finding My Heritage
The Importance of Learning Blindness Skills

By Elizabeth Lalonde

Sometimes people accept a practice or approach because it is common, because it is the way things are done. But today some people, like the organized blind movement and some proactive teachers and professionals in the blindness field, are thinking beyond what is common-practice and considering what is best for blind people.

In this article, I talk about myself and my experience as a child growing up with limited vision, and about some of the road blocks I encountered, and how to prevent these from happening to yourself, your children, or your students.

When I was two, my parents noticed me looking sideways at things.

My mom took me to an ophthalmologist. The doctor said I had a condition called Retinitis Pigmentosa. He explained the severity of my visual impairment in detailed medical language. But the only thing my mom remembers from that visit was when the doctor said that ‘I would never go blind.’

That comment – that I would never go blind – set the stage for how teachers and other professionals treated me as I grew up.

I cannot imagine the fear my mother felt as she took me by the hand and walked out of the doctor’s office that day. My mother showed her strength that day and through all the days, months and years to follow. It is because of my mother and her courage and determination and her belief in me, that I am successful.

Around my fourth birthday, my mother and father separated. My mother, grandparents and I moved to Victoria from Calgary. I didn’t know much about my new home, and when I turned to the big water on the ferry boat and yelled out “the river”, everyone laughed.

I didn’t have any friends in this new place, so on my birthday, my mother and grandparents invited the neighbours’ children over for cake.

When we first got to Victoria, my mother went to the local CNIB office to ask for assistance. She met a blind woman who was positive and cheerful and who read Braille as fast as anyone could read print.

The woman read Braille, but she didn’t suggest I learn Braille. She used a white cane, but she didn’t give me a white cane.

A few months later, a teacher from the school district dropped by the house. My mom remembers she was nice. I vaguely remember sitting with her at the dining room table

I remember the flash cards: narrow strips of cardboard with large black letters, which the teacher said I would learn to read.

My vision then was similar to my vision now, like a doughnut with a bite out of the top. I could see things along the outer edge of the doughnut and nothing in the middle. These things consisted of shapes and outlines and no detail.

I’m not sure what the nice teacher was thinking as I brought the card up close to my left eye to see the letters. That was the beginning of a close relationship I had with paper for the next few years. And when I say close, I mean it literally. There was me, my left eye pressed against the pages, my back slumped and nothing else in my field of vision but a giant black letter. I remember the smell of the ink and the paper, but not the words.

That home visit was similar to my mom’s earlier visit at CNIB, friendly, companionable, but with no mention of Braille or of blindness.

The teachers didn’t treat me like a blind child. They treated me like a sighted child with poor vision. They didn’t teach me Braille. They taught me print, the medium of the sighted. They meant no harm. I’m sure they felt it was the right thing to do. They were working under the philosophy common to many specialists in the blindness field that if people have some useable vision, they should make the most of it, use it to its full potential.

So it went. I started school as a visually impaired student, and gained a collection of low vision aids and gadgets:

– A funny wooden board that raised and lowered to varying heights with a strap to hold in a book. This board was supposed to help my posture, so I wouldn’t have to bend over the books. I remember its strong wood smell, and the annoying strap that never stayed in place and blocked the line of print I was trying to read.

– Binoculars, (for reading the board and seeing distant objects). These didn’t work because I could only see out of my left eye.

– Then came the monocular – a brilliant invention, a lighter, smaller version of the binoculars. No need to carry that extra monocle around if you weren’t going to use it.

These devices didn’t help me because instead of using them to read the board, I put them in my desk and stood at the chalk board beside the teacher as she wrote math problems. To this day I dread the mention of arithmetic.

– Oh, and the magnify glasses – the low vision clinic and the teachers for the blind gave me a progression of these little wonders – ones with little lights, ones that you held above the page, ones that you slid across the page. I remember the tickle of my eyelashes brushing against the glass – and the funny look of the letters, like little bugs crawling along the paper.

– And the king of them all – the clown and glory of low vision aids:

the visualTech. This contraption resembles a television with a tray underneath. You place the book on the tray and the print appears magnified many times on the screen.

Manufacturers have updated these devices over the years. But the general idea remains the same. You will achieve literacy if you make the print as large as you possibly can.

I will never forget sitting in front of the class with my visualTech. The teacher put two desks side by side to accommodate all my equipment. I didn’t get to sit with the other kids in the long, tidy rows of desks. Instead I stuck out, like a growth on a potato, my back to the class, the screen of the visualTech advertising its black, text-book letters for everyone to see.

The teacher included me in reading-aloud time. I guess that was part of integration. My stomach dropped and my heart sped up every time my turn approached. My heart was the only thing that went quickly because the combination of my nervousness, my embarrassment and my poor vision resulted in a slow read.

These aids are all badges of the visually impaired. But unlike badges, I did not use these gadgets proudly. Instead they weighed me down, marked me as inferior.

After all that, it’s amazing I love to read. Even with these difficulties, I sat for hours as a little girl and read with the visualTech or a magnify glass. My favourite book was “Ramona Quimby Age Eight.”

I also loved listening to stories. I sat on my grandfather’s knee while he made up tales of “KillerDiller,” the wolf who liked to chase little children, and snuggled in bed while my mom read from a book of fairytales.

Learning to print and to write was just as hard as learning to read. The teacher for the blind gave me special paper with wide black lines. I learned to write the letters with a black felt pen, and though the other children’s printing progressed from squiggly, crooked characters to more mature, straight letters, mine remains to this day the printing of a grade one child. There’s nothing wrong with that, if I use it to write the odd note to a sighted person, or to prepare a grocery list for someone else to read. But there was something wrong when print became my only nonverbal tool for expressing myself.

My grade five teacher got so frustrated with my mound of unorganized papers stuck in my binder that he sent it home with me one day and asked my mom to help me organize it. I needed my mom to help me because I could not read any of it. It’s no wonder my science notes got mixed up with my spelling words, and my creative writing got stuck in with my math work.

That was the year I learned to type. Twice a week after school with the teacher for the blind, I plunked on an electric typewriter. I memorized home row and gained speed quickly. Learning to type made a big difference for me. I finally had a way to write legibly and a way to communicate on paper clearly and easily. But typing didn’t solve all my problems.

I still remember my story in creative writing class: “Adventures in the Cabbage Patch”. I loved my characters. Sandra, the heroine was beautiful and brave. She saved the day and kept the cabbage patch safe from the angry lords. I remember the sense of accomplishment when I took the stack of typed pages to mom for her to read. I remember the devastation when she said the pages were blank. I forgot to change the ribbon.

I remember the day I finally broke. It was in grade seven during a science test. I was sitting in my usual spot in front of the class trying to read the questions with my visualTech. There was a time limit, and I wasn’t going to finish. I had studied the night before with the help of my mom who read me the text book. I started to cry. The teacher noticed my tears and came over. He sent me out of the classroom and asked another student, Adam, – the brain of the class, who had already finished his test – to read me the questions and write my answers. I sat in the hallway on the floor beside Adam, and felt stupider than ever before. Adam was smart. What if I got some of the answers wrong?

Suddenly, I couldn’t remember anything. My mind went blank. I cried again. The teacher for the blind came and read me the exam. I got an ‘A’ on the test.

Then there was my white cane, conspicuous in its absence. I cannot blame anybody for my refusal to use it.

Occasionally, I used my cane to cross a busy street. I took it cautiously out of my bag, afraid someone would see me, like a criminal involved in a covert operation. I used it to cross the street and then quickly folded it and stuffed it back in my bag.

It would have helped to know other people who used white canes and who used them proudly and with confidence – young people like myself and adults with successful lives. But the only blind person I knew was a man who talked about how he loved going downtown without his cane, and how he hated using his cane, and how he felt better about himself when he didn’t use his cane.

Since I was born blind, the blindness professionals should have given me a cane in my preschool years. I should have grown with my cane. Just like my arms and legs grew, my cane, like another body part, should have grown too. Instead, the cane felt like a foreign object that fit awkwardly in my body space.

I trudged along this way through my elementary school years, nervous, shy, embarrassed to use my cane, afraid of being different.

I remember the turning point, when my life as a sighted child with low vision ended, and my transition to a blind person started; this had nothing to do with my level of vision. Instead it had to do with a change in the way I saw myself.

I got a talking calculator, a talking watch and a talking clock – and my first text book on tape. The teacher for the blind read all my exams out loud and wrote my answers.

I got what was a primitive ancestor of the talking computer, a “Small Talk.” I remember when the teacher gave me this amazing piece of equipment. I remember its synthesized voice – distorted, monotone, beautiful.

This device was portable, with one main area for typing documents. It had no hard drive or memory. The only way to save my work was on a mini cassette. I remember crying when the “Small Talk” lost my homework.

Well, it wasn’t perfect, but it was a huge improvement over my messy grade five binder

The following year I entered junior high school and started a new phase in my life as a student. Because of my average performance in elementary school, my parents and teachers enrolled me in regular classes instead of in enriched courses.

Surprise – with my new method of learning, my grades rose from ‘C’s’ and ‘C pluses’ to ‘A’s’ and ‘A pluses’. Nobody could believe it. I couldn’t believe it.

A few months into the school year, my teachers and parents met to discuss my progress. They put me in some enriched courses, including social studies and English. Notably, I stayed in regular math and science.

High school was better than elementary school. But despite all the wonderful talking gadgets, and the improvement in my grades and confidence, some things were still missing.

I still went around without my white cane. Oh, yes, I tucked it away safe and warm in my school bag. If white canes came with warrantees, I would have gotten a full refund. My cane looked as new as the day I got it. No scratches or dents marred its surface, and the tip glistened with lack of use.

I got away with not using it; so I thought. I had enough vision to see shapes and objects, and usually avoided them as long as I turned my head to the side, and focused all my attention on travelling. This intense effort prevented me from relaxing and enjoying the walk.

Yes, I could get around without my cane, but what a price I paid for this false freedom.

My mom always got stressed when she and I went shopping. I prowled through the stores, touched everything, pushed my face into merchandise, and missed the eye contact of the store clerk and the smiles of the other shoppers.

I accepted all of it: the misunderstandings, the missed opportunities for conversation, a simple hello. It was better to appear stupid or clumsy then to be blind.

What kept me from accepting my blindness? Was it because no-one ever said I was blind? Was it because well-meaning people focused so much on my residual vision that they forgot to focus on my lack of it? Was it because totally blind people came from an alien world, not my world? Was it because I hardly ever met any blind people? Maybe it was a little of all of these.

On occasion I met other blind people, on my rare visits to CNIB, or when I went to a special recreational event. But usually, I only met sighted people, sighted children. My teachers were sighted. My friends were sighted. I related to sighted people and wanted to be like them. Sighted people didn’t use white canes so why should I?

The reasons I couldn’t identify myself as a blind person were complex. But eventually I found my way through these foggy and murky layers to the truth of my blindness.

One summer I went to camp for blind teens on Bowen Island in British Columbia. It was the first place I’d ever been where blindness was normal. I met my first boy friend at camp. I met my first love at camp. I met some of my oldest friends at camp. I was popular at camp. I was blind and I was popular.

Another great blindness memory was meeting my girl friend. She was just beginning to lose her sight from Retinitis Pigmentosa, the same eye condition I had. The teachers for the blind brought us together to meet. She lived in Vancouver. We met at the White Spot, two thirteen year-old girls with something important in common. We sat at our own table and got acquainted and ate hamburgers and laid the foundation for a friendship that remains strong today.

I also remember my orientation and mobility teacher organizing a group of blind teenagers from across BC for a day in the big city. He sent us out and told us to find a restaurant. For the first time, I enjoyed travelling. For those brief hours, we were together. We were the same. We were one.

Gradually, I became more comfortable with myself and with my blindness. My cane poked out of my bag, and I began carrying it folded in half. At least it was out in the open. I didn’t use my white cane full out and all the time until I entered college at the age of 18. Even then I wasn’t completely transformed.

As a young adult, I used my cane at a bar for the first time, and last month, at a party, I held my cane tall and upright Federation-style while I sat in a chair. It was nice to relax. The other guests knew I was blind and I didn’t have to pretend.

The other void in my life was Braille. The biggest role Braille played in my life was in its absence. I was born with less than ten per cent vision, to say it another way, I was born more than 90 per cent blind. At best, I can see one large print letter at a time, with considerable strain and discomfort. I can’t read my own writing.

Yet, as a child in school, I did not learn one of the most basic tools of blindness: Braille. They did not teach me how to read it.

In grade 10, the teacher for the blind introduced Braille to me for the first time. She taught it to me for credit during the school day.

During that year, I learned how to read and write Braille. I wrote love letters in Braille to my boyfriend.

But I didn’t do any of my school work in Braille. After my boyfriend and I broke up, and after I finished the Braille credit course, I didn’t use it as much, and I started to lose speed and forget the contractions.

When I entered university, Braille became a distant memory, an impossible dream.

I was an ‘A’ student, on the honour role in high school, and at the top of my class in post secondary. I loved books and read avidly. But I was, in the true sense of the word, illiterate.

I am proud of myself and my accomplishments. I managed with the tools I was given. I only wish Braille had been one of those tools.

Instead of being exempt from geography class, I could have learned about the world through tactile maps. Instead of straining to see large numbers, I might have excelled at math with knowledge of Nemeth Code. Instead of painstakingly memorizing speeches and developing a fear of public speaking, I could have used Braille notes.

I can talk forever about lost opportunities, but this serves no purpose, other than for people to learn from my experience. There are no more excuses. Now that I am privileged to be the leader of the Federation in Canada, I must learn Braille and learn it fully.

Braille came back into my life five years ago when I became pregnant with my oldest son, Rhys. I needed motivation. Rhys became that motivation.

I wanted to read to him, not just by listening to a tape or CD, or by making up stories (though I love doing this), but by really reading him a book. So, I spent every day practicing and re-learning the Grade Two contractions. I wanted to read a print Braille book called “Hurry Up Franklin.”

I reached this goal. I admit I read at a speed slower than the turtle in the story, but I read it – and I practice and gain speed everyday.

In the Federation one of our philosophies is that blindness is not a handicap, but a characteristic, and that with proper training and opportunity, blind people can compete on terms of equality with their sighted peers.

It is true that with the proper skills, such as Braille and independent travel with the long white cane, and with opportunity, a ‘can-do-attitude’, the belief that it is respectable to be blind and mentoring by successful blind role models, – blindness is not a big deal. But without these things, blindness can be difficult.

When people are told to rely on poor vision and are not taught blindness skills, a handicap is created.

All blind people, no matter how old or young, no matter how much useable vision they have, should get the opportunity and the encouragement to learn blindness skills, to learn the skills of their heritage.

I am now, at age 36, finally getting the opportunity to do this. Thanks to a generous grant from our sister organization, the National Federation of the Blind in the United States, I am leaving this year to attend a world-renowned and positive blindness immersion centre in Louisiana. There I will have the chance to learn the skills of blindness.

I will learn cane travel everyday with a blind instructor, and learn how to go anywhere I want to go, whenever I want to go. I will not be limited by memorizing routes and keeping to pre-determined paths of travel. I will learn to listen to the wind, to feel the sun on my face, to listen to the traffic, to feel the textures of the ground under my cane, and to become a completely competent and independent traveler.

I will practice Braille everyday, and use it in my life in a regular and integrated way. I will learn to use a slate and stylus like sighted people use a pen and paper. I will learn Braille technology and I will finally be able to pick up a book and read it on my own.

I will take wood working class, use saws and drills and hammers. I will use the stove, barbeque hamburgers on a open grill, and cook a meal for forty people. I will learn to sew, to rock climb, to raft on the river and to plan my own future.

It is time, far beyond the time, for all blind people to learn, and to be encouraged to learn, the alternative techniques of blindness, to extend the boundaries of what is thought possible, and to gain empowerment and freedom.

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A Sense of Wonder

By Mary Ellen Gabias

“Christmas won’t be Christmas without any presents,” grumbled Jo, lying on the rug.

It’s been nearly half a century since I first read the opening paragraph of Louisa May Alcott’s Little Women, but the March family parlor, with its worn rug, broken down sofa, and loving family has been part of my soul’s architecture ever since.

There was only one copy of the six volume Braille book in my entire home town; I had to stand in line to get my hands on it. Someone else had volume 2 when I finished volume 1, so I grabbed volume 3 and read the book out of order.

I didn’t mind. Braille books for leisure reading were such a rare treat! Under my hands the words on the pages came to life and I was transported to times and places where our family station wagon could never take me. I skipped through Alpine meadows with Heidi and blasted off with Space Cat when he visited Venus.

I loved recorded books, too, but they did not allow me to participate in the author’s creation of the stories in the way that Braille did. When I read Braille, the characters spoke in the tone and with the accents I gave them. I also learned how words were spelled and sentences constructed.

Nobody told me Braille was slow to read and difficult to learn. When I started school at age six, all I knew is that I wanted to be like my older brothers. I wanted the miracle of learning from the words others had written. I wanted to share in adventure and humor. I wanted to revel in the beauty of written language. I wanted access to the realm of thought, and Braille was my key to the kingdom of ideas.

It never occurred to me that there should be any difference in reading ability between those who used their eyes and those who used their fingers. By the time I learned that Braille readers were expected to achieve speeds of only ninety words a minute, I was reading two hundred twenty-two. I wanted to read quickly because there was so much to learn, so much I wanted to know.

My only problem with Braille was that there simply wasn’t enough of it. Books had to be copied by hand by individual transcribers using the Braille version of a manual typewriter. There were a few Braille presses for making multiple copies of books, but the plates used in the pressing process had to be hand made. These labor intensive production methods meant that, if I was very lucky, I might be able to get my hands on a book two years after my sighted friends had the print version.

Braille was also very expensive. That Braille copy of Little Women cost $22 at a time when a print paperback could be had for fifty cents. No wonder I squealed with delight on my eleventh Christmas when I ripped open a package to find two Braille volumes. For the first time in my life, I owned a book!

It was called Lumberjack by Steven Meader. It told the story of a teenage boy whose first job was helping a timber company log his grandfather’s wood lot. There was a mystery and some skullduggery involved, though I’ve long since forgotten the details. It wasn’t exactly the sort of thing I would have chosen, but it was mine, at least for two weeks it was. The book had been purchased by a civic group for donation to the miniscule library in the resource classroom for blind children. They wanted it to be a gift to a blind child who would pass it along to the library after finishing the story. I was the lucky child who proudly carried it to school after Christmas vacation.

It wasn’t until high school that I discovered that the talking book library also had a Braille collection. A good thing, too, because the library became my only source for Braille books. I’d chosen to leave the public school system for a Catholic high school; as a result, I had no Braille textbooks. My algebra text cost as much as a year’s tuition, far more than my family could afford. An anonymous donor came up with the funds, but when the book arrived we discovered it was an old edition and of no use in my class. I did first year algebra and geometry successfully without a textbook. Afraid that I would be unable to master advanced algebra and trigonometry without Braille texts, I took only the minimum math requirement. As a result, I was streamed into remedial mathematics in college and wasted the better part of a year catching up.

Although finding Braille books to read and study was a challenge, writing Braille was not. In the first grade, I learned to use the Perkins Brailler, the Braille equivalent of a manual typewriter. I also mastered the slate and stylus, the Braille equivalent of a pencil. I used the Brailler for transcribing long documents; in the seventh grade I copied the entire U.S. Constitution including the Bill of Rights in order to study it for an exam.

The slate and stylus served me well for most projects. I used my slate to take notes in college. To this day, though I own a Braille PDA computer, I wouldn’t dream of leaving home without a slate and stylus in my purse.

Braille remains one of the mainstays of my life, though the ways I use it have changed. As the mother of four, I’ve done a lot of reading to my children. Some of the classic children’s books that I’ve read to them weren’t available in Braille when I was young, so my children and I explored them together. Thanks to computer technology which has simplified production, I was able to buy the final book in the Harry Potter series on the day the print book was released. I downloaded the files onto my Braille Lite computer. Our family spent a glorious day and a half reading together.

Because of downloadable computerized Braille, I can now own a library of cookbooks. My wooden bookshelf could hold only five or six embossed Braille recipe books at a time. In digital form, I can acquire a virtually unlimited number.

I don’t have a lot of time to sit quietly with a good book these days, but that doesn’t mean Braille use is dormant in my life. I keep financial information, phone numbers, appointment reminders, and hordes of miscellaneous notes to myself. I place Braille labels on important print documents, food packages, and the controls on my washing machine. My life would be chaos without Braille.

How ironic that, just when Braille has become more available than ever before, we are facing a crisis in Braille literacy. I hear the statistics, but I don’t think of percentages and totals. I think of children who will never grumble about no presents at Christmas in Jo March’s voice or skim through a cookbook looking for that perfect dessert. I worry about future adults who won’t be able to independently read their bank balance. Their futures, the quality of their lives, depends on this country’s commitment to ensuring them the possibility of achieving the sense of wonder that comes from independently reading a great book.

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About the Canadian Federation of the Blind

“We believe that with the appropriate training, attitude and opportunities, blind people can (and do) achieve their dreams, not the diminished dreams of low expectations, but the dreams that come from knowledge, skills, self-confidence and self-respect. We believe that it is never too late or too early to learn new techniques and new ways of thought. We believe that each of us has a spark of creativity within us which can be ignited when we come together to teach, to learn and to dream.”

The Canadian Federation of the Blind (CFB) is a movement of blind people committed to the equality, independence and empowerment of blind Canadians. Members work for change, promote the abilities of blind people and work together to gain confidence and skills. We promote a positive and normalcy perspective on blindness.

Everyone needs a sense of community; blind people need this too. Blind people benefit greatly from developing a sense of community with other blind people. We have much to learn from and to teach one another.

Our Philosophy:

We are not an organization speaking on behalf of blind people; rather we are an organization of blind people speaking for ourselves.

We believe that with the right attitude, training and experiences, blindness is not a handicap, but a characteristic.

We believe it is respectable to be blind.

We believe with proper training and opportunity, blind people can compete on terms of equality with their sighted peers.

We believe the real problem of blindness is not the lack of eyesight. The real problem is the misunderstanding and lack of information about blindness and of the abilities and achievements of blind people.

As members of the Canadian Federation of the Blind, we carry our white canes with pride.

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