Fear, Or, How to Dance Like No One's Watching

Fear, Or, How to Dance Like No One's Watching

American Action Fund for Blind Children and Adults
Future Reflections Convention 2016 VIEWPOINTS
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Fear, Or, How to Dance Like No One's Watching
by Jameyanne Fuller
From the Editor: Jameyanne Fuller was awarded the Mimi and Marvin Sandler scholarship at the 2016 convention. She is a first-year student at Harvard Law School and an aspiring writer. On her way home from the convention in Orlando, she wrote this blog post for her friends and family, and she has graciously agreed to share it with our readers.
I am sitting on a plane returning to Boston from Orlando, Florida, where I just spent the most incredible week at the national convention of the National Federation of the Blind (NFB). I went to the NFB convention because I was a scholarship finalist, but I went with negative expectations. Now I'm struggling to find words to describe what a powerful and transformative experience the convention was for me.
Here's a little background for you. I was born blind. I have aniridia glaucoma, which means I don't have irises. My eyes can't adjust to light and dark, and I am extremely sensitive to bright light. Also I have higher than normal pressure in my eyes. I have some residual vision in my left eye. I can see light and dark, shapes, and colors. I had similar vision in my right eye until three years ago, when the pressure skyrocketed and my retina detached. I lost the vision in that eye, and I was in so much pain the eye had to be removed. Now it's as if there's a big black hole where my right eye used to be (at least in terms of what I see there). I would be lying if I said it was no big deal to me when I lost the vision in my right eye. On the whole, though, I've always been very comfortable with my blindness.
Because I was blind, I had a really hard time socially in middle and high school. Among other things, I could never tell where my friends were sitting in the cafeteria, and I would always end up eating lunch by myself. I thought at the time that this was fine with me, because I could use the time to read and write. It was only when I went to college and met friends who banged on the table and yelled across crowded rooms for me to come sit with them--without me having to ask--that I realized what I'd been missing. Just as it was no big deal to me that I'm a blind person, it was no big deal to my friends, and this was fabulous.
I don't think I ever made a conscious decision to do so, but I began to distance myself from my blindness. I lost touch with my blind friends back in New England and threw myself into any activity that someone even hinted might be difficult for me. I shot down anyone who suggested I consider writing about my experiences as a blind person. Through social media, I saw many of my blind friends become enthusiastically involved with national organizations of the blind, such as the National Federation of the Blind or the American Council of the Blind, but I didn't understand why they wanted to do that. Personally, I never posted anything about my blindness except to make a joke or to tell funny stories about Mopsy, my guide dog. I didn't want the world to perceive me as a blind person, as if nothing else about me was important.
Then I went to Italy, where almost everyone saw me as blind and nothing else. In Italy I realized that I wanted to go to law school and become a disability rights lawyer. By advocating for my own independence in Assisi, I changed minds about what blind people are able to do. By the end of my year in Italy, people were approaching me to say that they knew a blind person and were going to tell her about everything I'd done. I thought, If I made such a difference just by existing, what could I do if I tried to make a difference?
In Italy I also decided that I wanted to see more representations of people with disabilities in fiction. If I wanted to see that, why shouldn't I be the one who did the representing? Who better is there? At the same time, I was uncomfortable with the idea that I would be perceived as a lawyer who's interested in disability rights just because I'm blind, or as a blind writer who includes characters with disabilities. These concerns continue to trouble me.
Last March I applied for a National Federation of the Blind scholarship. I was hesitant to apply. I'd heard that the NFB was radical, even militant. Worst of all, I'd heard that the organization is opposed to guide dogs. Since my scholarship essay focused on my experiences with Mopsy in Italy, I was sure the NFB would reject me. But my parents encouraged me to apply anyway. Law school is expensive, guys, and as my parents put it, "Money is money." I applied for an NFB scholarship, and I won. And I spent this past week at the NFB national convention.
As I said, I went with negative expectations. I planned to take the money and run for the hills. I planned to spend the convention making snarky tweets about what happens when three thousand blind people swarm through a hotel lobby.
I did make some snarky tweets, because let's be fair, with three thousand blind people, the jokes are rife for the picking. But I very quickly found that I did not want to stand aside and joke around, and I certainly did not want to run for the hills after convention. The people in the NFB are fighting for causes I am passionate about. They recognize that our society has made tremendous progress toward equality for the blind, but they also recognize that there is still so much to be done, and they are continuing to fight for that equality. There are definitely some things I don't agree with, but on the whole, what the NFB says makes sense.
Most of the things I was told about the NFB before I went to convention were exaggerations or downright wrong. NFB is not opposed to guide dogs. The first lady, Melissa Riccobono, is a guide dog user. NFB does not insist on complete and total independence at all times. Federation philosophy expresses that it's important to know how to be independent and to know that you can, as a blind person, navigate the world without assistance, but it really comes down to knowing what's best for you under your particular circumstances.
The Federation is not litigious. Rather, it uses the law to pursue change when it is the only way to force large corporations to take action. And the NFB is not fighting with Google over the self-driving car because it doesn't want blind people to rely on machines. The Federation wants the self-driving car, which has been hailed as an innovation for people with disabilities, to have an interface that will be accessible to the blind. It seeks to prevent and combat laws that are already being passed requiring a licensed driver to operate a self-driving car--effectively excluding the blind from an opportunity to expand their independence.
Finally, to me, the NFB didn't seem radical or militant. It seemed energetic and committed to moving forward without settling for what we have.
At convention I met so many amazing, intelligent people. I was mentored each day by a different member of the NFB Scholarship Committee--writers, editors, lawyers, and more. I attended meetings where I learned about exemptions in the Fair Labor Act that allow people with disabilities to be paid substantially less than the minimum wage. I heard about the battles blind parents must fight for the right to raise their children, and I learned what the NFB is doing about it. I learned more about my rights as a blind student. I screamed myself hoarse for Braille literacy, the Accessible Instructional Material in Higher Education Act (Aim High), the Marrakech Treaty to end the worldwide book famine for the blind, and accessible fitness equipment.
I learned how to navigate an unfamiliar area, such as an airport or our hotel (which someone described as being larger than the city of Pisa, and I've been to Pisa, and I believe it!) I found out the trick is to ask for directions and walk independently rather than taking a sighted person's arm and following without a clue where they're taking me. (Like I said earlier, there are definitely times for human guide technique, but it's nice to know how to do things without it.)
At convention I took a ballroom dancing class and learned the basic steps for waltz and swing. I'm normally super self-conscious about dancing. I can't see what everyone else is doing, and I'm afraid I'm doing it wrong. But here no one could see what anyone was doing. Not only was our teacher--who was also blind--able to describe the steps effectively, but it really was the perfect time to dance like no one was watching.
The only thing I didn't do at convention was sleep and eat.
I also took a One Touch class. One Touch is a self-defense program designed for the blind. I loved it, and I'm really interested in taking a longer, more intensive course, maybe even becoming an instructor myself. I think it's really important for us as blind people to be able to defend ourselves. As long as mainstream culture, and particularly predators, see us as vulnerable, we have to face the possibility of assault and be prepared. In the class I took, we learned some basic ways to move away from someone who has grabbed us. I also know now how to break someone's arm. I learned that if someone is simply being aggressively helpful ("Let me seize your arm and drag you across this street you clearly shouldn't be crossing yourself!"), it's better to twist free, step back, and tell them you're all right and that they should ask first next time. On the other hand, if someone grabs you with the intention of hurting you, you want to grab them back and not let go. That way you know where they are at all times, and you're in control. But all that aside, our instructor said something that really struck home for me, not just regarding self-defense, but daily life. "Bravery is when there's something more important than being afraid."
I spent nine months in Italy absolutely terrified that I was going to be killed by a maniac with a motor vehicle. Since then I have been unwilling even to stick a toe outside my comfort zone. It's safe in my comfort zone. But it's also incredibly freeing and empowering to walk through an airport without sighted assistance, to find my gate and the bathroom and the food court on my own, to know where I am in the world rather than feeling like a package that's being delivered to who-knows-where. It was definitely outside my comfort zone--actually almost everything I did this week was outside my comfort zone--but once I did it, I found that my comfort zone grew to accommodate my new skills.
During his keynote address at the banquet Tuesday night, NFB President Mark Riccobono actually said that fear can be a good thing. Fear is powerful, he said, because it tells us that what we are doing is valuable. With everything wonderful comes fear. We must use our fear to discover and push past our limits.
So as I crossed the stage Tuesday night and received my scholarship award, I made a decision. Not a decision to be brave, which I've done before. Not a decision to push away my fears. But a decision to embrace them, to make something new of them, to turn them into strength.
Maybe I've been brainwashed, but I have decided that I want to join the NFB. (And just for the record, I don't think I've been brainwashed; there are some philosophies and methodologies I definitely disagree with, and that's all right.) I want to be a part of this dynamic, energetic, strong organization. I want to add my strength to its drive and commitment toward true equality for the blind, not only in the United States, but in the world. I want to dance like no one's watching and not care if they are.
But first, I really, really need to get some sleep!

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