Thanks, But No Thanks

Thanks, But No Thanks

Thanks, But No
Thanks
by Jim Marks
From the Editor:
Jim Marks has been an officer in the Montana affiliate of the National Federation
of the Blind since 1992 and has served as his chapter's Secretary since 1995.
Since 1988 he has been the director of disability services for students at
the University of Montana-Missoula, and he served two terms as chairman of
the Special Interest Group on Blindness of the Association on Higher Education
and Disability (AHEAD). For a number of years he has been a columnist on disability
issues for mainstream publications. In short, Jim Marks knows the disability
scene in higher education. As we approach the tenth anniversary of the passage
of the Americans with Disabilities Act, it is interesting to consider what
impact the ADA has had on students and the institutions that work with them
and sometimes against them in the educational process. This is what Jim has
to say:

During the debate before
the passage of the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA), the National Federation
of the Blind took a position that surprised many. The NFB said it would oppose
the passage of the Americans with Disabilities Act if the bill failed to include
a clause which gave protected citizens the right to refuse an accommodation.
At first I wondered what
the Federation was up to. Reject an accommodation? Why? But now that the law
is ten years older and I'm ten years wiser, the reason for the NFB position
stands immutably clear. If we didn't have the right to refuse an accommodation,
those with good and bad intentions would rob the blind of our self-determination.
I ought to know. I am
the director of a disability service at a public university. The things that
take place in higher education exemplify why the NFB was right on in protecting
the fundamental human right of saying, "Thanks, but no thanks."
Today's blind student
faces a learning experience which differs significantly from that of ten or
more years ago. Now disability service offices carry out many of the services
formerly provided by commissions for the blind and vocational rehabilitation
agencies. Although many colleges have had such offices since the mid-70's,
many more have proliferated since the ADA took effect. We are an infant industry
that is growing by leaps and bounds.
In 1988 I served about
120 students with an annual budget of $13,000 per year, a figure which included
my half-time salary. Now my office serves over 600 students with a budget
of $340,000 per year. Where it used to be just me working part time, now there
are ten staff, forty student workers, and some eighty volunteers. And my school
isn't alone in this kind of growth. According to the American Council on Education
the number of students with disabilities in higher education has grown to
about 9 percent of any student body. From my observations of other offices
it is common for about 2 to 6 percent of a student body to enroll with the
disability service office.
Done properly, a disability
service stays out of the student's way. Done poorly, the office either kills
the student with kindness or with outrageous, power-robbing controls. Believe
you me, as a Federationist working deep in the trenches of higher education,
it pays for blind students to be wary of the people who hold jobs like mine.
The bulk of my colleagues
don't know much about blindness. Most offices gear themselves to serve students
with other kinds of disabilities. Blind students make up tiny portions of
the students enrolled. Therefore blind students must be prepared to educate
their disability services coordinators about blindness. There are no knights
in shining armor. Blind students must look to themselves as their best resource
in dealing with college.
Over-accommodation trips
up more blind students than any other flaw in the disability services. Simply
put, over-accommodation means doing for the student what he or she is perfectly
capable of doing for him- or herself. For instance, some blind students must
unfortunately use human note takers in course lectures. For some students
with other kinds of disabilities note taking levels the playing field. But
blind students can and do take notes for themselves. The disability service,
out of ignorance, applies note takers as a one-size-fits-all solution to a
problem that doesn't need to exist for the blind. When the able student accepts
the over-accommodation, he or she pays a price. Career success depends on
one's ability to manage information. Employers say, "Don't know how to
take notes for yourself? Sorry. We're looking for competent employees who
can contribute to our organization."
Another example of over-accommodation
involves the sandwiching of the disability service between the student and
the instructor. Blind students must connect with their professors. If the
disability service office intervenes in this relationship, it is over-accommodating.
Many know about the letters
of verification that disability service offices write for students and faculty.
The letters verify that the student has a disability and a right to accommodation.
Sometimes the disability service office gives the letters to the student to
give to instructors. Sometimes the office sends them directly to the instructors.
In most cases the letter of verification is an option, one that blind students
really don't need. The blind student should be able to articulate a personal
request for accommodation. But some schools compel students to use these letters.
Here's how it works. The disability service office tells the faculty that
they should demand a letter from the disability services before any academic
adjustments are granted. In this way, the rhetoric goes, the institution is
protected best. Control rests with the disability service office, its importance
skyrockets, and the empire expands. Meanwhile the student holds on to the
letter as though it is the only passport to access. Schools have now created
dependencies where none existed before. Thanks to the "Thank you, but
no thank you" clause, the cycle of custodialism may be broken by the
blind student with spunk.
Another battle--one that
surprises many--must be waged over readers. The ADA requires communication
within a program to be just as effective for the blind as for others. Oftentimes
alternative formats such as Braille, tape cassettes, large print, and computer
texts are used to assure communication. But some schools go so far as to say
these alternatives are all that's required. Consequently they restrict the
use of readers by blind students.
A Midwest university
ADA dispute resolution officer recently contacted me for technical assistance
regarding a blind student's complaint against a restrictive policy on the
use of readers. The policy placed all the controls in the hands of the disability
service, not the blind student. The office recruited, hired, and monitored
the readers. The policy even required that reading occur on the campus. Incredibly,
the policy went so far as to prohibit the reader from reading anything twice.
Fail to comply, the policy stated, and the service will be terminated, leaving
only alternative formats as an option. The final kicker in this story was
that the money for the reader program came from the rehabilitation agency
rather than the university. It wasn't even their money; yet the controls choked
self-determination by the student.
Once I attended a conference
of people who hold jobs like mine. There I participated in a workshop entitled
something like this: "Custodians or Traffic Cops: Defining the Role of
Disability Service Officers in Higher Education." The workshop organizers
wanted to deliver an unsuspecting audience of do-gooders and control freaks
a lesson in how to do it right. One presenter said something that stuck with
me. He said the best disability services assure a process by which students
achieve self-determination. This means the services are optional and put the
student in the position of control. Sound familiar? It should, because self-determination
rests at the core of Federation philosophy and practice.
Disability service offices
are probably here to stay, but how the offices conduct themselves has yet
to be written in stone. The Federation's message of taking personal responsibility
shapes best practices in disability services in higher education. We must
remain vigilant about the seductions of over-accommodation and the dangers
of custodialism. Remember that saying "Thanks, but no thanks" is
healthy. I, for one, am glad the NFB had the imagination to see what was coming
and the good sense to protect our ability to do something about it.