The Federation at Fifty

The Federation at Fifty

Part I: Beyond the Barricades: Marching into the Millennium

Dr. Kenneth Jernigan understood the meaning of history. He took delight in studying and
teaching it, and he was amused by the notion that he himself was a significant factor in
making it. In 1990, at the convention of the National Federation of the Blind, on the
occasion of our 50th anniversary, he delivered an outstanding address
illuminating the causes that founded the National Federation. This address is entitled
"The Federation at Fifty."

If the engineers of
1800 had possessed complete drawings for a transistor radio (one that could be bought
today for $10), they couldn’t have built it, not even if they had had billions or
trillions of dollars. They lacked the infrastructure, the tools, the tools to build the
tools, and the tools to build those; the plastics, the machines to make the plastics, and
the machines to make the machines; the skilled work force, the teachers to train the work
force, and the teachers to train the teachers; the transportation network to assemble the
materials, the vehicles to use the network, and the sources of supply. All of this is
generally recognized, but it is far less well understood that what is true of material
objects is also true of ideas and attitudes. In the absence of a supporting social
infrastructure of knowledge and beliefs, a new idea simply cannot exist.
So far as I can tell, there are only three possible reasons for
studying history; to get inspiration, to gain perspective, or to acquire a basis for
predicting the future.
In 1965 Dr. Jacobus tenBroek, the founder and leader of our movement,
spoke at our twenty-fifth banquet, reviewing the first quarter century and charting the
road ahead. We were meeting in Washington, and more than a hundred members of Congress
were present. I was master of ceremonies, and some of the rest of you were also there.
Tonight (twenty-five years later) we celebrate our Golden Anniversary, and the time has
once again come to take stock. Where are we, where have we been, and where are we going?
In a sense the history of our movement begins in the distant past in
the medieval guilds and brotherhoods of the blind in Europe, in the tentative stirrings of
organization in China, and even earlier, but the National Federation of the Blind is
essentially an American product. Its genesis is native. Although (as we all know) Dr.
Jacobus tenBroek presided at the founding of the National Federation of the Blind in 1940
at Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania, he had a teacher (Dr. Newel Perry), who laid the
foundations and served as precursor. And Dr. Perry, in turn, had a teacher, Warring
Wilkinson.
Most of what we know about Wilkinson is contained in the eulogy which
Dr. tenBroek delivered at the time of Dr. Perry’s death in 1961, but our knowledge is
sufficient to tell us that Wilkinson was a worthy teacher of the teacher of our founder.
He was the first principal of the California School for the Deaf and Blind. He served in
that capacity for forty-four years, from 1865 to 1909. He not only loved his students but
also did what he could to move them toward the main channels of social and economic
participation. Particularly, he saw the potential in young Perry, sending him from the
California School for the Blind to Berkeley High to complete his secondary education. To
do this Wilkinson (who was ahead of his time both in his understanding of education and
the needs of the blind) had to overcome numerous obstacles.
I was fortunate enough to know Dr. Perry, meeting him when I moved to
California in 1953. He was then eighty, and he spent many hours with me reminiscing about
what conditions for the blind were like when he was a boy. He came to the California
School for the Blind when he was ten; penniless, blind, his father dead, his home
dissolved. Two years earlier he had lost his sight and nearly his life as the result of a
case of poison oak, which caused his eyeballs to swell until they burst and which held him
in a coma for a month. It was at the School, of course, that he first met Warring
Wilkinson.
While going to high school (from which he graduated in 1892) he lived
at the California School for the Blind. He also lived there while attending the University
of California from 1892 to 1896. His admission to the University (as had been the case
with high school) had to be secured over strong resistance. Again, Wilkinson was the
pathfinder, young Perry his willing and anxious instrument. Wilkinson’s role in
Perry’s life as a youth can hardly be overestimated: father, teacher, guide,
supporter, in Perry’s own words,
"Dear Governor:
After graduating from the University, Dr. Perry devoted himself to
further education and to the search for an academic job. He took graduate work at the
University of California, meanwhile serving successively as an unpaid teaching fellow, a
paid assistant, and finally as an instructor in the department of mathematics. In 1900,
following a general custom of that day, he went to Europe to continue his studies. He did
this for a time at the University of Zurich in Switzerland and then at the University of
Munich in Germany. From the latter he secured in 1901 the degree of Doctor of Philosophy
in Mathematics, with highest honors. He returned to the United States in 1902, landing in
New York, where he was to remain until 1912. He had about eighty dollars in capital, a
first-class and highly specialized education, and all of the physical, mental, and
personal prerequisites for a productive career, except one, eyesight.
During this period he supported himself precariously as a private coach
of university mathematics students. He also applied himself to the search for a university
position. He displayed the most relentless energy. He employed every imaginable technique.
He wrote letters in profusion. In 1905, he wrote to 500 institutions of every size and
character. He distributed his dissertation and his published article on mathematics. He
haunted meetings of mathematicians. He visited his friends in the profession. He enlisted
the aid of his teachers. He called on everybody and anybody having the remotest connection
with his goal.
Everywhere the outcome was the same. Only the form varied. Some
expressed astonishment at what he had accomplished. Some expressed interest. One of these
seemed genuine. He had a blind brother-in-law, he said, who was a whiz at math. Some
showed indifference, now and then masked behind polite phrases. Some said there were no
vacancies. Some said his application would be filed for future reference. One said
ironically: ‘For what, as an encouragement to men who labor under disadvantages and
who may learn from it how much may be accomplished through resolution and industry?’
Some averred that he probably could succeed in teaching at somebody else’s college.
Many said outright that they believed a blind person could not teach mathematics.
Many of these rejections may, of course, have been perfectly proper.
Many were not. Their authors candidly gave the reason as blindness. Dr. Perry failed not
because of lack of energy or qualification but because the necessary infrastructure of
attitudes and beliefs did not exist to allow it to be otherwise; so he did not find a job
in a university. Perhaps it was better for the blind (for those of us gathered here
tonight) that he did not, but for him what pain! What absolute desolation and misery! And
he had to face it alone; no family, no supporting organization of the blind, only himself
and the bleak wall of continuing rejection year after year. He might have quit in despair.
He might have become embittered. But he did not. Instead, he returned to California and
settled down to build for the future. If he could not have first-class treatment for
himself, he was absolutely determined that at least the next generation of the blind would
not be denied.
He taught at the California School for the Blind from 1912 to 1947, and
day after day, month after month, season after season he exhorted and indoctrinated,
preached and prepared. He was building the necessary infrastructure of ideas and beliefs.
Those who were his students went on to become his colleagues, and as the number grew, the
faith was kept. There would be a state-wide organization of the blind in California. It
did not happen until 1934, but when it came, it was built on a solid foundation. And there
would also be a National Federation of the Blind, but not yet.
Dr. Perry was to that generation what Warring Wilkinson had been to
him. In the words of Jacobus tenBroek, his most brilliant student and the man who would
lead the blind in the founding of their national movement: We were his students, his
family, his intimates, his comrades on a thousand battlefronts of a social movement. We
slept in his house, ate at his table, learned geometry at his desk, walked the streets
interminably by his side, moved forward on the strength of his optimism and confidence.
Dr. tenBroek graduated from Berkeley High School in 1930 with, as he
said, "plenty of ambition, but no money." He was prepared to enter the
University of California but was denied state aid to the blind, a program then newly
instituted as a result of Dr. Perry’s efforts in sponsoring a constitutional
amendment, which had been adopted by the voters of California in 1928. In Dr.
tenBroek’s words, "The reason for the denial was not that my need was not great.
It was that I intended to pursue a higher education while I was being supported by the
state. That was too much for the administrative officials." Almost without
discussion, Dr. Perry immediately filled the gap. Just as Warring Wilkinson had earlier
done for him, said Dr. tenBroek, "he supplied me with tuition and living expenses out
of his own pocket for a semester while we all fought to reverse the decision of the state
aid officials."
"It was," Dr. tenBroek said, "ever thus with Dr. Perry.
The key to his great influence with blind students was, first of all, the fact that he was
blind and therefore understood their problems; and second, that he believed in them and
made his faith manifest. He provided the only sure foundation of true rapport: knowledge
on our part that he was genuinely interested in our welfare."
So the new generation came to maturity, and Jacobus tenBroek was to be
its leader. Born in 1911 on the prairies of Alberta, Canada, he was blinded by an arrow in
a childhood game and moved to California to enter the school for the blind. He went on to
earn five academic degrees: from the University of California at Berkeley a
bachelor’s in 1934, a master’s in 1935, a law degree in 1938, and a Doctorate in
Jurisprudence in 1940; and from the Harvard Law School a Doctorate in Jurisprudence in
1947. There is no need for me to talk to this audience about Dr. tenBroek’s
brilliance-his learned articles and books, his chairmanship of the California Board of
Social Welfare, his scholarly pre-eminence and national acclaim, his writings on
constitutional law that are still the authoritative works in the field. Rather, I would
speak of the man; the warm human being who fought for acceptance, led our movement, and
served as my mentor and role model, the man who was my closest friend and spiritual
father.
When Dr. tenBroek was first trying to get a teaching position in the
1930’s, the climate of public opinion was better than it had been a generation
earlier, but he faced many of the same problems which had confronted Dr. Perry, and
sometimes with identical letters from the same institutions. "It was," he said,
"almost as if a secretary had been set to copying Dr. Perry’s file, only
changing the signatures and the name of the addressee."
Here is what Dr. tenBroek wrote to Dr. Perry in March of 1940. At the
time he was studying at Harvard:
"Last November a large midwestern university was looking for a man
to teach public law. Having read my published articles but knowing nothing else about me,
the head of the department in question wrote a letter to the University of California
inquiring whether I would be available for the position. Cal. replied that I would and
accompanied the answer with a considerable collection of supporting material. However,
when the department head learned that I was blind, the deal was off although none of the
competing applicants had as good a paper showing. This incident seems to me of particular
interest because, although I have been refused other jobs, this was the first instance in
which blindness could be traced as the sole explanation for rejection. Of course, in other
cases blindness was also the determining factor, but the fact could not be demonstrated as
well."
There were other letters and other rejections, but on June 8, 1940, Dr.
tenBroek was able to write to Dr. Perry:
"We have justification for hanging out the flags and ringing the
bells. I have been offered and have accepted a job at Chicago University Law School. The
job pays $1,800, is denominated a half-time position, and lasts for only a year. But it is
a job nevertheless. And the Harvard people, who exerted no end of pressure to get it for
me, regard it as an excellent opportunity. The position is designated ‘tutorial
fellowship’ and consists in supervising the research of the first- and second-year
law students. It involves no actual classroom teaching, except possibly by way of an
occasional fill-in job."
This was how Dr. tenBroek (the man who fifteen years later was to win
the Woodrow Wilson Award for the outstanding book of the year in political science and who
was always the most sought-after professor at the University of California) was to begin
his teaching career. Yet, even today there are sighted people (and also some of the blind
people who ought to know better) who tell me that the blind are not victims of
discrimination. Yes, the tenBroek job search was fifty years ago, but you know and I know
that we have not yet come to first-class status and equal treatment in society. The
framework of ideas and beliefs to make it possible, though long in the building, is still
not complete. Warring Wilkinson, Newel Perry and his students, Jacobus tenBroek and the
founders of our movement, and the Federationists of succeeding decades have worked year
after year to improve the climate of public acceptance and make opportunity available for
the blind, but the job is not yet finished. Each generation has built on the work of the
one before it. Each has fought and hoped, dreamed and drudged for the one to follow, and
also for the blind then alive.
What we have done must be seen in perspective; for no act of the past
(no gain or denial) is irrelevant, and no present behavior of ours can be divorced from
tomorrow. We are close to freedom, and we must finish the journey. 1940 was notable for
something else besides Dr. tenBroek’s debut at the University of Chicago. It was also
the year of the founding of this organization. With the passage of the Social Security Act
in 1935 the federal government had supplanted the states in providing assistance to the
blind. In 1939 Congress and the Social Security Board combined to pressure the states
having the most forward looking programs (chief among them California but also
Pennsylvania, Missouri, and Wisconsin) to repeal their progressive laws. This supplied the
immediate impetus for the formation of the Federation, but of course the momentum had been
building for a generation. The event occurred at Wilkes-Barre on November 15 and 16, 1940,
coincident with the convention of the Pennsylvania Federation of the Blind.
In a letter to Dr. Perry dated November 19, 1940, Dr. tenBroek said in
part:
"The confab at Wilkes-Barre gave birth to an organization, the
National Federation of the Blind, of which you, vicariously through me, are president. The
long-range aims of the organization are the promotion of the economic and social welfare
of the blind, and its immediate and specific aims are the sponsorship of the principle of
Senate Bill 1766 and an amendment of the Social Security Act. Seven states were
represented at the organizational meeting: Minnesota, Wisconsin, Illinois, Missouri, Ohio,
Pennsylvania, and California. We arrived in Wilkes-Barre in the middle of Friday
afternoon....On Saturday morning, while the Pennsylvania state meeting was going on, I had
several back-of-the-scenes conversations with Pennsylvania leaders.... In the afternoon...
we drew up a skeleton constitution, which we presented to a meeting of all of the
delegates to the national meeting, beginning about four o’clock and ending about the
same time twelve hours later.... The meeting was interrupted at 5:30 in the afternoon long
enough to give the other delegates a chance to eat dinner, and the Pennsylvania leader
(Gayle Burlingame) and me a chance to appear on the local radio, where we lambasted hell
out of the Social Security Board."
On January 4, 1941, Dr. tenBroek wrote to Dr. Perry concerning the
details of getting the new organization started. ‘With the National Federation of the
Blind not yet two months old,’ he said, ‘its permanence is definitely assured.
The factor guaranteeing that permanence is the closely knit nucleus composed of Minnesota,
Pennsylvania, and California. We three have now had enough experience with each other to
know that we can make a go of it.... We can add to this trilogy the state of Wisconsin. I
had a letter from Minnesota yesterday to the effect that they are ready to pay their
assessment but that they wish assurance that Pennsylvania and California are also ready
before they mail their check. I also had a letter from Pennsylvania stating that it is
ready but wishes assurance that Minnesota and California are ready. I have written to both
of these states requesting them to make out their checks, payable to the Treasurer of the
National Federation, and to send them to me, with the stipulation that I shall not forward
them to the Treasurer until I have the dues from each of the states of California,
Pennsylvania, and Minnesota. Consequently, if California is ready, I suggest that you
follow the same procedure....’
But the new president did not limit himself to procedural matters. The
Federation immediately assumed its present-day role of working to improve the quality of
life for the nation’s blind. In a letter to Dr. Perry dated March 15, 1941, President
tenBroek described the efforts he had been making to get changes in the administration of
public assistance to the blind. Here, in part, is what he said:
"After a week in Washington I have more unsocial exchange to
report than specific accomplishment.... Gradually working our way upward, Gayle Burlingame
and I first presented our case to Jane Hoey, director of the Bureau of Public Assistance,
and her associate, a lawyer named Casius. Next we went to Oscar Powell, executive director
of the Social Security Board; and finally to Paul V. McNutt, administrator of the Federal
Security Agency. Hoey is simply another social worker of the familiar type but with a
higher salary than most. Casius has lost none of his qualities since Shakespeare described
him, except that his wit has been sharpened by a little legal training. Powell is a very
high calibre man with a fine sense of argumentative values, a considerable store of good
nature, and unusual perception. He simply is not a believer in our fundamental
assumptions. McNutt, on the other hand, is a lesser Hitler by disposition and makes our
California social workers look like angels by comparison.
Hoey and Powell had argued that the new ruling of the Board did not
necessarily result in a reduction of a recipient’s grant by the amount of his
earnings or other income. McNutt took the position that it did and, moreover, that it
should. ‘Are you saying to us,’ I asked McNutt, ‘that blind people should
have their grants reduced no matter how small their private income and no matter how great
their actual need?’ His answer was that he was saying precisely that. I formulated
the question in several other ways, only to get the same reply. I can’t say that I
wasn’t glad to get this official declaration from McNutt since it provides us with an
official declaration by the highest administrator of them all that ought to be of immense
propagandistic value to us. Moreover, McNutt’s conduct during the conference has
provided us with the most perfect example of the arbitrary and tyrannical methods of the
Board that we could hope to have. In the remaining week that I shall stay in Washington,
we shall attempt to carry our appeal to the last administrative step. Senator Downey of
California and Senator Hughes of Delaware are attempting to secure for us appointments
with Mrs. and President Roosevelt.
As things stand, the only course open to the blind of California is to
urge the legislature to retain the blind aid act in its present form and tell the federal
government to go to hell. Even if we can get a favorable amendment to the Social Security
Act, it certainly will not be until after the California legislature adjourns."
This is what Dr. tenBroek wrote in 1941, and although we have often
said in this organization that the first task which the Federation faced after its
founding was to help the blind of the nation get enough money for bare survival, I
sometimes wonder if we have made the point with sufficient clarity to convey the
desperation of it. The report which was prepared following the 1941 convention of the
Federation in Milwaukee says in part:
"Mr. Stephen Stanislevic of New York City reported as follows:
‘The blind population of New York State is roughly estimated at 13,000. Of these,
more than half are in New York City. A very small number of our people, a few hundred in
all, are at present employed in sheltered industries, on government projects, at
newsstands, or in miscellaneous enterprises. The majority depend for sustenance either
upon private bounty or upon Social Security grants. The average monthly grant per
individual is $27 in New York City and $23 in the up-state counties. This is the paltry
pittance which the wealthiest state in our Union sees fit to dole out to those of its
citizens who are blind. Mr. Hugh McGuire explained that in Indiana there are approximately
2,600 blind and that between 2,200 and 2,300 are drawing assistance with the monthly
average of $20."

That was forty-nine years ago, and much has happened in the interim.
Not that it happened by chance, of course. Mostly we made it happen. How many times since
1940 has the National Federation of the Blind led the way in social reform in this
country, not only for the blind but also for others? To mention only three examples, we
pioneered exempt earnings for the recipients of public assistance; we pioneered fair
hearing procedures in rehabilitation and other public programs; and we pioneered jobs for
the disabled in government service.
As I have already said, our first task as an organization was to
initiate programs to enable the blind get enough to eat. In 1940 and the decades
immediately following, most of the blind of this country were desperately poor, and there
were almost no government programs to help. When people are hungry, little else matters.
Later (although many of us were still in poverty, and, for that matter, are now) we worked
on rehabilitation and employment, and today we emphasize civil rights and equal
participation in society. But essentially our role is what it has always been-seeing that
blind people get equal treatment and a fair shake.
It is not only in basics but also in detail that our operation today is
often much the same as it was in past decades. Let me give you a rather specialized
example. I have made a lot of banquet speeches at these conventions, and certain key ideas
are central to them all. I can sum up the essentials in a few sentences. The real problem
of blindness is not the blindness itself but what the members of the general public think
about it. Since the agencies doing work with the blind are part of that general public,
they are likely to possess the same misconceptions that are held by the broader society.
The blind, too, are part of that broader society, and if we are not careful, we will
accept the public view of our limitations and thus do much to make those limitations a
reality. The blind are not psychologically or mentally different from the sighted. We are
neither especially blessed nor especially cursed. We need jobs, opportunity, social
acceptance, and equal treatment-not pity and custody. Only those elected by the blind can
speak for the blind. This is not only a prime requisite of democracy but also the only way
we can ever achieve first-class status.
These are the essential points of every banquet speech I have ever
made. The banquet speeches are meant to be widely circulated. They have the purpose of
convincing those in work with the blind and the public at large that they should rethink
their notions about blindness. They also have the purpose of stimulating our own members
to increased activity and added vigor. Hopefully the speech will be sufficiently
inspiring, entertaining, and literate to make people want to listen to it, and later (when
it is distributed) to read it. The difficulty is that just about the same thing needs to
be said every year, but it has to be restated so that the listeners (and ultimately the
readers) will feel that it is different, and maybe even new. After a while, putting it all
together becomes quite a problem.
I don’t think I ever talked about this matter with Dr. tenBroek,
and I certainly did not attend the 1949 convention at Denver. With this background let me
share some correspondence with you. Kingsley Price was a Californian, who became a college
professor and was living in New York in the 1940’s. In a letter dated April 8, 1949,
Dr. tenBroek wrote to urge him to attend the Denver convention. "The problem does not
arise," Dr. tenBroek said, "out of an unmixed desire to enjoy your company. I
would like to get you to give the principal banquet address. This is something that I have
not been able to dodge very often in the seven conventions that we have had. [Conventions
were not held in the war years of 1943 and 1945.] The banquet address," Dr. tenBroek
continued, "is a kind of focal point in which the problems of the blind, their
peculiar needs with respect to public assistance, employment, and equal opportunity are
formulated and presented both with an eye to rededicating and stimulating the blind
persons present and an eye to enlightening and possibly converting the many sighted
persons who have been invited to attend. For me, this has always been a job of rehashing
and repeating certain central ideas. My imagination and new methods of statement have long
since petered out. The next alternative is to get a new ‘stater.’ This is what I
would like you to be. We would, of course, introduce you as a New Yorker since there are
far too many Californians in the limelight as it is. We also, if we thought hard, could
find one or two other chores about the convention for you to do. Please think this matter
over as long as you want, but let me have an immediate answer." Among other things,
Dr. tenBroek obviously wanted to get Price to become more active in the movement, and he
probably thought the banquet speech might be a way to do it. There has always been a
tendency for the successful members of a minority to try to avoid involvement. The only
trouble with this behavior is that it won’t work. At an earlier period many blacks
tried to straighten their hair and hide in white society, but then they realized that it
was better to make it respectable to be black. The corollary, if I need to say it, (and
every one of us had better know and understand it) is that it is respectable to be blind.
That’s what the National Federation of the Blind is all about.
No blind person in this country is untouched by our successes or, for
that matter, our failures, and no blind person can avoid identification with the rest of
us. This is true regardless of how the blind person feels about it and regardless of how
we feel about it. Blindness is a visible characteristic, and all of us are judged by each
other whether we like it or not. The feeling I have toward those blind persons who try to
hide in sighted society is not anger but pity, and, yes, I am talking about those who are
regarded (and who regard themselves) as highly successful.
When Professor Price replied to Dr. tenBroek, he said that he might be
able to come but would probably do a bad job making the banquet speech. He should not have
been deceived by the light tone of Dr. tenBroek’s letter of invitation, for
Federation presidents take banquet speeches seriously. In a letter dated April 21, 1949,
Dr. tenBroek set him straight:
"Dear Kingsley:
I am not now, nor on June 20th shall I be, in the least
inclined to accept a bad job in the banquet address. If I were willing to accept a bad
job, I can think of at least a hundred persons of assured competence to satisfy the
requirement. The banquet address is the focal point of the whole meeting. It has come to
be regarded as the most important thing that is done at a convention. Many people of
influence in the community are invited to hear it. The Governor of the State often is
present, and the occasion is used to give him instructions as to what his policy should be
towards the blind. The address is expected to be of such a character that it can be
published and circulated the nation over with some advantage to the blind.
The address must be on the subject of the nature of the problems of
blindness, and the discussion should be frank and forthright. Amplification of points by
way of personal experience is always helpful and attractive. One conclusion that must
always be reached is that the blind should speak for themselves because they are the only
persons qualified to do so.
I enclose a copy of my Baltimore address, which may give you an idea of
what needs to be said. The same truths have to be retold, but the hope is that they will
be dressed up in a new and fresh style, even to the point of appearing to be different
truths.
One further word: It may be that the address will be broadcast direct
from the banquet hall. Consequently, both speech and delivery need to be well in hand. I
hope these admonitions are solemn enough to convince you of the importance of doing a good
job and yet not so solemn as to scare you away. We are desperately in need of a new voice
and a new brain to do this job, and a man from New York has geographical advantages as
well.
Cordially yours,"
In considering our past I am mindful of the fact that except for
inspiration, perspective, and prediction, there is no purpose to the study of history.
Certainly we can find inspiration in the lives of Warring Wilkinson, Newel Perry, and
Jacobus tenBroek. Often in lonely isolation they worked for a distant future which they
knew they would never see but which is our present. Using meager resources that they could
ill-afford to spare, they fought to build a framework of opportunities and benefits which
constitute the underpinning and foundation of what we have today. How can we be unmoved by
their story? It speaks to us across the years; calling us to conscience, giving us
strength for the battles ahead, reminding us of our heritage, and underscoring our duty to
those who will follow.
Yes, there is inspiration in our history, and it also gives us
perspective. Otherwise we might become discouraged. Even today, with all of our work, more
often than not when we come to one of these conventions and talk to the press, they assign
their medical reporters to deal with us. They want to write stories about our guide dogs,
the causes of blindness, and how capable we are because we can do the ordinary tasks of
daily living, like cutting our food or finding our way.
But the balances are shifting. Each year a few more reporters are
beginning to understand that our story is not one of physical loss, or courage in the face
of deprivation, but lack of opportunity and denial of civil rights. A perfect example is
the recent story in the Wall Street Journal about the blind who are running their
own businesses. It contains not a scrap of pity, nor a wasted word about those who (though
blind) are valiantly struggling to earn a living. Of course, it contains drama, but it is
the drama of a people fighting to rise to first-class status in a society which treats
them like children and wonders why they object.
Recently I went to the White House and talked with the President of the
United States about the problems we are having with the airlines and the Federal Aviation
Administration. We are being excluded from exit row seats on airplanes, but year after
year the Federal Aviation Administration has said that there is no issue of safety in our
sitting there. Now (because of pressure by the airlines) they have changed their minds. As
we have become painfully aware, the issue of seating is only one tiny part of an overall
pattern of bullying and harassment which blind persons face today in air travel. The
difficulty which always confronts us when we try to discuss this issue is the talk we get
about compassion and how commendable it is that we are trying to be independent-all of
which is a bunch of nonsense. If we pose a hazard in exit row seats, we shouldn’t sit
there, and we wouldn’t want to. If we don’t pose a hazard in exit row seats,
then we have as much right to sit there as anybody else, and to try to make us move is an
infringement of our civil rights. In either case compassion has nothing to do with it.
When I tried to convey these ideas to President Bush, his response made
it clear that he had been thoroughly briefed, and by somebody who hadn’t the faintest
idea about the issues. In answer to my question the President said that if there was no
evidence that we constituted a greater hazard than others in exit row seats, he would put
an end to the rule if he had the power to do so, which, of course, he has. I wasn’t
very hopeful about the outcome because of two things. President Bush kept avoiding the
word blind, gingerly referring to us as the non-sighted, and he said that Secretary
of Transportation Skinner had personally tested an airplane door to see whether an
individual without sight could open it, which is comparable to my going (with my lack of
experience) to a hospital to see what can be done with surgical instruments.
The President assigned his lawyer, Boyden Gray, to look into the matter
and get back to me. The results were what might have been expected. Mr. Gray did not talk
to us, nor did he look at the video tape of our test evacuation of an airplane. Instead,
he talked with Secretary of Transportation Skinner, who told him that we constituted a
safety hazard, which data he ceremonially transmitted to me.
So was it just an exercise in futility? Not at all. This is where
perspective helps. In 1940 Dr. tenBroek was not able even to get a hearing from President
Roosevelt even though two United States senators tried to help him do it. Moreover, my
talk with President Bush was only one brief skirmish in our long airline fight, and the
history of our past efforts tells us that we will ultimately win. It is true that Dr.
tenBroek did not get to talk with President Roosevelt, but it is also true that most of
the Social Security reforms for which he fought have been adopted, and mostly they have
been adopted through the efforts of the National Federation of the Blind.
Likewise, we lost the recent motion to cut off debate on our airline
bill in the United States Senate, but we had fifty-six votes. And when has any other group
in the blindness field ever been able to bring a bill of its own to the floor of the
United States Senate and have it be the pending business of that body for several days?
Never, and never with the number of votes we mustered. Again, this was only a single
skirmish in an individual battle in a long war; a war which has been going on for more
than a century, a war which we are winning, and a war which we intend to finish.
Yes, our history provides us with both inspiration and perspective, and
it also gives us the basis for prediction. Of course, no individual can be sure of what
will happen tomorrow, but I feel absolutely certain that this organization will continue
to grow and lead the way in improving the quality of life for the blind. The outward
appearance of the issues may shift, but the basics will not change-not until we have
achieved equal treatment and first-class status in society. And we will achieve it.
In examining our past I have not attempted to assess my own role and
contributions. How could I? I have been too close, loved too deeply, put too much of my
life into the process. All I can say is this: When Dr. tenBroek was dying, I made certain
pledges to him. I have tried to keep those pledges. I shall always try to keep them. And
when in 1986 I thought the time had come that the movement would best be served by my
leaving the presidency, I did it. The decision was not easy, but I think it was right. I
believe that President Maurer was the best person we could have chosen for the position
and that he will lead this organization into the twenty-first century-stronger, more
vibrant, and more committed than it has ever been. And there is something more: I think
the new generation that is on the horizon will provide leaders and members who will be
present fifty years from now when we meet for our hundredth anniversary. We must never
forget our history; we must never dishonor our heritage; we must never abandon our
mission. With love for each other and faith in our hearts we must go the rest of the way
to equal status and first-class membership in society. Let us march together to meet the
future.

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