The Search for Anonymity

The Search for Anonymity

THE SEARCH FOR ANONYMITY

by Marc Maurer

Dr. Maurer, President of the National Federation

of the Blind, gave the following keynote address at our NFB annual convention banquet,

Dallas, Texas, July 9 1998.

Ideas expressing new understanding of reality

inevitably, if they are to be accepted, undergo a process of internalization. To

paraphrase the naturalist Jean Louis Rodolphe Agassiz, every great truth goes through

three stages. First it is claimed that the idea conflicts with recognized truth, and is

"heresy." Next, it is argued that the idea has been discovered in a former time.

Finally it is asserted that knowledgeable people have always believed it.

Groups that come to be accepted as part of

society must undergo a similar process. The members of such groups begin with the

experience of rejection or indifference. Then comes a grudging toleration. The toleration

is eventually replaced by a peculiar mixture of uneasy suspicion and admiration. During

each of these stages, the individuals in the group are regarded as distinctly separate and

different from the ordinary, "regular" members of society. They are a part of

the fringe—having an identity strange and mysterious—an identity so unusual that

those who have it are always under scrutiny and can never be taken at face value.

The fourth and final stage is unlike the first

three because it is undramatic and unremarkable. At this point in the evolution of the

process, there is full acceptance. The characteristics which marked the group as separate

from the rest of society still exist, but they are no longer thought to be

important—no longer an identifiable means for differentiation— no longer a

symbol denoting special emphasis or special treatment. These identifying characteristics

have come to be a part of the norm, and the members of the group that were once so

noteworthy as a result of possessing these characteristics have lost their high profile

and become anonymous.

Consider, for example, the Irish. In the history

of the United States there have been times during which immigrants from Ireland were

unacceptable as part of the social set or the work force. Employers posted advertisements

for jobs which included the statement "No Irish Need Apply," and they meant

exactly that. Those from Ireland, regardless of their abilities or qualifications, were

rejected. Today, such a pattern of behavior would be completely unimaginable and

unacceptable.

But what does this delineation of elements in

social change mean for us, for the blind? The process of achieving acceptance within

society is not automatic; it does not come to every group. To get it, a group must possess

self-discipline, the capacity for joint action, assertiveness, a willingness to give, and

the understanding to take the long view. Furthermore, acceptance is never offered free; it

must be earned.

When we the blind came to organize in

Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania, in 1940 under the leadership of Dr. Jacobus tenBroek and those

few other pioneers who formed the National Federation of the Blind, our history was one in

which the blind were either regarded with indifference and dismissed, or actively

rejected. No blind person could escape the all-pervasive social attitude which relegated

the blind to positions of inferiority and idleness. Indeed Dr. tenBroek, who was later to

be counted among our nation's most brilliant authors and constitutional scholars, had

enormous difficulty at the beginning of his career finding any kind of meaningful work

within the discipline he had studied.

For the blind of the early 1940's there were few

if any jobs, not many books, and only limited opportunities for a college education. Some

sheltered workshops had been established, which provided a little work for a few blind

people, but wages were low and working conditions dismal.

The Social Security Act had been adopted in 1935,

but it provided minimal support to a small number of blind beneficiaries. Most blind

people were without financial resources, without the ability to gain a first-class

education, without employment, without the opportunity to engage in social interaction at

a meaningful level, and without hope. On those rare occasions when members of the general

public thought about blindness at all, they dismissed us as being unable to make

substantial contributions. When we who were blind sought the opportunity to engage in

productive activity, our efforts were rejected.

Then Dr. tenBroek and that small group who joined

with him formed the National Federation of the Blind. With that single act circumstances

for the blind began to change—the rejection became less frequent, and the dismissal

less firm. The possibilities for blind people began to expand. There were more jobs, more

opportunities for education, more books, and more social and political interaction with

the rest of society. The process has continued for more than half a century, and the

reason for the change is unmistakably clear. It is in this room tonight. It is our joint

effort—yours and mine—through the National Federation of the Blind. It is also

the effort of those tens of thousands of blind Federationists who preceded us. It is the

strength and commitment of the organized blind movement— speaking for ourselves with

one united voice. It is the organization we have built—the National Federation of the

Blind!

As soon as the force of the Federation was felt,

the rejection of former times began to give way to toleration— although it has not

always been a peaceful toleration. Blind people could no longer be universally

dismissed—we were becoming too well organized to permit it. Of course not all of the

rejection came to an end—some of it still exists even today. But blind people as a

group proclaimed for the first time that we have a role to play, and some (at first only a

few) within society responded.

During this phase of development laws were

adopted—laws which had, for the most part, been drafted by the National Federation of

the Blind—laws to guarantee the rights of the blind to equal access to institutions

of higher learning, to public buildings, and to other places of public resort. Blind

people were not always welcomed, but we were frequently admitted, because it was easier to

let us in than to keep us out; and having learned something of independence and the joys

of participation, we would no longer stay at home, where some thought we belonged. As the

pressure continued to be exerted to include the blind in all activities of life, the

toleration of the blind slowly changed. It was replaced by a mixture of cautious suspicion

and admiration.

In the past those who were blind were not

expected to be competent to handle much of anything. When blind people did something

successfully, there was (and sometimes still is) a measure of surprise that a blind person

could do the job at all. Some have wondered whether the job was really done with

competence, and others have suspected that the apparent success must be attributable to

luck or accident rather than ability. The situation is made more complex by the legal

requirement under the Americans with Disabilities Act and other federal statutes to offer

the blind reasonable accommodation with the attendant uncertainty about what this means.

In some government institutions, for example,

this concept has been distorted to such an extent that it is said to require a double

standard of performance—a higher one for the able-bodied and a lesser one for the

handicapped. In these institutions a blind employee is required to produce only fifty

percent as much work-product as a sighted employee. In such circumstances to speak of a

blind employee as successful is a mockery and a sham. It creates mistrust, frustration,

and annoyance. There is a tendency on the part of employers to say, "When I buy a

quart of milk, I'm not prepared to settle for a pint or even a pint and a half. If this is

what the handicapped demand, I will do my best to avoid them. I will take one of them if I

must, but I won't like it."

Even with all of the frustration and mistrust,

blind people do perform, and when there is no other convenient explanation for success, we

get the credit, sometimes accompanied by a healthy dollop of admiration. When the

admiration is offered not for outstanding performance but for the ordinary job done in the

ordinary way in the regular routine, it signifies inferiority. It implies that the blind

worker cannot reasonably be expected to be successful—that incompetence and failure

are the norm for the blind. The admiration is better than rejection—but not much.

We who are blind do not want recognition because

of our blindness. We want to be known for the talent, the energy, and the imagination we

possess. We do not believe that the ordinary job performed by a blind person becomes

extraordinary or that blindness is amazing. We do believe that the ordinary blind person,

given training and opportunity, can perform the ordinary job in the ordinary place of

business and do it as well as the ordinary sighted person similarly situated. We also

believe that there are many extraordinary blind people, who deserve recognition for what

they are and what they do, but not because of blindness. It is nice to be admired, but we

want the admiration that we deserve—not false admiration from those who believe that

they are superior to us. They can keep their false admiration; we are not prepared to

accept a counterfeit. We want the real thing, and we have the talent to earn it.

The various reactions to blindness included in

the shift from second-class status to first-class citizenship often exist simultaneously.

It is not that one reaction disappears and another takes its place, but that a reaction

which has been predominant diminishes to permit a different attitude to become primary.

Rejection for the blind still occurs, and toleration is often an element in the attitude

of the general public toward us. But there is a growing admiration for talented blind

people and, of even more importance, a growing acceptance of the blind in general.

One of the more poignant depictions of blindness

during the last twelve months occurred on December 22 of last year on the nationally

televised NBC program "Dateline." Desiree Strand, a single parent living in

Albany, New York, and working as a business consultant, became blind in 1995 only days

before Christmas. The devastation caused by blindness was featured on "Dateline"

two years later. The ancient myth that blindness is always an unmitigated tragedy was laid

on with a heavy hand. Desiree Strand says at one point during the dialogue that she

contemplated suicide. She decided not to kill herself because she has a daughter to raise.

She tried rehabilitation but found it less than satisfactory. Then she received training

at a guide dog school, and her prospects changed. Excerpts from this extensive program

describe the experience this way:

Tonight: The story of a remarkable woman, and the

extraordinary dog who came to her rescue! It's about a woman of tenacity and wit [said

Jane Pauley, host of the program], a woman whose happy life was torn apart by a terrible

twist of fate. Dennis Murphy [the "Dateline" reporter] learned how she came back

from the brink with the help of a remarkable friend.

It happened a few days before Christmas [said the

reporter], and at first Desiree Strand thought, just maybe, she was getting the best gift

of all. She'd lost the vision in her left eye several years before, but now something in

her eye was changing—maybe for the better. Tingling with excitement and hope, she

made an appointment with the eye doctor.

I went to the doctor's [said Strand] with joyful

anticipation that I was getting my sight back in my left eye, and in fact, he informed me

I was going blind.

[The reporter asked] And how much later was it,

when you actually lost the vision?

[Strand responded] Two days. I turned to my

doctor and said, "Oh my God, what am I going to do? What am I going to do, how am I

going to live? How will I survive?" He said to me, "I don't know, but you're

going to have to find a way."

[The reporter asked] how did you go about the

routines of your life?

[Strand answered] I didn't. I lay on my couch,

and I waited for the sun to come through the window—so I could feel it. I was afraid

of falling. I was afraid of looking foolish, and so I locked myself, literally, in my

home. And it dawned on me that I was taking the one place on earth that I loved very much

[and making of it a prison]. It was a prison, [so I hated it].

[The reporter asked rhetorically] How could she

ever raise her eleven year-old daughter Mandy? Her consulting business was all about

numbers—poring over the books for new car dealers. How could a blind person do that?

[Said Strand] I envisioned myself living in a

basement on public assistance.

[The reporter stated] her prospects were black as

night.

[Said Strand] I'm probably one of the strongest

people you'll ever meet. It brought me to my knees in a flash. It was overwhelming,

absolutely overwhelming. It was truly the depths of despair that I think any human being

can go through. And I had the pills in my hand.

[The reporter sympathized] You were looking over

the edge. How did you crawl back, Desiree?

[She responded] I reached down real deep for

every ounce of inner strength I could muster. I did it then for my daughter. I do it now

for me.

Starting over [said the reporter], Desiree had to

put her life back together piece by piece, relearning everything, from getting toothpaste

on the toothbrush, to making sure her shoes matched. She put her career on hold.

Everything she did now was focused on how to be a blind person.

[Said Strand] The only thing I didn't have to

relearn was sleeping.

Let me interrupt the dialogue to reflect that

blindness, if it is not properly understood, can be devastating. But I also reflect that

the language in the "Dateline" program is written for maximum drama, not for

truth. Those of us who are blind need not relearn everything except sleeping. To declare

that every skill we possessed before we became blind disappears at the onset of blindness,

except the capacity to sleep, is a distortion, a vast overstatement, one that

characterizes the entire presentation. But back to the program.

Desiree had devoured books [said the reporter].

Now she was learning to read with her fingertips. She had to learn to get about by tapping

a cane.

[Strand said] It's hard as hell to get around.

Blindness is lonely. It's like being in a cocoon.

[The reporter said] Potholes, cracks in the

sidewalk: things that used to be just annoyances now could break her neck. Desiree's

teacher took her to downtown Albany, New York, for a gritty lesson with obstacles galore.

Like this bicycle left in the middle of the sidewalk. Desiree knew it was there,

somewhere. She overheard two bystanders giving cynical play-by-play as she approached.

Once again I interrupt the "Dateline"

presentation to ask you, how often have those of us who are blind broken our necks on

potholes, cracks in the sidewalk, or bicycles? Such things are annoyances, but not more

than that. But back to the program.

[The reporter asked] The cane really bugs you,

doesn't it?

[And Strand replied] It bugs the hell out of me.

I hate it. I felt pitiful. I don't want anybody's pity. Absolutely not. Be happy for me.

I'm out and about; I'm not locked in my house.

But [said the reporter] the clock of her life was

still stopped at that December day. Even though the cane works well for most, Desiree

needed something more to get back to where she was before she lost her sight. That's when

she decided to heed a friend's advice and investigate the possibility of getting a guide

dog.

[Strand said] I've tried so hard to put my life

back together again. And this is really the last piece. Now, if the dog could just drive,

we'd be all set.

[As Strand departed from the guide dog
school, she said, in part] I have spent the last few months of my life getting
up each morning and turning my back on the curse of blindness, telling it, "You
cannot have me; I am not yours—not today." I find myself walking towards
that door once again which was slammed in my face when I became blind; I will
open it and resume my life. I don't think I can lose. Indeed, I think I've already
won.

And Desiree is back at work [said the reporter].

Back in the thick of her consulting business she loved so much. Desiree and her new silent

partner in the firm. [She] is back to where she was before she lost her sight. The clock

has started again. It was a cruel Christmas season, the December she went blind. One year

later, this past Christmas, the greatest gifts turn out to be the family and friends who

saw her through and the companionship of one special partner, who is so much more than

that.

[Said Strand] My life is wonderful, and, you

know, people hear me say that, and they say "My God, you're blind! How can you say

you're happy?" I'm happy. I don't feel blind anymore. I felt different before. I

don't feel different anymore. I'm the happiest I've ever been in my life.

So says the story on "Dateline" from

December 22, 1997, less than seven months ago. Such descriptions are intended to warm the

heart, renew the belief in goodness and the human spirit, and remind us that each of us is

given a measure of hope and the strength to bring success to our lives if we have faith

and the willingness to work. But wait, there is something even better. The reporter has

not finished. We return to "Dateline."

This past June [the reporter said], just when

Desiree was finally comfortable with Braille and she and Ruth had become an inseparable

team, something totally unexpected happened. Desiree went to see a doctor who specializes

in low-vision problems. A person resigned to being blind for the rest of her life could

see. Her life is enormously improved by her new special glasses. But she is still legally

blind and needs Ruth's help to get around. The glasses work only for reading, and that is

a struggle. Being able to simply read poems to her daughter Amanda resting at her feet is

something she never thought she'd do.

Since we first met Desiree [said the reporter],

she's also received a number of awards over the months for her courage and her strength.

She was recently named entrepreneur of the year by the state of New York, not just for her

skills in business, but for the inspiration she instills in others.

[At one of the gatherings where Strand was

honored she said] hope is the thing that we need to move forward. Most importantly, I'd

like to thank my twelve-year-old daughter Amanda, who has believed in me as a mother and a

provider. For the longest time I felt that blindness was a punishment, something that we

[my daughter and I] were going through together. I was wrong. It's a test. We passed,

honey; we passed.

[Jane Pauley, the host of the program, closed by

telling us these things]: As for Desiree, her condition continues to improve. She tells us

she just saw her eyes in the mirror for the first time in two years. Seeing her own eyes,

she says, makes her feel like she's been given back her soul.

This is what the "Dateline" program

said, and is it any wonder that the blind are misunderstood when such drivel is portrayed

on television as reality? "Dateline" saves the essential point to the final

moments of the program. The significant factor is not the struggle to rebuild a career,

not the reestablishment of a family circle, not the return to community activity. Desiree

Strand is informed that she may be able to regain her sight. If she can get it, she will

be able to abandon the despondency and despair associated with blindness. Even with the

experience of becoming blind, she has permitted herself to be duped. Such training as she

has been able to get has not taught her the truth. She equates sight with goodness and

blindness with deprivation. Although as a blind person she has declared that her life is

happy and that she has already won, she demonstrates no happiness. She thinks that the

capacity to see will allow her to regain possession of her own soul.

What a Christmas present for the blind of

America—what a shallow, misguided, misleading portrayal! Blindness can be, if it is

not properly understood, a tragedy indeed, but blindness is not equivalent to inferiority.

It need not deprive a person of a career or prevent a mother from caring for her child.

And under no circumstances can it rob us of the essence of our being—it cannot take

away our souls.

It is not the blindness itself but the attitudes

portrayed by programs like "Dateline" that stifle the initiative and curtail the

opportunity. "Dateline" does not reject the blind— at least not overtly. It

has admiration for the courage and fortitude of a blind woman, but its assessment is that

the courage and fortitude are insignificant compared to sight. We know that this

understanding of the relative importance of the capacity to see is unfounded.

"Dateline" admires us, but in doing so it asserts our inferiority. We reject

that formulation. We are willing to be admired, but only if it is the real thing.

And we will never accept a counterfeit.

Becoming first-class citizens requires blind

people to perform competently. If we do not, we should face the consequences. For an

employer, through a feeling of charity, to decide not to dismiss a blind person who has

failed is a disservice not only to the employer but also to us who are blind. An article

from the Associated Press which appeared in January, 1998, describes a disciplinary action

taken against a blind judge. It says in part:

A state judicial panel Friday suspended Alabama's

only blind judge for failing to keep his docket up to date and trying to block testimony

that the judge feared would show how poorly he ran his office.

The State Court of the Judiciary also censured

Jefferson County Circuit Judge Tony Cothren for sleeping on the bench, but it did not

issue sanctions on that count because of undisputed evidence that he suffers from a sleep

disorder.

Cothren, forty-eight, was suspended with pay

until June 30 and without pay for the remainder of his appointed term, which ends in

January, 1999.

A friend, Jefferson County Tax Collector Jack

Williams, said he was disappointed in the ruling and he felt Cothren had been

"hammered" for having a physical disability.

"I definitely think he didn't get a fair

chance" to work as a judge, Williams said.

Cothren also testified he was not aware of ever

falling asleep on the bench, although his lawyers said he has a sleep disorder and

introduced evidence that people with the disorder don't always realize they doze off for

brief times during the day. Numerous witnesses told the court that Cothren fell asleep

during court proceedings.

When asked about stacks of court files supposedly

littered throughout his office, the judge said he was not aware of them. He said he relied

on his staff to tell him about such matters.

Cothren said that, because he is blind, he is

more dependent than most judges on his staff members. He said he must trust them to do the

work he asks them to do because he cannot see it for himself.

This is the story from the Associated Press. If

the judge was disciplined because of blindness, as one person believed, we in the

Federation should support him in challenging the decision. But if the reason for dismissal

is a failure to get the work done and to stay alert, the decision is fair. It is beyond

comprehension that we would ask for special treatment because we didn't know that the

stacks of paper representing court files littered the office. There are those who want to

hide behind the disability of blindness and blame all their misfortunes on it, but we know

better. We want the admiration that our performance deserves, and we have the talent

required to earn it. But we insist on the real thing, and we will never accept a

counterfeit.

When I was a boy at the school for the blind in

Iowa, all people were divided into three categories: the sighted, the blind (sometimes

called totals), and the partials—sometimes partially sighted, sometimes partially

blind, but most of the time just partials. The difference between the partials and the

totals was significant. Partials were permitted to meet guests and give tours of the

campus; totals were not. Partials, if they were old enough, could travel downtown by

themselves. Totals had to be escorted by partials. Partials were also called

"sight-savers" because they could read large-print books. Totals read Braille,

which was regarded as slow and clumsy. Being a partial was better than being a total.

Today, at least in certain erudite professional

writing, the classification is different. The three categories are the sighted, the blind,

and the low-vision. The argument is made that those who have some remaining sight (we used

to call them partials) are not really sighted but not really blind. The problems faced by

the blind, according to this theory, are fairly well defined and readily addressed.

However, those with some remaining sight cannot be helped by the techniques for the blind

because these solutions do not apply to them. But the techniques for the sighted don't

work either. Consequently, the low-vision live in a shadow-world—suffering from the

disadvantages of not being able to handle the world as the sighted do and not being

accepted by the blind.

Of course it is tempting to dismiss this line of

argument as just one more effort to create a euphemism for blindness—sight-limited,

visually impaired, visually challenged, sight-savers, partials, or, as some wags would

have it, the hard of seeing. But the professional theorists in the business of advancing

the claims of the low-vision say it's not that simple. There is not only a physical

difference but a psychological one as well, they say.

A book by Helen Neal entitled "Low Vision:

What You Can Do to Preserve and Even Enhance Your Usable Sight" contains suggestions

for adapting the home for the partially sighted. The author believes that the ordinary

comfortable home becomes, for the partially sighted, a place of inconvenience and danger.

Here are portions of the text that describe this phenomenon:

As vision deteriorates, [says Neal] the once

familiar, safe household has a disconcerting way of developing hazards that didn't seem to

exist before. Staircases that were once descended without looking down at all become

perilous, one tread indistinguishable from another. Scatter rugs that one used to walk on

surefootedly slide from underneath. Tiled bathrooms, their light intensity once perfect

for shaving or putting on makeup, develop a blinding glare. One is less likely to notice

the dog or cat stretched out in pathways from one room to another. Tripping over invisible

family pets is a common accident for the partially sighted, adding broken bones to an

already crowded list of problems. Some people get rid of pets they have difficulty seeing.

But there are other solutions—an elderly woman, whose sight had deteriorated to the

point where she kept tripping over the Siamese cat that blended into the gray living room

carpet, instead of getting rid of the cat as everyone advised, had the carpet dyed a deep

reddish brown that contrasted with the silvery cat.

That is part of what Neal tells us, but there are

other, more devastating problems, she believes—problems of perception, problems of

communication, problems of psychological wholeness.

Among the reasons many people with defective
vision try to cover up [Neal tells us] is fear of being labeled "blind"
if they take rehabilitation courses, and especially of being rejected by the
opposite sex. Dating is a major concern of partially sighted young adults and
of older adults as well. How do you meet people? Should you admit you have a
vision problem, if they haven't already noticed? One young man told about going
on a first date carrying his white cane—the date ended at the front door.
At a dance a young woman whose sight was minimal approached a tall, slender
man and asked him to dance. The tall man with close-cropped hair turned out
to be a woman, very indignant at having been mistaken for a man. Among the many
anxieties besetting the partially sighted is fear of losing sexual drive and
attraction. In psychiatric language the eyes are an erogenous zone, organs of
sexual excitation. Painters, poets, and lovers have immortalized the attributes
of the eyes: their beauty and power to arrest, haunt, invite, question, and
transmit messages of desire, melancholy, hatred, adoration. Being unable to
see the eyes of others deprives one of what has been called the little consoling
flirtations of everyday life.

So says the writing of Helen Neal, but there is

more. In her book, she quotes a man who has lost substantial amounts of vision. He says he

feels "undesirable and unmanly." He laments not being able to "engage in

the sophisticated language of the eyes." He says that his lack of vision leaves him

with "no access to the eyes' ambiguities, no playful enigmatic dialogue, no sexual

finesse."

I interrupt to ask you how does such a

description strike you? Have you lost your sexual drive? Do you feel undesirable and

unattractive? Have you lost all of your sexual finesse? But I return to the writing of

Helen Neal.

She quotes the partially sighted man this way:

"I felt particularly loutish without my eyes. I wondered what signs I was missing,

whether her countenance was sparkling or dull, bored or preoccupied or aroused. I yearned

for the absolute truth of the eyes' and the body's involuntary code."

Such writing makes a person wonder whether Helen

Neal has ever met a blind person. When you are with a person of the opposite sex in a

setting where such things matter, can you tell whether your companion is preoccupied,

bored, or interested? And even though it seems both obvious and elementary, sex can occur

with no involvement of the eyes.

Although Helen Neal purports to offer a fresh

perspective concerning the lives of those who have lost much but not all of their sight,

there is nothing new in the images presented. She takes extraordinary pains to avoid using

the word "blind." She tells us that the eye is a part of the essence of our

being, and that this sense organ is necessary to communication in complex relationships.

She says that for those who have lost sight, simple chores become difficult and complex.

This is not new science, but ancient witchcraft decked out in modern form.

We in the Federation believe that those with some

remaining sight should use it to the extent that it is useful. The writers about low

vision emphasize sight because they fear blindness. This fear is transmitted to those who

are losing vision, and it creates a tremendous anxiety. Suppose that the person with a

little sight loses just a little more. Will the cat still be visible on the newly dyed

carpet? How much easier it would be to learn the techniques of blindness and to combine

those techniques with such sight as remains. How much more effective it would be to

abandon the fear of blindness and accept blind people for what we are. Those who seek

euphemisms for blindness do not believe that it is respectable to be blind. Although they

claim to be among the most modern thinkers on the subject of low vision, their attitude is

of a bygone era. They are seeking to reject the blind.

However, such self-proclaimed experts are not the

only people with the capacity to write. We who are blind, we who make up the organized

blind movement, we will offer our own opinions and our own advice. We have learned that

blindness cannot stop us, but the writing of such people as Helen Neal may—if we let

them. When we started the Federation, our experience was almost total rejection, and Helen

Neal and the others who write in a similar vein would resurrect that benighted thinking of

a former day. But they cannot do it, for we will not permit it. This too is the reason we

have formed the National Federation of the Blind.

As we gather here at the convention in our

thousands from every part of the nation, what are the prospects for the blind in the

months and years ahead? The "Dateline" program tells us there is little hope

unless we can regain sight. The blind jurist argues that blindness prevents a person from

observing that there are stacks of files littered throughout the office. The expert in low

vision writes that the lack of sight can cause loss of sexual finesse and a consequent

rejection by members of the opposite sex. If this were the total picture of our future,

the prospects would be dismal indeed. But it is not the total picture; it is one scene in

a much greater panorama.

The complete rejection of the blind as part of

society, which was once the norm, has not yet come to an end, but this primitive approach

to blindness is much less prominent than it was even just a few years ago. The toleration

of blind people is slowly giving way to a sense of admiration and, in many instances, to

genuine acceptance. Such a revolution in understanding is not a matter of accident; it

comes only to those who earn and demand it. The requirements for success are rigorous and

exacting. But no matter what the cost, we in the Federation are equal to the challenge.

When work must be done, we will do it. When sacrifices of time, of money, of energy, and

of commitment are required, we will make them. When problems confront us, we will solve

them. And above all else, we will believe in ourselves and each other, and we will share

the dedication that must exist to bring the dream of a brighter future to reality.

I will expect of you, the members of the

Federation, all that is best within you, and I will not hesitate to ask for your support.

For my part I will not ask of you what I am not prepared to give myself. I will stand in

the front lines and take whatever comes, and I will not equivocate or flinch or duck

responsibility. In the past we have been rejected, tolerated, and admired for the wrong

reason—because of our blindness. We will find the strength and the resolve to change

these attitudes so that we who are blind gain full acceptance. In so doing we will lose

the high profile so often associated with blindness and will reach anonymity. We want no

false admiration from those who think us their inferiors. Instead we insist on the real

thing, with all the recognition that this implies. And we will not rest until we have it.

Join me, and we will make it come true!