From the President ......................................................................by Shawn Mayo
Federationism at Dusk ................................................................by Thomas Philip
Making the Grade ........................................................................by Edward Bell
Of Misconceptions and Progress ................................................by Angela Sasser
The Gift .........................................................................by Mariyam Cementwala
Philosophy in Practice .............................................................by Angela Howard
My Journey ..............................................................by Merry-Noel Chamberlain
The Fountain of Youth .........................................................by Kimberly Aguillard
Second Thoughts ..........................................................................by Brian Miller
The 2000 National Federation of the Blind Scholarship Program .............................
Washington Seminar JOB Fair .....................................................by Anthony Cobb
by Shawn Mayo
Greetings!� The countdown to the year 2000 is upon us.� I guarantee you that this edition of the Student Slate is Y2K compatible, and it is sure to provoke thought, discussion, and growth as we enter the new millenium.� And, even if, as some have noted, the millenium will actually begin with 2001, these articles are timeless.� Whenever you read the Fall/Winter 1999 issue of The Student Slate, I hope it finds you healthy, happy, and looking forward to what the new year has to offer.
Our National Convention of the National Federation of the Blind proved once again to be exciting for students.� The Resolutions Committee found students presenting and speaking on behalf of several of our guiding principles.� In fact, two resolutions had specific impact on students.� Resolution 99-16 dealt with the definition of a qualified reader, and resolved to allow the blind the choice to use one�s personal reader in a test situation.� Since July, significant advancement has been made towards this end which will be discussed at one of our upcoming NABS� seminars.� Resolution 99-12 calls upon the interpretation of the IDEA law to allow a student to be taught Braille while members of the IEP team settle disputes.� While Resolution 99-10 concerning validation and standardized testing was defeated on our convention floor, a modified resolution is sure to appear at an upcoming National Convention of the NFB.� Discussion on this topic has kept the NABS listserv active!
In addition, a new board was elected to serve as officers of the National Association of Blind Students.� Our NABS board is: Shawn Mayo�President, Edward Bell�1st Vice President, Angela Howard�2nd Vice President, Brian Miller�Treasurer, Angela Sasser�Secretary, Billy Petrino�Board Member, Mariyam Cementwala�Board Member, Nicholas Schmittroth�Board Member, and Jason Ewell�Board Member.� We have a dedicated and cohesive team leading us into the 21st century.� It is through each member of NABS, our involvement in the National Federation of the Blind, and our collective activism that we are changing what it means to be blind!
You will want to plan to meet up with your fellow members of NABS at the Washington Seminar. The Washington Seminar will begin on Friday, January 28, 2000 with a student party! Beverages will be provided at our get together. In addition, registration and banquet tickets will also be available for purchase during the party to allow for students to get a little extra sleep and be on time to the seminar the next morning! On Saturday, January 29, 2000 registration will begin at 8:00 a.m. Registration is $5 and banquet tickets will be $25. Registration will be held outside the
Columbia Room where the student seminar will begin at 9:30 a.m. sharp and adjourn at 5:00 p.m. There will be a break for lunch where everyone is on their own. The banquet will begin at 6:30 p.m. in the Lewis and Clark room. Sunday we will have the opportunity to attend our National Center and will be briefed in the early evening on the topics that we will discuss with our legislators throughout the remainder of the week.
We will be staying at the Holiday Inn Capitol at 550 C Street SW in Washington DC. Room reservations should be made AS SOON AS POSSIBLE with Mrs. Diane McGeorge at (303) 765-1313 or 1-800-401-4632. Rooms will cost $100 per night across the board (singles, doubles, triples, and quads).
Finally, I would like to extend my gratitude and appreciation to Angela Howard as she has continued to assist with the editing of The Student Slate. Angela was instrumental in soliciting many of the articles found in this edition.� Submissions have started coming in, and work has already begun for our Spring/Summer 2000 issue
I look forward to seeing you in Washington, DC.� If you have any thoughts or questions regarding NABS in particular, or to living the life of a blind student in general, please contact me, Shawn Mayo, via phone or e-mail.� Enjoy the Fall/Winter 1999 issue of The Student Slate.
by Thomas Philip
EDITOR�S NOTE: Thomas Philip is the President of the Minnesota Association of Blind Students.
Most of us think that we are the only blind people facing discrimination and rejection by society until we become part of the organized blind movement of the National Federation of the Blind. Nevertheless, there are millions of blind persons on different corners of the earth who face these barriers. Some have accepted the general public's misconception that blindness means inferiority and dependency, while others are assertive fighters on the battlefield of equality.
The blind�s struggle for first class citizenship has been demonstrated to me across the globe.� I was born and raised as a happy child. My parents gave equal treatment to all their children in every aspect of life. But there came a time when my happiness was put to an end. When I was ten, I had a severe case of measles, which resulted in complete blindness. My father made it clear that he didn't want anything to do with a blind child. He wouldn't say it, but it was easy to draw such a conclusion through his actions. My mother loved me, but at the same time, she didn't know what to do with me. So, I stayed at home for two years babysitting my father�s loved children.
I clearly remember one Sunday afternoon.� When I was babysitting my little brother, one of the elders of our village came to me and said, "Oh, my son Ladu! God made a great mistake by making you blind. It is better to die than to be blind."
"Do you mean I better die now?" I asked.
He looked at me with great surprise and said, "No! No! I mean it's better to die than to live in a daily torment."
I told him to leave me alone, and he did. It is considered rude in African culture for an eleven-year-old child to send such an elder away, but I did what I had to do. I knew then that he was wrong, but I didn't know what else to tell him since I hadn�t heard of any successful blind people in southern Sudan. In spite of the negative attitudes towards blindness, I did not give up.
I wanted to go back to school, but I needed blindness skills to help me compete.� I began asking around and in a few days, I established contact with the director of Rejaf� Center for the Blind. He came in person to discuss with me my goals for training. He then promised to pick me up in a week. When I told my mother this good news, her heart was filled with great joy.
She said, "I will stand with you in all your endeavors. Maybe one day, God will open you a way to life. It is then that I will be a happy mother and a wife of the royal house."
Her words gave me encouragement and determination in my struggle for freedom. My father, however, did not like the plan. He said I was too young for blindness training. I told him that I needed the training while I was still young because I wanted to go to school. At last, he relented.� I gathered my belongings, and when I was leaving the house for school, my mother and I broke into tears of happiness.
I started my training that next week and it lasted for 9 months.� I was indeed the youngest student of all. The other students in the program were twenty years and older. But I enjoyed the training. At this center, I learned Braille, cane travel, activities of daily life, agriculture, and basket making, which were typical classes at traditional African schools for the blind. Although the training program there was not great, I acquired the skills I needed to go back to school.����� When I went home, I told my father that I was ready to return to school. He said he would go and register me together with my siblings.� On the first day of school, I went directly to the director of the Catholic school to assure my status. He told me that my father only registered my siblings and not me. I, therefore, told him that I wanted to join his school. He said I couldn't since they had never had a blind student at their school or at any other school in southern Sudan, for that matter. I explained to him that I could use Braille to take notes and have the teachers give me oral exams since they didn't know Braille.
He said, "Why don't you sit at home and have your friends tell you what they learned at school?"
I told him that I was qualified to be a student and the fact that I was blind should make no difference at all. He then said that I could be a student for two weeks to determine whether or not I could manage at their school. I was grateful for the chance to try things.� When I went home that evening, I talked to my father of how he was discriminating against me due to my blindness. I then told him that I was given the opportunity to try a key to life.� My mother was very annoyed with her husband's actions, however, she was overjoyed with my victory. I started going to school every weekday from 7:00 a.m. to 3:00 p.m. I would rest for an hour, then my friends would take turns reading the textbooks for me, which I Brailled using a slate and stylus. At first it was apparent that all the teachers had been directed to ask me most of the questions in class, but I was able to answer them.
The director of the school never told me his decision until I went and talked to him two months later. He said I was the best student at Kolye Primary School, according to the reports he received from the teachers. He, therefore, asked me to pay my school fee, which became a problem. My father refused to pay it. So, I borrowed some money from my friend, and began selling cigarettes and making baskets until I paid off the debt and the tuition.
After three months of school, I took the first exams, on which I earned the highest score. As a result, most of my friends were disappointed and deserted me. However, I did not lose. I continued to be an outstanding student, not only in Juba, but also in the entire southern Sudan.
After finishing eighth grade, I had to deal with the Sudanese Ministry of Education since I wanted to continue my schooling. They told me that I could not sit for primary leaving exams because I was blind. I told them that I could do the exams either orally or in Braille if Rejaf Center for the Blind would help them with Brailling and grading. Finally, they decided to test my capability by giving me exams from previous years. I took the tests in Braille and did really well. I was then allowed to sit for the real exams and I received the second highest score in the southern Sudan. This led the Ministry of Education to throw a party for me at which my father confessed his misconceptions about blindness. Since then, things changed dramatically for me, as well as for the blind students of southern Sudan.�
This is what I wish to share with all of you, my dear brothers and sisters in the Federation. As freedom fighters, it is important to remember our history. The Ibo people say,� "He who can not tell where the rain began to beat him can not know where he dried his body." You and I know where the rain began to beat us and who we are today. It is this history that we should pass on to the children who will carry ahead our struggle until we arrive at the promised land.
by Edward Bell, 1st Vice President, National Association of Blind Students
Last semester, I was taking a course in Nutritional Biology. It was a required class so I was determined to do well, or at least survive.� Rumors had it that the professor was incredibly difficult. On the first day of class, the professor outlined the course and gave a 20-minute lecture about the depth of work and the study time required. By the next week, half of the students had dropped the class.� Those of us who remained studied vigorously and took notes as though our lives depended on it.
Over the weeks, I joined a study group for the class and seemed to be doing fine. I visited the professor regularly, primarily because many of the diagrams were very visual and required explanation. As the midterm grew near, we began to study intensely.� Several more students disappeared from class. I thought that I handled the exam reasonably well. When grades were passed out, half of the remaining group failed with no one scoring above 75 percent. The professor had to curve the grades, so I ended up just squeezing an A out of the midterm. By the next class our numbers had dwindled to only about 10 or 12 individuals. I was proud of how I had done.� However, I did not share my success with the others since several students complained bitterly to me about the unfairness of the test.
Having passed the first half of class with an A, I put my anxieties aside and headed off to the California state convention of the National Federation of the Blind.� When I returned home on Sunday afternoon, I was puzzled by a message on my answering machine.� It was from one of my classmates who said she needed to talk with me in a hurry.
I called her immediately, and she told me that she had gone to the Disabled Students Services Office (DSS) and made a complaint on my behalf. She had failed the biology midterm and since I did not speak of my grade, she assumed that I must have done poorly as well. She went on to say that she was getting quite upset at the manner in which the professor treated me in class. Whenever an illustration was being drawn, the professor would occasionally turn toward me and say, "Edward, this is a complicated diagram, so come by my office and I will explain it to you."� This did not seem like a big deal to me, but apparently my classmate thought that the professor's singling me out and drawing attention to my blindness was insensitive and rude.
I had signed up with the DSS office when I began attending the university even though I rarely used its services. However, the director was a levelheaded individual with good attitudes about blindness. Often, when I had time to kill between classes, I would go to the DSS office and have a relaxed conversation with the director. We had many great philosophical debates and discussions about blindness, and he quickly learned that I was an avid Federationist. We discussed the perceived value of DSS offices. I maintained that they could be a good resource, but only when they stayed out of student�s affairs. The director agreed with me.� So when my classmate came to him with the complaint, he told her that she needed to speak with me. The director did not call my professor, but instead contacted me and informed me of the incident.
I went to my professor and spoke to him about the complaint.� I assured him that I would come to him when diagrams appeared in class, and that he need not worry about reminding me. He knew that some students were mad at him, and was not entirely surprised about the complaint. I then informed my classmate that she ought to talk with me first when she felt that I was being treated poorly. She apologized, and I thought the issue was settled. As we talked further, she found out that I had actually done well on the midterm.� She felt especially badly about interfering in my business. I merely reiterated that she should deal with blind people directly when she feels that they are being treated unfairly, rather than taking matters into her own hands. I then encouraged her to join our study group in preparation for the final.
Class continued and no further problems arose. The professor still occasionally reminded me that he was available for consultation outside of class whenever diagrams arose.� I just nodded my head and said, "I'll be there." Just before the final, our study group doubled in size, and a classmate made a point of asking my opinion on certain sections of study materials. In the end, we all made it out of the class with passing grades and the semester ended happily.
It seems that we still find instances of the sighted public feeling that it is their duty to protect the blind and intervene on our behalf. It, therefore, becomes necessary for us to take charge and demonstrate to society that we are capable and responsible for our own well-being. This I have learned from the National Federation of the Blind. Because of this training, I had the opportunity to put our philosophy into practice and do some public education while learning about Nutritional Biology at the same time.
by Angela Sasser, Secretary, National Association of Blind Studentsp
Often we, as blind people, assume that sighted people are going to be uncomfortable around us, act strangely or, in general, have an overall negative view of us.� We are constantly aware that these sorts of negative attitudes and stereotypes exist and we strive to overcome misconceptions about blindness.� However, at times we forget that some sighted people do not have all these preconceived notions about the blind. Recently, I was reminded of this.
This semester, I moved into a co-op house.� In return for doing certain tasks or duties, the price of rent, food, etc. is less expensive than usual living alternatives for students.� In my house, there are sixteen of us.� We are each expected to complete three hours of duties during the school week, in addition to weekend chores. Needless to say, I was a little wary about how these women—fourteen of whom I did not really know at all—would react to me as a blind person.� I did not know if anyone had ever been around a blind person, and I was nervous.� I had already accepted the fact that the first two weeks were going to be "interesting."� I was prepared for the worst—the grabbing to direct me, the gasps of horror when I went to cook something on the six burner stove, the "pity duties" that they might try and "let" me do. I had my whole speech planned out in my mind to give at our first house meeting.�
However, in the first couple of days, it became quite apparent that these women were going to treat me as they would any other member.�� They were going to expect me to do my share around the house. The house manager asked me if I wanted to learn how to light the monstrous stove (original to the house built in the late 1930's).� I, of course, agreed. She then asked what needed to be labeled around the house.� So, we marked washers, dryers, the oven, the stove, and any other appliance that I could ever imagine. The first time I cooked, the woman I was cooking with promptly gave me a huge knife so that I could begin chopping vegetables.� The rest of the house members have done similar things, revealing their confidence in my abilities as
a competent human being.� They have all eaten the food that I cooked, and eaten off the plates I have cleaned.� We live comfortably together—always knowing that we can ask questions of each other, or confront a situation that may arise.
I did exactly what we, as blind people, hate to have done to us. I had assumed the worst about this group of sighted people.� However, I had been wrong.� They were open-minded.� Most of all, they lived their own lives, and did not worry about how I was going to get things done.
by Mariyam Cementwala, Board Member, National Association of Blind Students
The first time I heard about training centers was at the 1997 convention of the National Federation of the Blind. At that time I met Joanne Wilson, director of the Louisiana Center for the Blind.� I had thought that perhaps someday I would go, but right then I did not think that I needed to be at a center. I was on my way to the University of California at Berkeley.�� I felt that I had enough skills in living and travelling independently to survive on my own without first going to a center.� The thought was pushed to the back of my head in cold storage. I was a long way off from believing that I needed training in alternative techniques of blindness.
Four months following convention, I was sitting at Giovanni's Italian Restaurant in downtown Berkeley with a friend who is a graduate of an NFB training center.� It was here that the initial impact was made that I needed to go to a training center.� Sure, I was using a cane, but it was a short, heavy aluminum, folding cane. I was not as comfortable with my blindness as I could have and should have been—as I am now.
The restaurant was dimly lit, and at that time, I thought I needed light to do anything. The struggle came when it was time to order and I refused the idea of letting the waitress read the menu for us. Even though it was taking me five minutes to read each menu item, I wanted to read it myself.� My hungry dinner companion asked the waitress to read us the menu.� Then he remarked, "You need to go to a NFB training center, and quickly!"� I may have been living alone, but in many ways, I wasn't living independently. That's when the first bells rang in my head.� Perhaps I shouldn't put off going to a center until some later time, such as after finishing my undergraduate degree and before law school.
Then later in that same school year, I was sitting at a board meeting of the California Association of Blind Students.� I could not read my 15-point, bold, capitalized notes, which my duties as the secretary required, because the lighting was really dim. At that point I decided I would learn Braille and quickly.� However, I wasn't even sure how.� In college I used readers, took my own notes when I could and went to the occasional study group.� I skated by well enough. But from associating more and more with people in the NFB, I was realizing that life is not about getting by but about living well and to the fullest.�
By this time, I was becoming much more open to the idea of going to a center sooner than I had planned. The fact that my two best friends were at a center and raving about the experience certainly helped.� Yet, I still thought that I would wait because I simply could not take a break from college. I finally became convinced after hearing from many graduates who wished they had gone sooner because their undergraduate years would have been so much easier.
That summer I decided to visit the Louisiana Center for a week.� By my third day at the center, I knew that I was going to come that year, and by the end of the summer if I could help it.� The rest of my life could wait.� We often impose barriers upon ourselves such as thinking we can only go to a center after getting a degree or after doing this or that.
There is no right time to go to a training center because there is always something going on in the rest of our lives.�� It might be school, family, a job or something else that interferes.� Sometimes we just have to push those other priorities aside for the real priority—oneself.� So, after making the arrangements with my vocational rehabilitation counselor, I entered the adult program at the Louisiana Center for the Blind at the end of the summer.
Where do I begin to describe the center experience? I could write a book. It would include the bowling nights, the baby shower, the cramped vanloads of anxious, excited, tired, and just plain loud blind people heading off to Mardi Gras or rock climbing or whatever other adventure was in store for the group. The center taught me survival in a big way.� It taught me what it means to compete on terms of equality, to hold my ground, to keep my control, and to look directly at an employer and say with confidence, "I can do this job."� The center taught me skills such as cane travel and Braille.� I also learned punctuality, openness, diplomacy, discipline, confidence, and giving.� It taught me that I have a lot more to learn and that this learning is never-ending.� The center challenged me and taught me that I must challenge myself.� It is difficult to sum it up in words except to say that it was some of the most difficult and wonderful of times I have ever experienced.� The center taught me how to learn—how to go full circle.
The center experience was so rich, almost as rich as the chocolate raspberry cheesecake I had at Giovanni's last Friday night.� It was an autumn evening almost two years ago when I had walked into Giovanni's Italian Restaurant with great trepidation with my friend; I hadn't dared to go there since then. Now, on a fall Friday just as before, I walked in again—this time without the trepidation, and with a new friend. Using my long, white cane, I followed the waitress to a dim table towards the back. This time, I asked her to read us what was on the dessert menu for the night.� My friend was comfortable with my blindness because I was comfortable with it.
The National Federation of the Blind, through its positive philosophy and excellent training centers, gave me a new, better quality of life.� Each day at the center is like a slow process of unwrapping a great gift.� The only constant is that there are lots of surprises. Each day after the center is better because you get to enjoy the gift you were given, and get to share it with others.
by Angela Howard, Second Vice President, National Association of Blind Students
When Martin Luther King, Jr. was growing up in Atlanta, he rode the public bus across town to school every day. Segregation laws forced him to take a seat in the back of the bus, even if the seats in the front were vacant. Unable to do anything about the situation at the time, Dr. King decided to leave his mind in the front seat and promised himself that one day he would put his body where his mind sat. Years later, Dr. King led African Americans in a movement to put an end to segregation.
The blind do not endure the segregation laws that once confined African Americans to the back of the bus.� But, due to negative attitudes about blindness, we continue to endure a kind of spirit-squelching segregation that has threatened to confine us to a world of high unemployment and social isolation. Members of the National Federation of the Blind have developed a philosophy that has directed us to move towards a life of complete integration and full participation in society. Our movement for equality at one time demanded that we march and campaign in order to be heard, and this is still sometimes necessary. But, more often today, our struggle takes place in the work and play of our everyday lives. As Federationists, we struggle to put our bodies where the Federation has led us. We struggle for the opportunity to participate fully in our homes, schools, and communities.
Recently, my Federationism led me to a most special place. I spent the summer living with the homeless of Atlanta. The Open Door is a community of religious leaders and former homeless people who live together in service to those who are on the streets. I took part in this community as a resident intern. In the Federation, we like to say that blind people possess the same range of personalities that any cross-section of society would produce. I have become convinced that this holds true for every other group in society as well. I faced the same struggles against negative attitudes living with homeless people that I do in any new community in which I become a part. Most assumed that I would hold a marginal position in the community, and in the beginning, none expected from me what I was capable of producing. It was up to me to break down those walls that threaten to steal our right to full participation.
My struggle against negative attitudes began the first night I moved into the house. The woman assigned to be my spiritual advisor reviewed with me the general rules of the house. She then suggested, �We thought you would be good at handing out hard-boiled eggs to the homeless people at breakfast.� When I learned what my schedule was to be for the following week, it became clear to me that passing out eggs during breakfast was the only job they thought I could handle. After three days of handing out eggs from 6:00 to 9:00 a.m. and having nothing else to do for the rest of the day, I decided that things were going to have to change.
I began to voice my belief that I could do much more than hand out eggs. I also developed another strategy for solving this dilemma. I was beginning to get to know many of the people living in the house and could sense which ones had the most faith in my ability. When I noticed that one of them was doing a certain job, I would sneak over and ask them to show me exactly how the task was performed. I even got them to let me try. Then during breakfast and lunch circles when certain jobs were delegated, I would raise my hand.
�Are you sure you can do that, Angela?� they would ask.
�I've done it before,� I would say.
My strategy worked. I found my schedule for the following week to be much more promising.
Phone and door duty is one job that is frequently delegated to resident interns. The responsibilities of this assignment include answering phones, answering the door, and supervising our homeless friends as they pick out T-shirts and socks from the sorting room. As you can guess, the leaders of the community did not consider the possibility that a blind person might be capable of meeting this challenge.
By the end of my first week, they decided that I MIGHT be able to answer the phones. I assured them that I could write out the important phone numbers in Braille and deliver messages personally rather than writing them out. They agreed to let me give it a try.
By the end of my second week, they trusted me to answer the phones, but fulfilling the other responsibilities of phone and door duty was out of the question. Another helper was always assigned to answer the door for me. I am not proud to admit this, but even I was not sure that I could handle the responsibility of managing a room of people who are often under the influence of drugs and who are known to try to get out of the house with as many things as they can. Pretty soon, however, all of us in the house learned a valuable lesson about blindness.
Phone and door duty is often a demanding job. I found myself quite naturally falling into the role of assisting the person in charge of managing the folks coming in and out. This gave me the opportunity to develop some alternative techniques for getting the job done. For example, I learned very early on, because it was not possible for me to describe someone visually, I needed to have another method of identifying the people I was letting in. When a homeless person would come to the door and ask to be let in to grab a T-shirt, I would ask for his or her name. This practice also helped me to develop good relationships with the regulars who came through our doors. I found that people appreciate being called by name rather than being directed by a finger. Developing relationships of mutual respect with many of the regulars put both them and me at ease. Soon, supervising the sorting room no longer seemed like an impossible feat.
My biggest challenge was figuring out how to keep people from taking more items than they were permitted. When people are struggling to meet their most basic needs, they are often forced to try to survive by manipulating others. Some of our homeless friends have been known to get out of the door with eight pairs of socks instead of one. I found that since I couldn't monitor with my eyes how many pairs of socks someone was taking, it was easier for me to hand them the socks myself. I also learned to listen for clues that would tell me if someone were trying to get out with an extra shirt or two such as a bag rustling too long or too many coathangers being moved. I do not think that these alternative techniques were entirely theft proof. I am sure that some of our homeless friends snuck out with an extra shirt or two. But, it is an understood rule at the Open Door that our friends will leave the house with extra things. The key is to not let it be excessive. My alternative techniques worked, and after a few weeks, I was entrusted with all of the responsibilities of phone and door duty.
Phone and door duty was a most unpopular job among the resident interns. I hated doing it as much as anyone else. But, being expected to do the job gave me a sense of satisfaction that ran much deeper than my hatred of performing the task. Being assigned to phone and door duty meant that I was needed. It meant that expectations of me were as high as they were for any other resident intern. And, perhaps most important, it meant that I got the chance to complain how grueling the job was right along with my peers.
Creating allies in our friends and associates is an essential component of achieving full participation. Befriending the other residents of the Open Door, as well as many of the homeless people we served, helped me in my struggle for equality. Many volunteers stopped by the Open Door at random to help us out. Coping with the negative attitudes of new people day in and day out was a difficult challenge for me this summer. My roommates and I used to joke that we had to hear the amazing blind person speech every time someone new walked through the door. On several occasions, a new volunteer assumed that I was one of the people she was supposed to help. I found, however, that as those living in the house began to understand my struggle, they participated in helping me to educate the new folks.
Every morning after we served breakfast to the homeless, we would sit down with our own breakfast and reflect together on how the morning had gone. We learned many lessons about blindness during these reflection times. One morning I had been assigned to hand out tickets in the yard to those who wanted to come in for breakfast. A volunteer, who had just arrived the night before, shared in her reflection time that she was amazed that I could go out into the yard and hand out tickets.
She said, �I am afraid to go out there, and I can see.�
We in the Federation know that the �even I� compliment is no compliment at all, and I was preparing to give a little speech on the subject. Much to my surprise and delight, however, my housemates in the group picked up on the fallacy of her logic and called her on it.
One man said, �It ain't got nothin� to do with sight. You're just scared of homeless people, and we've gotta help you with that.�
At that moment, I felt like a teacher whose student won the national spelling bee. Not only did my friends inside the house help me to educate people about blindness, but I found that my homeless friends also helped me to educate others in the neighborhood. I had one friend on the street who was particularly special to me. His street name is Bear. Bear is a crack addict and the most widely respected and feared person in the community. As one man put it, �Every homeless person and policeman in the city of Atlanta knows Bear.� Bear has a gift for being brutally honest and is a champion for justice in his own way. Once a man who had a reputation for paying homeless workers illegal wages came into the yard and asked who wanted a job. Many of the men began begging him to let them work, and it was Bear who said, �Don't let that man take your dignity.� It came as no surprise to me that Bear would help me in my struggle for equality. Bear became my good friend and helped me to educate others. When someone would make a nuisance of himself by trying to help me too much, I would politely try to manage the situation. But, Bear did not believe in sugarcoating words. He would say in his gruff voice, �Shut up, she don't need no help.� Bear disappeared for several weeks in July, and when I saw him again, he was excited to inform me that he had seen people from our national convention downtown. I had told them all about the National Federation of the Blind and about our convention. �I saw all them people you were talking about downtown last week,� he told me with glee.
Bear and the other homeless people I befriended at the Open Door made this a summer I will cherish for years to come. I am grateful to all of my friends in the Federation who continue to push me to put our philosophy into daily practice. Let us continue to put our hands and feet where the Federation has taken our minds.
by Merry-Noel Chamberlain
EDITOR�s NOTE: The following speech was delivered by Merry-Noel Chamberlain at the National Federation of the Blind Louisiana State Convention�s student seminar in April, 1999.
This is a story about my journey�my journey to blindness. As I tell my story, I am going to be referring to different "streets" I have encountered along the way. Each street took a varying amount of time for me to travel. To reach the end of one of these streets took anywhere from one to five to even ten years.�
I began my journey on Infant Avenue.�� Here, I was unaware that I was different from anyone else. I started wearing glasses when I was two years old. In my baby book, my mother wrote that I was so good about wearing my glasses.� The first thing I did in the morning was put them on and the last thing I did at night was take them off. I felt good about myself.�
While on Elementary Boulevard, I was teased about my thick glasses. I was called all the names in the book: �cat eyes,� �four eyes,� etcetera.� I am sure you have heard them all. I had to wear a patch over my good eye that just added to the teasing from my classmates. I then started to hate my glasses and even, at times, wanted to break them in two! I did not have many boyfriends.� I felt ugly and I cried a lot.�
I then started to climb Mountain Ridge Road with its ups and downs. When contacts entered my life, I vowed that I would not let anyone see me in glasses ever again. If I was at home with my glasses on and someone came to my door, I would toss those things off my face.� Where they landed, no one knew. I would answer the door and pretend that I could see this blurry visitor.� It saddens me when I look back at myself acting so childishly in my mid- to late twenties.�
I had terrible nightmares, too. I had nightmares that I would close the lid to my contact case and accidentally snap one of them. That would cause me to get up in the middle of the night and go check to make sure they were okay. I had nightmares of being in a rush to get to work or school because I was behind schedule.� On my way, I would suddenly realize that I was still wearing my glasses. That terrified me!�
Then, I turned the corner to Introduction Alley where I met a blind college student. She was the first person I felt comfortable wearing my glasses around aside from my family. From her, I started to learn some alternative techniques. For example, she taught me to put a rubber band around my shampoo so that I could distinguish it from the conditioner. She even gave me a talking alarm clock. I began to learn about blindness, about alternative techniques, but still had terrible nightmares.�
I progressed to Content Court where I started to feel a bit better about myself. I was introduced to other blind people and they accepted me for who I was. I was still learning but was just not ready to venture onward. After getting married, it took about three months before I even let my husband see me in glasses.�
One morning, while driving my husband to work, we were on a straight road heading east, right into the morning sun. I had forgotten my sunglasses, so I borrowed his. All of a sudden, he started laughing. When I asked him what was so funny, he informed me that the right lens was not in the sunglasses. I had always known that my right eye was worse than my left.� But, I did not realize until that day just how bad it was.� I did not even notice that the lens was missing! However, I was content even though I still had those terrible nightmares.�
Denial Drive was just around the curve. Things happened, but I would simply ignore them. Incidents would occur that suggested I had a vision loss, but I took no notice of them. For example, I would try to find something on the dresser or table and look and look and look for it...when finally, it would just magically appear!�
One time, I bought a new pair of sunglasses.� I was in the drive-through at McDonald�s when the cashier commented that she liked my new glasses. I thanked her and went along my way.� But, I wondered how she realized they were new because I had taken off all the dangling tags. As I was eating, however, a fry fell.� I looked down to find it, but saw some blur in my visual field. I took off the glasses to clean them, only to find that there was a sticky tag on the left lens. This concerned me some, but I dismissed it because I did not want to think there was anything wrong with what I believed was my good eye.
Then, I had a major car accident that totaled my car and almost killed my daughter.� I thought I saw a green light and drove right into the middle of an intersection. My learning about blindness was rather slow paced in Denial Drive, and at times, even stopped entirely.
Recognition Lane was a hard road to reach. I was forced to realize that my vision was not as good as it used to be. I started to notice little things. For example, I would no longer see some of the things in my visual field such as the lights on my dashboard when I drove at night. I realized that streetlight signals disappeared from my view from time to time, and street signs became blurry. I was always looking at the ground when I walked. My social schedule also was dependent on when I could wear my contacts. If I was planning to go out in the evening, I would hurry home after work, to give my eyes a break. Then, I could wear my contacts later that night.
Pursue Parkway was a deadend.� Here, visits to the eye doctors were more frequent. The doctor told me that I could no longer drive at night, and that my daytime driving was "questionable." I searched to find the answer of what was going on with my vision. My eyes were hurting all the time. At this point, my learning focused more on eye diseases than on alternative techniques of blindness. I wore my contacts less often, but only a few special friends were permitted to see me in my glasses.
After several U-turns, I arrived at Eureka Highway. This came on rather suddenly. I was at the National Federation of the Blind national convention in Dallas when I met so many people like me. I knew then that I was not alone. I wanted to learn all that I could. I started talking more openly about my vision loss and began accepting my blindness. I stopped driving and I started using the long white cane. I've started learning Braille, too. I no longer look down at the sidewalk when I walk, and the nightmares have ended.
Now, I have reached Paradise Way. I know that this is not my final destination because there is still so much for me to learn. But now, I feel good about myself and I no longer wear contacts. (In fact, I am not even sure where they are!) I go everywhere with my cane and I hold my head up high.� My path has led me to the Orientation & Mobility Master's Program at Louisiana Technical University where I will continue on my journey, and obtain a job.� Each of us is on a journey and is fortunate to have the National Federation of the Blind help us map out our way.
by Kimberly Aguillard
EDITOR�S NOTE: The following speech is a live recording delivered by Kimberly Aguillard at the 1999 Student Seminar held during the National Federation of the Blind�s National Convention in Atlanta, Georgia.
by Brian Miller, Treasurer, National Association of Blind Students
Imagine yourself at the National Federation of the Blind (NFB) national convention.� Now, imagine that you are wearing a ribbon designating you as one of twenty-six (now 30) scholarship winners.� Then, further imagine, if you will, that this is the second time you have been allowed to sport such a ribbon, that you are, in fact, a tenBroek Fellow.� You always imagine that the second time you speak before the National Board and the assembled multitudes of Federationists will be your shining moment.� It will be a chance to succinctly and glibly express how much the NFB has meant to you since you won your first scholarship.
Some months later, you find yourself offering your friends five dollars for their tape copies of the Braille Monitor with your speech in it.� Your remarks were recorded in real time so all can replay, word for word, throughout all eternity, the inane ramblings you blurted out in front of thousands of people. This is certainly not the case for all second time scholarship winners.� But, I have to confess to feeling as though I needed a third shot at the microphone if for no other reason than to say once and for all just how much the NFB has meant to me.�
The NFB has, since 1995, designated two to three of its annual national scholarships specifically for second time winners. Those chosen to receive a second scholarship are referred to as tenBroek Fellows. There are now 15 tenBroek Fellows roaming around.� As of this year in Atlanta, I was honored to be able to count myself among this group. Being a scholarship winner once is such an honor and a privilege.� Being selected twice makes you look around to see if a plague hasn't inexplicably carried off all the other applicants, leaving you standing there a winner by default.� False humility, you say? It is always easy to croak out some words of cheery modesty about not being worthy when you're standing in the winners� circle. You may patter on about how so many others are more worthy, but at the end of the night you still get to go home with a large sum of money, and, for this year and next, a Kruzweil scanner.�
But wait, there's more to the story.� Being a tenBroek fellow is about much more than money. When the NFB awards you a second scholarship, the organization is in effect saying that you are not only a sure bet to do well in school, in your career, and in your community, but that the National Federation of the Blind is, and will continue to be, a stronger movement with you involved in it.
As we all know, in any civil rights movement, economic resources must be invested with great care.� This allows the greatest impact in the present, and ensures the future of that movement. This is not to say that the NFB scholarship program is merely an investment plan, in which the NFB expects a return of 2.5% above prime.� Human beings are not mutual funds, after all, and scholarship winners are certainly not required to pay back the cash they receive.
However, anytime a blind person succeeds in his or her career, we all gain a margin of respect and greater opportunities.� Even so, what we quickly learn is that when we pool our resources, share our stories, and make our successes part of the common property of our collective endeavors, our voices are amplified, and our accomplishments normalized to a skeptical public. As you may have noticed, there is little in this piece about the specifics of being a tenBroek Fellow, though I would be happy to show some of you the secret handshake at Washington Seminar. Truthfully, there is only one real difference the second time around, and that is that you come to national convention with a suitcase full of humility.
In 1996, when I strolled into Anaheim to receive my first scholarship, I imagined myself to be a unique and singular creature, i.e., a successful blind guy. I quickly discovered that I was entering a movement chock full of successful blind people. I learned, (to rephrase Sir Isaac Newton) that we travel so far only because we ride on the shoulders of giants.
The fact that we have a scholarship program at all is due to decades of work by those who have been leaders in our organization.� It is these individuals who fought for our right to even be students at the post-secondary level. Everyone needs money, but a few thousand dollars can never buy you the security, opportunity, and equality our movement has struggled to obtain. Who then among us, tenBroek Fellow or otherwise, cannot spare a pound of flesh (measured in time and commitment) to make sure that the next generation of students has the same chances we have?
This year's scholarship program will be the seventeenth since the organization determined to expand the number, variety, and value of the scholarships presented each year at our annual convention in July. Assisting the nation's most talented post-secondary students to fulfill their academic and professional dreams is one of the most effective ways for us to demonstrate our conviction that blind people deserve the chance to enter whatever field they demonstrate themselves equipped to succeed in.
Scholarships will be presented this year to thirty college, vocational-school, and graduate students. You will note that this is an increase of four scholarships available through the National Federation of the Blind. The decision to increase the scope and value of the scholarships awarded by the NFB reflects the Board of Directors' recognition of the importance and impact of the scholarship program. In celebration of the arrival of the twenty-first century, the NFB awards this year will range in value from $3,000 to $21,000. This top scholarship has been named the Kenneth Jernigan Memorial Scholarship and is presented by the American Action Fund for Blind Children and Adults. We will, of course, also bring the winners as our guests to the 2000 convention of the National Federation of the Blind to experience firsthand the excitement and stimulation of a gathering of the largest and most dynamic organization of blind people in the country today.
Also in honor of the life and work of our beloved leader, Kenneth Jernigan, Dr. Raymond Kurzweil will again this year present scholarships in the amount of $1,000 to each winner, along with the software and scanner to use the Kurzweil 1000, the superb scanning and reading system created by the Kurzweil Educational Group. This generous gift increases the value of each of the 2000 scholarships by an additional $2,500.
Again this year we plan to present up to three of the scholarships to students who won scholarship awards in a previous competition. The purpose of these special awards is to nurture in today's students an ongoing commitment to the philosophy and objectives of the Federation. The students so designated will be recognized and honored as the 2000 tenBroek Fellows. All current students who were scholarship winners in previous years should take particular note of this program and consider applying for the 2000 National Federation of the Blind scholarships.
Full-time employees interested in pursuing post-secondary degrees should take a close look at the scholarship form. Now one award may be given to a part-time student holding down a full-time job.
Anyone can order scholarship forms from the Materials Center, National Federation of the Blind, 1800 Johnson Street, Baltimore, Maryland 21230. State Presidents and members of the 2000 Scholarship Committee will also be sent scholarship forms. These may be copied as long as both sides of the form are reproduced.� Good luck!
by Anthony Cobb
The 2000 Washington Seminar is fast approaching. The NFB's Job Opportunities for the Blind is working in partnership with IBM and other major national employers to conduct a job fair in conjunction with the seminar and the meeting of the National Association of Blind Students the preceding weekend. Approximately 20 employers' representatives will be exhibiting for those interested the morning of January 31, 2000, at the Holiday Inn Capitol. The morning exhibits will be followed by a gala employers' luncheon and program. Individual interviews arranged at the exhibits by appointment only will then take place in the afternoon. For Federationists looking for work this will be a rare opportunity to meet with representatives of employers who are by their presence committed to providing equal employment opportunities to blind applicants.
Interviews and luncheon reservations must be prearranged through the JOB project in the National Office. Federationists who are interested in participating should forward a current resume in print, as well as on computer disk if possible, by December 15, 1999, and indicate whether or not you plan to attend the luncheon. There will be no cost to JOB registrants who make advance reservations for the luncheon since it is being supported by the job fair's employers. Limited help with updating resumes will be available from the project to those registered with JOB, and registration forms will be supplied on request. Please send resumes, luncheon reservations and other requests to Job Opportunities for the Blind, National Federation of the Blind, 1800 Johnson Street, Baltimore, Maryland 21230. Additional information can be obtained from JOB job fair coordinator Bethel Murphy, Louisiana Center for the Blind, at (318) 254-1404 or the national JOB project at (410) 659-9314.