That first day one of the leaders of the group, a young woman with cerebral palsy whose speech was difficult to understand, finally got across to me that she wanted me to follow her to a back room to watch videotapes of earlier demonstrations and thus began my education in disability history. I watched, fascinated, as these suposedly frail people chained themselves to each others' wheelchairs and doorways to make their point that they too wanted to ride. At that time people in wheelchairs weren't relegated to the back of the bus; they couldn't evenget on the bus, which made work, school, even visiting family and friends difficult, if not impossible. In those days only one airline would allow people in wheelchairs to board.
The movement began right here in Denver when, in 1978, 19 young people chained their wheelchairs together and blocked a major intersection through which most buses had to pass. They stayed there for 24 hours, disrupting bus service and traffic as well. It was a desperate measure, taken only after 2 years of negotiation with the regional transpotation district to persuade them to equip local buses with wheelchair lifts. The mayor refused ro have any of the demonstrators arrested and later, along with the governor, brought pressure to bear on the RTD to begin installing wheelchair lifts on local buses. Today Denver has the most accessible public transportation system in the country.
Not willing to rest on its laurels, ADAPT used the same tactics in other cities across the country. In many of these demonstrations the powers that be weren't so tolerant and demonstrators weere arrested by the dozens, sometimes hundreds, and transported in inaccessible vehicles to jails that couldn't accommodate people in wheelchairs. And the police weren't exactly gentle, either, though it was clear from the stories I heard and the tapes I saw that they were clearly uncomfortable and fearful of touching these very "different" people. The fear made some cops more hesitant; others were more violent. People--people I had already begun to see as my people--were bleeding in the streets, but they didn't give up. I watched tape after tape of news broadcasts and actual scenes of the demonstrations and I began to feel the first tinges of what's known as disability pride.
Around this time the idea of the Americans with Disabilities Act was born and many years and demonstrations later it was signed into law by the first President Bush on July 26, 1990, which became our Independence Day and is celebrated as such by people with disabilities all around the country.
Fast forward to that day in early 1993 when I wandered into ADAPT headquarters. Not only was I exposed to disability history, I began to learn about disability culture. One of the first things someone asked was how I doing with ADLs (activities of daily living) and I said that preparing meals was difficult, a real sticking point because I was underweight (oh, for those days again!). I learned about "gimp soul food," finger food or fast food, anything that requires little or no preparation. In one day I learned more about living as a person with a disability than I had in a year of rehab, where the emphasis was on being as "normal" as possible, even when that wasn't a reality. That first day I learned there was a demonstration scheduled for May in Wahington, DC where gimps from all over the country would gather and I was invited to go (ADAPT would pay my airfare).
Fast forward to May, 1993, my first demonstration. Thousands of us, in wheelchairs, using walkers, canes, crutches, wound our way down some boulevard to the Senate where those of us who refused to leave when asked were arrested. Moi, Ms. Good Girl, former attorney and mother of two...arrested! My own temerity astounded me. DC is a city well prepared for arresting disabled demonstrators since they arrested so many of them during the years while the Americans with Disabilities Act was in the process of becoming law. We were cuffed with plastic handcuffs and the cops were careful not to cause injury. Over a hundred of us were led to a large, relatively comfortable room that served as a holding cell and kept for 8 hours till our bail was posted. Eight hours without a cigarette was a stretch, but otherwise it wasn't an unpleasant experience. It's where I met my partner of 15 years. She was already a recognized leader in the movement and much more experienced at being arrested; she shared her trail mix and nicotine gum with me when nicotine withdrawal set off spasms on my left side.
The next demonstration, in October the same year, wasn't so pleasant. The target was a meeting of the nursing home lobby that makes billions every year from the incarceration of people whose only crime is their disabilities. The decision was made to charge the hotel where they were meeting, since they refused to meet with us or even acknowledge us. The hotel sent out these burly security guards to block the road leading to the hotel while a group of people in wheelchairs gathered, ready to charge the line. I watched from a distance; I couldn't afford to get arrested again with EH making noises about starting a custody battle for sole custody of our sons. It was rather like the Charge of the Light Brigade, with the security guards pulling people out of chairs, tipping chairs over, injuring people right and left. One guy ended up with a fractured skull. Still, a few got past the guards and reached the hotel but no one got to the meeting of the people we wanted to see...an exercise in futility. Worse--for me at least--I lost my balance on my way to the bathroom one morning in a motel and broke my hip, thus ending my "walking" days.
More later, maybe.
The movement began right here in Denver when, in 1978, 19 young people chained their wheelchairs together and blocked a major intersection through which most buses had to pass. They stayed there for 24 hours, disrupting bus service and traffic as well. It was a desperate measure, taken only after 2 years of negotiation with the regional transpotation district to persuade them to equip local buses with wheelchair lifts. The mayor refused ro have any of the demonstrators arrested and later, along with the governor, brought pressure to bear on the RTD to begin installing wheelchair lifts on local buses. Today Denver has the most accessible public transportation system in the country.
Not willing to rest on its laurels, ADAPT used the same tactics in other cities across the country. In many of these demonstrations the powers that be weren't so tolerant and demonstrators weere arrested by the dozens, sometimes hundreds, and transported in inaccessible vehicles to jails that couldn't accommodate people in wheelchairs. And the police weren't exactly gentle, either, though it was clear from the stories I heard and the tapes I saw that they were clearly uncomfortable and fearful of touching these very "different" people. The fear made some cops more hesitant; others were more violent. People--people I had already begun to see as my people--were bleeding in the streets, but they didn't give up. I watched tape after tape of news broadcasts and actual scenes of the demonstrations and I began to feel the first tinges of what's known as disability pride.
Around this time the idea of the Americans with Disabilities Act was born and many years and demonstrations later it was signed into law by the first President Bush on July 26, 1990, which became our Independence Day and is celebrated as such by people with disabilities all around the country.
Fast forward to that day in early 1993 when I wandered into ADAPT headquarters. Not only was I exposed to disability history, I began to learn about disability culture. One of the first things someone asked was how I doing with ADLs (activities of daily living) and I said that preparing meals was difficult, a real sticking point because I was underweight (oh, for those days again!). I learned about "gimp soul food," finger food or fast food, anything that requires little or no preparation. In one day I learned more about living as a person with a disability than I had in a year of rehab, where the emphasis was on being as "normal" as possible, even when that wasn't a reality. That first day I learned there was a demonstration scheduled for May in Wahington, DC where gimps from all over the country would gather and I was invited to go (ADAPT would pay my airfare).
Fast forward to May, 1993, my first demonstration. Thousands of us, in wheelchairs, using walkers, canes, crutches, wound our way down some boulevard to the Senate where those of us who refused to leave when asked were arrested. Moi, Ms. Good Girl, former attorney and mother of two...arrested! My own temerity astounded me. DC is a city well prepared for arresting disabled demonstrators since they arrested so many of them during the years while the Americans with Disabilities Act was in the process of becoming law. We were cuffed with plastic handcuffs and the cops were careful not to cause injury. Over a hundred of us were led to a large, relatively comfortable room that served as a holding cell and kept for 8 hours till our bail was posted. Eight hours without a cigarette was a stretch, but otherwise it wasn't an unpleasant experience. It's where I met my partner of 15 years. She was already a recognized leader in the movement and much more experienced at being arrested; she shared her trail mix and nicotine gum with me when nicotine withdrawal set off spasms on my left side.
The next demonstration, in October the same year, wasn't so pleasant. The target was a meeting of the nursing home lobby that makes billions every year from the incarceration of people whose only crime is their disabilities. The decision was made to charge the hotel where they were meeting, since they refused to meet with us or even acknowledge us. The hotel sent out these burly security guards to block the road leading to the hotel while a group of people in wheelchairs gathered, ready to charge the line. I watched from a distance; I couldn't afford to get arrested again with EH making noises about starting a custody battle for sole custody of our sons. It was rather like the Charge of the Light Brigade, with the security guards pulling people out of chairs, tipping chairs over, injuring people right and left. One guy ended up with a fractured skull. Still, a few got past the guards and reached the hotel but no one got to the meeting of the people we wanted to see...an exercise in futility. Worse--for me at least--I lost my balance on my way to the bathroom one morning in a motel and broke my hip, thus ending my "walking" days.
More later, maybe.
