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หน้าหลัก / อัลบั้ม / แท็ค State of Illinois Center 11
ADAPT (744)
The Disability Rag July/August, 1992 [This article continues on ADAPT 738, 733,728, 724, 748, 743 and finally 737; however the entire text is included here for easier reading. ] Photo by Tom Olin: A policeman holds a wooden barricade while another tries to pull a protester who is lying on the ground by his pants legs backward and out from under the barricade. The protester is holding onto something above his head. On one side a third policeman seems to be coming over and on the other side a man (Frank Lozano) and his guide dog (Frazier) are coming over. Title: On the barricades With ADAPT by Mary Johnson photos by Tom Olin “I am tired of rules and regulations. And them telling me what you have to do. None of them has worked for me as good as being at home. In nursing homes, they put you on sleeping pills to keep you from getting aggravated with what will occur. “You can’t pay —— you don’t have any money to pay an attendant at night, when you’re on SSI. All of these things they’re constantly cutting. I haven’t been in a nursing home for 15 years — and I don’t plan to go.” It's Saturday night in Chicago. Nearly 300 ADAPT members have gathered in a meeting room in Chicago’s Bismarck hotel, getting ready for the group’s May 1992 assault on the Windy City. People are telling their stories. Many are there because there was a nursing home in their past — or they don’t want one in their future. The next day the group will swoop down on the University of Chicago's commencement exercises. U.S. Department of Health and Human Services Secretary Louis Sullivan is speaking, and some in the group can't believe their late-breaking good fortune at getting another shot at hassling the Secretary who has steadfastly refused to meet with them to discuss redirecting Medicaid funds to in-home attendant services. A planned Mother's Day March to a graveyard — to symbolize how this nation kills its mothers in nursing homes — is cancelled. “I was never for that dead stuff anyway," ADAPT organizer Mike Auberger says. The week's events are debated. Somebody wants to know why they see police taking photos of them whenever there's an ADAPT action. There's an attorney available for people who get arrested, the group is told; they‘re given his name, as well as ADAPT organizers to contact if they get arrested. “I’m telling you — and it’s the most important thing I'm gonna say." Auberger warns the group. “have your medications with you if you're going to get arrested. Have ‘em labelled. No pill boxes; bottles. Make sure it has your name on it — nobody else's. Make sure there’s no illegal substances on you; no weapons. ‘Cos this is going to follow us down the road.” As it turned out, Chicago was mild compared to Orlando's confrontations last fall, in which nearly all ADAPT activists were thrown in jail — some in solitary confinement — for the week. In Chicago, only 10 people would be cited and fined in Monday’s confrontation at the HHS regional offices in downtown Chicago, and only 4 police-tagged “leaders” arrested the next day at American Medical Association headquarters; all were released at day’s end. Perhaps the national outrage in the wake of the Rodney King beating acquittal in Los Angeles a few weeks before had made Chicago police, considered to be some of the most brutal, cautious. The University of Chicago graduation turns out to be a beautiful Chicago spring day. Police and Secret Service are allowing ADAPT members into the auditorium without any hassle. Later, though, Jim Parker is asked to leave. He protests loudly as police haul him out a side door: “Why am l the only one being asked to leave?” About that time Tim Carver of Tennessee simply rolls off into the men's room, unnoticed, to wait out the sweep. Several ADAPT members unfurl a large FREE OUR PEOPLE banner over the wall below their seats, off in the “handicapped section" where the Secret Service have relegated them. Big burly Secret Service men with their walkie-talkies run over quickly and reach down to pull it up. Bob Kafka and Allen Haines are as determined that they won’t succeed. A kind of arm wrestling match ensues with Kafka and Haines holding firmly to the banner to keep it hanging over the wall where it forms a backdrop to the stage area where Sullivan will be speaking. The Secret Service have the advantage of leverage; they’re taller. One especially burly guy finally wrests the pole with its banner away from them and with a contemptuous jerk, flings it high into the bleachers behind them. “Clear ‘em out," mutters an all-business police captain. Four cops to a chair seems to be the agreed-on method of removal. Paulette Patterson of Chicago is removed this way. Over on the side, Anita Cameron and Jim Parker, back in and out of his wheelchair, and Frank Lozano, minus dog Frazier, are scooting down the steps on a side tier, trying to make it down to where Sullivan will speak, but they're caught and removed, too. “Get as close to the doors as possible,” says Bob Kafka to the other activists who have now been ejected from the back of the building. With police blocking doors. clots of ADAPT move to every entrance. Well, almost every one. Jean Stewart and Eleanor Smith use Stewart's crutches to pound on the metal doors, trying to create a disturbance inside, as the graduation ceremonies begin. Inside, though, the noise is barely audible. Nancy Moulton of Atlanta is sitting quietly on the ground, leaning on a door, with her guide dog Nan beside her. “Get up,” say a blue shirted Chicago cop. Moulton doesn‘t move. Nan rests her head on Moulton’s leg and rolls her eyes up at the cop towering over them. Now there are 4 Chicago cops and one guy who must be from the Secret Service hanging over Moulton and her dog. “If you don't move, we’ll have to grab you. and the dog will attack,” the cop persists. Still Moulton sits. “If you’re concerned about the dog, move!” the cop barks. Moulton gets up, worried that the cops will hurt Nan. While some block doors, others pass out leaflets to latecomers. The chants of “hey hey, ho. ho, nursing homes have got to go!" change to “We want Sullivan!" The police have barricaded the exit with blue sawhorses that read “police line." A pickup truck from the University's facilities management is unloading yellow university police barricades. A lady inside the back of the auditorium, hearing the faint chanting coming from outside, mutters, “they're not making friends." She‘s with the university. The University of Chicago is so large that commencement is held in two shifts; a morning one and an afternoon one. Sullivan has finished speaking and the crowd is emerging from the pavilion. They walk down the long fence of police barricades, while ADAPT chants and hands them leaflets: “Wanted: Sullivan. For crimes against disabled people." Inset picture: Beefy policeman with his cap down over his nose leaning forward. Caption: “If you care about your dog, move!” Article continues: It's lunch. ADAPT always feeds its activists. Today it‘s Burger King. Attendants and other walkies pass out cokes and burgers. Nan, Moulton’s dog, gets some much welcomed ice cubes from the big bag under the tree, put into the little folding plastic water bowl Moulton carries with her. A new crowd is coming to the arena. They, too, get leaflets and chants. Tim Craven has been ejected when police found him inside, but not before he and the other two who had hidden themselves in the press box get off a few good chants in Sullivan’s direction. A reporter for Habilitation, a disability magazine out of Seattle, has marched up to Sullivan, she reports, and asked him the questions ADAPT has so long wanted to ask him. To every single question, she says, he has responded, “It's a very nice day." Most of the students don‘t want to talk to a reporter. They have no comment. Some think that it‘s wrong of ADAPT to spoil their special day. Others think the group has a right to make itself heard — just not here, not now. One woman who has read the flyers says that "they don‘t want to be prisoners in nursing homes." A man, who hasn‘t read one, says he doesn’t know what they're protesting about but he thinks they have a right to do it. His daughter is graduating today —— with a degree in special education. Each ADAPT contingent blocking an entrance has its contingent of cops. The two `groups` joke with each other and pass the time in small talk. It's a lot like a chess game, says Haines; this trying to puzzle out where Sullivan‘s going to exit. Just about the time it occurs to several of the organizers who have been trying to psych out from which exit Sullivan will be spirited away that the one exit that has no guards on it is the parking lot entrance, a police car comes screaming down the street, makes an abrupt U-turn, and, at that moment, Sullivan's car, driven by Secret Service, shoots out of the entrance. Several ADAPT wheelers are on his tail in a flash, but it's too late. Sullivan again escapes— but the point, say the activists, has been well made to the over 10,000 people who have attended. Thousands of flyers have been passed out. PHOTO by Tom Olin: Inside a cavernous arena filled with people, two plain clothes police or Secret Service men have an ADAPT person (Bob Kafka) by the arms and are trying to lift him. He is sitting on the steps of an aisle leaning forward. To their right a young man in a button up shirt and jeans, a graduate, looks down at them. Caption reads: Getting to see Sullivan. Not. ADAPT makes no effort to block the streets surrounding the Pavilion. Monday‘s a different story. By 11am, both State and Adams Streets are blocked. Downtown Chicago is taking the flyers as fast as they’re being passed out. Many of them are surprisingly in agreement with ADAPT’s call for 25% of the current Medicaid money to be redirected to in-home services. One businessman engages Bob Kafka in a long and intense discussion over the merits of attendant services. He has buddies who were in Viemam, he says, and want the same thing Kafka does. He gives Kafka his card. Many other people are giving ADAPT members their cards, too; they are interested in the issue. Nobody, they say, has brought it up before. Certainly not the Chicago Tribune, which, instead of covering the baccalaureate brouhaha, runs a feature story on a college camp-out. “What I‘m looking for is a reasonable atmosphere to address the issues." Delilah Brummet Flaum, HHS’s Region V Director, would have to shout to make herself heard over downtown Chicago traffic and hundreds of milling demonstrators. And she‘s not shouting. She has come down, along with Chester Stroyny. Regional Director of the HealthCare Financing Administration and HCFA official David DuPre. in response to ADAPT demands. They want to meet with “officials”; they’ve blockaded the Region V HHS headquarters and aren‘t letting anyone in or out — unless they're willing to climb and crawl over protesters. About 20 activists have gotten all the way up to the HHS offices on the 15th floor, and have a bunch of police in there with them. It’s lunchtime by the time Flaum, Stroyny and DuPre are trotted out to Karen Tamley, Bob Kafka and Teresa Monroe and the others in the middle of Adams Street. ADAPT wants them to call Sullivan, to make him come back to Chicago and meet with them. Flaum can’t do that. “I am willing to do anything else you want us to do. to do try to get this resolved,” she’s saying. But she wants the group to be "more reasonable." She tells Tamley that she is “well aware" of ADAPT’s concerns, and that “the Bush Administration is working on non-institutional care options." Anna Stonum asks more questions. People in the crowd are starting to yell that they can’t hear. Flaum is telling Kafka that “shutting down a building“ is not the way to get a meeting with Sullivan. Kafka responds that they‘ve sent at least four letters to Sullivan and he's never responded to a single one. “You know as well as I do that the Secretary sets the tone for the discussion,“ Kafka lectures her. Kafka and DuPre engage in a debate about facts and figures. They can't trip Kafka up; he seems to know as much if not more about the issue than these folks do. At times the officials even seem to agree with him. Not, however, when he charges that “nothing the Secretary has said or done" changes anything “because he's in the pocket of the nursing home industry." “We disagree with that," say all three officials simultaneously. “We do favor the de-institutionalization model." “The damn Secretary has not said one thing — ever - has not even said the word ‘attendant services’ publicly," Kafka yells, and swears that ADAPT will continue to hold the building. “This is not being positive," says Flaum. “These are peoples' lives you’re talking about.” Kafka retorts. Photo Inset: The head of Bob Kafka, looking very intense, below the words "The damn Secretary has never even said the word 'attendant services' publicly." Article continues: “You don’t know what it’s like,” Monroe shouts at the officials when Kafka's done. “I want to talk to Sullivan. You get him here. He has no idea. Don't tell me Sullivan knows.” Monroe’s point, which she makes to Flaum, is that the money should go directly to the disabled person “because no person knows better what they need than the disabled person. Let us have our dignity.” She argues with Stroyny over nursing home inspections. Mark Johnson accuses Sullivan of “being in the pocket of the nursing homes.“ And meetings like this, he charges, aren’t worth a thing “unless there’s a commitment." The group, hearing Johnson, takes the cue: “We want a commitment!" One of the workers in the HHS office has come out for lunch and now finds she cannot get back in over the demonstrators. Still, she thinks what they're doing is “positive.” She’s a volunteer in a nursing home herself, she says, “And I know they’re the pits. People who don't frequent them don't know. These people who are walking around here” — she gestures to lunch-hour Chicagoans moving up and down the street-- “they could become victims of nursing homes, too. I look at these people here" —— and now she means ADAPT — “and I know I wouldn’t want to be jailed up in a nursing home." But then, she believes in protesting, she says. “I think protests are fine. I'm in tune with them. I was with Martin Luther King back in the 60s." she says. “I was in jail with Dr. King. I was 14 years old. That was just what you did; you went to jail. Some of our young people don't understand. “This is how to explain it,” she continues, warming to her subject. “These people want to get heard. We couldn’t get heard in Birmingham, either. That‘s why we marched on Washington." She won’t identify herself, though, but will only say she’s a spectator. But she works upstairs in the HHS office, she says. “And they got time to listen to that TV stuff — people come in talking about that, they make a big deal about the stuff they see on TV. And they got these people out here and they don‘t want to pay attention. When I was upstairs, they were callin’ ‘em ‘beasts’ and “vultures.” It is a measure of the erosion of belief in the system that has become the trademark of ADAPT that, when an EMS ambulance pulls up to the door and the word goes out that police are bringing down a man who’s had a heart attack, the thought passes among the group that this is yet another ploy. They think the stretcher rolled into the lobby and up on the elevator may be a ruse to make them move away from the door, which they nonetheless do, not wanting it to be said that they cared not for another disabled person who might be in danger. And when the man is brought down on the stretcher, there is more speculation: wasn’t he one of the officials out here earlier? Did the confrontation and excitement give him a heart attack? Is he faking? Is it really a medical emergency, or just :1 move to get someone out of the building who has an important meeting to attend and doesn't want it stopped by cripples? No one remembers the man in the stretcher more than a few minutes after the ambulance pulls away, lights rotating, into the Chicago traffic. Jane Garza from El Hogar del Nino is with the protesters. blocking a door by leaning against it. She’s part of the protest. she says: disabled herself, though she knows she doesn’t look it. She works in early childhood education. Some of the signs protesters are carrying were made by the children at her center, she says. “It's a way to bring them into it," she points out. The parents of the disabled kids at the center “are all reasonable people,” she says. “So they understand my being at an activity like this." If she gets arrested, she says, she has an understanding with her agency: they will bail her out. She’s been arrested with ADAPT before. she says; that was in Montreal. She’s been with ADAPT protests in Washington — the one to get the ADA passed; and one in St. Louis. “No one wants to see their child in a nursing home. People can really relate to that." She says the group at her door has been talking to passersby all day about the issue. “I was on the verge of going into a nursing home myself, back in ’82.” says this woman who doesn’t look disabled. When she had her aneurism and was in rehabilitation, she says, the Illinois Department of Rehabilitation Services gave her money with which she was able to pay two people — one for the morning, and one for the evening. “I just needed help getting up and then getting to bed. I was so weak. I just needed minimal assistance, somebody there to help me get dressed. But without that program. they would have put me in a nursing home.” Illinois Gov. Jim Edgar’s budget cuts have forced the Department of Rehabilitation Services to extend a freeze on intakes in that program through the end of 1993. and Edgar, Chicago ADAPT charges, is trying to eliminate a yearly cost-of-living adjustment for attendants. "After I got stronger, I was able to manage on my own. But look at how many people are in my shoes!” she says. “I worked; I had money. I was a social worker back then: one who had to apply for public aid just so I could get assistance." Insert picture: A person (possibly Lonnie Smith) with his head to one side and below the words “We want them to see what it’s like for us.” Article continues... The philosophy and tactic of doorblocking: Let people go in and out, if they’re willing to climb over you and your chair to do it. Arrest is not the objective here; inconveniencing people is. “We want them to see what it's like for us.” says one who has engaged in many door blockings. Photo by Tom Olin: A policeman stands in the middle of the street legs braced in a wide stance and arms streched out. He is holding a man with a cane (Gary Bosworth) with one hand and with the other hand and foot trying to hold back a man (Bob Kafka) in a manual wheelchair who is bent forward pushing. Other police officers are standing in the street, a supervisor is watching, as is a TV cameraman. Other protesters are partially visible at the edges of the scene. Chicago police have a black and white checkered band around their hats that is very distinctive. Article continues- Tuesday morning's Chicago Tribune, instead of covering ADAPT's HHS confrontation. reports on stepped-up security measures at the downtown State of Illinois building where. the Tribune reports, in error, ADAPT was "supposed" to be demonstrating Monday. ADAPT, it says, changed its mind. In fact, ADAPT planned to hit state offices on Wednesday. Speculation abounds as to who fed the paper the false information, the effect of which is to make ADAPT look disorganized. It later becomes apparent that state officials have had a hand in it. There is nothing in the Tribune about the people who stopped along State Street and asked questions, about Flaum, about any of it. The Sun-Times carries a photo inside. At the comer of State and Grant, a baby-blue police wrecker, the same blue as the cars, as the barricades, has blocked a curb ramp. ADAPT has blocked four intersections adjacent to the American Medical Association. Wheelchairs are stretched across 16 streets. At the intersection of Wabash and Grand, in the back, Paulette Patterson is hassling the policemen, mouthing off and chasing them with her motorized chair. It seems she is trying to get arrested. The police are being friendly enough. It won't be until noon that things will get rough. The cops will barricade the main entrances to the glass-walled fortress: many ADAPT members will take that as their cue to launch themselves out of their wheelchairs onto the high-curbed stoop around the building, crawling up to bang and hammer on the wooden barricades. A few find satisfaction in pounding on the glass walls. This will happen, though, only after the confrontation — the confrontation that resulted in Jerry Eubanks of Chicago being dropped from his wheelchair: picked up by his neck, it seems to other protesters, who holler for an “Ambulance! Now!”; the confrontation that causes Patterson to roll from her wheelchair and shriek at the top of her lungs, kicking her legs wildly as police try to pick her up. The police back off; when they come at her again, her screams again drive them back. Finally, Patterson is left alone, and, once more in her wheelchair, rolls off to the side, where she admits slyly and with her trademark smile that she enjoys discomfiting police. “They don't wanna mess with me," she says proudly. Suddenly they are all there again, surging at the entrance, trying to get up the high curb. Stephanie Thomas and Diane Coleman and others are wedging themselves in next to the Chicago Transit Authority paratransit vehicles that are a sure sign of arrests: it's the only way police can haul off a wheelchair to the hoosegow. Allen Leegant is diving under a barricade trying to get up to the entrance. Chris Hronis and Arthur Campbell are trying to follow; they are caught by police. Campbell is carried, spread-eagle, by four cops, directly to a CT A van. Cameras are everywhere; TV crews have materialized out of nowhere. Campbell has been arrested. Mike Auberger has been arrested. Campbell and Auberger are each put into his own van. The police have their eye on Mike Ervin. When you catch a snatch of cop-to-cop talk, you learn they're trying to pick off those they figure to be the leaders. “What the cops never understand is why the demonstration continues after they’ve hauled off the folks they think are leaders," says someone who is blocking a street. “They can’t figure out that arresting leaders doesn’t work; that as soon as they arrest someone, somebody else just moves in." Susan Nussbaum, blocking a side door, answers questions about whether the movement will ever see violence. “There’s always the potential for violence," she is saying. “But it would be good if that could be understood in the context of a larger issue. “I am not in favor of getting my head beaten in." At 3:15 the building starts to empty out. ADAPT has managed to block all the exits, so AMA workers and officials alike are subjected to a gauntlet of taunts as they trot, under tight police protection, down the ramp to the alley and across to the parking garage. The taunts seem mostly to be of the “AMA Shame On You” variety. When ADAPT members arrived at AMA headquarters in the morning, they found tables set up with water coolers and cups of refreshing water awaiting them. Later, the AMA‘s Department of Geriatric Health would confirm for a reporter that the AMA had done this so the disabled people wouldn't get overheated and get sick. Many protesters were wary of the water. Some suspected it had been spiked with Valium: others thought it a ploy to get them to have to pee later on, adding to their discomfort and hopefully ending the demonstration early. Much of the water was left untouched. Water was also running through hoses into the sprinkling system of the AMA‘s lawns. This had the added effect of keeping protesters off the grassy knolls fronting the building. Shortly after ADAPT arrived, one demonstrator had parked his chair on the hose while others moved across the area to block doors. Later, the water was simply turned off. Insert picture: A head and shoulders picture of a protester chanting, with the words "AMA: Shame on you!" "People are dying shame on you!" Article continues- The AMA’s flak, Arnold Collins, was standing around with the TV and radio reporters most of the day. The AMA had issued a statement insisting it “supports the home care objectives of ADAPT." Dr. Joanne Schwartzberg, Director of the AMA's Department of Geriatric Health, said in the news release that a meeting the previous Thursday with ADAPT had been “productive” and that the two `groups` had “considerable common ground.” Campbell, who attended the meeting, had a different analysis. He said he believed Schwartzberg truly had no understanding what ADAPT wanted; that some of their ideas had been totally inconceivable to her. Schwartzberg said ADAPT was the first group she had ever met with and felt “hostility.” “It was a great shock," she said. “I always thought of myself as being a great advocate. But I wasn’t an advocate enough for them." Schwartzberg said that ADAPT didn’t understand that there were “really frail people in nursing homes — a kind of frailty that these disabled don’t have. “I was really scared that the demonstrators might get harmed, the way they throw themselves out of their chairs.” she went on. “They’re very courageous; I think they're a little reckless. Luckily, nobody’s gotten seriously hurt." “Do you think she really believes the things she says, or do you think it’s just a pose?” a filmmaker wondered. The AMA had issued “a guideline for medical management of homecare patients," she said, and they were putting on 8 seminars for doctors “in managing home care.” She knew ADAPT wanted AMA members to divest themselves of their financial interest in nursing homes and cut nursing home admissions. But the AMA couldn‘t do that, she explained patiently. “We are a voluntary body. not a regulatory body." “They couldn't understand why we couldn‘t do more." she said. The Chicago Tribune was still concerned about the State of lllinois building. Every day Tribune stories had chronicled the increasing security at the site. On Tuesday, Paulette Patterson and another disabled woman filed suit in U.S. District Court alleging denial of access due to increased security. Though a temporary restraining order was not granted, Patterson’s attorney, Matthew Cohen, said filing the suit had had the desired effect. The Tribune covered the suit. Photos by Tom Olin: 1) Two protesters (Spitfire and Jimmi Schrode) in the march raise the power fist to woman leaning out of a second floor window yelling and giving them the thumbs up. Below on the sidewalk most people are just walking by but one older man looks on. Spitfire is wearing her combat helmet. 2) A line of ADAPT protesters face a set of barricades on the other side of which are a line of policemen holding the barricades with both hands. Midway down the line of protesters, a man in a wheelchair (Danny Saenz) is turned toward the camera and another protester (Chris Hronis). 3) Close up of a man in a wheelchair (Rene Luna) who sits in front of an almost life sized portrait of IL Governor Edgar. Rene is holding a poster that reads "nursing home industry owns Edgar." Article continues- Finally, on Wednesday, ADAPT obliged the Tribune and state officials by staging a protest at the building, drawing attention to stale policies that were cutting people off from attendant services in Illinois. On Thursday. the Tribune ran a long story on ADAPT. Calling them "a group of vociferous activists savvy in street action." It quoted a miffed Chicago official who refused to be named saying that "one of the strongest points in their civil disobedience is making themselves look as pathetic as possible.“ “The group's history is rife with attention-grabbing acts of protest." said the Tribune. which compared them to ACT-UP and Earth First! protest `groups`. "Though some may question their tactics. none can doubt they have impact.“ said the Tribune. the end
ADAPT (702)
[This article is a continuation of ADAPT 707 and the entire part of the article we have is included there for easier reading.]
ADAPT (713)
The Guardian, May 27,1992 Photo by Tom Olin: A disabled man dressed all in white (Tim Craven) lies on his back to crawl under a police barricade. Beside him a woman (Barbara Bounds) in a wheelchair leans toward him as if to support and protect him. She is facing the barricade and has a sign taped to the back of her chair that says "People Before Profits." Two police men lean over the barricade toward Tim and another sticks his arm in between them. Behind them are even more officers. On the near side of the barricade yet another officer stands, bending almost all the way forward toward Tim on the ground. Caption reads: Protesters in Chicago got our of their wheelchairs and lay down in front of the barricades, forcing employees to walk over them. Disabled militants bring hope to health reform By Mary Johnson Chicago-Hundreds of members and supporters of ADAPT (American Disabled for Attendant Programs Today) took to the streets here May 10-13 to continue their fight for in-home attendant services and to move the national health-Cate debate into the rights arena. The group is aiming to force the American Medical Association—whose headquarters are here—and the American Health Care Association, the nursing home lobby, to replace “home care" with "attendant services“ which consumers control “in the location and manner of our choice,“ says ADAPT. ADAPT, which under the name American Disabled for Accessible Public Transportation won the national fight for wheelchair lifts on buses, intend their street protests as the “flashpoint," says founder Wade Blank, for national health care reform. There is nothing medical about assistance to bathe, eat or dress, these activists charge. Target: Louis Sullivan Learning that Health and Human Services Secretary Louis Sullivan would be speaking at University of Chicago commencements on May 10, the 250-strong ADAPT contingent cancelled a Mother‘s Day march and stormed into the university‘s pavilion, planning to disrupt Sullivan's speech. Police and Secret Service agents promptly ejected them, but the group spent the afternoon handing leaflets to graduates‘ families. Sullivan has been a perennial ADAPT target for his refusal to meet with them to discuss Medicaid policy on nursing homes. The next day, ADAPT surrounded the HHS regional offices in downtown Chicago, managing to get up to 15th-floor offices before being blocked by police. Others in the group cordoned off exits, forcing building employees to climb over them, and at one point succeeded in getting department officials into the street to listen to the group‘s demands. Ten protesters were cited and released. On May 12, ADAPT moved to AMA headquarters, blocking adjacent streets and crawling up to bang on office windows. Police barricaded the doors, but protesters got our of their wheelchairs and piled themselves at barricades, forcing AMA employees to step over them when their offices shut down early. Police moved to arrest four people they believed to be in command. The four included Mike Auberger of Denver and Arthur Campbell of Louisville, Ky., who were released later in the day. Garnering media attention Though ADAPT planned to press state targets only on May 13, the state barricaded its downtown State of Illinois Building on the two days before. Guards locked wheelchair access doors and forced wheelchair users to submit to police escort on elevators. On May 12, Chicago ADAPT member Paulette Patterson sued the state over discriminatory denial of access. Though District judge Milton Shadur failed to grant a requested temporary restraining order, Patterson’s attorney, Matthew Cohen, said he had “no doubt the suit had an effect.” On May 13, ADAPT took over the building while city police squabbled with state police over jurisdiction and mostly kept their hands off protesters. Longtime Chicago activists noted ADAPT‘s success in garnering media attention. Chicago Lawyers Guild member Ora Schub said ADAPT‘s protests got more coverage than Gulf war demonstrations in the city — even when antiwar protesters shut down Lake Shore Drive. There seems little question ADAPT has begun to have an impact beyond disability rights. As one of the only groups to take the health reform issue into the streets, ADAPT, says Blank, sees its role “as focusing the debate on a bigger political issue” within health-care reform: services as a legal right. “What the disability rights movement can do is humanize society,” he says. Tennessee ADAPT recently forced the hospital power structure there to accept a state financing fee that will fully fund Medicaid (see sidebar). Lawyer Gordon Bonnyman, who was involved in the Tennessee campaign, remembers a “poverty advocate friend" sending him a clipping about an ADAPT protest in Orlando, Fla., in 1990, when the group first took on the American Health Care Association over the attendant services issue. He and his friend “were despairing about health reform," he said, “asking ourselves when the people who were really affected were going to begin to influence the discussion. "l said, ‘l just don‘t see that ever happening until people are willing to stage some direct actions,‘ " Bonnyman recalls. “Then she sent me that clipping from ADAPT's Orlando action and she said, ‘Here are the folks who could do that.'" “My response at that time was, ‘That’s nice, but how many people is that?‘ I now think: ‘Enough.' ADAPT really does have the ability to have an impact nationally on health care issues-far beyond their own issue of personal attendant services." The group plans similar actions in San Francisco this fall. Second, sidebar, article inserted on this page: Saving Medicaid in Tenn Six people in wheelchairs moved swiftly a cross across the drive-way of the Tennessee Health Care Association in Nashville on March 31. Chaining themselves together, the small band waited for members of the Tennessee Hospital Association to come out of their meeting. It was a classic ADAPT action. This time ADAPT was leading a coalition of health care reformers that would force the state‘s powerful hospital lobby to drop its opposition to a state licensing fee intended to prevent a $1.1 billion loss in federal Medicaid funds. Tennessee pioneered the concept of leveraging matching federal Medicaid funds by levying a state financing fee against hospitals that took Medicaid patients. With its 70-30 match, the state took the $300 million collected from participating hospitals to obtain another $700 million in federal matching funds. With that tactic, Tennessee was fully funding its Medicaid program and feeling no financial crisis. By 1991 it was in use in 37 states, with many reporting similar success. The federal government, alarmed at having to pay out increased Medicaid funds to stares that used this method, devised a plan to derail it. A little-publicized 1991 law made such licensing fees illegal unless levied against all hospitals equally. It counted on opposition from hospitals that took no Medicaid patients (and therefore had no reason to agree to the fees) to fight state passage of licensing fee bills. That opposition was swift in coming in Tennessee. The state is home to Hospital Corporation of America and HealthTrust, two of the nation's largest hospital chains, and numerous other hospitals. The Tennessee Hospital Association, of which Hospital Corporation of America is a powerful member, opposed the fee. A state bill to extend the fee to all hospitals was virtually dead, said Tony Garr, head of the Tennessee Health Care Campaign, until ADAPT of Tennessee, led by organizer Diane Coleman, got involved. “The only way we could bring attention to the issue was to hit the streets,” said Garr. “ADAPT played a very important role" in helping other groups in the Tennessee Health Care Campaign “move to direct action,” said Gordon Bonnyman, a lawyer who has worked with Medicaid issues in Tennessee. Beginning in January, Coleman and Tennessee ADAPT members staged weekly actions, targeting the large hospitals as villains who were destroying the state’s Medicaid program. The first week a group of nearly 200 people, headed by ADAPT, marched to the Hospital Association's offices. The next week the group staged a protest in front of Baptist Hospital, which opposed the fee. The group hung a sign asking “Are you Christian?" on the hospital administrator's portrait. The group‘s fifth action targeted Thomas Frist, who heads Hospital Corporation of America. “We had a small casket, with dollar bills draped over it, and a sign that read, “Thomas Frist, how many must die for your $1.235 million in annual cash compensation?” said Coleman. The protests had the desired effect. Frist, reportedly upset by the negative publicity, capitulated the day the group surged on Health Care Association headquarters with the cross and withdrew his corp0ration’s opposition to the fee—reportedly urging legislators to vote swiftly to pass the law to avoid more unfavorable publicity. “There have been Medicaid cuts for the last 15 years in this country, and they have gone mostly unreported," said Bonnyman. “ADAPT galvanized people. Without them, the whole thing would have gone down the toilet." M.J.
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Chicago Defender, Thursday May 14, 1992 ADAPT shuts down Illinois center ADAPT protests budget cuts by Dobie Holland Hundreds of wheelchair-bound demonstrators shut down the State of Illinois Center after they converged on the building Wednesday to protest the impending budget cuts in the Home care program for the disabled. The shut down occurred after members of the Americans Disabled for Attendant Programs Today (ADAPT) were denied access to the governor’s 16th floor offices. The group retaliated with a blockade of escalators and elevators. Although ADAPT members faced barricades outside the center, once they had stormed inside, security police operating the elevators refused to allow most of the wheelchair-bound protesters upstairs. Mike Ervin, one of the Chicago coordinators for ADAPT, said they had no choice but to block the paths of pedestrians in the building by setting up wheelchair blockades of escalators and elevators in the center. They demanded a meeting with the governor. Gov. Jim Edgar was in Springfield but it was not clear by the Chicago Defender's press deadline if he would meet with the group. Gary Mack, a spokesman for the governor, said the State of Illinois has one the most “liberal programs" in the country for the disabled and cuts are being made “across the board” in the wake of a severe budget deficit. Mack said the program will lose $3 million — “a small amount" — a reduction from $68 million to $65 million. Mack added the governor was not responsible for denying the protesters access to the elevators. "They (security) have been trying to keep this place operating," Mack said. “But as l understand it, we are letting some people up here (on the 16th floor). One oi those people allowed up in the elevators to sit in the governor’s 16th floor lobby was Paulette Patterson. Patterson, who was not a member of the protest group, said she was denied access to the elevators on Tuesday when she came to the building to eat breakfast. Patterson, 35, of Chicago, said she has filed a discrimination suit against the state because she was not allowed free passage through the building “simply because I was in a wheelchair. “l was not with this group before,” she said. “But I am a member now." Illinois Attorney General Roland Burris, commenting on the conflict between security personnel and protesters, said during a Tuesday press conference: “My job is not to judge anybody but to make sure no one's rights have been violated."
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Chicago Tribune, Thursday May 14, 1992 [This article continues in ADAPT 712 but the entire text has been included here for easier reading.] Photo by Eduardo Contreras: A man (Randy Horton) in a denim jacket kneels on the bottom step of an escalator with his arms spread from one handrail to the other. Someone stands on the escalator facing him. Behind him are a group of other protesters in wheelchairs filling the area. The group includes: Steve Verriden, San Antonio Funtes, Chris Hronis and others. Caption reads: Randy Horton (on knees) blocks John Meagher on a State of Illinois Center escalator. Title: Disabled protesters take hard line by Christine Hawes and Rob Kawath Rolling his wheelchair around the cavernous State of Illinois Center, shouting for his rights, Ken Heard recalled how he used to spend his days in a Syracuse, N.Y., nursing home where doctors controlled his life. They would tell him when he could get up in the morning, when he could go to sleep, what he could eat. They would feed him pills, but they wouldn’t tell him what they were for. It was as if he had no mind of his own. “l saw people tied down in their beds, said Heard, who has severe cerebral palsy. "And I saw people die in there." It took some time, a marriage that got him out of the nursing home and a raging desire for independence, but today Heard has regained the power to think for himself. He now earns his own income, rents and fumishes his own apartment and even takes vacations in Las Vegas. His joumey to self-sufficiency began when he heard about an activist group now called American Disabled for Attendant Programs Today. On Wednesday, about 200 ADAPT protesters in wheelchairs disrupted operations at the State of Illinois Center, 100 W. Randolph St., blocking exits and occasionally fighting with building patrons and workers as police stood by, arresting no one. Elaborate security measures the state had put in place Monday to keep the 16-floor, 3,000-employee building functioning broke down while state and Chicago police squabbled over who was responsible for arresting protesters deemed to have gone too far. But the scene of disabled men and women dragging themselves up escalators, surging into the building lobby and clutching the legs of people trying to walk past is just another picture in the well-publicized story of a group of vociferous activists savvy in street action. “One of the strongest points of their civil disobedience is making themselves look as pathetic as possible,” said one Chicago-area official at an agency that has been a target of ADAPT. The official, who asked that his name be withheld, said, “They are excellent media users, and they are very successful at putting spotlights on issues that most people probably wouldn’t normally pay attention to.” ADAPT has taken its dedication to a fever pitch, too fevered for some, and like many new protest `groups`—including the AIDS Coalition To Unleash Power (ACT -UP) for gay rights, People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals (PETA) for animal rights and Earth First for the ecology—is using dramatic, sensational tactics for their cause, to allow any nursing home residents the ability to live on their own. And though some may question their efforts, none can doubt they have impact. One woman who said she was grabbed, tripped and bitten during Wednesday’s melee confessed a few hours later, “I can’t help but feel guilty.” During Heard’s 10-year stay in the nursing home, he met some ADAPT members from Denver and listened to them tell of how they took sledgehammers to Denver's street curbs as a way of objecting to inaccessible sidewalks. Now Heard is a political organizer for ADAPT, in town with 350 other protesters. And though members are no longer taking sledgehammers to cement, they are steering wheelchairs into intersections, chaining themselves to buildings and crawling along dirty streets to get over curbs too high for wheelchairs. For the past two years, ADAPT has been staging demonstrations every six months in support of reallocating one-fourth of the country’s Medicaid funds that now go to nursing homes to in-home health care, and to make it easier for disabled people like Heard to escape their “prisons.” This week in Chicago, protests have played out at the quarters of everyone ADAPT perceives as the health-care power brokers: the federal Department of Health and Human Services, the American Medical Association and the offices of Gov. Jim Edgar. ADAPT claims that having personal, in-home attendants for the disabled costs $900 a month less in state funds than keeping them in nursing homes and other institutions. Illinois officials say the difference is only $600. But aside from financial concerns, ADAPT members say they’re fighting against inhumane restraint and abuse in nursing homes. Their strategy is to make the able-bodied feel as uncomfortable and limited as they themselves do—and to grab as much media time as possible. Television cameras were there Wednesday when bands of wheelchair users mobbed workers trying to use an escalator in the State of Illinois Center. And they were there Tuesday when protesters crawled out of their wheelchairs, across Grand Avenue and over foot-high curbs outside of the American Medical Association’s national headquarters. “This makes us visible," said Jean Stewart, a 42-year-old novelist from New York, who has used a wheelchair since she lost her hip muscle because of a tumor about 17 years ago. “And it enables us to get our message across. It’s not a publicity stunt, it’s education.” The group’s history is rife with attention-grabbing acts of protest after talks with officials were unsuccessful and full of what they feel is noteworthy success. The end result of the Denver protests, said Wade Blank, a founding member of the group, was one of the most accessible cities for disabled people in this country. Three years ago, a handful of ADAPT members were arrested for blocking a Chicago Transit Authority bus with their motorized wheelchairs. But two results of those efforts, they feel, were CTA purchase of buses with wheelchair lifts and even the passage of the federal Americans with Disabilities Act. ADAPT members say they are disrupting business as usual because they are shut out of offices where politicians and association presidents could be sitting down to discuss the issue. And they are trapping members of the public to demonstrate how they feel trapped and restrained. “For so long the issues surrounding disability have remained invisible,” said Stephanie Thomas, who lost her ability to walk when she was run over by a tractor 17 years ago. “So we have to do some extraordinary things to make people pay attention.” Wednesday’s protest, which came after U.S. District Judge Milton Shadur refused to order a lessening of security measures at the state’s Chicago headquarters, left police and Department of Central Management Services security officers snapping only at each other, even after the protest turned ugly. “I have to get to an appointment!" yelled one middle-age man as he wrestled on the ground with two protesters who had grabbed his legs and, in the process, had been pulled out of their wheelchairs. “This is what it feels like to be trapped in a nursing home!” yelled one protester. The man finally struggled free and hustled out of the building while Chicago and Central Management Services police watched from only a few feet away. “We’re sorely disappointed with the Chicago Police Department,” said Central Management Services Director Stephen Schnorf. “Certainly they provided better protection to the other buildings where there were protests this week.” But Chicago Police Cmdr. Michael Malone said the state was in control and his officers were just there to back them up. He said the state was misrepresenting the agreement between the two departments. And all that consternation was caused by a group that claims to be loosely organized and barely funded ADAPT, which has about 5,000 members nationwide, has very little formal correspondence, aside from a newspaper called Incitement and a rare memo, Blank said members keep in touch through word of mouth more than anything, and most of them support their travels through small fundraisers. But though the group says most of its day-to-day procedures are hardly sophisticated, ADAPT leaders are extremely skilled in using the media, say some who have watched the group’s protests first-hand. Sonya Snyder, public relations director at a Florida hotel where ADAPT demonstrated against the American Health Care Association last October, said the protesters only became rambunctious when television cameras appeared. “For most of the time, the police and the protesters would share sandwiches,” Snyder said. “But when the media came, down went the sandwiches and up went the protest.” And Janice Wolfe, a spokeswoman for the health care association, said the group’s efforts are “frustrating and misdirected. Their efforts could be better spent on individuals who are in power to do something.” ADAPT members view their protests as grand displays of strength, not pitiful appeals. They speak of their demonstration plans as though they are plotting battle strategy, using words like “identified enemy,” “privileged information” and "top secret." They pattern their protests after the civil rights demonstrations of the 1960s and compare themselves to the black leaders of that era “This is just like Martin Luther King,” ADAPT member Bernard Baker from Atlanta “We’re fired up, and we can’t take it anymore."
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Access USA News June 1992 page 21 [This article appears to be in 3 parts, we do not have the first part. The article continues in ADAPT 702 but that text is included here for easier reading.] PHOTO in the center of the article: A mass of people in wheelchairs are lined up against the windows at the front of a building. The rows of people are 2 deep in many spots. Then there is a pathway along the sidewalk and another group of people is packed on the other side. One of the protesters in a manual wheelchair is facing away from the camera and on his back is a large poster that says "HELL NO! I Won't Go Back." Someone in a scooter (Rhona Schnall?) is rolling down the end of the pathway. Caption reads: ADAPT protestors converge on Chicago. ADAPT from page 3... "They're paying these people to work and, instead, they're standing out here and watching us. Yet I can't get my PCA money. What's going on?" asked 31-year-old Michael Graver, of Orland Park, Ill., during ADAPT's demonstration at the State of Illinois building on Wednesday. ADAPT shut down access to the upper floors of the building when the facility manager shut off the elevators and escalators so that protestors in wheelchairs could not reach the 16th floor, the office of Gov. Edgar. Many people employed by offices on upper floors chose to stand on the balconies overhead and gawk at the activities below. Graver has been attending Southem Illinois University at Carbondale - until now. He has cerebral palsy and uses a wheelchair. The college junior currently is unable to attend school at SIU because of the state cuts in PCA funding. No new clients have been accepted for in-home services since February 1. ”I can afford the apartment," he said, ”but not in-home services.” ”Tell them to give you the escalators and give us the elevators,” one ADAPT member told able-bodied individuals who complained about the group cutting off access to the upper floors. ADAPT blocked off the escalators with wheelchairs and bodies when members were told the elevators would not be made available to them. A small-framed, middle-aged woman attempted forcing her way through the unit blocking an escalator, emphatically stating, "I’m from Wisconsin, I can't do anything for you." She was detained. A man, approximately age 50, succeeded in forcing his way through the demonstrators, only after stepping over their wheelchairs, over people and finding himself crawling on the ground before getting to the other to the side. Another man of about the same age walked down the escalator and when he began trying to make his way through, said, "I have nothing against you people." A man in his 20's tried finding a route up an escalator, but met face to face with a female ADAPT protestor. ”Back off and try to understand what we're doing," she told the young man. ”This is beautiful," said the Rev. Hatcher, who uses a wheelchair and was at the State of Illinois building on behalf of the Coalition for United Community Labor Force, not with the ADAPT group. ”I really support this. I showed up to meet with the Governor's office to protest some things. This Governor is insensitive to the black community and handicapped community." Most able—bodied individuals continued trying to find elevators, escalators or stairs leading them to upper floors. Many stood on the ground-level floor in amazement, then complained that this was unfair to them. A few were curious enough to ask questions, read the fliers and express support. "James Edgar, shame on you. ”People are dying, shame on you. "Hey, hey, ho, ho, budget cuts have got to go." ADAPT’s verses were in unison, clear and loud as the crowded state building remained in chaos all day. "When l used to travel around the country, I would brag about Illinois and our in-home services,” said Judy Savage, Chicago ADAPT member and employee of Access Living of Metropolitan Chicago. "They've already limited the number of people who can get these funds and Democratic legislators are recommending more cuts.” Insert Text box: "In the nursing home, they don't let you do things yourself. I have to ask for permission to go out." -Louis Summers Article continues: As the fourth and final day of ADAPT’s demonstrations dragged on at the State of Illinois Building, able-bodied individuals became more irritated. ”Edgar's going to have to stop all this," one man said. “l have a grandmother in a nursing home and I know what they're like," a woman said, "but blocking off the elevators and escalators won't change that.” "This is wrong. This is even a fire hazard. You can't deny other people the right to go out and support their families. They’ re denying us our constitutional rights,” another man said, angry that he could not get to an upper floor. "This is wrong.” Thirty-nine year-old ADAPT member Mary Kay Strasser, who also belongs to Disabled Americans Rally for Equality (D.A.R.E.), sat at the opening of one of the elevators all day Wednesday, her personal attendant standing nearby. "This is a disgrace," she said. "We're human beings just like they are. People walk by and don't ask us what we're fighting for. You can tell their attitudes by the looks on their faces. The people in the nursing homes don't realize they treat us like we're nothing. I was in a nursing home for 3-1/2 years and it was the worst experience of my life." ADAPT passed out nearly 10,000 fliers during the Chicago rally. Fifteen people were arrested, mostly for trespassing, including 10 late Monday afternoon outside the Health and Human Services offices. The bulk of police-protestor interaction took place outside the AMA building Tuesday as demonstrators attempted to stop paddy wagons from leaving the area. One man being moved by police was dropped out of his wheelchair and his head struck the sidewalk; his injury appeared the next day to be a minor abrasion on the side of his head. At that time, a Chicago police officer wearing badge number 215 asked able-bodied ADAPT member Robin McGee why they were not protecting the people in chairs better, why they were allowing them to do this and get hurt. Louis Summers, age 31, was hit by a train while working and has lived in a nursing home the past three years. Father of three kids, Summers gets $422 a month in social security payments. He took his place among ADAPT members blocking an escalator on Wednesday. "I want a part-time job so I can pay child support and buy the things I need," said Summers, who uses a wheelchair and is deaf, but speaks clearly. "($422) is not enough for food and rent and payment on a loan." "I don‘t know why the government pays nursing homes more than they pay personal attendants. l can afford an apartment, but I can't afford the personal attendant. In the nursing home, they don't let you do things yourself. I have to ask for permission to go out."
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Chicago Tribune Photo by Eduardo Contreras: An Asian-American man (Ken Heard) with pulled back hair and large glasses, a white jacket and pale jeans sits in his foot controlled power wheelchair. He blocking part of an escalator, and what he is not blocking, the police officer that is trying to stop him is blocking. The officer's arms are crossed across his chest and Ken has his hands in his pockets. Caption reads: Ken Heard blocks the entrance to an escalator Wednesday in the State of Illinois Center as part of an ADAPT protest.
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Title: Protesters hit Illinois center in wheelchairs By Neil Steinberg, Staff Writer Disabled protesters from around the country used their wheelchairs to block access to the State of Illinois Center on Wednesday, the fourth day in their call for state funds to be directed toward home care instead of nursing homes. “The people united will never be defeated," chanted about 200 protesters, blocking elevators, escalators and stairways at the building. “No more cuts.” There was no violence and no arrests, though protesters did scuffle briefly with police outside the governor's office, where they demanded a meeting with Gov. Edgar, who is in Springfield. Government business slowed to a near halt as state workers crowded the rings of balconies at the center, watching the chanting wheelchair activists on the main floor. Although employees could move among the upper floors by using the unblocked exterior staircases, it was often difficult to reach the ground floor. Two employees from the lieutenant governor's office found themselves trapped in a fire stairway when their attempt to take a garage elevator out of the building failed. “They captured the car elevator,” a maintenance man told the two young workers. Swearing, they tried another route. “This is starting to inconvenience me," one said. Tourists and school `groups` visiting the building got a surprise introduction to special-interest advocacy. An architecture club from Reading, Pa., here to appreciate the 16-story curving edifice designed by Helmut Jahn, stopped to reprimand protesters for keeping them off the elevators. State workers, some of whom literally climbed over the wheelchairs of protesters, also put in a word or two. “You are a lawless mob,“ a worker for the Department of Rehabilitative Services told a group of protesters blocking the elevator. “They have a right to protest," the worker said. “They don’t have a right to interfere with our lives." PHOTO by SUN-TIMES /Al Podgorski: A man walks up escalator steps with another man in his arms, as two other men stand on the side of the steps. Below on the floor level, a mass of people in wheelchairs, and a few standing, crowd the entire rest of the scene. Some are wearing ADAPT t-shirts. A security guard stands at the bottom of the escalator to one side. Caption: Joe Potter of Denver carries a men who usually uses a wheelchair up a stopped escalator at the State of Illinois Center on Wednesday. The protest by disabled activists was the fourth in four days.
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Chicago Tribune, Wednesday Chicagoland PHOTO by Tribune's Val Mazzenga: People in wheelchairs are lined up in the street along a curb, facing into a building with white square columns. People in business attire are on the sidewalk. Beth McDaniel, Sherri and Tim Craven are among those on the line. Behind them in a scooter and tiger strip cap is Walter Hart. Caption reads: Protesters from American Disabled for Attendant Programs Today gather Tuesday outside the American Medical Association headquarters, 535 N. Dearborn St. Several arrests were made. Title: Wheelchair users’ suit seeks access By Rob Karwath Two wheelchair users sued the state Tuesday, alleging that tight security measures at the State of Illinois Center have restricted disabled people’s access to the government office. The U.S. District Court suit, which seeks to be certified as a class action, was filed a day after the state rolled out an unprecedented show of force in anticipation of a raucous protest by a disabled-rights group demanding more govemment funds for home-care programs. The protesters, from American Disabled for Attendant Programs Today (ADAPT) blocked access Monday at 105 W. Adams St., which houses some federal agencies. On Tuesday, building managers ordered the evacuation of more than 1,000 workers at the American Medical Association headquarters, 535 N. Dearbom St., because of a daylong ADAPT demonstration. AMA spokesman Arnold Collins said workers in the building were told to go home, starting at 3:15 pm. The building was evacuated floor by floor, and some workers were escorted out of side doors to avoid the congregation of demonstrators in front of the building. “The building was evacuated so that there wouldn’t be a crunch,” Collins said. “And also because there are people out there who are trying to stop other people from leaving." ADAPT demonstrators had formed a circle around the building’s front door in an attempt to block it. ADAPT spokesman Tari Susan Hartman declined to say where the group would protest Wednesday. But state officials were girding for a demonstration at the 16-floor state building, 100 W. Randolph St. The lawsuit, filed by an ADAPT member and another wheelchair user who is not a group member, contends the tight security from the state Department of Central Management Services allows walking people access to the building but deprives wheelchair users of unrestricted movement. The suit seeks immediate easing of security measures. The suit’s two named plaintiffs contend they experienced difficulty getting around the building Monday, the first day that all workers and patrons had to ride an escalator to the second floor if they wanted to catch an elevator upstairs. One of the plaintiffs, ADAPT member Paulette Patterson, said she had to specially request an elevator ride to the building's basement concourse of restaurants when she wanted to meet her daughter there for breakfast Monday. Patterson also said that when she wanted to return to the first floor, she had to shout to a Central Management Services police officer on the first floor to come down and get her. "They have set up a situation where, if you are not in a wheelchair, you generally have to ask permission to go anywhere in the building," said lawyer Matthew Cohen, who filed the suit. A hearing on the suit is scheduled for Wednesday morning. State officials declined to comment on the suit, but they have said they are trying to be sensitive to the needs of all people using the building. State officials contend the extra security, which includes stationing police officers in all elevators and positioning of dozens of barricades outside, will be needed if ADAPT tries to block access to the building. But in two days of dealing with the extra security, many of the building’s 3,000 workers have accused the state of overreacting. Many also have expressed concern that all wheelchair-using workers and patrons will have to prove to police that they are not protesters before getting upstairs. On Monday, a wheelchair-using worker from the state Department of Rehabilitation Services reportedly had to show three pieces of identification before building police would let her upstairs. Also on Tuesday, Gov. Jim Edgar’s Department of Human Rights sent a memo to Edgar's office reminding the administration that it has a responsibility to keep the building open for all who want to use it.
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Chicago Tribune Wednesday May 29, 1992 Stateville: The State of Illinois Center was on lockdown again Tuesday after reports that “visually-impaired” demonstrators were on the way to terrorize the building. This time state troopers were on hand. "And orders were that no one would be allowed up to Jim Edgar’s office, where disabled protesters last week emptied a catheter into a gubernatorial wastebasket. The precautions weren’t needed. No protesters appeared.
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Chicago Tribune Tuesday, May 12, 1992 Title: State thwarts protest, so disabled switch site By Rob Karwath A threatened demonstration by wheelchair-bound protesters prompted an unprecedented show of force Monday at the 16-floor glass-and-steel State of Illinois Center. The demonstrators instead targeted federal offices several blocks south, leaving 3,000 state workers walking along barricaded corridors and past security checkpoints in the building at 100 W. Randolph St. Workers had to tell uniformed police where they were going. Security guards manned the elevators. A trip from an upper floor to a main-floor coffee shop became a half-hour journey. The preparations were made for a group that has become increasingly militant, with members at times chaining themselves to objects and forming chains of wheelchairs. After experiencing a day of the clampdown, most employees interviewed said they thought the state Department of Central Management Services, which runs the building, has overreacted. “It's ridiculous," said Peggy Craddieth, a secretary at the Illinois Pollution Control Board. “Even during Operation Desert Storm they weren’t this tight.” State officials said the tight security will continue all week, or at least until the protesters from Americans Disabled for Attendant Programs Today (ADAPT) leave town. The heavy security seemed out of place to those familiar with the idea behind the wide—open state building. Architect Helmut Jahn created the building to symbolize the openness of a properly run democracy. Jahn’s concept was former Gov. James Thompson's frequent retort to anyone who criticized the building as a poor use of space. “There’s a general discomfort all across the office about this,” said Rob Cushing, a lawyer in the lllinois attorney general‘s office. He said of the demonstrators, “We shouldn't have to go through all of this to deny them their right to protest.” Central Management Services officials said they never intended to create a problem with the extra security, which included calling all department police in on their days off and hiring l6 private security guards at a cost of about $2,000 a day. Instead, department spokeswoman Helen Adorjan said the state was simply trying to keep the building open after receiving a call from ADAPT warning that the group might try to block doors and elevators at the building this week. The group is protesting what it believes to be a lack of government funds for programs that allow disabled people to live at home and avoid nursing homes. ADAPT did block doorways and elevators Monday in at least one Loop building where federal offices are housed. Diane Coleman, an organizer in ADAPT, said Monday that the group went to 105 W. Adams, the Bankers Building, because it houses one of the regional offices of the Department of Health and Human Services. “There have been movements by `groups` like this before, but they were neglecting civil rights tactics—taking it to the streets,” she said. “And we'll do it until we win this issue. Six times the money goes to nursing homes and other institutions than to home and community-based services. We want 25 percent of that nursing home budget to go to home care." Many State of Illinois building workers said they were concerned that everyone entering the building was barred from the Easement and first-floor elevators, which were roped of and guarded by Central Management Services police officers. Yellow and black paper signs directed workers and patrons to an escalator that took them to the second floor where they were allowed to board the elevators. The escalator guaranteed that any wheechair-bound protesters wouldn‘t make it beyond the ground level. But some state workers said they were concerned that wheelchair-bound employees and disabled people with state business had to specially request that an elevator descend to the first floor and then convince building police that they were not protesters. “ls it fair for someone who shows up in a wheelchair to have to declare their business?" asked Alex Des Chenes, a contractor with the state Department of Public Health. “Have you seen the tapes of what the have done in other cities?” Anforjan said. “This group completely immobilizes activity. They need to be able to express themselves, but we need to keep the building operating." But, in an effort to prevent a disruption, workers said all of the extra security only ended up causing a disruption. The building's Lake Street entrance was open, but a large steel gate inside the revolving glass doors sealed it off to all but riders of the CTA subway trains below. A newsstand and a Chinese restaurant located inside the entrance were empty as most of their customers were forced to bypass them. Even some of the Central Management Services police running the elevators said they disagreed with the security plan and would have tried less-disruptive measures. “Everybody’s complaining about this," said one officer, shaking his head as he punched elevator buttons. “It‘s crazy." Tribune photo by David Klobucar: A mass of people are clustered in one big not. ADAPT protesters in wheelchairs are on the street and people in suits and similar work outfits are making their way down the log jammed sidewalk, up to the police barricades. A woman in a dress is stepping over and through two of the protesters so she can continue in the street. Between the street and the sidewalk a metal police barricade is partially visible, and two uniformed officers appear to be casually trying to hold the barricades up. Caption reads: Protesters from Americans Disabled for Attendant Programs Today block an entrance to the U.S. Health and Human Services Department on West Adams Street Monday.