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Beranda / Album / Tag Tom Olin 22
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ADAPT (641)
DISCLOSURE JULY-AUGUST I991 From Coast To Coast ADAPT Battles For Home Attendant Care by C.I. Zander Photo by Tom Olin: Two protesters in wheelchairs curl forward with arms raised to their faces as police or security tip them back on their back wheels. The person in the front (possibly Barb Guthrie) has a bumper sticker on the side of the chair that reads "I support my country." Capiton reads: ADAPT protestors being removed from HHS entrance in April action. “Almost everywhere we go, we meet somebody who has a friend or relative who's disabled — a brother, a cousin, a father or mother. That's why people support us. That's why they believe in what we are doing." Danny Saenz of ADAPT (American Disabled for Attendant Programs Today) was talking about the recent string of direct actions which has taken them from Baltimore to Washington to Dallas to Chicago and back to Washington again. ADAPT's primary issue: put Medicaid money into direct home attendant care of the disabled and get them out of nursing homes. ADAPT 's primary target: HHS Secretary Dr. Louis Sullivan, also known as “Lonesome Louie" and “Dr. No" because whatever ADAPT asks for, he refuses. “All we want is a meeting. . ." “All we want is a meeting," says Saenz, who is from the Austin, Texas ADAPT chapter. “But he always finds some excuse.” Tom Olin of Tennessee Adapt adds: "When we were in Washington recently, we thought that we had a meeting with Sullivan. But HHS went back on their word. So we closed down their building." Adapt members blocked the exits of the Health and Human Services building and forced guards to close it down for two hours on June ll. Police were reluctant to make arrests not only because it is bad publicity for them to be seen carrying off the disabled but also because most police stations do not have adequate care facilities. Tuesday, June 11, may go down as the biggest day in ADAPT's history for more reasons than the shutting down of HHS. Members began early at the American Health Care Association Convention where Sullivan was scheduled to speak. AHCA is a particularly galling organization to ADAPT because it is a lobbyist for the nursing home industry which receives billions in federal and state money for healthcare that ADAPT leaders describe as "inadequate," “wasteful” and “sometimes criminal." ADAPT estimates that over 1.5 million disabled could be moved from nursing homes to attendant home care if the Medicaid benefits were the same or comparable. Getting To Sullivan Although many ADAPTers got into the Hyatt Hotel where the AHCA convention was being held, security forces were able to head them off and lock the auditorium where Sullivan was scheduled to speak. All except for one person. She was able to sneak in and got down to the front of the room in her wheelchair. When Sullivan started his lecture, she also began speaking and gesturing to the audience, asking why Sullivan supported the agenda of nursing homes instead of the agenda of the disabled themselves. Several security police carted her off but ADAPT had, once again gotten Sullivan's attention. Eventually, Sullivan snuck out of the hotel, reputedly through the back kitchen entrance. But, even then, several ADAPT members caught up with him at his expensive limo and shouted their demands for a meeting at him as he drove away. Then ADAPT moved over to the HHS building where they blocked entrances and closed doum the building for a few hours. As National People's Action had done on their April visit, a few people got past the guards to some upper floor offices. But, of course, Sullivan was “not there." To cap off the day, ADAPT met with Senator Kennedy's staff to talk about the proposed health care bill. “We called for a meeting when we were here before in April," says Olin. “But they said they didn't know who we were. So we told them to just watch the news on TV and they’d see us.” What Kennedy’s staff and many other Washingtonians saw on TV then were another two direct actions which included blocking the HHS parking lot and the busy Baltimore intersection in front of the Social Security and Health Care Funding Administration building. ADAPT members said they wanted to illustrate what happens when they are locked in nursing homes. “It’s the same kind of feeling —— you can't leave when you want to. You need my permission," said Mike Auberger of Denver's Atlantis Community afterwards. “I’m sympathetic. . ." "I'm sympathetic to all these folks not able to get home, but this is a really minor inconvenience compared to the inconveniences suffered by those in nursing homes," said protester Nate Butler. A Washington Post photo showed ADAPT members lying down in front of police cars in a scene reminiscent of civil rights demonstrations of the 1960s. Some federal workers were irritated but many expressed sympathy for ADAPT’s views. Other ADAPT actions this spring included cornering Sullivan in Chicago on May 14 and, again in Dallas on May 22 at the President's Committee on Employment of People with Disabilities Conference. ln Dallas, according to the June issue of Incitement, ADAPT’s national newsletter: “(Sullivan) began his talk, and, slowly and silently, one by one, ADAPT members dropped to the floor and began crawling toward his podium, waving the proposed meeting dates in the air. Though he tried to ignore us, Sullivan stumbled over his words several times. in the end, a sea of bodies lay on the floor before him. . -" Sullivan's staff repeatedly says they won‘t meet with "radical" `groups`, but ADAPT leaders believe that this is just an excuse to avoid them. They note that Sullivan has plenty of time to meet with big money `groups` and lobbyists but that he ignores community-based `groups` whether they are "radical" or not. One of ADAPT's strongest arguments for reallocating Medicaid nursing home funds to a home attendant care system is financial. Leaders believe that, in the same way that health insurance administration costs eat up money that should go to the people who have the medical problems, nursing homes end up making large profits while the disabled suffer. Auberger says that nursing homes’ care costs are in the range of $30,000 to $60,000 a person a year but home care is in the $15,000-30,000 range. Auberger himself receives home care that averages about $2,000 a month. "Not only is it cost effective," he concludes, “it‘s the right to dignity and freedom of choice." The bottom line for ADAPT is the redirection of 25% of the $23 billion that Medicaid currently spends on nursing homes to community-based attendant services programs. While some states have adequate home care services, most do not. So ADAPT believes the primary change must come through the allotment of federal funds. “The nursing home industry is a billion-dollar industry — they give political contributions to politicians who protect their interests," says Lillibeth Navarro, an ADAPT member from California. “This is going to be a difficult struggle. But because our cause is right, because it touches practically everybody, we will prevail." For more information on ADAPT programs, call 303 733-9324 in Denver, or S12 4420252 in Austin, Texas.
ADAPT (1789)
The Handicapped Coloradan / Page 15 & 16 [This article continues in ADAPT 1786, but has been completely included here for easier reading.] Title: "If heaven isn't accessible God had better Watch out!" Photo: Waist up picture of Wade Blank with his below shoulder length blonde hair and round tinted glasses. He is smiling and wearing a vest. Caption reads: Wade Blank ADAPT founder dies in Mexico. Wade Blank went down to Baja, California, in February and drowned there trying to save his eight year old son Lincoln. He was there vacationing with his family. The money for the trip came from Wade’s share of a legal settlement in San Francisco when bad guys violated the civil rights of ADAPT demonstrators. He couldn't afford that kind of trip on his own. He never made more than $16,000 in his life. Lincoln was in the water swimming. An undertow got him and Wade went in after him. He had to know there was very little chance either one would survive. Some fisherman from a nearby village fished Wade’ s body from the water. His wife Molly brought his body home and they covered the coffin with an American flag. Only the stars on this flag formed a wheelchair. Lincoln’s body was never recovered. A few days before he left on that vacation, I told him to skip Baja and its treacherous waters for the calmer seas off Mexico’s Yucatan Peninsula. Wade said he’d think about it but we both knew he wouldn’t alter his plans. Wade Blank liked to be where the action was. Many of the 1100 people who filled the ballroom at the Radisson Hotel on Sunday, Feb. 21, to say goodbye to their fallen comrade had accompanied him into battle. “If heaven isn’t accessible,” one of them warned, “God better watch out!” Wade founded the Atlantis Community in 1975 when he helped several disabled people move out of a nursing home and into their own apartments. Then he went on to help organize protests against RTD for not having wheelchairs lifts on its buses, a move that later led to the creation of ADAPT, which then stood for American Disabled for Accessible Public Transit (“The hard part is getting the acronym right,” he told me at the time.) I asked Tom Olin who was going to replace Wade. “No one,” he said. “Wade was into empowering disabled people. It’s a tribute to him that we’ll just keep on going.” Maybe. But it won’t be the same. People like Wade Blank don't come along very often. A writer for Westward once called Wade the nearest thing to a saint he had ever met. But Wade wasn’t perfect. After all, he was a Cleveland Browns’ fan. He had it so bad that on game day he’d call home to his folks in Ohio and have them put the phone next to the radio. He was president of the Cleveland Browns Fans in Exile Club. A small part of him died when Elway found Jackson in the end zone in the 1987 AFC Championship game. He was a devoted father who had a vasectomy reversed after he married Molly. He called me soon after the operation and bitched about having to lie still to prevent the tubes from severing again. It was the only time I knew him to stay still. The time spent was worth it. He loved Lincoln and Caitlan just as he loved Heather, his adopted daughter. He instilled in them special values. A neighbor recalled a time when she came home and observed Lincoln in front of his house directing some other kids. They weren't playing cowboy and Indian or war or any of the usual childhood games. They were playing rally. “All right,” Lincoln said. “United we stand, never apart.” Wade was a Presbyterian minister whose language would make a coal miner blush. I quoted him a lot on these pages over the past ten years or so but I never quoted him accurately. He used four letter words the way other people use punctuation. Someone made a TV movie about the events at Heritage Nursing Home and Wade said it was close to the truth. But the actor who played Wade didn’t quite capture his style. Wade wore his hair long and looked a little like a construction worker who took a wrong tum back in the 1960s. He once asked me if I wore ties. “I own one,” I said. “It keeps my sleeping bag rolled up.” He liked that. He hated ties. At the memorial service, those few men who showed up wearing ties were asked to remove them—out of respect. By then I owned a real tie. You can‘t go to a funeral in my small hometown without one. I left it at home for Wade. He didn’t have the eloquence of a Martin Luther King. He didn't need it. He wasn’t interested in grabbing the spotlight for himself. He taught his friends that their wheelchairs were a weapon and if they used them right, the whole world would take notice. RTD took notice. Denver became one of the first cities in the U.S. to adopt accessible public transit. Wade helped carry that message to countless other cities. He showed people how they could make a statement by going to jail and then he went out and raised the bail money. Eventually, in a parking lot in Atlanta, the feds gave in. Accessible public transit would be the law of the land. Wade wasn’t about to rest on his laurels. He turned his attention to an earlier cause. ADAPT changed the acronym to American Disabled for Attendant Programs Today and took on the nursing home industry. Wade knew that the disabled warriors who took on the federal government over accessible transit and got themselves arrested scores of times were strong enough to live in their own homes. He vowed to force the federal government to take money away from the nursing homes and make that dream a reality. That battle goes on. His friends at ADAPT are planning a memorial service in his honor in Washington, D.C. this May. At the same time, they’re going to make sure Bill Clinton honors his promises to provide funds for such attendant care. It's a fitting memorial but you can find plenty of monuments to Wade Blank in this country. There one at every street comer where there’s a curb cut and one on every bus equipped with a lift. And every time someone who is exploited because of a physical disability raises a fist in defiance and fights for his or her freedom and humanity, you’ll see Wade’s image in their eyes and his dream in their hearts. So long, Wade. If it’s really heaven, there won’t be a dress code. Written by Tom Schantz
ADAPT (1764)
IF HEAVEN ISN'T ACCESSIBLE, GOD IS IN TROUBLE by Tari Susan Hartman Reprinted from Incitement, A publication of Atlantis/ADAPT [This article appears in ADAPT 1764 & 1773 but is completely included here for easier reading.] ADAPT mourns the loss of one of our greatest leaders, Wade Blank, and his son Lincoln. while on a family vacation in Todos Santos, Mexico, Lincoln got caught in an ocean undertow. Wade swam out to save him and both drowned on February 25th, 1993. They are survived by Wade's wife Molly and daughters Heather and Caitlin. Ironically, Wade died in the same way he lived swimming out into the face of hostile under currents, and giving his life to help others fight for theirs, Those who have come to national ADAPT actions remember in the early days Lincoln rode along on Wade's back. Later, he walked by wade's side while Caitlin rode. with his elfish smile, Lincoln quietly drank in all the action at demonstrations, vigils, planning meetings and anything else that came up in his dad's activist life. while other kids play "doctor" or "house", Lincoln played "rally." Wade was born December 4, 1940 in Pittsburgh, PA. After attending an all white high school, he travelled with Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. to Selma on a dare by a black college roommate. His experiences there taught him the deep oppression perpetuated by our "civilized" society. Once he graduated college, he served as pastor of a church just outside of Kent, Ohio that became the underground meeting place for the Students for a Democratic Society, SDS. After the Kent State killings, he returned to get a masters degree from McCormick Theological Seminary and was ordained a Presbyterian minister. Burnt out on his past activism and organizing, he moved to Denver and began working in a nursing home. with years of civil rights, war on poverty and antiwar organizing experience, he could not ignore the oppression he found there. So he began to deliver Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.'s dream of freedom directly to the doorstep of the disability ghetto: the nursing home. In 1971, while on staff at Heritage House, a Denver nursing home, Wade tried to work within the system to dignify the lives of the young disabled residents. A recent ABC—TV movie with Fred Savage entitled "When You Remember Me" chronicled this story. Wade and the resident's efforts were doomed to fail, but they gave birth to a better alternative. In 1974 Wade founded the Atlantis Community a model for community-based and consumer controlled independent living center named for the lost continent of Atlantis, those easily forgotten and dismissed. The first members of Atlantis were those young adults incarcerated in Heritage House, from which Wade had been fired. Forgotten by the system and often by their families, these individuals were not forgotten by Wade as he began to liberate them from the nursing home into the Atlantis Community. Years later Wade and attorney John Holland masterminded a $32 million lawsuit against Heritage House nursing home for obstruction of justice and violation of civil rights. The case went all the way to the US Supreme Court. Today many of those original nursing home residents are raising families in homes they now own. In 1978 Wade and Atlantis realized that if people with disabilities were to truly live independently, they would need, and should have a right to, accessible public transportation. On July 5-6. 1978 a "gang of nineteen" disability activists and Wade held their first inaccessible bus hostage in the Denver intersection of Broadway and Colfax. Late that night Wade was surprised when US Congresswoman Pat Schroeder handed him a doughnut and a cup of coffee. Atlantis‘ decision to take the fight for lifts on buses to the national level soon led to the birth of ADAPT (American Disabled for Accessible Public Transit. ADAPT was the nation's first direct action, grass-roots movement of disability activists and mushroomed in over 30 states, Canada, Sweden and England. Like the freedom riders of the 60s, ADAPT's struggle for accessible public transit became a national battle cry of the 80s. Over the course of eight years of biannual national demonstrations throughout the country, hundreds of ADAPT activists and their families and friends were arrested for their beliefs and commitment to ensure civil rights for all disabled citizens. Twelve years after the first bus seize, the Americans with Disabilities Act, ADA, mandated lifts on buses. ADAPT's street chant "access is a civil right" echoed in the halls of Congress, as politicians became increasingly aware that ADAPT and the disability rights movement fully expected ADA to be passed as landmark civil rights legislation. ADAPT organized the "wheels of Justice" march in March of 1990, and Wade played a key role. It was a call-- to— action that galvanized the disability rights movement to demand swift passage of ADA with no weakening amendments. Over 1,000 disability rights activists from across the nation joined forces with ADAPT to demonstrate to the world that they were to be taken seriously. On the second anniversary of the signing of the ADA (July 25, 1992), the city of Denver and its Regional Transit District commemorated that historic event by dedicating a plaque to Atlantis/ADAPT and the "gang of nineteen" who held the first bus. Wade refused to have his name engraved on the plaque, but his silent tears at the dedication ceremony revealed the depth with which he felt the issues of disability rights. He had left his mark forever etched in the foundation of our civil rights movement. In 1990, when it was clear that ADAPT had successfully led and won the fight for accessible public transportation with the passage of the ADA, wade and other national ADAPT leaders convened to plot their next course of action. There was little question for anyone what that next issue would be. ADAPT transformed its mission and became "American Disabled for Attendant Programs Today." Together, ADAPT and wade returned to the scene of one of society's most heinous crimes the warehousing of 1.6 million disabled men, women and children. These disabled Americans committed no crime, yet were and still are, interred against their will, in nursing homes, state schools and other institutions. They are used as the crop of industries like the nursing home lobby, physicians and their conglomerate owners who continue to get rich by robbing our people of their fundamental civil, human and inalienable rights to life liberty and the pursuit of happiness. Most of us are spectators sitting on the sidelines of life, learning history from books. Wade, was an active participant in over three decades of political organizing. He taught others how to create and record their own destiny. A brilliant strategist, he helped shape the tide of the disability rights movement. Yet Wade was never too busy to roll up his sleeves and assist someone with attendant services, push or repair a chair or drive a van. He stood up for what he believed in and expected others to do the same. In his Pursuit to free others from the chains of oppressions he was arrested 15 times and proud of it! Several weeks ago Wade Blank's story, including the development of Atlantis and ADAPT, was officially accepted into the National Archives. Wade, a passionate Cleveland Browns fan, was a loving husband, daddy, friend, organizer and leader. He valued and encouraged the unique contributions that each of us has to give to ourselves, each other and the world around us. We honor his contribution, value his friendship, and grieve the loss of our beloved friend and colleague. Wade was one of the few non disabled allies of the disability rights movement who understood the politics of oppression. At times through the years, his leadership role was questioned, but he never lost sight of the vision, nor lacked the support of those he was close with. Photo by Tom Olin: Wade Blank and Mike Auberger sitting on either side of the plaque honoring the Gang of 19. Caption reads: Co-Directors Wade Blank and Mike Auberger reflect on the past decade of organizing and activism.
ADAPT (778)
The Handicapped Coloradan A newsmagazine of the disability rights movement [This story continues in ADAPT 770, 759, 777, 769, 758 and 776 but the full text is included here for easier reading.] Photo by Tom Olin: On a downtown city intersection, a huge line of protesters in wheelchairs and walking wraps around a city street corner, down the full length of the block and out of sight. Motorcycle policemen ride alongside at several points. On the corner and in the crosswalk pedestrians look on. Title: ADAPT rolls into San Francisco In October 1992 scores of ADAPT members staged demonstrations in San Francisco. One of those demonstrators, Laura Hershey, kept a diary of those events. Six days in San Francisco Special Report to The Handicapped Coloradan What ADAPT has got, the thing that makes you difierent from other `groups`, is you realize that there's a war going on-—that people are dying, and locked up, and being tortured. —Johnny Creschendo, British musician, poet, & disability-rights activist The peaceable warriors of ADAPT took it to the streets of San Francisco this fall, protesting policies and institutions that limit freedom for people who are older or disabled. On Saturday, October 17, 300 members of the American Disabled for Attendant Programs Today (ADAPT) checked into the Ramada Hotel Civic Center on Market Street. Five days and 162 arrests later, the group left town, having raised the stakes once again in the battle against compulsory nursing home placement. ADAPT is demanding the creation of a national system of attendant services, to be available to anyone needing assistance to live independently, regardless of age, diagnosis, or geographical location. The funds for such a program, according to ADAPT, should come from diverting 25 percent of the federal money currently spent on institutionalizing people in nursing homes. This year, the federal nursing home budget is around $28 billion; ADAPT wants $7 billion transferred to in-home attendant services. This plan is being opposed by nursing home owners, and lacks the support of the federal government. Both came under attack by ADAPT, as did the two major presidential campaigns. The following is one participant‘s day-by-day report of the week’s events. PHOTO by Tom Olin: A man in a power chair (Mike Auberger) faces off with a policeman who has his hands on Mike's knees. All around Mike and the police other ADAPT protesters are gathered, some listening and watching the two, others looking ahead. Caption reads: Cops tug at demonstrator at Federal Center. Mike Auberger, one of the founders of ADAPT, meets up with San Francisco police. Article continues... Saturday: Day One Activists from the Bay Area hold a rally in Pioneer Square. Four of us, having arrived early with ADAPT’s advance team, decide to go check out the rally. We get there right at 2 p.m., when the gathering is supposed to begin; we are the first ones there, except for a dozen or so cops. Soon, however, Connie Arnold, Peter Mendoza, and a few other folks from the disability community show up, with arm bands, flyers, and a megaphone. Gradually a crowd of 40 or 50 gathers. As a gesture of support for ADAPT, the rally’s timing seems a little off, since most ADAPTers won’t arrive until later today. But at least it’s one way to encourage the involvement of some local people who, for one reason or another, won’t be joining the ADAPT protests. And locals do have a compelling interest here: California, once regarded almost as a disability utopia because of is generous and consumer-controlled services, is now experiencing harsh cutbacks due to a state budget crunch. Some in the community are beginning to realize that a nationwide system is needed. A few speakers introduce the issues: the cuts in personal assistance services, and the monopoly exercised by the nursing home industry. Then individuals are invited to come before the crowd and describe their own experiences with personal assistance services, independent living, and/or institutionalization. Sunday: Day Two Members of ADAPT from throughout the country, having rested a bit from the previous day’s traveling, gather in the hotel’s huge meeting room. The four-hour training covers ADAPT’s history and purposes, the basics of civil disobedience, and a tentative outline of the week’s activities, including the convention of the American Health Care Association (AHCA), which represents the nursing home industry. (The convention is the main reason ADAPT chose San Francisco this time around). Like most ADAPT meetings, this one is part strategy session, part pep rally. Mike Auberger, Stephanie Thomas, Shel Trapp, and others remind the group of our previous successes and our proven collective power. Meanwhile, the back of the room bustles with the buying and selling of T-shirts, jewelry, luggage tags, books, bandanas, and other ADAPT-logoed paraphernalia. These entrepreneurial activities are an important fundraising strategy; local chapters use the proceeds from these sales to help pay members’ travel expenses to ADAPT actions. With the introductory business taken care of, the group discussion turns to immediate plans. AHCA delegates are arriving today and will attend a cocktail party this evening. Since our arrival, the word has been passed that we would hit the Marriott Hotel, where the AHCA delegates are staying. But we don’t want the police to know that until we get here. So at the meeting, Auberger announces that our target is a cocktail party at the Moscone Convention Center. The meeting ends. People disperse to grab late lunches and/or bathroom breaks. Then we reassemble in the lobby at 4 p.m., lining up and dividing into color-coded teams. This preparation period is always busy but fun: hand-printed placards and duct tape are passed up and down the line, turning wheelchairs and bodies into mobile signboards with slogans like “NURSING HOMES = DEATH" and “MY HOME, NOT A NURSING. ” This is also a time of socializing and reunion, punctuated by shrieks of recognition, hugs, sharing of news. As we await our marching orders, we meet new people and greet friends we haven’t seen since the Chicago actions back in May or the Orlando actions a year ago. Finally we head out, marching single file down the middle of the street. We chant along the way: “FREE OUR BROTHERS, FREE OUR SISTERS, FREE OUR PEOPLE NOW!” and "UP WITH ATTENDANT CARE, DOWN WITH NURSING HOMES!” The police dutifully block the traffic, providing a safe and visible route through city streets to our destination. Our relationship with the police is a strange and sometimes contradictory one: they play a dual role, both adversary and escort. Along our route some are courteous, some indifferent. Here we don’t engage with them on the same intense level we will later on. When we get to Fourth Street, we stop at the Marriott instead of continuing on to the Moscone Center. We quickly separate into our teams. Despite our efforts to deceive them, the police are ready for us. They have fenced off every entrance with their steel barricades, yellow tape, and armed, heavy-booted officers. But this works fine for us — if they can keep us out, then we can keep everybody else out. Each team takes a different door. I end up posted at the main entrance, in line with a dozen other protestors. A barricade separates us from the door, but we are effectively blocking access for the AHCA delegates, many of whom are trying to return to the hotel after a day of shopping. The sight of these well-dressed men and women, laden with packages, really gets us fired up. Their affluence and conspicuous consumption are their rewards for exploiting the needs of people who are older or disabled. We turn up the volume of our chanting: “PEOPLE ARE DYING, SHAME ON YOU!” and a popular favorite, “WE’RE ADAPT, YOU’RE TRAPPED, GET USED TO IT! ” When the AHCA delegates will look at us at all, they look with contempt. Occasionally one will read a poster on somebody’s wheelchair, and roll their eyes. They talk to each other, ridiculing our words and actions. They feel unfairly singled out for harassment, and they are frustrated and angry at our ability to prevent them from moving freely in and out of the hotel. One guy comes right up to me and starts shouting above my head at the cop standing behind me: “Are you going to allow this? What are you going to do about this?” The officer tries to explain that they can’t just rough up a bunch of disabled people; somebody might get hurt. The AHCA guy thinks that’s absurd. He says he wants to go down to the police station and file some kind of complaint against us. When he stops talking, I tell him that his is how people in nursing homes must feel, confined against their will. “Well, there’s two sides to every story, ” he says. He goes on to insist that the people in nursing homes want to be there. I notice that his official name badge has a tag on it that says “AHCA PAC.” He is part of the organization’s political action committee, which lobbies Congress for more nursing home dollars. He is really angry. For a moment I am afraid he’s going to have a heart attack right there on the sidewalk. But he eventually gives up and leaves. The standoff continues for a couple of hours. The police do manage to open an entrance through the garage, and allow hotel guests in while barricading protestors out. Finally the word comes around, through ADAPT’s mysterious but effective communication system, that we are going to declare victory and go back to our hotel. We march back the same way we came, again chanting all the way. That evening, and indeed most of the next four evenings, our coverage on the TV news attests to the impact of our message and of our action. It’s not easy to get coverage in a city with so much going on, including a protest every other day or so. But they haven’t seen protests like this in a while. Monday: Day Three Today we will hit two targets at once. For months, ADAPT has been calling and writing to President George Bush and to Governor Bill Clinton, demanding that they endorse the ADAPT plan for a national attendant services program. Neither has given a satisfactory response, although Clinton has been getting closer and closer. He has declared his support for a national system of guaranteed, consumer-driven attendant services. Yet he still hadn’t made clear how he would finance the program, whether he would take on the nursing home industry and procure the money from that budget. So today we will try to take over both candidates’ local campaign offices. The Bush office is a particularly juicy target; Bush, despite his much-touted signing of the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA), is an unpopular figure with many of us. The reasons range from his penchant for cutting social programs to his militaristic foreign policy to his anti-abortion stance—but also because it’s his administration, his Secretary of Health and Human Services, which has resisted our demands for guaranteed attendant services for the past two years. When the day’s assignments are made, several people request going to Bush headquarters, feeling that he is a more loathsome foe. But some of us feel it's just as important to put pressure on Clinton—or perhaps even more important, since polls show he is likely to be the next president. We all march together down Van Ness Street, again following a route cleared of traffic by police on foot and on motorcycle. At Republican headquarters, half of our group breaks away and charges the building. These protestors are barred from entering by police, but they manage to block the doors for a time. Staff members are hostile, refusing even to discuss the issue under these circumstances. Ultimately, the police forcibly move protestors away from the entrance. PHOTO by Tom Olin: A mass of ADAPT people in wheelchairs fills a sidewalk and most of the picture, with a handful of police officers in their dark uniforms, standing in front of a building. Caption reads: AT GOP headquarters. Article continues... The Clinton headquarters turns out to be a friendlier place, although it takes some time for the import of our message to be fully understood. Several dozen protestors take the front door, where the staff had ordered ramps built in anticipation of our actions. Thirty more or dash around to the back, where there are a couple of entrances through a small garage. (I’m in this group.) We encounter no resistance, and we quickly fill most of the room’s available space. As soon as we have staked our territory, we begin chanting the usual refrains, so loudly that it’s difficult for the workers to conduct their telephone business. In a strange and unexpected response, somebody begins cutting and serving a large cake! So on the spot, we invent new chants: “CAKE IS NOT ENOUGH—FREE OUR PEOPLE NOW” and “CUT THE CAKE, CUT THE CRAP, CLINTON’S GOT TO FACE ADAPT!” AND “COME ON CLINTON, COME ON GORE, DON’T IGNORE US ANYMORE!” For a while we just hang out with the staffers. Some are aloof, some visibly annoyed by our presence. Good liberals they may be, but they can’t see anything outside this game of politics—they don’t like it when people break the rules. Others, however, take a little time to talk with us, to ask questions and try to understand our issues. I talk with one young woman who wants to know more about our demands. She admits she doesn’t feel Clinton is addressing all of her issues either, but she’s working for him because she hopes he'll be better than Bush. She encourages us to keep pushing Clinton after the election. “Don’t worry, we will,” I tell her. Word comes from near the front of the building that efforts are underway to contact Bill Clinton in Michigan, where he is getting ready for the campaign’s final debate that evening. No word back from him yet. Meanwhile, in the back, negotiations begin over more mundane matters. The office director, Willie Fletcher, assures us that we can stay as long as we like—but he asks us to let his people get to the bathroom. We huddle to consider this. We come back with a deal: turn off all the computers for the rest of the day, and we’ll allow access to the bathrooms. After all, our objective today isn’t to cause severe discomfort; it’s to halt the office’s work for the day, in order to get Clinton’s attention. Fletcher readily agrees to this proposition. “Shut ‘em off! ” he orders his staff. We catch a few cheaters later, but by and large the workers abide by the agreement. Now we reach a kind of detente with the office staff. Most seem resigned to our presence; a few actively seek dialog with us. Fletcher tells me he has no intention of calling the police—unless we want him to. Would it help our cause more to have some arrests? I give a vague answer, put the ball back in his court. He only repeats that we’re welcome to stay. Some remain hostile, however. One young man, determined to leave through the door we’re blocking, bullies his way between the dense cluster of people and wheelchairs. He pushes hard, not stopping and not caring who he hurts in the process. We shout at him to stop, but he ignores us. Later he returns and wants to re-enter. Our reaction is immediate, and so strong that Fletcher comes over to see what’s wrong. “This guy is a jerk!” we yell. “He is not getting back in here!” Fletcher orders the kid to get lost. “Don’t come back today! ” Fletcher calls after him. For the rest of the day, we hold our post, waiting for news. Finally, Fletcher receives a statement from Little Rock, which he presents at the front door. It isn’t everything we want, but it’s a start. In it, Clinton vows to establish a Task Force on Attendant Services within the first 100 days of his administration. He also promises that ADAPT will have at least one slot on that Task Force. We stay a while longer. Staffers wind up their work for the day, and collect around a color television. People begin arriving for the debate party, When they realize they can’t get in, they gather behind us in the garage, sitting on crates or standing. Fletcher brings a small TV over to the door, so they - and we — can watch. About halfway through the debate, ADAPT declares another victory, and leaves. Fletcher wishes us luck. PHOTO by Tom Olin: A woman in a white blouse with a political button, purses her lips as she looks out over the crowd. Her back is to the building, and beside her a man in a wheelchair (Bob Kafka) speaks over a bullhorn. Both are on a platform above the sidewalk with a railing and a large crowd of ADAPT protesters is on the street below. Caption reads: A visit with the Dems article continues... Tuesday: Day Four Today we hit the Federal Building, at Number One United Nations Plaza. This is the place that disability rights activists occupied for several weeks in 1978, to protest the government's failure to establish regulations implementing Section 504 of the 1973 Rehabilitation Act. It’s also the site of a continuous AIDS vigil. Staffed by volunteers 24 hours a day, the vigil’s purpose is to call attention to the U.S. government’s inaction in the face of the AIDS crisis and to disseminate information on services and prevention. I’ve spoken to several of these folks over the past several days, and they are very much in support of our actions. People disabled by AIDS too often end up dying in nursing homes, for lack of the in-home assistance they need. With our chairs, we quickly blockade every entrance to the Federal Building, including the driveway sloping down into a garage. Federal police threaten us with arrest; we hold our ground. It’s the city police, however, who soon start moving in. Things heat up fast. They start hauling us away from the doorways, putting into practice their days of training before our arrival. Mayor Feinstein’s disability advisor and another local advocate were assigned to instruct the officers in how to forcibly arrest people with disabilities, how to lock and unlock wheelchair brakes, and how to disengage motors in order to push chairs manually. The cop I encountered obviously hadn’t paid close enough attention. He comes up behind me and orders me to move. I refuse. He reaches down to disengage my gears so he can move me. But he grabs the wrong levers, and puts on my brakes instead! This makes pulling my chair extremely difficult; he has to yank so hard that he nearly tips my chair over. Once they have cleared us away from the doorways, the police quickly erect barriers and form an aisle for the federal employees to walk in and out of the building. For a while, held back on either side of this corridor, all we can do is keep up a steady stream of chanting at the people passing between our two lines. Then, protestors start wheeling into the street, trying to block the entrance to the passageway. Things get even wilder from there. Cops are trying to restrain wheelchairs, both electric and manual. Meanwhile, they’re going after any ambulatory protestors who step out of line. Then people start throwing themselves out of their wheelchairs, trying to scramble between barricades, or just sitting there waiting for arrest. That’s what the police are trying to avoid— what with the hassle, the bad publicity, and the fear of inflicting injuries, arresting people in chairs just isn’t worth it. On the other hand, they do want to shut this down. Faced with few choices, the police start hauling people off. The mass arrest takes hours: two or three at a time, the arrestees are loaded into the lift-equipped vans the city has rented from a local paratransit company. These are the same vehicles, and the same drivers, that transported many of us from the airport. Our ranks diminished by the 49 arrests, we leave the area around the Federal Building. We find a spot nearby for an impromptu meeting. Wade Blank tells the exhausted troops that this has been a very successful action; we can be proud of a day of strength and commitment. He also says that the police expect us to retreat now. Are we up for another demonstration? The response is an enthusiastic Yes! So off we go in the direction of a new target. Again, we have been kept in partial darkness about specifics, to avoid cluing in our eavesdropping hotel security guards. It turns out to be the California State Building. We take its two exits easily, and hold it for the rest of the afternoon. Then we go back to the hotel, where we greet like heroes the returning arrestees. Wednesday: Day Six For two days we’ve given the AHCA delegates a break while we harassed other targets. Now we head back to the Marriott for our parting shot. We follow the usual game plan at the now-familiar building. This time we protest even more intensely, shouting angrily at the passing delegates. Our chants are more pointed: “HO HO, HEY HEY, HOW MANY BEDS DID YOU FILL TODAY?” which evolves into “HO HO, HEY HEY, HOW MANY CRIPS DID YOU KILL TODAY?” The police seem angrier too. Especially two cops near me, guarding a barricade across the hotel’s garage entrance. They delight in making snide comments. When we see two officers handcuffing one of our brothers who has anhritis, his face contorted in pain at the tightness of the cuffs and the angle of his arms, the cop nearest me sneers, “Look at Mr. Hollywood over there.” “They're hurting him! ” we counter. “Aren’t you gong to make them stop?” “Yeah, we’ll get right on that,” one cop laughs. This kind of sarcasm continues throughout the afternoon. I grow more and more uncomfortable and annoyed at the ignorance and disrespect displayed by these two officers. Finally I decide to leave my post at the garage entrance. I don’t abandon it; I find another protestor to take my place. I want to check out some other action. A runner approaches me with a message: “They’re looking for some people to help block traffic at the intersection. Do you want to get arrested?” I had thought not, but my feelings have changed. I can’t stand another minute with the sarcastic cops at my post; and I feel so energized by what’s been happening all week, that I don’t want to miss any part of the experience. With ADAPT, part of the experience is going to jail. It’s by no means the total experience, and I’ve never felt pressured to be arrested to prove my commitment. But suddenly l feel ready, willing, and able. I join the line growing across the street. Traffic has already been diverted, so we’re not causing much of a tie-up. Nevertheless, a few officers arrive, and ask us nicely to go back onto the sidewalk. One by one, we refuse. By now, the police have rehearsed this routine pretty thoroughly. With resigned efficiency, they take us to the waiting vans, where drivers load us on the lifts and tie down our chairs according to California’s strict guidelines. We are taken to Pier 38, down on the waterfront. There, we are herded into two large holding pens. Then, one at a time, we are called up, processed, asked for identification, and issued a citation. After that we are each released. The whole process is excruciatingly thorough, time-consuming, and rather dull. But the officers involved in the entire arrest and booking procedure are courteous and respectful. They offer explanations, and even occasional compliments. A few commend us for our commitment and offer words of support for our cause. Later than evening, everyone collects in our hotel conference room for the final events of the week. Business taken care of, the ADAPTers now go all out in a celebration of ourselves, not just as a movement, but as a community. There is a wedding, a very moving ceremony, officiated by the Reverend Wade Blank, as two long-time members of ADAPT declare their love and ask the support of their brothers and sisters. And the group does give its support—enthusiastically, emotionally, loudly! I've never heard so much cheering at a wedding before. The fact that the betrothed are two men doesn’t seem to bother anybody. A gay wedding is perfectly consistent with ADAPT’s principles of equality, inclusiveness, and individual liberty. The evening, and the week, ends with a minicultural festival. ADAPT members share their poetry, music, humor, and visions of the future. The star performers are Johnny Creschendo and Barbara Lysicki, two activists from London, England. They have been with us all week; Barbara’s comedy routines and Johnny’s songs and poems therefore resonate all the more deeply with the experience and goals of the audience. Though we’re all exhausted, we join in singing Johnny’s lyrics: I don’t want your benefit We want dignity from where we sit We want choices and rights in our lives I don't want you to speak for me Just listen and then you'll see We’ve got choices and rights in our lives Choices and rights, that’s What we’ve got to fight for- Choices and rights in our lives! ” PHOTO by Tom Olin: A man in a wheelchair (Bob Kafka) is doubled over forward in his lap, arms zip-tied to his chair. Two police stand beside him one, holding a white board that has his arrest details on it. Other police are partially in the picture, one taking the arrest photo, another with a fist full of zip-ties. Behind Bob Tisha Auberger is standing looking over her shoulder. Caption reads: At the Federal Center. If you'd like to join ADAPT for fun and freedom in Washington, D.C this May, just call Mike Auberger at (303) 733-9324
Capitol Crawl
This video covers part of the Wheels of Justice rally and then the Capitol Crawl that took place on the west (Mall) side steps of the US Capitol March 12, 1990. This action, in which hundreds of people with disabilities took part, was done to push the Congress to move forward on the landmark civil rights bill, the Americans with Disabilities Act, ADA. The ADA had stalled in Congress and the disability community rose up to say enough is enough. It was part of a several day action by ADAPT to move Congress to act. It was also the culmination of a massive national grassroots effort by organizations and individuals from every state and territory in the nation to call for an end to discrimination based on disability. It symbolized the struggle people with disabilities faced in dealing with the society's discrimination, and the strength and perseverance of people with disabilities in facing these obstacles.
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History and Mission Independent Living for People with Disabilities [This brochure continues in ADAPT 33, but the entire text is included here for easier reading.] PHOTO by Tom Olin (bottom right): A man (George Roberts) in wheelchair raises the power fist with his right hand. He is carrying a sign that reads "Nursing Homes = Jail." Behind him a group of other wheelchair protesters are lining up. Atlantis was founded in 1975, the second “Independent Living Center” in the country after Berkeley. A group of young disabled adults and six concerned staff from a Denver nursing home concluded that no amount of outings to concerts or bingo games could normalize life for these young people. The real solution was to move into the community, in apartments within the city’s neighborhoods, to create self-determined lifestyles where the disabled clients choose their own food, direct their own care, and determine their own priorities. This was a revolutionary concept in 1975, but the people of Atlantis were able to convince the State Legislature to fund personal care assistance outside an institutional setting for the very first time. In the more than fifteen years since its founding, the agency has been able to assist over 400 disabled adults in moving from sheltered settings and maintaining independent lives. The Atlantis Community staff specializes in assistance for very severely, multiply-disabled people, carrying out our belief that any disabled person can live outside an institution, if s/he is willing to accept the risks and inconveniences in order to enjoy self-determination and liberty. To that end, the staff and clients are experts in helping with everything from finding an apartment to applying for benefits, from grocery shopping to weddings, from cooking training to camping trips. The assistance with daily living activities and the basic skills training and reinforcement offered are complemented by the trained and state-certified staff of home health aides and their supervisors who visit the clients at home as often as needed — usually several times a day. The people of Atlantis also offer other independent living services to people throughout the nation — ranging from information and referral services to assertiveness training and technical assistance. The city of Denver and the Atlantis Community have become a mecca for disabled people seeking an accessible environment and comprehensive services. PHOTO by Tom Olin (top left corner): 4 people in wheelchairs (left to right, Joe Carle, Diane Coleman, Bob Kafka and Mark Johnson) lead a march. Everyone is dressed in revolutionary war garb -- wigs, three cornered hats, jackets with braid on them. Over their heads is a large flag, the ADAPT flag. PHOTO (bottom right): An older man (Mel Conrardy) in a white jacket and pants, sits in a wheelchair on a lift at the front door of a bus. To his right on the side of the bus door it says RTD Welcome Aboard. Mel looks relaxed and is smiling.
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PHOTO by Tom Olin: Ken Heard in shorts and an ADAPT no steps T-Shirt lies back in his wheelchair one leg extended to his joy stick on his footrest, the other spasming back toward his body. His face is grimaced in determination, his arm pulled up to his chest. His wheelchair is on the lift of a bus. He is surrounded by able bodied people (mostly police officers) trying to handle him and his wheelchair. The bus lift is down, and behind and above him, in shadow up inside the bus, you can see Edith Harris, her hand on the drive of her scooter.
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Photo by Tom Olin Los Angeles, 1985: Hands handcuffed with a wheelchair wheel in the background. "People who advocate freedom, yet depreciate agitation, are people who want crops without plowing the ground. . . . Power concedes nothing without a demand. It never did and it never will." Frederick Douglass, 1817 - 1896 "We will not let any barrier keep us from the equality that is rightfully ours." Mike Auberger Co-founder, ADAPT ADAPT no steps logo 1478 Stayton Rd. Cumberland Furnace, TN 37051
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PHOTO: by Tom Olin. A long, single-file line of ADAPT marchers is headed by Lee Jackson (left), Bob Kafka (center), and Terri Fowler (right) being pushed by some one. Lee and Bob have on different ADAPT no steps logo T-shirts. Behind Bob someone is carrying the ADAPT flag, behind that person you can see Claude Holcomb, and a few more people back you can see Wade pushing someone (Paulette Patterson?). They are marching down the street (in front of the Russell Federal Building in Atlanta) A TV cameraman is standing on the sidewalk filming the march, and near him two people in wheelchairs and another person are on the sidewalk.
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PHOTO (by Tom Olin?): A man in dark suit stands in the doorway of the front of a MARTA bus (number 1746). His back is to the camera and he is looking inside and writing or typing on something. A little further inside the doorway another person in jeans and a light jacket stands, hand on hip; his head is obscured by shadow. In the window of the bus you can see heads of people sitting inside (Babs Johnson is the only one recognizable). The bus is in a big empty parking lot and this has the look of an arrest.
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PHOTO (by Tom Olin): A group of ADAPT people in black ADAPT T-shirts with the no steps logo with "Free Our People" printed below are gathered at the back of a yellow brick building (the Georgia Health Care Association). There are two small back porches with metal railings and steps. Some of the group have gone up the steps of one, there is a man in a wheelchair sitting on the porch on the right side of the picture and another man sitting on the edge of the porch, his legs hanging down. In front of them another protester wearing denim sits in an old institutional type manual wheelchair. All three are looking to the steps of the porch on the left where some some attendants seem to be helping other protesters up the steps of the other porch. One man is standing in the center, his mouth slightly open. A camera person is taking a still photo of the people on the steps.
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PHOTO by Tom Olin: A Sparks policeman a man in a white hat pile on the lap of a protester, also in a cap, who is sitting on the ground by the glass walls or doors of the Nugget Casino. Behind them, against the glass, Barb Guthrie turns her face and body away, in an attempt to protect herself from this tussle. Behind this group three other police are bending forward, presumably over another protester on the ground. Behind them another policeman is bending down toward someone else. Someone's arm is reaching from off camera toward the policemen's backs. At the very back of the photo and in the reflection in the glass you can see a small crowd watching. Legs and feet and one hand of another protester on the ground are visible in the front of the picture.
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PHOTO Tom Olin?: ADAPT marches down a curvy street, the line snaking back out of sight. All but a couple of people wear their black ADAPT t-shirts with the gold "no steps" logo on the front. Julie Farrar with her "Together Not Apart" sign, and Lillibeth Navarro, with an "Access equals gentler + kinder" sign are at the front of the photo. Behind them are Kim Horton, George Roberts and Mark Johnson. Then Arthur Campbell is guiding the edge of the line from the side, with his grey hair in a headband and pony tail, and next to him a quad with a blue cap sits and Sue Davis is walking toward them. In the next row of marchers is Larry Ruiz and Tommy Malone. Behind them is a woman in a white shirt and behind her is Ken Heard. Behind Ken is a someone walking on crutches with lots of buttons on their shirt. Beside that person a woman (possibly Rhonda Lester) walks and behind her is Jim Parker and Devorah Kappers is pushing someone in a wheelchair. Being pushed by Frank Lozano, Paulette Patterson is riding off to the side of the line, wearing a white t-shirt. Behind her is Lori Eastman and what looks like Rick James and Barb Guthrie.
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PHOTO Tom Olin: A man in a manual wheelchair with no legs, Jerry Eubanks, is being pushed by a skinny uniformed police man. Jerry is looking to his left, the police man to his right. Another cop looks down at Jerry. A couple of other protesters (Stephanie Thomas and ET, Ernest Taylor) can be seen in the background, with 2 other uniformed police men looking toward them and at the very back a man in a sports jacket and tie is looking right. Everyone is in an empty parking lot. All the ADAPT folks are wearing their uniform, a black T-shirt with a gold ADAPT "no steps" logo on the front.
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PHOTO by Tom Olin?: A white man with a curly gray afro and beard in a manual wheelchair, Bob Kafka, grimaces in pain as two police officers standing over him handcuff his arms behind his back and push him forward toward his legs.