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Heim / Albúm / Merki arrest
+ civil rights + cost 2
ADAPT (188)
Dallas Times Herald, Saturday Nov. 24, 1984 [Headline] Wheelchair activist adopt radical tactics Los Angeles Times WASHINGTON — It was a scene reminiscent of the 1960s civii rights demonstrations as angry protesters chanted slogans, picketed the White House and stopped traffic before they were finally dragged away by police. And the series of confrontations that ended with 27 arrests last month all seemed to come down to a similar central issue —- the right to sit on a bus, to have full access to public transportation. There was one striking difference, however. Unlike Rosa Parks and the black civil rights activists who battered down the Jim Crow barriers in the South, these protesters were in wheelchairs, and their goal was equal access for the physically handicapped. "It's a civil right to be able to ride public transportation," says Julia Haraksin, a wheelchair-bound Los Angeles resident who participated in the demonstrations. Organizations representing handicapped persons long have urged Washington to require that all new buses and rail systems built with funds from the Department of Transportation's Urban Mass Transportation Administration be equipped to accommodate handicapped riders. But Haraksin and other handicapped individuals are beginning to press the old arguments with more radical tactics. Frustrated by years of negotiating, lobbying in Washington, going through the courts and staging non-confrontational protests, some handicapped activists now are resorting to confrontations and civil disobedience. Thus, early in October, 100 members of a newly formed coalition called American Disabled for Accessible Public Transit confronted a national meeting of city transportation heads here, using the kind of civil disobedience tactics used 20 years earlier by Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Protesters were arrested when they blocked entrances and buses of those attending the American Public Transit Association convention. “The strategy was to physically be a barrier because handicapped people have to face barriers all their lives," Wade Blank, a founder of Denver-based ADAPT, said. Calling the protests here “our Selma," leaders of ADAPT claimed a public relations victory and promised their struggle has only begun. They already are focusing their efforts on what they hope will be a larger demonstration at the next meeting of the American Public Transportation Association a year from now in Los Angeles. But their cause may be in for a tough battle. Their opposition comes from the Reagan administration, from many city governments and even from within the handicapped community. And as public attention focuses on the underlying budget choices involved, the opposition may swell with the addition of taxpayers concerned about the possible costs of a national full-access program. ADAPT argues a legal right to full access for the handicapped already exists. Federal law states Urban Mass Transportation Administration funds — which account for about 80 percent of the costs of the equipment in most municipal transportation systems —- cannot be spent on programs that discriminate against, or exclude, the handicapped. The law does not make clear, however, whether handicapped persons must be provided with access to regular bus lines or whether they can instead be provided with alternative transportation systems. Nor does it indicate who should make that decision. Current Department of Transportation policy, which is strongly supported by the American Public Transportation Association, allows each city to make its own decision on what type of transportation it will provide for the handicapped. This is in sharp contrast with Carter administration policy, which in 1979 interpreted federal regulations to mean full access. Members of ADAPT, opposing the separate-but-equal philosophy, argue that paratransit does not meet the needs of the handlcapped and is inherently discriminatory. “lt segregates the disabled people trom the able-bodied community," Mike Auberger, an organizer for ADAPT, said. Because paratransit requires advanced scheduling, sometimes weeks before a ride is needed, he said, “you have to schedule your life according to the transit system." Transit authorities, on the other hand, argue full access can be too expensive, given the low percentage of handicapped riders in many cities. Lift-fitted buses cost an estimated $8,000 to $10,000 more than regular buses. Furthermore, lift systems are often unreliable and time-consuming to operate and maintain, authorities add. In Denver, for example, the transportation district has spent $6.3 million to purchase or retrofit buses with lifts, 80 percent of which was paid for by the federal government, according to spokesman Gene Towne. Since it started mainline access in 1982, the district has spent close to $1 million in maintenance of the lifts and expects to spend an additional $900,000 this year. Yet only 12,000 of the district's 38 million riders use the lifts, according to Towne. ADAPT counters the issue is not cost but civil liberties. "In America, we have a way of hiding our prejudices with pragmatism," said Blank, a Presbyterian minister and veteran of the civil rights and anti-war movements of the 1960s who now supports handicapped activists. Across the country, cities are using a variety of approaches to the problems of providing mass transit for the handicapped. ln Los Angeles, mainline access is required by state law. Although 1,850 of the Southern California Rapid Transit District's 2,400 buses are fitted with wheelchair lifts, some local advocates charge that broken lifts, drivers who do not know how to use the equipment or refuse to do so and an overall lack of commitment to providing access limits the system. [Bottom of the page is torn so missing text is included in brackets, as it is just a guess.] In Seattle, 570 of 1,100 buses serve the handicapped, providing about 5,900 rides a month. [The] Municipality of Metropolitan Seattle also contracts with groups to supply paratransit [vans] and half-fare cab service, [providing] 8,400 rides a month. In Denver, 432 of the [city's] buses are lift- or ramp-[equipped] providing more than 1,00[0 rides] per month. The city also [uses] vans and small buses in a transit system that provides [x number of] rides a month. None of Chicago's 2,400 [mainline] buses is fitted with lifts. [Instead] the city provides 42 [paratransit] buses, which offer 12,000 [rides per] month.
ADAPT (322)
Logo of a sun. The Arizona Republic April 13, 1987, Phoenix, Arizona [This story continues in ADAPT 314 but the entire text is included here for easier reading.] PHOTO by David Petkiewicz/Republic: A large group of people are standing, heading into the Hyatt Regency Hotel. Among those standing some people in wheelchairs are visible, and a reporter is there with a camera. Caption reads: Wheelchair-bound protesters and their supporters gather at the Hyatt Regency in downtown Phoenix. The group converged on the American Public Transit Association's convention at the hotel last week. Title: Driven by anger, disabled man has fought long, hard for access. By CHUCK HAWLEY The Arizona Republic Mike Landwehr pushes his own wheelchair, but it's really anger that drives the wheels. "Every day, my anger is brought forward again when l have to push my wheelchair 10 blocks in my own hometown,“ said Landwehr, a Chicago man who has been arrested a dozen or more times since 1978 while demonstrating for access to public transportation for the disabled. “I'm running out of patience.” Landwehr spent much of last week in Phoenix as a spokesman for American Disabled for Accessible Public Transit. The Denver-based group has a reputation of “getting in the face" of public officials by creating ruckuses at meetings of the American Public Transit Association, a group Landwehr describes as "the enemy." Surrounding hotels, restaurants and buses where transportation officials meet, ADAPT members express demands in rhythmic chants: “What do we want? "Access! “When do we want it? "Now!" It is, the group says, a civil-rights demonstration. Howard Adams is not driven by anger, although he was paralyzed from the neck down in a swimming accident 20 years ago. Adams, a Phoenix councilman, said disability is something he lives with, but he doesn't thrive on it. "I‘m not an expert on it,“ Adams said, “it's not the most important thing in my life." He disagrees with the civil-disobedience tactics used by ADAPT. "I guess I pour my anger into other things," he said. Adams, who served in the Arizona Legislature before his election to the City Council, recently was appointed by President Reagan to the 22-member Architectural and Transportation Compliance Board. The board oversees enforcement of federal regulations governing access for the disabled. It can recommend withholding federal funds from any organization or local government that fails to meet federal requirements for access, Adams said. Although Adams does not use city buses regularly, he said, he has used them and believes Phoenix "is in pretty good shape" with respect to disabled people. The demonstrators, he says, have a beef with the American Public Transportation Association, not with Phoenix. "The goal has always been equal opportunity and to participate in all aspects of life as best as they can," Adams said. "I agree with their goals, but I don't agree with their tactics. "They were not here to point a finger at Phoenix. They were here to protest to a group that provides public transportation to people around the country." Public transportation in Phoenix is inadequate for all people, not just the disabled, Adams said. "If I wanted to go to the council chambers right now, (8:30 p.m.) I couldn't get there on the bus anyway," he said. "If I were in a city with a higher population density, such as Chicago or New York, it would be a different story. I would expect to be able to." Adams said there appear to be "some people who are professionally disabled just like there are people who will always be soldiers in World War II." "We all carry burdens with us, but we have to overcome them," he said. "You can't take away all of the problems everybody has; you just can't. "But, to the extent that society has created barriers, you have to remove them, and I think we are doing it here." Because he uses a lift-equipped van, Adams does not ride Phoenix buses often, but he said he is not unfamiliar with the difficulty of getting from one city to another. In Los Angeles recently, he said, he was told that he could board a plane in a folding wheelchair and that his battery-operated machine would have to be left behind for a later flight in a baggage compartment. "I have trouble with airlines," he said. "They don't care. They just want to get you out of there." When his motorized chair arrived in Phoenix on a later plane, he said, "there was $2,000 in damage to it." Landwehr, 43, was born with spinal bifida, a severe birth defect that now often is correctable. New surgical techniques came too late for him, however. He lost the use of his legs during surgery when he was 12 years old. Landwehr remembers that he once tried to deny his disability, shun his wheelchair and be like everyone else. "I would get myself seated in a restaurant and ask the waitress to take my chair away and fold it up in a corner," he said. "It was a way of being like everyone else. Deep down, disabled people strive to appear not disabled.” It was painful, he said, when his parents had to move from Chicago because he could not attend public high schools there with able-bodied teen-agers. The family moved 60 miles to the suburbs after rejecting the Chicago school system's offer to provide a special bus to pick him up and deliver him to a school for the handicapped, the only school he said school officials would allow him to attend. "Thank God they (his parents) knew I would only learn to live in an institution," he said. In the suburbs, Landwehr said, he struggled to lift himself into a school bus unequipped for handicapped people. Daily, he lifted himself up the school steps as other teen-agers watched. "I know what it is like to be stared at," he said. "It's painful." It also is painful, he said, that Chicago, the nation's third-most-populous city, after New York and Los Angeles, has no city buses with wheelchair lifts for the disabled. Landwehr said that the daily difficulty of overcoming obstacles just to gain access to places others take for granted has hardened his stance for total access. He is militant. Arrests and abuse do not appear to faze him. Embarrassing others and taking the risk of alienating the public also do not seem to faze him. "There is nobody more alienated than people living in little rooms in institutions," Landwehr said. "We want to expose the public to the full range of people who are disabled. "I think our presence here at least gives the public the opportunity to reflect upon their perceptions of disabilities and disabled people. "We hope that a byproduct of our presence will give us some leverage with local politicians." Landwehr, who studied journalism and psychology at the University of Illinois but didn't earn a degree, is unemployed. He once worked with the Disability Rights Defense Fund in Washington, D.C., until federal funding for the group was cut. "We fooled them, though," he said. "Twenty-two of us started collecting Social Security disability checks and just kept on working, doing what we had been doing until the money ran out." Public officials sometimes complain that the cost of total access for the disabled is too great and the need too small. Landwehr says he doesn't believe it. For example, Milwaukee once touted the purchase of lift-equipped buses but operated them randomly on unannounced routes. Photos above: head shots of Howard Adams in white shirt and tie, and Mike Landwher with flannel shirt and mustache. Caption reads: Howard Adams (left) and Mike Landwehr both are disabled, but Adams disagrees with the civil-disobedience tactics used by Landwehr's group.