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صفحه اصلی / آلبومها / برچسب ها Bob Kafka
+ Diane Coleman 10
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تاریخ فرستاده شدن
US_Capitol_Rotunda_part_2_cap
This is part 2 of the ADAPT Capitol Rotunda protest in support of the Americans with Disabilities Act, ADA. This shows the group preparing for civil disobedience to pressure swift passage of the bill. Over 100 people were arrested at this protest, which gets less attention than the Crawl but was equally intense. The film is open captioned (as are all videos on this museum site).
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 (572)
WHEN IS TOO MUCH: "Helping" the Disabled by Mary McKnew Just as airplane pilots want assurance that a plane's steering wheel won‘t come off while flying over Europe, people utilizing a bus wheelchair lift deserve to expect that the lift will operate in a safe and predictable manner. However, I have to admit that too much focus on “safety” issues has me a little worried. To some transit officials, “safety” issues in providing transportation services for people with disabilities raise old stereotypes of helplessness and can quickly become a rationale for imposing paternalistic policies. For example, here in Olympia, the local Intercity Transit Authority and the state's Department of General Administration are co-sponsoring a shuttle service between the capitol and downtown Olympia with routes passing other major states offices. With the local parking problem, this system is extremely convenient. From the beginning, all vans used in the service have been equipped with wheelchair lifts. All this, of course, is very commendable. So, what's the problem? Unfortunately, the van's tie-down system, lack of grab-bars and driver policies reflect a paternalistic attitude towards disabled passengers by promoting dependence in the name of safety. The tie-down system is one of the most primitive I have ever encountered. It uses straps to bind each of a wheelchair's four wheels to the floor in a rather intricate system that takes the driver approximately five minutes to accomplish. To tie-down a wheelchair, the driver must get on his or her hands and knees. Thus, it is not possible for even very mobile wheelchair users to accomplish this independently. However, once the straps are in place, none of the wheels will move even a centimeter. During this five minute routine, other van passengers wait outside (some glancing at their watches) until the driver folds the lift back in place and allows them to board. After being strapped down, the driver then will place a seat-belt around the wheelchair user. Seat belts are not available for other passengers. If the wheelchair user decides to reject use of a seat belt, the driver will attempt (sometimes loud) persuasion, finally telephoning into the office to report that the passenger has refused use of the belt. I use a wheelchair for mobility due to a low and incomplete spinal cord injury. I object to many of the features in the Intercity Transit system that, to me, are designed on the premise that people with disabilities will always need a lot of assistance from the driver. Although the driver should be trained and willing to provide assistance if it is requested, the system should be designed to promote maximum independence. Most tie-down systems can be easily manipulated by most wheelchair uses with finger movement. Although some wheelchair users need a seat belt due to problems with balance, drivers should not assume they are needed by all such passengers. A policy that requires a driver to phone in to report a passenger's rejection of the seat belt is founded on the belief that people with disabilities are incapable of making sound decisions regarding their own safety. Additionally, although grab-bars are located along the ceiling walls of other seats, none are available near the tie-down area. Thus, if the bus lurches while enroute, a wheelchair passenger has nothing to hold onto. I suppose this makes it more likely a wheelchair passenger will comply with the seat belt policy, recognizing that a passive restraint is better than none at all. Intercity Transit has been providing paratranslt services to people with disabilities for a number of years. They have moved into the provision of mainline transportation services (i.e., access to the regular bus service) only recently. It appears that they have simply shifted their operating policies and procedures from one system to the other without considering if these are applicable to the new service. I have brought my objections to Intercity Transit’s attention. Although the staff disagree with most, they are reconsidering others. Safety is a concern to people who use wheelchair lifts. However, we cannot allow it to become a convenient rationale for either eliminating the service or instituting restrictive policies that treat people with disabilities in a disparate manner from other passengers. PHOTO (by Tom Olin): A large crowd marches downhill on a wide street. In the front row a little girl in a wheelchair (Jennifer Keelan) is pushed by her mother (Cindy). Beside them a woman in a motorized wheelchair (Diane Coleman) and a long skirt and white jacket has a sign behind her reading "we the people." Beside her a man in a manual wheelchair (Bob Kafka) with a big salt and pepper beard rolls along. In the row behind, between Bob and Diane, is a woman in a wheelchair (Mary McKnew) and a man who walks (Lannie Schuman) are visible and next to them another man marches behind Diane. Behind Jennifer and Cindy is Tari Susan Hartman. Rows of marchers go further and further back up the street to the top of the hill and presumably beyond. Caption reads: Just to the right at the placard Washington residents Lannie Schuman and Mary McKnew participate in a San Francisco demonstration for transportation rights. ABOUT THE AUTHOR... In 1987, Mary McKnew tried to get arrested for the first time. She sat in front of a San Francisco police van and refused to move. She sat in her wheelchair directly under the wheels of a bus and refused to move. "I did many illegal things." she says wryly. What she did, she did in the name of accessible public transportation for people with disabilities... a personal and political quest McKnew has been following for the past 12 years. Although McKnew wasn't arrested at that demonstration (in spite of her civil disobedience efforts), many others were. More than 500 people organized by the American Disabled tor Accessible Public Transportation (ADAPT) marched through the streets oi San Francisco to the city hall to protest the continuing discriminatory policies supported by the American Public Transit Association (APTA). ADAPT has been a persistent thorn in the side of APTA for many years. Fortunately, their persistence paid off. With the final signing of the Americans With Disabilities Act (ADA) expected any day, ADAPT—- and McKnew — will see many of their demands for fair, accessible transportation become reality. But McKnew says that just because you pass laws doesn't mean you quit being an activist. "The ADA will bring private transit companies under regulations just like public ones," she says, "but just passing a law doesn't mean we solve the problem. implementation is a whole other thing." In part, McKnew was referring to the possibility that some private companies may reduce the seating capacity in some of their smaller vehicles in order to side-step the accessibility requirements mandated by the ADA. "What the ADA will do is provide a clear avenue for lawsuits," she says. Is McKnew planning on handling some of those lawsuits herself? It may be too early to tell. Currently an executive policy assistant in the Office of the Governor, McKnew is also a second-year law student at the University of Puget Sound. (This story continues in the original format on 571 but is included here in its entirety for ease of reading.)
ADAPT (507): 300 strong ADAPT waits outside APTA Hotel
PHOTO (by Tom Olin): Black and white photo looking up the street divided by the wooden barricades. The picture is taken from behind the ADAPT people behind the barricades which curve across to block the whole street in the foreground. A car comes down the empty side toward the camera. Metal barriers divide the other side of the street from the sidewalk where there are a couple of low temporary structures. A police officer in a helmet and leather jacket stands at one side of the picture, handcuffs and gun visible on his or her belt and radio on the shoulder. All the ADAPT folks seem to be looking up the street at the approaching car. The crowd is two or three people deep and seems to extend a city block or possibly more. Bernard Baker wears a “We Will Ride” sign on the back of his motorized wheelchair and Mike Ervin has a sign reading “On It or In Front of It” on his. In the far distance, beyond the car a policeman seems to be talking with some of the protesters.
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Two articles included here: Denver Post April 26, 1989 [Headline] Disabled protesters physically removed from the Federal Building By Peter G. Chronis Denver Post Staff writer More than 40 disabled demonstrators in wheelchairs jammed the lobby of U.S. Attorney Mike Norton's Denver office Tuesday to protest U.S. Justice Department action in a transit-access lawsuit. About 30 members of Americans Disabled for Accessible Public Transportation and a few non-disabled protesters stayed from noon to 5:30 p.m., when officers of the Federal Protective Service began removing them from the 12th floor of the Federal Building at 19th and Stout streets. All the demonstrators were physically led from the building, but no one was arrested. Protesters from Texas, Georgia, California, Massachusetts, Illinois, New York and elsewhere have converged on Denver to demonstrate this week during a federal Urban Mass Transit Administration meeting. They blocked lobbies and doorways of the Radisson Hotel on Sunday night and on Monday; on Tuesday, they targeted Norton’s lobby. The group's grievance is rooted in a Philadelphia lawsuit against the U.S. Department of Transportation in which a three-judge panel of the 3rd U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals mandated that all new public transit buses be equipped with hydraulic lifts for the handicapped. ADAPT member Diane Coleman, a Los Angeles lawyer, said the Justice Department has asked the appeals court to vacate the decision and rehear the suit before the entire 12-member court. The full court agreed to do that, and it has has set oral arguments for May 15. Demonstrators demanded that Norton set up a conference telephone call with U.S. Attorney General Richard Thornburgh, but Norton told the group that Thornburgh was traveling and could not be reached. Norton, shouted down several times as he spoke, promised to write a letter to Thornburgh expressing the protesters‘ concerns. He also gave the demonstrators Thornburgh’s Washington telephone number. About 4 p.m., after calling Washington, Norton also told the group that the administration appealed the court decision because it felt a policy calling for $270 million a year in additional spending should be made either by the administration or by Congress — not by a federal district court. Coleman said federal regulations allow decisions on disabled transportation to be made locally. “As a practical matter, that meant no transportation," she said. “We want a nationwide policy — we don't want to fight city by city." Bob Kafka, an ADAPT member from Austin, Texas, added, "Disabled kids in school today are being sold a bill of goods that they‘re going to be integrated into society." Transportation is the key to integrating the disabled, he said. Ironically, he also said that Denver's public transportation facilities for the handicapped offer relatively good access to the disabled. The end of first article; second article below: Rocky Mountain News LOCAL BRIEFS Rocky Mountain News Staff April 26, 1989 [Headline] Wheelchair-lift issue in court’s lap, lawyer says U.S. Attorney Michael Norton yesterday told a group of disabled activists that the federal government's appeal of a court ruling on bus wheelchair lifts was out of his hands. Norton appeared before 40 wheelchair-bound members of ADAPT, American Disabled for Access to Public Transit, who had camped several hours outside his 12th floor offices in Denver's federal building. ADAPT members are angry about an appeal by the U.S. Justice Department on behalf of the Department of Transportation. The appeal seeks to overturn a federal court ruling requiring all local transit buses to be equipped with wheelchair lifts. Thirty protesters were arrested Monday for blocking the doors of the Radisson Hotel, where their target, the Urban Mass Transportation Administration, was holding a conference.
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PHOTO (by Tom Olin?): A group of ADAPT activists sit on the front entrance to a public building. Some are in wheelchairs, some sit on the steps. From the left: Lonny Smith, Bob Kafka, unidentified man standing, Barb Gurthrie (smiling), unknown man in wheelchair with back to camera, unknown woman in wheelchair, Bernard Baker (with sign saying Access is a Civil Right), unknown woman in wheelchair sitting sideways in front of door, Stephanie Thomas on ground, Mark Mactimmus in red ADAPT shirt, Diane Coleman, and Joe Carle. An Access NOW poster is taped to the railing on the steps.
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Disabled Activists Blockade Transit Expo By Jack Fletcher Frontline, October 12, 1987 PHOTO by Frontline: In a medium close up, man and a woman in wheelchairs (Bob Kafka and Diane Coleman), sit side by side in a downtown street and tall buildings in the background. Both wear the ADAPT T-shirt with the no-steps logo, Diane has on a white jacket. Bob is speaking and has his hand over Diane's, which is on her joy stick. Behind her head is a poster, partly blocked from view, that reads "We the People..." There is no caption. San Francisco Hundreds of disabled activists, demanding accessible transit, dramatically confronted “the world’s largest transit exposition” here September 27-30 as they blockaded streets, chained themselves to cable cars, and generally besieged the 15,000 mass transit officials and manufacturers’ representatives at the American Public Transit Association (APTA) Expo ’87. Over 100 protesters were arrested as they pressed APTA to approve a resolution by the September Alliance for Affordable Transit (SAAT) calling for the right of the disabled and elderly to access public transit. SAAT organizer Marilyn Golden called the APTA protests “the largest in disability rights history.” The disabled community has fought against APTA since 1979 when APTA brought a lawsuit that succeeded in overturning a federal regulation requiring that all transit vehicles be accessible to the disabled. Since 1983 the American Disabled for Accessible Public Transit (ADAPT) has organized demonstrations at APTA conventions in Cincinnati, Detroit, Phoenix, New York, and Washington, D. C. to urge a policy change. Until this year when they scheduled two workshops on the issue, APTA has been unwilling to even meet with protestors. Mark Johnson, a demonstrator from Georgia, drew the parallel between these protests and the civil rights movement saying, “There was something wrong when Black people weren’t allowed to sit in the front of the bus, and there’s something wrong when we can’t even go on the bus.” APTA claims that accessibility would cost $15 billion and would bankrupt the nation’s transit districts; they propose instead a system of “paratransit” which would theoretically provide disabled people with flexible door-to-door service but in fact translates into long waiting lists and call-ahead requirements, weekday-only buses and restricted ride purposes. SAAT counters that APTA’s $15 billion figure includes completely rebuilding subways in New York, Chicago and other cities, while the disabled community’s actual demand does not include rebuilding rail systems or even retrofitting existing vehicles, but only that new buses include wheelchair lifts. Also, while arguing that paratransit may be a useful supplement to public transit, Susan Schapiro of SAAT criticized existing paratransit systems as designed with a view of the disabled as “pathetic people in nursing homes going to see the doctor twice a month . . . . It all boils down to discrimination and the belief that these aren’t really people. The APTA delegates could not miss the powerful statement made by the tenacious lines of wheelchair bound demonstrators who spanned several generations in age, were multi-racial in composition, and came from every corner of the U.S. – including eight from Alaska. As demonstrators were being arrested they drove home the irony of being taken away in a lift-equipped paddy wagons chanting, “They can take us to jail but not to work.”
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The front of the march with the rest of the marchers in the background and tall city buildings in the background. Across the front row young Jennifer Keelan is being pushed in her chair by her mother Cindy. Next to her is Bob Kafka in his manual chair and with his no steps ADAPT logo T-shirt and a piece of blue duct tape on his knee. Beside him is Diane Coleman in her motorized wheelchair and with red tape on her knee. Over her head you can partially see a sign reading "We the People..." Beside the sign Julie Farrar's face is visible and behind Bob you can see Justin Dart. Behind Jennifer and Cindy a motorcycle policeman is visible.
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[This is a continuation of the brochure that starts on ADAPT 32. The full text of the brochure is included there for easier reading.] 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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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.