- ภาษาAfrikaans Argentina AzÉrbaycanca
á¥áá áá£áá Äesky Ãslenska
áá¶áá¶ááááá à¤à¥à¤à¤à¤£à¥ বাà¦à¦²à¦¾
தமிழ௠à²à²¨à³à²¨à²¡ ภาษาà¹à¸à¸¢
ä¸æ (ç¹é«) ä¸æ (é¦æ¸¯) Bahasa Indonesia
Brasil Brezhoneg CatalÃ
ç®ä½ä¸æ Dansk Deutsch
Dhivehi English English
English Español Esperanto
Estonian Finnish Français
Français Gaeilge Galego
Hrvatski Italiano Îλληνικά
íêµì´ LatvieÅ¡u Lëtzebuergesch
Lietuviu Magyar Malay
Nederlands Norwegian nynorsk Norwegian
Polski Português RomânÄ
Slovenšcina Slovensky Srpski
Svenska Türkçe Tiếng Viá»t
Ù¾Ø§Ø±Ø³Û æ¥æ¬èª ÐÑлгаÑÑки
ÐакедонÑки Ðонгол Ð ÑÑÑкий
СÑпÑки УкÑаÑнÑÑка ×¢×ר×ת
اÙعربÙØ© اÙعربÙØ©
หน้าหลัก / อัลบั้ม / แท็ค ADAPT - American Disabled for Accessible Public Transit
+ 1 week advance reservation 2
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 (189)
San Antonio Light, April 21, 1985 Viewpoint Thomas F. Brereton [Headline] Give handicapped the transit they deserve PHOTO: Head shot of a man in suit and tie, with a beard and moustach. He is smiling, and he appears to be Brereton. San Antonio's convention calendar features an unwanted bonus this weekend: some out of town demonstrators who have vowed to disrupt a conference at the Hyatt, in order to focus attention on a neglected national issue. The American Disabled for Accessible Public Transit (ADAPT) are the unwelcome guests at the American Public Transit Association's western regional conference. They have been similarly unwelcome guests at APTA conferences in Denver, San Diego, and Washington, D.C., where 28 members were arrested for civil disobedience last October. So now San Antonio's VIA Metropolitan Transit gets to take its turn playing cat's paw to make their point. ADAPT's demand is a simple one: civil rights for the handicapped, specifically the right to ride the same bus as everyone else. This means requiring public transit systems to make all of their mainline services fully accessible, particularly by installing wheelchair lifts instead of relying exclusively on separate “para-transit” services like VIA-Trans. They contend that this dual service system is a segregationist anachronism: 25 years ago blacks could at least ride in the back of the bus: today the handicapped still can't even get on board. At first blush, it may seem hard to believe that a person who is wheelchair-bound would really prefer to struggle to and from the bus stop in order to ride a regular bus, rather than being picked up and delivered door-to-door in a specially equipped van. But there are some real problems with a van service which makes it inherently less usable than full access to the regular transit network. First there is the matter of registration. In order to ride VIA-Trans, you have to be certified by a physician or a social service agency as completely unable to use the regular bus. As a result, there are only about 7000 people registered in Bexar County. Estimates of the potentially eligible “mobility-impaired" population range from 12,000 to 52,000, depending on whose definition you accept. Out of town visitors, of course, have a special difficulty of making arrangements in advance. Then there is the matter of time. You have to call and make a reservation at least two hours ahead, and preferably a couple of days. This may be okay if you know you have a doctors appointment every Wednesday at 2 o'clock. but it is no way to go out drinking with your friends on the spur of the moment. And since this is a shared-ride system, you will probably have to leave a lot earlier than you would like, and then to endure a long, circuitous journey to your destination, while other passengers are picked up and dropped off en route. So imagine yourself now in a wheelchair. Which would you rather do: Wheel yourself down to the nearest bus stop to get on a bus and go whereever it takes you, or call VIA-Trans a couple of days in advance to make a reservation? You don't have to buy ADAPT's tactics in order to see their point. Handicapped people naturally want to be as independent as possible, with a minimum of degrading “special privileges." On the other side, transit authority spokesmen ridicule the demand for wheelchair lifts as economically prohibitive and technically impractical. A study by the National Research Council's Transportation Research Board estimates the total additional cost of operating a fully accessible fixed-route bus system at about $2,000 per year per lift-equipped bus. But unlike VIA-Trans, where more riders automatically mean more vans and drivers - at an average actual cost of $l0.70 per trip — this cost does not increase appreciably with greater use by the handicapped. Opponents of accessible transit also object that the wheelchair lifts break down too often. And, you would have to take some regular seats out of the bus, to provide space to secure the wheelchairs. And the requirements of operating the lift would throw the bus off schedule, because the driver would have to take extra time to assist the passenger. In reality, the actual number of times per day you would have to stop the bus to use this lift makes nonsense of this argument. But what about the problem of getting to and from the bus stop, along streets without curb cuts and often without sidewalks? This objection is an excuse for not solving one problem because there are other problems beyond it. If you were in a wheelchair, you would probably need to live in a different house, too. You would consider this a factor before you moved. Note that this is not an either/or proposition, between specialized vans and lift-equipped buses. The same study by the Transportation Research Board estimates that only 30 percent of the "severely transportation handicapped" could use an accessible fixed-route bus. The other 70 percent — those on medication, with mental impairments or multiple handicaps — would still need to rely on VIA-Trans, taxicabs, or other means to get around. To me. this whole argument is pretty one-sided. The real clincher is the simple fact that other cities have already done what VIA says is impossible: to provide full accessibility on their mainline services. The old excuses won't wash anymore. it's time we stopped putting a price tag on people's dignity and independence. Tom Brereton is a former professor of urban studies at Trinity University.