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Heim / Albúm / Merki Pat Gilbert
+ Justin Ravitz 1
ADAPT (331)
The Fulcrum: Handicappers Making a Difference The newsletter produced by handicappers for handicappers in Michigan [This story continues on ADAPT 330 but the text is included here in it's entirety for easier reading.] PHOTO: A wide wet city street with about seven people in wheelchairs and scooters sitting in the middle of it. Four men, possibly reporters, stand in front of them and behind them is a city bus and some lines of cars. On one side of the street is another city bus with five other people in wheelchairs sitting by it. Picture Caption: Protesting the overturned DDOT decision, this human barricade blocked traffic in downtown Detroit. [Headline] Demonstrators ride paddy wagon, not buses By Yvonne Duffy When Mike Gambatto retired from the Detroit Police Department after an on-the-job injury, he probably never thought that one day he would be arrested for obstructing traffic on a public street. He felt so strongly about the importance of Detroit buses being accessible to persons with disabilities, however, that on the morning of November 23 he drove from Lansing to downtown Detroit to join other demonstrators, most of whom were users of wheelchairs or three-wheelers. In 1987, Gambatto was one of the plaintiffs in a class action suit in which the Wayne County Circuit Court ordered the Detroit Department of Transportation (DDOT) to purchase and maintain lifts on their buses and awarded $2.5 million in damages to the more than 1,110 people eventually included in the suit. This protest occurred because this October the MI Court of Appeals overturned the earlier decision, ruling in favor of DDOT and eliminating the monetary damages. The group of about twenty-five huddled at the intersection of Woodward and East Jefferson in hooded jackets, mufflers, mitts, and occasional afghans under a sullen grey sky punctuated by freezing rain and snow flurries. As the traffic light turned red, Gambatto and nine other chair and cart users rolled onto the road to arrange themselves so that when the light changed, traffic was completely blocked on the busy downtown street. Horns honked, and a few drivers got out of their vehicles. One driver, upon learning that the protestors were demonstrating for their right to use the city buses like everyone else, exclaimed, “I’m with you!” raising his hand in the victory sign as he returned to his car. The police were ready. Within minutes, the sergeant in charge approached Frank Clark, a post-polio retiree with a long history of activism to make Detroit more accessible, and informed him that if the group did not return to the curb they would be arrested. When they refused, the paddy wagon, which had no lift, was brought in, and officers began hoisting up the chair users. The chair of one tipped perilously to one side as he was loaded into the van. Gambatto asked to be lifted in separately from his three-wheeler, which sometimes comes apart when lifted. An assisting officer asked if Gambatto had been injured in the line of duty. The fourteen-year veteran of the force explained that a nerve in his neck had been injured when he had attempted to break through a chained door to apprehend a man who had just stabbed a little girl, resulting in a multiple sclerosis-like condition. The officer, visibly moved, replied, “I never actually met a policeman that was hurt on the job before. This hurts- it hits home.” Gambatto was elated about his participation on the demonstration. “I felt like we were doing something worthwhile out there,” he said. “We weren’t breaking a law just to break a law. We were making a point that really needed to be made- that the buses are inaccessible in the City of Detroit.” As mobility Coordinator at Michigan State University’s Program for Handicapper Students, he has become even more keenly aware of the financial and social costs of failing to make public transportation to accessible. “Instead of buying [unreadable], we, as a society, are paying for people to stay home- often for their whole lives. We waste human minds because we’re too cheap to buy wheelchair lifts.” The demonstrators were driven a few blocks to police headquarters where they were given the option of receiving tickets. During the two hours it took for processing, they were held in an unheated storeroom off the garage. There were no accessible restrooms. Nevertheless, there was general agreement among the demonstrators that the Detroit police displayed exemplary sensitivity and courtesy during the arrest and booking. “They were nice to the point of graciousness,” said Verna Spayth of Ann Arbor, an organizer of the action. According to Spayth, the police sergeant, whose late brother had been a polio quad, seemed aware that by his decision to arrest, he rescued them from the freezing rain and, at the same time, attracted attention to their protest by making it a newsworthy event. Ironically, George Harrison, a Detroit resident for 25 years and a wheelchair user for the last six, almost never made it to the protest because the bus driver did not know how to operate the lift. He was fortunate that a more knowledgeable bus driver riding to work came to his rescue. When Roger McCarville of Ortonville, whose both legs were amputated, heard about Harrison’s experience, he “knew he was in the right place.” Citing accessible public transportation as essential for a quality life, McCarville, who owns a company, Handicap Transportation, which carries people with disabilities to non-emergency medical appointments, says, “Lives go beyond medical. There’s a whole social aspect out there, and there’s no service available.” Many who live outside the metropolitan area put themselves on the line to demonstrate unity with their brothers and sisters with disabilities even though they personally did not need the service. For Spayth, Advocacy Coordinator at the Ann Arbor Center for Independent Living, who, last fall, chained herself with several other to buses in downtown Detroit but was not arrested, every opportunity to forge a sense of community is precious. She says, “Whether you get arrested or not, once you’ve chained yourself together with other people with disabilities, it’s totally impossible to look at those people again as separate individuals. Even without words, a bond is created there.” Scott Heinzman of Livonia, adds, “Even though I’m not expecting anything, there could be a time when I might need the help of people in other communities to bring attention to an issue.” For Heinzman, participating in the protest was important for other reasons. Sharing the view that Detroit has been hurt by the mass exodus to the suburbs, he feels that, as a suburban resident, he wants to give something back to the city. “People are people everywhere,” he says, “and if there are problems, problems can be solved.” Heinzman serves on the Advisory Council of the Great Lakes Center for Independent Living, whose offices are in Detroit. A 28-year-old quad, he is also bringing much-needed exposure of children to people with disabilities, through his activity with the Boy Scouts and his local Parent Teacher Organization. Ray Creech, a Canton resident, wanted to “show support for the people in Detroit who really need it [accessible transportation].” Occasionally, when he visits Trapper’s Alley or Greektown, he has tried to use the buses with mixed success. Spayth vocalizes a feeling shared by many in the disability movement: “The easy answer is that when we fight for disability rights anywhere, we fight for them everywhere, but, for me, it goes deeper than that. Every once in awhile, I feel the need to express my anger against my oppressors. What happens next in the fight to make DDOT buses reliably accessible and restore the monetary damages awarded by the lower court three years ago? The next step in the judicial process, according to Justin Ravitz, attorney for the plaintiffs, is an appeal to the Michigan Supreme Court. If the justices “have any sensitivity or allegiance to the law, they will surely hear our case,” he says. This process could take months or even years, however. Meanwhile, Detroiters with disabilities want to ride. Until they achieve that goal, Ray Creech vows, “We’ll just keep coming back!” PHOTO: Five uniformed police officers stand around a single man in a wheelchair. One of them has his head down and is touching the arm of the guy in the wheelchair. Caption reads: Police escort demonstrator to paddy wagon.