[Ohio-talk] march for independence 2016

[richard]

Dear federation members of Ohio,

The drive for 75 was great and now we  are going to  March for independence,

I am calling you to action.

On Monday November 7th at 7pm we will have a conference call to talk about
raising money for sending members to the national convention and the second
part includes marching to the state convention.

This call is open  to all members.

For members who have contacted me off list about being a part of the special
committee join the call.

We have a large job to do.

You can email me off list at rchpay7 at gmail.com and call 937/829/3368


Dial-in Number: 

(712) 775-7031

	

Meeting ID: 

240281423

	

 

I do have several thoughts behind this but want you to get involved early

You heard me speak about boots on the ground at the state convention but
talk is cheap

We must unite even if you do not plan to attend  the conventions you should
feel obligated to help others get this chance.

When a civil rights movement starts it is very important to understand that
the struggles effect us all.

DR. Martin  King said he had a dream and I have a vision that all blind
people will make it to the mountain top so join us to make this happen.

   March for independence,

I have included the logo that we have used for other events.

I also included the speech for The Day After Civil Rights

  

 

 

  


Race for Independence Logo

	

 

 

The Day After Civil Rights


Kenneth Jernigan



Kenneth Jernigan

An Address Delivered by Kenneth Jernigan
At the Banquet of the Annual Convention
Of the National Federation of the Blind
New Orleans, Louisiana, July 4, 1997

It has been said that all knowledge consists of definition and
classification, and even definition may be just another way of classifying.
History, for example, can be classified (or divided) into ancient, medieval,
and modern; secular and ecclesiastical; American, English, European,
African, Asian, and Latin American; political, economic, and social. And
there are hundreds of other ways of doing it.

As to our history, the history of the organized blind movement, I classify
or divide it into four stages. Of course, I could add a fifth-the centuries
and eons before our founding in 1940. But I prefer to think of that time as
the dark ages, the pre-history before hope and enlightenment.

When the National Federation of the Blind came into being almost six decades
ago, our problem was simple. It was to find enough food to keep body and
soul together-not for all of us, of course, but for many. If you are hungry,
it is hard to think about anything else. And the blind were hungry.

And then we moved to a second stage, the attempt to find jobs. Call it
rehabilitation. It wasn't that poverty had been eliminated, but it had been
so reduced that we could now begin to think about something else, about
jobs, about how to earn and not just be given. Naturally the desire for jobs
was there from the beginning, but it now moved to the center of the stage.
This was in the late '50's, the '60's, and the '70's. We wanted jobs-and we
found them. Not always according to our capacity and not always with equal
pay-but jobs.

And then we moved to a third stage. Call it civil rights. After a person has
satisfied hunger and found a job, there is still something else-the search
for self-esteem and equal treatment-the yearning to belong and
participate-to be part of the family and the broader community. And for us,
as for other minorities, there was only one way to get there-confrontation.
The status quo always fights change.

Many people think that civil rights and integration are the same thing. They
aren't. The concept of civil rights precedes integration and is a necessary
precursor to it. As used in the late twentieth century, the term civil
rights (although some will deny it) always means force-an in-your-face
attitude by the minority, laws that make somebody do this or that,
picketing, marches in the street, court cases, and much else. And we have
done those things, all of them. We had to.

But there comes a day after civil rights. There must. Otherwise, the first
three stages (satisfying hunger, finding jobs, and getting civil rights)
have been in vain. The laws, the court cases, the confrontations, the jobs,
and even the satisfying of hunger can never be our prime focus. They are
preliminary. It is not that they disappear. Rather it is that they become a
foundation on which to build.

Legislation cannot create understanding. Confrontation cannot create good
will, mutual acceptance, and respect. For that matter, legislation and
confrontation cannot create self-esteem. The search for self-esteem begins
in the period of civil rights, but the realization of self-esteem must wait
for the day after civil rights.

It will be easy for me to be misunderstood, so I want to make something very
clear. We have not forgotten how to fight, and we will do it when we have
to. We must not become slack or cease to be vigilant, and we won't. But we
have now made enough progress to move to the next stage on the road to
freedom. I call it the day after civil rights.

If a minority lives too long in an armed camp atmosphere, that minority
becomes poisoned and corroded. We must move beyond minority mentality and
victim thinking. This will be difficult-especially in today's society, where
hate and suspicion are a rising tide and where members of minorities are
encouraged and expected to feel bitterness and alienation and members of the
majority are encouraged and expected to feel guilt and preoccupation with
the past. Yes, it will be hard to do what I am suggesting, but we must do
it. We must be willing to give to others as much as we want others to give
to us, and we must do it with good will and civility. We must make the hard
choices and take the long view.

Let me be specific. If a blind person tries to exploit blindness to get an
advantage, or tries to use blindness as an excuse for failure or bad
behavior, we must not defend that blind person but must stand with the
sighted person that the blind person is trying to victimize. This will not
be easy; it will not always be politically correct; and it will frequently
bring criticism, not only from those blind persons who claim to want
equality but are not willing to earn it, but also from some of the sighted
as well. But we must do it anyway. If we want equal treatment and true
integration, we must act like equals and not hide behind minority status.
Yes, blind people are our brothers and sisters, but so are the sighted.
Unless we are willing to have it that way, we neither deserve nor truly want
what we have always claimed as a birthright.

That birthright, equal responsibility as well as equal rights, is the very
essence of the NFB's philosophy. It is what we set out to get in 1940; it is
what we have fought for every step of the way; it is what we are now close
to achieving; and it is what we are absolutely determined to have. Equal
rights-equal responsibility.

We are capable of working with the sighted, playing with the sighted, and
living with the sighted; and we are capable of doing it on terms of complete
equality. Likewise, the sighted are capable of doing the same with us-and
for the most part I think they want to. What we need is not confrontation
but understanding, an understanding that runs both ways. This means an
ongoing process of communication and public education.

It is for that reason that in 1991 we introduced the
<https://nfb.org/images/nfb/publications/books/kernel1/kernels.htm> Kernel
Books. As I said at last year's convention, what we have done in writing,
publishing, and distributing these books is nothing short of revolutionary.
More than three million of them are now in circulation, and the difference
they have made in public attitudes about blindness would be hard to
exaggerate.

This year, following our usual pattern, we are issuing two more Kernel
Books. Book twelve, Like Cats and Dogs, is available now; and book thirteen,
Wall-to-Wall Thanksgiving, will come this fall. There are, of course, many
other elements in our educational program, but the Kernel Books are the
centerpiece of it. As you hear the introductions to the two 1997 books and
excerpts from the articles I wrote for them, keep in mind the context and
the reason for publishing them. They must carry a message without being so
preachy that nobody will read them, and they must be entertaining without
blurring the purpose:

Like Cats and Dogs

Editor's Introduction

In the early and mid 1930's, when I was a boy in grade school, I dearly
loved to read poetry--or, more properly speaking, have poetry read to me.
And my teachers often obliged. One of my favorites was a poem by Eugene
Field called the "Gingham Dog and the Calico Cat." Although it will never be
a classic, I liked it. It begins like this:

"The gingham dog and the calico cat 
Side by side on the table sat;
'Twas half-past twelve, 
and (what do you think!)
Nor one nor t'other had slept a wink!"

The poem goes on to tell how the cat and dog had anawful fight and concludes
by giving the outcome:

"But the truth about the cat and pup 
Is this: they ate each other up!"

Thus we come to the title of this book, Like Cats and Dogs. Maybe I chose it
because I once had a dog that I dearly loved, or because I currently have
some adorable kittens-or maybe because of the well-known saying about people
fighting like cats and dogs. Regardless of the reason, the title is chosen,
and we come to a question:

Exactly how do cats and dogs behave toward each other?

If they don't understand each other, they fight "like cats and dogs." But if
they have the opportunity to get acquainted, they can live in harmony and
become good friends.

As it is with cats and dogs, so it is with the blind and their sighted
neighbors. There can either be harmony and friendship or misunderstanding
and frustration. This little volume (the twelfth in the Kernel Book series)
is meant to promote understanding, the ultimate framework of all true
friendship and mutual respect.

As with past Kernel Books, the stories here are real-life experiences, told
by the blind persons who lived them. The one exception is the article by
Theresa House, who is the sighted wife of a blind man. Her parents feared
that a blind person could never be an adequate husband for their daughter,
and certainly not a suitable father for her children. You will see how it is
turning out as they live their lives and raise their family.

As a matter of fact, marriage and children are major themes of this book.
Bruce Gardner, blind and preparing to be a lawyer, dates and falls in love
with a young sighted woman. She has questions, and so do her father and
mother.

And there is the matter of blind parents and sighted children. As the boy
and girl grow up, how do they feel? Do they think their parents can take
care of them-and how do the parents feel? What ambitions do the parents have
for their children?

There is another theme relative to children (blind children). Many are not
given the chance to learn Braille. What does that do to them, and how do
they feel about it as they come to adulthood?

There is more-the article I wrote about the difference between the sounds
and smells of today and sixty years ago; and there is the story about a
blind kitten (told by the owner, of course, not the kitten); an account of a
blind woman's experience with pouring coffee; and much else. But I think I
have told you enough to give you an inkling of what to expect.

At the core all of the people represented here are talking about the same
thing. What they are saying is this:

In everything that counts we who are blind are just like you. As you read,
you will recognize yourself in the story of our experiences. We laugh and
cry, work and play, hope and dream, just like you. And although we don't
forget that we are blind, we don't constantly think about it either. We are
concerned with the routine business of daily living-what we plan to have for
dinner, the latest gossip, and the current shenanigans in Washington.

Around fifty thousand people become blind in this country each year. That
means that it may happen to you, a member of your family, a neighbor, or a
friend. So we want you to know what blindness is like--and, more to the
point, what it isn't like. That is why we are producing the Kernel Books. We
hope you will find this volume both informative and interesting. If you do,
we will have accomplished our purpose. We want to live in harmony with our
neighbors-not the way most people think cats and dogs live.

Kenneth Jernigan
Baltimore, Maryland 1997

That is the introduction. Now here are excerpts from my article called "The
Sounds and Smells of Sixty Years":

Everybody knows that change is probably the only constant in life, but I
think we don't fully understand what that means until after we are fifty. At
least that is how it has been with me.

As readers of the Kernel Books know, I grew up on a farm in Tennessee in the
1920's and '30's, and it seems to me that almost nothing today is the way it
was then. Since I have been blind all of my life, I am not talking about how
things look but how they smell, taste, sound, and feel.

Start with smell. The world smells different today from what it did then.
Nowadays I spend much of my time indoors, breathing conditioned air, whether
heated or cooled. But that wasn't how it was when I was a boy.

Since we didn't have electricity, we couldn't have had air conditioning even
if we could have afforded it. So in the summer the windows were open, and
usually so were the doors. The air was rich with odors-the smells of growing
things, of the barnyard, of the dust and gasoline from an occasional passing
car, and of creeks. These were the smells of summer, but there were also the
smells of winter-wood, burning in a fireplace, the smell of the unheated
portions of the house, and the smell of the country in winter.

And it was not just the smells of that time but also the sounds-the mixture
of stillness, bird songs, distant cattle, and the aliveness of the land.
Today, whether indoors or out, one thing is always present-the sound of
motors. There are automobiles, office machines, fluorescent lights, power
tools, lawn mowers, vacuum cleaners, kitchen appliances, air conditioners,
and heating units. When I was a boy, I might go a whole week without hearing
a motor-but not today. In the world of the '90's there is never a minute
without a motor. Sometimes it is an avalanche of noise, and sometimes only a
vibration in the background-but it is always there-always a motor.

And I mustn't omit taste and touch. At first thought it might seem that
there would be no difference between then and now, but there is. It isn't
necessarily that I can't touch most of the things today that I touched in
the 1930's. It is just that I don't. And as to taste, it may simply be my
imagination or my aging taste buds, but it certainly doesn't seem that way.
Food is prepared differently, and the ingredients take a different path from
origin to table.

But what does all of that have to do with blindness? After all, that is what
this book is about. Certainly blindness and blind people are not treated
today the way they were sixty years ago. The blind of that generation had
almost no chance to get a job and very little chance to get an education.

In my case (many of you know this story as well as I do, so you can judge
for yourselves whether it fits our purpose in the Kernel Books), I was
allowed to go to college, but I wasn't permitted to take the course of study
I wanted. I attended elementary and high school at the Tennessee School for
the Blind in Nashville, graduating in 1945. One day in the spring of my
senior year, a state rehabilitation counselor came to talk to me about what
I wanted to do and be.

I remember it well. We sat in what was called the parlor-a room,
incidentally, which deserved the name. The School was housed in an old
southern mansion, and the parlor, which was used as a general reception
area, was the very essence of elegance.

The counselor and I sat on the elaborately carved sofa, and he asked me to
tell him two or three areas of study that I might like to pursue when I went
to college. I told him that I didn't need to pick two or three, that I
wanted to be a lawyer.

He said that he wouldn't say that a blind person couldn't be a lawyer but
that he thought it wasn't realistic. I would not be able to see the faces of
the jury, he said, and would not be able to do the paperwork and the
travelling. I argued, but I was only a teenager-and I didn't have any money.

Ultimately he told me (with big words and gently, but with absolute
finality) that either I could go to college and study law and pay for it
myself, or I could go and prepare to be something else and be assisted by
the rehabilitation agency. Since I was a teenager and didn't have any money,
I went and was something else.

Of course I now know that he was wrong. I am personally acquainted with
hundreds of successfully practicing blind lawyers, and most of them are not
noticeably more competent than I am. But I would not want to create the
wrong impression. This man was not trying to do me harm. Quite the contrary.
He truly believed that what he was doing was in my best interest. He was
trying to help me. He was acting in the spirit of the times and doing the
best he knew.

Today it wouldn't happen that way. Many things have made the difference, but
principal among them is the National Federation of the Blind. Established in
1940 by a handful of blind men and women from seven states, the Federation
has conducted a never-ending campaign to educate the public and stimulate
the blind. I joined the organization in 1949, and it changed my life.

Today the Federation is the strongest and most constructive force in the
affairs of the blind of this country, but its work is by no means finished.
The job that still has to be done is not so much a matter of legislation or
government assistance as of handling the interactions of daily life. We have
come a long way in public acceptance, but sometimes the attitudes of sixty
years ago are still with us.

Let me illustrate by what at first may seem to be trivial examples. (Again,
some of you are familiar with the details surrounding the story I am about
to tell, so you can judge whether it meets our test of suitability for the
Kernel Books.) Over fifty years ago, when I was a boy on the farm in
Tennessee, I often found time heavy on my hands during the summer months
when I was not in school. To relieve the tedium, I would sometimes ride with
a truck driver, who collected milk from the local farmers to take to a
nearby cheese factory.

The days were hot, and when we could afford it, we sometimes bought a bottle
of Coca-Cola. (Incidentally, it cost five cents.) I didn't have much money,
but now and again I had a little, and I wanted to pay my share. One day I
said to the driver (a young fellow about twenty), "I'll buy a Coke for each
of us."

"Okay," he said, "stay here. I'll go in and get it."

"No," I said. "I'll go with you."

He was obviously uncomfortable and didn't want me to do it. Finally he said,
"I can't do that. How would it look if people saw a blind person buying me a
Coke?"

I was a teenager, not yet accustomed to the ways of diplomacy. So I told him
in blunt terms that either I would buy the Coke publicly or I wouldn't buy
it at all. After greed and pride had fought their battle, he decided not to
have it, and we drove on--after which I was not welcome in the truck.

But that was more than fifty years ago. It couldn't happen today. Or could
it? Well, let me tell you about an incident that occurred less than six
months ago. My wife and I were entering a restaurant-an upscale, classy
place with plenty of glitter and lots of manners.

It so fell out that another couple and we reached the door almost
simultaneously. I happened to be positioned so that it was natural for me to
open the door and hold it while the other couple entered, but the man was
obviously ill at ease. He insisted that he hold the door and that my wife
and I go first. Since I already had my hand on the door and was holding it
open and since I was not in the mood to be treated like a child or an
inferior, I dug in my mental heels and stayed put. It was all done on both
sides with great politeness and courtly manners, but it was done. As I
continued to hold the door, the other couple preceded us into the
restaurant. But the man was obviously uncomfortable, showing by his comments
and demeanor that he felt it was inappropriate for a blind person to hold a
door for him and behave like an equal.

Trivial? Not related to the daily lives and economic problems of the blind?
Not a factor in determining whether blind people can hold jobs or make
money? Don't you believe it! These incidents (the one fifty years ago and
the one this year) typify and symbolize everything that we are working to
achieve.

But again I must emphasize that we are not talking about people who are
trying to cause us harm. We are talking about people who, almost without
exception, wish us well and want to be of help. Our job is not one of force
but of giving people facts.

And key to it all is the National Federation of the Blind-blind persons
coming together in local, state, and national meetings to encourage each
other and inform the public. Sometimes we are tempted to believe that our
progress is slow, but in reality it has been amazingly rapid. We have made
more advances during the past sixty years than in all previously recorded
history. And there are better days ahead.

It is true that the smells, sounds, touch, and taste of today are not what
they were sixty years ago-but it is equally true that, despite occasional
nostalgia, we wouldn't want them to be. We wouldn't because today is
better-and not just in physical things but also in the patterns of
opportunity and possibility. I say this despite all of the problems that
face our country and our society. We who are blind look to the future with
hope, and those who are sighted are helping us make that hope a reality.

That is my article for the first of this year's Kernel Books. Here are the
introduction and the article for the second:

Wall-To-Wall Thanksgiving

Editor's Introduction

Most American holidays have a double significance-what they are and what
they imply. New Year's Day, for instance, means just that, the beginning of
another year. But it also means reviewing the past, planning for the future,
and hoping to do better.

The Fourth of July commemorates the establishment of the nation. But over
the years it has picked up a whole host of other meanings-everything from
summer picnics and fireworks to how we should live and the current state of
American values.

And then there is Thanksgiving-and also the present Kernel Book, the
thirteenth in the series. When we started publishing the Kernel Books almost
seven years ago, we didn't know how successful they would be, but our goal
was to reach as many people as possible with true-life first-person stories
told by blind persons themselves-how we raise children, hunt jobs, engage in
courtship, get an education, go to church, cook a meal, meet friends, and do
all of the other things that make up daily living.

And we wanted to do it in such a way that the average member of the sighted
public would read and be interested. The results have been better than we
could possibly have hoped. More than three million of the Kernel Books are
now in circulation, and I rarely travel anywhere in the country without
being approached by somebody who has read them and wants to talk about them
or ask questions.

As to the present volume, Wall-to-Wall Thanksgiving, it is much like what
has gone before. It tells about blind people as they live and work.

What does a blind boy do to earn summer spending money, and what do his
sighted parents expect of him? What of the Viet Nam veteran who loses his
sight in the war and comes home to build a new life? And what about the
self-conscious youngster and young man with a little sight, who is ashamed
of blindness and yet has to live with it?

What of the small details that come together to make the days that form the
years-learning to ride a bicycle, cook a steak, read a book, get a job? This
is what Wall-to-Wall Thanksgiving is about. I know the people who appear in
its pages. They are friends of mine. Some have been my students. All of them
are fellow participants in the work of the National Federation of the Blind.

If you wonder why so many of us give our time and effort to the Federation,
it is because the Federation has played such an important part in making
life better for us. In fact, the National Federation of the Blind has done
more than any other single thing to improve the quality of life for blind
persons in the twentieth century. It is blind persons coming together to
help each other and do for themselves. That doesn't mean that we don't want
or need help from our sighted friends and associates, for we do. But it does
mean that we think we should try to help ourselves before we ask others for
assistance. And we should also give as well as take. All of this is what the
National Federation of the Blind stands for and means.

I have edited the Kernel Books from the beginning, and I have contributed a
story to each of them. My present offering deals with help I have received
from sighted people. Sometimes my reactions have been appropriate and
mature; sometimes not. As you read, you will see that my views have changed
as I have grown older. Perhaps my article, "Don't Throw the Nickel," sums it
up.

As to the title of this thirteenth volume in the Kernel Book series,
Wall-to-Wall Thanksgiving, it is taken from the story of the same name by
Barbara Pierce. But like the various holidays, it has more than a single
meaning. With all of the difficulties we have had and with all of the
problems we still face, we who are blind have more reason for thanksgiving
now than ever before in history.

Unlike many in today's society, we do not think of ourselves as victims. We
feel that our future is bright with promise. That is so because we intend to
work to make it that way, and because more and more sighted people are
joining our cause and helping us.

I hope you will enjoy this book and that it will give you worthwhile
information.

Kenneth Jernigan
Baltimore, Maryland, 1997

That is the introduction. Now for the article. As I have already said, it is
called "Don't Throw the Nickel."

When is it appropriate for a blind person to accept help from a sighted
person, and when is it not? If the offer is rejected, how can it be done
without causing embarrassment or hurt feelings? Since most sighted people
are well-disposed toward the blind, these are very real questions-questions
that I as a blind person have faced all of my life. As you might imagine, my
answers have changed as I have grown older and gained experience.

When I was a teenager, filled with the typical self-consciousness of
adolescence, I frequently rode city buses. This was in Nashville. The school
for the blind, where I was a student, was located on the edge of the city,
and I liked to go downtown. Incidentally, in those days a bus ride cost a
nickel, as did a lot of other things-a hamburger, a Coca-Cola, an order of
French fries, a full-size candy bar, a double-dip of ice cream, and much
else.

One day I was standing on the corner waiting for a bus when an elderly woman
approached me and said, "Here, son, I'll help you." She then put a nickel
into my hand.

I could tell that she was elderly because of her voice. There was quite a
crowd at the bus stop, and I felt acute embarrassment. I tried to give the
nickel back, but she moved out of my way and kept saying, "No, that's all
right."

Everybody stopped talking, and my frustration mounted. Each time I stepped
toward her to try to give back the nickel, she moved out of the way. It must
have been quite a spectacle, me with my hand extended holding the nickel,
and the woman weaving and dodging to avoid me. Finally, in absolute
exasperation, I threw the nickel as far as I could down the street.

That was over fifty years ago, but the memory is still clear. Once the woman
had placed the nickel in my hand, there was really no way I could have given
it back. If I had simply and quietly accepted it and thanked her, very
little notice would have been taken. As it was, I created quite a show. The
elderly woman, who was only trying to help me, was undoubtedly embarrassed,
and I did little to improve the image of blindness. Instead I did the exact
opposite.

Ten years later, when I was in my twenties, I was teaching at the California
training center for the blind in the San Francisco Bay area. One of my
principal duties was to help newly blind persons learn how to deal maturely
with loss of sight and the attitudes of the public about blindness.

Late one afternoon, after a particularly hard day, I was leaving the Center
to go home. When I came to the corner to cross the street, an elderly man
(he sounded as if he might be in his eighties) approached me and said, "I'll
help you across the street." "No, thanks," I said. "I can make it just
fine." I was polite but firm.

"I'll help you," he repeated, and took my arm. As I have already said, it
had been a hard day. I made no discourteous response, but I speeded up my
pace as we crossed the street.

Clearly the man could not keep up, and if I am to be honest, I knew that he
couldn't. He released my arm and said with a hurt tone, "I was only trying
to help."

When I got to the other side of the street, I came to a complete stop and
said to myself, "Are you really so insecure about your blindness that, even
if it has been a hard day, you can't afford to be kind to somebody who was
only trying to help you?"

As with the nickel-throwing incident, there was a lesson to be learned. I
should have accepted the man's offer of help and should have done it
graciously. We would both have profited, each feeling that he had done the
other a kindness. As it was, both of us experienced pain, even if only a
little and even if only temporarily.

By the time another ten years had passed, I was in my thirties and directing
programs for the blind in the state of Iowa. My job required me to do a
great deal of traveling, and one day when I was checking into a hotel, a
bellman carried my bag to my room. As he was leaving, I gave him a tip.

"Oh, no," he said, "I couldn't take a tip from you. I'm a Christian."

Unlike what I did in the other situations I have described, I did not refuse
or resist. I simply thanked him and let it go at that. Of course I might
have tried to get him to change his mind, but I didn't think it would be
productive. And besides I didn't feel so insecure or unsure of myself that I
needed to prove either to him or me that I was equal.

So far I have talked about help that has been courteously offered and
probably should have been accepted. But what about the other kind? Blind
people don't have a monopoly on rudeness or bad manners. Sighted people are
human, too.

I think of a time when I was standing on a street corner in Des Moines,
minding my own business and waiting for a friend. A big husky fellow with
the momentum of a freight train came along and scooped me up without ever
even pausing. "Come on, buddy," he said, as he grabbed my arm, "I'll help
you across the street."

As it so happened, I didn't want to cross that street. I was going in
another direction. But he didn't ask. And he wouldn't listen when I tried to
tell him. He just kept walking and dragging me with him.

In the circumstances I planted my feet and resisted-and I should have. All
of us, whether blind or sighted, owe courtesy and consideration to each
other, but in this case I was being treated like a none too intelligent
child. No, worse than that-for children are rarely manhandled in public.

Not long ago I entered an elevator, and a man standing next to me reached
out and placed his hand on my arm, between me and the elevator door, in a
protective manner. He probably felt that I might lean into the door as it
was closing or that I might have difficulty when the door opened. It was a
sheltering gesture, totally inappropriate but meant to be helpful. He would
have been shocked at the thought of behaving that way toward a sighted adult
passenger, but in my case he saw no impropriety.

When the door opened, he restrained me with his hand and said, "Wait. You
can't go yet." Since I was standing immediately next to the door and since
there was no traffic outside, it is hard to know why he felt I should wait.
Maybe he thought I should take a moment to get my bearings, or maybe it was
simply more of the protectiveness. Who knows?

He treated me very much as he would have treated a small child. How should I
have reacted? It all depends on how insistent and how obtrusive he was.
There is something to be said for restraint and not hurting other people's
feelings, but there is also something to be said for recognizing when enough
is enough.

In what I am about to say next, I am not just talking about persons who are
totally blind but also about those who now see so poorly that they cannot
function the way a sighted person normally does--persons who may be losing
sight and who may be having trouble accepting it. I am also speaking to
relatives.

As I have indicated, most blind people appreciate help when it is offered.
When a blind person is walking through a crowd or down the street with
somebody else and trying to carry on a conversation, it is easier to take
the other person's arm. This is true even if the blind person is quite
capable of traveling alone.

All of us like to do things for ourselves, but there are times when refusing
to take an arm that is offered constitutes the very opposite of independence
for a blind person. If, for instance, a blind person is walking with a
sighted person through a crowded restaurant, the sensible thing to do is to
take the sighted person's arm and go to the table without fuss or bother.

As you can tell, my views about independence and help from others have
changed over the years. Probably the single most important factor in helping
me come to my present notions has been the National Federation of the Blind.
Having chapters in every state and almost every community of any size, the
Federation is the nation's oldest and largest organization of blind persons.

As it is with me, so it is with thousands of other blind people throughout
the country. We work together to help each other and ourselves. We give
assistance to parents of blind children, to blind college students, to the
newly blind, to the senior blind, and to blind persons who are trying to
find employment. Above all, the Federation teaches a new way of thought
about blindness. We want to take the mystery out of blindness. Mostly we who
are blind are very much like you. 

This is the message of the National Federation of the Blind, and it has made
a great difference in my life. If I had to sum up my personal philosophy in
a single sentence, it would probably be this: Do all you can to help
yourself before you call on somebody else; try to make life better for those
around you; and don't throw nickels.

There you have excerpts from the two Kernel Books for 1997. I believe our
efforts at self-improvement and public education will be advanced by these
books and that we will go the rest of the way to full participation and
first-class status in society. While I am talking about the future, let me
say something else. I never come into one of our convention sessions without
feeling a lift of spirit and a surge of joy, for I know to the depths of my
being that our shared bond of love and trust will never change, and that
because of it we will be unswervable in our determination and unstoppable in
our progress.

Through our public service announcements on radio and television, through
newspaper articles and personal contacts, through gatherings like this,
through our mail programs, through our publications, through public speaking
engagements, through meetings with government officials and corporate
leaders, and especially through our Kernel Books, we are telling our
story-and we are doing it in our own way and with our own voice. The day
after civil rights is fast approaching, and we will meet it as we have met
every other challenge we have ever faced-joyously, actively, and
triumphantly. My brothers and my sisters, we are truly changing what it
means to be blind-and the Kernel Books are helping us do it.

 

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