So many of us believe that once a civil rights law is enacted the battle has
been won and the struggle has ended. But enactment is merely the opening of
the legal door. Many of us thought that passage of the ADA would bring about
a significant change, a quick removal of physical and societal barriers. A
number of our members have complained to me that ADA has brought little
change in their lives. but what so many don't realize is that the ADA
provides a legal foundation for demanding our right to be treated equally.
It is up to us as an organization and as individuals as to whether we will
constructively make use of the ADA. Here's BEN MATTLIN's point of view:
An Act That Enabled Acceptance.
By BEN MATTLIN.
Ben Matlin is the author of 'Miracle Boy Grows Up: How the Disability
Rights Revolution Saved My Sanity.
VISIT me and you'll see, prominently displayed in my living room, my wedding
portrait. My wife looks radiant in a lacy white cloud, standing beside
tuxedo' d me in my motorized wheelchair. I'm not propped on a sofa or
lounger; my wheelchair is deliberately not cropped out of the photo. It's
literally part of the picture, as it's always been for us.
We were married almost exactly one year before passage of the Americans With
Disabilities Act, the 25th anniversary of which will be celebrated today,
July 26. I'm a lifelong wheelchair user because of a genetic condition
called spinal muscular atrophy; my wife is what's now called 'neurotypical,'
a fancy term for nondisabled. But on our wedding day, my disability -- and
my concomitant lack of basic civil-rights protections -- was far from our
minds.
Of course, the A.D.A. had nothing to do with marriage equality. What it did
do, the government noted, was mandate equal access in employment, public
accommodations and government programs for anyone who 'has a physical or
mental impairment that substantially limits one or more major life
activities' or 'a history or record of such an impairment' or 'is perceived
by others as having such an impairment. This meant public spaces like
stores, theaters and restaurants had to install ramps or electric lifts;
many doorways had to be widened; elevators revamped with Braille buttons;
and public restrooms altered.
Employers, too, had to make 'reasonable accommodations' for disabled
workers, such as allowing flex time or providing telephone headsets or
appropriate computer software. Before the A.D.A., only public schools and
other institutions that received federal funding faced similar requirements.
A few states -- notably, California -- had already established some
accessibility standards, but nothing as broad-based as the A.D.A.
Back then, I was only marginally aware that I could be -- or even had been
-- discriminated against. I tended to minimize my disability and its impact
on others. My wife and I were probably more concerned about the fact that I
was a New York urbanite and she a suburban Californian. We met on summer
break from college, talking endlessly during long warm-evening strolls,
trying to keep pace with each other though we moved by different means. Our
many differences, I think now, were part of the attraction. To me, her West
Coast free-spiritedness was exotic; to her, my determination must have
seemed like a force of nature. Also, she told me later, seeing the
no-nonsense way my family assisted me at home helped demystify my
limitations and needs. The novelty of our relationship felt like an asset,
not a liability.
Certainly, the longevity of our union also owes a great debt to honest
communication and creative problem solving. The wedding photo is a good
example. We put it up only after we grew tired of deliverymen and repairmen
and housecleaners asking if she was my sister, or my nurse. Some have even
called her a saint for staying with me. It makes us want to scream: 'No! The
disability didn't come as a tragic surprise. It was there from day one, a
strand in the very fabric of our lives together. The picture also comes in
handy if my wife isn't home and some clueless visitor addresses my attendant
instead of me, discounting my presence. I'll try to draw attention to the
photo, as a way of saying, 'Hey, I live here, and I have a life beyond these
wheels.
When I was in grade school, my parents fought to get me 'mainstreamed' into
regular classrooms rather than segregated in special education. (Full
inclusion, as it's now known, didn't become law until I was in eighth
grade.) When I started college, at Harvard, it was the first year
accessibility was required at universities and similar institutions, per the
Rehabilitation Act of 1973 (which took years to be fully implemented). One
dean, I painfully recall, quashed my request for roommates instead of the
isolation of a separate dorm room. He said he feared how my disability might
affect them. Forget about how this sequestration affected me. More shocking
still is how easily I accepted his judgment.
Accommodating the disabled did seem like an impossible imposition then.
Indeed, when the A.D.A. passed, one of the biggest fears was what it would
cost businesses, even though the law plainly states that accommodations
can't cause 'undue hardship' for other patrons or employees or the
employer's bottom line. (The Department of Labor found that modifications
for workers with disabilities averaged only $500 each.) Moreover, businesses
that make accessibility modifications can receive tax benefits -- a
deduction of up to $15,000 a year for removing barriers, as well as a tax
credit of up to $5,000 annually for small businesses.
People with disabilities also represent a huge potential market. The United
States Census counts nearly one in five Americans as disabled, and we spend
$17.3 billion a year on travel alone, according to the Open Doors
Organization, a Chicago-based nonprofit.
LOOKING back, perhaps the most unexpected achievement of the A.D.A. isn't
the wheelchair lifts on buses or the sign-language interpreters at political
conventions. It's that it gave people like me a sense of entitlement, of
belonging, of pride. The A.D.A. is about more than ramps and Braille; it's
about dispelling stereotypes, ensuring parity and fairness, creating
opportunities and opening up our society to the full spectrum of types and
needs. It's about accepting, even welcoming, a huge and often marginalized
segment of the population. Our two teenage daughters, both able-bodied, have
grown up in a different world. Recently, one came home from her high
school's Diversity Day incensed by a presentation about disabilities. 'It
was all about being kind to people who face difficulties, which is fine,'
she said, 'but there was nothing about respect or empowerment or equality!
Maybe I'll bring my wedding portrait to the next Diversity Day. Whether we
knew it or not at the time, our brand of mixed marriage sends a powerful
message.
"Life is either a daring adventure or nothing".
Helen Keller
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