murderball

I saw "Murderball" last night with the Geeze and his youngest. Happily, the theater wasn't empty, although it wasn't packed either.

It was great to see the athletes portrayed as people first - with personality quirks, goals and desires - and secondarily as quads. One of my favorite quotes is from one of Zupan's classmates at their 10 year reunion, "He was an asshole before the accident, so you can't attribute it to being in a wheelchair." For a great review check out Mark E. Smith's at wheelchairjunkie.

Today, talking with other women at a film seminar, I was happy to hear that the movie had successfully created a connection to the lives of the characters - a connection that they can now extend to other people in wheelchairs. One woman said that she will never look at a person in a wheelchair in the same way again; that she thought she had always had an open mind, but without realizing it had been carrying around a variety of misperceptions. If it weren't for the explicit language, I wonder about the effect of showing it in high schools and in "diversity training" seminars.

A few beefs:

• As we discussed at dinner afterwards, for a sports movie, it didn't say much about strategy, technique, or rules.
  
• I was surprised that one of the Team USA members said, "This isn't the Special Olympics" then made a derogatory remark about "retards." Which highlights the separation between the various disability communities and reinforces the notion that if there was some cause that all the communities could rally around, they would be quite a force for change.

As the Geeze said last night, "We're all disabled." Yes, we each have our own challenges, issues, roadblocks that we face daily. I tried to reinforce this idea with the two other filmmakers at today's seminar: one will be telling the story of a paraplegic skiier the other an autistic researcher. Hopefully, they'll tell the stories as people first.

too late to die young

The Geeze has been telling me for over a year to read Harriet McBryde Johnson's work, so I finally ordered "too late to die young" from my wish list and can't believe I waited so long. Each chapter is a short, autobiographical tale starting from 3 years old through 40. Harriet gives us glimpses of life as a child, a student, a lawyer, an activist, a sister, a traveler, and a politician. I found it hard to put down not because I wanted to know "what happened next, " but because she is so open and honest, it was like getting to know a new friend.

One of my favorite stories is her trip to Cuba in 1997. She writes:

We get to the open-air market near the cathedral... The street has been blocked and my chair won't fit. The sidewalk has a very high curb; right on the corner a large chunk of cement is gone. I'm about to tell the others to go in without me, when a man pops up and helps them haul me up in the air and over the barricade. We thank him and he shrugs. It's no big deal.

Throughout the day people help, without making it a big deal. It's the old socialist formula, "From each according to ability, to each according to need," played out one to one. It's hard to pin down, but I get the feeling that being a crip is no big deal here. On a family trip to Mexico, people were afraid to look at me... In Paris, cabs wouldn't stop. Even in Charleston, where I am so much at home, people tend to address my able-bodied companions. In Havana, I'm a person.

In my travels, I have only seen this type of effort from co-workers and colleagues. As soon as we step out of the meeting rooms and conference halls into our host city, no matter where it is, there is inevitably a barrier. Sometimes we can find ways around them, but that way is often longer, slower, or more expensive and with little help from the locals.

What will it take for people to be more aware? Less afraid? For there to be less barriers to work around? William asks, "When?" and says the "What" is connection. So, I'm reading books, sites, and writing my second draft of the script.

contrast

I spent each morning this last week teaching students to evaluate Web sites for accessibility. It was part of the University of Washington's DO-IT program - created over a decade ago to give high school students with disabilities information, support, and training for transitioning to college and then onto careers. Students enter the program as high school students (Phase I) and learn to advocate for themselves in the classroom. They meet UW professors, practice telling about their abilities and the needs they have in the classroom, and cover a variety of other skills and topics over the two week "camp" at University of Washington. The following year, as Phase II scholars, they write resumes, learn about interviewing for jobs through mock interviews, learn a variety of other skills (such as basic Web page creation), and attend workshops like mine. Phase III scholars complete an internship. Throughout the year, the current students keep in touch with previous students and mentors through email and a variety of other events.

As Sheryl Burghstahler said during the closing ceremony, "We created a program with an entrance, but no exit." After their time in the program as high school students, they are encouraged to stay involved to teach students who will follow in their footsteps (or wheelchair treads). We met one woman who went through the program 13 years ago who today is a Web accessibility specialist and remains involved in the DO-IT program.

Since I work from home, interacting with anyone face-to-face is rewarding, but this week was particularly special. A good friend and co-worker flew here from across the country to help with the workshop as well as discuss work. We made four new friends who I hope are able to accomplish their dreams. They are all capable, I hope they are not discouraged by society or ignorant people. I know many children are discouraged from reaching their dreams, but there is still enough discrimination against people with disabilities that the kids we worked with this week may have some extra fighting to do. But, with all they have learned through DO-IT and through the support system it offers, their chances look good.

In contrast, consider this horrifying story from Georgia (the country south of Russia on the Black Sea not the southern U.S. state).

Kaspi is home to 100 children. Most have been rejected by their families and dumped here.

In Georgia disability carries a serious social stigma. The state's only way of dealing with abandoned children has been to shut them away, out of sight.

The children get little love and no special therapy. Deprived of stimulation and treatment their disabilities grow more severe.

As you walk down a long, dingy corridor you can hear crying and moaning.

Occasionally there is a piercing scream.

Push open any door and, in each grimy room, you will find a small group of children, a single electric bulb, a few battered, old pieces of furniture, and a wood stove for heating.

Thankfully, UNICEF is working to improve life for children with disabilities in Georgia, but not only must they educate parents about caring for children with disabilities, they must address a host of social and economic issues. Help them out.

Although what I experienced this last week is nothing like what is happening in Georgia, it wasn't that long ago that many of the students who impressed me with their wit and dreams would have been wasting away in one of those grimy rooms. Even in countries that have acknowledged disability rights, there is much for us to do. I've just read Harriet McBryde Johnson's, "too late to die young." More on that soon.