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DeafBlindness, Disability Community Leaders, Disability history

What Does Helen Keller’s Legacy Mean to the Organized Blind Movement and the World Beyond? [Repost]

Many of us saw the Miracle Worker movie as children. We learned about a little girl, Helen Keller, born in the late 1800’s. According to the familiar story, Helen Keller became deafblind and was a frustrated, defiant child, until a hero named Annie Sullivan transformed her life with the gift of communication.

Rarely, though, do we hear about Helen’s life and work after the childhood “miracle” bestowed upon her by Ms. Sullivan. Nor do we often think of Helen Keller as a change agent in her own right. The following article provides some glimpses into Helen Keller’s adult life and work, and some speculations on how she might have fit into modern-day disability activism.
What Does Helen Keller’s Legacy Mean to the Organized Blind Movement and the World Beyond?

ableism

Why Do We Fear the Blind? [Repost]

“I do not intend to suggest there is something wonderful about blindness. There is only something wonderful about human resilience, adaptability and daring. The blind are no more or less otherworldly, stupid, evil, gloomy, pitiable or deceitful than the rest of us. It is only our ignorance that has cloaked them in these ridiculous garments.”

In this timeless opinion piece, Rosemary Mahoney reflects on cross-cultural misconceptions about blindness, and considers their causes. Some of this is undoubtedly applicable to other disabilities too. While ableism is far more complex than simple ignorance, Mahoney’s reflections shed light on some of the cognitive gaps that give rise to ableism. It is also interesting that her experience of blindness simulation inspired a deeper understanding of blindness. This is probably because, unlike most blindness simulations, the one in which Mahoney participated featured blind people serving as guides and teachers.
Why Do We Fear the Blind?

Autism, Past, Present, and Future, Solidarity, The coming generation

On Being a Disabled Introvert and the Follies of Social Skills Training

In my earliest childhood memory, I am standing in a room that is not in my home. I remember hearing the words “San Diego,” one of my parents handing me a piece of banana and then walking away. I was likely younger than 2 at this point. I remember the words “San Diego,” the taste of the banana, but most of all, what I remember was the sense of peace I felt standing alone for just a moment, with nobody talking to me, touching me, or trying to engage my attention. My parent was near, but I was alone in my little space, and it felt glorious.

Several of my favorite other early-childhood memories involve the joy and peace I felt spending hours in my bedroom listening to music, lying quietly with my thoughts, and when I got old enough, reading. I am told that in my toddlerhood, when I heard the doorbell ring or discovered that someone was visiting our home, I would head off to the quiet of my bedroom. This behavior deeply concerned my teachers at the local blindness agency where I received early intervention services. They were worried about my socioemotional development. But in relaying this story, my dad-a smart, funny, loving man who just happens to be an introvert-told me he understood

When nondisabled children prefer quiet activities or have quirky interests, they might be considered a little odd or unusual, and adults might make a few attempts to encourage them to be more social, but usually it’s accepted that this is part of who they are. In contrast, when disabled children display any kind of social behavior that deviates from the developmental charts, alarm bells sound, and often an entire team of adults swoops in to try to save these children from social isolation. As my fellow blind blogger, Meagan Howell, writes (full post is linked at the end):

…my introversion seemed to be a source of ongoing anxiety for the adults in my life. Daycare workers, teachers, consultants, and all manner of others concerned themselves with my social development, no doubt worried that a disabled child left to her own devices would morph into a stunted mess. Their fears weren’t entirely unfounded, and my isolation did facilitate certain quirks it took me a bit too long to eliminate, but my intelligence, contentment, and overall growth didn’t feel impeded by my apparently-tragic lack of friends. At least, that’s how I tend to view it. Frequently labeled antisocial and stubborn, I noticed that my personal preferences were considered partially or wholly irrelevant. This is true for many children, I think, especially when they grow up surrounded by people who fear they’ll turn out wrong, somehow. I don’t know that any adult stopped to consider that maybe, just maybe, Meagan was at peace with not having many friends, and that she’d make them when she was ready.

Most disabilities are perceived as social liabilities, and this perception has a kernel of truth-disabled people of all ages are more likely to encounter abuse, bullying, and exclusion than their nondisabled peers. In addition, certain disabilities can change the ways in which children develop social skills. For example, children with sensory disabilities may not be able to directly observe all aspects of other people’s social behavior. And, one common feature of autism (according to autistic self-advocates) is “difficulties in understanding or expressing typical social interaction.”

While it is true that disabilities can alter the process of social development, prevailing beliefs about how to intervene are often based on problematic assumptions. Social “deficits” are often expected in disabled children, and the popular solution for these “deficits” involves top-down instruction from nondisabled educators. “Social skills training” is considered a part of the “Expanded Core Curriculum” in instruction of blind children, and is popularized in the education of autistic children as well. All too often, well-intentioned social skills programs for disabled children continue to perpetuate long-lived power imbalances and societal prejudices. For example, when rooted in a culture that values extroversion, social skills programs may ignore and devalue the needs of introverts like myself and Meagan. More insidious, “social skills training” is often code for “compliance training,” where the hidden curriculum involves teaching a disabled child to comply with nondisabled norms in order to be accepted. Rather than instilling competence, confidence and well-being, inherently compliance-based instructional approaches can instead instill shame, insecurity, or self-loathing, as children may feel compelled to censor a part of themselves in order to be accepted by others.

So then, is there a better way?

In parent support groups, parents of disabled children sometimes voice concerns about their kids preferring to interact only with adults, or to play by themselves for hours with a single object, instead of interacting with their peers. I tell these parents that traditional children’s play activities are often rife with accessibility barriers. Solitary activities, that a child invents and directs, are fully accessible by design. I remind parents that adult interaction partners tend to be more predictable and more accommodating of access needs than other young children. Thus, a disabled child’s “socially inappropriate” behaviors may be highly adaptive. Furthermore, for autistic people (of all ages), “special interests” may serve as a primal source of joy. It is fascinating that the same deep, passionate focus derided in the autism intervention world as “perseverative” or “obsessive” is rewarded in the academic world with grants and tenure. As Julia Bascom, executive director of the Autistic Self-Advocacy Network, writes (full post is linked at the end):

This is about the obsessive joy of autism. So I guess, if I’m trying to explain what an obsession (and, by necessity, obsessive joy) means to me as an autistic person, I can bring it back to the tired old image of a little professor cornering an unsuspecting passerby and lecturing them for half an hour. All too often this encounter is viewed through the terrified eyes of the unwillingly captive audience. I’d like to invite you to see through the eyes of the lecturer, who is not so much determined to force their knowledge into you as they are opened to a flood of joy which they cannot contain.

There are several things we can do to support disabled children’s social development. We can begin by understanding that social connection means something different to every individual, and instead of following a one-size-fits-all curriculum, we can try to understand and support a particular child’s social goals, knowing that these might change throughout the child’s life. We can follow the child’s lead in identifying playgroups and other natural friend-making opportunities based around their interests. We can work to ensure that play settings are fully accessible and that there is a choice of activities. We can introduce disabled children to a variety of role models, both disabled and not, who can demonstrate the social skills that really matter for healthy relationships: things like sharing, empathy, and trust. We can provide guidance beforehand, and feedback after, a challenging social situation. We can support the child’s natural social learning process so they can develop the connections that matter most to them, while accepting them for who they are.

As for me, my interest in relationships (both platonic and romantic) kicked up a few notches when I hit puberty. Today I am happily married, have a small group of great friends, have good relationships with my family, and feel comfortable teaching and leading others. What I learned about socialization didn’t come from blindness professionals or from a book. I did what the blindness professionals said I couldn’t do: I learned by observation. As a quiet person, I learned by listening to others interact, and adopting the social behaviors that fit me and my personality. At my core, I’m still an introvert, and I’m OK with that.

Advocacy, DeafBlindness, Guest post, Solidarity

I can’t hear the whispers? Breaking down the barriers of Deafblindness [Guest Post]

This week’s guest post comes from Marsha Drenth. Marsha is the manager of Pennsylvania’s DeafBlind Living Well Services program (DBLWS) through the Center for Independent Living of Central Pennsylvania (CILCP). Deafblindness has been Marsha’s passion since losing her vision in 2004 and beginning to lose her hearing in 2007. Now totally blind and profoundly hard-of-hearing, Marsha uses numerous methods of communication, including Tactual Signed English, Bluetooth-enabled hearing aids, and numerous other technologies to live independently. In addition to her fulltime job as a statewide program manager, Marsha is highly involved in the deafblind, hard of hearing and blind communities both in Pennsylvania and around the country.

In addition to serving and helping persons who have disabilities, Marsha is also a wife, a mother of three adult children, and a graduate of Temple University, where she earned her Social Work degree. She lives north of Philadelphia with her husband, Joseph, and her service animal. She is passionate about empowering persons who are deafblind, hard-of-hearing, deaf, blind and disabled to receive the services they need for engaging their culture, becoming productive members of society, interacting with their environments, and expressing their own voice to influence their future.

I can’t hear the whispers? Breaking down the barriers of Deafblindness.

First, you’re probably asking what Deafblindness is. And how does it apply to me? First the medical version, for the purposes of this article, according to the Helen Keller National Center, Deafblindness is any combined hearing and vision loss that impacts a person’s ability to communicate effectively. This is the short definition, as I could get much more technical but won’t for now. It means that a person has both a vision and hearing loss, and the combination of both causes difficulty in communication, independent living, orientation and mobility, social interactions, education, and obtaining employment. In most cases, there are two different communities in which a DeafBlind person could originate from; the blind community and the deaf/hard of hearing communities. In other cases, some persons obtain both a hearing and vision loss over time or suddenly for various reasons. DeafBlind persons have a wide variety of hearing and vision loss, communication methods for expressive and receptive language, education, orientation and mobility, support systems, involvement, experiences, and exposure. The combination of hearing loss and vision loss can happen at any point in a person’s life and effects all races, ethnic backgrounds, educational levels, gender, income level, and any disability. So now to why does this effect the greater disability community? As blind persons use their hearing to navigate and understand the world; not supersonic hearing, not hearing better than others, but using that hearing in the best way possible. For example, when walking down the street, blind persons are able to hear buildings, doorways, trees, people walking by and traffic. As blind people, we are taught to listen for traffic to make sure that it’s safe to cross the street. As blind persons, we use our hearing to locate other people and objects within our environment. These are just a few examples of how persons who are blind use their hearing in the best way possible. Unfortunately, this is where I think the blind community has ignored and denied the DeafBlind community up until now. Blind persons cannot imagine losing their hearing. They think the world will be over if they do lose their hearing. Many times people will say, that will never be me, my hearing will always be good. And a million other reasons for ignoring the fact that they could lose their hearing at any point in their life. How do I know all of this, because I was once one of those blind persons who said those things! I am now DeafBlind. Yes, it can happen to anyone, at anytime, anywhere, for no reason.

Here is my story, in 2007, after being blind for several years at this point, I had begun to become lost in the most familiar environments in which I frequented on a daily basis. An O&M instructor friend suggested that I have my hearing tested. So I made the appointment, telling myself that I was just having a lot of issues lately and nothing was wrong. So I am sitting in the chair getting my hearing tested, and the audiologist comes in and says, yes you have a slight hearing loss. Of course my first reaction was that there is no way, not me. It was true, and I was fitted for hearing aids. I didn’t wear the aids, because I didn’t like the way they made me hear, or fit into my ears, and the fact that I was in pure denial. After being stubborn and in denial, I did begin to notice that I could not hear voices in loud places and I could no longer hear for the openings of doorways. Fast forward a bit, in 2011, my hearing took a sharp decline, not being able to hear people in the same room speaking loudly, understanding when a person was sitting next to me, hearing traffic, and using Jaws on my computer. Finally with much negative emotions I took those hearing aids out and began to wear them; although I still hated the idea, the reason for wearing the aids, how they felt, and how sound was distorted. Through 2011 to 2013, I went from a mild hearing loss to profoundly deaf. In the spring of 2012, I enrolled as a student at Temple University to finish my degree as a social worker. In the fall semester of 2012 and the spring semester of 2013, dealing with a major hearing loss and attending classes at a major university became overwhelming. I could no longer function with hearing aids and listening devices which increased my anxiety and stress; fearing that one day I would not hear traffic for example in the busy streets of Philadelphia.

During the summer of 2013, I was at a cross roads, knowing that going back to school would be much of the same, but also realizing that I no longer had the skills to function. So I made the very difficult decision to take a Leave of Absence from my education and attend the Helen Keller National Center for deafblind adults and Youth. HKNC is very similar to other centers, where you learn independent living skills, technology, orientation and mobility, and job readiness skills. The two areas in which HKNC is different from other centers, is that HKNC offers communication skills, like learning ASL or writing skills. The Orientation and mobility is targeted directly at teaching skills for DeafBlind persons to be independent. HKNC is a center in which other DeafBlind people attend for the same training, forcing everyone there to face the reality of hearing and vision loss. Looking back, being away from home, family, church and life was not exactly what I wanted to do, but spending the 10 months there was by far the best possible situation that could have happened for me.

Once I completed my training at HKNC, I re-enrolled at the University for my senior year. This last year of my undergrad career was going to be challenging as I now needed to use sign language interpreters to help with communication, to use Communication Access Realtime Translation (CART), and a Support Service Provider (SSP). Now instead of listening to Jaws, I needed to use my braille display to read my textbooks. For both the fall and spring semester, I took 17 credit hours, with an additional 200 hour a semester internship. In May of 2015, I graduated with my bachelors of social work degree. I am now employed as the Program Manager for the Pennsylvania Deafblind Living Well Services Support Service Provider Program.

I have summarized my story of hearing loss, not to make myself sound inspiring but to help people understand how hearing loss can effect a person and the different barriers faced when hearing loss becomes a factor. I am now wearing the most powerful hearing aids on the market, but still struggle to hear speech and environmental sounds. I am one of the many deafblind persons who has one foot in two different communities, I belong to the blind community and the deaf community. For large meetings, I use a tactual English interpreter. For one-on-one interactions in a quiet environment I can use a Bluetooth microphone system that feeds directly into my hearing aids. To cross the street I use a street crossing card that asks the public for the assistance to tell me when its safe. When I am out alone needing to communicate with people, I use communication cards. I am at this point able to verbally express myself. I no longer talk on the phone because the telephone distorts the sound of a person’s voice too much. I now use non-auditory non-visual techniques to prepare and cook meals. I continue to enjoy listening to music, but unless I have heard the song before I can not hear the lyrics. As before I still enjoy community, social, organization, religious events with help from others.

So here is where I come to my topic in a roundabout way. Support Service Providers for persons who are deafblind. An SSP is the ears and eyes for a person who has a dual sensory loss. SSP’s help with human guiding, facilitating communication and providing environmental information. An SSP is absolutely not a personal care attendant, a care taker, or a nurse; SSP’s do not help with personal grooming, bathing, toileting, feeding, or hygiene needs. SSP’s work with adults who can self-determine with their own finances, and other personal matters. SSP’s are trained specifically to facilitate, not to do for the person, but instead to empower. SSps are not interpreters, and vice versa. Interpreters help bridge the language barrier and are used for legal, medical, financial and educational needs. Sometimes interpreters can also be trained as SSP’s, but not all SSP’s know sign language. I have used SSP’s for personal, professional and educational needs. For example, for social events I will employ an SSP to help with providing environmental information, navigating the surroundings, and facilitating communication. As a student in my senior year, I used an SSP for my one-on-one case management social work intake visits. In this case, an SSP would help with environmental information of our surroundings and of the customer’s non-verbal communication. In an educational setting, I have used an SSP for giving presentations, to provide me with the nonverbal and verbal communication of my audience. As a blind person, I would have never imagined needing or wanting to use an SSP. Now an SSP is absolutely vital to how I function in life.

Only about 30 states in the United States have SSP programs where the SSP’s are paid trained individuals. As you would imagine, the deafblind population is very small. Here is where I would like to ask for your help. What I am asking is several things. Acceptance; we are DeafBlind, there is a National Federation of the Blind DeafBlind division. We might do things differently than you, or as other blind persons, or even differently than other persons with disabilities; but we, deafblind persons do them in a way that works for us. Independence is in the eye of the beholder, we deafblind persons achieve independence as much or more than blind persons. Our independence is no less or more than others. We do not expect that you will understand what it’s like, but we do desire to be a part of the greater community and accepted within the fold. If you meet someone who is not like you, who might be lost, who might need help, that person could have a hearing loss, have a cognitive disability, mental illness, or numerous other disabilities. That person is not asking for a hand out, but the help or assistance as everyone needs from time to time. Deafblind persons are asking for the collaboration of everyone. When legislation, policies, restrictions effect the blind or deaf community, those same things will affect the DeafBlind community too. In other words, not only are you paving the way for the blind, but for the DeafBlind, or the Deaf, and the disability community as a whole. We are asking that you don’t forget to fight for us too, as I am sure we will fight for you when the same situation would come along. But further, when legislation, policies, regulations come along that are very specific to the DeafBlind community, do not bash, tear down, hinder the efforts to change even if you do not understand. It is this greater understanding that as a deafblind person I have gained from losing my hearing. No, I don’t understand what it means to be a person with other disabilities; but their fight is my fight. They understand the struggles, I understand the struggles, and we all should work together. There is power in numbers, so please walk aside me as a deafblind person, walk aside all people with disabilities for our right to be equal.

disability etiquette, disability's in the work place, From the Disability Wisdom Community

From the Disability Wisdom Community: Tips and Tricks for Inclusive Event Planning

This week, I’m sharing some crowdsourced insights from the Disability Wisdom Discussion Group
A group member, who is a university professor, is planning a semester as a “faculty in residence” where she will live on campus and help to oversee student programming. She asked the disabled group members to describe strategies for making events and programs accessible. Here is the feedback she received, which will benefit anyone planning an event:

One thing that comes to mind is putting a phrase such as “if you have any accessibility needs, please ddon’t hesitate to contact so and so.” on the event advertisements. Others may not agree with me, but I take it as a good sign because I feel that the event host is at least being mindful that there are folks who may have accessibility concerns. Of course it depends on the event, but if I see such a phrase I usually contact and ask if they can make handouts available in an accessible format, ask if they have audio description available, etc.
Make sure there are some quiet events that people who get sensory overload can attend. Movie nights where the movies aren’t too loud, for example.
Sensory input boxes/fidget boxes/little toy things are wonderful. Have them at the entrance of the classroom. Yeah the students are technically adults. But having quiet spikey ball things to mess with in class saves a ton of people, not just autistic people, a lot of headaches.
Steep ramps: If you notice a ramp is ridiculously steep, say something to someone who can do something about it. Likewise, if you see some rooms are only available if you can climb stairs, say something. This isn’t just for classrooms. If Joe is having a get together on floor two of his dorm building, but no one bothered installing elevators, Jane is automatically excluded if she’s on crutches or is in a wheelchair.
Tree branches. Guide dogs are supposed to notice face-level tree branches. Not all do. Canes definitely don’t. Being whacked in the face by a tree sucks. Tell maintenance to get on face-level tree branches that are covering pathways.
Quiet zones. Going with my first two points. Having quiet areas on campus other than libraries are really important. Having a room with beanbags, a sensory box, and a giant SSHHH over the door. Bring your own noise-cancelling headphones. It can be a study room, whatever, but only quiet voices.
And letting students and other faculty know that you’re there as a point person about accessibility needs is good. There should be a disabled student services department, but they only cover certain students with certain specific needs. Generalized things are often overlooked. “Oh we have two dozen kids that all need golf carts to get from point A to point B. Best keep those golf carts.” Never realizing that maybe they should make an easier route between those two points.
Accessibility to information, places, and programs is very important, but it should be balanced with high expectations for all people with disabilities. We all need to find ways to contribute and to challenge ourselves if we hope to acquire any influence in any setting, accessible or otherwise.
I like the suggestions thus far. I would also like to add that when students are in control of programming they often don’t consider even the little things in their activities that might exclude people with various disabilities. Writing things on a piece of paper and having people guess who said what is fun, but how would a blind person or someone who physically can’t write put down their answers independently; How would someone with dyslexia be able to read it, or a blind person again. Movies often don’t have both captions and audio description. some physical games might be hard for a blind person, someone with a mobility issue, or someone who gets overwhelmed by a lot of motion and noise to deal with. And sure people can partner up with others for some of this stuff, but then it’s awkward being the only group while everyone else is playing individually. Spaces and accommodations need to be in place for students to even come, and I like the idea of students taking the lead in planning, but their plans also have to consider accessibility, too.
Also, on an unrelated note, it might be a good idea to also put a note about allergies on flyers. SOMETHING like, if you need any accommodations due to a disability or food allergies, please contact insert person here. THAT way you avoid the awkward issue of having pizza and Joe can’t have dairy, and Sally has a severe gluten allergy.
In person event can be a lot for those who struggle with social anxiety or social skills. You may want to include events that involve interacting online, like a gaming night or some kind of online scavenger hunt. This may help with accessibility issues for other disabilities as well.
So My biggest point of advice I learned from an amazing disability studies professor is that there’s absolutely no such thing as fully accessible to all because disabled people have varying access needs i.e a blind person vs a deaf person vs someone with sensory difficulties. All of this to say that you can always think of hickups with events, but as long as some key things are hit on, you are generally okay. Also, a variation of loud vs quiet etc events could be a way to include people of varying access needs in different events. So I fully echo the absolutes of always hosting in a wheelchair accessible location because that doesn’t inhibit anyones access needs and can only be inclusive, and always adding on top of event pages that if people have access needs/accommodations not to hesitate to email/call. Another big thing to me is that advertising not just be done on bulletin boards, and that advertising happen electronically.
Pick a room that’s wheelchair accessible. Picking a room that has tiers instead of seats is not wheelchair accessible. If wheelchairs and other mobility devices are forced to the back of the room make sure they can hear. Do you allow note taking on a laptop? Some people may need to do this. Is an interpreter available if needed? Braille writers click. Can you tolerate it? Is your handouts screen reader accessible?