Thick as a Brick

Posted by John B. Kelly
(Local access discussion begins in paragraph 8 with bolded text)

If it is a mark of maturity to be able to listen respectfully to differing points of view and respond with sensitivity and wisdom, such mental flexibility becomes rarer the more valued interests feel threatened. So it is a stark political reality that when those views come from a group of people long marginalized and disrespected, they are typically disregarded.

For example, no new sports team at the college or professional level would now be named after Native Americans, because this group has made it clear that such monikers as "Redskins" or "Fighting Illini" are offensive. But few colleges or sports teams have changed their names, and those that have tried have run into intense opposition from alumni and fans, who easily rationalize their intransigence by insisting that it is Native Americans who need to adjust to the harmlessness of the names.

The latest example regards the life of Terri Schiavo, now at five days on the starve-o-meter. She is above all a disabled woman who cannot speak for herself, yet her membership in an oppressed group -- people with disabilities -- has been little noted. We have rather heard almost exclusively from able-bodied people, and the only interest that we have heard relating to Terri herself is what she "would have wanted" when she was able-bodied. Michael Schiavo testified in 2000 that Terri had said she would "not want to live like that," that is be hooked up to tubes or machines. This testimony was contradicted by Terri's friends and family, but the judge ruled for Michael and authorized the removal of her feeding tube.

That able-bodied statement of horror in the face of disability has dominated this case, just as it has dominated how able-bodied people have treated disabled people for the last 120 years. Able-bodied people say that they would rather die than live with all sorts of limitations, from blindness to paralysis, and yet we who have these conditions typically value our lives just as highly as anyone.

Why don't we get to speak? Because we can say nothing that able-bodied people want to hear, unless we are asking to be killed like the main characters in those recent supposed masterpieces "Million Dollar Baby" and "The Sea Inside." Michael Schiavo, as the guardian of the once-existing able-bodied Terri, maintains that she is asking for the same thing.

But we people with disabilities are living proof that preferences change. We are no longer able-bodied people fearing disability, but are disabled people with preferences and desires that emerge out of the context we live in.

But what about Terri, you might ask. She is different, she's brain-dead, you say. But even if we were, against a lot of conflicting evidence, to grant everything the starve-Terri side is saying (she would not want to live like that, and she is brain-dead), we know that preferences change with circumstances. Would Terri really want to destroy her family by having her body killed in such a situation, or would she be willing to have her body nursed and doted on by a loving family that continues to find meaning in her existence, however compromised?

I know that if I were brain-dead, by definition I would no longer be present in my body, and if my family really wanted to keep me alive -- if it meant the world to them, I would be glad to have my body provide such a wonderful benefit. After all, if people are willing to donate their bodies to science, the least they could do would be to donate it towards their own family. What we have here is a fetishization of able-bodied horror overwhelming every other interest at stake. The judge in this case has decided, and other judges have concurred, that the supposed interest of a once-able Terri (now supposedly a vegetable) should carry more weight than the real actual interest of a still living family. Isn't there something bizarre about this?

THIS brings me to my subject of the day, brick sidewalks. If you are mobility-impaired and use a wheelchair (manual or power) , ride a scooter, or walk with a cane, it is almost certain that you hate brick sidewalks. If you have a visual impairment and use a cane for navigation, you hate brick sidewalks. And you probably hate brick sidewalks if you are at all unsure on your feet (as is much of the elderly population) or like to walk in high heels.

Why is it then that brick sidewalks continue to be installed throughout Boston, which in typical hub-of-the-universe arrogance , bills itself as the most walkable city in the country? Why after years of advocacy by groups like WalkBoston, Adaptive Environments, and our own little NAG , does the city put unbearably uneven brick right next to the largest concentration of elderly and disabled people in the state? Because it can, of course, because it can.

Huntington Avenue, which runs sort of East-West past some major cultural institutions like Symphony Hall and the Museum of Fine Arts, and cuts through the middle of Northeastern University, Wentworth College, and the New England Conservatory of Music, has long had a sort of gritty, urban feel to it. Functional concrete sidewalks carried old-time residents, students, tourists, and beggars alike.

Enter an alliance between the Fenway Alliance, which represents the cultural and educational institutions, and the city of Boston. Working together, they seized upon the opportunity generated by the mandated improvement of the old Huntington Avenue Green "E" line to bring it into compliance with the Americans with Disabilities Act.

The Fenway Alliance wanted a new, "beautified" Huntington Avenue (now known as "Avenue of the Arts"), which to them meant old-time brick sidewalks with prominent trees. The city allowed member institutions to pay for the installation of more expensive brick to have the desired look.

As Peter Scarpignato of the Boston Department of Public Works told the Northeastern News, "It's going to be a beautiful renovation and something that we'll all be very proud of." Without irony, he said that "The main goals of this program are to improve public safety issues."

Now the city knows that brick sidewalks are a hardship on all sorts of people, but it went ahead anyway. It met its legal obligations by holding hearings, but somehow never managed to hear what the people in Symphony Towers -- those huge buildings with all the disabled and elderly people -- had to say.

In September, 2003, NAG and the Boston Center for Independent Living organized a protest on Huntington Avenue, which was well covered in the media. We argued, in essence, that the aesthetic preferences of a few powerful people should never come at the expense of other people's physical safety.

The city ignored our complaints and continued installing the sidewalks. City councilor Michael Ross responded to our concerns by convening a City Council hearing on brick sidewalks, where story after story of bloodied faces and sickened bodies failed to move either of the Department of Public Works or the City Council.

Kelly Brilliant, Executive Director of the Fenway Alliance, who had met with us earlier and assured us that she was all for full access, came to the hearing and encouraged the council not to pick on this district when Harvard and Boston University were also laying down bricks.

Now she has mailed out a letter accompanying an appeal for money to the alliance membership:

Here at The Fenway Alliance, we are proud of our track record of tackling seemingly intractable urban issues—blight, town/gown relations, authentic community access to arts and culture, safety, protection of limited green spaces, and pedestrian friendliness and walk-ability.

Notice how "blight" is the first issue that she takes credit for. "Blight" of course, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder. Just as people with disabilities have long been considered a blight upon the body politic , so as the only kind of sidewalk -- concrete -- that ensures our physical safety. By "pedestrian friendliness and walk-ability," she actively pretends that the hundreds of people with disabilities who live in the neighborhood don't even exist.

The Fenway Alliance, she says, wants to create an "urban space that is vibrant, safe, and inviting to all." And now she really begins to pile it on.

We place people—the citizens who live, work, and play here—at the very top of our agenda, before design, development, and implementation. Through forging unique partnerships and creating real working collaborations, the Alliance moves mountains: the reconstruction and beautification of Huntington Avenue/Avenue of the Arts...

This is what the disability rights movement is up against all across the country. More to come.