Paul K. Longmore Institute on Disability - Section 504

“Save Changes”: Telling Stories of Disability Protest (via Nursing Clio blog)

Visitor — Wed, 05 Apr 2017 18:06:21 +0000

This is a cross-post from the Nursing Clio blog originally posted here.

By: Catherine Kudlick

At first, it was a simple case of “if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em,” as I worked with WikiEducation Foundation to teach a methods course in which students created disability history content. But the more I learned, the more it became clear that we were engaging in multiple forms of protest, especially once I began working on my own contribution.

My past warnings to students not to rely on content created by the crowd were perhaps a vestige of anxieties that had led authorities to suppress Wikipedia’s precursor, L’Encyclopédie in the decades leading up to the French Revolution. Its impresario, the Enlightenment thinker Denis Diderot, had already been imprisoned for challenging established knowledge.

Diderot would have been pleased by Wikipedia’s mission, “to bring about a world in which every single human being can freely share in the sum of all knowledge,” at the same time that he would recognize its flaws. Most editors are young white men who, consciously or unconsciously, ignore those on the margins. And Wikipedia’s “notability” requirement (“significant coverage in reliable sources that are independent of the subject”) inherently favors information from establishment sources. Such rules reinforce existing ideas about which topics merit coverage.

My class faced real challenges. First there’s a daunting set of Wikipedia codes and hierarchies. And I was surprised to discover that even a generation weaned on social media fretted about public feedback from strangers.

Then there was the focus on disability history. A field that began to coalesce around 2000, it seeks to expand thinking about a group that makes up nearly one fifth of the US population today. Unfortunately, a prevailing belief that disability is a static biological condition prevents most from understanding it as something shaped by society and culture much like race, gender, class, and sexual identity. At the beginning of my disability history courses, I tell students that they’re on the cutting edge of history, much like those a generation ago who learned about women’s history and the history of African Americans.

I told this class that they were making history by writing it.

Pointing out that history has a history, I invited them to consider how putting a group in context can combat prejudice and stigma. An entry that tells the story of your people on the world’s seventh most visited website can’t help but catapult you from being an individual struggling alone to being part of something far bigger. With belonging comes a sense of pride, a sense of having something to contribute.

Learning along with my class, I wrote an article on the longest nonviolent occupation of a federal building in US history, the “Section 504 protest” in April 1977. Through an exhibit called “Patient No More: People with Disabilities Securing Civil Rights,” I’d helped bring this little-known disability Stonewall to life. The successful month-long occupation by over one hundred disabled people and their allies would pave the way for the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA).

HEW employee Bruce Lee posted a sign, reading “504 is law now make it reality,” in his office supporting Section 504 during the protest. (Photograph by HolLynn D’Lil)

Four years before the protests, congressional staffers had slipped anti-discrimination language from the Civil Rights Act of 1964 into a vocational rehabilitation bill that was up for reauthorization. This countered views of “the disabled” as pitiful wards of charity. Rights included making public spaces accessible to people in wheelchairs and mainstream education open to qualified students with disabilities. This “Section 504” applied to nearly all public spaces, including government offices, universities, schools, hospitals, and transportation systems.

Disability activists understood 504 as their bill of rights that still needed one signature from the Secretary of the Department of Health, Education, and Welfare (HEW) in order to be put into effect. Worried about costs, officials from the Nixon, Ford, and the newly-elected Carter administrations had stalled. After four years of trying every legal channel, activists snapped. On April 5, 1977 people with disabilities took to the streets in cities with regional HEW offices. Almost everywhere protests were either cut off or fizzled.

In San Francisco things were different. With little warning, over 100 people streamed into the Federal Building and refused to leave for nearly a month.

504 protesters occupied the HEW offices at 50 United Nations Plaza, making them the headquarters of the “Section 504 Emergency Coalition.” (Photograph by HolLynn D’Lil)

The protests succeeded in part because of the Bay Area’s unique climate. Since the 1960s disabled people had been drawn to the rich mosaic of minorities who challenged the status quo: gay men and lesbians, students, artists, and practitioners of new religions, all that included people with disabilities. Decent weather made it easier to participate in antiwar protests, civil rights demonstrations, and the Free Speech Movement gathering momentum at UC Berkeley. In this electrifying environment disabled individuals came to think of themselves as people with rights, while putting them in touch with potential supporters.

The 504 occupation also succeeded because savvy organizers, including Kitty Cone, Judy Heumann, and others, had spent years cultivating relationships and building coalitions. In addition to galvanizing disabled people themselves, they had educated politicians. Mayor George Moscone helped with portable showers while Congressmen Phil Burton and George Miller had the 4th floor of the federal building declared a temporary “satellite office of congress,” a theatrical stunt that allowed them to hold a public hearing about the protesters’ concerns to garner media attention. City officials allowed hundreds of people to gather each day on Civic Center Plaza below to cheer on the occupiers.

The protest also enjoyed wide support from local community groups. In line with its popular food programs, the Black Panther Party brought in hot meals for all 100+ occupiers, including BPP members Brad Lomax and his attendant Chuck Jackson.

Protesters gathered in front of City Hall in support of the 504 occupiers. (Photograph by HolLynn D’Lil)

And the disabled people inside risked their jobs and even their lives to be there. Amidst office furniture, people from different races, social classes, and with a variety of disabilities and their allies created a makeshift society. Some were seasoned protesters while others had never slept away from home before. Spending so many hours together forged cross-disability coalitions rooted in true interdependence — such as when someone who couldn’t speak could dial a phone so that someone without use of her hands could make a call. Just like in any community, there was bickering and intrigue and romance, but here there was also a sense of purpose and a political awakening.

I teared up as I hit the “save changes” that would make this story public on Wikipedia for the first time, knowing a hard-fought victory was now part of electronic history and of course up for grabs.

But how permanent is it? Even before the November 8 election ushered in an era ever more hostile to minority rights, I sensed something like 504 would now be hard to pull off. Everyone is on guard, literally and figuratively, in a national climate of building walls rather than alliances.

I imagined my students hitting “save changes” buttons of their own. Future activism will likely be about occupying virtual spaces and other tactics we can’t yet imagine. History inspires us and the next generations to take heart that the seemingly most disenfranchised can — in the words of 504’s Kitty Cone — “wage a struggle at the highest levels of power and win.”

Tags:

activism

ADA

Catherine Kudlick

civil rights

Gazing into The Eye of Power

Visitor — Thu, 03 Dec 2015 20:54:23 +0000

By Michael Williams

Michael Williams poses in front of his photo from 1977 at the Patient No More exhibit.

I have been a frequent visitor to the Longmore Institute's Patient No More Exhibit, which opened in July at the Ed Roberts Campus in Berkeley. Every time I go, I marvel how well the exhibit tells the story of how the first piece of Federal disability rights legislation came about.

I played a small part in these events. With my KPFA radio press pass, I was able to move freely in and out of the sit-in at the San Francisco Federal Building while other protestors could not re-enter if they left the building. After weeks without any federal response, a contingent of San Francisco protestors, including myself, traveled to Washington, DC, to directly confront President Carter, Congress, and Health Education and Welfare Secretary Califano and demonstrate on a national stage. My strongest memory of the San Francisco 504 protest in Washington, DC is John King and me crashing Joe Califano's luncheon speech at the National Press Club.

Here's what happened when I got in to Secretary Joseph A. Califano's address at the National Press Club luncheon on April 27th, 1977. (Remember, I had a KPFA radio press pass.) I don't remember the hotel it was in, or the subject of JC's blathering; all I remember is John King, me, Evan White, and KGO cameraman Ray Weiss entering this fancy hotel, taking the elevator to the lower ballroom where we found ourselves surrounded by a sea of guys in suits wielding walkie talkies. I had a slight moment of panic when I thought, Well, if I didn't have an FBI record before, I certainly do now. John and I checked in at the press table, and to my amazement they let us enter the ballroom with no questions asked.

There didn't seem to be any protocol as to where people could sit, so John and I grabbed two seats at a front table right under the dais. We ate the cliché chicken luncheon meal; it tasted just as cliché luncheons found in novels do. The meal ended and Califano began his talk. As I said, I don't remember what he was talking about, but I do remember staring daggers at him all the way through his talk. When the talk was over and the floor was opened for Q&A, John King asked a question that to this day I don't understand the meaning of. He asked why the security level had been raised to yellow. "Is that because of the protests?" I was baffled; Califano was puzzled. Califano said he didn't know of any yellow alert, but the protesters should be pleased in a few days. The luncheon ended shortly after that, and everybody headed for the elevators, included Evan, who got in real trouble for shoving his way onto Califano's elevator. Meanwhile, when I got outside, I wasn't watching where I was going and careened off the sidewalk curb onto the hotel driveway, all of which Ray Weiss caught on KGO's videotape.

That was the end of my association with Joseph A. Califano until the evening of April 15th, 2004, where the Secretary, accompanied by his wife, was appearing in Berkeley at Cody's Books, to plug his memoir, Inside: A Public and Private Life. I was among the scattered few in the audience. As I was listening to his remarks, I wondered if he would mention anything about 504. Well, indeed he did—including that bit about the feared headline, "Dog Bites Cripple."

While he was talking, I was furiously typing something into my speech generating device that I wanted to utter during the Q&A. Califano fielded several queries before I worked up the courage to raise my hand and say this:

"Hello mister secretary, my name is Michael Williams. You and I share a tiny piece of history together. I was one of the people who occupied the federal building in San Francisco during the five oh four demonstrations of the mid-nineteen seventies. I want you to know that the five oh four regs completely changed my life and took me on a path I never thought I could travel. I look forward to reading your book. "*

To my utter embarrassment, my remarks were greeted with vigorous applause by the assembled few. I glanced over to Mrs. Califano. She was staring daggers at me.

The Secretary inscribed my copy of his book thusly:

"For Michael—Who gave us the energy to put out the 504 regulations—Joe Califano"

While he was signing my book, I stole a glance at Mrs. C: She was still staring daggers at me.

*This quote is typed and punctuated exactly as input into my speech generating device for my intended pronunciation.

Tags:

The "Patient No More" Mural

Visitor — Mon, 19 Oct 2015 23:07:37 +0000

By: Catherine Kudlick

A large mural features 504 protestors and celebrates the spirit of "Patient No More." Click here to see an expanded photo of the mural.

What might appear to the public as the anchor and one of the most striking features of “Patient No More” was far from certain; in fact, just a week before the exhibit launch, we debated whether it was the right use of our resources.

Still, our team of three - Curator/Graphic Designer Fran Osborne, Longmore Institute Associate Director Emily Beitiks, and Director (Me) - had been planning for something in that great rotunda wall all along. It offered a daunting blank canvas, so central, so white, so easy to make a giant mistake, yet so full of potential. And the ramp wall was red. Very red.

At the beginning we tossed around a number of ideas, from a detailed timeline to a large simple rendering of the iconic “Sign 504 Now!” yellow button or a large “Patient No More” banner.

I can’t remember when we first came upon the idea for the dramatic seventy-foot photomural above the ramp. But it had something to do with the generous photo donations from HolLynn D’Lil, Anthony Tusler, and the Bancroft Library. For the exhibit stations we had sifted through scores of them, nearly all of them black and white. We had to make tough choices about what to include, while having to leave others out. Each time, we came back to the intense, joyful, determined faces of the participants.

For the first couple of years we approached it as a memorial to commemorate the lives of occupiers who had passed away. Naïvely maybe, we believed we could identify and account for everyone in all the photos. But the deeper we got into the project, the more we realized this would be impossible: too many people came and went, too many had disappeared into history.

And there were practical concerns. We dreaded the prospect of someone very much alive arriving at the exhibit only to find themselves up on the wall. And what would we do if someone died once the mural had been put up?

Ultimately, we decided to celebrate the people with disabilities associated with the occupation. We tried to create a mosaic of individuals who made up a vibrant group whose coming together transformed the struggle for disability rights.

If this wasn’t a memorial, we needed to decide on the story we did want to tell, assuming it was possible to tell one at all. If a picture is worth a thousand words, imagine putting 27 of them in conversation! Who looked at whom across the rounded wall all day and night?

Curator Fran Osborne spent countless hours sifting through photos with students, coming up with templates, sending us different examples, trying to get the balance. Did someone appear too often? Who was missing? Which pictures deserved to be larger? And which ones could actually be blown up to such a large size without being distorted?

We knew so much depended on a viewer’s location while looking at it: from the rotunda, from the ramp itself, going up, going down . . . . Like life itself, things completely changed with perspective.

And how to convey something so striking, so important, so visual to people who couldn’t see it? How to be true to our mission to incorporate access to everything in our exhibit, though not necessarily in the same way for everyone? Our solution: commission poets Eli Clare and Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha, each who identify as people with disabilities to respond creatively with sound poems (check them out below).

It’s hard to describe my first impression of the mural in all its glory. It sits somewhere between hearing those sound pieces read by the poets and walking into the Ed Roberts Campus rotunda just two days before our launch and seeing it on the wall. It was maybe the closest I came to understanding a sense of victory and permanence after working so hard on something that I sensed deep down would make a difference.

Two mural moments confirmed this was true. The first was the day of our launch when 504 participant Michael Williams posed in front of his photo from 38 years before: wearing the same button, same smile, same sense of defiant pride. Many other occupiers, their friends, their families have found people they knew up on that giant canvas.

Then one day around closing time at the Ed Roberts Campus, I came upon an older gentleman slowly making his way up the ramp where he wanted to get close to the mural. “I always wondered what this place was for!” he exclaimed as he turned to me. “I rush through here every day to catch BART, and for some reason today I looked up. My god, I had no idea! I’ve seen some of these people all over Berkeley!” When I introduced myself as being associated with the mural, he smiled and said, “Wow, this is history!”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a7U616jiE5M http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FpF85SfwxIo

Tags:

Q&A WITH CATHY KUDLICK AND FRAN OSBORNE

Visitor — Mon, 13 Jul 2015 19:38:20 +0000

Cross-posted from Alice Wong's Disability Visibility Project

This is the first of a two-part interview. Here Cathy and Fran discuss what went into creating and making the “Patient No More: People with Disabilities Securing Civil Rights” exhibit, the challenges and opportunities.

For the first time, an exhibit on the landmark 504 sit in, “Patient No More: People with Disabilities Securing Civil Rights,” will be shown July 26-December 18, 2015 at the Ed Roberts Campus, above Ashby BART at 3075 Adeline in Berkeley. The Disability Visibility Project interviewed Cathy Kudlick and Fran Osborne of the Longmore Institute on Disability at San Francisco State University about this exhibit.

Where did the idea of the Patient No More come from? Why this subject and why now?

CJK: About ten years ago I attended an exhibit and event at the San Francisco Public Library sponsored by Community Works West where high school students interviewed aging Bay Area Civil Rights leaders. It was incredible because the kids were learning from the leaders by putting together a history exhibit – they did oral histories and mounted creative projects that reflected what they learned. The second these people started talking about their experiences, I began asking myself how I might do something similar about disability rights because I knew the Bay Area played a key role.

I’m a historian with a vision impairment. I’ve been working for about 20 years now to introduce disability history as a field of study. But I wanted desperately to get the fascinating Bay Area contributions to a broader disability rights struggle out to a bigger public, students, colleagues, the average person with and without disabilities on the streets. I know from all my work over the years how despite the fact that people think of History a passé, as an insult (“oh, she’s history!”), being aware that movements and identities have histories can be incredibly empowering – why do you think revolutions want to kill off the historians so they can start with a clean slate? Most people think of disability as a biological, physiological thing that happens to someone, something ahistorical, rather than an identity shaped by history, politics, economics, society, and culture.

FO: The Longmore Institute wanted to create a memorable exhibition to mark the 25^thanniversary of the passing of the ADA, without being a snoozefest of dry policy and explanations of the law. They wanted a project that would be exciting and powerful for the local community, as well as being relevant for a much wider audience. Our initial discussions began to tease out the most compelling stories and content, and we discussed how we could also fulfill the Longmore’s mission to generate new conversations about disability. Fairly soon into the process it became clear that the Section 504 sit-in had more than we needed to produce an exciting and resonant exhibition. What’s more, the protest was carried out for the most part by young people and may therefore have greater resonance online. We knew we could partner with many experts in the local community, that we could interview some of the unsung heroes of this amazing event, and that we might be able to find some photographs and other memorabilia if we kept digging. Cathy and Emily were also committed to experimenting with modes of access and building this thinking into the heart of the project.

Do you feel that the 504 sit in has been adequately documented and recognized in terms of its significance in civil rights history?

CJK: Definitely not. I think that’s about to change with the upcoming anniversary of the ADA and when the 504 protests mark 40 years in 2017. Our exhibit will hopefully help with that, but I’m also thinking of university-trained historians finally waking up to this as an exciting, important moment in US social movement history. It’s been surprising how few historians of the 1960s and 1970s know about this story, even though it directly touches on things they know and care about. Their ignorance isn’t deliberate or conscious – it’s just that they haven’t had much information and haven’t known to even look for it. Once this story sinks into history courses at the graduate and undergraduate level, it will start to make its way into textbooks and teaching K-12. It might be a generation or so before most Americans have a chance to learn about it, but it will happen.

FO: Many people we’ve talked to are not aware of the Section 504 protest and we are excited to think of it becoming a part of the curriculum for students and for educating the wider disability community of the Bay Area who may have no knowledge of the civil rights work of many people with disabilities. Activism may not be as much a part of everyday life as it seems to have been in 1977 but I think people of all ages will be able to relate to the power of a movement centered on a single issue, whether they have a disability or not. I think much more could be done to explore the many stories of Section 504. Exhibitions can only provide a tiny taste of what is available to serious researchers and there is definitely scope for more people to work on the material we came across.

Many people, especially non-historians, do not understand all the work that goes into a history exhibit. Please tell me what is involved in preparing this exhibit by the Longmore Institute staff?

CJK: I’ll let Fran tackle the main story. But what struck me most as a history professor that it was so much about boiling a complex, nuanced story down to fewer and fewer words. We scholars are trained to do exactly the opposite from what is required to create text for an exhibit: we take something relatively small and pour our hearts into writing about every detail. We expand, elaborate, highlight contradictions and confusions. For an exhibit the idea is to boil things down to their most raw essence without completely loosing the spirit and complexity of what we’re talking about. Writing this text is the hardest writing I’ve ever done. When you read the text, you might think: what’s the big deal? How hard is it to come up with 25 words about something? Trust me: it’s nearly impossible! I’m hoping that this skill will help my scholarly writing by making me aware of exactly what needs to be said and why.

FO: We begin with lots of questions. We try to gain an overview of the range of people who can provide first-hand testimony, as well as an idea of the ‘stuff’ we have access to. Usually there are many conflicting narratives and that is great for an exhibition because it demonstrates how varied truth can be. People with direct connections are very important for providing the kind of stories and information that hasn’t made it into the official record. Visitors also expect to find authentic original material to focus their attention on while they take everything in. The term ‘stuff’ is a useful catch all term for describing what the material content of the exhibition will be. Is there a collection of original memorabilia that we know is relevant? If so, whose is it and would they be willing to lend it to the exhibit? Are there photographs, or films, newspaper reports or audio recordings? Have they been seen before? What do the major collecting institutions have? What design and conservation limitations do we have? Is any of the material fragile? Where do we start and of course, how much money do we have? Often, exhibitions involve a good deal of detective work to uncover the most relevant or important objects and material and at the same time, the team will be asking many, many questions about the intellectual and factual content. What do the existing sources say and why do they contradict each other? What are the major themes and how should we present this information? What do we want to leave people with? What interactive elements are appropriate and how will they reinforce the content?

Once the range of material and ideas are clear and assembled, the difficult process of designing, writing and implementing the exhibition begins. After developing the overall ‘concept’ each element is fleshed out and any further research is done. Due diligence in making sure that everything is accurate (and has a reliable source) is crucial in maintaining the public trust with what is presented. More questions ensue: who are those people in that photograph? Is that the best one we have of that story? Where was it taken? What should the credit be? Do we have copyright clearance and are their high-res digital files? As you can imagine, when there are many moving parts, this process can take a long time and as the design and content progresses, things have to be culled and taken out until what remains has earned its place. Every time one element is changed it has a knock-on effect on everything else. Once the main elements are in place, the team continues to refine and finalize the text and all visual, film and audio material and consult with advisors and focus groups to test things out. More revisions are done. Slowly the exhibition gets clearer and clearer. We were lucky to have a relatively long time frame to create the exhibition and it allowed for plenty of conversation and debate that can be quite challenging if time is limited but ultimately creates a better result for the public.

The process involves juggling many things at the same time and is a bit like slowly building a jigsaw puzzle. While some parts are very clear, others are still missing or elusive, and everyone has their own approach. Some people begin with the corners and edges, while others just dive in. The whole team is working together so that the final puzzle will appear in all its glory.

What are some of the challenges you faced in curating, planning and designing this exhibit?

CJK: There were a ton of moving pieces, conceptually and literally. We wanted to honor the participants and the legacy. But we didn’t want it to be a white-washed feel good story because there were tensions and omissions. It was a racially-diverse movement but the leadership was almost exclusively white women in wheelchairs. How could we honor the amazing thing they made happen (in no small part by building bridges to local communities of color such as the Black Panther Party) while honoring the feelings of some participants of color that their story hasn’t really been part of the 504 and disability rights stories? And how to acknowledge the divides among various impairment groups without erasing the awesome collaboration, connections, and esprit de corps that brought everyone together and created a more-or-less unified disability rights movement that helped bring about the ADA?

Another challenging piece was our decision early on to build in multiple forms of access at every stage.

FO: This really is the most complex exhibition project I’ve ever known and Patient No More has required a different level of attention for all kinds of reasons. We have been re-visiting an event that had its own mythology and which was clearly a life-changing event for many people who went on to be activists and campaigners. How would we honor those experiences and involve new audiences? We have been consulting with the local disability community, asking for feedback and prototyping as much as is practical with our resources and capacity, as well as consulting with museum experts far and wide. Although our budget is fixed, the scope of the project is ambitious and meant also generating our own content through the 40 video interviews, which was quite a project in itself. Cathy mentions above the issues we encountered in working on the deeper aspects of the protest and they continue to come up in discussions. Other challenges were practical and frustrating. Initially we couldn’t find some of the people we knew we wanted to interview. We’d hear reports of them but then the trail would go cold. We would persist but it was not easy. Sometimes phone numbers might be wrong or the person may have left the area. Sometimes people were willing to meet but didn’t want to be interviewed on camera. We were also told that journalist Evan White who had covered the protest for Channel 7 might have passed away. We suspected he was still around and eventually located him and interviewed him at the ERC but we collectively worried a great deal about getting as representative range of people as possible, especially those who had never had their opportunity to tell their story. The Longmore team did a great job of coordinating all the interviews but then of course, the raw footage of the interviews has to be transcribed and after a clear plan, has to be edited into short meaningful films, with captions and then … audio description … which means there must be delicate editing of timing. Every element had to be thought of in access terms. When there is text, we have to consider the vocabulary and reading level. When there are images, we have to consider how a blind visitor or visitor with a vision impairment will have an equivalent experience? One of the greatest challenges for the designers is that the ERC has several entrances and exits and a linear journey around the exhibition would not work. In addition, the structures have to be capable of being moved out of the space for ERC events. The designers faced considerable challenges in creating structures that would fit through doorways on the basement level of the ERC, would still fulfill ADA requirements, have power for video monitors showing interviews, and incorporate Braille as part of the design. Space was always an issue as you may imagine. I’m hesitant to say more but I hope we’ve conveyed just how complex this exhibition is.

How did you engage with the disability community in terms of outreach and participation in the Patient No More?

CJK: We’ve had many formal and informal conversations throughout the process. We’ve solicited feedback on all of the text and oral history interviews. We invited people from the community to attend access “charettes” (feedback sessions) about the interactive elements. Our design team camped out at the Ed Roberts Campus for a day and approached people to ask them to interact with everything from text size to buttons on the tv screen.

FO: We learned so much from these early meetings and testing sessions and continue to consult and incorporate feedback from the community. We tested our interactive concepts at the Disability Pride march and festival organized by the Silicon Valley Independent Living Center in 2014. We had a great time telling people about the exhibit and asking them to test out our interactive ideas. People learn so much more when they can engage in a personal and direct way. Road-testing always makes a big difference. I wish we had the resources and time to do more.

Early on we also wanted to develop close working relationships with those who were there, and contacted as many people as we could who had been in the protest. Even now, new people are coming forward to tell us of their involvement, or relay their memories of the protest. Everyone had a lead for someone else or a newspaper clipping or a story that we had never heard before. Ken Stein has a great series of recordings and pointed us to other collections in the Bancroft and as time went on we discovered other protesters who had treasures they were willing to lend. HolLynn D’Lil had a huge archive of photographs she had taken in the San Francisco protest and from the group visit to Washington. She also had her own archive of notebooks and copies of letters and flyers and press releases that gave us a huge boost in understanding the protest directly from original material. The more people we talked to the better our sense of the protest became and the more engaged we hope the community is. As Cathy says, we had design charrettes early on and have continued to consult with individuals and interested groups. Cathy and Emily really are experts in access and their contribution is huge. As a sighted person it is very easy for me to forget how biased museum exhibitions are in favor of the visual. We had to be mindful that not every person with a visual impairment may read Braille or have the funds for a smart phone. Most recently we have been working with the access team at the Lighthouse For The Blind in SF who are providing Braille for the exhibit. Often issues and problems get solved in these small group meetings in ways that are so satisfying. We may still make mistakes but we are doing everything we can to incorporate access in a dynamic and inclusive way. I’ve also become quite aware of the need to expand the understanding of 504 and how it protects peoples’ rights. It’s almost as if a new round of 504 and ADA trainings are needed to inform the younger generations of people with disabilities.

For more information on Patient No More, open July 26, 2015, Berkeley, CA:

PatientNoMore.org

Catherine J. Kudlick – Director

After more than two decades at the University of California at Davis, Catherine Kudlick was delighted to join San Francisco State as Professor of History in Fall 2012 to assume directorship of the Paul K. Longmore Institute on Disability.

Fran Osborne – Curator and Graphic Designer

Fran Osborne has a BA (Hons) in Typography & Graphic Communication from Reading University in England and an MA in Museum Studies from SF State University. She has a special interest in bi or multilingual interpretation in museums and other cultural facilities and has international experience in Arabic speaking countries. Based in California, she is currently volunteering at SFMoMA and SFOpera. Recently, she was the curator of DIS/PLAY: A Disability Take-Over Show By Artists With, and Without, an exhibit featured at SOMArts in San Francisco.

Tags:

Disability Visibility Project

What Would You Have Done? Missing Kitty Cone (1944-2015)

Visitor — Sat, 25 Apr 2015 18:35:38 +0000

By: Catherine Kudlick

[Note: this Sunday, April 26, 2PM at the Ed Roberts Campus above Ashby BART, Bay Area people with disabilities and allies will gather to honor the life of a woman who history will one day credit with changing US history. Kitty Cone, along with Judy Heumann, was one of the key organizers behind the events that we’ll be portraying on our upcoming exhibit to commemorate the 25th anniversary of the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) in July. In the post below I trace her unlikely impact on me.]

As we reach the final stretch for launching our exhibit “Patient No More: People with Disabilities Securing Civil Rights” that opens at the Ed Roberts Campus in July, I’ve been consumed with a burning question: what would I have done? Would I have gone in to occupy a federal building for 26 days with over one hundred people I didn’t know, disabled people? Could I then or now sleep on the floor, bathe in a sink, eat food brought by strangers, live with crabs and who knows what else, for nearly a month? Would I have resisted the siren song of friends and family, clueless about disability politics as they gently mocked me about a cause I didn’t yet know enough about to believe in?

Kitty Cone, who to everyone’s great sadness died on March 21, was a central figure in the Section 504 Occupation of San Francisco’s Federal Building back in April 1977. She understood the deep connections between personal activism and political change. She could explain in basic ways how individual people could make a difference by insisting that President Jimmy Carter’s administration come through on a promise they’d made to sign legislation that had been languishing for four years, Section 504 of the 1973 Rehabilitation Act that would guarantee people with disabilities their civil rights. And she knew how to build bridges between various local community groups and leaders who could support the protesters inside. Her persuasiveness and carefully-crafted alliances helped ensure the success of 504 and ultimately helped pave the way for passing the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) in 1990.

In April 1977 I was an awkward kid in college at UC Santa Cruz, excited about my upcoming junior year abroad in France. I didn’t know any other disabled people, because I didn’t want to. My community was friends from my dorm. We had in-jokes and talked late into the night about our classes, our professors, our families, each other, the crappy dining hall food, our hopes for the future. I’d like to think of myself as political, but I wasn’t. I was just an insecure gal looking for myself and hoping people would like me or at least not taunt me like they had for most of my life about my “weird eyes.” I didn’t know to think of what we today call “bullying” as political, as part of a bigger civil rights struggle.

Given how much time I spent secluded in my dorm room struggling to read the small print in my books for class as I hid (from) my vision impairment, little wonder that I had no idea that a revolution was taking place just 75 miles away up in San Francisco.

What if I’d met Kitty back then? Many of the people we have interviewed for “Patient No More” described her as the one who urged them in and gave them strength. Her activism extended far beyond strategizing a revolution of disabled people: there was something deeper, something about her that made you feel part of something bigger, gave you a sense of purpose that was profound, real, full of conviction.

I often fantasize that if I’d met Kitty Cone in 1977, I would have marched right in, claimed my identity as a person with a disability and taken my place in history. But the truth is, I’m not sure I would have been ready.

Yet Kitty made me a revolutionary. Rather than awaken a future me, our talks thirty-five years later put me in touch with that scared Cathy on the threshold and accept that college kid for who she was: someone poised for a new adventure where she’d live in a foreign culture among people who didn’t speak her language. I was about to occupy my own building back then, laying the groundwork for the activist I would become. The remarkable thing was that Kitty taught me this without our actually having spoken of it. She understood something about activism that never gets acknowledged: it is as much about extending tools to draw strength and integrity from a painful past as it is about charting the future.

To celebrate Kitty, the Longmore Institute has compiled a video from clips of our extensive interview with her for “Patient No More.” The video is captioned and audio-described.

https://youtu.be/759dirUhsKc

To learn more about “Patient No More” that will be at the Ed Roberts Campus above Ashby BART in Berkeley from July 26 - December 18, go here.

Tags: