                   THE NATURE OF INDEPENDENCE
                     An Address Delivered By
                        Kenneth Jernigan
                    At the Convention of the
                National Federation of the Blind
              Dallas, Texas, Tuesday, July 6, 1993

     Shortly after last year's convention, I received a number of
letters from students at the Louisiana Center for the Blind. It
was clear that the letters were written as the result of
discussions held at the Center and that, although the apparent
topic was independent mobility, the real issue was independence
in general, and how blind persons should live and behave. I want
to share those letters with you, then tell you how I answered
them, and finally say a few things about what I think
independence really is. The letters are all dated July 23, 1992.
Here is a composite of them:

     Dear Dr. Jernigan:
          I am a sophomore in high school. Right now, I am
     in a teenage program that the Louisiana Center for the
     Blind is sponsoring. It is the STEP program. That means
     Summer Training and Employment Project. We are allowed
     to get jobs and make money as well as have classes.
          A few weeks ago I attended the national
     convention. I really enjoyed all your speeches and
     everything. People noticed that you and Mr. Maurer
     walked sighted guide sometimes, [I interrupt to call
     your attention to the almost code-word use of the term
     "sighted guide." Not "walking with a sighted guide" or
     "walking with a sighted person" or "holding the arm of
     a sighted person," but "walking sighted guide." This
     makes it clear that the concept of "sighted guide" has
     been the topic of considerable conversation. But back
     to the letter.] and we thought you all would never walk
     sighted guide, because you all are so highly involved
     in the NFB. I never thought sighted guide was OK until
     then. So why did you all use sighted guide? I know
     there are many reasons why this might be. We discussed
     this in one of our talk times and came up with one
     reason this might be. We know that you all have to be
     at meetings all the time, and it would be faster if you
     would use sighted guide. [I interrupt again to call
     your attention to the use in the following sentences of
     the depersonalized "it." Now, back to the letter.] I am
     sure you don't use it so much that you lose your cane
     travel skills. I am not trying to say this is wrong. I
     was just wondering why you do this. Someone brought up
     that if we, as the people being trained at the moment,
     were caught using sighted guide, they would fuss at us.
     And I realize that you are not the one in training, so
     it is not wrong. We couldn't use sighted guide, because
     we might want to use it more than the cane if we use
     too much of it.

     Yours truly,
                      ____________________

     Dear Dr. Jernigan:
          During this past convention in North Carolina some
     of us noticed that you did not walk with a cane. I do
     not understand this at all. I can understand that you
     have to be in many places in a short amount of time at
     the conventions, and that might be the reason you went
     sighted guide. But I also know that when you came for a
     tour of the Center, you also went sighted guide. We do
     not understand this. 
          We all have our own theories as to why you went
     sighted guide, but we want to get the correct answer
     straight from the horse's mouth.

     Your fellow Federationist,
                      ____________________

     That's a very clear-cut letter, and I am pleased to be
called that end of the horse. Here is the last one:

     Dear Dr. Jernigan:
          This year I came to Charlotte to attend my third
     national convention of the NFB. I am currently a
     student at the Louisiana Center for the Blind in the
     STEP program for blind teenagers. This program stresses
     cane use, Braille literacy, employment readiness, and
     self-confidence based on achievement. While at the
     convention I heard from a friend that you were never
     actually seen using your cane. I discussed this with a
     group of friends, and it was decided that you most
     likely had many places to go and had to get to them
     quickly. This made sense, and the question seemed
     settled. Then one of the group remembered you using
     sighted guide during a tour you took of the Center
     while passing through Ruston on the way to the Dallas
     convention in 1990. This was such a hectic situation,
     and the question was no longer settled because the only
     alternative travel technique anyone noticed you using
     was sighted guide.
          I do not mean this letter to imply any disrespect
     towards you, the Federation, or its many achievements.
     If the Federation had not pushed so hard for
     independence for the blind, I would have no grounds on
     which to write this letter. It is because of my own
     personal convictions about independence that I ask why
     the figurehead of the NFB is not himself using the
     alternative techniques that his student, Joanne Wilson,
     has been teaching for nearly ten years in Ruston.
          I would prefer to end the letter on a positive
     note. I realize that you are responsible for the
     training I am currently receiving, and I am grateful
     for it. I am not implying that you have no cane skills,
     because I do not honestly know.

     Sincerely,
                      ____________________

     These are straightforward letters, seriously written. They
raise fundamental questions, questions that deserve a reasoned
answer. Here is the expanded substance of what I wrote:     

     Baltimore, Maryland
     July 29, 1992

          Under date of July 23, 1992, the three of you
     wrote to ask me why I didn't travel alone with a cane
     during the national convention in Charlotte and why on
     a visit to the Louisiana Center in 1990 I took a
     sighted person's arm instead of walking alone with a
     cane. I appreciate your letters and will tell you why I
     do what I do. 
          In the first place let us assume that I didn't
     have any cane travel skills at all. This might be
     comparable to the situation of a parent who had no
     education but dreamed of an education for his or her
     child. That parent might preach the value of education
     and might work to send the child to high school and
     then to college. The parent might, though personally
     uneducated, feel tremendous satisfaction at the
     learning and accomplishment which his or her effort had
     made possible. In such circumstances what attitude
     should the child have toward the parent? The child
     might be critical of the parent for his or her poor
     grammar and lack of education and might even be ashamed
     to associate with the parent--or the child might feel
     gratitude for the sacrifice and the work that had made
     the education possible. 
          This is not an apt analogy since I have perfectly
     good cane skills, but it has elements of truth about
     it. When I was a child, there were no orientation
     centers or mobility training. The only canes available
     were the short heavy wooden type, and we youngsters
     associated carrying a cane with begging, shuffling
     along, and being helpless.
          It was not until I finished college and had taught
     for four years in Tennessee that I first carried a
     cane. It was made of wood and had a crook handle. I
     might also say that it was longer than most of those in
     vogue at the time, forty inches. I started using it in
     1953, just before going to California to work at the
     newly established state orientation center for the
     blind. The Center had been in operation for only a few
     months and had enrolled only four or five students by
     the time of my arrival.
          In those days the California Center was using 42-
     inch aluminum canes. They were a tremendous improvement
     over the 40-inch wooden cane I had been carrying, and I
     immediately adopted the new model. Even so, it seemed
     that something better was needed. I worked with the
     person who had been employed as the travel teacher, and
     we experimented with different techniques and canes.
          In the mid-1950's the solid fiberglass cane was
     developed. It was first made by a blind man in Kansas,
     but we at the California center popularized it and
     brought it into general use. We also worked to improve
     the tip. Our students received intensive training,
     those with any sight using blindfolds (or, as we called
     them, sleep shades), and our students and graduates
     were identifiable in any group of blind persons because
     of their competence and ease in travel. Since they had
     enjoyed the benefit of our study and experimentation,
     as well as intensive instruction and the time to
     practice, many of them probably became better travelers
     than I--and I felt pride and satisfaction in the fact.
     We were advancing on the road to freedom and
     independence.
          In 1958 I went to Iowa as director of the state
     commission for the blind, and I carried with me the
     experience and knowledge I had acquired in California
     plus a 48-inch fiberglass cane and a head full of new
     ideas and hopes for the future. I hired a young sighted
     man who had no experience at all with blindness and
     spent several days giving him preliminary instruction
     in mobility, using blind techniques. First I had him
     follow me all over Des Moines, watching me use the cane
     while crossing streets and going to various places.
     Then, he put on sleep shades, and I worked with him to
     learn basic skills. Next I sent him to California for
     three or four weeks to gain further experience and to
     compare what I had taught him with what the California
     Center was doing. Finally he came back to Des Moines,
     and I spent several more weeks working with him until
     (though sighted) he could (under blindfold) go anywhere
     he wanted safely and comfortably using a cane.
          During all of that time I worked with him on
     attitudes, for unless one believes that he or she is
     capable of independence as a blind person, independence
     in travel (as in other areas) is not truly achievable.
     This travel instructor's name is Jim Witte, and he
     developed into one of the best I have ever known.
          Iowa students rapidly became the envy of the
     nation. You could single them out in any group because
     of their bearing, their confidence, and their skill in
     travel. As had been the case in California, some of
     them undoubtedly traveled better than I, and I felt a
     deep sense of fulfillment in the fact. Joanne Wilson
     (the director of your own Louisiana Center) was one of
     those students, and I am sure she has told you how it
     was at the Iowa Center--how students were treated, what
     was expected of them, the relationship between staff
     and students, our dreams for the future, and how we set
     about accomplishing those dreams. Arlene Hill (one of
     your teachers) was also an Iowa student. Both Joanne
     and Arlene are living examples of what we taught and
     how it worked. So are President Maurer, Mrs. Maurer,
     Peggy Pinder, Ramona Walhof, Jim Gashel, Jim Omvig, and
     at least fifty others in this audience.
          It was in Iowa that we developed the hollow
     fiberglass cane. It was an improvement over the solid
     cane, lighter and more flexible. We also gradually
     began to use longer and longer canes. They enabled us
     to walk faster without diminishing either safety or
     grace. As I have already told you, I started with a 40-
     inch wooden cane. Then I went to 42-inch aluminum--and
     after that to solid fiberglass, then to hollow
     fiberglass, and (three or four years ago) to hollow
     carbon fiber. As to length, I went from 40 inches to
     42, then to 45, 48, 49, 51, 53, 55, and 57. At present
     I use a 59-inch cane. It seems about right to me for my
     height and speed of travel. Will I ever use a still
     longer cane? I don't know--but at this stage I don't
     think so. Obviously there comes a time when a longer
     cane is a disadvantage instead of a help.
          I've told you all of this so that you may
     understand something of my background and approach to
     independence in travel, and independence in general.
     The doctors who established the medical schools a
     hundred years ago were (with notable exceptions) not
     generally as competent and skilled as the doctors they
     trained, for they did not have the benefit of the kind
     of concentrated teaching they themselves were
     providing. Obviously they could not stand on their own
     shoulders. Through their students they extended their
     dreams into the future, building possibilities that
     they themselves had not known and could never hope to
     realize.
          So it is with me in relation to you. You are the
     third generation of our mobility trainees, having the
     benefit of what I have learned and also of what Joanne
     and the other Iowa graduates have learned. Unless you
     make advances over what we have done, you will, in a
     very real sense, fail to keep faith with those who have
     gone before you and those who will follow. In this
     context I would expect and hope that some of you will
     become better travelers (and, perhaps, better
     philosophers and teachers) than I, and if you do, I
     will take joy in it.
          Having said all of this, let me come back to my
     own travel skills. During the 1950's I traveled
     completely alone on a constant basis throughout this
     entire country, going to almost every state and dealing
     with almost every kind of environment--urban area, city
     bus, taxi, complicated street crossing, rural setting,
     hired private car, country road, and almost anything
     else you can imagine. During late December and early
     January of 1956 and 1957, for example, I traveled alone
     to fourteen states in eleven days, writing testimony
     for the NFB's Right to Organize bill. It was no big
     deal, and not something I thought about very much. It
     was simply a job that had to be done, and the travel
     was incidental and taken for granted. I have taught
     travel instructors and have developed new techniques
     and canes. I travel whenever and wherever I want to go
     in the most convenient way to get there--and sometimes
     that means alone, using a cane.
          Once when I was in Iowa, students observed that I
     walked to a barber shop one day with another staff
     member, and they raised with me some of the same
     questions you have raised. That afternoon in our
     business class (you may call it by some other name--
     philosophy or something else) I dealt with the matter.
     I told the students some of the things I have told you,
     and then I went on to say something like this:
          "Although what I have told you should mean that
     even if I couldn't travel with much skill at all I
     might still not merit your criticism, we don't need to
     leave it at that. Follow me. We are going to take a
     walk through downtown traffic--and see that you keep
     up."
          I took the lead, and we walked for eight or ten
     blocks at a fast clip. When we got back to the
     classroom, I didn't need to tell them what kind of
     travel skills I had. They knew.
          Then, we talked about why I had walked to the
     barber shop with another staff member. In that
     particular instance I had matters to discuss, and I
     felt I couldn't afford the luxury of doing nothing
     while going for a hair cut. As a matter of fact, in
     those days I often made a practice of taking my
     secretary with me to the barber shop and dictating
     letters while getting my hair cut. Of course, I could
     have made a point of walking alone each time just to
     make a visible demonstration of my independence, but
     somehow I think that such insecurity might have made
     the opposite point and would certainly have been
     counterproductive.
          In the Iowa days I was not only director of the
     state Commission for the Blind but also first vice
     president and then president of the National Federation
     of the Blind. Both were full-time jobs, requiring me to
     use to best advantage every waking minute. 
          I was up before 6:00 to go to the gym with the men
     students; I wrote over a hundred letters a week; I
     entertained legislators and other civic leaders an
     average of two or three nights a week to gain support
     for our program; I traveled throughout the state to
     make speeches; and I spent long hours working
     individually with students. Besides that, I handled the
     administrative details of the Commission and the NFB on
     a daily basis. At the same time I was doing organizing
     in other states and dealing with problems brought to me
     by Federationists throughout the country.
          In that context it would have been a bad use of my
     time (and both Federationists and Iowa students and
     staff would have thought so) for me to spend much of my
     day walking down the street to make a visible show of
     my independent travel skills. I traveled alone when I
     needed to, and I gave demonstrations to students,
     legislators, and others when I needed to do that--but I
     never did either to convince myself or to establish in
     my own mind the fact of my capacity or independence. It
     didn't seem necessary.
          So what about the NFB convention in Charlotte? I
     was in charge of convention organization and
     arrangements, and there were a thousand details to
     handle. There were four hotels and a convention center,
     each with its own staff and each requiring separate
     handling and a myriad of decisions. Sometimes I had not
     only one but two or three people with me as I went from
     place to place, talking about what had to be done and
     sending this person here and that person yonder.
          Even so, I might (you may say) have refused to
     take the arm of one of the persons with me and used my
     cane to walk alone. But for what reason? When a blind
     person is walking through a crowd or down a street with
     somebody else and trying to carry on a meaningful
     conversation, it is easier to take the other person's
     arm. This is true even if you are the best traveler in
     the world and even if both of you are blind.
          In fact, I contend that there are times when
     refusing to take an arm that is offered may constitute
     the very opposite of independence. If, for instance,
     you are a blind person accompanying a sighted person
     through a busy restaurant closely packed with tables
     and chairs, do you create a better image of
     independence by trying to get through the maze alone,
     with the sighted person going in front and constantly
     calling back, "This way! This way!" or by simply taking
     the sighted person's arm and going to the table? What
     is better about following a voice than following an
     arm? From what I have said, I presume it is clear which
     method I favor. Of course, if no arm is conveniently
     available, you should be prepared to use another
     method, regardless of how crowded the restaurant or how
     labyrinthine the path. In either case you should do it
     without losing your cool. But I'll tell you what
     alternative is not acceptable in such circumstance--
     pretending that you don't want anything to eat and not
     going at all. That's not acceptable.
          But back to the convention. When you are trying to
     get through crowds quickly to go from meeting to
     meeting, and possibly also trying to find different
     people in those crowds in a hurry, the efficiency of
     sighted assistance multiplies. Incidentally, even if I
     were sighted and doing the things I do at national
     conventions, I would want two or three persons with 
     me--to look for people in crowds, to send for this and
     that, and to talk and advise with.
          As an example, consider what happened at last
     year's convention with respect to Secretary of
     Education Lamar Alexander. He has normal eyesight and
     is in every other way, so far as I know, able-bodied
     and energetic. I am sure that he can drive a car and
     walk vigorously. Yet, he sent an assistant to Charlotte
     a day in advance of his arrival. The assistant scouted
     out the convention and then went to the airport to meet
     the Secretary. The assistant drove the car from the
     airport to the convention, accompanied the Secretary
     into the meeting hall, went with him to the platform,
     met him at the edge of the platform when he finished
     speaking, and drove him back to the airport. If the
     Secretary had been blind, I wonder if somebody would
     have said, "Just look! He's not independent. He has to
     have a sighted person with him at all times,
     accompanying him everywhere he goes and driving his
     car."
          Since I am not a student trying to learn to travel
     independently or to establish within my own mind that I
     can compete on terms of equality with others, and since
     I can and do travel by myself when that is most
     convenient, I feel no particular obligation to make a
     demonstration when it is more efficient to do
     otherwise. If I were a student, I should and would
     behave differently. As an example, I think a student
     should always use a rigid (not a collapsible) cane. But
     I generally use one that is collapsible. Why? Students
     often are uncomfortable with canes, and if they are
     allowed to use those that fold or telescope, they may
     tend to hide or conceal them because they think (even
     if subconsciously) that it will make them look less
     conspicuous. I have carried a cane for so long that I
     would feel naked without it, and I always carry one
     whether I am with somebody or not. Because they were so
     rickety, I refused to carry a collapsible cane until we
     developed the telescoping carbon fiber model. I pull it
     to such a tight fit that it doesn't collapse as I use
     it, and I almost never collapse it unless I'm in close
     quarters. Again, it is a convenience, and my sense of
     independence is not so brittle that I think I have to
     carry the rigid cane to prove to myself or others that
     I am not ashamed to be seen with it or uncomfortable
     about blindness. 
          When I was teaching orientation classes in
     California and Iowa, I often said to those in
     attendance that students at a center tend to go through
     three stages: fear and insecurity, rebellious
     independence, and normal independence--FI, RI, and NI.
     During fear and insecurity one tends to be
     ultracautious and afraid of everything, even if at
     times putting on a good front. During rebellious
     independence one tends to be overly touchy, resenting
     anybody who attempts to offer him or her any kind of
     assistance at all, even when the assistance is
     appropriate and needed. In the rebellious independence
     stage one is likely to be a pain in the neck, both to
     himself or herself and others--but this is a necessary
     step on the road from fear and insecurity to normal
     independence. Unfortunately some people never get
     beyond it.
          Hopefully one will eventually arrive at the stage
     of normal independence, with relatively little need
     constantly to prove either to oneself or others that
     one is capable of independence and first-class
     citizenship. This means maturity in dealing with
     condescending treatment, and it also means flexibility
     in accepting or rejecting offers of assistance,
     kindness, or generosity. Sometimes such things should
     be graciously or silently taken, sometimes endured, and
     sometimes rejected out of hand--but the reason should
     never be because you doubt your own worth, have inner
     feelings of insecurity, or wonder whether you are
     inferior because of blindness.
          Normal independence also means not rationalizing
     your fear or inability by saying that you are just
     doing what is convenient and efficient and that you
     don't feel the need to prove something when in reality
     you are just covering up the fact that you are as
     helpless as a baby--and it means not going so far the
     other way and being so touchy about your so-called
     independence that nobody can stand to be around you. It
     means getting to the place where you are comfortable
     enough with yourself and secure enough with your own
     inner feelings that you don't have to spend much time
     bothering about the matter one way or another. It means
     reducing blindness to the level of a mere inconvenience
     and making it just one more of your everyday
     characteristics--a characteristic with which you must
     deal just as you do with how strong you are, how old
     you are, how smart you are, how personable you are, and
     how much money you have. These are the goals, and
     probably none of us ever achieves all of them all of
     the time. Nevertheless, we are making tremendous
     progress--and we are farther along the road now than we
     have ever been.
          I am pleased that you wrote me, and I am
     especially pleased that you are able to receive
     training at the Louisiana Center. It is grounded in
     Federation philosophy, and it is one of the best. You
     are getting the chance while you are young to learn
     what blindness is really like, and what it isn't like.
     You have the opportunity to profit from the collective
     experience of all of us--the things we tried that
     didn't work, and those that did. On the foundation of
     love and organizational structure which we have
     established, you can make for yourselves better
     opportunities than we have ever known--and I pray that
     you will. The future is in the hands of your
     generation, and I hope you will dream and work and
     build wisely and well.

     Sincerely,
     Kenneth Jernigan
                      ____________________

     That is what I wrote, and there have been a number of
subsequent developments. One person, hearing these letters, said,
"I can see your point, but don't you think you should try to be a
role model?"
     To which I replied, "I thought that was what I was doing."
     Then, there was the letter I got about a month ago from a
person who attended a seminar at the National Center for the
Blind last Christmas. She said in part:

          The discussion about the letter from the students
     at the Louisiana Center for the Blind has stuck with me
     and helped me in two ways. I no longer feel the deep
     embarrassment I had been experiencing about being
     unable to read Braille and having less-than-perfect
     travel skills. I remain painfully aware that I could be
     much more efficient than I am, particularly if I could
     read and write Braille, but I no longer feel that I am
     less worthy because of the lack. And, by the way, I
     hope to take care of my deficiencies in that area soon.
          The discussion also helped me better to appreciate
     and respect my dad, who was blinded by an on-the-job
     accident when he was 26. After he became blind, he went
     to law school, and I have always admired his relatively
     quick adjustment to blindness. On the other hand, I
     have always felt somewhat embarrassed that when
     traveling he uses a sighted guide the majority of the
     time. (For instance, I was horrified and disbelieving
     when I heard my dad flew to Alaska by himself to go
     fishing without his guide dog or a white cane!) He has
     a guide dog but only used him when he was going to
     work. I have never seen him use a white cane although I
     have just learned that he used one while in his office
     at work. However, the seminar discussion helped me to
     understand that everyone's situation differs and that
     the opportunities available are not uniform. My dad has
     accomplished a lot: He was an administrative law judge
     until he retired last month; he is an avid fisherman;
     and he is as pro-Braille as anybody I have ever met.

     That is what the seminarian wrote me, and her letter makes a
point. It is simply this: We absolutely must not become so rigid
and dogmatic about the means and precise details of achieving
independence that we make ourselves and everybody else around us
miserable. Down that road lies bigotry, as well as the loss of
any real independence or true normality.
     Usually when I go to bed at night, I read myself to sleep
with a recorded book. A few months ago somebody took me to task
for this. The person said something to this effect: "You should
not read recorded books. You should use Braille. After all, the
Federation advocates Braille literacy, and if you use tapes and
talking books, you decrease the circulation of Braille from the
libraries, and you also set a bad example. What kind of statement
are you making? What kind of image are you creating? You have an
obligation to serve as a role model."
     I didn't argue with the person. It wouldn't have done any
good. Yes, I use Braille; and as you know, I find it helpful.
More than that. My life would be poorer without it. But Braille
is a means. It is a vehicle, not an article of faith. I am
conscious of the fact that I have an obligation to be a role
model, and I do the best I can to meet the requirement. But the
kind of role model I want to be (for anybody who cares to see me
that way) is that of a competent, well-balanced human being, not
a caricature. The fact that I don't want to die of thirst doesn't
mean that I want to drown.
     What is independence? I would define it this way. With
respect to reading, it means getting the information you want
with a minimum amount of inconvenience and expense. For me that
means Braille, but it also means using live readers, recordings,
and (despite my limited competence in that area) a certain amount
of work with computers. For somebody else the combination may be
different, but any active blind person who lacks skill in Braille
will be limited--not necessarily unable to compete but definitely
limited.
     As to travel, independence is the ability to go where you
want when you want without inconvenience to yourself or others.
Probably none of us (blind or sighted) ever fully achieves that
goal all of the time--and almost all of us achieve at least some
of it some of the time. Usually we are on a continuum.
     If I could not travel by myself without discomfort or great
expense, there are times when it would be a real problem. What
about the trip I made to Kansas City in May of this year to meet
with local Federationists and speak at a JOB seminar? My wife had
other things to do, and it would have been inconvenient to take
somebody else. I went alone. Did I have any assistance during the
trip? Yes. At times--when it was convenient for me and not
inconvenient to others.
     What about the time last month when I was called for jury
duty? It would have been very difficult for a guide to have
accompanied me to the jury box or the jury room--so, of course, I
went by myself. Does that mean that nobody showed me where the
jury box was or gave other assistance? No. It means that I went
where I needed to go without inconvenience to me or those around
me. That is what I call independence.
     Just as with the sighted, there are times when you as a
blind person want privacy--want to go somewhere (to see a
boyfriend or girlfriend, for instance) without being accompanied
by your daily associates, want to buy a present for a friend or a
loved one, or just feel like following a whim. In such cases a
dog or a cane is helpful. On the other hand, there are times when
the assistance of a sighted person is extremely beneficial. Taken
by itself, the use or lack of use of a sighted guide has very
little, if anything at all, to do with real independence. In
fact, the whole notion of independence (not just in mobility but
also in everything else) involves the concept of doing what you
want when you want, and doing it without paying such a heavy
price (either monetarily or otherwise) that the thing is hardly
worth having once you get it or do it.
     In conclusion, I say to each member of this organization:
Hold your head high in the joy of accomplishment and the pride of
independence--but not because of dog or cane or human arm, and
not because of your ability to read Braille or use a computer.
These are the trappings of independence, not the substance of it.
They should be learned, and used when needed--but they should be
regarded only as means, not ends. Our independence comes from
within. A slave can have keen eyesight, excellent mobility, and
superb reading skills--and still be a slave. We are achieving
freedom and independence in the only way that really counts--in
rising self-respect, growing self-confidence, and the will and
the ability to make choices. Above all, independence means
choices, and the power to make those choices stick. We are
getting that power, and we intend to have more of it. That is why
we have organized. That is why we have the National Federation of
the Blind. We know where we are going, and we know how to get
there. Let anybody who doubts it put us to the test. My brothers
and my sisters, the future is ours! Let us meet it with joy; let
us meet it with hope; and (most important of all) let us meet it
together!
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