                             THE MYSTERIOUS TEN PERCENT

                               An Address Delivered by
                                     MARC MAURER
                     President, National Federation of the Blind
                       At the Banquet of the Annual Convention
                       Charlotte, North Carolina, July 3, 1992


     Almost without exception, the physical characteristics of existence are
recognized because they fit a familiar pattern. It is not that those events which
fail to conform to the framework of the generally accepted belief system are
repudiated; they are not perceived at all. Reality, as we know it, is not made up of
all discernible phenomena. Instead, it is the interpretation of those incidents that
our understanding has permitted us to observe. 
     Those in the field of education tell us that students must be familiar with
ninety percent of the subject matter of a class if learning is to occur. What is true
in the classroom is also valid for less formal settings. Ordinarily, we comprehend
only that which we already largely know. 
     In the history of science the matrix of belief is called the paradigm, and the
pithy admonition to the scientist is to "save the phenomena."  There is a powerful
urge to include in scientific experiments only those facts which fit the theory being
tested. When the facts do not demonstrate what they were expected to show, those
conducting the examination are tempted to dismiss them as insignificant. Of course,
the integrity of the scientific process does not permit such behavior. If science is
to make progress, it must account not only for convenient results but for all
observed results--the scientists must save the phenomena. However, if the experiment
which might have been performed doesn't fit the paradigm--the structure of belief,
the framework of recognition--it will never be conducted at all. Those facts which
might have been observed will not be seen because nobody will look.
     Sometimes at the conscious level, and sometimes without knowing it, society
divides all knowledge into two major categories--those matters which can be studied
and those which are beyond exploration. These two segments of knowledge are
fundamentally distinct because in those which are regarded as proper for study,
society believes that there is something to learn. In those which are regarded as
sacrosanct, it is presumed that study is irrelevant because knowledge is (if not
complete) sufficient for decision making on all practical questions. However, even
when the study is intense and the receptivity is great, learning is limited by the
ninety percent factor. The inevitable result is that some of the knowledge we regard
as settled is necessarily incomplete and, therefore, incorrect. 
     Incorporated within the theories devised to explain all known information, there
are assumptions. When new evidence becomes available, the underlying theory which
explained the knowledge of the past is not ordinarily discarded. Instead, it is
altered or expanded to include the new factor without, however, changing or
eliminating the assumptions upon which the idea is based. Each time an additional
factor is incorporated, the theory is doctored to make the new information fit. This
process brings to mind the folksy aphorism, "It ain't what you don't know that hurts
you so much, but what you do know that just ain't so."
     What does all of this mean for us--for the largest organization of blind people
in the nation?  One of the accepted doctrines throughout history has been that it is
essential to be able-bodied to be productive. The blind are not in this group. Hence,
we are told that we have very limited capacity. Whether in the writings associated
with the field of work with the blind, in the great body of general world literature,
in the visual images presented for entertainment, or in the public mind, the
incompetence of the blind has become an almost universally accepted part of the canon
of knowledge. So completely fixed is this idea that further examination is presumed
by many to be irrelevant.
     Our own experience refutes that commonly held belief. Thousands of us have
demonstrated that we are able to handle the ordinary job in the ordinary place of
business, and (as with the sighted) some blind people demonstrate extraordinary
ability and make remarkable contributions. Nevertheless, the notion of the incapacity
of the blind remains firmly embedded in the thinking of millions. 
     In the face of so much evidence, how can this be?  We human beings observe what
we already know; we learn only when we believe that further study is warranted.
Evidence which does not fit the established pattern is not rejected; it is never
perceived at all. Even when it is known that there is something to learn, ninety
percent of the subject matter under examination must be understood before learning--
recognition of the unfamiliar--becomes possible. But, the ninety percent factor
leaves the other ten percent available for discovery. This ten percent--the unknown
ten percent, the vital ten percent, the mysterious ten percent--is an opportunity
waiting to be made.
     We the blind must accept the challenge of identifying the necessary ten percent,
the essential elements for our integration into society; we must internalize the
learning; and we must assist the public to comprehend what blindness really is by
making the normality of blind people sufficiently familiar so it can be readily
understood--so it can become a part of the mysterious ten percent. We must encourage
the exploration, channel the thought processes, and focus the inquiry for a new
understanding. What we are seeking is an alteration in the fundamental rules
governing the acceptance and participation of the blind in every part of the culture.
This will be good for the blind, but we will not be the only beneficiaries--so will
everybody else. Our society will, for the first time, be using the collective talents
of an entire class of people, and we will have a deepened understanding, sharing the
needs and aspirations and being part of the force which makes our civilization what
it is.
     Who is responsible for achieving this objective?  You know as well as I--those
who have come together in the largest organization of the blind in the nation, the
tough-minded individuals who have gathered here tonight to represent the blind from
throughout the country, the members of the National Federation of the Blind.
     Just over half a century ago, at a meeting in Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania, the
National Federation of the Blind was brought into being. Dr. Jacobus tenBroek, a
blind professor and one of the most scholarly and dynamic individuals of the
twentieth century, along with a handful of others from seven states, founded this
nationwide organization of the blind and thereby initiated the movement that would
bring us independence. We the blind declared that the responsibility for our future
belonged not to others, but to us. We intended to take a hand in shaping our own
destiny. 
     In view of the circumstances which existed in 1940, such boldness required both
courage and nerve. Almost no blind person had entered the competitive job market.
Schools for the blind provided some education, but the officials who set the tone in
those institutions had little expectation that blind students would emerge able to
accept the challenges of higher education or employment. There were some libraries
and a few books, but the volumes collected were meant primarily for recreation, and
they were often hard to get. A number of sheltered workshops had been established,
which offered employment in simple, repetitive tasks at extremely low wages to a
small percentage of the blind; but a productive career with the responsibilities of
citizenship was virtually unknown. 
     Despite the dismal prospects, a new and exciting possibility was inevitable from
that first meeting of the National Federation of the Blind. The promise we made to
ourselves that day has never changed, and the faith that we pledged has always been
kept. No longer is our future determined entirely by others. Instead, we who are
blind (acting individually and through our own organization, the National Federation
of the Blind) play an increasingly important part in creating and determining the
standards applicable to the conduct not only of our own daily affairs but of
everything dealing with blindness. In creating the National Federation of the Blind
(our own vehicle for self-expression and collective action), we have decided that the
subservience which has so often been a part of existence for the blind must and will
be eliminated. We insist on equality; we yearn for independence; we strive for full
participation. We come together to achieve unity, to disseminate information, to
provide inspiration, and to take concerted action through the organized blind
movement--the National Federation of the Blind.
     In 1940, books about the blind were few, and those that had been written (even
those which, by the standard of their time, were regarded as progressive) depicted
the blind as much more limited than was true or than we would hope to find today. One
such volume (written, interestingly enough, by the famous blind historian William H.
Prescott and printed in 1858) gives a picture of mixed images. Entitled Biographical
and Critical Miscellanies, this volume includes an article which comments about the
condition of the blind. Prescott recommends that improvements be made for the blind,
but he believes the possibilities for full integration are unattainable. Although
what Prescott says seems archaic and old-fashioned by the standards of 1992, his
writing must be judged by the criteria of its day. In 1858 (in the context of the
times, the technology then existent, and the attitudes and working conditions of pre-
Civil War America) the article is more positive than negative. In 1940 (although
many, especially those in work with the blind, would probably have denied it)
Prescott's views were the generally accepted standard--but they were no longer
viable. In 1992 (despite the fact that the Prescott thesis has glimmerings of
positive philosophy) we should be able to put it behind us, viewing it as nothing
more than a quaint element of the past. Unfortunately, such is not the case. While
the present day language of the professionals in the blindness system is much more
ours than Prescott's and while progress has been made, too many of the Prescott ideas
still linger, some of them so deeply embedded in the public mind that they have not
even emerged into the mysterious ten percent of thought which can be examined and
reconsidered. 
     But before saying more, let me give you excerpts from the Prescott article. It
is not only reminiscent of the America of a century and a half ago but useful as a
touchstone for perspective today.

          Immured within hospitals and almshouses [Prescott says], like so many
     lunatics and incurables, they [the blind] have been delivered over, if they
     escaped the physical, to all the moral contagion too frequently incident to such
     abodes, and have thus been involved in a mental darkness far more deplorable
     than their bodily one. 
          This injudicious treatment [Prescott continues] has resulted from the
     erroneous principle of viewing these unfortunate beings as an absolute
     burden on the public, utterly incapable of contributing to their own
     subsistence, or of ministering in any degree to their own intellectual
     wants. Instead, however, of being degraded by such unworthy views, they
     should have been regarded as, what in truth they are, possessed of
     corporeal and mental capacities perfectly competent, under proper
     management, to the production of the most useful results. 

     These are quotations from the 1858 publication. To protect the blind from the
misfortune of the hospitals and institutions for the insane, Prescott recommends the
establishment of asylums for the blind. The description of the asylum indicates that
it fulfills the functions that we would associate with a school for the blind, a home
for the blind, and a sheltered workshop. The workers in one of these asylums, says
Prescott, produced a number of articles including: 

     cotton and linen cloths, diapers, worsted net for fruit-trees, basket-work
     of every description, hemp and straw door-mats, saddle girths, rope and
     twines of all kinds, netting for sheep-pens, fishing nets, beehives,
     mattresses, cushions, feather beds, bolsters, and pillows. 
          There has been no necessity [Prescott continues] of stimulating their
     exertions by the usual motives of reward or punishment. Delighted with
     their sensible progress in vanquishing the difficulties incident to their
     condition, they are content if they can but place themselves on a level
     with the more fortunate of their fellow-creatures. And it is observed that
     many, who in the solitude of their own homes have failed in their attempts
     to learn some of the arts taught in this institution, have acquired a
     knowledge of them with great alacrity when cheered by the sympathy of
     individuals involved in the same calamity with themselves, and with whom,
     of course, they could compete with equal probability of success.

     Such is the writing about blindness of the historian Prescott, and in the record
of our development, it is well worth having. The asylum for the blind is far superior
to the almshouse, and Prescott is urging that the talents of the blind be used to a
greater extent than they had been. If the characterization of the blind by Prescott
were merely a page from the past, it would be interesting and instructive but not a
matter for concern. However, the language employed in his description is still
encountered today, and this brings it from the archives to the battlefield of current
ideas. Even now in 1992, blindness (we are told in some quarters) is a calamity;
blind people are so cheered by productive work, alongside those who are in a
similarly unfortunate plight, that there is no necessity of stimulating them with the
usual monetary rewards of productive labor; the blind cannot compete on terms of
equality with others but need a special place, where they have the possibility of
being competitive--not with those in the regular labor market, of course, but only
against other blind people.
     How often have we been told by the managers of sheltered workshops that the
reason for operating such institutions is to give blind people something useful to
do, which will provide a sense of purpose?  The ongoing labor of blind workers, which
produces the goods and generates the money, is not really "work," we are told, but
"therapy."  And what are many of the sheltered workshops if they are not special
places where blind people "cheered by the sympathy of individuals involved in the
same calamity as themselves" can compete with equal probability of success?  This is
not the way it should be; this is not the way it need be; but this is the way many of
the managers of the shops want it to be and have made it be. 
     The description of the asylum for the blind brings to mind a much more modern
incident. In 1991, less than one year ago, a blind man, a member of the National
Federation of the Blind from the state of Michigan, became employed in the printing
shop for a large public school system. He got the job with the help of our National
Treasurer, Allen Harris, and through Job Opportunities for the Blind, the nationwide
program operated by the National Federation of the Blind in partnership with the
United States Department of Labor. This blind man is being paid six dollars an hour
for his work. During the eight years prior to his employment in the print shop, he
was given what certain rehabilitation officials called "meaningful employment" at a
work activity center. The pay stubs he collected from the work activity center
confirm a story which is almost unbelievable. For sixty long hours one week this
blind man performed the work he was assigned. His take-home pay for those sixty hours
was less than five dollars. The philosophy of rehabilitation in the 1990s is (at
least in some situations) not as constructive as the philosophy of Prescott in the
1850s. At least the wages in the blind asylum were closer to those in the regular
work force of that day than this man's pay in the work activity center was to what he
now makes in the print shop. He is the same man. He has the same capacities in the
print shop that he had in the work activity center. In short, he was taken advantage
of, abused, and exploited--not because he deserved such treatment but because those
who dished it out thought they could do what they did and get away with it. It is to
fight this very kind of degrading injustice that we have formed the National
Federation of the Blind--and fight it we will until we have crushed it out of
existence. 
     At the time of the founding of the National Federation of the Blind (despite
such advances as had been made), blindness was still regarded as a personal tragedy.
The incapacity of the blind was presumed. Blindness might be used to evoke pity,
pathos, or amusement, but blind people were not taken seriously. 
     In W. C. Fields's 1934 film, It's a Gift, blindness is used to get a laugh. A
blind man of venerable age and irascible temper, Mr. Merkle, enters a grocery store
operated by Fields. In finding his way to the counter, this blind character clumsily
and furiously destroys a display of light bulbs--note the symbolism. Merkle orders
chewing gum, and when it is finally brought to him, he (playing upon the exaggerated
notion that the blind are demanding, touchy, and cantankerous) tells the grocery
store operator that he is not prepared to carry it. He wants the gum delivered. After
the rampage is over, someone asks who the blind man was. Fields replies, "He's the
house detective over at the hotel."  
     Blind people do sometimes stumble and bump into things, but this is not the norm
(not if there has been training, not if there has been reasonable opportunity). And
some of us are irascible and demanding, but I doubt that the proportion is higher for
us than it is for the sighted. The exaggeration of the 1934 movie is unreasonable and
intolerable because the damaging picture of the blind is unrealistic, degrading, and
disgraceful. In 1934 such a depiction could be made without a protest because the
blind had not yet organized. The popular belief at that time was the blind were not
(and could not be) successful. Consequently, the occasional demonstration to the
contrary was dismissed (as it is even sometimes today) as an exception. 
     But that was 1934, and this is 1992. That was before the National Federation of
the Blind. Today we have come together in our tens of thousands from every corner of
the nation--and when blindness is discussed, we intend to have a word--in fact, in
certain instances we intend to have the last word. 
     When ABC produced its program "Good & Evil" in the fall of 1991, the blind
reacted with decision and strength. ABC made fun of us. George, the blind character
who was said to be a psychologist, acted as though he had not merely lost his
eyesight but also his brains, his sense of proportion, and his self-respect. He
gently embraced a coat rack under the mistaken impression that it was a woman. He
fondled a male but wasn't aware that the individual with whom he was taking such
liberties was a man until his hands found their way below the belt. He smashed glass
objects or windowpanes in almost every scene but seemed almost blissfully unaware
that he had caused any harm. The pictures were accompanied by so-called humorous
dialogue about the blind developing such keenness with their other senses that they
could compensate for the loss of sight. 
     ABC officials seemed unable to understand why we objected to this travesty. When
we received an advance copy of the first episode of the program, we urged ABC to
rethink its position, but network officials dismissed our objections. They apparently
harbored the opinion that we of the National Federation of the Blind were simply
oversensitive and touchy, not to mention helpless and unable to do anything about
what they were doing. We responded to this brush-off by telling them that such
behavior would not be tolerated. Our message was articulated with logic and reason,
but ABC continued to ignore us. Working through the National Federation of the Blind,
thousands of blind people protested by letter and telephone. Our words became not
only brief but blunt:  "Stop 'Good & Evil.'  Stop it, or face the consequences." 
They didn't--and we acted. We picketed, contacted sponsors, talked with the media,
distributed leaflets, and alerted the public. 
     In less than two months the program was off the air. Some ABC officials
complained privately that the National Federation of the Blind had stopped the show.
When it comes to programs belittling the blind, the National Federation of the Blind
is a real showstopper. We intend to evaluate the underlying assumptions of those who
make pronouncements about us; we will set our own standards of fairness with respect
to the images projected about us; and we will take our message to the public--
including the television networks. Let those who think they can ridicule us and
disregard our opinions reflect on the fate of "Good & Evil."
     The presentations about blindness in film and on television that we have been
discussing are not revolutionary. They are a reiteration of what people have always
thought about the blind. If the film producers and television screenwriters were told
that they should study blindness, they would wonder why. Blindness doesn't change,
they would think. It is a severe physical deprivation with known, predictable
consequences. There isn't anything to study. 
     But this is the general public. What about the professionals in the blindness
field?  There are institutions which tell us that they have made a thorough
examination of blindness and that they are the experts. Consider these quotes from a
letter distributed to the public by the New York Lighthouse for the Blind. As you
will see, the letter shows that the Lighthouse believes that to the extent a person
has eyesight, life is worthwhile. To the extent that eyesight has been lost, there
are crushing difficulties. The only way (they say) to circumvent the problems is to
seek their counseling and advice. This material is not from 1858 or 1934. It is not
from 1940 or twenty years ago. It is less than five years old. Here are the
recommendations of the Lighthouse experts:

          If [they say] you thought blindness was something that happened to
     "the other guy," you should realize blindness is something that could
     happen to you.
          Imagine how you would feel if you were told by your doctor that eyeglasses
     won't help, that you are, indeed, losing your sight.
          How long would you be able to work?  How long would you be able to
     drive?  How could you enjoy an active retirement?  
          Every day, you notice it getting worse. You become less and less able
     to take care of yourself. Your relationship with your family becomes
     strained. They want to help, but they don't know how. Unable to work.
     Unable to play. Unable to read, or even watch TV. You become more and more
     cut off from the people, places, and things that filled your life before. 
          Fortunately, there is a place to turn. 
          Since 1906, The Lighthouse--The New York Association for the Blind--
     has been helping people cope with the fear and the isolation accompanying
     their loss of sight--as well as teaching them new home and job skills. 
          There's a lot you can do [the letter continues]. Not just to help
     those less fortunate than yourself, but also to support an organization
     that someday might come to your aid, or to the aid of someone you love. 
          You'll help us promote more research on how to help blind people deal
     with their disability. 
          They need your help. 
          And you should give it to them.
          Not just because it's the "right thing" to do.
          But because someday it could be you.
          Or someone you love. 

     Tucked away among the negative images in this agency's letter is this statement:

          Blind people are not different from the rest of us. They are not
     "poor, unfortunate souls" with tin cups and pencils.
          They are people like you and me. They have jobs, and families, and
     responsibilities. Like all of us, they want to lead productive, meaningful
     lives.

     These are the only positive words in the entire document. Although they suggest
that blindness may not be a complete tragedy, they are hardly believable when placed
in the context of the statements that surround them. The blind are unable to work,
unable to play, unable to have a fruitful retirement, unable to appreciate fully the
society of family and friends, unable to read, unable to enjoy TV, and unable to care
for themselves. Is such a picture realistic?  Do blind people have jobs, play with
the kids, read books, write articles and monographs, manage the responsibilities of
family life, and participate in community activities?  
     When the Lighthouse declares that it wants to do "research on how to help blind
people deal with their disability," what kind of research does it have in mind? 
Their letter, written in the late twentieth century, is, in many respects, worse than
the literature about blindness produced over a hundred years ago. The outlook is one
of despair; the prescription is for the managers of the asylum to take charge of the
affairs of the blind; the method is scare tactics to frighten the public. The
emphasis is not on the ability possessed by the blind but on the care others should
devote to them. The decision-makers are not the blind but the custodians of the
blind. If this is all that their research is capable of producing, I ask you, what
good is it?  If the point of their effort is to argue that blindness is an
unmitigated disaster, let them leave us alone. We can do without their help. This
representation of blindness is not true but false--not reality but fantasy--not an
examination of fact but a reinforcement of ancient and time-worn fiction. The New
York Lighthouse for the Blind is accredited by NAC, the National Accreditation
Council for Agencies Serving the Blind and Visually Handicapped, the most divisive
institution in the field of work with the blind today. Is it any wonder that the
Lighthouse view of blindness is negative?  
     We are not opposed to competent research about blindness conducted by competent
researchers. Blindness has been misunderstood for thousands of years, and it should
be studied. What we find objectionable is the ancient body of myths and
misconceptions dressed up in the clothes of modern scientific experimentation. Not
only do we welcome researchers who come with an open mind, but we are increasingly
participating in that research. Indeed, the cutting edge of scientific advancement
involving blindness must necessarily include the organized blind. There is no other
way for the misconceptions of the past to be identified and eliminated. 
     Whether the researchers come from within the field of work with the blind or
from some other establishment, the results of their experimentation about blindness
are, to say the least, unusual when they do it without consulting the blind.
Blindness is often regarded as equivalent to darkness, even though the two are not
the same. Recently, at the Baylor College of Dentistry, in Texas, a study was
conducted dealing with the lowly salivary gland. It seems that the amount of saliva
produced by a human being is directly related to oral hygiene. If you don't produce
enough saliva, you won't have a clean mouth. You may have thought that, interesting
though saliva experiments may be, they aren't related to blindness. Consider,
however, these statements from a document describing the study:

          The purpose of this study [says the report] is to examine, for the
     first time, the relation between visual impairment and reduced salivary
     flow. Normal salivary flow is necessary for healthy teeth and intraoral
     tissues. Research has shown that salivary flow decreases dramatically in
     dark environments. Thus, it appears reasonable to hypothesize that blind
     people might suffer from decreased salivary flow and oral health problems. 

     This is what the report says, and it boggles the mind. Remember that they are
talking about you and me. Do you think that those of us in this room who are blind
have drier mouths or less spit than those of us who are sighted?  The questions that
come to mind while contemplating this study are legion. How did they find out that
salivary flow decreases in the dark?  If you keep your mouth shut (I presume it is
dark in there), will the absence of light reduce your salivary flow?  Do the people
who talk a lot, especially in well-lighted places, produce more saliva than others? 
What other characteristics were the subject of this investigation?  I was tempted to
ask, "Does your hair grow faster at night?" or "What happens to it if you put on a
hat?"  There are some things worth studying in the dark, but I had never thought of
salivary flow as one of them. I have not yet received the results of the Baylor
College study, but if their hypothesis were correct, it would follow that blind
people suffer from bad teeth. Perhaps we do, but I doubt it. In short, "spit on it."
     Blindness is sometimes blamed for more than it deserves. Of course, magazine
publishers are in business to sell magazines, and the melodramatic (some believe)
will increase circulation, but melodrama should not masquerade as truth. An article
in the September 10, 1991, issue of Woman's World describes the experiences of a
young blind woman. It purports to be a direct quote, but I wonder if it is taken out
of context or selectively edited to emphasize the sensational. Here is what it says: 

          Sometimes I want to scream until I shatter glass. I want to take the
     heavy wooden post from my canopy bed and smash in the television screen. I
     want to hurl the television set against the wall and then storm through my
     neighborhood smashing everything. 
          Other times I feel like laughing out loud at something only I find
     funny. I want to whoop until I can't remember what it was all about.
          My wildly swinging range of emotions are related [the grammar is
     theirs not mine] directly or indirectly to my blindness.
          I am blind. After four years, I still have to repeat that
     uncomfortable statement to myself. 
          It wasn't until last year that I could bring myself to admit it. 

     Do you think this report in Woman's World truly represents the experience or the
feelings of most blind people--even those who have been blind for only three or four
years?   Becoming blind can be extremely trying emotionally. Yet, we who are blind do
not spend our days wanting to scream at the top of our lungs, fighting an urge to
smash everything, or laughing uncontrollably at nothing. I am, of course, not saying
that we lack emotion. We possess feelings and dreams in abundance, but they do not
spring from the fact of our blindness. They are a part of our basic humanity. They
live within us, and come from the heart. Blind people are not weird or peculiar--we
are just blind, and we are not prepared (even if the magazine editors would like us
to say so) to tolerate the assertion that we are somehow abnormal, idiotic, or
subhuman. 
     Many thousands of letters come to the National Federation of the Blind each
year. Some are dramatic; some are matter-of-fact; some are unassuming. Often those
who see our public service announcements respond with requests for assistance.
Reading between the lines, it is possible upon occasion to learn much from a very few
words. Here is a letter, which I received less than six months ago:

          I was watching TV one afternoon and saw a commercial. It was your
     commercial. I was just wondering what your organization is all about.
          I am legally blind and have been since late December, 1983. I attended
     the Pittsburgh Guild for the Blind in 1986. I spent over a half year there.
          I was watching TV, and I saw a commercial. It was your commercial. So
     I decided to write, and just find out what your organization is all about.
     Like what all do you do?  So I was wondering if you could send me some
     information.
          I was sent down to United Rehabilitation Services to get trained for a
     job. I think some blind organization was sending the work for me to do. But
     then they didn't send anything, so I sat there.

                                                                           Sincerely,

     Simple, straightforward, uncomplicated--direct language, eloquent. The woman who
wrote became blind in 1983. Three years later, in 1986, she received training at the
Pittsburgh Guild. After six months at the Guild she was sent to an agency to do a
little work. The work didn't come. She sat there. In 1992, nine years after she
became blind, she is still waiting--watching television and wondering what there is
for her. How long does it take to crush the spirit or kill the dream?  This woman's
letter is not demanding, but the exact opposite. She wonders what our organization is
about. The repetition of the tentative phrasing indicates that this woman does not
wish to face one more disappointment. During the last nine years there must have been
many, and she is almost afraid to hope. But she did not give up; she did write; and
we did respond. Blindness should not mean (and it doesn't have to mean) interminable
waiting, idle hours, and a place to sit while the rest of the world moves on.
Training in the skills of blindness can be found; a job with all of the frustrations
and joys that accompany it can be procured; and of greatest importance, there is hope
for a better tomorrow. 
     This woman tells us, as we read between the lines, that the Pittsburgh Guild for
the Blind has nothing to offer. This comes as no surprise since the current executive
director is Richard Welsh, who also serves as one of the principal officers of the
National Accreditation Council for Agencies Serving the Blind and Visually
Handicapped (NAC), probably the most controversial and regressive agency for the
blind of the twentieth century. Be that as it may, we have our own vehicle for
collective action, and we know how to use it. The woman who wrote for information
about our organization received encouragement and support. We will help. 
     I joined the National Federation of the Blind in 1969. The organization was
different from anything I had ever encountered. It told me that blindness need not be
a disaster, that it could simply be a characteristic, that it did not have to keep me
from pursuing a career. I had reservations about it, but I hoped that the message was
true--and I said that I believed. Even though I tried to accept the philosophy of the
Federation wholeheartedly, my views about blindness today are not precisely the same
as those I held in 1969 when I joined. Learning cannot happen all at once, and both
individuals and organizations gain experience and understanding as long as they
retain the flexibility of an open mind. 
     Shortly after I became a part of the National Federation of the Blind, several
members of the organization, traveling by plane to a state convention of one of our
affiliates, hotly debated whether a blind person could competently travel from one
airport gate to another without a guide. I believed at the time (although I was a
little nervous about expressing my opinion) that it was foolishness to maintain that
a blind person could travel easily and gracefully through an airport without an
escort. Some of my colleagues argued that modern travel skills could be as effective
in an airport as anywhere else. They pointed out that blind people can get around
with assurance in large cities. Why shouldn't the same principles apply to the
airport?
     We put the matter to the test. I sought assistance in traveling, and one of my
colleagues struck out on his own. I don't suppose I need to tell you that he got to
the next gate before I did. These days I travel routinely from one gate to another in
busy airports without ever giving it a thought (sometimes with and sometimes without
assistance). The point is that I can get where I want to go whenever I need to, and I
am grateful to my Federation colleague for showing me that I could.
     In 1940, Dr. Jacobus tenBroek had the inspiration and self-assurance to found
the National Federation of the Blind. In 1952, Dr. Kenneth Jernigan first attended a
National Convention of the organized blind movement. Fired with enthusiasm by Dr.
tenBroek, Dr. Jernigan began to add his effort to the creation of the literature of
independence and to the building of the structure of self-organization that would
forever change the fundamental meaning of blindness. Dr. tenBroek, the philosopher
who could dream of a future unlike any previously contemplated, and Dr. Jernigan, the
builder who carried the philosophy of independence to the rehabilitation
establishment and to the blind of every state, came together to create a leadership
both powerful and dynamic. Dr. tenBroek conceived the notion of equality for the
blind; Dr. Jernigan popularized the idea and established a training center which
incorporated it in the curriculum. Together these pioneers forged a gathering of
energetic blind people dedicated to making the dream of independence become reality. 
     Although the belief system of the past may hold that there is nothing essential
to learn about what blindness is or how to deal with it, this time-worn understanding
of the capacity of the blind is no longer uncontested. We human beings ordinarily
observe only that which we already know, and we learn only when ninety percent of
what is presented is familiar. But this is not all. Learning cannot occur unless
there is a teacher with the wisdom and the capacity to dream of the other ten
percent. Those in the school systems, in the governmental and private agencies for
the blind, and in the public at large can work with us to accelerate the achievement
of independence for the blind, and increasingly this is precisely what has been
occurring. But they cannot provide the inspiration and the dream--that must come from
us. We will learn what we must, imagine a time when we have eradicated the
misconceptions about the blind, provide an alternative explanation which is more
complete than the misguided theories of the long ago, and teach the public about our
basic normality. This is our goal, our mission, and our right. 
     If we cannot muster the courage, sustain the dream, or maintain the nerve, the
loss will be unimaginable. But, of course, we will not fail. We have one another, and
nobody--no agency for the blind, no magazine editor, no film producer, no so-called
scientific researcher, no television network official-- can prevent us from going the
rest of the way toward freedom. We believe in one another; we have faith in the
ability of our blind brothers and sisters; and we will share the burden that must be
borne to bring true independence to the blind. Ninety percent must be known if
learning is to occur. But there is the other ten percent, the mysterious ten percent,
the vital ten percent--and we will supply it; we are the National Federation of the
Blind. My brothers and my sisters, come!  Join me and we will make it all come true!
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