comlec9.doc

in the mainstream and among blind people. The link to the program is http://finaldraft.podomatic.com/player/web/2010-04-12T02_00_34-07_00

summarises the year’s activities, including events celebrating the Louis Braille Bicentenary. The report concludes with some personal, and I hope optimistic, reflections on the living experience of braille.

ABA Annual Report 2009-2010.doc

uncoiling the serpent.doc

article that I wrote in November 1998 titled TINA and the Cheeseburger. The original stimulus was an incident whose details elude me now other than that

it had to do with a person’s guide dog being repossessed by the training agency. The article touches on themes such as learned helplessness, the dangers of passivity, and why people make the choices they do in their lives, that I still reflect on a lot, so I thought it would be worth republishing this article, with some slight editing.

“About this time last year I began to get some stirrings in my head about writing a paper for presentation at the forthcoming ANZAEVH conference (ANZAEVH is the Australian and New Zealand Association of Educators of the Visually Handicapped, and they are having their biennial conference in Sydney in January 1999).
For several reasons, the paper languished, but I am taking this opportunity to revive the tile by way of offering a few thoughts prompted by current discussions.

Recently a new word has been coined to describe a process of uniformity of thinking – MacDonaldisation. No matter where you go in the world, when you go into a MacDonalds restaurant and order a cheeseburger, you know you will get the same thing. Even if you might hanker after variation, you probably won’t ask for it because – introducing the first part of my title – you will have come to believe that there is no alternative. One of the linguistic additions for which we have to thank the Thatcherite politics of the 1980′s is the introduction of TINA – There Is No Alternative. Putting

these two ideas together, TINA and the Cheeseburger refers, then, to a way of thinking that sees no alternative to the present situation; a pattern of

behaviour characterised by inaction, by passive acceptance of the status quo; in short, a way of life based on the belief that we are victims of our situation and remain helpless to change things.

I believe that many of us, as blind people, have embraced the TINA-and-the-Cheeseburger ideology with a vengeance – with a delight that borders on ferocity, and this belief has been strengthened as I reflect on the events surrounding the seeing eye dog repossession incident. Such events

have a pre-history:
they do not suddenly arise out of a vacuum. In this case, at least part of this pre-history has, in my view, a lot to do with us as blind people – with

our collective passivity in the face of flagrant and clear abuses; with the failure, too, of agencies and organisations to name such abuses for what they are and demand their cessation. In short, I believe that when we remain

silent in the face of blatant discrimination and transgression of the accepted norms of social, ethical and moral conduct, then we become just as culpable as the perpetrators.

I suggest that the recent incident – regardless of the veracity of the media

reporting – is the tip of an iceberg that threatens to engulf us in a truly Titanic fate. I use the word “titanic”
deliberately: perhaps the major factor that led to the tragedy in 1912 was the belief that the Titanic was unsinkable, so that when the iceberg struck, no-one took much notice until it was too late. Similarly, I wonder whether very many of us as blind people have a true conception of just how precarious is the basis for our so-called independence. I know people who have been emotionally abused by staff who should know better, but they do nothing; I know of people who receive poor advice that has cost them money, but do nothing; I know of people who are struggling to come to terms with technology in the face of professional indifference, and do nothing – they all think there is no alternative. Perhaps the thing that has

appalled me the most is my discovery that the ownership of dog guides does not reside with the user, but ultimately with the providing agency. I may be

the only person in Australia who didn’t realise that this was the situation, but in any case, such a state of affairs seems to me to epitomise

the worst excesses of the TINA mentality. Would we, as a society, accept a situation where an amputee was told “well, here are your new legs. Just remember that if you don’t look after them we’ll take them away and give them to someone who will”? I wonder if the thousands of people who have had

artificial lenses inserted in their eyes to replace cataracts would have been as quick to act if they had been told “Now you have to bathe your eyes for the first week, and if, on your next visit, I find that you haven’t been

doing this, I’ll take the lens out and you won’t be able to see anymore.? Would we describe such behaviour as emotional blackmail? How about the following hypothetical conversational fragment: “Well, here’s your new means

of mobility
- your key to independent and stress-free living. But remember, we’ll be watching you, and if we don’t like what we see then we’ll take it away, and we can do it because you’ve just signed the consent form”? Would we be outraged? Would we be stirred to action? Would we lobby politicians and community leaders? The answer is that no, most of us have not, and are not -

there is no alternative. We thus become willing participants in the perpetuation of a cycle of fear, dependence, and helplessness.

For the past 23 years, I have used an Optacon to read everything from the telephone directory to the labels on tins and the little bottles of spirits

that you find in hotel rooms. Some of you may not have heard of the Optacon,

let alone had the opportunity to use one. Don’t worry, they’ve stopped making them now so you won’t have to decide if you could benefit from one. But the reality is that when my Optacon breaks, it will be unrepairable, and

I will be less independent – I will be “blinder” than what I am now. And you

know something: the Optacon passed into history with little more than a whimper of protest from the people that are supposed to be safeguarding and proclaiming my right to independence as a blind person. Most blind people with whom I have discussed this issue say “well, the Optacon was only really suitable for a few people anyway, and you’ve got to remember that it’s all about the market – there’s really no alternative.” And then they tell me that every day, in every way, things are getting better and better for us as blind people. On the other hand, sighted people are incredulous when I tell them that the Optacon (and other devices that liberate people) are no longer made. I ask: who is the enemy?

The answer is, in my view, that the enemy is our lethargy; our inactivity; our passivity; our contentment with being victims; our proclivity for much talk but little action; our tendency to dismiss technologies, strategies and

philosophies that challenge our assumptions and habitual ways of thinking. Indeed, the enemy is us, and I wonder what it’s going to take for us to recognise and deal with that enemy.

Lest I appear to be too pessimistic, I must conclude by saying that I do sense that a new breeze is starting to blow amongst at least some of us; I feel a growing awareness of the wisdom of Margaret Mead’s statement that we must never think that a few committed individuals cannot bring about profound change. There is an alternative, and I sense that more and more of us are starting to articulate and claim that alternative. Let us learn from this latest example that has rightly shaken us, and let us go forward together with renewed vigour, mutual trust and solidarity. We have nothing to lose but our canes – and maybe if we read the fine print we’ll find that we don’t really own them anyway.”

Here’s the plot: someone played with matches and burned the world down (they didn’t listen to mother). A man and his pre-pubescent son were among the few survivors, and for reasons that are never explained, they are walking along a road to the coast (maybe it’s just what you do when the world’s a big ash-pile). They spend their time avoiding marauding bands of hungry people (well you’ve got to eat something). The father mumbles, whispers and coughs his way through the movie, and then dies. The boy cries. Some “good guys” come along and he goes off with them. The end. The book is much more nuanced (as you’d expect from Cormack McCarthy), and although it takes an unashamedly minimalist approach to character development, you do start to feel resonances with the father (who is a bit like a Patrick White-style archetypical Man). I don’t know why it is that movie makers feel that their characters have to speak in a monotone, an undertone, and altogether contrary to the way real people speak in real life. OK, so movies aren’t real life, but you can’t even suspend (dis)belief if the main character sounds perpetually lobotomised. And in The Road it’s not that there’s a lot of people around – so why whisper and mumble? Let’ bring a bit of authenticity back into fantasy.

It’s worse, of course, for those of us who rely on audio description to bring visual information within reach. Because there’s no audio description for The Road, the dialogue (and the vaguely sinister music, which becomes irritating after the first 3 nanoseconds) is all we have – and, unfortunately, that’s not much. I found myself breathing a sigh of relief when there was some animated dialogue featuring a bloke who tried to take the boy away (well he was hungry, wasn’t he). He had a good volume level, and good enunciation (for a US Southerner). But he got shot (otherwise the movie would have ended prematurely with the sights and sounds of a casserole), so that was that.

Whatever happened to Mary Poppins?