When I was a little kid I wanted a
lot of things. I wanted to write a great novel, to be a stand-up comedian, to
be a disabled radical. Yes, I was undoubtedly the oddest and oldest ten year
old alive. This internship is in many ways the fulfillment of that last and
longest held ambition. It has been and will continue to be a privilege to work
in this field, but it is an experience that has evolved my thinking in ways I
would never have suspected. Actually, one of the first things I learned when
beginning this internship is that I had little to no idea what being an
advocate means. I’m aghast to admit; in my most elaborate of childish fantasies
I imagined a great deal more bullhorns. I saw myself yelling inspirational words
into a loudspeaker, leading my kin against the thuggish agents of the man. I’d become the leader of a national
disability movement, and end my evenings with a stiff drink. I’d dive into my tumbler as a pretty young
advocate asked me in awed reverence “How do you find the strength Emmanuel?
What are you fighting for?” I’d stare out into the rain, and say with trembling
breath and an inexplicable brogue…”We’re fighting for justice darlin’. Justice….”. Oh god, I know. Painfully dreadful.
In fairness, my understanding of
disability advocacy was painted mainly by the work of ADAPT, wheel-chaired
radicals (really disabled Americans of all kinds) whose political actions often
enraged allies and opponents alike. They chained themselves to buses, staged
protests, and got arrested with abandon. Their work was and is important, but
it isn’t close to offering a full example of effective advocacy. Coming into
this internship, I knew Disability Rights Iowa operated differently, but I’d be
lying if I said I fully understood their work. After four months, I’m proud to
say I’ve begun to understand the many aspects of advocacy work. Disability
Advocacy is less about talking, less about speeches, and more about listening
to the needs of our community. It is less about political aggrandizing, and
more about bridge building. It is time cards, collaborative meetings, research
and paperwork. Oh dear god in heaven the paperwork. It is work that in a word
needs dorks. Thankfully, my services were available.
I’m ashamed to admit I haven’t
transformed into a dashing young advocate, nor have I inexplicably gained an
Irish accent. But I’m becoming I hope someone infinitely more valuable to this
movement. I’m a dork who cares deeply about disabled people, and am slowly
arming myself to be a true advocate for my disabled peers. As it happens it
seems I’m in good company. I’ve had the
wonderful opportunity to tour a variety of organizations through this
internship. Last week, I was able to tour Vocational Rehab and learn from the
many passionate people who work there. Their director, Mr. David Mitchell took
it upon himself to introduce me to the inner workings of his organization, and
gave me more time, consideration, and attention than any intern could hope to
receive. He is also, and I hope he will forgive me on this point, a bit of a
dork himself.
What I mean in that is that Mr.
Mitchell not only turns his full attention to the complex, multi-tiered workings
of Vocational Rehab, he enjoys these complexities. He seems to be a man who
pours into the details not because he must, but because he enjoys it. He brings a
genuine interest to his work, into the seemingly endless complexities that come
naturally with Protection and Advocacy work. It is an interest I’m glad to find
I share. What’s more, he has avoided the trap that seems to grab many in this
field, that almost unavoidable loss of enthusiasm that comes with experience.
Mr. Mitchell has inexplicably been able to hold onto his, and he brings his
energy and passion into every aspect of his work. Most importantly though I think
is Mr. Mitchell demonstrated last week first hand his understanding of disability
and his clear ability to empathize with those different from himself.
There are a variety of litmus tests
I look to when determining my opinion of a person. Most are common sense. Do you happen to have a
predilection towards Precious Moments Figurines? Have you ever referred to your
friends or to yourself as “a riot”? Are you named Tiffany? These are important
issues to be sure. But beyond the superficial, I’ve found that observing the
ways people interact with my disability can be incredibly telling, especially
in this area of work. It becomes a kind of field-test, a unique way to gauge
someone’s ability to empathize, and operate as a caregiver. A majority of the
people I’ve worked with have passed this test, some sadly have not. Mr.
Mitchell clearly passed, and earned my respect because of it.
During my first day at Vocational
Rehab, we had meetings all over the city. Instead of simply saying “oh well” at
my lack of a car and excluding me from the experience, (as many have done
before him) he rented out the organizations van, and drove me personally from
site to site. More than that, he assisted me with transfers, with getting my
wheelchair, and did so without a hint of bother or annoyance. It is something I
have only rarely seen outside of my family and friends. He knew what to ask and
when to ask it, and made me feel incredibly at ease. For anyone with a disability,
that is always greatly appreciated. I mention all this not to take away from
the many other passionate, capable people I met at Vocational Rehab, but to
share an example of the kind of advocate I hope to someday be.
The advocate I hope to be will be a marriage
of the best parts of these worlds and backgrounds. I want the heart of the
aging hippy who trades his hulu-hoop for a ferret, the voice of the inscrutable
radical and the foresight of the dependable accountant. I want to not only to have
an idealistic, morally grounded vision but the ability to bring that vision
into the world. My work will become I hope a marriage of all my parents have
taught me, all the good they instilled in me, and all the skills I’ve slowly
begun to acquire. I was raised on the hippy heart, and have tried to equip
myself with the advocates mind. I’ve learned I’ll need both, and I’m arming
myself for this work as quickly as I may. And even as I change and learn, maybe
even grow a bit embittered, I’ll protect that young idealistic 10 year old to
whom I owe so much. It may be that I’m a dork in progress but I’m not giving up
on the pretty young radicals quite yet. All my thanks to those who made this
internship possible, and to those who continue to make it an invaluable experience.
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