by Lisa LaNell Mauldin
There are times in the world of accessibility advocacy when you feel as though you are actually accomplishing something, and somehow, somewhere the message is actually getting through. But then, there are other times when access victories seem to be one step forward, two steps back, and every now and then, long past midnight, when I am tired and have gotten none of my goals for a day accomplished, and things in my personal life aren’t exactly how I would like them, and another job opportunity has slipped away ... filled by another applicant, I wonder in my heart of hearts if it is all worthwhile.
It is easy at times for us to become discouraged when we read messages such as the one about Judge Esterbrook’s expressed opinion that a blind professor is logically inferior to a sighted one, or the message about the Gap’s unbelievable disregard for our rights to accessibility to the web. But then, just when things are at their darkest, someone lights a candle, and although the flame dances and flickers with the fragility of a candle in the wind, the illumination of that one solitary source of light shines with a hope for the future, and the encouragement that results is just what I needed to go on. I’d like to tell you a story of one such candle in the wind that the postman delivered today.
But first some background: On June 7, I received an e-mail from Citibank offering me a $100 bonus if I signed up for an account with their CitiFI (Citibank Financial Interactive) service.
At the time, I was in search of a viable and accessible on-line bill payment option, so I figured “why not...after all $100 is $100.” So, I clicked on the link provided in the e-mail. Little did I realize the journey of frustration which was about to confront me, a journey which would last for more than two months, and if I don’t cool off shortly, the matter is apt to last much, much longer.
Upon entering the CitiFI web site, I was presented with the option that read “Click here if you are using a screen reader.” Since this is not the norm for private sector web sites, I was more than a little impressed, and happily clicked the link. When I selected “Open New Account” I was presented with a toll-free number to call, where I was assured that my application would be taken over the phone. So, I called.
A very pleasant woman took my information and informed me that I would receive a packet of information via UPS, and my signature would be required to complete the application process. In a few days, her predictive information proved to be correct, as the UPS man delivered the paperwork, and I set about signing the appropriate papers to finalize the process.
Some weeks later, however, my paperwork was returned to me with my check, and I was informed that they were missing two elements of information from the application. This was the first point at which I began to get annoyed. The two pieces of information they were missing concerned questions for which I had provided answers during my phone application process. My annoyance was heightened when a friend informed me that had I not selected the screen reader link, I would have been able to apply on-line. Now, I was angry.
I provided the “missing” information — again — and attached a letter informing Citibank that I am blind, and because the information behind the screen reader link was inferior to their normal account processing link, they had succeeded in making the application process more inaccessible for me as a blind person than for a sighted on-line applicant. I also informed them that this was the second voluminous packet of print paperwork they had sent me, and I requested that all future contact with me be handled either by phone or via e-mail. (I had previously asked about Braille statements and had been told that none were available.) I told them that if my request was ignored, I would be forced to file a complaint with the Department of Justice for violation of the ADA.
Well, would you believe that in today’s mail, I received my application paperwork — returned again along with my check — along with a letter explaining that they were no longer accepting applications for CitiFI. I was then presented with a couple of options.
“No longer accepting applications?” I wailed to the empty room. My “application” had been “accepted” by phone more than six weeks ago. So I called the toll-free customer service number. The conclusion of that conversation resulted in two truths: I am not a CitiFI customer, and they certainly did not provide service.
I’ve never had so much trouble giving a bank my money in my life!
Slamming down the phone in total outrage by now, I reached for the next item on the mail pile, and I was instantly brought up short by what I found.
It seems that Morgan, a little fifth grade girl from my church, had woven me two potholders. Morgan is one of my “buddies” who always comes up and hugs me to say “Hello, Miss Lisa.” I have known Morgan since she was in second grade, and I always make a point to talk with her each Sunday ... find out how school is going ... just give her a few minutes of undivided attention. I also try and remember her with a little something at Christmas time and on her birthday, and she is one of about four or five of my “little buddies” although she is probably my favorite.
While the potholders are gift enough in and of themselves, the item which I pulled from the envelope next literally brought tears to my eyes.
The note which Morgan had sent with the potholders was provided in print, but then a second sheet was included ... a sheet of cardstock paper.
The enclosed cardstock sheet was covered with raised dots, which, Morgan’s mother told me, Morgan had punched out individually on the paper. It seems that Morgan had discovered a font called “Braille” on her word processor, and she printed her note in this font and then set about punching out the dots ... one by one. While it is true that there is not a single legible word on the page, the victory comes not in the execution, but rather in the principle.
What does this have to do with accessibility? To my mind ... everything.
While it remains to be seen if the international conglomerate of Citibank will ever get the point, Morgan’s note makes it crystal clear that Morgan understands the need for alternative formats for someone who is blind. While the execution of her understanding could use some improvement, the most difficult part of the task has already been accomplished ... her attitude. Because Morgan chose to recognize that not everyone in her world is the same and with diversity comes different needs, she realized that it was going to require some creative and forward thinking to ensure that her blind friend from church would be able to read her note.
While I realize that Morgan’s efforts don’t mean much for universal access, one day a quiet little fifth grader will grow up, and if the blind community of tomorrow is fortunate, she just might be a federal judge, a Citibank executive, or a web developer for the Gap. For now, she is my personal candle in the wind whose light has provided all the encouragement I need to know that it is all worthwhile.