In Her Own Words: An Excerpt from Being Heumann

It was April 1977, and officials at the federal Department of Health, Education and Welfare had delayed signing section 504 of the Rehabilitation Act of 1973 for four years. Fed up at this denial of civil rights, Judy Heumann and activists at the American Coalition of Citizens with Disabilities planned protests at 10 HEW offices around the country. Following the protests, activists stormed HEW offices and refused to leave until the regulations were signed. This excerpt finds Heumann and the sit-in leadership team occupying the office of Joseph Maldonado, the head of HEW’s San Francisco location. The occupation lasted 26 days, despite officials’ attempts to force out the protestors by restricting food, hot water and family visits. Oh, and they even tried to evict the activists with a fake bomb threat.

Day One

“An Occupation Army of Cripples Has Taken Over the San Francisco Federal Building” read one headline. Jim [Pechin]and I and the rest of the leadership team were gathered around Maldonado’s desk. Newspapers were spread out in front of us, and the little television in Maldonado’s office was on. Our sit-in was all over the Bay Area newspapers, television, and radio. A television segment reported, “It all started this morning here at the Old Federal Building at 50 Fulton Street when an incident took place outside. Immediately after that demonstration this morning, the handicapped started invading the building.” We were being talked about as if we were a foreign army. The public was stunned. People weren’t used to thinking of us as fighters — when they thought about us at all. And I don’t say that in a bitter way, but in more of an honest way. We were a people who were generally invisible in the daily life of society. I mean, think about it. If you didn’t see us in school, because we weren’t allowed in; or at your place of employment, either because we couldn’t physically access it or because we couldn’t get hired; or on your form of public transportation, because buses and trains weren’t accessible; or in restaurants or theaters, for the same reason — then where in your everyday life would you have seen us?

Day Six (Easter)

California congressman George Miller suddenly walked in, completely unannounced. George Miller was around our age — he was just 32. Figuring out right away that we were on the phone with someone in DC, Miller quietly walked over to another phone and picked up the receiver. Silently he listened in as Peter [LiBossi] talked about the changes HEW was considering. “Peter,” he interrupted, “this is Congressman George Miller.” Abruptly Peter stopped talking. I don’t remember what was said after that exactly, but Peter basically hung up very quickly. The congressman put the phone down and turned to all of us in the room, a serious look on his face. “Stay,” he said. “Stay in this building and don’t leave until you’ve won.”

The next day Congressman Miller called to tell us that he and California congressman Phil Burton had agreed to hold a congressional hearing in the building. On Friday, at the end of the week. “Hooray!” we cheered, elated. It was a huge victory. A congressional hearing is a way for Congress to investigate, through the testimony of the public and experts, what’s going on with an issue. The fact that the representatives were not only planning on holding a congressional hearing but were planning on holding it in the building, meant that we had succeeded in elevating our issues to the point where Congress was getting involved with real sincerity.

Day Eleven

Congressman Burton opened the proceedings by stating that the intention of the hearing was to understand the nature of the conflict. Joe Quinn stood next to him, translating in sign language. I spoke first.

“You have given us respectability,” I said, thanking the congressmen. “We will not compromise any further. We will not be leaving this building until the regulations are signed as we want. This is a civil rights movement.” I paused, then continued, “You are helping us start a civil rights movement.”

Gene Eidenberg, the HEW representative from Washington, then read a statement on behalf of Secretary Califano and the undersecretary. The statement essentially repeated what we all already knew, that the regulations were under review.

The congressmen asked Eidenberg why signing the regulations was being delayed.

Eidenberg demurred, quoting issues of studies and reviews. Clearly, he’d been given his marching orders by the higher-ups at HEW. The fact that Califano even sent a somewhat lower-level bureaucrat to a congressional hearing spoke volumes about his attitude toward us.

The congressmen probed Eidenberg’s responses. What studies? For what purpose, exactly?

Eidenberg, growing obviously uncomfortable under their scrutiny, remained opaque. Awkwardly, he tried to explain HEW’s position. Rambling, he mentioned the words “separate but equal” and in the same sentence dropped the news that the number of issues under review had reached a total of 26.

The instant I heard this phrase something exploded inside me.

Still “separate but equal”? HEW was still considering a “separate-but-equal” approach? After all the support we’d gotten from the civil rights groups? Had they never heard of Brown v. Board of Education? In no other area of civil rights would the concept of “separate but equal” be tolerated, much less discussed with such insistence.

My insides churned with anger and frustration.

While I was desperately trying to maintain my composure in the front of the room, Kitty [Cone]slipped out the back. The minute Eidenberg had uttered the words “separate but equal,” she turned her chair around and rolled out the door. In front of the building, as the congressional hearing continued indoors, Kitty told the assembled crowd outdoors what Eidenberg had said about “separate but equal.”

The 800 protesters dissolved in an uproar so loud we could hear it inside. It was my turn to respond to the statement Eidenberg had read. I didn’t look at my notes.

Taking a deep breath, I looked directly at Eidenberg. “Whether there was a Section 504,” I said, my voice breaking, “there was a Brown v. Board of Education.” My voice broke again. I looked down, swallowed my tears, and looked back up at Eidenberg.

“The . . .” I stopped, suddenly overwhelmed by the weight and exhaustion of the days, the weeks, the years of pushing. Of having to fight, just for an equal chance to live.

I took another deep breath.

“The harassment. The lack of equity that has been provided for disabled individuals, and that even now is being discussed by the administration, is so intolerable that I can’t quite put it into words.” I could not keep my voice from trembling. With every word, I felt a memory weighing. Of being in my living room by myself, staring out the window, while all my friends were in school. At Brooklyn College, crying as my father carried me onto the stage. Knocking on doors in my dorm, looking for help to go to the bathroom. The flight attendants trying to throw me off the plane, all the passengers’ eyes on me.

“I can tell you,” I said, a force rising in me, “that every time you raise issues of ‘separate but equal,’ the outrage of disabled individuals across this country is going to continue, is going to be ignited. And there will be more takeovers of buildings until, finally, maybe, you’ll begin to understand our position.

“We will no longer allow the government to oppress disabled individuals. We want the law enforced! We want no more segregation! We will accept no more discussions of segregation . . .”

I paused. Eidenberg was nodding sympathetically at me. The look on his face was unbearable.

“And, I would appreciate it if you would stop nodding your head in agreement when I don’t think you have any idea what we are talking about!” I put my head in my hands and choked back my tears. The room burst in applause.

The next hour of testimony was a blur. So many people spoke.

“What Califano forgets is that while they sit around and intellectualize, what they don’t seem to understand is that our lives are not changed,” said Debbie Kaplan of the Disabilities Rights Center in DC.

Ed Roberts said, “For one of the largest minorities in the country, I have never seen a better blueprint for segregation.”

Denise Darensbourg, who was developmentally disabled, stated, “I might seem second class to them, but I’m a person like everyone else. I don’t think it’s fair to be put down. I went to a special school for the mentally retarded. I didn’t learn the things I should have. The attitude was that I couldn’t learn anyway, so why bother? I need help with some things, but not with all.”

In the midst of it all, Eidenberg seemed unable to decide his position. One minute he appeared pitying, the next unreadable, then frustrated. One by one, speaker after speaker got up, blind, deaf, physically disabled, former addicts, parents of disabled, sharing thoughts, feelings, pain, isolation, anger, heartbreak, telling of years spent trying to get a job, an education, trying to count, trying to matter.

Following the Congressional hearings in San Francisco, Heumann and an ACCD leadership group traveled to Washington D.C. to gather support for their cause while protestors continued the occupation. The leaders team lobbied senators and Carter administration officials, continued their media blitz and made life as uncomfortable as possible for Joseph Califano by holding nightly vigils outside his home. The pressure worked.

On April 28, 1977, Califano signed Section 504. It was day 26 of the sit-in, which was the longest occupation of a federal building and one of the most impactful. Section 504 established the foundation for federal disability access, and though the law was never widely enforced, it became the basis for the 1990 Americans with Disabilities Act, a fully-fledged civil rights law that changed life with disability in this country.

Used with permission of Beacon Press, from Being Heumann by Judith Heumann, copyright 2020; permission conveyed through Copyright Clearance Center, Inc.