Trolleys are making a comeback. Not the trolleys on
tracks like you see in old black and white photos of American cities from the
early 20th century. You know, the ones bought up by the American car companies
after World War II in order to increase dependency on the automobile.
No, I'm talking about small circulator buses designed to
look like classic trolleys, right down to the uncomfortable wooden bench seats.
They make frequent stops along short routes to give folks more transportation
options.
I'm all for options, as many as possible. Choice is good.
But if you're a wheelchair user and you want to hop the sort of trolley I'm
referring to, well, your options are fewer. As in, only one. There's only one
spot onboard where you can sit, and that's at the back. Behind the last row of
seats. And it gets worse.
You see, I thought that 25 years after the passage of the
ADA, we had worked out some of the issues. It appeared that newer buses were
being designed to let people in chairs board in front via a ramp. And the
driver could easily deploy the ramp at the touch of a switch without having to
exit the bus. This is not true for the new trolleys.
No, the trolleys require the driver to exit the vehicle,
manually open a rear door, deploy a lift (not a ramp that remains stationary
while you're on it), get the chair user on the lift, raise the lift up,
manually close the rear door, board the trolley, walk all the way to the back,
tie down your wheelchair, then return to his/her seat. All while your fellow
passengers look at their watches and sigh.
But it doesn't end there. Once the trolley starts up
again and hits the first small bump or pothole, you realize that the wheelchair
seating is located behind the trolley's rear wheels. You know, the bounciest
part of the vehicle: the spot that whips riders up and down. And on hot days --
and we have a lot of them in Miami -- the rear A/C unit mounted on the ceiling
drips, drips, drips big drops of unpotable water down onto the wheelchair-using
trolley rider.
After taking a ride on one of these trolleys, I wasn't
sure which part of the ride motivated me the most to never want to ride one
again. Was it the discomfort I felt at inconveniencing the driver or delaying
my fellow passengers? Was it the slight vertigo from riding on a lift instead
of a stationary ramp? Was it the big wet spot on my dry-clean only dress,
courtesy of the A/C unit? Was it the bouncing that imperiled my tail bone?
No, it wasn't these things. It was sitting dead last
behind everyone else onboard. Not because I think I'm better than anyone and
should sit up front. But because of the way it made me isolated. And those of
us who are disabled already get a bellyful of isolation, day in, day out.
Invitations to the homes of friends and family that have
to be turned down because houses are rarely built without steps. Entering
buildings at the side or the rear because even newly built facilities often
have steps at the main entrance. Sitting in the "special wheelchair
section" behind the last row of seating at a concert. Happy hours spent
sitting three feet below and out of earshot of your friends because all of the
seating at the bar is on stools at raised tables. And on and on...
A quarter century has passed since George H.W. Bush
signed the ADA. Yet society still insists on constructing minimally inclusive,
isolating built environments. On denying that disability is part and parcel of
the human experience. On looking the other way when the largest minority group
is told -- in so many words -- to either pass as non-disabled, or go sit in the
corner.
It's time to come out of the corner and plant ourselves
in the middle of the room.
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