Haben Page 20

  “I’ll help if I notice anything. I’ll even come on stage if I have to.”

  “Cam!” My face breaks into an amused grin as I tell myself she’s just joking.

  “Well, what are they going to do?”

  I laugh nervously. “Let’s not find out.”

  “Did Ryan tell you what he does?”

  I shake my head no.

  “He has a badge that looks like a pair of wings.” She draws the shape on the back of my hand. “I’m not a hundred percent sure, but I think that’s the Air Force symbol.”

  “Oh…What do Airmen do at the White House? Could he be Secret Service? I’ll have to ask him.”

  “So mysterious! Let me know when you find out.”

  I nod. “What are people up to now?”

  “Most people are down the hall by the food. Chatting. Taking pictures. I see a few people with wheelchairs, canes, people signing…”

  “Let’s go meet them!”

  The White House celebration of the twenty-fifth anniversary of the Americans with Disabilities Act has brought together advocates from all across the nation, including Rosemarie Garland-Thomson, a disability rights professor from Emory University, and the author of many texts on disability politics; Claudia Gordon, the former disability advisor for President Obama and the first Deaf African American woman to become an attorney; and Tom Harkin, a former senator from Iowa who championed passage of the ADA. I feel starstruck around all these heroes who paved the way for Generation ADA.

  “Hey, Maria!” I give her a hug. Maria Town serves as the senior associate director for the Office of Public Engagement and a liaison for the disability community. She’s also a good friend. “Congratulations on such a great event.”

  “Thanks! I can’t really talk right now, but you need to go to the Red Room.”

  I laugh. More White House orders! “Okay, talk to you later.”

  “Wait, where’s Maxine?”

  “She’s at home.” Guilt stabs through my heart. “When people meet me, the conversation tends to focus on Maxine. Normally that’s fine, but there’s a chance I might get a minute with the president, and I want that minute to be about disability rights, not dogs.”

  “Interesting. I see what you’re saying. Hey, I’m sorry, they’re calling me. Go to the Red Room!”

  “Going! Bye!”

  In the Red Room, we discover about thirty guests waiting to meet the president and take a photo. People will line up in the Red Room, meet the president in the Blue Room, then wait for the speeches to start in the East Room. As their introducer, they want me to go last.

  Cameron and I settle into a sofa, ready for a long wait, a wait that actually started a week ago when I received the invitation. Then three days ago, the White House invited me to introduce President Obama at the reception—they gave me twenty-four hours to write my speech. Friends listened and offered feedback as I practiced the speech over the weekend. My fingertips have run over the speech so many times that the words feel engraved on them. Now the words run through my head again as we wait in the Red Room.

  “Valerie says she wants to say hi,” Cameron types. “Valerie Jarrett, here she is!” Cam stands up and vanishes out of sight.

  Valerie Jarrett is a senior advisor for the president who oversees the Office of Public Engagement and Intergovernmental Affairs. She sits on the sofa and places the keyboard on her lap. “Hi Haben, it’s wonderful to meet you.”

  “It’s wonderful to meet you, Valerie. It’s a huge honor for me to be here. I’m kind of new, but some of the advocates here have been working on these issues for years, and their advocacy created more opportunities for the younger generation.”

  “Yes, we have a lot of amazing advocates here today. I’ve heard great things about your work, too.”

  “Thanks.” I smile, touched by her kind words. “My specific focus is on technology. A lot of companies are building websites and apps that aren’t accessible. The lack of accessible information online has created an information famine, putting people with disabilities at a disadvantage. We need more companies to realize that the ADA applies to digital services.”

  “We’re very proud of what you’re doing. Maria has told us about your work.”

  “Maria is amazing!”

  “Yes she is! Do exclamation marks come through?”

  “Yes, all punctuation comes through.” I explain how the keyboard works.

  “What if I make a typo?”

  I give her a playful smile. “You, make a mistake?”

  “I’m laughing!”

  Sitting beside her, I can feel her amusement traveling through the sofa in gentle waves. Feeling her genuine laughter tells me that we’ve leapt over the typical disability awkwardness, and the realization leaves me beaming. “My goal is to connect with people given the tools and abilities we have. Typos don’t matter because ninety-five percent of the time I can figure out what people mean.”

  “Thank you, Haben.”

  “I’m wondering…” I lean in to whisper. “Does the president know how to type?”

  “Yes, he can type. Though maybe not as well as me.”

  My cheeks hurt as I laugh with delight, and I struggle to keep a hand on the computer.

  “Ask him.”

  I stop laughing. “Are you sure? He won’t get offended?”

  “Not at all. He likes a challenge.”

  I nod. “You’re right. I like being challenged, too. Thanks for reminding me to live boldly.”

  Valerie leaves the sofa, and Cameron sits back down. “It’s Cam. When Valerie gave me the keyboard she had the biggest smile. She said, ‘What a joy.’”

  My heart melts. “She was really, really kind. I feel more confident after talking to her.”

  “Oh, good. You’re going to need it.”

  I give her a quizzical look.

  “Breaking news: while you were talking to Valerie, Sally came over to me. She said, ‘Joe Biden is joining the event. Tell Haben to include him in her speech.’”

  My jaw drops.

  “I know!!! She said it like it was no big deal.”

  My shoulders shake with laughter. “All right, I’ll add him to my speech. Give me a few moments of silence to think this through.”

  “Surely. Not a peep from me. If I see anything interesting I just won’t tell you. Kidding! Don’t worry, you know I—”

  I lift my hands off the computer and cross my arms. Her elbow nudges me. My arm nudges her back, inducing stress-relieving laughter.

  Leaning back in the sofa, I run my speech through my mind. Hmm, what order does one read the names? Normally people name the president before the vice president, right? Please welcome President Barack Obama and Vice President Joe Biden. What if people start clapping when they hear the president’s name, drowning out the rest of my sentence? I signal the end of a speech by placing vocal stress on the last words. If I introduce the president first, the sentence will force me to place more emphasis on the vice president’s name. Is that okay? I could reverse them. Please welcome Vice President Joe Biden and President Barack Obama. That would allow me to place more emphasis on the president’s name, cueing the audience to applaud.

  My fingers settle back on the computer. “Okay, I’m back. What did I miss?”

  “Joe Biden is here! He’s on the other side of the room with a crowd around him. He’s smiling, shaking hands, looks like he’s having a good time. Michael is sitting across from me. We’ve been chatting since you RUDELY cut me off!”

  “Cam!” I laugh, grateful for her warm, playful presence. “Get ready, you’re getting cut off again. Pass the keyboard to Michael.”

  “Fine!” Cam passes the keyboard.

  I wave at Michael and sign, “How are you?” Sign language lessons have improved my signing skills, but I’m still not fluent. My expressive signing is stronger than my receptive signing, so Deaf friends meet me halfway by typing their side of the conversation while I sign my side.

  Michael Stein hea
ds a disability rights law firm here in Washington, DC. He went through Harvard Law School and the Skadden Fellowship program several years before me. When I need advice from an experienced Deaf lawyer, he’s the friend to whom I turn. Today, he’ll be typing the president’s speech for me, taking turns on the keyboard with Cameron.

  “I’m doing great,” Michael says. “Did Cameron tell you Joe Biden’s here?”

  I nod yes.

  “Do you want to meet him?”

  Doubts swirl through my mind. He’s busy. He doesn’t have time. I can’t compete with the crowd…I tell Michael, “Yes, I want to meet him.”

  “Okay. I’ll go get him.” Michael passes the keyboard to Cameron.

  “Cam,” I whisper. “He said he’s going to get Joe Biden!”

  “Yup. He’s walking over there now.”

  My heart starts pounding, nerves making my arms feel weak.

  Then I remember cool, calm, confident Valerie Jarrett sweeping in to offer sage advice just when I needed it most. The memory of that conversation gives me a boost of self-assurance.

  Cameron types, “Ryan is asking if you’re ready.” My eyebrows shoot up. “Don’t look at me! I’m just the messenger. Here’s Ryan.”

  He sits down with the keyboard. “Are you ready?”

  “Probably.” I smile. “Ready for what, exactly?”

  “We should get in line. To meet the president.”

  “Oh! Yes, of course.” Standing up, I transfer the braille computer from my lap to my arm. Ryan leads the way toward the door. We stop. We wait, and wait, and wait. “Ryan, can you give the keyboard to Cameron?”

  “Hey, it’s Cam. Thank you for getting me the keyboard!!!!!!!!! I was staring at it trying to figure out how to steal it from Mr. Secret Service. Have you asked him what exactly he does?”

  Biting down a laugh, I shake my head no.

  “Interesting. Well, you let me know if you find out anything about that one. By the way, I’m standing at a table to your eleven o’clock. There are about four people in front of you in line. I peeked into the Blue Room and I saw Obama!!!! He’s wearing a navy blue suit with a U.S. flag pinned to his lapel. People are going in one at a time to meet him. There are several other people…OMG, he did it! Michael brought Biden! Michael and Joe Biden are standing in front of you. Michael is explaining communication. Okay, here he is, Vice President Joe Biden!”

  Biden holds the keyboard with one hand and types with the other. One by one, his fingers transmit his message, “I love you.”

  Flustered, I grasp for something to say. “Thank you!” Shifting the braille computer to my left arm, I offer him my hand. He shakes it warmly, swinging our hands through the air: two, three, four, five…The handshake continues the conversation while I deliberate on a response to his baffling declaration of love.

  Pressed for time and juggling dozens of environmental details, we sometimes blurt out words that touch just the edge of our intended message. I think Biden wants to convey compassion and admiration. His message roughly corresponds to the textual equivalent of a radiant smile.

  Taking a deep breath, I center my voice. “Thank you very much.” The simple words strain to encompass all of my thoughts.

  Communication shifts back to the everlasting handshake. Six, seven, eight, nine…He gently releases my hand and it falls back to my side. The gesture expressed a deep level of kindness that I both felt and appreciated.

  Ryan taps my arm. As I walk into the Blue Room, my mind keeps going back to Biden. I should have said more. Waiting for the perfect thing to say can stunt a conversation.

  Beside me, Ryan starts speaking to someone in front of us. I clear my mind, silencing all my doubts. Live boldly, I remind myself.

  Ryan leads the way to a tall table. As I place the braille computer on the surface, Cameron sets the keyboard in front of the president. “Hello, Haben,” he types. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  I’m beaming. “Hello!” I offer him a hand. “It’s nice to meet you. I had a wonderful conversation with Valerie Jarrett, and we’re wondering if you can type as fast as she can.”

  Cam touches her fingers to my back and shakes them in the sign of laughter. The president laughed! “She’s much faster,” he types.

  “You’re doing pretty good.” I smile, trying to reassure him. “My dad types with two fingers.”

  “I do, too.”

  “You type with two fingers?” My voice rises in shock.

  The room erupts in laughter.

  “I’m gonna type faster now,” he writes.

  I stand up straighter to better assess the speed of the incoming dots.

  “We’re proud of the leadership you’ve shown. Your dad must be proud, too. That time I typed with all my fingers.”

  “Thank you! My dad is particularly proud of my work to highlight the benefits of accessible technology.” One hand gestures as I speak; the other rests on my braille computer in case he decides to interrupt me. Patient, respectful, he hears me through. “Technology can bridge the gap for people with disabilities, and as internet services open more opportunities for people, we’re going to see more people with disabilities employed and succeeding.”

  When I finish speaking, he slips his hand under my computer hand. My top-notch tactile reading skills immediately understand his gesture. His hand leads away from the table toward him. The gesture asks, “May we hug?” His lead into that hug feels so intuitive that I sense he has serious dance skills.

  He guides me back to the table and explains, “I couldn’t type a hug.”

  “I prefer real hugs to typed hugs.”

  Cam draws a huge smile on my back, mirroring the president’s reaction. Cam uses simple physical signals called ProTactile when she can’t reach my hands, like when I’m engaged in conversation with someone who may not realize they should type facial expressions. ProTactile is one of the many things I didn’t have time to teach the mysterious Ryan.

  “Everybody is waiting for us,” the president says. “Are you ready?”

  I smile. “Ready!”

  We walk together, the president leading the way through the Blue Room, through the Green Room, stopping at the door to the East Room. Ryan touches my arm and the two of us slip through the doors into the East Room.

  Ryan guides gracefully, allowing his arm to flow with his stride. He even remembers to signal the steps leading up to the stage. Everything I taught him, he learned. Everything I said, he heard.

  At the podium, I take a moment to position my microphone and braille computer. Braille begins to scroll across the screen: “Everyone is smiling and watching you.” Michael and Cam have dashed out of the Blue Room, sped through the hall, squeezed through the crowded East Room, and turned on a second keyboard.

  I pull the microphone toward me. “Good afternoon!”

  “Good afternoon,” the audience responds.

  “My name is Haben Girma. Allow me to share a story. When my grandmother took my older brother to school in East Africa, they told her that Deafblind children can’t go to school. There was simply no chance. When my family moved to the U.S., and I was also born Deafblind, we were amazed by the opportunities afforded by the ADA—opportunities won by advocates like all of you.

  “In 2010, I entered Harvard Law School as its first Deafblind student. Harvard didn’t know exactly how a Deafblind student would succeed—”

  Laughter ripples through the room.

  “And honestly, I didn’t know how I would survive Harvard.”

  Laughter erupts again.

  “Without having all the answers, we pioneered our way using assistive technology and high expectations. For my grandmother, my success at Harvard seemed like magic. To all of us here, we know that people with disabilities succeed not by magic, but from the opportunities afforded by America and the hard-won power of the ADA.”

  My gaze sweeps the room as I remember the pioneers who protested on streets, endured exhausting sit-ins, strapped their wheelchairs to buses, crawled
up the Capitol steps, and challenged discrimination in myriads of other ways. Standing before this audience of disability advocates recharges my commitment. The kids growing up now shall have even greater access than I did.

  “Through my work at Disability Rights Advocates, I strive to ensure that people with disabilities have full access to the digital world—internet services, online businesses, websites, and apps. Every day I’m reminded that as far as we’ve come, the drive for equality is not over.

  “And now, it’s my honor to introduce two leaders who work to ensure that all Americans have the opportunity they seek. Please welcome Vice President Joe Biden and President Barack Obama!”

  The audience applauds. I join in, too, until a hand touches my right arm. Ryan. Collecting my braille display from the podium, I slip off the stage.

  “Hey, it’s Michael. You did great!!!” he types. We’re sitting in chairs about five feet to the right of the stage.

  “Thank you,” I sign.

  “Biden and the president are now on stage.” Michael continues typing. “The President: Hello, everybody! (Applause.) Well, welcome to the White House. And thank you so much, Haben, for that amazing introduction, and for working to make sure that students with disabilities get a world-class education, just like you have. So please give Haben a big round of applause.”

  Surprise and gratitude pulse through me. I look up toward the president, then ahead toward the audience, allowing my face to express the intensity of my emotions.

  “So on a sunny day twenty-five years ago—I don’t know if it was as hot as it is today—President George H. W. Bush stood on the South Lawn and declared a new American Independence Day. ‘With today’s signing of the landmark Americans with Disabilities Act,’ he said, ‘every man, woman, and child with a disability can now pass through once-closed doors into a bright new era of equality, freedom, and independence.’

  “Twenty-five years later, we come together to celebrate that groundbreaking law—(applause)—and all that the law has made possible. Thanks to the ADA, the places that comprise our shared American life—schools, workplaces, movie theaters, courthouses, buses, baseball stadiums, national parks—they truly belong to everyone. Millions of Americans with disabilities have had the chance to develop their talents and make their unique contributions to the world. And thanks to them, America is stronger and more vibrant; it is a better country because of the ADA. (Applause.) That’s what this law has achieved.”