One of the greatest promises of the “millennial” generation is our belief in the nearly unlimited potential for curing diseases and disabilities that have been with mankind since Adam. This is a basic but greatly overlooked aspect of what we can expect in ?the future.
One day soon, the ALS challenge will look quaint. The power of social media and generosity will be supplanted by hard science and procedure. Hope will yield to reality. This future is basically seen as a forgone conclusion in our media and culture. The zeitgeist says that we will eventually cure paralysis and bring sight back to the blind. So it will be. It’s inherently optimistic and full of hubris. Like Icarus, we can too often fly close to the sun in our dreams and visions of what tomorrow can bring. Instead of fearing failure, we should endeavor to land on the sun and ?harness it.
I believe in th is future. No human being should have to go through life as an observer in a foreign field; all should have the chance to thrive. Call me an idealist if you must, but I prefer “21st century realist.” And I’m not alone. Our generation believes in a sort of dynamic optimism, which has been fueled in the crucible of life experience. Many of us have experienced the wide reach of disability and disease–either in our own lives or in those close to us. Parents blindsided by cancer, uncles withered away from AIDS and best friends who injected their bellies with ?insulin at lunch.
But wai t, it gets very complicated. You see, not everyone views the future the same way. Allow me to focus on one particular developmental disability – autism, for the remainder of this column.
“Autism isn’t an il lness in need of a cure,” Ari Ne’eman, the president of the Autistic Self Advocacy Network, said in a New York Times Magazine cover story recently. It’s important to know that Ne’eman is autistic, although he is incredibly high-functioning and was even appointed by President Obama to serve on the National Council on Disability.
He is also a “millennial,” born in 1987. His organization doesn’t believe that we should try to cure autism, but should instead learn to embrace it for what it is and adapt. I understand this view and think we should be more understanding and accommodating as a society. The Americans with Disabilities Act is too weak, for example, and our educational system is ill-equipped to truly educate developmentally delayed youths–and many normally functioning children too, coincidentally.
No doubt Ne’eman is part of autism, one side of the story. But my brother is another side of the story as well. He is not nearly as well-adjusted. His path in life is harder to hoe and more uncertain. And while I salute Ne’eman for his success, I also reject his group’s views as unworkable ?and offensive.
I think of all the different people that I’ve met with developmental disabilities. I think of their families and the immense struggle that life can be for them. I also think of Eagles’ Wings, the Tuscaloosa-based non-profit that hopes to house 30 disabled adults, some of them children of elderly people with ?few alternatives.
But mostly, I think of my hero. When I’m back home, I go to my brother’s room before going to sleep every night. Sometimes, I’ll nudge him a bit in the wide darkness to wake him and bend down to whisper.
“We are brothers. We are ?the same.”
He pauses for a second, deeply thinking about what it means. He repeats it back as I cross the ?darkness out of the room.
Rich Robinson is a senior majoring in telecommunication and film. His column runs weekly.
