Teachers have held up Helen Keller, the blind and deaf girl who overcame her
physical handicaps, as an inspiration to generations of schoolchildren. Every
fifth grader knows the scene in which Anne Sullivan spells water into young
Helen’s hand at the pump. At least a dozen movies and filmstrips have been
made on Keller’s life. Each yields its version of the same cliché. A McGraw-Hill
educational film concludes: “The gift of Helen Keller and Anne Sullivan to the
world is to constantly remind us of the wonder of the world around us and how
much we owe those who taught us what it means, for there is no person that is
unworthy or incapable of being helped, and the greatest service any person can
make us is to help another reach true potential.”
To draw such a bland maxim from the life of Helen Keller, historians and
filmmakers have disregarded her actual biography and left out the lessons she
specifically asked us to learn from it. Keller, who struggled so valiantly to learn
to speak, has been made mute by history. The result is that we really don’t know
much about her.
Over the past twenty years, I have asked hundreds of college students who
Helen Keller was and what she did. All know that she was a blind and deaf girl.
Most remember that she was befriended by a teacher, Anne Sullivan, and learned
to read and write and even to speak. Some can recall rather minute details of
Keller’s early life: that she lived in Alabama, that she was unruly and without
manners before Sullivan came along, and so forth. A few know that Keller
graduated from college. But about what happened next, about the whole of her
adult life, they are ignorant. A few students venture that Keller became a “public
figure” or a “humanitarian,” perhaps on behalf of the blind or deaf. “She wrote,
didn’t she?” or “she spoke”—conjectures without content. Keller, who was born
in 1880, graduated from Radcliffe in 1904 and died in 1968. To ignore the 64 years of her adult life or to encapsulate them with the single word humanitarian is to lie by omission.
The truth is that Helen Keller was a radical socialist. She joined the Socialist
Party of Massachusetts in 1909. She had become a social radical even before she
graduated from Radcliffe, and not, she emphasized, because of any teachings
available there. After the Russian Revolution, she sang the praises of the new
communist nation: “In the East a new star is risen! With pain and anguish the old
order has given birth to the new, and behold in the East a man-child is born!
Onward, comrades, all together! Onward to the campfires of Russia! Onward to
the coming dawn!”
Keller hung a red flag over the desk in her study. Gradually she moved to the left of the Socialist Party and became a Wobbly, a member of the Industrial Workers of the World (IWW), the syndicalist union persecuted by Woodrow Wilson.
Keller’s commitment to socialism stemmed from her experience as a disabled
person and from her sympathy for others with handicaps. She began by working
to simplify the alphabet for the blind, but soon came to realize that to deal solely
with blindness was to treat symptom, not cause. Through research she learned
that blindness was not distributed randomly throughout the population but was
concentrated in the lower class. Men who were poor might be blinded in
industrial accidents or by inadequate medical care; poor women who became
prostitutes faced the additional danger of syphilitic blindness. Thus Keller
learned how the social class system controls people’s opportunities in life,
sometimes determining even whether they can see. Keller’s research was not just
book learning: “I have visited sweatshops, factories, crowded slums. If I could
not see it, I could smell it.”
At the time Keller became a socialist, she was one of the most famous women
on the planet. She soon became the most notorious. Her conversion to socialism
caused a new storm of publicity—this time outraged. Newspapers that had
extolled her courage and intelligence now emphasized her handicap. Columnists
charged that she had no independent sensory input and was in thrall to those who
fed her information. Typical was the editor of the Brooklyn Eagle, who wrote
that Keller’s “mistakes spring out of the manifest limitations of her
development.”
Keller recalled having met this editor: “At that time the compliments he paid
me were so generous that I blush to remember them. But now that I have come
out for socialism he reminds me and the public that I am blind and deaf and
especially liable to error. I must have shrunk in intelligence during the years
since I met him.” She went on, “Oh, ridiculous Brooklyn Eagle! Socially blind
and deaf, it defends an intolerable system, a system that is the cause of much of
the physical blindness and deafness which we are trying to prevent.”
Keller, who devoted much of her later life to raising funds for the American
Foundation for the Blind, never wavered in her belief that our society needed
radical change. Having herself fought so hard to speak, she helped found the
American Civil Liberties Union to fight for the free speech of others. She sent
$100 to the NAACP with a letter of support that appeared in its magazine The
Crisis— a radical act for a white person from Alabama in the 1920s. She
supported Eugene V. Debs, the Socialist candidate, in each of his campaigns for
the presidency. She composed essays on the women’s movement, on politics, on
economics. Near the end of her life, she wrote to Elizabeth Gurley Flynn, leader
of the American Communist Party, who was then languishing in jail, a victim of
the McCarthy era: “Loving birthday greetings, dear Elizabeth Flynn! May the
sense of serving mankind bring strength and peace into your brave heart!”’
excerpted from Lies My Teacher Told Me by James Loewen
SIR: Much of the discussion aroused by Dr. Haiselden when he permitted the Bollinger baby to die centers around a belief in the sacredness of life. If many of those that object to the physician’s course would take the trouble to analyze their idea of “life,” I think they would find that it means just to breathe. Surely they must admit that such an existence is not worth while. It is the possibilities of happiness, intelligence and power that give life its sanctity, and they are absent in the case of a poor, misshapen, paralyzed, unthinking creature. I think there are many more clear cases of such hopeless death-in-life than the critics of Dr. Haiselden realize. The toleration of such anomalies tends to lessen the sacredness in which normal life is held.
There is one objection, however, to this weeding of the human garden that shows a sincere love of true life. It is the fear that we cannot trust any mortal with so responsible and delicate a task. Yet have not mortals for long ages been entrusted with the decision of questions just as momentous and far-reaching; with kingship, with the education of the race, with feeding, clothing, sheltering and employing their fellowmen? In the jury of the criminal court we have an institution that is called upon to make just such decisions as Dr. Haiselden made, to decide whether a man is fit to associate with his fellows, whether he is fit to live.
It seems to me that the simplest, wisest thing to do would be to submit cases like that of the malformed idiot baby to a jury of expert physicians. An ordinary jury decides matters of life and death on the evidence of untrained and often prejudiced observers. Their own verdict is not based on a knowledge of criminology, and they are often swayed by obscure prejudices or the eloquence of a prosecutor. Even if the accused before them is guilty, there is often no way of knowing that he would commit new crimes, that he would not become a useful and productive member of society. A mental defective, on the other hand, is almost sure to be a potential criminal. The evidence before a jury of physicians considering the case of an idiot would be exact and scientific. Their findings would be free from the prejudice and inaccuracy of untrained observation. They would act only in cases of true idiocy, where there could be no hope of mental development.
It is true, the physicians’ court might be liable to abuse like other courts. The powerful of the earth might use it to decide cases to suit themselves. But if the evidence were presented openly and the decisions made public before the death of the child, there would be little danger of mistakes or abuses. Anyone interested in the case who did not believe the child ought to die might be permitted to provide for its care and maintenance. It would be humanly impossible to give absolute guarantees for every baby worth saving, but a similar condition prevails throughout our lives. Conservatives ask too much perfection of these new methods and institutions, although they know how far the old ones have fallen short of what they were expected to accomplish. We can only wait and hope for better results as the average of human intelligence, trustworthiness and justice arises. Meanwhile we must decide between a fine humanity like Dr. Haiselden’s and a cowardly sentimentalism.
HELEN KELLER.
Wrentham, Mass.
Later in life, I believe she recanted this belief, but that may have just been due to criticism.
Teachers have held up Helen Keller, the blind and deaf girl who overcame her physical handicaps, as an inspiration to generations of schoolchildren. Every fifth grader knows the scene in which Anne Sullivan spells water into young Helen’s hand at the pump. At least a dozen movies and filmstrips have been made on Keller’s life. Each yields its version of the same cliché. A McGraw-Hill educational film concludes: “The gift of Helen Keller and Anne Sullivan to the world is to constantly remind us of the wonder of the world around us and how much we owe those who taught us what it means, for there is no person that is unworthy or incapable of being helped, and the greatest service any person can make us is to help another reach true potential.”
To draw such a bland maxim from the life of Helen Keller, historians and filmmakers have disregarded her actual biography and left out the lessons she specifically asked us to learn from it. Keller, who struggled so valiantly to learn to speak, has been made mute by history. The result is that we really don’t know much about her.
Over the past twenty years, I have asked hundreds of college students who Helen Keller was and what she did. All know that she was a blind and deaf girl. Most remember that she was befriended by a teacher, Anne Sullivan, and learned to read and write and even to speak. Some can recall rather minute details of Keller’s early life: that she lived in Alabama, that she was unruly and without manners before Sullivan came along, and so forth. A few know that Keller graduated from college. But about what happened next, about the whole of her adult life, they are ignorant. A few students venture that Keller became a “public figure” or a “humanitarian,” perhaps on behalf of the blind or deaf. “She wrote, didn’t she?” or “she spoke”—conjectures without content. Keller, who was born in 1880, graduated from Radcliffe in 1904 and died in 1968. To ignore the 64 years of her adult life or to encapsulate them with the single word humanitarian is to lie by omission.
The truth is that Helen Keller was a radical socialist. She joined the Socialist Party of Massachusetts in 1909. She had become a social radical even before she graduated from Radcliffe, and not, she emphasized, because of any teachings available there. After the Russian Revolution, she sang the praises of the new communist nation: “In the East a new star is risen! With pain and anguish the old order has given birth to the new, and behold in the East a man-child is born! Onward, comrades, all together! Onward to the campfires of Russia! Onward to the coming dawn!”
Keller hung a red flag over the desk in her study. Gradually she moved to the left of the Socialist Party and became a Wobbly, a member of the Industrial Workers of the World (IWW), the syndicalist union persecuted by Woodrow Wilson.
Keller’s commitment to socialism stemmed from her experience as a disabled person and from her sympathy for others with handicaps. She began by working to simplify the alphabet for the blind, but soon came to realize that to deal solely with blindness was to treat symptom, not cause. Through research she learned that blindness was not distributed randomly throughout the population but was concentrated in the lower class. Men who were poor might be blinded in industrial accidents or by inadequate medical care; poor women who became prostitutes faced the additional danger of syphilitic blindness. Thus Keller learned how the social class system controls people’s opportunities in life, sometimes determining even whether they can see. Keller’s research was not just book learning: “I have visited sweatshops, factories, crowded slums. If I could not see it, I could smell it.”
At the time Keller became a socialist, she was one of the most famous women on the planet. She soon became the most notorious. Her conversion to socialism caused a new storm of publicity—this time outraged. Newspapers that had extolled her courage and intelligence now emphasized her handicap. Columnists charged that she had no independent sensory input and was in thrall to those who fed her information. Typical was the editor of the Brooklyn Eagle, who wrote that Keller’s “mistakes spring out of the manifest limitations of her development.”
Keller recalled having met this editor: “At that time the compliments he paid me were so generous that I blush to remember them. But now that I have come out for socialism he reminds me and the public that I am blind and deaf and especially liable to error. I must have shrunk in intelligence during the years since I met him.” She went on, “Oh, ridiculous Brooklyn Eagle! Socially blind and deaf, it defends an intolerable system, a system that is the cause of much of the physical blindness and deafness which we are trying to prevent.”
Keller, who devoted much of her later life to raising funds for the American Foundation for the Blind, never wavered in her belief that our society needed radical change. Having herself fought so hard to speak, she helped found the American Civil Liberties Union to fight for the free speech of others. She sent $100 to the NAACP with a letter of support that appeared in its magazine The Crisis— a radical act for a white person from Alabama in the 1920s. She supported Eugene V. Debs, the Socialist candidate, in each of his campaigns for the presidency. She composed essays on the women’s movement, on politics, on economics. Near the end of her life, she wrote to Elizabeth Gurley Flynn, leader of the American Communist Party, who was then languishing in jail, a victim of the McCarthy era: “Loving birthday greetings, dear Elizabeth Flynn! May the sense of serving mankind bring strength and peace into your brave heart!”’
excerpted from Lies My Teacher Told Me by James Loewen
She was also a believer of eugenics (which is fucked), at least for a time
Unfortunately, a lot of people who should’ve known better were back then.
That was pretty common at the turn of the 20th century in America.
Damn what were her takes on eugenics?
https://www.disabilitymuseum.org/dhm/lib/detail.html?id=3209
Later in life, I believe she recanted this belief, but that may have just been due to criticism.
That movie was awful and dehumanizing.
literally in my clipboard