Wheelchairs
Dear friends of Ombre e Luci,
I want to share with you an experience I had recently at an audience with the Holy Father, who attended a gathering of members of the C.V.S. in the Paul VI Hall to mark the centenary of the birth of the blessed founder, Father Luigi Novarese.
I went to the meeting to accompany my ninety-four-year-old mother, who is now confined to a wheelchair. The atmosphere was beautiful, the sense of shared purpose was strong, and there were people and entire families who had come from all over Italy with their relatives, including disabled children and young people. The many young volunteers present were helpful and kind. The encounter with Pope Francis was warm and welcoming, as always.
I'll set aside the discomforts and waiting times, because those are always to be expected, but certain organizational aspects genuinely troubled me.
A preferential passage had been reserved for people in wheelchairs, each with only one companion. As I was pushing my mother in, I heard a Vatican official call out loudly to the companions: "Now, without making a fuss, leave the wheelchairs with the volunteers and go sit beyond the barriers." Panic. It seemed worrying to everyone to leave someone who is not independent alone with a stranger—someone not always able to express their needs to a stranger—and to go sit somewhere random in an enormous hall, losing all contact with their loved one. A few kind and thoughtful volunteers told us to position ourselves in a specific section nearby, so we could keep our loved ones in sight. But even from there we were moved along, and no matter where I settled with other companions, I was told to leave—even under threat of calling the gendarmes. When I mentioned to some of the staff that they seemed unwelcoming, I was told not to start with the welcome routine. In the end, fortunately, I managed to stay in a spot that wasn't too far from my mother, but I saw elderly people pushed to the back of an already overcrowded hall, loudly called "clever" because they had to give up their seats to volunteers—who themselves had asked to stand so they could better supervise, but were told to supervise while sitting.
Of everything I've tried to summarize here, two things struck me most. First and most glaring: disabled people being referred to as "wheelchairs." Second: seeing companions separated from them. What bothered me—indeed mortified me—was the way staff spoke to each other without regard for the people present, exchanging phrases like "another thirty wheelchairs are arriving" or "these people need to get out of here." Yes, it mortified me, because I didn't hear such language in a government office or at a stadium, but in a place so close to the house of God, represented by a pope like Francis, always welcoming and kind to everyone.
Warmest regards to the whole editorial team.
Margherita
Information!
Reading the last issue and thinking about how positive a dignified work experience suited to the person can be, I remembered an incident that happened a few years ago and wanted to share it with you and the readers. I was going to enroll my daughter in a municipal daycare center. When I walked in, I looked around to see who to ask. The only person in sight was a man at a desk behind a glass window marked INFORMATION. He looked uncertain, was no longer young, and probably—I thought—had some difficulties. But that didn't stop me. I know many fragile young people, men and women, who are perfectly capable of welcoming others and giving correct information. And he, I assumed, had been trained to do so. Below the window were dispensers in various colors with numbers for queuing at the different offices. I figured he could tell me which color to pick for the right room. I approached the window and asked my question. Behind me, someone said loudly: "Ma'am, don't you see he's handicapped!!! If you need to ask something, come here to the counter!"
Setting aside the trivial fact that there was no clear sign at the counter like the one at the window, and that when I entered there was no one else around—I was left, unfortunately, speechless.
I greeted the man, who was already worried he wouldn't be able to give me any answer, and moved to another spot.
Certainly, that man had a secure job—he and his family were probably proud of it. But I have to ask: a job at city hall to sit behind glass, silent as a fish—is that really work?
Best regards,
Patrizia from Rome
From China
Though late in arriving, we share part of the letter that Father Ferdinando Cagnin sent us from China at Easter
Dear friends,
…I want to remind you at once that Jesus said "I come to do, O Father, your will," and his "yes" to the Father guided him throughout his "life," from birth (with Mary's yes) to passion, death, and "resurrection."
We see immediately that "saying yes to the Father's will" is not a "religious duty" or deference to non-negotiable values, but a trusting relationship of love that makes the Father and Jesus one spirit, one whole: God! (…)
We are a single family marked by our capacity to say "yes"—thy will be done (and we say this in the "Lord's Prayer")—a "yes" that comes alive in authentic mutual love and sets off a lasting familiarity with God that allows us to believe in resurrection.
To live authentically means to know the beauty of "charity," knowing full well that what we hold in our hands we administer as a gift to be shared, not hoarded for ourselves. If we then give it away, it's worth remembering that Jesus identifies himself with "the least" and says "you did it to me."
To live authentically also means to know how to "pray." Through prayer our will meets His, gives itself to it, conforms to it, and becomes like a rushing river that transforms not only our whole life but also that of those beside us—kindling faith or the desire for baptism! (…)
These days in church, I've been looking among the catechumens for familiar faces: leaders and young people from Huiling, but also devoted volunteers and close friends who, when our eyes meet, bring forth a confident smile and an irresistible wave. In my heart, though, a profound sigh rises up, and with it a deep sense of gratitude for the work the Lord accomplishes so beautifully in us. God seems almost unmindful of those who try to control freedom, sometimes unleashing persecution; in fact He continues to grow His Kingdom in our midst! (…)
In fraternity,
Fr. Ferdinando Cagnin