Special Olympics: For Who? (II)

In the wake of President Obama's remarks about the Special Olympics last Thursday on The Tonight Show, this post takes another closer look at the Special Olympics. A previous post appeared on Sunday.

There's a clip of the President making the comment via YouTube; it can be noted that what Obama says about his bowling score is "This is just like Special Olympics," with the meaning that the support he's getting for his bowling, regardless of his score, is just like the support Special Olympics audiences give their athletes---namely, everyone is cheered unconditionally. Right after this, Jay Leno says, "Oh no, that's very good. That's very good, Mr. President" and applauds Obama's bowling score.

Keeping this in mind, and the criticism directed to the President in the wake of his remark, consider again what Canadian journalist Lauren McKeon writes in This Magazine (May-June 2008), Why won't you let me play?: Is the Special Olympics discriminating against the kids it's supposed to help?:

When most people think of the Special Olympics they picture cheery children with Down syndrome or autism, perhaps somewhat befuddled by the life around them. With marketing material full of inspiring images of young athletes waving victory Vs, hugging in camaraderie and “Winning at Life,” SOC promotes a specific image of its mission and its athletes. But like so many marketing campaigns, the pictures used to make the sell don’t tell the whole story. It is true that SOC is inspiring, enabling and, well, special, but it is not the organization so many visualize: one that is there for everybody. Contrary to popular perception, the reality is that SOC’s highest-ranked athletes—those who go on to provincials, nationals and worlds—are often adults. Perhaps more troubling, however, is that the hierarchy of competition tends to favour the more able athletes. These are the athletes who, while they may not appear as frequently in promotional materials, receive a disproportionate amount of the revenue the pitches generate.

McKeon is throughout careful to note that chapters of the Special Olympics vary in how they organize their activities. Fitness and the promotion of lifelong health through athletics and physical activity is the main goal of many families who seek out the Special Olympics:

The Special Olympics doesn’t consistently reward lower-functioning athletes, but it does use them to promote the games to volunteers, would-be athletes and funders. A few years ago, one Special Olympics club member gave the Ontario office a picture of two young girls with Down syndrome gleefully smiling. It’s now plastered on banners, awards and other promotional material. She wonders how much reward those two girls, and others like them, are receiving from all that promotion. “People donate thinking it’s going to stay in the community, but once they write that cheque, it’s gone,” says Theresa Grabowski, co-founder of Challenge League Sports. “I think the intent of it all is good—and nothing runs perfect—but it’s not as evenly distributed as they’d like you to believe it is.” She adds, “But, I’ve got to say, on the other hand, if I were fundraising and marketing for these people, that’s the way to do it.”

It is true that a more equitable distribution of donations would go a long way toward mitigating the ill effects of the emphasis on competition and winning. Special Olympics Canada has its own operating budget, mainly devoted to the higher levels of competition and the athletes competing in those games. In 2006—the most recent return filed to the Canada Revenue Agency—its revenue was $4.8 million. About $1.3 million of that came from fundraising, both corporate and event based, just under $30,000 from tax-receipted gifts—donations—and about $950,000 from the Canadian government. There is about $2.1 million worth of revenue slotted under the “other” category.

Grabowski does wonder sometimes why those selling Special Olympics cannot receive a greater chunk of the benefits. She founded Challenge League Sports in 1994 with her husband because at the time her local region had no Special Olympics programs for her eight-year-old son. “When we took him to [Special Olympics] swimming they wouldn’t take him because he couldn’t swim two lengths of the pool. If you can’t swim two lengths you’re not ready for training, for competition. It was, ‘Go learn to swim, because we’re not teaching you how to swim,’” she recalls. But, she is careful to add, programs and policies can vary from club to club. “If you go to another town they might have the volunteers and the space and the time. They might teach you how to swim, or develop your swimming so that you can become competitive and swim in a race.”

At the time, though, her only choices were to enroll him in a generic club, which she tried to do with baseball—“The parents were not too understanding of why he thought he could go to bat twice, or why he didn’t want to stop at first base, or why he was sliding at home—all kinds of whys”—or start her own club, which she also did. In the beginning, it was just a group of people she knew getting together to play baseball, but after an ad in the local paper, Challenge League was officially formed. For the first five years, the organization wasn’t even affiliated with Special Olympics and made a go of it on its own, aligning itself with the community-level Oshawa Minor Baseball Association for support.

I'm afraid to say, but our experience to have Charlie---who is (and I know I am his mother, but this is a fact, not only a boast) a superior swimmer---join our local Special Olympics chapter was met with a puzzling disinterest. We explained that Charlie can swing lap after lap; we were also told that we ought only to come back "when he can do the strokes." We've often seen the Special Olympics team practicing when we go to the YMCA to swim on the weekends and I've noted that there are many more athletes than staff and volunteers to pair with them. Charlie would need a 1:1 aide so, for this reason alone, our local Special Olympics is not for him, yet; maybe in the future.

Again, this is just what happened one afternoon when we made one inquiry to one Special Olympics coach. We've since just continued to encourage Charlie to swim for fitness and fun: After all, the point of him swimming is not so he can win medals and accolades, but so that he's doing something for his health and well-being, something that he enjoys, that soothes and calms and delights him, and that we can do together as a family.

McKeon writes that Carol has played goalie for the Durham Dragons, a hockey team for players with disabilities, since 2000. The team is not associated with Special Olympics. In 2007, Carol had her "shining moment" at the big league tournament in Arlington, Virginia:

She stoned the opposing team’s star player, who’d already scored five goals, when he was sure he would make it six with a penalty shot. Two weeks later, at the year-end banquet, the head coach told the story of “the best save of the tournament.” Carol received a standing ovation from the entire league.

That's what it's all about, and Charlie biking away with Jim bringing up the rear: That's what it's all about, those moments that are invisible trophies of achievement. These are truly special.

And these trophies don't get dusty.