DISABILITY ISSUES
Vol. 21 No. 1

From Our Readers

ATM’s for the Blind: A Lesson in Advocacy

I’m sure there are many who, like me, were dismayed when the new generation of automatic teller machines (ATM) appeared on the scene. Around Boston these were introduced by the Baybank chain. At first I was irritated at this barrier to blind clients like myself. Upon further consideration, I grew worried, sensing that this was a harbinger of other computerized “advances” that were increasingly skewed to a sighted world.

In answer to my inquiry, my local branch gave me the name and address of the person in charge of Disability Services. I wrote a letter pointing out that the few lines of Braille posted on the sill of each ATM were not nearly sufficient to enable a blind customer to use these new machines. Within days I received a letter thanking me for my interest. Enclosed with it were instructions in Braille and on audio tape. The tape included the noises made by the ATM during an actual transaction.

I was pleased and impressed, both by the quick response and the bank’s attitude, its anticipation of my needs and the work that had been done in advance to meet these. This sort of willingness and cooperation is to be encouraged, I thought. Wanting to support the bank’s efforts, I went over the material I’d been sent and wrote back with a list of the few mistakes or discrepancies I came across. Again, I was promptly thanked and invited to let them know if there was anything more they could do.

When, a year letter, Baybank was merged with Bank Boston in one of the many consolidations we are seeing throughout the corporate landscape, the ATM’s remained unchanged.

However, when that bank in turn was acquired by Fleet Bank it was quite a different story. All of a sudden we found ourselves part of the fourth largest banking system in the nation, one positioning itself as a global contender. Around the city there were outcries against what many saw as the bank’s pulling up stakes and abandoning its commitment to local neighborhoods. The papers ran articles about customer dissatisfaction over new banking policies charging fees for what had formerly been standard services. Electronic banking, whether by ATM, phone or computer link, was being pushed. None of this augured well for people with disabilities.

The transition took place in late spring. A letter informed us that the new bank cards had to be initialized by a certain date in May. My mother and I (I live with my parents) reported to our local branch bank the week before the deadline to straighten out some other issues. Following that, we went to the ATM to activate our cards. That was when I learned that the touch screens had been altered. They now had a new feature, a selection of languages in which one wanted to conduct one’s transactions. My mother pressed the screen for me. I then entered my number and proceeded through the sequence of keystrokes I*d always used in the past to withdraw forty dollars. The machine gave me twenty. Thinking I might have gone through the keystrokes too quickly, I did it again. This time the machine dispensed eighty dollars. Clearly the software had been changed. Everything had been reprogrammed.

When I asked a bank employee for the instructions for using the machine without having to touch the screen, she didn’t know what I was talking about. A week later she phoned me to say that the machines could only be operated by touching the screen. “When you come into the bank, we will have to help you.”

I asked where to write to the bank to correct the problem and was given an address in Rhode Island. It sounded suspiciously like a mail stop for a large department comprised of anonymous employees. I envisioned my letter being conveniently lost in the flood of other mail from irate customers.

Nevertheless, I wrote the letter, Admittedly, its tone was not friendly. I related my experiences with what I deemed effective sarcasm seeking to embarrass the bank by its egregious oversight. My message had been something along the lines of “This used to work just fine until you came along and spent millions of dollars screwing things up.”

I expected them to rectify the error immediately. After all, it was so obviously a blunder, such a public relations disaster, that they could not have failed to correct it as soon as it was brought to their attention. Just to give them an added incentive, I let them know, by a discreet “cc: The Boston Globe” at the bottom of my letter, that the paper was being apprised of this issue and was sure to follow it up. The bank would have to remedy things to forestall more adverse coverage in the press.

I then wrote a letter to the newspaper’s editor drawing attention to Fleet’s thoughtlessness toward people with blindness, and enclosed a copy of the letter I’d sent to Fleet. My letter to the editor ran in the paper in late July, alongside another one criticizing the manufacture of such ATM machines that discriminated against the blind. Pleased with my efforts, I waited for results.

For months nothing happened. No articles appeared in the Globe to announce that Fleet was reaching out to its blind customers. What did appear was another letter to the editor complaining about another aspect of the bank’s ATMs, getting confusing printouts when requesting to see one’s account balances.

That letter got results. In my next bank statement was an enclosure announcing that at a Fleet ATM one could now know one’s finances “at a glance.” Ouch! The wording gave no consideration to the non-sighted. My letters had had no impact.

I wrote another letter. Recalling a friend’s previous advice to “go straight to the top,” this time I wrote to the bank’s president. I had requested the name and address from one of the branches where I often used the ATM and, after some conferring in an inside office, I was given a card with the information hand-written on the back. That in itself bothered me. My mother and I had had to explain why I wanted the president’s address, and it still needed to meet with an underling’s approval.

I was careful to keep my letter to one page. As before, it was ironic, sarcastic, aimed at shaming the man at the top into doing something. Before sending it, I ran it past some writing friends. I had remembered their criticism of the first letter: “Get to the point. How is a blind person expected to use this thing?” I began my letter to the president that way.

But my friends had more pointed, useful criticism: tone down the anger. You want to get this person on your side. Why not simply say something like, “I am a blind customer who has been frustrated in trying to use your ATM’s.”?

Perhaps the most useful advice came when another asked me what I hoped to accomplish by this letter. I had thought that was obvious: change the machines. Fix the software so that all the steps, even selecting the language, can be performed using the number keys. Make those instructions available. To that my friend replied, “Well why don’t you say that? Tell them that they could fix the problem by doing the following three things, and then list them. The person receiving this letter doesn’t want to read through your complaints and then have to figure out what to do. You’ll help your cause by volunteering suggestions.”

It was excellent advice. I saw right away how I’d been going about it all wrong. I had been delivering tirades about the bank’s incompetence. Instead I needed to make an ally of the person who received my letter. I needed to facilitate his compliance, show him the solution. Show him how simple it is, that it’s not a problem. All he needed to do is hand my letter to someone and say, “Carry out these suggestions.”

Two weeks after mailing off my letter I received a thick envelope in the post. Inside was a cordial letter from a Mr. Kevin Carroll, Vice President of Self/ATM Banking, thanking me for my recent missive and hoping that what he was sending me would be of help. The letter and his business card were paper clipped to a fat book of Braille instructions. Also in the package were a cassette tape and a compact disc. I have read through the first twenty or so pages of the instructions, and compared them to the cassette. They are identical word for word. On the whole it is a comprehensive and far superior set of directions than the guide first put out by Baybank. Anyone who wants the guides can request them by calling toll-free: (800) 841-4000.

Fleet Responds

At a press conference at the Perkins School for the Blind on February 28, 2001, Fleet announced a comprehensive plan to ensure that persons with vision impairments can conveniently access banking services. The plan includes installation of, what they call, the first “talking ATMs” in New England together with improved accessibility of their web site, www.fleet.com. More than 16 talking ATMs are now in service. Eventually they plan to have 1,420 of these ATMs from Maine to Pennsylvania within two years.

Visit the web site or call (800) 841-4000 for more information about accessible offerings from Fleet.