Monica Yant Kinney: Corbett won't dare mention the mentally disabled

When a governor says little, every word counts. Referring to Pennsylvania's complicated and costly relationship with its most vulnerable citizens, Tom Corbett speaks only of a generic Welfare with a capital "W" - code for women having babies they can't afford.

"Welfare," Corbett reminded in yesterday's somber budget address, "does not produce wealth."

Then he went on to cite an uncharacteristically harsh quote from Franklin D. Roosevelt calling government aid "a narcotic, a subtle destroyer of the human spirit."

Inside a Center City conference room, those who care for people with intellectual disabilities shifted uncomfortably in their seats listening to Corbett's speech. Their spirits had already suffered a beating from 6 percent funding cuts he imposed last year. Early word on the new $27.13 billion budget suggests this round will be twice as bruising.

Thousands of autistic children, mentally ill teenagers, and developmentally challenged adults are beholden to the Pennsylvania Department of Welfare. The aid they receive is nothing like Welfare as you know it. It's welfare with a lowercase "w," a lifeline allowing them to reside with family or in a small group home, learn a skill, get around, even earn a few bucks.

Corbett doesn't dare mention the intellectually disabled when he talks about "rightsizing" DPW. If he did, he'd be seen as inflicting cruel and unusual punishment upon people in need through no fault of their own - people who will be in need as long as they're alive, people who will cost far more if Corbett's no-new-tax pledge slices so deep he forces them into nursing homes and institutions.

Stay focused

Joshua Young is the kind of giddy kid who raises his hand because it's fun, even when he has nothing to say. The 18-year-old Martin Luther King High School student is autistic. He's also an artist in the ROTC.

For most of the last decade, his father, Eugene Young, tells me, Joshua had an aide at his side for 35 hours a week in class. Corbett's previous cuts reduced those hours by more than two-thirds. God knows if the young man will have any help for his final three years in special education.

"Josh learns, but he needs someone to keep him focused," Young tells me, adding that he was already fighting efforts to relegate the teen to a "life-skills" track where he would "just wipe tables and sweep floors."