Where we sent them and what we said

As a follow-up to Nicole's post about Worcester State Hospital photos, I stumbled upon, via, Massachusetts - Asylum Projects, a wiki containing architectural plans, photographs, and historical reports about various asylums and related institutions.
I remember when Gardner State Hospital closed. I worked at the Friendly's in Gardner. The folks from the hospital drifted in for several days. A couple slept in the Salvation Army clothing bin (before they got the fancy people-proof chutes). One guy sat at the counter and drank large tumblers of water, a sign of unchecked diabetes. Eventually, within a few weeks, they all went to where they were supposed to go: away.
When Worcester State Hospital was reducing the number of beds in the early 80s, protests arose. A counselor friend of mine was on the front lines, picketing. A Telegram reporter asked  her if the state couldn't close the hospitals and couldn't afford to keep the patients institutionalized.
"Well," she said, offering her modest proposal, "we could shoot them."

The words used to describe the people who occupied these facilities, no doubt, were meant to be kind and hopeful, even if they sound cruel and dismissive to contemporary ears. Our language is always in a race to describe those who differ from the norm. Each word or phrase that we bring in establishes a new standard for inclusion. A half-step later, our meaner spirits say, "Oh, ok, now we're gonna call 'em this."
Around college campuses, we're seeing signs about The “r” Word Campaign. That's good. It brings awareness about language and how our choice of words lands on real people. I believe that it will work, that we'll push the word retarded into the dustbin of old lexicons. Sad to say, we'll find another word because, it seems, there's something in us that needs cruel words.