Over 10,000 disabled people gathered in the nation’s capital to demand their rights on the International Day for Persons with Disabilities. Shampa Sen Gupta provides a first-person account.
The excitement in the air was palpable. It was 3 December 2015; winter had just set in. Delhi was cold and dull, and the morning remained sunless. Yet, when 10,000 disabled people and their allies, some of them having travelled for four or five days, came together in the heart of the capital, shouting in unison, “Viklang ekta zindabad!” the light and warmth of the day was effusive.
I do not remember when I first started taking part in programmes to commemorate 3 December, the International Day for Persons with Disabilities. As part of the Bengal affiliate of the National Platform for the Rights of the Disabled (NPRD), I have taken part in various mass mobilisation programmes to demand rights and protest issues of violence, both on 3 December as well as other occasions. Yet this time was different. Not only were participants coming from different parts of the country, a special train had been booked from Bengal so that a large number of disabled people from the region could take part in the rally.
The enthusiasm could be felt in the air. I met a gentleman with hearing impairments sitting at our state office for hours, as he was keen to enrol his name to join the protest march in Delhi. None of us knew him personally and we were hesitant, but such caution was thrown out when I asked him why he wanted to join the rally and he signed to say that this would be his contribution towards the passage of the Rights of People with Disabilities (RPD) Bill.
Not only were participants coming from different parts of the country, a special train had been booked from Bengal so that a large number of disabled people from the region could take part in the rally.
It was my turn to remain “mute”, as I was reminded once more of the feeling that only erudite lectures/debates and articles for a few educated and articulate activists like us cannot consist the disability movement; we need cadres from all walks of life to make it vibrant. Of course, no one will remember his contribution towards passing a law that will affect the lives of crores of people of India; the big NGOs and (mostly Delhi-based) leaders will take most of the credit. But nevertheless, he walked in this rally, his flag held high. I was busy organising and could not locate his face in the crowd, but our common aspirations joined us together.
There were so many like him, such as the woman using a tricycle because of her mobility problems. She was carrying her four-year-old child in her vehicle. I ran up to her and asked her to stop so that I could take a photograph on my phone. I didn’t have to ask her; I knew she wasn’t aware of what India’s national policy promises disabled women who become mothers, or what the UN Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities (UNCRPD) has to say about the reproductive rights of women with disabilities—leave alone the debates around whether there should be an entire chapter on women with disabilities within the RPD Bill—but she explained to me in her own language (in a multilingual nation like India, we have all developed sign languages to overcome our own disabilities) that she had nowhere to leave the child but wanted to take part in this rally, as this is her battle too.
We exchanged names and home states, called each other comrade and said goodbye; I know I shall remember her face for very long while writing or speaking on disabled women’s issues. She will go back to her life of earning a daily wage to feed herself and her children, but it is such moments of camaraderie that makes our battles much more meaningful.
I had tried to dissuade him, saying the seats were full, that there would be hardships and difficulties during the train journey. His reply was sharp. “Didi, I am 100 percent blind but fully independent. You will not face any difficulty because of me.” Such enthusiasm is difficult to check, though we know we are often accused of using different ploys to bring disabled people to our meetings and rallies. Moreover, he represented the youth of small towns, and the RPD Bill, whenever it becomes a reality, will be effective all over India, so such participation brings new, much-needed energy.
Like most rallies, this one created some uncertainties and concerns. Would the children with multiple disabilities, who had come under the banner of Sense International India to join us, be able to stay with us for the whole walk? How would participants from Tamil Nadu return to their own state, with all trains being cancelled due to floods? There was an interpreter to sign the speeches of the leaders, but with some speaking in other languages than Hindi, would she be able to follow them? But such issues seemed small in front of such a strong force, and the spirit of the crowd remained unbridled.
I had tried to dissuade him, saying the seats were full, that there would be hardships and difficulties during the train journey. His reply was sharp. “Didi, I am 100 percent blind but fully independent. You will not face any difficulty because of me.”
I saw many old friends, made lots of new ones, and missed meeting quite a few also. I usually meet more city-based activists whenever I am in Delhi, but this 3 December gave me a chance to meet a large number of rural people; for the majority, this was their first visit to the capital. “You come to Delhi quite often,” one of my comrades asked me shyly. “Do you know which road is called Parliament Street? And which side is Parliament, didi?” I gave him the directions. “I’ll go back home and say I’ve been near Parliament,” he said, “the place where all our fates are decided.” With a proud smile, he rushed back to his companions from his village.
Being a person with mental illness myself, it is usually difficult for me to control my emotions, and I cried relentlessly that day. Not because I could be “near” Parliament on this 3 December, but because I saw the unrepresented population of India find their voice, their collective aspirations coming together to shout slogans. That the mainstream media hardly covered our rally and instead talked about government programmes or other commemorations by NGOs supported by corporates cannot deter pressure groups where the favourite slogan of the disability movement—“Nothing about us without us”—meets the first few words of the preamble to the Constitution—“We the People of India…” The rally on 3 December 2015 will remain historic in the annals of India’s disability movement, and will be an inspiration for many more to come.
