Creating transgressions
Photo: Kazi Tahsin Agaz Apurbo
When I walked next to Anita on the streets of Kathmandu, I went through a series of emotions. Anxiety, dread, nervousness, and then eventually confidence. Anita is a wheelchair user, and the streets of Kathmandu, very much like that of Dhaka, are not accessible or wheelchair friendly. Part of my emotional rollercoaster was because Anita was on the main road, and not on the footpath, maneuvering amidst other fast approaching cars and bikes. Part of it was because she was also attracting stares. Her wheelchair was electronic, so she didn't require anyone to push it.
After a long day of planning meeting on a course on disability, gender and sexuality, my other colleagues, Anita and I had gotten out for a stroll. I observed how Anita's body, and her electronic wheelchair, transgressed into the very able-bodied street, where a body like Anita's was not to appear, or be expected. Moreover, her wheelchair evoked, among her spectators, surprise. How can a disabled body (that too of a brown, elderly woman) can have the agency to go on her own, like other 'normal' bodies? Also, of course, people were fascinated by the wheelchair that ran on battery- who wouldn't be?
The three-day long planning of the course culminated to this very precise moment of experiencing how we dwell in spaces, and how spaces are created because of that dwelling. Being an able-bodied man, I don't have to think twice about stepping down from the footpath, or jumping across potholes. Due to countless other able-bodies, the street also gets rendered as, or becomes able-bodied. It's not only an abstract concept. Our architectures, infrastructures and economies are able-bodied that exclude bodies that jut-out or don't 'fit'. Able-bodiedness can hence be also read as an oppressive structure that denies exploring potentials and agency of other bodies and lived realities. Thus, is being crippled a limitation? What should be more shameful—having an impairment, or society disabling individuals from getting an education, exercising rights and enjoying life?
In a country like Bangladesh, where talking about disabilities—physical, intellectual, psycho-social, invisible—is still shrouded in taboo, creating healing spaces to address shame, stigma and silence associated with disabilities, is not only necessary, but urgent.
“People want to come to support groups, but not share,” says Shamsin Ahmed, founder of Identity Inclusion, an initiative that aims to break mental health stigma and promote social inclusion of people with mental health conditions, learning and developmental disabilities and even conditions such as Epilepsy. “The stigma is still very strong. They become more comfortable as they hear each other's narratives,” she adds.
Shamsin shares a story of a girl with Epilepsy who lost consciousness when she was in the second grade. Her class teachers insisted that she was put in a special school. Her parents stopped her from going to that school, fearing that teachers and classmates will neglect her condition, and bully her more. However, the girl wants to go back to school, and have friends other than her parents.
“One of our volunteers started visiting her, and became her friend. We are also planning to link her with family members who have successfully managed schools into accepting their children with epilepsy. People need to see mental illness as any other lifestyle changing illness like diabetes, which requires changes in lifestyle. That doesn't mean one cannot live a productive, social life,” adds Shamsin.
Dialogic spaces like these can be healing and transformatory. Understanding different kinds of narratives can motivate us to look at our own narratives with the hope to learn and grown. By the time I came back to the hotel with Anita, I had started to feel more confident than when I started. She said that we should all try to be brave. What kind of questions are you raising, and how are you transgressing? Perhaps, trying to be brave can be our new year's resolution!
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