File photo dated July 8, 2006.

Our destination was further up the road from the Church of the Holy Name of Jesus. We had to cross a wooden bridge built over a river fed by streams from the hills surrounding Balik Pulau. Bamboo groves lined the river banks. The only audible sounds were that of the car’s engine, screeching of crickets and gurgling of the river. A constant cool wind blew in through the open window. The silence was eerie yet refreshing.

I knew where we were going. Shortly after the bridge, Dad would turn the car into a narrow earth road up a gentle slope. Like every year for as long as I could remember, he would drive Mum to light candles and lay flowers at the cemetery. Therein lie her father, her grandparents and those from extended families – many ancestors I have never met before or was too young to remember then. In my mind, they were all in black and white, just like the portraits embedded in their tombstones.

For a short period once a year, the drabness of the cemetery bloomed with vibrant colours from orchids, chrysanthemums, anthuriums, gladioluses and carnations. Little white candles that were lighted in the memory of the dearly departed flickered in the gentle breeze. It was practice that I unwittingly observed by virtue of having to tag along on those annual pilgrimages until I became paralysed. Mum continued with the tradition after that.

For the past two years I have lighted candles before the niche where Mum’s ashes were interred on All Souls’ Day and her death anniversary. Those were solemn moments. Since I am not in Penang this year, I am giving it a miss. Nevertheless, I have spent some quiet moments in reflection – thinking about life, death and where my part is in this big scheme of things - praying that I be given the opportunity to touch lives like how Mum did to countless people with her magnanimity.

“If we forever accept the minimum we will always be treated as a community of people who can be easily pushed around. Subsequently whenever we voice out our needs and problems people will never take us seriously anymore.”

I told Christine that as we were discussing the state of the disability movement in Malaysia this morning. That is the kind of mentality that is swirling around in the minds of our peers. Sad but true. Some I attribute to decades of being oppressed. Those I do not blame because they do not know better. What I cannot buy are veteran leaders of the movement who are agreeable to less for reasons best known to themselves. Many of them have come to a stage where getting something instead of nothing is considered an achievement. In that sense, we are no better than mongrels waiting to feed on morsels falling off the dinner table.

It also does not help that non-disabled activists running organisations serving disabled persons think that they know everything about disability issues. Talk is cheap. They interfere in the advocacy process without fully understanding the situation. Ultimately, disabled persons have to live with the damage and consequences of such unqualified meddling. In the meantime, these activists go on living their merry lives, oblivious to the damage they have done to the development of the movement.

As long as we, the disabled persons, see ourselves as lesser human beings we will never be treated with respect. We sell out our dignity by believing that rights are privileges. Both are not interchangeable. It is time we realise this and stand up to claim our rightful place in society. It is time we stop sabotaging each other’s efforts in an attempt to be the sole champion of the movement. In instances like that, nobody wins but everybody loses. It is only through working together that we can make a united stand and make our voices heard. Make or break - the choice is ours.