Advocates say slowly shifting attitudes got a boost last
month, with a pledge from President Putin
SERPUKHOV, RUSSIA - At the Seyaz auto plant, assembly lines are busy, churning
out tiny Oka cars and fueling new hope for thousands of disabled Russians.
The cars, about half the size of a Volkswagen Beetle, look like cubes
on wheels. Custom-designed for handicapped drivers, with special gears,
pedals, and steering devices, each vehicle has been paid for in advance
by the Russian government.
"We are a kind of barometer of official concern for the disabled, and
it has never looked stronger than it does now," says Gennady Bykov, a manager
at the plant, where orders are backlogged. "We feel confident enough to
be making big expansion plans."
The plant, 50 miles south of Moscow, was established in 1950 to build
cars for disabled World War II veterans. Its production never exceeded
10,000 units annually. Following the 1991 collapse of the Soviet Union,
it almost stopped completely. This year, 19,000 of the special Okas drove
out the factory gates; next year, Mr. Bykov says they will make at least
20,000. The total demand may be as high as 100,000 per year, he adds.
For Russia's 11 million disabled people, the little cars are a symbol
of the social integration pledged by the Kremlin for more than half a century
but only partially delivered. In communist times, most people with severe
disabilities were kept at home or in institutions - war veterans were an
exception - from which they seldom emerged. Post-Soviet and social-service
cutbacks forced tens of thousands of them onto the streets of Russian cities,
where many still subsist as beggars.
"Disabled people have been treated like outcasts, and they respond by
withdrawing into themselves," says Yevgeny Lilyin, a specialist with the
Russian Health Ministry. "It's very hard for a person to adapt to a society
that rejects them."
The average Russian city street remains an obstacle course for even
the mildly disabled. Few public facilities are wheelchair accessible. Disability
pensions tend to be lower than average, making no allowance for special
needs.
"Russia is a very poor country, and we understand that it's not possible
to remake all the infrastructure overnight," says Alexander Klepikov, vice
chair of the 2.5 million-member Russian Society of Disabled People. "But
we are very encouraged by changes of attitude we see taking place. This
is the most
crucial thing."
Until recently, no Kremlin leader had ever spoken out about the problems
of disabled people. In 1980, the Soviet Union even refused to participate
in the Paralympic Games because officially, no one in the country was disabled.
But President Vladimir Putin was personally embarrassed last month when
several disabled groups' representatives, invited to attend a government-sponsored
assembly of public organizations, were nearly turned away because their
wheelchairs wouldn't fit through turnstiles at the Kremlin gates. "Shame
on us," Mr. Putin told the meeting. "The policies of the past made it impossible
to integrate the disabled into society, even in the smallest ways. We need
to make a complete overhaul of our attitudes and
approaches."
At the Kremlin meeting, Putin pledged to consult regularly with disabled
groups, and promised large increases in pensions and other funding for
new programs to facilitate adaptation. "We know this is not just talk,
because we have seen the changes already," Mr. Klepikov says. "It makes
such a difference to see the president publicly acknowledge our struggle."
The tasks are daunting. Hundreds of factories originally built to provide
work for Soviet war veterans - many still operated by Klepikov's organization
- are technically bankrupt. Millions more disabled live in extreme poverty
or endure isolation and neglect at the hands of ill-funded, Soviet-era
state institutions.
"When you look at the overall challenge, it isn't easy to be optimistic,"
says Mr. Lilyin. "But there are many rays of light, and they are growing
brighter all the time."
Perhaps the best sign of change is the proliferation of grass-roots
groups pressing for disabled peoples' rights. "There are five really large
ones, and hundreds of small ones," says Klepikov. "That's why political
power has started to listen, and it's also why attitudes in the streets
are changing." A few years ago, a person in a wheelchair would attract
a crowd of curious onlookers, he says. "Now it's almost a normal thing."
Last summer in Serpukhov, the Seyaz plant sponsored Russia's first-ever
disabled car rally. Dozens of special vehicles competed in a 900-mile race
from Moscow to Volgograd.
"It was a lot of fun, and it was very well received by everyone along
the route," says Valery Svistunov, the factory's deputy director. "It was
great publicity for a very good cause, and for our products too. We're
going to make it an annual event."