Of opportunity and meaning

Last week, I scheduled a meeting with a colleague who works on the disability related challenges among refugees and displaced persons. She suggested a coffee shop, somewhat halfway between her home and mine. I was lucky to find parking and showed up a few minutes before our scheduled time. As I entered the coffee shop, I was greeted by an incredible warmth and energy that I had not experienced in quite some time.

The person at the coffee register greeted me with a big smile and an authentic cheer. The server behind her did the same. I felt that there was something extraordinary about this place. As I stood in line to place my order, I noticed the sign on the wall. This place was built to provide employment to those who suffer from Down syndrome and Autism. The workers at the coffee shop were given a chance to have dignity, purpose and inclusion. Their grace lit up the place. The air felt like a warm blanket on a very cold day.

The place made me think about lots of things. The insignificance of my own struggles, my privilege and the challenges of people all around us. But it also made me think about what it means to create space for others for them to be productive members of society and have dignity. Every year, around certain international day of this or that, there are predictable seminars, hollow speeches and endless empty promises. There would be a programme or two on TV, and a special supplement in the newspaper.

Yet, things more or less remain the same for those who struggle with the heavy burden of disabilities. In fact, too often, we find our humour ridicule people who struggle with issues of visual impairment, a physical disability, developmental or cognitive challenges. Our cultural approach to care – when we choose to use one – is that of doing everything for our those who struggle with disability. It is never of giving people a sense of autonomy and agency. It is never to make them realise that they too can contribute to the rich tapestry of our life. It is never to make them feel that we depend on them and benefit from their role in society. When we do care, we end up doing exactly the opposite of inclusion.

I am biased when it comes to the rights of persons with disability, and disturbed by our inability to give them their rights. My mother's sister, who lost her sight in her late teens, is probably the most inspiring woman I have ever met. I think about her all the time and often recall her infectious laughter. She became a physician and a lifelong advocate for the rights of people with disabilities. Whether she traveled to the far islands of the pacific for an international conference, or to the village in our heartland with her driver in a rickety Suzuki van, she advocated inclusion, not pity. She lived as meaningful a life as one can live.

The idea of creating meaningful employment opportunities for those who struggle because of cognitive decline or autism has been tried in several locations. A few years ago, there was global news about a restaurant in Japan, called the "Restaurant of Mistaken Orders" – where all the servers are people with dementia dealing with isolation and loneliness. There are efforts in other places as well. In all of these places the central idea is not about the kind of business that the owners want to have, but the business of kindness that makes us human.

I thanked my colleague – who has spent decades working on the rights of people with disability – for introducing me to this place. She smiled and told me that it was a deliberate choice, not just a convenient mid-way location. I stayed there for several hours, well after my meeting ended. As people came and went, I felt warmth that I had not experienced in a long time. I took my family there the following day. I am likely to go there again and again. My calculus is simple – when I get a cup of coffee there, I get way more than what I pay for.