Every year, on December 3, the world pauses to observe the International Day of Disabled Persons. Politicians, celebrities, and organizations issue heartfelt statements and champion for the inclusion and accessibility for people with disabilities. While this global chorus celebrates empathy and care, one cannot help but think about a certain group of disabled individuals—the kind who do not make it to the glossy posters or the syrupy social media campaigns.These are the disabled Kashmiris. Not disabled by nature. Not by accidents. But by design. By the brutality of the Indian military-industrial complex that thrives on breaking not just bones but spirits. This day, which ought to honor the resilience of the disabled, becomes a dark satire for those whose limbs, dignity, and freedom were systematically stolen in Kashmir. Even as I write, the Indian army in Kishtwar has brutally tortured four civilians some of whom according a news report were not able to walk. Sajad Ahmad, Abdul Kabir, Mushtaq Ahmad and Mehraj-ud-Din were abducted on November 20. After the family members of all these victims were taking them towards hospital for treatment, they were stopped by the army midway and not allowed to move in an attempt to cover their crimes. 

The haunting image of Qalandar Khatana on the cover of the report Torture: Indian State’s Instrument of Control in Indian-administered Kashmir is a stark reminder of atrocities that will likely never find a place in protests across Western or European countries. A man with both his legs severed, stares out—a silent indictment of a system that thrives on pain. His story is one of thousands buried under the indifference of powerful global institutions, including the very United Nations General Assembly that declared this noble day back in 1992.

What are the odds that someone sitting in Geneva or New York will read the stories of torture victims whose bodies were maimed in Papa-2, Harinavas or Cargo? Will they shed a tear for the men whose bodies were found dumped or disfigured beyond recognition? Unlikely. After all, such tales don’t fit neatly into the glossy brochures about disability rights.

Usually, when the world talks about disabled individuals, it paints them as victims of fate or tragic accidents. But in our part of the world, people are disabled systematically. Electric shocks, beatings with iron rods, and the crushing of joints have left thousands unable to walk or work here. For them, the phrase “human rights” definitely rings hollow.The infamous pellet shotguns used by Indian forces have blinded hundreds, including children. Who needs dreams when your vision has been stolen in the name of “crowd control”? Shall we send these survivors an invitation to the International Day of Disabled Persons celebrations? Perhaps we can ask the organizers to print Braille programs for the pellet-blinded teenagers from Kashmir. We can send them pictures of Hiba Nasir and Insha Mushtaq or maybe we can wheel in those who had their spines shattered in interrogation cells.

The United Nations, the self-proclaimed guardian of human rights, remains deafeningly silent about the institutionalized violence in Kashmir. While they discuss accessibility ramps and disability-inclusive policies, they fail to notice the torture chambers that churn out disabled Kashmiris by the thousands. The international community’s selective empathy is stunning. A child in Europe injured in an accident becomes the face of a disability campaign, while a Kashmiri child blinded by pellets is dismissed as collateral damage. Disability rights activists speak passionately about inclusion but rarely include voices from regions like Kashmir, where disabling a population is a state policy.

The mere mention of names like Papa-2 sends shivers down the spines of those who lived to tell the tale. Victims recount how they were hung upside down, their limbs twisted until they broke, or forced to drink their urine. Many never left those torture centers alive. The report Torture: Indian State’s Instrument of Control in Indian-administered Kashmir opens with a grim list of names—those tortured to death in 2016 alone. But torture in Kashmir isn’t bound by calendars. It is a constant. It evolves. And so does its capacity to disable lives, bodies, and futures.

Nevertheless, the International Day of Disabled Persons is a noble concept, but in the context of Kashmir, it feels like a macabre joke. Are we supposed to light a candle for those tortured into wheelchairs by the Indian military? Should the UN issue a press release commemorating the lives broken under interrogation? What about the young men whose arms were twisted out of their sockets or the women rendered infertile by sexual violence in detention? Maybe we can put them on a poster next to a slogan about “resilience and overcoming adversity.”

The truth is that the global conversation around disability is sanitized and self-serving. It is comfortable. It focuses on solutions for disabilities caused by misfortune while deliberately ignoring the disabilities caused by systemic violence and oppression. Disability, we can safely say, isn’t a personal tragedy but a weapon of war in Kashmir. It is inflicted, not suffered. It is designed to intimidate, dominate, and erase resistance. Despite all of this, there is no room for these stories in the polished narratives that surround this day.