Well, completely inclusive

Why a world without borders exists only in the light of spotlights

EDITORIAL
Zlata Askerko is sixteen. When the terrorist attack occurred at the Dubrovka Theater Center, her mother Lilia was six months pregnant. Together with her mother, Zlata survived the capture, release, and the effect of sleeping gas, which the Russian authorities used during the assault. She was born with signs of damage to the nervous system, symptoms of hypoxia transferred in the womb and developmental delay. At the age of one and a half, Zlata was diagnosed with cerebral palsy.

Throughout Zlatino's childhood, Lilia, like a lioness, fought with the state for her daughter's health. Now they are fighting together. Adults can envy Zlata's current development: she is engaged in horse riding, archery, hand-to-hand combat, climbs on a climbing wall, writes poetry, participates in competitions, olympiads, and festivals.

And now, he leads a column in Novaya Gazeta about the life of people with special needs in Russia.

Six months ago, I performed at an “inclusive concert” and met a girl who also came there with her number. The circumstances under which we got to know each other were the most typical for such a concert.

Here is how it was. The performances ended, and all the participants of the event began to climb the stage for the final song. Behind the stage there was a steep staircase, which is difficult even for a healthy person to climb, not to mention people with disabilities.

In the crowd, I saw Vera. She put her foot on the first step with difficulty. Behind her stood two men in blue T-shirts and all whispered: “What is so slow? Faster?"

I walked up to the girl and gave her my hand.

- Isn't there a lift?

“They told me it was broken…” She moved up a notch.

“Are those two in blue T-shirts volunteers?” I asked. Vera nodded. “It doesn't look like they were called here to help people. They must have worn these T-shirts just for beauty. In vain, they are clearly not to face.

I said it out loud and met the volunteer's eyes. The whispering stopped immediately.

As soon as we got to the stage, the hosts of the concert picked up the girl and began to take selfies with her. Then everyone sang the final song together and ran to take pictures with the audience.

Vera and I slowly went downstairs.

A few minutes later the hall was empty. We sat in two chairs in the first row. In front of us, on a large white screen, the inscription burned in green: "Let's create a world without borders together."

We got talking. Vera is seventeen. Studying in the eleventh grade. An excellent pupil. Two years ago, she was transferred to home schooling. There were problems with the teachers, and her mother took her out of school.

“Adults are generally terrible bores!” I wanted to steer the conversation in a positive direction.

- Not in this case. Before my mother picked me up, I was very ill and did not appear at school for three months. During this time, no one sent me homework, and when I went to school, tests and dictations were piled on me. There were so many of them that I could not withstand such a flow of information. When the teachers saw that I started to make mistakes, they began to lower marks due to the slow pace of writing ... Yes, because of anything! Because they knew: I’ll write to four in any way, but you need to answer for five. Due to overload and nervous shock, I had an attack.

Maybe they didn't know this could happen to you? I tried to calm Vera.

Yes, they knew and understood everything. They work with kids like me. This is an inclusive school. They just had to certify me. The child does not have a certificate - the school is minus.

I remember how four years ago I was also very sick. Then I was sent one of the school to the Olympiad. I spent my last health on 95 points at the Olympics. And now I think: for what? Now to be home-schooled. I loved school so much! She dreamed of graduating from school with a gold medal and becoming a worthy person. I was ready to get up every day at seven in the morning only to find myself in the usual hustle and bustle of everyday life. To be like everyone else.

The white screen and the green inscription went out.

Faith wept.

I was silent and could not answer my own question: why is she sitting here alone, if half an hour ago everyone wanted to take a picture with her so much?

And can you?