Remembering late activist: 'Everybody counts or nobody does'

“He taught me to look at things differently, for which I am eternally grateful. He made me realise that every one of us will be disabled one day, some more than others, but all of us will be disabled one day.” - MBPJ councillor Derek Fernandez

I want to be clear. Anthony Thanasayan was not a “disabled” rights activist, he was a human rights activist. If you ever had the good fortune of talking to Anthony you would understand where I am coming from.

Micheal Conneley’s fictional cop Harry Bosch said: “Everybody counts or nobody does.” This sums up Anthony’s history of activism. Disability is part of our shared humanity and while Derek is right about every one of us being disabled one day, the reality is that everyone knows someone - family or friends - who are dealing with this aspect of humanity or is supporting those who are disabled.

I cannot claim to know Anthony (above). Over the past two decades, we met not by design but by happenstance. I remember those conversations clearly although the context and environment they took place in are hazy. Perhaps that is the effect of the disability that comes with age.

Anthony had just come from a press conference and I was attempting - attempting, mind you - to convey my respect for all the hard work he had done for the disabled community. He cut me off in the most benign manner and said (and I remember this clearly although I cannot remember where we were): “No, no, commander. There are so many other people who have done more than me.”

He rattled off names (which I took down, Anthony was extremely helpful with the spelling of their names) and listed down their accomplishments, but mostly the conversation centred around parents of disabled people and the lives they led, where every happy moment was amplified and the joys we abled body people took for granted was given the attention it deserved.

An insightful man

Looking through my folder, I came across a letter in Malaysiakini that Anthony wrote, disagreeing with another activist, Ruziah Ghazali, who claimed that parents of disabled children may be “embarrassed” to register their children with the Social Welfare Department.

Anthony wrote: “Disabled Malaysians are under-registered because of the failure of the government to get them registered - and do not take the easy and lazy way to blame the victims.

“Why don't the welfare officers, for instance, go door-to-door to seek out the disabled persons, especially in the poor areas? The Welfare Department should work closely with the local councils to find them and register them.”

In another piece, he reminded us that disabled people were not looking for a joyride amid the Covid-19 pandemic.

“The truth is that instead of joyrides, what we really need are real jobs so that we can plan on getting married and even raise families of our own. So, if you guys really want to help - and appreciate our struggle - why don’t you give us all a free pass to travel all year round?”

In another conversation - again I cannot remember when or where - Anthony was bemused by my polemical tone of writing and we got into a discussion about how it was very difficult for disabled people to view things through a racial or religious lens because their physical or mental disabilities always reminded them of how artificial the constructs of race and religion were.

“Commander, when you are disabled and trying to look after yourself or an able-bodied person who supports a disabled person, you empathise with other people who are going through the same thing you are going through. You do not see the race or religion but rather the effects of the human condition.”

He was quick to point out that this does not mean disabled people are not afflicted with the same petty prejudices that afflict us all but rather those bonds of humanity that bind us are sometimes felt more acutely in the community struggling to survive in an environment where their needs and wants are discounted, patronised, or in some extreme cases, hidden away.

I was fascinated when he held forth on dogs and other pets. He was extremely articulate and knowledgeable about the impact of animals, especially on disabled people. I remember reading links and books he had mentioned over the years, and sometimes, briefly, when we met by happenstance, he was surprised that I had followed through on his suggestions.

Unrelenting optimism

I once jokingly told him that my problems seemed petty when it came to what the disabled community was going through.

He said: “Don’t do that, commander. All our problems are the same, except that disabled people have to do a lot more work to get to their solutions. Even though we read bad things, people are basically good, commander.”

I did not know Anthony or what he and the people who loved and supported him went through, but I can say that the brief interactions we had made me question my cynicism. Truth be told, not enough to change me, but that is on me.

I have only a vague idea of the mountain people like Anthony had to climb, especially when it came to institutional change. I know for sure that there are people in the community - our community - who are still climbing that mountain.

I am sure his accomplishments would be listed and catalogued. He was an exceptional human rights activist after all. But in time, Malaysians, with their hopeless memories, will lose sight of how sincere activists like Anthony actually move the needle in some small way.

I do not know where Anthony’s passing will take him but I do know that eventually, we will all go there.

This is the last rejoinder from Anthony. - Mkini

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S THAYAPARAN is Commander (Rtd) of the Royal Malaysian Navy. Fīat jūstitia ruat cælum - “Let justice be done though the heavens fall.”

The views expressed here are those of the author/contributor and do not necessarily represent the views of MMKtT.