All language subtitles for Silenced.The.Hidden.Story.Of.Disability.In.Britain.2021.720p.WEBRip.x264.AAC-[YTS.MX]

This programme
contains discriminatory language
which some may find offensive

and scenes which
some viewers may find disturbing.

So this is page 26
of the Evening Standard

on Monday, 23rd February, 2009.

"Dozens of parents have complained
to the BBC that

"a disabled television presenter
is scaring their children."

TV AUDIO

THEY LAUGH

"One father said he would ban
his daughter from watching

"the channel because he thought
it would give her nightmares."

CBeebies Bedtime Story.

Have you ever
listened to a seashell?

My name is Cerrie Burnell.

I'm a mother, writer and actor.

But to some people, I will always
be remembered as the woman

on children's television
with one hand.

Others were like, "Oh, no,

"yeah, I mean, that arm -
I feel the same.

"I mean, I don't mind disability,
but I don't want to deal

"with it at nine o'clock
in the morning," you know.

"Sorry.
We'll deal with it at ten to two."

My little arm is, for want
of a better word, you know,

a deformity or a disfigurement.

And it's that that is unnerving.

But my experience isn't new.

For hundreds of years, disabled
people have been shut out

of our society.

We were made to feel we were
superfluous to the world, you know,

and that's a very hard message.

They wanted perfect people.

They didn't want disabled people -
they wanted us to be perfect,

and all the treatments
were to lead to that.

At the end of the day, disability

is largely feared, and you fear

something that you do not

know and do not understand.

I want to explore a hidden story
to discover how the attitudes

of the past still shape the lives
of people today and find out

whether we can ever overcome
centuries of injustice and fear.

Prejudice towards disability
is very rarely spoken of.

This kind of whisper of, you know,
well, it would have been better

if you were able-bodied,
or it would have been better

if you weren't here at all.

I didn't view myself as being
disabled until I was in my late

teens, early 20s, because the word
"disability", to me, had always held

such huge negative connotations.

I thought disability
meant vulnerability.

I thought it meant
that you were incapable

of doing things independently.

I certainly didn't think
it was sexy or powerful.

I was born in 1979, without
the lower part of my right arm.

But until I appeared on children's
TV, I'd never personally

been confronted by the prejudice
that disabled people

have faced throughout history.

How is it possible these attitudes
still exist in the 21st century?

To understand where they come
from, we have to look

to the past and to a story
most of us don't know.

If you look back at our history,
there was this whole idea,

if you were disabled,
you were disabled in every way -

you were mentally disabled,
physically disabled,

morally disabled.

They were all tied up.

You were a lower form
of life. The more disabled

you looked, the more
this was assumed of you.

Southwell Workhouse
in Nottinghamshire is one of the few

surviving buildings like this
left in the country.

It's eerie and it's sort
of haunting.

There's a kind of merciless
air to it. I can't imagine

the desperation or the fear.

These institutions were designed

to be a last resort
for the non-disabled poor,

but it was in these places
that our modern attitudes

to disability were first formed.

"Idiocy, cripple, epilepsy,
dropsical, weak mind, deaf,

"an impediment in her speech,
deformed."

Before the Industrial Revolution,
many disabled people could scrape

a living or were looked
after by their families.

But as thousands flocked
to the cities to work

in the new factories, those unable
to compete in this modern world

were left behind.

With nowhere else to go,
the workhouses started filling

with sick and disabled people.

"Aaron Pudney - deformed, incapable
of earning his living.

"Mary Watson - infirm
and being deformed."

This is a parliamentary report
into workhouses from 1861, listing

everyone over the age of 16
in England and Wales who'd

been an inmate of a workhouse
for five years or more.

And this is upwards of 60 years!

I mean, one's been
in there 70 years!

"Albertina Salmons - blind.
Mary Kerridge - blindness.

"Robert Gett - infirmity..."

By 1900, the process of
institutionalising disabled people

had begun.

"Sophia Ransom - unsound mind."

"The whitewashed walls afford
so many resting places for dust

"and the germs of disease.

"The beds are mostly straw.

"We saw a stream trickling
from beneath one cot.

"The room had a strong odour
of ammonia. A baby in a cradle

"was being tended by a deaf and dumb
woman, and another infant

"was in the arms of an imbecile."

I think it's very telling and also
really appalling that both

disability and poverty are
so interlinked, and so that attitude

of, you know, if you're poor,
you're no good,

or if you're disabled,
you're no good.

And it's a fear of mine that a
shadow of that has carried on,

really, so that we view poverty
and disability in the same

light, almost, today.

If you've always been told
that you are not deemed worthy

of something, you know, it takes
an awful lot to build up

the fight and the courage
to say, "Actually, yes, I am."

By the early years of the 20th
century, well-meaning reformers

had begun to campaign for a more
humane alternative to the workhouse.

The Cheshire Archives hold the story
of one woman who was to create

an institution that would affect
the lives of tens of thousands

of disabled people for decades.

Mary Dendy was a social reformer.

She was part of a large group

of benefactors within the
Manchester area

who would look for causes
like poverty or poor education,

who would then look at how
they could raise money to try

and improve those.

Dendy's radical vision was to lift
disabled children out of poverty

and give them a new life
in a self-contained community

where they would be shut
away from society.

It would be known
as the Sandlebridge Colony.

Years later, it would become
the Mary Dendy Hospital,

where Claire Moore's parents worked.

This is actually a
newspaper article.

It does explain how she came
across the young people

that would end up living here.

So, Ms Dendy "obtained
from the Director of Education

"a complete list
of the known defectives..."

That's the children, is it? Mm-hm.
"..and visited them."

"I found little children hidden
away in rooms, only waiting

"until they should die."

Gosh, OK, horrifying. So she's
really seeing the impact of poverty.

So she set up a home
for the permanent care of the

"feeble-minded"!
And what constitutes

feeble-minded? That term, once
you look at the records, seems

to be almost an umbrella term

for all sorts of disabilities.
Yes.

There are likely to be children
with intellectual disabilities,

learning disabilities, but also,
as we can see from some

of the photographs, there are
definitely children with physical

disabilities as well. So...

So the assumption was,
if you were physically disabled,

you were probably
"feeble-minded" as well?

That's likely to be the term used,
yeah, because feeble-minded is used

about 90% of the time

as he reason why that child
has been admitted. Yes. The idea

is that these young people will move
into this permanent situation...

And will be looked after.
..and will be looked after.

This was something that was seen
as a welcome, almost, solution.

But there was no way out for them,
either, if it's permanent.

That's right.

This is one of the admission books.
This tells us about some

of the very early children who were
brought in to Sandlebridge homes.

This is written in Mary Dendy's
own hand. It's amazing.

So, who's this?

So this is Sydney Humphries,
and he was born on the 10th

of November, 1893, and he was
admitted eight years later.

He's described as "a big-headed
boy with weak limbs." OK.

It's indicated that he has had
hydrocephalus - water on the brain -

which will have contributed to that.
His learning difficulty.

This young lady - this is Alice
Crossley. Alice. She's described

as a very nervous child.

She is nearly blind.
Now, you can see from this

photograph, she has her hands up,
so I can

see in the photograph there
that she has six fingers

on each hand.

I hadn't noticed that.

So that is carefully noted
as part of her disability.

That, alongside her visual
impairment... Yes. ..obviously

would have made her very vulnerable,

you know, out in the community. Mm.

The mother applied for blind aid

and for help so that she wouldn't
have to put her out to beg. Yeah.

So her mother's obviously...

Her mother must have been
absolutely desperate.

It says that she's quite
well and happy.

"Works in house and knits.
Wants to work in the laundry,

"but impossible. Eyesight
very bad, seems very stupid."

I would really like to
think that these young people

had lives beyond what was written
on this page here,

because it's a snapshot.
Perhaps it's the only record

of that young person's life.

In 1913, the Mental Deficiency Act

gave authorities sweeping new powers

to institutionalise people
against their will.

The effects of this policy
to segregate and confine people

who didn't fit
are still being felt today.

At a stroke of a pen, a doctor
can sign your life away

for the rest of your life.
That was it.

In 2007, a letter arrived at the
family home of David Gambell.

It was addressed to his mother,
who had been dead for many years.

The letter was from a residential
care home where, unknown to David

and his brother, Kenneth,
or the rest of their family,

their sister, Jean,
had been living.

I got these letters.

I was ready to just rip the thing
up and throw it away, but pencilled

in the top right-hand corner,
I've seen "Jean Gambell".

I remember that name as a kid,
you know,

so I rang the elder brothers
and sisters.

I said, "Have we got a Jean Gambell,
a sister?"

And they were like that,
"Yeah, she's your older sister.

"Oh, she must have passed away
years ago."

I said, "Well, I've
got a letter here -

"she's in some care home
in Macclesfield."

I rang the Macclesfield up.

I said, "Have you got a girl
there called Jean Gambell?"

"Oh, yes, yes, yes.

"A bit puzzled now in the head,
and she's very profoundly deaf.

"And she's...

"..she reckons she's got a family.

"We don't think so.

"We just put it down to old age
and that, you know."

"Well," I said,
"I happen to be her brother."

70 years earlier, Jean Gambell was
taken from her home in Birkenhead

at the age of 15 and sectioned
under the Mental Deficiency Act.

She had spent almost her entire life
in institutions, including time

in the Mary Dendy Hospital.

When we seen her, I didn't
know what to expect.

Me and Alan, my brother,
walked in there

and she...looked up at the two of us
and her eyes sparkled,

as if it was only yesterday,
and she came running

over and holding both of us, you
know, and do you know what?

She knew our names.

"David and Alan."

Such an emotional moment.

And within...well, weeks, she died.

She was just hanging on to see us,
a family at last, long last.

What else could be worse than
being locked up for 70 years?

She was denied all the things
that could have happened.

She could have been courting,
she could have got married,

she could have had children -
all that was taken away from her.

There was a lot of life,
though she never existed it.

She was older than me, so I didn't
know they'd put her

into a mental institution.

I believe she suffered
from meningitis,

that's why she was put away.

Even to this day, we don't
know for sure

what she was put away for.

I've got all kinds
of letters here, and...

She was originally sectioned for
being a lunatic, feeble-minded.

My dad had to sign it, you know.
He wouldn't even know

what he was signing for, you know?

He thought, maybe this is only
a couple of months.

But unknown to him, she was there

for the rest of her life.

He wrote letters and letters
to these homes -

"Is it possible for her release?"

But no, no, no way.

From birth to death...

..that's her whole story there.

Jean Gambell was one of many
thousands of disabled people

who were permanently excluded
from society

under the Mental Deficiency Act.

Among those who had campaigned
hard to get the bill passed

was Mary Dendy.

I actually have an essay
that Mary Dendy wrote.

"The Experiment at Sandlebridge."

So it's an experiment?

This was revolutionary, what Mary
was trying to achieve here.

Yeah.

"Fortunately, the feeble-minded
are much more easily made happy

"than sane persons."

LAUGHTER

OK, Mary, if you say so!

"It is perfectly easy to make the
great majority of the weak-minded

"happy without ever letting them
see anything of the outside world."

Mm.

"Above all, I should like to
emphasise the fact that it is easy

"to keep the feeble-minded children
if they are never allowed

"once to indulge animal passions."

So if they're never allowed
to have sex?

That is what Mary was explicitly...
Trying to stop.

..trying to prevent.

She wanted to stop, in her mind...

So that's what this whole thing
is about, actually?

Yeah, absolutely.

This is around segregation
of men and women

to stop reproduction through
the generations.

She set up this beautiful home
with a very kind of noble idea.

But actually, it's quite horrific.

That it's... "Let's just stop
them from breeding."

And then what?

Eventually we would all
be filtered out?

Yeah, this was really
about looking to...

..strengthen the human race.

Strengthen human stock...
So it's eugenics.

..by filtering out these
so-called defects.

You know, this was really quite
a well-supported movement.

Great figureheads - like Winston
Churchill, for example,

Aldous Huxley, many other
politicians, writers -

you know, held this very
same view...

That the world was better off
without disabled children in it?

Yeah, and this sort of environment
that Mary is setting up

is almost a solution
to what they see

as societal ills at the time.

That... It's just so shocking.

It is, it is.

ARCHIVE: Eugenics seeks to apply
the known laws of heredity

so as to prevent the
degeneration of the race

and improve its inborn quality.

In the 1920s and '30s, scientists
and politicians alike

made use of Charles Darwin's ideas
about selective breeding.

Here is a man who, although normal,

comes from a mentally
defective family.

Here is his wife,
who is also normal.

They've had 17 children.

Seven of them are all
mental defectives.

Their aim was to use the new
colonies like Sandlebridge

to segregate disabled people,
keeping them away

from the strong and healthy.

Two live at home - a man
and a crippled dwarf girl.

This film, made by the Eugenics
Society in the 1930s,

remains shocking and controversial
nearly a century on.

Once they have been born, defectives
are happier and more useful

in these institutions than
when at large.

If carefully trained, they can
be taught simple routine tasks.

But it would have been better
by far, for them and for the rest

of the community, if they had
never been born.

It's so horrific, just that
mentality of...

.."You were a mistake, you don't
have a place in the world.

"It would have been better
for everyone if you

"just didn't exist."

I mean, it's really obvious to me
that had I been born in this time,

I would have just been viewed
as a defective,

I would have been seen
as absolutely worthless.

It's what Hitler
was championing, really.

You just take a thin slice
of society away slowly, slowly,

slowly, so no-one notices.

And then suddenly you turn
around and you go,

"Well, where
are the disabled people?"

Ideas about eugenics grew
in popularity across the world

during the 1930s, but it was
in Germany that they were taken

to their most extreme conclusion.

Between 1933 and 1945, the Nazi
regime carried out the mass

sterilisation of up to 400,000
disabled people...

..with all kinds of impairments.

Over a quarter of a million
more were murdered.

The discovery of these horrors ended
Britain's public support

for eugenics, but it didn't
end the authorities

still trying to control the lives
of disabled people.

Instead of shutting us away,
the medical world now

saw our disabled bodies as problems
they needed to fix.

ARCHIVE: You think you're
on the scrapheap,

but the future holds something
very different for these lads.

Efforts to rehabilitate
disabled people had begun

after the First World War
with wounded servicemen.

ARCHIVE: They come in on crutches,
and it's Roehampton's job

to send them out under
their own steam,

ready to pick up their lives where
they were interrupted.

But by the 1940s, doctors had turned
their attention to civilians.

Hello. Hi, what an absolute
pleasure to meet you!

Ann Macfarlane was born in 1939.

At a young age, she had developed
a condition called Still's disease,

which caused her joints
to swell and stiffen.

They wanted perfect people,
they didn't want disabled people.

They wanted us to be perfect,
which was, I think,

why I...experienced the torment

of trying to be perfect.

And all the treatments were
to lead to that.

So it's really the medical idea...

Yes, the medical... ..that you have
to be able-bodied, that's the goal?.

Yes, absolutely.

ARCHIVE: Look at these happy,
healthy children.

What a contrast to this
little girl...

..who is walking for the very
first time in her life.

By the time I was
four years old, I was so ill

that I went into hospital.

They could see that my knees
were bending up and I couldn't

straighten them, my arms were
beginning to bend, my fingers.

So they decided to break my legs
and put me in plaster.

This is when you were four?

Yes. So that was quite
a prolonged affair.

So, every time you had your legs
broken and reset,

they would heal and then the same
issues would persist...

That's right. ..and they would
break them again. Yes.

For the sake of being made perfect,
Ann spent virtually her entire

childhood in and out of hospitals.

Till I was nine, they didn't really
know what to do,

so they decided that
I needed complete rest.

So they made what they called
a plaster bed.

A sort of... A statuette of your
whole body. Oh, God.

Told me to shut up and throw a
bucket of water over my head

if I didn't stop screaming because
they had to get the legs

as straight as they could, to lay
in this plaster bed.

So you were just trapped?

Oh, yes, you were strapped down,
you were strapped on to it,

you couldn't move.

And then you had a mirror...
You can't quite see the mirror

in the picture, but there was a
mirror over the bed so you could

try and turn it to see what
was going on around you.

And how did you feel being
in this plaster bed?

Well, at first
it was absolutely terrible,

because it was so painful
and uncomfortable.

But as I got used to it,
it was fine.

And do you get used to it?

Because I remember having a plaster
cast just on this arm -

it's one, one limb, you know -
and I absolutely screamed.

But no-one threw water over me
and no-one told me to shut up.

Sometimes it's very difficult

for me to think back
to that childhood.

The pain, the fear. The fear,
I think, was paramount.

ARCHIVE: People often say,
"Poor old so-and-so

"has to go into hospital."

As if a hospital were the most
dreadful place.

Look how happy these children are.

Everything I can ever think of was
all to make me more perfect.

And look what I've ended up like!

LAUGHTER

But we're conditioned right from
the beginning to think

that we're not right, we're
the problem, we have to change...

Oh, definitely. ..to fit in.

Yes, definitely. You're a nuisance,
you're a burden.

You were seen as nothing, really,
as a disabled person.

I mean, what good were you?

You know...
Well, plenty of bloody good,

but no-one sees that!
Yes, but nobody recognised it. Yes.

What Ann went through happened
more than 30 years before

I was even born.

And yet, when I was growing up,

doctors did their best to make me

perfect, too.

Roehampton was the hospital that had
the prosthetics unit

I used to go to.

I remember, you know, walking along
corridors and looking up,

and just seeing, like, hundreds
and hundreds of prosthetic legs

just kind of hanging there,
just waiting.

The people in the white coats,
the people with the power,

some of them had very firm ideas.
There was never a choice

as to whether I could have
the prosthetic or not.

There was a hook that was literally

like this, kind of covered

in plastic, and the idea was

that it would open and close,

and you'd be able to pick things up.

I mean, do you think it worked?

No.

There was one called
the myoelectric hand

and this was like, you know,

cutting-edge technology.

So, it would open like...

..and everyone was really
excited about this.

Not me, everyone else.

I then went back to just having just

a regular prosthetic
that was like a doll's hand,

that didn't do anything. And I...
I said to a doctor, you know,

"I just don't want it.
I just don't want to wear it."

And he said, "Well, you know,
the other children

"might not like it
if you don't wear it,

"or you might not have any friends."

Saying that to a six-
or seven-year-old is...

..is so poisonously ableist,

and I don't think
it was particular to him,

that was just the attitude
at the time.

It was such a quiet victory
when I finally

didn't have to wear it.

But I'd never have been allowed
the freedom to choose were it not

for one man who, in the 1940s,

began to change our prejudices

about disabled people.

If you can get the proper
treatment from the start,

these people can become, once again,

in spite of their severe disability,

useful members of society.

Ready? Go.

One of the extraordinary things
about Dr Ludwig Guttmann,

a Jewish neurologist,
is that he came to Britain

to escape the Nazi regime
in Germany - the very same regime

that was determined to wipe out
disabled people.

He's like a father
to these patients.

He treats them like
sons and daughters sometimes.

In 1944, he opened Britain's first

specialist unit for the treatment of

spinal injuries at the
Stoke Mandeville Hospital.

It's no good to...to be
just what was called kind.

You can kill people with kindness.

You have, sometimes, to be firm.

Paraplegia is not
the end of the way.

It is the beginning of a new life.

Guttmann had a brilliantly
simple idea - to use

competitive sport to give disabled
people the chance to succeed.

We started with simple games first -

darts, playing in the ward,

and we had billiards
and snooker.

HE BLOWS WHISTLE

And then I saw, of course,

how these men react,

not only physically,
but psychologically.

They suddenly felt

or see they can do something.

I've come to North Yorkshire
to meet a woman

who spent nine months
under Dr Guttmann's care.

She adjusted herself

to her disability
in the most marvellous way,

with her determination,
with her courage,

and with a good sense of humour.

In 1958, Lady Susan Masham

was paralysed from the waist down

in a riding accident, when her horse

fell and rolled onto her.

This was me riding
in a point-to-point.

That was before my accident. Yeah.

And yet, two years later,
she competed for Britain

in what would become known as

the first international

Paralympics in Rome.

Oh, this is the opening ceremony,

so all the different countries.
So, there you all are.

I was one of those.

ITALIAN COMMENTARY

Oh, it was a completely...

..pioneering, new adventure, really,

and it was the first.

So, we were all guinea pigs, really.

SHE CHUCKLES

Did you feel a sense of belonging
when you were there? Yes,

I think so. Because this must have
been... Yes, it was a movement. Yes.

Yeah. And it was an amazing

organisation... It looks it.
..bringing

all these different people,

who are paralysed, together.

And whose idea was this?
It was Guttmann.

He was called "Poppa"!

"Poppa Guttmann"!

SHE LAUGHS

ITALIAN COMMENTARY

He was a remarkable man.

He thought that if people
could compete in sport,

they could compete in everyday work.

Psychologically,
that was his ethos? Yes.

And at the beginning, people
used to come round and say,

"Oh, what are you going to do
with all these cripples?"

And he said,
"Oh, they'll get back to work.

"They're going to be taxpayers."

He was determined that his patients

would achieve something.

The men and women who competed
in Rome not only became

international heroes...

That's me. Ah!

..but showed the world
we are all more than our disability.

COMMENTARY:
Prima, Lady Masham, Gran Bretagna.

There you are! That's a gold medal.

So, you got gold? I got gold, yeah.
That's amazing!

I got a gold, a silver and a bronze.

We went to dinner with a friend,

at a restaurant by
the Trevi Fountain,

and I lost my gold medal.

You lost it?! I lost it.

They said I'd thrown it
in the Trevi Fountain.

LAUGHTER
I hadn't. I think it dropped out of

my wheelchair.
Did they give you another one?

No, I tried. Oh! No!
But somewhere, somewhere in Rome,

there is a gold medal. Somewhere in
Rome. I left my heart in Rome. Oh!

Yeah.

SUSAN CHUCKLES

Susan returned from Rome, having won

bronze, silver and gold medals,

and went on to compete in the '64

and '68 Paralympics.

You know, Guttmann was very keen

for us to pass on his philosophy.

He wanted us to be his ambassadors.

Do you think that this inspired you

to then get involved with things
in the early stages?

I think it did, and it opened my
eyes to the need for

the general public to understand
disability better. Mm.

Today, there are more than 5,000

para athletes globally,

who compete in Games
throughout the world,

reaching an audience of billions.

In the early days, we were very much

amateurs, in a way.

And now the Games have become

much more professional.

But maybe they're not quite so fun.

SHE LAUGHS

It's remarkable that one man

influenced the public's attitude

toward disability so profoundly.

By seeing what was possible,
if you look beyond the disability,

he proved to all of Britain
that every individual had worth.

That's an extraordinary
legacy to leave behind.

But for most disabled
people across Britain,

Guttmann's sports movement would
take years to change attitudes.

Thousands of people, without family
to care for them or the financial

means to live at home, remained
hidden away in institutions.

Do you feel very shut off in here?

I do, rather. Mm.
It can't be helped. Mm.

It took one man, who was living in

a residential home in Hampshire,

to change the rules.

When did you start to get to know
Paul Hunt? How did that happen?

I was curious about this man,

because he was so highly thought of
by the residents.

Judy Hunt met Paul
while working at Le Court,

the home where he lived.

Quite often, I was helping out
at a table which Paul was on,

so I got to sort of know him a bit,

I mean, and hear, hear him talking,

and he was quite a witty chap,
you know?

He was a reader, writer.

Right from the start,
it was looking at the situation

of disabled people
to liberate themselves.

I've strong memories of hours
spent in the wheelchair store.

Ha! What were you doing in
the wheelchair store?! There was

a shortage of spaces to just
sit and have quiet conversation,

because people shared bedrooms. Mm.

I think I was in awe of him,
actually.

In 1970, Paul and Judy decided
to marry and move to London,

where Paul soon realised
the prejudice he had lived with

in institutions existed in
the outside world as well.

Right, on this page is
the letter by Paul Hunt.

Two years after arriving in London,
he wrote a letter to a national

newspaper calling for disabled
people to come together

and end their enforced segregation.

"Every sentence in her article
could apply with equal force

"to the severely physically
handicapped, many of whom

"also find themselves in isolated
and unsuitable institutions,

"where their views are ignored
and they are subject to

"authoritarian and often
cruel regimes. I am proposing

"the formation of a consumer group
to put forward, nationally,

"the views of actual
and potential residents

"of these successors
of the workhouse.

"I should be glad
to hear from anyone

"who is interested to join
or support this project.

"Yours faithfully, Paul Hunt."

That's just amazing.

I don't think anyone
would have put into words...

..so sublimely and so beautifully

the struggle
and the call to arms, really. Yeah.

Paul's letter galvanised people
across the country.

No government, present or future,
will give us what we demand

unless we shame them into action.

And as disabled people began to
voice their outrage, they drew up

a blueprint for their future.

He says, "In our view, it is society

"which disables
physically-impaired people.

"Disability is something imposed
on top of our impairments,

"by the way we are
unnecessarily isolated

"and excluded from full
participation in society." Mm-hm.

"Disabled people are therefore
an oppressed group in society."

And what they'd been struggling with
for quite a long time

was saying, "it's not us

"who should be accepting..." Mm.

"..our disability. We shouldn't
be accepting our disability.

"We have to eliminate our
disability..." Mm. "..by changing

"the environment." And it just
opened people's eyes enormously.

It's the first time that anyone
has said, "It's not you,

"you're not the disability,
you're not the problem.

"It's the world..." Yes.
"..and the way that you're viewed."

That's right. And if it's the world,
you can change that. Mm-hm.

So, when I was around 20, er,

when I was at drama school,

they suddenly, halfway through
my second year, decided

that I was a disabled actor,

instead of being an actor.

Why? I don't know, but all of a
sudden, there was this big push

to make me wear
a prosthetic hand on stage,

and the idea was that

I would go forth thither

into the world and wear
a prosthetic

and become Kate Winslet
or something.

I was definitely there
for the Kate Winslet part,

definitely wasn't there
for the prosthetic part.

And that's when I really started
feeling some deep shit

in my self-esteem because,
again, it was like this... We...

You know, you're not
good enough as you are.

And so this is when I
started learning about

the fact that there was a social
model of disability and that,

you know, you the individual
shouldn't have to conform to

society. Society should bloody
well change for you.

THEY CHANT

It was the time of free love
and the whole idea of

challenging the status quo.

You know, I was moved by seeing

all these demonstrations.

I suppose there was a bit of a
rebel in me. I think that was

quite liberating, you know?

At the age of 18, John Evans

embraced the anti-war
and civil rights movements

that were sweeping the world.

But in 1975,

he had an accident that left him
paralysed from the neck down.

When I broke my neck,
I went into this institution.

I had that feeling, a very definite
feeling that I'm not going to spend

the rest of my life here,

with 49, 50 other disabled people

just because I'm disabled.

In 1978, he moved into Le Court,

the same residential home
where Paul Hunt had once lived.

ARCHIVE: Le Court is a home in the

true sense of the word,

exactly as you and I mean home,

not an institution.

Even though Le Court was
a lot more progressive,

there was no integration, no
inclusion in the local communities,

and I think that's not -
to me, anyway - part of what life

should be.
Unfortunately, I wasn't rich,

which would have been another way

I could have paid for
people to work for me.

But at 25, I had no option.
I had to go there, you know,

I didn't have a choice.

John was determined his life
wouldn't be spent locked away.

Influenced by the emerging
disability movement,

he set about finding
an alternative way of living,

outside of an institution
or residential home.

Project 81 was like a dream,

or a vision,
about living in the community.

I was pioneering,
I suppose, for my freedom

and, within that, it was the
freedom for other disabled people.

So, you know, there was a real buzz
about something that could happen.

Then you got a sense of a movement
growing, because that was

what was going to liberate us.

The main thing was
trying to get the idea that

we just wanted to live in our
own homes, in ordinary streets,

with ordinary people.

And also, we wanted to ensure
that we were involved in

all decisions that were made

about our lives

because, until then,

all decisions were made
by social-care

or health-care professionals.

Up and down the country,
people called on the authorities

to give them the money that would
enable them to live independently.

In 1983, John was one of
the very first to move from

a residential home
into a place of his own.

It's just indescribable, I think,
the feeling after

living in a home with
disabled people for almost

four-and-a-half years, then
suddenly I've got my own place.

It's, er...
Yeah, it was astonishing.

For days, I couldn't sleep
because I was just

buzzing all over
and just so excited.

Don't pull my arm off again,
will you?

No, right, I won't.
Handle me gently.

And now, you know, 45 years later,

you know, I look back and think,

my goodness, in some respects,
becoming totally paralysed was

one of the best things that happened
to me, cos it enabled me to be

a central figure in developing
the disability movement.

Our strength is that we are united

and we know what the problem is.

And by coming together, we are
going to change that.

CHANTING

I would have been four
when John and others

were winning their freedom.

What do we want? Rights!

When do we want them? Now!

But the world they found
outside of the institutions

was anything but welcoming.

CROWD CHANTS: We want what you got!
We want what you got!

All we want is to be able to get on
the bus, the same as every other

member of the public.
If you want to get on the bus,

get on the bus... How?! How?! How?!

We were angry. We wanted
to get on public transport,

and we wanted to be free.

So, we decided that we would become
freedom fighters,

and that's when we started
breaking the law.

We are here. We are not going to
go away. In fact, if anything,

we are going to gain in strength.

Nearly 40 years ago,
Baroness Jane Campbell

and Alia Hassan took to the streets,
fighting for their rights.

It was a moment that we suddenly
felt proud of who we were. Yeah.

It was a bit like Black Power.
Yes. We were, then,

proud to be disabled people.

# We demand the right
to transport... #

If it's public transport,
it ought to be public,

and we're members of the public too.

The interesting thing is, is I went
from feeling totally powerless...

Yes. ..to bringing London
to a standstill, and that is

actually very powerful. Amazing!

NEWS ARCHIVE: In Whitehall,
direct action by the disabled,

action that stopped the traffic.

Their demand - equal civil rights.

And it's like, actually,
we're not powerless. No.

We can be visible. We can be heard.

NEWS ARCHIVE: The protesters here
say demonstrations like this today

are designed to force the Government
to take notice of the views

of people with disabilities.

I want to be able
to go nightclubbing.

I want to go to restaurants.
I want go to the cinema,

without being a fire risk.

I'm afraid you're under arrest
for obstructing the highway,

because you're refusing to get
out of the way of these vehicles.

We just didn't have anything.
No buses.

The trains, you sat
in the guard's van,

with the pigeons and the post, in
the freezing cold.

There was nothing.

And the worst thing is,

"We don't have people like you
in here." Oh, yes,

I've been thrown out, yeah.
That was the worst. It's like...

..no blacks, no dogs, no dis...
Yeah. ..no disabled people.

Live from the Television Centre
in London,

a host of distinguished guests
are arriving for a night of fun

and surprises.
Children in Need, 1990.

I'm out here demonstrating because
no-one ever asks disabled people

what they think of events like
Children in Need and Telethon.

But for Jane and Alia,

it wasn't enough to just fight
the physical barriers.

They wanted to challenge the most

deep-seated belief

that disabled people

are people to pity.

We hate charity, don't we? Yeah, we
do. And that's very controversial.

They have the money, by portraying
us as poor, pathetic creatures

that need money... And that, for us,

is another indication that
we haven't got a voice.

We have a very important saying
in the disability world,

it's called
Nothing About Us Without Us.

And that means if you're not
employing at least half of us

to work in your charity, then
you are not speaking on our behalf.

Until able-bodied people
take responsibility

for stopping the continuation
of our oppression,

we will always be fighting.

THEY CHANT

..28 hours, Michael Aspel!

CHEERING AND APPLAUSE

Tell me about the Telethons.
How did that come about?

We heard that there was going to be

a big charity fundraiser
called Telethon.

Yes. And it was big. They were going
to get all the big celebrities

down there. And what was the aim?
To raise money for the charities...

Right. ..so the charities could
help us poor disabled people.

And we decided
we would go down there

and picket it.
And we called the demo

"Block Telethon"

and "Piss on Pity".
Yeah. Ha! Piss on Pity.

CHEERING

All those people in the building
opposite are begging on our behalf.

Let's roll the scoreboard, see
the running total, let's see it!

We want to tell you -
you don't have our permission!

We went down there and we literally

blocked the entire studios.

You can't afford to ignore

disabled people any longer!

We don't want your patronage.
What we want is your support for

our equal rights as disabled people,

campaigning against segregation!

And there's this wonderful

shot of Chris Tarrant.

He was absolutely... He was livid.
..enraged, wasn't he? Yeah, he was.

It's an amazing event. People
come from all over the country,

they work for 27 hours nonstop,
and it raises huge

amounts of money.
I mean, are you saying that

everybody disabled in this country
doesn't want to know about

the money that Telethon's raised?
Because I don't believe that.

CHANTING: Rights, not charity!
Rights, not charity!

In 1992, ITV aired its last Telethon

on behalf of disabled people.

The Telethon protests

had made their mark.

Now you have the choice about
the way that you give.

You can choose to continue
to portray us as helpless,

deserving crips,

or you can see us as people
involved in a civil rights struggle.

BELL TOLLS

In 1995, after 15 years of direct
action by disabled people,

the Government took the first step
towards giving us equal rights,

with the passing of the
Disability Discrimination Act.

My bill is concerned with
outlawing discrimination

against disabled people.

If you read this bill,
it is not a PR exercise.

If that sort of a bill

had gone through
for black people or women,

there would be utter outrage,
utter outrage.

But many people
thought the legislation

fell short of true equality.

We know that we deserve much better.

We know that we deserve

proper human civil rights.

THEY CHANT: Tell me, tell me,
what you gonna do?

The fight continued until,

eventually, in 2010,

the Government passed

the Equality Act, which went further

than ever before
to protect our rights.

We did it. Ha! We did really good.
We did really well.

We were kind of
20th-century suffragettes.

We were becoming
liberated disabled women,

and that is, that is...
So exciting. ..incredibly

intoxicating. Yes!

We've fought for these changes
that have happened to enable us

to live in the... Live the life we
want, not just surviving.

But a lot of young people,

they don't know their history,
you know?

Those of us who did know how,

you know, how hard
that struggle was at times

just to make things happen.

TV CHATTER

The law has given us rights...

There we go!

..but they don't necessarily change

the way society views us.

Those attitudes won't change
with the passing of a bill.

I don't think anybody that's
grown up in a segregated...

..situation ever gets over it.

I don't think you can,
because you...

It's the norm.

It's what's normal to you
when you're a child.

And then everything after that
is a struggle

to try and create something better.

Micheline Mason was born with
a condition commonly known as

brittle bones disease.

Growing up, her impairment meant

she was denied a place
at a mainstream school.

I used to dream of going to school.

The reason I wasn't there
was nothing to do with...

..anything that was about my needs.

And I knew that very early
and felt very angry about it.

When her daughter Lucy was born

with the same condition in 1984,

Micheline was determined her future

was going to be very different.

My overriding thought I had

when Lucy was born

was that she was entitled
to everything in the world

that everybody else is,

just by being alive in this world.

I think my dream...

was that disabled people would
educate the able-bodied world

in education about how

we could live together,

and that the children
would have a big role in that,

because children are much better
at inclusion than adults.

But the fight Micheline had in front
of her was to get Lucy into

a mainstream school, at a time when

tens of thousands of disabled

children continued to be segregated.

ARCHIVE: This is what's called
a special school.

There are no
non-disabled children here.

The advocates of special
schools too easily claim

that disabled children can prosper

only in this environment.

THEY CHANT: We'd rather be together!

I've always been very aware that
if my mum hadn't

done the work that she did,

my life just would have looked
so different. I probably wouldn't

have gone to a mainstream school.

THEY CHANT: We want education...

REPORTER: The gates of
Downing Street under siege.

Campaign groups for the disabled
demanding that all children

should be taught in the same
schools, whatever their physical

or mental impairment. With them,

14-year-old Lucy, who attends
a mainstream comprehensive.

Everybody, disabled young people
decided that they're fed up of being

separated in different
school systems. Because there is

an actual law at the moment
that says that it's up to

the, like, different
education authorities

to decide where disabled children

go to school, so they can force them

to go to special schools
against their will.

I discovered, locally,
this group called

the Parents Campaign for
Integrated Education,

and it was almost entirely parents
of children with Down's syndrome.

Their children were pioneers of

inclusive education, because
they were willing to take on

this particular battle

and make it work.

I've never met parents that were...

..that committed and that brave.

Together, they took on
the education authorities

and proved inclusive education

could work.

MAN SHOUTS

The real meaning of inclusion became
sort of obvious after a while.

And when people saw
the non-disabled kids saying,

"We want our friends
in school with us,

"and we have a lot of fun together,"

you know, that, in a way,
is what changes people.

You almost can't argue
about it any more.

I was often told I
was this, you know,

the definition of inclusion
working, because of the fact

that I was one of the first kids
to go into mainstream school.

I find it quite hard to
believe we achieved it,

to be honest. But, you know,

it's a human right, it's enshrined
in international human rights law.

Like, that was a massive thing.

But to go from a Portakabin
in South London,

you and some of your mates,
to a bit of international law that

is there for everybody
in the world, it's like...

That isn't no achievement,
I think you just have to...

MICHELINE LAUGHS

It's very nice to hear you say it.

It's always hard when
it's yourself, isn't it?

Today, the world my daughter

is growing up in is
undeniably different.

It was prejudice that segregated us
into institutions,

it was a fear of difference
that made doctors try and fix us,

and it was discrimination
that shut us out.

And after more than 100 years,

we're still not there yet.

The clock is being turned backwards,
and has been turned backwards

ten years ago, you know, that
we're almost fire-fighting now

to try and keep what little we have.

We've had some major years
of austerity. Mm.

Who are being the hardest hit?
Who are the people who are

now living more in poverty?

Disabled people.

Who was the hardest hit
throughout the Covid-19 pandemic?

Disabled people.

We have to fight every, every...

..threat to our freedom, you know?

Cos that's what it is. It is
the threat to our freedom

to live the lives we live.

But, I mean, I'm an optimist
and just feel that, you know,

we've got to keep going and,
you know, we've got to make sure

they don't disappear.

So, what's the fight
that we have today?

We look at the huge achievement,

er, all of the rights that
have undoubtedly been won.

That's where we have to remain
vigilant, really, to make sure that

those rights aren't suddenly taken
away in the middle of the night,

when no-one is looking. A bill
in Parliament can just be changed.

And all of a sudden, all of that
funding, or all of that freedom,

or all of that access
is just suddenly gone.

And so, then, what you get is
a narrowing and a narrowing

and a narrowing of...

..of life and experience
as a disabled person,

until you...you have nothing.

We're in a very bad
place at the moment.

However, I can't believe
it will last.

I suppose my belief is,

inclusion is something everybody
wants, in their hearts.

I've always said it.

And, erm, who wouldn't want that
as the future, you know?

So, I'm hoping this is the dark
before the dawn.

I really am.