Russia’s Disabled Face Difficult Obstacles

Breathing heavily, Artur Petrov slowly negotiates himself and his wheelchair down the stairs from his fifth-floor apartment. There is no elevator.

“Going down is not so bad,” says Petrov, 26, who has been in a wheelchair since a motorcycle accident cost him the use of his legs 10 years ago. “But coming up is difficult. It usually takes me about half an hour.”

The disabled have never received much help in Russia, and a lack of government money in recent years has added to their hardships.

Many Soviet-era apartment buildings lack elevators. And Russia’s snow-covered roads and ice-coated sidewalks are particularly hazardous for people in wheelchairs.

In Novgorod, about 400 miles northwest of Moscow, stores, libraries, post offices, government buildings and even medical clinics lack ramps. City buses cannot accommodate the disabled.

About 10 million people in Russia have some type of physical disability, and many spend their days confined to their tiny apartments.

“Russians in wheelchairs usually do not leave their apartments more than once or twice a year,” said Bruce Curtis, an American who recently came to Novgorod as part of a troupe of wheelchair dancers. The troupe includes able-bodied dancers performing with those in wheelchairs in a program set to modern and classical music.

The visit was organized by Perspektiva, an American-financed group that works with the handicapped and is trying to make Novgorod a model city in Russia. Their top priority is simply to get ramps installed in public places.

Many of the city’s 13,000 disabled knew about the performance, but only a few attended due to the lack of transportation. A battalion of soldiers greeted those who made it at the entrance of Novgorod’s main theater and carried them up three flights to their seats because there are no ramps or elevators.

“Of course it’s disappointing to see so few people here, but think about what it’s like for the disabled to get out in Russia,” said Denise Roza, the American who organized the Perspektiva program. “Even if you can drag yourself out, there’s the social [stigma], which can be as debilitating as the physical barriers. Russia simply doesn’t want to see its handicapped.”

The All-Russian Society for the Disabled, an assistance group, was part of the Soviet government. But after government financing dried up, it became a private organization dependent on donations.

“Today, Russia’s handicapped are much worse off. When we speak of things such as rehabilitation, medical care, medicine and transportation, we have been virtually forgotten,” said Stanislav Ageev, who runs the group’s Novgorod chapter.

Russia’s disabled are entitled to about 300 rubles ($50) a month in government assistance in a country where the average monthly wage is about 1,200 rubles ($200).

In some regions, there’s even a shortage of wheelchairs. Disabled in the Arctic city of Murmansk have been waiting more than two years for a shipment, the Society for the Disabled says.

Russian-made wheelchairs are heavy and bulky, cutting down on mobility and making life in tiny apartments even more awkward.

Petrov said the first two years after his accident, he did little besides sit near the window of his family’s two-room apartment. Only after years of practice did he master a technique that lets him use the stairs by himself.

Petrov and his parents have been on a waiting list nine years trying to get an apartment in a building with an elevator.

“The first thing I would change for the handicapped in Russia would be the tiny, tiny apartments,” Petrov said. “I can’t even fit my chair into the bathroom. But, mostly, I wish that people would stop looking at us like we are aliens and allow us to live among them like anyone else.”