Queer movements can learn from disability rights
This article is authored by Anchal Bhatheja. research fellow, Vidhi Centre for Legal Policy, New Delhi.
Earlier this month, thousands of disabled persons, caregivers, artistes, government representatives, and allies gathered in Goa for Purple Fest 2025—a landmark celebration of inclusion, accessibility, and rights. Organised by the Office of the State Commissioner for Persons with Disabilities, Goa, in partnership with the department of social welfare, Purple Fest has emerged as one of India’s most significant platforms for advancing disability rights and visibility.
As founder of QAble,a collective of queer persons with disabilities, I was proud to host our stall: “Pride and Access.” We didn’t come with big banners or loud slogans—just some posters, a quiz, and a badge that quietly said what we believe: we are queer and disabled—and we deserve to belong.
Over four days, more than 100 people visited our stall. Many took our LGBTQIA+ quiz. Most stumbled on the full form, some laughed nervously, and almost everyone left smiling. One teenager returned the next day, beaming, “I remembered the I and A this time!”
That’s the power of slow, joyful, and unapologetic education. People want to learn—when you meet them with pride instead of fear, and dignity instead of shame. But education alone won’t fix systemic exclusion. For that, we need to rethink the very models society uses to understand queerness. And that’s where queer movements can learn from the disability rights movement.
Disability rights theorists, including Mike Oliver and Tom Shakespeare, have long identified several dominant models that shape how society understands disability. What struck me at Purple Fest was how seamlessly these models also explain the treatment of queer lives.
{{/usCountry}}Disability rights theorists, including Mike Oliver and Tom Shakespeare, have long identified several dominant models that shape how society understands disability. What struck me at Purple Fest was how seamlessly these models also explain the treatment of queer lives.
{{/usCountry}}The first is the religious or moral model, which sees difference as sin or punishment. Queerness has long been burdened by this framing. In Leviticus 18:22, the Bible declares, “You shall not lie with a male as with a woman; it is an abomination.”
{{/usCountry}}The first is the religious or moral model, which sees difference as sin or punishment. Queerness has long been burdened by this framing. In Leviticus 18:22, the Bible declares, “You shall not lie with a male as with a woman; it is an abomination.”
{{/usCountry}}These texts have been repeatedly invoked to justify queerphobia globally, including in India, where religious arguments are used to oppose queer representation, Pride events, or school curriculum reform.
{{/usCountry}}These texts have been repeatedly invoked to justify queerphobia globally, including in India, where religious arguments are used to oppose queer representation, Pride events, or school curriculum reform.
{{/usCountry}}Then comes the charity model, where both disabled and queer people are framed as helpless, pitiable, and in need of rescue—not rights. Government schemes often treat transgender persons as passive recipients of welfare, while the media frequently presents queer people only through stories of trauma, hardship, or victimhood.
{{/usCountry}}Then comes the charity model, where both disabled and queer people are framed as helpless, pitiable, and in need of rescue—not rights. Government schemes often treat transgender persons as passive recipients of welfare, while the media frequently presents queer people only through stories of trauma, hardship, or victimhood.
{{/usCountry}}Next, the reminisces of medical model which sees disability as a disease, is applicable in the context of queerness. Homosexuality and gender non-conformity has been labelled as mental disorders since time immemorial. In India, for example, medical textbooks have described lesbianism as a psychiatric illness, a notion only recently challenged by the National Medical Commission in 2023. By virtue of these harmful notions, queer youth are subjected to conversion therapy, intersex children face surgeries without consent, and non-binary individuals are denied affirming healthcare—all in the name of medical “correction.”
Then came the social model of disability, a game-changer developed by activists and scholars. Instead of asking: What’s wrong with you? it asks: What needs to change in the world around you?
If a building lacks a ramp, the problem isn’t the wheelchair user—it’s the building.
If a hospital doesn’t respect a trans person’s identity, the issue isn’t the patient—it’s the institution.
If a queer person is bullied out of school or denied housing, the fault isn’t in their identity—it’s in the social structures that punish difference.
Queer movements have much to learn from the disability rights movement—not just about inclusion, but about how to build lasting political power.
First, disability activism has taught us that inclusion is not a charitable act or a political side-show—it’s a demand for justice. Disability rights advocates have refused to be framed as “apolitical” or “special interest,” insisting instead that access and accommodation are non-negotiable rights, no matter whether it is a left or a right government. Queer movements must adopt this uncompromising stance. Inclusion cannot be optional or symbolic; it must be a foundation.
Second, cross-disability solidarity has been essential to the movement’s success. Different impairments, experiences, and identities have found strength by uniting under a shared goal of accessibility and rights. Queer communities, too, must embrace their internal diversity—across race, class, ability, and more—to build broad coalitions that reflect all lived experiences.
Third, start with achievable demands that build precedence. Disability rights advocates often won small battles first—like reasonable accommodation for benchmark disabilities—before expanding protections to others. Queer movements can replicate this strategy: secure clear, enforceable wins on issues like health care access or anti-discrimination policies, which then create a legal foundation for broader inclusion.
Finally, centre those most affected in every step. Disability justice is led by people with disabilities, whose lived experience shapes the movement’s priorities and methods. Queer activism must ensure that the voices of queer disabled people, and other multiply marginalised groups, are not sidelined but amplified.
Purple Fest was a moment to celebrate how far disability rights have come—but it also illuminated the path ahead for queer movements. If Pride truly needs a ramp, then queer movements must build it with solidarity, strategy, love and pride, and learn from other sister movements like the disability rights movement.
This article is authored by Anchal Bhatheja. research fellow, Vidhi Centre for Legal Policy, New Delhi.
