'I'm a Photographer, Not a Terrorist' was the word spread during a mass gathering in Trafalgar Square, Saturday. About 1000 photographers were defending their rights to be able photograph on British streets and not get stopped and abused by police. This event follows a series of high profile detentions under section 44 of the terrorism act in the UK. Of course, what would happen at such an event? Everyone taking pictures of each other...

If any of you are in London this week:
The Sony World Photography Awards global tour comes to London to coincide with the judging of the 2010 competition. The opening night is on 19th January 2010 at 7.30pm at ART WORK SPACE and runs until 29th January 2010 (see http://www.worldphotographyawards.org/globaltour/london.aspx).

Took a few weeks off after the last story, if you're interested there's now a new edit on my website: http://www.amiranphoto.com/gallery.html?gallery=A%20Legacy%20of%20Suffering%2c%20Bhopal

Happy New Year to everyone!!!!

Bhopal Memorial Hospital and Research Center (BMHRC), where caring is a way of life, is a multispecialty 350 beded superspecialty hospital supported by its mini units, aims to have a direct impetus to the health of MIC gas victim community of Bhopal.

Reads the first paragraph of the BMHRC glossy, 38-page annual report. The hospital with its marble interior and luscious, green grounds began functioning in 2000 with money allocated from the Union Carbide settlement, they continue to operate on those funds and the interest it has accrued.
“We are a super speciality hospital,” said public relations officer, Mazhar Ullah, “we treat all of the gas victims for free.”
The hospital has 8 mini units in various localities near the factory, where an average of 200-300 patients are seen daily, many are sent home with a few days of medications, others are referred to their main hospital for more tests and treatment.
“We have more equipment than any other gas victim hospital and we are the only one able to perform open-heart surgery,” claims Ullah. He continues to talk about all the programs they offer and says that as long as the patient has a ‘smartcard’, a plastic ID card provided by BMHRC to prove that they are a gas victim, they are eligible for all the treatment they need.
But Radha Shakya, who’s husband was denied the continuation of dialysis for her husband because they don’t have enough machines, or Kamla Soni, who is practically bedridden with four sons all suffering from a variety of gas-related diseases and is unable to get a smartcard for herself, or the family of Mushtaq Ahmed who died on the waiting room floor because BMHRC wouldn’t admit him saying there was no consultant available, would all disagree.
“We went to the mini unit,” said Soni when talking about her husband’s heart condition, “and they referred us to the main hospital. We went to the main hospital and they referred us DIG hospital (a government run hospital for gas-victims) and they gave us a prescription but said they didn’t have the medicines. We had to go to the market and buy them.”

At the government-run DIG hospital, medical officer Dr. Malik, says they treat more than 1700 patients in any 24-hour period.
“There are not enough doctors,” says child specialist Dr. Pradeep Shasna who works 6-days a week at DIG. Most cases they say are respiratory, heart conditions and eye problems.
“We give medications and refer bigger cases to BMHRC”, says Shasna.

After many years of looking for help, most victims give up on the hospitals run specifically for them, and try to pay for treatment themselves, going to the numerous private clinics and hospitals that have sprung up since the gas tragedy. They say the medicines are better but finding the money to pay for them is hard.

Hemant Shakya vomits throughout the nights now, he cannot walk on his own and needs to be on dialysis, but at 14,000 rupees a time, the family do the best they can to make him comfortable.
“What else can we do?” asks Shakya’s brother.

Radha rests on the staircase while supporting her husband, Hemant, together with her brother-in-law, Maheesh, they slowly make there way to the rooftop. All three are breathing heavily and they stop often, eventually lowering Hemant onto a blanket. Radha wipes her brow and pours her husband a cup of water. Just as she sits, a cry comes from a few feet away, and she jumps to attend her son, Karan.
"Always something," she says as she brushes the flies off her son's face and drops water into his mouth, by way of a spoon.

Karan, 13, cannot talk and suffers from cerebral palsy and epilepsy, his spine is so twisted that he is unable to sit or move on his own. His father, Hemant, is 40-years-old and among his many gas-related ailments are failed kidneys. He desperately needs a transplant, but the specialist hospital built specifically to give free treatment to gas victims, the Bhopal Memorial Hospital and Research Centre (BMHRC) say they do not have the facilities and have referred the family to a private clinic.
"Where do we find that kind of money?" asks Maheesh, who runs a spice store to support his wife and two children, as well as his mother and his brother's family of four children.
A month ago Hemant had severe pain and his brother raced him to BMHRC, but he wasn't admitted into the hospital because, "the consultant is on leave", and again he was referred to another hospital. They went home.
Hemant's mother, Prembai, 70, produces a plastic bag full of prescription notes and referrals for Hemant and other documents needed as proof that the family, in its entirety, are gas victims.
"But we can't get the help we need," she says before bursting into a coughing fit.

After Karan was born, when it became apparent that his growth was abnormal, they went to a doctor at the BMHRC mini clinic near their home.
"He told us that nothing could be done and we should leave him for the Gods," remembers Radha who suffers from severe stomach pains and headaches, "I don't know what we're supposed to do. I feed him, bathe him, take him to the toilet. He is very heavy." As she speaks, she holds out a tin cup and her nephew gets up to fill it with water. He limps back. Prembai tells him to roll up his trouser leg, he shrugs, sits on a chair and reveals a deformity in his knee that forces his right foot to protrude at right-angles.
"We are all suffering," says Prembai, "every day."

Hari Bai clearly remembers that night 25-years-ago. The coughing, the burning, the swollen eyes, the vomiting. Her husband finished his shift as an auto-rickshaw driver and raced home grabbing their two young boys and driving the family to Hamedia Hospital.
"There were people everywhere, but no doctors, we waited and waited and then at 5am there was an announcement that everything was controlled and it was safe to go home," said Hari, "but when we went outside, the auto had gone. Stolen." As they walked back, they saw bodies lying everywhere.
"Some were vomiting, others were looking for their family, most were not moving at all. We put the boys in a room to sleep, shut the door and went outside to help move the bodies." The couple loaded the dead onto the military trucks that were driving around their neighborhood.
"We wanted to help, to give respect to the dead. It was horrible to see."
Hari was four-and-a-half months pregnant at the time and a couple of days later she miscarried.
Over the years, she had 7 more children, her husband got weaker and weaker, he had severe stomach pains and died 6-years-ago, he was 42-years-old.
Until two-years-ago, her families' health was average for the gas-effected area, respiratory problems, headaches, weakness, but one-day, her son Rakesh, collapsed during a cricket game. An emergency tracheotomy was performed and he spent two-months on a ventilator and in a coma. He now lives in a wheel-chair due to severe bed sores and very weak bones, he cannot speak and needs assistance in all things.
"We manage," said Hari who finds work when she can. As she was speaking to me, she started using a suction machine to help clear her son's airways, a job that needs to be done hourly, "but this machine doesn't work properly anymore. Do you know someone who can help find us a new one?"

Rajni, 24, comes from a small village many miles from Bhopal, 8-years-ago she married Navneet, 26, and as is Indian custom, moved into his parents' house in the water-contaminated colony of Shivshakti Nagar near Union Carbide's solar evaporation pits. When the factory was in use, two pits were created on adjacent land. They were lined with polythene sheeting and filled with toxic waste. The sheets have disintegrated over the years and bits of plastic can be seen poking out of the ground.

Sahv was born two years after their marriage, a healthy baby girl. Her growth, however, has been abnormal. Her bones are weak and she is unable to sit, walk or talk.
“The doctor’s say she will never change,” said Rajni hoisting her daughter onto her hip to take her outside. Rajni had another baby four years later, and all the family’s hopes were placed on this little boy.
Nitin, now four, has very bad eyesight, a body that twitches uncontrollably and he still doesn’t know when to go to the toilet. Rajni’s in-laws blame her for the children’s state and have ostracized her, saying she has brought bad luck into their family. They have kicked her out of their main house, giving her a tiny room in which to raise the children.

Contamination of the water and soils around the factory has not been officially recognized, and so no help has been offered to its victims by either the Indian government or DOW Chemical, who now own the old Union Carbide plant. However, there are now two local clinics that are run purely on private donations, giving completely free treatment to those that are not only gas-victims and their children, but also those effected by water-contamination. The Sambhavana Clinic http://bhopal.org/index.php?id=20 and the Chingari Trust, which is for children http://www.chingaritrust.org/

Rajni now attends the Chingari Trust daily where they give her support, free therapy to Sahv and have donated a pair of glasses to Nitin.
“I think that Nitin will get better with this help, and maybe Sahv,” said Rijin, “but it’s hard for her, what if she’s still not toilet trained in 10-years? What then? The people will laugh at her, what kind of life will that be? I pray that the Gods will either help her get better, or take her away before there is more pain. Nitin will be alright, he’s a boy and will be better treated, but not Sahv, she’s a girl and it’s always hard to be a girl.”