Acid attack survivors don’t just have to deal with trauma and multiple surgeries. One of their biggest problems is that no one wants to hire them
Soni was 19 when her husband’s family threw acid on her because they wanted more dowry. The acid burnt the new bride’s face and throat. She endured 15 surgeries but that wasn’t the end of it. “After the attack in 2008, I tried really hard to get a job or college admission in UP, where I lived. In 2010, my father passed away and we had to sell our house, our land, and my mother’s jewellery. People didn’t want me in their offices or colleges. They would tell me that my face was kharaab (disfigured). Maybe they thought having me around would ruin their image,” says Soni, now 30.
Soni went jobless for eight years before she found work at a rehabilitation centre run by the NGO Make Love Not Scars (MLNS). As a manager, she takes care of the logistics of medical care that other acid attack survivors require.
Like Soni, most acid attack survivors struggle to find employment after their lives are changed by one horrific act. Ria Sharma, founder of MLNS, says the problem is partially a result of how young most survivors are at the time of attack. Many are forced to drop out of school or college. “This means that many don’t have the skills that a lot of jobs need — like using computers or speaking English,” says Sharma, who has recently written a book, also named Make Love Not Scars, about her activism.
Roopa, 26, works as a manager at Sheroes Hangout in Agra, a café run by acid attack survivors started by the NGO Chhanv Foundation. “I was 12 or 13 when I was attacked by my stepmother,” she says. She started living with her uncle and tried in vain to find a job when she got better. In 2013, she joined Chhanv. They pay their employees Rs 25,000 a month, besides meeting their living, travel and medical expenses. Roopa, who aspires to be a jewellery designer, considers herself fortunate. “Other survivors tell me that they only get ‘back jobs’, where no one can see them,” says Roopa.
A few years ago, MLNS ran a massive campaign called ‘Skills, not scars’, and built a job portal for survivors. The reason it wasn’t a success, Sharma says, is the number of “hollow job opportunities” offered by organisations. “It’s either jobs they’re under-qualified for, or pity cases that they’re over-qualified for. One of our girls applied for a babysitting position, and the woman hiring wanted her to take care of the kids, do laundry, and cook food for just Rs 3,000 a month.”
Last month, a Twitter thread by the MeToo India account highlighted this issue, and asked followers if they had any leads for jobs. Apart from offers from organisations expressing interest, nothing has materialised so far. One of them, GovernEye, is a networking platform that connects citizens to politicians. Their VP (operations), Vidhi Jain says they do not have a formal job criteria such as educational qualifications or work experience in mind yet. “If we hire a survivor, we would be flexible in terms of taking time off for doctor’s visits or legal engagements. We would also make sure to sensitise our team,” she says.
What about government jobs? One percent of central posts are reserved for differently abled people, including acid attack survivors. However, Sharma notes that she only knows five-six survivors who have gotten placed in government jobs, and while they’re quite happy with the stability this offers, the benefit isn’t reaching enough people. Ashish Shukla, director of Chhanv Foundation, says, “While these schemes sound good, no research has gone into formulating them. You have to look into the background, skill levels and qualifications of survivors. Otherwise, focus on rehabilitation and skill development.” Barely any, he says, fit the job criteria.
New York-based fashion designer Monica Singh is a survivor whose nonprofit Mahendra Singh Foundation works on providing skills to such women and helping them monetarily. After she was attacked by a stalker at 18, Singh kept studying. “I studied and worked in India for seven years, living under a veil. I got so many rejections because people would get uncomfortable around me. Once at a job interview, they asked what I disliked most, and I said it was the fact that people don’t see beyond my face to look at my resume.” She got the job, but had to quit in six months because she had to get more surgeries. “Building skills is extremely important — society will tell you that you’re done, that no one will marry you, but you have to build something for yourself,” she says.
It’s also important, Sharma says, to ask survivors what it is that they want to do. “We aren’t doing that enough. They’re determined, strong individuals who have been through a lot. They’re ready to seize the day.”
ROBBED OF JOBS: Soni (in pink) with fellow survivor Anupama. Soni spent years trying to find a job, but was consistently turned away
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