Hi readers!
Welcome to the series – the 26th. For this issue, I crossed over to South Asia, into the heart of Islamabad, the Pakistani capital. From the country of the world’s youngest nobel laureate, Malala Yousafzai, comes another precocious talent – its first Deaf author – and, going by the records, the world’s youngest, at just 18 years of age.
Meet Kashaf Alvi, activist for disability inclusion and climate justice. He’s still in his early 20s, but the computer science undergrad already has a string of achievements to his name, amongst these – NASA space challenge ambassador for his country, global shaper with the World Economic Forum, Pakistan national peace delegate to the Perrin centre for policy, University of Virginia, and a High Achiever scholar with full tuition coverage at an international university in the United Arab Emirates.
I met Kashaf in a Disability media network and the rapport was instant. One thing about him strikes even the most casual observer – his precocity – a brilliance undimmed by disability. Kashaf gives all the credit to his dad, a real ally who occupies a central place in his story:
“If you ever wonder where I found the strength to stand tall in this world, know this: it came from my father’s arms, from the quiet vow he made: ‘You are not broken. You are my son. And we will rise together.”
Overtime, father and son have risen together. But it wasn’t all roses, says Kashaf, “There were tough days… but through it all, my lion-hearted father was there, guiding me, reminding me with every look and every touch that I was never broken, just beautifully different.”
Kashaf’s story spotlights the power of parental allyship in disability narratives. The interview took place over the phone.
Background
I was born in Pakistan on the 14th day of December, 2003. At just 14 months, the doctors told my father I was profoundly deaf. But even before the words were spoken, my lion-hearted dad knew. As a single parent, he could have broken, but instead, he became my greatest strength – Dad learned to speak in the language of love, through his eyes, his hands, his heart.
My paternal grandparents and the extended families from their side always made me feel seen. My aunt spoke about me with warmth in her eyes, always believing in what I could be. Her children, my cousins, stood beside me – not out of obligation, but because they truly loved me. They spoke my name with gentleness and made me feel like someone the world should celebrate. Their love made the silence less heavy. And to this day, their belief in me still carries me forward, especially on the days when I struggle to believe in myself.
I got Kashaf’s dad to offer some comments on the motivation behind his extraordinary ally-ship with his son:
“Since he was born, I knew he had come into this world with a purpose far greater than mine to define. His existence spoke to something eternal and extraordinary. I wasn’t here to fix his journey, I was here to honour it, to clear the thorns without dimming his fire… some children don’t just live a life, they carry a light meant to awaken the world.”
Adapting to disability
The path of settling into a disabled life remains a focal point of this series. Kashaf narrates his experience from a philosophical viewpoint – sharing bright and dark sides of the walk, with lessons learned.
‘Getting used to my disability wasn’t just a process, it was a journey of awakening,’ he says.
“In the beginning, the silence felt like a wall… as a child, I didn’t fully grasp what ‘deaf’ meant. The world was simply quiet, yet filled with wonders. I vividly remember watching the sparrows outside our window and asking my father with wide-eyed curiosity, “Do these sparrows talk too? But in time, I realized it [the silence] helped me hear something far deeper – myself. There were moments of confusion, frustration, and even sadness as I began to understand the difference between me and others. But I slowly discovered that I could feel the world in ways others overlooked. I learned to read faces, sense kindness, and feel the rhythm of life in silence.”
Listening to Kashaf, one is taken in by how he manages to find a positive response to just about every drawback of his disability. Yes, he agrees that there were difficult days – those moments when he was underestimated, misjudged, and spoken over.
“But, he characteristically emphasized: ‘those experiences gave me clarity and taught me that being different is not a disadvantage. It is a power. My disability gave me a lens through which I see people with greater empathy, patience, and truth.”
Driven by justice – passionate about dismantling systems
Kashaf brings a noticeably defiant brand of disability advocacy to the narrative. When I pointedly ask him about his style and what drives it, he fires:
“What drives me is justice. I do not say that lightly…I am passionate about dismantling systems that were never built for people like me and rebuilding them with dignity, with access, with boldness. That’s how I shake the room and every time I witness a wall fall, I know I am walking in purpose”
He recounts the excitement of those victorious moments:
“From the first time I found the courage to speak up and saw people truly listen, to the moment I realized I had become a voice for those who had none… [my] disability [has become for me] a different kind of language. And I speak it with pride.”
Handling discrimination
It never gets easier to watch someone reduce your identity to a stereotype or dismiss your abilities based on what they assume
With those words, this champion captures the assault to human dignity that discrimination is. And yes, he has his own taste of this “death by a thousand soft cuts,” as he says during the interview:
“I remember walking into rooms where people spoke around me, not to me. I have seen polite smiles that carry undertones of pity and the closed doors that were never meant to be knocked on by someone like me. I have been passed over, pitied, and put in boxes labeled “less than.” At one public event, I was spoken of as inspiration, not because of my work, but because I looked happy despite being deaf. I was turned away from schools and universities, laughed at me when I struggled to communicate, and [was] once even ushered out of a garment store as if I did not belong.”
But the young man says he doesn’t let those soft cuts define him, make him bitter or shrink – instead, he responds with excellence, using them as fuel for stronger advocacy.
“Discrimination will exist, but so will resistance and results – and that’s where I stand.”
Deafness taught me compassion, patience and resilience
“Struggles shape strength, barriers are a chance to grow” These, and similar ones, are recurring refrains in disability narratives. I asked Kashaf how true this holds in his experience:
“My deafness has made me a stronger, more compassionate, and more resilient person. It taught me patience, with myself and others. It gave me empathy to understand what it means to face barriers that many never see. It made me observant; I learned to read people’s eyes, body language, and emotions in ways many hearing people overlook. It gave me strength and most of all, it taught me humility and gratitude. I don’t take simple acts of kindness, inclusion, or understanding for granted, they mean the world to me. My deafness shaped my character.”
I didn’t want to ruin their moment!
The humor side of deafness finds expression in different situations and the journey lightens when we learn the art of carrying others along in the amusement. These moments provide much-needed comic relief; Kashaf remembers a really hilarious one:
“Once at a restaurant, I kept nodding politely as the waiter explained the menu, only to realise much later that I had confidently agreed to try the spiciest dish they had. My poor mouth was on fire, and when my dad asked why I didn’t tell them I’m deaf, I just laughed and signed, “Well, they were so excited… I didn’t want to ruin their moment!”
To young PWDs
Kashaf gives simple advice:
“Do not let anyone define your limits. The world may tell you what you can or cannot do, but remember, it is your journey, your path, and your ability that will break those barriers. Embrace who you are, and never apologize for your existence. And never forget that your voice is your strength, so speak up, stand tall, and lead with conviction.”
Thoughts for a discriminating society
“Discrimination isn’t just a personal failing; it is a collective one, it disregards the very essence of what it means to be human… look deeper, recognize the value in diversity, the strength in vulnerability, and the beauty in humanity’s complexity. It is time to open your eyes and take the first step toward true inclusion.”
At this point, I shoot the tricky question I often ask during this series: Is disability a bad thing?
The response came, proud and personal:
“No, disability is not a bad thing for me. In fact, it has been one of the greatest teachers of my life It is a different way of experiencing the world, a powerful part of who I am, that I carry with pride.”
Brimming with confidence, this precocious youth keys in on his philosophy of disability to give a peek at his aspirations:
“I want to be an astronaut and alpinist because I’ve always felt pulled by places most people fear. The mountains teach me how to endure and space calls to my depths. Every summit I will reach… [will be] rewriting the rules written for people like me.”
But as Kashaf reminds us, the first sparks to aim high in this world were lit by the promise and ally-ship of a lion-hearted father that “no matter what the world said he couldn’t do, he would help prove [the world] wrong.”
I was so impressed by this influence Kashaf credits to his dad I had to bring his wisdom into the interview. Readers will like to know something of the magic formula employed in guiding a child born profoundly deaf to global fame, and possibly some advice to other parents of children with disabilities.
Mr Alvi speaks
“I didn’t have a manual to follow, just a deep belief that love could lead. Yes, there were nights when the silence felt heavier than hope, and doubt sat beside me like an old friend. What carried me through was faith, quiet courage, and an unsaid promise I made to him the day he came into this world. I realized that some journeys are chosen not by logic but by love’s silent calling.
I see Kashaf now, walking through the world like a prayer in motion, it feels like watching a star I once held in my arms rise and light up the whole sky… in moments like these, I realize that love, when it is pure and patient, does not just raise a child, it reveals something divine.”
In closing…
If I could sit with you for a moment, I would say this:
“Your child is not here to be fixed. They are here to be felt. Do not look at them as a task to be solved… They were not sent to fit into the world’s mould…and when the world grows loud with doubt, let your love be louder. That is how miracles begin.”
The Disability Champions Series, a collaborative project with Madam Joy Bolarin, Executive Director, Jibore Foundation, is anchored by Alexander Ogheneruemu (Disability issues blogger).
Special acknowledgement to T.O.L.A Foundation for backup support.