Mock-war drills and the citizens they leave behind

On 7 May , a piercing wail rolled through half a dozen Indian cities. Schools hustled children into dim corridors, offices shut blinds, families clutched radios in interior rooms. The nationwide exercise—ordered by the Ministry of Home Affairs to test readiness in the event of an India-Pakistan flare-up—promised that “every life will count.”

Ten minutes on my own block told a different story.

I saw a wheelchair user stranded on the third floor of a lift-less building, a deaf grandmother who never heard the alert, an autistic teenager in sensory meltdown and a diabetic neighbour hunting for a cool corner that didn’t exist. The drill rehearsed a future in which some of us escape and others become invisible.

A pattern the world knows too well

Persons with disabilities are always an afterthought in crisis planning—although they face the highest stakes. Globally they are up to four times more likely to die or be injured during conflicts and disasters (UNHCR). Japan’s 2011 tsunami, Türkiye’s 2023 earthquakes, the war in Ukraine: each replayed the same failure—evacuation routes without ramps, shelters too cramped for mobility aids, warnings that assume everyone can see, hear, sprint or self-regulate under stress.

India risks joining that list despite having the law and the paperwork to do better.

Statutory duty ignored: Under Section 24 of the Rights of Persons with Disabilities Act (2016), all disaster-management authorities must include persons with disabilities in preparedness plans, mock drills and rescue operations.

Guidelines gathering dust: The National Disaster Management Authority (NDMA) published disability-inclusive protocols six years ago—from multisensory alerts to accessible shelters—but the 7 May exercise followed none of them.

Five gaping holes exposed by the drill

One-channel warnings

Sirens, megaphones, shouted orders—that was it. No vibration alerts, SMS captions, flashing beacons or pictorial signage. Anyone deaf, hard-of-hearing, non-literate or without a working phone never received life-saving instructions.

Stairs-only evacuation

‘Safe zones’ were basement garages or metro underpasses reached by escalators or dark stairwells after lifts shut down. Wheelchair users, frail elders and people on crutches had no viable route inside the drill’s five-minute window.

Sensory and cognitive overload

The blend of sirens, crowd crush and shouted commands triggered panic for autistic residents or those with anxiety disorders. No quiet rooms, visual cue cards or trained volunteers to de-escalate stress.

Medical continuity ignored

Temporary shelters stocked water but not oxygen cylinders, insulin refrigeration or spare batteries for ventilators and power chairs. For many chronic conditions, danger comes not from bombs but from interrupted care.

No disabled voices at the table

Local disability organisations were never consulted. Simple, low-cost fixes—colour-coded arrows, buddy systems, ramp retrofits—could have been integrated at planning stage at negligible expense.

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Why this matters in a real conflict

Should India-Pakistan hostilities reopen and re-escalate, the northern corridor will endure not just missiles but cascading urban disruptions: blackout-induced lift failures, petrol shortages that strand caregivers, hospital triage that sidelines chronic-care patients. Disabled residents already navigate hardship during routine heatwaves and floods; add conflict, and exclusion turns lethal.

Delayed evacuation: Miss the first five minutes and a family may be trapped by jammed roads or live firing.

Healthcare collapse: Dialysis, chemotherapy and rehabilitation halt when trauma cases flood emergency wards.

Frayed support networks: Relatives who usually assist may be conscripted or evacuated separately.

These knock-on effects are predictable—which means failure to plan for them is a deliberate choice.

The legal—and moral—case for inclusion

India’s Constitution guarantees equality; the RPwD Act turns that promise into enforceable duties. Section 24 leaves no wiggle room: mock drills and real responses must account for persons with disabilities. The recent exercise violated that mandate.

But beyond legality lies logic: a system designed for the hardest-to-evacuate will automatically work for everyone else. Universal accessibility is not social charity; it is tactical wisdom.

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From ‘special help’ to systemic readiness: eight practical fixes

#1 Universal-design drills

Start every rehearsal with disability scenarios—a wheelchair user in a fifth-floor flat, a blind commuter in a halted metro, a deaf vegetable vendor in a bazaar. If the plan works there, it works anywhere.

#2 Multinodal alerts

Pair sirens with vibration push-notifications, LED strobes in public buildings, radio caption crawls and easy-read picture posters. Redundancy saves lives.

#3 Accessible shelters

Audit all safe zones for ramps, wide doors, tactile paths, low-height toilets, quiet rooms and generator-backed cooling. Stock oxygen, glucometers, seizure meds and wheelchair-repair kits.

#4 Neighbourhood buddy systems

Map each ward, pairing volunteers with disabled or elderly residents. Drills should rehearse buddy movement, location-sharing and needs reporting to command centres.

#5 Assistive-device logistics

Keep an emergency cache of wheelchairs, white canes, hearing-aid batteries and power-bank chargers at ward offices. Ensure evacuation vehicles can secure bulky equipment.

#6 First-responder training

Police, civil-defence teams, and resident-welfare associations need crash courses: how to guide a blind person, lift a wheelchair safely or calm sensory overload.

#7 Policy integration and budgets

Make disability features a non-negotiable line item in every district’s disaster-preparedness budget. Tie funding releases to compliance audits.

#8 Transparent feedback loops

After each drill, publish what failed and what improved—with testimonies from disabled participants—and update protocols before the next rehearsal.

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A checklist for administrators when sirens sound

•  Can every alert be received by eye, ear, touch, and text?

• Can a wheelchair user on any floor reach a shelter within five minutes?

• Does each shelter have life-support meds and power backup?

• Are volunteers assigned to residents who need assistance?

• Is there a public report on what’s still missing?

If the answer is “no” to even one, the plan is not ready.

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Readiness that counts every citizen

Disaster preparedness is measured not by the loudness of sirens but by who reaches safety when they sound. A state that claims readiness while ignoring one-seventh of its population is planning to lose lives it could save. The cost of inclusion—ramps, beacons, training—is negligible compared with post-crisis rescue and compensation.

When the next drill happens, imagine the wheelchair user descending smoothly via an evacuation sled, the deaf grandmother reading a flashing beacon, the autistic teen guided by a visual card and a calm volunteer. The plan that secures them will secure us all.

The Constitution does not ration the right to life by ability. Our crisis response cannot either. If India wants to call itself prepared, it must plan for everyone—before the sirens shift from rehearsal to reality.

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PUNEET SINGH SINGHAL is a disability inclusion activist and an accessibility consultant