Issue 23 — “Our uteruses are also harmed. It has affected us severely.”

Just before midnight on December 3rd, 1984, the U.S.-owned Union Carbide pesticide plant in Bhopal, India leaked more than twenty-seven tonnes of methyl isocyanate into the atmosphere, exposing half a million people to deadly levels of a chemical once described by the very company that produced it as, “a poison to humans” if inhaled. More than 22,000 people died in the following years, with at least half perishing within three days of the disaster.

Those who survived have faced decades of serious health problems, many of which are intergenerational. Others who moved to Bhopal years after the disaster, were exposed to high levels of toxic chemicals and heavy metals leached from the factory into groundwater, well water, and soil. They, too, have suffered the health consequences of corporate crime.

Last October, I spent time with some of the women survivors of the disaster as they shared stories of pain, of sadness, and of great courage in the face of violence and repression. While these women were featured in my recently published story, I wanted to share more of their stories as well as put faces to names¹ .

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BANO BEE

Just after midnight, as the city of Bhopal woke up as if it was alight, Bano Bee and her five children fled into the night — coughing, wheezing, choking — as they tried to escape a toxic gas that could not be outrun. As people struggled through narrow alleyways, families were torn from one another and three of Bano Bee’s children were wrenched from her side. 

On the verge of vomiting, she continued to run, tears pouring down her face as though her eyes might wash away. Around her she heard people screaming — What happened? Where did it happen? But somewhere in the street she collapsed, unconscious, and suddenly the chaos around her melted away.

In the hours after the disaster, Bano Bee awoke at a hospital — in a daze, unwell, and barely aware of herself, she said. Around her, people were looking for their loved ones, some searching among the living, many already confirming the dead. Without enough space for thousands of burials and cremations, trucks began collecting the deceased, dumping bodies into the Narmada River and choking the lifeline of the state of Madhya Pradesh.

In the months following the disaster, Bano Bee was eventually reunited with her husband and children — two of whom, believed to be orphans, were found at a special needs school. But not everyone was so lucky.

Years before the disaster, with the promise of better pay, one of Bano Bee’s relatives moved from another state to work at the Union Carbide factory. The stench of chemicals followed him home everyday and he soon struggled to go to the bathroom without pain. But even as the family implored him to quit, he could not — there were few other options for a migrant worker. 

In the aftermath of the disaster, he was never seen again.

RAMKALI

Before her family began coughing, running, collapsing in the streets of Bhopal, Ramkali remembers a sudden burst of cold air outside. The children playing in the street were gone. A neighbour returning from a late shift on the railway was coughing his way home. Outside, there was smoke everywhere. If not for the season, it could have been the thick, white plumes used to stave off the monsoon mosquitoes. But it was December — winter — and suddenly, the family of four was running into the cold, dark night. 

Hours later, Ramkali awoke in the hospital, her one month old baby and two year old child by her side. After a few days, her in-laws arrived from a rural village and together, the family left Bhopal. But no one has been able to outrun the disaster.

Ramkali’s eldest son, just two years old at the time of the gas leak, grew up with a mental disability and is now confined to the house for his own safety. In 2006, in his mid-twenties, he wandered from home and was found in another state seven and a half hours away, the name of his father and his address written on his hand. 

Ramkali and her family returned to Bhopal six months after the disaster, moving to a new home further away from the abandoned Union Carbide factory. But even if they were physically distant, the factory’s legacy had a long reach.

The Union Carbide corporation failed to safely dispose of toxic chemicals and excessive levels of organochlorines, common in pesticides, and heavy metals including lead, nickel, and mercury were found in samples of groundwater, well water, soil, and even breast milk. 

“They said, ‘this is poison water,’” Ramkali said. “But we drank that water, didn’t we? We drank it many times.”

Chronic exposure to these pollutants has been linked to cancer, among other health issues. In 2016, Ramkali’s son — born ten years after the disaster — died from leukemia.

He was 22 years old. 

PREM BAI

In the wake of the gas disaster, migrant workers and their families moved from villages to Bhopal, many of them occupying the vacant lots that skirted the factory. Among them was Prem Bai. She quickly noticed that the well water was dirty, a “bit oily,” she said, and when she filled a pot with water and left it overnight, it would have a powder-like substance in it the following morning.

Prem Bai was not a gas survivor but soon became a Bhopal activist, joining the struggle for accountability from Union Carbide. In 2003, after walking some 500 miles to New Delhi, Prem Bai was among the activists who met with a government minister and tied a thread or rakhi, around his wrist –  symbolic of brothers looking out for their sisters. In response, she remembers the women were soon rebuked by the state and falsely accused of theft. But Prem Bai has persisted. 

“Water victims are suffering from various diseases, their farms are damaged, their land is getting ruined,” she said. “Justice would be arrangements made for their treatment and compensation made available.” 

“The government can do anything if it truly wants to.”  

USHA DONGRE & KRISHNA BAI

Usha Dongre (left) and Krishna Bai (right) are among the families who moved to Bhopal as migrant workers, taking residence in abandoned homes close to the factory. Like every mother, grandmother, and daughter I met, they have been affected by the water they did not know was poisoned. Usha Dongre’s daughter has tumors growing all over her body. Krishna Bai’s eldest daughter does not get her period for three or four months at a time. 

Reproductive issues are rampant across Bhopal and many women have hysterectomies as early as their thirties. It is this violation of their very body and blood that has spurred survivors to protest, march, and occupy space and time as they demand justice for themselves, their children, and their community.

In 2011, 30,000 people flooded Bhopal’s trains and tracks, halting the lifeblood of India for eleven hours to demand adequate compensation. In response, Krishna Bai recalled, police beat survivors and activists, wielding lathis, or iron-bound bamboo sticks. Ten people were hospitalized, some carried away with gashes to the head, blood dripping down their saris. Another eight female survivors were jailed.  

“They did trouble us a lot,” Krishna Bai said. “They were really dangerous.”

NASREEN & MAL

Thank you for reading this issue of Defender.

From the deadly earthquake in Myanmar to the ongoing slaughter of Palestinians, there is no shortage of recent news about lives cruelly ended and people suffering at the hands of a negligent, complicit, and indifferent world. In light of this, I don’t have much of a final note to this newsletter. Instead, here are a few organizations you can support if, like me, you find all of this extremely troubling:

Myanmar: Sister-to-Sister Gender-Sensitive Earthquake Relief Fundraiser 

Gaza: The Refaat Alareer Camp by The Sameer Project

Bhopal: International Campaign for Justice in Bhopal

If you enjoyed this newsletter please feel free to share it with anyone who might be interested. You can also follow me on Instagram, Threads, Bluesky, or TikTok. 

Rage On. ❤️‍🔥

1  Unfortunately, I had no input in the artwork accompanying my piece and I feel the photograph and lack of identifying information of the women featured does not really represent my story.