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Michael Cassidy CBE

Baby MICHAEL CASSIDY.jpg

What does it mean to live with disability for 75 years? For me, it began in the shadow of post-war polio epidemics – a childhood of hospitals, callipers, and resilience. Yet it became the foundation of a fulfilling life in law, the City of London, and public service.

In the late 1940s and 50s, polio struck with devastating regularity, mostly infants like myself. Treatments were rudimentary. Some children lost so much muscle control they were confined to “iron lungs” – coffin-like boxes with a gap at one end for feeding. Survivors often faced years of surgery, heavy callipers, and long periods strapped to hospital beds.

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Vaccines emerged in the 1950s, but only later with the “sugar lump” version did mass protection become reliable. Even then, previous sufferers were re-vaccinated for fear of different strains. Within a generation, a disease that terrorised families every summer was virtually eliminated.

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Despite the challenges, I was fortunate. I progressed through grammar school, won a scholarship to Cambridge, and pursued a career in law. Education proved the greatest leveller: physical equality was impossible, but intellectual equality opened the door to opportunity.

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From there, I moved into the City of London, working across law, finance, infrastructure, and the arts. What mattered was not how quickly I could walk, but whether I could think strategically and deliver. One of the most rewarding responsibilities was leading, at the request of Government, the team laying the foundations for a new Garden City. Just a generation earlier, someone with my background might never have been considered.

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Later, I wrote about this for a government initiative encouraging disabled people to apply for public appointments. Too few do, and the UK still has progress to make in opening senior roles to those with disabilities.

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Seventy-five years on, I reflect with gratitude. Survivors of my generation have lived long enough to see polio almost eradicated. That is a victory for science and public health – but also for a society that gave us the chance to thrive.

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Britain, and London in particular, allowed me to live fully: through education, professional opportunity, and civic inclusion. Mine has been a happy life, enriched by family, public service, and the chance to contribute to causes larger than myself.

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This reflection is not nostalgia but a call to action. We have made extraordinary progress since the days when disabled children were institutionalised with little hope of independence. Yet barriers remain. Disabled people are still under-represented in leadership, public appointments, and the professions.

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My perspective is simple: resilience must be met with opportunity. Where society provides the right scaffolding – in health, in education, in employment – individuals can, and will, build remarkable lives.

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Polio shaped me, but it did not limit me. And today, I see countless others proving the same truth across different forms of disability: difference need not mean disadvantage.

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