Shila Thapa
President, Special Olympics Nepal
Thirty four years ago, a small group of us asked a simple question. Why should a child’s intellect decide whether they are allowed to play? That was 1992. While the world was only beginning to understand the power of inclusive sport, a handful of passionate advocates here in Nepal saw a need no one else was addressing: a platform where people with intellectual disabilities could be celebrated, not hidden. Out of that need, Special Olympics Nepal was born. Three decades later, I find myself asking the same founding question, and I am not fully satisfied with how far we have come.
We still sort persons with intellectual disabilities into boxes. Mild. Moderate. Severe. Profound. These labels were never meant to be verdicts on a person’s worth; they describe the support someone needs, nothing more. But in our schools, our neighborhoods, and sometimes in our own families, these words have become something closer to a sentence. We look at the label before we look at the person, and in doing so, we fail to see the skill, the enthusiasm, and the determination that is already there, waiting for someone to notice it.
This is the real debate we need to be having. Why has it taken us this long to ask whether every child deserves a desk, a team, a place? Unified Sports and inclusive sports are not a slogan or a donor buzzword. They are proof, on a field, in front of a whole community, that a person with an intellectual disability and a person without one can train together, compete together, and win or lose together. That is not an abstraction. It is what our Unified Sports, Healthy Athletes®, and Young Athletes programs aim to do every day, reaching thousands of athletes across every province of this country. Ask any athlete who has stood on that field. It is real.
So why, after thirty four years, has social attitude moved so slowly?
I believe it is because we never finished the job of awareness. Caregivers are tired and often stand without enough support. Society has been told, in a hundred quiet ways, that these children are a burden rather than a possibility. And when a family hears there is nothing more we can do, the most natural response is to stay home. No team, no friends, no field, no chance to fail and try again in front of people who are cheering for you anyway. That isolation is not a medical outcome. It is a social one, and social outcomes can be changed. This is exactly why our work isn’t only about sport. It is about visibility, about transforming patients into athletes, and sympathy into respect.
Special Olympics was never built on the idea of winning. It was built on something more honest: that the attempt is itself the victory. The courage to walk onto a field where you might lose, is a kind of strength most people never have to find in themselves. Every one of our athletes, mild, moderate, severe, profound, shows that strength simply by showing up to the games. The question was never whether they could do it. The question was always whether we would give them the chance to participate, to grow, and to shine, regardless of ability.
I want every stakeholder reading this to see themselves in them. Nepal will make real progress. Our special athletes will represent us on regional and international stages, coaches will be trained province by province, and programs will reach families who once believed no one was coming for them.
But when I look at where this movement has gone in other nations, I know we are still early in the process. And everything meaningful is a process. It starts in a community, school, moves to a regional forum, then a national one, then a central forum, and only then reaches the international stage where our athletes can finally show the world what we already know about them.
None of this happens without stakeholders who choose to show up. Schools that identify athletes, host programs, and integrate inclusive curricula. Local governments that provide accessible spaces, small grants, and transport support. A private sector that sponsors events, provides equipment, and, just as importantly, employs our trained athletes once they are ready. Families and NGOs who recruit volunteers, support training, and carry these stories into communities we could never reach alone.
So let me answer the question plainly, for anyone still asking why Special Olympics Nepal exists. It exists because a person is not their diagnosis. Because potential does not announce itself; it has to be looked for, coached, and given a field to stand on. And because after thirty four years, we still have people in this country who believe isolation is kinder than inclusion. It is not. It never was.
I am asking every reader, every school, every local government office, every business, every parent, to join our network. Help us build the regional forums, the national events, and the pathways to international participation that our athletes have more than earned. Volunteer. Coach. Sponsor. Bring Special Olympics into your school or your community.
Every athlete deserves the chance to attempt. Every attempt is a win.