What does it mean to belong? Is it about excelling in academics? Having a talent that others admire? Being present in the right spaces? Or is it something deeper—something that cannot be measured in grades or achievements? I am a student with visual impairment, currently pursuing a master’s in Sociology at the Delhi School of Economics. Throughout my life, I have been told that capability is the key to acceptance—that if I worked hard enough, achieved enough, and proved myself enough, I would never feel out of place. But I did.

Lunch breaks at my school were long and silent. While others gathered in groups, sharing meals and laughter, I sat by myself, pretending not to notice the absence of conversations. The playground was alive with movements —games unfolding in seamless rhythm—but I was never part of them. Even in the library, where books were meant to offer solace, the silence felt different when I could not read like others. It wasn’t that people were cruel. It wasn’t that I was deliberately excluded. It was something quieter, harder to name—a kind of absence, a kind of invisibility. Conversations happened around me, never with me. But the most isolating moments came at the end of the school day. As the final bell rang, groups of students left together, their conversations carrying on as they walked home. I remained behind—not because I was lost in my books, but because I had no way to leave. I could not travel alone due to infrastructural barriers, and in the rush of their own lives, my classmates often forgot me. I waited—sometimes for help, sometimes for someone to remember. Often, I waited alone. For a long time, I questioned myself. Was I not worthy of being loved? Did I not deserve joy and belonging like everyone else? But now, as a student of sociology, I understand that my exclusion was never about my abilities. It was not a personal failure. It was a failure of my environment—a world built without me in mind.

This realization brings me to the concept of social contract, a concept in political philosophy that defines the principles of justice in society. John Rawls, in ‘A Theory of Justice’ (1971), proposed the idea of social contract which is a hypothetical scenario where individuals, behind a Veil of Ignorance, do not know their own social status, abilities, or privileges. In this state, rational individuals would choose principles of justice that ensure fairness for all. Rawls argues that under these conditions, people would agree to two key principles: the principle of equal liberty, which guarantees basic freedoms like speech and political participation, and the difference principle, which allows social and economic inequalities only if they benefit the least advantaged. His theory presents an ideal of fairness, but it assumes that all individuals are equally capable of engaging in this rational agreement. It does not account for those who, due to structural barriers, are excluded from discussions on justice and fairness. It assumes that justice is something that can be reasoned into existence without considering the lived experiences of those who struggle to participate at all.

This is where Martha Nussbaum, in Frontiers of Justice: Disability, Nationality, Species Membership (2006), offers a powerful critique. She argues that Rawls’ theory focuses on the equitable distribution of goods but overlooks those who lack the basic capabilities to lead meaningful lives. Justice, she argues, is not just about guaranteeing rights or distributing wealth; it is about ensuring that every person has the real opportunity to live with dignity—to form relationships, engage in play, participate in education and culture, and be part of a community. Her argument resonates deeply with my own experiences. My exclusion in school was not just a personal hardship; it was a structural issue. Schools celebrate academic success and measurable achievements, but they often fail to nurture emotional well-being and social belonging for students with disability. The assumption that simply being present in a classroom means one has equal access to participation is flawed. True inclusion requires more than just a seat—it requires an environment that actively fosters relationships, where individuals are valued beyond their measurable successes. Even now, as I navigate academia, I see exclusion manifest in different ways. Inaccessibility, rigid institutional structures, and implicit biases continue to shape who gets to fully participate and who remains on the margins. But awareness is the first step toward change. If we are to build a society that truly upholds justice, we must move beyond the illusion of fairness and actively work toward spaces that foster connection, understanding, and genuine inclusion. Because the real test of a just society is not how well it rewards the most capable, but how deeply it embraces those who have been left out.

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Surbhi Nagpal is pursuing an MA in Sociology from Delhi School of Economics (DSE), University of Delhi.