A quadriplegic's battle to sign with his fingertip

BarcelonaAndrés Hinajeros's national identity card is atypical in two ways. First, it's permanent—without an expiration date—having been issued twenty years before he turned 70. Second, it doesn't bear his signature. This is a strange concession from the administration to Hinajeros, who has been paralyzed from strength to mobility in his arms and hands since May 1974, when, as a young man in his twenties, he became a paraplegic. He endured four grueling years of hospitalization during which he confesses his only desire was to die. But he has recovered and today says he feels content with life, to the point that he celebrates both his biological birthday and May 17th—which, as he says, "is the day I was reborn." "I'm happy," he says, "I live with quadriplegia, but I've accepted it." In this second phase of his life, he has married, had a son, and owned an orthopedics shop until his retirement. Retirement has led him to focus on obtaining official recognition of his fingerprint. He complains that banks and notaries do not allow him to use his fingertip to sign documents, offering him only the option of bringing two witnesses or appointing a guardian—requirements that make him feel like "a slave who needs masters," even though each fingerprint is unique. This has happened to him recently when making his will. "Many times they tell me to have my wife come and sign, but I am fully capable and they won't let me be free," he laments. The procedure he requests is simple, and he performs it with the help of his wife or the personal assistant who accompanies him for daily tasks: pressing the pad of his thumb into a small box with a pad moistened with blue ink until it is imprinted, and then stamping the fingerprint onto a sheet of paper. He has complained to several organizations, but always receives a negative response. "They tell me they're doing it to protect me, but the bottom line is that if you have a disability, you cease to be a person. They don't see me, they see my wheelchair." Sources at the Notarial Association justify this by citing Article 195 of the Spanish Notarial Regulations, which states that if a person is unable to sign a document, they can delegate their signature to another person or appoint a witness to verify their identity. Hinarejos finds this argument absurd and points out that the imposition of witnesses represents a loss of privacy and autonomy.

He recounts being told to "put a pen in his mouth" to sign documents, and even being refused a cash withdrawal at a bank branch because he couldn't sign, but the next day a friend with his ID was given the money. He says things like this make him feel like a "fool," and he even finds himself invisible when accompanied by someone without a disability. "You stop being a person and they send you to the back room," he complains. He also can't have a credit card because he can't enter his PIN in a store. These are mental barriers against people with disabilities, he explains, but he also encounters physical barriers, such as those preventing him from accessing offices, shops, or some public transport stations. He's heard people tell him he'll be served outside if he can't reach the counter, a solution Hinarejos considers unacceptable because the administration's obligation is to eliminate obstacles.

Adapted Chess

Hinarejos also has another ongoing battle. He's a registered chess player and is determined to ensure that official tournament venues are fully accessible, meaning that the spaces are suitable for people who use wheelchairs or have reduced mobility. In this case, he and two friends have just registered with the Disability and Chess Association, based in Martorell. They often encounter buildings without accessible restrooms, tables too small to accommodate wheelchairs, or even doors that are too narrow or an architectural barrier at the entrance. Among the association's demands is the presence of assistants to move pieces on the board according to the instructions of players who, like him, cannot do so. He uses a personal assistant, a service that is rarely offered under the dependency lawBut some have to pay up to 25 euros per game to hire a chess monitor.

Hinarejos' mind never stops. In addition to chess, he also writes on the computer. He has a blog where he writes about everything and has published One second later (Maikalili Ediciones), where he explains the accident and his recovery. He states that all he can do is complain and denounce, even though he knows that "if you protest, you're the bitter invalid," as he's been told. "Don't stay silent, without a fight you'll stay in bed and that's unacceptable," he concludes.