by Douglas J. Usiak
Last month, a Buffalo story that drew national attention brought back memories of an incident from decades ago. Mine was not tragic, but it was frightening.
If you read this column regularly, you know that I am totally blind and have spent 50 years fighting for the rights of people with disabilities to live, work, and participate fully in their communities.
Years ago, I traveled to Jamaica as a technical advisor through Partners of the Americas and spent 10 days with a family in Kingston, including visits to villages in the Blue Mountains, sharing information about programs and technology for blind people. I arrived with my gadgets, my knowledge, and the confidence that I was going to help enlighten others.
Halfway through the trip, I asked my host, Willey Williams, “How am I doing?”
“Doug,” Willey answered, “nobody cares about your fancy stuff. What they need to know is how to survive with a disability in a country where programs and services are not traditionally funded by the government.”
I thought about that during the long drive back to Kingston and changed my presentations. I spoke less about equipment and more about how we in the United States fought for our rights and services. Once I did, people began to engage with me.
Then, on my way home, I had an experience of my own.
At the airport, I was dropped off at the terminal and met by security. After I asked where to check in, an officer led me to a seat and, in Jamaican patois, told me to wait.
So I sat.
And sat.
More than an hour passed. No one came. Eventually, I heard my flight being called. I stood and followed the announcement, only to be stopped by security as I tried to reach my gate. I tried to explain that my flight was boarding, but we could not effectively communicate.
It was only after a stranger intervened—telling security she would assist me—that I was able to make it onto my plane in time.
Why bring this up now?
Because back in February, a blind refugee died in Buffalo after what has been reported as a breakdown across multiple systems meant to provide care and support. He had already been in
the immigration system for a significant period before being held locally for several days and the released into the community. Just days later, he was found dead outdoors in winter conditions, still wearing jail-issued footwear.
Reports indicate that during this time, critical and visible needs were missed or not acted on:
He was nearly blind.
He did not speak English fluently.
He had significant health concerns.
And yet multiple systems were involved—border authorities, a legal aid attorney, and a community-based program meant to help new Americans settle.
And yet, from where I stand, this man was left sitting alone.
Only this time, there was no stranger to step in and see him home safely.
I know New York State funds programs designed to help people navigate services, including those with language barriers. The disability services network, alongside refugee and resettlement programs, could have connected him with something as simple as a white cane and basic support. Other agencies could have helped create a plan for living safely and independently.
Or it could have started with something even simpler: a single phone call to the local Independent Living Center—a call that could have connected him to the services he needed.
The federal government has, in recent years, taken an increasingly narrow view of people seeking refuge. But regardless of policy debates, what happened here was not complicated—a man with obvious and urgent needs was released into a city in the middle of winter without the support necessary to survive.
At every level—federal, state, and local—there were opportunities to recognize those needs and act.
No one did.
As a community, we failed this man.
We need to refocus on providing real support. People who come here seeking safety and a better life should not have to navigate that journey alone, especially when they are living with disabilities.
Years ago in Jamaica, I learned something important: people are not asking for our fancy things, but for a chance to live free.
And the truth is, any one of us—placed in an unfamiliar system, without language, without support—can become just as vulnerable.
If we remember that, tragedies like this should never happen again.
This article first appeared in the Lockport Union Sun and Journal. Douglas J. Usiak is the retired Chief Executive Officer of WNY Independent Living Inc., Family of Agencies, which empowers individuals with disabilities to participate fully in society. For more information, contact (716) 284-4131, ext. 200.