When Access Fails, Justice Fails

My Experience with The Learning Center for the Deaf and the State Discrimination Process

There are moments in life when the truth becomes too heavy to carry quietly. For five years, I held this story inside… silenced by fear, intimidation, exhaustion, and the reality that disabled people without financial privilege often cannot afford attorneys to fight discrimination. Many of us are left to navigate injustice alone. That silence ends here.

What happened to me wasn’t a misunderstanding or a difficult chapter. It was a pattern, one that began at The Learning Center for the Deaf (TLC) and continued all the way into the state’s civil rights process. A pattern that chipped away at my stability, my access, and eventually my right to participate in my own discrimination appeal.

The moment that finally pushed me to speak publicly was simple and devastating:
the state agency responsible for enforcing civil rights told me they could not provide DeafBlind interpreters for my appeal hearing.
Without access, I could not participate. Without participation, I could not be heard. And without being heard, my case was dismissed.

This is the story of how I got there.

The Job I Was Hired to Do, and the Accommodations I Disclosed from the Start

When I accepted the position at TLC, I was clear about my access needs as a DeafBlind professional. I explained that I work best in one‑on‑one settings, that small groups were manageable when necessary — but not recommended, that I needed support for meetings, and that predictable communication channels were essential. The role, ASL specialist work focused on one‑on‑one language development, aligned perfectly with those needs.

For a full year, that is exactly what I did. I supported students, built relationships, contributed to developing curriculum, supported teachers with IEP reports, and received consistent positive feedback. My work was valued. My performance was never questioned.

Nothing about my job changed — until I began raising concerns about access barriers and discriminatory treatment.

When the Environment Shifted

The shift didn’t happen all at once. It began when the pandemic hit like a tidal wave, leaving us to fend for ourselves to support our students remotely. Then when being remote was no longer a requirement, TLC required staff to return to work in person, ensuring that all comply with CDC policies. This was challenging for me as a DeafBlind person and screams “distantism,” “vidism,” and “ableism.” I provided justification for remaining remote; the Superintendent knew of this request.

Fast forward from fall to winter: our ASL department got a new supervisor. This is when the energy shifted. Emails that once felt collaborative suddenly carried urgency, accusation, and pressure. Expectations that had been stable for months were suddenly rewritten. I tried to keep communication clear, to document responsibly, to follow the guidance I was given. But the more I tried to steady the ground, the more it moved.

When I finally voiced concerns about discrimination and intimidation, the response was dismissive. I was told my concerns were “expected,” as if my lived experience was a predictable inconvenience rather than something worth examining. In other words, they claimed I was using the “DeafBlind card.” I went to HR the next day and asked for a formal complaint process. I was told there was “nothing to investigate.” I asked again. I was denied again.

The message was unmistakable: the problem wasn’t the environment… It was me for naming it.

TLC’s Public Pledge vs. Their Actual Practices

And this is where the hypocrisy becomes impossible to ignore.

While I was navigating retaliation, shifting expectations, and outright dismissal of my access needs and concerns of a hostile supervisor, TLC continued to publicly present itself as an institution rooted in equity, belonging, and disability justice. Their own statements say:

“The Learning Center for the Deaf is on a journey to create an inclusive and welcoming space for people of all backgrounds… We embrace and value multiple approaches, experiences, and perspectives… We are an Equal Opportunity/Affirmative Action Employer… reasonable accommodations and modifications will be made whenever possible.”

And in 2019, TLC signed the Greater Boston Disability Rights Pledge, declaring:

“We recognize disability rights as a central component of diversity and social justice. We pledge to prioritize the tenets of inclusion and accessibility.”

But these words did not match their actions. I was terminated in 2021, just two years after this pledge, in direct contradiction to the commitments they claimed to uphold. The pledge read like a promise; in practice, it functioned more like a public‑facing shining armor. What I experienced inside the institution bore no resemblance to the values they broadcasted to the community.

Paid Leave Used as Harm, Not Support

Twice, I was placed on paid leave. The first time, it was framed as a “gift,” even though I had said I didn’t want to miss services for my students. The second time, it was mandatory. Both times, the leave created more harm than support. It destabilized me, increased my workload when I returned, and left me feeling watched, micromanaged to the extreme, with microaggressions slapped left and right rather than helped. And both leaves happened after I raised concerns about discrimination.

Disabled employees know this pattern well: when we assert our rights, the system removes us instead of addressing the issue.

Retaliation and the Emotional Toll

By the time I was terminated, the emotional toll had accumulated in ways I could no longer ignore. The scrutiny intensified. Expectations shifted without warning. The complaint process remained inaccessible. Communication became unpredictable and intimidating. I was pressured to make up missed services despite HR assurances.

I lost my salary, my benefits, my confidence – I lost myself. I lost access to mental health care. I experienced panic attacks and emotional breakdowns. I was beaten to the core, and to this day I am triggered with fear and anxiety by dealing with supervisors, HR, anything with accommodation requests.

I tried to find a therapist. I tried to get support. But every system around me – the insurance, providers, access – all failed at the same time. The harm wasn’t abstract. It was lived, daily, and heavy. I was left with no choice but to return home, to live with my parents – where I hid away in my room, distraught… feeling I was unworthy and not understood.

Being DeafBlind is hard. Especially when so many around you do not understand what it is like to be DeafBlind.

Imagine Yourself in This Situation

Imagine yourself suddenly without a job in the middle of a global pandemic, unexpectedly terminated by the very institution that claimed to stand for “access” in the Deaf community. An institution whose mission statement spoke of equity and belonging, yet whose actions contradicted those words when it mattered most.

I never expected to become one of the people harmed by the same patterns of ableism and institutional betrayal. I am a disabled queer person with more than one disability, and I believed this workplace was safe. I believed my team had my back. And then, one by one, people I trusted turned away. A new supervisor arrived and disrupted the dynamic, and instead of working together, the focus narrowed onto me – targeted, questioned, and undermined again and again. What unfolded was not a misunderstanding. It was a pattern. And it left me standing alone in a place that had once promised an “inclusive community.”

And for five years, I carried this truth quietly. Silenced by fear, by intimidation, by exhaustion, by the knowledge that justice often requires resources disabled people simply do not have.

But I will not be silenced anymore.

The Final Blow: Denied Access to My Own Appeal

After my termination, I filed a discrimination complaint with the state’s Commission Against Discrimination (MCAD). The complaint was dismissed. I appealed. The appeal hearing was scheduled for February 11, 2025. I requested four DeafBlind interpreters (two interpreters that are hearing, and two interpreters that are deaf) a standard accommodation for deafblind access for “high level” intense meetings such as this. The agency confirmed they would provide them. But when the day arrived, the interpreters who showed up were not trained in DeafBlind communication. They were not prepared. They were not equipped. I could not access the proceeding. This one interpreter interrupted the meeting when they realized they were not equipped for the job – and just like that – the hearing that never started, ended.

I asked MCAD to reschedule with qualified interpreters. Instead, I received an email that said:

“Despite several attempts to fulfill your request for four deafblind interpreters, the agency is unable to provide the requested interpreters. At this time, the only option is for you to submit your appeal in writing.”

Because they could not provide access, I was denied the right to participate in my own appeal. A civil rights process became inaccessible, and therefore meaningless.

What This Reveals About Disability Justice, Through The DeafBlind Lens

My experience is not an outlier. It reflects a pattern many DeafBlind people know too well:

access treated as optional, a preference
retaliation disguised as “procedure”
HR processes used to harm rather than support
institutions with inclusive branding perpetuating harm
state agencies replicating the same barriers we report

TLC publicly states that “reasonable accommodations and modifications will be made whenever possible.” But “whenever possible” is not the legal standard. The ADA requires accommodations unless they cause undue hardship, a much higher threshold. When institutions rely on vague language instead of legal obligations, disabled employees pay the price. And I paid that price…

Why I’m Sharing This

I’m sharing this because stories like mine often stay hidden, silenced – buried under fear, shame, worry, or exhaustion. But silence protects systems, not people like us.

I’m sharing this because, and I can’t say this enough, DeafBlind people deserve better. Because access is not optional! It is not. Due process means nothing without communication access especially when it’s been stripped from you. And institutions like TLC must be accountable to the communities they claim to serve.

…And I know I’m not the only one. I’m not the only one that experienced this injustice.

If my story helps even one person recognize a pattern, assert their rights, or feel less alone, then telling it is worth it. Speak up, speak out the injustice, the discrimination you have experienced.

Read the Full Press Release

A Hearing Without Access Is Not a Hearing: Press Release – found under “Current Issues”

Closing

As I close this post publicly, I return to the work that has always anchored me: CoNavigating with DeafBlind people in ways that honor our language, our culture, our being, and our ways of moving through the world. This experience has only sharpened my commitment to building systems where access is not improvised or approximate, but intentional – shaped by people who understand Protactile language, Protactile practice of contact space, co-presence, and the full range of DeafBlind communication modalities.

The law is clear – effective communication means we need trained DeafBlind interpreters who can stay in contact, stay attuned, keep us informed, and stay accountable. For this to work, it takes a team who knows how to show up in our language, not just stand in the room or on Zoom. DeafBlind access depends on more than compliance, it’s not meeting the system where they are, but where we are; it depends on knowledge, understanding, skill, presence, and cultural fluency. That is the work I will continue to do with the community and for the community, and the work I hope this story pushes others to recognize as essential. This is why this site was created… to bring justice for our community.