The FTC’s $1M Wake-Up Call to accessiBe: Why Accessibility Overlays Are Failing Us

A colorful and abstract digital artwork depicting a judge's gavel. The gavel is stylized with splashes of vibrant paint in shades of yellow, green, blue, purple, orange, and black, creating a dynamic, graffiti-like effect. The background is a chaotic blend of splattered colors, giving the image an energetic and bold appearance

As someone who uses assistive technology on a daily basis, I understand the value of true accessibility. Overlays purport to perform magic, but instead simply render many websites unusable, particularly for people with screen readers or those using other assistive devices. That’s why the recent $1 million Federal Trade Commission fine against accessiBe is not just a headline — it’s a landmark moment for digital accessibility.

The Federal Trade Commission revealed accessiBe’s deceptive practices, which included paying reviewers to talk about its products. Samuel A.A. Levine, the director of the F.T.C.’s Bureau of Consumer Protection, said in the statement, “Companies seeking assistance to make their websites [accessibility] compliant need to be able to trust that products do what they promise.” When they fail to do so, everyone loses — and so does the disability community.

Advocacy groups have been ringing the alarm for years. National Federation of the Blind condemned accessiBe’s business practices as “disrespectful and misleading” and more than 400 accessibility advocates signed an open letter imploring businesses to abandon automated overlays. And the risks for companies? Huge. In 2021, over 400 organizations utilizing accessibility widgets were sued over non-compliance with accessibility standards.

This isn’t just about the failings of one company; we need to rethink our whole approach to accessibility in the digital age. You might think overlays are the solution, but the reality is, there are no shortcuts to inclusion. Real accessibility is the result of audits, user testing with people who have disabilities and compliance with WCAG standards. It’s not just about keeping away from lawsuits — it’s about building an internet that benefits everyone.

The FTC’s action should be a wake-up call. Convenience should not come at the expense of inclusion, transparency, and accountability — so it’s time for businesses to prioritize it.

FTC orders AI accessibility startup accessiBe to pay $1M for misleading advertising

Why Lying About Disability Hurts Everyone

Silhouetted wheelchair user navigating through a bustling airport terminal during sunrise or sunset, with warm golden light streaming in from large windows ahead. The reflection of the light creates a glowing effect on the polished floor. Other travelers with luggage are blurred in the background, adding a sense of motion and activity to the scene.

Thanksgiving this year marked a bittersweet milestone for me: my first flight since the passing of my service dog, Canine Companions® Pico. Navigating air travel without his steadying presence was an emotional adjustment, but it also brought a new set of challenges to the forefront—ones I hadn’t anticipated as a wheelchair user.

Picture this: It’s the early hours of the morning, and I’m at DCA, waiting to board my flight to Seattle. Between navigating Transportation Security Administration (TSA) Pre-check, managing my luggage, and coordinating the safe onboarding of my wheelchair, I was already juggling more than most travelers might consider. And then came the questions.

The heightened interest in the mechanics of my Alber GmbH power-assist wheels meant fielding inquiries from airline staff who were understandably curious about the technology I rely on for mobility. Half-asleep and longing for coffee, I found myself explaining the specs of my chair like I was pitching a new gadget on Shark Tank ABC.

The lesson I learned? Preparation is survival. Much like I once traveled with paperwork to verify Pico’s working status, I now carry a one-page cheat sheet detailing everything about my wheelchair frame and wheels. It’s a necessity for safety reasons, and because of the pervasive scrutiny many disabled travelers face—scrutiny amplified by dishonest actions like those described in a recent viral story.

A passenger on a United Airlines flight tried to exploit early boarding by claiming he had a disability due to recent knee surgery. However, his actions unraveled when he requested a seat in the exit row, where passengers must confirm their ability to assist in emergencies—something Federal Aviation Administration regulations prohibit for people with certain disabilities. Faced with the choice of admitting he lied or forfeiting the coveted exit row seat, he indignantly claimed he was suddenly "fine" to sit there after all.

When individuals fake disabilities, it undermines the trust needed for systems like pre-boarding to work. Those of us with legitimate needs find ourselves subjected to greater scrutiny. Additionally, exploiting accommodations reinforces the false idea that they’re perks instead of rights—conveniences to be gamed rather than tools for equity. This attitude chips away at the dignity of those who rely on these systems. Disability is not a monolith, but one thing unites us: the barriers we face are real. Every "clever hack" or deception makes the rest of us pay a higher price, emotionally, physically, and logistically.

We, as a society, must do better. We must normalize empathy over suspicion and remember that accessibility isn’t just a checkbox on a corporate DEIA plan—it’s a commitment to dignity, inclusion, and equity for all.

Planning to lie about a disability to get early boarding? Read this

Turning Frustration Into Fuel: Disability Advocacy in 2025

Portrait of Alice Wong, a disability activist and MacArthur genius, sitting outdoors surrounded by lush green foliage. She is wearing a colorful outfit, and a ventilator tube is visible at her neck. Her expression is calm and contemplative, reflecting her resilience and strength.

The world feels heavy, doesn’t it? Some days it’s hard to shake the thought that everything is unraveling. Advocacy, especially disability advocacy, can feel like shouting into the void. The uphill battle seems steeper than ever, and yet—we press on. Because we must.

Alice Wong, a luminary in disability activism, put it bluntly telling The Guardian: “Yes, life is a complete dumpster fire, but I am reminded that I am not alone.” Her words hit home. Advocacy isn’t a solitary act. It’s a collective one, fueled by the connections we forge and the communities we build. It’s messy. It’s relentless. But it’s also transformative.

Anger? It’s a battery charger. Wong speaks to this beautifully: frustration doesn’t have to drain us—it can energize us. When progress feels stagnant or outright regressive, channeling that fury into action becomes a radical act of hope. Advocacy, after all, isn’t just about surviving the chaos; it’s about rewriting the rules that made survival so hard in the first place.

And yet, advocacy isn’t solely struggle. That’s the trap, isn’t it? To define our lives by hardship alone. Wong challenges this, insisting that the disabled experience is nuanced—full of abundance, love, and joy. “One principle of disability justice,” she reminds us, “is recognizing the inherent value and wholeness of people regardless of their ability to produce.”

Pause for a moment. Let that sink in. A world that values you—not for what you can give, but simply because you exist. It’s a radical notion in a society obsessed with output and efficiency. But that’s the heart of disability justice. It’s about dismantling systems that devalue lives and building frameworks that affirm them.

Of course, it’s not easy. Advocacy is never linear. There are setbacks and moments when the weight feels unbearable. But even then, there’s power in reframing the narrative. Wong’s love of science fiction offers a powerful metaphor: infinite possibilities. Speculative fiction invites us to dream boldly, to imagine futures where inclusion isn’t aspirational—it’s foundational.

So, here we are. 2025. The world may still feel bleak, but our voices—your voice—matter. They ripple outward, shifting conversations, policies, and perceptions. Advocacy isn’t a sprint; it’s a marathon. And while the finish line feels far off, every step matters.

Take your frustration. Take your anger. Take your hope. Turn them into fuel. Together, we’re building something extraordinary: a future where our community doesn’t just survive, but thrives.

MacArthur genius Alice Wong on resistance in the new year: ‘Life is a dumpster fire, but I’m not alone’

Why Disability Representation in Media Is More Than Just a Moral Imperative

Marissa Bode as Nessarose in Wicked.

As we close out 2024, I can’t stop thinking about Wicked. Not just the dazzling sets, the soaring music, or the star-studded cast. No, what lingers most is Marissa Bode—her powerful, unapologetic portrayal of Nessarose. Here was a wheelchair user, playing a wheelchair user, in one of the year’s most anticipated films. Groundbreaking, yes. But it wasn’t without its challenges.

Marissa Bode didn’t just act; she fought. When trolls flooded social media with ableist remarks, mocking her disability, she spoke out. “Disability is not fictional,” she said. Simple words. Monumental truth. And yet, the backlash she faced underscores a harsh reality: representation is still fragile, progress still precarious .

Why does this matter? Consider the numbers. In the U.S., disabled people make up 28.7% of the viewing audience. Globally, we’re talking about over 1 billion people. Yet, only 1.9% of speaking characters in the top 100 films have disabilities. That statistic hasn’t budged since 2015. Hollywood isn’t just lagging—it’s stuck .

But when representation is done right, it’s transformative. Take CODA. Its portrayal of the deaf community swept awards season, proving that diverse stories resonate deeply. Writer Siân Heder told Variety's Randee Dawn: “People can smell authenticity… Tell these stories because they’re fun, they’re entertaining—and they’re sexy.” Inclusion isn’t a risk; it’s an opportunity .

So what’s next? What do we want for 2025? I dream of a year when Marissa Bode’s story isn’t exceptional but ordinary. When disability representation doesn’t make headlines because it’s normal. When studios stop seeing accessibility as a logistical headache and start seeing it as a creative necessity.

Representation matters because it changes how society views us—disabled people. It normalizes our existence, shatters stereotypes, and inspires a generation to see themselves not as “other” but as integral to the human experience. It also matters because it’s good business. Let’s not ignore the power of a billion-person market.

But let’s be clear: representation alone won’t solve ableism. True inclusion requires more. It requires disabled voices at every level—writers, directors, crew members. It demands accessible sets, thoughtful storytelling, and a willingness to challenge the status quo. Hollywood can’t just open the door; it has to invite us in and let us stay.

As I look toward 2025, I’m optimistic but not complacent. The progress we’ve seen in 2024 with films like Wicked is encouraging, but it’s not the finish line. It’s a starting point. Let’s amplify these stories, hold gatekeepers accountable, and create a world where the next Marissa Bode doesn’t have to fight just to be seen.

Representation isn’t just about who gets to tell the story—it’s about who gets to be part of the story. Let’s make 2025 the year we get this right.

Linkedin Rewind: 2024 A Year In Review

Here's my 2024 LinkedIn Rewind, by Coauthor.studio and Hunch:

2024 was the year disability employment hit its highest rate since tracking began - 22.5% - but for me, it was also the year I said goodbye to my greatest advocacy partner, Pico.

This year reminded me that advocacy isn't just about statistics. It's about the relationships that drive change, the partnerships that challenge systems, and the deeply personal journeys that transform workplaces.

At the U.S. Department of Labor, I've watched our work translate into tangible progress. But some of the most profound changes happen in moments you can't measure - like how Pico transformed how I moved through the world and how I advocate.

Key achievements that defined my year:

Professional Impact:
• Advanced accessibility policies within federal workforce
• Published influential pieces challenging AI hiring practices
• Continued driving systemic changes in workplace inclusion

Personal Growth:
• Navigated Pico's retirement and subsequent passing
• Continued as Brand Ambassador for Canine Companions® for Independence
• Maintained advocacy momentum through personal transitions

Three posts that resonated most with our community:

1. "A Goodbye to Pico"
Reflecting on how a service dog is more than a companion - they're a partner in advocacy.
"He made me a better human, a better advocate, and someone who could navigate the challenges of the world with confidence."
https://bit.ly/4a1msBj

2. "Biden's Impact on Disability Employment"
Highlighting concrete policy changes driving real improvements.
"The employment-population ratio for people with disabilities hit 22.5% - the highest since the Bureau of Labor Statistics started tracking this data in 2008."
https://bit.ly/3ZXCOqj

3. "The Shifting Landscape of Disability Employment"
Exploring how remote work transforms employment opportunities for disabled professionals.
https://bit.ly/3ZUI6CR

Looking ahead to 2025: My focus remains bridging policy and practice, particularly in emerging areas like AI hiring and remote work policies that directly impact the disability community.

To Pico, my colleagues, and the entire disability advocacy community: Our work continues. Our impact grows. And we're just getting started.

Remote Work Isn’t a Perk—It’s a Lifeline for Disabled Federal Employees

People walking past the Department of the Treasury building, a historic structure with large columns and engraved signage, on a chilly day with some leaves scattered on the ground.

For more than a decade as a federal employee, I’ve been proud to serve the public. I’ve earned awards, glowing reviews, and built a career I love. But here’s the truth: my success wouldn’t have been possible without telework. As a disabled professional managing multiple disabilities, remote work is more than a convenience—it’s a lifeline. It enables me to thrive in an environment that meets my needs and eliminates barriers that might otherwise exclude me. Now, all of that progress is at risk.

The Wall Street Journal's John McCormick and Te-Ping Chen report on the newly envisioned Department of Government Efficiency effort to mandate full-time in-office work is alarming. Elon Musk and Vivek Ramaswamy, leading this charge, have made it clear that they expect resignations, with Ramaswamy predicting as many as 25% of federal workers could leave. To them, this might sound like trimming bureaucracy. In practice, this is a targeted assault on equity and inclusion.

Telework gave disabled employees the chance to participate in record numbers, eliminating barriers like long commutes and inaccessible environments. Meg O'Connell, PHR of Global Disability Inclusion, LLC explained it best to HR Brew ™️'s Kristen Parisi: “People with disabilities have what they need in their homes. They don’t have to ask for accommodation [because] they’ve already built out their space.” Why dismantle a system that works?

While many argue in-person work fosters collaboration, the private sector is proving otherwise. Glassdoor’s CEO Christian Sutherland-Wong told Fortune, “The biggest benefit we’ve seen…is being able to tap into talent all around the U.S. and the globe.” If companies like Glassdoor see remote work as a future-driven solution, why is the government pushing outdated practices?

This isn’t just about where we work; it’s about who gets to work. Forcing disabled employees back into offices undermines principles of diversity, equity, inclusion, and access. Policies like DOGE’s mandate send a clear message: “We don’t trust you or value your contributions unless we see you at a desk.” As Dannie Lynn Fountain, DBA, EA, SPHR, CDR of Google said, these practices are “still disability discrimination.”

The pandemic proved remote work’s transformative potential. It shattered barriers for disabled workers and redefined productivity. Now, that progress is being reversed. The stakes couldn’t be higher—not just for me but for all of us. Are we building workplaces of the future or clinging to systems that exclude?

Remote work empowered me to thrive, but it also redefined what’s possible for our workforce. Let’s not let fear of change erase that progress. Inclusion is more than a checkbox; it’s a commitment to creating workplaces where everyone can succeed.

Musk, Ramaswamy Want Federal Workers in the Office Full Time. There’s a Hitch.

Project 2025 and America’s Choice: What Trump’s Reelection Means for Disability Rights and DEI

Black background with white text reading 'What's at Stake for Civil Rights: Project 2025,' framed by a gradient border transitioning from purple to blue to pink.

For many in the disability community, the outcome of this election is a profound blow. It's a stark reminder that this is not an anomaly; it's a deliberate choice by the electorate. As disability advocates, we must confront this reality, grieve its implications, and prepare for the arduous journey ahead.

Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion efforts are essential for creating spaces where all people, including disabled individuals, can thrive. Yet, with Project 2025’s clear intent to politicize the federal workforce, these efforts face a direct threat. The plan to replace nonpartisan civil servants with political loyalists doesn’t just jeopardize the integrity of government agencies; it also poses a serious risk to any DEI initiatives within the federal government. When leadership is handpicked to fit a rigid ideological mold, DEI initiatives—particularly those that protect marginalized groups—become targets for dismantling.

For disabled federal employees like myself, this change isn’t abstract. It could mean the erosion of inclusive hiring practices, the rollback of workplace accommodations, and a shift toward a culture that prioritizes conformity over diversity. By undercutting DEI, the federal government risks creating a hostile environment for all who rely on its protections, effectively shutting the door on years of progress in fostering an equitable workplace.

Moreover, Project 2025 aims to politicize the federal workforce by replacing nonpartisan civil servants with loyalists. This shift could transform agencies like the U.S. Department of Justice from protectors of civil rights into enforcers of a singular ideology, jeopardizing the rights of marginalized communities.

In 2016, we told ourselves, "This isn't who we are." Today, we must face the hard truth: This is who we are. Our society has twice chosen a path that marginalizes, excludes, and actively silences people like us. As Scaachi Koul wrote for Slate Magazine, "This is a country where half the population is content in its hatred of women, of queer people, of brown and Black people, of anyone who comes to the United States from a poorer country."

Acknowledging the pain doesn't mean we give up. We have work to do, even if it's uphill, exhausting, and heartbreaking. But we have to begin by mourning what we've lost—the hope for a more inclusive future, the belief that our voices mattered, and that progress was possible. We may be in the crosshairs, but we are not powerless. We are still here, advocating, fighting, and demanding that our nation's policies reflect everyone's needs, not just those who conform to a narrow idea of "American."

So let's grieve today, gather strength, and prepare for what comes next. Tomorrow, we continue the work, not because it's easy, but because it's necessary.

Rest Easy, Pico

A montage grid of photos featuring Ryan and Pico

Many of you know me for my advocacy work around disability rights, accessibility, and inclusion. Those who have followed my journey also know what an integral part of that advocacy my service dog, Canine Companions® Pico, has been. He was not just my companion but a key part of my mission to break down barriers and create a more inclusive world.

Last night, I had to say goodbye to my best friend, my partner, and my loyal service dog, Pico. Nearly 13 years of unwavering loyalty, love, and trust — Pico was more than a service dog. He made me a better human, a better advocate, and someone who could navigate the challenges of the world with confidence.

Waking up to the quiet today hits hard. It’s a silence I wasn’t ready for. Pico not only helped me navigate the world physically, but he also helped me grow as a person and reminded me every day of the power of loyalty, patience, and love.

Rest easy, Pico. You’ve earned your peace. Thank you for being the most amazing boy. I’ll carry your lessons and your love with me always.

Creative, Inclusive Workspaces: What We Can All Learn from the Adaptive Umbrella Workshop

Ryan presents via Zoom at a workshop on creating inclusive workspaces.

As we kick off National Disability Employment Awareness Month, yesterday I had the incredible honor of delivering the closing keynote address at the Adaptive Umbrella Workshop, hosted by the Bloomfield Township Public Library. This workshop focused on fostering creative, inclusive workspaces, and it was a privilege to share my thoughts on how we can create environments where everyone feels like they belong.

I've seen firsthand how conversations around diversity, equity, inclusion, and access are often treated like checkboxes—something to do out of obligation rather than a genuine effort to celebrate difference. During the workshop, we talked about how true inclusion goes beyond merely checking off boxes; it’s about cultivating a culture where disability isn’t a dirty word or something to dance around.

We discussed how equity, not just equality, must be the goal. Equity recognizes that everyone needs different tools to succeed. The idea that reasonable accommodations—whether it’s telework, flexible schedules, or assistive technology—are “special” or “unfair” is still prevalent in many workplaces. But these accommodations are about creating a level playing field.

In the federal government, where I've worked for over a decade, telework has been a game-changer, especially during the pandemic. But it isn’t just about the pandemic—it’s about offering flexibility for employees who navigate complex physical and invisible disabilities like chronic pain. Accommodations like these are about empowerment, not favoritism.

Another important topic we tackled was the disclosure of invisible disabilities. A 2023 study by the SHRM revealed that 47% of employees with invisible disabilities haven’t disclosed them to their employers. This comes from a place of fear—fear that disclosure will harm career prospects or lead to workplace stigma. Employers must create safe spaces where employees feel empowered to disclose if they choose to, without fearing repercussions.

Finally, we talked about resentment. Sadly, workplace accommodations are often misunderstood, leading to friction among coworkers who don’t see or understand the need. But as I shared during my keynote: It’s not the manager’s job to justify accommodations to other employees. Accommodations are about equity.

This workshop reminded me that building inclusive workspaces is an ongoing process. It’s about continuous education, open conversations, and creative solutions. The more we talk about what inclusion really looks like, the better we get at building work environments that uplift everyone, not just a select few.

A huge thank you to Jennifer Taggart and the Bloomfield Township Public Library for hosting such an important event, and to everyone who attended and asked thought-provoking questions. Your engagement fuels the work we’re doing to create a more equitable future.

The Floor, Not the Ceiling: Continuing the ADA's Legacy

A brick wall with a round button labeled "PUSH TO OPEN" featuring a wheelchair accessibility symbol.

All month long, I've been reflecting a lot on how disability is so often misunderstood. The Americans with Disabilities Act was a groundbreaking achievement for disability rights. But let's be real—it should be seen as the floor, not the ceiling, for what we aim to achieve.

A major misconception about disability is viewing it as a monolithic experience. It's not. Disability is vast, varied, and beautiful. Just like NPR readers pointed out, “Disabilities aren't one size fits all” and “not all disabilities are visible or immediately recognizable.” This diversity within our community needs more acknowledgment and understanding. We must break free from narrow definitions of what’s considered a “legitimate” disability. The ADA definition of disability is broad, in large part due to the recognition that disability affects everyone differently.

The ADA has indeed been instrumental in advancing the rights of people with disabilities. It opened doors and provided legal protection against discrimination. Yet, as Andrew Pulrang emphasizes, the ADA is often seen as “toothless” because of inconsistent enforcement and the persistent barriers—both physical and societal—that we encounter daily. Accessibility should be a basic right, not an inconvenience that gets ignored when it’s costly or challenging.

People’s ideas of what disability looks like are often so limited. They have these fixed notions that lead to gatekeeping and judgment. I remember when I got matched with Canine Companions® Pico, in 2014. Moving through the world with him opened my eyes to many nuances of disability access. Even though I’ve been disabled my whole life, being a new service dog handler was an entirely new experience. Pico and I faced challenges, but we also created positive change by challenging perceptions of what we could accomplish as a team.

True inclusion begins with empathy and a willingness to understand the varied experiences of those of us with disabilities. It means challenging preconceived notions and really listening to the voices within our community. As one NPR reader aptly put it, “Disability is not a fate worse than death. You can adapt, and you would if you suddenly became disabled.”

“Our disabilities are not flaws to be fixed, but integral parts of our identities that shape our unique perspectives and strengths,” Kim Chua told NPR. “We’re not defined solely by our disabilities. We’re whole, complex individuals with dreams, talents, and contributions to make.” By fostering a culture of empathy and understanding, we can work toward a society that truly values and includes everyone. The ADA was just the starting point, but our journey toward full equity and inclusion is ongoing. Let’s keep moving forward together.

As we close out Disability Pride, remember to lead with empathy and curiosity.

What NPR readers want you to know about living with a disability-readers-stories