A Roadmap in Ukraine: There Is No Later
Welcome back to Curious Constructs, where I explore and challenge the barriers that prevent us from bringing our full, authentic selves forward—whether those barriers are personal or systemic.
In moments of crisis, our instinct is almost always the same: narrow the frame. Focus on what feels most urgent, visible, and immediate. Everything else can be postponed, deprioritized, deferred, or promised a return “later.”
But what happens when there is no later?
Disability in Times of Crisis
In Ukraine, disability policy has long been shaped by a medical model of disability, a Soviet legacy rooted in institutionalization, segregation, and isolation from public life. Persons with disabilities were treated as problems to be managed, rather than citizens to be included.
When Russia’s full-scale invasion began, I was serving as the U.S. Special Advisor on International Disability Rights. In those early months, I was in direct correspondence with Ukrainians with disabilities, people fighting not only for their country’s survival, but for their own dignity and freedom within it.
What could have happened next is familiar. War creates urgency for specific issues. Disability policy could have been postponed. Set aside. Framed as something to return to once stability was restored.
Instead, something remarkable happened. Ukraine recognized that the old model could no longer hold. First Lady Olena Zelenska made deinstitutionalization a national priority and committed to shifting toward a social model of disability, one rooted in access, autonomy, and community-based living.
Seeing What’s Possible
In 2024, we hosted the First Lady and her delegation in the United States. Together with federal and local partners, we organized site visits to showcase best practices in independent living.
They saw what it looks like when people with complex disabilities live in their communities, not hidden away, not “managed,” but integrated. Present. Valued.
That visit was crucial. But what was even more important was what followed.
Earlier this week, I met with a diverse Ukrainian delegation. Deputy Ministers and representatives from not only the social, health, and education realms but also economic development, environment, and regional governance were present, all coming together in a cross-cutting manner to solve around disability policy and inclusion. They were not there to debate whether disability inclusion matters. They already know it does.
They were there to ask a far harder question:
How do you make it real?
From Commitment to Implementation
The conversation was targeted and clear; they wanted to know how to improve. There was no blame-shifting. No defensiveness. No one saying, “We’re at war—we can’t focus on this now.”
Instead, the message was consistent: This is not an opportunity. This is a necessity.
There is no other option. There is no later.
Their questions went straight to the friction points of reform:
How do you move from institutions and special schools to inclusive systems when resistance is deeply embedded?
How do you convince employers, using evidence, not ideology, that disability inclusion strengthens the workforce?
How do you deinstitutionalize responsibly when caregivers must work and community-based supports are still developing?
How do you translate strong legislation into local practice that actually changes lives?
These are not theoretical questions; they are the questions of a country rebuilding itself in real time.
The Evidence Is Already There
The delegation grounded its urgency in data. Research from UNICEF, conducted in Ukraine, shows that early and inclusive investment in children is not only morally right, but it is also economically smart. For every $1 invested in early childhood development, the return is approximately $13. For children with disabilities, that return rises to $23.
In a country where war has dramatically increased the number of persons with disabilities, the choice is clear:
Invest now in inclusion or pay far more later in exclusion, dependency, and lost potential.
Ukraine is choosing to invest in its future, not merely mitigate its present.
What Gave Me Hope
What gave me hope was not a polished roadmap or a perfect strategy. It was the seriousness with which this delegation approached the hardest parts of the work.
The United States has more than 50 years of disability advocacy, policy reform, and movement-building behind it, and we are still grappling with stigma, resistance, and structural barriers. We did not move overnight from institutions to community living, or from discrimination to employment equity.
Ukraine faces similar challenges, but also so many more barriers that we never faced. However, right now, Ukraine has something powerful: shared responsibility, political will, and access to global best practices it can adapt rather than replicate. This is not a flip of the switch; it is a journey, one most countries are still on.
When I met with the delegation, I was told of a word that is deeply symbolic in Ukraine: volya. It captures both the inner will to resist and the state of being free. It speaks to personal agency and national liberation at once. It is not passive freedom, but freedom that is claimed, built, and defended.
Disability inclusion, at its core, is about volya.
In a time of chaos, Ukraine is choosing not to postpone freedom. Not to defer dignity. Not to treat disability as something to be addressed later. Ukraine is building accessibility and inclusion into the foundation of the society it is becoming.
This choice shapes not only Ukraine’s recovery, but the meaning of freedom itself.
Until next week—let’s stay curious about ourselves, each other, and the systems that shape our world.
Warmly,
Sara