OPINION: Struggle and Strength on the Frontlines: A Voice for Our Children
An ABA behavioral technician in Brooklyn says state Medicaid and special education cuts are driving colleagues out of the field and leaving families on months-long waitlists, and he calls on the community to speak up.
The hardest part of my day isn't when a child on the autism spectrum becomes overwhelmed and begins to cry, scream, or strike out in frustration. As a behavioral technician practicing Applied Behavior Analysis (ABA) in Brooklyn, I am trained for those moments. I know how to sit on the floor of a busy home or a specialized classroom, read subtle shifts in body language, and use evidence-based interventions to help a child through a frightening behavioral crisis.
The hardest part is looking at an exhausted, desperate mother or father in our community and knowing that the state system has failed them before their child even walks through our door.
Lately, my struggle goes beyond the emotional and physical demands of frontline behavioral therapy. It is the weight of working within an infrastructure that feels as though it is collapsing. New York State has rolled out severe cuts to Medicaid reimbursement rates for human services and specialized treatments such as ABA. The Hochul administration has also pushed through sweeping cuts to special education funding, including state aid for specialized preschools, school-age special education programs, and therapeutic resources. In Albany, these numbers are treated like abstract line items. The language is "fiscal responsibility" and tightening the state's belt.
From where I stand, that narrative is a lie.
While legitimate providers and frontline workers are told there isn't enough money, billions of dollars are being siphoned out of the system. State audits and federal investigations have exposed Medicaid billing fraud, corporate health network manipulation, and administrative negligence under the current administration. Corrupt operators exploit weak oversight to drain public funds while workers trying to do honest, life-changing work are starved of resources.
The personal toll is crushing. As fraud and funding cuts drain Medicaid and special education resources, my profession is being squeezed. Legitimate agencies cannot afford to pay behavioral technicians a competitive, livable wage. Raising a family and paying rent or a mortgage in Brooklyn is already expensive. I watch brilliant, compassionate colleagues, people who have poured their hearts into helping children communicate, gain independence, and take part in family life, leave the field just to stay afloat.
The loss of staff and school funding creates another layer of hardship for the mishpachos we serve. Our community relies on these lifelines to help every child thrive, succeed in yeshivas and bais yaakovs, and build a meaningful life. With ABA cuts and broader special education shortfalls, I see months-long waitlists stretch on indefinitely. I see parents break down because their child has missed a critical early-intervention window, a clock that does not pause for state budget negotiations.
When a child cannot get ABA therapy or the classroom support they need, aggressive or self-injurious behaviors can escalate. The burden falls on already overwhelmed families, schools, and teachers who are doing their best without the specialized training, staff, and funding needed to manage severe behavioral crises.
Every day, I go to work committed to helping vulnerable individuals build a meaningful future and reach their full potential. Yet it is a daily battle against an administration that protects corporate margins and ignores systemic fraud while cutting the lifelines of those doing the work. Frontline workers and families are paying the price for Albany's failures.
We need the strength to stand up, speak out, and make our community's voice heard before the system breaks completely.
Moishe Grunfeld