Bob Kafka’s life story isn’t something to admire from afar—it’s a challenge
By now, many of us have learned that Paralyzed Veterans of America (PVA) member Bob Kafka passed away Dec. 26 at his home in Austin, Texas. He was 79 years old.
I first saw the news the way so many people did — scrolling through social media. One post turned into dozens, then hundreds. Stories poured in. Memories surfaced. Grief rippled outward until Bob’s name appeared not just in personal feeds, but in local and national headlines. It was immediately clear this loss was deeply felt.
I never met Bob. Still, I felt like I knew him.
I knew him by his wild white curls and beard that gave him an air of wisdom, by the T-shirts that always carried a message, by the sight of him rolling through protests in his wheelchair. Always visible. Always present. Always refusing to be ignored. Even from a distance, he made an impression. He reminded me that some people don’t wait for permission to matter.
Bob’s life story isn’t something to admire from afar. It’s a challenge. It quietly, and sometimes loudly, asks each of us what we are willing to do when the world becomes unjust. His journey from a soldier to paralyzed veteran to disability rights leader shows that meaningful change doesn’t begin with power, status or authority. It begins with a decision.
An Army veteran, Bob came from an activist family. Both of his parents were union organizers, as were his grandparents. By the time he turned 20, Bob held progressive beliefs. But when he received the official “Greetings” letter from his local Selective Service board, he didn’t seek a deferment or flee the country. Instead, he reported for duty.
As a young soldier in Vietnam, Bob learned early that responsibility doesn’t disappear when circumstances become difficult, and commitment doesn’t end when the cost becomes personal. Those principles stayed with him long after the war and later shaped his activism in ways he likely never imagined.
After his military service, Bob enrolled at the University of Houston, earning a bachelor’s degree in economics in 1971. From there, he had every reason to expect a conventional path forward until a car accident in 1973 changed everything. As a quadriplegic, Bob was placed among countless others whom society expected to quietly fade into the background, managed and spoken for, excluded from decision-making. Many people would have accepted that fate. Bob did not.
Instead, he returned to the University of Houston to pursue a master’s degree in education. After graduating in 1976, Bob became director of the university’s disabled student services. There, he witnessed firsthand how laws, policies and long-standing traditions pushed students with disabilities to the margins.
Decisions were made without their input, often creating barriers instead of access. Choices that shaped their futures were made in rooms they were never invited to enter. Over time, Bob reached a simple but unsettling realization — when people are not heard, injustice is allowed to persist.
That realization changed everything. Bob’s activism wasn’t driven by anger alone, nor solely by his disability. It was rooted in the same principles he learned as a soldier: responsibility to others, loyalty to those beside you and the refusal to walk away when things get hard. Bob recognized that he was prepared to fight a different kind of war.
Bob made us ask questions many people found uncomfortable like:
Why should someone be forced into a nursing home simply because he or she
needs assistance?
Why is independence treated as a privilege instead of a right?
Why do cost and convenience so often outweigh human dignity?
Those questions demanded action. In 1978, Bob and other disability rights advocates founded the Coalition of Texans with Disabilities. By 1984, Bob served as president of the PVA Texas Chapter, where he pushed relentlessly for accessible public transportation.
During that time, Bob connected with American Disabled for Accessible Public Transit, a grassroots organization committed to direct action. Through protests, organizing and relentless advocacy, Bob helped force disability rights into the public conversation.
From there, Bob’s efforts expanded, and for the next four decades, his advocacy helped drive national change. His work contributed to the momentum behind the Americans with Disabilities Act of 1990 and the expansion of community-based services through Medicaid. Programs like Money Follows the Person helped people leave institutions, reunite with their families and fully participate in their communities. These weren’t abstract victories. They were lives reclaimed.
But Bob’s story isn’t only about laws passed or policies changed. It’s about what happens to people when they choose to stand up for others. Advocacy gave Bob agency. Organizing gave him community. Fighting injustice gave his life direction. By insisting on the right to direct his own life, Bob claimed independence — not by doing everything alone, but by demanding the freedom to choose.
What made Bob especially powerful was his ability to connect deeply personal stories to public responsibility. He reminded lawmakers that systems don’t change unless people demand better. He believed everyone has a role to play by speaking up, by showing up or by refusing to accept “that’s just how it is.”
Change begins the moment someone refuses to accept injustice. Bob made that choice. His legacy now asks the same of us — when the moment comes, what will we do?
As always, please share your thoughts at al@pvamag.com.