She wakes up screaming that she wants to go to the farm
Em nome da disciplina fiscal, o governo de Javier Milei desmantelou a infraestrutura de apoio à pessoa com deficiência na Argentina, extinguindo a agência nacional do setor e transferindo seus programas ao Ministério da Saúde. O que os gestores chamam de combate ao desperdício, famílias e organizações de direitos humanos vivenciam como o colapso silencioso de uma rede de cuidados construída ao longo de décadas. Quando o Estado retira o andaime, são os mais vulneráveis que caem primeiro — e mais fundo.
- Cerca de cinquenta centros terapêuticos fecharam as portas desde o início do ano, incapazes de sobreviver a reembolsos atrasados e corroídos pela inflação.
- Organizações sem fins lucrativos cortam funcionários e reduzem horários enquanto acumulam dívidas, e as regiões rurais, onde alternativas praticamente não existem, são as mais atingidas.
- O governo alega fraude sistêmica no modelo anterior, mas as acusações permanecem amplamente sem provas e são contestadas por defensores que atuam diretamente com a população afetada.
- Analía Celis, 34 anos, com paralisia cerebral, passou de uma rotina de terapias e convívio social para dias confinada à cama, acordando em crises — enquanto sua mãe de 74 anos assume sozinha um cuidado que antes era compartilhado pelo Estado.
- A pergunta que paira sobre o país é se haverá pressão política suficiente para reverter os cortes antes que mais centros fechem e mais vidas sejam deixadas à deriva.
O governo de Javier Milei reestruturou profundamente o sistema de apoio à pessoa com deficiência na Argentina, extinguindo a agência nacional responsável pelo setor, demitindo seus funcionários e transferindo todos os programas ao Ministério da Saúde. Em abril, o Executivo enviou ao Congresso um projeto que substituiria o modelo centralizado por negociações diretas entre prestadores de serviço e seguradoras. A justificativa oficial apontou corrupção e desperdício no sistema anterior — mas as evidências apresentadas foram escassas e contestadas.
O impacto foi imediato. Organizações que oferecem terapia, reabilitação e transporte adaptado passaram a enfrentar uma crise de caixa severa: os reembolsos chegam com atraso e muito abaixo da inflação. Para sobreviver, cortaram equipes e reduziram o atendimento. Aproximadamente cinquenta centros terapêuticos encerraram as atividades desde o começo do ano, com as áreas rurais sofrendo de forma desproporcional, onde alternativas são quase inexistentes.
No centro Andar, cerca de trinta por cento dos frequentadores deixaram de comparecer após o fim do transporte adaptado gratuito. Entre eles está Analía Celis, 34 anos, com paralisia cerebral, que participava de sessões de esporte e arteterapia até o colapso do financiamento. Hoje, passa os dias deitada, isolada das atividades que organizavam sua vida. Sua mãe, Clementina Tabares, 74 anos, relata que a filha acorda gritando, pedindo para ir à fazenda onde recebia cuidados — e que agora carrega sozinha um peso que antes era dividido com a rede de proteção social.
O governo defende os cortes como austeridade necessária para manter o superávit fiscal e honrar a dívida pública. Para famílias como a de Clementina, porém, o cálculo é outro: os serviços que existiam desapareceram, e não há nada no lugar.
Javier Milei's government in Argentina has dismantled much of the country's disability support infrastructure in the name of fiscal discipline, leaving thousands of people without access to the therapies, transportation, and care services they depend on to function in daily life.
The restructuring began in April when Milei's administration sent a bill to Congress that would fundamentally alter how disability services operate. Instead of a centralized system, service providers would negotiate directly with insurance companies and local governments. The government also shuttered the national disability agency entirely and fired its staff, transferring all disability programs to the Health Ministry. Officials justified the move by pointing to what they characterized as corruption and waste in the previous system, though they offered limited evidence of systematic fraud.
The practical effect has been swift and devastating. Service organizations that provide therapy, rehabilitation, and support to disabled people now face a cash crisis. The government's reimbursements arrive late and have not kept pace with inflation, leaving these nonprofits and private providers drowning in debt. To survive, they have cut staff and reduced the hours they operate. According to reporting from the Associated Press, approximately fifty therapeutic centers have closed their doors since the beginning of the year, with rural areas hit particularly hard. The closures have created a void in regions where alternative services barely exist.
Human rights organizations have challenged the government's narrative about waste and fraud. Celeste Fernandez, a codirector at the Civil Association for Equality and Justice, argues that the administration is not conducting genuine reform but simply gutting the system. The government has alleged that beneficiaries falsified medical documents to claim benefits they did not deserve, but these accusations remain largely unsubstantiated and contested by advocates who work directly with disabled populations.
The human toll is already visible. At one nonprofit called Andar, about thirty percent of the people who regularly attended services have stopped coming, primarily because the organization can no longer provide free adapted transportation. Analía Celis, a thirty-four-year-old woman with cerebral palsy, was attending sessions for sports and art therapy until the funding collapsed. Now she spends her days confined to bed, isolated from the community and the activities that structured her life. The isolation has triggered behavioral crises—she wakes up screaming, her mother Clementina Tabares reports, asking to go to the farm where she used to receive care. Tabares, seventy-four years old, now bears the full weight of her daughter's care alone, a physical and financial burden that was previously shared by the social safety net.
Milei's administration defends the cuts as necessary austerity, arguing that reducing what it calls unnecessary spending is essential to maintaining a budget surplus that can service Argentina's substantial public debt. The government frames disability spending as part of a broader problem of fiscal excess. But for families like the Tabares household, the math is simple: services that existed are gone, and there is no replacement. The question now is whether the government will face political pressure to restore funding before more centers close and more people fall through the widening gaps in the system.
Citações Notáveis
The government is not conducting genuine reform—it is simply gutting the system— Celeste Fernandez, codirector of the Civil Association for Equality and Justice
She wakes up screaming that she wants to go to the farm— Clementina Tabares, mother of Analía Celis, describing her daughter's distress after losing access to therapeutic services
A Conversa do Hearth Outra perspectiva sobre a história
Why would a government cut disability services specifically? There are always easier targets in a budget.
Because disability services are often fragmented and serve a population with less political power to fight back. Milei's government also used the language of corruption—they claimed fraud in the system—which gave them cover to restructure it entirely.
Did they actually find widespread fraud?
That's the contested part. They made accusations, but human rights groups say the evidence is thin. What's clear is that the reimbursement system was already broken—payments were late and losing value to inflation. The government used that dysfunction as justification to dismantle the whole thing.
And the service providers just accepted it?
They didn't have a choice. When the government stopped paying on time, the organizations ran out of money. They couldn't keep staff or keep centers open. It wasn't a negotiation; it was a squeeze.
What happens to someone like Analía now?
She's at home with her mother, isolated. The therapy she was getting—the structure, the community, the activity—all of that is gone. Her mother is seventy-four and now providing full-time care alone. That's the human cost the budget numbers don't capture.
Is there any sign the government might reverse course?
Not yet. They're committed to the austerity logic. But as more centers close and more families break under the strain, political pressure could build. Right now, though, the momentum is all in one direction.