Inspired by tragedy and driven by mission, Ross Minor is quietly shaping the future of accessible gaming.
In a world dominated by visuals, blind gamers have long been left behind—shut out of immersive digital worlds not by lack of interest or ability, but by design. The challenge is massive: How do you open a visual medium like video games to those who cannot see? Ross Minor, a 27-year-old accessibility consultant and blind gamer, has spent years patiently answering that question.
Minor’s story is not only a testament to human perseverance, but a reminder—especially for Catholics—that suffering can become the seedbed of mission. At the age of eight, he was shot in the head by his own father, who also killed Ross’s older brother before taking his own life. The bullet left Ross permanently blind. He later described the moment he learned of the tragedy: “Minor woke up in the hospital, where he was told that his brother and father were both dead. Minor couldn’t see the person who told him this” (according to Wired).
But out of that darkness, Minor emerged with something remarkable: a calling. As he grew up, games like Pokémon Ruby became more than entertainment—they were tools for reclaiming a sense of autonomy and joy. Some games, he discovered, had elements he could “feel” through sound design and consistent feedback—“accidentally accessible,” as Wired put it. From this insight, a deeper mission was born: to help the industry create games that intentionally work for blind players.
Today, Minor is one of the few people in the world doing just that. He’s consulted on high-profile titles like Sea of Thieves, As Dusk Falls, and God of War: Ragnarok. On his YouTube and Twitch channels, he demonstrates how blind gamers can navigate even complex modern titles. In one of his livestreams, he summed up his ethos with a powerful message: “Gameplay is for everyone, and now you see” (Wired).
His path hasn’t been easy. Though he receives some support from government programs, he struggles to make ends meet. “Being disabled is expensive,” Minor told Wired. Despite a college fund set up after his tragedy, he still relies on survivor benefits and food stamps to support his work. Yet he calls himself “lucky to be able to try.”
To truly transform the industry, however, Minor doesn’t just want to be a consultant or online influencer. “I want a regular job, dude,” he told Wired. Not for fame. Not for recognition. But so he can be inside the studio—helping to build games from the ground up that welcome blind players from the very first line of code.
As Catholics, we often speak of human dignity and the call to inclusion. Minor’s work invites reflection on whether our modern culture—especially its massive entertainment industries—lives up to that standard. He doesn’t ask to be pitied or praised, but simply to be allowed to contribute. “Blind gamers don’t want a guided tour,” he explained. “They want the same thing every other gamer wants—the fun of exploring, the challenge of figuring things out, the joy of finally beating a level” (Wired).
That’s not just a call for better games. It’s a call to see others—especially those on the margins—as equals in creativity, capability, and worth. And for anyone striving to live the Gospel in today’s digital age, that message should resonate loud and clear.
