What Inclusion Isn’t
Inclusion.
It’s a word that gets tossed around a lot in the disability community. It speaks to all our hopes for our children as they go through the process of being taught, in a world where their differences present a daunting challenge to how public education should work. For so many of us, it’s a word that represents a precursor to a larger life after our kids’ school years.
And yet, honestly, do we really know what inclusion would look like, if it were to be implemented in a way that truly functions exactly the way we want it to work?
I have to be honest with you. I don’t know what inclusion done right looks like. I only know how it appears when it’s gone off the rails.
Inclusion isn’t a parking spot in the back of a classroom, where a child in a wheelchair sits while the lesson takes place around her, as if the simple act of placing her in the room represents an effective and meaningful effort towards educating her.
Inclusion isn’t bringing a student onto the basketball court in the last minutes of a game with a lopsided score, so that he can score without opposition and somehow feel included, as if for just a moment, suddenly everything about his reality has changed. He’ll go back to that reality in minutes, but somehow that moment is supposed to change him, and to convince him that he has been included.
Inclusion doesn’t happen when a student is placed in a classroom but isn’t taught the same thing as her classmates. If instead of working to find a path to reach that student in a way that opens their understanding of the material, the teacher elects to dumb down the material until it has little or no relation to what the rest of the students are presented with, that’s not inclusion. That’s taking the easy way out. The faithless way out.
Here’s the thing I can tell you for certain, after a few weeks of observation and tough conversations with my daughter. Inclusion goes far beyond presence, or even participation. When you have expectations of the rest of a group of students, but you treat the disabled child in that group as if you have no expectations at all beyond basic participation and a happy demeanor, that’s not inclusion. It may feel good to you, placing that child in front of the world as an example of a system that honors that student and her potential, but if it’s a sham, there’s one person who might just understand that more deeply that any of us, and more that you could possibly understand.
Because my daughter gets it. When the teacher doesn’t help her, when the teacher doesn’t work with her, when that educator simply observes that Schuyler seems to be happy and that’s all that matters, it never occurs to her that she might not be dealing with busybody, helicopter parents. The teacher dismisses our concerns as if she’s the one who believes in Schuyler, as if her blank check for Schuyler’s participation without improvement represents a kindness that we would deny our daughter. This teacher isn’t there when Schuyler talks to us about the mistakes she’s making, or how frustrated she has become at her inability to find a way to catch up.
“I wish she would treat me like a real student,” Schuyler observed last week, after another tough experience where she knew she had underperformed but where the teacher didn’t seem to care at all. “I want to do better,” she said again and again.
Denying our kids the ability to work hard and perhaps even fail from time to time, instead just displaying them in front of an approving crowd and announcing “Look at this inclusive philosophy we’ve embraced!”, that isn’t inclusion. That’s simply building a Potemkin village for the world to see and admire. It’s a facade. It doesn’t fool Schuyler, or any other kid whose potential is wasted because of fear of failure and a desire to do the nice thing, which is so easily confused with the right thing.
It’s been a long few weeks, and God, we are so, so tired.
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About The Author
Rob
Robert Rummel-Hudson is the author of "Schuyler’s Monster: A Father’s Journey with His Wordless Daughter", which tells the story of raising a little girl with a disability and learning to become the father she needs. It was published in February 2008 by St. Martin’s Press.
This is a great post, and I’d agree with everything but one point. Sometimes, for a child to be included in a classroom, the material taught HAS to be different than what the rest of the class is learning, if the child has very significant cognitive disabilities. My daughter is included in her 3rd grade classroom, and I would say she’s truly included. However, she absolutely needs the curriculum modified for her to be able to access it—she doesn’t read, doesn’t know all her letters, doesn’t talk in complete sentences, etc. I’d far rather have her in the classroom, included and part of all classroom activities but learning material she can actually access in a meaningful way than to have her taught the same material as the other kids, which would mean she would learn next to nothing, or have her in a separate classroom. Schuyler functions at a far, far higher level than Janey, which makes her situation very different, and I agree completely with your approach for her, but it would not work for all children.
Suzanne, I too have a daughter with significant cognitive delays. Being taught a modified curriculum is still being taught the same thing as the other students…. Just in a different way or to a different degree. What Rob is saying is that when it’s watered down to the point that it no longer resembles what the other kids are learning (e.g., when my daughters peers were learning about planets, and they chose to teach her about circles/shapes) that it is no longer an inclusive lesson.
Brilliant! I am going to save this. My daughter is not yet in school – she is only 19 months old with t21. But I follow the struggles of parents with school-age children who advocate for inclusion.
Thank you
I appreciate this–thank you. My son has mosaic Down syndrome and while he needs material adapted, he is very bright and aware of how he does in relation to other kids. I sometimes hate those “feel good” articles that go around about the typically developing girl who does a good deed by going to the prom with the boy with DS, or the kid with DS being made prom queen because, as you say, those “feel good” moments aren’t real friendships, don’t salve loneliness or bring an authentic sense of belonging. Real friendships and real inclusion involves failure, as you say. I would agree with the other commenter that some kids do need more accommodations to be included than others but if the only reactions to the person with the special needs are positive, it’s not real and the person most likely knows it.
Rob, thank you for this. As a professional educator, it’s so important for us to hear from parents on what’s happening on their end. That being said, reading this left me with a whole lot of questions. How many kids are in this class? How many of the kids are living in poverty, special needs, ESL, gifted, or any mix of those four? In how many different ways is she expected to individualize instruction? Does she have any assistance? Is she certified, trained, and experienced in teaching an inclusion class? Is she in a Common Core state where an entirely new curriculum has been forced on her with absolutely no time to rewrite her lessons, units, etc, but with unrealistic expectations as to how her students must perform in order for her to remain employed? What’s going on in her own life right now? Are there added stresses due to her health and or finances, of her or her loved ones, that keep her from putting 110% into her daily classroom interactions? Teachers are human and our jobs are outrageously demanding and exhausting. Yes, there are some among us that don’t seem to care or want what’s best for kids, but sometimes there’s a whole lot more to why this happens. Lastly–have you shared this with the teacher, and how has she responded? Thanks.
Hi, Jane. I appreciate your comments. I realize teachers are people, too, with their own problems and issues. However, it’s not the parent’s job to figure out what the teacher needs to teach his child. He has so, so much on his plate already that I believe asking him to figure out or understand why the teacher can’t properly include his child is not something else he needs to take on. If the teacher physically can’t do what needs to be done or needs an assistant or needs training, I’m sure if she stated that at the IEP, the parent would stand by her. As with any job, you can’t not do what is required or make excuses as to why the job can’t be done, and if there are real problems restricting you from doing the job, you have to voice them.
Laurie, thanks. I like to think teachers *are* voicing their concerns . . . I know I am, and so are all my colleagues! I’m looking for a solution here, not a person on whom to pin blame. It is *everyone’s* job to make sure students’ needs are being met–parents, teachers, administrators, school board members, tax payers . . . many communities across the US–in fact, most–absolutely *do not* provide teachers with the resources they need in order to best meet *all* of their students’ needs. Not enough supplies, not enough training, not enough pay, not enough support . . . are you aware of how many folks leave the profession within the first few years? There’s a reason for that attrition.
I could be wrong, but based on some other things posted I think Rob is actually referring to his daughter’s sports coach, and not a classroom teacher…in which case, the coach really doesn’t have the same restrictions holding him/her back from fully coaching all kids equally. But yes, you have a good point about all of the ways the system imposes on teachers that trickle down to the students.
I couldn’t agree more with your questions. My mother is doubly certified in special Ed and regular Ed and is now teaching a 3rd grade class. With the demands of preparing her children for the state test at the end of the year, there is little time to create completely individual plans to address each student’s learning style/needs. I can appreciate a child wanting to do better and learn more, but perhaps this is the actual fatal flaw in inclusion. It isn’t that the teachers aren’t doing enough, it’s that you’re expecting a teacher to create a special learning environment separate from the one she’s using for the rest of the class. You want the one-on-one of special Ed, but in a regular setting. In today’s education system where parents are emailing teachers every day expecting immediate responses, the Common Core monster is wreaking havoc upon teaching in general, where the day is so jam-packed it is virtually impossible for them to even get a bathroom break during the school day, their class size is ever-expanding, and the paperwork/bureaucracy is at unreal levels, this is just not realistic.
Melissa,
You said it before I could. Teaching a classroom of basically learning-as-expected kids is already a demanding full-time job. That’s why I’m a strong booster of 1:1 aides for kids who are more than mildly off the neurotypical spectrum.
I also believe that the non-special ed students deserve to have their needs in the classroom met by the teacher. Too many times they can’t get the help they need from a teacher expected to perform miracles. Teachers need to look at what’s fair for ALL the students.
I don’t think anyone is saying otherwise. The danger of this line of discussion is to take care not to go to a place where we decide that inclusion sounds nice, but it’s just too hard, sorry.
I loved this, my daughter Isabella just turned three years old and was born with Down Syndrome and this subject is one of my biggest fears and worries for her as she is now in preschool. We just started preschool last month. I’m scared to death when she gets to the kindergarten age how it is going to be for her I. The classroom., and if she will actually be getting the help and support she needs and deserves to have. But I’m prepared to fight as much as I have to for Bella to get what she needs to have for her education.
Robert, what a resonant piece! I, too, cringe every time a well-meaning friend posts a piece about a homecoming queen or a kid who scored the goal, knowing that my son (12, T21) would know the different between being included and being pitied. I would suggest that you have a really good idea of what inclusion looks like!
This is why I’ve been so pleased…far beyond what my three-years-ago self could possibly have imagined…to put my son in a non-inclusion setting in middle school, four periods a day of special ed in which, irony of ironies, he’s being taught a seventh-grade curriculum, but with modifications for his needs. Up until now, he was ‘included’ but pulled out for resource room services, with the work he did in his regular classroom only occasionally even being graded, because he wasn’t on the same page as the rest of the kids in any way, literal or figurative. Now, despite his sixth grade year’s goals being to get him to a mid-fifth-grade math level, he’s doing seventh-grade math this year…right out of the seventh-grade textbook, but with a kickass special ed teacher, and he does his homework BY HIMSELF for the first time in his school career, and currently has a 100% AVERAGE in the class.
You can see, then, why maybe I’m not the world’s biggest inclusion fan right this very moment. I feel like we wasted years and years trying to include him, when really what they should have been doing was trying to TEACH him.
TC…..I just wish they could get it right and both include our kids and teach them. God Bless the great special ed. teachers out there, we need more of them but we also need to do inclusion right. The social skills our kids learn from their typical peers are just as important as the academics once they are adults and out in the world.
What social skills?? Watching others, doesn’t teach social skills. That’s a lie propagated by parents that don’t like self-contained or professionals that think “inclusion before all other”.
Social skills are taught where one can actually interact with others. Small classrooms, regular access to Teachers and aides, being part of the group, allows for those integrated times to be much more meaningful.
“That’s a lie propagated by parents that don’t like self-contained or professionals that think “inclusion before all other”.”
How is observation not a part of learning social skills? I’d say it’s not only an important part of the process, but a crucial first step.
Also, I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone say that “watching others” equals learning social skills. It’s not a lie so much as a straw man argument.
Um….farmwifetwo….how do you thing that people throughtout history learned social skills?? By watching others.Yes , watching others DOES teach social skills. It is actually a perfect and natural way to learn social skills, as a matter of fact is not that what social skills are all about???
I don’t think you phrased it right, but I think I agree with your underlying point (if I’m understanding it correctly). I don’t think a regular classroom is a good environment to learn social skills. Firstly, while it is possible to learn some social skills by observation, you learn far more when you’re actually interacting. And secondly, a classroom is an extremely artificial environment. Since I graduated, my social circle has not consisted primarily of people the exact same age as me – I hang out with teenagers who are friends of my younger brother, elderly church people, parents’ friends and co-workers, I volunteer with a variety of age groups of volunteers and even at university my classmates are a variety of ages. Everyone I interact with is someone I meet not because we just happen to be the same age and live in the same neighborhood, but rather because of some actual connection – shared interests, shared friends, shared purpose, etc.
Also, I think the idea of wanting a disabled child to imitate normal peers instead of disabled peers can be problematic. Firstly, always being the odd one out can be damaging. Secondly, disabled kids have different needs, and can learn a lot from someone with similar needs (eg a Deaf child is more likely to learn useful communication skills from another Deaf person). And thirdly, this tends to assume the normal behavior is ‘better’ than how the child already acts, which is a prejudiced assumption to make. (The way normal kids treated me is something I think no one should encourage or endorse.)
But I think Schuyler’s Dad gets a lot of these points already, judging from his other posts.
Interesting post. I have 3 children on the other end of the spectrum. All academically gifted. While I can’t imagine your daily struggles having a child with disabilities, I wonder if you have ever given thought to what happens to the gifted child in an inclusive classroom? I can share my observations. Assignments are finished quickly because they are too easy. The teacher, helping those who are struggling with the assignment, tells my child to read a book. This worked for my oldest daughter who delighted with extra reading time. My middle child, a boy, wants to be challenged. With nothing to do but read a book, he is bored and noisy. My youngest daughter, who has an affinity for the disabled and will probably be teaching your children one day is asked to tutor her classmates. She does so with great enthusiasm but is she getting the challenging work she needs? No.
So while I am sympathetic with your child’s needs, don’t forget that there is a full spectrum of needs in the classroom. The academically gifted have great needs too if they are going to meet their full potential.
Bryan, I think you are exactly right. The bottom line is my child with a disability and your gifted child should both be challenged and one should not suffer at the expense of the other. As you said, there is a full spectrum of needs in the classroom and they all should be taught so that they will reach their potential.
Probably not a great idea to compare gifted kids to disabled kids. Sure, you worry about them getting the maximum stimulation they need, but in the end, they will always be accessing the same opportunities as everyone else. It’s like saying the winner of the New York marathon isn’t be challenged enough and so he deserves just as much accommodation as a one legged asthmatic. The marathon winner is just NOT in the same boat, and it’s not really the same issue. The stakes are much higher when a disabled child isn’t even receiving a minimum level of education as opposed to when a gifted child has already received that minimum education and then some, even if they could take on more.
In short, your gifted kids already have the tools they need to make it, but the disabled kids are in danger of never having more than a few nails.
I agree completely. Ultimately, it seems to come down to this: Are public schools providing equal opportunity to learn to every student? Providing that opportunity requires an individualized approach for many students, mostly those with disabilities but also those with specific learning challenges and, yes, gifted kids. But access to a basic level of education has to be the focus.
Section 504 of the IDEA provides for Free Appropriate Public Education. It’s important to recognize what that means, and more to the point, what it very much DOESN’T mean. Sadly, as a society, we seem to have a lot of difficulty in even providing that minimum level of access.
Well put, Grog.
The problem with ignoring gifted kids’ needs isn’t really that we might miss out on the incredible things they’re capable of. It’s that being chronically underchallenged does damaging things to a person’s mental health. A lot of gifted kids struggle with perfectionism, in large part because perfect scores are actually attainable in many situations. This makes any situation where they can’t be perfect a source of anxiety. Low self esteem often occurs, because the kid is praised for things that took no effort and doesn’t get the opportunity to get praised for something they actually feel is impressive. And because they’re overpraised, praise for real accomplishments can feel hollow.
I could go on, but the point is that by not helping gifted kids, we risk a lot more than just missing out on something awesome.
Your points are excellent, Bryan. Thank you for sharing them.
Two things come to mind. First of all, there has been a movement in many school districts to address this very issue in a way that seems to have met with some success. The center of that movement is to fold the gifted and talented programs (and their teaching staff) into the special education department. So many of the approaches and procedures (not least of which including implementation of individualized programs like the IEP) are similar, and cooperation among these teachers translates into a better implementation among the mainstream faculty. Ironically, one of the biggest impediments to this combined approach has come in the form of opposition from some parents of gifted children who don’t want their own kids to suffer from the stigma of special education. (I’m obviously sympathetic to that concern, but honestly, part of me says “Cry me a river…”)
The second thing that occurs to me is this. I think it’s important to be VERY cautious that this discussion not be allowed to turn into an argument AGAINST inclusion for kids with disabilities. To be clear, I don’t think Bryan or anyone else is doing that here, but it’s a common argument and is made time and time again, usually on the opinion pages of local papers and at school board meetings. It’s deeply disheartening when it happens.
Our family would be fine with having special education and gifted education combined – mainly because both my kids with SN are also gifted.
That’s actually not that unusual – we know of many kids with a very high IQ or significant talent combined with a significant physical or emotional special need.
Our family sees both sides of this issue and we agree both sets of students need to be considered – but we still favour Robert’s side. Many teachers seem to feel that SN kids are MORE work for them, and that the gifted kids are LESS work – maybe even an unofficial “helper”.
That attitude colours the interactions teachers have with the students.
Personally – I also want my kids to reach their “full potential”, but their “full potential” isn’t just academic performance or a shiny athletic trophies – it’s also reaching their full emotional potential.
There’s few things more rewarding and empowering and that fosters more emotional growth for a young person than to mentor a peer and to be exposed to diverse populations. For that reason I’m a big advocate of offering “special education” to both gifted and special needs student populations.
I have two daughters in public school. My younger one is “scary” smart working grades above herself. She should be in kindergarten. We approached the school during the fall of her pre-k year about making an educational plan for her. The school agreed something had to be done-kindergarten teachers could not be expected to teach a child reading chapter books and learning multiplication, it wouldn’t be fair. Their solution was to hire a tutor to work one-on-one with my daughter for all academic areas and let her be included in Kindy specials and recess for socialization. We chose to place her in first grade, where she might have a hope of meaningful participation in class with peers. It struck me for the first time reading the comments that we just participated in the same process as we do for our special needs child. Yes, the consequences may not seem as high for my advanced daughter, but when you take into account years of social separation and fake participation in classroom activities, the results could be just as dire. The difference between my two children is that my special needs child is protected by law, my advanced daughter is not. That has proved to be both a help and a hinderance in the process.
I chewed on this a little while. And I’ve come to the conclusion that this “inclusion” that you rightly call out isn’t done for your daughter’s sake, but for the sake of the teacher and school.
And that’s okay.
From the outside looking in, people need to feel useful and tolerant of other folks with disabilities. This teacher seems to believe she’s found a happy medium where she’s bringing at least *some* of the material to your girl, but without “sacrificing” the rest of the class.
I think that the real problem here is the *complacency*. The belief that “thus far is far enough”. A teacher who doesn’t teach a student who is REACHING OUT TO BE TAUGHT needs to reexamine her calling! Does this woman believe that her responsibility is to make children feel good… or to teach the material? Seems like all-too-often it’s more of the former and less of the latter.
Once upon a time I believe in inclusion… then we hit Gr 3. He was moved to a wonderful classroom with 10 children and a wonderful teacher. We’ll never go back to inclusion.
At the end of May (Gr 6) we were told we would have to return. Our severe ASD child was not ID. Needless to say, Mommy didn’t take that well.
Nov 2013, in Gr 7, self contained, 5 children in the classroom…. 7B enjoys having him for both gym and music (mine plays the glockenspiel)… the rest of the time, he’s happy, being taught at his levels (since they range from Gr 7 to Gr 1 depending on the information being taught), being part of his classroom.
Next fight Gr 9… but that’s not until Sept 2014.
Inclusion…. doesn’t work.
“Inclusion…. doesn’t work.”
That’s a pretty big conclusion to come to based solely on your own experience. If we were all the same, if our kids were all the same and all went to equivalent schools, perhaps. But for many of us, inclusion is an appropriate goal to which we’re committed. More importantly, it’s the choice that some of our children are clearly invested in making for themselves. Advocacy without their participation isn’t advocacy at all.
Inclusion requires committed teachers who are willing to listen to and work with parents. But it also requires parents who are willing to do the same in return. I can’t imagine how inclusion would stand a chance of succeeding when a parent has given up on it.
I have a daughter with Down syndrome and it works for her. There have been times, sure, when the teacher wasn’t committed to inclusion and it didn’t work as well as it should have, but for the majority of her school years, it has been great. She is in the 8th grade now. I am sorry it didn’t work for your child, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t work for everybody.