Disability Justice is what will turn learning spaces for some into learning spaces for all
Many educators see the word “disability” and immediately think of the Americans with Disabilities Act, differentiation and accommodations, but teaching students with disabilities is much more than just compliance. Rightfully, teacher prep programs frequently assert “universal design is just good teaching” — and they’re right, but “universal design” alone does not bring about Disability Justice.
Universal design is a progression from pedagogical teaching where you have a “mainstream” learning experience and peripherally a set of accommodations and differentiation to allow people with specific needs to participate. According to Boise State University, universal design stems from the belief that a ‘diversity of abilities and needs is normal, rather than special’, and that designing to meet this range of needs ‘prevents stigmatization and benefits every user.’ In a classroom, this could look like preparing multiple forms of media to convey content, rather than using just one delivery method which would preference those who can learn that way. This approach is crucial for building a sense of belonging in the classroom, potentially softening some of the impacts of ableism. But, what about the structural, systemic forms of ableism baked into the brick and mortar of the institution?
It was my senior year of college when I came across a educational study happening at my school, conducted by a mechanical engineering professor, investigating the impact of ADHD on the creativity of engineering students. Initially I contacted this professor so that I could help with the study, given my interest in education, but for fun I also signed up to be a control participant, and thus I was required to be assessed for ADHD. The results of this assessment were that I was ‘probable to be diagnosed with ADHD’ — and it is at this point I realized that my issues in classrooms maybe couldn’t be boiled down to just being a “bad student” like I thought for years prior.
That was 2016, and in the years since I have come to know that not only are most institutions of higher learning not set up for disabled folks to be successful, but they are willfully excluding them, and allowing them to be harmed. Similarly to racial justice, DEI at most institutions has served as a stand-in for disability justice — and this means that the solutions are presented at the treetops, not the roots, of issues. The Ford Foundation writes “by centering intersectionality and the voices of those most marginalized…disability justice encourages us to see how society’s diverse systems of oppression reinforce each other and affect every member of the disability community.”
This disability justice work feels central to the work of educators because as long as our institutions fail to reconcile with past harm, and create structural changes to build practices devoid of ableism, our students will not be able to fully participate in learning. Requiring proof of disability in order to seek compassion in the classroom, for example, is an ableist barrier in itself, as those with disabilities face a lack of access to diagnosis and treatment — a barrier preventing students from being able to participate in the learning institution and have their needs met. If someone is experiencing deep depression and anxiety, do they need to be clinically diagnosed in order to receive an extension? At most institutions, the answer is yes, and you can imagine the strain this puts on students. So, what specific challenges to disability rights and justice exist on campus?
In many departments, if students are experiencing medical disruptions in their learning, the normed recommendation is for that student to use medical leave, but what about people with chronic illness? If they are not interested in taking a leave of absence, there are few accommodations made for them and their needs — they are simply expected to tough it out. In these cases, many students would prefer to have their professors work with them to complete coursework with reasonable expectations and timelines, not a cookie cutter response that essentially discards students until they feel better.
When I visited the Office of Disability Services at Georgia Tech, I was told that in order to obtain an official diagnosis for my ADHD I’d need to pay $500 for an assessment and the results would take a couple of months — long after I would be finished with my current coursework. With the existing financial hurdles of higher education, and the urgency of needed accommodations, I could not afford the cost, or the wait. Furthermore, as graduate students matriculate beyond the classroom and are instead learning in research labs, the need for universal design does not go away, but most formal accommodations do.
Universal design in creating lesson plans will help your students in your classroom, but it will not save them from ableism in your department or institution — an equally realistic threat to their learning. Universal design in creating degree programs, departments or institutions? that is closer to justice. We, as educators, need to think bigger in our approaches to achieving belonging in higher education — those of us with disabilities deserve it.
