EDUCATION AND POLITICS
Inclusion Fatigue in Education
A teacher’s take on this silent issue, and why no one talks about it
All-Inclusive. Everybody wins. You all get a prize. Everyone receives a participatory ribbon. You get three chances before consequences or a call home…
It has a nice ring to it. It’s feel good. You imagine everyone is happy and laughing, enjoying life. The sun is always shining and they’re dancing around, playing games in fields – which happens sometimes – but in education?
There’s mostly reality…
Last year, my colleague (Let’s call her Julie*) had a student with ASD (Autism Spectrum Disorder) in her grade 6 class — let’s name the student, Fiona*.
In June before the new year, Julie was informed that Fiona had been out of school for three years, due to the pandemic and was told by the family that “she’s always loved and functioned great at school.”
Fiona came with an extensive IEP (which tends to be the norm when a student has ASD) and EAs (educational assistants) to help her due to her flight risk and academic needs.
Julie was assured that Fiona responded well to iPad time as a reward. The iPad was frequently used for her other expectations in the IEP and one of several behavior tools that were positive for her.
Behavior modification is a common strategy to help those with ASD acclimatize to school. One of the more prominent tools is IBI (Intensive Behaviour Intervention), using ABA (Applied Behavior Analysis).
Before I get more into this story, I want you to know:
I love and support inclusion when it suits the success of the highest number of students in the class.
I also have worked in ASD-specific special classes, with wonderful colleagues whose specialty and skill were unmatched. I loved working with these kids and they taught me so much about myself, as a teacher, and how to humbly show up for them.
My issue is more with the current climate because someone is always accommodating too much.
I think of inclusion these days like an elastic band.
If the elastic band has good integrity, it will stretch and hold everything needing support effectively, when stretched at a good rate.
If you stretch it too fast and put too much in too quickly, it will break.
If you stretch the elastic band too much, in the same way, over time the integrity of the elastic band will not be maintained — that’s inclusion in education today.
Our elastic band is losing integrity.
Some may disagree with me, but the ones missing out are the ones that function well.
They will always be on time, pay attention, read the rubric, edit their work, put in effort, and have grade-level success.
In my opinion, they are being neglected or not pushed to their potential, as a whole, to suit the “all-inclusive” nature of schools.
Unless these children are tested as “gifted” (a difficult diagnosis to get), there’s very little extension available.
I love teaching and I’m good at what I do. I am excellent at student-teacher relationships, which are the cornerstone and foundation of any learning, as is a calm classroom built on routine.
I do this by fostering a culture of respect, accountability, emotional safety, and physical safety — I’m clear and they know their roles, so they feel safe.
In my twelve years of teaching, there are times when inclusion works and times when it doesn’t, or more importantly: shouldn’t.
I will get into more of Fiona’s story, but first, a little background about where full inclusion came from.
If you are new to my writing, I am a born and bred Canadian. I grew up in and continue to live in Ontario, Canada.
Education belongs to a ministry managed by each province or territory. Our premier (head of the province or territory) chooses the minister. Interestingly, the ministers chosen for education, rarely (if ever) come from an educational background or have stepped foot in a classroom.
I believe: not very well suited.
Whereas the provincial ministries are not the same in mindset, our general approach to what education should be is similar across the country — except for maybe Quebec. Quebec stands as an outlier of sorts on many issues.
I am also what you would call an “elder millennial.” All this means is that I relate more to the mindset of Gen X, but graduated high school during the emergence of the internet; giving context to my views on how and why inclusivity has been on steroids for the last while.
Growing up in the 80s and 90s, there wasn’t much accommodation for academic needs outside the norm, due to the 1980 Bill 82 of the Education Amendment Act having just been implemented.
This meant that there needed to be other supports to increase student success, with the emergence of deep psych testing for disabilities and disorders — enter the IEP: Individual Educational Plan.
These plans have accommodations ( like proximity and extended time to finish work), modifications (completely different expectations based on the curriculum or their specific needs), or both.
Now in schools, it is not uncommon for a teacher to have at least 4–5 students on IEP accommodations, plus those in need of ESL (English as a Second Language) support.
If a high-needs student is lucky, they will be in a special class.
Moving towards inclusion in the regular classroom, with support, was the ideal; enter educational assistants.
At the time, educational assistants were supposed to function as just that: assisting with the education of the child(ren) in need.
Now? We are lucky if schools have enough EAs for their needs, due to the number of flight risks, diagnoses, and high-needs students for toileting and feeding. They are also getting severely hurt in record numbers.
A couple of years ago, the province was fighting for them to be able to administer insulin (like in other provinces), as well if you can believe it!
The union thankfully fought against that for legal reasons, as this should only be administered by a physician or nurse. This shows you just how bleak some of this has got.
I sometimes wonder where the line is. These days, IEPs are getting handed out for anything and everything. They are even handing them out to accommodate a lack of attendance – more like a lack of accountability for the basics.
If it is anxiety that is keeping the student from going to school (for example), there should be more prudence in strengthening the “doctor-school-home” triad. This would help to find assessments and solutions (not everyone has a family doctor or benefits, which is a story for another day.)
Most students on an IEP have it for one or two subjects only, but some, require extensive modifications for every subject.
As a teacher, this means you have to teach two to three different grades every day, and some even require extensive scribing because they cannot write; even in grade 5.
Thankfully we are getting into more “voice to text” now, but getting the kids fluent in using the software, is quite an ordeal in itself.
Think about that whole scenario for a moment — In a class of 25–30 students (because in Ontario we only cap in grades kindergarten to three) — Who in this scenario is truly succeeding?
And it’s an everyday reality for most elementary educators – not the exception.
I will get back to this in a minute. While you ponder, let’s revisit Fiona’s story.
Well into September of that year, Fiona was getting very triggered by noise and movement in the class — common triggers for those with ASD (in fact many wear headphones).
When she did get triggered, she would run away and slam the door, and continue to slam the door throughout the day. ALL day. 18 times an hour in fact, as counted by Julie’s 26 students.
For context, slamming a regular door in a house would be loud – being in a school, this was a fire door.
Julie was doing her best to expedite getting a hinge for the door from the school board — which is a whole process and comes from an entirely different department.
She also wasn’t sleeping well due to the stress of the noise and pushback from the parents of the other children.
Everyone felt bad about the situation and had incredible empathy for Fiona; she couldn’t feel safe and reacted in one of the only ways someone with autism would when overstimulated.
The administration was trying to get her into a specialist ASD class, but there are so few of these classes in my board and the need is so high.
In the meantime, Julie’s students tried to learn in between the slams. If they saw Fiona running to the door – they would yell: “Brace yourself!” And the kids would quickly cover their ears.
If they were lucky, Fiona would leave and slam the door in other classrooms too. She would also make her way down to the office, slam those, and run into the street; not a better or safer option and my admin were over their heads.
Fiona was a big girl, so to get her back safely to the school from the street, needed 2 or 3 EAs (Fiona had at least 2 EAs with her at all times).
While waiting for the hinge, a boy (let’s call him Sam*) in Julie’s class began having panic attacks because of the environment. Never mind learn, Sam was developing PTSD just by being in the class due to the slams.
One weekend, Sam’s best friend (let’s say Jeremy*) emailed my principal, explaining how distressed he was that his best friend was suffering.
Jeremy was very polite and sent quite a poignant message. In it, he mentioned alternative ways they could learn as a class while supporting Sam and Fiona; an impressive and emotionally intelligent approach for an 11-year-old.
The following Monday, Julie was directed to the office by the principal (Mrs. Smith*). Julie learned about the email and was charged with making Jeremy email Mrs. Smith about Sam and Fiona.
Julie was dumbfounded. She assured Mrs. Smith she didn’t know anything about the email so Julie asked to read it.
Afterward, Mrs. Smith continued to berate Julie for not being more inclusive in her class.
More Inclusive.
How much more inclusive can one be? Especially in this situation.
Julie had a map of the world showing where all of the students were from, they brought in pictures of themselves and their families, which were posted all over the walls of the classroom. They celebrated all of the holidays, both faith-based and otherwise, and she had several students on IEPs and in need of ESL support.
How much more inclusive?
Isn’t feeling safe and relaxed in your class not being inclusive?
We live and work in a very diverse community.
We spend at least six weeks every single new school year, celebrating the foundation of our student's identity, and supporting whatever that means for them – it’s embedded in all of our curriculum.
We display things in our classroom and provide support and extension where needed.
Where is the line?
You may be wondering about Fiona.
Eventually, Julie did get a hinge for the door, so Fiona couldn’t slam it anymore.
Instead, Fiona started to take her clothing off and proceeded to slam the doors on all the other rooms in the school.
Eventually, we were able to find a better fit for her and she is now in a special class for students with ASD – which is very rare.
But Fiona’s story doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface.
What about the boy in grade one a couple of years ago, who came from Sarajevo and was chasing people in his class with the scissors all year? He knew no English (My ESL colleagues were drowning with the first-level English support as well.)
Unless you seek out trauma training-informed instruction (like myself) you’re pretty lost.
Or a boy another year, who was threatening to kill everybody in his grade one class? My colleague that year had to go on stress leave because of everything.
There are so many examples.
Why Teachers Aren’t Saying Anything
In this climate, having any real opinion on education and inclusion is unacceptable — hence writing under a pseudonym.
The issues are real though.
Just this year, with the Israeli/Palestine war, Muslim families in my school caused an uproar for teaching about the Holocaust, World War 2, and later Remembrance Day in history class.
It didn’t matter how much my grade 7 and 8 colleagues celebrated Islamic Heritage Month or were sensitive to the present-day concerns, the families would not be happy unless the death of the Jews were not learned about in class.
The thing is, World War 2 is a huge part of Canadian history and their children attend a Canadian public school.
There are even Muslim schools in my district if they are opposed to it — but those schools are not paid by taxes.
Because of this, the Jewish kids in my school were also bullied so badly because of the war, that they were scared to come to school (the kids who did the bullying were suspended if it was bad enough, due to the anti-semitic nature).
So where is the line? Where do we stop accommodating and start just teaching the curriculum?
When is accommodating too much? What is the end point of compromising Canadian culture and values? Do we need to redefine this?
I asked my admin this once and he looked at me, dumbfounded, and gave some diplomatic reply.
Making everyone happy is impossible, yet we, as teachers, are continually given the task to do so.
I know this past year, the Ministry of Education in my province, was trying to create an environment to draw more teachers to the profession and increase retention; I kind of chuckled.
Where I love teaching, if I was coming in today, I probably wouldn’t do it. We’re getting burnt out. Most teachers will leave within the first 2 years.
There are so many policies on inclusion being implemented every month, that it’s leaving us wondering when we’re going to get back to actual teaching some days.
So I ask the question again:
Where is the line?
I know inclusion is necessary, I just don’t know how we can do it skillfully anymore, and our elastic is losing its integrity.
If you know of a way inclusion is done well in the world, I would love to know in the comments.
Cheers.
*Names changed to protect privacy and confidentiality.
