Through ELTEP, I learned to question the roles of power and history in my classroom, school, and society and to imagine a more just and joyful future. I thought about how we can position languages, cultures, and families as invaluable parts of our classroom communities of care. I will continue to advocate for multilingual and disability justice through the lens of history, power, and futures, with a focus on creating school and social cultures of interdependence and care.

Jeremy and the Dangers of Exclusion

This became increasingly apparent to me during some tense meetings with parents, colleagues, and administration regarding a behaviorally challenged student during my 4th grade teaching internship. Jeremy loved Pokémon, excelled at giving detailed and well-constructed presentations about topics of interest, and playing games with his friends. He also was diagnosed with severe ADHD, was thought by some to have oppositional defiance disorder, and loved screaming, slamming doors, and running amok in the hallways—details which often took precedence over his interests and strengths during discussions about him.

One afternoon, my school’s principal, student intervention coordinator, special education teacher, and I were meeting about Jeremy’s increasingly disruptive and destructive behavior. As different options were discussed—ranging from hiring a one-on-one support person to fully remove him from general education and place him into a behavior room—I felt a growing tension between my lack of knowledge around special education laws and policies and my desire to do what was right for Jeremy. Unfamiliar terms like “due process rights,” “least restrictive environment,” and “exclusionary discipline” were floating around like birds of prey that threatened to derail my budding teaching career at its outset.

“Why can’t we just move him to the behavior room? Riley’s younger brother is in there, and he’s nowhere near as bad as Jeremy!” argued my mentor.

“His mom would never agree to that, and she would probably threaten a lawsuit if we even suggested it,” replied an exasperated Rune, Jeremy’s special education teacher.

What I didn’t learn through ELTEP: Special Education Case Laws

1. Diana v. State Board of Education (1970)

A Spanish-speaking student was tested with English-only assessments. The court ruled that Special Education evaluations for students who speak a language other than English must be conducted by qualified individuals in the student’s home language. This was a major step toward culturally and linguistically responsive practices in Special Education. 

2. Larry P. v. Riles (1979)

An African American student was placed in special education track based on his poor performance on a standardized IQ test for which he had very few cultural referents. The court ruled that standardized IQ tests cannot be used as a sole determinant for placement in Special Education programs. 

3. Honing v. Doe (1988)

Schools aren’t allowed to unilaterally place a student in a more restrictive environment (including suspension) due to disability-related behavior for more than 10 days during a given school year. (In Special Education lingo, restrictive environment refers to a classroom or facility that is removed from a student’s same-age non-disabled peers or home-school. For example, a 9-year-old student with Autism who spends most of her day in a general education 4th-grade classroom is in her Least Restrictive Environment [LRE], while a medically fragile student with multiple disabilities who is educated in a hospital or care facility is in a much more restrictive environment. The LRE is individualized to each student based on their needs, goals, and other factors.) There is a provision in this ruling that allows schools to make unilateral choices about student placement in case of emergencies, but Jeremy’s behaviors, although highly disruptive, did not include bringing a weapon or drugs to school, or inflicting serious bodily harm, so that was also ruled out. 

Thus, the school cannot put him in a more restrictive environment. Jeremy’s behavior was clearly serving a purpose for him, and it was also highly disruptive to our classroom community. My colleagues were asking for further removal of Jeremy. As a current Special Education teacher, my newfound understanding of IDEA and the dark history of exclusionary special education norms in the U.S. gives me a shudder to think of this, even though at the time I was mostly in agreement with their conclusions. Jeremy was clearly struggling to make adequate progress in his Least Restrictive classroom environment, but one question kept coming up for me. Was the problem within Jeremy, or within the environment?

Before the Civil Rights Movement of the 1960s and the Education for All Handicapped Children Act of 1975, which preceded IDEA, disabled students were often “educated” in completely separate facilities from their non-disabled peers. Disabled students who were considered “educable” (a horrendous idea now, but common at the time—who gets to determine which students are “educable?”) might have been allowed to attend regular schools, but they had none of the current safeguards that students have in our schools. Removing Jeremy from his peers without his family’s input would be to take disability justice backward.

The Continuous Cycle of Roadbumps, Reflections, and Growth 

I have a confession to make. In my second year of teaching, after surviving a difficult and chaotic first year as an unprepared and largely unqualified resource room teacher, I thought I knew what I was doing. I felt confident in my ability to use the curriculum in ways that matched my students’ needs, create schedules and manage the tasks of my para-educators, and help homeroom teachers understand my students’ accommodations. I had completed the preliminary coursework of my special education endorsement and had a pretty good knowledge of special education laws, purposes, and legal documents.

Going into my second year, I had high expectations of myself. If I could do as well as I had done my first year “without having a clue what I’m doing,“ then I should be able to do really well with a little experience under my belt and a little more knowledge in my head. I was in for a rude awakening in the form of two unplanned-for kindergarteners, Aaron and Keith.

How did I unwittingly perpetuate the dominant structure in education of holding low expectations for multilingual students and students with learning disabilities in order to avoid or mitigate potential disruptive behaviors and adult discomfort? How can I push myself and my school for meaningful inclusion that goes beyond simply “being in the room” with peers?

“His goal is to stay in the room and be safe.”

“Everything else will come with time in class, being around peers, etc.”