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Allfie's Blog

The importance of advocacy for people locked up in special education

May 25th, 2017

By Dr Paul Doyle

This article is from the Summer 2017 edition of Inclusion Now. Join ALLFIE to receive three issues of Inclusion Now per year.

I cannot remember being asked by anyone in authority whether I, at least, had an opinion about going to a residential special education needs school. I was perfectly happy at day special education needs school in Manchester, where I live. I was doing really well at this school, I had lots of friends and, of course I was living with my family.

I have no idea how it came about but the special education needs school in Manchester was changing. This school was originally for children and young people with physical impairments, and now it was going to become a school for children and young people with both physical impairments but also for children and young people with learning disabilities as well.

When I was about eleven years of age I heard the people at school starting to talk about me going to another school, I did not understand this. I cannot remember asking my mother and father about this. The next thing I knew was that I was talking with my family about going to a boarding school, I have two older sisters, one older brother and two younger brothers. I said that I would try the boarding school, never really knowing the full implications of this.

This, going to boarding school miles from home and away from your family for three or more weeks at a time is an enormous event in a young person’s life. Nobody, a teacher in school, or anyone from the local education authority, ever spoke to me about going away to school. All young people, especially young people with impairments and/or disabilities should be involved in making decisions about their own future, this is absolutely crucial.

Now I know that people in authority did not care what I, as a twelve year old child, thought when it came to thinking about my future. In hindsight it was as though I went to a residential special education needs school at the convenience of the special school in Manchester and the local education authority. It should have been my decision, or at least my parents’. There was nobody, from what I can remember, who acted on our behalf to explain what it would be like for my family and I if I went to boarding school. Nobody spoke up for us.

The boarding school was in Kent, miles away from my family. I absolutely hated this school. It was horrible. A few years ago I asked my siblings to write what they thought of me going to boarding school. My younger brother, who was ten years of age at the time, said that the school did not look a happy place, and this was when I had just arrived. One of my sisters wrote that when I was at boarding school it was like I was ‘put on to one side’ for a while.

Some children attend residential special school from a really young age. I was thirteen years of age when I first went down to Kent. Whilst I was there it was like we, the other young people and I, were cut off from the rest of society. Children who go to a special residential school at four or five years old may never know what it is like to be part of a society. Once they have left school, providing that they do not get put into a residential special education needs college, they could be fearful of the wider society as they would not have much experience of life in the community at all.

Continuing with the theme of the previous paragraph, before I went to boarding school I used to go out with my eldest brother and watch him play football with his friends; when I went to boarding school all that stopped and it never rekindled again when I came home from residential special school for good. Whoever decides that children and young people with disabilities should go into residential special schools and colleges takes away their family life and friendships and sometimes it might be hard to get this back again.

The more time I spent at boarding school I could feel that the teachers were caring less and less about my education. I was starting to do what I had already done at the school in Manchester and it was extremely frustrating. I tried to tell the teachers about what I was feeling but they just did not take any notice of me – it was awful. I did not have anyone to talk to.

There must be thousands of people with disabilities who have had, or are having, similar experiences to me. To quote my sister again, “It was like I was put on to one side for a while.” I was really lucky because whilst I was at boarding school my mother and father never left it three weeks without seeing me, they came down to visit me at school in between holidays. A lot of the children and young people at my school did not see their families for six or seven weeks at a time.

During the school holidays and when my mother and father, and some of my siblings, came to see me in term time I could talk to them and tell them how I was feeling. At one point we, my mother and father and I, thought they were coming to bring me home for good. The headmaster wanted to talk to us in his office. The headmaster said that if I was to go home at that time (I was fifteen years of age) there would be nowhere for me to go. My previous school in Manchester had changed so I could not go back there. I stayed at the residential special education needs until I was sixteen.

I actually felt like a prisoner at this residential special school. It was bad enough during the week when classes were on and hardly anyone took any notice of me. The evenings and weekends were dire. I had no real friends at school. All I did in the free time was go around school in my electric wheelchair not talking to anyone. I could not concentrate on anything. At home I would watch the television with my family but at boarding school I just could not get motivated even to do this.

The Importance of advocacy  

It is clear from the introduction that I needed someone to speak up for me, particularly at boarding school. If someone had told me what it was going to be really like for me at residential special school I never would have gone. Having said this though, I still do not know, even to this day, whether I did have a choice of going to residential special school.

Sometimes, as the man I am now, I wonder whether I should have told people what I thought of boarding school, but I was never encouraged to do this. By reading the last sentence you might think that I blame myself for going to residential special education needs school and not doing well. Looking back I think that I did have the capacity to speak up for myself but, as I said before, this was never discussed nor encouraged.

As I said in the introduction many children and young people have been in residential special schools and colleges for almost their entire lives. They literally may not know what goes on outside the walls which contain and control them. I use the words ‘contain’ and ‘control’ for the people who work in the typical special education needs school see that it is their job to protect children and young people with disabilities against the outside world. This so-called protection does not do anyone any good. First, children and young people who are stuck in residential special schools and colleges will have no idea of what it is like to live alongside people who do not have disabilities. Second, non-disabled children and young people will not have any understanding of people with disabilities.

All the things that I have said here require some form of advocacy. Take myself as an example: before I went to residential special school, I had no idea what this would entail. It was after asking my mother and father that I knew where and how far Kent was. Nobody at my special school in Manchester told me just how far Kent was and how much I would miss my family. One could say that they were not to know, but it was evident to everyone that my family are very close.

When I think about it now I cannot remember any of the teachers at the school in Manchester talking to me about going to boarding school. Some kind of guidance on this transition may have stopped me from going to residential special school and my positive educational prospects might have begun earlier.

The sense of being ‘locked up’ in residential special school was a very real experience to me. Thinking back it was a frightening ordeal being at residential special school on your own more or less. What I mean by ‘being on your own’ is not having the confidence to talk to people and tell them how you feel. I knew what  I wanted to say to teachers, that I wanted to do more academic work and, indeed, I knew that I was able to do more work on the basis of what I had done at my previous school. If only I had an advocate.

Advocacy, speaking up for oneself or having someone speak up for you is a really important concept. My PhD thesis is about advocacy for young people with disabilities. The fieldwork for this piece of work was set in special education needs school. The young people at the school and I held advocacy sessions within the school. There was one particular young person who was around seventeen years of age, who was about to leave school in a couple of years’ time and he had no method of communication. This must have been absolutely horrible and very frustrating for him.

Staying with this particular young man as an example, I thought that this special education needs school, where I carried out the fieldwork for my PhD, was relatively good for a special school but when I knew what was happening with this young person it tarnished my feelings towards the school. This scenario seemed strange to me. The teachers at the school were keen for me to talk to the young people, and yet, when it came down to them talking to their own students they just did not listen.

From my observations when I was at my own residential special school, and I had a lot of time to observe as the teachers did not give me anything to do, I noticed that quite a number of the young people were learning. I felt that the teachers at my school did not have enough patience with the children and young people who had the severest of impairments – I include myself in this category. Going back to the young man at the special school where I carried out the fieldwork for my PhD thesis, I found out that he could indicate ‘Yes’ and ‘No’ by moving his eyes up and down. I could not believe how simple this was and yet the school failed to recognise that he could do this. It must have been so frustrating for him. I feel that having multiple impairments myself, including a speech impairment, I was able to understand what it is like to have people not know what I am saying, so infuriating.

It is absolutely vital that people with impairments and / or disabilities are listened to and advocacy is an integral part of this. Giving people a voice enforces their role in society – special schools do not consider this an option. Ideally there should be no special education needs schools at all and there should be a whole new education system where children and young people with disabilities and / or impairments and children and young people who have no disabilities and / or impairments are educated together. At the time of writing, with austerity still going on and the unstable economy, I cannot, unfortunately, see total inclusive education happening anytime soon.

Every special school should have at least four or five advocates for the children and young people to talk to. The conversations between children and / or young people should not be just about what they want to do once they had left school but they may want to know what was happening in school. Those who have brothers and sisters may be listening to them about what they are doing at their school and the children and young people who attend the special school may be thinking why this was not happening in their school. An advocate would be able to help to voice their concerns with the teachers, this is essential.

The United Kingdom is not in an ideal situation economy wise and total inclusive education is not going to happen in the near future. Another reason that advocates need to be working in special education needs schools is talk to the children and young people about what is happening outside of their ‘closed’ school life. This would prepare them for the unknown. Life beyond special schools is unknown to the children and young people who attend them because the teachers, personal assistants and therapists who work in these establishments think that they have to ‘protect’ children and young people with disabilities from the rest of society.

Children and young people with disabilities and / or impairments do not need ‘protecting’ from society. All special education needs schools and the people who work within them think that they are doing children and young people with disabilities and / or impairments a favour by keeping them from the so-called troubles of society. Advocates need to keep children and young people informed of what is going on in society.  People with disabilities and or impairments need advocacy whilst they are locked up in special education needs schools.

What does inclusion look like?

February 9th, 2017

This article is from the latest edition of Inclusion Now, which you can read by subscribing.

We are four researchers working within the Faculty of Education at Edge Hill University who wish to share some findings of our ongoing research that had two stages. In the first stage of the research, school children took photographs of their understanding of inclusion in and around school. In the second stage, some of the images taken by the children were then shared with adults working in the field of education, to elicit their responses and interpretations of inclusion.

Inclusion within education settings has, through policies and social justice campaigns, become integral to much school policy and practice. It is often associated with belonging, participation and respect for others (CSIE 2015). Yet what is understood by the term ‘inclusion’ remains open to interpretation. In order to investigate in some depth what different people might understand about what inclusion might mean and what it might look like in practice, we decided to embark on a research project to explore the views and interpretations of both school children and adults working in education.

In the first part of our study, a photo-elicitation research method was used whereby children in four schools (two primary and two secondary) were given disposable cameras and asked to take images that they believed represented inclusion or exclusion. The children were asked to explain either verbally or in writing what the photographs they had taken meant to them. This offered a window into their worlds and their understandings of inclusion for us and for their teachers. They were also asked to give a small amount of information about themselves, such as gender, age, and whether or not they identified as having an educational need.

The photo-elicitation method was chosen because we felt this methodit encouraged the active engagement of children and young people in research rather than conducting research upon them. It was felt that children’s perspectives and experiences around inclusion might be heard more cogently than through traditional research approaches, such as interviews or observations. Using an approach in which children produce photographs and annotate them as they choose is, we felt, suitable for children as it provides involvement and ownership. Such an approach also assisted those who communicate differently or who have a preference for visual rather than verbal communication.

In the second part of the study, thirty of the photographs taken by the children were selected by the research team and anonymised via software that ‘cartoonises’ the image. These altered images were then shared with children in four different schools (two primary and two secondary), groups of trainee teachers and other adults working in the field of education during conferences, workshops or teaching sessions. The groups of adults were shown the photographs and asked for their views about whether they thought the images taken by the children represented inclusion or exclusion and to discuss and explain their reasoning. They were not informed of the children’s interpretation until the end of the group discussions. The intention of this process was to consider how personal experiences of school life, as pupils or teachers, might influence how they interpret practices that are intended to be inclusive. The aim was to go beyond defining forms of inclusive practice and instead find a way for trainee teachers and other adults working with children to ‘hear’ children’s voices, and access the ‘multi-voiced-ness’ of children’s lived experiences relating to inclusion.

To provide a flavour of what is emerging from our research, three of the many images taken by the children are shown in the following section.

 

The Baking Photo

A boy sits with a cupcake baking try in front of him. Two adults cooperate around him to put cake mixture into the tray.

The Baking Photo

Photographer:
9 year old boy who self-identified as having moderate learning difficulties, based in a primary school. He said:

“This image is of inclusion – with grown-ups to help if you can’t do it yourself”

Examples of responses to cartoonised image
Boy aged 9 with a moderate learning difficulty attending a mainstream primary school:

“This is exclusion, adults always take over and we can only watch and then they say ‘look what X has done’ but I haven’t”.

Adults:
“This concerns me. The adults are doing the activity and the child is doing none of it himself”.
“Boy looks needy and not happy with the whole experience”.
“The boy is getting one to one help from his teacher”.
“(I see) Unhappiness, no acceptance of what child can do, smothering”.
“Inclusion – Child in middle is being helped and they are trying to involve him”.  

The 9 year old boy who took this photograph saw this as inclusion. The comments by the adults, however, tended to show a discomfort with the image, revolving around the children and ownership of the baking activity. The positioning of the two adults and the two children and how this was framed in the image seemed, via their responses, to imply exclusion. Some interpreted the boy in the centre as receiving personalised support, while others showed concern, suggesting that the teacher was ‘smothering’ the child or taking over control of the task. Concern seemed to revolve around the relationship between the adults and children and the level of engagement each had in the task depicted.

 

The Mobile Phone Photo

Two girls look at something together on a mobile phone

The Mobile Phone Photo

Photographer:
Twelve year old female pupil in a secondary school, who did not identify as having educational needs. She said:  “Using your mobile phone to keep other people out. Secrets.”

Examples of responses to cartoonised image

18 year old female student: “Inclusion – looks like friendship, not forced or organised”.

Adults:
“Inclusion as both engaged”.
“Exclusion: girls together sharing something on screen of the mobile. Looks to me like they are finding amusement in something not particularly nice on the phone.”
“Don’t know what they are doing on phone, could be bullying could be asking more friends to come out”.
“Inclusion –Both girls appear relaxed and happy in each other’s company”.
“Mobile phones – exclusion for poorer children”.

There were similarities with how this image and the previous baking image were perceived. With the mobile phone example, responses identified the image as either being inclusive, with friends sharing something, or as friends excluding, or even gaining amusement from possibly bullying others. The differing suggestions appeared to be predicated on the same aspect of the image; the assumed intimacy between the girls, portrayed by their physical closeness and body language and an assumed distance between them and other pupils not portrayed in the picture. Perhaps these differing interpretations also point to a wider issue of how mobile phones, and the social media accessed through them, mediate relationships between people.

 

The Smiling Photo

Two children next to each other are smiling

The Smiling Photo

Photographer:

Twelve year old female pupil in a secondary school who did not identify as having educational needs.  She wrote:

“Inclusion. Friends include each other in having a good time”.

Examples of adult responses to image

“Their expressions are happy”
“Gender and ethnicity = inclusive?”
“A shared moment – positive.”
“Finding the same thing funny.”  
“Facial expression of girl seems very happy”

In contrast to the mobile phone image, the responses to the smiling image were consistently positive, focussing on the emotional expressions of the two teenagers pictured and their close proximity to each other, with attention given to the relationship between the two people in the image. The more positive views surrounding interpretations of this image may be because, as well as the two children appearing happy, physically close and comfortable in each other’s presence, they are looking directly at the camera suggesting an openness or sharing of this emotional warmth beyond themselves, and with the photographer.

 

We are not suggesting that one view is more accurate or has more value than another when it comes to ‘seeing’ or capturing inclusion. Our interest is in understanding why those involved with the research, both children and adults can offer different and often contradictory views around inclusion and what they feel it is, or ought to be. The use of photo-elicitation as a method of research created the opportunity to access different points of view about what constituted inclusion or exclusion, or somewhere in between. The children and young people interpreted the image through the lens of their own experiences and commented accordingly. This certainly seems to be the case with the second boy who commented on the baking image by saying “exclusion – look what (name) has done, but I haven’t”. In the case of adult interpretations of the images, rather than put themselves into the position of those in the image their discussions circulated around space, place, positioning or a modification of presence. For example, there were many comments such as ‘it would be inclusive if x moved here…’. While the use of photo-elicitation as a method of research created the opportunity to access different points of view about what constituted inclusion or exclusion, few made explicit references to whether practices were fair, equal or just.

In this article we have only shared a snapshot of our research and a few comments relating to just three photographs. What we are hoping to do is gather further views from both children and adults. In particular, we are interested in hearing the reactions of Inclusion Now readers to the images and the comments. Are the images inclusive? Do you agree or disagree with the views offered? Moreover: what is inclusion? Can it be captured? How do we know that inclusion has ‘happened’?

We have a small amount of funding to extend this project and are able to offer workshop sessions with groups of children in schools around the UK to gather further views and experiences about inclusive education. If you would like to discuss hosting a workshop, or anything in relation to this research please do not hesitate to contact us via Dr Clare Woolhouse.

Clare Woolhouse (corresponding author) Linda Dunne, Fiona Hallett and Virginia Kay, Edge Hill University

My thoughts on “Schools that work for everyone”

January 9th, 2017

My name is Yewande and I am an office volunteer at ALLFIE. A few weeks ago, I was working with our Campaigns Coordinator Simone, looking through the new Government consultation. It is called “Schools that work for everyone”.  Their plan is to make schools more selective and to introduce more grammar schools. So my job was to find out if the consultation showed how these changes are going to affect disabled pupils (including those with SEN). The subject of grammar and selective schools has always been a controversial one so I was interested to see what the new Prime Minister and her Government’s take would be on them. This blog post is going be about what I think of the consultation.

Worryingly, there is no mention of disabled pupils or those with SEN in the consultation. My view is that grammar school and selective education is not good for disabled children and young people. I believe that education should be inclusive of all children and young people regardless of ability. Inclusive education is a fundamental human right, and should be taken seriously.

I also believe that when it comes to selective education, a limited view of “ability” is being tested. The test criteria are most likely to be very narrow; as a result many disabled pupils will not be able to pass, due to the nature of their impairment. The testing will not be broad enough to accommodate the fact that people learn in different ways, especially when you have an impairment.

One of the main points of the consultation is that some schools will still remain non selective. If parents of disabled children cannot get them into selective schools, then the next step usually would be to send them to a non-selective school. This may seem like a positive development; however it is still a cause for concern. It is fair to say that more of the funding will go to selective schools, because the Gov. wants to make most schools selective. When the funding goes to the selective schools, it means that non selective schools will have fewer resources. This will result in non-selective schools having fewer students and fewer good teachers. Most parents and teachers do not want to be part of a school that does not have enough money. Low student and teacher numbers can lead to poor quality education, and may even mean closure for some non selective schools. This puts parents of disabled children and young people in a difficult position. If their child or young person is not getting a good education in a non-selective mainstream school, many of them will feel that they have no choice but to send them into segregated provision, by that I mean special schools and special units.

In conclusion, I believe that the Government plans are a huge step back for inclusive education. Even if a small percentage of disabled children and young people are chosen to attend selective schools, it is still wrong because education should welcome all pupils instead of fitting a few into narrow criteria. The disabled pupils who get selected have less chance of receiving an inclusive approach to their learning, even if they are struggling with certain aspects of it. We should find ways of improving our education system for disabled pupils by exploring various learning styles and showing teachers the different ways that children and young people learn. The Government also should provide funding and resources for schools to develop an inclusive ethos.

The Government is showing that inclusion is not a priority for them by not mentioning disabled pupils and students in the consultation. If more parents start to feel that they have no option but to send their child or young person to segregated provision, the less chance there is for children and young people to be educated together. If children and young people of all abilities are not educated together, there is less opportunity for us to create an inclusive society.

 

Yewande Akintelu-Omoniyi

ALLFIE Office Volunteer

How grammar schools excluded me as a disabled child

December 5th, 2016

Our anonymous writer tells us how he was barred from grammar schools in the eighties due to disability.

As a young child starting infant school I was often absent from school due to various illnesses, and the fact I was born with disabilities didn’t help the situation. Due to my unavoidable absences my infant school teachers saw me as behind the rest of the class and basically an obstruction to other pupils’ learning. As I was seen as a “struggling student” I was not given extra help but instead left in a corner to play with Lego as others were learning. I was lucky as I was reading and writing ahead of my peers, only all my learning happened when absent from school from my mother and grandparents.

Eventually time passed and my peers and I were due to move up to junior school. This was when my mother was informed I would not be with my peers but placed in a “special school” to help me catch up with children my age. I was then sent to a different school which I had to travel to via minibus everyday due to the distance. The staff at this school were obviously more aware of pupils’ abilities as I came top of the class throughout my junior school years, even with continued absences. When I was in my final year the headmaster attempted to get permission for me to sit the 11 plus exam – a special school pupil apparently had no need as they wouldn’t pass or qualify for local grammar schools. My headmaster gave me his own version of the test and then sent the results and a personal statement of my abilities to my local grammar school and Manchester grammar school, explaining that although I was disabled I could manage all the work without any problems. Both grammar schools replied to my mother and my school explaining that, although academically I could easily be accepted, they could not take students who couldn’t participate fully in their curriculum, which included an extensive sporting requirement. I accept this may not be the case in all grammar schools but in Manchester and Altrincham in the mid eighties this was their excuse.

In 1986 I started at my local high school where I found in the first year I was bullied extensively – and not just by other students. The work I was given consisted of workbooks and papers I had already completed at my junior school, as since I was ahead of some of the other pupils, teachers had given me the work  so I had something to do, never expecting the same work to be handed out at secondary school or that both grammar schools would refuse me. As anyone can imagine, along with the bullying, being bored in almost every class resulted in me not wanting to be at the school on most days. Although my absences were less now they were still more often than most and a lot of teachers decided I was lying about my disabilities and other illnesses to get out of attending school, so if I was being accused of truancy for the first two years I felt I may as well play truant. I would leave my house to go to school most days and end up going all over the country finding and visiting libraries, art galleries and museums – probably giving myself a better and more intense education anyway.

I left school in the early nineties with two GCSE grades F and G – not a great start to life – so I worked for a year, then attended a general vocational course at my local college, going on to study English literature and ESOL/TEFL as it was known then, becoming a qualified adult literacy support teacher and a qualified ESOL teacher.

Segregated education on the grounds of physical or perceived academic ability is not only a disgrace in this day and age but can also ruin people’s lives. If I had been accepted at a grammar school, given something to learn and not repeat and not been discriminated against due to my disabilities, my life may have turned out very differently.

UK Disability History Month – Language and Disability

October 24th, 2016

UK Disability History Month coordinator Richard Rieser writes about this year’s theme: language and disability

Schools and colleges should now be planning what they will do in this year’s Disability History Month (22nd November – 22nd December, though you can do work before and after). Let us know your events.

34% of disabled Year 9 students  compared to 26% of non disabled students, experience bullying through name calling, according to the Equality and Human Rights Commission and Government. The ‘othering’ process that starts with name calling and devalues the disabled victim leads to social exclusion (21%), threats of violence (26%) and experience of actual violence (24%) – more than double that experienced by non-disabled students (11%). Schools have statutory duties to eliminate bullying. So examining the roots of disablist and pejorative language is an essential part of creating a climate of disability equality in your school or college. We have worked with the Anti Bullying Alliance to produce a whole range of resources to enable teachers to challenge language based disablist bullying.

Historically disablist language is common. In William Shakespeare’s “Richard III”, Scene I, Act I, Gloucester’s first speech before Richard was King is perhaps the most famous speech about the impacts of impairment on character, reinforcing the link between evil and disability.

“…Deformed, unfinish’d, sent before my time
Into this breathing world, scarce half made up,
And that so lamely and unfashionable
That dogs bark at me as I halt by them;”

This followed Sir Thomas Moore’s much earlier account of “The Life and Death of Richard III”. Moore’s account was written to curry favour with Henry VIII, who felt very insecure as King, because his father, Henry VII, had claimed the crown having killed Richard III in the battle of Bosworth, so usurping or stealing the crown. Moore therefore embellished history and added to Richard’s ‘hunchback’ or scoliosis, (now proven with the recent discovery of his skeleton in a Leicestershire car park), a ‘lame leg’ and ‘withered arm’ (both made-up) and dubiously directly linked Richard to the murder of his brother, the Princes in the Tower and several others which suited  Tudor propaganda. Shakespeare produced magnificent literature in Richard, who is contradictory, both an evil monster /murderer and  a magnetic personality, attractive to women.

Throughout history, human physical and mental differences have been described in language and given meaning based on the thinking of the day, reinforcing powerful stereotypes which stretch down the years and still influence thinking about disabled people. This is the theme of UK Disability History Month  Autumn 2016. We will focus on the language and words used to describe disabled people over time. What were the historic attitudes and ideas which led to this language? This includes literature, theatre, history, oral history, coverage in the newspapers and other print media. Through the lens of language we will seek to gain a greater understanding of our oppression in the past and now. Through human rights and the social model approach to disability, barriers can be removed and attitudes changed.

Lame today is used by some young people to mean something that is good, being a reversal of the meaning not smart or impressive. In Shakespeare’s time it meant both having an injured foot/leg, make walking difficult  and not strong , good or effective. Overall this word is negative, sad and not a good experience. Halt was a word in common use then, meaning the same as lame, as was cripple, also meaning to move slowly, to be permanently injured or have no power.  The polarity of good and evil/ beautiful and unsightly in this language is found right across all languages and is a major contributor to the devaluation of disabled people. Generally, disabled people of that period would have had families, worked and not been distinguished from the mass of common people, unless severely impaired. Those not looked after by their community would have begged, though this became outlawed and the first Poor Law (1601) meant they had to stay in their local area and seek support from the parish. So the impact of the play “Richard III” (1592) would have been dramatically strong.  At a time when people generally believed in witchcraft and tangible forces of evil, it made a powerful link between disability and evil.

As part of this year’s UKDHM we have worked with the Open University and Access All Areas to produce a pack for schools around the film on the life of Mabel Cooper. Mabel was placed in a long stay hospital for the ‘mentally deficient’ at the age of four and stayed there more than thirty years. When eventually released under care in the community, she became a major advocate for people with learning difficulties and a founder of People First. The pack has developed activities for students from KS2-5 in English, drama, history, science, geography and PHSE.

Following Darwin’s publication of The Origin of Species (1865), his cousin Frances Galton and many others thought they could speed up natural selection of human beings by stopping ‘inferior’ people from having children. This movement, eugenics, particularly focused on those they called ‘feeble-minded’, who could pass as part of the general population, but who carried the characteristics of mental deficiency, crime, immorality and destitution which could be passed onto to their children. Most people with more significant mental impairments – the mad, idiots and imbeciles – were already by this time kept in asylums and the workhouse and for those of upper and middle class in private small asylums. Eugenicist Mary Dendy, for instance, worked ceaselessly in Manchester to separate the feeble minded from other children and also adults in the home she opened in Sandlebridge, Cheshire.

In 1902, the Rev. Harold Nelson Burden, chaplain at Horfield Prison, and his wife Katharine, founded the National Institutions for Persons Requiring Care and Control, to care for mentally retarded children and adults. In 1908 they rented the Stoke Park estate, opening the Stoke Park Colony in April 1909. The colony was the first institution certified as a home for mentally retarded patients under the Mental Deficiency Act 1913, the Rev. Burden having been a member of the Royal Commission for inquiry into care of the feeble-minded which led to the Act. The colony was regarded as a leading institution of its type.

The agitation, actions and false thinking of Galton, Dendy and Burden and a small group of other eugenicist activists led to a Royal Commission on Mental Deficiency which was supplied with false scientific evidence by psychologists like Cyril Burt, who provided intelligence tests, and doctors like AF Tredgold, who provided the authoritative text on mental deficiency for the next sixty years. This was followed by more eugenicist fear and propaganda which led to the Mental Deficiency Act 1913 being voted through Parliament with only two votes against. This led to the licensing and shutting away for life of 130,000 people, a growth industry in diagnosis and labelling, and the setting up of over 100 large institutions many of which only began to close in the 1980s to 2000s – many of the children’s facilities just changed their name to special school.

The 1913 Act established the Board of Control for Lunacy and Mental Deficiency to oversee the implementation of provisions for the care and management of four classes of people:

“a) Idiots. Those so deeply defective as to be unable to guard themselves against common physical dangers.

b) Imbeciles. Whose defectiveness does not amount to idiocy, but is so pronounced that they are incapable of managing themselves or their affairs, or, in the case of children, of being taught to do so.

c) Feeble-minded persons. Whose weakness does not amount to imbecility, yet who require care, supervision, or control, for their protection or for the protection of others, or, in the case of children, are incapable of receiving benefit from the instruction in ordinary schools.

d) Moral Imbeciles. Displaying mental weakness coupled with strong vicious or criminal propensities, and on whom punishment has little or no deterrent effect”.

Some of these words, though unacceptable, are still in common use as harassing language, but most young people know nothing of this particularly nasty period of oppression. This year’s UKDHM gives us all an excellent chance to challenge such ignorance and rejoin the struggle for disability equality. The pack will be launched in Parliament at 11am on the 22nd November. UKDHM will launch that evening at 6pm at Kings Place, Kings Cross.

Richard Rieser

This is an expanded version of an article that appears in Inclusion Now 45. You can join ALLFIE to receive three issues of Inclusion Now per year.

Grammar is bad

September 29th, 2016

Nigel Utton, former headteacher and chair of Heading for Inclusion, explains his views on the government’s proposals to increase the number of grammar and selective schools.

When I was a primary Headteacher in Hampshire all of my children were well prepared for the move to secondary school.  The vast majority went to Amery Hill Comprehensive which shared its facilities and even provided some teaching, particularly in modern languages from reception right up to year 6.  The Headteacher and I had regular meetings and our staff worked with colleagues in respective departments to ensure the children went up with confidence and enthusiasm.  They already knew the building, staff and other pupils well and had a very positive transition.

Moving to the selective model in Kent was a tremendous shock.  My school fed into at least six different secondaries; two grammar schools and four secondary moderns with some children being shipped further afield when the place planning went wrong – which it regularly did.  Until the children had the results from their 11+ exams none of us knew where they would be going.  The curricula, especially the languages learned were different in each school.  Preparing our children for transition was a cumbersome affair with the secondaries offering sporadic activities mostly to years 5 and 6 to try to tempt the children to their school.    On these grounds alone we should resist a return to a selective education system.

The argument that grammar schools somehow increase social mobility is frankly a lie.  Comprehensive schools do that – as I know from my own experience.  I was the first from my family to go to university because my comprehensive school had that aspiration and provided me with the broad education to get me there.  Working in Kent, where, due to political cowardice, selective education has continued unchecked, I have seen first-hand how aspiration is stifled almost at birth.  Parents of preschool children have often already decided which of their offspring are ‘grammar’ children and which are not.  This goes very much along class lines – with the parents’ own educational experience being a key factor.

My educational philosophy is that all children should be educated in local inclusive schools.  My preference would be for a curriculum based around children’s individual needs both emotional, physical and academic.  Kent’s model is based in segregation.  Children with impairments are largely educated in separate ‘special’ schools; children who fail the Kent Test are sent to secondary moderns at age 10/11 and those who pass are sent to grammars.  Where the model fails is that children do not fit into simple categories.  The Kent Test is divided into language and mathematical components.  To go to a grammar school children have to achieve above a particular score in both.  Hence children who may only have exceptional mathematical or language ability are denied a place at the ‘best’ schools.  Every year I watched extremely talented children being rejected by the system.  The knock on effect on self-esteem was tangible.  I was horrified talking to adults in Kent who had failed the Kent Test who actually still remembered their scores decades later.

What I hated most was seeing how divisive the system is in social terms.  Right from reception class adults and indeed classmates refer to children as having grammar or non-grammar potential.  Enough educational research on teacher/parental expectation shows us that these early attitudes have potentially devastating long term effects on a child’s learning and actually become a self-fulfilling prophecy.

The best comprehensive schools educate all the children, building on their strengths and developing areas where they may struggle.  Children learn with their local peers creating a positive cohesive community.  Parents and the local community work together to ensure that their school is a place which contributes to a common cause.  Bussing children around to different areas, as happens in Kent and other selective authorities, at best renders difficult and at worst destroys this essential function of education.

A child’s ability is not fixed at the age of 10 when the tests are administered.  Surely the key task of education is to develop children beyond where their abilities seem to hold them.  Putting in a glass ceiling is anathema to an educator.  Segregating children into different types of school with different aspirations is everything that many of us have been fighting against.

The fact that some comprehensive schools, particularly those in areas where deprivation, lack of aspiration and generational underachievement, do not seem to provide the same levels of education as those in more affluent areas with a different demographic, is not an argument against comprehensive education per se.  It is an argument for putting massive educational and financial investment into those areas to raise aspiration and provide hope through building coherent communities.  Creaming off a small elite of children into a grammar school merely creates social division and a hierarchy of worth.

Sir Keith Josephs visited my comprehensive school when he was Secretary of State.  As Head Boy I was asked to welcome him to the school.  At the time he thought that assisting bright children into private education was the way forward.  To a standing ovation I told him that those of us in my school were totally opposed to his scheme and were proud to be at a comprehensive school.  Having been a teacher for 23 years, I am even more convinced that I was right.

 

You can read our press release on the Green Paper here.

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How did I do as a blind dad?

August 11th, 2016

I know, I’m not the only parent to worry about how good a job I’ve done.  But, being a father with a profound disability gives  me some additional pause for thought.  As Caitlin, my only child, prepares to celebrate her 21st birthday, it’s an obvious moment to take stock and recall some of the challenges of being a blind parent.

Since Caitlin left home for university, she’s begun to gain some perspective on her parents and upbringing.  During a recent trip home, Caitlin and I had a few very frank discussions about what it’s been like having a blind Dad and how my obvious limitations have affected her. Caitlin admits, she finds it difficult knowing how to introduce my disability to new people she meets.  She dreads the awkward silences and same old questions that can follow – and it pains her when these responses come from people she has reason to admire and respect.

“It doesn’t matter how many times they’ve heard the one about the blind man who climbed Everest,” she complains, “they still ask the most basic questions about how you get dressed and get around.  I can’t explain, it makes you sound sort of …”

“Helpless?” I offer.

“Yeah, I suppose that’s it.  And then, I think they must see me as unusual or different.”

Caitlin’s never enjoyed being different or standing out.  And, knowing this, I’ve always tried to shield her from the stereotypes and prejudice I regularly encounter.  As Community Care, the journal for social care professionals notes: “children whose parents have additional support needs can acquire labels which are stigmatising and isolating”.

That’s why we always tried to get Caitlin into schools with a positive record on the inclusion of disabled children.  If any difficulties arose, we reckoned we’d be pushing at an open door.  Once, when Caitlin was nine, I presented a session to her class about Braille.  It was well received, and each child left the room with a Braille alphabet card, a secret message to de-code later and, so I hoped, the impression that Caitlin’s Dad, whilst different, was also an interesting and articulate man.

At secondary school things were more difficult.  Caitlin acquired the acute self-consciousness of a teenager and any parental presence at school was viewed as a potential source of embarrassment.  We received detailed instructions from her on what to wear and what to say in order to mitigate any loss of face: and one of Caitlin’s stipulations was that I should never bring my white cane.

Caitlin recalls, when she was 17, inviting her first serious boyfriend back to the house.  “I hadn’t mentioned to Tom you were blind and, because you and Mum had gone out to the theatre, I didn’t think you’d meet.  But you guys came back early and I remember us all standing round the island in the kitchen, feeling extremely awkward.  Then Tom reached out to shake your hand and I had to look away because I couldn’t bear seeing what would happen next!”

“Yes,” I offer, “but all credit to Tom for how he handled it.  And, later, the two of us got on really well.”

One of the standard questions Caitlin gets asked is, “who cares for who?”.  It’s a fair point.

Having one or both parents with a disability can shift the boundaries of responsibility and dependence, and there’s evidence to suggest it may have a detrimental impact on children.  Research commissioned by the Joseph Rowntree Foundation, examined the experiences of 60 young carers aged 16-25.  It concludes that: “Many children and young people who spend time caring for a chronically sick or disabled parent experience long-term problems in their own lives resulting from missed school and lack of qualifications or job opportunities”. The same study identifies an increased incidence of anxiety, depression and difficulties transitioning into adult life.

Caitlin never missed a day’s school on my account and she appears to be doing well at university.  However, it’s true that, when it came to the practicalities of child-rearing, there was often less available energy.  My disability meant there were tasks I couldn’t do and a whole lot more I could do, but only by slower and more circuitous routes.  Significantly, more than half the young people interviewed for the JRF research were living in lone parent families.  So, I’m lucky to have had a non-disabled partner to fill the gaps,  a job to bring in the money and a support network of friends for when the going got tough.

And yet, I still worry that my disability’s had some more subtle, psychological affect on Caitlin.  What about all those extra responsibilities she had to shoulder at an earlier age?  I try to remember when it was I first took Caitlin’s arm and she began guiding me.  We’re both surprised when I say, I think it may have been as early as six or seven.

Caitlin insists that guiding me has always felt like the most natural thing in the world.

“But surely,” I ask, “you must be permanently on the lookout for lamp-posts and hazards?”

“No more than when I’m walking by myself.  It’s like you’re an extension of me and I have a sense of the space we’re taking up.”

I remember, with pleasure, when roles were reversed and Caitlin was an extension of my body.  Once upon a time, before she got too heavy, I could simply strap Caitlin into the backpack and head off wherever I liked, using my cane.  I was in charge: the way Dads are supposed to be.

Collecting Caitlin from her child-minder’s every evening was something I loved.  I felt so proud, carrying her along while, over my shoulder, she  chattered on about her day.
So, it saddened me to discover that one of the other mums had been discussing with the child-minder how dangerous it was for me to be crossing busy roads with Caitlin.  I tried talking to the mother concerned, but she just couldn’t get it.  And it rankled with me all the more because I knew she was an intelligent, talented and sometimes sensitive person.

Caitlin describes a traumatic incident when she was six.

One day, standing by the window, she saw me coming in from work, blood streaming down my face.  My wife explained I was okay and that I’d had a collision with a carelessly constructed display outside a shop.  But, when a police car pulled up, Caitlin’s anxieties peaked.

“I can’t even remember what I felt.  Maybe, I felt angry with the shop-owner?  But I clearly remember sitting there, feeling distraught, wondering, what I could do to help.  And then it came to me: [Caitlin assumes the voice of a six-year-old] `I must write to the Queen`.”

My wife posted Caitlin’s letter and I assumed that was the last we’d hear of it.  Except, to Caitlin’s six-year-old way of thinking: if you’ve taken the time to write to someone, then, obviously, you expect a reply.  And, Caitlin’s confidence was rewarded.

“I remember the sense of proving you wrong, when I got a reply.  I remember Mum screaming with excitement as we opened the envelope!”

So, aside from spawning a royalist, how have I done as a parent?  Caitlin’s never suffered from any lack of love or attention, although thoughts about available energy influenced our decision not to have a second child.  Maybe there’s a connection between the young woman who now sees herself as especially “observant” and “sensible” and some of the added responsibilities she had to assume at an early age.  Although, as Caitlin points out: “I like being sensible – and who’s to say I wouldn’t have been sensible anyway”.

Mike Lambert, ALLFIE trustee

 

This blog is an extended version of this piece on the BBC website.

Are you a disabled parent? Have your say in the comment section below.

‘United’ Kingdom and the EU: What Happens Next for Disabled Students?

July 11th, 2016

Author Miro Griffiths

Miro Griffiths

The question raised by the title of this post cannot have a simple and definite answer. The circumstances of the Government’s decision to hold a referendum on UK membership of the European Union, which resulted in a majority of voters electing to leave, are incredibly complex. The potential consequences are too varied to draw a clear conclusion as to the impact this will have on citizens and fellow human beings living in Britain; nevertheless, it is not hard to see substantial concerns from disabled campaigners, their organisations and allies regarding the effect this will have upon the lives of those experiencing disablement. Similarly, this represents a sharp turn away from the slow progress in opportunities to shape international affairs and safeguard support mechanisms to protect – or enhance – the rights of disabled people, and towards a further concentration of power for influential, elitist actors who set the terms on rights and justice for their own benefit.

Whilst the European Union should be rightly criticised on many issues, it is vital to recognise the bureaucratic processes and frameworks that sought to address the inequality and marginalisation affecting disabled people and their families across Europe. Although disabled people’s living standards continue to be severely affected by current austerity measures, adopted by the European Commission and implemented by the member states, there has been a collaborative effort to bring together various grassroots movements and challenge those that seek to cause harm during this time. Furthermore, the narrative around the debate on leaving the European Union must recognise that certain groups, including the State, have attempted to undermine the EU at all times.

Regarding the impact of the referendum result upon disabled learners, there is now a concern as to whether various EU directives will be adopted – voluntarily – by the British Government. The work priorities of the Disability Intergroup, which aspires to promote disability issues within the European Parliament, will become insignificant as the eventual exit of the UK may result in the dismissal of any proposals put forward by the group. This means any recommendations adopted by the EU in response to the United Nations Committee on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities will not need to be implemented by the UK, nor will the state prioritise the aspirations of the European Disability Strategy. Both of these examples will create further marginalisation and isolation for disabled students.

Recently, John Pring from Disability News Service highlighted the significance of three pieces of European legislation – outlined by Lord Low – that aim to have a positive effect on disabled people: procurement by public bodies, web accessibility and air passenger regulations. EU treaties guarantee certain fundamental rights to all citizens of the EU and among those rights are the free movement of persons, goods and services. Such fundamental rights will no longer be guaranteed to citizens outside the EU; therefore, it can be assumed that the barriers encountered when studying will intensify as the rights of disabled students will be further dismissed by the establishment and any discussion on advancing social justice issues associated with education can easily be excluded from the corridors of power – more so than it is now.

The economic and social inclusion aspects of the Europe 2020 strategy aimed to explore the correlation between disabled people’s underrepresentation in employment and their overrepresentation in ‘early school leaving’. This analysis identified the negative consequences of cuts to social services and community-based support – a stance echoed by the economists employed by the International Monetary Fund, who are critical of these destructive policies. This is not to embrace Brussels bureaucracy, which has been integral to the decline of democracy; rather it is a reflection of the various social structures (economic, cultural and political) that affect the development and delivery of education for people across Europe.

It is not just policy developments that will be affected; the geographic mobility of disabled learners to pursue their higher education options across Europe will become further restricted. The introduction of a European Mobility Card will, inevitably, no longer be realised and there is uncertainty as to what impact the exit will have on the Erasmus Programme (an EU exchange student programme). The scholarships provided through the Erasmus Programme are essential for meeting the access needs of disabled students but many national and international students who require support will find their opportunities further limited. The neoliberal capitalist frameworks and privatisation methods infiltrating higher education institutions are reflected in disabled people’s lack of current participation in academia. The British state has already committed to dismantling the support mechanisms for under/post graduates and the State will eventually not be required to justify itself to those within the EU who are committed to increasing disabled people’s social mobility and access to education.

Finally, detachment from the EU will lead to the further disintegration of Independent Living organisations that received support from Brussels and Strasbourg – whether through the advancement of demands through European Parliament collaboration or through financial security provided by the European Social Fund. User-led organisations have been closing rapidly for some time and it seems likely that this will accelerate due to the State ‘reclaiming’ sovereignty, which effectively means the ruling elite will be able to impose their ideology without substantial resistance from within the political system.

This article has continued the discourse surrounding the consequences for disabled people in the UK following the EU referendum result. The battle to advance the inclusion of disabled people will continue and there is a desperate need to retain the strong relationships between grassroots social movements across Europe. Those who support the fight for inclusive education must continue to plant and nurture the idea for a future education system within the present one. The roots of the problems in the existing institutions still exist, irrespective of Britain’s membership status, and those who seek to marginalise, isolate and exclude disabled people from society must be brought to account.

Miro Griffiths is a Trustee at ALLFIE and a PhD researcher and teacher at Liverpool John Moores University.

Happy Birthday Dalai Lama

July 22nd, 2015

Is it just me or did anybody else sense Alan Yentob’s surprise when he asked the Dalai Lama, at the Edinburgh Festival, ‘Does music make you happy?’

I’m sure Alan, and many in the audience, did not expect the response, “not much”. After the initial laughter from the crowd, the Dalai Lama’s (DL) more detailed response provided the scenario of countries such as Iraq or Syria, where humans are killing each other and whether music being played would reduce their anger and violence towards each other. The DL’s response being “I don’t think”. Read the rest of this entry »

Inclusive School Health and Nutrition Programmes

April 15th, 2015

According to the World Health Organisation, approximately 93 million children in the world – 1 in 20 children aged 14 or younger – have a moderate or severe disability. The majority of them live in low- and middle-income countries, are not enrolled in school and have very poor access to the most basic health and nutrition opportunities. Whether it is due to poor data or a lack of knowledge and understanding, school health and nutrition (SHN) policy makers and programmers have previously struggled to visualize this group and respond effectively to their needs. These children have been left behind.

Read the rest of this entry »