Eliminating Ableism in Education

 

Mural at the RI School for the Deaf

Thomas Hehir’s 2002 article Eliminating Ableism in Education argues that “ableist assumptions… contribute to low levels of educational attainment and employment” and he offers six proposals toward “overturn[ing] ableist practices” that I’ll list/quote here because I want to remember them!:

"- Include disability as part of a school’s overall diversity efforts. (p. 22)
- Encourage disabled students to develop and use skills and modes of expression that are most effective for them. (p. 23)
- Special education should be specialized. (p. 23) [This does] not mean a different curriculum, but rather the vehicle by which students with disabilities access the curriculum.... Without special education teachers with disability-specific skills, children will continue to lack the skills they need[.]

- Move away from the current obsession with placement toward an obsession with results. (p. 25) “We will accept no more segregation.”

- Promote high standards, not high stakes. (p. 27) Disability advocates should oppose high-stakes testing.

- Employ concepts of universal design to schooling. (p. 28) Universal design [benefits] nondisabled people as well."

 

I really appreciated these key points because they are actionable steps educators can take to become part of the solution instead of part of the problem, when it comes to educating students with disabilities.

Hehir discusses how Section 504 of the Rehabilitation Act of 1971 and the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act (IDEA) prohibited discrimination in education and other settings. (p. 2) I learned about Section 504 in 2016 after being hired by the City of Providence to Direct its Human Relations Commission, and was surprised to find out that I also had the secondary title of Section 504 Coordinator. I had to look it up, and soon understood that I would be looking for ways in which all City Departments were complying with Section 504, from playground design to educational practices and access to government. I had an eye opening experience when one Human Relations commissioner, a paraplegic man named John Gaffney who got around in a motorized wheelchair, offered to take me on a journey through a few blocks of downtown Providence between his condo and City Hall (where we were unable to hold commission meetings because the wheelchair lift was broken). It was frustrating to see how a few inches of curb could prevent him from patronizing a restaurant, or crossing a street in a more convenient or safe place. Astonishingly, at the end of our journey, John brought me to the rooftop of his building to enjoy the view, but he got stuck! There were two elevators but the only one that activated when we pushed the call button was inaccessible due to a single step. I had to get help from the management office to get him down. I only worked for the City for one year, but my crowning achievement was leading the effort to get a new wheelchair lift installed. Now, I see ADA violations everywhere! I get on people about shoveling sidewalks and driveways, who sometimes push back with, “No one is going out in a wheelchair in the snow!” And I’m like, “That’s because people like you don’t shovel well enough – or place your trash barrels conscientiously, or park legally!” Don’t even get me started on the placement of electric rental scooters. I hope more people have experiences like the one John took the time to give me. Once you open your eyes to these barriers, you can’t unsee them.

I was interested in reading “The Education of the Deaf” section of Hehir’s article because I have deaf family members. I grew up with an aunt who became deaf after an early childhood illness and specialized professionally in lip reading and sign language interpretation. (She was even hired by police to lipread for a high profile RI murder case, and someone played her in a dramatic reenactment on the 90s crime show Unsolved Mysteries.) Communicating with Aunt Lena meant that all of us little cousins had to focus on articulating, be sure to face her when speaking, be careful not to interrupt others who were speaking with her, and listen attentively because her speaking voice was less intelligible than the other adults. I don’t recall this being annoying or difficult for any of us, and it’s easy to see how this built better communication skills among the family. My mother told me that Aunt Lena, who had been married to my dad’s deceased brother, attended the RI School for the Deaf, which, in her day – 60s-70s – was more like being institutionalized. Students lived at the school in tiny cell-like rooms and didn’t have much time with their families, as I understand it, though that is not at all the case today. It sounds like Lena’s education compared to the “total communication” Hehir describes (p. 6) that combined speech, lip reading and ASL.

Hehir explains how “the education of deaf children was severely set back by oralism,” which cast aside ASL and prioritized lip reading and speech (p. 6) until “the 1960s, when research began to reveal the benefits of manual communication (Stuckless & Birch, 1966),” which attributed to above average literacy.

My childrens’ donor dad Kurt became deaf due to meningitis when he was about 18 months old. Growing up in rural Maine, Kurt was fortunate to have an outstanding lipreading and speech teacher. Kurt says the decision to not teach him sign language was because he was the only deaf student in a rural seven-town district for his entire K-12 experience. I asked Kurt what he thought about deaf educator Leo Jacob’s assertion that “under the best of circumstances only 30 percent of speech can be read from lip movements.” (Jacobs, 1989) Kurt replied: “I’d agree with 30 percent comprehension from lip reading. For me, the rest is filled in with context and common phrases that enable my brain to put it all together.” Kurt is one of the highest functioning individuals I know, who has never struggled to be gainfully employed, usually in complex leadership roles in historic preservation.

Because Hehir’s article came out before I had a cell phone, and considering how well Kurt can communicate with others via text and email, I imagine that the consequences for deaf students not learning ASL are less impactful in 2025. And 23 years of technological advances means hearing aids and cochlear implants are increasingly available and effective at reducing/eliminating hearing loss – but let’s not take the ableist perspective that deafness should be cured! Kurt is a candidate for a cochlear implant, but he hasn’t pursued it. Sure, there are times when it would be easier for ME if I could pick up the phone and call him, but I can imagine a dozen reasons why Kurt prefers to carry on communicating as he has all his life.

Queering Our Schools

My immediate question when embarking on, “Queering Our Schools,” a chapter in the social justice-based collection Rethinking Sexism, Gender, and Sexuality” was: When was this published? Answer: January 2016, mere months after the Supreme Court’s landmark Obergefell v. Hodges case that legalized same-sex marriage, a cause for which I had consistently fought for in Rhode Island since 2004. (We legalized it legislatively in 2013.)

When I was advocating for marriage equality, I didn’t have much interest in entering the institution of marriage, but I knew a lot of people who were desperate for the legal protections. Now that I am 1.5 years into a same-sex marriage with two young children, I am immensely grateful to possess all of the rights and responsibilities marriage confers. It’s frightening to think how arbitrarily marriage equality came about – a five-four Supreme Court decision that would be unthinkable in 2025. And now my wife and I are each pursuing costly second-parent adoption of the child we didn’t give birth to. Marriage equality was not the be-all and end-all of LGBTQ+ civil rights, as many believed at the time. The backlash has hit the transgender community the hardest.

The Rethinking editors note that “the ‘traditional’ mom-dad-and-kids family is a minority – not a majority – experience, so many children and their families are affected by what are often oppressive school customs” (p.25) It’s a great point, likening the struggle for acceptance of children of same-sex parents to children raised by other family member, guardians, or a single parent. When we accommodate one group of people, we often make things better for other groups of people. (Think ADA regulations for wheelchairs paving the way for stroller-pushing parents.) Why should any child grow up believing their family is somehow less than?

The editors ask: “How can we create classrooms and schools where each child, parent, and staff member’s unique, beautiful self is appreciated and nurtured?” (p. 23) This reminded me of an NPR interview with a teacher that I heard just a few days ago. A gay student asked to speak with the teacher after class, at which point he explained his discomfort with a heteronormative joke she had made in class. The teacher had been riding high, feeling like the lesson had gone swimmingly. Her confidence plunged at learning she had made this student feel "othered." She apologized, and he went on to explain that it was only because she had created such a safe environment that he was comfortable telling her about this minor infraction. He went on to say that every other classroom overtly projected heteronormativity, and that her classroom was a respite. This of course encouraged the teacher, and her attitude was that she could always try harder to be inclusive of everyone.” I thought how lovely that was, and yet I imagined how other teachers might be discouraged by this feedback and give up. And I truly empathize with that sentiment. (I have certainly “stepped in it” myself.) As the editors point out: “When you invite kids to talk openly and ask questions about gender and sexuality, you have to be ready for whatever happens. It’s trickier than geometry.” (p. 23)

The RI Department of Education’s “Guidance for RI Schools on Transgender and Gender Nonconforming Students” issued in 2016 helps teachers navigate the tricky and rapidly changing landscape of gender identity among their students. The guidance aims “to create the conditions to provide a safe and supportive environment at school.”

I have read this document before and appreciate its thoroughness and conviction to protect the equal rights of trans students in the classroom. RIDE justifies the guidance by citing the various studies showing negative health outcomes for trans students. To me, one of the most compelling arguments for trans rights is the fact RIDE cites (from Advocates for Youth, 2016) estimating that “one in 2,000 babies is born with the biological characteristics of both sexes or of neither sex entirely.” This is especially compelling if you believe God doesn’t make mistakes.

Sadly, many people’s experience is so far removed from the trans experience that rather than try to wrap their head around it, or even just tolerate it, they would rather trans people conform and pretend to not exist. What will happen if the federal government demands that RIDE retract this guidance? Who is prepared to stick up for the trans youth who will be hung out to dry? I hope that RIDE’s rules are here to stay. It’s the best chance these kids have to get an education and pursue their dreams. Earlier today, local organization The Womxn Project reported that the Chariho School District voted to uphold RIDE's guidance, saying "Through personal stories, expert medical input, and legal arguments, the community made it clear: the RIDE policy protecting trans students and Title IX rules must stay." In response, the committee paused its effort to strip these protections—for now." If you know a trans or LGBTQ+ youth in need of support, please refer them to Youth Pride, Inc., a wonderful local nonprofit.

The “Rethinking…” editors argue that “the cornerstone of nurturing classrooms and schools is community” (p.24), and that sounds spot on to me. With curiosity, intention, and humility, teachers and youth workers can build that community.

The Silenced Dialogue

 The Silenced Dialogue: Power & Pedagogy in Educating Other People’s Children 

Lisa Delpit

I was happy to reencounter Lisa Delpit, and learn more from the work of this living black education researcher born in 1952 who Harvard University states “worked ardently to promote anti-oppressive teaching practices and reforms to language and literary education. Amid the ‘process vs. skills’ teaching debate of the 1980s, Delpit emerged as a groundbreaking advocate for educational access for students of color.”

In the chapter titled, “The Silenced Dialogue: Power & Pedagogy in Educating Other People’s Children” of her 1995 book Other People’s Children, Delpit explains the existence of a “culture of power” and how it permeates classrooms through individuals’ experience with the dominant culture and the power dynamic between teachers and students.

Delpit argues, among her five defining points of the culture of power, that those who are not already participating in the culture of power – whether due to racial, socioeconomic, or other identity – are better off explicitly learning the rules of the culture, like “discourse patterns, interactional styles, and spoken and written language codes” (p.29), to make acquiring power easier. Delpit finds that most white educators and school personnel don’t understand that “if the parents were members of the culture of power and lived by its rules and codes… they would transmit those codes to their children.” (p. 30) This concept aligns with Jean Anyon’s findings through her 1980 study on the impact of socioeconomic status that students were essentially taught to meet prejudiced expectations of their abilities and the skills they’d need for future employment.

Delpit goes on to suspect that liberal teachers within the culture of power may be uncomfortable exhibiting an authoritative style in the classroom, leading students outside of the culture to feel they are being deprived of the teacher’s expertise. Cultural viewpoints come into play: does a teacher earn the privilege of being an authoritarian because they are a teacher, or does a teacher “achieve authority by acquisition of an authoritative role?” (p.35) 

Through qualitative research, Delpit shares stories of students and educators being denied the success they seek, leading to Delpit’s understanding that “pretending that gatekeeping points don’t exist is to ensure that many students will not pass through them.” (p.39) This “pretending” reminded me of Melody Hobson’s call for “Color Bravery” in order to push through the uncomfortable conversations that can lead to breakthroughs in our thinking about race and inequality. Delpit seems to have approached her entire career through the lens of Color Bravery.

To summarize, Delpit suggests that “students must be taught the codes needed to participate fully in the mainstream of American life, not by being forced to attend to hollow, inane, decontextualized, subskills, but rather within the context of meaningful communicative endeavors; that they must be allowed the resource of the teacher’s expert knowledge, while being helped to acknowledge their own ‘expertness’ as well; and that even while students are assisted in learning the culture of power, they must also be helped to learn about the arbitrariness of those codes and about the power relationships they represent.” (p. 45)

For me, this really gets at the heart of my early educational experience. My 36-student Kindergarten classroom was taught by two stern, elderly nuns. Through consternation, I strived to precisely learn their rules to avoid punishment. This continued even after transitioning to public school in third grade. I couldn’t understand how some children exhibited behaviors that drew humiliating punishments. Looking back now, it’s easy to see the arbitrariness of these “rules” (aka the culture of power) that Delpit identifies, and how it was especially challenging for some of my classmates to adhere to them. 

Last, I’ll share that in a previous class I summarized a reading of Delpit’s advice to teachers and youth workers preparing to encounter a wide range of cultures, abilities, and talents, as:

1. Humbly recognize you have much to learn from your students and their communities.

2. Approach the work with a sense of inquiry.

3. Be willing to share your story.