I started reading studies on the benefits of inclusion, that explicitly proved my daughter would have not just a higher chance of academic success, but also better mental health outcomes if she was included in a mainstream school. Furthermore, inclusive education had been found to have equal or better academic and social outcomes for all children – not just for children with a disability. The more I learned, the more it was clear that a mainstream education, with the right supports, would provide the best outcome for my child.
Our first attempt at accessing an inclusive education, last year at our local preschool, was a failure. Despite our best efforts, the school simply did not have the knowledge, resources or most importantly, the attitude to make things work. The lack of clear boundaries and expectations led to my daughter developing challenging behaviours that we had never seen before.
During meetings with the school to discuss these issues, I would suggest different strategies to deal with the behaviour and engage her in learning. The school would indicate that these were too difficult to implement, and that she would be better supported in a specialised setting.
I began to dread hearing the words ‘the other children’ – ‘the teacher can’t give her the attention she needs because we have to think of the other children‘, ‘we can’t modify the classroom for her because of the other children’, ‘we have to take her out when she gets noisy as it disturbs the other children’. After one particularly confronting meeting, I walked out sobbing, and called a friend.
“I just can’t do this anymore,” I said, “I give up. I’m going to enrol her in the special school.”
“I know, I get it,” my friend said, “but you can’t give up. If you don’t stand up for her, who will? You can’t stop believing in her and the life that you want for her.”
I knew she was right. Even though it was hard, I couldn’t let this setback define her future. I started doing more research on which schools were good at inclusion, and visiting other public primary schools in Canberra. At one school, I could see inclusion in action the moment I walked in – a child with a disability was being supported by her classmates to participate in an activity that the whole class was engaged in.
The school was clearly inclusion-focused, and committed to providing opportunities for all children to access the curriculum. “We would love to have your daughter at our school,” the deputy principal told me as I described her needs and the challenges we’d faced, “our priority would be to ensure her needs are met and that she is achieving her potential”. I felt hope rising in me again.
Today, my daughter is thriving at a school that has welcomed her with open arms and done everything to make sure she feels like she belongs. All those behaviours that caused so much distress at the previous school, are no longer present. They have high expectations of her, which she knows, and does her best to live up to.
The recent spate of political discourse on children with autism in mainstream classrooms, spurred on by comments from Senator Pauline Hanson, has made me think of our two diverse school experiences, and how an attitude of acceptance can make all the difference. It’s clear that while the legislation states that all children have a right to an inclusive education, there needs to be not just a mindset change, but also better allocation of support and resources, and preparation for teachers to better equip them to cater to the full range of students.