Jai Breitnauer’s son has attended mainstream and specialist schools. As NZ plans two new specialist schools, she warns they are not a silver bullet.
If anyone was going to be cheering at the government’s new plans to build two new specialist schools for children with high needs and disabilities, you might think it would be me. After all, the schools will be the first built in 50 years and come after decades of a mainstream inclusion approach in name only.
I’ve been at the sharp end of the fake inclusion stick. Between 2016 and 2019, our life in Aotearoa was being blown apart faster than a sandcastle in a tsunami because of a lack of support at school for our eldest son, who had a clutch of diagnoses. I don’t want to re-tread the tyres of this well-worn story too deeply. Despite the best efforts of a few different schools, our eldest child experienced exclusion, isolation, and rejection. Staff didn’t have the skills or resources to support him and the things that were tried othered him in a way that destroyed friendships and self-esteem.
By the end of the pandemic we were living in the UK and my son had a place in a specialist school with on-site therapies and personalised curriculum. I was so confident this was the inclusion we craved, I wrote about it for The Spinoff. But the reality was he just felt othered all over again, because inclusion and belonging aren’t the same thing.
He was never fully included at the mainstream school, so he couldn’t belong. But inclusion at specialist school prevented him experiencing inclusion in other parts of his life, and so he couldn’t belong. Now aged 17 he has done well academically, but still struggles socially and emotionally and doesn’t have access to the average teen life he craves.
Mainstream schools in both NZ and the UK say they want to include disabled and neurodivergent tamariki, but like John Davidson at the BAFTAs, the kids are set up to fail because the right support isn’t in place. In this climate, creating a safe space away from the mainstream seems enticing, and many young people have thrived in special school in the absence of other options. But here’s the kicker – just as Sir Robert Martin was known to say, there is no special society. The social model of disability states people are disabled not by impairments or conditions, but by prejudice and systemic exclusion, and the existence of specialist schools – despite best intentions – perpetuates this. When you remove disabled people from the mainstream, you devalue them and give society an excuse not to do better.
My 14-year-old is quite different to my older son. He is also neurodivergent, but he does not feel othered. Despite also facing challenges, he feels connected, supported and mentally well. This is in large part because he attends a small, local, mainstream school with a wellbeing-first approach. Teachers use first names, there is no uniform and reasonable adjustments for disabled students are delivered in an inclusive and compassionate way. Nurture is a priority, but expectations for achievement and behaviour are high. My son feels seen and valued and is confident and ambitious as a result.
I don’t want to give the wrong impression. These types of schools are not common in the UK, especially at secondary level – there are perhaps a few dozen nationwide. But they are, in my opinion, a model for what inclusive education should look like. There is no on-site occupational therapist or fancy sensory room, but there are slightly fewer kids, skilled and compassionate staff, and education delivered via an asset-based learning approach that emphasises the existing strengths of pupils. It’s the foundation of an approach that benefits everyone, not just disabled and neurodivergent young people.
With the principle of mainstream education first firmly in place in New Zealand it would not be too difficult – with the right investment – to replicate this model nationwide. Building more specialist schools is a grand gesture that might win some votes, but building a mainstream education system that focuses on wellbeing and belonging is the best way to create the society our children deserve.
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