by William J. Peace
Since my son entered the New York public school system, I have repeatedly encountered problems solely because I am a person with a disability. The school he attends complies with the local, state, and federal accessibility laws as administrators interpret them, but it does so with great resistance, if not animosity.
Does the negative perception of disability have an impact on my ability to be actively involved in my son’s education? In a word, yes. For instance, the school system has a single small bus with a wheelchair lift used to transport “children with special needs.” These children are bused outside the district to “special schools” at the district’s expense. No individual aside from “special needs children” ride this bus.
I discovered this when I volunteered to be a chaperone on a class trip. I was told no buses used to transport children were accessible and the sole bus with a lift was never available for class trips. Thus I was, and remain, unable to be a chaperone on any of my son’s class trips.
When I mentioned this to my son, he said, “Oh, you mean you are not allowed on the retard bus?” In identifying the bus used to transport “children with special needs” as the “retard bus,” kids such as my son are not purposely being mean. They’re just demonstrating the lesson they’ve learned- that segregation of people with disabilities, whether children or adults, is not just acceptable but the norm.
This pattern of exclusion, separating children and adults with disabilities from the “mainstream” is pervasive. Inclusion and respect for those who are in some way “different” is taught by word, not example. One more experience will highlight this point.
As part of my son’s curriculum he is required to sing in the choir and appear at two concerts. The school auditorium has no wheelchair accessible seating. A few seats were removed from the back, but the area is not level and filled with unused school equipment. After attending several of my son’s concerts I was not sure which ached more-my back from sitting at a steep angle, or my ears.
Several polite e-mails sent to the principal about the lack of access were ignored. After an unacceptable period of silence I forwarded my letters to the school superintendent. This prompted a response from the principal, who stated that the school does not need to renovate inaccessible venues such as the auditorium because it was “grandfathered in” and not subject to the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA). I replied that the school was indeed required to make the auditorium accessible or move events such as my son’s concert to an accessible location. After much debate, a temporary level platform in the back of the auditorium was created-a job that required little effort and less than $10 worth of materials!
These two instances demonstrate that an institutional bias against disability exists. That is, disability in the most general sense of the term is perceived to be a costly and unnecessary expense. The most cost- efficient way to deal with disability is to segregate this population-provide a special bus, special classrooms for students with learning disabilities and so forth. The message is clear—inclusion takes money away from the needs of the “average” child who must be sheltered and protected from people with disabilities whose presence alone is potentially too disturbing.
I have been told many times that I am the first and only parent with a disability ever encountered and that my request for wheelchair access is highly unusual. Administrators point out that there are no students who live in the district and, given this, they do not need to provide access. When I point out access is not a choice but the law, akin to integration of African Americans in the 1950s, the response is people with disabilities are “different,” that the ADA has nothing to with civil rights, but architectural compliance. In asserting my rights as a person with a disability and a parent I have won few friends and angered some school administrators.
After a hard day I sometimes wonder how this issue will affect my son. I hope my fight to maintain an active and visible role in his education will not only be a life lesson, but enlighten those at his school who are willing to change. I also hope that other parents with disabilities who read this column will, pun intended, be encouraged to stand up for their rights in the face of adversity.
William J. Peace has a PhD in Anthropology from Columbia University. He is the author of Leslie A. White: Evolution and Revolution in Anthropology.
