We hear a great deal about inclusion. We celebrate when schools open inclusive classrooms, when children with special educational needs (SEN) learn alongside their peers, when there is a teaching assistant, a support team, and an Individual Development Programme (the Ukrainian equivalent of an Individualised Education Programme, or IEP).
But…
Although my question may make you uncomfortable, I still want to ask it:
Where is the child in all of this?
Because inclusion does not begin with an order to open an inclusive classroom or with properly completed paperwork. It begins with what happens to a particular child every day—in the classroom, during breaks, in the school cafeteria, while playing with classmates, on school trips, or at school events. A child may be physically present in the classroom and yet remain disconnected from the learning around them.
Imagine this. The whole class is working on a shared task, while one child is given a separate activity simply to keep them occupied. The other children work in groups, while the child with SEN stays beside the teaching assistant. During break, everyone is chatting while one child stands alone. At the school concert, the child with SEN is seated in the audience because it is easier than thinking about a role they could play alongside everyone else.
Formally, the child is included. But are they really?
To me, this is where the fine line lies between being among other children and being part of the community.
Inclusion does not mean that a child with SEN must do exactly the same things, in the same way and to the same extent as everyone else. Nor should the whole class constantly adapt to one child.
True inclusion, to me, means finding ways for each child to participate in shared experiences as much as they are able today, while gradually helping them expand those opportunities.
If a child finds it difficult to work in a group for twenty minutes, perhaps they can manage five. If they cannot perform on stage with everyone else, perhaps there is another meaningful role they can take.
What matters is that we do not decide for the child in advance: “They won’t manage.” “It will be too difficult.” “It’s better if they just sit this one out.” Because, under the guise of care, we may gradually begin to exclude children from the very experiences inclusion was meant to provide.
This article is not about blaming teachers, schools or anyone involved in the inclusion process.
Quite the opposite.
We understand the demands teachers face today. Inclusion is genuinely challenging. A single classroom may include children with very different needs. Teachers are expected to teach the whole class, work with the teaching assistant, deliver the curriculum, assess learning and find an approach for every child. Sometimes they simply do not know how best to include a child with SEN in shared activities. That is why meaningful inclusion is about teamwork rather than the responsibility of any ONE PERSON. Teachers, teaching assistants, specialists, school leadership, parents, and—whenever possible—the child all have a role to play. Because quality inclusion should never depend on the heroics of a single teacher.
If we want teachers to be able to support children, someone must also support the teachers. Perhaps this is where we all need to change our perspective. Instead of asking, “Why didn’t the teacher do this?”, we should ask, “Have we given the teacher the knowledge, tools and support they need to do it?”
For us, inclusion is not a situation in which schools are left alone to meet a child’s needs while parents are left alone with their expectations and fears. It’s about shared responsibility, where everyone works towards the same goal: a child who has a place among their peers, can learn, grow, build relationships, and gradually become more independent.
