Experiencing disability as a student in the 1980s and 1990s, I had never heard the word ableism: but I knew what it felt like to be viewed as deficient, strange, and incapable. My 1st grade teacher wasn't afraid to tell my parents she didn't want me in her class. In the school gym, I often sat against the wall alone while my classmates engaged in P.E. At times, classmates made fun of me, imitating the way I walked or ran with my crutches. These few examples of rejection don't encompass the whole of my K–12 experience, but they certainly played a part in the lack of belonging I felt in my community.
I was in graduate school before I had a name, aside from prejudice, for what I knew so well. Talila Lewis (2022) describes ableism as, "A system of assigning value to people's bodies and minds based on societally constructed ideas of normalcy, productivity, desirability, intelligence, excellence, and fitness." Lewis's conception of ableism identifies how it often works hand-in-hand with racism, since it leads people to devalue certain characteristics and ways of being.
Today, more and more students and teachers recognize and are able to name blatant ableism, even if they don't yet understand the nuances or know how to challenge it. Education leaders can support this growing critical consciousness and improve the experience of disabled students and that of the entire community by exploring what an anti-ableist pedagogy could look like. This pedagogy might encompass the mindset educators bring to their work and the methods they use in teaching.
Working from the tenets of disability studies in education (Connor et al., 2008), and drawing from my experience as a teacher and school administrator, I've developed four exercises for building an anti-ableist pedagogy. These exercises, outlined below, need continuous attention, like any social justice project.
1. Confront Beliefs About Disability
Even if teachers are skilled with the technical strategies of Universal Design for Learning (UDL), accommodation, and modification, they may still unconsciously view students in deficit terms. An anti-ableist approach is cultural, related to ways we think, act, and interact with each other; and it is important for all students, disabled and nondisabled alike, as they develop ways to navigate human difference and their own unique qualities.
To develop an anti-ableist pedagogy, we need to reflect on our own beliefs and practices on a continuous basis. This can begin at an individual level: What have I come to believe about disability? How did I come to think this way? How does it impact the students and families I serve? Even those of us with firsthand experience with disabilities need to question our beliefs as we often have internalized ableist perspectives. Reflection can also happen among school teams: What does our shared mission say about disability? How do our practices meet or fail to meet the needs of disabled students and/or family members?
In our ableist society, there are many ways to conceptualize disability. An anti-ableist pedagogy brings those ways into question. A medical model of disability is one that views disability as a problem that needs to be fixed or cured, a deformity, a burden, and something pitiable. So sorry, my heart goes out to you. Poor thing! How would a model like this impact students? How accepted could one feel? A charity model of disability sees disability as an opportunity to take care of someone who seems less fortunate, a marker that deems someone to forever be in need of others' kindness. Please, let me help you cross the street. It's a good thing I was here when you needed me. What would this model do to a student's sense of agency? By contrast, a social model of disability, anti-ableist in nature, understands impairment to be a natural part of human diversity and sees disability as the result of social barriers and ableism. We can work together to remove barriers.
A social model of disability understands impairment to be a natural part of human diversity and sees disability as the result of social barriers and ableism.
Could this third model help us focus on problems within the environment rather than within individual students? Disability activists and allies have promoted the social model in an effort to move us away from the medical model, a predominant deficit-based model that has caused much harm. Distancing ourselves from the medical model does not mean we neglect medical care and support, but rather that we accept these needs as a natural part of life. This acceptance means letting go of pity and low expectations and realizing that disabled people can live well and have meaningful lives. Although researchers have identified many other models, the social model can be particularly helpful in schools, reminding teachers to eliminate barriers to learning instead of assuming some students are unable to learn.
2. Examine the Hidden Curriculum
Being aware of various models of disability can support our work in examining the hidden curriculum our schools teach—the values we have inherited and have left unquestioned. Educators play a part in socially constructing ideas about disability. First, let's begin with the concepts mentioned in the definition of ableism: "normalcy, productivity, desirability, intelligence, excellence, and fitness" (Lewis, 2022). How do these areas contribute to a hidden curriculum in schools? When we promote one right way to be or act, we contribute to the pressure students feel to meet norms, to see those who don't as abnormal and less valuable. When our expectations for productivity in the classroom do not consider the realities of various minds and bodies, we send a message that some are more worthy than others. The images we post on classroom walls and the comments we make about people communicate to students what we view as desirable. These representations can influence the way they see themselves and the way they treat others. Even our assessments and grading systems often rigidly characterize a narrow slice of our population as intelligent. And we wonder why some students are unmotivated. Likewise, setting up competitions and rewarding winners with high praise can leave many feeling like they fall short of excellence and fitness, and that their efforts and growth do not measure up.
Even if we have to make use of some of these common practices in education, we can ask ourselves how we can modify or think differently about them to make them more inclusive and less marginalizing. How can we celebrate uniqueness and multiple ways of being? How can we encourage learning for everyone? How can we uplift our students without demeaning others? How can we identify the intelligence within every individual and be a champion for them? How can we celebrate cooperation and the growth everyone achieves?
Second, so much of our education system is based on standards. Although intended to provide equal opportunities and to hold high expectations for all, standards can often lead to one-size-fits-all curricula and assessment systems that deny the fact that students are not and never will be standardized. Our compliance with standards-based education becomes part of the hidden curriculum, the messages we send about who students should be. From a social model perspective, we might consider: How can we hold high expectations for all students without expecting this to look the same for everyone? If we are beholden to standards, how do we talk to students about them? If a teacher acknowledges the imperfect system in their conversations with students, explaining that standardized tests do not reflect everyone's strengths, that can help students develop a critical consciousness about their own value.
A third common aspect of our hidden curriculum (and many say it is more explicit than hidden) is the value we place on independence. We assess students on what they can do by themselves. We most often give individual assignments. We teach students to dream about taking care of themselves and praise those who don't need help. By contrast, disabled leaders and activists, like those of other marginalized communities, know that interdependence is reality, that survival depends on working together and asking for help (Raghaven, 2020). How can we support students in building their capacities and their sense of agency while valuing the interdependent nature of our lives? How do we celebrate that we can all contribute in unique and beautiful ways?
3. Promote an Asset-Based Representation of Disabled People
As we question our own beliefs about disability and the messages infused in our teaching, we can look for ways to shift toward asset-based representations of disabled people within our curriculum. One approach is including texts that focus on disability in a nuanced way. Writer and activist Leroy Moore wrote Black Disabled Art History 101 (Xóchitl Justice Press, 2016) for children as a response to not seeing Black disabled artists in books and curriculum while he was growing up. In the dedication, he writes:
This book is dedicated to all the disabled children and youth searching for a mirror, for histories, for stories, and for images that say, "You are not alone. You are being carried by disabled Black and Brown adults who were once disabled Black and Brown children and youth. We want you to continue on your path and lead others in new directions."
Moore's book offers narratives of disabled visual artists, musicians, dancers, actors, and actresses. Similarly, Alice Wong's young adult book Disability Visibility: First Person Stories for Today (Delacorte Press, 2021), contains a collection of essays written by disabled authors. Books like these can provide road maps and ways of being that students can connect to and can claim with dignity.
Many of us grew up without access to asset-based representations of disability and may need support in finding them. Websites like One Out of Five: Disability History and Pride Project and Teacher Leaders for Inclusion can help teachers get started with ideas for poetry, books, and historical accounts to introduce in the classroom.
Disability counternarratives, like the stories in Moore's and Wong's books, come from the perspective of disabled folks and are another key part of asset-based representations. Disabled activist Stella Young says we've all been sold a lie about disability, "that disability is a bad thing." Her 2014 TED Talk, "I'm Not Your Inspiration, Thank You Very Much," is one counternarrative that can help teachers change the script for disabled students and their peers, shifting their perspective of where expertise lies. What stories do your students need to hear? How might a good counternarrative give them a glimpse of their own tremendous potential?
4. Focus on Access
An anti-ableist pedagogy cannot exist without a continuous focus on access. Thankfully, more and more teachers are building flexibility into their classroom environments with Universal Design for Learning, considering multiple means for providing content, engaging students, and assessing knowledge and skill. Access, though, is more than UDL and more than placement within special or general education settings. It entails giving attention to how students feel and whether they can safely bring their whole selves to the classroom.
Access entails giving attention to how students feel and whether they can safely bring their whole selves to the classroom.
Disability activists Alice Wong, Sandy Ho, and Mia Mingus have launched a project called "Access is Love" in which they promote the idea that access is everyone's responsibility and must be a collective effort. The resources they provide can support educators who want to think deeply about what access means, who access is for, and how to build accessibility practices in a K–12 classroom. Is access in schools all about logistics, like wheelchair accessibility, font size, and the presence of ASL interpreters or captioning? Or does access also entail consideration of the affective needs of students? For example, a variety of seating and standing options can signal that it's OK that our bodies need different things and can allow students to tend to the needs of their bodies without being "the odd one."
Could access include the ways in which curriculum opens minds to new ways of thinking that provide space and belonging for all bodies and minds? Reading a children's book like We Move Together by Kelly Fritsch and Anne McGuire (AK Press, 2021) and discussing ways to make our communities more accessible can spark creativity and convey the idea that everyone is valued. Asking teens in a science classroom to read stories by disabled writers—like those highlighted in the International Disability Alliance's "Voices of People with Disabilities During the COVID-19 Outbreak" project—while learning about public health can model how to consider the perspective and expertise of those who are disabled.
An Ongoing Effort
An anti-ableist pedagogy is possible and is needed. As educators, we can develop practices that recognize and interrupt ableism and that acknowledge disability as diversity that exists outside the confines of special education. We can continuously check our own beliefs about disability and examine the messages within hidden curriculum that harm students. We can grow to see the value of disability counternarratives, inviting them into our classrooms with the voices of artists and writers, local community members, and our students. With these practices, we prioritize access and hopefully learn to model protocols for making access something educators and students can both expect and support.
