International Perspectives on Exclusionary Pressures in Education: How Inclusion becomes Exclusion 3031141121, 9783031141126

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International Perspectives on Exclusionary Pressures in Education How Inclusion becomes Exclusion Edited by Elizabeth J. Done Helen Knowler

International Perspectives on Exclusionary Pressures in Education

Elizabeth J. Done  •  Helen Knowler Editors

International Perspectives on Exclusionary Pressures in Education How Inclusion becomes Exclusion

Editors Elizabeth J. Done Plymouth Institute of Education Plymouth University Plymouth, UK

Helen Knowler Graduate School of Education University of Exeter Exeter, UK

ISBN 978-3-031-14112-6    ISBN 978-3-031-14113-3 (eBook) https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-14113-3 © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive licence to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and ­transmission or information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed. The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use. The publisher, the authors, and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations. This Palgrave Macmillan imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature Switzerland AG. The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland

Contents

1 I ntroduction  1 Elizabeth J. Done and Helen Knowler Part I Exclusion: Policy, Practice, Research  21 2 Exclusion  and the ‘Wicked Problem’ of Behaviour in Australian Schools 23 David Armstrong 3 Removing  Inclusion: An Analysis of Exclusionary Processes in the Italian School System 45 Fabio Dovigo 4 Exclusion  and Neoliberal Public Sector Management 65 David Hall 5 The  Migratory Experience: Challenging Inclusionary Measures 85 Hanne Riese, Line Torbjørnsen Hilt, and Juhar Yasin Abamosa

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6 Exclusionary  Practices and Danish School Policy105 Lotte Hedegaard-Sɵrensen Part II Exclusion: Revisiting Inclusion 123 7 Labels  of Convenience/Labels of Opportunity125 Jonathan Rix 8 The  Other Students with Special Educational Needs and the Attainment Gap143 Christos Dimitriadis 9 History,  Space and Schooling Among Indigenous Australians163 Jenny Dean and Philip Roberts 10 Education  Policy and Roma Children in Romania183 Stefánia Toma 11 Twenty  Years Later: Has Inclusive Education in South Africa Been Realised?205 Dana K. Donohue and Juan Bornman 12 Racial  Justice and School Exclusion217 Zahra Bei 13 Education  and Exclusion in Mongolia235 Ariunzul Liijuu-Ochir and Valerie Huggins Part III Exclusion: Separation, Segregation, Suspicion 257 14 ‘Unruly’  Ethnic Minorities: Exclusion Through Policy Constructions259 Sana Rizvi

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15 The  Paradox of Special Support and Separation279 Andreas Köpfer and Run Tan 16 Gender-Based  Violence and School Exclusion295 Sarah Cole 17 Gender-Based  Exclusion in Turkish Schools313 Melike Acar 18 Changing  Regulations and Practices in Spain327 Carmen Carmona, Donatella Donato, and Sandra García de Fez 19 Inclusion,  Exclusion and Syrian Refugees in Turkey345 Sümeyye Derin A  fterword363 Graham Hallett and Fiona Hallett I ndex371

Notes on Contributors

Graham Hallett  is a Senior Lecturer for special educational needs and inclusion at the University of Cumbria and an editor of the British Journal of Special Education. Fiona Hallett  is a Professor and Associate Dean of the Graduate School at Edge Hill University in the UK, specialising in inclusion. She is also an editor of the British Journal of Special Education.

Contributors Juhar Yasin Abamosa  University, Inland Norway University of Applied Sciences, Lillehammer, Norway Melike Acar  MEF University, Istanbul, Turkey David Armstrong  RMIT University, Melbourne, Australia Zahra Bei  Institute of Education, University College London, London, UK Juan Bornman  Centre for Augmentative and Alternative Communication, University of Pretoria, Pretoria, South Africa Carmen Carmona  University of Valencia, Valencia, Spain ix

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Notes on Contributors

Sarah Cole  University of Exeter, Exeter, UK Jenny Dean  University of Canberra, Canberra, Australia Sandra Garcia de Fez  University of Valencia, Valencia, Spain Sümeyye Derin  University of Sakarya, Sakarya, Turkey Christos Dimitriadis  Kingston University, Kingston, UK Donatella Donato  University of Valencia, Valencia, Spain Elizabeth J. Done  University of Plymouth, Plymouth, England Dana  K.  Donohue Centre for Augmentative and Alternative Communication, University of Pretoria, Pretoria, South Africa Fabio Dovigo  Danish School of Education, Aarhus University, Aarhus, Denmark David Hall  University of Exeter, Exeter, UK Lotte  Hedegaard-Sɵrensen Danish School of Education, Aarhus University, Copenhagen, Denmark Line Torbjørnsen Hilt  University of Bergen, Bergen, Norway Valerie Huggins  University of Bristol, Bristol, UK University of Plymouth, Plymouth, UK Helen Knowler  University of Wolverhampton, Wolverhampton, England Andreas Köpfer  University of Freiburg, Freiburg, Germany University of Konstanz, Konstanz, Germany Ariunzul Liijuu-Ochir  University of Bristol, Bristol, UK University of Plymouth, Plymouth, UK Hanne Riese  University, Inland Norway University of Applied Sciences, Lillehammer, Norway University of Bergen, Bergen, Norway Jonathan Rix  Open University, Milton Keynes, England Inland Norway University of Applied Sciences, Lillehammer, Norway

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Sana Rizvi  Liverpool John Moores University, Merseyside, UK Philip Roberts  University of Canberra, Canberra, Australia Run Tan  University of Freiburg, Freiburg, Germany University of Konstanz, Konstanz, Germany Stefania Toma  Romanian Institute for Research on National Minorities, Cluj-Napoca, Romania

List of Figures

Fig. 7.1 2019–2020 SEN UK Allocations  Fig. 9.1 Average number of core subject curriculum offerings by Indigenous enrolments. Source: Authors’ calculations using New South Wales Education Standards Authority data on schools, students and courses, 2017

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1 Introduction Elizabeth J. Done and Helen Knowler

The chapters in this collected works reflect a growing awareness that the project of educational inclusion or inclusive education, as laid out in international policy discourse and conventions of the 1990s, is failing many young people. From a social justice perspective, aspirations to ‘full inclusion’ (UNESCO, 1994) and international conventions declaring the ‘rights’ of all children to an education (UN, 1989, 2006) have prompted a familiar political rhetoric about striving to achieve educational and social inclusivity. At the same time, governments have failed to address the obstacles to realising these international policy objectives. Indeed, a key proposition outlined in this book is that it is the neoliberal economic and political order, now globally dominant, which presents the

E. J. Done (*) University of Plymouth, Plymouth, England e-mail: [email protected] H. Knowler University of Wolverhampton, Wolverhampton, England e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 E. J. Done, H. Knowler (eds.), International Perspectives on Exclusionary Pressures in Education, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-14113-3_1

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greatest obstacle to social and educational inclusion. Education policies respond to competing economic and sociopolitical discourses, and the social organisation of inclusive education has clearly been influenced by such discourses. Hence, individualised responsibility and choice are emphasised in many national contexts in contrast to the principle of collective social responsibility that characterised liberal democratic welfarism. National economic priorities such as competitiveness in a global economic system work to limit political commitment to ending social and educational exclusion. Performance-based accountability measures through which competition between schools and national education systems is engineered have created perverse incentives to exclude or to obscure exclusionary pressures and practices. Political rhetoric that suggests ongoing political commitment to inclusion can thus be understood as a form of political “masking” that resonates with the masking more usually identified in schools (e.g. Power & Taylor, 2020). The latter refers to schools that separate some children from their peers but, at the same time, frame such practices as inclusionary measures rather than forms of exclusion (Done et al., 2022). The chapters here illustrate the varied historical and national policy and practice landscapes in which such masking takes place. Hence, there are chapters on countries where exclusion from school is prohibited in law but where inequitable educational outcomes are endemic and disproportional, that is, specific social groups are far more likely to be adversely affected. These education systems are widely viewed as highly democratic and inclusive, despite the exclusionary practices that can be found at policy, school, and classroom levels and which, again, adversely affect specific demographic groups. Fabio Dovigo notes that a valorised concept of homogeneity in school populations, supported by enduring traditional structures in the Italian education system, is leading to a “passing the buck” system and “culture of delegation” in relation to students with disabilities and learning difficulties. It is argued that the centrality of competitive individualism in neoliberal economic theorising and political discourse is reflected, for example, in individualised diagnoses, and in expectations that these students are supported in ways that preserve the (fictitious) homogeneity or sameness of the school population. School performance in league tables is to be protected and repeated demands for

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training in pedagogies for the disabled or those with learning difficulties should be interpreted in this context. Despite their varied emphases, each chapter demonstrates that social exclusion, discriminatory discourses, education policy and practice, and school exclusion are linked. All explore tensions between the ideals and realities of educational and social inclusion. Such tensions can be summarised as competition between economic and political rationalities. Drives for economic expediency and national competitiveness within the global economy are prioritised over an increasingly politically incontestable political discourse around inclusion, leading to the marginalising and exclusion of many young people (Done et al., 2022, 2015; Done & Knowler, 2020a, b). The concept of intersectionality features in several chapters where, for example, low socioeconomic status or disability can significantly increase the risk of exclusion for already socially marginalised children. Neoliberalising processes such as the marketisation of education, as Wilkins (2015) argues, require families to reproduce market rationalities. Hence, parents are granted the right in some countries to choose between so-called special and mainstream schools for children with disabilities or diagnosed conditions. Parents are responsibilised (Foucault, 1982), thereby deflecting attention from the failure of many mainstream schools to meaningfully include all children and, indeed, from the Salamanca (UNESCO, 1994) aspiration to full inclusion (Done & Knowler, 2021). The performance-based monitoring associated with marketisation has incentivised schools to engage in impression management (Ball, 2003). Hence, intersectional exclusionary pressures and practices can be obscured by declarations of commitment to inclusivity made by governments and at school level. In Australia, intersectionality is evidenced in the situation of indigenous children who are more likely to have disabilities, to be excluded, and to be placed in segregated special education provision by default (DiGiacomo et al., 2013; Foley, 2013). In South Africa, it is disabled children within lower socioeconomic households who are more likely to be prevented from attending school. This text explores how a globally hegemonic discourse, that privileges national economic competitiveness and dictates the up-skilling of those with the capacity to contribute to economic productivity (Done et  al., 2015), has influenced

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specific national contexts. Nevertheless, there are unmistakable commonalities in exclusionary trends. The “pervasiveness and complexity of exclusion as a social disposition” has been noted (Slee, 2013, p. 896) and Popkewitz identifies a sociopolitical tendency to “comparativeness” that, ironically, “produces inequality as it strives for equality” (2013, p. 439). [T]he making of human kinds embodies particular historically generated modes of representing the possibilities of life; and these modes function to divide, differentiate and abject particular qualities of people and populations into unlivable spaces. (Popkewitz, 2013, p. 439)

Abjection, as with all exclusionary practices, has spatial and temporal dimensions. The form it takes empirically varies according to particular geographical, historical, and sociopolitical contexts. Contributors here illustrate such variability whilst highlighting the effects of a globally dominant market logic in education. A globalised neoliberal economic order has meant the creation of markets in education and the rationing of resources such that “inequality is built in” (Connell, 2013, p. 279). The state supports this neoliberal economic order (Foucault, 2008) despite the social inequities that it produces (Tomlinson, 2001). In neo-liberal rhetoric, the actual pattern of social inequality is misrepresented, e.g. the idea of ‘pockets of poverty’, while institutional restructuring embeds the new mechanisms. Neoliberalism seeks to close down arenas for debate and create a monopoly for the market perspective; it is important to sustain other agendas. (Connell, 2013, 279)

These “new mechanisms” include dataveillance (Thompson & Sellar, 2018; Jarke & Breiter, 2019) or governance that relies on league table metrics and comparison of academic performance at local, national, and international levels. The state is thus implicated, or entangled, in practices of abjection through such comparison that creates “poorly performing” individuals, schools, and education systems that are then to be acted upon in the drive for competitive national advantage (Ball, 2003). In many countries, the abjected are charged with self-improvement and “responsibilised” for such improvement (Done et al., 2015). In the case

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of education professionals, the consequences of “poor performance” can extend to removal from post, creating an incentive to exclude students that threaten to dilute school performance data (Done & Knowler, 2020a, b). For students, state-initiated and commercial programmes are available and premised on an assumption that everyone should not only aspire to labour market participation but also strive for competitive advantage in that market (Demir & Done, 2022). In neoliberal education cultures, exclusion is individualised and its effects obscured through discourses around self-responsibility and aspiration; and, although exclusionary pressures within education systems can be endemic, this is rarely acknowledged in policy or professional discourse (Done & Knowler, 2021; Done et al., 2021a, 2022). As Popkewitz and Lindblad (2000) suggest, the shift from democratic welfare to neoliberal states is not a strictly linear progression. Rather, the neoliberal state, like late capitalism itself (Braidotti, 2006), has shown an extraordinary capacity to appropriate political and sociocultural movements that might threaten the neoliberal economic and political order and social stability. This has led to policies designed to promote social and educational inclusion, and contributors to this text critically explore the effects of such policies in varied national contexts. In contrast to concepts of the state as a centralised unitary entity, Jonathan Rix analyses ambiguities in the discursive production of categories such as “special educational needs” and “disabilities”, and geographical inconsistencies in their application at local state level. Nevertheless, the economising of education policy effected by restructured neoliberal states signifies a capacity to cut across federal political structures to achieve national educational reform in a “hybrid mix of the neoliberal with social democratic aspirations to do with social justice and schooling” (Lingard, 2010, p. 129). All of the chapters included here indicate that policies related to social and educational inclusion or inclusive education are failing many children, young people, and adults. The analyses of structural relations, systemic pressures, and pedagogic practices contained herein confirm that the goal of equitable provision and educational outcomes has yet to be realised and that this is a global problem. The chapters also point to an irony that policies and practices intended to include may have the opposite effect, for example, through labelling that sets students apart from

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their peers, and by removing them from the classroom for remedial or compensatory programmes. Contributors summarise the ensuing state of affairs as “exclusionary inclusion” and note its “everydayness”. Some question whether a “dichotomised” education system (special and mainstream or regular) should be considered inclusionary. Others explore how schools may discriminate against specific groups of students and engage in varied practices that, despite a political inclusion agenda, stigmatise and marginalise them, or completely remove them from education settings. Lotte Hedegaard-Sɵrensen investigates the exclusionary effects of the Danish state’s move away from an ethical and rights-based discourse in education towards a neoliberal accountability discourse that includes the introduction of tests and national measurements. Authors were invited to bear the concept of intersectionality in mind when identifying exclusionary pressures within their national context. The phrase “exclusionary inclusion” implies that some students are oppressed whilst, drawing on Braidotti (2020), intersectionality highlights that some groups of students are subject to multiple oppressions that influence their participation in, or exclusion from, education. This text therefore considers learning difficulties and disability, socioeconomic status, race, ethnicity, gender and gender-based identities, and their interaction in specific contexts. It recognises that power relations have historical, spatial, and racialised dimensions as explored by Jenny Dean and Philip Roberts in an Australian context. These authors argue that the structural exclusion from power and privilege that once resulted from colonialism is now effected through a neoliberal education system. Stefania Toma investigates the situation of Roma students in Romania and the effect of a complex net of intersecting factors, including poverty, ethnic and racial discrimination, segregation, and exclusion. Whilst the invisibility of exclusionary practices can be effected in many educational contexts (Done & Knowler, 2021), as Connell (2013) argues, exclusion is a condition of the existence of neoliberal marketised education systems. Rather than argue that inclusion and exclusion are mutually constitutive (Kristeva, 1986), implying a universalising tendency, Connell’s (2013) analysis is historically specific. Neoliberal educational systems require “visible losers” (p.  282) if, for example, parents are to choose one school or commodified service over another, and if the sense

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of individual freedom to choose is to be sustained (Done et al., 2015). This apparent freedom is pivotal in neoliberal economic theory and relations (Done, 2019), but, in practice, such choices can be severely limited, reflecting systemic inequities. Ironically, political recognition of the need to address historical and current inequities can lead to, and reinforce, “the idea of compensatory schooling” (Dodson, 2010, p.  8). This type of schooling not only neglects wider socioeconomic and sociopolitical inequities, it also positions students as lacking or failing to conform to prescribed norms or standards. Compensatory measures can be thought of as “technologies of rectification” (Done et al., 2018) that seek to fix deficits. Instead of compassionately attending to students as individuals, schools engage in what Slee (2015, p. 10), following Rose (1990), calls “technologies of optimisation”. Here, compensatory measures paradoxically, and simultaneously, reject and reinforce difference or non-­normative identities. Students subject to these compensatory measures thus occupy a paradoxical space that can be characterised as a space or site of exclusion. The chapters here reflect our earlier theorising of exclusion through “continuum thinking” (Done et al., 2021a) that draws on Boyle’s (2019) feminist theorising. This serves to highlight the material and affective import of exclusionary experiences for those who are abjected, stigmatised, marginalised within, or excluded from, education. Stigmatising language is felt; it becomes an embodied experience (Done & Andrews, 2019). We have argued that an “event-based” continuum, ranging from insulting language or stereotyping to formal or informal exclusion from school, dropout, or pushout, must be considered alongside an “affect-­ based” continuum where affects may be variable. The interaction of these continuums influences how an individual will be affected by exclusionary practices. For example, a student subjected to stigmatising language may be as, or in some cases even more, profoundly affected than a student who is formally excluded or expelled from school. However, all exclusionary practices and pressures are damaging even though responses may vary, and their affect can be cumulative. It is this variability that runs counter to racialised appropriations of the “events-based” continuum that present it as a “pipeline” (Perera, 2020). The pipeline concept (from school exclusion to criminality) is linked to an over-representation of adults excluded from school when younger in the prison populations of the US and

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England. It does not describe an inevitable linear process but it does, when taken as such, imply racial stereotyping and the foreclosure of contingent outcomes (Done et al., 2021a). Stereotyping is a denial of the singularity of students and of the heterogeneity found within social groups. In this sense, the presupposing of fixed identities in educational settings can be viewed as a practice or technique of government whereby power is exercised through the production of subjectivities and of fields of visibility and invisibility (Dean, 2010; Done & Knowler, 2021). Youdell (2006) summarises this as a process of “subjectivation” and considers the “raced-nationed-religioned” subject in Australian higher education. Yet, subjectivation is a process that is equally relevant to analyses of disability, gender or gender-based identity, socioeconomic status, and more. The concept of subjectivation in Youdell (2006) derives from Foucault (1982), Althusser (1971), and Butler (1997). It is about who is seen, how they are seen, what is not seen and why. Sana Rivzi explores the interplay of race, nationality, religion, and gender with reference to recent high profile cases in England. By positing an “affect-based” continuum (Done et al., 2021a), we are supporting an affective politics (Kennedy et al., 2013). This means refusing to reduce students to their attributes or their socially prescribed identities, and rejecting stereotyping based on familiar demographics such as disability, race, ethnicity, socioeconomic status, sexuality, or gender. By contrast, a politics of representation that concerns the presence or enrolment of specific demographic groups in education allows us to identify when such groups are under-represented; or, when they are over-­ represented as, for example, in official school exclusions data (Done & Knowler, 2020a, b). Although a rights-based politics of representation obscures or renders invisible how children, young people, and adults in education are made to feel when stigmatised, marginalised, or excluded, it continues to play a key role in national contexts globally. It is particularly relevant where, for example, children with impairments are refused admission to school, prompting investigation of the causes of their under-­ representation in the school population. Dana Donoghue and Juan Bornman identify socioeconomic status as a key factor in the non-­ enrolment of children with impairments in South Africa, and Ari Ochir and Valerie Huggins explore why the exclusion rate of children in Mongolia

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is higher for those with disabilities despite current government policies and political rhetoric. A rights-based and data-driven politics of representation thus highlights inequities, while an affective politics cuts through the passionless formality of legislation and policy discourse related to inclusion and exclusion. It enables the stories of the oppressed and excluded to be told and political organisation around their experiences. Zahra Bei introduces counter-storytelling as a research method that permits such stories to be more widely shared. Several contributors recall the aspiration to ‘full inclusion’ in the Salamanca Statement (UNESCO, 1994) and note international conventions declaring the rights of all children to a high quality education (UN, 2006). These have resulted in many inclusion-related policies at national levels and, following Foucault (1982, 1991), these can be read as policy technologies. As such, they enable governments to claim that they have achieved, or are striving to achieve, social and educational inclusivity. At the same time, governments fail to recognise obstacles to the meaningful realisation of these international policy objectives or the irony that education and inclusion-related policy rhetoric can be divisive. One such obstacle is the fabrication (classifying or naming) and targeting of specific groups as worthy of inclusion programmes or interventions (Ball, 2003; Popkewitz, 2013). This very act reinforces difference and thus has exclusionary implications as suggested by the concept of “exclusionary inclusion” proposed by Hanne Riese, Line Hilt, and Yuhar Abamosa. We would argue that the concept of diversity operates in a similar way, conveying tolerance of difference whilst reinforcing that very sense of difference or deviation from a majoritarian norm (Done et al., 2015). When viewed as a binarised structure, normative majoritarian identities are valorised whilst minority identities are de-valued. A culture of classifying, organising, and intervening is pervasive in education, lending an “everydayness” or routine and normalised character to exclusionary practices that go unnoticed as such (Power & Taylor, 2020). Group identities are fabricated or produced through discourse (Popkewitz, 2013). Whether in political or professional discourse, this fabricating of specific minority groups and individuals as requiring compensatory education can be read as a form of political control. It is a policy technology (Foucault, 1991; Dean, 2010) that manages

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sub-populations which are constituted and perceived as potential threats to social stability, dominant social norms, and majoritarian identities. As suggested earlier, this hegemonic or dominant model of inclusion that has informed policy in recent decades is also linked to wider neoliberal socioeconomic priorities (Done, 2019). In the USA, these can be summarised as market fundamentalism (Giroux, 2010), whilst, in European contexts, ordo-liberal thinking has led to policies intended as social intervention to support social stability and economic prosperity (Done, 2019). Both have demanded the production of a new type of human subjectivity, that is, one which is competitively individualistic, aspirational, entrepreneurial, and highly skilled. Education is presented in political and policy discourse as pivotal in ensuring an educated and skilled labour force that will enable national economies to gain or sustain a competitive advantage in the globalised economic order (Peters, 2007). David Hall discusses how this economic imperative has changed public sector management in recent decades; intensified performance-based accountability may result in strategic exclusionary practices as schools prioritise performance data management over inclusion. Inclusion is now widely understood to mean successful participation in education or training and meritocratic achievement (Alexiadou et al., 2016; Grimaldi, 2012, pp. 1133–1134). This understanding rests uneasily with broader sociocultural or sociopolitical expectations around inclusion (Done, 2019; Done & Knowler, 2020b). Following Foucault (2008), there is a tension between economic and political rationalities that governments and schools must navigate, that is, between economic priorities, inclusionrelated policies, and public expectations. An economic rationality or economised education system relies on a very different set of values to that associated with the democratic welfare state. It shifts the inclusion narrative towards a more economistic, technocratic, and instrumental vision of policy goals (Ball, 2003; Kelly et al., 2021). This shift to concern with cost efficiency was pre-figured by the mention of economic expediency in the Salamanca Statement at a time when states were questioning the affordability of dichotomised education systems (UNESCO, 1994). When the hegemonic understanding of inclusion policies is that, first and foremost, they must serve national economic interests as opposed to ensuring social justice, education systems will reflect this priority. In

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some countries, this has resulted in policies that create perverse incentives for schools to exclude students and obscure exclusionary and discriminatory practices (Done & Knowler, 2020b; Done et al., 2021a; Armstrong & Armstrong, 2022). Marketised education systems rely on accountability procedures such as performance league tables to discipline schools and educational institutions. Schools must compete and attract students that will not adversely affect their performance data or league table ranking. This creates an exclusionary pressure that, for example, might mean not admitting particular students or the illegal removal of students that are enrolled. One documented consequence is residualisation (Keddie & Holloway, 2020), that is, the disproportional presence of specific minority groups in lower performing schools or schools located in areas of high socioeconomic deprivation (Exley & Ball, 2011; Demir & Done, 2022). In countries where formal exclusion is not legal, there may be a proliferation of practices intended to protect a “regular schooling” culture which are presented as useful and necessary remedial interventions or programmes. Most involve separating students from their peers, whilst reinforcing a normative understanding of what education is for and for whom (Power & Taylor, 2020). Such practices have increased significantly, precisely because legal exclusions are no longer possible. They serve to mask exclusionary practices and suggest a further ironic development in the field of educational inclusion. Socioeconomic status may itself act as an exclusionary pressure in the sense that those disproportionately at risk of dropout are young people from poorer neighbourhoods where literacy rates may also be relatively low. Schools may be prevented from attending to the learning needs of students at high risk of dropout or exclusion by national education policies and priorities. A representational model of inclusion based on enrolment rates is often linked to a liberal humanist concept of equality of opportunity. Here, enrolment is viewed as all that is required for a student who is motivated to succeed. This model, not unlike the banning of formal school exclusions, can also serve to mask exclusionary pressures since it neglects starting points such as vastly different levels of social capital (Bourdieu & Passeron, 1990). Equal opportunity signifies the opportunity to compete with more advantaged peers and equality of outcome is presupposed to depend on student ability and students’ desire to

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outperform others, whereas equity implies recognising these different starting points and providing relevant school environments and pedagogic practices (Grimaldi & Barzanò, 2015). The failure to acknowledge and address such varying levels of social and material capital was highlighted during the Covid-19 pandemic. Uneven access to laptops, iphones, or Internet connections meant that many students were excluded from online learning (Montacute & Cullinane, 2021). In a Spanish context, Carmen Carmona, Donatella Donato and Sandra Garcia de Fez argue for a critical social justice perspective and for schools that are able to respond to the communities that they serve. The protection of a “regular schooling” culture serves to legitimise a range of exclusionary practices and (mis)behaviour is commonly cited by schools as the reason for excluding students in many countries. The “events-based” continuum described earlier (Done et al., 2021a) captures this range. In England, schools are increasingly using “isolation” rooms and the rationale given is that confining a student to a dedicated space away from their peers allows them time to think about why their behaviour invited this punitive measure (Done et al., 2021b). “Cooling off” periods, where students are sent home due to disruptive behaviour, are said to fulfil the same purpose and are also commonly used (Done et al., 2021b, 2022). Students can be placed for longer periods in “alternative provision” (also known as Pupil Referral Units) whereby schools purchase “remedial” programmes or “packages” in predominantly offsite facilities (IntegratEd, 2020). “Managed moves” were introduced in England in 2002 (Done & Knowler, 2020b) and, where all parties consent, schools can legally transfer students to another school for a “fresh start”. There is ample evidence that schools can pressurise or manipulate parents into consenting to such moves (Done et al., 2021b) and of accounts of (mis) behaviour being exaggerated by schools in order to justify formal exclusions and improve school performance data (YouGov, 2019). In countries where formal exclusion or expulsion is legal, either permanently or on a temporary basis, it is found again that minority or specific demographic groups are far more likely to be excluded and excluded on behavioural grounds. In Australia, children and young people with learning difficulties and disabilities, and those from indigenous communities, are overrepresented in official school exclusion data. David Armstrong explores

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such intersectionality in an Australian context and outlines a research agenda designed to address this issue. The grounds for legal exclusion can vary between countries. Melike Acar cites a less typical Turkish example of behaviour being framed as a matter of morality in order to justify a formal school exclusion; the role of schools in fostering less discriminatory attitudes around gender-based identity is highlighted. Sarah Cole questions whether formal school exclusion is always an appropriate response to incidents of gender-based violence and raises the issue of self-exclusion following sexual harassment or assault in school. Christos Dimitriadis maintains that neglect can lead to behavioural issues and that it is a form of exclusion affecting “twice exceptional” students. It is argued that conceptualisations of ability and equity must address the achievement of all students rather than that of selected groups in competitive school cultures. Andreas Kōpfer and Run Tan consider the potentially exclusionary effects of paraprofessional practice, identifying continuities between the Caucasus and China, and arguing for their integration into inclusion-related school practices. Sumeyye Derin addresses the situation of Syrian refugee children in the Turkish education system. The Afterword kindly provided by Graham and Fiona Hallett notes that calls for training in teaching children classified as having disabilities or “special educational needs” continues to be a common reaction to identified systemic inequities. This is a contested view and one that these authors challenge, arguing that it functions as an obstacle to inclusive practice. They also highlight how neoliberalised education systems are perpetuating an emphasis on economic productivity that was evident in post-soviet states, to the detriment of many children.

Conclusion History is the set of conditions, however recent, from which “one turns away in order to becom, that is to say, in order to create something new” (Deleuze & Guattari, 1994, p.  96). The historical shift in terminology, from assimilation and integration towards inclusion, in social and education policy globally could be viewed as such a turning away. Indeed, in policy and practice settings, it is not unusual to find inclusion and inclusive

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education referred to as points of arrival in a concrete historical process that have already been achieved. Others argue that inclusion is an ongoing international effort to reduce the barriers to participation in education for those deemed vulnerable (Ainscow, 2021). Presented in this way, the political inclusion agenda does not imply that radical change in education systems or political priorities is needed. Yet, our own research and that of contributors to this collected works challenges that view. We question, for example, whether education systems engaging in the legally sanctioned removal of students from school sites (on a temporary or permanent basis) can be thought of as inclusive. We also insist that the over-representation of specific demographic groups in official exclusion and dropout data is indicative of systemic exclusionary pressures at local and national levels. It is questionable whether policies that reinforce stigmatisation and marginalisation, as an unintended or paradoxical consequence, will result in national education systems and school practices that are authentically inclusive. Contributors to this book theorise exclusionary pressures in varied ways, but all demonstrate a critical literacy and concern for social justice. Their chapters were included here because we view their analyses as compatible with our own theorising of exclusion that draws on post-­structural and feminist thinking, or because they clearly illustrate the concepts of disproportionality and intersectionality in relation to exclusion. We acknowledge that inclusion and exclusion are contested and, therefore, highly political concepts and that national contexts will vary. Nevertheless, we would also argue that practitioners and policymakers should never lose sight of the affective dimension of exclusionary experiences or the values that fuel expectations of inclusivity. This collected works conveys the scale of the challenge if we are to reduce or eradicate exclusionary pressures and practices globally.

References Ainscow, M. (2021). Inclusion and equity in education: Responding to a global challenge. In A. Köpfer, J. J. W. Powell, & R. Zahnd (Eds.), International handbook of inclusive education (pp. 75–88). Verlag Barbara Budrich. Alexiadou, N., Dovemark, M., Erixon-Arreman, I., Holm, A.-S., Lundahl, L., & Lundström, U. (2016). Managing inclusion in competitive school sys-

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tems: The cases of Sweden and England. Research in Comparative and International Education, 11(1), 13–33. https://doi.org/10.1177/174549991 6631065 Althusser, L. (1971). Ideology and ideological state apparatuses. In B. Brewster (Trans.) Lenin and philosophy (pp. 70–186). Monthly Review Press. Armstrong, D., & Armstrong, G. (2022). Educational trends exposed: How to be a critical consumer. Routledge. Ball, S.  J. (2003). The teacher’s soul and the terrors of performativity. Journal of Education Policy, 18(2), 215–228. https://doi.org/10.1080/ 0268093022000043065 Bourdieu, P., & Passeron, J. C. (1990). Reproduction in education, society and culture. Sage. Boyle, K. (2019). Me Too, Weinstein and feminism. Springer (Palgrave Pivot). Braidotti, R. (2006). Affirming the affirmative: Nomadic affectivity. Rhizomes, 11/12. http://www.rhizomes.net/issue11/braidotti.html#_tn1 Braidotti, R. (2020). “We” are in this together, but we are not one and he same. Bioethical Inquiry, 17, 465–469. https://doi.org/10.1007/s11673-­020-­10017-­8 Butler, J. (1997). Excitable speech: A politics of the performative. Routledge. Connell, R. W. (2013). Why do market ‘reforms’ persistently increase inequality? Discourse: Studies in the Cultural Politics of Education, 34(2), 279–285. https://doi.org/10.1080/01596306.2013.770253 Dean, M. (2010). Governmentality: Power and rule in modern society (2nd ed.). Sage. Deleuze, G., & Guattari, F. (1994). What is philosophy? Columbia University Press. Demir, Y., & Done, E. J. (2022). Twice exceptionality in neoliberal education cultures: Implications for Special Educational Needs Coordinators. Journal of Research in Special Educational Needs. https://doi.org/10.1111/1471-­ 3802.12564 DiGiacomo, M., Davidson, P.  M., Abbott, P., Delaney, P., Dharmendra, T., McGrath, S. J., Delaney, J., & Vincent, F. (2013). Childhood disability in Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples: A literature review. International Journal for Equity in Health, 12(1), 1–18. https://doi.org/10.118 6/1475-­9276-­12-­7 Dodson, M. (2010). Challenges and opportunities in Australian indigenous education. In I.  Snyder & J.  Nieuwenhuysen (Eds.), Closing the gap in ­education? Improving outcomes in southern world societies (pp. 1–12). Monash University Publishing. https://doi.org/10.26180/5f3c63dd56af0

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Done, E.  J. (2019). Education governance and the responsibility to include: Teachers as a site of discursive tension. In J. Allan, V. Harwood, & C. Jørgensen (Eds.), World yearbook of education 2020 (pp. 113–129). Routledge. Done, E. J., & Andrews, M. J. (2019). How inclusion became exclusion: Policy, teachers and inclusive education. Journal of Education Policy, 35(4), 447–464. https://doi.org/10.1080/02680939.2018.1552763 Done, E. J., & Knowler, H. (2020a). Painful invisibilities: Roll management or ‘off-rolling’ and professional identity. British Education Research Journal, 46(3), 516–531. https://doi.org/10.1002/berj.3591 Done, E. J., & Knowler, H. (2020b). A tension between rationalities: “Off-­rolling” as gaming and the implications for head teachers and the inclusion agenda. Educational Review. https://doi.org/10.1080/00131911.2020.1806785 Done, E. J., & Knowler, H. (2021). ‘Off-rolling’ and the art of visibility/invisibility: Exploring senior leaders’ views of ‘strategic’ school exclusion in England. British Education Research Journal, 47(4), 1039–1055. https://doi. org/10.1002/berj.3709 Done, E. J., Murphy, M., & Knowler, H. (2015). Mandatory accreditation for special educational needs co-ordinators: biopolitics, neoliberal managerialism and the Deleuzo–Guattarian ‘war machine’. Journal of Education Policy, 30, 86–100. https://doi.org/10.1080/02680939.2014.905872 Done, E.  J., Andrews, M.  J., & Evenden, C. (2018). (C)old beginnings and technologies of rectification in early years education: the implications for teachers and children with special educational needs. International Journal of Early Years Education. https://doi.org/10.1080/09669760.2018.1547633 Done, E. J., Knowler, H., & Armstrong, D. (2021a). ‘Grey’ exclusions matter: Mapping illegal exclusionary practices and the implications for children with disabilities in England and Australia. Journal of Research in Special Educational Needs, 21(S1), 36–44. https://doi.org/10.1111/1471-­3802.12539 Done, E. J., Knowler, H., Warnes, E., & Pickett-Jones, B. (2021b). Think piece on parents, ‘off rolling’ and wavelength methodology: Issues for SENCos. Support for Learning, 36(1), 69–82. https://doi.org/10.1111/1467-­9604.12339 Done, E. J., Knowler, H., Shields, W., & Baynton, H. (2022). Rocks and hard places: Exploring education psychologists’ perspectives on ‘off-rolling’ or ­illegal exclusionary practices in mainstream schools. Education Psychology Research and Practice, 7(2), 1–12. https://doi.org/10.15123/uel.8q73q Exley, S., & Ball, S. J. (2011). Something old, something new…understanding conservative education policy. In H. Bochel (Ed.), The conservative party and social policy (pp. 97–118). Policy Press.

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Foley, D. (2013). Indigenous Australia and the education system. In R. Connell, A.  Welch, M.  Vickers, D.  Foley, N.  Bagnall, D.  Hayes, H.  Proctor, A.  Sriprakash, & C.  Campbell (Eds.), Education, change and society (pp. 131–159). Oxford University Press Australia and New Zealand. Foucault, M. (1982). The subject and power. Critical Inquiry, 8, 777–795. Foucault, M. (1991). Governmentality. In G. Burchell, C. Gordon, & P. Miller (Eds.), The Foucault effect: Studies in governmentality (pp. 73–86). Harvester Wheatsheaf. Foucault, M. (2008). The birth of biopolitics: Lectures at the Collège de France 1978–1979 (G. Burchell, Trans.). Palgrave. Giroux, H. A. (2010). Bare pedagogy and the scourge of neoliberalism: Rethinking higher education. The Educational Forum, 74(3), 184–196. Grimaldi, E. (2012). Neoliberalism and the marginalisation of social justice: The making of in education policy to combat social exclusion. International Journal of Inclusive Education, 16(11), 1131–1154. https://doi.org/10.2304/ eerj.2014.13.1.26 Grimaldi, E., & Barzanò, G. (2015). Making sense of the educational present: Problematising the ‘merit turn’ in the Italian eduscape. European Educational Research Journal, 13(1), 26–46. https://doi.org/10.2304/eerj.2014.13.1.26 IntegratEd. (2020). Annual report: Fewer exclusions. Better alternative provision. https://www.integrated.org.uk/report/integrated-­annual-­report-­2020/ Jarke, J., & Breiter, A. (2019). Editorial: The datafication of education. Learning, Media and Technology, 44(1), 1–6. https://doi.org/10.1080/1743988 4.2019.1573833 Keddie, A., & Holloway, J. (2020). School autonomy, school accountability and social justice: Stories from two Australian school principals. School Leadership and Management, 40(4), 288–302. https://doi.org/10.1080/1363243 4.2019.1643309 Kelly, P., Hofbauer, S., & Gross, B. (2021). Renegotiating the public good: Responding to the first wave of COVID-19 in England, Germany and Italy. European Educational Research Journal, 20(5), 584–609. https://doi. org/10.1177/14749041211030065 Kennedy, R., Zapasnik, J., McCann, H., & Bruce, M. (2013). All those little machines: Assemblage as transformative theory. Australian Humanities Review, 55, 45–66. Kristeva, J. (1986). In T. Moi (Ed.), The Kristeva reader. Columbia University Press.

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Lingard, B. (2010). Policy borrowing, policy learning: Testing times in Australian schooling. Critical Studies in Education, 51(2), 129–147. https://doi. org/10.1080/17508481003731026 Montacute, R., & Cullinane, C. (2021). Learning in lockdown. Research brief. Sutton Trust. https://www.suttontrust.com/wp-­content/uploads/2021/01/ Learning-­in-­Lockdown.pdf Perera, J. (2020). How black working class youth are criminalised and excluded in the English education system. Institute of Race Relations. https://irr.org.uk/ article/beyond-­the-­pru-­to-­prison-­pipeline/ Peters, M.  A. (2007). Foucault, biopolitics and the birth of neoliberalism. Critical Studies in Education, 48(2), 165–178. https://doi.org/10.1080/ 17508480701494218 Popkewitz, T. (2013). The sociology of education as the history of the present: Fabrication, difference and abjection. Discourse: Studies in the Cultural Politics of Education, 34(3), 439–456. https://doi.org/10.1080/01596306.2012.717195 Popkewitz, T., & Lindblad, S. (2000). Educational governance and social inclusion and exclusion: Some conceptual difficulties and problematics in policy and research. Discourse: Studies in the Cultural Politics of Education, 21(1), 5–44. https://doi.org/10.1080/01596300050005484 Power, S., & Taylor, C. (2020). Not in the classroom but still on the register: Hidden forms of school exclusion. International Journal of Inclusive Education, 24(8), 867–881. https://doi.org/10.1080/13603116.2018.1492644 Rose, N. S. (1990). Governing the soul: The shaping of the private self. Routledge. Slee, R. (2013). How do we make inclusive education happen when exclusion is a political predisposition? International Journal of Inclusive Education, 17(8), 895–907. Slee, R. (2015). Beyond a psychology of student behaviour. Emotional and Behavioural Difficulties, 20(1), 3–19. https://doi.org/10.1080/1363275 2.2014.947100 Thompson, G., & Sellar, S. (2018). Datafication, testing events and the outside of thought. Learning, Media and Technology, 43(2), 139–151. https://doi. org/10.1080/17439884.2018.1444637 Tomlinson, S. (2001). Educational sub normality: Study in decision making. Routledge. UNESCO (United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organisation). (1994). The Salamanca statement and framework for action on special needs education. Salamanca, 7–10 June, 1994. https://www.european-­agency.org/ sites/default/files/salamanca-­statement-­and-­framework.pdf

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United Nations. (1989). Convention on the rights of the child. https://www.unicef.org.uk/what-­we-­do/un-­convention-­child-­rights/ United Nations. (2006). Convention on the rights of persons with disabilities. https://www.un.org/development/desa/disabilities/convention-­o n-­t he-­ rights-­of-­persons-­with-­disabilities.html Wilkins, A. (2015). Professionalising school governance. The disciplinary effects of school autonomy and inspection in the changing role of school governors. Journal of Education Policy, 30(2), 182–200. https://doi.org/10.108 0/02680939.2014.941414 Youdell, D. (2006). Subjectivation and performative politics—Butler thinking Althusser and Foucault: Intelligibility, agency and the raced–nationed–religioned subjects of education. British Journal of Sociology of Education, 27(4), 511–528. https://doi.org/10.1080/01425690600803160 YouGov (2019). Exploring the Issue of Off-rolling: On behalf of Ofsted. 2019. https://assets.publishing.service.gov.uk/government/uploads/system/ uploads/attachment_data/file/800582/Ofsted_offrolling_report_ YouGov_090519.pdf

Part I Exclusion: Policy, Practice, Research

2 Exclusion and the ‘Wicked Problem’ of Behaviour in Australian Schools David Armstrong

Introduction: Exclusion as a Damaging Outcome of Neo-Liberal Policy Trends Public education is a critical area of state responsibility in countries such as Australia, the UK and the USA.  This prominence leads to ongoing power struggles over the purpose, direction and conduct of education as a key state sector for establishing what the political philosopher Antonio Gramsci (1971) described as hegemony: a state of cultural dominance by the ruling elites. In the USA, England and Australia, neo-liberal policy promotion of league tables, school accountability, parent (product) choice and of competitive individualism (Lingard, 2010) have, since the 1990s, spearheaded a re-framing of public education as “the business”, accompanied by an emphasis on increased efficiencies delivering greater academic attainment at lower cost for every tax-dollar spent (Molnar, 2018). The Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development D. Armstrong (*) RMIT University, Melbourne, Victoria, Australia e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 E. J. Done, H. Knowler (eds.), International Perspectives on Exclusionary Pressures in Education, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-14113-3_2

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has acted as an influential international actor in this policy trend, highlighting the efficiency reductions caused by teachers spending time on maintaining order and discipline in the classroom environment rather than teaching (OECD, 2009). There are many profound educational, moral and social implications of this international meta-trend in educational policy (Armstrong, 2021) but this chapter focusses on one damaging outcome of this hegemonic remaking, referencing Australia: the educational suspension or permanent exclusion of students on account of their behaviour, referred to as “exclusionary practices” for simplicity, following Graham (2020). This chapter examines formal suspensions and exclusions while recognising that educational exclusion can take many forms beyond such formal mechanisms (and acknowledging that these also warrant further research). Exclusionary practices appear to be rising over the last decade in Australia in public schools (Armstrong, 2021; Graham, 2020; Johnson & Sullivan, 2016) and disproportionally affect students from disadvantaged and indigenous populations, for example, students with disabilities (Victoria Ombudsman, 2017; South Australia Government [SA Gov], 2017). Exclusionary practices are a major practical and moral problem for school systems internationally, notably, education settings in England and in the USA (Valdebenito et al., 2018). Research in Australia, England and the USA examining the long-term negative effects of suspension, for instance, has consistently highlighted its dire consequences, including “juvenile delinquency, homelessness, unemployment, poor academic achievement, and several emotional and mental health problems” (Theriot et al., 2010, p. 13). Although states in Australia maintain a technical distinction between school suspension (exclusion for a set time pending a further decision) and permanent exclusion (also called expulsion), in reality, this distinction is often only theoretical, leading researchers to refer simply to school exclusion (Graham, 2020). Whatever terminological preference, these terms commonly refer to a disciplinary response by a school on account of a student’s behaviour. In their international systematic review, Valdebenito et al. (2018), for example, comment:

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School exclusion, also known as suspension in some countries, is defined as a disciplinary sanction imposed by a responsible school authority, in ­reaction to students’ misbehaviour. Exclusion entails the removal of pupils from regular teaching for a period during which they are not allowed to be present in the classroom or, in more serious cases, on school premises. (Valdebenito et al., 2018, p. 14)

The political, occupational, moral and legal challenges presented by exclusionary practices contradict triumphant official public victory narratives about Australia. The Alice Springs [Mparntwe] Education Declaration states that Australia is building “a world class education system that encourages and supports every student to be the very best they can be, no matter where they live or what kind of learning challenges they may face” (Council of Australian Governments’ Education Council, 2019, p. 2). Following this logic, behaviour in schools is therefore framed in this chapter as a deep-seated “wicked problem” (Rittel & Webber, 1973) for the public educations system in Australia (Armstrong, 2018). Emerging scholarship on educational trends, specifically on the policy meta-trend framing schools as “the business” (Armstrong, 2021), is drawn on in this chapter to help explain a rising incidence of exclusionary practices in Australia. The important ethical and practical question of how schools can reduce exclusionary practices takes up the final part of this chapter. Given the relative lack of knowledge on this issue, the starting point must be building a research base and suggestions are made on how to achieve this goal. Recommendations include, greater public data transparency with the establishment of state-based data banks and an independent national data-set for school suspension and permanent exclusions which operates with an agreed terminology. This recommendation is based on the logic that the current lack of accurate data and absence of an agreed language prevent honest debate and conversations between stakeholders about how to reduce exclusionary practices. Closing remarks about this topic by the chair, Ronald Sackville QC, at Hearing 7 Disability Royal Commission echo this point, critically commenting:

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As we have so often heard in our hearings, there is limited data available to inform policy making. For example, there is limited data on suspensions and exclusions, part-time attendance of students with disability and the use of restrictive practices in schools. It is difficult to address and rectify a problem if we do not fully understand its nature and extent. (DRC, 2020, p. 3)

Background: Inclusion and Exclusion To contextualise a discussion of exclusionary practices, it should be recognised that Australia has established a unique contribution to the global development of inclusive education as a body of knowledge designed to inform practice and education policy. Although global in orientation, the International Journal of Inclusive Education emerged in Australia in 1997 as a high-profile outlet for leading research into educational inclusion. Additionally, Queensland University of Technology (QUT) has emerged as an important centre for scholarship in the implementation of inclusion in professional practice and in the development of inclusive educational policy. The professional careers of key scholars in the field of inclusion, such as Professor Mel Ainscow and Professor Roger Slee, indicate a nexus of influence on ideas about inclusion and shared international networks across the UK and Australia (Slee, 2018). A new generation of researchers has emerged over the past decade who are based in Australian universities, but building on an existing international research base in educational inclusion and existing international networks stretching across England, Scotland and Australia (Armstrong et  al., 2019; Boyle & Topping, 2012) with permutations including Australia and New Zealand (Corcoran et al., 2019). The Centre for Inclusive Education (C4IE) was established in 2020 at QUT as a focus for research investment and international scholarship. In terms of research into behaviour, a centre for educational exclusion was recently established at the University of South Australia (UniSA) and has already attracted funding from the prestigious Australian Research Council. The role which research evidence could (or should) play in all aspects of education has emerged as a focus for growing investment in Australia. Hence, to help “shape the organisation’s work”, the newly established Australian Educational Research

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Organisation (AERO) consulted a range of educational stakeholders in 2020 about the role which research evidence could play in educational improvement. Research which enabled greater equity was highlighted as a priority by participants in the consultation and in “overcoming educational disadvantage for Aboriginal or Torres Strait Islander children and young people, those from socioeconomically disadvantaged backgrounds, those with disability and those in rural and remote settings” (AERO, 2020). If taken at face value, this finding suggests that many educational stakeholders are committed to the core principles of inclusion ethically and philosophically, with research positioned as a route to achieving these wider goals. Educational policies in Australia such as the Melbourne Declaration (2008) and its recent replacement, the Alice Springs (Mparntwe) Education Declaration (Council of Australian Governments’ Education Council, 2019) stand as examples of enlightened policy that reference inclusion as part of a high-quality education system. The Alice Springs (Mparntwe) Education Declaration of 2019 states: “Our vision is for a world class education system that encourages and supports every student to be the very best they can be, no matter where they live or what kind of learning challenges they may face” (p.  2). Important national laws in Australia, including the Disability Discrimination Act of 1992 and Disability Standards for Education of 2005 provide legal substance to educational inclusion and, specifically, to the inclusion of students with disabilities, specifying what reasonable adjustments should be made by teacher to enable learning and progress. In a further positive development over the last five years, states and territories across Australia have increasingly provided professional learning resources and qualification structures for teachers on child behaviour and in the context of delivering inclusion. For example, the Victorian Department for Education and Training (DET) has provided public resources on addressing challenging behaviour and promoted evidence-based methods. Scholarships have been provided for Victorian teachers to choose to study a four-year master’s course in applied behaviour analysis or in inclusion (DET, Masters of Inclusive Education, 2021). Over the last decade, educational inclusion has become an increasingly important element in policy frameworks used to regulate teacher

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preparation in Australia. The Australian Institute for Teaching and School Leadership’s Australian Professional Standards for Teachers, for instance, reference core principles of inclusion, for example, “Standard 1.6 Strategies to support full participation of students with disabilities” (Aitsl, 2016) and detail inclusive practices, for example, “Standard 1.5 Differentiate teaching to meet the specific learning needs of students across the full range of abilities”. Teacher education providers must ensure that students meet these standards (Aitsl, 2016). Extensive professional learning resources and educational tools have also been developed to help enact inclusion in practice (Aitsl, 2020). Responding to student behaviour is specifically highlighted in Aitsl Professional Teacher Standard 4 with sub-standards: 4.3 “manage challenging behaviour” and 4.4 “maintain student safety”.

 ehaviour as a Wicked Problem for Schools B in Australia Reference to behaviour in relation to inclusion and occupational-­ professional issues such as classroom safety is telling. Student behaviour has emerged in Australia over the last decade as a lightning rod issue, attracting less welcome news about the Australian education system and contradicting the official narrative of progress made towards a world-class inclusive education for students who face learning challenges or disadvantage (Armstrong, 2021). Students with disabilities, with mental health conditions and/or from indigenous backgrounds appear disproportionately in high-profile public inquiries and reports that detail suspension and/or exclusion. For example, Hearing 7 of The Disability Royal Commission (DRC, 2020) focussed specifically on: “the impact on students with disability of absences, suspensions, exclusions and expulsion from school and the re-engagement of students with disability when they have experienced absences, suspensions, exclusions or expulsion from school”. The chair, Ronald Sackville QC, highlighted a “surprising disconnect between the existing legal requirements for the provision of reasonable adjustments or supports and the provision of adjustments at

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school level” (p. 3) and the “devastating consequences that can flow from the inappropriate and disproportionate application of disciplinary sanctions to a student with disability” (DRC, 2020, p. 3). International research wholeheartedly supports this emphasis on the negative consequences of suspension and exclusion as disciplinary sanctions. A meta-analysis of 34 studies of the impacts of suspension published between 1986 and 2012 by Noltemeyer et al. (2015) “revealed a significant inverse relationship between suspensions and achievement, along with a significant positive relationship between suspensions and dropout” (p.  224). A recent longitudinal study by Rosenbaum (2020) reveals the important insight that suspension itself was a contributory factor on the path to negative life outcomes for many affected individuals. Rosenbaum (2020) explains that suspended students in this longitudinal study were “less likely than matched non-suspended youth to have earned bachelor’s degrees or high school diplomas, and were more likely to have been arrested and on probation, suggesting that suspension rather than selection bias explains negative outcomes” (p. 224). Increasing suspension and/or exclusion of students with disabilities and with mental health conditions on account of their behaviour is, Armstrong (2018) suggests, a sign that behaviour in schools has become a “wicked problem” for policy and practice in Australia: “a complex, highly resistant to resolution” and “challenging established practices, customs and widely-held beliefs about behaviour” (p. 977). To explore this point further, it is necessary to explain the systemic relationships between behaviour, inclusion and exclusion which underpin aggregated public statistics about suspensions and exclusion.

Behaviour-Inclusion–Exclusion Relationships Student behaviour has complex but tangible relationships with the enactment of meaningful educational inclusion in practice. At the most fundamental level, educational inclusion fails if students are not attending schools or receiving educational services in the first place. This reality is, however, a concerning outcome uncovered by several inquiries in Australia where, often vulnerable, students exist in a grey-zone outside of the

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system after being suspended or permanently excluded (“expelled”) on account of their behaviour (DRC, 2020). Legally, as well as morally, this is an undesirable situation which has, in Australia, prompted the development of flexible learning options (FLO) as a safety net policy response to the legal necessity of providing education for children and young people (Bills & Howard, 2017). As Bills et al. (2020) point out, however, this apparently pragmatic policy solution to the problem of exclusion and drop out generates fresh policy problems by helping schools and the mainstream system avoid the necessity of change in school systems, teacher attitudes and professional practices necessary for inclusion. Bills et  al. (2020) further suggest that whilst FLO is a pragmatic policy response to exclusion, it ultimately runs the risk of undermining educational inclusion at school and system levels. In a pertinent international study of early school leaving, Squires (2020) highlights the term “compensation”, described as: A set of strategies used when the system fails and the undesirable outcome of early school leaving occurs. It provides opportunities for the learner to continue with their education and to achieve the standards expected at the point of graduation from secondary education. (Squires, 2020, p. 334)

FLO is arguably a system-wide compensation mitigating the unintended exclusionary efforts of the hegemonic remaking of schools as part of “the business” (Molnar, 2018). The story of the growth of FLO in Australia highlights the need for a more nuanced and expansive definition of behaviour in the context of public discussion about suspension and exclusion. The typical and depressing formulation of this issue is that dangerous, aggressive or unacceptably disruptive conduct by a “mad, sad or bad” (Macleod, 2010) student leads to a rational decision by a school to (temporarily) suspend a student; or, in more extreme cases, to exclude a student permanently, an outcome known as “being expelled” in some jurisdictions (Armstrong, 2018). This simplistic causal relationship (bad student does bad thing in school and is suspended or expelled) can be detected in representations of behaviour in schools in the Australian media. For example, in late 2018, the school behaviour campaign Let’s Stand Together, accompanied by a behaviour “action plan” involving

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policy change, was launched in Western Australia (WA) by the Department of Education (WA DfE, 2019). In an online news article, Pliat (2019) explains that, “The action plan was implemented this year and gives principals the ability to automatically suspend students who attack their peers, instigate fights or film violence”. Let’s Stand Together was a policy response to stories in the WA media which detailed, “Teachers under attack” (Zimmerman, 2018) and lurid stories about violence shared on social media. Catanzaro (2018) reported in an online news article, “kids can be seen humiliated and beaten as teachers struggle to stop the violence”. Although such salacious media representations may trigger scepticism, the policy changes they provoke can trigger real effects. Let’s Stand Together was the public face of a policy change in WA which appears to have generated an appreciable rise in suspensions and exclusions on behavioural grounds, with Pliat (2019) reporting “a five-fold increase in (suspensions) in the first eight months of this year”. A statement about Let’s Stand Together by Sue Ellery (Minister for Education) in March 2019, comments, “When the policy was announced last year there was a spike in the number of students excluded, showing the violence policy had an immediate effect. 17 students were excluded compared with four at the same time the previous year”, and “that 919 students have been suspended for physical aggression this term” (January–March, 2019). Ellery frames raised suspensions and exclusions as evidencing that “the violence policy had an immediate effect” (WA Gov, 2019). Political undertones often accompany Australian policy initiatives to “improve” behaviour in schools, like Let’s Stand Together, and such responses can be understood as moral panics. Critcher (2008) describes moral panic as a heightened civic-consciousness focussing on a threat to moral values, often a threat involving deviant youths, women or other groups regarded as marginalised, for example, single-mothers or immigrants, which typically drives changes in law or policy (p. 1130). Similar dynamics can be discerned in the USA and England where three strikes and zero tolerance movements can be understood as a conservative backlash to progressive efforts at greater inclusion in the public education of students from disadvantaged backgrounds. American research has found that exclusionary practices disproportionately impact “African American, male, low-achieving, and special education students” (Chu & Ready,

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2018, p. 479). A recent quantitative and longitudinal analysis reaffirms the negative long-term impacts of suspensions, finding that “suspended students had weaker attendance, course completion rates and standardised test scores, and were more likely to drop out and less likely to graduate within 4, 5, or 6 years” (p. 479). A thoughtful study by Graham (2020) examining the impacts of legislative change on the use of exclusionary discipline in Queensland challenges the simplistic stereotype whereby suspensions are presented as a justifiable system response to aggressive or dangerous behaviours in schools. “Principals also report that they use suspension ‘tactically’ when, for example, building a case around a student to attract individually targeted funding, secure a place in a support class, flexi-centre or special school, or to justify permanent exclusion” (p. 1471). Student drop out, also referred to as early school leaving or self-exclusion, also needs to be considered as an important element in the wicked problem of behaviour in Australia and other countries. Internalising and socially withdrawn and demotivated behaviours, rather than aggression or violence, often accompany the act of dropout itself (Armstrong et  al., 2019). Squires (2020) makes the important point that the lead up to this event can be detected as a “result of processes which run through childhood” and draws attention to the need for preventative supports, interventions and practices, which include re-engaging marginalised children and young people as opposed to an emphasis on the event of dropout itself. Exclusionary practices affecting students with disabilities have also, however, provoked counter-resistance: a process of struggle and push-­ back accounted for by Gramsci’s (1971) models of how hegemony is established in practice. Educational leaders and parents of affected children across Australia have often challenged the use of suspension and exclusion on behavioural grounds, together with other disciplinary measures, and have attracted attention in the national media (ABC, 2020). Dire legal and moral ramifications of suspending or excluding students with disabilities have publicly highlighted systemic discrimination and other systemic processes that hinder the wider project of an inclusive education system as envisaged by the United Nations (UNICEF, 2017). These negatives are amplified in a wider background in Australia. Educational inclusion, in a general sense, has been identified as facing

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setbacks, as indicated by a rising number of children with disability attending special schools over the last ten years rather than their mainstream local public school (AFDO, 2019). Concerns about behaviour and/or exclusionary practices based on a student’s behaviour are a common thread running through many decisions to channel students into the special school system (Graham, 2020; ABC, 2020; Armstrong, 2021).

Behaviour as a Lightning Rod Issue An analysis by Armstrong (2021) of educational trends is pertinent to making sense of this adverse environment for inclusion because it describes the “performative school meta-trend which focuses on raising teacher performance, student performance, or school performance, accompanied by testing, surveillance, management, technical innovation, competitive individualism” and the valuing of academic achievement (p. 241). As Armstrong (2021) indicates, this meta-trend stands in polar opposition to a longstanding discourse fuelling “the caring school meta-trend which focuses on improving or protecting, the psychological, social and emotional wellbeing of students and also on elevating the social equity of the educational system” (p. 241). This polarity is a major feature in contemporary education systems in Australia, England and the USA, generating widespread adverse effects in policy and in everyday practices in the classroom. Student behaviour in schools can be understood as a lightning rod issue that is energised by the wider conflict between the performative school and the caring school meta-trends. Rising rates of suspension and exclusion in Australian schools, together with the growth of “compensations” (Squires, 2020) for early school leaving sadly indicate that the performative meta-trend is in the ascendancy, generating the exclusionary practices and neo-liberal educational policies which increasingly marginalise students on account of their conduct. Finally, there is no research evidence that suspensions and exclusion do improve classroom discipline and student compliance (Skiba, 2014). With reference to published studies, Graham (2020) suggests:

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One reason that suspension fails to act as an effective deterrent is that it assumes rule transgressions are the result of conscious decision-making and not the outcome of poor self-regulation and a lack in the forethought necessary to consider possible consequences before acting. (Graham, ­ 2020, p. 1475)

 hat Works to Reduce Educational W Suspensions and Exclusions? The following section discusses prospects for advancing knowledge about what works to prevent educational suspensions and exclusions for at-risk populations, referring to fruitful avenues for investigation in light of current research. Sub-questions for research to consider are given in italics. This discussion builds on established knowledge that suspension and exclusion do not work to improve classroom behaviour and learning and can contribute to negative outcomes for affected students who are often already facing disadvantage (Armstrong, 2021; Graham, 2020; Skiba, 2014). Sackville (DRC, 2020) critically highlights that evidence-based policy-making on preventing suspensions and exclusions requires evidence in the first place (p. 3). This section therefore examines factors to consider in gathering research evidence necessary for targeted and progressive policy as a first step. This analysis of drivers for increased rates of suspension and exclusion has deep implications for programs, supports or interventions highlighted by research as effective. School-based initiatives to reduce suspensions and exclusions will, almost certainly, be mitigating the symptoms rather than addressing the fundamental policy-driven causes of exclusionary practices. Positive effects of programs are most likely to be local because they are working against the wider policy meta-trend driving increased suspension and exclusions (Armstrong, forthcoming) where “school safety and stability” is prioritised (Fronius et al., 2019, p. 2). This caution does not in any way lessen the urgent need for programs, supports or interventions preventing what Sackville describes as the “devastating consequences” of the “inappropriate and disproportionate application of disciplinary sanctions to a student with disability” (2020, p. 3).

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What type of research is best to evaluate programs intended to reduce educational suspensions and exclusions? Randomised controlled trials (RCTs) are considered as a “gold standard” by some sections of the international research community in establishing an evidence base (Goldacre, 2013; Torgerson, 2008), although RCTs have faced sustained criticism from educational researchers as inappropriate for use in schools. Furthermore, RCTs are costly; a UK-based study by Raftery et al. (2015) of 125 clinical trials conducted between 1994 and 2005 concluded that they ranged from £0.5M and £2.4 million. At current prices, adjusted for inflation, this is approximately one to four million Australian dollars. For scale, the lowest (cheapest) RCT identified by Raftery et  al. (2015) is over double the highest amount ($400,000) which can be awarded by the prestigious Australian Discovery Grants (ARC) at the time of writing. In an insightful discussion of RCTs and their economic justification, Torgerson (2008) highlights even higher costs associated with this form of research design (p. 176). Practically, the lack of clear public funding mechanisms in Australia for research into educational suspension and exclusion clearly limits the scope of studies, impeding development of a robust research base, including studies using RCTs and other similar empirical research designs (Armstrong, 2021). Torgerson (2008) recommends “ideally an economist as a member of the trial team” (p. 175) to identify the need for, and possible benefits of, an RCT. However, in an Australian context, this begs the question of who could possibly fund such research in the first place. Such uncertainty is heightened by the increasing commercialisation of research in Australian universities, arguably, another effect of the trend towards neo-liberal education policies over the last decade (Rea, 2016). A critic might conclude that leaving it to the market, no matter the social costs of exclusion, is preferable to government rather than a nationally coordinated and funded intervention program. As discussed earlier, rising suspension and exclusions have attracted the attention of state governments, often in reactive policy formulation. Also, at the time of writing, Australia lacks a national system for gathering data of any kind about affected students (DRC, 2020); nor is there a federal body or federal initiative devoted to gathering evidence about what works to reduce suspensions and exclusions (Armstrong, 2018). The newly

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established Australian Educational Research Organisation (AERO) would seem to be a promising organisation for supporting the development of a research base. However, it does not appear to commission and fund basic and applied educational research, instead, acting as a host for the promotion of existing research evidence in schools (AERO, 2021). Lack of a national infrastructure for funding applied research into the prevention of exclusionary practices inhibits the development of a research base in Australia (Armstrong, 2018), especially when allied with no national data collection of suspensions and permanent exclusions (Graham, 2020; DRC, 2020). Leaving the advancement of knowledge to a local level, or to the marketplace, is an inefficient and disorganised approach to addressing the problem of behaviour in Australian schools. This problem has absorbed hundreds of millions of dollars of public expenditure in programs like FLO alone over the last ten years (Bills et  al., 2020), not counting the social and personal costs for students excluded on behavioural grounds. A far more generous and rational federal funding system for research into this national problem is required if Australian society wishes to make credible efforts to reduce the horrendous flow-on effects of educational exclusion. This would be a tiny investment in research when compared to the wider flow-on social and economic costs associated with this issue. More positively, given these financial constraints, mixed-methods studies containing carefully integrated quantitative and qualitative methods in their design might be an affordable choice for applied studies aimed at building a research base. Studies classified as mixed-methods are, typically, far cheaper to conduct than RCTs. Indeed, studies with a mixed-methods design are increasingly used in health as a logical precursor to full RCTs (Lausen et al., 2018; Bluebelle Study Group, 2016). In addition to gathering quantitative data, mixed methods research designs also have the capacity to capture the qualitative viewpoints, judgements and experiences of students, families, practitioners and allied professionals involved in the program, interventions or ongoing supports designed to reduce suspension or exclusion. This capacity is a strength of mixed-­ methods research and makes for an ideal research design investigating what works to address the complex and multifaceted issue of suspensions and exclusions of students in Australian schools.

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Which existing programs, interventions or supports appear promising in reducing suspension and exclusion? A high-quality international systematic review of school-based interventions for reducing school exclusion by Valdebenito et al. (2018) is an important source for determining promising avenues for future research in Australia and beyond. The authors of this comprehensive Campbell Collaboration review state that, “Only randomised controlled trials are included” and report that their review encompassed 33 studies from the USA, three from the UK and one study with an unclear geographical basis (p. 6). Interventions designed to reduce school exclusion fell into nine categories which included: (1) enhancement of academic skills, (2) after-school programmes, (3) mentoring/monitoring, (4) skills training for students, (5) skills training for teachers, (6) school-wide strategies, (7) violence reduction, (8) counselling, mental health, and (9) non-­classifiable ‘other’ (Valdebenito et al., 2018, p. 61). A key finding is that “interventions settled in school can produce a small and significant drop in exclusion rates”; but Valdebenito et  al. (2018) highlight that this effect is temporary “when the impact was tested in the long-term (i.e. 12 or more months after treatment), the effects of the interventions were not sustained” (p.  11). A secondary finding of this review is that the existing research base is USA-centric and in its infancy, with a lack of research testing the long-term impact of school-based interventions (p.  89). Research by Armstrong (2018) independently reaches similar conclusions to those detailed by Valdebenito et  al. (2018), illustrated by the common reference to positive behaviour supports and interventions (PBIS). The latter is a widely promoted, evidence-based whole-school program designed to reduce disciplinary referrals and reduce suspensions and exclusions (Armstrong, 2018; Valdebenito et al., 2018). Armstrong (2018) suggests that the benefits of PBIS in reducing suspensions and exclusions appear to be temporary because the program is partially or inconsistently adopted in practice, with a trend for an increasing numbers of schools in the USA to abandon the PBIS program and return to punitive policies and practices in a process known as “attrition” (p. 1003). This explanation could account for the main finding reported by Valdebenito et al. (2018) regarding the temporary benefits of the interventions reviewed. Indeed, this outcome is consistent with the analysis

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presented in this chapter which stresses that attempts to reduce suspensions and exclusions are likely to have their lifespan, impact and scale of adoption reduced due to the ascendant performative school meta-trend, creating a hostile policy environment that is inhibiting efforts to reduce suspension and exclusion. Valdebenito et al. (2018) make three recommendations. Firstly, that an international research base on educational exclusion be established. “More research needs to be done in other countries where school exclusion is an issue” since the studies reviewed were predominantly “located in the USA”. (p. 96). Secondly, the authors suggest that research should focus on “innovative strategies”, with the example given of empathy training for teachers to move them away from an emphasis on discipline and control (p. 96). Thirdly, Valdebenito et al. (2018) recommend that empirical research “needs to be conducted testing the impact of restorative justice in school settings” (p.  88). This final recommendation is based on the judgment that the research base evaluating restorative justice is still in a “nascent state” (p.  88). Restorative justice is defined, broadly, as involving a “focus on building peaceful and empathetic relationships” with the “involvement of all parties in achieving conflict resolution” (p.  97). Other research has independently suggested that restorative justice is a promising source for programs intended to reduce school exclusions (Hallett & Armstrong, 2013). An updated research review of restorative justice by Fronius et al. (2019) rates it as a promising approach, but cautions that “the evidence in the USA is limited and nearly all of the research that has been published lacks the internal validity necessary to exclusively attribute outcomes to restorative justice” (p. 35). What frameworks can guide evaluation? Implementation science has developed useful frameworks for guiding applied educational research. Studies can use this knowledge to examine whether poor implementation is a factor in evaluating the efficacy of programs and interventions. This approach is important for making informed judgements about the efficacy of a program or educational intervention. Insights from scholarship evaluating social and emotional learning (SEL) programs are useful as they suggest the importance of differentiating interventions to reduce suspension and exclusions; categorising targeted

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interventions aimed, for instance, at students with disabilities, and universal programs delivered at a whole setting/system level (Humphrey et  al., 2020). These distinctions enable finer grained evaluations to be produced, improving the subsequent recommendations for policymakers and for schools.

Conclusion The economist and philosopher, Adam Smith, is widely regarded as a historic advocate of the market and often held up as an ideological inspiration for the extension of the marketplace and reduction of the state’s responsibilities. As Slee (2007) highlights, however, Adam Smith was clear that education should be exempt from the practices and rules of the market and stand outside of commerce because of its intrinsic value to society. Greater exclusion of vulnerable students on behavioural grounds is an unintended negative social outcome of policy efforts to remake public schools in the image of the market. Performative educational institutions may supply a never-ending stream of “good news” data about rising student academic performance and increasing attainment, but this wider hegemonic remaking of schools in the image of the marketplace is the ultimate driver of rising exclusionary practices and marginalising forces in the Australian education system. Until the education community rejects this policy meta-trend, initiatives, interventions or supports intended to reduce or prevent suspensions and exclusions will offer only partial mitigation rather than a sustainable and replicable “solution” to this wicked problem. With this caveat recognised, it remains vital that efforts to prevent the ongoing harms caused by suspension and exclusions in Australian schools are pursued. The following recommendations, in descending order of importance, are suggested to advance knowledge and support informed action: • The establishment of an independent national data set for school suspension and permanent exclusions that operates with an agreed terminology.

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• The adoption of agreed terminology across all states and territories in Australia so that there is common understanding of the disciplinary sanctions of suspension and permanent exclusion. • The prioritising of research in Australia that investigates programs, interventions, strategies or supports intended to reduce suspensions and exclusions. • The selection of mixed methods research designs, as opposed to RCTs, for studies in order to build an evidence base on what works to prevent exclusionary practices given the problematic education research funding situation in Australia.

References Armstrong, D. (2018). Addressing the wicked problem of behaviour in schools. International Journal of Inclusive Education, 25(8), 976–992. https://doi. org/10.1080/13603116.2019.1597183 Armstrong, D. (2021). Educational trends exposed: How to be a critical consumer. Routledge. ISBN 9781032151281. Armstrong, D., Macleod, G., & Brough, C. (2019). Work done in the margins: A comparative study of mental health literacy in pre-service teacher education in Australia and in Scotland. Journal of Research in Special Educational Needs, 19(4), 334–343. https://doi.org/10.1111/1471-­3802.12452 Australian Educational Research Organisation (AERO). (2020). Consultation report. https://edresearch.edu.au/consultation-­report Australian Educational Research Organisation (AERO). (2021). About AERO. https://edresearch.edu.au/about-­aero Australian Institute for Teaching and School Leadership (Aitsl). (2020). Inclusive education: Teaching students with disability. https://www.aitsl.edu.au/research/ spotlight/inclusive-­education-­teaching-­students-­with-­disability Australian Institute of Teaching and School Leadership (Aitsl). (2016). Australian professional standards for teachers. https://www.aitsl.edu.au/teach/standards Bills, A., & Howard, N. (2017). Social inclusion education policy in South Australia: What can we learn? Australian Journal of Education, 61(1), 54–74. Bills, A., Armstrong, D., & Howard, N. (2020). Scaled-up ‘safety-net’ schooling and the ‘wicked problem’ of educational exclusion in South Australia: Problem or solution? The Australian Educational Researcher, 47(2), 239–261. https://doi.org/10.1007/s13384-­019-­00353-­z

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Bluebelle Study Group. (2016). Bluebelle study (phase A): A mixed-methods feasibility study to inform an RCT of surgical wound dressing strategies. BMJ Open, 6(9), e012635. Boyle, C., & Topping, K. (2012). What works in inclusion? McGraw-Hill Education. ISBN 9780335244683.0335244688. Chu, E. M., & Ready, D. D. (2018). Exclusion and urban public high schools: Short-and long-term consequences of school suspensions. American Journal of Education, 124(4), 479–509. https://doi.org/10.1086/698454 Corcoran, T., Claiborne, L., & Whitburn, B. (2019). Paradoxes in inclusive education: A necessary condition of relationality? International Journal of Inclusive Education, 23(10), 1003–1016. https://doi.org/10.1080/1360311 6.2019.1625453 Council of Australian Governments Education Council. (2019). Alice Springs (Mparntwe) education declaration. https://docs.education.gov.au/system/ files/doc/other/final_-­_alice_springs_declaration_-­_17_february_2020_ security_removed.pdf Critcher, C. (2008). Moral panic analysis: Past, present and future. Sociology Compass, 2(4), 1127–1144. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1751-­9020.2008.00122.x Department for Education and Training (DET). (2021) Master of inclusive education initiative. https://www.education.vic.gov.au/school/teachers/profdev/ Pages/inclusive-­education-­scholarship.aspx Disability Royal Commission (DRC). (2020). Closing remarks, Chair, Ronald Sackville AO QC Public hearing 7: Barriers to accessing a safe, quality and inclusive school education and life course impacts. DRC. Fronius, T., Darling-Hammond, S., Persson, H., Guckenburg, S., Hurley, N., & Petrosino, A. (2019). Restorative justice in US schools: An updated research review. WestEd Justice & Prevention Research Center. Goldacre, B. (2013). Building evidence into education. Department for Education. www.gov.uk/government/news/building-­evidence-­into-­education Graham, L. J. (2020). Questioning the impacts of legislative change on the use of exclusionary discipline in the context of broader system reforms: A Queensland case-study. International Journal of Inclusive Education, 24(14), 1473–1493. https://doi.org/10.1080/13603116.2018.1540668 Gramsci, A. (1971). Hegemony of western culture over the whole world culture. Selections from the Prison Notebooks (pp.  416–419). International Publishers Co. Hallett, F., & Armstrong, D. (2013). ‘I want to stay over’: A phenomenographic analysis of a short break/extended stay pilot project for children and young people with autism. British Journal of Learning Disabilities, 41(1), 66–72.

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Humphrey, N., Lendrum, A., Wigelsworth, M., & Greenberg, M. T. (2020). Social and emotional learning. Routledge. Johnson, B., & Sullivan, A. (2016). Against the tide: Enacting respectful student behaviour polices in ‘zero tolerance’ times. In A.  Sullivan, B.  Johnson, & B.  Lucas (Eds.), Challenging dominant views on student behaviour at school (pp. 163–180). Springer. Lausen, A., Marsland, L., Head, S., Jackson, J., & Lausen, B. (2018). Modified Pilates as an adjunct to standard physiotherapy care for urinary incontinence: A mixed methods pilot for a randomised controlled trial. BMC Women’s Health, 18(1), 1–12. https://doi.org/10.1186/s12905-­017-­0503-­y Lingard, B. (2010). Policy borrowing, policy learning: Testing times in Australian schooling. Critical Studies in Education, 51(2), 129–147. https://doi. org/10.1080/17508481003731026 Macleod, G. (2010). Identifying obstacles to a multidisciplinary understanding of ‘disruptive’ behaviour. Emotional and Behavioural Difficulties, 15(2), 95–109. Molnar, A. (2018). Giving kids the business: The commercialization of America’s schools. Routledge. Noltemeyer, A.  L., Ward, R.  M., & Mcloughlin, C. (2015). Relationship between school suspension and student outcomes: A meta-analysis. School Psychology Review, 44(2), 224–240. https://doi.org/10.17105/spr-­14-­0008.1 OECD. (2009). Creating effective teaching and learning environments. Paris: Author. Pliat, L. (2019, September 6). Physically aggressive students attacking WA teachers on the rise. WA Today. https://www.watoday.com.au/national/ western-­australia/physically-­aggressive-­students-­attacking-­wa-­teachers-­on-­ the-­rise-­20190905-­p52og9.html Raftery, J., Young, A., Stanton, L., Milne, R., Cook, A., Turner, D., & Davidson, P. (2015). Clinical trial metadata: Defining and extracting metadata on the design, conduct, results and costs of 125 randomised clinical trials funded by the National Institute for Health Research Health Technology Assessment programme. Health Technology Assessment (Winchester, England), 19(11), 1–138. https://doi.org/10.3310/hta19110 Rea, J. (2016). Critiquing neoliberalism in Australian universities. Australian Universities’ Review, 58(2), 9–14. Rittel, H. W. J., & Webber, M. M. (1973). Dilemmas in a general theory of planning. Policy Sciences, 4, 155–169. https://doi.org/10.1007/BF01405730 Rosenbaum, J. (2020). Educational and criminal justice outcomes 12 years after school suspension. Youth and Society, 52(4), 515–547. https://doi.org/10.117 7/0044118X17752208

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SA Gov. (2017). Report of the select committee on access to the South Australian Education system for students with disabilities. Parliament of South Australia. https://www.parliament.sa.gov.au/Committees/Pages/Committees. aspx?CTId=3&PId=53&CId=320 Skiba, R. J. (2014). The failure of zero tolerance. Reclaiming Children and Youth, 22(4), 27–33. Slee, R. (2007). Inclusive schooling as a means and end of education. In L. Florian (Ed.), The SAGE handbook of special education (pp. 160–170). Sage. Slee, R. (2018). Inclusive education isn’t dead, it just smells funny. Routledge. Squires, G. (2020). A European consideration of early school leaving as a process running through childhood: A model for inclusive action. Education 3–13, 48(3), 332–343. https://doi.org/10.1080/03004279.2019.1664412 Theriot, M. T., Craun, S. W., & Dupper, D. R. (2010). Multilevel evaluation of factors predicting school exclusion among middle and high school students. Children and Youth Services Review, 32(1), 13–19. https://doi.org/10.1016/j. childyouth.2009.06.009 Torgerson, D. (2008). Designing randomised trials in health, education and the social sciences: An introduction. Palgrave Macmillan. UNICEF. (2017). Inclusive education: Including children with disabilities in quality learning: What needs to be done. United Nations Children’s Fund. https:// www.unicef.org/eca/sites/unicef.org.eca/files/IE_summary_accessible_220917_brief.pdf Valdebenito, S., Eisner, M., Farrington, D.  P., Ttofi, M.  M., & Sutherland, A. (2018). School-based interventions for reducing disciplinary school exclusion: A systematic review. Campbell Systematic Reviews, 14(1), i-216. https:// doi.org/10.4073/csr.2018.1 Victorian Ombudsman. (2017). Investigation into Victorian government school expulsions. Melbourne. https://www.ombudsman.vic.gov.au/our-­impact/ investigation-­r eports/investigation-­i nto-­v ictorian-governmentschool-­expulsions/ WA Gov. (2019) Hon Sue Ellery BA MLC (2019). Violence policy at work in WA public schools. https://www.mediastatements.wa.gov.au/Pages/ McGowan/2019/03/Violence-­policy-­at-­work-­in-­WA-­public-­schools.aspx Zimmerman, J. (2018). Teachers under attack from students in WA school classrooms. Perth Now. https://www.perthnow.com.au/news/education/teachersunder-­attack-­from-­students-­in-­wa-­schools-­ng-­b88732547z

3 Removing Inclusion: An Analysis of Exclusionary Processes in the Italian School System Fabio Dovigo

Introduction The pressure to exclude students from compulsory education in Italy is symptomatic of a global condition of increasing competition between schools, triggered by the dominance of a neoliberal educational paradigm. This paradigm endorses a process of systematic disinvestment of resources in public school structures, meaning that schools are constantly called upon to ‘do more with less’. The pressure to exclude students takes different forms, affecting both the system as a whole and everyday activities at the school and classroom levels. Therefore, exclusion must be examined at both the macro and micro levels. On the one hand, this chapter focuses on the consequences of longstanding and widespread early school leaving and of ability grouping for the Italian school system; on the other, it investigates the impact of the introduction of the category of Special Educational Needs (SEN) on learning support activities in

F. Dovigo (*) Danish School of Education, Aarhus University, Aarhus, Denmark e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 E. J. Done, H. Knowler (eds.), International Perspectives on Exclusionary Pressures in Education, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-14113-3_3

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Italian schools. The common thread between the macro and micro levels is a common reference to a neoliberal approach to education that has become the dominant perspective in the country concerning educational policies and practices. Recent research by the author on these topics helps provide a deeper understanding of school staff’s perspectives. The chapter analyses and discusses how a combination of various factors contributes to the exclusion of students from compulsory education, both through expulsion from the system and discrimination within the system. The conclusions summarise the challenges Italian schools currently face if they are to tackle educational exclusion in its various forms.

 xclusion at the Macro Level: Early School E Leaving and Early Tracking Examining the Italian school system at the macro level, the main factor resulting in the exclusion of students from compulsory schooling is early school leaving (ESL). Even though the number of early school leavers fell from 19.1% in 2009 to 13.5% in 2019, this remains well above the benchmark of 10% by 2020 set by the European Union in 2008 as part of the Education and Training 2020 strategic framework (EUR-Lex, 2008; European Commission, 2020). While most European countries have reached this goal, Italy still lags behind, with ESL well above the EU average (Eurostat, 2021). The literature emphasises that a high ESL rate has a negative impact on two levels. On an economic level, it results in low-skilled young people that are difficult to integrate in the labour market, while on a social level, it perpetuates and strengthens existing social inequalities (De Witte et al., 2013; Doll et al., 2013). Moreover, recent results of annual assessments of students in primary and secondary education show that student performance in three core areas (Italian, English and mathematics) has declined significantly in the last few years. A substantial number of students, especially those from a socioeconomically disadvantaged background, do not acquire the expected minimum levels of competence in these three areas (INVALSI, 2021a).

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Some of these worrying results might be attributable to the Covid-19 pandemic and the long closures Italian schools have endured (Di Tommaso et al., 2021; IPSOS/Save the Children, 2021). However, it is important to note that the pandemic hit an educational system already affected by a long-term public disinvestment in schools, placing Italy among the EU countries with the lowest per capita expenditure on education (OECD, 2020). Public policies aimed at tackling ESL in Italy are traditionally based on a compensative or remedial approach rather than prevention strategies (Colombo, 2015). The lack of a national directory of students makes it especially difficult to follow educational trajectories as students transition from one educational level to the next. Consequently, in the absence of a longitudinal country analysis of educational tracks, which would require systematic monitoring of individual student paths, interventions to prevent ESL are mainly carried out at the local level, through small-scale projects that rarely have a substantial and lasting impact in terms of reducing ESL. Data show that ESL is especially common in the southern regions of Italy, compared to the northern and central areas (INVALSI, 2021b). Moreover, it chiefly applies to students within vocational education and training (VET), mainly during the first year of enrolment. In terms of gender, girls are generally more resilient to the risk of academic failure within upper secondary education than boys (Borgna & Struffolino, 2017). However, this difference can also be partially understood as an effect of male students usually being offered better opportunities for both informal and formal labour than their female peers. Low socioeconomic status and limited parental education are usually highlighted as the main predictors of and explanations for ESL (Chevalier et al., 2013; Downes, 2014; Pensiero et al., 2019; Panichella & Triventi, 2014). Students whose families are at a disadvantage in terms of socioeconomic and cultural resources are at greater risk of dropping out of school because they lack the knowledge capital that could help prevent school disengagement. This is exacerbated by the traditional organisation of schooling in Italy. With the exception of some private schools, all educational activities take place in the morning, with parents expected to help students with homework in the afternoon. This situation further

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widens the gap between families possessing and not possessing the necessary cultural capital to support their children in this endeavour. Studies have explored whether a lack of cultural capital among disadvantaged families can be counterbalanced by social capital in the form of the networks of relations these families often have in their local community (e.g. friends, relatives, community services and associations). The hypothesis is that social capital could be employed as an additional external resource to foster the education of children and decrease ESL rates, However, evidence shows that, even though support from the local community network can play a very positive role, it is not enough to compensate for the families’ lack of cultural capital (Odoardi et al., 2021). Among the causes of ESL in Italy, another relevant factor is the lack of effective educational guidance services, especially with regard to the transition between educational levels (Azzolini & Vergolini, 2014; Romito, 2019). Due to the falling fertility rate, educational transitions in Italy are characterised by increasing competition between providers at all levels to maximise student enrolment. Over time, the lack of guidance, combined with families’ right to choose which school children attend, has created a segregation effect in the distribution of both students and teachers. Segregation is especially apparent at the upper secondary level, where schools are neatly divided into a three-tier structure that encompasses academically oriented schools (“licei”) at the top, technical schools in the middle and vocational schools at the bottom. There is a strong association between students’ socioeconomic background and their enrolment in, respectively, academic, technical or vocational education (Giancola & Salmieri, 2020; Mocetti, 2012). This tracking is only loosely associated with the students’ educational attainment at the lower secondary level. However, implicit institutional hierarchies are at work, also at the lower secondary and primary levels (and more recently, even in kindergartens), in the form of the reputation that many schools strive for by assuring parents that they will offer a high-class, “migrant-free” or even “disabled-­ free” environment that provides their children with elite-level instruction. This process also impinges on teachers’ professional status and, in the long term, identity. Schools with a reputation as “turbulent” have higher rates of staff turnover, especially because they are the only workplaces available to younger, less experienced teachers (Argentin et  al.,

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2018; Barbieri et al., 2013). Likewise, there is a constant movement of teachers away from precarious jobs in vocational schools to employment offering greater stability at more prestigious schools, as well as from working in special education to more reputable positions as mainstream teachers (Devecchi et al., 2012). Furthermore, Italian schoolteachers are rarely equipped with the necessary skills and tools to meet the challenge of ESL. As a result, teachers often simply view and categorise students from lower socioeconomic or diverse cultural backgrounds as “difficult” students. This is especially detrimental to those students, with studies emphasising a significant correlation between the intention to drop out and the level of motivation developed by learners (Alivernini & Lucidi, 2011). More precisely, the role of teachers is pivotal in helping vulnerable students to understand the school environment as supportive of their autonomy and academic self-efficacy, with regard to both their perceived competence and self-­ regulation. In turn, the perception of personal effectiveness is a crucial factor in promoting the students’ level of self-determination and, consequently, school performance. However, research shows that, while teachers working in schools located in at-risk areas recognise that cultivating quality educational relationships with students is a prerequisite for tackling ESL, they also feel overwhelmed by the many challenges they deal with in building such relationships. This sense of being overwhelmed is both due to the burden placed on them by school administrators and students’ “refusal” to cooperate (Guarino et  al., 2011; Struyven & Vanthournout, 2014). Studies indicate that children from families with migrant backgrounds get lower marks than their native peers in the final lower secondary examinations (Azzolini et  al., 2019; Bonizzoni et  al., 2016). Moreover, the majority enrol in vocational courses (three years) or, less often, in technical schools (five years), while enrolment in liberal schools is quite rare. This choice prevents most children with a migrant background from entering tertiary education. Several explanations have been proposed for this state of affairs (Barban & White, 2011). One possible reason is that students receive poor counselling during the final stages of lower secondary school regarding their options. It is possible that students with migrant backgrounds are encouraged to opt for vocational or technical

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school, even when achieving academic results similar to those of their native peers, due to teachers’ ethnic bias. Another possible reason for this imbalance is that their families have specific priorities when investing in their children’s education. On the one hand, students with migrant backgrounds may be expected to start working earlier to contribute financially to their families, discouraging lengthy educational pathways through higher education. On the other hand, families that only expect to stay in Italy temporarily, whether planning to return to their home country or to move on and settle in a third country, are less likely to invest in tertiary qualifications that would not be recognised in another country. In summary, ESL and early tracking in Italy have a major impact in terms of determining students’ exclusion from school at the macro level. The shift from compensatory measures to prevention policies is recommended by the European Union as an advantageous strategy to prevent the dropout phenomenon that mainly affects students from vulnerable families. To date, this shift has not been achieved for several reasons: economic disinvestment from public school, a lack of comparable data, inadequate educational guidance services and teachers’ lack of professional competences in the area of counselling. The increasing influence of a neoliberal perspective based on human capital theory within the field of education has contributed to a further fragmentation of efforts to reduce ESL by popularising approaches based on a (supposed) personalisation of interventions, while diverting attention from the importance of tackling ESL as a structural and organisational problem. Consequently, the focus has remained on activities addressing individual “problem” students, instead of developing a systematic approach that involves the whole school and community in efforts to promote inclusion as a shared goal. However, recent research has suggested a number of alternative measures to reverse this negative trend. These include the spread of full-time school attendance schemes in compulsory school, systematic investment in a high quality school infrastructure, and reducing the huge number of teachers currently employed on temporary contracts (Colucci & Gallo, 2017; Mocetti, 2012). These measures would help overcome some of the structural issues that lead to students’ exclusion at the macro level in Italian schools. Nevertheless, they should be combined with actions seeking to neutralise exclusionary processes at the micro level.

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 xclusion at the Micro Level: Diversity E and Special Educational Needs Since the 1970s, the Italian education system has abolished most of its separate institutions for students with various physical or learning disabilities. Today, there remain only a very limited number of special schools for children that have hearing or vision impairments. Consequently, children with disabilities are usually enrolled in  local mainstream schools (EASNIE, 2021). Education authorities provide specialist staff and financial support to ensure that all children with a disability are adequately included in the school environment. Moreover, regulations define a reduced upper limit on class size for classes attended by children with a disability. However, this upper limit, set to a maximum of 20 students, has recently often been exceeded due to a series of cutbacks. A special education teacher whose role is to facilitate participation in learning activities supports students with a disability. The number of children assigned to each special education teacher is low, 1.5 students per teacher (Istat, 2021). A team formed by the mainstream and support teachers produces an education plan for each student with a disability based on the child’s diagnosis and functional skills. This plan defines learning objectives, with activities organised in close cooperation between the teachers and the student’s family. Data show that students with a diagnosis of disability currently comprise 3.5% of the student population in mainstream schools (Istat, 2021). With the extension of compulsory schooling, the move towards the inclusion of children with a disability has gradually expanded over the years, with an increasing number of students with a disability attending upper secondary schools. This has often been described as a working example of full inclusion that other countries should try to emulate (Ferri, 2015; Kanter et  al., 2014). However, although the abolition of segregated special schools can be regarded as a meaningful step towards a more welcoming and supportive environment for students with disabilities, some critical questions have also been raised. Over time, the Italian school system has become increasingly complex and fragile. The reaction to the increasing diversity of the student population in terms of

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sociocultural background, gender, ethnic origin, disabilities and learning difficulties has been a wave of neoliberal reforms that have led to growing inequalities in access to education (Grimaldi & Serpieri, 2013). Moreover, while annual investment in education has grown at the national level in recent years, per capita educational expenditure in Italy is still among the lowest in Europe, as mentioned previously (OECD, 2020). Compared to other countries, Italy has a very high ratio of special education teachers, comprising about 18% of the total teacher population. This reflects the focus on student care that has traditionally been at the core of Italian educational policy. However, in the last few years, the growing number of special education teachers has also become an indicator of an alarming and dramatic increase in the number of children diagnosed with a disability (or learning disability) (Istat, 2021). Moreover, after five years of employment in the field of special education, teachers gain the right to work as mainstream teachers, which is often seen as a more valuable professional path, as shown earlier in this chapter. The result is a systematic turnover and shortage of special education teachers, many of whom do not accept the job because of a professional calling but as a shortcut to their goal of becoming a mainstream teacher. The high turnover also means a constant loss of professional knowledge regarding how to support learning and care for students with a disability (Barbieri & Sestito, 2017). Another critical point concerns ownership of students with a disability. Special education teachers are hired at a school following the enrolment of students with a disability. Hence, although the current regulations underline that special education and mainstream teachers should cooperate in managing class activities in order to promote inclusion, working with students with a disability is usually regarded as the exclusive responsibility of special education teachers, whose job depends on these students. As many mainstream teachers delegate full responsibility for the management of learners with a disability to special education teachers, it is not unusual to observe the latter working separately with the child with a disability, leaving the former free to carry out the activities planned for “normal” students (D’Alessio, 2011; Giangreco & Doyle, 2015). This situation is further exacerbated by the growing emphasis on so-called individualisation or personalisation plans, which are the source of new

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types of segregation, often in the form of micro-exclusion within the school environment. While all children attend the same school, special rooms and separate activities are created within the building to separate some students from the rest of the class. The degree of separation increases from kindergarten to secondary school, where students with a disability are regularly taken away from the classroom, purportedly to help them carry out alternative activities, but actually at the request of mainstream teachers who are reluctant to modify their teaching practices (D’Alessio, 2012). Push-in and pull-out practices in Italian schools are well documented with regard, not only to learners with disabilities, but also students with a migrant background or, more generally, with special education needs (Demo et  al., 2021). Even though these practices are intended to differentiate instruction to meet students’ personal needs, research shows that they, in fact, support a remedial perspective on learning that hinders opportunities for inclusive education (Dovigo, 2017). In this regard, the introduction of the new category of ‘special educational needs’ by the Italian Ministry of Public Education in 2012 represents a major shift towards expanding which students are seen as difficult or problematic. SEN students are now categorised within a three-­ tier system: • Students diagnosed with severe physical or intellectual impairments by local health units. • Students with a medical certificate of learning difficulties, such as dyslexia or dyscalculia, issued by a public or private medical or psychological centre. • Students with no official medical diagnosis or certificate, but in need of additional support due to cultural, linguistic, socioeconomic or other types of disadvantage. Although all students with SEN are recognised as requiring additional educational support at school, financial aid and additional support staff are only provided for children in the first category. This poses an evident problem of an ethical, as well as didactic, nature since the resources assigned to students are currently distributed in a highly asymmetrical way, that is, mostly assigned to students with a disability. Therefore, the

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proliferation of students categorised as problematic inevitably translates into a “battle of the have-nots” to access the scarce resources available, which in turn risks increasing rather than reducing inequalities (Galloway et al., 2013). Moreover, data show that students from lower economic or sociocultural backgrounds are usually overrepresented in the group of learners identified as having SEN (Berhanu & Dyson, 2012; Migliarini, 2018). Children with a migrant background are especially at risk of being labelled with one of the many conditions placed under the vague umbrella of special needs, as defined by the Ministry of Education. This definition transforms structurally rooted disadvantage into the pathologies of individual migrant students who deviate from the expected learning standard. Accordingly, discrimination takes place; for example, by classifying migrant children who are functionally illiterate as dyslexic, or by distrusting the reasons why immigrant students received poor education in their native country. This “SENization” process, disguised as supporting personalisation, creates new pervasive forms of subjectivation that lead to the growing micro-exclusion of migrant students (Migliarini et al., 2020).

 Closer Look at SEN: What Do School A Staff Say? To explore the impact of the SEN categorisation on the Italian education system, a qualitative study was conducted in collaboration with primary and secondary schools located in four Italian regions: Liguria, Lombardy, Piedmont and Sicily (Dovigo & Pedone, 2019). Following semi-­ structured interviews with SEN coordinators, head teachers, mainstream and special education teachers, the opinions of school staff were analysed regarding: the use of educational plans related to SEN; which students are classified as having special educational needs; which are the most commonly identified needs; which policies, practices and resources schools and teachers put in place to meet these needs; and the positive and/or negative effects on school activities of using these categories. Our research shows that the recent SEN regulation has resulted in an emphasis on the number of students regarded as problematic, as well as a

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fragmented plurality of conditions stemming from the 3-tier system, which are regarded as beyond the scope of educational intervention. During interviews, school staff expressed a sense of helplessness concerning their work with the new framework for special educational needs, which were framed as an epidemic. They rarely described diversity as an opportunity for learning or promoting participation, but rather as a problem or an exceptional situation and, in some cases, as a genuine emergency taking place in what they define as “non-homogeneous classes”, implicitly assuming that homogeneity is a positive characteristic for schooling. This widespread uncertainty about how SEN should be interpreted is often addressed by interposing bureaucracy as a protective barrier. In this regard, confusion about the definition of SEN does not prevent but actually encourages action from teachers, but only for self-­ defence purposes. School activities are increasingly replaced by the constant production of paperwork that has little or no positive impact on teaching and what happens in the classroom. In addition, a focus on the presumed deficiencies of individual students creates and nourishes a sense of guilt among staff that, in turn, gives rise to a widespread culture of delegation. Consequently, SEN becomes part of a “passing the buck” system, from school to neuropsychiatric or social services (as the students’ needs are considered a “technical” problem), from mainstream teachers to support teachers (as the students’ needs are seen as a “special” problem), and from parents to school (as a problem that exceeds parenting skills). The interviewees made frequent reference to “goodwill” as essential for teachers dealing with students with SEN.  This implies that providing support for disadvantaged students is not perceived as integral to the role of teacher, but as an extra-­ personal, rather than professional, commitment. Teachers frequently complained during interviews that they lacked knowledge about SEN, underlining their need for additional training on this subject. However, they were not looking to develop their skills and acquire new tools for reflecting on questions related to SEN but, rather, for ready-made procedures and practices to use in managing the growing number of individual cases that they encounter in their classrooms on a daily basis. The teachers usually prioritise the adoption of pedagogical techniques (e.g. compensatory and accommodative strategies) that enable

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ad hoc fixes, rather than attempting to make essential changes to standard teaching practices. The use of new technologies is also often invoked by teachers, but often with unrealistic expectations that they will offer a panacea. For the most part, teachers perceive SEN as a drawback that forces them to alter their teaching routines rather than as a challenge to develop teaching that can support learning for all in classrooms characterised by their diversity. One teacher effectively summarises this dilemma: In one class, we have a disabled child with Down syndrome, six children with learning disabilities, ADHD, or other SEN. In the end, the workload becomes too heavy, too demanding. How do you cope with everyday life in this classroom? One [child] needs motivating, another reprimanding. One needs help drawing a map, while another should use a learning aid, but refuses to do so. Every day is a battle to move on with the curriculum.

Discussion and Implications The analysis of exclusionary policies currently affecting Italian schools highlights that many of the driving forces behind the abolition of special schools in the 1970s and development of an innovative approach to the education of children with disabilities no longer exist. Due to the growing influence of a neoliberal approach to schooling, the tenet of education as a basic and inalienable right for all has been replaced by a view that school is mainly a site of competition and ranking exercises. This mindset is the common thread amongst the many forms of exclusionary pressures that were identified in the Italian school organisation at the macro and micro levels (Dovigo & Pedone, 2019). Investigation of the macro level shows how the lack of prevention strategies forces a remarkable number of students out of the education system before they can complete compulsory schooling. This is an outcome of more general segregation processes. Such processes systematically categorise both students and teachers through early tracking mechanisms that prevent or minimise socioeconomic mobility. Examination of the micro level of exclusion helps to explain how those mechanisms are translated and reproduced in everyday school practices, and support a deficit model and remedial

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perspective on learning, which recent Italian legislation concerning SEN has further promoted. Accordingly, while children with disabilities still have the right to access mainstream education and receive additional resources, the focus has shifted from addressing inequalities rooted in social structures towards accommodating and compensating the diagnoses of individual students. The importance of context and social relationships in generating positive school experiences is often underrated, with increasing focus on the intrinsic characteristics of learners with a disability, understood as deficits that must be compensated. Consequently, vulnerable children are expected to continuously strive to adapt to the educational context, while the school makes less effort to adapt the educational context to ensure that every child can fully participate in everyday activities. This trend has accelerated over the last decade with the introduction of the three-tier SEN categorisation in Italian schools; and the concept of different educational “needs” reflects the individualistic perspective upon which the rhetoric of diversity is based (Ball, 2017; Tomlinson, 2014). This viewpoint recognises that everyone has particular needs which must be satisfied once they have been identified. Once again, the focus on the individual evokes a seductive imaginary: someone will focus their attention exclusively on the individual student and meet his/her particular personal needs. However, there are a number of problems associated with this perspective: • Exclusive attention presupposes the establishment of a dyadic relationship that excludes others from that relationship. In a classroom, this condition is an exception, not the rule. Furthermore, exclusive attention from a teacher can isolate and place excessive pressure on students. • The purpose of the school is not to satisfy the needs of individuals, but rather to develop students’ ability to satisfy their needs themselves, that is, to support the gradual development of their autonomy. • In theory, the school recognises that each individual student has special needs. However, in practice, a tacit distinction is established between “normal” students that can be helped within the framework of standard teaching practice and “special” students that require extraordinary interventions.

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The presented analysis helps clarify how these problems stem from three main conceptual premises embedded in the approach to working with educational diversity in Italian schools: • The idea of “standard” teaching is assumed as an optimal teaching strategy that works for the majority of students. This idea is based on the obsolete notion that teaching is an activity that can be planned entirely in advance and to which students adapt more or less effectively. Rather, it is the curriculum not the student that must adapt as teaching is effective only to the extent that it is able to adapt in order to allow each student to follow their own learning trajectory. The current proliferation of SEN interventions does not mean that a growing number of students have learning difficulties, but that current teaching practices are not sufficiently flexible and varied. • The limits in terms of the extent to which the school will meet the individual needs of each student are not precisely defined, instead, remaining couched in somewhat vague rhetoric (‘Our school welcomes all students’). Every situation that crosses the fluctuating threshold of what is considered normal is identified as a “case”. Consequently, compensatory strategies are implemented because the individual is regarded as having a problem in adapting to school. Conversely, it is very rare that the school acknowledges the existence of specific material and non-material barriers that prevent the full inclusion of many students and which can only be overcome through organisational change. • While the “normal” student is only indirectly defined in terms of what is expected of him/her in their performance or behaviour, “special” students are directly categorised through analytical descriptions concerning physical, cognitive, emotional and social abilities. Diagnostic manuals, classifications of functions and test batteries are employed for the specific purpose of tracing a profile of the child in as much detail as possible, outlining what is missing or out of place with respect to meeting the school’s expectations of “normal” students. It follows that, not only does what is normal depend on the definition of what is special, but also that the condition of normality itself shrinks, creating new categories of deviance and maladjustment.

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Conclusions The examination of recent developments in the Italian school system shows how the combination of various elements gives rise to forms of exclusion at the macro and micro levels. A neoliberal discourse based on buzzwords such as “standards”, “human capital” and “excellence” has taken root in Italian education, contributing to individual students being attributed sole responsibility for their failure or success at school. Consequently, the effects of a lack of cultural capital and the role of socioeconomic inequalities are systematically underestimated as the main driving factors leading to early school leaving. An emphasis on the school as a democratic environment aimed at promoting students’ citizenship, critical thinking and well-being has been replaced by a functionalist view in which education is a means to enhance productivity and transition to the labour market. While purportedly promoting a personalised approach to education, this perspective reproduces discriminatory policies and practices that effect the large number of children that do not fit with this economic purpose given their gender, ethnic origin, learning difficulties or family background. At the micro level, Italian schools struggle to recognise the growing importance of managing diversity in promoting educational activity. The tradition of welcoming children with disabilities in mainstream schools does not apply to today’s classes, in which a high degree of heterogeneity is the norm. On the contrary, the recent introduction of SEN categories in Italy accentuated the ethical dilemma concerning the entitlement of children with a disability to extra support, with those categorised as SEN students triggering no additional resources. Moreover, the persistent demands that schools reach high performance benchmarks favour a negative interpretation of children’s diversity, leading to an increasing number of students being categorised as “substandard” in terms of their cognitive, behavioural, linguistic or emotional capacities. In conclusion, although Italian compulsory education still appears open to all students at a formal level, various types of both macro and micro exclusion are widespread throughout the system. This demands a critical review of the values that Italian schools seek to promote and put

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into practice in order to maintain the promise of an inclusive education system that is able to support the learning and participation of all students, including those who are in a vulnerable position.

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Galloway, D.  M., Armstrong, D., & Tomlinson, S. (2013). The assessment of special educational needs: Whose problem? Routledge. Giancola, O., & Salmieri, L. (2020). Family background, school-track and macro-area: The complex chains of education inequalities in Italy. Sapienza, University of Rome Working Papers, 4(20), DISS. Giangreco, M. F., & Doyle, M. B. (2015). Italy presses forward in educating students with learning disabilities. Phi Delta Kappan, 97(3), 23–28. Grimaldi, E., & Serpieri, R. (2013). Privatising education policy-making in Italy: New governance and the reculturing of a welfarist education state. Education Inquiry, 4(3), 22615. https://doi.org/10.3402/edui.v4i3.22615 Guarino, C. M., Brown, A. B., & Wyse, A. E. (2011). Can districts keep good teachers in the schools that need them most? Economics of Education Review, 30(5), 962–979. ISSN-0272-7757. INVALSI. (2021a). The results of the INVALSI 2021 test. (I risultati delle prove INVALSI 2021). https://invalsi-­reaprove.cineca.it/docs/2021/Rilevazioni_ Nazionali/Rapporto/14_07_2021/038_Presentazione_Risultati_Prove_ INVALSI_14_07_2021.pptx INVALSI. (2021b). The results of the INVALSI 2021 test: Short summary. (I risultati in breve delle prove INVALSI). https://invalsi-­areaprove.cineca.it/ docs/2021/Rilevazioni_Nazionali/Rapporto/14_07_2021/Sintesi_Primi_ Risultati_Prove_INVALSI_2021.pdf IPSOS/Save the Children. (2021). Young people in the time of the coronavirus. (I giovani al tempo del coronavirus). https://s3.savethechildren.it/public/files/ uploads/pubblicazioni/i-­giovani-­ai-­tempi-­del-­coronavirus.pdf ISTAT. (2021). School inclusion for children with disabilities | S.Y. 2019-2020. https://www.istat.it/it/files/2020/12/Report-­alunni-­con-­disabilità.pdf Kanter, A.  S., Damiani, M.  L., & Ferri, B.  A. (2014). The right to inclusive education under international law: Following Italy’s lead. Journal of International Special Needs Education, 17(1), 21–32. https://doi. org/10.30958/aje.4-­4-­1 Migliarini, V. (2018). ‘Colour-evasiveness’ and racism without race: The disablement of asylum-seeking children at the edge of fortress Europe. Race Ethnicity and Education, 21(4), 438–457. https://doi.org/10.1080/1361332 4.2017.1417252 Migliarini, V., D’Alessio, S., & Bocci, F. (2020). SEN Policies and migrant children in Italian schools: micro-exclusions through discourses of equality. Discourse: Studies in the Cultural Politics of Education, 41(6), 887–900. https://doi.org/10.1080/01596306.2018.1558176

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Mocetti, S. (2012). Educational choices and the selection process: Before and after compulsory schooling. Education Economics, 20(2), 189–209. https:// doi.org/10.1080/09645291003726434 Odoardi, I., Furia, D., & Cascioli, P. (2021). Can social support compensate for missing family support? An examination of dropout rates in Italy. Regional Science Policy and Practice, 13(1), 121–139. https://doi.org/10.1111/rsp3. 12358 OECD. (2020). Education at a glance 2020: OECD indicators. OECD Publishing. Panichella, N., & Triventi, M. (2014). Social inequalities in the choice of secondary school. European Societies, 16(5), 666–693. https://doi.org/10.108 0/14616696.2014.939685 Pensiero, N., Giancola, O., & Barone, C. (2019). Socioeconomic inequality and student outcomes in Italy. In L. Volante, S. Schnepf, J. Jerrim, & D. Klinger (Eds.), Socioeconomic inequality and student outcomes. Education policy and social inequality (Vol. 4, pp. 81–94). Springer. Romito, M. (2019). Career guidance and neoliberal rationality in Italian schools. In T. Hooley, R. G. Sultana, & R. Thomsen (Eds.), Career guidance for emancipation: Reclaiming justice for the multitude (pp. 98–115). Routledge. Struyven, K., & Vanthournout, G. (2014). Teachers' exit decisions: An investigation into the reasons why newly qualified teachers fail to enter the teaching profession or why those who do enter do not continue teaching. Teaching and Teacher Education, 43, 37–45. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.tate.2014.06.002 Tomlinson, S. (2014). The politics of race, class and special education: The selected works of Sally Tomlinson. Routledge.

4 Exclusion and Neoliberal Public Sector Management David Hall

Introduction This chapter places exclusionary educational practices within the context of wider policy changes in the field of education in which new forms of public sector management, regulation and governance have increasingly emerged. These changes have frequently led to marked shifts in the practices of educational institutions and actors with important implications for educational exclusion. Two principal changes are highlighted in this chapter. Firstly, the introduction of neo-liberal approaches to education that have prioritised markets, competition and consumer choice in ways that have challenged previously dominant forms of social–welfarist models of educational provision (Apple, 2004; Ball, 2008; Wilkins, 2010). An important consequence has been the introduction of new logics such as performance management and new policy actors provided, for example,

D. Hall (*) University of Exeter, Exeter, UK e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 E. J. Done, H. Knowler (eds.), International Perspectives on Exclusionary Pressures in Education, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-14113-3_4

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via processes of corporatisation (Hursh, 2007; Gunter et  al., 2016; Saltman, 2000). Such logics can serve to incentivise and normalise exclusion, as individual schools and groups of schools seek to compete in the market place (Done & Knowler, 2020, 2021). Accompanying and, in many contexts, intertwined with this neo-liberal turn has been the growth of educational regulation (Ball, 2009). Secondly, both nationally focused attempts to modernise the education sector and international trends towards comparative national measures of attainment have combined to make the value of education widely legible as coterminous with academic performance at selected ages in a strictly limited range of academic disciplines (Lingard et al. 2016a; Sellar & Lingard, 2014). Exclusionary concerns in this regard include the relative value to educational institutions of different groups of children and young people with differing levels of attainment and, particularly, those who may fail to reach age-related and pre-ordained standards of attainment. In England, concerns in this area are well documented, for example, by the Children’s Commissioner (2013), the Office for the Schools’ Adjudicator (OSA, 2017) and the national schools inspectorate (Ofsted, 2019). In addition, the rise of different forms of nativism in many countries, including England (Naravan, 2019), which can be conceptualised as populist backlashes against the corrosive effects of neo-liberalism, find expression in educational institutions via both novel and reconstituted exclusionary educational practices (Hussain & Yunus, 2021; Watson, 2021).

Context This chapter explores concepts that have combined in differing ways in varied national contexts to generate new patterns of educational reform in the late twentieth and twenty-first centuries (Hall et al., 2015; Hall & Gunter, 2016). In order to make sense of contemporary exclusionary practices in educational arenas, the effects of these reform processes and their profound implications for those working and studying in the school sector must be considered (Gillborn & Youdell, 2000; Apple, 2004; Liu et al., 2020). Whilst this is a policy environment familiar to many directly

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connected to the field of education, as education professionals and workers, students, parents or interested citizens, it is important to detail what has happened during the last 40 years in relation to inclusive and exclusionary processes. During this period, educational reform programmes have been implemented across a range of contexts with varying degrees of intensity and traction, and in ways that converge both globally and nationally (Ozga & Lingard, 2007). Central to these reform programmes in many countries has been the adoption of what is commonly termed new public management (NPM). NPM is associated with the prioritisation of marketisation and choice, measuring performance and the deployment of management techniques first developed in the private sector (Clark & Newman, 1997). NPM can no longer be considered as new given its initial adoption by, for example, Australia, New Zealand and the UK in the 1980s and its subsequent growth, albeit to varying degrees, in these education systems and those of other countries during the 1990s and 2000s. Nevertheless, its influence has been, and continues to be, pervasive (Hall et al., 2015) in those education systems where publicly funded educational institutions have been identified as in need of reform. In some contexts, NPM was introduced gradually accompanied by, and in tension with, a continuing social–welfarist approach; in others, it led to a permanent revolution of public service reforms (Pollitt, 2007). Corresponding educational reforms have led, in some cases, to the creation of unstable and fast-changing educational environments in which the time and attention of educational managers and teachers has been heavily absorbed in responding to policy edicts and changes (Hall & Gunter, 2016). The term “markets, metrics and managers” (Hall, 2013a) assembles some of the key dimensions of this educational reform programme across a range of contexts globally. To this must be added those new forms of governance which reflect purportedly softer dimensions of NPM in which governments enable the entry of new policy actors into the educational arena, thus steering education from a distance, or appearing to do so, whilst simultaneously maintaining a tight control through more regulative powers (Wilkins, 2010; Robertson & Verger, 2012; Sellar & Lingard, 2014). I will now examine the constituent parts of this assemblage, pointing to their various entanglements and connections, whilst

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seeking to explain their relationship to the educationally exclusionary practices that are the key focus of this book.

Markets and Marketisation The elevation of markets in the educational domain and the subsequent effects on exclusion in many countries, particularly Australia, the UK and the US, reflects a marked turn towards neo-liberalism (Harvey, 2007; Hursh, 2007; Armstrong, 2021). The use of the term neo-liberalism here aligns with Harvey’s (2007) broad description of “market fundamentalism”. It refers to the elevation of market-based solutions to social and economic problems as the default option for policymakers and concomitant promotion of private sector provision. It is noteworthy that, despite significant overlaps between market-based policies and NPM, they are distinct concepts, with NPM representing a broad sweep of policy approaches, not all of which are best described as neo-liberal (Pollitt & Bouckaert, 2011). Given the comprehensive remit of neo-liberalism, its global ideological purchase and dominance in many contexts, it is no longer surprising to find market-based solutions being introduced across the field of education. They are evidenced in policies seeking to create educational markets premised upon school choice for parents and students newly constructed as consumers (Ball, 1993; Wilkins, 2010; Armstrong, 2021). They are also evidenced in the promotion of competition between and within educational institutions, and in the construction of educational institutions as business units (Gunter et al., 2017; Saltman, 2000). Key actors within these institutions are encouraged to behave entrepreneurially in the marketing, promotion, positioning and growth of nurseries, schools, colleges and universities re-fashioned to a greater or lesser extent as businesses (Gunter et  al., 2017; Saltman, 2000). The consequences differ significantly between varying educational contexts; however, examples include prestige buildings or facilities in key institutional locations (frequently reception areas) that serve no clear educational purpose; and the construction of students as “brand ambassadors” through carefully stylised uniforms reflecting nostalgic or conservative values. At a macro level,

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educational marketisation can be observed in the privatisation of educational services, as private “providers” of education are given increasing responsibility for the local “delivery” of education; and in the removal or side-lining of governmental organisations, as markets assume allocative powers, for example, in relation to school resourcing and staffing (Ball, 2009; Robertson & Verger, 2012). The core logic of neo-liberalism, derived from eighteenth- and nineteenth-­century liberal economics and re-fashioned in the twentieth century by the Austrian and Chicago schools of economics, is that competition and choice will enable consumer needs to be better and more efficiently met (Gamble, 2019). Whilst economists who originated these ideas, such as Adam Smith, largely focused upon the production and distribution of traditional economic goods and services, the neo-liberal turn took these ideas into new territories. These new spaces of neo-liberal activity included the expanded public service sectors of nations described as western industrialised, which had developed social–welfarist solutions to problems of poverty, inequality and social cohesion following World War II. In the educational sector, which was central to the development of social–welfarism, neo-liberally inspired policies for reform and modernisation were initially adopted in countries more politically amenable to economically liberal solutions, including Australia, the UK and the US (Robertson & Verger, 2012; Hall et al., 2015). In addition to attempts to reform public service provision, NPM has commonly entailed the erosion or replacement of earlier provision. Notable examples of such reform processes have resulted, for example, in the creation of quasi-markets and academies in the English school system and charter schools in the US, and the wholesale privatisation of schools in Chile. The latter now has one of the highest levels of private expenditure on education amongst OECD countries (OECD, 2020). The neo-­ liberal objective evidenced in all of these examples is to heighten competitive forces within the education sector, most notably by introducing new “providers” from beyond a public sector commonly derided by neo-liberally inspired reformers (Thrupp, 1998). The marketisation of education and neo-liberal turn in educational policy stand in sharp contrast to earlier modes of social-welfarism that actively sought to protect students from the commercial pressures and varied negative externalities

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associated with market-based activity. It has been suggested that parents are choosing special education for their children in order to protect them from the pressures of performance-based accountability school environments (Slee, 2019). Verger et al. (2020, p. 278) maintain the private– public partnerships aimed at generating “market dynamics” can “exacerbate school segregation and educational inequity”. The dangers of exclusion and exclusionary practices can be variously located in relation to marketisation (Bartlett et al., 2002; Sellman et al., 2002). However, the entry of private policy providers into the educational landscape and concomitant potential for the erosion of inclusive practices developed within public service provision possibly represents the greatest risk (Hall et  al., 2015). The loss of public spaces enabling education professionals, families and communities to challenge practices of exclusion risks lessening the potency of legitimate questioning of educational institutions (Gunter, 2001). The involvement of business representatives in educational governance structures risks a retrograde shift away from discourses of inclusion (Verger, Moschetti & Fontdevila, 2020). Some of these new educational policy actors and institutions may be committed to developing inclusive practices and, in some instances, may replace public sector actors and institutions that have repeatedly failed to develop and enact inclusive policies and practices (Graham, 2015). Nevertheless, marketised reforms are likely to lead to significantly more uneven approaches to inclusion, risking unaddressed exclusionary practices, as regulatory systems focus upon educational performance and data (Children’s Commissioner, 2013; Williamson, 2015; Ofsted, 2019).

Metrics, Data and Exclusion The marked elevation of a small range of specific measures of educational attainment within and between educational systems globally has the effect of making education primarily legible in terms based on these specific metrics and associated data (Sellar & Lingard, 2014). Consequently, critics describe this development as a reductive and simplistic approach to understanding educational activity (Apple, 2004). Nevertheless, it has been enormously influential in narrowing and focusing the horizons of

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those within and beyond the field of education. Several sustained and mutually reinforcing pressures can be identified when seeking to explain the expansion and significance of metrics and the accompanying increase in the volume of data collected in relation to educational activity during the last 30 or so years (West & Pennell, 2000; Williamson, 2015). Without technological advances in information processing (including levels of computing power capable of handling extensive databases of student-, institutional- and system-level information), the now widespread metricisation of education is likely to have been significantly more restricted. Secondly, a global trend towards the collection of educational performance data at national and regional or federal levels is associated with the uptake of NPM more generally and, particularly, a marked trend towards high stakes testing (Lingard et al., 2016a). It involves children and young people at particular ages being required to take national tests in limited subject areas and the publication of results in ways that promote competition between and within schools. Here performance data becomes entangled with marketisation through its role of providing a key means by which educational consumers can choose between different institutions (Wilkins, 2010). Indeed, educational markets cannot function without this kind of information that enables the product differentiation more commonly associated with consumer goods and services. This process of datafication has been reinforced by an international trend towards comparative data collection in which the OECD’s Programme for International Student Assessment (PISA) has played a prime role (https:// www.oecd.org/pisa/). It has achieved this by establishing and normalising the collection of national level educational performance data used for making international comparisons (Grek, 2009). Despite profound concerns around the reliability and validity of this data (Araujo et al., 2017), PISA data assumes a seemingly unquestionable status in many countries. One consequence is that the publication of PISA data every three years is frequently directly associated with national reform processes, especially in locations where PISA international positioning is seen as incompatible with assumed levels of international status in arenas other than education (Araujo et al., 2017).

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The effects of this intensified collection of attainment-related metrics, and corresponding capacity to monitor, evaluate and manage these data sets, are new practices in this field that both reflect and reinforce the regulation of education. In terms of exclusion and exclusionary practices, these effects are linked to a range of concerns about an environment dominated by educational data commonly associated with high stakes testing. Two concerns are particularly noteworthy. Firstly, high stakes testing focuses attention and resources on particular groups of learners, meaning that others are excluded in ways that raise concerns about the equity of resource allocation (Gillborn & Youdell, 2000). In an Australian context, Graham (2015) explores structural barriers to participation in, and exclusionary practices around, high stakes testing related to disability and learning difficulties; and suggestions that participation in such testing might enhance inclusion. Secondly, within marketised systems, the prestige associated with “successful” high stakes test performance and accompanying benefits for institutions invites competition to recruit students more likely to attain higher test scores and/or respond to efforts to secure improvements in their test performance (OSA, 2017). The implications for exclusionary practices are many and the incentives to engage in such practices at an individual, class, departmental, institutional or wider level are clear (Liu et al., 2020; West & Pennell, 2000). Overall, the dominance of metrics that become reified within systems of regulation lead to a determined focus upon such metrics and a series of unintended, and sometimes perverse, consequences as other aspects of educational activity become variously ignored or marginalised (Locke et  al., 2008; Thompson & Cook, 2014, 2017; Ofsted, 2019). Links between such practices and exclusion are fundamental to the arguments developed in this chapter.

Managers Marketisation and metricisation have radically changed educational institutions and the work of many in the field of education, particularly of those with responsibility for local delivery of these reforms. In the early stages of the reform process, they are commonly pre-existing

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administrators, leaders, managers of schools, colleges and universities and variously attracted and/or repelled by the new demands of their roles. Over time and through complex processes, those performing these roles (head teachers, principals, vice-chancellors) are re-fashioned as business managers, entrepreneurs and chief executives. A larger pool of education business managers and entrepreneurs has also been created via a reformfriendly and restricted version of distributed leadership (Hall, 2013b). Work demands in the sector can escalate in response to the multiple and potentially conflicting demands generated by the reforms (Kenny 2007). In many contexts, this distribution of “leadership” has created several new layers of management (Hall, 2013b). The amplification of management suggests a managerialist turn in education as the interests of a new managerial class, and the pressures upon them to “deliver” reform, can come to dominate institutions (Gunter, 2001). The “producer capture” of education by professionals (Hartley, 2008), so maligned by many proponents of reform, has been replaced by a new managerial capture of this field of activity (Gunter, 2001). In this managerialist educational environment, “teachers” are re-­ imagined as focused on monitoring student performance data and attending to official metrics produced nationally and regionally (Thompson & Cook, 2014), and to new metrics designed as measures of attainment to prepare students for those same high stakes tests. This commonly means the monitoring of data at individual student, class, departmental and institutional levels alongside more senior managers responsible for making detailed comparisons with other institutions. The role of teachers within this managerial environment is to “deliver” national programmes with the ultimate aim of preparing children and young people for high stakes tests (Lingard et al., 2016b). Performative dimensions of teaching and learning become paramount in a culture increasingly focused upon the setting and monitoring of performance targets (Thompson & Cook, 2014). Accordingly, regional and/or local school authorities hold individual schools responsible for meeting performance targets; schools hold teaching departments responsible for meeting performance targets; teaching departments hold individual teachers responsible for meeting performance targets; and individual teachers hold children and young people responsible for meeting performance targets. Children and young people

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located at the base of this managerialist pyramid are systemically positioned to take personal responsibility for meeting their performance targets. The effects are frequently exclusionary and deleterious for those individuals and groups that fail or that view themselves as not having reached, or being capable of reaching, these targets (Boaler et al., 2000; Reay & Wiliam, 1999). A further concern relating to exclusion worth highlighting here is directly associated with the rise of managerialism in nurseries, schools, colleges and universities. Teachers, leaders and other education professionals can potentially play important mediating roles in relation to education policies as they work closely with children and young people, and their families, on a daily basis to enact policies at a local level (Gunter, 2001). The professional values, beliefs and knowledge bases they bring to these roles often reflect their initial teacher training and continuing professional development, causing them to question managerialist policies and recommended practices in the perceived interests of particular groups of children and young people (Moore & Clarke, 2016). Consequently, policies and practices might be adapted and refined to suit localised circumstances as interpreted by individuals and groups of educational professionals. Educational institutions, dominated by the interests of managers narrowly interpreting their role as implementers as opposed to mediators of national policy, are likely to offer significantly less space for such localised mediation (Gunter, 2001; Hall et al., 2015), with potentially deleterious implications for inclusion and less resistance to localised exclusionary practices.

Educational Governance It is worth considering how the policy changes in the field of education described here can be represented and in what ways they reflect changes in the way that education is governed. One broad interpretation is that education has been colonised by central governments and replaced approaches affording education professionals higher degrees of independence and autonomy. This interpretation stresses the centralisation of education, increasing government intervention, and emergence of more

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restricted forms of professionalism. It highlights the regulatory dimensions of educational governance that have emerged as more robust managerial approaches evidenced by the collection and monitoring of educational data at international, national, regional, local, institutional, sub-institutional, classroom and student levels. This enhanced regulatory role of governments within education is constructed as the modernisation of educational systems at a national level, although frequently motivated by wider international educational trends and fashions (Graham, 2015; Hall et al., 2015). A second interpretation stresses new forms of governance (Rhodes, 1997) in which the traditional and more authority-based role of government is gradually replaced by efforts to steer from a distance. This suggests an emerging decentralisation of education as both market forces and new, often private, forms of educational provision gradually come to replace previous public sector provision (Wilkins & Olmedo, 2018). It reflects the increasing marketisation and corporatisation of education in which commercial organisations and other private interests have entered the field of education to engage in varied ways, from the ownership and running of groups of schools through to their involvement in the governing of educational institutions (Ball, 2007). The complexities of this shift include reformed public sector actors re-entering the field of education as new opportunities arise for their involvement (Boyask, 2016). This second interpretation of policy reform in education stresses two important dimensions of new forms of governance. Firstly, the increasing importance of network governance as previously, often democratic and accountable, forums are replaced by networks of new policy actors frequently hidden from public view (Wilkins & Olmedo, 2018). Secondly, the use of new technologies of governing in which education professionals are subject to new forces seeking to govern their conduct (Thompson & Cook, 2014; Hall et  al., 2015). Such technologies reflect attempts to control and direct educational practices by introducing governing mentalities or governmentalities (Gillies, 2013) into the working lives of education professionals. An example of this is the implanting by Ofsted of a dominant educational principle into schools; the first question now asked by teachers and school managers when making many educational decisions is “what would OFSTED think of this?” (Bradbury &

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Roberts-­Holmes, 2017). Similarly, the question “how might this affect test results?” becomes a global touchstone for much educational decision-­ making, displacing questions related to wider or different forms of framing (Araujo et al., 2017), such as “who might this exclude?” (Graham, 2015). Governing, previously presented as the responsibility of government and their appointed authorities, is now conducted via the self-­ governance of those who work in the education sector (Ball & Olmedo, 2013; Moore & Clarke, 2016). In terms of exclusionary practices, understanding their relationship to forms of governance requires careful consideration of key contextual factors, including the extent to which pre-existing national, regional and/or local policies were previously seeking to reduce or mediate incidences of exclusionary practices. In contexts where this was not the case, and where exclusionary educational practices were ignored or, indeed, supported by relevant governmental authorities, changes in governance may offer space for novel and less exclusionary educational practices to emerge. Alternatively, in contexts where inclusionary practices have been variously mediated, resisted or challenged with the tacit or active support of governmental authorities, governance may result in more corporatised models of education, not least in the neo-liberal and data-dominated environments discussed above. In such contexts, educational practices are increasingly replaced by practices found in business environments; here, instrumentalism can lead to novel and re-formed versions of exclusion based on the perceived business interests of institutions (Done & Knowler, 2020, 2021). This might involve educational professionals, managers and new private policy actors self-governing in circumscribed ways (“what would OFSTED think?”) that do not foreground inclusive practices and, instead, respond to students in ways that prioritise the perceived needs of institutions (Ball & Olmedo, 2013). Typically, this might include attempts to off-roll children perceived as disrupting institutional performance objectives (Done & Knowler, 2020, 2021); or explicitly or tacitly seeking to exclude or refuse admittance to children and young people less likely to confer prestige upon the institution (OSA, 2017; Ofsted, 2019).

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Populism in Education Nationalism involving narrow conceptions of national identity and an associated nativism (Naravan, 2019) can have significant implications for exclusion in those contexts most affected by such developments. Groups of children and young people directly affected by emergent populist discourses and, specifically, nativism include those from black and minority ethnic communities and the children of refugees (Smith, 2021). Populism can also affect children who identify as LGBTQ and young people from majority groups who fail to conform to narrowly prescribed conceptions of gender and sexuality or other nationally approved characteristics (ILGA, 2022). At the time of writing, the scope for the alienation and exclusion of such groups from mainstream educational provision is concerning, not least within the context of social, health and economic hardships following the global pandemic (Daniels et al., 2020). Furthermore, the denigration of expertise by populist politicians has the potential to undermine those working to reduce exclusion and promote inclusion in the field of education. As the effects of “culture wars” penetrate educational institutions via elected governments variously inflected or dominated by populism, or via the populist activities of those working in the sector (Watson, 2021), the potential for more exclusionary practices at both national and local levels is increased.

Conclusion To understand exclusionary pressures and practices in education, the wider policy environment within which formal educational activity occurs must be considered. Features of this policy environment have been analysed in this chapter, although the extent to which the policy path of any particular country can be represented in terms of such features depend on the educational policy mix adopted in that country. Explaining why a particular policy path has emerged in a specific location is a more complex matter. Analyses will involve a variety of nationally specific factors, including levels of resistance to global and international policy

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trends and, directly related to this, national social, political, economic, educational and cultural histories. The status of education professionals and their capacity to shape, resist and negotiate the direction of policy reforms enacted within national and/or regional boundaries is also important. This applies equally to teachers’ and school leaders’ interest in, and capacity to influence policy relating to, exclusion (Done & Knowler, 2020, 2021). It may be challenging to understand the complex relationship between this policy environment and the nature and extent of exclusion and exclusionary practices. Whilst the principal reforms experienced within many education systems have been characterised here, the effects of reform processes on policy actors, institutions and those working and studying within them at national or local levels is not straightforward. This is primarily due to the complex processes of policy re-­contextualisation that can significantly affect the interpretation and enactment of policy interventions (Verger & Curran, 2014). Nevertheless, several dangers have been highlighted related to the opening up of spaces for exclusion and exclusionary practices associated with the various policy turns described. Whilst these dangers may not be realised in all contexts, it is envisaged that illuminating them will provide a starting point for reflection upon the key relationship outlined here between the policy environment and exclusion in education.

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5 The Migratory Experience: Challenging Inclusionary Measures Hanne Riese, Line Torbjørnsen Hilt, and Juhar Yasin Abamosa

Introduction The representation of people with refugee backgrounds in higher education is disproportionately low in Norway and globally (Djuve & Kavli, 2019; Streitwieser et  al., 2020; UNHCR, 2019). Considering the acknowledged role of higher education in employment generally and, more specifically, its role as a key predictor of future employment and empowerment for refugees (Hernes et  al., 2020; Dereli, 2018), this is

H. Riese (*) University, Inland Norway University of Applied Sciences, Lillehammer, Norway University of Bergen, Bergen, Norway e-mail: [email protected] L. T. Hilt University of Bergen, Bergen, Norway e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 E. J. Done, H. Knowler (eds.), International Perspectives on Exclusionary Pressures in Education, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-14113-3_5

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puzzling. Research suggests that refugees are insufficiently addressed in higher education policy initiatives and that measures securing their participation are lacking (Abamosa et al., 2020). Integration policies, however, tend to be designed to address the low-skilled migrant (Van Riemsdijk & Axelsson, 2021), and the influence of these policies on the group of highly skilled migrants is seldom discussed (Van Riemsdijk & Axelsson, 2021; Djuve & Kavli, 2019). Similarly, research addressing the integration experiences of highly skilled refugees is scarce (Van Riemsdijk & Axelsson, 2021). This lack of attention to refugees’ access to higher education across policy initiatives can be regarded as an exclusionary aspect of inclusive policy measures as well as of research. This chapter aims to explore how refugees living in Norway with the goal of pursuing higher education experience a language learning initiative and how this ostensibly inclusionary measure can be regarded as excluding inclusion or exclusionary inclusion, that is, inclusion which actually works to exclude. When arriving in Norway, refugees are enrolled in the Norwegian Introductory Programme for Immigrants (NIP), a so-called activation programme (Djuve, 2010) that offers language and work training in addition to knowledge of civil society. A collaboration involving five prior or current NIP participants, all with refugee status, and three researchers positioned differently towards the topic, are involved in critically investigating how this inclusionary measure is challenged by the migratory experience. Juhar Abamosa researches the inclusion of refugees in higher education and is himself a refugee with experience of the NIP, thus possessing a critical theoretical perspective and knowledge of the field from both personal and professional viewpoints. Line Hilt has practical work experience of the integration and resettlement bureaucracy in Norway and former experience in the field of migration studies, specifically, the exclusionary dimensions of inclusion policies. Hanne Riese researches processes of marginalisation in education, particularly how

J. Y. Abamosa University, Inland Norway University of Applied Sciences, Lillehammer, Norway e-mail: [email protected]

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racialisation is structured by custom and language, and collected the stories of the aforementioned students. Whereas Abamosa and the refugee participants have knowledge of varied education systems, of being in exile and of attending the NIP, Hilt and Riese acknowledge their proximity and, thus, their complicity in the problem of refugees’ access to higher education. This text represents a collaborative effort to make sense of the challenges of exclusion within the context of the NIP as experienced by highly skilled refugees aiming for higher education.

The Norwegian Introductory Programme Norway launched an introductory programme for newly arrived immigrants in 2004, some years later than other Scandinavian countries such as Sweden (1991) and Denmark (1999). The introductory programme in Norway was initiated after a period of substantial critique of Norwegian integration policy and, as such, it represented a marked shift in the policies directed at newly arrived immigrants (Hilt, 2020). For Djuve and Kavli (2015), the programme marked a move away from unconditional welfare benefits and low-intensity language training on a voluntary basis towards a compulsory full day and year-round activation programme, making welfare benefits conditional upon participation in activities. The programme remains the main integration measure in Norway and its organisation falls within the remit of municipalities and is linked to the resettlement process. According to the Parliament proposition (Ot.prp. nr. 28 [2002–2003]) that preceded the Introduction Act (2002) and the new qualification programme in 2004, the main goals were to increase immigrants’ participation in work life and society, to avoid overuse of stigmatising and pacifying welfare benefits, and to facilitate possibilities for refugees to fulfil their duty to participate in society. Although work participation is highly emphasised in the proposition as the ideal outcome of the programme, participation in education is also mentioned several times; nevertheless, what is meant by education is unclear. The programme was intended to facilitate a smooth transition to working life or to the ordinary educational system (Ot. prp. nr. 28 [2002–2003]). Generally, however, the

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main goal was to improve refugees’ capacities for economic self-­sufficiency and social participation, and the Norwegian Introduction Act can therefore be seen as an explicitly paternalistic measure with an enabling intention (Djuve, 2010). The programme is evaluated annually in terms of outcome of participation, that is, employability and involvement in education. Among participants who finished the NIP programme in 2017, 63% were employed or in further education during 2018 (IMDi, 2019). For Djuve (2010), NIP is a typical example of Scandinavian activation programmes and implies a substantial degree of power on the part of the government to direct the conduct of participants. Through NIP, newly arrived, resettled refugees (within the past 2  years) are given both the right but also the obligation to participate in the full-time programme. The benevolence of the introductory benefit has a darker side, namely, the legal duty to participate; failure to do so invites the financial sanctioning of non-participants such as reductions in or discontinuances of income support. This disciplinary aspect of the programme has, through incremental changes, become increasingly more controlling (Djuve & Kavli, 2019). The qualification programme lasts for up to two years, but those who find work or start education before two years have passed are allowed to leave the programme.1 Characterised as a full-time qualification-­ programme, NIP in Norway consists of (a) Norwegian language training (b) knowledge of Norwegian civil society and (c) work-training (Lovdata, 2004). Importantly, the programme rests on the idea of user involvement, reflecting the empowerment aspect of the activation strategy (Djuve & Kavli, 2015). Counsellors working in the programme are responsible for coordinating the services and, through conversation with the refugees, for mapping the refugees’ qualifications, their work experiences and other skills, and their social situation and needs. The mapping is expected to support a discussion on the refugees’ wishes and expectations for future employment. Based on the mapping, the counsellor is required, in collaboration with the refugee, to make a concrete plan for accomplishing  Since January 2021 a new law (https://lovdata.no/dokument/NL/lov/2020-11-06-127) has introduced substantial changes regulating duration and content of the programme. An example of one such change is the maximum duration of 18 months in the programme for refugees arriving with an educational background extending past upper secondary school level. 1

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the set goals. In addition to participation in education to acquire language qualifications and societal skills, the plan implies participation in relevant work placements in preparation for future employability. This general offer is expanded in some regions. Two higher education institutions (HEI) in Norway provide specific training opportunities for persons arriving with health-related or technical education, and in one city taking a course in Norwegian within an HEI is an option. Nevertheless, educational opportunities for participants within higher education are comparatively scarce (Djuve et al., 2017). The design of NIP signals an objective of providing support for individual growth through their attendance, the acquisition of individual qualifications and fostering aspiration, while also supporting societal sustainability with respect to employment. Through such objectives, the policy addresses both individual and social aspects relevant to inclusion as participation in societal practices, particularly in the labour market. Nevertheless, user involvement and the consequent joint agency in planning has been shown to be problematic, involving challenges to both counsellors and participants that are suggestive of tensions between individual and societal goals (Djuve & Kavli, 2015; Kobberstad, 2020).

The Experience of Strangers Exploring how highly educated refugees experience the NIP, we will frame our analysis through concepts and perspectives on the migrant experience (Marotta, 2020). Our refugee participants are deliberately named as students due to their explicit motivation for participation in the NIP and, more specifically, for language training. The focus of the interviews was to gain insight into the participants’ educational experiences prior to, and during, their participation in the NIP. Experiences are regarded as conditioned by space as well as by time (Ahmed, 1999, 2007); hence, time is seen as something that is both conceived and represented in structures shaped by history. Time plays a role in how individual’s skills and pasts shape ambitions for the future. However, time also acts on experiences through the ways in which history conditions opportunities differently for different groups of people. The migrant experience was

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therefore regarded as mediated by the host society in which the NIP seeks to promote inclusion. The concepts of inclusion and exclusion have a long history in sociological studies and, in recent decades, there has been a growing awareness of the ambiguity of inclusionary and exclusionary processes (Popkewitz & Lindblad, 2000; Dobusch, 2014; Hilt, 2016). Although the intention of welfare-measures such as NIP is to facilitate inclusion in work life, education and civil society, the systems of reason that are embedded in such welfare measures produce subjectivities by recognising certain dispositions, capabilities and characteristics, while rendering others deviant (Popkewitz & Lindblad, 2000; Hilt, 2016). Hence, despite being designed with the intention of including groups at risk of marginalisation, that is, refugees and immigrants, the programmes may lead to exclusionary practices. In the theoretical tradition that includes Foucault (1977) and Goffman (1963) and which emphasises differentiation as discipline and power, inclusion always presupposes exclusion. Inclusion and exclusion are thus co-constitutive, meaning that every inclusion entails exclusion and vice versa (Popkewitz & Lindblad, 2000; Dobusch, 2014; Hilt, 2016). It follows from this that the idea of inclusion presupposes an idea of society and/or social life, and that inclusion is about drawing distinctions and setting boundaries. In a similar vein, the policy-practice of the NIP can be seen as an excluding inclusion in which refugees are included in society but on terms other than as citizens; they are simultaneously excluded through their categorisation as newly arrived refugees. Problematically, this category is negatively defined, implying difference or the status of a stranger such that, due to individual lacks and deficiencies, refugees and immigrants are themselves to blame for their exclusion from Norwegian society (Fernandes, 2015; Djuve & Kavli, 2019). The category of “the stranger” was conceptualised by Simmel (1971) as the person who is physically close yet culturally distant. The stranger is thus characterised by both proximity and distance and, as such, simultaneously recognised and negated (Marotta, 2021). Ahmed (1999, 2007) builds on phenomenological philosophy to claim that the category of the stranger relies on how bodies are oriented in time and space. The conscious body is directed towards objects and actions are shaped by these

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orientations; thus, bodies are shaped by space as space and the social are similarly shaped by the orientation of bodies. How we encounter the world is shaped by our orientation as is our perception of other bodies as being near or far, similar or different. The category of the stranger is intrinsically linked to the constitution of the host as our previous orientation decides what objects are in reach. Bodies, space and the social come into being as they orientate, making orientation a matter of time and history: We do not acquire our orientations just because we find things here or there. Rather, certain objects are available to us because of lines that we have already taken: our “life courses” follow a certain sequence, which is also a matter of following a direction or of “being directed” in a certain way. (Ahmed, 1999, p. 21)

The relevance of this perspective to our collaboration is Ahmed’s position within the tradition of queer, race and feminist philosophy, which sees social difference as resulting from the ways that bodies relate to other bodies in inhabiting space. Ahmed thereby also emphasises that historicity matters, as different bodies come to inhabit space differently. Some bodies are, due to historical events, allowed to occupy space in a more natural way and other bodies are marked as dubious. Ahmed suggests this explains how certain bodies are seen as “strangers” and recognised as being “out of place” (Ahmed, 2007, p. 162). Consequently, these bodies are not allowed to inhabit space in the same way as those who are “at home”; being seen as a stranger involves the experience of being stopped or moved in another way, of not having their body extended by the space they inhabit (Ahmed, 1999, 2007). This, in turn, produces a feeling of disorientation and discomfort. Unpacking how the NIP can be experienced as inclusionary exclusion, we now turn to how the students described the language training, considering their aims and their educational background as part of their orientation in inhabiting the new space.

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Experiencing the Norwegian Introductory Programme This section builds on interviews with five students with experience of the NIP, four men and one woman, all in the age range of 23 to 39 years and originally from African and Middle Eastern countries. Interviews were conducted in accordance with ethical advice provided by the Norwegian Centre for Data Security, and the participants are given pseudonyms except for Juhar. The students were initially asked to note down stories from their education from primary school through to their participation in the NIP, and the following conversation was based on their elaboration of this educative journey. Analysis was conducted as a combination of a data-driven and concept-driven approach (Kvale & Brinkmann, 2009). Juhar has the dual role of co-author and participating student, and his narrative serves as the reflective focus whilst drawing on the experiences of the four other students. The following statement summarises Juhar’s understanding of how the NIP served his aim of pursuing higher education: Had it not been for the help of my contact person, I would not have been able to learn the Norwegian language that I needed for admission to a Norwegian higher education institution. I would also have been labelled as “a refugee who came to Norway just to exploit the welfare benefits”, which is an act of “blaming the victim” (Ryan, 1976, p. 5) while, in reality, the system oppressed me violently. As Paulo Freire says, any situation in which “A” objectively exploits “B”, or hinders his and her pursuit of self-­ affirmation as a responsible person, is one of oppression. Such a situation in itself constitutes violence, even when sweetened by false generosity, because it interferes with the individual’s ontological and historical vocation to be more fully human. With the establishment of a relationship of oppression, violence has already begun (Freire, 2005, p. 55). As for me, I have used the experiences in the introduction programme as a motivation to write a master’s thesis and even a PhD thesis. I do not know how many refugees have been pushed out of the education system, or even worse, accused of failing to integrate, just because the language learning process would or could not entertain their genuine requests.

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Juhar, like all the students that we met, entered the NIP with enthusiasm and ambitious aspirations. The students are all well-educated, arriving with degrees or initial studies in higher education from different regions of the world. Drawing on experiences from all educational levels, they discuss the topic of education with authority, describing the role of Norwegian teachers as different; books carry less authority and students are required to be more self-reliant in comparison to their prior education experiences. Their stories suggest an appreciation of differences and a questioning of aspects of the new. Recognising how to act and how to feel secure as a student in the new context of the NIP demands reflection upon that context not only recognition of their own abilities and aims. It involves reimagining education and the different possibilities for the roles of teachers, books and students, and the educative context. As an experience, it includes acknowledging opportunities and facing challenges. Engagement, mastery and ambition through primary, secondary and higher education, under conditions different from the Norwegian educational system, provided resources for perseverance as they orientated within the new system. Juhar narrates: From the outset, I understood that I needed to participate actively in the classroom, use various reference books as well as online material, and engage with other students to improve my Norwegian language skills. I was enrolled in an adult education centre and was placed in a classroom where some of the participants did not complete upper secondary school or have a plan to pursue higher education. This seemed unproblematic at first but, as the time went by, there was much repetition and the progress of the language teaching was too slow. Moreover, the book we used as the main textbook was not that challenging.

Entering a new system from varied individual educational backgrounds, the students all had aims for further studies, and their prior experiences support these aspirations. Consequently, their approach to language learning was proactive. As Juhar’s account exemplifies, they were seeking to learn Norwegian and eventually enter Norwegian higher education by undertaking independent studies and searching for complementary learning materials; and also by critically evaluating the teaching received.

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In accordance with Juhar’s initial statement, these critical elements of the evaluation will be elaborated; however, we start by investigating the positive language learning experiences, specifying how the teachers’ engagement, learning materials and group composition can support learning. Aafreen and Aaron, in describing conducive language learning experiences within the NIP, portrayed a teacher integrating language learning and engagement in the students’ process of familiarisation with new social conditions. The teacher’s professionalism was conveyed by an insistence on the students’ active presence, use of a range of approaches that allowed them to find suitable ways of learning, support according to their level of competence, and wide use of learning resources within the environment (which was not confined to the classroom). Pointing to the teacher’s professionalism, the students stated that a variety of resources for learning supported their experience of gradually mastering Norwegian, a language very different from their mother tongue. They experienced language learning as different to their prior experience of learning other subjects; it takes time and effort, and demands engagement, oral practice and knowledge of the structures that inform it. Even when dedicated and committed to learn, students claimed that specific conditions were required. A well-structured learning environment and commitment from students is, however, not enough. Orientating in a new context requires that teaching resources work as elements in a larger picture where, for example, television news, signs, the information boards in their wider surroundings and other written or oral sources gain relevance together with the social environment, including fellow students, the teacher, other Norwegians. The role of the teacher was described as crucial in facilitating the interaction between these elements. In bringing them into the teaching environment, the teacher allowed the students to familiarise themselves with objects in this novel context in ways which shaped the students and allowed them to feel at home with new spaces and ways of learning. The teacher provides more than professional engagement; in being a fellow human being, they assist in bridging course activities with the broader social context. In Juhar’s story, a similar role is ascribed to the contact person at the refugee office in the municipality.

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However, despite these stories of environments that are conducive to language learning, the participants had all attended several classrooms in the introductory programme, and the experience of conditions undermining or slowing their progress towards further education emerged across all their stories. This included groups composed of students with differing educational backgrounds and ambitions, slow pace, and a lack of variation in teaching material. Moreover, as Juhar’s account below illustrates, there were also stories about the more or less explicit blocking of progress: Based on these experiences, I raised my concerns with the teacher, and I told them of my main goal in Norway, i.e., pursuing higher education. The teacher’s response was rather disappointing because I was told that it would be better for me to work as a cleaner in Norway so that I could make money rather than killing my time in pursing higher education. This “advice” was a clear signal for me that the Norwegian language course I was enrolled in was not for me. I rejected the “advice” outright. The teacher’s reaction was rather oppressive in the sense that I was not given the same opportunity as other participants during class activities such as reading aloud in the classroom, answering questions, and participating in the class discussions. I told the teacher time and again that I was not treated fairly, but the teacher just ignored my concerns.

Juhar’s account indicates an experience of actions as well as words, explicitly blocking his orientating towards a future in higher education. His attempts to improve his own learning conditions were read as transgressing expected boundaries for someone in his position. Yet he refused this resistance: After consulting with my contact person at a refugee office in the municipality, we [the contact person and I] decided that I should move to a “better” classroom which was supposed to bring about faster progress. Unfortunately, the classroom was not much better than the one I left as the teacher used the same unchallenging textbook and there were participants who had not completed upper secondary school. I suggested the teacher could use a more challenging textbook: either “Det går bra!” (Lønn, 2013) or “Mer norsk” (Nilsen & Gjerseth, 2013). However, the teacher was

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aggressive and rejected my suggestion. To my surprise, I was subjected to the same unfair treatments that I experienced in the first classroom. I reported the issues to the rector of the adult education centre and they did not only ignore my concerns but also were complicit in oppressing me! Eventually, I was systematically forced to leave the centre. I searched actively for alternative Norwegian language courses and found a fee-based Norwegian language course at the University of Oslo. Later, with the help of my contact person at the refugee office in the municipality to whom I am grateful, I managed to attend the language courses at the university.

Mahmoud similarly experienced that his repeated attempts to be admitted to more advanced courses were ignored or declined. In response, he engaged in voluntary community work in addition to self-initiated extra-­ curricular activities. Disappointment with the opportunities for progression through the NIP prompted a continued independent search for information and activities that might improve his language learning, as well as other professional opportunities. Through such personal initiatives, Mahmoud achieved social interactions, more language exposure and opportunities for development. However, when applying for a master’s programme, he chose a course given in English because he did not judge his knowledge of (written) Norwegian to be sufficient. He described this as a disappointment and as bothering even though his master’s is now completed and his conversational Norwegian is fluent. The core message in both these histories is that within the introduction programme, the relational experience is one of being pushed back, not being heard and even being punished for wishing for more challenging teaching. The ambitions that refugees bring to the educational offer is not recognised or accepted as realistic and pursuing them can involve risking the social relations that the introduction programme purportedly provides.

Experienced Exclusion It has previously been demonstrated that introductory classes for newly arrived students in upper secondary schools in Norway are designed as an including exclusion, erecting several barriers towards students’ inclusion

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processes in education and society (Hilt, 2017). We were curious as to how the NIP students had experienced the programme as arenas facilitating qualification for higher education, that is, as an inclusive measure regarding education. All the refugee students contributing to this chapter have attended more than one NIP classroom, and although their experiences vary, they all give accounts of groups that are too big or too diverse to provide satisfactory learning conditions, and teachers who are unable or unwilling to pay attention to individual needs with low expectations of the students. This is an experience of being stopped or not allowed to extend in space (Ahmed, 1999) in that it results in a lack of opportunities for communication, slow progression and less participation and effort. Similar experiences are described in larger scale evaluations of the introduction programme (Lillevik & Tyldum, 2018). Being educated and hoping to continue an academic career, the students experienced themselves as having different expectations than other students in the introduction programme. Under these conditions, learning language was experienced as difficult and slow, despite their interest in, and need for, progression. Rather than the productive friction between the recognised or known and the novel experience that they described in the conducive classrooms, they described resistance and blockage. Both stories of success and of frustration convey the experienced and determined orientation towards the aim of higher education, as well as reflections upon the conditions that supported or impeded motion. Designed with the aim of assisting the expected needs of a group upon arrival in a new country, the stated intent of the NIP is an openness towards the outcome of individual students’ participation. Nevertheless, the provided content is based on an expectation that this group lacks language skills, knowledge of Norwegian society, and (relevant or accepted) work experience; indeed, these deficiencies legitimise the programme. In the very act of defining the group, the students are depicted as different and as excluded from the population. Inclusion and exclusion processes are, essentially, paradoxical and embedded in the very process of targeting these groups. Fernandes (2015) argues that, in positioning refugees and immigrants as lacking language-skills, knowledge of civil society and competencies for work-employment, the NIP is about changing the individual rather

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than systemic constraints and deficiencies that may lead to exclusion. The restricted focus on refugees’ lack of employability and seemingly low skill level categorises them as being different from other citizens, and thus in need of policies of inclusion. Participants in the NIP are positioned as being both close and distant in relation to Norwegian society. Their arrival to Norway brings them close, yet their depicted deficiencies set them apart from the majority population and indicates cultural distance, positioning them as strangers in relation to the host country. The positioning of the participants as strangers contributes to how the programme works and, accordingly, the students’ accounts reflect what Ahmed (1999, 2007) posits, that is, that being recognised as a stranger, as out of place, has consequences for the possibility of inhabiting space since the body is stopped or moved in another direction. Previous research addresses the interaction between service providers and users and finds that providers, in aiming to ensure user involvement and programme requirements, respond differently depending on whether they perceive students’ agency to be good or bad (Djuve & Kavli, 2015; Kobberstad, 2020). Furthermore, in striving to balance the concern for the programme’s overall aims of employment with meeting individual needs and aspirations, providers’ individual values are found to be influential (Djuve & Kavli, 2015), suggesting that the inherent contradiction of the programme makes individual judgment decisive. The narratives shared by our students indicate that their individual differences and needs may not be read as such but, rather, as “bad agency” in light of the NIP’s overarching goals of employment. Nevertheless, considering that refugees have lower work participation rates compared to the population at large and are underrepresented in higher education (Djuve & Kavli, 2019), and furthermore, that their participation in the labour market is positively correlated to educational level (Baker & Irwin, 2021), the lack of support for educational ambitions appears paradoxical. This is particularly bewildering given the apparent competence the students show regarding education. Another recent study on the experience of Syrian refugees (Bygnes, 2021) similarly highlights the importance of continuity through educational and class resources. We find that refugees’ orientation upon arrival, as well as within the NIP, is shaped by their prior educational experiences.

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Ambitions and aims reflect their previous achievements and knowledge of own abilities shape their expectations. In experiencing conducive learning environments, the students expand their view of education. This reflects their “work of inhabiting space” which, according to Ahmed, involves: [A] dynamic negotiation between what is familiar and unfamiliar, such that it is still possible for the world to create new impressions, depending on which way we turn, which affects what is within reach. Extending into space also extends what is “just about” familiar or what is “just about” within reach. (Ahmed, 1999, pp. 7–8)

However, the experience of being stopped and pushed back is more common, and Juhar and Mahmoud’s stories show how trying to improve learning conditions can cause resistance and outright retaliation. As stated, orientation is dependent upon time, not only in the individually conceived sense but in the sense of historicity, allowing certain bodies space and denying others. Considering the experiences of resistance, the denial of continuity and expansion into further educational space can reflect the positioning of the students as strangers. The identity as a stranger is linked to historicity through what Ahmed terms “stickiness” in how associations are preserved in time (Ahmed, 2021, p. 16). Strangers are recognised because of associations that exist before they appear, linking their existence to threats or danger. Public discourse on immigration in which refugees are included has, since the mid-1980s, highlighted concerns for failed integration which was an important incentive for the creation of the NIP (Hagelund, 2005). After the so-called refugee crisis, immigration policies were pushed in ever more restrictive directions, portraying immigration (and thus immigrants) as a threat to social cohesion (Hagelund, 2020). Mirroring the discourse on immigrants as threats, research also shows that belonging to Norwegian society is contested discursively and that people with immigrant background experience othering (Harlap & Riese, 2021; Riese & Harlap, 2021). Considered in combination with how participants in the NIP are construed as lacking in comparison with the majority, refugees can therefore be said to be recognised as strangers. Given the complexity of the interaction between service providers and users and the inherent

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tensions between the NIP’s overarching goal and user involvement (with ostensible reliance on individual judgement) (Djuve & Kavli, 2015), reflexivity related to such a pre-reflective repertoire seems improbable and perceptions of refugees as strangers are to be expected. Introductory programmes for immigrants are found in several European countries and research suggests that programmes elsewhere are similarly informed by normalised images of immigrants as deviating and deficient compared to the majority population (Van Riemsdijk & Axelsson, 2021). Furthermore, it has been claimed that the programmes in standardised educational offers can be seen as contributing to the reproduction and stabilising of the image of the refugee as an uneducated stranger, reinforcing the very boundaries that the programmes seek to overcome (Eastmond, 2013). The images that provide the structure of such introductory programmes can therefore be seen not only as creating environments that undermine the educational opportunities of participants, but also as contributing to further exclusionary structures. In the Norwegian case, the language learning provision has been criticised for being standardised and inadequate in meeting the diverse need of participants (Staver et  al., 2019). Despite evaluations pointing to the need for more tailored educational provision, this has yet to be realised (Djuve & Kavli, 2019). The latter suggest a possible connection between this lack of action and the increasing of the controlling aspects of the NIP since 2013, claiming that the intensification of disciplining measures is underpinned by an assumption that participants’ lack of motivation can explain lack of progress and sub-optimal efficiency. Furthermore, this assumption suspends policy learning that could have improved the programme and, rather than taking into account knowledge around the value of formal education, the recipe for improvement is increased control of participants (p. 37).

Conclusion This chapter has explored how inclusionary measures can become exclusionary inclusion by highlighting the experiences of refugees with the ambition of pursuing higher education in Norway. The analysis of the

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refugees’ experiences of Norway’s NIP demonstrates the need for policy learning regarding introductory measures. Measures designed to include newly arrived immigrants serve to mark participants as strangers or bodies that are not at home. The ambition of pursuing higher education does not accord with the image of a participant that prevails within the NIP programme. The NIP’s universalising image of participants both impedes the intended individual sensitivity and reproduces negative attitudes. This analysis of the paradoxical and exclusionary implications of policies ostensibly designed to ensure inclusion could, as Osler (2020) suggests, be understood as reflecting a tendency of European educational policies to “acknowledge changing demographics but neglect everyday injustices and European histories of racialisation and racism” (p. 573). If European history’s uncomforting responsibility for present day challenges of migration are not recognised in policies of inclusion, including the close relationship between xenophobic populist rhetoric and mainstream policies (Mondon & Winter, 2020), then inclusive measures will fail to relate to the exclusionary pressures they are intended to alleviate.

References Abamosa, J. Y., Hilt, L. T., & Westrheim, K. (2020). Social inclusion of refugees into higher education in Norway: A critical analysis of Norwegian higher education and integration policies. Policy Futures in Education, 18(5), 628–647. https://doi.org/10.1177/1478210319878327 Ahmed, S. (1999). Home and away: Narratives of migration and estrangement. International Journal of Cultural Studies, 2(3), 329–347. https://doi. org/10.1177/136787799900200303 Ahmed, S. (2007). A phenomenology of whiteness. Feminist Theory, 8(2), 149–168. https://doi.org/10.1177/1464700107078139 Ahmed, S. (2021). Travelling with strangers. Journal of Intercultural Studies, 42(1), 8–23. https://doi.org/10.1080/07256868.2020.1859204 Baker, S., & Irwin, E. (2021). Disrupting the dominance of ‘linear pathways’: How institutional assumptions create ‘stuck places’ for refugee students’ transitions into higher education. Research Papers in Education, 36(1), 75–95. https://doi.org/10.1080/02671522.2019.1633561

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6 Exclusionary Practices and Danish School Policy Lotte Hedegaard-Sɵrensen

Introduction This chapter presents findings from an empirical study of inclusive education in the Danish context and concludes that current teaching practice is excluding children who lack the appropriate dispositions to live up to expectations of students and children who do not fulfil implicit expectations around how to perform in school. These children are overlooked and thereby excluded, and this excluding practice is found in research despite an explicit emphasis on inclusive education at policy level. A political focus on testing, national assessment and learning outcomes, alongside the political focus on inclusion, can be described as a neoliberal educational policy direction in which the educational system becomes an instrument for the development of effective employees in a flexible labour market. The key argument in this chapter is that the downside of such education policy is exclusion. L. Hedegaard-Sɵrensen (*) Danish School of Education, Aarhus University, Copenhagen, Denmark e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 E. J. Done, H. Knowler (eds.), International Perspectives on Exclusionary Pressures in Education, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-14113-3_6

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The aforementioned empirical research describes differentiation in teaching in practice (Hedegaard-Sørensen & Grumløse, 2016) and draws on Bourdieu and Wacquant (1992) to develop and improve teaching practice through lesson studies (Norwich & Jones, 2012). It was found that both inclusion and exclusion are integral to teachers’ practice and that their professional approach to teaching has moved in a more subject-­ didactic direction. During fieldwork in a Danish primary school (2014–2016), a teacher commented, “But it is a completely different school”. In the initial phase of the study, the teachers were presented with descriptions of teaching practice that included detailed information on how processes of exclusion had unfolded in class. The descriptions were analysed and a new lesson planned with the overall aim to reduce exclusion. The lesson planned was taught by one of the participating teachers and observed by the remaining teachers and researchers, focusing on student participation in the classroom. It was observed how the students participated, how differences among the students influenced the teaching, and how differentiated teaching creates participation for a diversity of students. In the ensuing discussion, one teacher stated regretfully, “That is not possible in the present school” and “the school we have today [ ] is a completely different school”. These statements indicated a change in teachers’ understanding of the aim of teaching and it was concluded that this has to do with teachers’ professional conditions and the current political discourses around school, inclusion and teaching.

Exclusion: International Tendencies This research contributes to an ongoing debate about exclusion in schools and on the relation between socio-economic status and achievement and participation in schools (Bernstein, 1990; Bourdieu & Passeron, 1990; Bowles & Gintis, 1976; Epstein, 2001). Research suggests that schools reproduce social inequality and that children from lower-class backgrounds have difficulties in adapting to school culture and expectations. The dominant explanation is that teachers respond positively to students who behave and adapt to school cultures and values, and less positively to students who lack the disposition to behave according to the dominant

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school culture (Bourdieu & Passeron, 1990). Tomlinson (2001) has demonstrated the relation between difficult socio-economic conditions and the referral of children to special education; thus, exclusion is not a novel phenomenon in schools; however, current research demonstrates the “pervasiveness and complexity of exclusion as a social disposition”(Slee, 2013, p. 896). Slee (2013) argues that the neoliberal policy discourse of competitive individualism and the focus on test performances produce exclusionary practices and the risk of failure. Following Baumann’s (2004) analysis of collective indifference as a code of practice, inhibiting an inclusive agenda and practice, Slee (2013) maintains that exclusionary processes in schools are connected to the influence of neoliberal school policies. A literature review (Hedegaard-Soerensen, 2022) on exclusive education confirms the link between neoliberal school policy and exclusion. Sleeter (2014) argues that the influence of market competition influences the field of education, challenging and suppressing issues and discourses relating to inclusion, social justice, equity and human rights. Glazzard (2014) is critical of western educational policy that seeks to control schools. With reference to Ball (2003), the argument is that these tendencies counteract inclusion. Benade (2018) identifies the same tendency in New Zealand where economic, not pedagogical, arguments are the driving force behind school reforms. Ainscow et  al. (2006) show how neoliberal political reforms challenge and threaten the inclusion-agenda, and empirical studies in education that adopt a critical ethnographic position illustrate how the above tendencies are performed in the practice of teaching.

 onditions for Inclusion in a Learning Goal C Management Discourse The debate around inclusive education touches upon the core of the Scandinavian democratic welfare state. Historically, Danish policy aimed at fostering a democratic welfare state with social rights and benefits for all individuals, regardless of income or social status as a guiding principle of education reforms. In a Danish school context, the principles of

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inclusion were therefore not ground-breaking, given existing ideas, culture and practice. Denmark ratified the Salamanca Statement (UNESCO, 1994) in the same year and the first inclusion law was passed in 2012 (https://www. retsinformation.dk/eli/ft/201113L0010). The ratification reflected the universalistic principle of the Danish school system and it was thereby agreed that 96% of all children in Denmark must receive education in public school (possibly with inclusive support measures), and that children’s learning outcomes should be simultaneously improved. In an article entitled, “Is there something rotten in the state of Denmark?” Engsig and Johnstone (2015) argue that a change in school policy has altered the argument for inclusion; it has moved away from values of equity, access, sense of belonging and the right to be part of communities towards a focus on pupils’ access to a good learning outcome. It is a movement away from an ethical and rights-based discourse towards a neoliberal accountability discourse that includes the introduction of tests and national measurements (Engsig & Johnstone, 2015). These authors analyse education policy in Denmark and show that, in terms of inclusion, the policy forms a continuum with the poles being a rights discourse and an accountability discourse. The argument is that education policy in Denmark has been influenced by global discourses on inclusion and accountability. These discourses have not dominated policy in Denmark, but they have influenced inclusion policy which, at the same time, is interpreted nationally and locally according to both culture in its broad sense but also local professional cultures. School policy in relation to inclusion thus becomes ambiguous and paradoxical (Engsig & Johnstone, 2015). Engsig and Johnstone (2015) describe how the discourse of inclusion has changed. Prior to the Inclusion Act of 2012, this discourse was characterised by an awareness of children’s experience of being included and less by learning outcomes. School policy used to focus on creating equal opportunities for all, including students with impairments, and thus on children’s right to access schools in their residential area. This is a significant challenge when children are offered schooling at segregated schools such as special schools or special classes. They are often situated far away from the child’s home. During the 1980s, several changes in the

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discursive pattern of school policy can be identified; from the mid-1990s until 2010, school policy became ethical and pragmatic with a focus on implementing the visions of inclusion in practice (Tetler, 2011). In 2010, an accountability discourse was introduced in Denmark, accompanied by national tests and the public dissemination of results. Furthermore, in 2014, a new school reform was introduced with an emphasis on learning outcomes for all (https://www.retsinformation.dk/ eli/ft/20141BB00064). Alongside this reform, quantifiable goals for teaching were introduced for teachers (Moos, 2019). For some (e.g. Engsig & Johnstone, 2015), these goals for teaching also contained a vision of a more inclusive school in which every child can achieve their potential. The political aim of including 96% of all children in mainstream schools was emphasised as a part of the parallel aim of raising all students’ learning outcomes. An underlying argument for the introduction of this vision of inclusion in education systems, following adoption of the Salamanca Statement (UNESCO, 1994), is that all children’s placement in primary school supports and contributes to the economic efficiency of the school: Regular schools with this inclusive orientation are the most effective means of combating discriminatory attitudes, creating welcoming communities, building an inclusive society and achieving education for all; moreover, they provide an effective education to the majority of children and improve the efficiency and ultimately the cost-effectiveness of the entire education system (UNESCO, 1994).

Inclusion is thus described as economically profitable in the long term and regarded as an effective means of societal change and, more specifically, of minimising discrimination and creating an inclusive society. Engsig and Johnstone (2015) argue that the rights-based inclusion discourse focusing on children’s right to participation is currently being challenged by an accountability-inclusion discourse that emphasises children’s right to seize the opportunity in a high-quality education system, measured by high learning outcomes. The pragmatic approach to rights-­ focused inclusion in Denmark (Tetler, 2011) aims to understand inclusion in practice (professional competencies, organisation and teaching).

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The direction is being set for child-friendly schools that practise differentiated teaching through flexible curricula incorporating support systems and that engage parents. The pragmatic approach to an accountability inclusion, however, focuses on ensuring the same learning goals and the same test for all children. In the United States, differentiated forms of testing have been introduced for children with severe disabilities, but this is not the case in Denmark.

Inclusion or Exclusion in Practice There is no doubt that Danish school policy has changed significantly in recent decades, and that inclusion discourse has been influenced by the increasing internationalisation of education policy, with national and international tests and comparison as the predominant driver. This is a school policy directly linked to the narrative that Denmark’‘s future competitiveness can be raised if only more children could learn more. Children in this school policy discourse are considered as elements in the so-called learning society (e.g. European Commission, 1995). The objective is “to teach children to learn throughout life” and develop into “homo competens”, thus developing into citizens who are motivated by a sincere desire to raise the value of their own “competence portfolio” (e.g. the European Commission, 1994, 49ft). The requirement for self-development is significant in this political framework. At the same time, more children must participate in primary school teaching and they must achieve as much as possible as specified in the Danish Primary School Act of 2014. It is the school policy logic of our time that inclusion, educational differentiation and professional excellence are necessarily connected and prerequisites in national economic performance. In this context, it is unsurprising that the teacher cited earlier maintains that participation for all children would require a different type of school. In arguing that the current school does not take into account the different conditions of children and that not all can participate, this teacher is questioning a pragmatic and rights-based inclusion discourse. The question is raised as to whether the democratic participative tradition, in which bildung (learning and development as each other’s

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prerequisites) is the guiding value (Johansen, 2016), is to be replaced by a learning-focused curriculum-orientated school in which it is difficult to differentiate. The teacher’s experience of not being able to ensure children’s participation in the school’s teaching indicates that participation for all is difficult to reconcile with the current focus on performance in school subjects.

Policy and the Practice of Teaching The research on differentiation in teaching in practice (Hedegaard-­ Søerensen & Grumløese, 2016) sought to investigate the relationship between policy and practice. The study was conducted between January 2014 and December 2015. The overall approach was social–anthropological, drawing on Bourdieu’s theory of social reproduction and theory of practice (Bourdieu, 1977; Bourdieu & Passeron, 1990). Bourdieu’s (1977) theory challenges grand narratives of social reproduction and, in recent readings of the theory (Gewirtz & Gribb, 2003, p.  244), the research perspective has evolved from grand theory towards context sensitivity. This marks a shift from grand theorising in which class is the primary axis of inequality and oppression to a more complex, differentiated and context-sensitive form of theorising, data-production and analysis (p.  244). Furthermore, the design of the study draws on Archer’s (2007) development of Bourdieu’s &  Nice (1977) theory of practice. Archer (2007, p. 6) develops a three-stage model on the basis of what is defined as Bourdieu’s two-stage model; the latter emphasises and reduces “first person subjectivity” to “social derivatives”. In contrast, Archer presupposes “internal conversation” as the manner in which agents reflexively make their way through the world (2007, p. 6). This recognises the theory of practice developed by Bourdieu (1977) and the assumptions that structural and cultural properties objectively shape situations that agents confront, and that the subject’s own constellations of concerns are subjectively defined in relation to nature, practice and social matters. However, Archer emphasises that courses of action are produced by the reflexive deliberation of subjects, who subjectively determine their practical projects in relation to their objective circumstances (2007, p.  17).

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Following Bourdieu (1977), the reported study directed much attention to the practice of teaching, and data analysis was informed by the assumption that structural and cultural properties shape situations. Furthermore, in the second phase of the study, teachers’ reflexivity was foregrounded as they were analysing vignettes of exclusionary practices and given an opportunity to develop their teaching practice.

Extreme Case: The Particular and the General The empirical element of the study was completed at a school in Copenhagen, the capital of Denmark, and focused on the teaching practice of two teams of teachers (6 in total) in two classes (56 students). The key finding was that some students were overlooked during teaching as teachers focused on teaching school subjects and on the learning achievements of the majority of the students rather than of all the students. Even though the findings are based on an in-depth examination of a single school, these findings are relevant to more general discussions around inclusive schooling in a neoliberal context of competition given a school policy that was clearly directed towards subject teaching and learning achievement. In emphasising the importance of this example and arguing for the cogency of the analysis, we follow a case-study approach outlined by Flyvbjerg (2001). An extreme and divergent case was selected as our empirical ground based on three factors. Firstly, the school was often in the media with visiting politicians presenting it as exemplifying how to create a public school, with an average and diverse group of students, which could perform very well in terms of both inclusion and implementation of competency-based goals. Secondly, the school was recommended to the researchers by an inclusion counsellor (working in the Department of Educational Psychology in the municipality and charged with implementing inclusion policies); according to the counsellor, the teachers at the school were excellent. Finally, the school principal was well known through participating in public debate and purportedly demonstrating that schools are able to create a school organisation that fulfils recommendations about inclusive education in the research literature.

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The school was characterised as an example of a very well-organised and well-managed school. The reported research focused on the school’s teaching practice and examined how and whether the current political framework affects teachers’ inclusion practice. That is, it was important to establish how teaching practice took the diversity of children into consideration. The researchers were able to closely observe the teachers’ teaching practice and could better understand how teachers are caught up in a highly subject-didactic orientation that focuses on most students’ learning goals and outcomes and on classroom management. It was clear that the teaching was well-­ planned and executed with an emphasis on subject-content. Furthermore, the differentiated teaching was practiced as level-divided teaching and not as, for example, different ways of working in lessons; this meant that what is known about differentiated teaching from research (e.g. Kirkebæk, 2010) was not reflected in the subject-focused teaching. Hence, this research project provided insight into how pedagogy and inclusion recedes into the background when teachers’ primary academic aim is a didactic focus on the majority and not on each pupil’s access to the teaching.

Exclusion as an Everyday Practice It is difficult to understand that policies can impact or challenge the longstanding historical Scandinavian tradition that schools view education as a pedagogical and cultural form of life supported by a democratic welfare state. When interviewed, the teachers were committed to both the reform of standards (learning achievement) and legislation about inclusion. They did not perceive themselves to have moved away from deeply rooted understandings of schooling. However, when asked about the differences and connections between differentiated teaching and inclusive education, a gap between learning achievement and inclusion was revealed: In my view, it is not at all the same [inclusion and differentiated teaching]. As I see it, differentiated teaching is difficult enough in itself. If as a teacher you are confronted with an ordinary group of children, it is difficult to dif-

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ferentiate and teach everybody. I would rather separate inclusion and differentiated teaching. Recently, we have received a group of pupils called ‘inclusion pupils’. They are outside the concept of differentiation. In my view, differentiation has to do with the ordinary task of teaching. (Math teacher, 3rd grade [age range 9–10 years], October, 2014).

As mentioned earlier, Slee (2013) argues that the neoliberal policy discourse of competitive individualism and the focus on test performances produce exclusionary practices and the risk of failure. This is an empirical example of this argument. In the interview, the teacher (like her colleagues) excludes some students from her concept of teaching; they are excluded from her professional self-understanding as a subject teacher. In the analysis of observations, this exclusion of some professional dimensions is repeated. It was obvious that teachers, when teaching, overlook some students and circumstances in the classroom. The teachers are not preoccupied with providing access to learning and participation for every student. Overlooking some students is not giving some students the opportunity to access the curriculum and, as Bourdieu & Passeron (1990) point out, some students are positioned as not living up to expectations and, at the same time, it is not a professional consideration for the teachers to adjust the practice of teaching according to the needs of all children. This is furthermore aligned with Bauman’s (2004) analysis of collective indifference as a code of practice inhibiting an inclusive agenda and practice. The following data extract illustrates the tendency in practice to overlook students that do not live up to expectations. Is it a dramatic and typical situation, as it describes a recurrent scenario? The teacher’s and pupil’s names have been fictionalised: Camilla (the teacher) says, “Time is up. Quieten down now”. Ali (child with support person and a separate seat close to the door behind a screen) makes a noise at his table and yells out loud. Gradually, the other children calm down. Ali is still restless. Camilla sums up. Camilla initiates a dialogue with the whole class about a painting and asks, “What are the colors like in the painting?” Ali is lying on the floor and yelling out loud. Camilla continues the dialogue with the whole class and says, “You can’t hear what the students are saying”, addressed to Ali. She asks for more silence from the class. She points out the importance of them being able to listen to one

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another. The dialogue about the picture analysis continues. When the children have difficulties in explaining what they find in the painting, one child talks about the symbolism in the painting and that something is communicated indirectly. Camilla seems to be enthusiastic in her response to this analysis. With a smile and a raised voice she says, “Yes! It is not directly communicated in the painting or in some of the texts you have analysed before, whether the people in the painting are feeling good or not. You have to read it in the symbolism of the painting, the color for instance”. (Danish teacher, 3rd grade [age range 9–10 years], November 2014). Camilla reinitiates the dialogue. Meanwhile, a child makes a loud noise turning the door handle from outside the classroom. Camilla says, “It is probably Emil”. The noise continues and intensifies. Emil left the classroom some time ago and has not been working on the picture analysis. The specific picture analysis is about a joyful and privileged childhood. After a while, Emil enters the classroom and sits down on his chair. He mumbles something very quietly and his body language shows that he is not happy. He looks down, seems strained, and looks like he is about to cry. Ali leaves the classroom and slams the door when leaving. While this is going on, Camilla continues the dialogue with the whole-class about symbols of joyful childhood and more children join in discussing the picture, the period of time, and childhood at the turn of the century. Camilla supports the dialogue by stressing that the children should use their imagination. Emil says something out loud in the classroom and he looks provocative. Camilla says, “That was not very mature. Please try to say something more sensible”.

It appears that two boys do not participate as expected in classroom activities. This is common in descriptions of teaching in practice and this non-participation of some children was observed in 6–8 students in the two classrooms in which the observations were made (consisting of 56 children). These students were positioned as outsiders and it was clear that this had to do with the teachers’ professional understanding of their role as teachers and their attitude towards students who do not behave according to expectations. In this sense, the analysis aligned with the theoretical assumption that schooling reproduces social inequality. As stressed in the literature about social reproduction (Bourdieu & Passeron, 1990), teachers respond positively to students who behave according to

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school cultures and values but less positively to students who lack the disposition to behave according to the dominant school culture. Those who do not behave according to the school culture are not a concern for teachers, and if they are then the problem is that they are disturbing the teaching and they are told to behave differently. Consequently, teachers are preoccupied with teaching the whole class in school subjects and the two dimensions highlighted in research and in policy (inclusion and differentiation) are neglected. Teachers place the inclusive agenda outside of their professional perspective as they do not view inclusion and teaching as interrelated. Inclusion becomes something that is directed towards children in need and as the responsibility of specialised professionals and schools. Furthermore, the teachers do not acknowledge the fact that students have different preconditions for participation and thus for differentiated teaching. The descriptions of teaching in practice illustrated a frequent tendency (in the reported study) for teachers, when planning and practicing teaching, to fail to incorporate concerns for individual and social circumstances, in this instance, the problematic relation between Emil’s family and the topic of joyful childhood. Teachers are preoccupied with teaching school subjects and, relatedly, with implementing competency-based teaching; they are committed to the political focus on learning achievement and measurement of children’s achievement. Furthermore, teachers are focused on visible learning (Hattie, 2015), regarding this as integral to achieving learning objectives and as a strengthening of the evaluation of the teaching. Teaching school subjects is a priority and this has negative implications for some students as suggested in the second part of the study where teachers were invited to analyse vignettes such as the one presented here. As mentioned above, this part of the study confirmed findings from the first part of the study concerning the way teachers view diversity and inclusion. A tentative hypothesis is that educational policy (standards and achievement) forms the core of teachers’ professional understanding and expertise, hence, the narrow focus on whole class teaching and subject teaching. When presented with descriptions of teaching in practice such as those appearing in this chapter, teachers tended to reflect as follows:

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In some ways, it is obvious that some children are overlooked. It is difficult for us to meet their needs; actually, it is awful to think about. Years ago, we had more time and were more concerned with them. (Danish teacher, March 2015)

Focusing on Emil as a non-participant in the practice of teaching, one teacher stated, “He is there, and at the same time he is not participating; he is not a part of the activities”. Teachers were able to recognise the position of Emil and other children as outsiders inside the classroom and understood this to be a vulnerable position for a child. At the same time, they were unable to find solutions from within their understanding of current trends in education. This demonstrates the consequences of neoliberal education policy that privileges testing, standards and the evaluation of learning achievement. Overall, during the second part of the study, the influence of this policy discourse became apparent as did the extent to which teachers are committed to it. The study also showed that a broader educational and pedagogical approach to the task of teaching is losing significance. This aligns with Biesta’s (2012) argument that teaching should be given back to education. The most significant finding in the reported study is the lack of emphasis on inclusion and differentiated teaching. It is a significant finding that neoliberal education policy appears to distract teachers from the task of teaching for diversity. As the verbatims above reveal, teachers recognised the negative consequences for specific students when analysing the vignettes and, especially when invited to become co-creators of new perspectives on the students and the task of teaching. The teachers were not unfeeling, nor indifferent to the children who were overlooked; however, they were more committed to the political agenda of learning achievements. The inclusion agenda was less of a priority. This was not due to a lack of knowledge of the diversity of students but can be described as an embedded blindness and collective indifference. Our aim has been to investigate structural dilemmas related to current education policy rather than criticise teachers, and our findings support Slee’s (2013) critique of neoliberal educational policies and a global cultural and social collective indifference. The argument is as follows: if the teachers in this study, who are excellent teachers and committed to

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current educational policy, are excluding students, then every teacher who implements current education policy will be engaging in exclusionary practices. Neoliberal school policies, focusing on learning achievement and individual competition, seem to push teachers towards a professional focus on the majority of the children and their learning in school subjects. Concerns about diversity and inclusion recede and marginalised children are overlooked and thus excluded.

Political and Structural Solutions Our analysis confirms a problematic link between neoliberalism, education policy and a global collective indifference to poverty, marginalisation and disadvantage (e.g. Slee, 2013, p.  898). Concerning the inclusive agenda, this presents a huge challenge to the idea of the presence, participation and achievement of all students, and the ambition to create a school for all, not some. This demands further research into the relation between social and cultural structures, including policies, and the teaching practices in diverse classrooms. Exclusion appears to be related to economic, social and cultural structures that influence teachers; hence, solutions are unlikely to be found at the level of the individual teacher and, instead, on the level of policy, economy and culture. In Denmark, teachers teach up to 28 children at the same time in the same classroom, and student diversity has increased considerably. Since the passing of the Inclusion Act in 2012, children who were once included in mainstream schools are now found in special settings. The ambition of inclusion was not accompanied by resources (primarily economic) to support collaboration (co-teaching), knowledge-sharing (professional communities) and in-service training in practice (lesson studies and practice development) in order to secure conditions for teachers that would permit them to develop inclusive learning environments. At the same time, the school policy has emphasised testing, learning outcomes and national measures. The two agendas of inclusive education and improving learning outcomes have been discussed as distinct and, sometimes, as competing discourses.

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Ball (2003) has analysed performativity as a new mode of state regulation requiring practitioners to “organise themselves as a response to targets, indicators, and evaluation” (Ball, 2003, p. 215). For some teachers, this leads to inner conflicts around authenticity and resistance; and for Colnerud (2015), performativity induces moral stress as teachers are directed away from their pedagogical self-beliefs and values. According to teachers in the reported study, the school of today is not one that accords with teachers’ values, and local professional cultures in schools are not the centre of school development (Hedegaard-Sørensen & Grumløese, 2020). This presents a significant problem for politicians wanting to create a school for all in which all children thrive and learn.

References Ainscow, M., Booth, T., & Dyson, A. (2006). Inclusion and the standards agenda: Negotiating policy pressures in England. International Journal of Inclusive Education, 10(4–5), 295–308. https://doi.org/10.1080/13603110 500430633 Archer, M. (2007). Making our way through the world: Human reflexivity and social mobility. Cambridge University Press. Ball, S. J. (2003). The teacher’s soul and the terrors of performativity. Journal of Education Policy, 18(2), 215–228. https://doi.org/10.1080/02680930220 00043065 Bauman, Z. (2004). Wasted lives: Modernity and its outcasts. Policies. Benade, L. (2018). Flexible learning spaces: Inclusive by design? New Zealand Journal of Educational Studies, 54(1), 53–68. https://doi.org/10.1007/s40841­019-­00127-­2 Bernstein, B. (1990). Class, code and control: Volume 4. The structuring of pedagogic discourse. Routledge. Biesta, G. (2012). Giving teaching back to education: Responding to the disappearance of the teacher. Phenomenology and Practice, 6(2), 35–49. https://doi. org/10.29173/pandpr19860 Bourdieu, P., & Passeron, J. C. (1990). Reproduction in education, society and culture. Sage. Bourdieu, P., & Wacquant, L. (1992). An invitation to reflexive sociology. University of Chicago Press.

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Bowles, S., & Gintis, H. (1976). Schooling in capitalist America: Educational reform and the contradictions in economic life. Routledge & Paul Kegan. Bourdieu, P. (1977). Outline of a Theory of Practice. Cambridge Studie in Cultural and Social Anthropology. Bourdieu, P., & Nice, R. (1977). Outline of a Theory of Practice. Cambridge Studie in Cultural and Social Anthropology.  Colnerud, G. (2015). Moral stress in teaching practice. Teachers and Teaching: Theory and Practice, 21(3), 346–360. https://doi.org/10.1080/1354060 2.2014.953820 Engsig, T. T., & Johnstone, C. (2015). Is there something rotten in the state of Denmark? The paradoxical policies of inclusive education  – lessons to be learned. International Journal of Inclusive Education, 19(5), 469–486. https:// doi.org/10.1080/13603116.2014.940068 Epstein, J. L. (2001). Building bridges between home, school and community: The importance of design. Journal of Education for Students Placed at Risk, 6(1–2), 161–168. https://doi.org/10.1207/S15327671ESPR0601-­2_10 European Commission. (1994). Competences, the words, the facts. Vocational Training: European Journal, 1/1994. https://1library.net/document/ eqov537z-­c ompetences-­w ord-­f acts-­e uropean-­v ocational-­t raining-­ journal.html European Commission. (1995). White paper on education and training. Teaching and learning. Towards the learning society. Commission of the European Communities. Flyvbjerg, B. (2001). Social Science that Works. Akademisk forlag. Gewirtz, S., & Gribb, A. (2003). Recent readings of social reproduction: Four problematics. International Studies in Sociology of Education, 13(3), 243–260. https://doi.org/10.1080/09620210300200112 Glazzard, J. (2014). Paying the price for being inclusive: The story of Marshlands. Support for Learning, 29(1), 24–38. https://doi.org/10.1111/1467-­9604. 12043 Hattie, J. (2015). What works best in education: The politics of collaborative expertise. https://www.pearson.com/content/dam/corporate/global/pearson-­dot-­ com/files/hattie/150526_ExpertiseWEB_V1.pdf Hedegaard-Soerensen, L. (2022). Pedagogical insights: Literature review on inclusive and exclusive education in subject teaching. https://dpu.au.dk/viden/paedagogiskindblik/inklusion-og-eksklusion-i-skolen Hedegaard-Søerensen, L., & Grumløese, S. (2016). Teachers’ Professionalism, Inclusion and Differentiation. Samfundslitteratur.

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Hedegaard-Søerensen, L., & Grumløese, S. (2018). Exclusion: The downside of neoliberal education policy. International Journal of Inclusive Education, 24(6), 631–644. https://doi.org/10.1080/13603116.2018.1478002 Hedegaard-Sørensen, L., & Grumløese, S. (2020). Student-teacher-dialogue for lesson planning: Inclusion in the context of national policy and local culture. Nordic Journal of Studies in Educational Policy, 6(5), 1–12. https://doi.org/1 0.1080/20020317.2020.1747376 Johansen, N.  M. (2016). The pedagogical tenure of the neoliberal, competitive state - for civic education for learning theory: I. Social Criticism. No. 145. Kirkebæk, B. (2010). Omnipotence and Powerlessness: Attitudes, Actions and Dilemmas in Special Needs Education. Akademisk forlag. Moos, L. (Ed.). (2019). Slips; Invisible changes in pedagogy and education. Department of Pedagogy and Education, Aarhus University. Norwich, B., & Jones, J. (2012). Lesson study: Making a difference to teaching pupils with learning difficulties. Bloomsbury. Slee, R. (2013). How do we make inclusive education happen when exclusion is a political predisposition? International Journal of Inclusive Education, 17(8), 895–907. https://doi.org/10.1080/13603116.2011.602534 Sleeter, C. E. (2014). Multiculturalism and education for citizenship in a context of neoliberalism. Intercultural Education, 25(2), 85–94. https://doi.org/1 0.1080/14675986.2014.886357 Tetler, S. (2011). Inclusive special education. Professor’s inauguration lecture, 19th December, 2011. Aarhs University. http://www.dpu.dk/fileadmin/www.dpu. dk/viden/temaeraaa/specialpaedagogik/Artikel_Tetler_Inkluderende_specialpaedagogikdpu.dk/viden/temaeraaa/specialpaedagogik/Artikel_Tetler__ Inkluderende_specialpaedagogik.pdf Tomlinson, S. (2001). Educational Sub Normality: Study in Decision Making. Routledge. UNESCO. (1994). The Salamanca Statement: A Framework for Action. UNESCO. https://unesdoc.unesco.org/ark:/48223/pf0000098427

Part II Exclusion: Revisiting Inclusion

7 Labels of Convenience/Labels of Opportunity Jonathan Rix

Introduction: Sitting Comfortably? Labels are complicated things. Take a chair. It is a fairly simple word. One of the first you will learn in life. But what is a chair? It could be known as many other things in other places, perhaps, stol, chaise, silla, , sandalye, 椅子. It could mean various different things to different speakers of English too. It could be a professorial post or the person who fills that post. It could be the tallest jump at the Grand National or the person leading a meeting. It could be something you sit on. The context will change its meaning. So using the term “chair” defines you. You are speaking English, for example. If you use it to describe the person leading a meeting you may be choosing to be gender neutral, to avoid using chairman or chairwoman. But maybe not. You will bring to it your own expectations. So, the chair may evoke images of falling horses or unjust J. Rix (*) Open University, Milton Keynes, England Inland Norway University of Applied Sciences, Lillehammer, Norway e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 E. J. Done, H. Knowler (eds.), International Perspectives on Exclusionary Pressures in Education, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-14113-3_7

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promotion, or it may be a place to hang your hat, a murder weapon, a beautiful piece of design, an interesting piece of etymology or firewood. And, of course, the chairs we sit in can take so many forms: upright, kneeling, ornamental, rickety, plastic, stacking, folding and so on. What do I mean by chair? Well, that depends. This is the challenge that we face with our labels of certainty in the world of “special”. When I say, “he has severe learning difficulties”, “she is dyslexic”, “they are autistic”, “you have special educational needs”, it may feel as if I am saying something about something which is definitively there and which others will understand. But, actually, I am requiring you to engage in an act of interpretation of the chair kind.

Mis-labels This is why the use of labels associated with special educational needs, additional support needs, exceptionalities, special needs, learning difficulties and so forth are so uncertain, confusing and, perhaps, ironically counterproductive. Each of those terms has different meanings in different countries, across different professions and in different policy documents, and to each person who uses them. Then there are the categories which we might choose to fit into them. A few years ago, I was involved in research looking at special education policies in 50 countries; the number of categories of impairment or special educational needs varied considerably between nations, ranging from 3 categories to 22 categories. Once all the obvious similarities were grouped together, there were 60 different categories across these 50 countries (Rix et al., 2013). And if countries did have the same category, it did not mean that they would use it, or understand it, in the same way. But, and this is the thing I can never get over, this was old news which, of course, means that it is even older news now. It is a widely accepted reality. We may think we are talking about the same thing, but we are not. Even the Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development recognises that our labels can only be used as a tool for reflection (OECD, 2012). After all, they had tried to get around the problem in the late 1990s by coming up with three unifying data collection categories (Disabilities, Difficulties, Disadvantages), but it

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was soon evident that even these broad categories were being used differently (Robson, 2005). This somewhat random approach is not simply something which occurs between countries. It is very much in evidence within countries too. I first noticed the wide variation in England in 2013 (Rix, 2015). Government statistics showed that autistic spectrum disorder (ASC) was used for 3.47% of diagnosed children in one local authority and 22.37% in another. This was shocking, as it meant that the same child would be more than six times more likely to be diagnosed with autism in one local authority than in another. It showed the absurdity of decades of policy proclamations about meeting the needs of the child and matching provision to those needs. The ramifications are huge. Think, for example, of all those fights that families have fought for the label or provision on the basis of that label; think of all the hours of provision which have been provided for the children; think of all those children who have not been receiving the support that they might have benefited from; think about all the training school staff have been sent on and so on. When I returned in 2015, the figures were similarly chaotic, even though the Children and Families Act (2014) had been introduced alongside four Broad Areas of Need in a new Code of Practice. In the new code, the previous categories of special educational needs were merely mentioned in passing. But in the official figures, these old categories were still there and the differences were similarly dramatic. So when writing this chapter, I visited the figures for 2020 (DfE, 2020) and there it was again; 3.4% of diagnosed children in one local authority had an autistic spectrum disorder and 25% in another. And this discrepancy did not apply simply to that label. In every category, if you take the top ten and bottom ten local authorities who use that label (in order to iron out the extremes), you will be more than four times more likely to have a particular diagnosis in a top-ten authority than in a bottom-ten authority (see Fig.  7.1). This even applies for what might seem like a highly evident sensory-related category such as hearing impairment. The only exceptions where the ratio falls slightly below 3:1 are around issues of behaviour and communication, which are usually identified by the teacher; but this takes us to another key point of tension.

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Fig. 7.1  2019–2020 SEN UK Allocations

The likely cause of variations in diagnosis is the role of the person undertaking the assessment and the nature of local services. A 2012 study (Bickman et al., 2012) reviewed the diagnosis of 984 children of military personnel in the USA who had been assessed by both clinicians and researchers for conditions such as Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, Oppositional Defiance Disorder and Dysthymia. The researchers found that the children’s diagnosis was only slightly better than random if the child had one condition, but if they had two, then the diagnosis could have been done by flipping a coin. The key determining factor was the professional background of the person undertaking the assessment, with the diagnosis increasing the chance of the child being placed where they worked.

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Labels of Ignorance Part of the problem for labels is their bureaucratic function. This is not just because they are a key means by which placement and support mechanisms are organised and funding is allocated. It is also because they are an important means by which policymakers can express their priorities. Consider, for example, the label SEND, which arrived in the early 2010s. This label, which I first paid attention to when I read a document referring to children and young people as CHYP with SEND, involved the merging of two other labels (Special Educational Needs and Disability) for policy reasons. In the 2010s, the UK government was introducing a new Children and Families Act and a new Code of Practice. A central professed aim was to encourage collaboration across support services and to extend planning for young people beyond the formal schooling age. There was also concern that SEN provision missed some young disabled people who might benefit from support. All of this created pressure to bring the two constructs of SEN & D together. In England, Special Educational Needs had long been defined as having a learning difficulty which calls for special educational provision. In turn, a learning difficulty has been defined as having either greater difficulty in learning than the majority of one’s peers or having a disability that prevents or hinders the use of the facilities typically provided locally, whilst special educational provision is defined as something additional to that typically provided. The context of provision is, therefore, very important. If you can change the local provision, you can get rid of the learning difficulties and the SEN. When this definition was created in the 1980s, its aim was to shift the focus away from the in-person deficit categories of handicap which had been around for many years and which positioned people as ineducable and subnormal. In contrast, disability has been framed around a person having an impairment that has a substantial and long-term adverse effect on carrying out “normal” day-to-day activities. In this definition, which is rooted in disability discrimination and social care legislation, the deficit is still in the person. It can be argued that this is relevant as it recognises that impairments can have a significant impact

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upon people’s lived experiences and the requirement on services to respond to this. So what is the problem of combining these to make “SEND”? Three issues emerge: • SEN is defined in law in relation to the context a child is in. Disability is defined in law as a deficit in the child. SEN was introduced to get away from deficit labels. By combining SEN and Disability in one acronym of SEND, the deficit is reinserted into SEN. • According to legal definitions of SEN and Disability, it is quite possible to have SEN and no disability, or Disability and no SEN, or both Disability and SEN. By combining SEN and Disability in one acronym, you have both whether you do or not. • SEND becomes a tautology because you can now have a disability because you have a disability. (It is also worth noting that people in positions of relative power have spent many decades creating places to SEND disabled people so it is not the most sensitive of acronyms—though many people might want to dismiss this as political correctness going too far.) Some consideration of the issue of combining two categories in a single acronym might have led to a new overarching category, such as the Scottish term Additional Support Needs or, perhaps, a definition for SEND. But this did not happen. There were a number of local authorities and concerned others who pushed for the acronym SEN & D to be used in order to maintain clarity between the concepts and their legal definitions in different UK legislative documents. However, as a bureaucrat responsible for the change and the new code of practice informed me at the time, there was a real practical value in this simple, memorable acronym, particularly as a web link URL. So we have (undefined) SEND and there are hundreds of academic papers, policy documents and articles written with SEND in the title. Without looking for them, I have come across papers from around the world using the acronym, including work associated with Greece, Australia, Israel, United Arab Emirates, Ireland and the USA, and with pupil performance in international assessments.

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I wanted to see how English schools were dealing with this concept too. So, I put “SEND Policy” into a search engine and downloaded the first dozen school SEND policy documents that came up. Ten of the 12 policy documents had a definition for SEN or SEND and 2 did not. Six had an “SEN” definition and 5 had a “SEND” definition (1 had both) but the “SEND” definitions were all the “SEN” definition with the acronym changed. Only one document had a definition of disability included, although one had also tried to weave it into their definition of SEN, trying to explain the difference. Only two of the documents seemed to show any understanding of the difference between SEN and disability. Only one used “and/or” between SEN & D and one used “has SEN or a disability”. What was also evident across all the sites was the inconsistency of the terms they used to describe this “group” of children and young people. Across the 12 School SEND policy documents, there were 33 different ways in which to refer to children and young people with special educational needs and/or disabilities (except, ironically, given my initial interest in the topic, CHYP with SEND). So we have SEND, and it is everywhere. It has been applied to many thousands of children in England and beyond, but no one appears to know exactly what it means. It is convenient though.

Whose Label Is It Anyway? The chaotic nature of our labelling processes speaks to the chairness and uncertainty at the heart of the categories to which the labels are applied. Developing and applying these constructs is a political, economic and practical undertaking, even amongst experts in the scientific field. Back in 2013, the British Psychological Society’s Division of Clinical Psychology (BPS–DCP, 2013) called for “a paradigm shift in relation to functional psychiatric diagnoses”. It said they “provide a flawed basis for evidence-­ based practice, research, intervention guidelines and the various administrative and non-clinical uses of diagnosis”. Similarly, psychiatrist Allen Frances and psychologist Thomas Widiger, two of the authors of the fourth edition of the American Psychiatric Association’s Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, concluded that the fifth edition

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which came out in 2013 relied too much on the work and interests of those who had written it. As a result, this manual which influences assessment all around the world had the potential to cause “false epidemics of misidentified pseudopatients” (Frances & Widiger, 2012). Part of this goes to the nature of our understanding of the component parts of the category, the symptoms, the real world behaviours or characteristics which are our evidence of its existence. The markers we search for in assessment can be understood as essentially observable phenomena. They can serve as indicators of a diagnosis, having been selected as a focus because of their practical value in the diagnostic process. But, consequently, they can also be seen as theoretical constructs in their own right, requiring us to unpack “the constructs underlying [the] symptoms” (Wilshire & Clack, 2021). These tensions underpin calls such as that coming from the Society for Humanistic Psychology, Division 32 of the American Psychological Association, regarding the reform and revision of diagnostic systems. In an official statement, released in February 2020, they talked about the need to move beyond the limits of individual diagnosis, to document and address the social and structural determinants at the root of difficulties. They concluded that the impact of these social and structural determinants was already supported by robust scientific evidence, whilst the search for in-person factors continues to “elude scientists” who merely hold onto hope for “the next taxonomic revolution”.

Missing the Point The eluding of scientists is another current concern which is old news. So, Elliott & Gibbs (2008) can note in relation to diagnosing dyslexia that, “there is no clear discontinuity that provides an absolute categorical boundary for a diagnostic category of ‘dyslexics’” (p. 476); Norwich et al. (2014) can recognise that the paucity of research and the application in practice of Moderate Learning Difficulties which “call into question” (p. 17) its use as a category; and Timimi (2021), citing other leaders in autism research, recommends disbanding Autism Spectrum Disorder because:

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Decades of biological research looking at genetics, brain imaging, and different developmental features, has come to an impasse leading to what is referred to as the ‘replicability crises’ in autism research. Theories come and go with none sticking because different research teams cannot replicate what others apparently find. We thus have a picture of consistently inconsistent findings. (Timimi, 2021, p. 19)

At the heart of all this is a simple conundrum. We want to: prove a theory that some characteristics are consistently causally inter-connected across populations and develop a means of assessing people so we can apply a label consistently. And we need to: test our theory against groups of people who have been identified with those characteristics in order to prove their interconnectedness and test our assessment processes against a predetermined population to whom the label is accurately applied to ensure that the label is applied accurately. But: the way in which people identify those characteristics is inconsistent. So: we cannot reliably confirm or contradict our assumptions, assertions or hypotheses across populations in relation to the causally interconnected characteristics nor the label we have applied to them. The consequence of this conundrum is that the construction of the labels associated with Special Educational Needs and their application is always based upon an act of belief. They are underpinned by idealism which masquerades as realism. “Hold on!” I can hear many well-informed readers yell; “are you really trying to say that all these categories are socially constructed and therefore socially compromised? What about the really obvious ones, where there are marked, clear, biological differences? What about profound and multiple difficulties, deafness, blindness, Down syndrome and so forth? The category may have a socially constructed name but the degree of difference goes beyond a name. Surely, it is actuality!” Well, yes, and no. If we put aside how all labels, including the first three in the list, are inconsistently applied in the English education system it seems reasonable to suggest that someone who is identified with Profound and Multiple Learning Difficulties is going to require a more

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detailed and intensive level of personal support than their peers. For a person identified with a profound hearing or visual impairment, they will have a difference related to their auditory or visual system when we compare them to many other people; and someone with Down syndrome will have a genetic difference on a chromosome we have numbered 21. But what good does knowing this do us? As Timimi (2021) notes in relation to the label of Autistic Spectrum Disorders, these are all “thin descriptions”. They leave out so many of the things that are important to understand in relation to somebody’s life (friends, family, social life, social background and so forth) as well as their skills, capacities and interests. These “other features recede into becoming of lesser importance than the more prominent ‘diagnosis’, through which other descriptors and events may now be read and seen as secondary” (p.  21). This submerging of the other descriptors becomes even more salient when you recall the lottery surrounding the application of the label in the first place and the professional space that it will connect you to.

A Better Label The solution would, therefore, seem to be to develop assessments which are clearly defined and take all these issues of context into account. This more holistic approach is what some researchers, including those associated with the British and American Psychological Associations, have been exploring. Norwich (2016) underlines the kinds of principles that people are working to in their attempts to improve assessing and identifying SEN and the categories that fall within it: 1. Assessment and identification is to be underpinned and strongly informed by values associated with the human rights of those being assessed. 2. Impairments and environment factors are assumed to interact to affect functioning. 3. Assessment covers a range of related areas of functioning not only the specific areas where there are concerns about functioning.

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4. Assessment examines other personal characteristics beyond the functional difficulties. One popular suggestion is to base an assessment on the international classification of functioning, disability and health (ICF) developed by the World Health Organization, which makes a distinction between health domains and other domains of well-being. The ICF is based on a biopsychosocial model, in which functioning and disability are understood as complex interactions between biological, psychological, and social factors. But it is recognised to have limitations. A central problem, even if you accept the value of the model upon which the ICF is based, is that the breadth of the activity and participation components in the classification is too broad to be of particular use in an educational context. Even though an ICF-CY has been produced, on the basis that childhood and youth is different to adulthood, researchers have found that this is still not detailed enough and have argued for a deeper developmental and educational perspective. Hollenweger (2011) built on this to design an eligibility procedure for specialised education services based on the ICF-CY and the United Nations Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disability. Hollenweger (2014) suggested that this builds bridges between the child’s situation and the teacher’s situation, creating opportunities for reflection and co-ordinating support. In writing about these developments, Hollenweger (2014) clearly engages with all the issues that have been raised in this chapter so far. She recognises that labels are social constructs, that they serve a social function, and that they are valued because they are a deeply rooted part of our systems and provide practitioners with a sense of certainty. She knows that this is a problem that has been around for a long time and recognised as such. She wants to encourage practitioners to move away from deficit views of the child and also makes clear and cogent arguments as to how this alternative approach to assessment is a pragmatic response to a practical problem, which reflects the values of child-centredness and respect for individual’s rights. There is much to admire in this approach, and I have little doubt that undertaking this evaluation can produce some excellent evaluations of a child and their context, and be used to inform a transformation in teacher practice. But …

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Trouble at School Where the ICF has been introduced in an educational context, teachers are frequently resistant to making use of it. Studies often link this to the need for training, highlighting how the intensity of training makes teachers more likely to see it as a useful approach, and calling for the introduction of ongoing professional development and a process of reflective practice to ensure that they engage with its processes, for example, Saragoça et al. (2013). This suggests that it is running up against the same barriers that so many ideas face when they are introduced into schools. It is primarily a non-educational construct which has been redesigned to fit into the education world. The response of teachers, therefore, is that they need to be trained in it. It is not something which they can do as part of their daily practice. It requires expertise. This is not helped by the kind of information which such a biopsychosocial model needs. Hollenweger (2014) describes three types of information, for example. That which is: • Independent of contexts, for example, the categories discussed above. • Observable and context specific, for example, participation in activities or environmental factors. • Based upon perceptions of contextual factors, for example, resource availability, cultural values, treatment priorities, expectations. The suggestion is that the first two types can be gathered “objectively” by specialists and that parents and teachers would have an important role in the third type. And so it is that the teachers are sidelined. They are not specialists in type one and type two knowledge, but specialists in teaching. The approach, therefore, requires external specialists to oversee it and/or interested colleagues who are willing to develop the skills valued by those experts. It can quickly be perceived as an add-on. And if school staff are required to do it, they will try their best, but their incorrect application of the process will embed wrong ways of doing it. There are two other challenges which seem important barriers and both raise the nature of the school and learning, and how it works against imported models of assessment. Firstly, assessment is a reflection of a

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point in time. Even if there is an ongoing review of the data, there are always aspects of it that are out of date. The contexts in which it is applied are always changing. Updating is always retrospective and the limitations of time and resource mean that it will always be partial. It is this last issue which is so crucial. Teachers work in a complex social context. They would like assessments of need which help them in their everyday classroom practice. As part of the study of 50 countries mentioned above, we visited and interviewed dozens of teachers in Norway, Italy, Japan and Ireland. Everyone we spoke to told us that the assessments of special educational needs were of no real value to them. They served a bureaucratic or medical function, but they were not dynamic and useful at the point of teaching. At best, after discussion with experts, they could inform planning, but this would serve as an add-on to the rest of the activity or as something which required additional time and space. Secondly, this process encouraged a focus upon the individual as separated from the majority. Even if the assessment is meant to include an element of self-reflection from the teacher, the assessment is largely about the individual child. But as Olssen (1996) noted in relation to constructivist approaches, theories of learning or education need to recognise both the social and collective dimensions of knowledge acquisition and development. If they focus upon the individual and personal dimensions then they sideline the relational processes at the heart of learning. Classrooms are collective spaces. Anything which encourages the teacher to view the child in separation from the others risks separating them in practice, thus removing them from collective planning and collective learning opportunities. All of these factors feed back into the sense or concern of many teachers that, when it comes to this child, the teacher is not the expert in their own domain.

Labels of Opportunity What teachers need is something simple. Something manageable. Something which makes them feel capable. They want something that does not make them call for more training from the outset. If we have to

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provide a label, school staff need one that encourages them to think about how they can best work with a child, one that would support teaching, learning and social interaction. Consider, for example, the label of Down syndrome. This may be useful in a medical context and as a matter of pride, but within an education, social care, everyday situation, it fails to open up a huge range of possibilities. This could be a child who will go to university or one who will never engage in effective speech; they may be able to ski a black run or struggle to walk; they may have many friends or may have none. Even if a teacher knows all the characteristics associated with this label, the child they are teaching will only have some of those characteristics. They have to deal with the child as they are just as they would with anyone else. Depending upon this child’s circumstances, they may be more usefully described as “a person supported by signing and visual communication” or as “a person who requires support to build social relations”. Such a label would not cover everything but it would be a start and would help both the person who used the label and the person it was applied to. They are far simpler to share, to comprehend and to hold yourself to account for. They can be locally relevant, easier to assess, and less prone to the postcode lottery. It is a label about how to do something. It is situated in the social, creating relational opportunities and provocations. Such labels of opportunity might “encourage those who hear them to engage with possibilities” (Rix, 2007, p. 28). These labels are also more likely to have the support of those to whom they are applied. I experienced the power of labels to redirect attitudes and support practices in a research project involving four participatory research groups working with museum education departments in the United Kingdom, Spain and Austria (Rix et  al., 2020). These research groups involved participants who had a diverse range of access preferences. These preferences are frequently associated with the labels of sensory impairments and intellectual impairments, but many participants did not wish to be defined by such labels, nor those in the original bid document, nor those being requested by external assessors. There was a collective agreement early in the project to subsequently refer to us as having access preferences, and it was these which we included in the collection of demographic data. Categories included: Blue badge parking, Braille text, British Sign Language, Captioning, Different language,

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Guide dog, Guiding support, Induction loops, Large guides, Magnifying glasses, Makaton or Signalong, One-to-one support, Pictures, symbols or easy read, Raised line floor plan, Scanning pen, Screen-reader software, Simplified information, Sound enhancement equipment, Step-free access, Gallery stools, Tactile books, Torches, Walking frame and Wheelchair. Such categories were specific to the museum context in which they were collected, but they can far more effectively enable people working in museums, and elsewhere, to consider possibilities and the solutions for visitors, rather than having to make presumptions based upon a generalised or supposedly universal diagnostic label. Many of these access options would also have benefits across a range of users, not only a particular group to whom they might be typically supplied. Teachers too would be better prepared by such labels that enabled them to envision practice, which could be locally and collaboratively devised and encourage a shift in thinking about practice. This is not to suggest that such labels would not also bring with them social and cultural assumptions that could create problems with the people to whom they were applied; but they would be more likely to create commonalities around how access was supported and cut across medically situated diagnoses, and enable a focus upon relationships and the support mechanisms between people.

Diagnosing and Curing Our Disorder The labels which dominate how we understand special educational needs, additional support needs, exceptionalities, special needs, learning difficulties and so forth, are problematic because they are theoretically derived within a research context, or designed for convenience in a bureaucratic context and then applied in educational settings. They are problematic because they are our dominant, and deeply invested in, tools for organising additional support. They feed into practices and interventions intended to enable children’s participation, but which typically serve to separate them. By focussing upon a specific negative characteristic, they encourage our tendency to position children as passive recipients of such interventions, based on the dominant institutional expectations, routines

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and practices, in ways that both exclude many children’s life experiences and create fixed notions of their abilities (Love & Beneke, 2021). They perpetuate our embrace of the continuum model which was described in the 1960s and 1970s, through which children and young people are positioned on a continuum of need, supported within a continuum of provision and by a continuum of services; and which, in the process, places power in the hands of a select group of professionals, whilst giving legitimacy to a whole range of segregatory processes (Rix et al., 2015). But, perhaps worst of all, they are problematic because of their prevalence, misapplication, misunderstanding and the false sense of certainty that they create. In England, for example, 39% of the 2016 cohort of 15–16-year-olds taking their General Certificate of Secondary Education (GCSE) exams had been identified with SEN at some point in their school career (Hutchinson, 2021). In the same study, by looking at national data at the primary level, it was also noted that the overall probability for this attribution was explained by which school the child attended. Numerous other factors were interwoven with this, such as deprivation and prior attainment, absences, ethnicity, Looked After Child status, sex, months of birth, English as an Additional Language status and school mobility. These were the variables for which data was available. But I have a sense that, if other factors were identified and data were collected on them, many other variables about who was labelled and the support they received could come into play. This simply reflects the relational nature of our lives. Our way through this impasse it would seem to me is to find ways to embrace the uncertainty at the heart of these educational relationships, to facilitate the ways in which we relate to each other, to situate our challenges in their collective context. One step would be for educators, the experts who advise them and the policymakers who design the bureaucracies in which they work to move away from labels of convenience to labels of opportunity, to labels which are locally negotiated, encourage collective action, which are easily understood, enable practice and reflect the reality of everyday teaching and learning challenges. It would not be hard to design such a system if people wanted to.

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References Bickman, L., Wighton, L., Lambert, W., Karver, M., & Steding, L. (2012). Problems in using diagnosis in child and adolescent mental health services research. Journal of Methods and Measurement in the Social Sciences, 3(1), 1–26. https://doi.org/10.2458/v3i1.16110 British Psychological Society's Division of Clinical Psychology (BPS – DCP). (2013). Position Statement on the Classification of Behaviour and Experience in Relation to Functional Psychiatric Diagnoses. BPS. Department for Education (DfE). (2020). Statistical First Release, Special Educational Needs in England, January 2020. DfE. Elliott, J.  G., & Gibbs, S. (2008). Does dyslexia exist? Journal of Philosophy of Education, 42(2–4), 475–491. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1467-­9752.2008. 00653.x Frances, A., & Widiger, T. (2012). Psychiatric diagnosis. Annual Review of Clinical Psychology, 8, 109–130. https://doi.org/10.1146/annurev-­clinpsy-­ 032511-­143102 Hollenweger, J. (2011). Development of an ICF-based eligibility procedure for education in Switzerland. BMC Public Health, 11(Suppl. 5), S7. https://doi. org/10.1186/1471-­2458-­11-­S4-­S7 Hollenweger, J. (2014). Beyond categories and labels: Knowledge to support assessment for learning ‘disability’. A problem well put? In L. Florian (Ed.), The SAGE Handbook of Special Education (Vol. 2, pp. 507–521). Sage. Hutchinson, J. (2021). How fairly and effectively special educational needs and disabilities (SEND) are identified? Trends in SEN identification: contexts, causes and consequences, SEN Policy Research Forum. Journal of Research in Special Educational Needs, 21(1), 22–28. http://hdl.handle.net/10871/123468 Love, H. R., & Beneke, M. R. (2021). Pursuing justice-driven inclusive education research: Disability critical race theory (DisCrit) in early childhood. Topics in Early Childhood Special Education, 41(1), 31–44. https://doi. org/10.1177/0271121421990833 Norwich, B. (2016). Conceptualizing special educational needs using a biopsychosocial model in England: The prospects and challenges of using the international classification of functioning framework. In Frontiers in Education (Vol. 1, p. 5). Frontiers Media SA. Norwich, B., Ylonen, A., & Gwernan-Jones, R. (2014). Moderate learning difficulties: Searching for clarity and understanding. Research Papers in Education, 29(1), 1–19. https://doi.org/10.1080/02671522.2012.729153

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OECD. (2012). Special Educational Needs (SEN), CX3.1. http://www.oecd.org/ social/family/50325299.pdf Olssen, M. (1996). Radical constructivism and its failings: Anti-realism and individualism. British Journal of Educational Studies, 44(3), 275–295. https:// doi.org/10.1080/00071005.1996.9974075 Rix, J. (2007). Labels of opportunity. A response to Carson and Rowley: Ethical space. The International Journal of Communication Ethics, 4(3), 25–28. Rix, J. (2015). Must inclusion be special? Rethinking Educational Support within a Community of Provision. London, Routledge. Rix, J., Sheehy, K., Fletcher-Campbell, F., Crisp, M., & Harper, A. (2013). Exploring provision for children identified with special educational needs: An international review of policy and practice. European Journal of Special Needs Education, 28(4), 375–391. https://doi.org/10.1080/08856257.2013. 812403 Rix, J., Sheehy, K., Fletcher-Campbell, F., Crisp, M., & Harper, A. (2015). Moving from a continuum to a community: Reconceptualizing the provision of support. Review of Educational Research, 85(3), 319–352. https://doi. org/10.3102/0034654314554209 Rix, J., Carrizosa, H. G., Sheehy, K., Seale, J., & Hayhoe, S. (2020). Taking risks to enable participatory data analysis and dissemination: A research note. Qualitative Research, 22(1). https://doi.org/10.1177/1468794120965356 Robson, C. (2005). Students with Disabilities, Learning Difficulties and Disadvantages. OECD. Saragoça, M., Candeias, A. A., & Rosário, A. (2013). Implementation of the international classification of functioning, disability and health (ICF) in the Portuguese educational system: Attitudes and training needs of special education teachers. Transylvanian Journal of Psychology, 2, 223–243. Timimi, S. (2021). The social cultural construction of autism: Trends in SEN identification: Contexts, causes and consequences, SEN Policy Research Forum. Journal of Research in Special Educational Needs, 21(1), 28–32. Wilshire, C. E., & Clack, T. W. S. (2021). Symptom descriptions in psychopathology: How well are they working for us? Clinical Psychological Science. https://doi.org/10.1177/2167702620969215

8 The Other Students with Special Educational Needs and the Attainment Gap Christos Dimitriadis

Introduction The “attainment gap” is a central educational issue in England. The discourse around this issue mainly concerns the “gap” in academic performance between disadvantaged students and their same-age peers and how to support the former to achieve better and narrow that gap. The term “disadvantaged” refers to students from backgrounds linked to poverty or deprivation who are usually identified by their socio-economic status and/or their eligibility for free school meals (Crenna-Jennings, 2018; Jerrim et al., 2018). The focus on disadvantaged students makes the attainment gap issue part of the discourse on inclusivity. Narrowing the attainment gap is considered, not only in England but internationally (e.g. Gutiérrez & Dixon-Román, 2011), as an action for equity and justice for the disadvantaged who fall behind in their learning. C. Dimitriadis (*) Kingston University, Kingston, UK e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 E. J. Done, H. Knowler (eds.), International Perspectives on Exclusionary Pressures in Education, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-14113-3_8

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In this chapter, I do not argue against taking measures to help disadvantaged students with low attainment improve their performance and achieve as they should. This is a true need, especially after the impact of the COVID-19 pandemic, which affected more socio-economically deprived families disproportionately (Andrew et al., 2020). Besides, who would not support aims and actions towards improving attainment or achieving equity and justice? I am arguing against a conceptualisation of the attainment gap that focuses only on the progress of students from the lower end of the attainment continuum whilst neglecting those from the other end. These students, despite their high attainment, still need support to overcome barriers and reach their full potential. When a special focus on groups of students (e.g. disadvantaged underachievers) comes at the expense of other groups (e.g. gifted underachievers), we cannot claim that our educational policy and practice reflect equity and justice or inclusivity. In practice, we maintain a labelling system that categorises students as those who need attention and support and those who do not, setting the latter group outside our focus and provision planning. In my research, the neglect of students with high academic potential is central. It has become more critical after the abandonment of the Gifted and Talented (G & T) programme in England in 2010, which was deemed unsuccessful (Dimitriadis & Georgeson, 2018). Since 2010, terms such as “gifted” and “talented” and any references to them have been erased from discourse in England in an effort to avoid any possible link with the G & T programme, and it has left these students out of focus (Dimitriadis & Georgeson, 2018). There are references to “more” or “most” able students and recommendations for schools to help them achieve their potential in the current national curriculum (Department for Education, 2014) and in guidance from the Office for Standards in Education (Ofsted, 2015a, b). However, without statutory policy and guidance, those references in a market-­ oriented schooling model (as often described, e.g. Norwich, 2017) tend to serve political correctness rather than those students’ needs. A market-­ oriented model emphasises school performativity and status, determined by national examination results and school inspection reports (Norwich, 2017). In this context, pressure to close the attainment gap steers schools’

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focus towards students with low attainment, omitting the rest, especially those considered more able. The pressure to close the attainment gap grows when results of national examinations are compared and the gap in performance between disadvantaged students and their same-age peers becomes evident. A recent example is the 2020 annual report of the Education Policy Institute (Hutchinson et al., 2020). After comparing the results of students aged 16, the report observed that disadvantaged students in England were 18.1 months behind their peers in their learning, with more significant gaps in some areas, such as those with poorer students (more than two full years behind) and “Gypsy, Roma, Traveler” students (close to three years). The report concluded that if nothing changed, the gap would become wider. Schools feel the pressure and take measures to close or narrow the identified gaps. Their efforts are scrutinised and they are held to account for their performance and the effective use of funding they receive from the state (e.g. the pupil premium grant1) (Gorard et  al., 2021; Morris & Dobson, 2021; Wilson & Carmel Education Trust, 2014). In this context, if students who attain high or average levels keep performing at the same level, it is not considered a problem. Sometimes, it might be more convenient to demonstrate impressive results towards closing the gap if the efforts and extra measures given to low-achieving socio-economically disadvantaged students helped some of them perform better. Such conceptualisations of the attainment gap issue are what this chapter challenges. They are exclusionary pressures in the current educational context in England. In this chapter, I first explain why the discourse on the attainment gap is problematic. I look at issues of equity, justice, and equality and issues relating to how we conceptualise and define ability and special need in education. I then suggest a new conceptualisation of the problem that moves the question away from how to close the attainment gap between particular groups of learners to how to close the gap between potential and actual achievement by individuals, independently of their socioeconomic status and ability. The aim is to raise achievement for everyone.  A grant provided to schools in England since 2011 to help them narrow the attainment gap between disadvantaged and more affluent students. 1

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Equity, Justice, and Equality The attainment gap issue in England and other countries has been linked with discourse on equity and justice (Gutiérrez & Dixon-Román, 2011; Jerrim et al., 2018), which helps attract public support and increase popularity. The problem is that, in reality, conceptualisations of the attainment gap and efforts towards narrowing that gap between different groups of students tend to reflect equality rather than equity and justice (Gutiérrez & Dixon-Román, 2011). Some might wonder why this is a problem in education and where precisely the issue lies in the discourse on attainment. They might ask, if this is an issue of equity or justice, then whose rights are violated? This is what I explain in the following paragraphs. Let us start by imagining a scenario. After much hard work, we managed to bring equality to our school and make the attainment gap almost disappear. We addressed causative factors and enhanced the achievement of the socio-economically disadvantaged who had below-average attainment. We did this by giving them excessive and special support for learning. At the same time, we left higher-achieving students to work alone and cope with their study by themselves. Those students did not attain much higher than usual and widened the gap. Equality in this example is demonstrated by the nearly equal levels of academic performance in standardised tests, with all the results gathered around the average attainment level. Based on the test results, it would make sense to claim success in narrowing the attainment gap and achieving equality through “equal” results. However, what we could not claim is that we achieved equity and justice. Equity and justice in the context of education are not about such equality. They are about guaranteeing equal opportunities (not equal results) and justice for everyone (including those neglected in our example) to progress academically. They are about taking action against any barriers to that kind of equality (Gallagher, 2015a). Gallagher illustrates the problem of seeking equality rather than equity in education using the metaphor of the “tall poppies”. This approach is based on the idea that poppies in a large field look nicer when they grow evenly and maintain a

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similar height. To achieve this equality in height, some poppies need more time to grow to reach that height, and some have to be lopped off. This is what we did in our imaginary example. We provided only for the low achievers, and we neglected the high achievers. We ignored their right to reach their potential like the pruned poppies. Equity, in this example, should suggest that we let all the poppies grow as they could, and provide help where we can, even if this means that some will grow faster and taller than the rest. Equity and justice are civil rights issues and they should concern all students (Gallagher, 2015a). If we accept this statement as true, then ignoring particular groups of students represents a violation of their civil rights. In our imaginary example, we have violated the civil rights of those students who have the potential to excel in one or more academic areas and those with average attainment who did not receive support. Here is where the problem with the attainment gap lies. As long as discourse about the attainment gap and pressure to close it are dominated by a one-sided focus that cares only about the needs of a particular group and ignores the needs of others, the “tall poppies” approach will inevitably be part of the education system, and equity and justice will remain unsolved issues. Problems of conceptualising and defining equity in the attainment (or achievement) gap have been documented in the national and international literature. They are usually seen as issues concerning the education of the socio-economically disadvantaged (e.g. Gutiérrez, 2007; Gutiérrez & Dixon-Román, 2011; Hutchinson et  al., 2020; Jerrim et  al., 2018; Ladson-Billings, 2006). They are not considered an issue relating to exclusionary pressures in education that may leave other students out of focus, as I discuss here. The concerns focus on this disadvantaged group, what equal opportunities mean for them, and how the conditions can be improved for them. The aim is a more holistic progress, which will not simply concern achievement issues but go beyond a specific gap. I argue that such perspectives may help realise and address fundamental problems, but they do not reflect equity for everyone. They may help achieve the best results for those in socio-economically disadvantaged groups, as defined earlier. However, the results will not differ much from our

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imaginary scenario, as they still exclude those outside those groups, that is, those who attain high, but still below their potential.

 onceptualising Ability and Special Need High C Academic Ability When referring to students who are highly able or gifted academically, what comes to mind first is excellence or genius and anything that has to do with a unique ability that makes an individual stand out from same-­ age peers in school achievement and future accomplishments in a field of knowledge or practice. It is not typical for the first thought to concern their educational needs or giving them additional support as it would be for students with disabilities or students from disadvantaged backgrounds. The notion often is that students with high academic potential can accomplish their studies without additional support or particular attention. Below, I argue that this notion is the result of a common misconception based on a lack of knowledge about the nature of academic giftedness, and the fact that students who are gifted might not be able to actualise their giftedness fully without appropriate support and in an environment with suitable experiences and opportunities. It has been a long time since advancements in cognitive psychology and relevant publications challenged notions like those above. They reflect conceptualisations that consider high academic ability to be a fixed natural giftedness, the sole result of a very high general intelligence usually measured by IQ tests. Since the late 1970s and early 1980s, literature on gifted students (Feldhusen, 1986, 2001; Gagne, 1985, 2004, 2008, 2011; Gardner, 1983, 1999, 2006; Renzulli, 1978, 1999, 2012; Sternberg, 1985, 2003, 2010) has shifted interest from a single general intelligence (a fixed intellectual potential around measurable IQ scores) to a complex entity that goes beyond intelligence alone, and is not set but open to further development with practically unknown limits. This conceptualisation of giftedness recognises that there are individuals with some bio-psychological characteristics that link to particular abilities or “intelligences” according to Gardner (1983, 1999, 2006). However, these

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abilities are not simple; they are not the result of a high IQ alone. Rather, they are complex and multifaceted, even when giftedness is demonstrated as distinct (e.g. mathematical giftedness) and it concerns a specific academic or scientific area. Giftedness is the product of the collaboration of specific abilities and traits, natural or acquired (e.g. intellectual, affective, creative, social, and physical) and interactions with environments and cultures (Gardner, 2006; Renzulli, 2012). The role of an appropriate environment and support in the development of specific abilities is illustrated very clearly in the “Differentiated Model of Giftedness and Talent” (DMGT) proffered by Gagne (2011). The DMGT distinguishes the “gift” (e.g. a natural ability, a potential, in a specific domain) from the “talent” (demonstrating the gift, actualising the potential in that domain). For example, in mathematics, the gift might be a natural ability to recognise number bonds, which is promising (has the potential) in utilising numbers and solving number problems. Still, talent occurs when the potential is demonstrated within the relevant field, for example, solving number problems in mathematics. Gagne suggests that certain “catalysts” may hinder or amplify a gift, resulting in either unfulfilled potential or a demonstrated talent, respectively. The catalysts that influence the development or not of a gift are both intrapersonal and environmental factors. The latter suggests that even when some special abilities and traits exist in some individuals, it is not certain that those abilities will develop into a specific demonstrated type of giftedness unless there are appropriate and supportive conditions. Putting this into an educational context, we understand that the school environment, including teachers and peers, is among the “catalysts” for developing or hindering students’ potential. It should not be taken for granted that students who are “gifted” in an academic area will grow as they should and reach their full potential. There are many gifted but underachieving students and many more whose potential is hidden because they do not receive enough attention and the appropriate environments and conditions do not exist (Ford, 2003). This problem of the hidden or unfulfilled potential of the gifted often goes unnoticed in our schools. It is not because there is no interest in it. There is interest, at least on the part of some teachers and school leaders, despite the abandonment of the G & T programme (Dimitriadis &

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Georgeson, 2018). However, because of the environment and current discourse which prioritise attention for students with low attainment, the unfulfilled or hidden potential of the gifted is not considered. The problem is not necessarily linked to low attainment; even without fully developed potential, gifted students’ attainment may still be at an average or even high level, and this does not raise concerns or calls for action. In addition, without a policy for these students and a theory- and research-­ based definition of their characteristics and needs (Dimitriadis, 2016), teachers do not know who these students are and how to recognise their potential in specific subjects and their associated needs. They tend to focus on test results and thereby miss aspects of giftedness that the usual tests cannot measure. These aspects may concern important capabilities or skills (e.g. high creative ability, adaptability, and interpersonal skills) (Renzulli, 2012; Sternberg & Grigorenko, 2002; Sternberg et al., 2011), but they also apply to diverse levels of ability and need. Gifted students do not constitute a homogeneous group (Gagne, 1998); they have different levels of ability which are demonstrated differently for different individuals, and they have different needs that may be very complex. The latter is where I want to focus in the next section to explain why these needs are special educational needs and often complex.

 he Other Students with Special T Educational Needs In the current educational context in England, gifted students are not considered to be students with special educational needs, and having a special programme or arrangements for them is not a requirement for schools. The special programmes or arrangements for the gifted that schools used to have as part of the G & T programme, and that some still have (Dimitriadis & Georgeson, 2018), were deemed elitist and unnecessary (House of Commons, 2010). Through my work (e.g. Dimitriadis, 2016; Dimitriadis & Georgeson, 2018; Dimitriadis et al., 2021), I have tried to challenge such views to show that providing for the gifted (of any ability level) is necessary rather than elitist. Having a high academic

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ability does not mean having superpowers that make someone a “super-­ student” who can overcome any obstacle (common or not). This does not mean that they can progress in their learning independently without support tailored to their needs. I argue that gifted students are students with unique abilities and complex needs simultaneously and that, since their complex needs concern their education, they are special educational needs that require special measures of support. To establish my point, I begin by drawing on my research conducted shortly before the abandonment of the G & T programme with students identified as more able or gifted in mathematics in primary schools in England. That research provided examples from practice showing aspects of those students’ needs and how they are affected by the classroom environment and the teacher’s approach. The following are some indicative examples (all cited in Dimitriadis, 2012, p. 70). I am working quite alone because the teacher is choosing other people that need help with the answers, so I feel like shutting it out” and “Miss X has to help other people and she really gives simple work, and she just says, ‘Do your own work. Help other people a bit. (10-year-old boy) One time, I felt a little bit sad when Mrs. X gave me some other people’s work that I thought that I might be able to do, but the work she gave me was quite hard. I had to have her coming to me all the time. I didn’t like it too much. (7 year old boy)

In the examples, we can see that more able or gifted students have feelings like any other student, and they feel hurt that they are neglected or cannot meet the high expectations set for them. The first child described working alone and working on simple tasks, or helping others to do simple work, as a bad experience. In other parts of his interview, he mentioned being “bored” when lessons were too easy. The second child did have the teacher’s attention but he still felt sad, not only because he could not tackle the task but because he “had to have [the teacher] coming to [him] all the time”. Failure to complete a task or meet the teacher’s expectations is not readily accepted by gifted students who might also be perfectionists (Mofield et al., 2016; Rinn, 2020; Speirs Neumeister, 2007).

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Therefore, simply asking them to do some work for older children may harm their feelings. Like these two, children with high academic potential, when attending an under-challenging class or experiencing failure that they cannot accept, may become disengaged and inattentive. Eventually, they might be underachievers (Rimm, 2008). A lack of suitable challenge (not too easy, nor too hard, but just right, and of proper support combined with perfectionism which can be multidimensional) may cause more than disengagement from learning and underachievement, leading to negative feelings of self-concept, high levels of anxiety, and psychological distress that affect overall well-being (Speirs Neumeister, 2007). Multidimensional perfectionism may include setting high, often unreachable, achievement standards and expectations for themselves (“self-oriented perfectionism”), perceiving others (e.g. teachers, peers, parents) as setting high unreachable achievement standards or expectations for them (“socially prescribed perfectionism”), or holding unreachable standards and expectations for others (“other-oriented perfectionism”) (Speirs Neumeister et al., 2015, p. 216). Students’ perfectionism is not necessarily bad. For example, Stoeber and Otto (2006) suggest that self-oriented perfectionism, under the right conditions, can be positive as a tendency to strive for excellence. This reflects the term “positive striving” recommended by other researchers who have studied perfectionism (Frost et  al., 1993, p.  124) where, as Stoeber and Otto (2006) suggest, perfectionists are not to be overly concerned about their mistakes and others’ negative evaluations. However, in everyday practice at schools, the reality is more complex; gifted students tend to mask negative feelings, such as high anxiety associated with perfectionism and excessive self-criticism (Mofield et al., 2016). This makes it difficult for teachers without specialised knowledge to identify the problem. Some of these students have their own ways to cope with such intensity without significant consequences, and others even make such feelings work to their advantage as positive strivings; but others do not and these might have their own defensive mechanisms, or might be at risk of developing unhealthy conditions, including severe psychological problems and illnesses (Adkins & Parker, 2006; Hamilton & Schweitzer, 2000). They need specialised support to develop coping strategies to overcome that risk (Mofield et al., 2016; Mofield & Parker Peters, 2015).

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The problems become more complex when high ability co-exists with a range of disabilities and disorders, including psychological and emotional difficulties or learning disabilities. These characterise a sub-group of students within the gifted population, known as twice-exceptional students (Foley-Nicpon et al., 2013). With or without identified co-existing disabilities or disorders, students with high academic potential have special educational needs: academic, psychological, and emotional needs. They need help to understand and accept their tensions and perfectionism and to achieve balance in their lives (Sisk, 2009). They cannot be left to deal with their learning and associated challenges, which might be more complex compared to other students, by themselves, and they must not be excluded from any educational discourse and practice about providing for special student populations. As Gallagher (2015b) argues, the needs of gifted students should be considered of the same importance as the needs of other students. Those students should be recognised as having special educational needs and disabilities, and this means that we should be ready to give them a support system or infrastructure as we do for students with disabilities.

 Novel Conceptualisation of the Problem: A A Different Gap In the sections above, I discussed issues relating to discourse about the attainment gap, including issues of equity and justice and issues concerning high ability and the associated needs. The aim was to present an argument about the need to see gifted students of any ability level as having unique and complex educational needs so that they would not be excluded from discussions of inclusivity and the educational focus. I will now describe the gap we need to address within the discourse on attainment while being inclusive of all students. From the discussion on equity versus equality and the “tall poppies” approach, it is clear that equal attainment should not be our educational aim, but equality in opportunities so every individual can progress beyond their current development. Advancing beyond their current development

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reflects the idea of learning within the zone of proximal development (ZPD) (Vygotsky, 1978). This is the learning zone between a student’s actual level and potential level of development. In this zone, the student needs the help of someone more knowledgeable to accomplish a difficult task that appears to be beyond their abilities. The idea of learning within the ZPD usually underpins frameworks or programmes for specialised support for low-achieving students or students with educational disabilities. Equal opportunities would mean that all students, including high achievers, should learn within their ZPD and receive support from well-­ trained teachers to reach as high in achievement as possible (Dimitriadis, 2012; Koshy et al., 2009). Unless there are consistent challenges within their ZPD, how high these students can go is unknown (as explained earlier). To support this view, Freeman (1998) refers to a “sports approach”, where to find out how high an athlete can jump, we need to increase the bar’s height progressively. Still, it is essential to know the student and find the “just right” challenges that, as mentioned earlier, would not agitate their possible perfectionism and fears of failure and create more problems than they solve. To achieve that equity for everyone by learning within the ZPD, we must focus on the characteristics and needs of the individuals and compare their achievement against their own progress and potential, not against other individuals’ (or group of individuals’) achievement. We must make the attainment gap one between the potential and actual achievement of each individual. This conceptualisation of the gap shifts the question from how particular groups, like disadvantaged students, attain against other groups, such as students from affluent backgrounds, to whether everyone attains as they should and makes constant progress in their learning. This must include students who already achieve highly and have the potential to go higher still, even if this expands the attainment gap. Suppose everyone progresses as they should, but some progress more quickly, creating or increasing an attainment gap. This should not necessarily be considered a problem. The problem exists when some students fall behind in their learning independently of the existence or the size of the gap. If all students in a school fall behind, there might be no gap, but the problem will be more prominent. The issue, therefore, relates more to underachievement in any group of students rather than the

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attainment gap between particular groups. This conceptualisation still requires systematic provision and special support for students from socioeconomically deprived communities, or with educational disabilities, and students with very low attainment for any reason. Yet, it also encourages consideration of the other students, labelled as high achievers or gifted, and their needs. It recognises that, when a natural ability or gift is not fully developed, underachievement occurs, and that students who consistently attain at a high level may not only be just gifted but gifted underachievers who also need special support to reach their potential and close their own attainment gap, that is, the one between their potential and actual achievement. It requires looking at the gifted literature and research to understand how to recognise and actualise unfulfilled potential in specific academic domains. What I recommend might be more difficult and, perhaps, complex for practical application, but it is not impossible. Besides, it is a complex problem that we must address. Studies in the field of gifted education have been using methods to identify underachievement in gifted students by measuring the discrepancy between actual achievement (as measured by standardised achievement tests and teacher evaluations) and expected achievement or potential (as measured by intellectual ability assessments) (Lau & Chan, 2001a, b; Reis & McCoach, 2000; White et al., 2018). Some of these studies have included typically developing students and low achievers (Lau & Chan, 2001b), which indicates that their methods can work for all populations. They can be considered for all students to identify their own attainment gaps and possible underachievement. Of course, measuring intellectual potential using intellectual ability tests has serious limitations, considering the complexities surrounding the nature of academic ability, as discussed earlier. In addition to intellectual potential as measured by IQ and other cognitive tests, we will need to consider other aspects of giftedness, not measurable by tests, such as those identified by observing inclinations and behaviours. Observations as a means of identifying academic talent or potential (as defined by Gagne, 2011) can be effective when they are systematic and carried out by knowledgeable observers at school and beyond (teachers, parents, or others, e.g. psychologists). A way to systematise observations is to incorporate the use of rating scales developed explicitly to identify gifted students (e.g.

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Pfeiffer & Jarosewich, 2007; Renzulli et al., 2010; Ryser & McConnell, 2004; Wechsler, 2016). Although not always a straightforward task, recognising potential beyond an IQ score is possible to a certain extent. Still, it requires well-trained teachers and a combination of sources of information, including cognitive tests and teacher and parent observations and nominations (Carr et  al., 1991; Emerick, 1992; Heller & Schofield, 2008). Practical issues with solutions and alternative methods to identify underachievement can be found in the literature (e.g. Lau & Chan, 2001a). But, before we move to practice, we must start by changing the focus in the discourse on the attainment gap to include other students who might have needs and gaps in their attainment, such as the more able or gifted ones.

Conclusion This chapter has challenged current conceptualisations of the attainment gap issue that can be considered to be problematic when pursuing equity and justice in education. This has involved challenging common, often cherished, notions about high academic ability, underachievement, and special educational needs. Such notions exclude students with high academic potential (demonstrated or hidden) from the inclusivity discourse, and they deny such students the provisions to address underachievement and special educational needs. To address the problem, I have suggested shifting interest from how to close the attainment gap between different groups of students, for a narrow range of them, to closing the gap between potential and actual attainment for every student. To do this, we should accept that such a gap may exist in every individual independently of their attainment level measured by standardised assessments or their socio-economic and cultural backgrounds. We must accept that such a gap may exist even in students who attain highly and that not addressing this is an issue of inequality and injustice. It is tantamount to ignoring the needs of disadvantaged children or children who have learning or other education-related disabilities. Finally, we must reconsider the discourse and practice surrounding broader issues of inclusivity and inclusive education to ensure that

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different, multiple, and complex forms of disadvantage and educational need are all included in our focus and that there are no groups or individual students whose needs are less important than others.

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9 History, Space and Schooling Among Indigenous Australians Jenny Dean and Philip Roberts

Introduction In Australia, the goal of equity has been reflected in successive declarations on schooling that provide the national rationale for school-related policies and programs, for example, Education Council (2019) and Ministerial Council on Education, Employment, Training and Youth Affairs (2008). A commitment to equity for Indigenous Australians1 has been a key feature of each of these declarations and has also been represented in a proliferation of Indigenous education policy initiatives over many decades (Mellor & Corrigan, 2004; Gillan et al., 2017). However, the goal of equity is increasingly placed alongside the competing goals of  The terms Indigenous people, Indigenous Australians, Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people and First Nations people are used in this chapter to refer to people in Australia who identify as of Aboriginal and/or Torres Strait Islander status. 1

J. Dean (*) • P. Roberts University of Canberra, Canberra, Bruce, Australia e-mail: [email protected]; [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 E. J. Done, H. Knowler (eds.), International Perspectives on Exclusionary Pressures in Education, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-14113-3_9

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academic excellence, improved performance and quality standards, and all these goals are overlaid by a school funding model driven, among other things, by school sectoral concerns and the requirement to be globally competitive (Gonski et al., 2011; Kenway, 2013). These factors have resulted in Indigenous people’s structural exclusion from networks of power and privilege, and more specifically, in Indigenous students’ constrained capacity to benefit from schooling. Thus, there is a need to question whether equity can usefully be considered outside the historical, social and cultural discourses surrounding it (Rudolph, 2019). In this chapter, the meaning of equity is consistent with that used by the Organisation for Economic Cooperation and Development (OECD) in its study on equity in education entitled No More Failures: Ten Steps to Equity in Education (Field et al., 2007). According to this report, equity comprises both fairness and inclusion. Fairness refers to the idea that personal and social circumstances “should not be an obstacle to achieving educational potential” whereas inclusion refers to “ensuring a basic minimum standard of education for all” (Field et al., 2007, p. 2). While education is often seen to promote upward social mobility and to break the cycle of disadvantage (Francis & Wong, 2013; Lindley & Machin, 2012), for many Indigenous people, inequity in terms of fairness and inclusion has persisted despite the education process. One of the key contemporary Australian policy responses to address Indigenous equity is the Closing the Gap reform agenda (Department of Families, Housing, Community Services and Indigenous Affairs, 2009; Department of the Prime Minister and Cabinet, 2020). The Closing the Gap agenda was introduced in 2008 with the development of a series of targets in the areas of health, education and employment, and was recently updated by way of a National Agreement to ensure “genuine partnership [with] Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander individuals and communities” (Department of the Prime Minister and Cabinet, 2020, p. 6). While this initiative has provided the logic for a stream of funding for relevant services (Fogarty et al., 2018), the targets have mostly not been met over successive years, and do not focus on Indigenous strengths and knowledges. Rather, they reflect a discourse of deficiency (Dodson, 2010; McCallum et al., 2020). As stated by Dodson:

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The notion of ‘closing a gap’ very easily slides unintentionally into the idea of compensatory schooling—that there is a deficit in our children that must be made up. (Dodson, 2010, p. 8)

In addition, policy responses such as these are commonly founded on notions of distributive justice which are largely limited to remediation through the allocation of resources and access to a range of economic opportunities (Roberts & Green, 2013). These approaches adopt a “homogeneous, universal and non-spatial” (Cuervo, 2016, p. 333) view of people, places and cultures. We argue that such homogenising views are likely to increase exclusionary practices in schooling through a focus on competitive individualism and accountability procedures (Done & Andrews, 2020). Together with Cuervo (2012), we believe that the notion of social justice must move beyond these views and be enlarged to include dimensions which consider and value, rather than overlook, the “social particularities” (p. 89) of people and communities. This chapter seeks to address these issues by tracing the historical and spatial factors influencing schooling inequity among Indigenous Australians. Drawing primarily on the ideas of Henri Lefebvre (1991), we argue that spatial inequalities are produced through the relationships and conflicts that arise out of human processes, including the power relations embedded in school and coded into its systems of curriculum, pedagogy and assessment (Zipin et al., 2012). Lefebvre’s three dimensions of perceived, conceived and lived space can be recognised in many of the routines or “rhythms” (1991, p.  205) within school and the meanings attributed to them. A consideration of history along with the spatial implications of inequality thus lends itself to examination of the underlying social structures conditioning people’s life chances and futures (Young, 2001) that play out through the attributed social and cultural meanings apparent in time and socio-historical experience. This examination seeks to foster an understanding of the current schooling circumstances of Indigenous students with a view to reducing exclusionary practices in education, and both social and racial segregation. The chapter is divided into three parts: • Indigenous historical, policy and social influences

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• Relationship to current schooling circumstances and outcomes • A culturally responsive approach to Indigenous schooling.

Indigenous Historical, Policy and Social Influences Australia is estimated to have been inhabited by its first peoples at least 65,000 years ago (Dortch & Malaspinas, 2017). At the time of British colonisation in 1788, the Indigenous population numbered at least 800,000 (Altman, 2014); however, it rapidly declined due to disease, resource loss and violent encounters. It is estimated that within the first 60 years of colonisation, the Indigenous population reduced to about 250,000 and was overtaken by the colonial population in size (Hunter & Carmody, 2015). One consequence of the expansion of the colonial population was that land was appropriated from what had been Aboriginal territory, which was recognised under British law as “uninhabited” (Australian Law Reform Commission [ALRC], 2015).2 By 1810, there were mechanisms in place for private property to be acquired by colonials, including convicts, via transfer from the British Crown (Buchan & Heath, 2006; Keen, 2013). There were also many informal arrangements by which land could be acquired (such as squatting). These arrangements were later formalised into property rights, but there were no equivalent principles by which land could be kept or maintained by Aboriginal people (Butlin, 1994). The basis of land entitlement at the time of colonisation came to be known as terra nullius (ALRC, 2015; Buchan & Heath, 2006) from the Latin meaning land belonging to no one (Oxford University Press, 2021), although this term was not used in the early days of the colony (Buchan & Heath, 2006). Terra nullius was eventually overturned by the High Court in the 1990s with the introduction of the Native Title Act 1993 (ALRC, 1986) and the passing of this Act sparked a “period of rapid legal  British law determined that while there were human inhabitants in Australia prior to the establishment of the colonies, they had no observable laws and customs and as such, had no entitlement to land (ALRC, 2015). 2

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repossession” (Altman, 2014, p.  3) by Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people. While native title under the Act is applicable only where an Indigenous group has had sustained connection with the land (ALRC, 1986, 2015), land has also been accorded to Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people at the state and territory levels under various lease, grant and freehold arrangements (ALRC, 2015). Yet despite this more recent period of land repossession, it can be argued that the current spatial and socioeconomic circumstances of Australia’s Indigenous people have been more greatly influenced by the way that institutional arrangements and property rights were set up and secured in the colonies, and that these arrangements have continued to determine how and to what extent such endowments can be exploited (Engerman & Sokoloff, 2002, 2005). The various policies administered from the time of colonisation to the latter half of the nineteenth century, and through much of the twentieth century, further put Indigenous people into a specific relationship with the state that was repressive and destructive. The late 1800s and early to mid-1900s saw what was ironically termed the period of protection develop in the colonies. Somewhat variable in intent, Aboriginal Protection Acts generally sought to locate Aboriginal people onto missions and reserves and to regulate their behaviour and activities. In addition to employment, restrictions included movements to and from specific areas, the right to marry and the schooling of children (McLisky et  al., 2015; Senate Standing Committee on Legal and Constitutional Affairs, 2006). Policies of protection were eventually superseded by those of assimilation and then integration. These latter policies operated officially between the mid-1930s and 1972, although varying in timing across states and territories. Assimilation policies legislated the absorption of those of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander origin who were deemed “not of the full blood” (Rowley, as cited in ALRC, 1986, s. 26) to become like white Australians in terms of their “manner of living”, “customs” and “beliefs” (ALRC, 1986, s. 27). This period, and in some cases as early as the 1900s onwards, policies included the forcible removal of Indigenous children from their families (Human Rights and Equal Opportunity Commission, 1997) to live in institutions or to be adopted into White families. During this time, it is estimated that up to one in three Indigenous children were forcibly removed (Human Rights and

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Equal Opportunity Commission, 1997), events which remain in current memory and experience for many Indigenous people (Williams-­ Mozley, 2015). In summary, while Australia as a whole has had a relatively positive path of social and economic development (McLean, 2007), Indigenous peoples, since the time of colonisation, have experienced a divergent set of histories. These histories have included differential entitlements to land as well as subjection to government policies and administrative practices that have led, among other things, to the distribution and clustering of the Indigenous  population into certain locations. Researchers have drawn attention to the association between the geographic clustering of the population and other forms of inequality, most notably, extreme levels of poverty (Biddle, 2013; Walter, 2009). This is reflected spatially in the proportion of Indigenous people living in the three most disadvantaged areas by decile in Australia.3 Calculations based on 2016 population census data (ABS, 2016) indicate that the proportion of Indigenous people living in these areas is well over half of all Indigenous people Australia-wide and is much greater than the proportion of non-­Indigenous people living in the equivalent areas in all states and territories. Research has identified that such communities are among the most disadvantaged in Australia and that this disadvantage has been cumulative, localised and persistent over time (Vinson et al., 2015). While not always having negative consequences in the Australian context (Biddle, 2012, 2013), the geographic clustering of the Indigenous population has systemic underpinnings linked to “spatialized relations of power” (Christie, 2013, p. 775). As succinctly put by Prout and Howitt: State governments became engaged in direct confrontation with Indigenous spatialities [ ]. Spatial censorship was enacted through policies and legislation that laid the foundation for the comprehensive legal segregation, physical dispossession, and repression of Indigenous people (Prout & Howitt, 2009, p. 339).  Socio-Economic Indexes for Areas [SEIFA] are produced by the Australian Bureau of Statistics (ABS) based on Census of Population and Housing data, to rank areas in Australia by a range of economic and social conditions affecting the people and households within each area (ABS, 2018, p. 1). 3

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Relationship to Current Schooling Circumstances In this section, we argue that the social and racial composition of schools, underpinned by policies of marketisation and school choice, continues to impact on levels of Indigenous education inequality imposed over time, thus extending these historical influences to the present day. The marketisation of school systems in Australia is realised in the high level of non-­ government sector schooling made possible by government funding and the devolution of decision-making and choice to individual schools and parents (Perry, 2012).4 Within this context, parents as “customers” exercise their choice of schools on behalf of their children, and market-driven policies seek to generate competition among schools (Chesters, 2018; Rowe & Lubienski, 2017). Most generally, policies of marketisation have perpetuated inequity because they are exclusionary by nature. Connell states: For commodification to work, in the arena of a basic social process such as education, exclusion is vital. There need to be visible losers, if parents are to be persuaded to pay for their children to become winners. (Connell, 2013, p. 282)

More specifically, the legacies of early government policies continue to be manifest in high levels of segregation for Indigenous people, with marketisation reinforcing the social and racial segregation occurring within schools. This further contributes to Indigenous students’ ongoing experiences of exclusion. Governments have provided funding support to both government and non-government schools since the 1960s, with a major expansion of funding by the Commonwealth to non-government schools in the late  Non-government schools in Australia comprise Catholic and other, mostly religious, independent schools. Government schools are largely free of parental fees and draw their students from a specified catchment area. However, parents may apply for their children to be enrolled at any non-­ government school of their choice, regardless of area, although other selective policies may be attached to such enrolments, for example, levels of academic performance and capacity to pay the requisite student fees. 4

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1970s (Watson & Ryan, 2010). Grants to both government and non-­ government schools are also provided by state governments (Cahill & Gray, 2010; Watson & Ryan, 2010), with the balance of funds in non-­ government schools provided through parental fees and charges. Partly because of the provision of government funding to non-government schools over an extensive period, the proportion of Australian students attending government and non-government schools has decreased and increased accordingly over the same period. Since the mid-1950s, the relative share of government enrolments remained relatively stable until the late 1970s, and then has been in decline (ABS, 2020). In contrast, the share of non-government enrolments decreased until the late 1970s, and has steadily increased from that time onwards, tapering off slightly in recent years. Between 1956 and 2020, the growth rate of the enrolment share for non-government schools has been 42%. Over the same period, the enrolment share for government schools, starting from a much larger base, has decreased by 13%. In addition to having consequences in terms of increases to enrolment share over time, Ryan and Watson (2004) have shown that the provision of government subsidies to non-government schools has not led to a proportionate fall in parental fees or other aspects prompted by equity concerns; indeed, there has been substantial growth in parental fees in both the Catholic and independent sectors since the mid-1980s. Rather, government subsidies have been used selectively by many non-government schools to increase the range and quality of services they offer, for example, employing more teachers and enriching curriculum offerings rather than reducing fees (Ryan & Watson, 2004; Watson & Ryan, 2010). Furthermore, the social demographic of schools has been influenced over more recent decades by policies of school choice where schools can market such benefits and selectively tailor their enrolment intakes. These policies have served to polarise the average levels of socio-educational advantage in schools along largely sectoral lines meaning that in practice, government schools face disproportionate concentrations of high-needs students (Bonnor et al., 2021; Bonnor & Shepherd, 2017), accompanying resource pressures (Keating et al., 2011) and, in general, a downward trend in achievement outcomes (Biddle & Edwards, 2017; Chesters, 2019; Gonski et al., 2011).

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The effects of the changing composition of schools in regard to socioeconomic circumstances have been well-documented. Not so well-­ documented is the different mix of Indigenous school enrolments across sectors compared with non-Indigenous enrolments. In 2020, approximately 83% of Indigenous students were enrolled in government schools, compared with 66% of non-Indigenous students (ABS, 2021). Trends in the share of Indigenous and non-Indigenous enrolments in the 30 years since 1990 (ABS, 2020) indicate that, while the share of government enrolments for Indigenous students has decreased, and the share of non-­ government enrolments has increased over the 30-year period, these relative changes have been marginal compared to the size of trends in the share of respective government and non-government enrolments for non-Indigenous students over the same period. In summary, high parental fees preclude high levels of enrolment of Indigenous students in non-­ government schools  and have resulted in the limited movement of Indigenous students across government and non-government school sectors over time. There is a relationship between the percentage of Indigenous enrolments in schools, their mean levels of socio-educational advantage,5 the areas in which students live and school sector (Australian Curriculum Assessment and Reporting Authority, 2017; ABS, 2016). Schools in low SES (socioeconomic status) areas are less likely to have high levels of socio-educational advantage, and more likely to have high percentages of Indigenous students. In addition, there are greater mean percentages of Indigenous students in government schools in low, medium and high SES areas than in non-government schools in each of these areas, and by far the greatest mean proportion of Indigenous students in government schools in low socioeconomic status areas. Thus, it could be argued that the explicit inequalities experienced by Indigenous people in colonial times have been replaced by more implicit inequalities caused by the marketisation of the schooling system to the present day.  The Index of Community Socio-Educational Advantage (ICSEA) is computed for each school using characteristics of the parents of students and school characteristics such as location. Statistical models are used to combine this information into a score for each school. ICSEA is scaled to a median of 1000 and a standard deviation of 100, with values from low to high representing very disadvantaged student backgrounds to very advantaged student backgrounds, respectively. 5

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Mean units offered per school

As outlined above, the Australian schooling system is characterised by high levels of social and racial segregation. One of the effects of such segregation can be seen in differences in the curriculum options available to Indigenous students at the secondary schools they attend in their final year.6 In Fig. 9.1, the provision of subjects in the core streams of English, Mathematics and Science are examined for schools with fewer than 7% Indigenous enrolments, schools with between 7% and fewer than 15% enrolments and schools with 15% or more Indigenous enrolments. There are four subjects in each of these streams that contribute to a student’s potential tertiary admission ranking. One subject in each stream could be considered a more basic or general offering (Standard English, Mathematics General 2 and Senior Science), while other subjects are considered to be more advanced or complex. Schools with the greatest proportion of Indigenous enrolments offer, on average, one subject less 4 3.5 3 2.5 2 1.5 1 0.5 0

English

Mathematics

0% to less than 7%

7% to less than 15%

Science 15% or more

% Indigenous enrolments per school Fig. 9.1  Average number of core subject curriculum offerings by Indigenous enrolments. Source: Authors’ calculations using New South Wales Education Standards Authority data on schools, students and courses, 2017

 Information in this section draws on a dataset of 73,371 students who qualified for the Higher School Certificate at the end of the 2017 school year in Australia’s largest state of New South Wales, of whom 2196 students were Indigenous. Data in the research have been used with agreement from the New South Wales Education Standards Authority and are examined under University of Canberra Human Ethics approval number 20170077. 6

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across each of the streams of English and Mathematics, and about half a subject less in the stream of Science than schools with lower proportions of Indigenous students. The mean number of units offered per school gives an indication of the breadth of subjects offered in schools and how schooling is structured to privilege certain students in pursuing further study, in particular university opportunities. While university entry is only one outcome of schooling, it is nevertheless an important example of the stratified nature of the school curriculum in Australia.

 Culturally Responsive Approach A to Indigenous Schooling Prout and Howitt (2009) have stated that Indigenous spatialities run counter to mainstream “constructed geographies” (p. 397) in their relationship to family, country and culture. Historically, governments have sought to render these spatialities as deviant and peripheral (Herbert, 2012), with colonial and more recent policies influencing Indigenous people’s spatial and socioeconomic circumstances, their experiences of inclusion and exclusion, and contemporary attitudes at “epistemological, systemic, institutional and personal levels” (Morrison et al., 2019, p. 7). As an example, we have noted that the school curriculum is institutionally and spatially differentiated, and is subject to and legitimated by, the power structures that give rise to its narratives and discourses. In looking to the future, Prout and Howitt believe it is necessary to open windows of understanding on the fragile geographies of co-­ existence that need to be engaged with to shift the discourses of rural livelihood and well-being toward discourses of accommodation, recognition and sustainable ways of being-together in cultural landscapes that are shared—even when they have been narrated into being as spaces of erasure, exclusion and antipathy (Prout & Howitt, 2009, p. 39).

In terms of schooling, how is it possible to “open windows” to be more culturally responsive? As Fogarty et al. (2018) point out, there is no silver bullet. Referring to the limited success of several government-funded

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Indigenous literacy programs as pointed examples, the authors are critical of these strategies because they “empty out the realities of context” for Indigenous learners (Fogarty et al., 2018, p. 192). The statistics presented in this chapter highlight the embeddedness of these and other issues that Indigenous students face in the often de-contextualised framework of their schooling experience (Nelson & Hay, 2010; Sarra, 2012). While noting the depth of the challenge, we would argue that a spatial approach must instead be “strengths-based” (Spillman, 2017, p. 142) and start from the premise that Indigenous learners bring with them to school a rich array of knowledges, capacities and values (Fogarty et al., 2018; Sarra et  al., 2020; Spillman, 2017). Strengths-based approaches adopt this premise in reconnecting with the “lived experience” (Fogarty et al., 2018, p. 25), or in Lefebvre’s terms, the “lived space” (1991, p. 39) of Indigenous learners. These approaches are based on high-expectation relationships (Sarra et al., 2020), challenge deficit thinking and “honour the diversity and uniqueness of experiences, stories, strengths and aspirations that children and family members bring with them” (Spillman, 2017, p. 143). Similarly, culturally responsive pedagogies (see for example, Morrison et al., 2019) have shown positive outcomes among student populations internationally by adopting more equitable practices, quality student–teacher relationships and disrupting unequal power manifestations. These practices are largely not engaged with in the curriculum as equals to forms of knowledge imported through colonisation and globalisation, nor valued in the academic curriculum through which end-of-school outcomes are measured (Roberts, 2021). However, it is these qualities, along with what Reid has termed “humility” (2017, p. 210), that should determine the grounding for a very different form of social justice in relating to Indigenous students. Humility, Reid states, is the knowledge that we do not know, and can never already know, about what we will need to teach these children these particular things, this year, this week and in this particular place and space [ ]. This humility is necessary if teachers are to find out how to learn from and with their students (Reid, 2017, pp. 210–211, original emphasis).

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Teachers must be able to be flexible and responsible in order to engage and empower Indigenous students to negotiate their learning and identity within their own place and context, and seek to prevent their marginalisation through exclusionary attitudes and practices.

Conclusion In some circles, it is believed that history has not had consequences for, or should not be considered relevant to, the current circumstances of Indigenous people, and these views have continued to remain palatable in prominent public Australian discourse over the years (e.g. Howard, 1997; Bolt, 2009).7 On the other hand, some writers have insightfully used the term “historical debt” (e.g. Gillan et al., 2017; Ladson-Billings, 2006) to describe the systemic inheritances that Indigenous people have experienced in schooling and other aspects. These ideas have been echoed by the words of Charles Perkins when he stated: “We cannot live in the past, but the past lives in us” (C. Perkins, as cited in Perkins, 2019). The Uluru Statement from the Heart (Referendum Council, 2017) is a call to decolonise the legacies of historical discourses and to “set the course of relationships between Indigenous people and their fellow Australians into the future” (Perkins, 2019). As part of the continuing challenge to address inequities and reconnect schooling with Indigenous lived experiences, the voice of history should continue to speak out.

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 The controversies arising from what became known as the ‘black armband view of history’ (cited in Clark et al., 2017, p. 385) were carried forward by former Prime Minister John Howard in and beyond the 1996 election. For a good discussion of the issues framing these views, see Clark et al. (2017). 7

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McLean, I. W. (2007). Might Australia have failed? Endowments, institutions and contingency (No. 2007-04). University of Adelaide School of Economics. https://citeseerx.ist.psu.edu/viewdoc/download?doi=10.1.1.850.4548&rep= rep1&type=pdf McLisky, C., Russell, L., & Boucher, L. (2015). Managing mission life, 1869–1886. In L. Boucher & L. Russell (Eds.), Settler colonial governance in nineteenth-century Victoria (pp. 117–138). ANU Press. Mellor, S., & Corrigan, M. (2004). The case for change: A review of contemporary research on Indigenous education outcomes (Australian Education Review No. 47). ACER Press. https://research.acer.edu.au/aer/7/ Ministerial Council on Education, Employment, Training and Youth Affairs. (2008). Melbourne Declaration on Educational Goals for Young Australians. http://www.curriculum.edu.au/verve/_resources/National_Declaration_on_ the_Educational_Goals_for_Young_Australians.pdf Morrison, A., Rigney, L.  I., Hattam, R., & Diplock, A. (2019). Toward an Australian culturally responsive pedagogy: A narrative review of the literature. University of South Australia. https://apo.org.au/sites/default/files/resource-­ files/2019-­08/apo-­nid262951.pdf Nelson, A., & Hay, P. J. (2010). “I don't want to grow up and not be smart”: Urban Indigenous young people's perceptions of school. The Australian Journal of Indigenous Education, 39(1), 54–64. https://www.cram.com/essay/ I-­Want-­To-­Grow-­Up-­Not-­Be/FJTNP2GNWT Oxford University Press. (2021) Terra Nullius. Oxford Reference Dictionary. https://www.oxfordreference.com/view/10.1093/oi/authority.2011080310 3157982. Perkins, R. (2019). The end of silence: The genesis of the Uluru statement (ABC 2019 Boyer Lecture 1). Edited transcript. https://www.abc.net.au/ news/2019-11-16/boyer-­lecture-­rachel-­perkins-­echoes-uluru-statement/ 11696504 Perry, L. B. (2012). Causes and effects of school socio-economic composition? A review of the literature. Education and Society, 30(1), 19–35. https://doi. org/10.7459/es/30.1.03 Prout, S., & Howitt, R. (2009). Frontier imaginings and subversive Indigenous spatialities. Journal of Rural Studies, 25(4), 396–403. https://doi.org/10.1016/ j.jrurstud.2009.05.006 Referendum Council. (2017). Uluru statement from the heart. https://www.referendumcouncil.org.au/sites/default/files/2017-­0 5/Uluru_Statement_ From_The_Heart_0.PDF

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Reid, J.  A. (2017). Conclusion: Learning the humility of teaching ‘others’: Preparing teachers for culturally complex classrooms. In C. Reid & J. Major (Eds.), Global teaching: Southern perspectives on teachers working with diversity (pp. 209–229). Springer. Roberts, P. (2021). Knowledge beyond the metropole: Curriculum, rurality and the global south. In B. Green, P. Roberts, & M. Brennan (Eds.), Curriculum challenges and opportunities in a changing world: Transnational perspectives on curriculum inquiry (pp. 78–88). Palgrave Macmillan. Roberts, P., & Green, B. (2013). Researching rural places: On social justice and rural education. Qualitative Inquiry, 19(10), 765–774. https://doi. org/10.1177/1077800413503795 Rowe, E.  E., & Lubienski, C. (2017). Shopping for schools or shopping for peers: Public schools and catchment area segregation. Journal of Education Policy, 32(3), 340–356. Rudolph, S. (2019). Unsettling the gap: Race, politics and Indigenous education. Peter Lang. Ryan, C., & Watson, L. (2004). The drift to private schools in Australia: Understanding its features (Centre for Economic Policy Research Discussion Paper No. 479). Centre for Economic Policy Research. Sarra, C. (2012). Reflections of an Aboriginal school principal on leading change in an Aboriginal school. In T.  Wrigley, P.  Thomson, & R.  Lingard (Eds.), Changing schools: Alternative ways to make a world of difference (pp. 61–71). Routledge. Sarra, C., Spillman, D., Jackson, C., Davis, J., & Bray, J. (2020). High-­ expectations relationships: A foundation for enacting high expectations in all Australian schools. The Australian Journal of Indigenous Education, 49(1), 32–45. https://doi.org/10.1017/jie.2018.10 Senate Standing Committee on Legal and Constitutional Affairs. (2006). Unfinished business: Indigenous stolen wages. Commonwealth of Australia. https://www.aph.gov.au/Parliamentary_Business/Committees/Senate/Legal_ and_Constitutional_Affairs/Completed_inquiries/2004-­07/stolen_wages/ report/index Spillman, D. (2017). A share in the future… Only for those who become like ‘us’! Challenging the ‘standardisation’ reform approach to Indigenous education in the Northern Territory. The Australian Journal of Indigenous Education, 46(2), 137–147. https://doi.org/10.1017/jie.2017.3

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Vinson, T., Rawsthorne, M., Beavis, A., & Ericson, M. (2015). Dropping off the edge: Persistent communal disadvantage in Australia. Jesuit Social Services, Catholic Social Services. Walter, M.  M. (2009). An economy of poverty? Power and the domain of Aboriginality. International Journal of Critical Indigenous Studies, 2(1), 2–14. https://doi.org/10.5204/ijcis.v2i1.32 Watson, L., & Ryan, C. (2010). Choosers and losers: The impact of government subsidies on Australian secondary schools. Australian Journal of Education, 54(1), 86–107. https://doi.org/10.1177/000494411005400107 Williams-Mozley, J. (2015). The stolen generations: What does this mean for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander children and young people today? In K. Price & J. Rogers (Eds.), Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander education: An introduction for the teaching profession (2nd ed., pp.  21–34). Cambridge University Press. Young, I. M. (2001). Equality of whom? Social groups and judgments of injustice. Journal of Political Philosophy, 9(1), 1–18. https://doi. org/10.1111/1467-­9760.00115 Zipin, L., Sellar, S., & Hattam, R. (2012). Countering and exceeding ‘capital’: A ‘funds of knowledge’ approach to re-imagining community. Discourse: Studies in the cultural politics of education, 33(2), 179–192. https://doi.org/1 0.1080/01596306.2012.666074

10 Education Policy and Roma Children in Romania Stefánia Toma

Introduction The educational inclusion of vulnerable children, including Roma children, raises the question as to whether, and how, education contributes to the social mobility of those already caught in the poverty trap (Fundamental Rights Agency, FRA, 2014, 2016). Inequality, exclusion, drop-out, prejudices, stereotyping, marginalisation and bullying persist despite social policies, integration policies and inclusion projects; and in times of crisis, such as pandemic conditions (Sik, 2020), modest improvements brought about by previous social policies and interventions are endangered (Aidukaite et al., 2021; Béland et al., 2021). Measures taken by different institutions, including education, in response to the Covid pandemic have affected the access of vulnerable households to different services and rights (United Nations, 2020).

S. Toma (*) Romanian Institute for Research on National Minorities, Cluj-Napoca, Romania e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 E. J. Done, H. Knowler (eds.), International Perspectives on Exclusionary Pressures in Education, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-14113-3_10

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This chapter addresses aspects of the educational exclusion of Romanian Roma and considers the complex net of intersecting factors that contribute to the sustained inequality faced by a sizeable proportion of this minority population. It outlines intersecting dimensions like poverty and risk-of-poverty levels, different forms of ethnic and racial discrimination (Sleeter, 1992), varied forms of segregation, access to different resources, stereotyping narratives and prejudiced attitudes, and othering. Existing policies intended to address the inclusion of Roma children in the school system are then considered. A review of several case-studies (quantitative and qualitative) will highlight the multidimensionality of vulnerabilities that Roma children face, paralleled by a lack of emphasis on these intersectionalities in policy responses. The question of intersecting vulnerabilities is especially pertinent in the context of the pandemic, as disaster-like situations can be characterised by simultaneity and recurrency (Sik, 2020), whereby vulnerabilities easily transform into deprivations and exclusions, and the effects not only intersect but also overlap and are thus mutually reinforcing. Furthermore, the extent of simultaneity and frequency of recurrency create diverse socio-economic contexts that different social groups must contend with. Consequently, these diverse situations should be confronted carefully by policy design and state interventions (Sik, 2020).

Fitting Policy to Education Research An extensive education research literature seeks to explain how different types of vulnerabilities affect the participation in the education of vulnerable children in different socio-economic contexts and geographic regions. Topics include insufficient and/or defective institutional structures and infrastructure, socio-economic contexts, and unawareness of cultural and ethnic diversity that results in exclusion and less visible informal exclusionary practices. An international overview of discrimination against Roma students in education highlights a multiplicity of theoretical approaches, but also emphasises the importance of empirical research on contexts that discriminate directly or indirectly against Roma students and influence their life trajectories (Brüggemann & D’Arcy,

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2017). Another such review identifies clusters of topics that follow two directions: first, Roma are presented as victims or problems in education, and second, questions related to cultural and ethnic identity and differences outnumber articles addressing structural issues (Lauritzen & Nodeland, 2018; Lauritzen, 2019). Research relating to the Romanian context and education of the Roma describes multiple layers of exclusion and vulnerabilities, and the description of institutional structure and infrastructure is one of the layers.1 In this case, both the place of education (schools and their broader environment), the legislative framework, and access to content and quality are given as sources of exclusion. The school programme, the curricula (Sandu, 2015) and its content and quality in respect of the visibility or invisibility of the Roma, for example, in history (Szakács, 2011; Kelso, 2013), the way extracurricular activities are organised, parental involvement, and the relationship between school and the community are all influenced by ethnic difference. Such differences do not always translate into exclusion and segregation, since affirmative actions are also evidenced, even where these are questioned given their aims and effectiveness (Pantea, 2015a, b). Nevertheless, the institutional environment can reproduce the social context and thus could contribute to the reproduction of inequalities, holding children without economic, cultural and human capital in a perpetually disadvantaged position that is difficult to overcome (Bourdieu & Passeron, 1990). Not only do structural and economic factors inhibit improved participation of Roma children in education; the perception of cultural differences and the way these differences are managed or ignored on different levels also influence participation. For example, the right to use the mother tongue (i.e. minority languages) or expectations connected to gender roles. These define the regularity of school attendance and early drop-out. Furthermore, expectations around learning capacities and performances can also influence participation, or educational trajectories, especially when it comes to transition between levels. Additionally, informal exclusionary practices are captured by  The author is a researcher at the Romanian Institute for Research on National Minorities and a member of a research team funded by the Romanian Ministry of Education and Research, CNCS—UEFISCDI, a project hosted by the Babeș-Bolyai University, number PN-III-P4-IDPCE-­2020-0338, within PNCD III. 1

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ethnographic inquiries into the everyday life of ethnically mixed communities, schools or families. In some cases, ethnic contact does not translate into creating friendships or mixed social networks; rather, it enforces cleavages between different groups. Hostile attitudes or ignorance of majority parents and classmates make the school atmosphere undesirable and stressful, leading to malingering (Cozma et al., 2000). An integrated intervention can change attitudes and create a positive outcome (Stoilescu & Carapanait, 2011). However, in some cases, the outcomes of policies and interventions reinforce existing cleavages due to poor institutional management (Butler & Gheorghiu, 2010) or unintended outcomes. Romanian education remains the most underfinanced domain in the European Union. Romania allocates only 3.7% of GDP to education against a 4.7% average in the European Union. It also underfinances rural education by allocating only 37.9% of the education budget to this area (EAPN, 2020), while almost 40% of rural schools lack indoor toilets and more than 25% lack a proper heating system (InfraED, 2018). The outcomes of numerous policies, strategies, projects and interventions that aim for the inclusion of Roma children are not concordant with the attention directed toward such inclusion (Nicolae, 2007; Giurcă et al., 2012; Matache & Oehlke, 2017).

The Romanian Context According to 2020 EUROSTAT data, Romania has the highest share of children at risk of poverty or social exclusion in the EU (41.5% compared to an estimated 24.2% EU average). The same data controlled for level of parental education showed a poverty gap of 42.8%, whilst in Romania, this reached 72.8% (EUROSTAT, 2020). According to the 2011 Population and Housing Census in Romania, the Roma represent approximately 3.2% of the population by self-declared ethnicity.2  The Council of Europe estimates that 1.85 million Roma live in Romania, representing 8.32% of the total population. See: https://ec.europa.eu/info/policies/justice-and-fundamental-rights/ combatting-­d iscrimination/roma-eu/roma-inclusion-eu-countr y/roma-inclusionromania_en#facts-and-figures 2

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Caution is advised in using this official number as declarations of ethnic identity and belonging can be highly situational (Rughiniș, 2010, 2011; Cace et al., 2013). The high poverty rates and multiple deprivations that characterise a significant number of the Romanian Roma (Tarnovschi, 2012; FRA, 2014; Teșliuc et  al., 2001; Horváth, 2017; World Bank, 2018a, b) also affect their presence and participation in education. Based on 2011 National Census data, only 0.7% of the Roma population has a university degree, while 34% graduated only the first four classes of primary or elementary school, and a further 20.2% had never been enrolled in school (Veres, 2015). Other surveys emphasise that over half of Roma children left school before the age of 16 (FRA, 2014). The range of causes and barriers is wide and thoroughly documented (UNICEF, 2012; Vincze & Hossu, 2014; Mendes et  al., 2021). While mostly civic and non-­ governmental initiatives to improve the educational situation of Romanian Roma children existed prior to the early 1990s, joining the European Union heightened attention on an administrative and institutional level to ensure more inclusive and fairly accessible education for vulnerable children, including the Roma. However, these are considered insufficient or poorly managed and implemented. Some researchers criticise the lack of clarity and consistency of these strategies, in addition to the lack of financial resources directed directly to this domain (Nicolae, 2007; Duminică & Ivasiuc, 2011; Vincze & Hossu, 2014; Pop & Balea, 2016).

Factors of Vulnerability Framing Exclusion Multiple areas of disadvantage and their intersections have been identified. To give a typical quasi-imaginary example: a family living in a one-­ room shack in a spatially segregated Roma community might lack access to electricity and running water; the parents may be early-leavers and illiterate, struggling to find menial daily work in the informal economy; and the mother needs to spend many more hours doing household tasks as she must go to the public well for water hundreds of metres from her home. She manually washes clothes due to lack of access to electricity and has to convince her children that it is in their best interest to go to school

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wearing worn-out clothes and to resist continuous bullying from peers and other parents’ or teachers’ comments. This may be only part of the story. But situations like this frame the context in which schooling happens. Moreover, it frames policy development and interventions and, yet, the connection between knowledge and policy is tenuous. Numerous research articles describe the living conditions of vulnerable Roma in Romania statistically, or through qualitative methods and ethnographic case-studies, conveying a rationale for the design of inclusion strategies and policies (Gatti et al., 2016). It is beyond the scope of this chapter to offer an exhaustive overview of the identified vulnerabilities and their intersection; however, a selective mapping of the vulnerabilities can illustrate the argument here. A shortcoming observed in policy interventions in the domain of education is an obvious focus on topics strictly related to education: schools, teachers, learning outcomes, curricular and extra-curricular activities. This neglects issues such as housing conditions, access to running water, electricity, sanitation, health, a safe place for learning at home, a desk, a computer, the support of parents, better clothes, food, and time; all are important factors in being able to participate in education. Whilst, theoretically, compulsory education is free, it involves more or less hidden costs. Hence, parents have to buy school supplies for all activities, and in urban areas, these costs may be higher than in rural areas. These costs place an additional burden on the limited family budget and, to overcome these burdens, one or both parents may engage in international migration, meaning older children are compelled to leave school and find a job to provide for the family (FRA, 2014). These are situations that activate latent vulnerabilities or reinforce existing ones in education. Vulnerabilities, latent or not, are present around access to, and participation in, education and are also extensively documented. Hence, in Romania, only 38% of Roma children are enrolled in pre-school education and care and this percentage has declined since 2011 when 45% of Roma children attended pre-school (World Bank, 2018b, as cited in FRA 2016). Lack of pre-school education contributes to the growing gap between vulnerable children and those who were enrolled in pre-school education as they lack basic skills and have poorer vocabulary when they start compulsory school.

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The level of parental education influences whether they are able to provide the necessary support for their children, and parents may lose trust in the utility of school and doubt whether formal education represents a route to a better life for their children (Plainer, 2021). School becomes the site where different social identities intersect and are reinforced or questioned and discredited. Similar to the broader social context (e.g. the job-market), school is a site where discrimination can take multiple forms: bullying, prejudiced attitudes of teachers, and stereotypes enacted to support segregation and differentiated behaviour (Toma, 2011). The prestige of a school based on academic results is an important criterion in school choice for parents. Competition between schools3 has an ethnic dimension, and parents also take this into consideration when choosing a school for their children. The school system is powerless in managing the choice of parents, which can result in “white-flight” types of processes if the majority of parents move their children to a more distanced school, thus further contributing to inequality and aggravating prejudiced attitudes. “Gypsization” in schools contributes to changes in local society and maintains school segregation (Kovai, 2017; Oblath, 2010). Segregated schools are reported as being of lower quality, mainly due to a lack of financial resources, lack of trained teachers and high fluctuations in personnel; teachers are reluctant to remain for longer periods in schools with a high proportion of Roma or vulnerable children (Giurcă et al., 2012). Teachers can have lower expectations of Roma children or fail to report absent Roma children, responding to pressure from the majority of parents with higher expectations. In a more recent baseline study conducted in 17 Transylvanian localities in 2013 to evaluate the impact of an educational intervention, participating teachers evaluated individual students (Roma and non-Roma) using a complex set of items regarding social and learning capacities. Additionally, teachers were asked whether the students had any kind of disabilities. The results were more informative about the prejudiced attitudes of the teachers, especially in the case of the  http://statisztikak.erdelystat.ro/rangsorok/kepessegvizsga-rangsor/7 (published only in Hungarian. The English version is not yet updated. It is a ranking of schools based on the results of high school entrance examinations, the National Test, at the end of the lower-secondary education cycle, the 8th grade. 3

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most deprived communities. It was found that the disabilities attributed to Roma children were linked by the teachers to deficiencies in writing, reading and counting (Veres & Toma, 2014), which were, in fact, skill lags due to their absence in pre-school education4 Language differences and a lack of opportunity to use the mother tongue can also trigger differentiation, stigmatisation and disadvantages in school participation. If a child socialises in a Romani language context before entering school (which is generally available in Romanian or Hungarian), then they will meet additional difficulties in classroom events or during peer-­contacts. Language barriers also affect academic achievement in schools (Feischmidt, 2014). Roma children can be placed to the rear of classrooms to prevent disruption of lessons (Gobbo, 2009; Toma, 2011). The lack of relationship and type of relation between school, teachers and parents is also crucial, and this kind of invisibility of Roma children is accompanied by their invisibility in mainstream curricula. Another vulnerability concerns digital social inclusion and empowerment, encompassing limited access to digital environments, a lack of digital skills and exclusion from them. The latter contributes to the reproduction of inequalities (Hargittai, 2008). The above baseline-study revealed that only 86.1% of Roma households (of 632 surveyed) had access to electricity. Moreover, of the 497 households that answered the question about computer or laptop access, only 17.5% claimed to own one (Veres & Toma, 2014). In another survey aimed at understanding the migration of Romanian Roma and its effect on home communities, we also asked about access to utilities and equipment in rural Roma households. Data collected in the winter of 2014–2015 revealed that 11.9% had internet connection, 17.9% had computers, while 78.1% had mobile phones (which matters as family members participating in international migration can maintain daily contact).5 This lack of access and difficulties of access are evidenced in society more broadly; a survey of Romanian adolescents found that 65%  In Romania, pre-school education is not compulsory, but a proposed reform stipulates that by the 2030s all levels of education, including preschool level, must be compulsory. 5  Author’s calculations based on data from “MigRom: The immigration of Romanian Roma to Western Europe: causes, effects, and future engagement strategies”, a project funded by the European Union’s Seventh Framework Programme (GA319901). 4

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complained about the high costs of the devices, 37% of problems related to access, and 25% of poor infrastructure (Velicu et  al., 2019). While there is limited research on the Romanian digital divide referring to ethnicity and/or vulnerability, several surveys indicate that, in the case of vulnerable Roma children, the digital divide starts not at the level of skills or quality of access but at the most basic level of access to technology.

Policies Framing Interventions and Evaluations Since the early 1990s, Romania has witnessed significant initiatives aimed at improving the situation of the Roma population. Among the most important is the Romanian Government’s Strategy for Improving the Condition of Roma 2001–2010. This was replaced by the Strategy of the Government of Romania for the Inclusion of the Romanian Citizens belonging to the Roma Minority 2012–2020, to be continued until 2027.6 Romania has also participated in the Decade of Roma Inclusion 2005–2015, the European Platform for Roma Inclusion, and the EU Framework for National Roma Integration Strategies. It has adopted many other relevant strategic initiatives and policy documents seeking to improve the inclusion of the Roma minority in Romania and globally. In all these strategies, education is deemed to be crucial, and a Roma Education Fund was established in 2005. Accordingly, the Ministry of Education and subordinate institutions, besides other international and national organisations, developed several highly relevant policy measures and interventions to increase the participation of all children in education. These were partially shaped by the processes of institutional and educational reforms in Romania and the adoption of different international conventions (Drown, 2019). The lack of policy analysis and independent impact evaluation in Romania is striking. However, Moisă highlights that the 2001 Strategy deals separately with education, while the 2006 Strategy merges education with child protection, culture and religion (2011, p. 225). In the 2021 strategy, education is again a separate and distinct chapter. This 6

 As of November 2021, it has not yet been adopted.

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prompts two observations. Firstly, that there is little change in the detailed description of the proposed domains of intervention, suggesting that external proposals and research findings have been neglected; and, secondly, in the Report of the Government from 1999,7 a reason given for the lower educational attainment and school participation of Roma is “the lack of interest of Roma/Gypsy in attending school and in learning a craft”. This suggestion of orienting Roma children toward vocational schools to learn a profession has accompanied the strategies until today. Moreover, cooperation between responsible institutions and organisations is not supported; and along with every task is presented the expected result, the possible budget source, and the responsible institutions in implementation. It is understandable that the Ministry of Education and subordinated institutions have responsibility in the domain of education; and implementation depends on the contribution of local authorities (part of the budget for the functioning, and maintenance of school networks is ensured by the LA). Nevertheless, the lack of cooperation, coordination and co-working with other relevant institutions is noteworthy in policy documents. Recognising that pre-school attendance contributes significantly to staying longer in school (Drown, 2019) and in reducing early drop-out (Moisa & Roth, 2011; FRA, 2018); in 2015, Romania adopted a Strategy for Reducing of Early School Leaving. However, it is too early to see its positive impacts on a national level. At the local level, smaller initiatives of NGOs and churches to foster pre-school attendance have achieved positive long-term changes (Toma, 2021). Improving the participation of Roma students in tertiary education is one of the earliest affirmative actions in Romania, through which more than 500 reserved places were opened to Roma ethnic students at different universities. However, an impact evaluation of this programme is missing, while research has underlined the need to assess the overall perception of policies by beneficiaries (e.g. the choice of not-declaring ethnic belonging) (Surdu & Szira, 2009). Similarly, scholarships and bursaries were offered for higher secondary school students as well as on the basis of Roma’s self-declared  https://tbinternet.ohchr.org/_layouts/15/treatybodyexternal/TBSearch.aspx?Lang=en&TreatyI D=6&DocT&ctl00_PlaceHolderMain_radResultsGridChangePage=176_20 7

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ethnicity. Qualitative research with high school students has shown that, despite experiencing ethnic differentiation and poverty, and restricted access to educational opportunities, supportive communities (parents, teachers, friends, peers, and social networks) are important in mitigating the impact of social exclusion (Pop & Roth, 2015, p. 107). Undoubtedly, one national-level policy with the greatest impact was school desegregation policy (Rostas, 2012). It was recognised that segregation limits access and rights and further exacerbates existing inequalities (independently of the ascribed characteristics used for creating and maintaining differences) and contributes to social fragmentation on different levels and in different domains, e.g. reducing contact between different ethnic groups, eroding social cohesion and affecting access to the job market. While sometimes school segregation overlaps with residential segregation, it can take many forms: the structure of the school can reflect segregatory practices that go unnoticed (e.g. one school from an administrative point of view with two different buildings located in different areas of the locality); or the parents’ choice can contribute to the appearance of segregated schools or classes. In-class segregation has also been reported. While norms and laws prohibit practicing segregation in any form, a survey among teachers working in 140 schools in Romania reported that at least 13.1% (of the total sample) would favour segregated Roma classes, and only 4 out of 5 teachers chose ethnically diverse education (Bădescu et al., 2017, p. 15). Several reasons were noted that mirror or exceed the prejudiced attitudes of the general population; most of the teachers who preferred segregated classes based on ethnicity argued that Roma children have special educational needs that must be addressed separately and that majority of students would benefit from ethnically segregated classes as there would be less disruptive behaviour. Over 25% of the teachers invoked the discontent of the majority of the parents (Bădescu et al., 2017, p. 17) and stated that they would avoid having a Roma neighbour (p. 18). One outstanding policy is the Bread and Milk programme (OUG 96/2002) that, contrary to previous examples, addressed household poverty and adopted an integrated and universalistic approach. This policy aimed to provide dairy and bakery products (and later fruit was included and partially EU funded) on a daily basis for all children enrolled in

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public or private preschools, primary schools and secondary schools. It began as part of the national Anti-Poverty Strategy and Promotion of Social Integration, a strategy that defined several vulnerable groups requiring more targeted attention and related support policies. Children living in extreme poverty, with an emphasis on Roma children, were included in the target group with the intention of increasing participation in schooling. Besides facilitating the access to education for children coming from disadvantaged families, the programme was designed to contribute to the limitation of fast-foods and unhealthy snacks for betteroff children during the daily school programme. Generally, the intervention was positively evaluated. It was viewed as a simple response to a real social need. However, it was also criticised due to an absence of monitoring, allowing local practices to vary, such as urban schools receiving better quality products compared to rural schools; the monotony of the products and food waste were also mentioned as a negative side effect of the programme (Arpinte et al., 2009). The most consequent programme that aimed at increasing school participation and inclusion of Roma children is the introduction of Romani language into the school curricula. Sarău (2012) provides a comprehensive and detailed register of the process of development, the actors and institutions that played a role in the implementation, and the infrastructure that supported this programme. This was the most important step in providing resources and possibilities to learn and to practice the Romani language in an institutional context, as part of the right to access mother tongue education. A survey in 2012 estimated that there were more than 250 Romani language teachers active (employed) in schools and an additional 114 Romani history and culture teachers (as provided by County School Inspectorates). The aim of the survey was to investigate the context in which these teachers work and to give them space to evaluate their work conditions. It is highly relevant that the data showed a significant intergenerational social mobility: the mothers of 77.3% of the teachers and the fathers of 54.9% graduated from lower secondary school. The primary difficulty that they encountered in their work was access to resources and school supplies. Despite important developments in institutionalising Romani language teaching, the use of language remains

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limited to informal contexts rather than the formal and institutionalised usage that would provide a greater impact (Toma, 2013).

School Mediator Program in Romania The Roma School Mediator programme is a key longstanding initiative (besides the training of Romani language teachers) in Romania, beginning in the early 1990s. The Romani Criss Foundation, in cooperation with the Intercultural Institution in Timișoara, designed the mediation programme. Initially, school mediators were trained and began their work in a pilot programme that targeted early school leaving. Later, the status of school mediator was included into the nomenclature of professions as part of the auxiliary teaching staff.8 The role of school mediators was manifold and remains so: they are required to work with Roma families and children, to link them with the schools, to provide support and counselling for Roma community members and promote values of multiculturalism and inclusive education. Ideally, mediators are members of the local community with a good knowledge of the families, their situation, the areas of disadvantage and deprivation, and the local language and culture. In addition to facilitating communication between school representatives and families, they are required to monitor educational participation and prevent dropouts. This involves organising alternative learning support activities (e.g. after-school programmes) for children at risk of abandonment; they must also mobilise parents and encourage pre-­ school and school enrolment, promote desegregation and inter-ethnic tolerance, and raise awareness of the importance of multicultural and inclusive education. The School Mediator programme is considered to be a key pillar in deconstructing barriers to education for Roma children. It is constantly present in the strategic documents on Roma inclusion in Romania, setting more or less realistic aims around the number of employed Roma school mediators. The Strategy for the Inclusion of the Romanian Citizens of Roma Ethnicity 2015–2020 set the objective of employment of 600  Cod COR: 334010, accessed at: http://www.anc.edu.ro/

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school mediators, with 1680 by the end of 2020. This was ambitious given that administrative aspects were not fully clarified and school principals reported difficulty in securing status conditions and financial resources for additional positions in their organisations.9 In 2012, the Romanian Institute for Research on National Minorities contacted the County School Inspectorates inviting collaboration in a research project involving Romani language teachers, Roma history and culture teachers and Roma school mediators. Based on data collected during the 2010/2011 school year, there were at least 336 Roma school mediators employed in schools (and one county with no Roma school mediators). Later, in a SocioRoMap project,10 the research was repeated and 327 Roma school mediators were employed in the 2015/2016 school year (with a different county lacking Roma school mediators). Figures for 2020 are not yet available. Pop and Balea’s (2016) analysis of the Romani language teacher and school mediator component of the SocioRoMap project described the role of school mediators in reducing inequalities faced by Roma children and school mediators’ perceptions of the causes of, and solutions for, children’s difficulties. They observed a tendency to internalise elements of public discourses that blame Roma parents and families for the weak integration of children in school (Pop & Balea, 2016, p. 156). Another relevant finding was that 14% of school mediators reported having to perform other activities such as substituting for teachers, being a driver or librarian, teaching the Romani language, cleaning and security duties. Most of their working time was focused on monitoring related to the school participation of Roma children. The other type of activities mentioned earlier (raising awareness, developing interventions to enrol children, promoting ethnic and cultural diversity) were rarely mentioned. When asked to identify the main reasons for school absenteeism based on  According to the 1539/19.07.2007 Order and Notification no.25.436/28/01 2008 issued by the Ministry of Education and Youth, school mediators should be graduates of higher secondary education and qualified as school mediators through formally recognised training programs. 10  SocioRoMap (Sociographic Mapping of the Roma Communities in Romania for a Community-­ level Monitoring of Changes with regard to Roma Integration), a project funded by the Norwegian Financial Mechanism 2009–2014 in the framework of Poverty Alleviation in Romania (RO25) (Horváth, 2017). 9

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field visits performed periodically, 85% of the Roma school mediators emphasised poverty as the main impediment (Pop & Balea, 2016, p. 161). Seasonal work (and international migration) and a conflictual or unsafe family environment were also mentioned (p. 164). These topics are rarely mentioned in strategic documents.

Conclusions The lack of independent impact evaluations of policy interventions in Romania makes it difficult to assess how, and to what extent, policies can address the vulnerabilities lived by Roma children that affect educational inclusion. The abundance of research and history of interventions prompts the hypothesis that there have been significant changes in the socio-economic position and education of the Roma population; however, the statistics do not support this. This chapter has highlighted that strategic policy documents are characterised by repetitiveness (Roma Civil Monitor, 2018), which may be symptomatic of social insensitivity but raises the question as to why this is so. The education of children is situated at the intersection of multiple vulnerabilities that might act individually, but we must consider the effects of multiple factors that are context-dependent and mutually reinforcing. In contrast, policy measures, strategies, and targeted interventions, although advisable in many cases, reflect structural and institutional considerations. The rationale is that this permits the quantification of results. Progress and development can be described numerically, for example, compared to previous years, 20% more teachers participated in intercultural teaching courses in Romania. In the domains of attitudes, awareness raising, fighting discrimination, and inclusive education, we express expected results on behalf of the school system numerically. This contributes to the reinforcing of vulnerabilities of Roma children derived from contexts beyond

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schools. Consequently, efforts should also be concentrated outside of the school-system and its subordinated institutions.11 The proposed New National Strategy for the period 2021–202712 sets reducing the abandonment rate as a priority. This is to be achieved by: creating monitoring infrastructure; facilitating inclusion by developing the pre-school infrastructure; initiating affirmative actions; involving parents more in the school-parent relationship; incentivising Roma youth to learn a trade; improving the quality of school infrastructure and raising the number of teachers teaching in deprived areas. And last, but not least, the domain of interculturality and identity construction is also included, with the intention of introducing an awareness-raising course for teachers, changing the curricula and organising different extra-curricular events. All are recurrent measures from earlier strategies. Recommendations and reactions from national and international organisations, or from research, clearly highlight the limited effectiveness of such conventional approaches. Several highly relevant but overlooked topics in the new strategic document include: digitalisation (Lutz, 2019), gender, violence, combating anti-gypsyism through teacher training and assessing the impact of the pandemic; these would strengthen all types of mediator programmes (ERGO, 2020a). Delamont (2014) lists possible themes and theoretical and/or methodological approaches for the ethnographic study of education: fighting familiar knowledge about places and practices, considering the spaces where learning occurs and the timescapes and overall materiality of educational contexts, while remembering that all these are framed by identities, mobilities, narratives and knowledge(s). This turn to the ethnographic gaze, even in policy, “learning to see” (see Strathern, 2013), would help  For example, the 2014–2020 National Strategy responsibilises the Ministry of Education and its subordinated institutions with the minimum of collaboration with partner institutions and organisations, less the NGOs with relevant experiences in the field, to implement and monitor implementation. Several issues were noted by the continuous Civil Society Monitoring Report on Implementation of the National Roma Integration Strategy in Romania. Some more general issues are highlighted by the ERGO Network response to the Country Reports (2020b). https://ergonetwork.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/04/Winter-Package-Country-Reports-ERGO-ResponseMarch-2020-1.pdf 12   See page of the National Agency for the Roma. http://www.anr.gov.ro/index.php/ transparenta-decizionala 11

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in understanding the educational and schooling situation of Roma children, and all marginalised and deprived children, and in recognising the multiple and complex relationships between the components of vulnerability. Earlier, attempts to implement these policies were stuck for some reason, as research data demonstrates. A criticism of policy design is that it tends to dictate a strategic minimum compliance; this is one reason why such policies systematically fail (Alexiadou, 2019, p. 11). Superficial compliance suggests “false knowledge” that can “prevent research, policy change and social action” (Delamont, 2014, p. 174).

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Giurcă, D., Rusu, M., Stoian, I., Ilie, S., Toma, S., & Arsu, A. (2012). Roma inclusion in Romania: Policies, institutions and examples. Soros Foundation. Gobbo, F. (2009). The INSETRom project in Turin (Italy): Outcomes and reflections. Intercultural Education, 20(6), 523–535. https://doi.org/10.1080/ 14675980903448569 Hargittai, E. (2008). The digital reproduction of inequality. In D. Grusky (Ed.), Social Stratification (pp. 936–944). Westview Press. Horváth, I. (2017). SocioRoMap research report. A mapping of Roma communities in Romania. ISPMN. InfraED. (2018). Multidimensional analysis of education and training from the perspective of using data in making strategic decisions on infrastructure investments. Ministry of Education and World Bank Romania. http://infraed.ro/ rezultate/ Kelso, M. (2013). ‘And Roma were victims, too’. The Romani genocide and Holocaust education in Romania. Intercultural Education, 24(1–2), 61–78. https://doi.org/10.1080/14675986.2013.768060 Kovai, C. (2017). A cigány-magyar különbségtétel és a rokonság (Gypsy-Hungarian distinction and kinship). L’Harmattan. Lauritzen, S. M. (2019). Accessing basic education in Romania: Possibilities and limitations for NGOs working for educational change for Roma children. Journal of Educational Change, 21, 323–344. https://doi.org/10.1007/ s10833-­019-­09358-­y Lauritzen, S. M., & Nodeland, T. S. (2018). What is the problem represented to be? Two decades of research on Roma and education in Europe. Educational Research Review, 24, 148–169. https://doi.org/10.1016/J.EDUREV.2018. 04.002 Lutz, C. (2019). Digital inequalities in the age of artificial intelligence and big data. Human Behavior and Emerging Technologies, 1, 141–148. https://doi. org/10.1002/hbe2.140 Matache, M., & Oehlke, K. (2017). A critical analysis of Roma policy and praxis: The Romanian case. In J. Bhabha, A. Mirga, & M. Matache (Eds.), Realizing Roma Rights (pp. 97–114). University of Pennsylvania Press. Mendes, M. M., Magano, O., & Toma, S. (2021). Social and economic vulnerability of Roma people. Key factors for the success and continuity of schooling levels. Springer. https://library.oapen.org/handle/20.500.12657/47278 Moisa, F. (2011). Provocarea includerii sociale a romilor. Sărăcie sau abordare bazată pe discriminare (The challenge of social inclusion of Roma. Poverty or

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a discrimination-based approach). In S. Toma & L. Fosztó (Eds.), Spectrum. Cercetări sociale despre romi (pp. 207–230). ISPMN and Kriterion. Moisa, F., & Roth, M. (2011). The right to education of Roma children in Romania: European policies and Romanian practices. The International Journal of Children’s Rights, 19(3), 501–522. Nicolae, V. (2007). Perfectly equipped failures: The European Union and educational issues affecting the Roma. European Education, 39(1), 50–63. https://doi.org/10.2753/EUE1056-­4934390103 Oblath, M. (2010). ‘We’re already stagnant here’. The process of ‘Gypsyization’ in school. Anblock, 3, 56–63. Pantea, M. C. (2015a). Affirmative action in Romania’s higher education: Roma students’ perceived meanings and dilemmas. British Journal of Sociology of Education, 36(6), 896–914. https://doi.org/10.1080/01425692.2013.869172 Pantea, M.  C. (2015b). Persuading others. Young Roma women negotiating access to university. Education as Change, 19(3), 91–112. Plainer, Zs. (2021). Segregated schools, “slow minds” and “must be done jobs”: Experiences about formal education and labour market in a Roma Community in Romania. In M. M. Mendes, O. Magano, & S. Toma (Eds.), Social and Economic vulnerability of Roma people. Key factors for the success and continuity of schooling levels (pp. 39–52). Springer. https://doi.org/10.1007/978-­3-­030­52588-­0 Pop, F., & Balea, B. (2016). School mediators in the Romanian education system. A discussion on their role in addressing educational inequalities. Social Change Review, 14(2), 149–176. https://doi.org/10.1515/scr-­2016-­0026 Pop, F., & Roth, M. (2015). Ethnic divisions and social capital described in the narratives of young Romanian Roma. Today’s Children – Tomorrow’s Parents, 40, 96–110. Roma Civil Monitor. (2018). Civil society monitoring report on implementation of the National Roma Integration Strategy in Romania. Directorate-General for Justice and Consumers. European Union. Rostas, I. (Ed.). (2012). Ten years after. A history of Roma school desegregation in Central and Eastern Europe. CEU Press. Rughiniș, C. (2010). The forest behind the bar charts: Bridging quantitative and qualitative research on Roma/Țigani in contemporary Romania. Patterns of Prejudice, 44(4), 337–367. Rughiniș, C. (2011). Quantitative tales of ethnic differentiation: measuring and using Roma/Gypsy ethnicity in statistical analyses. Ethnic and Racial Studies, 34(4), 594–619. https://doi.org/10.1080/01419870.2010.514055

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11 Twenty Years Later: Has Inclusive Education in South Africa Been Realised? Dana K. Donohue and Juan Bornman

Introduction Twenty years ago, the South African Department of Education published an Education White Paper 6 (DoE, 2001) where the goals for a national inclusive education system were outlined. It explained how, over the course of 20 years, a policy of educational inclusion for all South African children could become a reality. Although a contested term (Messiou, 2017), inclusive education is often conceptualised in South Africa as occurring when children with disabilities are given appropriate support to learn alongside their typically developing peers (Bornman, 2021; Department of Education, 2001; Engelbrecht et al., 2015; Hooijer et al., 2021; Murungi, 2015). This educational approach is distinct from the way in which children with disabilities were previously educated in South Africa, in their own special schools. This meant a “special school for

D. K. Donohue (*) • J. Bornman Centre for Augmentative and Alternative Communication, University of Pretoria, Pretoria, South Africa e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 E. J. Done, H. Knowler (eds.), International Perspectives on Exclusionary Pressures in Education, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-14113-3_11

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children on the autism spectrum”, one for “blind children”, one for “children with physical disability”, and so forth (DoE, 2001). The stated purposes of inclusive education are multifaceted, including breaking down negative stereotypes of persons with disabilities, providing children with disabilities with the best possible education for meaningful employment in adulthood and engaging in a more cost-effective means of educating learners with disabilities. Inclusive education acknowledges diversity by speaking out against exclusion (Nel et  al., 2016), calling for respecting of individual differences, advocating for evidence-based teaching practices that will benefit all children, and providing a support system within the classroom to overcome barriers to learning (DoE, 2001). The South African National Development Plan (National Planning Commission, 2012) indicates that: Inclusive education should be provided that enables everyone to participate effectively in a free society. Education provides knowledge and skills that persons with disabilities can use to exercise a range of other human rights, such as the right to political participation, the right to work, the right to live independently and contribute to the community, the right to participate in cultural life, and the right to raise a family. Ensuring that all children with disabilities have access to quality education will help South Africa meet its employment equity goals in the long run. (National Planning Commission, 2012, p. 304)

Therefore, inclusion is vital for all children, irrespective of their specific diagnosis, as inclusion is an active process aimed at eliminating barriers to learning and academic achievement, as well as barriers to social participation (Jury et al., 2021). Several years ago, we published a paper regarding some of the barriers to realising an inclusive education in South Africa (Donohue & Bornman, 2014). In this chapter, we revisit some of the challenges previously outlined and then examine the progress that has subsequently been made. It has been 20 years since the White Paper 6 (DoE, 2001) was first proposed and in this chapter, we ask: Has inclusive education in South Africa been realised?

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Barriers to Inclusive Education Despite noble national legislation that is aligned with international legislation, such as the United Nation’s Convention on the Rights of the Child (United Nations, 1989) and the Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities (United Nations, 2006), both ratified by South Africa, the implementation of inclusive education in South Africa has been slow and somewhat limited. We previously noted several barriers to inclusive education in South Africa (Donohue & Bornman, 2014). These included: a lack of resources and support services in schools; negative teacher attitudes toward including learners with disabilities in their mainstream classes; a lack of teacher training to facilitate inclusive education; negative stereotypes of people with disabilities; and school fees and non-­ enrolment of children with disabilities in school. In our previous paper, we found: 1. Lack of resources/supports: Many resources were needed to transform schools into full-service schools that could cater to the needs of all children, such as more funding and more school and district support teams. School administrators and teachers reported that these resources were necessary but lacking. 2. Teacher attitudes: Without funding and support, many teachers were reluctant to have children with disabilities in their classrooms because they did not know how they could handle supporting the more intensive learning needs of these learners while teaching the other children in the class. 3. Teacher training: Teachers reported that they needed, but were not receiving, ongoing professional development training opportunities to learn how to include children with disabilities in their mainstream classes. 4. Negative stereotypes of people with disabilities: Many South Africans adhered to the traditional paradigm of disability, viewing those with disabilities according to the qualities they lacked rather than the support that could be provided to help them excel in their daily lives. Considering this deficit perspective, a general societal con-

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sensus was that children with disabilities should be in special schools. Without the required community support, there was often no drive for inclusive education. There was also a fear that, if children with disabilities attended mainstream schools, they could be targeted for maltreatment by their teachers or their peers. 5 . School fees/non enrolment: School fees were a financial burden for some families in South Africa, particularly for those with multiple children. As a consequence, many lower socioeconomic families chose to send their typically developing children to school whilst keeping their children with a disability at home. Without an education, children with disabilities had a bleak outlook in terms of future employment opportunities and participation in society.

Progress in Overcoming Barriers In the remainder of this chapter, we examine the extant research about inclusive education in South Africa since our 2014 publication to determine whether progress has been made in the pursuit of realising inclusive education.

Lack of Resources/Support In the research on inclusive education in South Africa since 2014, a common theme is evident; teachers still perceive a lack of the resources and support services required to implement inclusive education (Department of Basic Education [DoBE], 2015). Teachers have reported a general lack of appropriate educational materials (Msipu Phiri, 2017), including insufficient information and communication technology resources (Nel et al., 2016) and teaching aids and equipment (Engelbrecht et al., 2015). Scarce support from district-based support teams was frequently noted as a major obstacle (Engelbrecht et  al., 2015; Engelbrecht & Savolainen, 2018; Mfuthwana & Dryer, 2018; Nel et al., 2016), particularly since teachers expected intensive and continuous support to include learners with disabilities in their mainstream classes. Other themes included

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limited space, a massive workload, a lack of parental support (Nel et al., 2016), overcrowded classrooms (West & Meier, 2020), and limited flexibility around the expectations of curriculum delivery (Engelbrecht et al., 2015). These challenges are even more significant in the rural areas where many children with disabilities live (du Plessis & Mestry, 2019). In our review of the literature, we found no studies that argued that there were sufficient resources for teachers trying to implement inclusive education.

Teacher Attitudes/Training The implementation of inclusive education is also hampered by the lack of appropriately trained teachers who have to teach within the constraints of limited support structures (Forlin & Champers, 2017). Teachers play an important role in implementing inclusion as they are responsible for adopting effective teaching practices by focusing on the strengths rather than the weaknesses of children in their inclusive classrooms (Bornman, 2021). Prior to 2001, teachers were trained to teach either in general (mainstream) education or in special education (i.e. in a different school or classroom) (Donohue & Bornman, 2014). Currently, teachers are trained to accommodate all learners with diverse needs, emphasising inclusion and participation within a single classroom (Nel et al., 2016). Despite this shift in how teachers are trained, ambivalence in teachers’ attitudes toward inclusion was noted in several studies (e.g. Engelbrecht et al., 2015; Engelbrecht & Savolainen, 2018; Hooijer et al., 2021). On the one hand, teachers expressed positive attitudes about the “rights” of children with disabilities to be educated in mainstream classrooms, with one study noting: [A] continuous effort by teachers to align their general belief in the ideals of the South African Constitution, and its promise of the undoing of previous social injustices that includes the provision of mainstream education for most if not all learners and the realities of the existing conditions in their classrooms. (Engelbrecht et al., 2015, p. 7)

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On the other hand, teachers did not feel adequately trained to include learners with disabilities in their classes (Engelbrecht et  al., 2016; Engelbrecht & Savolainen, 2018; Mfuthwana & Dryer, 2018; Nel et al., 2016), leading to these learners still being placed in special classrooms or special schools. However, one study found that teachers’ attitudes about their ability to implement inclusive education improved immediately after they received a training seminar, with teachers reporting increased knowledge, more positive attitudes, and more confidence in their skills to support learners with disabilities (Hooijer et al., 2021). To summarise, our review of the literature indicated that teacher attitudes toward inclusive education were now more positive in theory, where they understood that learners with disabilities had the right to learn in mainstream classrooms alongside their typically developing peers. However, due to a lack of sufficient support and ongoing training, these attitudes remained generally negative in practice. To date, no studies have indicated that teacher training has been sufficient to successfully implement inclusive education.

Negative Stereotypes Teachers’ perceptions and beliefs directly influence their judgment, with a subsequent impact on their teaching, as do their inherent expectations as to whether they can bring about change in a child’s learning. Therefore, the creation of a strategy to combat the negative stereotypes of disability was a welcome hallmark of the Education White Paper 6 (DoE, 2001). However, it seems that little progress has been made on this front (DoBE, 2015). Many South Africans, including teachers, still view disability in terms of a traditional, deficit-based perspective, leading them to view barriers to inclusion as qualities that are lacking in the learner rather than in a lack of support in the environment (Engelbrecht et al., 2015). These views sometimes lead teachers to refer learners with disabilities to be taught by specialised teachers, which further “enforces labelling and stereotyping of learners” (Engelbrecht et al., 2016, p. 12). Moreover, despite the need for community partnership, teachers in inclusive schools have

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reported a lack of collaboration with parents and the community (Nel et al., 2016).

School Fees A general criticism of the South African government’s approach to the education of all of its children, not only those with disabilities, has focused on the practice of school fees and how they can impede children’s school attendance and education (Murungi, 2015). Annually, school fees generally range from R30,000–60,000 (approximately $2000–4000 USD) for public schools and R100,000–200,000 (approximately $7000–14,000 USD) for private schools (Business Tech, 2021). These fees can be amplified for children with disabilities because parents often have the responsibility of providing accommodations for their children to attend school, sometimes making it a considerable financial burden (Msipu Phiri, 2017). In discussing school fees and their impact on learners with intellectual disabilities, Msipu Phiri (2017) indicates that “they pay for school fees in the special schools, in addition to other expenses on uniforms and food, which their counterparts, the non-disabled children, do not get to pay” (p. 32). This leads to many children with disabilities still not being enrolled in school (DoBE, 2015). From the extant information on school fees, it appears that, rather than decreasing or eliminating them, they have continuously increased over the past several years, which heightens the challenge of providing children with disabilities with a quality inclusive education.

 onclusion: Has Inclusive Education C Been Realised? We began this chapter by asking: Has inclusive education in South Africa been realised? In many respects, the answer to this question appears to be “no”. Numerous children with disabilities remain unenrolled in school (DoBE, 2015) and, without these educational opportunities, children with disabilities will not have the same prospects for future employment

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and full participation in their communities. Due to the insidiousness of the consequences of not having an education, Walton (2017) has described this situation as the “wicked problem of educational exclusion” (p. 18). The most common themes in the studies that we reviewed were teachers reporting a serious lack of support and training to implement inclusive education in their classes. Without these resources, they felt unqualified to teach learners with disabilities, particularly when they had numerous other pupils to instruct. The provision of these resources will likely be the primary method for realising inclusive education in South Africa. One study (Engelbrecht et  al., 2015) made the important point that: In order for teachers to enact sustainable inclusive teaching practices effectively in their classrooms the importance of the dynamic interaction between teacher education systems and the education context in terms of education policies, external funding and supportive technical assistance cannot be overemphasized (Engelbrecht et al., 2015, p. 8).

However, the state of inclusive education in South Africa is not all bad news. There does seem to be significantly increasing buy-in by teachers around the need for inclusive education. Teachers seem to genuinely want to implement inclusive education if given the tools that they need in order to do so. When they were given training and had the ability to critically reflect on what they learned, teachers reported feeling more efficacious about their ability to teach learners with disabilities (Hooijer et al., 2021). There is undeniably more work that must be done to realise the vision of inclusive education in South Africa. However, the diversity of the “Rainbow Nation” is one of its strengths, and an appreciation for diversity can start in the classroom, where students from different backgrounds and with different abilities can meet and work together. Through this, negative stereotypes of people with disabilities can be broken down, and children with disabilities can receive the same education that their typically developing peers do. Receiving a quality education, in turn, enhances the future employment opportunities available to adults with disabilities.

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We are hopeful that, by providing resources and training to strengthen flexible teaching practices and understanding of learners with disabilities, inclusive education in South Africa will indeed be realised and fewer learners will experience exclusionary practices.

References Bornman, J. (2021). Believe all can achieve: Increasing classroom participation in learners with special support needs (3rd ed.). Business Tech. (2021). The costs of schooling in South Africa in 2021 and the hidden fees to look out for. Retrieved from https://businesstech.co.za/news/ finance/466384/the-­c osts-­o f-­s chooling-­i n-­s outh-­a frica-in-­2 021and-­hidden-­fees-­to-­look-­out-­for/ Department of Basic Education. (2015). Report on the implementation of education white paper 6 on inclusive education: An overview for the period 2013–2015. Retrieved from https://static.pmg.org.za/160308overview.pdf Department of Education (2001). White paper 6: Special needs education. Building an inclusive education and training system. Department of Education. Retrieved from http://www.education.gov.za/LinkClick.aspx?fileticket=gVFc cZLi%2FtI%3D&tabid=191&mid=484 Donohue, D., & Bornman, J. (2014). The challenges of realising inclusive education in South Africa. South African Journal of Education, 34(2), 1–14. Retrieved from http://www.sajournalofeducation.co.za Du Plessis, P., & Mestry, R. (2019). Teachers for rural schools: A challenge for South Africa. South African Journal of Education, 39(Suppl. 1), s1–s9. https:// doi.org/10.15700/saje.v39ns1a1774 Engelbrecht, P., & Savolainen, H. (2018). A mixed-methods approach to developing an understanding of teachers’ attitudes and their enactment of inclusive education. European Journal of Special Needs Education, 33(5), 660–676. https://doi.org/10.1080/08856257.2017.1410327 Engelbrecht, P., Nel, M., Nel, N., & Tlale, D. (2015). Enacting understanding of inclusion in complex contexts: Classroom practices of South African teachers. South African Journal of Education, 35(3). Retrieved from https:// www.ajol.info/index.php/saje/article/view/121843 Engelbrecht, P., Nel, M., Smit, S., & Van Deventer, M. (2016). The idealism of education policies and the realities in schools: The implementation of inclusive education in South Africa. International Journal of Inclusive ­

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Education, 20(5), 520–535. https://doi.org/10.1080/13603116.2015. 1095250 Forlin, C., & Chambers, D. (2017). Catering for diversity: Including learners with different abilities and needs in regular classrooms. In R. Maclean (Ed.), Life in schools and classrooms (pp. 555–571). Springer Singapore. Hooijer, E. L., Van Der Merwe, M., & Fourie, J. (2021). Symbolic representations as teachers reflect on inclusive education in South Africa. African Journal of Teacher Education, 10(1), 127–152. Retrieved from https://journal.lib. uoguelph.ca/index.php/ajote/article/view/6549 Jury, M., Perrin, A.-L., Rohmer, O., & Desombre, C. (2021). Attitudes toward inclusive education: An exploration of the interaction between teachers’ status and students’ type of disability within the French context. Frontiers in Education, 6, 655356. https://doi.org/10.3389/feduc.2021.655356 Messiou, K. (2017). Research in the field of inclusive education: Time for a rethink? International Journal of Inclusive Education, 21(6), 146–159. https:// doi.org/10.1080/13603116.2016.1223184 Mfuthwana, T., & Dreyer, L. M. (2018). Establishing inclusive schools: Teachers’ perceptions of inclusive education teams. South African Journal of Education, 38(4). https://doi.org/10.15700/saje.v38n4a1703 Msipu Phiri, J. (2017). The right to inclusive education for children with intellectual disabilities. A comparative legal analysis of the progress being made in Zambia, Kenya and South Africa. Retrieved from https://papers.ssrn.com/ sol3/papers.cfm?abstract_id=3336146 Murungi, L. N. (2015). Inclusive basic education in South Africa: Issues in its conceptualisation and implementation. Potchefstroom Electronic Law Journal, 18(1), 3159–3195. https://doi.org/10.4314/pelj.v18i1.07 National Planning Commission. (2012). National Development Plan. Presidency of the Republic of South Africa. Nel, N. M., Tlale, L. D. N., Engelbrecht, P., & Nel, M. (2016). Teachers’ perceptions of education support structures in the implementation of inclusive education in South Africa. Koers, 81(3), 1–14. https://doi.org/10.19108/ KOERS.81.3.2249 United Nations. (1989). Convention on the rights of the Child. Retrieved from https://www.refworld.org/docid/3ae6b38f0.html United Nations. (2006). Convention on the rights of persons with disabilities. Retrieved from http://www.un.org/disabilities/documents/convention/convoptprot-­e.pdf

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Walton, E. (2017). Inclusive education: A tame solution to a wicked problem? In Inclusive education in African contexts (pp. 85–100). Brill Sense. West, J., & Meier, C. (2020). Overcrowded classrooms. The Achilles heel of South African education? South African Journal of Childhood Education, 10(1), 1–10. https://doi.org/10.4102/sajce.v10i1.617

12 Racial Justice and School Exclusion Zahra Bei

Introduction The stories that appear in this chapter are composite counter-stories (Baszile, 2015; Miller et al., 2020; Solórzano & Yosso, 2002) told by educators of colour over time about the students that they worked with on reintegration programmes for excluded students, designed to support their “second chance” placements in mainstream education. The stories were shared in conversations in professional and community organising spaces with the author but contain no references to real places, people or dates. They are illustrative stories that are intended to encourage reflection on practices that have only recently been acknowledged in policy and research (Done & Knowler, 2020). They are designed to prompt action to disrupt these everyday occurrences of institutional and systemic neglect as a matter of collective responsibility for the suffering of racialised, and often disadvantaged and disabled, children and young people and their families. Z. Bei (*) Institute of Education, University College London, London, UK e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 E. J. Done, H. Knowler (eds.), International Perspectives on Exclusionary Pressures in Education, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-14113-3_12

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Minorities, Special Education and Exclusion In all countries that have developed special education subsystems to their mainstream education and also have racial, ethnic, or immigrant minorities, these minorities have always been overrepresented in the special sector. On occasion, special education has been the only form of education offered to a substantial number of minority and migrant children. This has usually become a matter of great concern to minority parents and communities, often to the point of litigation. Those in charge of education have accepted or promulgated the situation as natural or inevitable, explained by unfortunate minority deficiencies or inabilities complicated by difficulties of assessment. (Tomlinson, 2014, p. 87).

Black educators, parents, scholars and community activists such as Bernard Coard, Eric and Jessica Huntley, John La Rose, Stella Dadzie, Gus John, The Communities Empowerment Network, Cheryl Phoenix and The Black Child Agenda and many others have highlighted the systemically discriminatory (racist, classist, sexist and ableist) patterns of exclusionary practices and unlawful exclusions of the Black child in Britain for decades. Coard, an active youth worker, economics scholar and Black educator from Grenada, taught in London schools for the educationally subnormal (ESN) in the late 1960s. Recruited by concerned Black parents and community activists who suspected that they were being misled by the authorities placing their children in segregated and substandard settings, Coard exposed the realities of ESN schooling forced upon Black children that were obscured by a false promise of a better “special education” (Bei et al., 2021). In his seminal text, Coard (1971, 2021) called for the immediate mobilisation of Black parents and other concerned parties around five core issues arising from his experience of teaching at ESN schools, scrutiny of local government data and critical analysis: (1) The disproportionate placement of Black Caribbean children in schools for the educationally subnormal (ESN); (2) The erroneous nature of placements based on assessments imbued with cultural, middle-­ class and emotional-disturbance biases; (3) The permanent nature of most placements; (4) The devastating impact on the educational and life chances of such placements for Black children; and (5) The complicity

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and complacency of the authorities that were aware of the issues and chose to do nothing (Coard, 1971). Due to Coard and the community campaigners that supported the dissemination of the 1971 publication, we know that in the late 60s, a leaked report produced by the Inner London Education Authority (ILEA) stated that one in three children in ESN schools were from a migrant group, with 80% from an African-­ Caribbean background (Coard, 1971). The picture 50 years later remains bleak and, in many respects, is worse. Black Caribbean children are being formally permanently excluded at approximately three times the rate of White British pupils (DfE, 2021) and are overrepresented in special education and alternative provisions (House of Commons Education Committee, 2018). In addition, a 2018 Oxford University study found a striking disproportionality in SEN (Special Educational Needs) classifications; Black Caribbean students are over-represented in the categories of MLD (Mild Learning Difficulties) and SEMH (Social Emotional Mental Health) and such disproportionality remains “substantial even after pupil background controls for age, sex and socio-economic deprivation” (Strand & Lindorff, 2018, p. 4). In 2021, as in Coard’s experience as a teacher in ESN schools in the 1970s, the scale of the problem of pupils falling through the cracks via off-rolling (unlawful exclusion) or other exclusionary practices remains unknown, but there are suggestions of “tens of thousands” annually (IPPR, 2017, p. 7). The Education Policy Institute (EPI, 2019) found that approximately 1  in 10 students made an “unexplained exit” from mainstream education in 2017, totally 69,000, and that of those, the students most likely to vanish are Black, disabled, in care, on free school meals, previously excluded and with a mental health diagnosis. Strong research evidence points to what Graham (2016) terms the British schoolto-prison pipeline and, more specifically, a pupil referral unit (PRU) to prison pipeline (Bei, 2019; Perera, 2020; Wallace & Joseph-­Salisbury, 2021). The pipeline construct denotes an alarming prevalence of Black, poor, male and disabled students being pushed out of mainstream education by punitive practices that disproportionately impact Black youth, resulting in criminalisation and excessive rates of incarceration (Bei, 2019; Graham, 2016; Perera, 2020; Wallace & Joseph-­Salisbury, 2021). England has the largest prison population in Europe and greater race

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disparity in its prisons than the US, with almost 90% of England’s young people in young offender institutions having experienced school exclusion. Broad patterns of racialised exclusions remain locked in place from Coard’s time of writing, and “off-rolling”, alongside aforementioned PRUs, constitutes another contemporary manifestation of the “ability” grouping issues Coard highlighted. (Wallace & Joseph-Salisbury, 2021, p. 16)

It is in this highly racialised context that I present the counterstories of educators of colour working with excluded young people, and this practice of using counterstorytelling derives from Critical Race Theory.

Critical Race Theory (CRT) CRT originates from US legal scholarship and Black radical thought, resistance and activism following a series of significant historical events linked to struggles for civil rights. It insists on the centrality of racism in society, that is, its normalised and routine nature, and embedding in legal, political, economic and social structures and institutions. Epistemologically and methodologically, CRT scholars rely on experiential knowledge and the storytelling of racialised people in a hierarchically organised racial order (Solórzano & Yosso, 2002). CRT challenges hegemonic, Eurocentric ideologies, including liberalism, positivistic objectivity and colour blindness. It is an analytical lens rooted in a social justice agenda that examines and challenges power relations and structures.

Counter-Storytelling A fundamental tenet of CRT is counter-storytelling to centre  marginalised  voices, perspectives, and experiences  of people of colour. As a method, it foregrounds minoritised narratives to dispute the majoritarian narratives that are commonly normalised as universal truth. Such counterstories are not fictional but, rather, function as a rhetorical device and

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analytical tool that “add necessary contextual contours to the seeming ‘objectivity’ of positivist perspectives” (Ladson-Billings, 1998, p.  11). Counter-narratives challenge hegemonic knowledge production and meaning-making and are emancipatory for people of colour and other marginalised groups in that, by “naming one’s reality” and using one’s “voice” (Ladson-Billings, 1998, p.  13), subordinated and racialised groups speak back to power in order to generate transformative action. The stories below recount hidden practices of educational inequity, obfuscation, inaction, institutional subterfuge, complicity, survival and resistance. They are also stories in which all protagonists had experiences of being misled. In the case of the teacher, Samia, her “not knowing” and “not realising” what was meant by “Outreach”1 suggests that she was complicit in maintaining the legitimacy of a system and culture that is implicated in unlawful exclusionary practices which contribute to the marginalisation and exclusion (material, administrative and/or symbolic) of an educational other. Experiences of institutional racism are captured in these counter-narratives, as articulated by Black students and their teachers of colour, and shared with the author and others in organising spaces. The latter are protected community spaces and, as such, they are spaces of radial care, support, meaning-making, affinity, knowledge-­ production and political resistance. They are spaces where difficult truths and lived experiences are routinely shared and strategic plans for countering oppressive systems, policies and practices are formed and executed. It is important to note the fear and anxiety, particularly amongst education professionals, evoked by speaking out, which routinely results in suppression, silencing and the prevention of such stories from reaching the public sphere. This chapter seeks to make a modest contribution to remedying that situation. “For it is not difference which immobilises us, but silence. And there are so many silences to be broken” (Lorde, 2001/1977, pp. 304–305).

 Outreach describes initiatives to improve education in schools and/or communities.

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Samia’s Story Samia loved teaching at the Pupil Referral Unit (PRU) despite some very difficult years both personally and professionally. She had decades of experience, always met and exceeded all her targets and worked hard, out of love for teaching and to compensate for being a first-generation migrant woman of colour with English as a second language. Samia completed several postgraduate studies and was well-liked by students. The PRU had a majority of highly dedicated and experienced staff of colour, yet none had managed to reach management. None had progressed into leadership roles, and even students would comment on this puzzling reality. Samia did not mind too much about not having progressed into school leadership. She was a real “inclusion champion” who preferred being in the classroom and close to students, many of whom were labeled as “unteachable” by mainstream teachers. The new Head of Service suggested that Samia’s skills and experience would be useful in supporting the reintegration process of a new outreach programme. Samia viewed this development as an opportunity to see some of her students who had gone back to mainstream education, a process she often wondered about having heard from the PRU’s management that there was an urgent need to reduce the “bounce-back” rates.

Marlon’s “Poor Attendance”  Samia met Marlon shortly after he was admitted by his third secondary school in the winter term of Year 11, a few months before Marlon’s mother was notified that the family had to move again. Marlon had a chronic medical condition that had impacted his attendance significantly since primary school. Despite this, and the frequent house moves during his childhood (as the family was placed in temporary accommodation, attributed by local government to public housing shortages), Marlon achieved good grades in each school he attended. He was popular with peers, and teachers spoke highly of him. He had ambitions to enter law or business, and he was particularly gifted in several sports and academic subjects, and had no reported disciplinary issues.

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Marlon told Samia at their initial meeting that it was not the first time that the family had been forced to move, and he had faced the prospect of changing schools and settling into new surroundings. However, it was the first time the council had informed this family of five living in a one-­ bedroom property close to Marlon’s school that no suitable accommodation could be found locally. This left the family with two choices: relocate 350 miles away to a larger (but still temporary) property, away from family, friends and familiar support systems; or become intentionally homeless, resulting in the council discharging their legal responsibility to house the family. Faced with this difficult decision, it was decided that Marlon’s GCSEs should not be disrupted and he would live with a great aunt. She was elderly, lived alone and needed some help and company, but Marlon would have to take two buses and a train and travel across several postcodes twice a day to reach school and be separated from his mother and the three younger siblings. Meanwhile, the rest of the family was forced to move to a small coastal and economically deprived town, with very few people of colour, and it was a difficult transition Marlon reported. Marlon was happy to not be moving school again but missed his family. The AP told Samia that he had no behaviour issues and other schools had recorded no concerns other than attendance. When Marlon joined in Year 11, the mainstream school asked the PRU to take him on dual registration, meaning he would be physically educated in a mainstream setting but his name would not appear on the mainstream school’s register and his exam results would not count towards the school’s overall performance data. Samia was instructed to check on Marlon every few weeks and provide support as required. A senior leader at the AP informed Samia that the new Outreach programme might be “a bit dodgy”. Samia admits to not understanding what this meant. She was happy to be able to visit children in mainstream schools, particularly those she had taught, and to be able to provide a continuum of care and support that would keep them there and away from the PRU.

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Brandon’s “Second Chance” Samia first met Brandon at the PRU in Year 10, where she was his English teacher for two terms. Brandon was one of the PRU’s named “success stories”, but he did not really require PRU interventions and presented with none of the educational, social or economic challenges that Samia regularly encountered at the PRU. Brandon was relatively easy to place at a local mainstream secondary academy school in the summer of Year 10. To Samia, he was a dream student: polite, cooperative, always ready to learn, and respectful. His quiet demeanour and shyness made him “invisible” and little was said at the PRU about the reasons for his exclusion. Brandon did not talk about it and Samia did not ask. Indeed, it was important to her that she did not know to give her students a fresh start. Brandon completed all his work but made only one friend at the PRU. As is common, Brandon’s family did not want him to attend the PRU but felt that they had no other option when threatened with permanent exclusion; they accepted the move when promised that he would quickly be back in the mainstream. Brandon exceeded all expectations placed on him during his two terms at the PRU. When Samia was told she would be supporting Brandon on the new Outreach programme, she welcomed the opportunity to offer one-to-one support to a student that had been no trouble at the PRU (the type of student she often felt guilty about having less time for). Brandon’s new mainstream school pastoral lead had said that he seemed to have settled in well, but there were concerns that he was not mixing with peers and that his family had failed to complete the post-16 pathways paperwork expected from all Year 11 students. They explained to Samia that they were worried he had not secured a college place and may become a NEET (Not in Education, Employment or Training), which she found strange given how brilliant, compliant and motivated to succeed Brandon had been at the PRU and his expectations of mainstream education. Brandon was visibly elated to see Samia. Without much probing, he disclosed that he was simply biding his time at his new school. He felt that his new teachers did not really care and that they had not invested time in getting to know him; above all, he sensed that his PRU history

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and label were casting a long shadow that he could not escape. When asked about his post-GCSEs plans, Brandon replied that he had been accepted at a prestigious specialist sports college and boarding school, for which he had been scouted. His family was equally delighted at this opportunity. Samia was relieved at the news but also confused; his Head of Year could not have been informed as Brandon had been flagged on the school’s list as “at risk” of becoming NEET. Brandon responded that he had not notified his mainstream school as they did not care about him and had always treated him as an outsider. Samia felt anger on hearing this and wished there was something that she could do, but with only weeks remaining in the school year, this was not possible. Furthermore, Brandon wanted as little to do with the school’s staff as possible. Samia realised there was no need to support Brandon in practical matters as he and his tight-knit family had managed to do it all and more. What Brandon had needed, and welcomed, was contact with a teacher that knew him and that he felt genuinely cared for him without judging him. When Samia informed the mainstream school that Brandon’s post-16 plans were secured and highly positive, their response was one of annoyance that Brandon and his family had not communicated with the school as required and thereby creating additional workload demands.

The “Trouble” with Halima Halima lived with her stepmother, father and three younger siblings when she joined the PRU in the autumn term of Year 10. She was a practicing Muslim of East African origin and wore a hijab to school. Halima was quiet and reserved (as many new students are upon arrival), and hesitant about getting to know other students and her new teachers in the PRU environment. This was perfectly understandable as PRUs have a negative image and few families would choose to send their child to a PRU if they had an option. In her lessons with Samia, however, Halima would present quite differently, being unnecessarily oppositional. Interactions in class were tense, and other students gleefully anticipated the weekly “showdown” with amusement. After several negative

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exchanges, Samia was determined to do more with Halima; to get to know her and her world and discover what was behind her negativity. At first, Halima seemed reluctant to stay behind after class to talk to Samia, but over time, she started to enjoy this personal attention. They talked about their mothers and mother-daughter relationships became a recurring theme. They realised that they had much in common culturally—similar struggles with difficult parents and similar experiences of growing up in Europe as racialised women from African and Muslim families. Samia recalled that Halima rapidly became a different student. Halima shared her dream of becoming a midwife; that she missed her mother, whom she loved and greatly admired despite their complicated relationship; and that living with a stepparent was difficult. Also, that she desperately wanted her father to be proud of her but felt that she had disappointed him when she was permanently excluded; and that she wished to be closer to him but was afraid to deviate from expectations at home. Halima would often lie about what she was doing after school and at weekends, where she was going, and with whom. She admitted that she found school difficult, particularly writing, but had not felt able to tell anyone, instead flying into a rage with teachers or other students when not coping. She suspected that she was dyslexic, but the PRU had offered “anger management” sessions with a PRU mentor. Counselling with a qualified professional was never discussed, nor was a referral to check for learning needs. The PRU had two in-house full-time mentors who saw students every 3–4 weeks on a rota basis as a key intervention. Halima complied but knew that such conversations were not the support that she needed. Halima was eventually offered a “second-chance” at a neighbouring secondary school towards the end of Year 10. The PRU had declared Halima “ready for mainstream”. After 3 months, however, Halima’s new school contacted the PRU, complaining that the placement was “not working out” and that Halima might “get herself excluded again”. Samia was glad to be asked to visit Halima, and the first visit was arranged for January of Halima’s Year 11. The school (not Halima) had requested the support as Halima was “getting into trouble a lot”, “hanging out with the wrong crowd” and “getting into fights”. At the first meeting with Halima, there were

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many tears. Halima reported feeling like an outsider and those teachers were “not giving her a chance”. She talked of struggling with the new rules and expectations and, particularly, with keeping up with the curriculum. She had asked for extra help but had not received it. Two months prior to her GCSE exams, Halima and her father were informed that she would not be allowed to sit her exams at the school and would “be better off” attending a local Alternative Provision2 to undertake a childcare course. Both Halima and her father were perplexed by this suggestion with only weeks remaining in the school year but felt there were no other viable options: it was either accept the AP course or face another imminent permanent school exclusion. Halima attended the course briefly before disengaging altogether. The college reported Halima for confrontations with other students in the first week. Samia’s support included tuitions, mediation with the college management team, and advocacy on behalf of Halima and her family, yet none could keep Halima in education.

Discussion The stories that have been presented in this chapter are important for three specific reasons. They unpack experiences of stigma, they expose inherently racist policies in schools, often masquerading as “inclusion”, and they demonstrate that performance-driven school cultures are harmful to children, young people as well as staff. While it is obvious that these issues can be discerned from the sharing of lived experiences or professional observation of classroom practices, it is the telling and (re)reading of these counterstories that offer a powerful opportunity to consider the impacts of exclusionary practices on children and young people  most affected, who have historically occupied the margins, both materially and discursively. The stories illustrate a fracture in the trust between pupils and teachers when exclusionary practices are mobilised, a break of what hooks (1994, p. 13) calls the “sacred” relationship that creates the conditions in which pupils can flourish.  Alternative provisions are usually small educational settings for children and young people in England who are being educated outside of the mainstream system. 2

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These stories can prompt discussion around the stigma experienced by Black and minoritised young people when they are exposed to exclusionary practices. In the examples of Halima and Brandon, there was limited understanding of their wider experiences and a limited analysis of their behaviour which reduced what had happened to them to “family problems”. Of course, such problems are complex and do often mean that many children and young people find school a difficult place to be. However, what happened in these examples could be explained differently. There was limited support offered to Halima and Brandon, compounding the impact of what was happening outside of school. Disciplinary practices used within school offered only “one chance” to get things right. More worrying is the obvious impact of stigma in relation to zero-tolerance policies. Brandon, an otherwise “average” Mixed: white/Black-Caribbean boy who had no other “risk factors” related to his identity was, nevertheless, subject to practices that excluded him from this school community. This illustrates the burden of the double bind of exclusion for racialised children and young people. The impact of shattering a sense of belonging, and the stigma attached to exclusion, demonstrate that pupils like Brandon never regain trust in authority. Their disconnection from their school community is reflected back to them as being their own fault and, therefore, a reason to exclude them. The stories illustrate that, for Black and minoritised learners, inherently discriminatory policies and practices (zero tolerance behaviour policies, punitive whole school cultures, a narrow curriculum) interlock with structural barriers (housing, health, welfare, employment, school funding, teacher education, SEND classifications, assessment) to (re)produce specific outcomes. Racial justice in education is in urgent need of an intersectional approach, starting with an analysis that foregrounds the centrality of race/racism. This is vital to prevent exclusion, and particularly unlawful exclusion, which is so often justified through oversimplified, individualised explanations. For example, Marlon’s experience demonstrates that many of the issues he faced were beyond his control; his medical condition, leading to poor attendance heightened his stress levels. The intersection between race, gender, class and dis/ability is evidenced in the example of Halima’s unmet learning needs. Black disabled girls are simultaneously hypervisible and invisible. When schools punish,

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label, surveil and exclude multiply-marginalised children of colour, schools are reproducing structural inequities (Annamma, 2018). When the responses to the educational experiences and struggles of children of colour at the intersection of interlocking forms of oppression are ahistorical and punishment-based rather than focusing on what is happening at that time for the individual (hooks, 1994), the opportunity to intervene to stop exclusion from happening and interrupt long-standing patterns of discrimination in education is catastrophically lost. Performance-driven school cultures are part of the everyday life of many teachers and pupils. Each story demonstrates the impact of wider neoliberal policy discourses in the lives of Black and minoritised children, including austerity measures that impacted school funding, and centrally controlled school structures that are unaccountable to their local authority and the local community. Here, the use of counter-storytelling highlights the invisibility of such discourses. The fact that they feel so routine and normalised in school contexts requires further investigation to better understand the impact of what teaching staff might consider as insignificant decisions around behaviour-related sanctions or classroom organisation, as in the case of Marlon’s outreach programme. Concepts of reflection and reflective practice are integral to teacher education and teacher training models globally. This chapter aimed to show that, in order to abolish exclusionary practices in educational settings, an analysis of how rather than why pupils come to be excluded is needed. The concept of transgression (hooks, 1994) is vital here to foster more reflexive, and potentially impactful, questioning of everyday classroom practices and facilitate exploration of the ways in which teachers and students can navigate deleterious education policies together. There is a tendency in empirical research to suggest that exclusion is due to a range of complex factors, but the counterstories here show that the opposite can be true, i.e. that exclusion is a threat to children whose purported complexity is simply that of being disabled and racialised as Black. Being middle class is not a protective factor for many students of colour (Rollock et al., 2014). There are several critical questions that emerge through a CRT understanding of the counter-storytelling in this chapter that might further professional understandings of exclusionary pressures. They are offered

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here as an invitation for dialogue and to support starting points for professional development. For example, by asking what educators can do to stop harmful disciplinary practices in their own settings, teachers are invited to consider the racially unequal outcomes of exclusionary practice. Such questions imply a need for educators to interrogate educational outcomes in relation to power, knowledge and difference. It is questionable whether meaningful reintegration into the mainstream following exclusion is possible within the current system, given the many intersecting mechanisms that prevent real “fresh starts” for racialised students, i.e. zero tolerance behaviour policies, exclusion stigma, and pathologisation. Teachers should consider how re-integration and inclusion processes take shape differently for racialised children of colour and any specific manifestations in classrooms of racial inequities. In relation to master-­ narratives, it might be asked whether unlawful exclusions can, realistically, be eradicated whilst neoliberal education policies and practices dominate the ideological landscape in (and beyond) education. Linked to this, the ways in which the racialised and gendered majoritarian stories told about Black children place them at greater risk of exclusion and off-­rolling should also be examined with urgency. How can harmful narratives be dismantled and how can Black children’s lives and stories matter in education? Finally, educators should consider the professional values and principles needed to disrupt racial inequities in school exclusions. Teacher educators should ensure that such professional values are continually examined if teachers are to speak out against exclusionary practices and demonstrate intolerance of racial injustice in education.

Conclusion The narratives offered in this chapter serve to expose the complex and messy realities hidden by terms such as “outreach”, “inclusion”, “equity”, “re-integration”, “second-chance” and “Alternative Provision” in the English education system. Each story illuminates the routinely neglected schooling experiences of racialised children who find themselves unlawfully excluded or off-rolled. Exclusion is not always formal and permanent. All three students featured in these counterstories were in

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mainstream schools at some point. However, all were on a PRU register due to covert deals struck between mainstream schools and the PRU. It is common practice in the English education system for schools to refuse to accept students on roll in Year 11 to avoid negatively impacting the school’s exam results and league table ranking (Long & Danechi, 2020). Off-rolling is only one example of unlawful and unethical practice in England (Bei et al., 2021). The UK government’s Office for Standards in Education, Children’s Services and Skills (Ofsted) has repeatedly failed to hold offending institutions accountable for such exclusionary practices, raising questions around its fitness for purpose and impartiality (Demie, 2019; Wallace & Joseph-Salisbury, 2021). It is therefore vital if racial justice is to be progressed that educators think critically about education, inclusion, exclusion, and racial injustice. The creation of solidarity spaces could be built around CRT counter-storytelling where critical consciousness, resistance and radical actions for social change are fostered. Acknowledgements  The author would like to acknowledge the many young people who have inspired this chapter and the valuable learning and reflection their feedback on schooling has prompted. This chapter is dedicated with love and gratitude to the life and work of bell hooks (1953–2021).

References Annamma, S. A. (2018). The Pedagogy of Pathologization. Dis/abled Girls of Color in the School-prison Nexus. Routledge. Baszile, D. T. (2015). Rhetorical revolution: Critical race counter-storytelling and the abolition of white democracy. Qualitative Inquiry, 21(3), 239–249. https://doi.org/10.1177/1077800414557830 Bei, Z. (2019). No more exclusions: A new coalition grassroots movement in education. Education for Tomorrow, 2, Spring 2019. Retrieved from https:// educationfortomorrow.org.uk/tag/issue-­2-­spring-­2019/ Bei, Z., Knowler, H., & Butt, J. (2021). How do we progress racial justice in education? IPPR Progressive Review, 28(1), 76–84. https://doi.org/10.1111/ newe.12242 Coard, B. (1971). How the West Indian child is made educationally subnormal in the British School System. New Beacon for the Caribbean Education and Community Workers Association.

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Coard, B. (2021). How the West Indian child is made educationally subnormal in the British School System (5th ed.). McDermott Publishing. Demie, F. (2019). The experience of Black Caribbean pupils in school exclusion in England. Educational Review, 73(1), 55–70. https://doi.org/10.108 0/00131911.2019.1590316 DfE (Department for Education). (2021). Permanent exclusions by ethnicity. Retrieved from https://www.ethnicity-­facts-­figures.service.gov.uk/education-­ skills-­a nd-­t raining/absence-­a nd-­e xclusions/permanent-­e xclusions/ latest#permanent-­exclusions-­by-­ethnicity Done, E. J., & Knowler, H. (2020). Painful invisibilities: Roll management or “off‐rolling” and professional identity. British Educational Research Journal, 46(3), 516–531. https://doi.org/10.1002/berj.3591 EPI. (2019). Unexplained pupil exits from School. Retrieved from https:// epi.org.uk/publications-­a nd-­r esearch/unexplained-­p upil-­e xits-­d ata-­ multi-­academy-­trust-­local-­authority/ Graham, K. (2016). The British school- to-prison pipeline. In K. Andrews & L. Palmer (Eds.), Blackness in Britain (pp. 130–142). Routledge. hooks, b. (1994). Teaching to transgress: Education as the practice of freedom. Routledge. House of Commons Education Committee. (2018). Forgotten children: Alternative provision and the scandal of ever-increasing exclusions. Retrieved from https:// publications.parliament.uk/pa/cm201719/cmselect/cmeduc/342/342.pdf IPPR. (2017). Making the Difference: Breaking the link between school exclusion and social exclusion | IPPR Making The Difference: Breaking the link between school exclusion and social exclusion | IPPR (last accessed 9/11/22). Ladson-Billings, G. (1998). Just what is critical race theory and what’s it doing in a nice field like education? International Journal of Qualitative Studies in Education, 11(1), 7–24. https://doi.org/10.1080/095183998236863 Long, R., & Danechi, S. (2020). Off-rolling in English Schools (briefing paper 08444). House of Commons Library. Retrieved from https://researchbriefings.files.parliament.uk/documents/CBP-­8444/CBP-­8444.pdf Lorde, A. (2001). The Transformation of Silence into Language and Action (1977). In Available Means (p. 302–). University of Pittsburgh Press. Miller, R., Liu, K., & Ball, A. F. (2020). Critical counter-narrative as transformative methodology for educational equity. Review of Research in Education, 44(1), 269–300. https://doi.org/10.3102/0091732X20908501 Perera, J. (2020). How Black Working-Class Youth are Criminalised and Excluded in the English School System.pdf. Published by: The Institute of Race

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Relations. How-Black-Working-Class-Youth-are-Criminalised-and-Excludedin-the-English-School-System.pdf (irr.org.uk) (last accessed 9/11/22). Rollock, N., Gillborn, D., Vincent, C., & Ball, S. J. (2014). The colour of class: The educational strategies of the Black Middle Class. Routledge. Solórzano, D. G., & Yosso, T. J. (2002). Critical Race Methodology: CounterStorytelling as an Analytical Framework for Education Research. Qualitative Inquiry, 8(1), 23–44. https://doi.org/10.1177/107780040200800103 Strand, S., & Lindorff, A. (2018). Ethnic disproportionality in the identification of Special Educational Needs (SEN) in England: Extent, causes and consequences. University of Oxford. Dept of Education. 20 December 2018. Ethnic disproportionality in the identification of Special Educational Needs (SEN) in England: Extent, causes and consequences (ox.ac.uk) (last accessed 9/11/22). Tomlinson, S. (2014). The Politics of Race, Class and Special Education: The Selected Works of Sally Tomlinson/Sally Tomlinson. Routledge. Wallace, D., & Joseph-Salisbury, J. (2021). How, still, is the Black Caribbean child made educationally subnormal in the English school system? Ethnic and Racial Studies. https://doi.org/10.1080/01419870.2021.1981969

13 Education and Exclusion in Mongolia Ariunzul Liijuu-Ochir and Valerie Huggins

Introduction Although Mongolia has enshrined equal educational rights for all in its legal frameworks, including Constitution Law, unequal access to education continues to affect thousands of children. The difference between the rhetoric of policies and the realities of practice is significant. According to 2020 data published by the National Statistical Committee of Mongolia, the exclusion rate among children aged 6–10 was 4.4%, and among children aged 11–14, it was 7.3%. However, this rate increases when considering children with disabilities. Despite the lack of reliable data on the educational enrolment of children with special educational needs and disabilities (SEN/D), the most recent available study (Open Society Forum, 2011) states that only 40% of disabled children aged 6 to

A. Liijuu-Ochir (*) • V. Huggins University of Bristol, Bristol, UK University of Plymouth, Plymouth, UK e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 E. J. Done, H. Knowler (eds.), International Perspectives on Exclusionary Pressures in Education, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-14113-3_13

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14 were enrolled in school, meaning that 60% or more than half of them cannot attend secondary school. There is no reliable data on what percentage of children with disabilities are excluded from secondary school enrolment nowadays (UNESCO, GEMR & NEPC, 2021; Liijuu-Ochir, 2020; MECSS, ADB & IRIM, 2019; JSCM & IRIM, 2018; Yuriko et al., 2017). Article 37.2 of the law on the Rights of Person with Disability (2016) stipulates that the Health, Education and Social Welfare Commission will identify the status of the child’s disability. However, due to the lack of an agreed understanding and standardised assessment for defining a disability, in practice, various methods are being used (UNESCO, GEMR & NEPC, 2021, Myagmar et al., 2007; All for Education Mongolia, 2020; JSCM & IRIM, 2018). This makes it difficult to measure how many children with disabilities Mongolia has and how many of them cannot attend school or drop out of school after enrolment. According to current studies (Liijuu-Ochir, 2020; MECSS, ADB & IRIM, 2019; JSCM & IRIM, 2018; Yuriko et al., 2017), even though some children with disabilities are enrolled in secondary schools, many barriers pressurise them to drop-out or not fully engage in education processes compared to their peers. Although, there are a number of policies and regulations relating to equal educational opportunities for children in Mongolia, policies alone cannot ensure the education of children with SEN/D. It is unclear in these policies, for example, who will train teachers working with children with SEN/D, how they will be trained, and with what funds (Liijuu-Ochir, 2020; MECSS, ADB & IRIM, 2019; JSCM & IRIM, 2018; Yuriko et al., 2017). The apparent gap is reflected in schools serving children with SEN/D. The lack of appropriately trained professionals, of funding, and of child-friendly learning environments are the main barriers to such children engaging in school activities since there is no detailed regulation around the implementation of these educational policies. Moreover, there are attitudinal barriers that influence the provision of education to children with SEN/D. This chapter, therefore, aims to outline the exclusionary pressures confronting children with disabilities in the secondary schools of Mongolia by examining the policy gaps in education, the challenges in schools, and the attitudinal barriers.

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Mongolia is the world’s least populous country, located in the central part of the Asia, with an area of 1564.116 square kilometres, and a population of 3.357.543, which equates to two people per square kilometre. Almost half of the population (1.6 million) live in the capital city of Ulaanbaatar, and the remainder live as semi-nomadic pastoralists. Approximately one in three of the population are children aged under 18, and 31.1% of them are children aged 0–5, while 62.8% are children aged 6 to 18 (NSOM, 2020). Economically, Mongolia is the world’s smallest country, with a Cross-National Income per capita of USD3670 (World Bank, 2020). It is strongly dependent on the mining industry that accounts for 20% of the GDP and only 6% of total employment (ADB, 2020). Poverty and unemployment are therefore relatively high, at 28.4% and 11.2%, respectively, as recorded in 2019 (Friedrich Ebert Foundation, 2020). The poverty rate is slightly higher in rural areas (30.8%) compared to urban areas (27.2%). However, Mongolians have been making notable progress in education, with an adult literacy rate of 98.7% and a rate of enrolment in secondary education of 94.5% (NSOM, 2020). According to the 2020 statistics on education issued by the Ministry of Education and Science of Mongolia, 6053 children with SEN/D are studying at 6 special schools and 820 mainstream schools. Yet, as mentioned previously, some vulnerable children, particularly those with disabilities, are unable to study successfully due to barriers extending from the enrolment stage to completion of secondary education. This chapter outlines the exclusionary pressures on children with disabilities in Mongolia that result in lower school enrolment, school dropout and poor educational outcome service and details the barriers to quality education. Firstly, current policies and regulations are reviewed, focusing on the gaps that must be addressed in order to remove barriers. Secondly, the unpreparedness of schools for the inclusion of children with SEN/D is considered, including a lack of human resources, insufficient funding, and poor learning environments. Attitudinal barriers presented by school staff and communities are also discussed, demonstrating different voices from the ground.

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Rhetoric, Policy and Practice As a party to several international human rights conventions and statements, Mongolia has evidenced some positive progress in terms of educational policies and regulations to support its inclusion. However, due to the inconsistency between the laws and regulations (UNESCO, GEMR & NEPC, 2021; Liijuu-Ochir, 2020) and inadequate resources (Liijuu-­ Ochir, 2020; MECSS, ADB & IRIM, 2019; JSCM & IRIM, 2018; Yuriko et al., 2017), the policies cannot comprehensively address exclusion through non-enrolment or throughout secondary school. Moreover, despite the government’s effort to ensure the equal rights of children who are mostly excluded from school, the lack of knowledge of laws and regulations among school communities, including teachers and parents, negatively influences the implementation of such legislation.

L ack of Coherence and Resources in Laws and Regulations A revised version of the Law on Education was approved in 2006 and states in Article 5.14 that, “Mongolian citizens shall not suffer discrimination from origin, language, race, age, gender, unique characteristics of development, health, social status, wealth, employment status, job position, religion and opinion”. However, children with SEN/D continue to have difficulty attending regular schools, kindergartens and universities. For example, a survey conducted by MECSS, ADB and IRIM in 2019 found that 3% of respondents stated they had difficulty attending regular school. The available evidence (UNESCO, GEMR & NEPC, 2021; Liijuu-Ochir, 2020; MECSS, ADB & IRIM, 2019; JSCM & IRIM, 2018; Yuriko et  al., 2017) suggests that this is due to inconsistencies between laws and regulations, lack of knowledge on the current regulations, and insufficient resources in the educational sector. Article 37.2.1 of the Law of Mongolia on Human Rights of Persons with Disabilities (2016) states that “the Commission on Health, Education and Social Welfare of people with disabilities (PWDs) shall determine whether children aged 0–16 have disabilities or not”. However,

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Article 4.3.3 of the “Guidelines for comprehensive development support for PWDs”, approved in 2018, states that a “child who is undiagnosed, cannot be assessed by the sub-committee meeting”. This means that the process of defining children’s learning and development is based solely upon a medical diagnosis. Children with SEN/D could easily be restricted from attending school if they lack a medical diagnosis (MECSS, ADB & IRIM, 2019); and, if enrolled in school, they are likely to experience insufficient support from the school due to a lack of funding. This can be most challenging for those who live in rural areas far from the medical professionals who provide medical diagnoses. Additionally, once children with disabilities are enrolled in school, there can be another regulation that hampers their attendance (Liijuu-­ Ochir, 2020; MECSS, ADB & IRIM, 2019; JSCM & IRIM, 2018). Hence, the Procedure for Assessment of Primary and Secondary School Students and Training Quality (the A/425 resolution of the Ministry of Education, Culture and Science) states: “Educational assessment for children with disabilities shall be based on their learning ability and therefore, it should assess whether their developmental progress and changes align with the IEP [Individualised Education Plan]” (MECS, 2018). In addition, admission and graduation issues are determined by an exam commission and based on progress assessments. Although this is promising in that it aims to address the issue of assessment of children with SEN/D, in practice there is no consensus among school management teams and evaluation systems. In the current context, teachers’ performance is gauged using an outdated system which is based on test scores for each student; therefore, working with children with SEN/D tends to invite more negativity among teachers due to the current performance evaluation system (Liijuu-Ochir, 2020; MECSS, ADB & IRIM, 2019; JSCM & IRIM, 2018). The government tries to encourage teachers to work with children with disabilities by providing additional incentives. The Ministry of Education and Science (2020) (order #296), for example, states that schools should provide a 10% increase in the basic salary of teachers who work with children with SEN/D in regular schools and kindergartens. This is in recognition of the additional workload of teachers working with such children and is designed to foster a positive attitude in teachers towards

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them. However, since it has only been adopted very recently, implementation is varying from school to school (Liijuu-Ochir, 2020). An inadequate budget also intensifies exclusionary pressures on children with disabilities, preventing them from enjoying their full rights to education. In 2019, the Ministry of Education, Culture, Science and Sport approved the Procedure on Inclusive Learning Opportunities for Children with Disabilities at Compulsory Education Schools (MECSS, 2019). According to this regulation, schools are responsible for educating children with SEN/D in each khoroo/soum (the smallest administration unit of Mongolia) and for providing equal access to education through the establishment of support teams and IEPs. The regulation also stipulates that the variable cost per child with a disability is three times higher than that for their peers (MECSS, 2019). Unfortunately, in reality, a tripling of the variable cost per child with disabilities to an average of $177 ($1=MNT2871) is insufficient to educate these children. In many cases, the school principals lack the funding to fully accommodate the educational needs of disabled children. For instance, Liijuu-Ochir’s (2020) recent study found that the most common challenges that school principals experience are lack of access to other professionals, lack of equipment and facilities, difficulties of access to school (transport, road, buildings, etc.), and lack of training for teachers. Similar findings were reported in studies by Brotherson (2001), Hadjikakou and Mnasonos (2012) and Praisners (2003). The Law of Mongolia on Human Rights of Persons with Disabilities (2016) states that “people with disabilities shall be entitled to have an equal access to education and vocational education as all other citizens, and all educational institutes shall ensure user-friendly learning environments for people with disabilities” (Articles 14, 15). Article 16.2 of the law states that, “Teachers and social workers of educational institutions of all levels shall have knowledge and skill of training methodology that meet the specific needs and requirements of students with disabilities”. Unfortunately, training for teachers and social workers on working with disability is rare, making it difficult for them to work effectively with children classified as having SEN/D (MECSS, ADB & IRIM, 2019; Liijuu-Ochir, 2020).

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Lack of Knowledge of Current Regulations Some parents fail to send their disabled children into regular schools due to the lack of educational support in schools (Liijuu-Ochir, 2020; MECSS, ADB & IRIM, 2019; JSCM & IRIM, 2018). Parents do not know what to demand from the school while schools do not know about their legal responsibilities or how to provide quality education for the children with disabilities. In 2018, the Ministry of Education, Culture, Science and Sport approved a Comprehensive Model for Individualised Education Plans (A/155 resolution) (MECSS, 2018). This is a detailed outline of how to support children with disabilities at school and at home, and with what kind of curriculum, methodology and support system. Implementation of the plan began in 2019, and yet the knowledge of regular school head teachers, teachers and parents varies and may be inadequate. A survey conducted in 2020 showed that 67.5% of principals, but only 25% of teachers and 14.3% of parents, reported that they were familiar with this plan (Liijuu-Ochir, 2020). In the same year, guidance on complex development support for children with disabilities was jointly approved by the Ministry of Health; the Ministry of Labour and Social Protection and the Ministry of Education, Science, Culture and Sport. It is intended as a reference for the Commission for Health, Education and Social Protection of Children with Disabilities and for the day-to-day activities of health, education and social protection. In other words, the document outlines the priorities of support services for children with SEN/D, including early diagnoses and intervention, school enrolment, the establishment of supporting teams, and the development and implementation of an IEP (MLSP, MECSS & MH, 2018). However, it has been found that knowledge of this document among teachers and school administrations is, again, insufficient; for example, Liijuu-Ochir’s (2020) study reported that 66.7% of head teacher respondents claimed to have knowledge of the guidance, while this rate fell by 2.5 times in responses from teachers (25.0%), and nearly 5 times in the case of parents (13.4%). In some cases, even where such guidelines are issued, it is common for schools to lack a support team or, even where they do have one, they do not necessarily know how to work with children with SEN/D effectively.

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The Realities of Educational Policies Despite these very welcome policies, several studies (MECSS, ADB & IRIM, 2019; Liijuu-Ochir, 2020; JSCM & IRIM, 2018) have shown that schools in Mongolia are not yet ready to implement inclusive education. As the Salamanca Statement (UNESCO, 1994) noted, inclusive education is not a matter of sending children with disabilities to ordinary schools but, rather, of providing them with quality educational services which respond to their different educational needs. However, it is common for Mongolian schools to be unprepared for inclusion in terms of human resources, funding and appropriate learning environments, and these factors mean that children with disabilities cannot successfully learn or engage in school.

Unpreparedness of Human Resources Numerous studies (Mutasa et  al., 2013; Dapudong, 2014; McGhie-­ Richmond et al., 2013; Moberg & Savolainen, 2003) have found that the key to implementing inclusion at the classroom practice level is the teacher’s preparedness. Currently, only one university prepares teachers for working with children with disabilities (via a 2-credit mandatory subject entitled Introduction of Inclusive Education). Moreover, mandatory in-­ service training on inclusion education for teachers and school principals is limited to only 2 hours (UNESCO, GEMR & NEPC, 2021). This situation becomes a major obstacle to children with disabilities attending regular school. For example, in a survey conducted by the JSCM and IRIM (2018) among teachers, 81.3% responded that they experience difficulties working with children with disabilities due to the lack of training, while 70.1% also responded that teachers have poor knowledge and skills of inclusive education. Also, there is little understanding among educational institutions that inclusive education is a process of collaboration between multiple stakeholders. A common misconception is that it suffices to train teachers without establishing support teams in schools that include specialists from outside organisations. These findings were also replicated in a survey conducted by MECSS, ADB and IRIM in 2019.

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Lack of Financial Resources According to an estimate from the Organisation of Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD, 1994), the average cost of educating children with special needs in a regular school is 7–9 times lower than educating them in special schools. A study by Lynch (1994) also showed that inclusive education has long-term positive impacts for the national economy and socially. As previously found (Hunt, 2008; Praisner, 2003; Brotherson et al., 2001), without additional funding, it is impossible to hire the necessary specialists (speech therapists, sign language interpreters, etc.) or ensure any necessary training materials and equipment for children with SEN/D. Mongolia does not allocate adequate funds for the implementation of inclusive education. In current policy (GOM, 2016; MECSS, 2019), the cost of educating children with disabilities is 3 times higher than for regular school peers, ranging from $117–$240 (per children annually) depending on the location of the school and grade level. This cost is inclusive of training materials and teacher salaries. It is clear that schools cannot accommodate this additional cost (Liijuu-Ochir, 2020). Although it appears that children with disabilities are being educated in regular schools, despite insufficient funding and support, the quality of education can be even worse than that found in special schools.

Learning Environments Another important factor in effective inclusive education is the provision of a child-friendly learning environment for those who have SEN/D.  Without environmental adjustment, many children with disabilities will be unable to attend regular schools (Liijuu-Ochir, 2020; Schelzig & Newman, 2020; Filmer, 2008). This includes the provision of accessible entrances, doors, stairs or washroom facilities for children with disabilities; for instance, inaccessible toilet rooms, especially for female students, without which they may experience discrimination and delays in education, as noted in the comment below.

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Our school restroom is not accessible to people in wheelchairs, and I do not go the school during my period. Even on a normal day, I cannot use the toilet because of the lack of space for wheelchair users. Therefore, I usually reduce my amount of drinking when I go to school. (Liijuu-Ochir, 2020: Interview with 16-year-old girl with wheelchair)

Attitude Matters Multi-stakeholder attitudes and engagement play an important role in the implementation of inclusive education (Barnes, 2008; Sloper, 2004). However, there are cases where children with disabilities are excluded from school due to negative attitudes towards disabilities (Dupoux et al., 2006; Hunt, 2008). In particular, teachers’ and school administrators’ perceptions that children with disabilities are unable to attend regular school as they may negatively affect other students’ academic achievements is increasing school drop-out or delay among children with SEN/D. Such attitudes have a negative impact on the school attendance of the children with disabilities, as demonstrated in the response below. Although the procedure of regular schooling for children with disabilities is an attempt by the State to ensure equal educational access to all children, in reality, it is difficult to implement in schools, especially for children with intellectual disabilities. I am sure we will face complaints from other ­parents saying, “what if our children infected by their illness” or “what if they hurt our children”. Therefore, I think that children with physical, hearing and speech, or visual impairment can study, but it is better for children with intellectual disabilities to study in special schools. (LiijuuOchir, 2020: Regular school principal)

School leaders who do not attend proper training on inclusion are more likely to have negative attitudes toward children with disabilities (Cod & Washington, 2008; Horrocks et  al., 2008; Praisner, 2003; Sharma & Chow, 2008). Thus, it is important for school leaders to understand the concept of inclusive education and the types of disabilities and their characteristics. Attitudes can also, however, be influenced by omissions in current legislation and regulations in Mongolia that, for example, do not

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specify what kind of educational services will be provided for children with severe intellectual disabilities who struggle to control their behaviour. In addition to school administrators, there is also a tendency for peers to discriminate against their peers with disabilities. One day while I was walking with my wheelchair outside of the school, I accidently heard two children talking about me. One child said to other “do not go near this girl, her illness will infect us, my mother said that”. I felt very uncomfortable after I heard that. My eyes and my body may look different from other children, but I can speak, understand and study like others. Why do people make assumptions without knowing me? After this incident, I did not go to school for two years. (Liijuu-Ochir, 2020: Girl with cerebral palsy)

Children’s negative attitudes toward their disabled peers may be influenced by their parents’ perceptions of children with disabilities (Jugert et  al., 2016; Richardson, 1970); hence, educating parents can support efforts to alter children’s attitudes toward classmates with disabilities. As Asamani (2000) and Obeng (2007) argue, there is overcapacity in public schools; in some schools in Ulaanbaatar, the number of children per class is 50 or more (UNESCO, GEMR & NEPC, 2021) and, without an assistant teacher, classroom teachers cannot attend to all of the children in the class, especially those children with disabilities, reinforcing negative attitudes. My son has autistic spectrum disorder and we live far from Ulaanbaatar. We sent our son to regular school near our home last year but it was very difficult for the teacher since she has to work with other children too. During the class, several times, my son ran out from the classroom, and the teacher could not do anything because she was in the middle of teaching a class. Several times, they lost my son from school because of this issue. Then, the class teacher complained to us, “Why don’t you just send your son to the special school with professionals? I cannot handle your son, I have other students too”. And finally, we decided to transfer our child to special school in Ulaanbaatar. Every day, my father takes my son to the school, stays the whole day at school and then brings him back. (Liijuu-­ Ochir, 2020: Mother of autistic boy)

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The absence of training for teachers in working with children with disabilities can lead to reluctance and negative attitudes (Liijuu-Ochir, 2020; Schelzig & Newman, 2020; MECSS, ADB & IRIM, 2019; JSCM & IRIM, 2018) since teachers lack confidence. There may be cases (Bailey & Winton 1987; Leyser & Kirk 2004) where the parents of children with disabilities do not want to send their children to regular school due to their beliefs that their children cannot study in a regular school; or they are fearful that their children could experience discrimination from the school community. Such parents may believe that it is better to send their child to a special school. Many studies have shown that training is effective in changing negative attitudes towards disabilities (Praisner, 2003; Martin et  al., 2003; Avissar et  al., 2003; Cox  & Washigton, 2008; Horrocks et  al., 2008; Sharma & Chow, 2008). Attitudes are formed by beliefs (Fishbein & Ajzen, 1975), feelings (Berkowitz, 2000) and cognitive knowledge (Haddock & Maio, 2008). Therefore, designing and implementing training to improve knowledge is the key to changing community attitudes, and there is evidence of practices in Mongolia that include training on various disabilities and in pedagogy for children with disabilities, all of which can help teachers and school staff to develop positive attitudes toward disabled children. For example, a project implemented by the Japanese Save the Children in Mongolia Programme (2018–2021) led to teachers and parents changing their perceptions of disabilities. Prior to the project, school teachers, parents and school staff had no idea about how to educate children with disabilities. We used to believe that these children should trained by special professionals or they should study in special schools. As for parents, they believed that their child could not learn academic subjects in a regular school and they also feared their child could be stigmatized or discriminated against by others. Now teachers are providing parents with the correct information on inclusive education and education for children with disabilities, which has changed their attitudes a lot. (JSCM & IRIM, 2018: Interview with primary school teacher)

There is clearly an urgent need to change the attitudes of schoolteachers, staff, administrators, parents and peers, particularly, by disseminating

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good practice on educating children with intellectual impairment in regular schools, in order to reduce exclusion in the Mongolian context.

Strategies to Reduce Exclusion in Schools Although there are general policies and regulations for the implementation of inclusive education in Mongolia, there has been insufficient progress in providing specific regulations. Evidence-based recommendations to address this are as follows. • Develop and measure reliable data on educational attendance of children with disabilities, to facilitate effective interventions that prevent the educational exclusion of children, especially those with disabilities. (Schelzig & Newman, 2020; Liijuu-Ochir, 2020; JSCM & IRIM, 2018) • Improve the coherence of and consistency between regulations in order to respond effectively to the exclusion of children with disabilities in schools (Schelzig & Newman, 2020; Liijuu-Ochir, 2020; All for Education Mongolia, 2020; MECSS, ADB & IRIM, 2019, JSCM & IRIM, 2018). • Consider the introduction of an assessment system to evaluate teachers’ performance based on students’ progress rather than their test scores, accompanied by salary increases for teachers and improved working conditions; this would benefit children with SEN/D by facilitating positive attitudes (Liijuu-Ochir, 2020; MECSS, ADB & IRIM, 2019, JSCM & IRIM, 2018). • Increase the budget for provision (Liijuu-Ochir, 2020; All for Education Mongolia, 2020; JSCM & IRIM, 2018; MECSS, ADB & IRIM, 2019; Praisner, 2003), given that the threefold increase in variable costs under current law is significantly below the level required to educate children with severe or multiple disabilities who need additional training and equipment. • Increase the number of compulsory subjects on inclusive education in the curriculum of teacher training colleges and universities (Liijuu-­ Ochir, 2020; JSCM & IRIM, 2018). • Regulate the roles and responsibilities of specialists working in the support teams that need to be established at all levels of all educational

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institutions. Without clear instructions or guidelines to regulate the different roles and responsibilities of professionals, overlapping or duplication can cause conflict and ineffective teamwork (Darlington et  al., 2005; Rose, 2007; Atkinson, et al., 2005; Barnes, 2008; Sloper, 2004). • Improve the awareness of inclusion and education policies among parents, teachers and school staff (Liijuu-Ochir, 2020; JSCM & IRIM, 2018; Yuriko et al., 2017; Lee & Kong, 2007; Martin et al., 2003). Schools should provide the following so that children with diverse disabilities have equal access to quality education without discrimination: • Education for teachers and staff on the learning characteristics of children with disabilities and how to work with them effectively (Schelzig & Newman, 2020; JSCM & IRIM, 2018; Avissar et al., 2003; Martin et al., 2003). Collaboration between academia, secondary schools, special schools and related stakeholders would provide a potential model for educating teachers in regular schools; for example, in the USA (UNESCO, 2003) and India (Puri & Abraham, 2004), academia and specials schools are working with regular schools to design and implement a training methodology for work with children with SEN/D. • Establishment of a support team to work with children with all types of disabilities in schools, with the necessary costs included in the school budget, especially those related to funding support team specialists such as speech therapists, occupational therapists, sign language interpreters (Liijuu-Ochir, 2020, JSCM & IRIM, 2018; Barnes, 2008; Sloper, 2004). • Create more child-friendly school environments (Schelzig & Newman, 2020; Liijuu-Ochir, 2020; JSCM & IRIM, 2018), especially for children with different educational needs; this adjustment of the learning environment should not be limited to the school building but extend to, for example, the route from home to school (Avramidis & Norwich, 2002; Idol, 2006). • Special consideration should be given to the voices of parents and children with disabilities in the development of IEPs. As Warnock and Norwich (2010), Lewis (2011) and Ofsted, 2009) have argued, the voices of children with disabilities are more likely to be excluded.

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• Design and implement training to improve the community’s knowledge of disabilities to promote positive attitudes among parents and children (JSCM & IRIM, 2018; Yuriko et al., 2017; Riordan, 2010; UNESCO, 2003).

Conclusion It is almost three decades since the concept of inclusive education was introduced by international organisations, including DANIDA in Mongolia, all within the limited framework of specific projects (Myagmar et al., 2007; Sarantsetseg, 2012). Studies in this field are relatively scarce (UNESCO, GEMR & NEPC, 2021; Liijuu-Ochir, 2020; MECSS, ADB & IRIM, 2019; JSCM & IRIM, 2018; Yuriko et al., 2017). However, the available data (UNESCO, GEMR & NEPC, 2021; Schelzig & Newman, 2020; Liijuu-Ochir, 2020; MECSS, ADB & IRIM, 2019; JSCM & IRIM, 2018; Yuriko et al., 2017) indicates that there are gaps in current educational policies, including inconsistency of regulations, poor understanding of legislations, and insufficient resources. Furthermore, this insufficient resource results in a lack of skilled professionals and poor learning environments that create an exclusionary pressure on children with disabilities, resulting in low enrolment, school dropout and poor-­ quality education for children with disabilities. The absence of reliable data (Liijuu-Ochir, 2020; All for Education Mongolia, 2020; JSCM & IRIM, 2018; Yuriko et al., 2017) to determine levels of non-enrolment and dropout rates, or how many children with disabilities are experiencing poor-quality education at mainstream schools, is hindering efforts to address educational exclusion in Mongolia. Research is needed to calculate exclusion rates (non-enrolment and following enrolment) for children with disabilities (Liijuu-Ochir, 2020; Yuriko et al., 2017), and to explore what works and what does not work in the context of Mongolia. Research is also recommended around intersectional issues such as children in rural areas, from herders’ families or ethnic minorities, those living in boarding schools or households with low income and/or limited education, and children whose parents have a strong religious belief. All can affect the educational exclusion of children with disabilities (Stewart, 2010; and UNICEF & UN Women, 2013).

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The research that has informed this chapter (Liijuu-Ochir, 2020) suggests a research agenda for future research that can inform efforts to address the exclusionary pressures that are so damaging to children with disabilities. An educational system that adopts the rhetoric of inclusion must address such pressures.

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Brotherson, M. J., Sheriff, G., Milburn, P., & Schertz, M. (2001). Elementary school principals and their needs and issues for inclusive early childhood programs. Topics in Early Childhood Special Education, 21(1), 31–45. https:// doi.org/10.1177/027112140102100103 Cod, E.  P., & Washington, J. (2008). A consideration of the influences that predict middle school principal attitudes. Academic Leadership Journal, 6(1), 33–39. Retrieved from https://scholars.fhsu.edu/alj/vol6/iss1/2 Cox, E.  P., & Washington, J. (2008). A consideration of the influences that predict middle school principal attitudes. Academic Leadership Journal, 6(1), 33–39. Dapudong, R. C. (2014). Teachers’ knowledge and attitude towards inclusive education: Basis for an enhanced professional development program. International Journal of Learning & Development, 4(4), 1–24. https://doi. org/10.5296/ijld.v4i4.6116 Darlington, Y., Feeney, J.  A., & Rixon, K. (2005). Interagency collaboration between child protection and mental health services: Practices, attitudes and barriers. Child Abuse & Neglect, 29(10), 1085–1098. https://doi. org/10.1016/j.chiabu.2005.04.005 Dupoux, E., Hammond, H., Ingalls, L., & Wolman, C. (2006). Teachers’ attitudes toward students with disability in Haiti. International Journal of Special Education, 21(3), 1–14. https://doi.org/10.1080/10349120500071894 Filmer, D. (2008). Disability, poverty, and schooling in developing countries: Results from 14 household surveys. The World Bank Economic Review, 22(1), 141–163. https://doi.org/10.1093/wber/lhm021 Fishbein, M., & Ajzen, I. (1975). Belief, attitude, intention, and behavior: An introduction to theory and research. Addison-Wesley. Fredrich Ebert Foundation. (2020). The relation between COVID-19 and situation of social protection of Mongolia. Retrieved from http://library.fes.de/pdf-­ files/bueros/mongolei/17003.pdf Government of Mongolia. (2016). Normative for state and local owned primary and secondary education average per capita variable cost. Retrieved from https:// www.legalinfo.mn/annex/details/7298?lawid=11937 Haddock, G., & Maio, G. R. (2008). Attitudes: Content, structure and functions. In M. Hewstone, W. Stroebe, & K. Jonas (Eds.), Introduction to social psychology: A European perspective (pp. 112–133). Blackwell. Hadjikakou, K., & Mnasonos, M. (2012). Investigating the attitudes of head teachers of Cypriot primary schools towards inclusion. Journal of Research in Special Educational Needs, 12(2), 66–81. https://doi.org/10.1111/ J.1471-­3802.2010.01195.X

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Horrocks, J. L., White, G., & Roberts, L. (2008). Principals’ attitudes regarding inclusion of children with autism in Pennsylvania public schools. Journal of Autism and Developmental Disorders, 38(8), 1462–1473. https://doi. org/10.1007/s10803-­007-­0522-­x Hunt, F. (2008). Dropping out from school: A cross country review of the literature. Create Pathways to Access. Research Monograph, No. 16. ISBN: 0-901881-21-X. Idol, L. (2006). Toward inclusion of special education students in general education: A program evaluation of eight schools. Remedial and Special Education, 27(2), 77–94. https://doi.org/10.1177/07419325060270020601 Japanese Save the Children in Mongolia & Independent Research Institute of Mongolia. (2018). Supporting inclusive education for every child in Mongolia. Baseline report. Retrieved from https://savethechildren.mn/uploads/publication/201912/MoFA_Needs_Assessment_mon.pdf Jugert, P., Eckstein, K., Beelmann, A., & Noack, P. (2016). Parents’ influence on the development of their children’s ethnic intergroup attitudes: A longitudinal analysis from middle childhood to early adolescence. European Journal of Developmental Psychology, 13(2), 213–230. https://doi.org/10.1080/1740562 9.2015.1084923 Lee, H. J., & Kong, N. Y. (2007). Integrated literature review of Korean principals’ perspectives on inclusion. Retrieved from http://www.docflock.wikispaces. com/file/view/Integrated+literature+review+of+Korean+principals.doc Lewis, A. (2011). Disabled children’s ‘voice’ and experiences. In S. Haines & D.  Ruebain (Eds.), Education, disability and social policy (pp.  89–104). Policy Press. Leyser, Y., & Kirk, R. (2004). Evaluating inclusion: An examination of parent views and factors influencing their perspectives. International Journal of Disability Development and Education, 51(3), 271–285. https://doi. org/10.1080/1034912042000259233 Liijuu-Ochir, A. (2020). An examination of inclusive education in secondary schools in Mongolia: From policy to practice. [Master’s thesis]. University of Bristol, UK. Lynch, J. (1994). Provision for children with special educational needs in the Asia region. The World Bank. Retrieved from https://elibrary.worldbank.org/doi/ abs/10.1596/0-­8213-­3036-­5 Martin, B. N., Johnson, J. A., Ireland, H., & Claxton, K. (2003). Perceptions of teachers on inclusion in four rural Midwest school districts. Rural Educator, 24(3), 3–10.

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McGhie-Richmond, D., Irvine, A., Loreman,T., Lea Cizman, J., & Lupart, J. (2013). Teacher perspectives on inclusive education in rural Alberta, Canada. Canadian Journal of Education/Revue canadienne de l'éducation, 36(1), 195–239. Ministry of Education, Culture, Science and Sport. (2018). A comprehensive model for individualised education plans. Retrieved from https://education-­ profiles.org/sites/default/files/2020 Ministry of Education, Culture, Science and Sport. (2019). Procedure on inclusive learning opportunities for children with disabilities at compulsory education schools. Retrieved from http://bolovsrol.gs.gov.mn/wp-­content/ uploads/2019/12/durem-­jurmiin-­emhetgel-­2019-­2-­mail.pdf Ministry of Education, Culture, Science and Sport, Asian Development Bank & Independent Research Institute of Mongolia. (2019). Support for inclusive education project. Survey report. Unpublished. Ministry of Labour and Social Protection, Ministry of Education, Science and Sport & Ministry of Health (2018). The guidance on complex development support for children with disabilities. Retrieved from https://mlsp.gov.mn/ uploads/news/files/3b7c0cd4a89b54380c5f1bea0787488c24c58abd.pdf Moberg, S., & Savolainen, H. (2003). Struggling for inclusive education in the north and the south: educators’ perceptions on inclusive education in Finland and Zambia. International Journal of Rehabilitation Research, 26(1), 21–31. https://doi.org/10.1097/00004356-­200303000-­00003 Mutasa, J., Goronga, P., & Tafangombe, J. (2013). Challenges experienced by students with disabilities when pursuing programmes with Zimbabwe Open University (ZOU). Academic Research International, 4(4), 513. Myagmar, J., Bolormaa, S., & Tseveenlkhazal, Y. (2007). Mongolia: Regional preparatory workshop on inclusive education, East Asia. Retrieved from http:// www.ibe.unesco.org/fileadmin/user_upload/Inclusive_Education/Reports/ hangzhou_07/mongolia_inclusion_07.pdf National Statistical Office of Mongolia. (2020). 2020 population and housing census in Mongolia. Retrieved from https://www.1212.mn/ BookLibraryDownload.ashx?url=Census2020_Mongolia_Eng.pdf&ln=En Obeng, C. (2007). Teacher’s views on the teaching of children with disabilities in Ghanaian classrooms. International Journal of Special Education, 22(1), 96–102. OECD. (1994). The integration of disabled children into mainstream education ambitions, theories and practices. OECD.

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Ofsted. (2009). Annual report of her Majesty’s Chief Inspector of Education, Children’s Service and Skills 2008/2009. TSO. Open Society Forum. (2011). Children and youth with disabilities. Open Society Forum. Praisner, C.  L. (2003). Attitudes of elementary school principals toward the inclusion of students with disabilities. Exceptional Children, 69(2), 135–145. https://doi.org/10.1177/001440290306900201 Puri, M., & Abraham, G. (Eds.). (2004). Handbook of inclusive education for educators, administrators and planners: Within walls, without boundaries. Sage. Richardson, S.  A. (1970). Age and sex differences in values toward physical handicaps. Journal of Health and Social Behaviour, 11, 207–221. Riordan, A. (2010). A preliminary look at Mongolian teachers’ and stakeholders’ perceptions of disability in the classroom. Mongolian Studies, 32, 36–59. Rose, J. R. (2007). September 8). Multi-agency collaboration: A new theoretical model. [Conference session] British Educational Research Association Annual Conference 2007, University of London. Sarantsetseg, O. (2012). Financial and environmental challenges of implementing inclusive education for disabled children in Mongolia. In Pop, D. (Ed.), Education policy and equal education opportunities. Education Support Program, Open Society Foundation. Retrieved from https://www.opensocietyfoundations.org/about/programs/education-­support-­program Schelzig, K., & Newman, K. (2020). Promoting inclusive education in Mongolia. Retrieved from https://www.adb.org/sites/default/files/publication/720336/ eawp-­28-­inclusive-­education-­mongolia.pdf Sharma, U., & Chow, E.  W. (2008). The attitudes of Hong Kong primary school principals toward integrated education. Asia Pacific Education Review, 9(3), 380–391. https://doi.org/10.1007/BF03026725 Sloper, P. (2004). Facilitators and barriers for coordinated multi-agency services. Child: Care, Health and Development, 30(6), 571–580. https://doi. org/10.1111/j.1365-­2214.2004.00468.x Stewart, F. (2010). Horizontal inequalities as a result of conflict: A review of CRISE findings. Overview, no. 1. Centre for Research on Inequality, Human Security and Ethnicity. Retrieved from http://hdl.handle.net/10986/9126 UNESCO. (1994). The Salamanca statement and framework for action. Retrieved from https://unesdoc.unesco.org/ark:/48223/pf0000098427 UNESCO. (2003). Open file for inclusive education: Supporting materials for managers and administrators. Retrieved from https://www.eenet.org.uk/ resources/docs/132164e.pdf

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UNESCO, Global Education Monitoring Report & Network of Education Policy Centers. (2021). Information gathering template prepared for the global education monitoring report 2021, Central and Eastern Europe, the Caucasus and Central Asia, Inclusion and Education: All means all. Retrieved from https://gem-­r eport-­2 020.unesco.org/wp-­c ontent/uploads/2021/02/ Mongolia.pdf UNICEF & UN Women. (2013). Global thematic consultation on the post-2015 development agenda: Addressing inequalities. Synthesis report of global public consultation. UNICEF & UN Women. Retrieved from www.worldwewant2030.org/node/299198 Warnock, M., & Norwich, B. (2010). Special educational needs: A new look. Bloomsbury Publishing. World Bank. (2020). Gross national income per capita: Mongolia. Retrieved from https://data.worldbank.org/indicator/NY.GNP.PCAP.CD?locations=MN Yuriko, K., Kazuo, K., Yuji, U., & Yuka, H. (2017). Teacher and parental perspectives of barriers for inclusive and quality education in Mongolia. Retrieved from https://ideas.repec.org/p/jic/wpaper/159.html

Part III Exclusion: Separation, Segregation, Suspicion

14 ‘Unruly’ Ethnic Minorities: Exclusion Through Policy Constructions Sana Rizvi

Introduction This chapter explores how certain pupil populations in the UK are identified as in need of discipline in schools and in wider society through a focus on specific “unruly” (Sheth, 2009) features of that pupil population. It analyses the ways that exclusion is intersectionally experienced by these pupils and reflects on what meaningful inclusion looks like for minoritised children and young people. The most recent review of school exclusion policies and practices in England from the Department for Education, the Timpson Review (DfE, 2019), highlighted long-standing trends in exclusion statistics and disparities in relation to particular ethnic groups (p. 10). While the report notes that patterns of disproportionality are “complex”, this chapter considers the safeguarding concerns outlined by Timpson (p. 11) and the enduring use of disciplinary exclusion in relation to “unruly” identities through a case study approach. The S. Rizvi (*) Liverpool John Moores University, Merseyside, UK e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 E. J. Done, H. Knowler (eds.), International Perspectives on Exclusionary Pressures in Education, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-14113-3_14

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consequences of the relationship between a perceived unruliness and school exclusion are often further negative experiences for pupils who are excluded. A recent report by the HM Inspectorate of Prisons looked at Children in Custody (2018–2019)1 in the UK stated that 53% of children and young people currently placed in secure training centres and youth offender institutions were from Black and minority ethnic backgrounds. This is four times greater than the proportion that children and young people from minoritised communities represent in the national population and speaks to the wider exclusionary structures prevalent in the UK.  A similar scenario is observed within school settings, where Black Caribbean boys represent the second highest excluded group in English schools (after Gypsy Traveller children), being twice as likely to experience a fixed-period exclusion and four times more likely to experience a permanent school exclusion compared to the entire school population (Demie, 2021). This chapter draws on Sheth (2009) to explore how school exclusion, surveillance and policing and the subsequent placing of minoritised children and young people within secure training centres, prisons and youth offender institutions reflect the racism that can be experienced by minoritised communities more generally.

Who Are the Unruly? Sheth (2009) argues that the state creates exceptions to the laws that generally protect the rights of its citizens and then targets such exceptions towards what the state characterises as “unruly” behaviour in order to exclude certain populations. This resonates with Mbembé and Meintjes’ (2003) claim that nation-states enforce their sovereignty through the creation of groups that are portrayed as threatening to the social and political order. In this chapter, I examine macro policies that may be used to discipline populations using Sheth’s (2009) conceptualisation of the  Children in Custody 2018-19: An analysis of 12–18 year-olds’ perceptions of their experiences in secure training centers and young offender institutions, HM Inspectorate of Prisons (February 2020). https://www.justiceinspectorates.gov.uk/hmiprisons/wp-content/uploads/sites/4/2020/02/ Children-in-Custody-2018-19-Web-1.pdf 1

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“unruly” and their relation to the micro policies at the school level relating to behaviour. Sheth defines unruliness as: [The] element that is intuited as threatening to a political order, to a collectively disciplined society. As this term suggests, this element threatens to disrupt because it signifies some immediate fact of difference that must be harnessed and located or categorized or classified in such a way so as to not challenge the ongoing political order. (Sheth, 2009, p. 26)

Sheth (2009) views race as a technological tool that the state uses to categorise segments of its population as a threat to social order. The perception of any population as unruly or threatening implies an official collective awareness of the unruly group’s history of conflict with either sovereign or state power (e.g. through military intervention, colonisation, slavery). On this count, the racialisation of a group does not happen by chance, nor is it a biological or social construct; it is a state-sanctioned technological tool utilising legal frameworks to position certain groups as threatening. This is followed by efforts to contain the group in question through laws and policies that codify the group’s transition from being merely “different” to being “racialised” by the state. The state manages this transition by creating an official narrative around what constitutes a good or bad citizen, and lawful and unlawful behaviour. Sheth’s (2009) focus is on how Muslim and Arab Americans (including Arab Christians) have been positioned as threatening on the grounds that their culture and/or religion endanger the existence of a liberal state. Liberal western states share “a national/collective self-understanding that pledges a commitment to procedure, rule of law, and the tolerance of a range of populations that hold distinctly different cultural/ethnic/linguistic/religious values, that is common to pluralism” (p.88). The argument is that liberal states present themselves as bastions of human rights, pluralism and justice, but this very projection conceals their use of race as a technological tool to divide society and further legitimise its sovereignty. Although an unruly symbol can be interpreted as observable (e.g. the hijab, skin tone, or an accent), it can also be an intangible element of the targeted population. Such elements include the collective memory of a

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crime committed by a member of the population (like a terrorist act). Context determines whether a symbol will challenge the liberal state’s values; hence, a nun wearing a wimple (similar to a hijab) is not considered threatening. Sheth’s (2009) arguments may appear radical when applied to understanding exclusion in an educational landscape. However, it can be noted that experiences of exclusion of children and young people from racialised communities are unrepresented in discourses on exclusionary practices. Educational settings are places where students risk being discursively constructed as different and potentially threatening, and thus deserving of educational and wider forms of exclusion and punishment. The exclusion of students with racialised identities reflects the wider relationship between the state and racialised communities, with sanctions being justified under the guise of maintaining law and order (Weekes-Bernard, 2010).

Singling Out Educational settings such as schools, colleges and universities establish behaviours, symbols, attires and appearances that they deem inimical to their ethos and image. As Sheth (2009) indicates, these behaviours are not in themselves problematic. Rather, it is resistance to these symbols that can contribute to a sense of threat while allowing schools to maintain that their policies are not discriminatory as they simply outline binaries related to “good” and “bad” behaviour which apply to all pupils. For example, the school can claim that uniform policies requiring all girls to wear knee-length skirts do not single-out Muslim girls who may prefer long skirts or trousers due to their religious beliefs. Similarly, school hairstyle policies requiring boys to have “neat haircuts” and avoid “extreme” or “non-traditional” hairstyles are not viewed as overtly targeting Black boys and girls with locks, braids or natural Afros. Furthermore, decisions made around what constitutes harmful or inappropriate behaviour are entirely discretionary, such that a student not considered unruly may commit the same act but not be judged as needing taming. An example was seen in 2009 when pupils at Sutton Grammar School for Boys spelt the word “cock” using bricks on their school rooftop so it was visible

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from Google Earth satellite; the headmaster took no disciplinary action and stated, “it was nice, a light-hearted bit of fun” (Education News, 2009). Such discretionary judgement is situated within a wider context in which pupils at various intersections are marked as either “unruly” or as “children just being children”; the adultification of Black boys is an example of the difference in disciplinary outcomes in schools that can result from professionals’ perception of racialised children and young people (Davis & Marsh, 2020). Superficially, these behaviour policies appear as morally positive or necessary to make everyone feel safe at school. However, this masks an intrinsic function of educational and social institutions, which is to create their own inclusionary and exclusionary processes to maintain order and preserve their legitimacy and power.

Taming Through Policies The school disciplining and exclusion of pupils from racialised communities demonstrates the conditional nature of inclusion for some students (Slee, 2019). The exclusion of racialised children and young people is rarely considered in the discourse around educational inclusion and exclusion. More usually, it is viewed as the concern of other disciplines, such as Immigration Law or Criminal Justice Studies. Policies do not offer equal rights and protections to everyone, despite their alleged neutrality. For example, in relation to teacher training in England, Remi-­ Salisbury (2020, p.  17) notes that behaviour and attendance policies involving a police presence in schools can be highly damaging, as seen in the recent case in England of Child Q, stripped searched in her school because of a perceived infringement of the school’s behaviour policy (Joseph-Salisbury & Connelly, 2018). Similarly, intersectional analysis of governmental, institutional and school-level policies reveals that citizenship and belongingness are continually negotiated through the state via unruly symbols (Yuval-Davis, 2007, p. 563). Policies adopt exclusion criteria that effect particular groups while maintaining the state’s image as a tolerant, pluralistic society. Once it is understood that the state (and educational institutions) do not tolerate

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certain behaviours that could “threaten” everyone, citizens and students are more willing to accept certain rules as necessary to maintain order. Sheth (2009) terms this the “Violence of Law” (p. 42). Laws are developed to protect the nation-state and the “state protects those segments of its population whose interests are thought to conserve its own existence and abandon those populations that are considered a threat to the existing order” (p. 42). The USA Patriot Act, introduced immediately post-9/11, legitimised state surveillance of Muslim communities by increasing government powers to search personal records and telephone communications (e.g. Section 213). Such discriminatory policies remove the protections of the state from the group perceived as threatening, which simultaneously dehumanises them as undeserving of these protections. Similarly, in the UK, following 9/11, the government amended Section 40 of the British Nationality Act 1981 and the Nationality, Immigration and Asylum Act 2005, permitting the state to remove citizenship from individuals it considered to be a national threat, and the Immigration Act 2014 that removed protections against statelessness. In the next section, I discuss the cases of Shamima Begum, Osime Brown and Tashaun Aird to illustrate how their exclusions were a direct consequence of multipronged policies that presented such children and young people as threats. I note how Shamima Begum and Osime Brown’s cases have been omitted from discourse related to exclusionary practices and argue that it is imperative to consider their experiences in order to understand that exclusion and safeguarding failures in education are intersectionally experienced by children and young people.

Shamima Begum Examining immigration policies within educational discourse is central to understanding how racialised children and young people can be categorised as unruly threats. The case of Shamima Begum, a British-born 15-year-old who left the UK in 2015 to join ISIS in Syria following online terrorist grooming, was an example of how the state has the power to dehumanise and remove an individual’s legal protections. The unruly symbols were Shamima Begum’s Muslim attire, more specifically her

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burqa, her South Asian Muslim name and her brown skin. Examining this through Sheth’s (2009) analysis of race, Shamima’s orthodox dress, overt Muslimness, and skin colour reinforced suspicions and a political narrative in which Muslim women were described as looking like “bank robbers” and “letter boxes” (Press Gazette, 2019). Shamima was prevented from returning to the UK, which was only possible after the introduction of stricter immigration and national security policies, on the grounds that she would be an unruly presence who could threaten public safety if she returned. She was not tried in a UK court as a young person, with the possibility of subsequent rehabilitation and counselling services. Instead, Masters and Regilme (2020) describe an official narrative in which she was adultified, meaning prosecution as a responsible adult, thus shifting the focus from her status as a young victim of online grooming, trafficking, statutory rape and a child soldier. This narrative could be read as gendered, xenophobic and Islamophobic, preventing the public from perceiving her as a vulnerable young person that warranted and precluding any empathy. Shamima’s case was presented as following due process under the law, but the legal framework invoked was one that highlighted her intersecting identities: someone asserting a certain type of Muslimness, wearing a burqa/hijab, brown, and a young mother. The subsequent revoking of her UK citizenship set a dangerous precedent by creating a two-tiered citizenship and human rights system where individuals from racialised communities risked having their rights and citizenship revoked for deviating from state-­sanctioned British values (Masters & Regilme, 2020). Notably, the rationale for this legal development was to maintain societal order and, ironically, protecting rights even though it simultaneously undermined the rights of racialised minorities. Once revoked, no alternative narrative or alignment with state-sanctioned values and symbols can help an individual regain those rights. Dressed in Western clothes with a Nike baseball cap, lipstick and big sunglasses, she explained why she stopped wearing traditional Islamic dress: “I wear these clothes, and I don’t wear a hijab, because it makes me happy”. (Robinson, 2021)

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Shamima’s new image might be interpreted as signifying a desire to demonstrate that she no longer poses a threat to the state. As Sheth (2022) suggests, the hijab and burqa have become emblematic of a western perception that Muslim women are oppressed. However, post 9-11, this focus on Muslim dress has come to signify “a deliberate uncooperativeness and defiance” and an affront to liberal and tolerant British values (Sheth, 2009, p. 97).

Siham Hamud The Shamima Begum case does not feature in the educational discourse around exclusion. However, the criminalisation of the hijab and labelling of some female Muslims as non-compliant or unruly subjects can begin at an early age in UK schools. Siham Hamud, a 12-year-old Black Muslim girl, was sent home from Uxbridge High School for wearing a full-length, not knee-length skirt, indicating that state schools can engage in the micro-surveillance and punish young Muslim girls for defying their codes. Siham was advised by the school to remain at home unless she agreed to wear a knee-length skirt. She resisted this condition, which could be construed as an imposed exclusion, and the school took Siham’s family to court for unauthorised absences. At an interview, Siham stated: They aren’t accepting me for my religion and that’s wrong. I feel confused and annoyed that I can’t wear what I want for my religion. I hope they’ll change their rules so that girls like me wear skirts to school. (Parveen, 2021)

Siham’s case shows how unruly symbols of her Muslim female identity risk being positioned in direct opposition to liberal values. The school’s actions and Siham’s comments at the interview indicate the extent to which schools function as gatekeepers in the education of racialised children and young people, having the capacity to categorise pupils as unruly and suitable for exclusion. In this instance, the school subsequently dropped its legal challenge and allowed Siham to return to school in a full-length skirt.

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Osime Brown The impact of criminal justice policies within educational contexts should also be considered and the range of exclusionary processes that are applied to children and young people from racialised communities (Demie, 2021). Osime Brown’s experiences of formal UK settings illustrate how the educational, penal and immigration systems routinely categorise Black disabled men as unruly threats. Now 22 years old, with autism, a heart condition and mental health needs, Osime moved to the UK from Jamaica with his mother when he was four years old and has since experienced multiple failures by educational and social services. In one 12-month period, Osime was moved between 28 different social care settings. In 2016, while under local authority care, Osime became a victim of “mate crime” after witnessing a friend stealing a mobile phone from another young person. According to Osime’s mother, eight young people were present during the theft, but only Osime received a custodial sentence (Purdy-Moore, 2021). The case took two years to reach trial, by which time Osime was old enough to be tried as an adult under the now-­ rescinded Law of Joint Enterprise, and he was sentenced to five years in prison. The Law of Joint Enterprise gave the court the right to convict an individual of a crime regardless of whether they committed it or if they were present or aware that it would happen. Instead of providing Osime with his educational, health and social care entitlements, the state placed him in a prison for a crime he had only witnessed and, importantly, had no comprehension of. Whilst in prison, Osime became subject to the Borders Act 2007, having spent over 12 months in prison, and was notified that he would be deported due to his familial roots in Jamaica (Purdy-­ Moore, 2021). Osime is a British citizen and, yet, the state continually creates immigration policies that appear designed to preserve the dominant (i.e. White) culture and ethos (Cowan, 2021). Most recently, the UK-Rwanda Migration and Economic Development Partnership will permit the UK state to deport asylum seekers who arrive in the UK through illegal routes. As Goodfellow notes:

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There is a reason why they say they will initially only take male asylum seekers to Rwanda. When they use the deeply dehumanising term “illegal immigrant”, they do not want people to picture real human beings in need of protection and compassion, but menacing others. (Goodfellow, 2022)

Young people like Osime are at risk of losing their citizenship and being deported to a country they hold no memories of. The unruly symbols of being a Black male, disabled, autistic and of an immigrant family facilitated Osime’s exclusion from an educational site and his subjection to punitive immigration measures. According to Sheth (2009), the state utilises multipronged school and institutional policies, in this example, to transform Osime’s identity from a young autistic person to a societal threat. At no point did law enforcement agencies consider that they were depriving a vulnerable young person of his rights under the Equality Act 2010 whilst subjecting him to dehumanising conditions within the prison. The Home Office did reverse its deportation order against Osime following campaigning by Osime’s mother and various grassroots organisations and politicians. Nevertheless, for families like Osime’s, the threat of categorisation as unruly is ever present, alongside the threat of exclusion from schools, pupil referral units (PRUs), social care, and healthcare, and ultimately, their homeland. The state continues to treat those of Black Caribbean heritage as a threat to order, disciplining a significant proportion of them through a racialised prison system where they continue to be overrepresented (Wallace & Joseph-Salisbury, 2021). Such injustice has been compounded by the Home Office’s wrongful categorising of the Windrush Generation as illegal immigrants, leading to detentions and deportations; the Black Caribbean community has been portrayed as un-British or foreign, with “no right to be in the country” (Gentleman & Taylor, 2021).2 Educational policies can magnify cultural differences between the state and communities. In the Sewell Report, the government sought to explain why Black Caribbean children have poorer outcomes compared to Black Africans in the UK, “despite similar levels of risk in terms of low  https://amp.theguardian.com/uk-news/2021/aug/05/outcry-over-plan-to-deport-jamaicannationals-who-came-to-uk-as-children?__twitter_impression=true 2

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socio-economic status, neighbourhood deprivation, prejudice, and poverty” (p. 68). It is noted that most “Black Caribbean, and Mixed White and Black Caribbean pupils are third generation UK born, while many Black African pupils are more recent immigrants” (p. 68). It is suggested that minorities who have been long established in a country, particularly in a context of racial and socio-economic disadvantage, may be the least likely to be optimistic about the possibilities of social mobility and education to transform their lives. (Commission on Race and Ethnic Disparities, 2021, p. 68).

This Commission on Race and Ethnic Disparities (2021) report offers a divisive and deficit-based narrative around what separates Black Caribbean from Black African communities. It could be read as cautioning Black African communities that their inclusion is conditional since they share unruly symbols of immigrant, Black, and low socio-economic status. A key implication is that showing a lack of optimism or questioning the meritocratic basis of educational institutions could result in exclusion.

Tashaun Aird Whilst the examples of Shamima and Osime highlight how the state can remove racialised young people from broader educational discourses, the next case illustrates the risk of their exclusion through structurally racist policies in educational settings and discursive construction as unruly threats to school culture discipline. In July 2017, 13-year-old Tashaun Aird was formally excluded (expelled) from school for allegedly damaging a teacher’s personal property. Initially, his family was assured that his exclusion was temporary and conditional on future positive behaviour, after which he could return to school. However, the school reneged and decided to permanently exclude him, initially transferring him to a PRU and then to an alternative provision. This was an unlawful move by the school and exposed Tashaun to an environment that endangered his education and emotional wellbeing, and ultimately his life. Whilst at the

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PRU, Tashaun reported being threatened by another group of boys, having already been stabbed there. Three months later, he was fatally stabbed by boys who mistook him for a member of a rival gang. Despite his family’s raising concerns with relevant agencies, it had seemingly been accepted that some level of threat was common in such educational settings. From a racial justice perspective, Tashaun’s exclusion definitely marked him as unruly and beyond the protective remit of the state. Tashaun’s Blackness, gender, social class, and a creative passion to produce Afrobeat music were marked as unruly and problematically associated with gangs and criminal behaviour. Consequently, having committed a relatively harmless prank, he was immediately categorised as threatening and subject to disciplinary action. The contrast in outcomes between the Sutton Grammar School incident and Tashaun’s prank raises the question as to how far Whiteness and higher social economic status afford protection to students. The former were constructed as good citizens despite their actions. In an investigation of permanent exclusion cases in the UK and who was involved at an institutional level in marking racialised learners as threatening and in need of exclusion, Carlile (2012) observed how different stakeholders dealt with individual cases from racialised communities, During one student support meeting, I heard the same student described as “very dangerous” by the schools’ police liaison officer; “learning disabled” by the educational psychologist; “a nasty piece of work” by the senior teacher; “a young person with a lot of potential, caring for her alcoholic father” by the social worker; and “in need of an Anti-Social Behaviour Order” by the housing officer. (Carlile, 2012, p. 181)

Whilst Carlile does not draw on Sheth (2009), she does suggest how certain labels (e.g. dangerous, learning disabled and nuisance) are associated with behaviours that risk uncovering a school’s racist policies and processes, thereby harming its wider public image. For instance, Carlile (2012) notes the case of Jed, whose account of how he was a victim of racism in his exclusion panel ultimately counted against him.

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When I saw in the paperwork that he had said that ‘other white boys’ at his previous school had ‘been racist’ to him, my heart sank in anticipation. Jed’s social worker had attended the Panel, and explained that his friends were all reported to be ‘BCRB,’ ‘BAFR’ or ‘BOTH’ and that he liked to dress and talk like his friends and listen to rap and hip-hop music. She explained that it was because of this that his ‘white’ peers had bullied him and that he had complained of racism. (Carlile, 2012, p. 188)

The interest of racialised boys in Afrobeat, hip-hop, drill or rap music is termed unruly; Fatsis (2019), Bramwell (2015) and Keyes (2004) explore how Black music subcultures are perceived as suspicious and as promoting deviant or criminal behaviour. Carlile (2012) also points to the treatment of those unruly subjects who show critical consciousness and challenge punitive institutional policies or their labelling as “trouble makers”, which can lead to exclusion. The process of applying exclusionary strategies, such as off-rolling, managed moves or temporary exclusions (Bei et  al., 2021) dehumanises students, implying that schools consider them unworthy of protection and education. In a family statement released through the police, Tashaun was described as “family-­ orientated” and “passionate about his music” (SkyNews, 2019). The families of Shamima, Osime and Tashaun were aware of state and public perceptions of their children and sought to humanise them in order to gain public sympathy and justice. Arguably, a final consequence of exclusionary and taming policies and processes is the further vulnerablising of children and young people from racialised communities, including removing their citizenship rights. Shamima is currently stateless, residing in a prison camp in Kurdish-held Syria, Osime was traumatised in prison and, tragically, Tashaun was murdered following his exclusion.

The State’s Role in Racialising Communities Sheth (2009) proposes that the potentially violent nature of the relationship between the state and unruly populations is concealed through varied mechanisms. This section specifically focuses on how PREVENT (an

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anti-terrorist initiative), as a government policy, legitimises surveillance of Muslim communities and Islamophobia in the UK (Qurashi, 2018). Whilst PREVENT was first introduced in 2003 as a counterterrorism strategy, it became a statutory legal policy for all institutions under the Counterterrorism and Security Act of 2015. The Act requires all educational institutions (from early year’s providers through to higher education), National Health Service (NHS) trusts, local authorities and other public bodies to ensure they have taken steps to prevent individuals from being radicalised. Qurashi (2018) suggests that PREVENT has constructed Muslims as a suspect community, and whilst the policy encompasses all forms of extremism, its focus remains on Muslims and teaching British values in educational contexts. The associated handbook has undergone several revisions and does acknowledge that an extremist has no single profile; however, this has led some practitioners to infer that the entire Muslim community poses a potential terrorist risk. Experience suggests there is no typical profile of UK-based violent extremists influenced by Al-Qaida. They can come from a range of geographical areas, from different ethnic and cultural backgrounds and include a number of converts to Islam. (DCSF, 2008, p. 11)

The handbook encourages teachers to use professional judgement to identify suspicious behaviour. Sian (2015) offers a verbatim from a reception class teacher concerning her PREVENT training: If the pupils sat telling you that in their household they are sat making some kind of contraption with shampoo bottles or something, or they have got video cameras out all the time, or if one of the family members is back and forth to Pakistan and Afghanistan and for longer periods of time. I mean, it could be something simple and it might be that they are visiting family somewhere, but you always have to question the what if? (Teacher participant in Sian, 2015, p. 191)

PREVENT has widened interpretations of unruly symbols which now include trips to and/or having familial roots in Pakistan, regular mosque attendance, wearing overtly Muslim attire. Qurashi (2018) notes that

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certain behaviours, gestures, ideas, language, peers, and ancestry within Muslim countries are all used in intelligence gathering through PREVENT. In one instance, a four-year-old boy in the West Midlands was referred to PREVENT by his after-school club for discussing a popular Fortnite video game (Stein & Townsend, 2021). The child’s parents were then visited by police as this is a PREVENT procedure. This referral reveals the insidiousness of a policy that transforms a child’s nursery into a vehicle for criminalising that child and categorising them as an unruly threat. PREVENT creates anxiety in subject populations around whether their words or behaviour could be judged as unruly. The parents of Muslim children and young people should be able to trust institutions to safeguard their rights rather than reinforce the state’s political interests. Critical scholars should also consider the complicity of institutions in impeding racialised students from realising their rights in education, health and socially. As long as PREVENT is fused with safeguarding discourse, practitioners will continue to justify the use of this intrusive surveillance mechanism on Muslim communities and vulnerable groups.

There Are No Neat Solutions This chapter has explored how states can employ race as a technological tool to serve their own interests, initially through creating unruly symbols and then introducing policies to control populations deemed unruly. It has been shown, in a UK context, how school disciplinary, immigration, carceral and counterterrorism policies are connected, leading to the potential exclusion of children and young people from racialised communities. Superficial reforms to public institutions are unlikely to engender meaningful inclusion but there are no neat solutions. The exclusions of Shamima Begum, Osime Brown and Tashaun Aird from educational discourse were made possible by their discursive positioning as unruly which relies on historical racialised and pathologising socio-political discourses. State and institutional actions and the day-to-day activities of practitioners and educators are connected, and we should broaden who and what is encompassed in inclusion and exclusion-related discourse within

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education. A rights-based perspective could humanise the experiences of racialised children and young people, highlighting the mechanisms and policies that exclude them from inclusive educational discourse. Additionally, Erevelles (2000) proposes that, as educators, we must consider the inter-relationality of oppressive structures to expose the multipronged approach that excludes children and young people at various intersections. Erevelles argues for: critical pedagogy that provides the intellectual tools that can render visible the material structures and ideological discourses that have different effects on Black, white, lesbian, working-class, disabled, and third world students, and yet at the same time have to be transformed so that all students can achieve social, economic, and political liberation. (Erevelles, 2000, p. 47)

Unless educators and practitioners in public institutions resist punitive strategies and policies directed towards minoritised populations, many racialised children and young people will not be afforded protection of their rights and will be excluded from an inclusive agenda.

References Bei, Z., Knowler, H., & Butt, J. (2021). How do we progress racial justice in education? IPPR Progressive Review, 28, 76–84. https://doi.org/10.1111/ newe.12242 Bramwell, R. (2015). UK Hip-Hop, Grime and the City: The aesthetics and ethics of London’s rap scene. Routledge. Carlile, A. (2012). An ethnography of permanent exclusion from school: Revealing and untangling the threads of institutionalised racism. Race Ethnicity and Education, 15(2), 175–194. https://doi.org/10.1080/1361332 4.2010.548377 Commission on Race and Ethnic Disparities. (2021). The report of the commission on race and ethnic disparities. Retrieved from https://www.gov.uk/governm e n t / p u b l i c a t i o n s / t h e -­r e p o r t -­o f -­t h e -­c o m m i s s i o n -­o n - r a c e and-­ethnic-­disparities Cowan, L. (2021). Border nation: A story of migration. Pluto Press.

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Davis, J., & Marsh, N. (2020). Boys to men: The cost of ‘adultification’ in safeguarding responses to black boys. Critical and Radical Social Work, 8(2), 255–259. https://doi.org/10.1332/204986020x15945756023543 DCSF (Department for Children, Schools and Families). (2008). Learning together to be safe. HMSO. Retrieved from http://static.radicalisationresearch. org/wp-­content/uploads//2015/06/DCSF-­Prevent-­Schools-­Toolkit.pdf Demie, F. (2021). The experience of Black Caribbean pupils in school exclusion in England. Educational Review, 73(1), 55–70. https://doi.org/10.1080/ 00131911.2019.1590316 Department for Education. (2019). Timpson Review of School Exclusion. CP92. DfE-00090-2019. London: DfE. Education News (2009, June 22).Naughty Sutton Grammar School Pupils leave a parting gift on roof. Sutton and Croydon Guardian. Retrieved from https:// w w w. yo u r l o c a l g u a rd i a n . c o. u k / n e w s / e d u c a t i o n n e w s / 4 4 3 3 7 8 8 . naughty-­sutton-­grammar-­school-­pupils-­leave-­a-­parting-­gift-­on-­roof/ Erevelles, N. (2000). Educating unruly bodies: Critical pedagogy, disability studies, and the politics of schooling. Educational Theory, 50(1), 25–47. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1741-­5446.2000.00025.x Fatsis, L. (2019). Grime: Criminal subculture or public counterculture? A critical investigation into the criminalization of Black musical subcultures in the UK. Crime, Media, Culture, 15(3), 447–461. https://doi.org/10.1177/1741 659018784111 Gentleman, A., & Taylor, D. (2021, August 5). Outcry over plan to deport Jamaican Nationals who came to UK as children. The Guardian. Retrieved from https://amp.theguardian.com/uk-­news/2021/aug/05/outcry-­over-plan­t o-­d eport-­j amaican-­n ationals-­w ho-­c ame-­t o-­u k-­a s-­c hildren?__twitter_ impression=true Goodfellow, M. (2022, April 14). Xenophobic exclusion has become a British tradition. Al-Jazeera. Retrieved from https://www.aljazeera.com/opinions/2022/4/14/xenophobic-­exclusion-­has-­become-­a-­british-­tradition HM Inspectorate of Prisons. (2020). Children in custody 2018-19: An analysis of 12-18 year-olds’ perceptions of their experiences in secure training centres and young offender institutions. Retrieved from https://www.justiceinspectorates. gov.uk/hmiprisons/inspections/children-­in-­custody-­2018-­19/ Joseph-Salisbury, R. (2020). Race and racism in English Secondary Schools. Runnymede Trust. Retrieved from https://assets-­global.website files. com/61488f992b58e687f1108c7c/61bcc0cc2a023368396c03d4_ Runnymede%20Secondary%20Schools%20report%20FINAL.pdf

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Joseph-Salisbury, R., & Connelly, L. (2018). ‘If your hair Is relaxed, white people are relaxed. If your hair is nappy, they’re not happy’: Black hair as a site of ‘post-racial’ social control in English schools. Social Sciences, 7(11), 219. Keyes, C. (2004). Rap music and street consciousness. University of Illinois Press. Masters, M., & Regilme Jr, S. S. F. (2020). Human rights and British Citizenship: The case of Shamima Begum as citizen to homo sacer. Journal of Human Rights Practice, 12(2), 341–363. https://doi.org/10.1093/jhuman/huaa029 Mbembé, J.  A., & Meintjes, L. (2003). Necropolitics. Public Culture, 15(1), 11–40. Parveen, N. (2021, March 16). School drops legal action after Muslim Girl told her skirt was too long. The Guardian. Retrieved from https://www.theguardi a n . c o m / e d u c a t i o n / 2 0 2 1 / m a r / 1 6 / s c h o o l -­d r o p s -­l e g a l -­a c t i o n muslim-­girl-­told-­skirt-­too-­long Press Gazette. (2019, September 9). Boris Johnson’s Telegraph column comparing Muslim Women with letterboxes led to Islamophobia spike. Press Gazette. Retrieved from https://www.pressgazette.co.uk/boris-­johnson-­telegraphc o l u m n -­m u s l i m -­w o m e n -­l e t t e r b o x e s -­b a n k -­r o b b e r s -­s p i k e -­ islamophobic-­incidents/ Purdy-Moore, S. (2021, Jun 10). Campaign groups are uniting to stop the deportation of Osime Brown. The Canary. https://www.thecanary.co/trendi n g / 2 0 2 1 / 0 6 / 1 0 / c a m p a i g n -­g r o u p s -­a r e -­u n i t i n g -­t o -­s t o p - t h e deportation-­of-­osime-­brown/ Qurashi, F. (2018). The prevent strategy and the UK ‘war on terror’: Embedding infrastructures of surveillance in Muslim communities. Palgrave Communications, 4(1), 1–13. Robinson, M. (2021, June 18). Shamima Begum’s lawyers tell immigration hearing there is overwhelming evidence she was the victim of trafficking when she left Britain to join ISIS and claim she is unsafe in Syria Camp. MailOnline. Retrieved from https://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article­9700701/Shamima-­Begums-­lawyers-­claim-­overwhelming-­evidence-­victim-­ trafficking.html Sheth, F. A. (2009). Toward a political philosophy of race. Suny Press. Sheth, F. A. (2022). Unruly women: Race, neocolonialism and the Hijab. Oxford University Press. Sian, K. P. (2015). Spies, surveillance and stakeouts: Monitoring Muslim moves in British state schools. Race Ethnicity and Education, 18(2), 183–201. https://doi.org/10.1080/13613324.2013.830099

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SkyNews. (2019, May 7). Teenager charged over killing of aspiring musician and drill music producer Tashaun Aird, 15. Sky News. Retrieved from https:// news.sky.com/story/teenager-­t ashaun-­a ird-­c harged-­o ver-killingof-­aspiring-­musician-­and-­drill-­music-­producer-­15-­11713563 Slee, R. (2019). Belonging in an age of exclusion. International Journal of Inclusive Education, 23(9), 909–922. https://doi.org/10.1080/1360311 6.2019.1602366 Stein, J., & Townsend, M. (2021, Jan 31). Muslim boy, 4, was referred to prevent over game of Fortnite. The Guardian. Retrieved from https://www.theguardian.com/uk-­n ews/2021/jan/31/muslim-­b oy-­4 -­w as-­r eferred-­t oprevent-­over-­game-­of-­fortnite Wallace, D., & Joseph-Salisbury, R. (2021). How, still, is the Black Caribbean child made educationally subnormal in the English school system? Ethnic and Racial Studies, 45, 1426. https://doi.org/10.1080/01419870.2021.1981969 Weekes-Bernard, D. (Ed.) (2010). Did they get it right? A re-examination of school exclusions and race equality. Runnymede Trust. Retrieved from https://assets-­ global.website-­files.com/61488f992b58e687f1108c7c/617bd928bb51c919f ce0ddf9_DidTheyGetItRight-­2010.pdf Yuval-Davis, N. (2007). Intersectionality, citizenship and contemporary politics of belonging. Critical Review of International Social and Political Philosophy, 10(4), 561–574. https://doi.org/10.1080/13698230701660220

15 The Paradox of Special Support and Separation Andreas Köpfer and Run Tan

Introduction This chapter draws on an international comparison to pose questions about exclusionary processes that, paradoxically, might arise from the implementation of paraprofessional roles despite their intended inclusive practices. Inclusive education is an international paradigm that implies the need to reduce barriers in order to enable participation and education for all students, especially those seen as vulnerable to exclusion (Ainscow, 2021; Köpfer et al., 2021). In order to move away from practices of segregation and separation towards measures of support and empowerment, schools must build cultures of support and facilitation. Often, the need for support is addressed by supplying specific assistance to students identified as having Special Educational Needs (SEN), for example, through teacher assistants.

A. Köpfer (*) • R. Tan University of Freiburg, Freiburg, Germany University of Konstanz, Konstanz, Germany e-mail: [email protected]; [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 E. J. Done, H. Knowler (eds.), International Perspectives on Exclusionary Pressures in Education, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-14113-3_15

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These paraprofessional roles are designed to be supportive, yet their contribution to participation in inclusive schools has been questioned (Butt & Lowe, 2012). An international review by Sharma and Salend (2016) depicts teacher assistants as supporting classroom practice and facilitating the learning of students with diagnosed SEN, but also increasing the assigned student’s risks of stigmatisation and exclusion. We compare national perspectives on school assistance in the Caucasus Region (Armenia and Georgia) and China. Such a comparison is timely given that international discourse on school assistance focuses primarily on Western conceptions of inclusive education, while countries and regions such as China and the Caucasus have yet to be considered. The authors maintain that this comparison offers valuable insights into the paradox of inclusionary-exclusionary support.

Perspectives As analysis of school development shows, inclusive education is defined differently across countries (Kozleski et al., 2011; Amrhein & Naraian, 2022). We follow Allan’s (2013, p.  3) notion of inclusive education, which implies “changes required by schools to their structures, ethos and practices” and the removal of “barriers (which may be environmental, structural or attitudinal) to children’s participation”. Focusing on disability as one aspect of heterogeneity, this transformative perspective is closely related to a changing view of disability as posited in critical disability approaches (Meekosha & Shuttleworth, 2009; Goodley et al., 2017) that question ableist expectations in neoliberal education systems (Hallett et al., 2019). This perspective is linked to anti-essentialist (Weisser, 2005) and critical-materialist (Jantzen, 1976) theories of disability that view disability as produced by societal expectations.

Para-Professional Support Paraprofessionals have been increasingly employed in inclusive school development and the building of multi-professional teams in schools in many countries (e.g. Germany, Finland, Italy and Canada) (Dworschak,

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2016; Takala, 2007). Their formal scope of action has been designed slightly differently depending on the nomenclatures adopted, for example, teacher assistants (Canada), teaching assistants (UK), special needs assistants (Armenia and Georgia), integration helpers (Germany), resource teachers or shadow teachers (China). Furthermore, the formal qualifications of paraprofessionals in these countries varies immensely. The paraprofessional role is intended to assist students with assigned SEN and foster the de-institutionalisation of special schools by introducing flexible support measures. However, research indicates a paradoxical outcome that such support measures risk reducing participation and increasing social stigma (Sharma & Salend, 2016; Butt & Lowe, 2012; Blatchford et al., 2012). On the one hand, assistants in schools support agency and self-determination for students with high needs, and may take on a mediating role between different groups of actors in class and break time (Blasse, 2017). On the other hand, practices of school assistance as individual support can result in reduced learning growth among students (Blatchford et al., 2012) and less interaction between students and teachers (Giangreco, 2010) due, for example, to “pull-out” practices. This suggests that paraprofessionals are positioned as “in-betweens”, lacking a clearly defined role and responsibility within multi-professional teams (Egilson & Traustadottir, 2009; Köpfer & Böing, 2020). Although assistants’ ambivalences may contribute to exclusionary structures, practices and cultures in inclusive schools, there are few international and crosscultural analyses, such as Fritzsche and Köpfer (2021) on Canada, UK and Germany, addressing these ambivalences.

The Caucasus: Armenia and Georgia Armenia and Georgia are two states that became independent from the Soviet Union in 1991 and gained accession to the European Economic Area through the European Neighborhood Policy (ENP). Both states underwent major transformations within their education systems and in their perspectives on disability and special needs in institutionalised education settings; constructivist notions of disability were gradually introduced to replace deficit thinking. However, as Hallett et  al. (2019)

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suggest, the cultural and social complexity of this region’s history means that European theories of disability and inclusion cannot be unproblematically transferred. They note that, although the pressure to include disabled children in regular education settings began elsewhere in the 1960s and gathered momentum in the 1970s and 1980s, contexts such as the Republic of Armenia remain in the process of adopting the principle of enrolling all children in regular schools in law and policy. In 2004, in Armenia, special schools were recognised as part of the general mainstream school system. Furthermore, both Armenia and Georgia have adopted the aim of making the mainstream school system fully inclusive by 2025 (Anapiosyan et al., 2014). This appears to be an ambitious goal since a high number of students with disabilities are taught at home and lack access to schools (18%) (Anapiosyan et al., 2014) due to schools’ inadequate support structures, including unsuitable infrastructure. This highlights the role of parents, who until now have been responsible for assisting their children, including at school. Furthermore, studies in Georgia (Kavelashvili, 2017) and in Armenia (Soorenian, 2018) show that teachers and headmasters may be reluctant to embrace inclusion and stress the need for multi-professional teams and individual support in schools (Tchintcharauli & Javakhishvili, 2017). Inclusive education reforms in Armenian and Georgian schools have included “the identification and timely professional assessment of children with SEN, the professional capacity of teaching team involved with SEN students, as well as the cooperation between multidisciplinary teams and subject teachers” (Center for Educational Research and Consulting 2013, p.  21). As Flieger (2020) points out, the building of a support structure, for example, by working with the Index for Inclusion (Booth & Ainscow, 2011) in Armenian schools, is underway. The general acceptance of inclusive education among educational staff, however, remains at a low level in Georgia (Kavelashvili, 2017). There are critical parental voices on the need for support and assistance for their children with SEN in school (Soorenian, 2018, p. 813). While the paraprofessional role of Special Needs Assistants (SNA) has not yet been introduced on a larger scale, a pilot project is being run by Caritas International to introduce this assistant role in educational practice in selected partner schools. In order to gain insight into actual school practice regarding inclusive

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education and evaluate the introduction of the SNA role, an interview study was conducted with various stakeholders (school leaders, teachers, resource teachers, special needs assistants, and parents) (www.caratas. org). Analysis shows the “in-betweenness” of the SNA’s role and the risk of exclusionary practices within inclusive education measures: For example, once provided with knowledge and skills related to pedagogical and psychological support for specific students with SEN, SNAs tend to strive for autonomy within an instructional classroom setting. In a norm-­ oriented classroom practice, SNAs are invited to provide more differentiation for the assisted student by all stakeholders (principals, teachers, parents). Furthermore, SNAs’ practice reveals an orientation towards social integration, child protection and care, not only relating to peer-­ interaction, but also to communication between various stakeholders (in the classroom and resource rooms) and outside school (between classroom practice and parents). The SNAs are expected to serve as a vehicle for negotiation. Based on this exploratory empirical approach, a high level of expectancy from the different stakeholders such as parents, principals and teachers can be identified, and this eventually leads to ambivalence, especially in relation to the relatively low level of SNAs’ qualification. This highlights the importance of the teacher’s role regarding the practice of SNAs. The notions of support and assistance differ among teachers, and most teachers viewed the SNA role as that of one-on-one support for students with SEN. Some teachers viewed them as support for teachers, and for some, they offered the possibility of having all students included within their class. For others, they presented an opportunity to pull out students for support in a resource room. In Armenia, to date, parents have been responsible for school-based assistance for their children. The design of the SNA role, therefore, intervenes in the routinised role and standing of parents in schools. While some parents have expectations that the SNA will help to organise and secure support and security for their child, others have difficulties withdrawing from the child. Hence, some parents address the SNAs as pedagogical experts, while others see SNAs as assistants under their surveillance. Overall, the parents’ expectations of the SNAs range from solely physical support to pedagogical expertise.

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China Despite the influence of international advocacy and policies on the initiation and development of inclusive education (Poon-McBrayer, 2016; Tan, 2021), the Chinese government has based its implementation of inclusive education on its political, economic and cultural conditions (Tan et al., 2021). Children with intellectual disability, visual disability and hearing impairments learn in the “regular classrooms” (LRC). However, the special educational system is maintained as the main educational setting for children with other types of disabilities such as attention deficit and hyperactivity disorder (ADHD), autism spectrum disorder (ASD), and multiple disabilities. It is thus a development model that both emphasises inclusive and special education and is described as “special schools serving as the backbone, learning in regular classroom as the main body” (Deng & Guo, 2007; Qu, 2021). The LRC was introduced into Chinese schools as an extension of the special education service and was officially recognised as equal to inclusive education in China in 2014  in the Plan of Special Education Improvement (2014–2016) (State Council, 2014). It has been conceptualised as a Chinese policy and practice of inclusive education (Yan & Deng, 2019; Xu et  al., 2018). According to the latest official data (Ministry of Education of the People’s Republic of China, MoE, 2020), 50.15% of Chinese students with disabilities in primary and secondary schools attended general schools through LRC (MoE, 2020). However, LRC only provides students with three disability types with access to general schools rather than on providing equitable and appropriate education for all, thus showing a very limited response to the international trend towards inclusive education (Deng & Poon-Mcbrayer, 2004; Xiao, 2005). This is despite the Chinese government’s ratification of the UN-CRPD in 2008. Moreover, LRC has been criticised since it only addresses students’ physical presence rather than their participation, learning and social interactions in general settings (Liu & Zhang, 2017). Meanwhile, the dependence on a special education system indicates that the regulation of the disabled population continues to reflect a national social trend towards medicalisation (Kohrman, 2005). This has led to a

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dominant medical discourse of remedy prevailing in general schools (Ebersold & Evans, 2008). This medical understanding of students’ disability also leads to practitioner objectives of normalising disabled children instead of realising the critical role of educational provision in constructing children’s educational difficulties (Wang, 2016; Tan, 2020). This medical understanding of students’ disability is likely to influence how paraprofessionals perceive their roles and work with others. The co-existence of inclusive and special education systems has produced three groups of paraprofessional support. (1) Special education teachers from a limited number of special schools are sent to general schools (Jia & Santi, 2020). (2) Resource classroom teachers also take up such roles as support services initiated by the national government for general schools. (3) For schools where no resources or special education teachers are available, shadow teachers perform such a role, primarily appointed by parents to support their children’s inclusion (Tan & Perren, 2021). Very few national and regional policies on inclusive education have addressed either classroom support for teachers in regular schools or paraprofessional support in inclusive settings. The issue of how to build resource rooms was initially addressed in a Plan of Special Education Improvement (2014–2016), and later in Guidelines for the Construction of Special Education Resource Rooms for Regular Education Schools (MoE, 2016). The latter stated that general schools having five or more students with SEN should set up a resource room with an assigned resource room teacher (RRT). At the school level, resource rooms were to be established in regular schools to support student assessment, individualised tutoring, cooperative teaching and learning, coordination, and so on (MoE, 2016). The duties and tasks of RRTs differ between schools in practice and may include subject teaching, individualised teaching, SEN assessment, consultation, training for teachers and class teachers, file management, writing IEPs (Individualised Education Programs), and managing resource rooms (Feng & Zhu, 2018; Wang & Xiao, 2017). Meanwhile, the National People’s Congress (NPC) in 2020 advocated for more shadow teachers to be appointed by schools to support inclusive practices. A regional policy in Shanghai introduced pre-service training for one-on-one “shadow teachers” in 2017 with the purpose of assisting students with SEN in regular education settings (Dai & Zhu, 2018).

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Their responsibilities included: sitting next to the target student in the classroom to provide necessary prompts during instruction; giving encouragement to participate in class activities; redirecting their attention to instruction; monitoring their inappropriate behaviours; and overseeing their safety throughout the school day (Dai & Zhu, 2018). Nevertheless, paraprofessionals in China suffer from limited and insufficient professional training in special and inclusive education (Feng & Zhu, 2018; Xie et al., 2021). They have been found to have varied educational backgrounds unrelated to education (Feng & Zhu, 2018; Xu & Malinen, 2015). Other studies problematise their part-time working structure and lack of time (Xu & Malinen, 2015; Feng & Zhu, 2018; Jia & Santi, 2020). Moreover, the fact that shadow teachers do not belong to the school system poses challenges such as unclear roles and responsibilities and conflicts with general teachers and parents (Tan, 2020). These challenges are exacerbated by a utilitarian school culture that focuses on students’ academic performance and examination results (Deng & Poon-­ Mcbrayer, 2012; Tan, 2020). Such a culture means the exclusion of various marginalised groups of students due to their different family social economic status (SES) and the Hukou system.1

Comparison and Implications These brief depictions of the introduction of paraprofessional support roles in China and the Caucasus region (Georgia and Armenia) show several commonalities as well as differences. Both examples indicate that assistance and educational support are discursively constituted in policy as a fundamental field of action for the realisation of inclusive high-­ quality education. Within an ongoing process of implementation, a tension between support and separation or independence becomes visible, which has been described in Pfahl (2011) as the concurrent paradox of special attention and separation. Paraprofessional assistants can enforce  Hukou-system: a household registration record officially identifies a person as a permanent resident of an area and has been criticised as a source of social inequality since the social benefits received by citizens differ vastly according to their urban or rural status and birthplace. 1

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participative practices as mediators between teachers, resource teachers and parents to ensure that support is in place for a specific child. However, they also reinforce the tendency of delegation and pull-out practices as an international phenomenon, which Slee (2019) terms exclusion in inclusion. This tendency has been analysed following critiques of ableist classroom teaching (Buchner, 2017). Assistant roles can lead to striving for professional autonomy (Fritzsche & Köpfer, 2021) without transformative demands to abandon a transmissional (closed, frontal) teaching model and changes to the school culture. Whilst paraprofessionals can be seen as a key factor in support and assistance for students in school, these roles in Armenia, Georgia and China are complicit in the maintenance of exclusionary practices. For this reason, paraprofessionals must be thoroughly integrated into communication systems within the school in order to receive information and support. This has yet to happen in either China or the Caucasus. Concepts of collaborative consultancy could be helpful in which the teacher, resource team, and paraprofessional routinely discuss case-based challenges. Responsibility for differentiation and adaptation of learning materials or learning objects should, however, remain with the teacher. The teacher is then responsible for all the students in class. Differentiation is supposed to happen in classroom practice, and paraprofessionals can assist students with SEN using differentiated material. Due to the policy-based design of the paraprofessional role (as SNAs or shadow teachers), paraprofessionals are not qualified as teachers or special educators. Therefore, qualifications could focus on basic pedagogical and psychological knowledge and social skills for building instructional and supportive relationships. A possible way to secure the ongoing professionalisation of paraprofessional support in Armenia and China would be in-school professional development focusing on the pedagogical and disability-based needs of the assisted child (e.g. differentiation, adaptation, cooperation, autism training, etc.). More national and regional policies are required to ensure joint professional training for teachers, resource teachers and shadow teachers. These would include guidelines for their roles and responsibilities. In order to practically organise multi-professional cooperation within complex settings, concepts such as street-level bureaucracy (Lipsky, 2010) could facilitate the process

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and ensure that paraprofessionals can provide support within general classrooms and be supported by the teacher. The analysis also shows that collaboration between paraprofessionals and parents needs to be grounded in a discourse on paraprofessionalism within inclusive education. Both the Caucasus and China have a strong tradition of parental involvement regarding the role of assistants. In the Chinese context, the parents of children with special educational needs directly employ shadow teachers. In Georgia and Armenia, parents often fulfil the role of SNAs, and overlaps in perceived responsibility and accountability might lead to conflicts. In Armenia, as described above, the role of paraprofessionals can conflict with the expectations of parents who have been responsible for the assistance of their children in school historically. On the other hand, SNAs and shadow teachers could also serve as a bridge between schools and general teachers and these parents, being viewed as advocates for inclusion (Hallett et al., 2019) and for the assignment of support for their children.

Conclusion A discourse and reform process demanding that schools provide support for specified students has influenced the introduction of support roles in the selected countries. This discourse is informed by a compensatory model of inclusive education and by a medical understanding of disability, both of which are perpetuated when assistant roles are precarious and inadequately professionalised. Here, China and the Caucasus region (Armenia and Georgia) serve as examples of the de-professionalisation of school-based support for students with assigned SEN. Furthermore, this discourse tends to pathologise and stigmatise children within a norm-­ oriented school setting. This tendency was not challenged in the concept of inclusive education advanced by the UN-CRPD (UN, 2006) and is continuing through the programmatic realisation of inclusive education in many countries. The persistence of deficit-oriented special educational perspectives rests uneasily with changed social views on disability and transformational approaches in educational systems. Schools continue to systematically exclude students and describe the im/possibilities for

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reintegration as a moral issue (Weisser, 2017). The “special educationalization” of educational systems, as described by Biermann (2022) when comparing discourses on the realisation of the UN-CRPD in Nigeria and Germany, is difficult to resist where deficit models of disability have, historically, been hegemonic. Eastern and post-Soviet countries such as Armenia and Georgia have strong traditions of cultural-historical approaches, and it therefore seems inappropriate to recommend a move towards social-constructivist and anti-essential perspectives (Goodley & Runswick-Cole, 2015). Armenia, for example, being both post-communist and pre-neoliberal, presents an opportunity to investigate the interconnection between a deficit-based model of disability and the extent to which neoliberal agendas have damaged the social status of disabled people (Hallett et al., 2019). Hence, the introduction of paraprofessional roles has to be regarded not only as an affirmative starting point for inclusive education reform but also as a product of notions of disability that maintain and support exclusionary practice.

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16 Gender-Based Violence and School Exclusion Sarah Cole

Introduction Sexual misconduct is a Department for Education code invoked to sanction a child or young person’s behaviour through legal exclusion from school in England (Gov.UK, 2021a, b). It is a wide-ranging term intended to encompass all forms of behaviour related to sexual violence and sexual harassment and to support the reporting of incidents where an exclusion is the sanction of choice. The term is also intended to capture a range of behaviours, including violence against LGBTQ+ pupils or male-on-male sexual violence. This descriptor for a behaviour sanction differs from gender-­based violence (GBV); nevertheless, it offers some insight into the prevalence of incidents that schools report as sexual violence and harassment. This chapter therefore focuses on reports of GBV in schools by young women and girls as outlined in the Everyone’s Invited website (https://www.everyonesinvited.uk/) and S. Cole (*) University of Exeter, Exeter, UK e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 E. J. Done, H. Knowler (eds.), International Perspectives on Exclusionary Pressures in Education, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-14113-3_16

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England’s national school inspectorate report (Ofsted, 2021), and on the relatively low numbers of formal exclusions for sexual misconduct in Department for Education (DfE) statistics. The descriptor assists in  locating the practices mobilised by educators when incidences of GBV occur in school settings and the formal processes outlined in statutory guidance. Consideration of this descriptor is important in any analysis of the ways in which young women and girls experience the reporting of sexual harassment and sexual violence in schools and what happens when they do so. The chapter problematises the issues of school exclusion and gender-­ based violence (GBV); more specifically, it concerns the role of education in preventing violence against young women and girls. There is minimal research that has investigated this topic in relation to exclusionary practices in schools in England; hence, the aim here is to illuminate the potentially confusing area of exclusion around behaviours classified as GBV and that fall under the umbrella term of “sexual misconduct”. I also consider the use of the exclusion or legal expulsion process, often conceptualised as a way to achieve justice for young women and girls who are victims of GBV in school settings. Other behaviours observed in school settings tend to be obscured through their discursive construction as normative gendered and sexualised behaviours. A theoretical framework that draws on feminist post-­ structural approaches to gender and sexuality is mobilised here to ensure greater clarity and transparency around these terms and their usage, and to suggest alternatives. Gender-based violence across the educational landscape in England is considered in order to explore the dichotomous and problematic positioning of education as, simultaneously, providing a “conducive context” (Kelly, 1988, pp. 157–158) in which gender-based violence can flourish and as the solution through which to prevent a global wave of gender-based violence. A case is made for a broader approach to GBV prevention in schools that can inform strategies for transformative education, addressing the root of such violence as well as providing a new lens for considering the use of exclusions as a sanction for incidences of GBV in schools.

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The Use of School Exclusion and GBV The descriptor guidelines state that “sexual misconduct” relates to “sexual abuse, sexual assault, sexual harassment, lewd behaviour, sexual bullying and sexual graffiti” (DfE, 2021). However, in a literature search for the term “sexual misconduct and exclusion”, the paucity of research concerning children and young people is unmistakable. What does emerge on sexual misconduct in the literature is located within a handful of, albeit limited, works related to higher education in the UK (Bull et al., 2020; Bull & Page, 2021; Page et  al., 2019; Phipps, 2020; Christensen & Darling, 2020), citing educator misconduct. This literature is congruent with a US-based literature search. Within the small body of UK-based literature, the term sexual misconduct is premised on an assumption that it emerges within a professional context and is self-explanatory. It assumes that professional conduct is regarded as how a person behaves, especially in a particular place or situation, with the prefix “mis” signifying that the behaviour is unacceptable or improper in that context. The term sexual misconduct in an educational context in England aligns with professionalism, or the lack thereof, positioned as unacceptable or improper behaviour relating to a professional role. Christensen and Darling (2020), writing on “sexual abuse by educators” state that sexual misconduct includes; “physical and non-physical sexual misconduct that is of a sexual nature or sexually motivated, which may exploit the trust of the professional position” (p. 23). What is emphasised here is the hierarchical structure of power and abuses of power in a professional role, or behaviours that transgress institutional standards and behaviours acceptable to an organisation or professional position. This raises the question as to how this aligns with children and young people. The lack of literature on the use of legal school exclusion for “sexual misconduct” (including behaviours that are classified as GBV) suggests that it is not an issue in current debate. Another reading is that the specificity and conjunction of the terms “sexual” and “misconduct” in relation to children, young people and education that is problematic. What the literature offers on this relation emerges from government data which lists 86 permanent exclusions and 1886 fixed period exclusions for sexual

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misconduct in 2018/19 (Gov.UK, 2021a, b). The grey literature reports these figures; specifically, newspaper articles document the localised geographical incidence of exclusions for “sexual misconduct” in schools in their area. These articles draw on exclusion data based on Department for Education guidelines (Gov.UK, 2021a, b) whilst diverging around regional statistical specificity. Beyond this, the processes for exclusion based on “sexual misconduct” is vague at best. In policy in England, a child or young person can only be excluded on behavioural grounds. School behavioural policies, acceptable and unacceptable behaviours are documented, however, often with little or no reference to “sexual misconduct”. Maintained schools must set out and publish measures in their behaviour policy (Section 89 (1) of the Education and Inspections Act 2006), whilst academies, although seen as “good practice”, are not required by law to publish their behaviour policy. Nevertheless, it is mandatory to ensure that a written policy exists, detailing sanctions for poor behaviours. It is at the discretion of independent schools to have a policy, although schools do have a statutory duty to safeguard and promote the welfare of students through safeguarding policies, with specific reference to the reporting of “sexual harassment or violence”(DfE, 2020, p. 100). Sexual misconduct then appears as a tenuous concept, positioning sexual behaviour in schools as unacceptable or improper and contrary to accepted standards within the school. As a discursive construction, “sexual misconduct” is not commonly used, nor does it feature in the literature in relation to children and young people; it is applied in variable, inconsistent and opaque ways in the context of exclusionary practices.

Sexual Misconduct or Gender-Based Violence? In the scant literature available, “sexual misconduct” refers to conduct which is sexual in nature, unwelcome, and engaged in without consent in an institutional context. It can be proposed, however, that “misconduct” is discordant when juxtaposed with the range of unacceptable and criminal sexual behaviours outlined, acting to neutralise the term. Sexual misconduct is a reductionist codification of sexual behaviours and offences,

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which acts to moderate and obscure potentially harmful behaviours and is offered as a gender-neutral term. Hence, it is argued that the behaviours described under “sexual misconduct” clearly describe gender-based violence and that the exclusion code should read GBV or the often-­ interchangeable term of violence against women and girls (VAWG). The latter has gained traction in recent years since its introduction into the Home Office’s Together We Can End Violence Against Women and Girls Strategy (HM Government, 2009). The strategy represented a cross-­ government commitment to address the issue of violence against women and girls in England and Wales. Informed by feminist activism, the VAWG strategy placed gender at its core, underpinning the three pillars of the strategy: Protection, Provision and Prevention. Points 12 and 13 state: Schools and colleges have a crucial role to play in helping children and young people to develop healthy relationships, deal with their emotions and challenge the way in which some men and boys behave towards women and girls. What is taught in the classroom, and the way a school deals with bullying and inappropriate behaviour, can all have an important impact. There was a strong feeling from the consultation that all children should be taught about VAWG and that all schools, including faith and primary schools, should be involved. (HM Government, 2009, p. 6)

Successive governments have continued this development, indicating that consistency and transparency are key to helping “bring about real and lasting change” (HM Government, 2021, p. 14) and acknowledging that the problem should be named unambiguously. However, neither term (GBV or VAWG) is without contestation. Boyle (2019) insists that violence against women, as a term, denotes women’s vulnerability rather than men’s responsibility. It “omits a crucial detail: that this is a movement against violence against women” (p. 20). Whilst gender-based violence is rejected as, “Anachronistic, gender-neutral and bureaucratic” (p. 20), Boyle’s argument suggests, perhaps, that both terms should be put under erasure (Spivak, 1997) due to their problematic nature. The meaning adopted here, however, resonates with the European Institute for Gender Equality, which states that:

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‘Gender-based violence’ and ‘violence against women’ are terms that are often used interchangeably as most gender-based violence is inflicted by men on women and girls. However, it is important to retain the ‘gender-­ based’ aspect of the concept as this highlights the fact that violence against women is an expression of power inequalities between women and men. (European Institute for Gender Equality [EIGE], 2021)

This argument should be advanced in educational contexts with some urgency. It may be that the addition of “school related” to “gender-based violence”, as employed by UNESCO and UN Women (2016), as in School-related Gender-based Violence-SRGBV, might be helpful to denote school specificity. However, it is suggested that further research is needed before the extended term is utilised. The foundational term of gender-based violence facilitates young people identifying and voicing unhealthy, abusive, or criminal behaviours, thus providing for “continuums” to signify connections (Boyle, 2019). For clarity, definitions of gender-based violence as set out by the United Nations are included here. Gender-based violence refers to harmful acts directed at an individual or a group of individuals based on their gender. It is rooted in gender inequality, the abuse of power and harmful norms. The term is primarily used to underscore the fact that structural, gender-based power differentials place women and girls at risk for multiple forms of violence. While women and girls suffer disproportionately from GBV, men and boys can also be targeted. The term is also sometimes used to describe targeted violence against LGBTQI+ populations, when referencing violence related to norms of masculinity/femininity and/or gender norms.

Whilst violence against women and girls encompasses a wide range of overlapping, culturally specific and globally generic concepts, “gender-­ based violence” arguably amplifies and locates gender as pivotal (Skinner et al., 2005). It embraces the range of behaviours outlined in behavioural policies beyond “sexual misconduct”, and could support educational communities to assist students in identifying both healthy and unhealthy behaviours. It also has relevance for sanctioning behaviour that does not meet zero-tolerance policies at a societal, not only institutional, level.

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Prior to COVID-19, gender-based violence was described as a pandemic, with one in three women and girls globally experiencing such violence (Garcia-Moreno & Watts, 2011). In a UK context, the statistic of two women murdered every week is repeated ad nauseam (Kelly  & Westmarland, 2016), and 90% of recorded offences of rape in 2018–19 of 13–15 year-olds were committed against girls (NSPCC, 2020). It is girls and young women between the ages of 16 and 19 that experience the highest levels of domestic violence and abuse (ONS, 2020), and it must be noted that recorded figures are from the age of 16. Research indicates that girls as young as 13 experience similar levels of violence and abuse in their teen relationships (Barter et al., 2009; Barter, 2011; Cole, 2019), meaning that they are in education.

Gender-Based Violence in the Educational Context The current context of GBV within compulsory education is characterised as one of illiteracy and suppression. Sexual abuse and harassment in schools are commonly unnamed and therefore unrecorded. Chronic underreporting, compounded by intersecting factors in the context of education, is noted in Ofsted’s (2021) rapid review of sexual violence in schools. “It is concerning that for some children, incidents are so commonplace that they see no point in reporting them” (Ofsted, 2021), aligning with a feminist analysis of GBV globally. This everydayness is the fabric of patriarchal societies, highlighting the insidious nature of chronic experiences that often go unnoticed, coalescing as a social norm and within education. Gender-based violence is hidden in plain view, supported by gendered and sexualised discourses informing hierarchical institutional policy, despite increased governmentality and sustained scholarship and activism on the other. The Ofsted (2021) report arguably demonstrates a moment of attendance to the rupture of the dominant official discourse of gender-­ based violence in education that downplays its prevalence. The Ofsted (2021) findings are not revelatory for feminist scholars working in this

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sphere but prompt dismay that the issue is far from new or undocumented. To expand on this summation, Phipps (2020) notion of “airbrushing” in the context of UK higher education suggests that the issue of GBV is indicative of how the neoliberal university addresses or, rather, fails to address this type of violence. For Phipps, this means “that not only must the institution be polished [ ] but all flaws must be airbrushed out” with an “emphasis on maintaining a marketable appearance to the detriment of [ ] welfare” (Ahmed, 2021, p. 230). It is acknowledged that there are differences in the duty to safeguard, with examples of excellent practice within the compulsory education sector and exemplars of how to work with and address GBV in educational contexts. There are, however, many schools that fail to grasp this complex and increasing problem, not because of a flagrant disregard of the duty to safeguard but due to the commonplace everydayness and (in)visible nature of gender-based violence. The Ofsted (2021) review into sexual violence was clearly ignited by what Phipps (2020) describes as the “outrage economy”, drawing on Berry and Sobieraj (2014, p. 6) who identify a propensity for “outrage media”. Investment in this channel supported the emergence of the Everyone’s Invited website, which has illuminated the scale and depth of education as a site of gender-based violence. The website invites survivors to share their stories of such violence in educational contexts through anonymous testimonials detailing a broad range of sexual assaults and sexual harassment, characterised by the founder as “rape culture”. These acts of resistance through voicing the silenced everydayness of gender-­ based violence in education were set against the backdrop of the COVID19 pandemic, illuminating a simultaneous “shadow pandemic” (UN Women, 2020) of violence against women and girls. Critically, education can be positioned as one means of maintaining and reproducing conditions that serve dominant social, political and cultural interests. Hence, there is little investment in changing the status quo of a culture apparently blind to sexual harassment, gender inequality, violence and abuse. However, the narrative of equality permeates education, for example, through the recognition of girls’ unprecedented achievements in education; it buttresses a neoliberal discourse of equality and achievement. This is most evident at the intersection of male

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entitlement and particular systems of gendered and classed patterns. Dominant forms of masculinity are hierarchically constructed around an assured entitlement, an indisputable right to something, and this coalescence is evidenced in testimonials on the “Everyone’s Invited” website. This suggests that independent schools are not addressing the issue of gender-based violence, and privately schooled men’s pre-university education lacks fundamental education around what constitutes consent (Dickinson, 2021).

Challenging Landscape Education provides the terrain where students learn to position themselves in relation to gender, sexuality and violence. Schools are “implicated in the making of particular sorts of people as well as the making of educational and social exclusions and inequalities” (Youdell, 2011, p. 1). Education is the space where identities are constructed and performed and where boys and girls learn to do gender. Being exposed to, or experiencing, gender-based violence can have a lifelong impact and reverberate intra- and inter-generationally. The impact may compound other inequalities, including poor mental and physical health (Barter & Stanley, 2016). In turn, this may result in disciplinary exclusion, self-exclusion and withdrawal from learning by girls (Osler, 2006). This requires empirical investigation in order to unpack what exclusions for experiencing, as well as enacting, sexual misconduct look like, including exploring the relational aspect of gender-based violence and implications for young people in education; it would afford greater understanding of the intricacies of the field and consideration of restorative justice approaches. Winstok (2011) states that domestic violence, as one form of gender-­ based violence, is untheorised in the education context and argues that it is the only gauge of social equality necessary. “[V]iolence against women at home demonstrates the problem of gender inequality and discrimination at its utmost severity and makes redundant the need to establish and demonstrate the problem in other social contexts” (Winstok, 2011, p.  306). However, there is, indeed, a need to establish and demonstrate the problem in other social contexts, specifically, that of education. Duncan’s (1999)

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work on sexual bullying over 20 years ago emphasised that sexual harassment, physical and sexual assault and rape were not rare events in schools. Rather, sexual harassment and the threat of sexual violence act as a form of social control, maintaining gender boundaries and hierarchies (Connell, 1995; Reay, 2002). This also applies to the “wrong sort of boys” such that “this kind of sex-based harassment builds hierarchical differences between boys, between masculinities, in which heterosexual masculinity is superior” (Reay, 2002, p. 301). The enacting and threat of violence or intimidation of either gender perpetuates compulsory heterosexuality. A poll of 16–18year olds in 2010 found that 29% of girls experienced unwanted sexual touching at school, and data around sexual offences in 2015 recorded in schools over a three-year period totalled 5500 sexual offences, including 600 rapes. Again, this is an area of chronic underreporting. Only 14% of students who experienced sexual harassment reported it to a teacher (NEU & UK Feminista, 2017). Reay (2002) contends that sex-based harassment is unrecognised as a gender issue by teachers. It tends to be viewed as integral to normal relationships or an “adolescent mating dance” (p. 302). It is discursively constructed as normal but potentially problematic for teachers since what is socially acceptable is questionable given the context and scale of the issue. In the Women and Equalities Committee inquiry into sexual harassment and sexual violence in schools (2016–2017), the Chair, Maria Miller MP, stated, “The evidence we have gathered paints a concerning picture. We have heard girls talk about sexual bullying and abuse as an expected part of their everyday life, with teachers accepting sexual harassment as ‘just banter’” (2016, p. 3). This is echoed by the Ofsted report in reference to sexualised language. Children and young people told us that ‘slag’ and ‘slut’ were commonplace and that homophobic language was also used in school. Many felt that staff either were not aware of this language, dismissed it as ‘banter’ or simply were not prepared to tackle it. (Ofsted, 2021, p. 53)

This expectation of poor staff response is reflected in the statistic that only 6% of students experiencing or witnessing the use of sexist language in school reported it to a teacher (NEU & UK Feminista, 2017). Ofsted reported that “teachers recognised that they needed to do much more than

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rely on children and young people’s verbal reports of sexual violence or sexual harassment” (2021, p. 19). However, Stein (1995) maintains that teachers collude in the harassment of girls by failing to respond to sexual harassment, which Tolman et al. (2003, p. 160) state, “implicitly permits and silently encourages boys to engage in, and girls to accept, harassing behaviors”. Ofsted (2021) reports students talking of “teachers not knowing the reality” of their lives, or being “out of date”. They reported much higher incidences of sexual harassment, online sexual abuse and bullying behaviours than teachers and leaders tended to be aware of (2021, p. 13). However, research commissioned by the NEU and UK Feminista (2017) found that 27% of teachers reported their lack of confidence in tackling a sexist incident witnessed in school. Additionally, gender impacts female teachers as targets of sexual harassment by male students, demonstrating the gendered nature of harassment and highlighting a gendered context that limits the challenging of dominant discourses. In a survey by the Times Educational Supplement of 1200 female teachers and teaching assistants, one in five reported that they had been sexually abused or harassed by a student in the past year (TES, 2021, para. 2). Given the pervasive nature of gender-based violence and the lack of clarity in educational contexts, more information is required on how head teachers and senior leadership teams arrive at decisions of exclusion for “sexual misconduct”. A Department for Education advice document for school and college governing bodies refers to “exclusions” for sexual violence and sexual harassment, yet there is no mention of “sexual misconduct” (DfE, 2018). Likewise, in statutory guidance on legal responsibilities in relation to exclusion from maintained schools, academies and pupil referral units in England (DfE, 2017), “sexual misconduct” is not mentioned, and the only reference to “sexual” is a school’s duty not to discriminate under the Equality Act 2010 on grounds of “sexual orientation” (p. 9). Given the elusive nature of the term in government guidance and the pervasive nature of gender-based violence, it is important to understand how decisions around exclusions for sexual misconduct are made, how gender-based violence is viewed, and how intersectionality informs related judgements. Do victim blaming discourses position some girls and young women as “asking for it” and are some boys afforded “perpetrator excusing” (Taylor, 2020)?

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Next Steps? The umbrella term of gender-based violence is adopted here purposefully to support a framework for students and those who work with them to identify their experiences and ensure consistency in resisting the dominant discourses which sustain gender-based violence. Such a framework has the potential to “avoid ‘othering’ specific communities” (Boyle, 2019, p. 19), and ensure parity in the ways in which racist abuse, homophobic abuse, and abuse relating to disability are challenged in education. Moreover, it supports calls for zero tolerance in all educational settings, regardless of privilege and the vagaries of the policy landscape. In support of the term “gender-based violence” in education contexts, Kelly’s (1988) concept of the continuum denotes how “specific forms of sexual violence are connected to more common, everyday aspects of male behaviour” (p. 75). This term, arguably, offers clarification to school leaders making decisions about exclusions and the experiences of sexual violence or harassment of young women and girls in a way that the term “sexual misconduct” does not. This proposal is supported by Gartner and Sterzing’s (2016) expansion of the “conceptualization of youth sexual violence” to include the concept of “microagressions” which they argue may function as a potential “gateway mechanism” to “legally actionable offenses” (p. 491). Evidence suggests that the pervasiveness of normative gendered and sexualised practices in education creates a conducive context for gender-based violence. Drawing on Sue (2010), Gartner and Sterzing (2016) define “gender microaggressions” as “intentional and unintentional insults, invalidations, and assaults based on gender and are most frequently perpetrated against women and girls” (p. 492). It is this low-severity and yet chronic form of violence (so often dismissed as less harmful or rendered permissible through discursive heteronormative tools such as “banter”) that is not captured by the “sexual misconduct” descriptor. Such behaviour is overtly sexist and often couched in humour, thus evading correction unlike other forms of abuse. Banter can be enacted in “play fighting” which is sanctioned in peer relationships through a “boys will be boys” discourse that reinforces the connection between dominant masculinity and physicality; this may develop into consensual violence and

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abuse as a “courtship ritual” (Lavoie et al., 2000; Foshee et al., 2007). The risk is that such behaviours are interpreted by schools as normalised gendered behaviour, thereby underestimating the substantial and enduring impact on girls and young women, and adding to the foundational mechanism of fear that can pervade gendered relationships. Sexual micro-aggressions can also “operate covertly, below the level of conscious awareness of the perpetrator, the victim, or both, encompassing a new domain of violent behaviors” (Gartner & Sterzing, 2016, p. 495); hence, developing a framework will permit cognisant awareness and identification. In order to encompass these everyday gender behaviours on a continuum, Gartner and Sterzing (2016) posit a comprehensive model for gender-based violence that incorporates purportedly low-severity gender-based violence. This allows for slippage between the three foundational constructs of gender micro-aggressions, sexual harassment and sexual assault, thereby demonstrating a continuum from chronic, low-severity to infrequent, high-severity offences (p. 495). Through the adopting of a zero-tolerance approach to gender-based violence and documenting the low severity and high-frequency aspects of gender-based violence, a comprehensive strategy to challenge its acceptance and normalisation can assist in the development of a positive school culture. This is critical, as Ofsted’s review highlights: How these incidents—including incidents of ‘low level’ harmful sexual behaviour—are responded to directly affects the culture of the school. If handled poorly, an unsafe and unhealthy set of norms can be created which enable peer-on-peer abuse and this can also prevent other children and young people from disclosing. (Ofsted, 2021)

Conclusion This chapter has explored exclusions for “sexual misconduct” in England and the term’s uses and meaning. It has been considered an alternative (re)interpretation of the term and associated practices. The umbrella term of gender-based violence or GBV denotes the insidious everyday nature of dominant gendered and heterosexualised discourses that inform

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children and young people’s school experiences. It is timely to reconsider the use of the term “sexual misconduct”. The challenge is to address the mismatch between what is happening in educational contexts and what is acknowledged to be happening, and to disrupt entrenched aspects of gender-based violence. Further research is urgently needed into the contexts in which gender-based violence is linked to exclusionary practices. Whilst a move away from carceral approaches may be desirable, a zero-­ tolerance approach to gender-based violence is needed before following a trajectory towards restorative justice in this complex and emotive discussion.

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UN Women. (2020, November 20). Statement by Phumzile Mlambo-Ngcuka UN Women Executive Director on the International Day for the Elimination of Violence against Women. Retrieved from https://www.unwomen.org/en/ news/stories/2020/11/statement-­e d-­p humzile-­i nternational-day-­f orthe-­elimination-­of-­violence-­against-­women UNESCO (United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization) & United Nations Women. (2016). FAQ: Types of violence against women. UNESCO.  Retrieved from https://www.unwomen.org/en/what-­we-­do/ ending-­violence-­against-­women/faqs/types-­of-­violence Winstok, Z. (2011). The paradigmatic cleavage on gender differences in partner violence perpetration and victimization. Aggression and Violent Behaviour, 16(14), 303–311. Youdell, D. (2011). School trouble: Identity, power and politics in education. Routledge.

17 Gender-Based Exclusion in Turkish Schools Melike Acar

Introduction Formal exclusion or the expulsion of students from school on disciplinary grounds is legal in Turkey, and exclusion on moral grounds is also possible. The insulting of a school’s “moral principles” was given as the reason for expelling two boys in a recent case reported in the Turkish press (duvaR.english, September 2021). The boys were found exchanging a note in class about childbirth and one parent protested that what the boys needed was sex education and crisis intervention rather than formal exclusion. Both boys are now being educated at a different school. This case is cited here because it raises questions about how inclusion and exclusion are understood in Turkish culture and, from a social cognitive perspective, it foregrounds tensions within the social knowledge that informs moral decision-making (Turiel, 2002). Teachers are called upon to navigate such tensions at the classroom and school level, and they have

M. Acar (*) MEF University, Istanbul, Turkey e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 E. J. Done, H. Knowler (eds.), International Perspectives on Exclusionary Pressures in Education, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-14113-3_17

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a key role to play in reducing or eliminating all forms of exclusion, particularly exclusion related to gender-based discrimination, which is the focus of this chapter. The chapter therefore explores how children decide what is right and wrong, and draws on studies that have investigated children’s decision-making in the area of gender identities and exclusionary practices. I also make suggestions about what schools can do to reduce such discrimination and stigmatisation. Morality can be invoked as a powerful normative force that can sometimes lead to formal school exclusion as seen in the example above. Challenging everyday exclusionary attitudes and practices related to gender is made more difficult, in my view, by the bifurcation or separation of inclusion-related policies in Turkey. A discourse or philosophy of inclusion is ill-defined in Turkish educational policies and its connection to educational rights is not clearly articulated in either these policies or in their implementations. Although the Turkish Constitutional Law Article 42 guarantees the right to education, many students in Turkish schools are subjected to social exclusion. Inclusion-related legislation applies particularly to those thought of as “vulnerable”, that is, students with disabilities and/or special educational needs and from minority backgrounds (Sarmini et al., 2020). The harm caused due to gender identity and gender-based exclusion and discrimination are not generally considered to be morally objectionable in Turkey. It is less visible as it is conditioned by dominant social norms that may not recognise gender-based discrimination and exclusionary practices as such. This situation brings the issue of moral relativism into sharp relief. A relativist argument demands respect for other cultures and their moralities but as Nussbaum (1999) argues, views on what is moral within a particular culture are never uniform or homogeneous. Instead, it is this variation within any one national context that opens up morality as a site for political contestation. This highlights the role of schools and teachers in promoting a universal moral principle that harm to others should be avoided, including harm caused by gender-­ based exclusionary attitudes, language and practice (Acar & Toplu, 2019). Jaggar (1991, 1998) rejects gender-neutral moral theorising (e.g. Rawls, 1980), arguing for a moral position that prioritises gender-based

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concerns, and criticises Nussbaum (1999, 2001, 2006) for ignoring the question of power and power asymmetries. The primary purpose of this chapter is to introduce empirical studies related to gender identity-based exclusion in the everyday lives of schools. Firstly, I discuss how the moral development of children and young people is conceptualised in dominant psychological models. This matters since a moral awareness of the impact of exclusion and its harms will influence their responses to peers and the positions they later take in political struggles and public debates around gender identity. Women, LGBT (lesbian, gay, bisexual, trans) individuals, and other stigmatised groups can be deprived of full citizenship by the dominant culture and traditional values (Jaggar, 1991, 1998; Nussbaum, 1999, 2006). On this count, moral relativism must be rejected where it leads to a failure to challenge social injustice within any particular culture. Or, rather, it must be combined with the universal moral principle that exclusionary practices are unacceptable. Nussbaum (1999, 2001, 2006) insists that social justice depends on normative universal values through which rational social agents learn to protect diversity, pluralism and freedom.

Models of Moral Development A dominant psychological model of moral development in children conceptualises this development as a linear process and as morally relativist (e.g. Piaget, 1997; Kohlberg, 1969). It sees the role of parents and schools as one of socialisation and instilling dominant socially acceptable norms (Grusec et al., 2014). However, this socialisation model fails to acknowledge the variable and politically contested nature of social morality. In contrast, Turiel (1983) proposes a social domain theory and a domain-­ specific approach to moral development, and the moral domain is defined as comprising the universal principles of welfare, justice and the rights of others. Following Turiel (1983, 2002), Killen views social exclusion as multifaceted (Killen & Rutland, 2013; Killen & Cooley, 2014), and studies based on social domain theory have shown that children and adolescents use conceptually different domains to understand their social world. In other words, domains of social knowledge develop as people

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interact with each other about different issues in different social settings. This differentiation of social domains assists researchers in analysing patterns of reasoning about complicated issues such as social exclusion (Killen & Cooley, 2014). Research indicates that young children treat moral issues as independent from the rules associated with authority and fear of punishment (Nucci et al., 1983). For example, when interviewed, children judge the unprovoked striking of a friend as wrong because they are aware of the rule that actions should not cause harm. In the absence of a socially prescribed rule, they are less likely to know whether an action is wrong. Children’s evaluation of the behaviour of others is thus context-­dependent (Smetana, 1981). One social domain comprises knowledge about one’s psychological and personal needs, and expectations, which are collectively known as the personal domain (Nucci, 1981). Another domain comprises knowledge about personal well-being and safety (e.g. not running in the street). Social domain theory recognises that not all issues in social life are straightforward and that many issues in real-life entail consideration of the features of different social domains and the coordination of different types of judgments (Nucci et al., 1983). Although a commonality of the different models or theories of moral learning in children is said to be respected for the value of life and the integrity of individuals (Kohlberg, 1969; Piaget; 1997; Turiel & Gingo, 2017), not all theories acknowledge gender-based issues or wider power differentials as Jaggar (1991, 1998) recommends. Social domain theorising does, however, draw attention to how children try to make meaning in their daily physical and social worlds through reflection on, and coordination of, principles of justice and welfare.

Exclusion and Prejudicial Assumptions More research is needed on the development of prejudicial assumptions around gender and sexuality, and their role in school exclusions and dropouts, particularly in more patriarchal contexts. In Turkey, the LGBT+ community is one of the most stigmatised and marginalised groups, facing direct and indirect discrimination in education, employment, and

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healthcare (Engin, 2015; Göçmen & Yılmaz, 2017). According to the International Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Trans Association report, Turkey ranked 48 of 49 European region countries on an index of LGBT rights (ILGA, 2020). Furthermore, survey findings documented 150 hate crimes against LGBT + people in 2019, perpetuated by the heterosexual majority in public spaces in the presence of witnesses (KaosGL, 2020). Prejudicial statements made by some politicians about the LGBT+ community include widely shared misinformation that LGBT + identities are incompatible with Turkish culture, provide false role models for the younger generation, and threaten Turkey’s social fabric and heteronormative family order (Muedini, 2021). In this socio-cultural context, Solmaz et  al. (2021) investigated the perspectives of pre-schoolers, 4th graders (9–10 years old), and teachers on the choice of wearing gender non-conforming clothing in public by presenting them with several hypothetical scenarios. An interaction was found between the participants’ age group and non-confirming peer’s gender. Hence, 4th grade elementary school students were more positive in their judgments about the non-confirming gender appearance of a girl in a public space than the 1st graders (5–6 years old). In addition, teachers evaluated gender non-confirming boys more negatively than gender non-conforming girls (İnceoğlu & Acar, 2020). The following excerpts from an interview with a teacher demonstrate how adult society holds a different standard for gender non-conforming acts and the choices of boys and girls. Interviewer: Kaan is a preschool-aged boy invited to a birthday party to show up with a costume. On their way to the party, Kaan and his mother went to a costume shop. There was only one type of costume left in the shop, a fairy costume (Interviewer shows a picture). Is it okay that Kaan buys the fairy costume and goes to the party wearing it? Teacher: Absolutely not okay. He shouldn’t get it. Interviewer: Why not? Teacher: This is not for boys. At this age, he must know that he is a man. If he wears female clothes, that might create confusion in his mind. He has to act according to his sex. And if he shows up in a fairy costume, he would get ridiculed. No one would like to play with him.

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Interviewer: What about Yasemin? She is also a preschool girl and is going to a birthday party to appear in a costume. In the costume store, there were only pirate costumes left (Interviewer shows a picture). Is it okay that Yasemin buys the pirate costume and goes to the party with it? Teacher: Well, Yasemin can get the pirate costume. We should teach girls that they can be pirates, too. (Female teacher, 40 years old) The content analysis of teacher interviews illustrated that a boy wearing a female costume is the least desirable scenario for teachers and older and younger children (Solmaz et al., 2021). Moreover, it has been found that Turkish teachers were the most conservative group in comparative research and that they view same-sex sexual attraction as a taboo subject that should not be discussed in schools (De Witte et al., 2019). The analysis also revealed how the dominant dichotomous gender ideology is used in explaining children’s social development. On the other hand, it also indicated that those gender roles and norms are socially constructed and subject to change. Due to global feminist and sexual political movements, historical shifts in public opinion around female appearances have occurred, demonstrating that gender roles and norms can be viewed as matters of social convention. For example, “Don’t mess up with my outfit” and “Women are strong together” have become the slogans of inclusive feminism designed to fight against gender inequality in both the public and private domains in Turkey (Çağatay, 2018). However, the widely shared cultural norm that there must be alignment between biological sex and gender identity, and the rise of neoconservative politics, mean increased risk factors for trans people in Turkey. A doctor’s refusal in a public hospital to treat a patient on account of their transgender identity is a striking example of the prevalence of LGBT+ rights violations, even in cosmopolitan Istanbul. On the complaint form, the patient claimed that she had experienced discrimination and, yet, the doctor continues to work in the same hospital (Pinknews, June 2021). Sengur and Acar (2021) studied how 5th-grade (10–11 years old) children and college students evaluated gender non-confirming behaviours in educational settings. A total of 40 participants were interviewed about the acceptability of cross-dressing in the school’s theatre club for a performance and in the classroom. Children’s judgements were more negative about cross-dressing compared to college students. We also found that

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the context of the cross-dressing mattered. Unsurprisingly, participants were more likely to accept cross-dressing for theatre performances than for cross-dressing in the classroom. When the subject was about public appearance, the protagonist’s biological sex played a significant role in participants’ evaluations within both age groups. A boy appearing in a female dress in the classroom was the least acceptable situation in all four cases. This finding is also consistent with results that late adolescents and college students had more liberal attitudes about the LGBT+ population compared to other age groups (De Witte et al., 2019; Oksal, 2008). It accords with suggestions that, in macho cultures, trans women are facing more harassment than trans men (Devis-Devis, et al., 2017).

Judgements on Gender A further study formed part of the research component of a group guidance activities project lasting 8 weeks. These activities were organised and implemented by a “university within the school” programme (Acar & Toplu, 2019). The programme’s overall aim was to reach under-served teenage students and facilitate mutual learning between a faculty of education and public schools. Each week, different sets of activities were designed for 64 7th-grade students (13–14  years old) to support their socio-emotional development. The school in question was located in a low socio-economic status (SES) neighbourhood of Istanbul with high physical and relational aggression rates and a high risk of school dropout. The findings shared here relate to a social knowledge reasoning activity where we discussed their answers to two hypothetical vignettes as a group activity. The first vignette portrayed Duygu as a heterosexual female student of their age under state protection and living in a child protection institution: one day, her classmate Ayşe discovers this and informs Verda (Duygu’s best friend that “we don’t want people like you in our friend circle.” The second vignette depicted Mehmet as a non-binary student who always socialises with girls and likes cross-dressing. Instead of playing soccer with boys, Mehmet prefers spending time with Safiye. Yeliz, a girl

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from their friend circle, says to Safiye, “What is wrong with this boy? We don’t want such people among us.” Students’ responses revealed that they were more likely to empathise with Duygu and recognise that the social exclusion of an orphan was not acceptable. However, the gender non-binary student was more likely seen as a threat to the school community, with social-conventional justifications being volunteered, particularly by male students. Male students displayed compassion towards Duygu, however, when researchers asked students to take the perspective of the excluded peers, the overall picture of their reasoning became more complex. Most 7th graders, regardless of gender, stated that both Duygu (92%) and Mehmet (82%) would feel sad, heartbroken, and humiliated. Their responses also revealed the importance of resistance to exclusion based on social status and queer expression. A selection of verbatims includes: “He should demand justice, and he should warn his friend not to discriminate against her because of her background”; “Regardless of whom, we should not discriminate”; “Being without parents is not her fault. Her friends should support her.” Also: We have free will, we can choose our friends. We can hang out with whomever we want to. I think the person who is excluding the boy for not acting like a boy is not free. That is the reason why he wants to exclude. “People should mind their own business, and it should not bother him whether he hangs out with the girls and acts like a girl.”

These excerpts show that middle school students understand that social inclusion based on group identity is a multifaceted issue, and judgements about it show a mixture of positive and negative evaluations. While they can easily take the perspective of the other’s feelings, male adolescents particularly tended to prioritise gender-stereotypical thinking over the well-being of the non-binary students. This finding reflects an identified pattern that adolescents’ gender non-confirming appearances and expressions tend to be considered less acceptable (Horn & Nucci, 2003; Horn, 2006).

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Challenging Gender-Based Exclusion There are no widespread intervention programmes to address gender-­ based discrimination and exclusion in public schools in Turkey. This lack has been linked above to the absence of education policies based on a logically coherent inclusive education philosophy. For example, while the Ministry of National Education (2018) condemns discrimination against some groups, even at the level of discourse, it does not recognise sexual, religious, or ethnic minorities. This uneven policy profile is also reflected in the lack of courses in inclusive education in undergraduate teacher education programmes in Turkey. The concept of inclusion found in international conventions is limited in Turkish policy to special education as mainstreaming. However, this selective macro-level understanding of inclusive philosophy does not mean that educational professionals cannot challenge discrimination and negative stereotypical thinking around gender in educational settings. They could develop classroom exercises that are intended to foster understanding of the perspectives of minority-status students (Killen & Rutland, 2013). As the findings of the group guidance programme suggested, middle school students were able to rapidly understand the perspective of the non-binary student even when they disapproved of gender non-conforming appearances and behaviours in school settings (Acar & Toplu, 2019). Increasing the contact between majority and minority groups has also been documented as helpful in reducing bias among younger children (Cameron & Rutland, 2006). A similar initiative could also work in public schools in Turkey if educational professionals acknowledge diversity at the institutional level and treat all groups equitably.

Conclusion This chapter has presented empirical and media evidence to demonstrate differing perspectives on the social exclusion of students based on gender and non-normative gender identities in the Turkish context. Overall, the studies cited here suggest that the social exclusion of these groups is not

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viewed as a clear-cut issue. Depending on their position in the social hierarchy, some justify prejudicial assumptions with utilitarian arguments about the greater good of the community rather than prioritising justice and rights. Recent local resistance movements and the work of non-governmental organisations (NGOs) to promote a more inclusive society have challenged normative concepts of culture as a monolithic whole that produces a mono-morality. Both insist on addressing inequities. In this context, as Nussbaum (2001) and Jaggar (1991, 1998) argue, we need to call for justice and fairness as universal values of respect for every individual, regardless of their gender or gender-based identity, to create a society that protects plurality. I have drawn on social domain theory to describe how children and young people coordinate different concerns such as fairness and justice, and social organisational and personal concerns. I have also suggested that research findings relating to gender-based identities, exclusionary practices, and social justice at the school and classroom level provide insights about how younger children understand moral principles as rules that influence their decision-making. Such findings could be used to support the need for more inclusive educational policies and programmes in Turkey.

References Acar, M., & Toplu, M. (2019, June 6–8). Early adolescents’ social reasoning about peer exclusion: Voices from a high-risk Middle School [Conference Session]. Annual Meeting of the Jean Piaget Society. Çağatay, S. (2018). Women’s coalitions beyond the Laicism-Islamism divide in Turkey: Towards an inclusive struggle for gender equality. Social Inclusion, 6(4), 48–58. https://doi.org/10.17645/si.v6i4.1546 Cameron, L., & Rutland, A. (2006). Extended contact through story reading in school: Reducing children’s prejudice towards the disabled. Journal of Social Issues, 62(3), 469–488. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1540-­4560.2006.00469.x De Witte, K., Iterbeke, K., & Holz, O. (2019). Teachers’ and pupils’ perspectives on homosexuality: A comparative analysis across European countries.

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International Sociology, 34(4), 471–519. https://doi.org/10.1177/ 0268580919854295 Devís-Devís, J., Pereira-García, S., Valencia-Peris, A., Fuentes-Miguel, J., López-­ Cañada, E., & Pérez-Samaniego, V. (2017). Harassment patterns and risk profile in Spanish trans persons. Journal of Homosexuality, 64(2), 239–255. https://doi.org/10.1080/00918369.2016.1179027 DuvarR.english. (2021, September 20). Two 12 year old boys expelled from school for acting “immorally” in Southeastern Turkey. duvarR.english. Retrieved from https://www.duvarenglish.com/two-­12-­year-­olds-­expelled-­from-­schoolfor-­acting-­immorally-­in-­southeastern-­turkey-­news-­58878 Engin, C. (2015). LGBT in Turkey: Policies and experiences. Social Sciences, 4(3), 838–858. https://doi.org/10.3390/socsci4030838 Göçmen, İ., & Yılmaz, V. (2017). Exploring perceived discrimination among LGBT individuals in Turkey in education, employment, and health care: Results of an online survey. Journal of Homosexuality, 64(8), 1052–1068. https://doi.org/10.1080/00918369.2016.1236598 Grusec, J. E., Chaparro, M. P., Johnston, M., & Sherman, A. (2014). The development of moral behavior and conscience from a socialization perspective. In M. Killen & J. Smetana (Eds.), Handbook of moral development (pp. 243–265). Psychology Press. Horn, S. S. (2006). Heterosexual adolescents’ and young adults’ beliefs and attitudes about homosexuality and gay and lesbian peers. Cognitive Development, 21(4), 420–440. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.cogdev.2006.06.007 Horn, S. S., & Nucci, L. (2003). The multidimensionality of adolescents’ beliefs about and attitudes toward gay and lesbian peers in school. Equity & Excellence in Education, 36(2), 136–147. https://doi.org/10.1080/10665680303507 ILGA. (2020). Rainbow country ranking. Retrieved from https://rainbow-­ europe.org/country-­ranking İnceoğlu, C., & Acar, M. (2020). Teachers’ judgments on children’s gender atypical choices. Unpublished Senior Thesis. MEF University. Jaggar, A. M. (1991). Feminist ethics: Projects, problems, prospects. In C. Card (Ed.), Feminist ethics (pp. 78–104). University Press of Kanas. Jaggar, A. M. (1998). Globalizing feminist ethics. Hypatia, 13, 6–31. KaosGL. (2020). Homophobia and transphobia-based hate crimes in Turkey: 2019 review. Retrieved from https://kaosgldernegi.org/images/library/2020nefret-­ suclari-­raporu-­2019-­eng.pdf

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Killen, M., & Cooley, S. (2014). Morality, exclusion, and prejudice. In M. Killen & J. Smetana (Eds.), Handbook of moral development (Vol. 2, pp. 340–360). Psychology Press. Killen, M., & Rutland, A. (2013). Children and social exclusion: Morality, prejudice, and group identity. Wiley. Kohlberg, L. (1969). Stage and sequence: The cognitive-developmental approach to socialization. In D.  Goslin (Ed.), Handbook of socialization theory and research (pp. 347–480). Rand McNally. Ministry of National Education. (2018). Regulations for special education services. Retrieved from https://orgm.meb.gov.tr/meb_iys_dosyalar/2018_07/09101900_ozel_egitim_hizmetleri_yonetmeligi_07072018.pdf Muedini, F. (2021). Justice and development (AKP) attitudes towards the LGBTI community in Turkey. In H. Aydin & W. Langley (Eds.), Human rights in Turkey: Assaults on human dignity (pp. 131–140). Springer. Nucci, L. (1981). Conceptions of personal issues: A domain distinct from moral or societal concepts. Child Development, 52(1), 114–121. https://doi. org/10.2307/1129220 Nucci, L., Turiel, E., & Encarnacion-Gawrich, G. (1983). Children’s social interactions and social concepts in the Virgin Islands. Journal of Cross-Cultural Psychology, 14, 469–487. https://doi.org/10.1177/0022002183014004006 Nussbaum, M. C. (1999). Sex and social justice. Oxford University Press. Nussbaum, M.  C. (2001). Women and human development: The capabilities approach. Cambridge University Press. Nussbaum, M. C. (2006). Frontiers of justice: Disability, nationality, species membership. Belknap Press. Oksal, A. (2008). Turkish family members’ attitudes toward lesbians and gay men. Sex Roles, 58(7), 514–525. https://doi.org/10.1007/s11199-­007-­9370-­6 Piaget, J. (1997). The moral judgment of the child. Simon & Schuster. Pinknews (2021, June 16) Doctor refuses to perform surgery on patient simply because she’s trans: ‘He said his hands got dirty’. Retrieved from https://www. pinknews.co.uk/2021/06/16/turkey-­t rans-­p elin-­d octor-­t ransphobiasurgery-­istanbul/ Rawls, J. (1980). Kantian constructivism in moral theory. The Journal of Philosophy, 77(9), 515–572. https://doi.org/10.2307/2025790 Sarmini, I., Topçu, E., & Scharbrodt, O. (2020). Integrating Syrian refugee children in Turkey: The role of Turkish language skills (a case study in

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18 Changing Regulations and Practices in Spain Carmen Carmona, Donatella Donato, and Sandra García de Fez

Introduction Educational inclusion policies do not always have their intended impact and have paradoxical consequences, and this risk of potentially counterproductive or exclusionary effects can be heightened when policies are informed by politicised visions of social inclusion. Focusing on the Spanish context, this chapter argues that a rethink of the inclusion model that, to some extent, is already present in regional schools and training centres is timely. This chapter reports a thematic review of selected published studies and policy reviews and considers both historical and current policy initiatives and their effects. It highlights issues such as responsibility for the development of inclusion-related programmes in Spain and their implementation. It has been suggested that a “Napoleonic” state (Verger et al., 2019) has meant the superficial implementation of

C. Carmona (*) • D. Donato • S. G. de Fez University of Valencia, Valencia, Spain e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 E. J. Done, H. Knowler (eds.), International Perspectives on Exclusionary Pressures in Education, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-14113-3_18

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the “performance-based accountability” associated with neoliberalising processes. The inclusion agenda is framed by a narrative about the need for modernisation according to a European model. However, state intervention and teacher autonomy are politically charged issues and points of contestation (Verger et  al., 2019); both overshadow debates about the exclusionary or paradoxical implications of inclusion-related legislation. Accordingly, the implementation of legislation and a recommended model of inclusive practice that promotes future employment should be considered in this context. In the following section, the legislative context in which the term “inclusion” has evolved in Spanish education regulations is outlined. A key premise is that the meaning of “inclusion” goes beyond the political management of people, and their educational and/or life trajectories, and involves protecting the rights of individuals and their place within a community (Valcárcel, 2012). A thematic review process of inclusion-related studies is reported, and three examples of published studies are introduced. Two are positioned at opposite ends of an analytical spectrum based on the exclusionary implications of the ostensibly inclusive measures that they describe. As Corcoran, Claiborne and Whitburn (2019, p.  1003) argue, exploring these paradoxical and exclusionary implications challenge educational professionals to consider their preferred ideals related to inclusionary practices, and to “diligently examine [the] available choices, particularly when fixed by dominant ways of knowing/being”. A critical social justice perspective informs this chapter and the studies selected for the thematic review led us to posit the concept of an “education of proximity”, based loosely on the notion of an economy of proximity (European Commission, undated, n.d.). This concept should be understood as a tool for schools that work to empower all individual students and groups, regardless of their socio-cultural identities, and that are embedded in the communities they serve. The studies are read as providing evidence to support the identification of the conditions or enablers of inclusive schools and teaching practices that mitigate against exclusionary pressures.

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Inclusion and Legislation in Spain In democratic political systems, in order for a right to become a right, it must be enshrined in legislation so that public authorities are committed to fulfilling it, and it must be known to all citizens, who can then demand its fulfilment. Below, we detail the presence or absence of the concept of inclusion and similar concepts in Spanish educational regulations from 1970 to 2020, as this period has involved significant policy and socio-­ cultural changes in the area of social and educational inclusion, although the term “inclusion” did not appear in public or social policy until 2006. The educational system that emerged from legislation in 1970 (Law 14 or LGE) did not challenge a deficit model of disability or contemplate the possibility of “full inclusion” as later envisaged in the Salamanca Statement (UNESCO, 1994). It advised the segregation of some children and young people, both within or beyond schools, specifying that: The education of the deficient and maladjusted, when the depth of the anomalies they suffer makes it absolutely necessary, will be carried out in special centres, and the establishment of special education units for the mildly deficient in ordinary schools is encouraged whenever possible. (Law 14, LGE, 1970, art. 51)

“Special education” was thus organised as a parallel system separating some students from their mainstream or regular school peers (García Rubio, 2017). Furthermore, in a subsequent law that recognised the right to an education for all pupils, which remains in force, no reference was made to students with specific educational needs, and neither Law 1 (LOGSE) in 1990 nor Law 10 (LOCE) of 2002 explicitly refer to “inclusive education”. However, in the LOCE (2002), the term “integration” appears several times to refer to students and their families in terms of socio-educational integration, emphasising the cultural, economic and social integration of families, especially those from other countries. Further legislation in 2006, Law 2 (LOE), can be read as a modernising policy agenda with a focus on “inclusive education”; “inclusion” is explicitly mentioned several times, accompanied by terms such as integration, equity, equal opportunities and social cohesion. The stated

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principles and purposes of this law constitute education as instrumental in addressing other forms of inequality among students. Title II is dedicated to equity in education and moves closer to the principle of “full inclusion” (UNESCO, 1994). Thereafter, students with special educational needs and/or disabilities were legally entitled to receive the best possible education in the same schools as their peers. This law (LOE) also sought to guarantee the principle of non-discrimination in access to schooling, and the incorporation of inclusion as a basic principle so that varied needs would be catered for. A new law which became effective in 2022, the New Organic Law on Education (LOMLOE), significantly modified previous legislation. In this later regulatory text, “inclusion” and “educational inclusion” appear multiple times. This new law states that prevention of exclusionary practices is as necessary as early detection of barriers to inclusion, and it outlines resources for following up on any difficulty that a student may encounter in the classroom, whether cognitive, social, or cultural. Curricular “diversification programs” are to be introduced, purportedly making it possible to create a more flexible curriculum that can be adapted to individual student needs. The value of such programmes as a pedagogical principle is reiterated (Article 19). However, these programmes are linked to labour market inclusion (Article 75) in the outlining of different mechanisms for supporting those who complete their compulsory education but find it difficult to secure employment. This development risks exclusionary implications and a moral hierarchy in which the potentially employable are constituted in policy discourse as more worthy of attention (Done et al., 2015).

Social Justice The concept of intersectionality (Cooper, 2016) implies that individuals frequently suffer multiple oppressions, whilst the concept of disproportionality (Done et al., 2021) means recognising that some demographic groups are more subject to marginalisation or stigmatisation than others. A critical social justice positionality means advocacy by educators for such groups and crucially, a key role for educators in their empowerment.

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For Freire (1995), educators must be aware of the cultural, ideological, political and social context of learners, and recognise and accept their cultural identity (Mancila & Soler-García, 2020). This applies to ethnicity and in the context of disability, it involves listening to others and understanding how pupils self-identify (Kenny et al., 2015). Additionally, prior knowledge of each individual student’s situation is key to ensuring meaningful teaching and learning processes that is based on what learners already know, and their life experiences (González-Faraco et  al., 2020; Lund & Lee, 2015, p. 10). Exclusionary pressures are likely without such awareness of each learner’s context and lack of awareness risks the imposition of hegemonic and unfamiliar cultural, social, and political normativities, which implies cultural assimilation rather than “inclusive education”. The review of policy and published studies offered here, therefore, seeks to explore the practices and experiences of various stakeholders in “inclusive education” processes from a broader perspective. Following Freire (1995), sensitivity to the wider context of learners and acceptance of varied socio-political and cultural identities within a class or school population requires cultural humility in teachers in order to work against exclusionary pressures. Acquiring such sensitivity is a “life-long process”, entailing “self-reflection and self-critique” and “actively listening” to all students in order to develop “partnerships with students and communities” (Lund & Lee, 2015, p.  10). Such cultural humility “moves beyond rigid categories of knowledge, attitudes, and skills” and involves “continuous critical refinement and fostering of a way of thinking and knowing—a critical consciousness—of the self, others, and the world” (Kumagai & Lypson, 2009, p. 783). A critical consciousness in teachers thus implies not only knowledge of specific groups but also a focus on developing each individual student’s capabilities. This approach introduces a strength-based perspective, moving away from purely competence-based models and deficit models of difference. For example, instead of asking, “How can I help these needy young people”, teachers are urged to ask themselves, “What can I learn from these amazing young people that will help me be a better teacher” (Lund & Lee, 2015; Lund & Van Beers, 2019; Lund et al., 2019).

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Thematic Review Strategy The thematic review was focused on texts that specifically concerned inclusive practices in Spain, and four recognised databases were consulted: ERIC, Web of Science, Dialnet, and Scopus. In the first phase of the review, identification, the following inclusion criteria were used to ensure a manageable number of texts for consideration: (a) studies published between January 2010 and June 2021 to enable an analysis of recent research work in the field; (b) studies published in English, Spanish, Catalan, or Italian (languages in which the researchers are fluent); (c) keywords in English and Spanish depending on the different databases, using specific keywords combined with Boolean operators: “inclusion” AND “practices” AND “diversity” AND “exclusion”; and (d) studies in the areas of social sciences, humanities, or other related disciplines, such as communication, economics, history, and sociology. The researchers, following the established inclusion criteria, carried out this first phase, and 590 texts were identified. The second phase, screening, also considered exclusion criteria such as: (a) experiences outside the range of early childhood to post-secondary education (i.e. texts on higher education were excluded); (b) practices in non-formal settings; (c) documents in which the issue of inclusion as a practice was not the main focus; (d) theoretical reviews of the term inclusion; and (e) practices not employed within the Spanish territory. In addition, other exclusion criteria were whether the complete text was available for consultation and whether these were not included. In the third phase, selection, three researchers jointly performed a search for studies coinciding with the keywords included in the databases, extracted relevant information, and made an initial selection of texts based on titles. The selection by the researchers using the established inclusion criteria yielded 16 texts related to inclusive practice that could be considered to be informed by a critical social justice perspective. They then separately read the abstract and full text and performed a content analysis, as proposed by Bardin (1991). Discrepancies between members of the team in their coding and analysis were resolved through dialogue and consensus.

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The studies were then organised by database and year of publication. The summary of key themes identified within them are suggestive of a more global conceptualisation of inclusion that can inform analyses of practices that promote or hinder educational inclusion processes in Spanish classrooms. Our argument is that these non-contextually specific conditions can fulfil the expectations associated with “full inclusion”, but only when they are combined with an “education of proximity” which posits schooling organised around inclusive values, heterogeneous schools and local communities, and dialogue amongst all stakeholders; that is, around the recognition of social inequities and intersecting disadvantages. In the absence of such a combination, there is a risk of segregation, marginalisation and exclusion of the target person or group, as González-­ Faraco et al. (2020) maintain. This risk might be either exacerbated or reduced in the context of school and teacher autonomy.

Exclusion and Inclusion Initiatives It has been argued that the concepts of inclusion and exclusion cannot, paradoxically, be dissociated; logically, each term is premised on its binary opposite, and they act in a binomial way such that inclusive processes first require situations of homogenisation, rejection or exclusion. In an alternative conceptualisation of these dichotomous terms, they can denote a continuum on which, empirically, any policy and practice can be positioned for analytical purposes, permitting the identification of trends (as in the preceding outline of legislative shifts in Spain). Several of the reviewed studies identified dissonances between the pedagogical objectives of inclusion-related initiatives, the logic behind them, and the role they play in schools (e.g. González-Faraco et al., 2020). This suggests that any discernible trend cannot be read as a linear historical progression towards a politically prescribed point. Below, three examples of studies of recent initiatives designed to enhance inclusive practices are given. The first clearly illustrates how inclusionary measures can work to exclude at inception and how, once established, they can be misused to perpetuate exclusion.

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Temporary Classrooms One regional educational inclusion initiative implemented for over a decade is found in Andalusia (an autonomous community with a large presence of people from other countries due to its proximity to the Moroccan coast and the importance of the agricultural sector). This initiative is entitled Temporary Classrooms for Linguistic Adaptation (ATAL), and students attending these classrooms either do not know Spanish or have difficulties with it. As specified in the Order of January 15, 2007 (Official Bulletin of the Regional Government of Andalusia No. 33), the objectives of these classrooms are to receive immigrant students, teach them Spanish, and maintain the culture of origin. Guidelines require the creation of such classrooms in Andalusian public schools and high schools where they are needed, and the involvement of all teachers in this project. However, this guidance has not always been actioned in Andalusian schools. In terms of dissonances, the guidelines emphasise the integrating nature of ATAL as a resource and state that they should last for no more than two academic years. Yet González-Faraco et  al. (2020) report that students are commonly held in segregated classrooms with their own teachers, with the return to the regular classroom taking considerably longer than two years.

Parent Schools Other studies are more positive in their evaluation of inclusion-related initiatives. Sánchez (2018, p. 3497) found, for example, that the “parent school”, understood as “a space for information, training, and joint reflection designed for students’ families” are a resource that allows meaningful family participation. Sánchez’s (2018) study focused on non-­ heteronormative students, and a key finding was that “parent schools” recognise the family as an important educational agent with a key role in formal education, especially in actions to promote inclusion. Through awareness and training, families in Sánchez’ (2018) study assisted in making the school a safe space. The creation of meeting spaces for the different stakeholders in the educational community (family, teachers,

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students) favoured the development of common strategies to combat the segregation and exclusion of non-heteronormative students and those not conforming to varied normativities, whether cognitive, cultural, religious or sexual. For Sánchez (2018), “parent schools” present an opportunity for multiple stakeholders to share, discuss, get to know and recognise each other in the task of educating and socialising children and young people.

Learning Communities A study by Silvia Molina (2015) introduces learning communities in Spain and as a global initiative that seeks to address exclusion: [Learning communities offer an] educational project whose axis is the global transformation of schools, addressing the different contexts and interactions related to learning, with the aim of achieving the highest educational levels for all children, with special emphasis on the most vulnerable groups. The improvements achieved in these schools, both in terms of academic results and coexistence, have led to rapid growth in the number of schools carrying out the project, with more than 190 learning communities currently in Spain, as well as their incipient but rapid spread to Latin American countries such as Brazil, Mexico, Colombia, or Peru. (Molina, 2015, p. 374)

Molina (2015) analyses how learning communities promote and achieve educational inclusion by transforming the school’s reality at three levels: the classroom, the school, and the community. Their starting point is the need to create heterogeneous groups in the classroom that include students with disabilities and special educational needs through innovative teaching methodologies (e.g. interactive groups, dialogic discussions) and by encouraging families and other social agents to actively participate in the school’s organisation and educational actions. Molina’s (2015) study found the following obstacles to full inclusion: segregation based on children’s cognitive or personal characteristics; inclusion understood as forced integration into the majority group; and classrooms viewed as closed spaces organised and led by the teacher.

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Conditions of Inclusion Following González-Faraco et al. (2020), the sample initiatives outlined above suggest common factors that risk the invalidation of any actions intended to reduce or eliminate exclusion when they are based on negative perceptions of difference or unhelpful binaries. These include viewing the failure of students to conform to socio-cultural normativities as a limiting factor in the educational endeavour; school segregation as an objectifying practice; the perception of students as passive recipients of the educational process; asymmetry in actions that establish different curricula; and the refusal to accept the shared nature of inclusion. The selected studies insist that inclusion is a global process, involving the educational community and society as a whole, and that many conditioning factors can support or hinder it. Fernández Batanero (2010) identifies several influential elements in Murillo’s (2008) study on implementing inclusion strategies in classrooms. These include process factors: a sense of community; educational leadership; school and classroom climate; high expectations; curriculum quality; teaching strategies; classroom organisation; monitoring and assessment; professional development; family involvement; student characteristics and the socio-­cultural situation of the families; the age and teaching experience of teachers; and contextual factors such as the educational system, environment, and school (ownership or size). Other studies focus on didactic actions of recognition, social and school participation, commitment, and shared responsibility, which are translated into personalising teaching and learning processes in order to ensure individualised educational responses adapted to student capabilities, interests, motivations, rhythms, and learning styles (e.g. González-­ Alba et al., 2020). There is an emphasis on the shared construction of reality through varied, changing and original strategies, based on the needs, motivations, and interests of all those involved in the education process (e.g. Sanahuja et al., 2020). All of this is mediated by special support systems that are not restricted to an individual intervention but, instead, are flexible and involve different actors and multiple actions (e.g. Rappoport, et al., 2019). The importance of knowledge, especially of the

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most vulnerable students, is emphasised (e.g. Sánchez & Rodríguez, 2018) along with the need to develop a series of capacities, abilities, and skills that can favour positive experiences and general wellbeing. This entails encouraging a positive school social climate, agreeing on rules of behaviour and promoting values of coexistence, facilitating conflict resolution through dialogue, and working on skills related to knowing how to be and co-exist (Sánchez & Rodríguez, 2018). Similar characteristics of inclusive schools are identified by Dueñas Buey (2010); for example, responding adequately to all students, needs-­ based services, forming mutual support networks, overcoming the idea of special classes, and non-discriminatory assessment. Teacher attitudes are routinely highlighted as a crucial aspect of inclusive classrooms, as well as cooperation and seeking alternative strategies for action and understanding problems. Fernández and El Homrani (2016) conclude that it is essential to create a relaxed atmosphere of trust and respect, and underline the importance of pedagogical leadership in school management teams when implementing actions. As previously mentioned, the reviewed studies highlight that collaborative reflection on practice facilitates consideration of the link between theory and practice, and between practitioners’ beliefs and those of families, in order to foster changes in perspective. Peeters et  al. (2015) argue that such reflection promotes cultural understanding and that there is an urgent need to create time for reflection in continuing professional development (CPD) activities for teachers. The study by Fernández-Batanerro (2011) details the conditions that enable the development of inclusive practices and offers a more holistic view of inclusion that assumes the participation of various stakeholders. Fernández-Batanerro (2011) insists that a diversified curriculum be developed that is adapted to different needs and that homogenisation should be resisted in favour of interactive heterogeneous groupings where cooperative work is strongly supported. All educational support, including remedial pedagogy, should be carried out within the classroom context to avoid any hint of labelling, segregation or exclusion. It is also recommended that a large number of resources are incorporated into the classroom and that classrooms are open to the community. Team teaching is advocated, including volunteer personnel, and training that is based

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on groups consisting of family members, students, and teachers. Finally, a new model of coexistence is sought, based on dialogue to ensure peaceful conflict resolution and commitment contracts with families where punitive measures are avoided. This involves constructing a space where problematic situations related to coexistence can be addressed through joint work groups (family members, teachers and students).

Discussion In general, the selected studies maintain that, although students at risk of educational exclusion are influenced by a variety of personal, familial and socio-cultural factors, the school plays a pivotal role in ensuring that all students receive a quality education. Based on the recommendations made in these studies, the conditions that make inclusive education possible can be summarised as follows: effective school management or leadership; teacher collaboration and mutual support; teachers’ reflection in and on practice to foster inclusive values, student heterogeneity and mutual support; and community involvement and participation. Teacher training that promotes inclusive values is also viewed as crucial, and we would argue in the Spanish context that those policies related to appropriate pre-service and ongoing teacher training are required to foster appreciation of the social capital of each community that a school may serve and of multiple socio-cultural identities. This would increase the likelihood of teachers being attentive to the numerous social, cultural and environmental characteristics of different regions in order to provide answers to familiar problems. Currently, educational practices intended to reduce exclusion vary as support for, and expectations of, students are associated with teachers’ values and level of commitment to the inclusion agenda. Collectively, these conditions have informed an ideal of the inclusive school that is now prescribed in recent education legislation; but this assumes that schools have a similar capacity to implement revised policy. Concepts such as residualisation, however, suggest that schools in areas of high social deprivation may require more attention to realise such conditions.

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The new law on education 3/2020 (LOMLOE) (European Commission, 2022) became effective on January 19, 2021, but is being introduced gradually. It responds to many of the concerns articulated in the selected studies; for example, at primary level, schools must offer instruction in civic and ethical values, and “special emphasis” is to be placed on “attending to the individual differences of the students”. It is stated that this will lead to “improving educational exclusion”. In secondary education, curricula adaptation is to be permitted and values education and instruction will develop “creativity and autonomy, and reflection”; optional projects should include collaboration with a community service. Meanwhile, there is government control of the curricula for younger age groups. A particularly significant change is the elimination of repeated end-of-stage testing of students as performance-based accountability (Verger et  al., 2019) that, in other contexts, has transformed the nature of teaching and caring (Ball, 2003). However, there is mandatory “diagnostic evaluation” of competencies acquired by students prior to the end of their second year of compulsory education. These evaluations will determine whether students are moved to “diversification programmes and basic training cycles” (European Commission, 2022). It is unclear whether these are to be delivered in the classroom as some studies cited here have advocated, or whether students will be separated from their peers. Although it is stated that students can only take the same course once, this statement is qualified. Under “exceptional” circumstances, “permanence” within the same course is permitted with schools being advised that they must first have “exhausted the reinforcement” and introduced “support measures”, including “a specific personalized plan” (European Commission, 2022). This risks the problems associated with ATAL described by González-Faraco et  al. (2020). Educational reform in Spain is, in part, designed to address the problem of school dropout since the Spanish dropout rate of 16% is high compared to the European average of 10.2% and disproportionately effects boys from disadvantaged socio-economic backgrounds—20.3% (Mashhad, 2021). Language and literacy skills will condition their access to the labour market and, ultimately, their social inclusion. Reform is also related to a modernisation agenda that is resisted as compromising teacher autonomy and that is primarily orientated towards fulfilling labour market demands.

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Conclusion Although different modalities of inclusion and a variety of issues around inclusive education are described in the cited studies, analysis of their key findings permitted the identification of features that can be understood as prerequisites or conditions in the realisation of the ideal of inclusion in Spanish schools. The emphasis on community participation in some studies resonates with our view that inclusion as a path of all, for all, and with all, involving the entire territorial, economic, cultural, social, and educational fabric of a national context. Educational inclusion occurs within the school, but also outside it and, crucially, it must become a system that recognises that all voices should be heard and valued. The new legislation (LOMLOE) is rights-based and intended to protect the rights of individual children to an inclusive and high quality education. This implies a school culture premised on a concept of meeting, listening, and welcoming, as a condition of an inclusive model that seeks the active participation of all stakeholders and their empowerment (Freire, 1995). We would argue that educational policy that is sensitive to context is a condition of a culture of inclusion in which active citizenship and public awareness play a fundamental role if exclusionary practices and school cultures are to be minimised. Policy here would reflect the concept of an “education of proximity” and support schools to engage in the co-­ production of new knowledge, foster respect of difference and protect the rights of individuals, their stories, and aspirations. From a critical social justice perspective, at the time of writing, it remains to be seen whether the new legislation (LOMLOE) will achieve this vision. Full implementation is due in the academic year of 2023 to 2024 (European Commission, 2022).

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19 Inclusion, Exclusion and Syrian Refugees in Turkey Sümeyye Derin

Introduction This chapter explores the experience of Syrians fleeing civil war and taking refuge in Turkey. The implications for the inclusion and exclusion of refugee learners is considered, drawing on recent research literature and policy developments since 2011. Factors related to educational displacement and the associated challenges for inclusive education are discussed. Educational policies that ameliorate the impact of war can be implemented in terms of access to school buildings and the curriculum; however, other factors related to belonging, trauma and long-term displacement to another country can be construed as exclusionary pressures. Such pressures can be more difficult to mitigate and risk threatening the otherwise positive inclusive developments in schools across Turkey in the last 20 years. In 2011, many refugees were expected to return to Syria once the conflict had ended; however, the number of Syrians in Turkey has increased

S. Derin (*) Department of Psychology, Sakarya University, Sakarya, Turkey © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 E. J. Done, H. Knowler (eds.), International Perspectives on Exclusionary Pressures in Education, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-14113-3_19

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exponentially annually, from 14,000 to 3.6 million over 10 years (DGoMM, 2021). Turkey has hosted the highest number of refugees globally for 6 consecutive years (UNHCR, 2021) and children of 5 to 17  years under temporary protection exceeded one million in the 2020–2021 academic year (DGoLL, 2020). Education policies have been introduced to ensure that Syrian children can access quality education and, since 2016, Turkey has considered the education of Syrian children within the framework of an inclusive education policy. However, 428,285 Syrian children currently lack access to school (DGoLL, 2020) and experience difficulties around language, academic attainment and integration into the school and community. Exclusionary pressures for this group of children are considerable. Turkey was unprepared for such large-scale international migration prior to the Syrian civil war. Consequently, Syrian children were initially regarded as “guests” and temporary solutions were sought to help them continue their education, including the delivery of an adapted Syrian curriculum in prefabricated buildings in refugee camps. When the protracted nature of the Syrian civil war became apparent, Temporary Education Centers (TECs) were established in Temporary Accommodation Centers (TACs), and the educational needs of children were met in these centres (MoNE, 2014). During this process, Turkey attempted to mitigate the problems that Syrian children encountered when needing to evidence their previous learning. They were allowed to attend schools provided they had completed a proficiency exam and related entrance interviews. Intensive Turkish courses in TECs were organised for adaptation to the Turkish education system while following an education programme prepared in their language (MoNE, 2020a). It was inevitable that some learners would not progress through these assessments and, while this more generic assessment offered a broad overview of the previous attainment for learners, the impacts of trauma on learning and inclusion were impossible to measure or assess at that time. Coupled with the lack of assessment for those with special educational needs and disabilities who could not meet the threshold for the proficiency exam, this meant that a significant group of learners remained in temporary education provision.

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The continued protection of Syrians in Turkey meant that more permanent measures were required when it became apparent that the initial measures were no longer functioning as well as they once had. A more permanent solution to ensuring high-quality education for refugees from Syria was proposed in 2015. Turkey had embraced the understanding of inclusiveness within international conventions such as Salamanca and Incheon; however, inclusiveness was understood to relate to children with disabilities. Nevertheless, since the Salamanca Declaration (UNESCO, 1994) stated that “all children should be enrolled in regular schools without compulsory reasons”, it was decided that placing Syrian children in public schools would ensure access to quality education and integration into Turkish society. This process commenced in 2016 and ended in 2020 with the closure of all TECs (MoNE, 2020a). Data from 2020 indicates that by this time, 768,839 Syrian children of school age had accessed the Turkish education system (DGoLL, 2020). However, this move into public schools has not guaranteed an educational setting free from discrimination and exclusion for Syrian refugee children. Experiences of civil war and the language barrier of Syrian children can have adverse consequences where schools continue to work within an integrative framework rather than adapting to meet the needs of learners. Jha (2008) argues that inclusive education is a process and, for Syrian students, this process began with their move into education in public schools but is ongoing. The presence of Syrian students has required a strong focus on safeguarding individuals or groups within or outside the school system to ensure access to education without discrimination or exclusion (UNESCO, 2005). The focus on understanding inclusion simply in terms of location (Olagookun & White, 2017) has, therefore, been challenged by this unexpected change in the student population. It has prompted further discussion about the nature of exclusionary and discriminatory practices within the Turkish education system. Accordingly, priorities in Turkey’s education agenda have shifted to include access to education for the 428,285 Syrian children who are not in school at all and therefore not experiencing the inclusive and equal education opportunities available to other children of school age.

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Exclusion and Education The success of inclusive education can be evaluated in varied ways in schools and communities outside of schools, and through the connections between them (Armstrong et al., 2010; Booth & Ainscow, 2002). Systems theory approaches offer a theoretical framework to understand the experiences of individuals who have migrated in different contexts (Green et al., 2017; Paat, 2013); and to evaluate inclusive education practices for these learners (Anderson et al., 2014; Tahir et al., 2019). These approaches can offer a valuable opportunity to practitioners and policymakers to identify and eradicate exclusionary pressures, either through changes in classroom or school practices or at the national policy level. In this chapter, systems theory approaches are understood in the broadest sense, meaning that children and young people are impacted by multiple and complex systems at the national, community and classroom level. It is not the aim of the chapter to appraise specific approaches to systems thinking, such as ecological systems theory (e.g. Bronfenbrenner, 1979) in-depth but, rather, to draw on a systems framework to explore recent research literature relating to Syrian children’s experiences of inclusive education practices in public schools. Understanding an individual requires knowledge of their development and the affect over time of many intertwined systems that mutually influence each other (Green et al., 2017; Paat, 2013). Below, the difficulties faced by Syrian students at the national, community and classroom levels are discussed, and the responses of public schools in terms of inclusive education are evaluated with suggested actions outlined. Fundamentally, this chapter asserts that exclusion becomes inevitable when children are taken to be the source of problems in education (Öztürk et al., 2017; UNESCO, 2005), which is a serious issue when working with children migrating from war-torn countries who have experienced trauma.

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National Barriers The lack of a comprehensive and consistent education policy in Turkey has arguably caused Syrian children to experience varied difficulties and variations in provision in different schools. There are deficiencies in supporting the increasing diversity in schools and differences associated with migration (Bozdağ, 2020). Since school administrators and teachers are the key implementers of educational policies, the shared goal of inclusive education is to ensure that not only schools, but also wider society and culture embrace inclusive values, and the commitment and training of teachers and school administrators in inclusive values are essential in this endeavour. The decision taken by the Ministry of National Education in cooperation with the Council of Higher Education reflects this agenda; an Inclusive Education course was introduced into teacher training programmes in 2018 to raise awareness of inclusiveness (CoHE, 2018). However, the elective nature of the course means that some pre-service teachers will graduate without gaining knowledge of the inclusive practice. The course should therefore be compulsory in teacher training programmes, accompanied by elective courses that cover specific needs. A further key factor in the development of an inclusive school culture is school administrator leadership (Riehl, 2000). In Turkey, however, this is not a priority as administrators are appointed according to the results of a central examination conducted by the Ministry of National Education. In a study of school administrators, it was found that principals were appointed according to the examination performance of learners rather than their knowledge of, and skills relevant to, refugee learners. Administrators stated that they had become accustomed to refugee students and their problems over time (Caliskan, 2020), solving any problems that they encountered around inclusiveness and multiculturalism through experiential knowledge. This approach seems to mirror the “lottery” metaphor for uneven provision seen in UK SEND policy and provision (DfE, 2022), suggesting policies to ensure that all administrators are trained in multiculturalism and inclusiveness are needed to embed inclusive practices.

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Additional factors affecting individuals who have immigrated are the belief systems, values, traditions, and history of the host country. Turkey is a Muslim country where values ​​suggested by Islam are key references. There is an understanding of “ensar-muhajir” or brotherhood in Islamic history that dictates that migrants are welcomed by the host community and that the necessary support is provided to them. Some school administrators implement inclusive education practices in line with this belief (Caliskan, 2020). Understanding of “helping each other” and “sharing”, as both religious and cultural values, prevails in Turkish society, and providing financial and moral assistance to individuals in difficult situations is approved of socially. In addition, the influence of thinkers such as Jelaluddin Rumi and Yunus Emre on Turkish society are widely evidenced; Rumi’s teachings emphasise tolerance and inclusivity. “Seventy-­ two sects will remain in the world until the end of time” and “Equalize the bat, which is helpless and deprived of light, to the light, make it familiar with the light! Teach peace to the fighting partridge.” (Taş, 2021. For Yunus Emre, “we love the created for the Creator’s sake.” Shared religious beliefs and a common historical background can also be instrumental in establishing supportive relations as they can be mobilised to facilitate a more inclusive Turkish culture. An emphasis on such positive values, the promotion of consistent discourse from policymakers, and the presentation of the latter through mass media can affect attitudinal change in adults and indirectly affect children. Prevailing gender values can also affect the education of children (Couchenour & Chrisman, 2013). Turkey has significantly increased the enrolment rate of girls with initiatives implemented at the national level. Statistics indicate that the net enrolment rate of girls in the 2019–2020 academic year is 98% at the primary school level, 98.6% at the secondary school level, and 88.7% at the higher education level (MoNE, 2020b). The enrolment rate of girls at the primary school level is higher than that of boys and close to the enrolment rate of boys at secondary school and secondary education levels (MoNE, 2020b). Syrians migrating to Turkey are likely to experience culture shock despite evidence of many shared values and cultural and religious references. There are areas of divergence, and a dramatic decrease in the education rate of Syrian girls following primary school onwards is a reflection of this (DGoLL, 2020). According

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to Gümüş et al. (2020), Syrian girls are at high risk of exclusion from education due to marriage after completing primary education. In Syrian women, however, negative attitudes towards the early marriage of girls and positive attitudes towards continuing education are observed by Yakit Ak and Aslan (2020). This could suggest that Syrians’ gender values are changing in terms of girls’ education and that, if supported, this shift could lead to a transformation in girls’ education. Drawing on earlier positive experiences (UNICEF, 2003), Turkey can strengthen positive attitudes towards girls’ education among Syrian adults, thereby reducing the exclusion of girls from education through multi-faceted awareness-­ raising activities amongst their parents and wider community initiatives.

Community Barriers Bronfenbrenner (1979) argues that the developmental potential of an environment increases when the young person’s close relationships are composed of individuals in the immediate vicinity (e.g., parents and school staff) A supplementary connection occurs in the interaction of parents with the school or vice versa (Bronfenbrenner, 1979). This interaction is a crucial resource for bridging the gap between the current school experiences of immigrant children and their previous school experiences in their country of origin (Guo Brennan & Guo Brennan, 2019). Many researchers in the field of inclusive education assert that parents are key in creating inclusive schools, and their involvement is one important indicator of a school’s inclusiveness (Booth & Ainscow, 2002; Gray, 2007; Guo Brennan & Guo Brennan, 2019; Puri & Abraham, 2004). However, as with children, parents who are refugees may be unable to engage with the school due to language barriers and/or they may be unable to take time from work or work long (Green et al., 2017). Syrian children are likely to face various difficulties in establishing this connection, placing them at risk of educational exclusion. Many teachers or school administrators in Turkey maintain that Syrian parents are indifferent to the school and their level of participation is low (Arar et al., 2019; Aslan, 2020a; Demir Başaran, 2021; Emin, 2018; Gümüş et al., 2020; Kuzu Jafari et al., 2018; Sarıtaş et al., 2016).

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Local parents’ language proficiency and similar cultural background facilitate communication with teachers. Turkish students therefore experience more favourable conditions for complementary and supportive links than their Syrian peers do. Parents communicate with the school more frequently at both primary and secondary school levels, and parental influence is strong in Turkish schools. The introduction of children under temporary protection into public schools prompted some objections from Turkish parents to the presence of Syrian students in the same classes as their children, and complaints to school administrations (Gözübüyük Tamer, 2017). One reason for such reactions is that Syrian students are perceived as more likely to be crime-oriented and a threat to security (Emin, 2018). The negative attitudes of local parents adversely affect the peer relationships of the children (Yanık Özger & Akansel, 2019). School administrators and teachers have attempted to prevent the deterioration of peer relationships (Gözübüyük Tamer, 2017; Kuzu et al., 2018), seeking to actively create an inclusive school environment and culture by challenging negative stereotypes. Inclusiveness requires going beyond school boundaries (Azorín & Ainscow, 2020; Singh, 2004; UNESCO, 2005), thus, practices implemented in the wider school context are of great significance in reducing exclusionary pressures and practices. The interaction of Syrian families and children with local people affects the school, parents, and the child indirectly, hence, this interaction and the perceptions of local people are critical beyond the school boundaries. Mass media reflects these perceptions, including statements on social media that Syrians are neglecting their homeland (Ünal, 2014) and are the source of insecurity and unrest (Kardeş et  al., 2017). In news sources, they are often associated with criminal and socially threatening behaviours such as prostitution, theft, and extortion (Göktuna Yaylacı, 2017; Karataş, 2015). These divisive, discriminatory and marginalising discourses are also sexist, as illustrated by the portrayal of Syrian women in newspapers as seducers of Turkish men (Küçükşen, 2017). Negative and marginalising discourses in the mass media risk reinforcing any prejudices of both local people and Syrians, and prejudice must be challenged as an attitude that prevents inclusiveness (Öztürk & Derin, 2021). To reduce prejudices, initiatives are required in which both groups can interact to enhance the mutual

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knowledge of both communities, although it is recognised that the language barrier of Syrians is the greatest challenge in reducing social and educational exclusion.

Classroom Barriers According to UNESCO (2005), support from parents and teachers is critical in child development and, in relation to supporting the development of inclusive education in any school setting, parents and teachers are among the key actors promoting inclusion. During the Syrian civil war, many children lost family members and others had parents who were sick or physically disabled, suggesting notable changes in the system of support for the children who migrated. They resided in crowded and poor conditions and, while some were able to attend school prior to the civil war, once in Turkey, many had to work in order to support their families (Harunoğulları, 2016; Lordoğlu & Aslan, 2018; Oytun & Gündoğar, 2015). Although there are children that both work and continue their education, some do not attend school where they must prioritise work to achieve economic stability. Additionally, girls were unable to attend school, especially at the high school level, due to their families’ inability to afford transportation to school, responsibilities for housework, or cultural factors. For these reasons, some Syrian students who initially enrolled in schools were subsequently absent from school for long periods (Caliskan, 2020; Gümüş et al., 2020; Ünal & Aladağ, 2020; Özgün, 2019). Moreover, children could be in an impossible position because by not going to work and, instead, attending schooling for half-days, they risked losing their employment (Lordoğlu & Aslan, 2018) and so absenteeism from school became unavoidable. The assumption that the direction of support is from parent to child does not apply in such situations, and children’s education is considered a “luxury” not a necessity (Harunoğulları, 2016). Even when Syrian parents prefer that their children attend school full time, they may be unable to contribute to their children’s education due to their lack of knowledge of the Turkish curriculum and language (Emin, 2018).

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School is an environment where children interact directly and forge strong relationships with teachers and peers, engage with school culture, access a broad and balanced curriculum, use varied teaching materials, and engage with various assessment methods. These aspects are particularly important in determining whether children with special educational needs are in an inclusive environment (Özel & Çetinkaya Yıldız, 2020; Öztürk et al., 2017; Tahir et al., 2019). Jha (2007) argues that, where children with special needs are not considered, these school-related elements constitute “invisible barriers” to inclusive education and ideas that imply potentially exclusionary practices. A teacher in Turkey can deploy different teaching methods for Syrian children, apply a different assessment system, exhibit a positive attitude and contribute to the creation of an inclusive environment to support Syrian students and provide a role model for local students in the classroom. Yet, some teachers may exhibit negative attitudes and behaviours toward Syrian students; for example, considering them as burdens (Emin, 2018; Eminoğlu & Eminoğlu, 2019; Gümüş et al., 2020; Topkaya & Akdağ, 2016; Torun & Demirtaş, 2018). This has prompted some school administrators and teachers to actively increase the in-class participation of Syrian refugees and reduce discrimination through curriculum initiatives (Arar et  al., 2019; Aydin & Kaya, 2017; Caliskan, 2020; Demir Başaran, 2021). Whilst some teachers consider having Syrian students in their classrooms as a new experience (Özgün, 2019), positive individual efforts on the part of teachers are clearly insufficient to create an inclusive school environment. Several factors prevent teachers from practicing inclusively to support Syrian children, including the lack of preparedness for the unexpected influx of many Syrian students into the Turkish education system; this resulted in teachers feeling inadequate and unsupported in teaching methods and assessment strategies (Demir Başaran, 2021; Gözübüyük Tamer, 2017; Tüzün, 2017; Ünal & Aladağ, 2020). Teaching methods may not be adapted (Demir Başaran, 2021; Erdem, 2017). A central board that is authorised by the Ministry of National Education (MoNE) develops the education curriculum in Turkey. During the 12-years of compulsory education, this Ministry provides textbooks to all students free of charge. The books are prepared for local students

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and widely used as teaching materials; however, they are unsuitable for Syrian children (Aydin & Kaya, 2017; Caliskan, 2020; Ünal & Aladağ, 2020; Zayimoğlu Öztürk, 2018). A primary duty of teachers in Turkey is to deliver the curriculum to students, and teachers are required to follow a standard curriculum throughout a semester, preventing Syrian students from spending extra time in the classroom (Aydin & Kaya, 2017). Additionally, the use of different sources in teaching activities is not recommended on legal and economic grounds (Demir Başaran, 2021). This minimal flexibility in terms of the curriculum in Turkey means that teachers lack a decision-making role in determining curriculum content and that differentiation involving personalised teaching and learning approaches is less likely to be used. Research evidence is clear that the adoption of a flexible student-friendly curriculum that meets students’ needs is key to creating inclusive schools (Done & Andrews, 2020; Jha, 2007; Sebba & Ainscow, 1996; UNESCO, 2005). Migrated students are more likely to achieve positive outcomes, actively participate in environments, and feel supported and included where teachers are able to contribute to curriculum planning (Guo Brennan & Guo Brennan, 2019). For example, in Australia, a more flexible curriculum in some schools facilitates the learning of children with special needs (Jha, 2008). Conversely, the rigidity of the curriculum in Turkey is delaying the embedding of inclusive education in the curriculum and effecting the experiences of learners. Peer relationships, specifically, relations between Syrian children and their local peers, can contribute to inclusive education practices at the classroom level. Peer-to-peer learning is a significant learning resource for inclusive educators as it can contribute to the social and emotional development of children such that Syrian and local children understand why marginalising behaviours and exclusionary attitudes are inappropriate. Furthermore, peer learning can facilitate the language learning process through routine interactions (Kara et al., 2020). There are documented examples of Syrian and local students playing games, and receiving help from each other without discrimination (Aslan, 2020b; Gözübüyük Tamer, 2017). Nonetheless, negative peer relationships are observed, for example, Syrian students may be prevented from participating in play by their school peers and suffer discriminatory attitudes and

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marginalisation, or even violence within and beyond the school (Aslan, 2020b; Emin, 2018; Sinan, 2019; Topkaya & Akdağ, 2016; Ünal & Aladağ, 2020; Yüce, 2018). Syrian students may experience conflict between the demands of family and school; schools in Turkey enable children to learn about culture by organising trips to museums in their local community. However, some Syrian parents have objected to their children’s participation (Arar et al., 2019), and tensions between home and school represent another example of “invisible obstacles” to the inclusion of Syrian children in school activities.

Conclusion The onset of the Syrian civil war in 2011 prompted a surge of migration and many challenges for the Turkish education system. A first step in tackling emerging problems was to determine the status of Syrians as permanent residents and introduce related regulations. Another priority was the continuation of Syrian students’ education in public schools. The inclusion of foreign students in secondary education is a relatively recent development, and the desired level of support for diversity, both in schools and socially, has yet to be reached. A comprehensive and coherent education policy is required to ensure the management of individual differences and the planning and execution of professional education services for students under temporary protection. As Sebba and Ainscow (1996) state, schools can be exclusionary due to a lack of access to buildings, curriculum, and staff support. Additionally, factors such as socio-economic conditions, gender, and race may also act as subtle or latent exclusionary pressures. Syrian children risk direct and indirect effects of explicit or latent exclusion from the systems surrounding them. Policymakers should therefore take note of the wider context generated through a systems analysis and seek improvement in each system, identifying and addressing exclusionary pressures within each system. Moreover, sustainable change requires policies to eliminate the language barriers for Syrian children and adults, develop positive relations with local communities, prevent the exploitation of labour in

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working life, and promote inclusive education as a holistic and valuable experience for schools in Turkey.

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Puri, M., & Abraham, G. (2004). Why inclusion. In M. Puri & G. Abraham (Eds.), Handbook of inclusive education: For educators, administrators, and planners (pp. 22–27). Sage. Riehl, C. J. (2000). The principal’s role in creating inclusive schools for diverse students: A review of normative, empirical and critical literature on the practices of educational administration. Review of Educational Research, 70(1), 55–81. https://doi.org/10.3102/00346543070001055 Sarıtaş, E., Şahin, Ü., & Çatalbaş, G. (2016). Problems encountered with foreign students in primary schools. Pamukkale University Journal of Social Sciences Institute, 25(1), 208–229. Sebba, J., & Ainscow, M. (1996). International developments in inclusive schooling: Mapping the issues. Cambridge Journal of Education, 26(1), 5–18. https://doi.org/10.1080/0305764960260101 Sinan, F. N. (2019). An investigation of peer relationships of Syrian children attending primary school in Turkey (No. 578962) [Masters thesis] Bursa Uludağ University. YÖK Thesis Centre. Singh, R. (2004). An inclusive world. In M.  Puri & G.  Abraham (Eds.), Handbook of inclusive education: For educators, administrators, and planners (pp. 40–43). Sage. Tahir, K., Doelger, B., & Hynes, M. (2019). A case study on the ecology of inclusive education in the United States. Journal for Leadership and Instruction, 18(1), 17–24. Taş, H. (2021). Values in Mesnevî and Mesnevî’s perspective on values. National Education, 230, 745–767. https://doi.org/10.14527/pegegog.2019.008 Topkaya, Y., & Akdağ, H. (2016). Prospective social studies teachers’ views about Syrian defectors (Kilis 7 Aralık University sample). Çankırı Karatekin University Journal of Social Sciences Institute, 7(1), 767–786. Torun, F., & Demirtaş, C. (2018). Investigation of the effects of the news in the media on the perceptions of pre-service teachers towards the Syrians. Turkish Studies, 13(4), 1211–1226. https://doi.org/10.7827/TurkishStudies.13076 Tüzün, I. (2017). Approaches, policies and practices that support refugee children and mutual harmony in Turkey. European Liberal Forum. Ünal, S. (2014). Turkey’s unexpected guests: Foreign immigrants and refugees experience in the context of “other”. Journal of World of Turks, 6(3), 65–89. Ünal, R., & Aladağ, S. (2020). Investigation of problems and solution proposals in the context of inclusive education practices. Journal of Interdisciplinary Education: Theory and Practice, 2(1), 23–42.

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UNESCO. (1994). The Salamanca World Conference on special needs education: Access and quality. UNESCO. UNESCO. (2005). Guidelines for inclusion: Ensuring access to education for all. UNESCO. UNICEF. (2003). Let’s go support campaign for girls’ schooling. Retrieved from https://www.unicef.org/turkey/media/2431/file/TURmedia_%20 Haydi%20Kizlar%20Okula%20Brosur.pdf%20.pdf United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR). (2021). Total persons of concern by country of Asylum. Retrieved from https://data2.unhcr. org/en/situations/syria Yakıt Ak, E., & Aslan, E. (2020). Opinions of Syrian migrant women on childhood marriage: A qualitative study. The Journal of International Social Research, 13(71), 1167–1174. Yanık Özger, B., & Akansel, A. (2019). An ethnographic case study on Syrian children and their families in preschool class: We are also in this class!. Journal of Qualitative Research in Education, 7(3), 942–966. https://doi.org/10.14689/ ISSN.2148-­624.1.7C.3S.3M Yüce, E. (2018). School adaptation of Syrian students under temporary protection. (Thesis No. 515525) [Masters thesis, Hacettepe University]. YÖK Thesis Center. Zayimoğlu Öztürk, F. (2018). Evaluation of the education and training service offered to refugee students according to the views of social studies teachers. Anadolu Journal of Educational Sciences International, 8(1), 52–79. https:// doi.org/10.18039/ajesi.393879

Afterword Graham Hallett and Fiona Hallett

The Need to Problematise Exclusion When considering aspects of exclusion, it can be easy—perhaps it is inevitable—to focus our attention on particularities of circumstances that demonstrate inequalities or marginalisation. As illuminating as this can be, unless we draw upon these examples in order to develop theory, we are in danger of reproducing the calls to justice that describe, rather than redefine, the challenges that we continue to face. By focussing on the landscapes that (re)produce forms of exclusion, this book offers a starting point for new ways of thinking about who is excluded, where and why. From this, we need to think deeply about how we move the debate forward. In recognising the complexity of exclusion, we must refine, not reduce, our understanding; all too often, the unacceptable becomes G. Hallett University of Cumbria, Lancaster, UK e-mail: [email protected] F. Hallett Edge Hill University, Ormskirk, UK © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 E. J. Done, H. Knowler (eds.), International Perspectives on Exclusionary Pressures in Education, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-14113-3

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familiar. In response, the need to challenge the status quo (whether in the Global West or in the varied national contexts addressed in this book) becomes a moral imperative. Inclusion is often described as something that one journeys towards, rather than something that one has attained. However, if this is the case, the converse metaphor seems to reflect an absurdity: should we journey towards exclusion? It could be argued that it is easier to pose questions than attempt to answer them, but perhaps sustained reconsideration of questions around inclusion and exclusion is the only way to advance our understanding. It is difficult to be precise about the timing of the movement away from the presumption that educating children and young people with “special educational needs” and disabilities should take place primarily in segregated provision. However, it is possible to link this movement to the emergence of discourses and practices that challenged discrimination in broader areas of civil liberties, such as gender, race and social status. The second half of the twentieth century saw significant changes in the way that issues such as voting rights, gender equality, racial discrimination and class or caste poverty were discussed. The way that children and young people with what became known as Special Educational Needs and Disabilities (SEND) were able to access education formed part of this changing landscape. The words used to describe this movement are, of course, important but it is possible that, in focusing on those words, the process that underpins the nomenclature becomes obscured and devalued. That integration became inclusion reflects this process. Although firmly rooted in a clear difference between presence or placement and acceptance and equitable involvement, there is ample evidence in the provision that has emerged that the challenge implicit in this change has not been met. This would seem to be the first important message to emerge from the thoughtful and perceptive evaluations of inclusion and inclusive practice in countries worldwide contained in the chapters of this book. That is, any attempt to understand inclusion is best done through a lens that incorporates a much wider perspective than a national practice where analysis can fail to consider basic assumptions about systems. It is rare, after all, to be able to design an education system from first principles. Whilst it is clear that governments across the world have largely adopted inclusionary practice into legislation, often following

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the lead provided by United Nations (UN) Conventions and the Salamanca Agreement, the tensions and difficulties that surround implementation are very different. In some countries in the global West, a relatively smooth transition to inclusion was supported in policy, and often in practice, drawing on discourses around rights, equity and a social model perspective of disability. Denmark might be seen as representing this position. For some countries, the need to extend free primary education to all children was a task of some magnitude in terms of trained staff, buildings and equipment, a position made worse by war and civil unrest. The need to adopt new structures of government, in post-Soviet countries, for example, meant that thinking around education provision had to change fundamentally, from a system based on the economic productivity of the individual to one where the existence of disability was both recognised and addressed. There are many further examples, in terms of post-­colonial structures, of the influence of caste and class in mediating educational access, in entrenched systems of segregated provision that inhibit change, in gendered responses to educational access, and in the disproportionality of access based on race. In dealing with these tensions and challenges, it is perhaps unsurprising that progress towards the removal of exclusionary practices has varied considerably across countries, something that supports the comparative approach to the studies provided in many of the chapters here. What is encouraging is that significant progress was being made, albeit of a patchy nature, as ideas gained traction, legislation was enacted, and attitudes underwent some level of change.

Exclusion: The Retreat from Inclusion Whilst the decision to address barriers to inclusion in government policy might not have been as openly articulated in other countries as it was in the UK, it is nevertheless the case that the material presented here suggests a retreat from inclusion and inclusive practices. There is also a great deal of material from the UK that illustrates this point, which can be seen as evidencing exclusionary practices. The use of this term echoes what David Armstrong reports here in an Australian context. The UK has seen a rise

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of exclusionary practices in the years since 2015. After a prolonged period of falling disciplinary exclusions, current levels are approaching the historic highs experienced in the 1990s. Additionally, the practice of “offrolling” has been well documented, where students no longer appear on a school roll from year to year, despite no formal exclusion procedures being recorded; it is suggested that this might affect up to 49,000 students (Weale, 2019). To this must be added the hard-to-quantify and verify, but widely reported, practice of managed moves, all of which suggest that exclusionary practices are a significant and growing problem. Statistics show a rise in the number of children and young people who are being assessed as having special educational needs and disability (SEND), a conjoined term we dislike, as expressed by Jonathan Rix. The pattern of assessment of those with “high incidence low need difficulties” showed a steady rise until 2010, then fell significantly, but is now again on the rise. The number of those assessed with the most significant needs who are protected by an Education, Health and Care Plan has also risen, suggesting a continued reliance on a medicalised approach to SEND. The increase in assessments has prompted growth in the number of specialist settings, and a reduction in the number of students whose needs are met within the general education or mainstream sector. Figures suggest that the number of students assessed as having SEND and who are educated in segregated provision will soon exceed those educated in the mainstream for the first time in many years. This suggests a growth in exclusion at a general level and at a more specific level. There is also a disproportionality in effect, with specific groups being much more likely to be excluded. This applies to both exclusionary practices where race, gender and poverty are indicators of such disproportionality (Department for Education, DfE, 2019) and to the identification of SEND (Strand & Lindorff, 2018).

Why Is There a Retreat from Inclusion? A discourse that features prominently in the chapters here is that of neo-­ liberalism. It would appear that there are very few education systems that do not function within a neo-liberal framework where the marketisation of schooling is depicted as the engine to drive up standards and produce

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economic growth, offering a strange echo of education in the USSR when citizens were defined by their economic productivity. There is a sense that the main purpose of education is employment, to be achieved through an unrelenting focus on raising attainment levels determined through standardised testing of a narrowed and prescriptive curriculum. It might be unsurprising that, for many children and young people, an educational system constructed in this way holds little appeal, particularly for those already marginalised by race, gender, or poverty. That students assessed as SEND are often offered an educational programme predicated on the need to develop social skills, rather than an entitlement to a broad and balanced curriculum, acts as a further identifier of exclusion for a significant number of children and young people. Hence the chapters here that note the increasing detachment of teachers from all students in their class and that critique neo-liberal public sector management. Whilst the development of “machine bureaucracy” (Skirtic, 1991, p. 148) may be applicable in this context, other points can be made. For example, the frequently stated lack of training for inclusion of teachers in Initial Teacher Education or Training (ITE/T) and the need for specialist pedagogies, linked to an assumption that the differences between students in educational terms are more significant than the similarities, has been widely challenged (e.g. Florian, 2017). Also, regarding labels and labelling, the increased reliance on within-child medicalised assessments seems far from an inclusive system; indeed, labels can be argued to categorise, other, and exclude an increasing proportion of students, often at the request of those labelled or their parents. A final point can be made here. The discourse around neo-liberal approaches is privileged over other discourses, reflecting a significant shift in educational debate, from a situation where the case for inclusion could be articulated as clearly as that for other approaches, in an arena where equity and diversity were seen as important. This now no longer seems to be the case; in England, the House of Commons Education Committee (2019) produced a report offering a critical appraisal of the inadequacies surrounding the implementation of provisions of the Children and Families Act 2014. The report’s recommendations were presented as necessary to remedy the failings exposed in the evidence received by the Committee. Coverage of this report was minimal and short-lived, and

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did not engender significant debate about what might be done to rectify the situation. The Marmot report, Build Back Fairer, (Marmot et  al., 2020), received a similar lack of critical attention. The critical report of the UN Committee on the Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities (UN, 2017) drew a similarly muted response despite considerable evidence reported by disability rights organisations, individuals and the UN rapporteur. By contrast, material that supports a dominant discourse around performativity and standards is foregrounded, producing a critical arena that lacks balance.

The Way Forward The importance of an approach to the problem of exclusion that offers an overview of the global complexities of the situation cannot be underestimated. That this is based on a wide range of theoretical perspectives adds weight to the conclusions that are being drawn. The continued existence and development of our ableist society is a message that is clearly conveyed in this book. The notion of a normative body that privileges particular characteristics of race, gender, sexual orientation or of bodily shape, prowess or capacity, serves to exclude and other in a way that cannot be acceptable in an equitable society based on principles of social justice. The thinking, expertise and insight that inform the arguments in this book should be recognised, and then built upon, to focus attention on the retreat from inclusion and the increase in exclusion that is the inevitable corollary of such a retreat. There is a need for this to take place on a collaborative and diverse basis, rather than becoming focused on limited, almost parochial, experiences or by privileging one perspective on the problem over another. This should take place within a recognition of the intersectional and accumulative nature of discriminatory practices where, for example, the effects of racism are compounded by discrimination based on disability. It may be that too much time has been spent debating the meaning of inclusion (as mainstreaming, access or pedagogy); or in suggesting how we might recognise its presence. Instead, it may be that the conclusion that follows from the material offered here is that what we should be working for is not inclusion but, rather, an absence of exclusion.

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References Department for Education [DfE]. (2019). Statistics: exclusions. Retrieved from https://www.gov.uk/government/collections/statistics-­exclusions Florian, L. (2017). The concept of inclusive pedagogy. In F. Hallett & G. Hallett (Eds.), Transforming the role of the SENCo (pp. 61–73). OUP. House of Commons (HoC). (2019). Special educational needs and disabilities: First report of session 2019. Retrieved from https://publications.parliament. uk/pa/cm201919/cmselect/cmeduc/20/20.pdf Marmot, M., Allen, J., Goldblatt, P., Herd, E. & Morrison, J. (2020). Build back fairer: The COVID-19 Marmot Review. The pandemic, socioeconomic and health inequalities in England. Institute of Health Equity. Retrieved from https://www.ohchr.org/en/treaty-­bodies/crpd Skirtic, T. (1991). The special education paradox. Harvard Educational Review, 60(2), 148–207. https://doi.org/10.17763/haer.61.2.0q702751580h0617 Strand, S., & Lindorff, A. (2018). Ethnic disproportionality in the identification of SEND. Department of Education. United Nations (UN). (2017). Committee on the rights of persons with disabilities reviews report of the United Kingdom. Retrieved from https://www.ohchr.org/ EN/NewsEvents/Pages/DisplayNews.aspx?NewsID=21993&LangID=E Weale, S. (2019, April 18). More than 49,000 Pupils ‘Disappeared’ from English Schools  – Study. The Guardian. Retrieved from https://www.theguardian. com/education/2019/apr/18/more-­t han-­4 9000-­p upils-­d isappeared­from-­schools-­study

Index1

A

Academies, 69, 224, 298, 305 Accountability, see Neoliberalisation Acronyms, 130, 131 and SEN or SEND (see Labelling) Active listening, 331 Activism, 220, 299, 301 Adkins, K. K., 152 Agency, 89, 98, 268, 270, 281 Ahmed, S., 89–91, 97–99, 302 Ainscow, M., 14, 26, 107, 279, 282, 348, 351, 352, 355, 356 Alienation, 77 Allan, J., 280 Altman, J., 166, 167 American Psychiatric Association’s Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, 131

American Psychological Association, 132, 134 Analysis concept-driven, 92 data-driven, 92 Anapiosyan, A., 282 Anderson, J., 348 Andrews, A., 7, 165, 355 Apple, M., 65, 66, 70 Arar, K., 351, 354, 356 Archer, M., 111 Armenia, 280–283, 286–289 parents, 288 school reform, 282 Armstrong, D., 11, 12, 24–26, 28–30, 32–38, 68, 365 Asamani, C. A., 245 Aslan, H., 355, 356

 Note: Page numbers followed by ‘n’ refer to notes.

1

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 E. J. Done, H. Knowler (eds.), International Perspectives on Exclusionary Pressures in Education, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-14113-3

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372 Index

Assessment, 46, 105, 128, 130, 132–137, 155, 156, 165, 218, 228, 236, 239, 247, 282, 285, 336, 337, 346, 354, 366, 367 imported models, 136 partial, 137 pragmatic, 109, 110, 135 Atkinson, M., 248 Attainment gap, 143–157 Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, 128 Australian education, 28, 39 Alice Springs Education Declaration 2019, 25, 27 behaviour, 23–40, 295, 297–300, 305–307 closing the gap, 145, 156, 164, 165 colonialism, 6 Disability Discrimination Act 1992, 27 Disability Royal Commission 2020, 26, 28–30, 34–36 Disability Standards for Education 2005, 27 early school leaving, 30, 32, 33, 45–50, 59, 195 federal funding, 36 fees, 169n4, 170, 171, 207, 208, 211 flexible learning options, 30, 36 indigenous knowledge, 163, 169 indigenous population related policy initiatives, 163, 166 juvenile delinquency, 24 Let’s Stand Together, 30, 31 marketisation, 3, 67–72, 75, 169, 171 Melbourne Declaration 2009, 27

non-government schools, 169–171, 169n4 part-time attendance, 26 performativity, 119, 144, 368 residualisation, 11, 338 special school system, 33 subsidies, 170 Torres Strait Islanders, 27, 163n1, 164, 167 trends, 23–25, 33, 35, 39, 117 Autistic spectrum disorder, 127, 134, 245 Avissar, G., 246, 248 Avramidis, E., 248 Aydin, H., 354, 355 Azzolini, D., 48, 49 B

Baker, S., 98 Ball, S. J., 3, 4, 9–11, 57, 65, 66, 68, 69, 75, 76, 107, 119, 339 Barban, N., 49 Barbieri, G., 49, 52 Barnes, P., 244, 248 Barter, C., 301, 303 Baszile, D. T., 217 Bauman, Z., 107, 114 Behaviour, 12, 13, 23–40, 58, 127, 132, 155, 167, 189, 193, 223, 228–230, 245, 260–264, 269–273, 286, 295–300, 305–307, 316, 318, 321, 337, 352, 354, 355 and attendance, 26, 32, 223, 263 disciplinary responses, 24 professional learning, 27, 28 punitive measures, 12 resources, 27, 28, 118

 Index 

restorative justice, 38, 303, 308 rules of, 337 school safety, 28 ’special’ educational needs, 127, 193 special school system, 33 targeted programmes, 32, 260, 286, 305 whole school programmes, 37 as ‘wicked’ problem, 23–40 Benade, L., 107 Berhanu, G., 54 Bernstein, B., 106 Bickman, L., 128 Biddle, N., 168, 170 Biermann, J., 289 Biesta, G., 117 Biopsychosocial model, 135, 136 Blasse, N., 281 Blatchford, P., 281 Bodies, 26, 35, 90, 91, 98, 99, 101, 115, 245, 272, 284, 297, 305, 368 conscious, 90, 307 disorientated, 91 out of place, 91, 98 in space and time, 90 Bonizzoni, P., 49 Bonner, C., 170 Booth, T., 282, 348, 351 Borgna, C., 47 Bourdieu, P., 11, 106, 107, 111, 112, 114, 115, 185 Bowles, S., 106 Boyask, R., 75 Boyle, K., 7, 299, 300, 306 Bramwell, R., 271 Brazil, 335 British Psychological Society, 131

373

Bronfenbrenner, U., 348, 351 Brotherson, M. J., 240, 243 Buchan, B., 166 Bull, A., 297 Bullying, 183, 188, 189, 297, 299, 304, 305 sexual (see Sexual misconduct) Butt, R., 280, 281 Bygnes, S., 98 C

Çaðatay, S., 318 Cahill, R., 170 Caliskan, O., 349, 350, 353–355 Cameron, L., 321 Canada, 280, 281 Capital, 11, 12, 47, 48, 50, 59, 112, 185, 237, 338 cultural, 48, 59, 111, 113, 117, 118, 185, 302 social, 1, 3, 11, 12, 48, 106, 107, 111, 115–118, 301–303, 338 Care, 52, 129, 138, 147, 188, 219, 221, 223–225, 267, 268, 283 Carlile, A., 270, 271 Carr, M., 156 Categorisation, see Labelling Charter schools, 69 Chesters, J., 169, 170 Chevalier, A., 47 Children in Custody, 260, 260n1 Gypsy Traveller, 260 as racialised, 228, 230, 263, 264, 266, 274 Chile, 69

374 Index

China, 13, 280, 281, 284–288 attendance, 284, 301 competitive pressures, 13 Hukou-system, 286, 286n1 inclusive practices, 285 learning in regular classrooms (LRC) initiative, 284 medicalisation, 284 paraprofessionals, 13, 285–288 Plan of Special Education Improvement, 284, 285 policy, 1, 105–119, 284–287, 298, 301, 306 resource classrooms, 285 resource room teachers, 284, 285 special education, 107, 284, 285 Christensen, L.S., 297 Chu, E. M., 31 Citizenship, 59, 263–265, 268, 271, 315, 340 Coard, B., 218–220 Collective memory, 261 Colnerud, G., 119 Colombo, M., 47 Colonisation, 166–168, 174, 261 in Australia, 166 Colucci, M., 50 Competence-based models, 331 Complicity, 87, 218, 221, 273 Connell, R.W., 4, 6, 169, 304 Continuums, 7, 8, 12, 108, 140, 144, 223, 300, 306, 307, 333 Corcoran, T., 26, 328 Couchenour, D., 350 Counterstories, 217, 220, 227, 229, 230 analytic tool, 221 rhetorical device, 220

transformative action, 221 voice, 115, 220 Cox, E. P., 246 Crenna-Jennings,W., 143 Critical race theory (CRT), 220, 229, 231 Cultural humility, 331 Curriculum, 56, 58, 111, 114, 144, 165, 170, 172–174, 209, 227, 228, 241, 247, 330, 336, 337, 345, 346, 353–356, 367 diversified, 337 narrowed, 2, 3, 6, 105, 108–110, 118, 301, 367 national, 144 student friendly, 355 D

Dai, Y., 285, 286 D’Alessi, S., 52, 53 Darlington, Y., 248 Demie, F., 231, 260, 267 Demir, Y., 5, 11 Demir Başaran, S., 351, 354, 355 Demo, H., 53 Democratic welfare state, 107, 113 Deng, M., 284, 286 Denmark, 108–110, 112, 118 Danish Primary School Act 2014, 106, 110 democratic welfare state, 107, 113 and differentiation, 110, 116 education reform, 107 flexible curricula, 110 Inclusion Act 2012, 118 inclusion law, 108 learning outcomes, 105, 108, 109, 118

 Index 

policy, 1, 105–119, 298, 301, 306 special classes, 108, 112 support measures, 108 teachers, 106, 109, 112–119, 304, 305 universalistic school system, 108 values, 106, 108, 116, 119 Deprivation, 11, 140, 143, 184, 187, 195, 219, 269 Dereli, B., 85 Deviance, 58 Devis-Devis, J., 319 De Witte, K., 46, 318, 319 Diagnosis inconsistent, 298 observable phenomena, 132 structural determinants, 132 theoretical construct, 132 thin descriptions, 134 DiGiacomo, M., 3 Differentiation, see Practice Disadvantage, 27, 28, 34, 47, 53, 54, 118, 157, 164, 168, 187, 190, 195, 269, 333 Discourse competing, 2, 118 contested, 99 of deficit, 289 divisive, 352 ethical and rights-based, 6, 108 of inclusion, 3, 9, 70, 106–110, 118, 263, 273, 314 legitimising, 173 marginalising, 3, 352 Discrimination, 6, 32, 46, 54, 109, 129, 184, 189, 197, 229, 238, 243, 246, 248, 303, 314, 316, 318, 321, 347, 354, 355, 364, 368

Disorientation, 91 Disproportionality and disability, 28, 306 educational outcomes, 2 race, 365, 366 Djuve, A., 85–90, 98, 100 Dobusch, L., 90 Dodson, M., 7, 164, 165 Doll, J. J., 46 Dortch, J., 166 Downes, P., 47 Down syndrome, 56, 133, 134, 138 Duncan, N., 303 Du Plessis, P., 209 Dupoux, E., 244 Dworschak, W., 280 Dyslexia, 53, 132 Dysthymia, 128 E

Eastmond, M., 100 Ebersold, S., 285 Ecological systems analysis and inclusive education, 113 Economics Adam Smith, 39, 69 Austrian school, 69 Chicago school, 69 economic expediency, 3, 10 global economy, 2, 3 liberalism, 69 quasi-markets, 69 socioeconomic status, 3, 6, 8, 11, 47, 106, 143, 145, 171, 269, 270, 286, 319 Education, 295, 298, 303, 305

375

376 Index

Educational reform datafication, 71 high stakes testing, 71–73 market pressures, 3, 4, 6, 11, 65, 68–72, 75, 98, 107 negative externalities, 69 new providers, 69 reductionism, 24, 366 See also Sexual misconduct Egilson, S., 281 Elliott, J. G., 132 Emerick, L. J., 156 Emin, M. N., 351–354, 356 Eminoğlu. N., 354 Empowerment, 85, 88, 190, 279, 330, 340 Engagement, 93, 94, 190n5, 244 Engelbrecht, P., 205, 208–210, 212 Engerman, S. L., 167 Engin, C., 317 England, 296 Children and Families Act 2014, 127, 129, 367 Code of Practice, 129 definition of special educational need, 129–131 variable provision, 227n2 Engsig, T. T., 108, 109 Epstein, J. L., 106 Equity contextual, 146 gender, 298–308, 368 Erdem, C., 354 Erevelles, N., 274 Ethnicity Arab American, 261 Arab Christian, 261 Black Caribbean, 260, 268, 269 and citizenship, 265

Commission on Race and Ethnic Disparities, 2021, 269 Criminal Justice Studies, 263 disability, 306, 331 disproportionality, 259 dress codes, 265–266 ethnic groups as unruly, 259 exclusion data, 8 Gypsy Traveller, 260 Islamophobia, 272 labelling, 266 Muslim, 261, 264–266 Muslimness, 265 pluralism, 261 policy constructs, 259–274 positioning, 273, 296, 298, 300 racialisation, 261 racism, 270, 271 socio-economic status, 3, 6, 8, 106, 269 special educational needs, 193 the state, 108, 271–273 as threat to social order, 261 and tolerance, 261 uniform policies, 262 values, 106, 108, 116, 119, 261 Whiteness, 270 Windrush Generation, 268 xenophobia, 265 European Commission 1994, see Learning society European Commission 1995 (competence portfolios), 110 European Union (EU), 46, 47, 50, 186, 187, 190n5, 191, 193 Excluding inclusion, 86, 90 Exclusion, 106–107, 113–118 consequences, 29, 117 and criminality, 7

 Index 

and disability, 29 media representation, 31 moral panics, 31 normalisation, 307 off rolling, 219, 220, 230, 231, 271, 366 permanent, 24, 25, 32, 36, 39, 40, 224, 270, 297 prevention, 36, 330 pushout, 7 risk factors, 228 school-based interventions to reduce, 37 sexual misconduct, 296–298, 300, 303, 305, 307 social disposition, 4, 107 temporary, 269, 271 through policy construction, 259–274 zero tolerance policies, 259–274 Exclusionary pressures incentives to exclude, 2 legal exclusions, 11 moral economy of worth, 3 refusal of admission, 8 as structural feature, 2 unintended consequence of policy, 14 Exile, 87 Expectations high, 109, 151, 174, 301, 307, 336 negative, 116, 117, 210 F

Fatsis, L., 271 Feldhusen, J.F., 148 Feminist post-structuralism, 296

Feng, Y., 285, 286 Fernandes, A.G., 90, 97 Fernández-Batanero, J.M., 336, 337 Ferri, B.A., 51 Finland, 280 Flieger, P., 282 Flyvbjerg, B., 112 Fogarty, W., 164, 173, 174 Foley, D., 3 Foley-Nicpon, M., 153 Ford, D., 149 Forlin, C., 209 Foshee, V., 307 Foucault, M, 3, 4, 8–10, 90 Foucault, M. and responsibilisation, 3 Freire, P., 92, 331, 340 Fritzsche, B., 281, 287 G

Gagne, F., 148–150, 155 Gallagher, J.J., 146, 147, 153 Galloway, D.M., 54 Garcia-Moreno, C., 301 García Rubio, J., 329 Gardner, H., 148 Gartner, R.E., 306, 307 Gender, 295–308 identity, 314, 315, 318, 321 non-binary, 320 Gender-based violence, 13, 295–308 and mental health, 24, 28, 29 Genetics, 133, 134 Gentleman, A., 268 Georgeson, J., 144, 150

377

378 Index

Georgia attitudes, 109 parents, 110, 282, 283, 288 school reform, 107, 109, 282 Germany, 280, 281, 289 Gewirtz, S., 111 Giangreco, M.F, 52, 281 Giftedness boredom, 151 and coping strategies, 152 differentiated model, 149 Gifted & Talented (G & T) Programme, 144, 149–151 heterogeneity, 8, 59, 279, 338 perfectionism, 152 psycho-emotional difficulties, 153 as special educational need, 148–150 teachers, 106, 109, 112–119, 304, 305 twice exceptionality, 153 Gillan, K.P., 163, 175 Gillborn, D., 66, 72 Gillies, D., 75 Glazzard, J., 107 Göçmen, I., 317 Gonski, D., 164, 170 Goodle, D., 280, 289 Gorard, S., 145 Governance centralisation, 74 decentralisation, 75 managerial capture, 73 networks, 75 Ofsted, 75, 76, 304, 307 public sector management, 65, 74–76 self-governance, 76 technologies of governing, 75

Governmentalities, 75, 301 Gözübüyük Tamer, M., 352, 354, 355 Graham, K., 219 Graham, L.J., 24, 32–34, 36, 70, 72, 75, 76 Grand narratives, 111 Gray, H., 351 Greece, 130 Green, M., 348, 351 Grek, S., 71 Grimaldi, E., 10, 12, 52 Grumløese, S.P., 111, 119 Grusec, J.E., 315 Gümüş, E., 351, 353, 354 Gunter, H., 66–68, 70, 73, 74 Guo Brennan, L., 351, 355 Gutiérrez, R., 143, 146, 147 H

Hadjikakou, K., 240 Hagelund, A, 99 Hallett, F., 13, 38, 280, 281, 288, 289 Hallett, G., 13 Hamilton, T.K., 152 Harlap, Y., 99 Harunoğulları, M., 353 Harvey, D., 68 Hattie, J., 116 Heller, K.A., 156 Herbert, J, 173 Hernes, V.J., 85 Heteronormativity, 306 High academic potential, 144, 148, 152, 153, 156 Historicity, 91, 99 Hollenweger, J., 135, 136

 Index 

Homo competens, 110 Hooijer, E.L., 205, 209, 210, 212 Horn, S.S., 320 Horrocks, J. L., 244, 246 Hukou-system, see China Humility, 174, 331 Hunter, B.H., 166 Hunt, F., 243, 244 Hutchinson, J., 140, 145, 147 I

Idealism, 133 Impairments hearing, 51, 127, 134, 244, 284 and lived experience, 129–130 sensory, 138 visual, 134, 244 İnceoğlu, C., 317 Inclusion, 108–111, 116, 118 as belongingness, 263 in China, 285 as conditional, 263, 269 developing inclusive practices, 70 full, 1, 3, 9, 51, 58, 329, 330, 333, 335 as global process, 336 ideals and realities, 3 ideals versus realities, 3 obstacles to, 1, 2, 335, 356 peer support, 352 Independent schools, 169n4, 298, 303 Index for Inclusion, see Ainscow, M., Booth, T. India, 248 Indifference collective, 107, 114, 117, 118 global, 3, 108, 117, 118, 296

379

Indigenous education in Australia colonialsim, 166 cumulative disadvantage, 168 curriculum, 111, 165, 172, 173 and disability, 3, 12, 24 enrolment, 171, 172 historical debt, 175 inequalities, 165, 168, 169, 171, 300, 303 intersectionality, 3, 305 literacy programmes, 174 research into, 118, 168 segregation, 168, 169 socio-economic status, 171 spatialities, 168, 173 Statement from the Heart, 175 Uluru, 175 university entry, 173 Inequity, 4, 7, 9, 13, 70, 164, 165, 169, 175, 221, 229, 230, 322, 333 inequitable educational outcomes, 2 Intersectionality, 3, 6, 13, 14, 184, 305, 330 Interventions, 9–11, 32, 34–40, 47, 50, 55, 57, 58, 74, 78, 131, 139, 183, 184, 186, 188, 189, 191–197, 224, 226, 241, 247, 261, 313, 321, 328, 336 Italy, 45–48, 50, 52, 59, 137, 280 J

Japan, 137 Jerrim, J., 143, 146, 147 Jha, M.M., 347, 354, 355 Jia, L., 285, 286 Jugert, P., 245

380 Index

Jury, M., 206 Justice distributive, 165 restorative, 38, 303, 308 social, 1, 3, 5, 10, 12, 14, 106, 107, 111, 115–118, 165, 174, 220, 301–303, 315, 322, 328, 330–332, 340, 368 K

Kanter, A.S., 51 Kara, M., 355 Kavelashvili, N., 282 Keating, J., 170 Kelly, L., 296, 301, 306 Kenway, J., 164 Keyes, C., 271 Killen, M., 315, 316, 321 Kirkebæk, B., 113 Kobberstad, J.H., 89, 98 Kohlberg, L., 315, 316 Kohrman, M., 284 Köpfer, A., 279, 281, 287 Kozleski, E.B., 280 Kumagai, A.K., 331 Kuzu Jafari, K., 351 Kvale, S., 92 L

Labelling and bureaucratic function, 129 categorisation, 126–127, 131, 132, 134, 144, 367 context, 105, 107, 110–112, 125, 129, 130, 134–139, 296–298, 301–306 as counterproductive, 126

and deficit categories, 129 in England, 127, 129, 131, 140, 295–297, 299, 302, 305, 307 interpretation, 307 label merging, 129 labels of certainty, 126 labels of (in) convenience, 125–140 labels of opportunity, 125–140 policy, 1, 105–119, 126, 127, 129–131, 298, 301, 306 in Scotland, 130 tautologies, 130 as tools for reflection, 126 variable usage, 126, 132 World Health Organization classifications, 135 Ladson-Billings, G., 147, 175, 221 Language language learning, 86, 92–96, 100, 355 Lau, K., 155, 156 Lavoie, F., 307 Law and the Borders Act 2007, 267 British Nationality Act, 264 Counterterrorism and Security Act 2015, 272 Equality Act 2010, 268, 305 and international human rights, 238 Law of Joint Enterprise, 267 Native Title Act, 166 Leadership student autonomy, 49, 57, 74, 283 Learning difficulties, 2, 3, 6, 12, 52, 53, 58, 59, 72, 126, 129, 132, 133, 139

 Index 

Learning opportunities, 137, 240 Learning society, see EU Lefebvre, H., 165, 174 Lewis, A., 248 LGBTQ, 77 Lillevik, R., 97 Lingard, B., 5, 23, 66, 67, 70, 71, 73 Liu, L., 66, 72, 284 Logics, 4, 25, 65, 66, 69, 110, 164, 333 Lordoðlu, K., 353 Lund, D.E., 331 M

Macleod, G., 30 Mahmoud, S., 96, 99 Managerialism, 74 Mancila, L., 331 Marginalisation, 14, 86, 90, 118, 175, 183, 223, 330, 333, 356, 363 Marotta, V., 89, 90 Martin, B.N., 246, 248 Masters, M., 265 McCallum, K., 164 McLean, L.W., 168 Meekosha, H., 280 Mellor, S., 163 Mental health gender-based violence, 298–303, 305–308 and general well-being, 33, 135, 152 Meritocracy, 10, 269 Metrics, 4, 67, 70–73 Mexico, 335 Mfuthwana, T., 208, 210 Microaggression, 306

381

Microagression, 306 Migliarini, V., 54 Migrants, 49, 50, 53, 54, 86, 89, 218, 219, 222, 350 Miller, R., 217 Mocetti, S., 48, 50 Moderate learning difficulties, 132 Mofield, E.L., 151, 152 Molina, S., 335 Mongolian education assessment, 105 attendance, 301 attitudinal barriers, 236, 237 Constitutional Law, 235 costs, 240, 243, 247, 248 curriculum, 111, 241, 247 diagnosis, 239 disability, 235–250, 306 enrolment rates, 235–237, 241, 249 exclusion rate, 235, 249 funding, 236, 237, 239, 240, 242, 243, 248 Law of Mongolia on Human Rights of Persons with Disabilities 2016, 238, 240 learning environments, 118, 236, 237, 240, 242–244, 248, 249 literacy rate, 237 medical diagnosis, 239 parents, 110, 238, 241, 244–246, 248, 249 performance evaluation, 239 policy gaps, 236 policy implementation, 236, 247 procedural regulation, 244 quality, 109, 237, 241–243, 248 school unpreparedness, 242 secondary education, 237

382 Index

Mongolian education (cont.) Soviet regime, 281 special education, 107, 235 special educational needs, 235 support teams, 240–242, 247, 248 teacher awareness, 248 teacher training, 247 unequal access, 235 values, 106, 108, 116, 119 Moos, L., 109 Morality and authority, 316 context, 105, 107, 110–112, 296–298, 301–306, 316 fear of punishment, 316 moral domain, 315 relativism, 314, 315 rules, 316, 322 Morrison, A., 173, 174 Morris, R., 145 Msipu Phiri, J., 208, 211 Muedini, F., 317 Myagmar, J., 236, 249 N

Nationalism, 77 Nativism, 66, 77 Nel, N.M., 206, 208–211 Neo-conservatism, 318 Neoliberalisation and academic attainment, 23 accountability, 3, 6, 23, 108, 109 commercialisation, 35 competition, 65, 69, 107, 112, 118 competitive individualism, 2, 23, 107, 114 consumer choice, 65 corporatisation, 66

cost efficiency, 23 discrimination, 6, 109, 303 forced integration, 335 funding, 26 high stakes testing, 71–73 impression management, 3, 13 league table, 23 learning communities, 335 market fundamentalism, 10, 68 marketisation, 3, 68–70 national economic performance, 110 normativity, 331, 335, 336 perception of difference, 336 performance management, 65 performativity, 119 privatisation, 69 quasi-markets, 69 regulation, 119, 327–341 NEU, 304, 305 New public management and managers, 67, 72–76 Metrics, 4, 67, 70–73 new policy actors, 65, 67, 75 school exclusion, 295–308 service provision, 69, 70 (see also Neoliberalisation) New Zealand, 26, 67, 107 Nigeria, 289 Noltemeyer, A.L., 29 Non-governmental organisations (NGOs), 192, 198, 322 Norway and contradictions, 98 integration policy, 86, 87 Introduction Act 2002, 87, 88 Norwegian Introductory Programme for Immigrants (NIP), 86–94, 96–101 qualification programme, 87, 88

 Index 

refugee education, 86, 87, 89 resettlement process, 87 teaching materials, 95 welfare benefits, 87, 92 Norwich, B., 106, 132, 134, 144, 248 NSPCC, 301 Nucci, L., 316, 320 Nussbaum, M., 314, 315, 322 O

Obeng, C., 245 Odoardi, I., 48 Ofsted, 66, 70, 72, 75, 76, 144, 231, 248, 296, 301, 302, 304, 305, 307 Olssen, M., 137 Oppositional Defiance Disorder, 128 Organisation of Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD), 24, 47, 52, 69, 71, 126, 164, 243 and cost efficiency, 243 Osler, A., 101, 303 Othering, 99, 184, 306 Oytun, O., 353 Ozga, J., 67 Özgün, E., 353, 354 Öztürk, M., 348, 352, 354, 355 P

Paat, Y.F., 348 Page, T., 297 Pandemic, 12, 47, 77, 144, 183, 184, 198, 301, 302 Panichella, N., 47 Paradigm, 45, 131, 207, 279

383

Paraprofessionals, 281, 283, 287 in-betweenness, 281 in the Caucasus, 286, 288 in China, 281, 285–288 clarity of role, 280, 282, 285 de-professionalisation, 288 expectations, 105, 106, 115 negotiation, 283 professionalisation, 287 pull out, 281 qualifications, 281 responsibilities, 281, 305 risk of stigmatisation, 280 shadow teacher, 281, 287 special needs assistants (SNA), 282, 283, 287, 288 special school de-institutionalisation, 281 surveillance, 283 training, 118, 286 Parents, 3, 6, 12, 23, 32, 47, 48, 55, 67, 68, 70, 110, 136, 152, 155, 156, 169, 169n4, 171n5, 186–190, 193, 195, 196, 198, 211, 218, 226, 238, 241, 244–246, 248, 249, 273, 282, 283, 285–288, 313–315, 320, 351–353, 356, 367 as educational agent, 334 and paradox, 108 resistance, 119, 302 Participation, 5, 6, 10, 14, 28, 51, 55, 60, 72, 86–89, 92, 97, 98, 106, 109, 114–116, 118, 135, 136, 139, 184, 185, 187, 188, 190–192, 194–196, 200, 206, 208, 209, 212, 279–281, 284, 334, 336–338, 340, 351, 354, 356

384 Index

Pedagogy, 3, 113, 165, 174, 246, 274, 337, 367, 368 child-centred, 135 competency-based, 112, 116 culturally-responsive, 174 whole class, 114, 116 Peer relationships, 306, 352, 355 Pensiero, N., 47 Perry, L.B., 169 Personalisation, 50, 52, 54 Pfahl, L.D., 286 Phipps, A., 297, 302 Piaget, J., 315, 316 Policy, 1–3, 5, 9–11, 13, 14, 23–27, 29–31, 33–35, 37–39, 46, 47, 50, 54, 56, 59, 65–70, 74–78, 86, 87, 89, 90, 98, 100, 101, 105–119, 126, 127, 129–131, 144, 150, 163–170, 173, 183–199, 205, 212, 217, 221, 227–230, 235–238, 242, 243, 247–249, 259–274, 282, 284–287, 298, 300, 301, 306, 314, 321, 322, 327, 329–331, 333, 338–340, 345, 346, 348–350, 356, 365 in Australia, 27 and criminal justice, 267 implementation, 112, 236 inclusion/exclusion criteria, 263 interpretation, 75, 78 intersectional analysis, 263 local professional cultures, 108, 119 national security, 265 punitive, 37, 271 and re-contextualisation, 78 Poon-McBrayer, K.F., 284, 286 Popkewitz, T., 0, 4, 5, 9

Populism, 77 Positioning, 68, 71, 97–99, 273, 296, 298 Postcode lottery, 138 Poststructuralism Power, 2, 6, 8, 23, 67, 69, 71, 88, 90, 130, 138, 140, 164, 165, 168, 173–175, 220, 221, 230, 261, 263, 264, 297, 300, 315, 316 abuse of, 297, 300 Power, S., 2, 9, 11 Practice and differentiation, 106, 111, 116, 287 lesson studies, 106, 118 reflexivity, 112 support systems, 110 teacher collaboration, 338 training, 118 Praisner, C.L., 240, 243, 244, 246, 247 PREVENT procedure, 273 Professionalism, 75, 94, 288, 297 and competencies, 50, 109 Profound and Multiple Learning Difficulties, 133 Programme for International Student Assessment (PISA), 71 Prout, S., 168, 173 Pull out, 53, 281, 283, 287 Pupil premium grant, 145 Pupil referral unit (PRU), 12, 219, 220, 222–226, 231, 268–270, 305 Puri, M., 248, 351 Q

Qu, X., 284 Qurashi, F., 272

 Index  R

Racialisation, 87, 101, 261 Racism community activism, 260 community spaces, 221 criminalisation, 260, 270, 271 Eurocentric ideologies, 220 legitimised, 264 off-rolling, 219, 220, 271, 366 pipeline construct, 218 special education, 107, 218 Rape, see Sexual misconduct Rappoport, S., 336 Rationalities economic and political, 3, 10 Rawls, J., 314 Rea, J., 35 Realism, 133 Reay, D., 74, 304 Refugees and crisis, 88 disciplining, 100 economic self-sufficiency, 88 employability, 88, 89, 98 expectations, 88, 97, 99, 105, 106, 115 fostering aspiration, 89 in Higher Education (see Norway) and language training, 87–89 legal duties, 88 normalised images, 100 resettlement bureaucracy, 86 sanctions, 88 social participation, 88 societal goals, 89 Reid, J.A., 174 Reis, S.M., 155 Relativism, 314, 315 Remediation, 165 Renzulli, J.S., 148–150, 159

385

Research applied, 27, 36, 38, 131, 137–139, 298 Australian Educational Research Organisation, 36 compensation for participation, 33 content analysis, 318, 322 counter-stories, 9, 217, 229 critical ethnography, 107 exclusion data, 12, 298 implementation studies, 26, 38, 112, 192, 194, 198 longitudinal, 29, 32 mixed methods, 36, 40 observation, 155, 192 participatory, 138 randomised controlled trials, 35, 37 socio-ecological, 348 systematic review, 24, 37 voice, 115, 282 Resource teachers, see Paraprofessionals Responsiblisation, 25, 73, 88, 92, 130, 175, 192, 209, 240, 265, 282, 283, 287, 288 Richardson, S.A., 245 Rights, 1, 3, 6, 8, 9, 48, 52, 56, 57, 88, 107–110, 132, 134, 135, 146, 147, 152, 154, 166, 167, 183, 185, 192, 194, 206, 207, 209, 210, 220, 228, 235, 238, 240, 260, 261, 263, 265, 267, 268, 271, 273, 274, 303, 314, 315, 317, 318, 322, 328, 329, 340, 364, 365, 368 to education, 52, 117, 184–186, 314 Rimm, S., 152

386 Index

Rinn, A.N., 151 Riordan, A., 249 Robson, C., 127 Rodriguez, C., 337 Romania bread and milk programme, 193 roma, 6, 183–204 roma community, 185, 195–197 Rose, J.R., 248 Rosenbaum, J., 29 Rubio, G., 329 Rudolph, S., 164 Ryan, C., 92, 107 S

Safeguarding, 259, 264, 273, 298, 347 Sanahuja, A., 336 Sánchez, B., 334, 335 Sánchez, P.A., 337 Sarantsetseg, O., 249 Sarmini, L., 314 Sarra, C., 174 Sarýtaþ, E., 351 Scandinavia democratic welfare state, 107, 113 Scotland, 26 and Additional Support Needs, 130 Sebba, J., 355, 356 Sengur, D., 318 Sewell Report, 268 Sexual identity, 318 Sexual misconduct and banter, 304, 306 bullying, 297, 299, 304, 305 control, 107, 304

Department for Education guidelines, 298 everydayness, 301, 302 exclusion, 2, 3, 105–107, 110–111, 114, 295–299, 303, 305–308 feminist activism, 299 as gender-neutral term, 299 harassment, 295–298, 301, 302, 304–307 heteronormativity, 306 impact, 113, 299, 303, 307 inconsistent understandings, 298 language, 115, 304 microaggression, 306 normalisation, 307 prevalence in schools, 295 reductionist codification, 298 restorative justice, 303, 308 school behaviour policies, 298 sexualised behaviours, 296 against teachers, 305 Together We Can End Violence Against Women and Girls Strategy, 299 underreporting, 301, 304 UNESCO and UN Women, 300 Women and Equalities Committee inquiry, 304 zero tolerance, 300, 306–308 Shadow teachers, see Paraprofessionals, in China Sharma, U., 244, 246, 280, 281 Sheth, F.A., 259–262, 264–266, 268, 270, 271 Sian, K.P., 272 Simmel, G., 90 Sisk, D., 153 Skiba, R.J., 33, 34

 Index 

Skinner, T., 300 Slee, R., 4, 7, 26, 39, 70, 107, 114, 117, 118, 263, 287 Sleeter, C.J., 107, 184 Sloper, P., 244, 248 Smetana, J.G., 316 Social domain theory and differentiation of domains, 315 moral development, 315 Social inequality, 4, 46, 115, 286n1 and schools, 106, 116 Social Justice, 1, 5, 10, 12, 14, 107, 165, 174, 220, 315, 322, 328, 330, 332, 340, 368 and universalism, 165, 315 Society for Humanistic Psychology, 132 Socio-economic status (SES), 3, 6, 8, 11, 47, 106, 143, 145, 171, 269, 270, 286, 319 Solmaz, A., 317, 318 Solórzano, D., 217, 220 Soorenian, A., 282 South Africa and attendance, 211 deficit models, 207 disability, 205–207, 213, 306 Education White Paper 6, 205, 210 enrolment, 8, 207, 208 inclusive classrooms, 209 lack of resources, 207, 208 lack of support, 210, 212 National Development Plan, 206 negative stereotypes, 207, 210, 212 policy context, 9, 205, 212, 298 rights, 1, 6, 107–110

387

school fees, 207, 208, 211 specialised teachers, 210 special schools, 108, 205, 208, 210, 211 teacher attitudes, 207, 209, 210 teacher expectations, 210 teacher training, 207, 210 Space conceived, 89, 99, 165 constructed, 296, 303, 304 lived, 165, 174, 221 perceived, 2, 165 and power, 164, 165, 168, 173, 174 Spain Andalucía, 334 community participation, 340 curricula diversification, 330 early detection, 330 heterogeneous groupings, 335, 337 immigrant students, 334 inclusion-exclusion paradox, 328, 333 legislative context, 328 normalisation, 307 open classrooms, 337 parent schools, 334–335 prevention, 330 principle of non-­ discrimination, 330 rights, 1, 6, 107–110 segregation, 329, 333, 335–337 social cohesion, 329 teacher attitudes, 337 Temporary Classrooms for Linguistic Adaptation, 334 Speirs Neumeister, K.L., 151, 152 Spillman, D., 174

388 Index

Spivak, G.C., 299 Squires, G., 30, 32, 33 State disability, 306 human rights, 107, 261 justice, 107 as liberal western, 261 sovereignty, 260 statelessness, 264 surveillance, 264, 272 Staver, A.B., 100 Stein, N., 273 Stereotyping, 7, 8, 183, 184, 210 Sternberg, R.J., 148, 150 Stickiness, 99 Stigma, 227, 228, 230, 281 Stoeber, J., 152 Strand, S., 219, 366 Stranger, 89–91, 98–101 Streitwieser, B., 85 Sue, D., 306 Sweden, 87 Symbols intangible, 261 Syrian refugees in Turkey and access to education, 347 assessment in education, 346, 354 conflict, 345, 356 discrimination, 109, 303 early marriage, 351 gender, 298–308 gender values, 350, 351 inclusive education, 1, 105, 107, 112, 118 involvement, 351 language barriers, 347, 351, 353, 356 negative attitude, 351, 352, 354

prejudice, 352 safeguarding, 298, 347 school administration, 352 and secondary education, 350, 356 teacher unpreparedness, 354 teaching materials, 353, 355 Temporary Education Centres (TECs), 346, 347 violence, 296, 298–308 T

Tahir, K., 348, 354 Takala, T.M., 281 Tan, R., 284–286 Taylor, C., 2, 9, 11 Taylor, J., 305 Tchintcharauli, T., 282 Teachers attitudes, 30, 109, 115, 189, 207, 209–210, 239, 337 bridging, 94 competencies, 109, 116 expertise, 116 imported models, 136 ongoing professional development, 136, 207 reflexivity, 112 Teaching, see Pedagogy; Practice Teaching assistants, see Paraprofessionals Terra nullius, 166 Testing high stakes, 71–73 intelligence quotient (IQ), 148, 155 Tetler, S., 109

 Index 

Times Educational Supplement (TES), 305 Timimi, S., 132–134 Tolman, D.L., 305 Tomlinson, S., 4, 57, 107, 218 Topkaya, Y., 354, 356 Torun, F., 354 Training pre-service, 285, 338 Turiel, E., 313, 315, 316 Turkey girls’ enrolment, 350 intervention programmes, 321 media, 112, 302, 321 minority recognition, 321 policy, 1, 105–119, 298, 301, 306, 349 political discourse, 3, 106 school administration, 352 teacher education, 321 See also Refugees Twice exceptionality, see Giftedness

389

performativty, 119 poverty, 118 socio-economic status, 3, 106 violence, 296, 298–308 V

Valcárcel, M., 328 Valdebenito, S., 24, 25, 37, 38 Values, 10, 14, 27, 31, 39, 59, 66, 68, 74, 98, 100, 106, 108, 110, 111, 116, 119, 130, 132, 134–137, 165, 174, 195, 230, 261, 262, 265, 266, 272, 315, 316, 322, 330, 333, 337–340, 349–351 deviation from, 171n5 Van Riemsdijk, M., 86, 100 Victim blaming, 305 Vygotsky, L.S., 154 W

U

UK Feminista, 304, 305 Ünal, R., 353–356 Underachievement, 152, 154–156 UNESCO and UN Women 2016, 300 UNESCO Salamanca Statement 1994, 9, 10, 108, 109, 242, 329 UNICEF, 32, 187, 249, 351 United Arab Emirates, 130 USA disabilities, 3, 110

Wallace, D., 219, 220, 231, 268 Walton, E., 212 Wang, Y., 285 Weisser, J., 280, 289 Welfarism, 2 West, J., 209 Westmarland, N., 301 White, S.L.J., 155 Wicked problems, 23–40, 212 Wilkins, A., 3, 65, 67, 68, 71, 75 Williams-Mozley, J., 168 Wilshire, C.E., 132 Wilson, J., 145 Windrush Generation, 268

390 Index

Xiao, F., 284 Xie, Z., 286 Xu, S.Q, 284

Youdell, D., 8, 66, 72, 303 Young, I.M., 165 Yüce, E., 356 Yuriko, K., 236, 238, 248, 249

Y

Z

X

Yakit Ak, E., 351 Yan, T., 284

Zayimoğlu Öztürk, F., 355 Zipin, L, 165