The Wiley handbook of diversity in special education 9781118768778, 1118768779, 9781118768822, 1118768825, 9781118786970, 1118786971

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The Wiley Handbook of Diversity in Special Education

The Wiley Handbook of Diversity in Special Education Edited by Marie Tejero Hughes and Elizabeth Talbott

This edition first published 2017 © 2017 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Registered Office John Wiley & Sons Ltd, The Atrium, Southern Gate, Chichester, West Sussex, PO19 8SQ, UK Editorial Offices 350 Main Street, Malden, MA 02148‐5020, USA 9600 Garsington Road, Oxford, OX4 2DQ, UK The Atrium, Southern Gate, Chichester, West Sussex, PO19 8SQ, UK For details of our global editorial offices, for customer services, and for information about how to apply for permission to reuse the copyright material in this book please see our website at www.wiley.com/wiley‐blackwell. The right of Marie Tejero Hughes and Elizabeth Talbott to be identified as the authors of the editorial material in this work has been asserted in accordance with the UK Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, except as permitted by the UK Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, without the prior permission of the publisher. Wiley also publishes its books in a variety of electronic formats. Some content that appears in print may not be available in electronic books. Designations used by companies to distinguish their products are often claimed as trademarks. All brand names and product names used in this book are trade names, service marks, trademarks, or registered trademarks of their respective owners. The publisher is not associated with any product or vendor mentioned in this book. Limit of Liability/Disclaimer of Warranty: While the publisher and authors have used their best efforts in preparing this book, they make no representations or warranties with respect to the accuracy or completeness of the contents of this book and specifically disclaim any implied warranties of merchantability or fitness for a particular purpose. It is sold on the understanding that the publisher is not engaged in rendering professional services and neither the publisher nor the author shall be liable for damages arising herefrom. If professional advice or other expert assistance is required, the services of a competent professional should be sought. Library of Congress Cataloging‐in‐Publication Data Names: Hughes, Marie Tejero, 1965– editor. | Talbott, Elizabeth, 1960– editor. Title: The Wiley handbook of diversity in special education / edited by Marie Tejero Hughes and Elizabeth Talbott. Description: Chichester, UK ; Hoboken, NJ : John Wiley & Sons, 2017. | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2016041894 | ISBN 9781118768884 (cloth) | ISBN 9781118768822 (epub) | ISBN 9781118786970 (ePDF) Subjects: LCSH: Special education–Study and teaching. Classification: LCC LC4019 .H355 2017 | DDC 371.9–dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016041894 A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. Cover image: KidStock/Gettyimages Cover design by Wiley Set in 10/12pt Warnock by SPi Global, Pondicherry, India 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

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Contents Notes on Contributors  ix Foreword  xvii Preface  xxi Acknowledgments  xxv Part I 

Including Students with Disabilities  1

1 The Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities: Reconstructing Disability to Reimagine Education  3 Margaret Winzer and Kas Mazurek 2 Taking a Spatial Turn in Inclusive Education: Seeking Justice at the Intersections of Multiple Markers of Difference  23 Federico R. Waitoller and Subini Ancy Annamma 3 The Advancement of Inclusive Education for Students with Disabilities: An International Perspective  45 Silvia Romero‐Contreras, Ismael García‐Cedillo and Todd Fletcher 4 On the Purpose of Schooling: Inviting In, or Locking Out?  69 Shelley Zion and Wanda J. Blanchett 5 The Cultural Understanding of Inclusion in Diverse Settings: Support Services and Collaboration  87 Vasilis Strogilos and Elias Avramidis 6 Inclusion and Practice: The Perspective of Two Countries  115 Marjatta Takala and George Head

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Contents

Part II 

Contemporary Issues in Educating Diverse Students  129

  7 Students in Special Education: Issues, Theories, and Recommendations to Address Overrepresentation  131 Donna Y. Ford, Gilman W. Whiting, Ramon B. Goings and Shawn A. Robinson   8 Family Diversity: From the Margins to the Center  149 Beth Harry and Patrice Fenton   9 Education in Disability and Poverty Debates: Research Insights from Southern Contexts  167 Nidhi Singal 10 Supporting Language and Literacy Development for Additional Language Learners with Disabilities  183 Diane Haager and Terese C. Aceves Part III 

Instruction  207

11 Teaching Mathematics to Students with Disabilities from Diverse Backgrounds  209 Delinda van Garderen, Apryl Poch, Christa Jackson and Sarah A. Roberts 12 Research in Science Education for Students with Special Education Needs  231 Jonte’ C. Taylor and Mary Grace Villanueva 13 Reading Instruction for Diverse Students with Learning Disabilities  253 Sylvia Linan‐Thompson and Hermelinda Cavazos 14 A Road Less Traveled: Writing Research for Diverse Students with Disabilities  277 Megan Dunn Davison and Linda H. Mason 15 Empowering Academically Diverse Learners in History Classrooms  299 Daniel R. Wissinger Part IV 

Supporting and Assessing Diverse Learners  319

16 A Systematic Review of Peer Tutoring Interventions for Students with Disabilities  321 Elizabeth Talbott, Agata Trzaska and Jaime L. Zurheide

Contents

17 Technological Practices Supporting Diverse Students in Inclusive Settings  357 Dave L. Edyburn, Kavita Rao and Prabha Hariharan 18 Mathematics Assessment for Students with Diverse Learning Needs  379 Sarah R. Powell and Rebecca Zumeta Edmonds 19 Reading Assessment Practices for Linguistically Diverse Students at Risk of Developing Language and Literacy Difficulties  399 Sabina R. Neugebauer and Amy Heineke Part V 

Preparation of Educators for Inclusive Environments  423

20 International Perspectives on Teacher Education for Inclusion  425 Petra Engelbrecht and Alison Ekins 21 Teachers Developing Knowledge in Low‐ and Middle‐Income Countries: Toward More Inclusive Pedagogy  445 Alison Croft, Susie Miles, Rhona Brown, Jo Westbrook and Sarah Williams 22 Preparing Educators to Teach Literacy: Knowledge, Dilemmas, and Practices  467 Michelle Parker‐Katz, Marie Tejero Hughes and Georgette Lee 23 Leveraging Systems Change to Address Diversity in Special Education Teacher Preparation  493 Monika Williams Shealey and Loury Ollison Floyd Index  509

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Notes on Contributors Terese C. Aceves is an associate professor in the School of Education at Loyola Marymount University in Los Angeles, California (United States). Her primary areas of research and publication focus on early reading and language develop­ ment among English language learners, culturally responsive practices in special education, and special education advocacy for primarily low‐income Latino ­families. She engages in ongoing pro bono work for nonprofit organizations that support students with disabilities and their families. Subini Ancy Annamma is an assistant professor in the Department of Special Education at the University of Kansas (United States). Her research and pedagogy focus on increasing access to equitable education for historically marginalized students and communities. Specifically, she examines the social construction of race and ability—how the two are interdependent, how they intersect with other identity markers, and how their mutually constitutive nature impacts education experiences. She centers this research in urban ­education and juvenile incarceration settings and focuses on how student voice can identify exemplary educational practices. Elias Avramidis is an assistant professor at the Department of Special Education, University of Thessaly (Greece). His research mainly focuses on examining the theory and practice of inclusive education and the barriers to its implementation. He has published on topics such as the theory and practice of inclusion; teachers’ attitudes towards inclusive education; the identification of and provision for children with difficulties in literacy; and the social impacts of inclusive education. Wanda J. Blanchett is the dean and distinguished professor at the Graduate School of Education, Rutgers University (United States). Her teaching, research and service focuses on issues of educational inequity including urban teacher preparation; issues of race, class, culture, and gender; disproportionate represen­ tation of students of color in special education; severe disabilities; transition planning; and issues of sexuality for students with disabilities. Rhona Brown is the head of programs for the British Council Nepal, and is  responsible for managing the development, coordination, and delivery of ­education operations. She has worked in teacher education in Nepal, Sri Lanka, and Tanzania. She completed her master’s degree in international education and development at the University of Sussex (United Kingdom), where she researched the inclusion of visually impaired students in Jamaican schools.

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Notes on Contributors

Hermelinda Cavazos is a senior consultant at American Institutes for Research (AIR) (United States) and leads the English Learners and the New Mexico Achievement Gap Research Alliances in the Regional Educational Laboratory Southwest. At AIR, she also works with the Center on Response to Intervention, the CEEDAR Center, and the Center for English Language Learners. She has extensive experience in working with English learners and in training teachers to effectively work with and support culturally and linguistically diverse learners with and without exceptionalities. Alison Croft is a lecturer in the Centre for International Education, University of Sussex (United Kingdom), and is currently studying Audiological Science at University College London (United Kingdom). She has worked in many ­countries, including as a regional special/inclusive education advisor in Namibia, and as a support teacher for disabled children in mainstream classes in the United Kingdom. Megan Dunn Davison is an assistant professor in the Department of Linguistics and Communication Disorders at Queens College, City University of New York (United States), and a certified speech–language pathologist. Her research interests include the role of home and school learning environments on the early language and literacy development in at‐risk children. In addition, she is interested in the relationship between language and literacy development, including written language, of school‐age children with language impairments. Rebecca Zumeta Edmonds is a principal researcher at the American Institutes for Research (AIR) in Washington, DC (United States), where she serves as ­deputy director of the National Center on Intensive Intervention, and as project director for an Investing in Innovation and Improvement (i3) development grant focusing on intensive intervention in mathematics. Prior to AIR, she worked in government, university, public, and private educational settings. She has coau­ thored several papers, chapters, and essays on RTI, mathematics intervention, special education policy, implementation, and progress monitoring. Dave L. Edyburn is a professor in the Department of Exceptional Education at the University of Wisconsin‐Milwaukee (United States). His research interests focus on the use of technology to enhance teaching, learning, and performance. He is editor of the Journal for Research on Technology in Education and a past president of the Technology and Media Division of the Council for Exceptional Children. Alison Ekins is a senior lecturer in the Faculty of Education, Canterbury Christ Church University (United Kingdom), and is actively involved in the development of inclusive education systems in schools in Kent (United Kingdom). Her research interests include the development of inclusive education and teacher education. Petra Engelbrecht is a senior research fellow in the Faculty of Education Sciences, North West University‐Potchefstroom campus (South Africa), and Emeritus Professor in Education at the Canterbury Christ Church University (United Kingdom). Her research focuses on equity in education, the implemen­ tation of inclusive education internationally, and teacher education. Patrice Fenton is a New York City public school special educator and doctoral candidate at the University of Miami (United States). Her research interests

Notes on Contributors

center on teacher preparation for urban special educators and disproportionality in special education. She is also vested in supporting families and communities in partnering to create better educational outcomes for culturally and linguisti­ cally diverse students with disabilities. Todd Fletcher is a distinguished outreach professor in the Department of Disability and Psychoeducational Studies in the College of Education at the University of Arizona (United States), where he coordinates the graduate pro­ gram in bilingual/multicultural special education. His research interests and scholarly writing focus on culturally responsive educational practices for diverse learners in the United States and educational reform, special education policy, and global practices in inclusive education. He does research on inclusive educa­ tion in Latin America, and, in particular, Mexico and Chile. Donna Y. Ford is a professor of education and human development at Vanderbilt University (United States). She conducts research primarily in gifted education and multicultural/urban education. Her work focuses on the achieve­ ment gap; recruiting and retaining culturally different students in gifted educa­ tion; multicultural curriculum and instruction; culturally competent teacher training and development; African American identity; and African American family involvement. Loury Ollison Floyd is an associate dean and associate professor at North Carolina A&T State University in Greensboro, North Carolina (United States). She received her PhD in educational policy, planning, and leadership from the College of William & Mary in Virginia (United States). She is an active member and leader with the North Carolina Association of Colleges for Teacher Education (NC‐ACTE). Ismael García‐Cedillo is a full professor in the Graduate School of Psychology at the Autonomous University of San Luis Potosí (Mexico). His research interests focus on national and comparative studies on special and inclusive education policy and teacher preparation and health psychology for children from vulner­ able groups. He was appointed national researcher by the Mexican government in 2011. He is the president of Apoyare, a nongovernmental organization that supports children and youth with HIV and other vulnerable groups. Ramon B. Goings is an assistant professor of educational leadership at the Loyola University Maryland (United States). His research includes studies of high‐achieving black males in prekindergarten through postsecondary settings, the role of teachers and school leaders in black male student success, and non­ traditional students of color in higher education. Diane Haager is a researcher and teacher educator in reading and learning disabilities, with an emphasis on English language learners. She is Professor Emeritus at California State University, Los Angeles (United States), where she instructs special education teachers and graduate students, receiving the univer­ sity’s Outstanding Professor Award in 2010. She has worked in urban schools as a reading specialist and special educator. Her research interests include issues related to effective reading instruction for English language learners, students with learning disabilities, and students at risk for reading failure. Prabha Hariharan is an assistant professor in the Faculty of Disability Management and Special Education at Ramakrishna Mission Vivekananda

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University, Coimbatore (India). Her research interests are special education technology, universal design for learning, and inclusive education. Beth Harry is a professor of special education in the Department of Teaching and Learning, School of Education and Human Development, at the University of Miami (United States). She served as a member of the National Academy of Sciences’ panel to study the disproportionate placement of minority students in special education. Her research findings on these topics have been published in numerous books and articles. George Head is a senior lecturer at the School of Education, University of Glasgow (Scotland). He teaches, researches, and publishes in the areas of ­support for learning and inclusive education. Within this area, he has a special interest in the learning of children and young people with social, emotional, and behavioral difficulties. Amy Heineke is an assistant professor of bilingual and bicultural education at Loyola University Chicago (United States). Her research focuses on teacher preparation for English learners, linguistically responsive pedagogy and practice, and language policy. Her pursuits in teacher education are guided by her prior work as an elementary teacher in Phoenix, Arizona (United States). Marie Tejero Hughes is a professor of special education at the University of Illinois at Chicago (United States). She teaches graduate courses in literacy that are designed to assist general and special education teachers working in urban communities meet the needs of students struggling with literacy across the cur­ riculum. Her areas of expertise include comprehension instruction for students with learning disabilities and students struggling with reading comprehension, reading instruction for culturally and linguistically diverse students, and Latino family engagement in special education. Christa Jackson is an assistant professor of mathematics education at Iowa State University (United States). Her research interests include teachers’ knowledge of equity in teaching mathematics, preparing prospective teachers to work with ­students who struggle in mathematics, and examining teachers’ (i.e., prospective and in‐service) conceptions and ideas of teaching mathematics equitably to all students. Clayton E. Keller was an associate professor and coordinator of the M.Ed. in the special education program at Qatar University in Doha (Qatar). He received Fulbright Awards for Norway and Turkey. He served as a member of the board of directors of the Council for Exceptional Children from 2009 to 2011, and in the presidential cycle of CEC’s Division of International Special Education and Services from 2003 to 2009. His scholarship focuses on international and ­comparative special education, special education in Arab states, and teachers who have disabilities. Georgette Lee is a special education case manager in the Harvey 152 school district (United States). She is also an adjunct instructor at the American Public University System (APUS), where she teaches online courses in special education at the master’s level. Her research interests include learning disabilities, content area literacy, and teacher education. Sylvia Linan‐Thompson is an associate professor at the University of Oregon (United States). Her research interests include examining appropriate instructional

Notes on Contributors

and assessment practices for English learners. She has been the principal investiga­ tor or co‐investigator of longitudinal intervention research projects that developed and examined reading interventions for struggling readers who are monolingual English speakers, English language learners, and bilingual students acquiring Spanish literacy. She has been a consultant on various projects related to literacy instruction and teacher professional development since 2003 in Latin America, Africa, Asia, and Eastern Europe. Linda H. Mason is a professor of special education in the School of Education at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill (United States). She has over 20 years of experience in working with children with disabilities. She conducts research in literacy, with a focus on writing and reading comprehension ­intervention. She has coauthored two books, Powerful writing strategies for all students (2008) and Building comprehension in adolescents: Powerful strategies for improving reading and writing in content areas (2012). She is the current ­editor of the Wiley journal Learning Disabilities Research & Practice. Kas Mazurek is a professor at the University of Lethbridge in Alberta (Canada), where he specializes in multicultural education and comparative studies in ­education. Together with extensive research and writing in these areas, he has written widely on comparative studies in special education and multicultural special education. Susie Miles is a senior lecturer in inclusive education at the University of Manchester (United Kingdom). Her research has explored ways of sharing ­practice through networking between different cultural contexts and the use of photography in participatory action research. She was the founding coordinator of the Enabling Education Network (EENET), a teacher of the deaf in England and Swaziland, a disability advisor for Save the Children in southern and eastern Africa, and a consultant to many international organizations in sub‐Saharan Africa, Asia, the Caribbean, and the islands of the south Pacific. Sabina R. Neugebauer is an assistant professor of reading at Loyola University Chicago (United States). Her research focuses on the language and literacy ­development of linguistically diverse students from childhood through adoles­ cence. Her research aims to identify linguistic and affective factors that influence students’ reading comprehension for the purpose of improving the literacy ­outcomes of students in traditionally underserved schools. She has taught and collaborated with teachers across multiple settings, including elementary and middle‐school classrooms, in the United States and abroad. Michelle Parker‐Katz is a clinical professor of special education and teacher education at the University of Illinois at Chicago (United States). Her research and clinical work focuses on preparing urban special education teachers and urban transition specialists. In the Department of Special Education, she is the coordinator of the masters programs and state licensure and endorsement programs. Apryl Poch is a doctoral candidate at the University of Missouri (United States). Her current research interests include students with learning disabilities, the intersection of adolescent literacy (specifically writing) and the dropout rate of students with disabilities, and instructional strategies for supporting students with disabilities in the high school English‐language arts classroom.

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Sarah R. Powell is an assistant professor of special education at the University of Texas at Austin (United States). She is the principal investigator of an Institute of Education Sciences efficacy study about the word‐problem‐solving of students facing difficulties in learning mathematics. She is also a National Academy of Education/Spencer Foundation Postdoctoral Fellow and a Faculty Fellow with the Greater Texas Foundation. She has coauthored articles related to mathemat­ ics intervention, word‐problem‐solving, and peer tutoring. Kavita Rao is an associate professor in the Department of Special Education at the University of Hawaii at Mānoa (United States). Her research interests include instructional and assistive technology, universal design for learning, inclusive online learning environments, and technology‐based instructional strategies for culturally and linguistically diverse students. Sarah A. Roberts is an assistant professor of mathematics education at the University of California, Santa Barbara (United States). Her interests include equity in mathematics education, supporting English learners in math, and pre‐ and in‐service teacher professional development. Shawn A. Robinson is a dyslexia consultant. He earned his doctorate in lan­ guage and literacy from the College of Education and Leadership at Cardinal Stritch University, Milwaukee, Wisconsin (United States). He focuses on the intersection of race, giftedness, and dyslexia, and brings a wealth of academic experience, training, and knowledge about the psychological development of dyslexia. Silvia Romero‐Contreras is a full professor in the Graduate School of Psychology at the Autonomous University of San Luis Potosí (Mexico), where she coordinates the undergraduate program in psychopedagogy. Her research interests focus on culturally appropriate language and literacy educational prac­ tices and special and inclusive education practice, policy, and teacher prepara­ tion. She is the author of various chapters and books for parents and teachers in the areas of special education and language and literacy development. She is national researcher for the Mexican government since 2007. Monika Williams Shealey is the Dean of the College of Education at Rowan University in Glassboro, New Jersey (United States). She received her Ed.S. in Reading and Learning Disabilities from the University of Miami, and a PhD in Education from the University of Central Florida. Her research interests include examining the intersection of urban and special education and the experiences of traditionally marginalized groups in teacher education and special education. She is the coeditor of the journal Multiple Voices of Ethnically Diverse Exceptional Learners. Nidhi Singal is a senior lecturer at the Faculty of Education, University of Cambridge (United Kingdom). She has been working for over a decade in various countries in South Asia and Africa, with a particular focus on examining issues of access and quality in relation to the education of children and young people with disabilities. Vasilis Strogilos is an assistant professor at the National Institute of Education, Nanyang Technological University (Singapore). His teaching and research have focused on special and inclusive education. His  recent research interests have ­ edagogy and curricula, with a specific centered on the development of inclusive p

Notes on Contributors

interest on co‐teaching and differentiation, and on interdisciplinary collabora­ tion as a means to inclusion for students with disabilities. Marjatta Takala is a professor of special education at the University of Oulu (Finland). Her research examines Nordic special education, inclusion of students with special needs, education for pupils with hearing and visual impairments, and teacher education for special education. Elizabeth Talbott is an associate professor of special education at the University of Illinois at Chicago (United States). Her research addresses assess­ ment and interventions for children and youth with emotional, behavioral, and learning disabilities, with a particular interest in youth in urban settings. She is an expert in methods of conducting systematic reviews of research, and is ­currently investigating the effectiveness of Individualized Education Program (IEP) teams for students with disabilities. Jonte’ C. Taylor is an assistant professor in special education at Pennsylvania State University (United States). He earned his doctorate in special education from Auburn University in Alabama (United States), and was an IES Postdoctoral Scholar at the University of Iowa (United States). His research focuses on ­exploring and developing effective classroom‐based interventions for students with autism, learning disabilities, and emotional/behavioral disorders. Agata Trzaska is a school psychologist with elementary and high school ­experience who currently works for the LaGrange Area Department of Special Education in LaGrange, Illinois (United States). Her clinical work has focused on Multi‐Tiered Systems of Support (MTSS) to increase student academic and social–emotional outcomes. She is completing a PhD program in special educa­ tion at University of Illinois at Chicago (United States), and her research focuses on bullying and victimization of students with disabilities. Delinda van Garderen is an associate professor in special education at the University of Missouri (United States). Her current research interests include students with learning disabilities; intervention and descriptive research in mathematics and the use of representations to solve word problems; characteri­ zation of struggling learners and their development in number and operations; and in‐service professional development in mathematics and science. Mary Grace Villanueva is an educational consultant at Deloitte & Touche in Johannesburg (South Africa). She obtained her doctoral degree in science ­education from the Nelson Mandela University in Port Elizabeth (South Africa). She has served as an IES Postdoctoral Scholar at the University of Iowa (United States). Her research interests include science education for grade school ­students in science discourse, the use of science notebooks, and developing effective science teachers. Federico R. Waitoller is an assistant professor at the department of special education at the University of Illinois at Chicago (United States). His research focuses on urban inclusive education. In particular, his work examines and addresses policies and practices that generates or reproduces educational ­inequities for students from racial and ethnic minorities who receive special e­ ducation services. Jo Westbrook is a senior lecturer in education in the Centre for International Education, University of Sussex (United Kingdom), working on teacher

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development and pedagogies for primary and secondary schools in low‐ income countries, particularly East Africa. Her research focuses on the teaching of reading and comprehension for less able readers in multilingual and disadvantaged contexts. Gilman W. Whiting is an associate professor and director of graduate studies for the program in African American & Diaspora Studies at Vanderbilt University (United States). He is the creator and author of the Scholar Identity Model, and a director of the Scholar Identity Institute. He is the chair of the Achievement Gap Institute, Peabody College of Education, at Vanderbilt University. His research investigates the psychosocial educational development and self‐efficacy of minority students. He is a national and international speaker and consultant. Sarah Williams is currently associated with the Centre for International Education, University of Sussex (United Kingdom). She has completed her MA in International Education and Development, and has worked in many countries in Asia, the Middle East, South America, and Europe as an education advisor and teacher trainer, specializing in inclusive education. Margaret Winzer is Professor Emerita at the University of Lethbridge in Alberta (Canada). She has researched and written extensively in the field of ­special/inclusive education, particularly on the history of special education and comparative studies in special education. Daniel R. Wissinger is an assistant professor in the Department of Communication Disorders, Special Education, and Disability Services (CSD) at Indiana University of Pennsylvania (United States). Before joining the faculty at IUP, he worked as a special education teacher for over 10 years and earned his PhD at the University of Maryland (United States). His research interests focus on writing interventions for struggling readers and writers in content area classrooms. Shelley Zion is a Professor and Urban Education Executive Director, Center for Access, Success, and Equity at Rowan University. Her work focuses on two levels: on a policy level, she works with school leaders to improve and inform the ways that schools are constructed, so that they provide equitable opportunities for all students; as an educator, she teaches both in‐service and preservice teachers to understand the influence of culture, class, power, and privilege on the curriculum, pedagogy, and practices they employ. Jaime L. Zurheide is an assistant professor in the Education Department at Elmhurst College in Elmhurst, Illinois (United States). She earned her PhD at the University of Illinois at Chicago (United States). She teaches graduate and under­ graduate special education courses with a focus on behavioral interventions and methods for teaching mathematics. Her research interests center on preparing teachers to effectively work with students with emotional and behavioral disabilities.

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Foreword Clayton E. Keller Special educators grapple with diversity in their practice in myriad ways. A recent instance for me was when I was the coordinator of a special education master’s program in the only public university of a country in the Gulf region of the Middle East. The student population was diverse, more so than I had ­experienced at any time in my years as a special educator or faculty member. There were, for instance, nationals and nonnationals, Arabs and non‐Arabs, those facile with English and those for whom reading, speaking, and writing in this language of instruction for the program was a struggle, and males and females together, a situation that is by no means a given in Gulf institutions. The 10 students in one cohort were from 10 different states—Qatar, Egypt, Syria, Tunisia, Jordan, Palestine, India, Pakistan, Singapore, and Brazil—and additional countries were represented in other cohorts—Iraq, Turkey, Nigeria, and the United States. The goal of the program was to prepare, in the absence of a terminal degree in the country, the special education leaders that the country needed for its public and international schools, centers, governmental and nongovernmental organizations, and other entities that address the needs of children and youth with disabilities and their families. As such, we used the literature of the world, especially the West and the United States where I am from, but also from the Arab world at times, to examine different aspects of special education in the country where we were located as well as the students’ home nations in order to determine how to improve policies and practices in the education of students with exceptionalities. In the first semester’s issues course, we did this for topics such as equity, special education, assessment, assistive technology, early childhood services, transition, research, and diversity. For the topic of diversity, I assigned Donna Y. Ford’s (2012) article in Exceptional Children, “Culturally different students in special education: Looking backward to move forward,” and then the chapter by the late Jeanette Klingner and her ­colleagues, “Cultural and linguistic diversity in special education,” from Bateman, Lloyd, and Tankersley’s (2015) Enduring issues in special education: Personal ­perspectives. Not being as knowledgeable about this important area in special education as I should be, I felt these were two of the strongest current readings that could provide my students with an overview of and orientation to the topic, but I always worried before class about how applicable the students would find

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the readings, given their focus on diversity in the United States. My students always rose to the challenge, extracting actionable points from the materials and our discussions that they could apply in their practice. I always wanted ­something else, though, that could speak more directly to the diversity we were facing. With this book, The Wiley handbook of diversity in special education, edited by Marie Tejero Hughes and Elizabeth Talbott, there now is more for all of us in spe­ cial education. Since my doctoral days, I have loved a good handbook for the efficient summaries of literature of interest and the expansion to my thinking they have provided time and again. Given the choices the editors made in assembling the volume, this handbook qualifies as an excellent one for a number of reasons. Generally, the chapter authors chosen to contribute to a handbook typically reflect the countries or regions of the editors, for example, the United States, the United Kingdom, or Europe. However, the collection of contributors in this handbook represents the most internationally diverse selection I have seen in such a volume, not only for the locations of their affiliated institutions, but also for the regions of the world in which they have worked and served—for example, East and sub‐Saharan Africa, Latin America, the Caribbean, Eastern Europe, the Middle East, different regions of Asia, and the South Pacific. What does this do for the handbook? It greatly expands the opportunities to investigate complex intersectionalities of a wide range of diversity dimensions— race, ethnicity, culture, language, religion, gender, socioeconomic status, resident or immigrant status, and placement on the dimension of traditional and ­modernity, among others—from the perspectives of those who have lived and experienced them in their work. It allows access to the all‐important values that underlie how the dimensions of diversity are addressed both across and within societies and communities around the world. And, as my colleague Maha Al‐Hendawi and I have noted regarding the construct of at‐risk (Al‐Hendawi & Keller, 2014), an existing literature from predominantly the West can inform policies and practices in other parts of the world, but at the same time ideas from the world can expand that literature; the same is true for diversity with this volume. The selection of authors from different regions also blends those who work within educational systems that emphasize special education to provide appro­ priate education to students with disabilities with those who promote and use inclusion to meet the educational needs of such students, and many others, within the general education system. Such a mixed orientation is relatively unique among handbooks, as they usually emphasize one approach over the other in an either‐or way. Although the volume is not seeking to blend the two orientations as some do (e.g., Hornby, 2015), the shifting between special educa­ tion and inclusion across the chapters better reflects the both‐and situation that exists in the world, and by doing so extends the literature on international, ­comparative special education. Collectively, the authors’ work has occurred in the full range of types of arrangements that nations have for providing education to exceptional learners (Anastasiou & Keller, 2011), such as situations initiating special education provi­ sion within limited national education systems; others that are expanding and improving special education in still developing national education systems; ones using inclusive approaches in developed educational systems; and examples of

Foreword

extensive special education within developed national systems. How is diversity in special education considered and addressed across the ways that nations ­educate their children and youth? What can we learn about diversity through such cross‐national comparisons? This volume provides readers with a relatively unique opportunity to investigate these larger questions about diversity with cross‐national comparisons. Finally, besides the benefits that arise from the choices that Tejero Hughes and Talbott made regarding chapter authors, others follow from the topics they asked their scholars to review vis‐à‐vis the research on diversity. Certain issues in or aspects of special education are especially relevant to examine with regards to diversity, and these indeed receive extensive coverage in the volume—for instance, equity, social justice, inclusion, assessment and identification, family involvement, and instructional matters in second or multiple languages. But the inclusion of reviews of the research on diversity for other topics—for example, technology, science and math instruction, and peer‐mediated instruction—at first novel to me, produced an “of course” reaction. As such, the handbook will prove to be an essential complement to other handbooks and literature reviews for me in my work: I will draw upon the latter ones for an overview, but then turn to this volume for a more expansive consideration of my topic of interest. In sum, Tejero Hughes and Talbott’s The Wiley handbook of diversity in special ­education captures the diversity of diversity in special education at this time across dimensions of diversity, components of education, and societies around the world. It provides not only the latest thinking of established experts but also new voices and perspectives of scholars rising in the profession of special educa­ tion. And, as a result, we are now better informed to pursue the continuing work that diversity in special education requires of us all.

References Al‐Hendawi, M., & Keller, C. (2014). Beyond the walls of the school: Risk factors and children and youth in the Gulf. Near and Middle Eastern Journal of Research in Education, 2014:1 http://dx.doi.org/10.5339/nmejre.2014.1 Anastasiou, D., & Keller, C. E. (2011). International differences in provision for exceptional learners. In J. M. Kauffman & D. P. Hallahan (Eds.), Handbook of special education (pp. 773–787). New York, NY: Routledge. Bateman, B., Lloyd, J. W., & Tankersley, M. (Eds.). (2015). Enduring issues in special education: Personal perspectives. New York, NY: Routledge. Ford, D. Y. (2012). Culturally different students in special education: Looking backward to move forward. Exceptional Children, 78, 391–405. Hornby, G. (2015). Inclusive special education: Development of a new theory for the education of children with special needs and disabilities. British Journal of Special Education, 42(3), 234–256. Klingner, J., Moore, B., Davidson, A. O., Boelé, A., Boardman, A., Figueroa, R., Annamma, S. A., & Sager, N. (2015). Cultural and linguistic diversity in special education. In B. Bateman, J. W. Lloyd & M. Tankersley (Eds.), Enduring issues in special education: Personal perspectives (pp. 110–131). New York, NY: Routledge.

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Preface The Wiley Handbook of Diversity in Special Education Elizabeth Talbott and Marie Tejero Hughes Beginning in 1948 with its universal declaration of human rights, the United Nations has set the stage for the education of all children and youth around the world, including those with disabilities. The United Nations has argued that ­students must receive effective support to maximize their academic and social development within the general education system (2006). Furthermore, the United Nations has recognized the importance of “accessibility to the physical, social, economic and cultural environment, to health and education and to information and communication, in enabling persons with disabilities to fully enjoy all human rights and fundamental freedoms” (United Nations, 2006, preamble section v). Alongside its 1948 declaration of human rights, its 2006 convention on the rights of persons with disabilities, and the UNESCO (2000) statement promoting education for all, comes the practical challenge of serving all children and youth in the general education system. Children with disabilities are among the most marginalized and excluded in the world, including their exclusion from e­ ducation (UNICEF, 2013). In addition, classrooms around the world are more ethnically diverse than ever before, making the challenge of teachers meeting students’ diverse academic and social needs an increasingly daunting one. For instance, the United States has seen a significant increase in the immigration of families from around the world, with English‐language learners becoming the fastest‐ growing population in American schools (Gandara & Hopkins, 2010). In Europe, greater mobility of families within and across countries and the current refugee crisis have contributed to diversity in schools and the challenge of educating all students (European Commission Directorate General for Education and Culture, 2003, 2016). Across continents, “globalization and the tensions observed in a given nation between cultural continuity and change” also shape how special education is delivered (Kozleski, Artiles, & Waitoller, 2011, p. 7). The impact of immigration is often first seen in a nation’s classrooms. Not only do immigrant youth speak languages other than the dominant one, they may hail from war‐torn and impoverished nations, leading to interruptions in their education and related adjustment and mental health problems (Lustig et  al., 2004). Educated alongside a nation’s immigrants are its native‐born youth, some of whom

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Preface

may be growing up in poverty, others of whom are achieving at or above grade level. Further adding to classroom diversity, in many countries, such as the United States, the majority of students with disabilities are educated in general education classrooms for the majority of the day (US Department of Education, 2015). It is in this context that we present The Wiley handbook of diversity in special education, to address pressing issues associated with the schooling and education of diverse learners with disabilities. We are delighted to engage authors from around the world on this topic. Contributors to the volume hail from many countries, including Canada, Finland, Greece, India, Mexico, Scotland, South Africa, the United Kingdom, and the United States. Furthermore, many of the authors have conducted research, prepared teachers, and/or provided consultation to educators in countries other than their own. Together, these authors contribute wide‐ranging perspectives on the education of children and youth with ­disabilities, from countries in the northern and southern hemispheres, and in the context of each country’s national education system. Authors describe the experiences, challenges, and effective tools for assessment and intervention for youth with disabilities from diverse backgrounds and in a wide range of educational contexts. These include education in schools alongside one’s peers without disabilities; the receipt of part‐time and full‐time special education; and the experience of being locked out of schools and effective instruction altogether. The handbook authors address implications for the delivery of effective interventions in such varied situations. To do that, the book is organized into five parts. In the first part, entitled “Including Students with Disabilities,” authors tackle issues associated with the inclusion of students with disabilities in schools. These issues range from those associated with social justice and cultural understanding to the success of education in specific countries. In the second part, entitled “Contemporary Issues in Educating Diverse Students,” authors address topics ranging from family diversity and poverty to the education of culturally diverse students in the context of language and literacy instruction. In the third and fourth parts, entitled “Instruction” and “Supporting and Assessing Diverse Learners,” respectively, authors present strategies for the assessment and intervention for diverse students with disabilities in mathematics, science, reading, writing, technology, and peer tutoring. In the final section, entitled “Preparation of Educators for Inclusive Environments,” authors address the challenges of preparing educators to serve students with disabilities in a wide range of countries and under diverse national education systems. We invite readers to explore the paths laid out by authors in these chapters, to engage in a discussion of current research on diversity in special education, and to join us in contributing to future research.

References European Commission Directorate General for Education and Culture. (2003). Improving education of teachers and trainers: Progress report. Brussels, Belgium: European Commission.

Preface

European Commission Directorate General for Education and Culture. (2016). Retrieved from http://ec.europa.eu/education/policy/migration/index_en.htm Gandara, P., & Hopkins, M. (2010). The changing linguistic landscape of the United States. In P. Gandara & M. Hopkins (Eds.), Forbidden language: English language learners and restrictive language policies (pp. 7–19). New York, NY: Teachers College Press. Kozleski, E. B., Artiles, A. J., & Waitoller, F. R. (2011). Introduction: Equity in inclusive education. In A. J. Artiles, E. B. Kozleski & F. R. Waitoller (Eds.), Inclusive education: Examining equity on five continents (pp. 1–14). Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Lustig, S. L., Kia‐Keating, M., Knight, W. G., Geltman, P., Ellis, H., Kinzie, J. D., Keane, T., & Saxe, G. N. (2004). Review of child and adolescent refugee mental health. Journal of the American Academy of Child and Adolescent Psychiatry, 43, 24–36. UNESCO. (2000). Education for all. Retrieved from http://www.unesco.org/new/ en/education/themes/leading‐the‐international‐agenda/education‐for‐all/ UNICEF. (2013). Children and young people with disabilities fact sheet. Retrieved from http://www.unicef.org/disabilities/files/Factsheet_A5__Web_NEW.pdf United Nations. (1948). The universal declaration of human rights. http://www.un. org/en/universal‐declaration‐human‐rights/ United Nations. (2006). Convention on the rights of persons with disabilities. Retrieved from http://www.un.org/disabilities/convention/conventionfull.shtml US Department of Education. (2015). Digest of Education Statistics, 2013. Retrieved from https://nces.ed.gov/fastfacts/display.asp?id=59

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Acknowledgments We would like to thank the many educators who served as chapter reviewers and provided invaluable feedback to the authors and to us.

Editorial Review Board Teresa Aceves Loyola Marymount University, United States

Renae Mayes Ball State University, United States

Alfredo Artiles Arizona State University, United States

Diana Rodriquez Fordham University, United States

Girma Berhanu University of Gothenburg, Sweden

Sylvia Linan‐Thompson University of Oregon, United States

Lani Florian University of Edinburgh, United Kingdom

Kathleen King Thorius Indiana University—Purdue University Indianapolis, United States

SaDohl G. Jones Capella University, United States Devin Kearns University of Connecticut, United States

Diana Valle‐Riestra Florida International University, United States

Penny Lacey University of Birmingham, United Kingdom

Theresa Wegner University of Wisconsin Oshkosh, United States

PhD Special Education Students, University of Illinois at Chicago (United States) Shatha Al‐Wabely

Wendy Gonzales

Andrea Prola

Ivan Alvarado

Jessica Hovland

Michael Scaletta

Abisola Bakare

Robert Maddalozzo

Maria Soria

Letrice Beasley

Allison McGrath

Eryn Van Acker

Molly Buren

Kierstin Moddelmog

Douglas Fowler

Giselle Nunez

1

Part I Including Students with Disabilities

3

1 The Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities Reconstructing Disability to Reimagine Education Margaret Winzer and Kas Mazurek

The landmark Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities (CRPD; United Nations, 2006) is the eighth human rights convention enacted by the United Nations and the first one specifically directed toward persons with disabilities. As a UN convention, it represents binding international law on ratifying State Parties (nations that have ratified a treaty and agree to comply with its obligations). The CRPD, along with its Optional Protocol, was adopted by consensus by the General Assembly of the United Nations on December 13, 2006, opened for signature on March 30, 2007, and came into force in May 2008. The text of the CRPD encapsulates both human rights and development. The rights dimension acknowledges the dignity, autonomy, and worth of people with disabilities and enhances their visibility in the human rights system (Stein & Lord, 2008). The development pillar distills human rights into a set of plans designed to include such persons in development policies and processes. For exam­ ple, the treaty enshrouds inclusive schooling as a rights‐based case, but also pro­ jects it as a development tool critical in eliminating poverty, creating opportunities, and stimulating economic development among persons with disabilities. The social model of disability is a primary motivating hypothesis of the CRPD. Traditional medical deficit models are discarded in favor of those that address the ethical, social, and legal implications of disability. Because the overarching vision is one of people with disabilities living and participating as full members of a society, the CRPD uses the language of rights in relation to both positive objectives to be pursued and negative situations to be corrected. Accordingly, the social model of disability readily links to the concepts of inclusive schooling that imply a recognition of human diversity, stress that education should take place in environments that are broadly inclusive of all learners, and focus on identifying and removing barriers in schools and systems to create equal opportunity for those with disabilities.

The Wiley Handbook of Diversity in Special Education, First Edition. Edited by Marie Tejero Hughes and Elizabeth Talbott. © 2017 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Published 2017 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

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As a global agenda meant to be implemented across national and cultural lines, the CRPD holds as much importance for people with disabilities in the global North as for those in the South. This chapter restricts the terrain to developing nations where the prospects for putting the treaty into operation as well as the implementation of inclusive schooling are uncharted territory. Assessing pro­ gress is both important and timely. For one thing, addressing the CRPD in the light of cultural norms and examining the cultural fit of models and their cultural universality is critical in this era of accelerated connections based on interna­ tional policy frameworks. Second, movement toward inclusive schooling is just starting in developing nations, and there are few precedents or referents, few detailed studies on the processes involved, and no models that have been com­ prehensively tested in practice (Bines & Lei, 2011; WHO & World Bank, 2011). Third, the statistical map directs attention to nations of the global South where levels of impairment appear highest, and are significantly associated with multi­ dimensional poverty (Mazurek & Winzer, 2015). Among the 650 million to 1 bil­ lion people within the disabled category, more than 80% live in developing nations. Of the 93–150 million children with disabilities under 14 years of age, 85% are found in the South (United Nations, 2011) but, worldwide, only 2–3% of those with disabilities go to school (Winzer & Mazurek, 2014). Germane to this chapter’s discussion, of the 107 countries that ratified the CRPD by January 2012, 80 were developing nations. Dozens of complex theoretical, methodological, and practical matters sur­ round the implementation of the CRPD and dissemination of the inclusive doctrine. This chapter rests on two overarching arguments. First, we contend that culture, broadly defined as ways of perceiving, evaluating, and behaving, holds powerful value in explaining much (though certainly not all) of the pro­ gress and prospects for the CRPD. The connection emerges because none of the core concepts are neutral but value‐laden and governed by whole sets of cultural and social beliefs. Disability challenges what Davis (1995, p. 48) terms “the hegemony of normalcy” and the constraints of an observer’s culture and ideological perspective define beliefs about disability and its impact. Similarly, education is a value‐based culturally contingent activity; inclusive education is also conditioned by national identity and constructed within a framework of social, cultural, and economic conditions. The complementary assumption holds that inclusive schooling for children with disabilities (reimagining educa­ tion) is not possible lacking fundamental social change (reconstructing di­sability). As Opertti, Walker, and Zhang (2014, p. 160) argue, “Mindset trans­ formations are at the core of open, plural, and constructive dialogue around inclusion.” To juxtapose cultural considerations with the social model of disability and inclusive schooling, we first outline three key foundational considerations. These are an overview of the CRPD; an analysis of the paradigmatic shift from a medi­ cal to a social model of disability; and the connection of the treaty to the policy ambitions of dominant instruments of global education governance, Education for All (EFA) and the Millennium Development Goals (MDGs). With these building blocks in place, the chapter interrogates the promises and the limits of the social model both as a means of reducing social exclusion and stimulating the

Structure and Overview of the CRPD Structure and Overview of the CRPD 5

progress of inclusive schooling. As we examine progress and point to continuing tensions and mechanisms for resolution, examples from national agendas are used to add nuances to the discussion.

Structure and Overview of the CRPD During the 1970s, the exclusion of large numbers of people with disabilities from socioeconomic and educational opportunities set the international community on a trek toward the forgotten shores of disability. Movement was glacial: it was not until the 1990s that disability was introduced and analyzed as a human rights issue, that ameliorative approaches became part of the UN’s overall development and human rights agenda, and that inclusive education became a fundamental principle (Winzer & Mazurek, 2014). Historically, the UN addressed disability issues in two main ways—interpreting and applying existing human rights instruments to persons with disabilities, and creating soft laws known as declarations or standard rules. Soft laws such as the Standard Rules for the Equalization of Opportunities for Persons with Disabilities (United Nations, 1993) express the moral and political commitment of the inter­ national community but are not legally binding and lack reinforcement and accountability provisions. In contrast, the CRPD’s detailed policy pertaining to the civil, political, economic, educational, and cultural rights of persons with dis­ abilities has the force of binding international legislation. The dense and complex treaty incorporates the Preamble, 50 Articles, and the 18‐article Optional Protocol. Among many issues covered, the introductory arti­ cles (Preamble, Articles 1–2) define disability within a social construct and state that all people with all types of disabilities must enjoy all human rights and fun­ damental freedoms irrespective of their social and economic status (Article 1). The treaty then catalogues principles of universal application (Articles 3–9) that apply to persons with disabilities enjoying all rights on an equal basis with others. The substantive rights (Articles 10–30) run the gamut of life activities: included are education, vocational training, employment, and sports and recreation. Later articles establish implementation and monitoring schemes (Articles 31–40) and set forth rules governing the CRPD’s operation (Articles 41–50). The Optional Protocol, accepted at the same time as the treaty itself, provides an inquiry pro­ cedure and establishes processes regarding perceived violations. The CRPD recognizes rights as “indivisible, interrelated and interconnected” (Preamble). The structure embeds the general principles (Articles 3–9) horizontally so that each substantive rights article (10–30) will be interpreted in light of these principles. As examples, key watchwords include participation, non‐discrimination, and equality, all of which are central if the right to education (Article 24) is to be achieved. The undergirding social model of disability is clarified in Article 1, revisited as a core idea in Article 8, and feeds into issues such as education and employment. The articles on living independently (Article 19), personal mobility (Article 20), and habilitation and rehabilitation (Article 26) are needed to make employment rights manifest. Legal capacity (Article 12) is key to every type of right, including the right to vote, to work, and to marry.

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1  The Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities

Recasting Disability as a Social Construction Traditionally, notions about “normal” and “disabled” have been linked to dimensions that include statistical frequency (usual and unusual); normative conceptions of good and bad (appropriate and inappropriate); and independ­ ence or dependence (active, participating people or burdens on society in need of specialized and, in general, segregated support) (Nussbaum, 2004; Winzer, 2009). Until the late 1950s, conceptions of disability as unusual, inappropriate, and burdensome were echoed in medical models that bound and determined social and educational participation and intervention. New notions that emerged in the late 1950s signaled a fundamental shift from medical pathology to a social model, a generic term for a broad conception of disability (for a discussion, see Connor, 2014). Ideas moved “away from focusing on the physical limitations of particular individuals to the way the physical and social environments impose limitations on certain groups or categories of people” (Oliver, 1983, p. 23). And, as disability was increasingly construed as a manifestation of oppression and discrimination, models incorporated a disability rights manifesto and carried the implication of action to dismantle social and physical barriers (Winzer, 2009). The drafting and negotiation of the CRPD took 5 years and 8 Ad Hoc Committee Meetings. The more than 800 civil society representatives who even­ tually engaged in the dialogue and process included large numbers of agents advocating for individuals with disabilities, as well as individuals with disabilities themselves. Within a contested paradigmatic environment, a linguistic shift transpired in progress toward the final wording. The social model has always served a “representation of the collective identity of the disability movement” (Goodley, 2001, p. 219), so it is not surprising that parties moved from medical and charity terminology to a social taxonomy (Lord & Stein, 2008). In its final version, the CRPD broadly describes persons with disabilities as “those who have long‐term physical, mental, intellectual or sensory impairments” and maintains that “it is the socially engineered environment, and the attitudes that are reflected in its construction that play a central role in creating the condition termed ‘dis­ ability’” (Article 1). Having made clear that direct responsibility for educational or social failure must be assigned to society, not an individual, the Convention sets out to reposition disability and recast identities. It calls for “respect for dif­ ference and acceptance of persons with disabilities as part of human diversity and humanity” (Article 3) and directs State Parties to ensure equality and pro­ hibit discrimination on the basis of disability (Article 5).

Pursuit of Inclusive Education Framing inclusive schooling within the CRPD proved even more contentious than reaching agreement on a social model, largely because inclusive education remains an unresolved dilemma within the disability community. During the sixth session of the Ad Hoc Committee, arguments centered on the definition of disability within the context of inclusive education, whether inclusive education

International Education Governance International Education Governance 7

was to be mandatory, and the extent to which member states would be required to make changes to their existing education systems in order to achieve inclu­ sion. Some agents advocating for the rights of persons blind, deaf, and deaf‐blind resisted any demand for education conformity among disability groups, grounded in whether inclusive schooling would deny specialized support to their particular constituencies (Inclusion International, 2009; Kanter, Damiani, & Ferri, 2014). The final Article 24 of the CRPD reflected a delicate consensus among interna­ tional disability organizations who managed to craft a common position on inclusive education but still respected the rights of students deaf, blind, or deaf‐ blind to be educated in groups. The negotiated text delegitimized segregated service delivery in many areas, including education (Kayess & French, 2008). Ratifying nations agree to “ensure an inclusive education system at all levels” so that “persons with disabilities are not excluded from the general education system on the basis of disability” (Article 24). They must be able to “access an inclusive, quality and free primary education and secondary education on an equal basis with others in the com­ munities in which they live” and the education must be provided in environ­ ments with “effective individualized support measures” that “maximize academic and social development, consistent with the goal of full inclusion” (Article 24).

International Education Governance An impressive global agenda for education was constructed and defined through­ out the 1990s, largely led by UN agencies. The most important UN arms direct­ ing education are United Nations Education, Scientific, and Cultural Organization (UNESCO) which was formed in 1946 to initiate, endorse, and support educa­ tion activity around the globe; and the United Nations Children’s Fund (UNICEF), which is mandated by the UN General Assembly to advocate for the protection of the rights of all children to help meet their basic needs and expand their opportunities in collaboration with its partners in more than 190 countries. The United Nations Development Program (UNDP) is the UN’s global development network that works for change by linking countries to knowledge, experience, and resources. The World Bank, a multilateral UN lending institution, is the larg­ est source of development capital in the field of international education, mainly concerned with developing countries. Along with governments, donor agencies, and members of civil society, these agencies delineated the vision of Education for All (EFA) in 1990 (UNESCO, 1990). The World Education Conference in Dakar, Senegal, in 2000 iterated the broad vision of EFA, but reshaped and redefined it within six time‐bound goals known as the Dakar Framework for Action (UNESCO, 2000). In September 2000, world leaders adopted the Millennium Development Goals (MDGs) that collectively represented international commitment to human development, with education as a part of the global development agenda. Education for All is the global framework for achieving the Dakar education goals, along with two of the MDG targets—universal p ­ rimary

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1  The Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities

e­ ducation and the eradication of poverty. UNESCO is tasked with ­coordinating EFA partners and maintaining their collaborative momentum. Disability was an orphan theme at the world conferences. Despite the central aim of EFA—a global commitment to quality education for all—and the MDG focus on the benefits of investing in education for poverty reduction, none of the enumerated criteria animated links with disability. The synthesis of disability, poverty, and exclusion only became part of the conversations in 2002, when it was recognized that universal primary education was unlikely to be achieved unless issues specific to poverty and access to education among persons with disabilities were properly addressed. Disability became an EFA flagship; that is, one of the flagship programs designed to champion a range of differing interests and concerns within EFA. The Flagship on Education for All and the rights of persons with disabilities toward inclusion (UNESCO, 2003) ostensibly took responsibility for ensuring that those with disabilities were part of all national EFA action plans. Multiple pledges, commitments, and legislation from the special and general education world communities were designed to stimulate telling advances in the status of persons with disabilities. The CRPD, for example, underscored the criti­ cal need to address the negative impact of poverty on persons with disabilities, and provided a set of outcomes, indicators, and obligations for inclusive school­ ing. In tandem, agencies such as UNESCO have to enforce the principles and provisions of the CRPD in their programs and structures so that the interna­ tional architecture of expectations and commitments to provide education for all will encompass those with disabilities. But, as we discuss in the following section, the positioning of dedicated inclusive schooling within disability‐specific legisla­ tion or as part of the wider EFA focus is not yet effective. Attitudinal and cultural barriers further sustain and animate issues of discrimination, access, and capac­ ity. Underlying notions of individual deficit and persistent discriminatory atti­ tudes continue to relentlessly limit or deny students with disabilities their rights to equal and meaningful education.

Promises, Progress, and Challenges The CRPD represents a paradigm change for those with disabilities, the mecha­ nisms of which are still being developed and the ramifications of which are only beginning to be examined. The process of translating concepts from advocacy into concrete action at national levels reveals that major social and educational limitations confound a facile translation of the principles into policies and prac­ tice. Few countries at present have the capacity needed to ensure full implemen­ tation of the treaty (United Nations [UNPRD], 2013). Nor is it clear whether states can or will assume the various roles assigned them by the Convention and whether global policy discourses will manifest in anticipated ways. In various states, ownership of the CRPD and capacity to fulfill its mandates at the local level are constrained by myriad challenges that include toxic social con­ ditions; political and economic contexts that are volatile and frequently unsup­ portive; competing and sometimes contradictory priorities in negotiating

Social Models and Cultural Realities Social Models and Cultural Realities 9

internal and external demands; and inadequate human, technical, and fiscal capacity. Many nations display what Shields (2013) describes as loose coupling, “a separation of policy and practice that stems from the incompatibility of world culture and local context” (Shields, 2013, p. 614).

Social Models and Cultural Realities Cultural values and meanings represent “established patterns for understanding and reacting to a phenomenon” (Eide & Ingstad, 2013, p. 3). When the phenom­ enon is disability, a society’s perceptions of status and roles are inevitably cultur­ ally situated, value laden, and embedded within individual contexts. Each culture has its own explanations, based on its forms of knowledge, belief systems, values, language, and religion, as to why some children are born with disabilities, how such children are to be treated, and the roles expected of family, community, and society (Groce, 1999). Ubiquitous core cultural assumptions are difficult to identify. Sketches drawn from a body of anecdotal data suggest that mythical patterns of attribution and historical tradition that rationalize shame for and rejection of disability remain prevalent in many societies. Attitudes that view disability as a punishment from God and a shame to the family still prevail in many parts of Africa (Rieser, 2008). Similarly, strong cultural beliefs about disability as an ancestral punishment pre­ dominate in Asian societies (Peters, 2004). In India, role constructs that are neg­ ative, discriminatory, and exclusionary abound, strongest against people with intellectual impairments, and women (Rao, Narayan, & Mani, 2005). Riaz (2011) tells us that many poor Pakistani families perceive a child with a mental or physi­ cal disability as a lifetime moral and financial burden. People may be unwilling to admit to having family members who are disabled. Pakistani parents are espe­ cially cautious that the marriage prospects of their normal children may be adversely affected if they are suspected as carriers of defective genes (Riaz, 2011). In India, a society where up to 90% of marriages are arranged, parents fear nega­ tive prospects for the arranged marriages of their typical children (Alur & Bach, 2010). The data point to an intimate relationship between disability, stigma, and exclusion. Given the synthesis, the need to combat and supplant traditional cul­ tural views and generate social change redounds throughout the text of the CRPD. To reconstruct ideas antithetical to the full realization of disability rights, the treaty presses nations and people to recast the ways they define themselves and others. It includes an express mandate for education to raise awareness of disability rights and requires states to take “immediate, effective, and appropriate measures” in order to “combat stereotypes, prejudices and harmful practices relating to persons with disabilities” (Article 8). The dogma of the social model of disability is sinking deeper roots worldwide, but is not yet fully embedded in practice (UNICEF and UNESCO Institute for Statistics, 2015). The ideas are not universally endorsed: only a few actions have been taken by states to implement Article 8, aimed at raising awareness (IDA, 2010) and no consensus about constructions of disability is found among

10

1  The Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities

c­onstituencies. A survey of 36 Asian and Pacific countries, for example, found that only a few governments defined disability or persons with disabilities in line with the social model (UNESCAP, 2010). Impoverished understandings of the social dimensions of disability equate with the persistence of attitudes that view disability as a medical condition reflec­ tive of personal defects and functional limitations. Prejudices and discrimination flourish, often to an extreme degree, and ultimately produce starkly unequal dis­ tribution with huge equity gaps between disabled persons and mainstream pop­ ulations. Constraints on social mobility compromise opportunity at every juncture. The rights of persons with disabilities to education, health, employ­ ment, an adequate standard of living, and social protection continue to be widely neglected. For children, violation of the right to education begins a spiraling pat­ tern of unmet needs that ultimately manifest as denial of access to employment opportunities, independence, economic status, and quality of life (Winzer & Mazurek, 2015).

Inclusive Schooling The CRPD solemnly reaffirms the rights of persons with disabilities to education and equity. Article 24 is designed as a roadmap for governments and interna­ tional agencies: it promotes inclusion in the general school system and highlights how it is to be implemented and guaranteed. Subscription to the ideals is grow­ ing but progress is distressingly slow and confused, and inconsistencies in the messages emanating from nations addressing the agenda are the norm rather than the exception (Winzer & Mazurek, 2014). The international community, acting in consort with national governments, has produced a windstorm of international legislation, soft laws, and national policies that attempt to implement inclusive education provisions in developing nations. To date, a vast disconnect lies between emancipatory rhetoric and meas­ urable reality. The CRPD is not a penetrating presence. Its principles have not translated into effective action, and significant levels of inclusive education prac­ tice for people with disabilities have not yet ensued (Peters, 2007). Very few nations are anywhere near to implementing inclusive reform, or have anywhere near the necessary ambition to do so (Handicap International, 2013).

Legislative Activity Promises about rights‐based education are continuous but often a shortage of political and financial commitment spawns contradictions between the pres­ sures for change and a willingness to undertake the necessary measures. Nations may ratify treaties such as the CRPD and make dutiful responses to initiatives but “Political commitments reflected in declarations and legal obligations con­ tained in ratified treaties are both far from enshrined in the national legal frame­ work of many countries, much less enforced when they are” (UNESCO, 2008, p. 17). As examples, Pakistan ratified the CRPD in July of 2011 but Riaz (2011)

Disability within Education for All Disability within Education for All 11

reports that the majority of policy makers and consultants working at the federal level say that they are not in favor of initiating inclusive education: the idea is alien and impractical for Pakistan. By ratifying the CRPD is 2008, the Chinese government made a commitment to the goal of full inclusion but it has no clear and consistent strategy to achieve the goal, and 28% of Chinese students with disabilities are not in school at all (Human Rights Watch, 2013).

Disability within Education for All Education for All is an ambitious international movement to expand learning opportunities for every child and youth; the MDGs stress appropriate primary education for the alleviation of poverty. Disability was identified within EFA and the MDGs in 2002 on the argument that the targets would not be met unless they accommodated those with disabilities in education. Complementary assumption held that national progress in education would eventually trickle down to the most disadvantaged, while a scaffolding of interaction between the disability‐centric CRPD and global commitments would strengthen EFA poli­ cies by filling gaps and securing rights for children with disabilities (Mazurek & Winzer, 2015). The promises are unkept, and the assumptions flawed. Accumulated data from EFA Global Monitoring Reports together with numerous reviews (e.g., OECD, 2007; UNICEF, 2005; UNICEF and UNESCO Institute for Statistics, 2015) do little to credit the effectiveness of global commitments to universal primary education for children with disabilities. Of the 58 million children still out of school, it is estimated that one third have disabilities; such children remain a radically marginalized sector of society that has “remained relatively invisible in the efforts to achieve universal access to primary education” (UNICEF, 2012, p. 8). The variables that must be marshaled to explain the continuing plight of out‐ of‐school children, the failure of EFA to reach these marginalized groups, the insufficient links between EFA planning and the CRPD, the use and value of the UN human rights machinery, as well as the contradictions contained within the CRPD itself are complex and beyond the scope of this chapter. For full discus­ sions see Miles and Singal (2010), and Mazurek and Winzer (2015). We pinpoint only a few significant areas. The commitments to inclusive education variously articulated by EFA and the CRPD are built on an intensity of moral commitment and gain their impe­ tus from similar laudable motives. However, in context and practice they follow somewhat different directions. At a theoretical level, EFA is all about ensuring universal access to education: it speaks to nondiscriminatory provision and universal entitlement. Inclusive schooling is “a process of addressing and responding to the diversity of needs of all learners,” defined as the “presence, participation, and achievement” of all young people in mainstream settings (UNESCO, 2005, p. 15). EFA’s logic of universal entitlement means increasing the participation of all students with unmet learning needs including girls, children from ethnic minorities, those from poor and remote communities, as

12

1  The Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities

well as students with d­isabilities (Giffard‐Lindsay, 2007). Pragmatically, educa­ tion cemented to development is a central preoccupation of EFA: the broad concept of inclusive education can be viewed as a general principle to strengthen education for sustainable development (UNESCO, 2008). Utility‐ related benefits drive the strategy so that “the discourse is concerned with inclusion being potentially the most cost and time‐efficient way of improving access to educational institutions” (Giffard‐Lindsay, 2007, p. 5). Human rights concerns are subordinated to economic rationality in the guise of utility. In contrast, the CRPD stresses protecting individuals from neglect of their rights and needs. Founded on a social model of disability and starting from the liberal position that no individual should suffer discrimination on the basis of mem­ bership in a minority group, the treaty narrows the diversity agenda to a sole preoccupation with disability. It legitimizes the exclusive concerns of those with disabilities and restricts its scope to their specific rights. The rights protections and education directions of the CRPD are unevenly integrated into EFA. The struggle to provide all children access to primary edu­ cation takes precedence and the strongest political and policy links in developing nations are with targets to achieve Education for All and the millennium goal of universal primary education (Bines & Lei, 2011). Disability is viewed as just one cross‐cutting issue to be pursued alongside gender, ethnic, and other issues, and it is suggested that other groups of disadvantaged children, rather than those with disabilities, have been the focus of the drive to inclusive education (Bines & Lei, 2011). And, as utility generally implies access to any educational package, systems see any education as a major step toward inclusion. All settings, from general classrooms to special schools, may be considered inclusive (Kalyanpur & Misra, 2011).

School and Community Attitudes The intersection of the politics of difference that inform the CRPD and the dis­ courses and discursive practices of EFA create a situation of unresolved misas­ sumptions that curtail efforts to secure access for those with disabilities (Mazurek & Winzer, 2015). Simultaneously, the social contexts of exclusion circling the EFA for those with disabilities both rest on and feed into an intricate web of education‐related factors related to stigma and discrimination. Provision is not only a matter of the state implementing policies of reform that coincide with international notions of equality, but also the ways in which local actors perceive and handle disability. For example, a study of 75 countries (Inclusion International, 2009) identified negative public attitudes as one of the major obstacles to inclusive education. Assumptions about disability that carry the imprint of traditional intolerance are inevitably mirrored in policy and the schools. Many systems are entrenched in an able‐bodied culture and ethos, and notions of normality and the normalization role of schools are not questioned or challenged. Misinterpretations of the inclusive agenda and traditional misappre­ hensions about disability feed into a “solidarity of denial” about the realities of exclusion and the right of children with disabilities to be educated with their

School and Community Attitudes School and Community Attitudes 13

peers (Inclusion International, 2009, p. 163); they make it “almost impossible for governments to envision what children with disabilities can accomplish in main­ stream school settings” (UNICEF, 2012, p. 15). Prevalent views hold that some children are ineducable; an additional burden; a drain on meager resources in overcrowded and under‐resourced schools; or under‐producers and academic liabilities. Enrolment in general schools is often simply denied. Pakistani educators, for example, reject the admission of students with disabilities on the grounds that they cannot cope with academic work (Riaz, 2011). Parents in a small‐scale study in Bangladesh reported that even after much lobbying to ensure admission, teachers did not want children with disabilities in their classes (Mallick & Sheesh, 2013). In West Africa, the idea of inclusive education was rejected by respond­ ents, who felt that children with disabilities could not understand course con­ tent, and would display problematic behavior in the classroom (Plan International, 2013). Other research (e.g., Mtika & Gates, 2010; Vavrus, 2009) indicates that inclusive attempts have foundered in sub‐Saharan Africa due to nonreceptive teaching and learning circumstances and stakeholder resistance. In Brazil, more than 95% of surveyed teachers, principals, and students reported negative pre­ conceptions about persons with disabilities and 99% indicated that they did not want such people at their school (Inclusion International, 2009). Even if children with disabilities are enrolled, they are often marginalized by barriers that include inaccessible buildings, dilapidated classrooms, lack of text­ books, inflexible or inappropriate curricula, high pupil‐teacher ratios, didactic teacher‐centered practices, and large‐scale assessments that have become over­ riding in developing nations. From India, Chadha reported that “Prejudices against a disabled child are so deep rooted that often parents of normal children pull them out of the school if disabled children are included” (Chadha, 2000, p. 32). The ultimate result sees students fail, repeat grades, have low completion rates, drop out early, or expelled because of inadequate performance or if they cannot adapt to the physical landscape of a school. Teachers are untrained, unwilling, or unavailable. It is estimated that 1.6 mil­ lion primary teachers are needed worldwide to reach universal primary educa­ tion. However, in approximately a third of countries, less than 75% of teachers are trained according to national standards (UNESCO, 2014). Many teachers cannot forfeit traditional pedagogical cultures: inflexible age‐graded curricula and assessment frameworks counter responses to diversity. Many teachers do not cater to the needs of those with disabilities and demand that they perform as regular students; at other times, they are taught a remedial curriculum or not taught at all (Human Rights Watch, 2013). Parental attitudes and resistance form powerful obstacles. For many parents, myths and superstitions surround the birth of a child with disabilities; later, they fear exposure to public hostility and stigmatization. For example, Pakistani parents sometimes abandon a male child to grow up in a shrine or shelter; girls are almost always isolated from the family, shut within the four walls of a room (Riaz, 2011). Bangladeshi children who are disabled tend to be neglected and ignored, and not to be taken outside the home for fear of embarrassment and potential ridicule from others (Ackerman, Thormann, & Huq, 2005). A study in rural Ghana noted

14

1  The Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities

a high degree of stigmatization with parents viewing their children with di­sabilities as not having any (or very limited capacity) to learn (UNESCO, 2015). Interviews with Chinese parents found fear, reluctance, and skepticism. In a deeply competitive society where prejudice and stigma run high, many parents abandon their children with disabilities to the chronically underfunded state orphanage system (Human Rights Watch, 2013). Poor parents may be forced to an “opportunity cost analysis” (Da Silva, 2011, p. 94) in which education is viewed as an investment that will pay off in the future in the form of employment and earnings. King (2009, p. 180) speaks to attitudinal sustainability to describe the ongoing commitment of parents to send their children to school. The opposite occurs when parents face factors such as high costs for schooling that include uniforms and textbooks; child labor required by the household; a lack of coherent pathways to later employment; gender ideolo­ gies that affect communal and family assessment of the value of investing in edu­ cation for girls; or low valuation of schooling for those with disabilities. In a study in India, for example, many parents cited the irrelevance of the curriculum as the reason for not sending children to school: they felt that the curriculum was not geared to real life and fruitful years of income generation would be lost (UNESCO, 2001). Parents in Papua New Guinea were unwilling to pay the school fees for their children with disabilities because they believed these individuals would be unable to secure formal employment after graduation, however high their levels of academic attainment (Le Fanu, 2013).

Persistence and Resurgence of Segregated Schooling The CRPD does not mention special schools. It acknowledges the right of people to live in the community (Article 19), children with disabilities (Article 7), and the right of children with disabilities to family life (Article 23), and backs this up with specific obligations on governments to undertake measures to prevent seg­ regation and support families to care for children with disabilities at home when­ ever possible (Preamble). One thrust of international documents presses countries to equate inclusive schooling with general classroom placement, and to realize the inefficiency of multiple systems of administration and services and the financially unrealistic option of special schools. At the same time, there is a discernable trend in the UN‐based literature toward substitute narratives to account for the numbers of marginalized children who remain outside the remit of schooling. An education system implies the full range of learning opportunities available in a country whether they are financed by the public or private sector or formal or nonformal programs (World Bank, 2010); the principle of the least restrictive environment refers to education “a range of settings—such as special schools and centers, spe­ cial classes in integrated schools or regular classes in mainstream schools” (WHO & World Bank, 2011, p. 209). It should be no surprise that the global mission for inclusive education has not silenced alternative conceptions and there is little weakening of the separate spaces occupied by general and special education. Rather than reducing the

Persistence and Resurgence of Segregated Schooling Persistence and Resurgence of Segregated Schooling 15

number of special schools, countries are accelerating building. In India, growth is just beginning. The Chinese 10‐year Education Plan of 2010 includes specific targets and clear timetables for building more special education institutions, but no comparable targets and timelines for the education of students with disabili­ ties in mainstream schools. Significant use of special schools is evident in coun­ tries in Central and Eastern Europe, and there is much demand for the further creation of such schools (Human Rights Watch, 2013; Kalyanpur & Misra, 2011; Radoman, Nano, & Closs, 2006; UNICEF, 2012). The notion that children with disabilities must be taught separately has multiple roots. Some of the sturdiest are attributable to cultural habit legiti­ mized by negative perceptions, the historical lack of provision, and views nur­ tured by traditions that hold the education concerns of those with disabilities to be separate and different from those of the mainstream. Others reflect con­ tinuing adherence to medical models, with their overtones of dependency and charity. As one significant example, cross‐ministerial strategies in many nations manage mainstream schooling and special education under different administrations. Disability is often placed within the social welfare system, not the respective ministries of education, or punted from one ministry to another. The created invisibility of disability issues then contributes to the failure of national governments and multinational donors to give adequate attention to the rights and needs of persons with disabilities in mainstream development policy. A further example is found in the global consensus regarding the need to make investment in education a priority in national development strategies. Many nations are supported by, and increasingly dependent on, donors and interna­ tional financial institutions (Da Silva, 2011). Aid, which includes both financial aid and technical assistance, follows a two‐track system. One track sees major investment in education reform through the global EFA and MDG agendas; a much smaller track, defined as a targeting strategy, invests in special or inclusive education. Targeted financing is delivered through the public education system or, very often, through nongovernment organizations (NGOs). NGO intervention in developing nations originated on the basis of charity and welfare. Today charity is less espoused as an overt basis for policy‐making, and many NGOs are sources of expertise that provide the impetus for extensive inclusive developments. Nevertheless, the interaction of strong international donors and limited domestic capacity takes the matter of disability out of the public domain and reduces official initiatives and urgency to assist children with disabilities. An ironic divergence is also readily apparent. Despite promoting inclusion, NGOs lean toward a charity view of disability, largely because most targeted financing has the effect of financing separate special education systems. Inclusion International (2009, p. 49) reports that “Donors in developed countries have mostly funded non‐government organizations to deliver special education in separate schools as part of the social welfare systems, and on a charity basis.” The fundamental misalignment about inclusive education seen in EFA and the CRPD, together with indifferent EFA participation, are not only serious impedi­ ments, but add to the considerable continuity of segregation. With access and inclusion driven by the immediate priority of utility, disability is blanketed under

16

1  The Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities

overall accessibility. The inclusion factor for those with disabilities is sidelined which reinforces the idea of a range of provisions and justifies a mélange of options, from special schools to general classes.

Continuing Tensions and Prospects for Resolution The CRPD was received “with unprecedented early enthusiasm” (Kayess & French, 2008, p. 2) but reports note that the initial excitement has been followed by a certain level of frustration (IDA, 2010). Deliberations about implementation continue in multiple areas that include legal aspects, the interpretation of funda­ mental principles and the application of substantive articles, and, most particu­ larly, inclusive schooling. Dozens of calls for revised mechanisms, strategies, and policies have emerged, but no single overarching approach exists. Rather, con­ tinuing implementation is a series of complex organizational and structural changes that involve the support and participation of multiple players.

Reconstructing Views of Disability To create responsive environments, the CRPD demands the dismantling of ideo­ logical and belief structures that have traditionally surrounded notions of disa­ bility within particular cultures. The reality is that for some nations and cultures to fully embrace the principles and practices embedded in the CRPD, their citi­ zens and political, social, cultural, and religious leaders would have to fundamen­ tally change their worldviews and basic values. It follows that global models for participation and access are not domesticated and internalized in many nations, and transforming the collective identity of people with disabilities from one of stigma to one of value is slow, uneven, and largely incomplete. Despite growing acceptance of the social model, resistance and oppositional cultures counter its functions. Different groups cling to traditional and deep‐rooted negative atti­ tudes that perpetuate stigma and exclusion and deprive disabled persons of the cultural capital necessary to be seen by members of the dominant group as per­ sons of worth. A primary strategy seeks to transform mindsets and create attitudinal shifts. Legal experts speak to the “expressive” value of disability‐rights recognition: that is, the way in which knowledge about, and implementation of, the CRPD becomes a tool to destabilize taken‐for‐granted embodied notions of disability. They argue that the treaty can potentially create belief changes by better informing societies about persons with disabilities, which can consequently lessen the identification of such persons as “other” and promote greater familiarity with the group (Lord & Stein, 2008; Stein & Lord, 2010). However, the same experts agree that change is unlikely to be achieved solely through national disability legislative reform. While public knowledge about the treaty may have an educational effect and bring about a more conducive milieu, treating disability as if the problems could be solved through massive public rela­ tions campaigns is not penetrating enough to alter historically cemented norms.

International Governance International Governance 17

The rights catalogue of the CRPD will need more than just formal equality m­easures to redress exclusion. Key constituencies for change include the UN and its agencies, State Parties, donors, persons with disabilities, disability‐centric organizations, education actors, parents, and broader civil society.

Development Agenda People with disabilities were long ignored by governments, invisible in many societies, positioned as marginal players, and overlooked as the beneficiaries of international development programs. In response, the CRPD drafters explicitly called for development assistance programs by inserting text requiring inter­ national cooperation, development programs, and poverty reduction schemes to be inclusive of persons with disabilities (Article 32). For example, it con­ templates actions such as building accessible schools and medical clinics and ensuring that persons with disabilities are included in HIV/AIDS and other health programming. Even so, EFA has become a universal goal and basis for investment and serves as the chief steward of resources. So far, co‐ordination has been limited and experience of EFA relative to those with disabilities demonstrates that existing financing mechanisms of governments, bilateral donor and international agen­ cies are not resulting in equal access to quality education. Inclusive approach for those disabled is a fringe policy issue that is woefully underfunded (Inclusion International, 2009). Promising advances see disability increasingly regarded as a development issue by multilateral agencies and the donor community. International development agencies and coalitions are mobilizing behind the treaty with efforts to span the general focus on development and the more specialized CRPD. Further action will include disability within the UN Development Program (UNDP).

International Governance It is clear that international education policy has failed to provide opportuni­ ties for the most disadvantaged populations. Very little progress has been made in reaching EFA goals for those disabled: the UN reports that children with disabilities are one of the most marginalized and excluded groups in respect to education (United Nations, 2008) In struggling nations, such as those in sub‐Saharan Africa, these children are widely ignored; even in coun­ tries close to achieving universal primary education, children with disabilities are the majority of those excluded (United Nations, 2010). Commitments to dedicated inclusive education within the global agenda are largely rhetoric. The generally held belief that education is central to individual well‐being and national development that stresses access for all disadvantaged children and utility‐based benefits overrides the CRPD’s model of inclusive schooling. Those with disabilities are sidelined and, if parity of participation is visual­ ized, it manifests in multiple ways.

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1  The Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities

Certainly, the orphan themes of disability and inclusive schooling are gaining friends: the issues are presently addressed much more often than was the case in the initial phases of the EFA. A series of international reports and resolutions focus on persons with disabilities and the importance of inclusive education (e.g., United Nations, 2010; UNESCO, 2010; WHO & World Bank, 2011). UNESCO is seriously confronting its failure with marginalized children (UNICEF & UNESCO Institute for Statistics, 2015). UNICEF, which “had virtually ignored children with disabilities for more than 10 years,” (Inclusion International, 2009, p. 59) is rallying its national partners to provide those with disabilities opportunities to thrive (UNICEF, 2013). The MDGs were heavily criticized for not accommodat­ ing disability (Eide & Ingstad, 2013); now there is momentum for the UN‐led process underway to agree to successor goals to the MGDs post‐2015 (the Sustainable Development agenda) to build clear and measurable global targets for development activities and inclusive education for those with disabilities.

Postscript: The Quest for Inclusive Schooling The central theme of this chapter was on reconstructing disability to reimagine education. Data are somber, grim, and unpromising at this time. Solutions to the multiple dilemmas are complex and broad, answers are incomplete, and chal­ lenges are seemingly intractable. Inclusive education remains a distant aspira­ tion. Vast inequalities persist and seem unlikely to abate anytime soon. Many societies still ignore or discount disability in terms of entry into and participation in the mainstream. The EFA framework led to greater access to schooling but none of the targets were achieved by 2015. The latest goal is to “ensure equitable, quality education and lifelong learning for all by 2030” (UNICEF, 2013, p. 8). Currently, however, there are still 58 million children out of school globally, and there is conclusive evidence that the number of the world’s primary‐aged children who will not attend school is still growing. The gap between the majority now in school and the forgotten minorities is becoming increasingly pronounced; that is, inequality in education has increased, leaving millions of children with disabilities “even more marginalized, excluded and on the periphery of society” (Handicap International, 2013, p. 4). Meeting the CRPD’s objectives and equalizing educa­ tional opportunities requires transformation of traditional systems but the pro­ cess is still perceived as “too costly, not a viable or practical option, or as requiring too many changes in the attitudes of communities, policy makers and parents to sustain it” (Handicap International, 2013, p. 17) In the vast majority of education systems around the world, success remains extremely limited, if not nonexistent. Few nations have the necessary mechanisms to ensure the participation of stu­ dents with disabilities in education. Daunting as the prospects seem, the quest for inclusive schooling continues apace. To close this chapter, we mention only two issues that are germane to our question of whether reconstructing disability is the prologue to inclusive school­ ing. First, just as solutions surrounding acceptance of the social model must be contextually driven and reflect realistic strategies, the implementation of ­inclusive

References References 19

education demands recognition of the implicit conventions of highly diverse soci­ eties. Contextually, what is required of the venture is not culturally insensitive uniformity, but rather an informed approach within the cultural parameters of a nation. While the CRPD assumes a degree of universality in how it will be imple­ mented in any given local context, equity and access have to find their manifesta­ tions and resolutions in the particular structures of individual national and cultural contexts. Ultimately some space needs to be reserved for recognition of the agency of local participation. Inclusive practice must take local conditions into account, foster and support family and community initiatives, engage with the realities of students’ lives, and supplement education access with other com­ munity‐based strategies that directly attack the damaging effects of poverty and marginalization (see, e.g. Mazurek & Winzer, 2015; Rieser, 2008). Approaches to inclusive schooling should be fluid and evolutionary, unre­ strained by ideology or so‐called best practice from the North. Policy ration­ ales on disability and education must be cautious about the notion that segregation and inclusion are natural antagonists. As global actions cause new institutional forms to take shape and traditional forms to be altered, develop­ ing nations may need to respond to the impact of transnational influences while simultaneously utilizing present structures. Many researchers point out that a hybrid approach of multiple options that see gradual incorporation of a new model (inclusive schooling) without quite abandoning the old (special set­ tings) are relevant and appropriate (e.g., Cigman, 2007; Giffard‐Lindsay, 2007; Miles & Singal, 2010).

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United Nations. (2011). Realizing the Millennium Development Goals for persons with disabilities towards 2015 and beyond. Res/65/186. New York, NY: Author. United Nations. (2013). Partnership on the rights of persons with disabilities (UNPRD). New York, NY: Author. United Nations Children’s Education Fund (UNICEF). (2005). The state of the world’s children. New York, NY: Author. UNICEF. (2012). The right of children with disabilities to education: A rights‐based approach to inclusive education. Geneva, Switzerland: Author. UNICEF. (2013). The state of the world’s children. Geneva, Switzerland: Author. UNICEF and UNESCO Institute for Statistics. (2015). Fixing the broken promise of Education for All: Findings from the global initiative on out‐of‐school children. Paris, France: Author. United Nations Economic and Social Commission for Asia and the Pacific (UNESCAP). (2010). Disability at a glance, 2009: A profile of 36 countries and areas in Asia and the Pacific. New York, NY: Author. United Nations Educational Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO). (1990). World Declaration on Education for All. Paris, France: Author. UNESCO. (2000). The Dakar Framework for Action: Meeting Our Collective Commitments. Paris, France: Author. UNESCO. (2001). Overcoming exclusion through inclusive approaches in education: A challenge and a vision. Geneva, Switzerland: Author. UNESCO. (2003). The flagship on education for all and the rights of persons with disabilities towards inclusion. Paris, France: Author. UNESCO. (2005). Guidelines for inclusion: Ensuring access to education for all. Paris, France: Author. UNESCO. (2008). EFA global monitoring report education for all by 2015: Will we make it? Paris, France: Author. UNESCO. (2010). EFA global monitoring report: Reaching the marginalized. New York, NY: Author. UNESCO. (2014). EFA global monitoring report: Teaching and learning, achieving quality for all. Paris, France: Author. UNESCO. (2015). Education for All, 2000–2015. Achievements and challenges, summary. Paris, France: Author. Vavrus, F. (2009). The cultural politics of constructivist pedagogies: Teacher education reform in the United Republic of Tanzania. International Journal of Educational Development, 2, 303–311. Winzer, M. (2009). A history of special education: From integration to inclusion. Washington, DC: Gallaudet University Press. Winzer, M., & Mazurek, K. (2014). The Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities: Notes on genealogy and prospects. International Journal of Special Needs Education, 17, 3–12. Winzer, M., & Mazurek, K. (2015). Exploring the social milieu of disability: Themes of poverty, education, and labor participation. Labor et Educatio, 3, 155–171. World Bank. (2010). New world: New world bank group, post‐crisis directions. Washington, DC: Author. World Health Organization (WHO) and the World Bank. (2011). The world report on disability. New York, NY: Author.

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2 Taking a Spatial Turn in Inclusive Education Seeking Justice at the Intersections of Multiple Markers of Difference Federico R. Waitoller and Subini Ancy Annamma

This chapter examines current conceptualization(s) of inclusive education. In particular, we expand on a recently advanced framing of inclusive educa­ tion (Waitoller & Artiles, 2013; Waitoller & Kozleski, 2013) that attends closely to complex equity issues at the intersections of multiple markers of difference (e.g., dis/ability, race, gender, class). Our goal is that this conceptu­ alization will inform the design of future inclusive education, providing more robust theoretical and methodological tools that can address complex equity issues. To achieve this task, we bring together theoretical and methodological insights from Fraser’s conceptualization of social justice (Fraser, 1997, 2008); Dis/ability1 Critical Race Theory (DisCrit) (Annamma, Connor, & Ferri, 2013), a framework that accounts for the ways racism and ableism are interdependent; and spatial justice, a theory which accounts for ways that space perpetuates social injustice and how social processes perpetuate spatial inequities (Soja, 2010). Each of these theories will be further explored in the second section of the chapter. In the chapter, first, we discuss how the concept of inclusive education has evolved overtime internationally, identifying the conceptual ambiguity that remains. Second, we expand on a recently advanced definition of inclusive edu­ cation that has the potential to address these shortcomings through a more criti­ cal conceptual framing. Finally, we provide recommendations for future inclusive research design and analysis.

What is Inclusive Education? Evolving Conceptualizations In general, inclusive education has been an international movement concerned with valuing student diversity, eliminating social exclusion, and transforming schools so that all students experience a sense of belonging, learn together, and access quality educational opportunities (Ainscow, Booth, & Dyson, 2006). Notions The Wiley Handbook of Diversity in Special Education, First Edition. Edited by Marie Tejero Hughes and Elizabeth Talbott. © 2017 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Published 2017 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

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2  Taking a Spatial Turn in Inclusive Education

of social justice based on fairness, equality, and valuing all students have always served to justify inclusive education efforts (Rizvi & Lingard, 1996). Despite these common broad features, inclusive education has been a movement with multiple meanings, interpretations, and struggles (Clough, 2000). An extensive review of the historical development of the inclusive education movement is beyond the scope of our chapter. However, in this section, we briefly review the temporally shifting equity issues (e.g., lack of access to schools, poor quality of education, poor educational outcomes) and target populations (e.g., students with dis/abilities, all students) to highlight the continuing ambiguity around the notion of inclusive education. We conclude with ongoing tensions currently ­facing the field.

Historically Changing Equity Issues: Access to Inclusive Places and Practices, Accountability, or a Radical Transformation of Entire Educational Systems? Throughout the international history of the inclusive education movement, some advocates for students with dis/abilities and researchers have argued for a more radical and transformative agenda. This agenda questions the traditional model of schooling and the underlying assumptions about normality and differ­ ence. The focus of this agenda is to transform entire educational systems and school cultures so that increased access, participation, and achievement is pos­ sible for all students (Artiles, Kozleski, Dorn, & Christensen, 2006; Booth & Ainscow, 2002). Despite this ambitious agenda, the implementation of international inclusive education has been historically linked to the spatial access of students with dis/ abilities to traditional classrooms (Winzer, 2009). Emerging in the second half of the twentieth century and bolstered by the civil rights movement in the United States and parts of Europe, inclusive education came as response to the segrega­ tion of students with dis/abilities in separate facilities. The movement efforts were focused on access to equal educational opportunities for students with dis/abili­ ties through integration into the physical spaces of public schools. Contributing to this change was the 1954 US Supreme Court case of Brown versus the Board of Education of Topeka, Kansas, in which the Court concluded that separate facili­ ties were inherently unequal. Though Brown v. Board was focused on racial ineq­ uities, it served as the basis for justice struggles for people with dis/abilities. By the 1970s, Western countries with a history of special education services, such as United States, United Kingdom, Austria, Sweden, and France, began to respond to political pressures for greater inclusion of students with dis/abilities (Winzer, 2009). In Sweden, for instance, the phrase “En skola för alla” (A school for all) was a key discursive device for most policy documents, including the 1969 national curriculum that emphasized inclusion of students with dis/abilities (Berhanu, 2011). In the early 1990s in Australia, antidiscrimination acts and educational policies reflected the language of inclusive education (Slee, 1996). This emphasis on access to the general education classroom spilt in the 1980s. For instance, in the United States the Regular Education Initiative (REI) aimed to

Shifting Populations: Students with Dis/abilities, SEN, or All Students?  25

eliminate the division between special and general education and fully include students receiving special education services (Dorn, Fuchs, & Fuchs, 1996). It focused on issues of place in which students with dis/abilities were educated. The REI brought great controversies and many within special education argued against it on grounds of lack of program specification and inadequate instruc­ tional supports in the general education classroom (Kauffman & Hallahan, 1994). The REI was ignored by most in general education and ultimately failed (Winzer, 2009). By the 1990s, discussions about inclusive education increased their focus on teaching practices that could use individual differences as assets to meet each student’s learning needs (Dorn et al., 1996). Thus, the inclusive education debate moved from discussions about spatial location to discussions about instructional design in the general education classroom. For instance, teacher development efforts for inclusive education in countries such as United Kingdom, Greece, Australia, and South Korea increasingly focused on instructional strategies to include students with dis/abilities in the general education classroom (Waitoller & Artiles, 2013). Examples of these practices are differentiated instruction (Tomlinson et  al., 2003) and universal designs for learning (Rose, Meyer, & Hitchcock, 2006). Additionally, in the 1990s, educational policies based on standards and accountability began to dominate most of the discussion about educational equity, particularly in post‐industrial countries. These policies shifted the inclu­ sive education agenda to focus on the academic outcomes, instead of opportuni­ ties, of all students including those with dis/abilities (McLaughlin & Jordan, 2005). Countries such as the United States and United Kingdom have created extensive data systems to monitor these outcomes, as measured by standardized tests. These data are disaggregated by subgroups of students, particularly those that have been historically marginalized (e.g., students from ethnic and racial minority backgrounds, and students with dis/abilities) and local education agen­ cies (LEAs) are kept accountable for the educational outcomes of all students. In turn, state interventions are prescribed to districts and schools that do not achieve expected test scores. The assumption is that greater inclusivity is achieved by the production of interventions to achieve equal educational out­ comes. This focus on academic standards, outcomes, and state intervention has been critiqued for changing the meaning of inclusive education into a normal­ izing and assimilative discourse (Armstrong, 2003) and for actually exacerbating social exclusion, instead of reducing these inequities (Slee, 2005).

Shifting Populations: Students with Dis/abilities, SEN, or All Students? There has also been ambiguity about who are the students to be included. Though initially inclusive education was originated as a response to educational exclu­ sion for students with dis/abilities, efforts from the international community have aimed to broaden the scope of the inclusive education movement to encom­ pass all students. In the 1990s, international efforts for inclusive education were

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2  Taking a Spatial Turn in Inclusive Education

crystalized by the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization’s (UNESCO) World Declaration for Education for All (EFA; UNESCO, 1990) meeting in Jomtien, Thailand. This declaration called for tar­ gets including completion of primary grades for all children by 2000 (now extended to 2015), the elimination of gender disparities and adult illiteracy, among others. EFA reflected an emerging trend in inclusive education at that time: inclusive education should not be concerned solely with students with dis/ abilities but should be broaden to education for all students. However, as Miles and Singal (2010) noted, the Jotiem document did not attend specifically to the needs of students with dis/abilities. As part of this political push for inclusion came the 1994 Salamanca Statement and Framework for Action, authored in Spain and signed by 92 nations (UNESCO, 1994). This docu­ ment underlined the importance of including students with dis/abilities and rec­ ommended governments to adopt the principle of inclusive education as an educational policy. In Latin America, policy efforts toward inclusive education were consolidated in 1999 at the Inter‐American Convention for the Elimination of all Forms of Discrimination towards People with Disabilities. This convention committed 17 Latin American countries to adopt policies to include people with dis/abilities in all aspects of society including education (Samaniego de Garcia, 2009). The isolated focus on dis/abilities reflected in these policies is evidence that the education of students with dis/abilities have always been thought as a separate issue from the education of other students (Miles & Singal, 2010). The terms to identify those students in need of inclusion also reflect ambigui­ ties. In the United States, the students to be included are students with dis/abili­ ties, as reflected in the Individuals with Disability Education Act (IDEA). In contrast, in the United Kingdom, dis/ability categories were abandoned with the appearance of the Warnock Report and the education acts of 1983, 1993, and 1996 (McLaughlin et al., 2006). Since then, the eligibility criteria to identify stu­ dents for services have been non‐categorical. The term used in this legislation is special educational needs (SEN). This term encompasses other students who may not have a dis/ability but who, for any reason, have difficulties in learning (McLaughlin et al., 2006). In addition, the Index for Inclusion (Booth & Ainscow, 2002), a widely used internationally tool for implementing inclusive education, defines inclusive edu­ cation as “an unending process of increasing learning and participation for all students” (Graham & Slee, 2008). The Index for Inclusion aids teachers and administrators to self‐review their policies, practices, and beliefs to identify bar­ riers for participation for all students (Graham & Slee, 2008). It links inclusive education with broader social inclusion for all students and uses the terms inclusive education and inclusion as interchangeable. This last point brings to surface another ambiguity in defining inclusive education: do inclusive and inclusion have the same meaning? Graham and Slee (2008) argue that term inclusion assumes an already established center to which students need to be included, and this center is flawed and barren because it is based on unmarked norms of white, middle‐class, male, and abled bodies. Graham and Slee (2008) propose to delib­ erately use the term “inclusive,” where the quotation marks remind us that the center is in constant demand of being transformed for all students.

Consequences of Inclusive Education’s Conceptual Ambiguities Consequences of Inclusive Education’s Conceptual Ambiguities 27

Despite the proliferation of the Index for Inclusion and other efforts to broaden the scope of inclusive education to all students, inclusive education in the United States and Latin America continues to focus solely on students with dis/abilities (Artiles & Kozleski, 2007; Bagliery, Bejoian, Broderick, Connor, & Valle, 2011). In addition, Kozleski, Artiles, and Waitoller (2014) noted that “inclusive education, in countries like the United States, Germany, Sweden, and Austria, has seemingly become synonymous with special education in which research and practice often targets populations with disabilities” (p. 233). Thus, the “who” of inclusive education continues to be a matter of debate and interpretation.

Consequences of Inclusive Education’s Conceptual Ambiguities As a result of globalization, educational reforms such as inclusive education travel across national and state boundaries. This boundary‐crossing has resulted in a global movement with local flavors that emerge as the ambigui­ ties of inclusive education are made sense of and implemented in particular historical and sociocultural contexts (Artiles & Dyson, 2005). This has had at least two consequences. First, inclusive education’s radical and transformative agenda has been diluted, tamed, and domesticated (Slee, 2005). As a result, the inclusive education movement has lost its radical meaning of transform­ ing school cultures, and is increasingly used to assimilate students to norma­ tive ways of schooling (Slee, 2005). Thus, there is a need to advance conceptualizations of inclusive education that guide the movement back to its more radical meanings. Second, inclusive education reform had differential effects across subgroups of populations (Artiles, Kozleski, & Waitoller, 2011). For instance, researchers have found that students who shared similar histories of immigration or mar­ ginalization—such as Roma students in European countries; indigenous groups in Australia; and African American, Native American, and Latino students in the United States—tend to be over‐ and under‐represented in special educa­ tion services, and placed in more segregated educational environments than their peers from the dominant national ethnic or racial group (Luciak & Biewer,  2011; Skiba et  al., 2008; Sweller, Graham, & Van Bergen, 2012). Conceptualizations of inclusive education, thus, need to account for the his­ torical intertwined markers of difference (e.g., dis/ability, race/ethnicity, caste) that interact according to the historical legacies of injustice embedded in local contexts (Kozleski et al., 2014). Furthermore, emerging inclusive education research has pointed out the important role of geographical space when examining and generating solutions to dismantle exclusion. Dyson, Jones, and Kerr (2011) wrote that exclusion “derive(s) to a significant degree from the unequal distribution of opportunities and resources among different social groups and across geographical spaces” and thus there is “a need to connect inclusion to … a spatial and territorial perspec­ tive on distributive justice” (p. 69). For instance, consider the special education

28

2  Taking a Spatial Turn in Inclusive Education

identification rates of students from immigrant background (i.e., Italian, Serbian, and Turkish) in two different regions of Germany, Berlin and Bremen versus Baden‐Württemberg. Due to the segregated structure of German schools, stu­ dents from immigrant backgrounds are placed in lower‐academic tracks at higher rates than their German peers across the country (Löser & Werning, 2011). However, the rates of overrepresentation for immigrant students in spe­ cial schools differ across regions and it is related to the cultural and historical context of such regions. In Berlin and Bremen, immigrant students were three times less likely to be placed in a special school than in Baden‐Württemberg. Löser and Werning (2011) explained that Baden‐Württemberg has rigid educa­ tional structures that make it difficult for immigrant students to move out of special learning schools, and that this district continues to invest and expand segregated settings to raise the academic outcomes of immigrant students. In contrast, Berlin and Bremen has a history of political support for inclusive edu­ cation, and dedicate many of its resources to include all students in the regular classroom. In India, for example, despite the increase on children’s access to schools, qual­ ity of learning opportunities and educational outcomes has been limited for stu­ dents from caste and religious minority backgrounds, girls, lower social‐class, and children with dis/abilities (Singal & Jeffery, 2011). Like Germany, these exclusionary disparities occur on the basis of location. Singal and Jeffery (2011) explain that children in rural areas are significantly more likely to be out of school. In addition, the Northern states of India (e.g., Uttar Pradesh and Bihar) tend to have less educational access, poorer quality of schools, and lower aca­ demic outcomes. Finally, 20% of villages in India, which tend to be smaller, more distant form major roads, and populated predominantly by lower‐caste groups, host 75% of all children out of school in the country. Thus, there is a need to bet­ ter understand the relationship between space and educational inequities in inclusive education research. In summary, ambiguities still remain when defining inclusive education. These ambiguities are reflected in the justice issues this movement came to address and in the groups of students in need of inclusivity. As the concept of inclusive educa­ tion travels across national and local boundaries, its ambiguous definition is interpreted and implemented according to local socio‐cultural and political con­ text. As a result of these ambiguities, inclusive education has lost its radical meaning and unintended consequences with equity implications have emerged. To address these shortcomings and to provide a robust conceptualization of inclusive education, in the following section, we expand on a recently advanced definition of this movement.

Inclusive Education Expanded Incorporating notions from past and current debate on inclusive education, Waitoller and colleagues (Waitoller & Artiles, 2013; Waitoller & Kozleski, 2013) have conceptualized inclusive education as concerned with redistribution, rec­ ognition, and representation dimensions of justice (Fraser, 2008), as:

Redistribution Redistribution 29

an ongoing struggle toward (a) the redistribution of access to and partici­ pation in quality opportunities to learn [the redistribution dimension], (b) the recognition and valuing of all students differences as reflected in content, pedagogy, and assessment tools [the recognition dimension], and (c) the creation of more opportunities for non‐dominant groups to advance claims of educational exclusion and their respective solutions [the repre­ sentation dimension]. (Waitoller & Artiles, 2013, p. 322) A key aspect of this conceptualization is that students experience intersect­ ing forms of exclusion due to compounding forms of marginalization based on misdistribution, misrepresentation, and misrecognition (Waitoller & Artiles, 2013). In addition, these compounding forms of marginalization varied across spatial and time scales. Thus, efforts to dismantle them need to attend to how the intersections of different identity markers (e.g., dis/ability, race, class) interact in particular contexts. In the followings sections, we discuss the three currents justice frameworks that inform this definition of inclusive education: (a) justice as redistribution, recognition, and representation; (b) DisCrit; and (c) spatial justice.

Inclusive Education as Redistribution, Recognition, and Representation Nancy Fraser (1997, 2008) advanced a framework for social justice that encom­ passes three interrelated dimensions that have been historically at the core of struggles for social justice: redistribution, recognition, and representation. Table  2.1 includes the definitions of these dimensions, their connections to inclusive education, and critiques. These three dimensions of justice are deeply rooted in the struggles for greater inclusivity. Examining these dimensions can calibrate our understanding of exclusion and the solutions needed to address this pervasive injustice.

Redistribution Struggles for social justice based on redistribution focus in the economic aspects of justice and aim to address injustices based on misdistribution, wherein social and material privileges are bestowed on a small group of already privileged peo­ ple (Young, 1990). Struggles for justice based on redistribution come from the liberal tradition, particularly the work of John Rawls (Rawls & Kelly, 2001), who emphasized a vision of justice based on equal distribution of social goods, indi­ viduals’ liberties, and egalitarianism. The redistributive dimension of justice, thus, emphasizes socio‐economic injustices and proposes a remedy based on economic restructuring. This dimension treats group differences as unjust dif­ ferentials. They are socially constructed by unjust economic and political process.

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2  Taking a Spatial Turn in Inclusive Education

Table 2.1  Dimensions of Justice Connection to Inclusive Education

Dimension

Description

Critiques

Redistribution

Focuses on the economic aspects of justice and aim to address injustices based on misdistribution of social and economic goods (e.g., education). Calls for the fair distribution and access of social and economic goods.

Struggles toward increasing access to the general education classroom or of schooling altogether.

—Assimilationist agenda—without transforming the dominant culture. —Efforts are concerned with eliminating or taming difference. —Fails to recognize and change power hierarchies associated with difference.

Recognition

Focuses on the cultural aspects of justice. It aims to address injustices based on misrecognition of cultural repertoires and identities and the domination of certain groups across institutional and social arenas. It calls for remedies based on cultural and symbolic change, and recognizing and positively valuing groups’ identities.

Struggles toward recognizing and valuing all students’ identities and cultural and ability repertoires.

—Essentializes within‐group differences. —Locates difference inside people’s bodies, which limits understanding of diversity as socially and culturally constructed in politically charged contexts.

Representation

Focuses on the political aspects of justice and emerge when people are denied opportunities to defining exclusion and its corresponding solutions. Right of individuals and groups to meaningfully represent themselves and their interests.

Struggles toward meaningful parent and student participation in key decision‐ making processes.

—Does not address issues of misdistribut­ ion and misrecognition, which can backlash struggles for representation.

“Every child has a fundamental right to education and must be given the opportunity to achieve and maintain acceptable levels of learning” and urged governments to “give the highest policy and budgetary priority to improve the education system to enable them to include all children regardless of individual differences or difficulties” (UNESCO, 1994, pp. viii–ix). Injustices based on misdistribution continue to be ubiquitous in education around the globe. For instance, Kristensen, Omagor‐Loican, Onen, and Okot (2006) examined the context of inclusive efforts in Uganda. The authors found

Redistribution Redistribution 31

that, despite government efforts to increase access to both genders and c­ hildren with dis/abilities, the quality of those educational services are still insufficient. In South Africa, dis/ability and poverty are closely related (Engelbrecht, 2011). Children who have a dis/ability are largely poor, and tend to have limited access to schooling. Socioeconomic barriers such as inability to pay for school fees, for uniforms or even food tend to exclude these students from education, par­ ticularly in rural areas (Engelbrecht, 2011). Thus, redistributing educational access through economic means still is a main concern of inclusive education efforts. A major shortcoming of struggles for justice based on misdistribution is that they remain silent about major social and historical structures and institutional contexts that generated exclusion in the first place (Young, 1990). These struc­ tures are taken for granted and remain unquestioned. For instance, access to the general education classroom does not guarantee educational equity. As many critics (Kauffman & Hallahan, 1994) of inclusive education pointed out, students with dis/abilities may be ill‐served in general education classroom. Therefore, the distributive model of justice fails to recognize and change the power hierar­ chies associated with constructions of difference (e.g., gender, race, ethnicity, and social class). Minnow (1990) reminded us that difference is neither natural nor accidental. It emerges from the ways in which society creates and assigns catego­ ries (e.g., Latino, female, low‐income) to deny or afford full inclusion and partici­ pation to activities (e.g., education) that have been designed in the first place with only the dominant groups in mind. The problem is that difference has been historically associated with deviance and deficit (Du Bois, 1899) and in diverse societies; treating difference as deviant and deficient has serious consequences for achieving educational equity. This dilemma continues to arise as long as dif­ ference conveys stigma and deviance and is considered an obstacle to equality (Minnow, 1990). Distributive approaches, thus, are important but not sufficient (Fraser, 1997) as they can be narrowly concerned with eliminating or taming dif­ ference and can backlash on the populations they are trying to include (Kozleski et  al., 2014). Instead, distributive inclusive efforts need to be advanced with efforts toward recognition. Recognition

Struggles for justice based on recognition focus on the cultural aspects of justice. Recognition comes from Hegelian philosophy of consciousness—in a reciprocal relationship between subjects in which each sees the other as equal and also separate. Struggles for justice based on recognition came as a reaction to i­njustices based in misrecognition, that is, to the cultural domination of certain groups in society that permeates all institutions and marginalizes those groups (e.g., schools). Cultural groups should be able to meaningfully participate in pub­ lic institutions without having to leave their identities and cultural repertoires at the door or suffering injustices due to them (Young, 1990). Thus, group differ­ ences should be recognized, valued and empowered. The remedy for misrecog­ nitions is cultural and symbolic change—positively valorizing groups’ identities as legitimate and useful.

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2  Taking a Spatial Turn in Inclusive Education

Justice struggles based on recognition have also informed the inclusive educa­ tion movement. One of the basic premises of inclusive education efforts has been to recognize and value the strengths of students with dis/abilities. Inclusive education efforts have aimed to change schools’ culture so that they nurture and create a sense of belonging for all students, regardless of their identities (e.g., ability, class, gender, language, sexual orientation; Ainscow et  al., 2006). For instance, a large bulk of inclusive education research examined teachers’ atti­ tudes and perceptions of students with dis/abilities to identify ways to disrupt­ ing deficit ways of thinking about students with special needs (Sharma, Forlin, & Loreman, 2008). In inclusive education research, teachers’ positive attitudes and beliefs about students with dis/abilities are thought as contributing to greater inclusivity, and pre‐ and in‐service teacher training efforts have focused on developing those attitudes and beliefs (Forlin, 2010). Furthermore, inclusive educational practices, such as Universal Design for Learning (UDL; Rose et al., 2006), aim to broaden the scope of how competence is defined in the classroom. By broadening the legitimate ways to participate in the classroom, all students’ abilities and cultural repertoires can be valued, recognized, and used for learn­ ing purposes. However, there are several shortcomings in basing justice struggles solely on recognition. First, focusing on recognition does not address systemic issues of poverty, labor exploitation, and access to social goods such as education. That is, schools may create activities, in which all forms of identity are legitimate forms of participation, but if the underlying structures, which created and sup­ port them, are uneven across school districts and schools; injustices will likely continue to occur. Second, struggles for justice based on recognition tend to essentialize group differences without taking into account within‐group diver­ sity, which is paramount for understanding youth and adults with dis/abilities. For instance, the bulk of inclusive education research and efforts in the United States has focused on ability differences (i.e., including students with dis/abili­ ties in the general education classroom), ignoring the historical and troubling liaisons of race, language, and dis/ability (Artiles, 2003). Consequentially, efforts toward inclusive education have benefited some rather than all stu­ dents; students from racial‐ and language‐minority backgrounds continue to be overrepresented in special education despite decades of efforts and research to address this equity issue (Donovan & Cross, 2002; Skiba et  al., 2008). In addition, while the time that students with dis/abilities spend in the general education classroom has increased over time, students who are racial and lan­ guage minorities continue to be placed in more segregated settings than their white peers with the same disability d­iagnosis (Office of Special Education Programs, 2011), a phenomenon exacerbated among students from low‐ income backgrounds (LeRoy & Kulik, 2004). Third, justice struggles based on recognition tend to locate differences inside people’s bodies. Specifically, being of a given racial/ethnical group or being abled/ disabled is understood as a biological condition. This becomes an obstacle for see­ ing diversity and difference as socially and culturally constructed in politically charged contexts. Being identified as abled or disabled, or as a part of given racial/ ethnic group is based on unspoken normative ways of thinking and doing in

Redistribution Redistribution 33

schools (often based on hegemonic norms) that define legitimate ways of being and doing. Addressing injustices based on misrecognition does not inherently question or critique socially and culturally constructed centers and margins. Representation

Justice struggles based on representation focus on the political aspects of justice. As Fraser (2008) wrote about this dimension: Establishing rules, the political dimension likewise sets the procedures for staging and resolving contests in both the economic and the cultural dimensions: it tells us not only who can make claims of redistribution and recognition, but also how these claims are to be mooted and adjudicated. (p. 17) Justice struggles based on representation emerge when people are denied the opportunities to participate in the contest for advancing and defining injustice, and therefore from participating in the debate about defining exclusion and its corresponding solutions. Justice struggles based on representation, though not as often as those based on redistribution and recognition, have informed inclusive education efforts. The rights of parents of children with dis/abilities and the children themselves to actively and meaningfully participate in the educational decisions that affect their lives is an example of representation. In the United States, for instance, parents have the legal right to participate in individual educational plan meet­ ings, as well as to contest any decision reached in these meetings through due process. However, research has documented that asserting these rights tend to be challenging tasks for parents of students with dis/abilities from diverse racial/ethnic and linguistic background. For example, Harry, Klingner, and Hart (2005) found that school professionals have negative perceptions of African American families living in poverty, even when knowing little about the ways these families functioned. The cultural capital of African American families was not recognized in school practices or in Individualized Education Plan (IEP) meetings, which marginalized African American parents during these meetings and privileged school professionals’ knowledge at the time of making decisions about students’ education (Harry et al., 2005). Similar exam­ ples were also found when examining the participation of parents of children who are labeled English Language Learners (ELL) in IEP meetings (cf. Harry & Klingner, 2006). Struggles for justice based solely on representation fall short of addressing the issues of economic misdistribution and cultural misrecognition. This shortfall can cause a backlash on the struggle for representation. For instance, parents and students may be able to participate in decision‐making, expressing their opinions and concerns. However, if their cultural repertoires are not valued and they are perceived by school professionals as non‐caring or “uneducated,” their opinions and concerns could be dismissed, diminishing parents’ and students’ contribu­ tion to frame and advance potential solutions to the problem at hand.

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2  Taking a Spatial Turn in Inclusive Education

Final Thoughts about Three Dimensions of Justice Before we moved to examine how different forms of difference (e.g., sexual ­orientation, race, class) interact with these three dimensions of social justice, we must note the following. First, one dimension is not sufficient by itself and should not be treated as essentialist and static (Gewirtz, 2006). These injustices interact with each other, generating complex forms of exclusion. Furthermore, struggles to achieve one kind of justice (e.g., redistribution) can compete and be in tension with struggles to achieve another kind of justice (e.g., recognition; Fraser, 1997). For instance, a parent’s efforts to have his/her child access special education ser­ vices (i.e., justice based on redistribution) can result in the stigmatization of their child and contributing to stereotypes about students who are racial and ethnic minorities and children living in poverty (e.g., injustice based on misrecogni­ tion). This points out to the mediated nature of justice in practice (Gewirtz, 2006). That is, struggles toward justice and inclusivity are mediated by other structural economic and political arrangements over which stakeholders have limited or no control. Thus, working toward inclusive education demands a con­ stant “cultural vigilante” (Corbett & Slee, 2000) that examines the ongoing and changing forms of exclusion and their constant attraction to the gravity of his­ torical legacies of inequities (Artiles & Kozleski, 2007). Finally, dismantling injustices at the intersections of misdistribution, mis­ recognition, and misrepresentation demands transformative remedies that aim to restructure the social order that creates inequities (Fraser, 1997). This requires examining how difference (e.g., race, gender, and class) is constructed and for whose benefit. To address these issues and the shortcomings of the three dimen­ sions of justice we outlined earlier, we expand these dimension of justice using Dis(Crit) (Annamma, Connor et al., 2013), and spatial justice (Soja, 2010).

Cross‐pollinating Inclusive Education with DisCrit DisCrit arose from the need to theorize how perceptions of race and ability are co‐constructed and “about the ways in which race, racism, dis/ability and ableism are built into the interactions, procedures, discourses, and institutions of educa­ tion, which affect students of color with dis/abilities qualitatively differently than white students with dis/abilities” (Annamma, Connor et al., 2013, p. 7). Merging theoretical insights from Critical Race Theory (CRT; Crenshaw, Gotanda, Peller, & Thomas, 1995) and Disability Studies in Education (DSE; Brantlinger, 1997; MacKinnon, 1998/2011), DisCrit recognizes that most special education litera­ ture is silent on race, and yet constructions of race play a critical role in defining competence and ability. Therefore, DisCrit begins with the notion that the inter­ dependence of racism and ableism contributes to disproportionate education outcomes internationally (Harris, 1990). It acknowledges that historical attempts to prove racial inferiority are linked with the over‐ and under‐representation of children of color in special education (Ladson‐Billings & Tate, 1995). Table 2.2 provides a brief description of DisCrit’s six tenets. Following this table, the text

Definition

The second tenet troubles uni‐dimensional views of identity because stigma and segregation are compounded by multiple identities. Being viewed as different from unmarked norms encourages educators to mark a child as dis/abled, and to be a person of color with dis/ability impacts the ways students experience education. Singular notions of identity miss the intersections of oppression. For example, middle class, white parents in the United States may be able to afford the expensive diagnostic to label their child with dyslexia or ADHD and may benefit from her label (e.g., increased time on standardized tests, ancillary efforts at inclusion into the mainstream setting and curriculum, and additional time with a paraprofessional; each of which mean more access to college). In contrast, an African American student with a more general learning dis/ability label may endure a very different fate (e.g., segregated classrooms with less access to the general education curriculum, low expectations, and lack of services, all of which make it more difficult to access college).

DisCrit emphasizes the social constructions of race and ability and yet recognizes the material and psychological impacts of being labeled as raced or dis/abled, which sets one outside of the Western cultural norms. Tenet Three exposes the social construction of race and dis/ ability as responses to differences from unmarked cultural normative standards. These differences are then viewed as biological deficits inherent in the child, something that can be accommodated for, but never shed. In other words, the label becomes reified and expectations for students are often lowered. Similarly, deficit view of parents can narrow their opportunities to represent themselves in key decision‐ making instances.

The fourth tenet focuses on counter‐narratives from the marginalized as essential to understanding any inequities that exist in education. These counter‐stories must not stand‐alone but must be compared to the master‐narrative. This moves us from a place of derision or sympathy, to instead focusing on what can be done to eradicate the master‐narrative. It does not purport to give voice as oppressed people have a voice. Instead, this tenet demands that we honor that voice by centering these counter‐stories.

DisCrit considers the legal and historical aspects of dis/ability and race, and how both have been used separately and together to deny the rights of some citizens. Pseudo‐sciences have been used historically to establish whiteness as superiority in both intellectual and moral realms. This racism then became normalized through laws, policies, and programs designed to codify white superiority by focusing on the inherent deficits of people of color and those with dis/abilities.

DisCrit recognizes whiteness and ability as forms of property and that gains for people labeled with dis/abilities have largely been made as the result of interest convergence of white, middle‐class citizens. Interest convergence is when rights or economic benefits for oppressed citizens can occur only when they benefit the dominant group.

2. Intersectional lens

3. Social construction of race and dis/ability as deficits

4. Counter‐ narratives

5. Temporal and legal aspects of dis/ability

6. Whiteness and ability as property

1. Racism and ableism DisCrit focuses on ways that the forces of racism and ableism circulate interdependently, often in neutralized and invisible ways, to uphold as normal notions of normalcy. Through normalizing practices that are mutually constitutive, such as labeling a student “at‐risk” for simply being a person of color, unmarked norms of white are equated with ability, and differences become viewed as biological deficits.

Tenets

Table 2.2  Tenets of DisCrit

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turns toward the affordances each provides for expanding Fraser’s (2008) three dimensions of justice in efforts for inclusive education. Tenet One. Integrating DisCrit’s recognition of the mutually constitutive nature of racism and ableism into justice struggles based of recognition concedes the existence of power hierarchies associated with difference, and demands they are explicitly named when thinking about inclusive education. Consequentially, DisCrit can further inclusive education researchers’ understanding of construc­ tions of normalcy at the intersections of race/ethnicity and dis/ability, along with other identity markers (e.g., class, sexual orientation) and how they affect the delineation of margins and peripheries. Tenet Two. In struggles for justice based on redistribution and recognition, DisCrit’s tenet of intersectionality shifts inclusion from an individual‐assimila­ tionist focus to transforming the dominant culture by pushing back on hegem­ onic normative standards that seek to tame differences. Multidimensional differences would be expected and accepted as the norm (Annamma, Boelé, Moore, & Klingner, 2013), and educational resources can be distributed accord­ ingly to students’ multidimensional identities. This would be a step toward ­recognizing and changing power hierarchies associated with difference. Tenet Three. Cross‐pollination of DisCrit’s third tenet and inclusive educa­ tion allows for an explicit recognition of the political economy of social con­ struction of differences as deficits, how powerful individuals benefit from labeling large swaths of the population as deficient, and then removing them from educational opportunities which would provide them with access to upward mobility. Instead this cross‐pollination would reframe differences as funds of knowledge; strengths with which to build a foundation (Moll, Amanti, Neff, & Gonzalez, 1992). Tenet Four. Inserting DisCrit’s commitment to counter‐narratives in struggles for justice based in recognition would allow an understanding and ­appreciation of students’ and families’ counter‐stories, defying stereotypes and metanarratives that contribute to the exclusion of certain groups of students. Tenet Five. DisCrit recognizes that, historically, labels of racially different and/ or disabled have been utilized to deny rights to particular people that the domi­ nant system has long since found unworthy of full citizenship. The fifth tenet of DisCrit would be useful to understand how currently existing intersectional inequities grew from a historical and legal legacy committed to upholding the rights of the powerful due to an ideology of white supremacy throughout society. It is important to note that this ideology flourished even within liberal efforts to advance inclusive education (Artiles, Kozleski, & Waitoller, 2011). Tenet Six. Justice struggles based on representation integrated with DisCrit sixth tenet would contribute to reject the need for whiteness and ability as ­property and interest convergence. Instead, inclusive education would allow for children with dis/abilities and other marginalized students, their families, and communities to fully participate in all educational decisions, not for the benefit of those in power, but because they have unique knowledge. If those parties were allowed to equally contribute, they can participate in defining the problem and the solutions needed to address inequities.

Taking a Spatial Turn in Inclusive Education: Addressing Spatial (In)Justices Taking a Spatial Turn in Inclusive Education: Addressing Spatial (In)Justices 37

Cross‐pollinating DisCrit with Fraser’s three dimensions of justice expands and strengthens the conceptualization of inclusive education. However, so far we have not addressed issues of inequities inscribed in particular spaces. In the next section, we take a spatial turn to address injustice in inclusive education.

Taking a Spatial Turn in Inclusive Education: Addressing Spatial (In)Justices There has been a limited interest in the role of space in shaping educational exclusion and efforts toward dismantling it. An example of this vein of inclusive education research is Felicity Armstrong’s (2003) work and a special double issue in the International Journal of Inclusive Education edited by Judy Heminway and Felicity Armstrong (2012). These works examined inclusive education using crit­ ical and cross‐disciplinary perspectives on space and place. Thinking spatially about inclusive education has the potential of both enriching our theoretical understandings and uncovering critical new insights to engage in more effective actions to achieve greater inclusivity (Aoki, 2000). Thus, the time is ripe to fur­ ther this line of research and expand it using the work of critical geographers such as Soja (1989, 2010) and Harvey (2009) and their overlap with Fraser’s (2008) dimensions of justice and DisCrit. By engaging in such a task, we aim to entice inclusive education researchers to take a spatial turn and to nurture their spatial imagination (Soja, 1989). A promising starting point for this spatial turn is the notion of spatial justice developed by Soja (2010). Spatial Justice

Soja (2010) underscores that justice and injustice have a spatial dimension in all geographical scales (e.g., city, state, nation, global). A key theoretical premise is that space is socially produced (Soja, 2010). That is, justice and injustices are inscribed in the spaces in which people live. Space is not understood merely as a container or stage but as an active ecology that mediates and is mediated by human activity (Soja, 2010). Therefore, it plays an important role on both the creation and reproduction of educational exclusion and the efforts to dismantle them. Local governments, private business, and organized political and social groups have consciously shaped how space is organized and how social goods are distrib­ uted accordingly to such organization. Examples of these organizations of space include the redlining of urban real estate investments, the gerrymandering of electoral districts, residential segregation, and the segregation of students ­receiving special education services to particular classrooms or separate schools in which some resources and access to educational opportunities are absent. Critical geographers such as Soja (1989) and Harvey (2009) noted that what is at stake in the production of space is much more than differences in the style of building and housing architecture. What is at stake is the struggle for the ­economic, cultural, and political control of the spaces people inhabit. In other words, what is at stake is the struggle for redistribution, recognition, and representation.

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Space is a constituent aspect of capitalism (Soja, 1989). Capitalism aims to resolve structural crises through a “spatial fix,” deconstructing and recon­ structing the material space through capital investment (Soja, 1989). As Soja noted, “we are now faced with a situation in which industrialization and eco­ nomic growth, the foundations of capitalist accumulation, are shaped pri­ marily by and through the social production of urbanized space, planned and orchestrated with increasing power by the state” (1989, p. 96). Contributing to Soja’s (1989) point, Brenner and Theodore (2002) state “each round of cap­ italist development is associated with a distinctive, historically specific geo­ graphical landscape in which some places, and territories and scales are systematically privileged over and against others as sites for capital accumu­ lation” (p. 355). Thus, investment is unevenly redistributed from one space to another for capital accumulation, creating areas of under‐ and over‐develop­ ment and building upon already existing lasting structures of spatial injus­ tices (Harvey, 2009). In addition, the production of space also involves symbolic work. As Soja (1989) stated, “every spaces is simultaneously lived and imagined” (p. 74). Cultural constructions and meanings of race, class, and dis/ability are woven through the social fabric of spaces. Capital expansion demands changing the symbolic meaning attached to certain spaces so that they can become attractive to capital investment. As Lipman (2011a) noted, education policy plays a critical role on changing the symbolic meaning of spaces. The historical disinvestment in schools attended by students from working class, racial, and ethnic minority backgrounds had led to their weakening of their academic and cultural status. This served as a justification for closings schools in gentrified areas to later reopen and reinvent them with selective enrollment procedures to attract mid­ dle‐ and upper‐class professionals. After all, the symbolic value of a school is reflected in its academic performance, which influences the value of real state property. Thus, education policy can contribute to the production of spatial injustices (Lipman, 2011b). Yet, because spatial injustices are the result of human activity, they can be changed through different forms of collective political and social efforts. To bor­ row from Aoki (2000), inclusive education researchers and advocates need to become “space invaders, who are working to contest and politicize our formerly ‘neutral’ conceptions of space” (p. 913). Space invaders, working for justice, rec­ ognize that equity needs to be conceptualized as both social and spatial, allowing us to understand how power is related to space. Inclusive education researchers will be better able to imagine justice, by rejecting the concept of space as a natu­ ral backdrop, and recognizing space as consequential, both being impacted by and impacting social processes (Soja, 2010). That is, if oppressive geographies exist, inclusive education researchers and advocates can also imagine enabling geographies that positively impact students’ educational access, participation, and outcomes. In summary, in this section, we linked together dimensions of social justice, DisCrit, and spatial justice to enrich our imagination about what inclusive edu­ cation research and efforts are needed to dismantle complex forms of exclusion. This imagination allows for broader coalitions to be built around conceptions of

Conclusion: An Inclusive Education Research Agenda Conclusion: An Inclusive Education Research Agenda 39

race, dis/ability, space, and inclusive education. Yet, a question still remains: how can this conceptualization of inclusive education be translated to research ques­ tions and methods?

Conclusion: An Inclusive Education Research Agenda Based on our expanded conceptualization of inclusive education based on justice, DisCrit, and space, we recommend that future research questions be two‐sided. First, inclusive education researchers could investigate how the spatial restructuring of educational opportunities is contributing or hinder­ ing the remediation of injustices based on misdistribution, misrecognition, and misrepresentation. Part of this set of questions should focus on inter­ secting forms of injustices for students who come from racial/ethnic minor­ ity backgrounds and receive special education services. For instance, in terms of redistribution, future research could investigate whether the restructuring of the educational urban space has decreased the access to quality services for students with dis/abilities. Are injustices based on misdistribution of edu­ cational goods related to broader injustices occurring in the same geographi­ cal spaces? How do these injustices interact with each other? What are their consequences? How do students’ race, dis/ability, and social class interact with restructured educational spaces to generate differential access to quality inclusive schooling? In terms of issues of justice based on recognition, the following questions can be advanced. Has the restructuring of the urban educational space increased or decreased schools capacity to recognize and value all students’ differences? Do newly opened schools offer curriculums that value the cul­ tural and ability repertoires of the students they served? How do teachers’ and administrators’ understanding of the space in which they work contribute to construct narratives and counter narratives about racial minorities and stu­ dents with dis/abilities? In terms of representation, research questions could include but not be limited to: What level of participation are parents afforded when making decisions about closing their schools and opening them as selec­ tive enrollment schools? What decisions are made because of whiteness as property or interest convergence? Conversely, what decisions are made because of the best interest of children receiving special education? How are parents and students voices taken up by policy makers to inform key decisions such as the closing of their schools? We propose that research methods be varied and interdisciplinary to answer such complex questions. The combination of GIS descriptive and inferential analyses with qualitative methodologies promises to be a powerful analytical toolkit. GIS analysis can reveal spatial clusters of educational injustices and their relationship with broader city and neighborhood variables. Qualitative studies can enrich GIS analyses at least in two forms. First, qualitative studies can pro­ vide nuanced analysis of trends emerging from GIS analysis. Through qualitative methods (e.g., observation of school practices, school board meetings, and focus groups and interviews with key stakeholders), future research could examine

40

2  Taking a Spatial Turn in Inclusive Education

how stakeholders experience the restructuring of the urban space as well as their cultural understandings of certain spaces and the people that inhabits them. For instance, what are stakeholders’ notions of race and dis/ability, and certain spaces in the city (e.g., neighborhoods and schools)? How do these notions mediate their understandings of justice and injustice? Second, researchers could examine their collaborative work with stakeholders using spatial analysis (cf. Pacheco & Velez, 2009; Velez, Solórzano, & Pacheco, 2007). The examination of this collaborative work can deepen of our understand­ ing of how parents, students, and teachers understand and address the spatial injustices and how visual spatial representations (e.g., GIS maps) mediate their understandings about and efforts toward inclusive education. In summary, in this chapter, we expanded current conceptualizations of inclusive education. Using Fraser’s (2008) dimensions of justice, DisCrit, and Soja’s (2010) concept of spatial justice, we provided recommendations for an inclusive education activist and research agenda that attends closely to com­ plex equity issues at the intersections of race, dis/ability, and social class. Attending to complex and intersecting forms of exclusion that are inscribed in the places in which we live and work provides a unique advantage point to engage in inclusive efforts. It helps us to understand inclusive education as a means and end for a more just society and to foreground a more radical and transformative agenda.

note 1 We purposely write “dis/ability” with a slash to denote dis/ability not as an

individual trait, but rather a social construction—the product of cultural, political, and economic practices. This understanding does not deny biological and psychological differences, but emphasizes that such differences gain mean­ ing, often with severe negative consequences (e.g., segregation), through human activities informed by norms. Dis/ability is also an identity marker, which includes ways in which notions of ability are relied upon and constructed in tandem with other identity markers (e.g., gender, race, and language).

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3 The Advancement of Inclusive Education for Students with Disabilities An International Perspective Silvia Romero‐Contreras, Ismael García‐Cedillo and Todd Fletcher

Inclusive education (IE) is a complex process that has been understood and implemented differently across the world. A moderate vision of IE proposes the adaptation of educational settings to respond to diverse students, including students with disabilities (SWD). A more radical perspective pursues the trans­ formation of educational systems and communities to respond fully to the needs of all individuals, irrespective of their condition, origin, sociocultural background, and educational needs (García, Romero, Aguilar, Lomelí, & Rodríguez, 2013). From a philosophical standpoint, IE is rooted in a human rights perspective; from a practical standpoint, it is rooted in each country’s specific history of edu­ cation and the characteristics of its educational system. These two perspectives appear to be in conflict in the conceptualization of IE. Legal provisions world­ wide tend to recognize the right of all individuals to equal opportunities and quality education. Specific regulations and practices, on the other hand, make exceptions or leave open the possibility of excluding individuals whose needs cannot be met by general education. Even though IE has influenced many educa­ tional systems, it is also a source of conflict, as traditionally countries have dealt with diversity through segregation and with disability relying on the medical model to design and implement resources for prevention, identification, diagno­ sis, educational placement, and practices. In some regions of the world, the history of identification and education of students with disabilities (SWD) and special educational needs (SEN) is rela­ tively new, whereby the process was inspired by the international initiatives of the late twentieth century, mainly the World Declaration on Education for All (EFA) of Jomtien (UNESCO, 1990), the Statement of Salamanca (UNESCO, 1994) and the World Education Forum at Dakar (UNESCO, 2000). In others, efforts had been made long before these international initiatives. This chapter aims to describe IE in different regions of the world, taking the aforementioned international initiatives as a point of departure, and to report on the progress made by governments and societies regarding IE at the political, social, and educational levels. For this purpose, we have drawn on international The Wiley Handbook of Diversity in Special Education, First Edition. Edited by Marie Tejero Hughes and Elizabeth Talbott. © 2017 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Published 2017 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

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and local policy documents and reports, as well as on research studies about the status of inclusive and special education, focusing on those examining status of individuals with disabilities in educational contexts. This chapter is organized in three main sections. We commence by describing the international initiatives of the late twentieth century to promote IE and the recommendations to implement it. In the second section, we describe the path­ ways followed in five world regions and offer some examples of specific countries within the regions. Finally, in the conclusions, we discuss salient world trends, differences, contradictions, and challenges to advance toward inclusion, before making some recommendations taking the international initiatives as frame of reference.

International Initiatives The international community has made numerous efforts to promote equity and quality education for all. The World Declaration of Education for All of Jomtien reinstated this relevant problem to a prominent position in the international arena convening countries to take affirmative actions to ensure the advancement of this goal. Some of the main issues acknowledged at Jomtien regarding the education of persons with disabilities (PWD) pointed at the urge to pay special attention to their learning needs, offer them equal opportunities and access to education, prevent disabilities, reduce interactions between poverty and disability, and modify ideas about the capacities of PWD. These concerns and commitments were further recognized in the 1994 Statement of Salamanca, where the issue of IE was set forward. The inclusion movement refers not only to children with disabilities (CWD), but also to chil­ dren from all vulnerable groups (UNESCO, 1994). Thus, the term special educational needs (SEN) is meant to include “children and youth whose needs arise from disabilities or learning difficulties” (UNESCO, 1994, p. 6). The Statement of Salamanca also addressed the issue of educational planning, recommending the recognition of integrated education and community‐based rehabilitation as “complementary and mutually supportive approaches” (UNESCO, 1994, p. 17). This idea has had important implications in the evolu­ tion of IE throughout the world, as in many countries special education services transformed into supports for general education, to give way to inclusion, while maintaining a central role in the process. Regarding teacher preparation, the Statement of Salamanca recommended that all preservice programs should include theoretical and practical courses to promote positive attitudes toward SEN, build capacities to design curricular adaptations, provide instruction for students with SEN, and work collaboratively with parents and specialists. For specialists in SEN, additional qualifications would be required and should become noncategorical, so that all teachers could serve a variety of students, rather than only one specific disability group. Nonetheless, further specialization in one or more areas or disabilities was also encouraged.

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In 2000, another important meeting took place in Dakar, where the principles of Jomtien were reaffirmed and assessed based on the results of regional confer­ ences conducted between 1999 and 2000. The main issues addressed in the con­ ference related to early childhood care and education (ECCE), girls’ education, life skills and continuing education, and improving quality education. In the con­ text of all these issues, vulnerable groups were mentioned as a priority (UNESCO, 2000).

Advancements and Challenges for Inclusive Education: A Global Perspective In this section, we present the major advancements on IE in five world regions, while also discussing challenges they face. After a general overview, specific cases are presented to illustrate the region’s processes. Sub‐Saharan Africa (SSA)

In 2000, at the regional EFA meeting, it was recognized that dropout rates had increased mostly among students with disabilities, refugees, those affected by HIV/AIDs, those in unemployment, and ethnic minorities. Moreover, it was noted that educational methods were of little relevance for the learners, but par­ ticularly for girls and SWD. The countries of SSA agreed to (a) improve access and equity paying special attention to vulnerable groups; (b) review and harmo­ nize legislations on the rights of disadvantaged groups; (c) improve teaching and learning environments, particularly for girls and SWD; and (d) promote the par­ ticipation of the civil society to advocate for IE (UNESCO, 2000). Ten years after the Dakar meeting, population growth in SSA, the increase in HIV/AIDS prevalence, prevailing poverty, and regional conflicts resulting in sig­ nificant population displacement have strained the region’s conditions for improving educational opportunities for all (UNESCO, 2012). In the last decade, the region has dramatically increased educational expenditure, has implemented a series of programs to expand education and educational facilities, and has established partnerships at the national, regional, and international levels. While progress has been attained in expand­ ing primary and secondary education and gender equality, the region’s pro­ gress on quality education, student retention, and provision of services for children with SEN and in rural areas is still daunting. EFA goals, according to recent estimates, are likely to be delayed beyond 2020 in 31 countries in the region (UNESCO, 2012). Two cases will be presented here to provide a more detailed perspective of the contrasts found in the sub‐Saharan region— Nigeria, which has implemented advanced policies but achieved very little progress, and South Africa, where transformation in both policies and prac­ tices has begun in a more balanced manner. The case of Nigeria. Nigeria is among the most delayed countries in terms of EFA goals, with a primary completion rate of 74%, and out of primary school rate of 42% (UNESCO, 2012). According to Lang and Upah (2008), at present, 68% of

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children are enrolled in primary schools and are taught by mostly under‐­qualified teachers (estimated at two‐thirds of all teaching staff ). The provision of educational services for PWD is very recent, dating back about two decades (Obiakor & Eleweke, 2014). No reliable data exists on the number of PWD, with estimates ranging from 15 (Lang & Upah, 2008) to 22 million (Obiakor & Eleweke, 2014). Illness, accidents, congenital abnormali­ ties, and unknown factors are the main causes of disability (Obiakor & Eleweke, 2014). The National Policy on Education (NPE), formulated in 1977 and revised in 1981, regulates the provision of equal opportunities and services for people with SEN, including gifted children and children and adults with physical, mental, and emotional disabilities. The main actions proposed by the NPE were to conduct a census of PWD; train qualified personnel; coordinate efforts among the ministries of education, health, social welfare and labor; offer free education for PWD up to university level; promote employment opportunities; foster early detection and curative or rehabilitation programs; and establish a committee to coordinate these efforts. With the exception of training of special education teachers, none of these goals has been realized to date (Obiakor & Eleweke, 2014). Aside from poverty and lack of effective organization and infrastructure, the main reasons for the inadequate conditions PWD in Nigeria face are a lack of legislation to protect their rights, prevailing negative attitudes and practices in educational settings that promote exclusion, absence of early detection and intervention programs and training programs for specialists, as well as inappro­ priate teacher preparation programs for special education teachers (Obiakor & Eleweke, 2014). Advancements for IE in Nigeria are very modest and are subsumed into the equally modest advancements in the provision of educational services for the general population. The Nigerian case illustrates a situation not uncommon in many countries in the world, where poverty, lack of infrastructure, and general­ ized social disadvantageous situation hold back the good intentions besought in policy. The case of South Africa. In South Africa, the policy of inclusion came as a consequence of the democratic government. Prior to this change, the educa­ tional system, as well as other political and social structures, was ruled by the apartheid system. IE focuses on vulnerable groups, which include but are not limited to PWD. The medical discourse and the individual deficit model had dominated special education until 1997, when the human rights’ discourse was adopted (Naicker, 2014). The Education White Paper 6 “Special needs education. Building an inclu­ sive education and training system” (Department of Education, 2001) defines IE as a more comprehensive strategy than mainstream or integration, incor­ porating full recognition and respect for diversity, developing good teaching strategies for all learners, overcoming barriers, and adapting and providing educational support systems within the classroom (Naicker, 2014). This docu­ ment established a series of mechanisms that would gradually be implemented to secure the support of SWD, such as the creation of full‐service schools,

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provision of support teams at the district level, and opening special schools as resource centers (Naicker, 2014). Full service schools are general schools receiving government support though material and physical resources and professional development (PD) to become fully equipped to offer a wide range of support services for diverse learners. The Department of Education would employ local professionals (mainly curriculum specialists, psychologists, ECCE specialists) for the crea­ tion of support teams to facilitate IE, teacher preparation and school manage­ ment, in order to build school capacity. Support teams would also coordinate and oversee special education schools, which would function as resource centers for ordinary and full‐service schools (Department of Education, 2001; Naicker, 2014). Drawing on the 2001 South African Census, Naicker reported that 5% of the population (some 2.26 million) has some type of disability. According to the author, PWD tend to be poorer, older, and less educated, with African black being the most affected racial group (Naicker, 2014). Teaching requirements include having a 4‐year teaching degree or a 3‐year university degree and a teaching diploma; all teacher‐training programs have had an inclusive component for the last 10 years. Specialists in disabilities are lack­ ing, and as a means of rectifying this situation, the government offers student teachers generous grants, promotes practicum and internships with a focus on IE, and has signed agreements with universities to train teachers in specific disabilities (Naicker, 2014). South Africa has made remarkable efforts in setting forward an IE policy and providing the grounds for it to flourish. Nevertheless, advancement in the field has been modest and unequally distributed. Empirical evidence indicates that the support staff is scarce, classrooms are overcrowded, and teacher training requires improvements (Hay & Beyers, 2011). The main challenges of IE, according to Naicker (2014), stems from the need to (a) improve the quality and quantity of trained professionals, particularly in the areas of vision, hearing, and assistive devices for physical disability; (b) secure adequate conversion of ordinary into full‐service schools with IE ethos; and (c) mitigate the issue of poverty and education by training teachers to address the needs of all sociocultural groups. Latin America and the Caribbean (LAC)

At the 2000 regional EFA meeting, LAC countries admitted to the prevailing adverse situation reflected in high dropout and repetition rates in primary school, low literacy rates, and levels of student learning. Moreover, they recog­ nized that these issues are particularly prevalent among girls and women living in poverty, affected by disability, experiencing violence or malnutrition, and those diagnosed with chronic diseases, such as HIV/AIDs. They also acknow­ ledged the need to promote teacher PD and improve their life and working con­ ditions. With the view of rectifying these conditions, the LAC countries committed to: (a) issuing IE policies with specific goals and priorities; (b) diversifying educa­ tion, modifying educational environments, and making curriculum more ­flexible;

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(c) promoting multicultural and multilingual education; and (d) strengthening and improving communication with families to promote the inclusion of those students currently excluded from schools (UNESCO, 2000). Educational models for diverse students adopted in the region have three emphases, namely (a) educating SWD in special schools; (b) educating students with SEN in general classrooms; and (c) providing quality education for all students. In the Caribbean, the first model predominates (García, 2009). The second is present in most countries of Latin America, although not with the term IE, but rather under the umbrella of educational integration (García et al., 2013; Ramos, 2013), where IE is considered as very desirable but difficult to achieve goal. Only in a few countries, such as Argentina, the third model guides educational policy and practice (Padin, 2013). In most countries, progress has been attained, as the number of SWD or stu­ dents with SEN attending general schools has increased, along with the provision of greater support for their teachers. Albeit inconsistent, there is evidence of social change in favor of inclusion. However, the challenges are formidable in terms of coverage, quality of education, training of teachers and special educa­ tion staff, and support for schools to have adequate and sufficient infrastructure, as well as accessible instructional materials for all students. To illustrate the advancements in IE in the region, two cases with contrasting financing models are presented—Mexico, where most funding is public, and Chile, where private funding has an important share. The case of Mexico. The General Education Law issued in 1993 marks the onset of IE, where special education was responsible for educating students with SEN with or without disabilities, or with outstanding capacities in general class­ rooms, whenever possible (DOF, 1993). The General Law for the Inclusion of People with Disabilities (DOF, 2011, 2012) mandates the Secretariat of Public Education to provide the necessary supports for students’ academic achievement and teacher preparation to serve PWD, and the Secretariat of Health to provide prosthesis and medication for these populations. Unfortunately, these laws and regulations are rarely enforced (García‐Cedillo, Romero‐Contreras, & Fletcher, 2014) and the situation PWD face in the country is still very precarious and uncertain (Gobierno de la República, 2013). In the mid‐1990s, most categorical special education schools became Centers for Multiple Attention (CAM), serving all types of students with SEN, and itiner­ ant teams of specialists called USAER (Support Unit for Regular Education, each serving five schools on average) were created to support general schools. From 1997 to 2014, the number of CAM increased by 57%, the number of USAER rose by 196%, and that of students in these services by 42% (INEE, 2015; SEP, 2010). While most of these students attend general schools (88%) (INEE, 2015), only approximately 13% of basic education general schools receive USAER support (SEP, 2014). Normal schools offer teacher preparation through a 4‐year national curriculum, and general teachers take two IE‐related courses (SEP, n.d.). The special education teacher curriculum was modified in 2004 to reflect the integration/inclusive approach. Thus, presently, training is offered in one of four areas comprising of

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hearing and language, intellectual, motor, and visual disability (SEP, 2004). Teacher preparation needs to be improved, as revealed by preservice teachers’ low levels of confidence to teach SWD (Forlin, García‐Cedillo, R­­ omero‐ Contreras, Fletcher, & Rodríguez, 2010), as well as in‐service special education teachers’ tendency to use the pullout model to work with students with SEN (Romero‐Contreras, García‐Cedillo, & Fletcher, 2013). Based on this evidence, the main challenges to achieving IE in Mexico include enforcing the laws and regulations that protect the rights of PWD, as well as improving the general conditions of the population and the quality of education. The case of Chile. Law 19.284 for social integration of PWD, enacted in 1994 (Ramos, 2013), mandates that public and private schools in Chile make the nec­ essary adjustments to “facilitate and promote” the integration of students with SEN (Sánchez Bravo, Díaz Flores, Sahueza Henríquez, & Friz Carrillo, 2008). According to these mandates, special education should educate students with SEN with or without disability in general or special education schools. In addi­ tion, general schools may have inclusion projects (IP). Decree No. 170 extended the concept of IP to include students with temporal SEN, i.e., those without a disability; however, it did not explicitly promote the inclusion of SWD (Ramos, 2013). IE consists of the provision of supports by specialists for students with SEN within general schools (Infante, 2010). Teams comprised of special education professionals certified by the state diagnose students to identify a disability, which can include sensory, motor, intellectual, and learning disabilities, speech disorder, attention deficit, and autism (MINEDUC, 2009). Identified students may apply to a general school that has an IP and, if accepted, the school the child will attend is funded by the State to hire the required special education services. Special schools serving SWD and with SEN without disability also receive funding on a similar basis (Ramos, 2013). In recent years, the number of students in schools with IP has tripled. However, this increase reflects a broader category of integrated students that, since the implementation of Decree No. 170/2009, includes SWD and individuals with so‐called temporary SEN (Ramos, 2013). In Chile, teacher education is conducted in universities through programs and curricula based on State‐defined standards. These include considerations on IE, focus on students with SEN, and procedures to elaborate curricular adaptations (Infante, 2010; Sánchez‐Bravo et al., 2008). While progress has been attained in conveying the importance of inclusion and its benefits, teacher preparation programs need to be revised in order to improve teachers’ perceived efficacy to work with students with SEN (Sánchez‐ Bravo et al., 2008). In addition, a profound revision of the ideas about inclusion is necessary, as the medical model remains dominant in the legislation, the provi­ sion of services, and teacher education (Infante, 2010). The current situation of Chile regarding IE is contradictory; even though the legislation advocates inclu­ sion, it does not offer clear guidelines for its implementation. Moreover, it encourages the establishment of special education schools for students with SEN with and without disability (Ramos, 2013).

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Arab States (AS)

At the regional 2000 EFA meeting, the member countries recognized that, although policies and programs had been issued to improve the quality of life and learning opportunities for students with disabilities, results were still limited. Among the main challenges identified were the need to (a) reduce the gender gap in education; (b) increase educational enrollment of children aged 3–5 years; (c) reduce rural–urban primary education enrollment gaps; (d) reduce illiteracy rates; (e) improve quality of education, as learning achievements were below standards for most states; (f ) professionalize teachers by establishing teaching entry criteria in countries where no qualifications were required, and attracting young and qualified people to the profession; and (g) reduce dropout rates in elementary grades. The Arab states declared the inclusion of students with SEN “as a right and essential means for their self‐actualization and social integration” (UNESCO, 2000, p. 50). The region has made progress in the fulfillment of the Millennium Development Goals, but also faces significant challenges. Available evidence indicates that a significant number of children out of school (4.8 million), prevailing high illiter­ acy rates (33%), low primary completion rate (87%), and low preprimary enroll­ ment (89%), along with persistent poverty and the marginalization in education, continue to act as impediments to achieving the goals (UNESCO, 2014). According to UNESCO (2014), “Children with disabilities are among the most marginalized and less likely to attend school. Education about disability as well as real educational opportunities for people with disabilities are areas for stronger focus throughout the region” (p. 10). The case of Saudi Arabia, which has recently made significant advances, is discussed next. The case of Saudi Arabia. In 2000, the Provision Code for Persons with Disabilities was adopted; this law guarantees the rights of PWD in all aspects of life, including free education (Al‐Moussa, 2010). General schools were reaf­ firmed as the natural environment for students with SEN through the approval of the Document of Rules and Regulations for Special Education Institutes and Programs (RSEIP), based on the US Individuals with Disabilities Education Act. The RSEIP recognized 10 types of disability, as well as specified that schools should establish a multidisciplinary team to assess students with these conditions, while also mandating that everyone identified should be provided special education services. These efforts substantively improved special edu­ cation practices; nevertheless, the philosophy and services are very similar to those of the United States in the 1970s, characterized by special classrooms, resource room, student’s placement in a classroom according to his/her diag­ nosis, and establishment of special schools for children with a particular dis­ ability (Alquraini, 2014). In Saudi Arabia, IE is still defined following the concept of mainstreaming and is implemented in two modalities, partial (characterized by special classrooms within general schools) and full main­ streaming (providing special education support programs in general schools) (Al‐Moussa, 2010). Advancements are notable, both quantitatively and qualitatively, as the num­ ber of mainstream programs increased from less than 100 in 1995 to over 3000 in 2007. In addition, the number of students served in these programs has

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increased by nine‐fold in the same period, and special education services are now disseminated across the country, including rural regions. Finally, a greater diversity of students is now being served and delivery models have also diversi­ fied (Al‐Moussa, 2010). IE, however, still faces several hurdles, most notably (Alquraini, 2014): (a) assessment is first conducted in elementary school, as preschools do not pro­ vide any specific services; (b) many special education and regular schools lack effective multidisciplinary teams to assess students and to formulate individual educational plans (IEPs); (c) teachers are not prepared to implement curricular adaptations and PD on inclusion is lacking; (d) parental involvement in the design  and implementation IEPs is rare; and (e) professionals rarely work collaboratively. Asia‐Pacific

In the 2000 EFA regional meeting, the countries of this region recognized the role of the State in the provision of basic education and its responsibility to pro­ mote the inclusion of disadvantaged groups to “decent‐quality education” (UNESCO, 2000, p. 57). Advancements were identified in the promotion of inno­ vative and quality education, the expansion of ECCE, primary education, adult literacy, as well as in educational management, financing and policy, public–­ private partnerships, and international assistance (UNESCO, 2000). Among the main challenges and commitments, the following are deemed most prominent (UNESCO, 2000): (a) the need to reduce rural–urban, gender, and big–small country gaps; (b) promoting alternative nonformal education; (c) increasing school retention, completion rates, and relevant literacy programs; (d) increasing education budgets for countries in economic crisis; (e) identifying and expanding educational best practices; (f ) redesigning curricula to address youth’s needs and promote educational reforms for in‐transition countries; as well as the need to (g) promote social participation in education; (h) produce reliable data; (i) increase visibility of disadvantaged groups, including PWD; (j) reduce educational impact of emergencies or armed conflicts; and (k) improve and increase educational assessment capacity. The following section will focus on the development of IE in four countries, two of which are Asian (China and India), and two are Pacific countries (Australia and New Zealand). China and India were chosen for an in‐depth analysis, because these countries have complex educational systems and challenging cultural beliefs and traditions. Australia and New Zealand, on the other hand, have advanced educational systems with contrasting approaches to IE. The case of China. In 1990, the government issued the suíbān jiùdú (Learning in Regular Classrooms, LRC) policy to accept SWD in regular school (Malinen, 2013) and the Law on Protection of Persons with Disabilities, which emphasized the shared responsibility of work units, community organizations, and families to care for PWD (Kritzer, 2011). Education is provided to CWD in three ­settings—(a) special schools; (b) special classes; and (c) regular classrooms (LRC) (Chen, 1996). The staff and resources dedicated to special education are limited and regular schools pay little attention to SEN (Cuihang, 2009).

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Chinese classrooms are usually overcrowded, with 40–55 students per class (Cuihang, 2009). Support teachers and general teachers are underpaid, while special education teachers are scarce, as there are few special schools and special education teacher preparation programs (Chen, 1996). The culture of choice and competition, traditional instructional practices, and the limitations imposed on the use of individualized curricula all serve to reduce teachers’ willingness to support participation of SWD in their classes (Malinen, 2013). Confucian philosophy places people with disabilities at the bottom of the social structure (Deng & Harris, 2008 cited in Kritzer, 2011). However, many parents in China have begun to demand education for their children with SEN, and CWD are increasingly being welcomed in regular schools (Kritzer, 2011). Services are provided inconsistently and only students with visual/ hearing impairment and intellectual disabilities are eligible for participation (Kritzer, 2011). China faces various challenges (Kritzer, 2011; Malinen, 2013), most notably the need to: (a) improve the conditions for educating SWD by reducing class size, providing training to general teacher on special education, and collaborative practices, and transforming the educational system and the school culture so that diversity is respected and valued; (b) provide similar educational opportuni­ ties for SWD and students without disability; (c) improve the LRC model to respond to an inclusive philosophy, rather than a cost‐effective model, empha­ sizing IEPs, accommodation of students in the least restrictive environment, and parent participation; (d) switch from a remedial to a strengths‐based model; (e) improve diagnosis instruments and make them more widely available; and (f ) improve vocational education options for SWD. The case of India. In India, in the last three decades, there has been a signifi­ cant change in the approach to education of CWD from a segregated environ­ ment toward a more inclusive one (Das, Sharma, & Singh, 2012). The first initiative to integrate CWD to regular schools was made in 1944; however, in line with others that followed, emphasis was placed on appropriate placement according to children’s capabilities, rather than on fulfilling their needs through adequate teaching resources and methods (Giffard‐Linsday, 2007). In India, IE is interpreted in policy documents as “including children with dis­ abilities in the educational system,” which does not always mean attending a reg­ ular school (Singal, 2005 cited in Giffard‐Linsday, 2007, p. 18). Educational placement is conducted following the medical model (Giffard‐Linsday, 2007; Singal, 2006). Panels of experts decide when a student is eligible for inclusion, based on his/her communicative and social abilities and level of independence (Hodkinson & Devarakonda, 2009). Prior to 2005, five categories of disability were recognized—vision, hearing, speech, motor, and intellectual—whereby all other forms were excluded (Yadava, 2013). Autism and learning disabilities were added later (Editorial Team of JSEAP, 2010). The Right of Children to Free Compulsory Education Act (RTE) enacted in 2009 raised awareness on SEN emphasizing access to school for girls, children from particular castes, and tribes, and CWD (Rose, Doveston, Rajanahally, & Jament, 2014). Despite government efforts to legislate in favor of PWD and soci­ ety’s growing acceptance of diversity, in practice, results are still marginal.

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Moreover, while India has made significant progress toward universal education, according to the 2014 data, almost 8 million children aged 6–10 remained out of school (UNESCO, 2014). Despite the enormous efforts to advance toward IE, India faces important challenges. According to a study conducted in 2006, only 4% of CWD had access to education, and most attended special education schools (Rajakumar, 2006). Teachers are not prepared to serve SWD in regular classrooms (Hodkinson & Devarakonda, 2009; Sharma, Moore, & Sonawane, 2009) and cultural barriers to inclusion still persist (Alur, 2007; Chowdhury, 2011). Moreover, PWD are con­ sidered subjects of charity (Giffard‐Linsday, 2007). As a result, some parents fear that their CWD may be abused in school, so they prefer to keep them at home (Yadava, 2013). Regular schools choose students who are “easily accommodated” (Giffard‐Linsday, 2007). Additionally, the RTE includes a clause stating that homeschooling may be the best option for children with more complex SEN, further causing segregation of these children from the mainstream student pop­ ulation (Rose et al., 2014). The case of Australia. The Disability Discrimination Act—DDA (1992) man­ dates that PWD should be admitted in educational services, and should not be limited in their educational benefits, or in any form of educational participa­ tion. The Educational Standards of the DDA passed in 2005 provide specific guidelines regarding “enrollment, participation, curriculum development, accreditation and delivery, student support services and elimination of harass­ ment and victimization” and mandate school flexibility to educate SWD (Sharma, 2014, p. 628). The definition of disability is very broad and, in addition to the traditional categories, includes various syndromes and chronic diseases or conditions (Australian Government, n.d.). However, not all eligible students receive funding, as individual states’ dispositions vary (Sharma, 2014). In 2009, according to the Australian Bureau of Statistics (ABS, n.d.a), the prevalence of disability in Australia was of 18.5% of the population. Disability is most fre­ quent in the older age groups, while showing a downward trend among the younger age groups. Educational attainment among PWD is dependent upon the degree of disabil­ ity. For example, while 55% of people aged 15–64 without disability had 12 years of education in 2009, only 25% of those with severe disability did (ABS, n.d.b). Drawing on the ABS data, Sharma reported that, in 2010, almost 60% of CWD were attending general schools, 24% were enrolled in special classes within gen­ eral schools, and 10% attended a special education school (Sharma, 2014). Teacher preparation in Australia is divided into general and special education (Carroll, Forlin, & Jobling, 2003). While special education has followed a tradi­ tional approach for specific disabilities, in recent years, many programs have started incorporating a more holistic perspective (Sharma, 2014). Moreover, most general education teachers lack skills and training required for teaching students with SEN (Sharma, 2014). Although the Australian educational system is decisively promoting IE, to move forward, special attention should be paid to (Sharma, 2014): (a) monitor­ ing the implementation of laws and provisions for SWD; (b) securing a­dequate

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services and funding to all identified students; (c) collecting reliable data on the number of SWD and the level of support received to improve planning and deci­ sion making; and (d) ensuring that SWD are included in achievement assess­ ments to improve policies and programs. The case of New Zealand. The New Zealand school system is decentralized at the school level. Each school has a board of trustees composed mainly of par­ ents who make decisions following government guidelines on the provision of services for students, including those with SEN (Hornby, 2014). The discourse on inclusion in official documents is vague, as special education and IE are treated as synonyms and refer to teaching diverse learners without specifically mentioning SWD or students with SEN, and without defining policy guidelines (Higgins, MacArthur, & Morton, 2008; O’Neill, Bourke, & Kearney, 2009). Owing to this trend, the topic of inclusion is treated as a general feature across teacher preparation curricula, instead of as a series of courses on this par­ ticular subject (O’Neill et  al., 2009). Postgraduate full‐time courses in special education were abolished in the 1980s; thus, only part‐time online courses are presently offered (Hornby, 2014). The 1989 Education Act mandated the right of students with SEN to attend general schools; however, they can be enrolled in special schools whenever gen­ eral schools cannot meet their needs, as long as their parents agree, thus cance­ ling the right previously granted (Hornby, 2014). The Special Education 2000 policy launched in 1996, proposed the construction of a high‐quality IE system. The New Zealand Disability Strategy renewed this commitment in 2007, but maintained the exception policy (Higgins et al., 2008). While no data is available regarding the number of children with SEN enrolled in general schools, enroll­ ment in special schools is documented and shows a steady increase between 2000 and 2007 (Higgins et al., 2008). In New Zealand, resource teachers of learning and behavior (RTLB) provide assistance to elementary and secondary schools (Hornby, 2014). The Ongoing Resourcing Scheme (ORS) provides funding to students with moderate to very high‐level SEN. As of 2013, only 1% of the total school population was receiving funding (ORS, n.d.) and information regarding the type and quality of services provided for students with SEN is lacking (MoE, 2008). Various forms of exclusion for SWD persist. Thus, to overcome this issue, the resource and funding perspective needs to be replaced by or complemented with a human rights approach to inclusion through a legislation focused on SWD and SEN. Moreover, schools need to identify and support low‐achievement students early, and be closely supervised by the government. Finally, teachers and support staff require better preparation to serve SWD (Hornby, 2014; Kearney, 2009). Europe and North America

At the EFA regional meeting in 2000, countries recognized the need to improve social justice, as even though basic education had been guaranteed in the last decade, quality and results had experienced significant setbacks. The concept of lifelong education also needs to be embraced from early childhood into adult­ hood (UNESCO, 2000).

Advancements and Challenges for Inclusive Education: A Global Perspective Advancements and Challenges for Inclusive Education: A Global Perspective 57

Among the suggested strategies for improving the quality of education and promoting equity in education, the most notable are the need to (UNESCO, 2000): (a) further facilitate teacher PD to enhance decision‐making, creativity, and initiative; (b) promote positive attitudes for learning; (c) improve and rede­ fine quality of education to include health and nutritional needs; (d) promote intergenerational and lifelong learning; and (e) increase cultural awareness to support intercultural participation and respect for diversity. To illustrate the progress in the region, the cases of two European countries are presented—Italy as a pioneer country on IE, and Germany, where special educa­ tion practices are still dominant. In addition, the situation in the United States and Canada is also analyzed, as both countries are characterized by rather similar educational approaches to PWD. The case of Italy. Educational integration was first introduced in Italy in 1977 (Kanter, Damiani, & Ferry, 2014). The term IE has not been extensively used due to its connotation of enclosure; thus, the preferred term is educa­ tional integration (integrazione scolastica) (Canevaro & Mandato cited in D’Alessio, 2011). Article 34 of the Constitution grants the right for inclusion of PWD and Law 104, in effect since 1992, regulates it. The Law provides for full inclusion for all public services, preventive measures and economic and legal protection for PWD and their families. Most children and youth with disability attend general schools; hence, only a few special education schools for deaf or blind students and with severe disabilities remain operational. Students with SEN in inclusive primary and secondary schools represent 2.6% of school population (7.3 mil­ lion). Less than 2000 students with SEN attend special education schools (EASNIE, n.d.a). Students undergo a disability or specific learning disorder iden­ tification procedure to obtain certification and specific profiles to receive sup­ port in public services, including educational settings. Identification of students with social, cultural, or linguistic disadvantages is conducted in the school (EASNIE, n.d.a). Class size for those serving SWD students is set at a maximum of 20 students, of whom one or two are diagnosed as SWD. General teacher, support teachers, and school staff are responsible for making the necessary educational adjust­ ments. Students attending hospitals or rehabilitation centers for extended peri­ ods of time also receive pedagogical support. Students’ outcomes are assessed with the necessary adjustments and supports, including individualized tests based on curricular adaptations. In addition, schools must develop an Annual Plan for Inclusion and assess its efficacy (EASNIE, n.d.a). A 4‐year university degree is required for preschool and elementary teachers. Secondary teachers are required to complete a graduate degree, along with 1 year of specialization. Support teachers take specific or additional courses. In‐service training is mandatory, according to Law 128/2013. All teachers, staff, and princi­ pals receive training to work with students with SEN. In addition, Territorial Support Centers (CTS) provide peer‐to‐peer assistance to teachers regarding technology, teaching practices, and other resources (EASNIE, n.d.a). Teachers generally hold very positive attitudes toward IE, believe in its benefits, and feel confident about their ability to teach diverse students.

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Nevertheless, they demand more professional support and resources to work with students with SEN (Cornoldi, Terreni, Scruggs, & Mastropieri, 1998). The Italian society believes that all students benefit from studying in the same classroom. The lack of labels for students with SEN without disability has promoted teachers’ commitment to effectively respond to diverse stu­ dents (Kanter et al., 2014). IE in Italy, although advanced, is still influenced by the medical model in the certification for the delivery of services, prevailing special education pedagogies, and discriminatory practices against SWD who cannot meet educational stand­ ards (D’Alessio, 2011). The case of Germany. The Basic Law foresees the protection of CWD in Article 3, which states that no one with a disadvantage or disability can be dis­ criminated. The Social Welfare Code IX regulates the provision of rehabilitation services and of equal opportunities for PWD (EASNIE, n.d.b). In Germany, IE started in the 1980s, through pilot projects aimed at converting general schools into inclusive schools. Currently, collaboration projects between general and special education schools support the development of inclusive practices. Teaching methods emphasize collaborative and differentiated learn­ ing, and teacher–student ratio has declined, thus offering better conditions for IE (EASNIE, n.d.b). School authorities, in collaboration with special education professionals, are responsible for determining students’ educational requirements and placement. A multidisciplinary group assesses students’ achievement and development biannually, whereas IEPs are designed once or twice a year (EASNIE, n.d.b). Students with SEN attend general schools if their educational needs can be guaranteed. Itinerant special education teachers and staff provide assistance and work collaboratively with general teachers. Support is provided within the gen­ eral classroom and in special education classrooms within general schools. These services are offered to students with identified SEN and to at‐risk students (EASNIE, n.d.b). Categorical special education schools are still very common in Germany, and most function as all‐day or boarding schools. Education is conducted in small groups or individually, the curriculum is supplemented with students’ specific requirements, qualification of studies is granted when coursework is completed satisfactorily, which often occurs in longer time periods. Special education resource centers support students with SEN enrolled in gen­ eral schools, special education schools, hospitals, and other institutions, offering preventive support, joint education, and PD, through a group of specialists (EASNIE, n.d.b). Most students attending special education schools do not con­ tinue attending or return to general schools (Powell, 2004). Nearly 500,000 students receive special education services, which represents 6.4% of the total school population (grades 1–10), and the majority of these (78%) attend special education schools (SSC, 2012). Compulsory education in Germany includes general education and vocational or prevocational training; for students with SEN, vocational training can be con­ ducted in general or special education schools, workshops, or training centers. All efforts are made to provide opportunities and accommodations for students

Advancements and Challenges for Inclusive Education: A Global Perspective Advancements and Challenges for Inclusive Education: A Global Perspective 59

with SEN to have access to the work environment (EASNIE, n.d.b). Nevertheless, most SWD (78%) do not obtain a secondary diploma (Powell, 2004). Teacher preparation in Germany is conducted at universities and teachers’ col­ leges. Special education teacher preparation is offered as initial university degree or as a course of specialization; requirements include general courses on educa­ tion and psychology and two areas of disability, practicum during coursework and practical training in school settings. State‐recognized agencies and universi­ ties provide in‐service teacher preparation (ITP) at the schools’ request, while teachers can also seek in‐service training opportunities. While ITP topics are varied, no specific plans to offer similar initiatives focusing on SEN or inclusion are currently in place (EASNIE, n.d.b). One of the major challenges for IE in Germany is the persistent tradition of educating SWD in highly specialized segregated environments. Even though laws and regulations have been issued to promote IE, as schools and communi­ ties have little evidence of its benefits, most continue reproducing the segrega­ tion model (Powell, 2004). The case of the United States. The Individuals with Disabilities Education Act Improvement Act enacted in 2004 regulates special education in the United States (Beratan, 2006). Its most recent amendment continues to require a free appropriate public education (FAPE) for all students identified as having disabili­ ties, a full continuum of alternative placements (CAP), and services from special education schools, to full inclusion services, and an IEP and placement for each student in the least restrictive environment (LRE). As an official definition of IE does not exist in the United States, the concept generally implies placement in general education classrooms, with 13 disability categories presently being recognized. The Department of Education reported a 15‐year (1985–1999) trend toward including more SWD in public general education classrooms (McLaughlin & Jordan, 2005). According to the recent statistics, this trend is continuing. In 2009, nearly 95% of students aged 6–21 years were educated in regular schools. This constitutes a 13% increase in serving SWD in an inclusive environment since 1999 (Institute of Education Sciences, 2013). Nearly one‐third of preschool SWD are included in regular settings as their primary placement (Odom, Buysee, & Soukakou, 2011). Three types of programs are dominant for teacher preparation: (a) discrete program, where faculty preparing general and special education teachers have little if any relationship; (b) integrated programs, where both faculties engage in intentional and coordinated efforts to accomplish a significant degree of curricu­ lar overlap; and (c) combined programs, which prepare general and special edu­ cators in a single curriculum, with a complete integration of courses and field experiences (Blanton & Pugach, 2007). At present, LRE requires that a CWD should be educated alongside children without disabilities to the greatest extent possible. In this regard, “full inclusion” as the sole option does not always provide the most appropriate accommoda­ tions for maximizing students’ social and academic development and conflicts with the overriding concern that finding the most instructionally appropriate fit is at the core special education (Kauffman & Badar, 2014). Thus, additional

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research is needed on examining how inclusion works, the necessary supports for inclusion, and the salient qualities of teachers and classrooms that character­ ize an effective inclusion program. The case of Canada. In Canada, the majority of provinces have moved to a full inclusion model, although some maintain a dual‐segregated inclusive system (Loreman, 2014). Formal categories of disability in Canada vary by province, with the majority recognizing around 10 (Loreman, 2014). There is also variation on the funding formulae and guidelines (McLaughlin & Jordan, 2005). Available data indicate that 26% of CWD in Canada are educated in segregated classrooms within general schools, and 6% attend segregated special education schools (Kohen, Uppal, Kahn, & Visentin, 2010). The remaining SWD receive educational services in a model similar to the US LRE. Unfortunately, in a recent study conducted by Kohen et al. (2010), many (31%) were found to be receiving inadequate access to services. Teacher preparation for special education is provided via two approaches, one of which focuses on diversity where preservice teachers can take coursework on IE, categorical special education, or differentiated instruction. The other consists of infusing content about special education, disabilities, and IE throughout the program (Loreman, 2014). In Canada and the United States, one of the most challenging issues is estab­ lishing how to provide IE in the context of the common core and increasingly high standards that are placed upon all students. In addition, there is a dichot­ omy in the types of educational services for CWD, ranging from segregated edu­ cational options to inclusive education. Arguments for one side or the other range from the option of choice and the provision of an appropriate education based on the needs of the individual (Gordon & Morton, 2008), to the stance that IE eliminates exclusion and should be the primary concern of educating SWD (McLeskey, Landers, Williamson, & Hoppey, 2012). Nevertheless, the educa­ tional outcomes of SWD and cost of programs will be the primary drivers of policy as the debate continues.

Conclusions At the beginning of the twenty‐first century, the most pressing issues toward IE at the global level were promoting social change, improving educational pro­ cesses and outcomes, and affording teaching resources for pre‐service and in‐ service teachers. In all regions, with the exception of Europe and North America, the designing or revision of policies to implement IE and to allocate resources was the mayor goal. In the Arab states, special attention was being given to pro­ moting improvements in access and retention in preschool and elementary lev­ els, as well as to improve literacy rates. This was also a pressing issue for the Asia‐Pacific region. In Europe and North America, lifelong learning, positive attitudes toward learning, and links among education, nutrition, and health were an important part of the agenda. Conferences organized by the UN have been a powerful stimulus for most countries to initiate or intensify their efforts to implement IE. Consequently,

Conclusions Conclusions 61

even developing countries have allocated a significant amount of resources to initiate this process, and the majority of the countries have made great progress legislating in favor of PWD. Nonetheless, further efforts are still necessary in developing regions to ensure that laws and regulations are implemented and reach the majority of the population. The challenges and obstacles regarding the effective implementation of inclu­ sive education globally vary from one country to another and continue to chal­ lenge policy‐makers and practitioners. These include but are not limited to issues of large class sizes, lack of support services, maintenance of traditional teaching methods, medical model approach to assessment, negative attitudes about disability, lack of parental involvement, and unclear national policies (Mitchell, 2014). In spite of the adoption of a policy of inclusive education through legislation and enacted policy in many countries, the gap between policy and practice remains significant. The reasons behind this discrepancy are in many cases common across countries. They range from economic factors, soci­ etal values, and beliefs, to parental resistance, fragile democratic institutions, and the lack of adequate preparation of professionals, schools, and communities (Mitchell, 2014). Some countries have implemented IE by creating teams of specialists to sup­ port general education. This model appears to be costly and marginally effective, as these teams can only offer attention to a few students. The generalization of this model, which would allow all schools effective access to these teams, demands an enormous investment that is unavailable in most countries. Investing in initial and in‐service general teachers’ preparation on IE, and offering teachers support on complex and specific cases through resource centers and support teams taking advantage of new technologies, appears to be a more effective approach for the long term. The agreements reached at the conferences organized by the UN have an important limitation—while the right of SWD to education is well established, the right to education in inclusive environments with adequate support is not sufficiently emphasized. In many cases, children may benefit more if they study in regular schools, although it must be admitted that this is not always the case, especially when regular schools do not provide the support they need to learn. As Kauffman and Badar (2014) pointed out, for students with severe disabilities, studying in special education schools may be a better option than integrating them into a regular school without resources. Greater international cooperation is needed to ensure that the philosophy and effective practices of inclusion spreads faster in countries with less devel­ oped educational systems, as well as to reduce the effects of poverty, cultural barriers, inequality, natural disasters, and political conflicts, in the advance­ ment of education in general and on IE in particular. As Mitchell (2014) con­ cluded when weighing the pros and cons of inclusive education, “… one has to look beyond the empirical evidence of educational efficiency to other more complex motivations for justifying the retention of non‐inclusive educational settings” (p. 301). Comparing progress across regions and countries is always a complex task, and requires a set of common terms to classify disability, as well as to refer to the

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various stages and modalities of the process of IE along with internationally ­validated indicators. This approach is similar to the EFA development index/EDI (UNESCO, 2015), but is also specific to the quality of attention of students with SEN. Such approach would be helpful, as it would allow gaining a better under­ standing of the progress countries are making toward offering quality, well sup­ ported IE. Interestingly, most countries discussed in this chapter would be categorized as having high EDI. However, in this assessment, Italy takes the lead­ ing position, followed by New Zealand, Germany, Australia, Saudi Arabia, Chile, Mexico, and the United States, in descending order, even though their advance­ ments in IE are rather different. It should be noted that exposure to the general education curriculum does not equate with access to the curriculum. In the past, special educators using a pullout service delivery model have at times failed to provide appropriate differentiated instruction. Similarly, special educators using a “push in” or inclusive service delivery model may also fail to provide appropriate instruc­ tion if they do not effectively implement necessary accommodations and modifications to allow the child with SEN to truly access and participate in the general education curriculum. There is also concern about the welfare of students with multiple disabilities or severe intellectual disabilities who can­ not access the general education curriculum, even with extensive supports. While these students constitute a small minority of the special needs popula­ tion, we cannot lose sight of their unique needs in the midst of the inclusion controversy. In most countries, the issue of teacher preparation and special education pro­ fessional training is still a pressing one. Even in countries with a long tradition in IE, such as Italy, preservice and in‐service preparation needs to be improved and intensified. In all countries, in developing ones in particular, further research is needed to elucidate the impact of inclusive practices and to identify culturally relevant best practices, so that IE can be adapted to each specific reality. Devising effec­ tive procedures to identify, follow up, and assess SWD is essential in meeting this goal.

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Naicker, S. (2014). Special education in South Africa today. Special education international perspective: Practices across the globe. Advances in Special Education, 28, 397–429. O’Neill, J. O., Bourke, R., & Kearney, A. (2009). Discourses of inclusion in initial teacher education: Unravelling a New Zealand “number eight wire” knot. Teaching and teacher education, 25, 588–593. Obiakor, F. E., & Eleweke, J. C. (2014). Special education in Nigeria today. Special education international perspective: Practices across the globe. Advances in Special Education, 28, 377–395. Odom, S. L., Buysse, V., & Soukakou, E. (2011). Inclusion for young children with disabilities: A quarter century of research perspectives. Journal of Early Intervention, 33(4), 344–356. ORS (Ongoing Research Scheme). (n.d.). Education counts. Statistics. Special education. Ongoing resourcing scheme. Retrieved from http://www.educationcounts. govt.nz/statistics/special-education/ongoing-resourcing-scheme Padin, G. (2013). La educación especial en Argentina. Desaf íos de la educación inclusiva. [Special education in Argentina. Inclusive education´s challenges.] Revista Latinoamericana de Educación Inclusiva, 7(2), 47–61. Powell, J. J. W. (2004). Special education and the risk of becoming less educated in Germany and the United States. CES Germany & Europe. Working Papers, 5(1), 1–25. Retrieved from http://biblioteca.universia.net/html_bura/ficha/params/ title/special‐education‐and‐the‐risk‐of‐becoming‐less‐educated‐in/id/52796800. html Rajakumar, P. (2006). Position paper 3.3. National focus group on education of children with special needs. National Council of Educational Research and Training. Retrieved from http://www.ncert.nic.in/new_ncert/ncert/rightside/ links/pdf/focus_group/special_ed_final1.pdf Ramos, L. (2013). Educación especial y educación inclusiva en Chile: ¿En punto de estancamiento? [Special education and inclusive education in Chile: At stagnation?] Revista Latinoamericana de Educación Inclusiva, 7(2), 37–46. Romero‐Contreras, S., García‐Cedillo, I., & Fletcher, T. (2013). The challenge of curriculum coherency and relevance in pre‐service teacher preparation for inclusive education in Mexico. In P. Jones (Ed.), Bringing insider perspectives into inclusive teacher learning: Potentials and challenges for educational professionals (pp. 103–120). New York, NY: Routledge. Rose, R., Doveston, M., Rajanahally, J., & Jament, J. (2014). What is effective inclusion? Interpreting and evaluating a Western concept in an Indian context. In C. Forlin & T. Loreman (Eds.), Measuring inclusive education. International perspectives on inclusive education (Vol. 3, pp. 37–51). Bingley, UK: Emerald Group Publishing Limited. Sánchez Bravo, A., Díaz Flores, A., Sahueza Henríquez, C. S., & Friz Carrillo, M. (2008). Percepciones y actitudes de los estudiantes de pedagogía hacia la inclusion educative. [Perception and attitude of training student teachers towards educative inclusion.] Estudios Pedagógicos, XXXIV(2), 169–178. SEP (Secretaría de Educación Pública [Secretariat of Public Education]). (2004). Plan de estudios 2004. Licenciatura en Educación Especial. [Curriculum 2004. Licentiate in special education.] México, DF: SEP.

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SEP. (2010). Principales cifras del ciclo escolar 2009–2010. [Main figures from the school year 2009–2010.] Gobierno Federal. [Federal Government.] Retrieved from http://www.snie.sep.gob.mx/princ_cifras/Principales_cifras_2009‐2010.pdf SEP. (2014). Resultados del cierre del levantamiento del censo de escuelas, maestros y alumnos de educación básica y especial. [Results of the census of basic education schools, teachers and students.] México, DF: SEP/INEGI, 10. Retrieved from http://www.censo.sep.gob.mx/docs/ResultadosdeCierredelLevantamiento.pdf SEP. (n.d.). Planes de Estudio 2012 [2012 curricula]. Retrieved from http://www. dgespe.sep.gob.mx/reforma_curricular/planes SSC (Secretariat of the Standing Conference of the Ministers of Education and Cultural Affairs of the Länder in the Federal Republic of Germany). (2012). The educational system in the Federal Republic of Germany 2011/2012. Bonn, Germany: SCC. Retrieved from http://www.kmk.org/fileadmin/doc/ Dokumentation/Bildungswesen_en_pdfs/dossier_en_ebook.pdf Sharma, U. (2014). Special education in Australia today. Special education international perspective: Practices across the globe. Advances in Special Education, 28, 623–641. Sharma, U., Moore, D., & Sonawane, S. (2009). Attitudes and concerns of pre‐ service teachers regarding inclusion of students with disabilities into regular schools in Pune, India. Asia‐Pacific Journal of Teacher Education, 37(3), 319–331. Singal, N. (2006). Inclusive education in India: International concept, national interpretation. International Journal of Disability, Development and Education, 53(3), 351–369. UNESCO (United Nations Educational Scientific and Cultural Organization). (1990). The world declaration on education for all. Meeting basic learning need. Retrieved from http://www.unesco.org/education/wef/enconf/Jomtien%20 Declaration%20eng.shtm UNESCO. (1994). The Salamanca statement and framework for action on special needs education. Adopted by the World Conference on Special Needs Education: Access and Quality. Salamanca, Spain: UNESCO (7–10 June 1994). Retrieved from http://www.unesco.org/education/pdf/SALAMA_E.PDF UNESCO. (2000). The Dakar framework for action. Education for all: Meeting our collective commitments. Adopted by the World Education Forum. Including Six Frameworks for Action. Paris, France: UNESCO (Dakar, Senegal: UNESCO, 26–28 April 2000). Retrieved from http://unesdoc.unesco.org/ images/0012/001211/121147E.pdf UNESCO. (2012). Global education for all meeting. Sub‐Saharan Africa 2012. Paris, France: UNESCO. UNESCO. (2014). Education for all: Regional report 2014 for the Arab States. Global education for all meeting, Oman. Retrieved from http://www.escwa.un.org/ information/publications/edit/upload/E_ESCWA_EDGD_13_1_E.pdf UNESCO. (2015). EFA global monitoring report. Education for all 2000–2015. Achievements and challenges. Paris, France: UNESCO. Yadava, S. (2013). Inclusive education: Challenges and prospects in India. Educationia Confab, 2(4), 39–46.

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4 On the Purpose of Schooling Inviting In, or Locking Out? Shelley Zion and Wanda J. Blanchett …“inclusion” means inviting those who have been historically locked out to “come in.” This well‐intentioned meaning must be strengthened. A weakness of this definition is evident. Who has the authority or right to “invite” others in? And how did the “inviters” get in? Finally, who is doing the excluding? The act of inclusion means fighting against exclusion and all of the social diseases exclusion gives birth to. (Asante, 2010) Throughout the world, racially, ethnically, culturally, and linguistically diverse children are being failed by educational systems that are supposed to serve them well. Accordingly, in many instances, these children are disproportionately ­overrepresented in special education or programs designed for children with disabilities (Bruce & Venkatesh, 2014; Gabel, Curcic, Powell, Khader, & Albee, 2009), or, depending upon the intersection of where they reside in the world and their gender, racial/ethnic, cultural, religious and socioeconomic backgrounds, they may be underrepresented in these programs or not served at all (Bruce & Venkatesh, 2014; Gabel et al., 2009). In the United States, this has been well documented for African American and other students of color, underscoring the failure of the system to live up to the promise of equal educational opportunities for all children. Throughout US history, marginalized groups that were excluded from the public educational system have not been invited in or included without litigation, and, even after winning decisions in the courts, the promise of inclusion has not been made a reality for all. For example, African American and other students of color are being failed by the American educational system, as evidenced by disparities in achievement and other metrics, and consequently, are being denied the high‐quality education promised in the historic Brown versus Board of Education decision (Blanchett, 2014). What is even more disheartening is the fact that despite litigation outlawing segregated schools in the United States, African American and Latino students comprise the overwhelming minority of the prekindergarten through grade 12 public school system in most large cities. Sadly, this trend has led to the resegregation of American public schools (Blanchett, 2009). Similarly, although the The Wiley Handbook of Diversity in Special Education, First Edition. Edited by Marie Tejero Hughes and Elizabeth Talbott. © 2017 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Published 2017 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

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Individuals with Disabilities Education Act (IDEA) guarantees students with ­disabilities and their families access to a free and appropriate public education in the least restrictive environment, many African American and other students of color who have been labeled as having emotional disabilities and placed in ­special education continue to be placed in the most restrictive special education placements. This means that they have limited access to their peers without disabilities and to the general education curriculum, frequently leading to poor post‐school outcomes. Since the majority of special education referrals in the United States are made by general education teachers, who often lack the skill and will to teach racially/ ethnically, culturally, and linguistically diverse students (and particularly those who also live in poverty), researchers have argued that the problem of disproportionality in special education is not just a special education issue, but rather, that it is an issue with the US educational and social systems. As noted by Blanchett (2014) and Zion and Blanchett (2011), the US educational system was never designed to serve all students, and has only come to be as a result of litigation, the US special education system is built on a foundation of exclusion. These realities have resulted in some researchers calling for the reform of the general and s­ pecial education systems to achieve more equitable opportunities for all students, especially those African American and other students of color identified as having disabilities. This creates a system that, in spite of rhetoric, policy, and legislation calling for equal access, does not result in equity in educational outcomes. Exclusion and discriminatory practice targeted toward a segment of a country’s population is not unique to the United States, raising the question of where to focus our efforts if we intend to create educational systems that meet the needs of all children. Rather than focusing our efforts on including children in a broken system, we might begin to take on the challenge of identifying and creating a system designed, from the outset, to serve all children. This reality raises the challenge in our global world of identifying and developing strategies to determine and then meet the purpose of school. In this chapter, we will bring a critical lens to this conversation, as we identify a historical view of schools designed to track and sort but propose a view of schooling that is inclusive of racial/ethnic, cultural, ability/disability, socioeconomic and gender diversity and is designed to empower. Philosophers have long argued about the purpose of schools; sociologists, theorists, and researchers (deMarrais & LeCompte, 1995; Kubow & Fossum, 2007; Spring, 2013) have named a set of purposes in which schools are organized, that include: ●●

●●

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An egalitarian concern, which focuses on the quality of educational opportunity and the potential of education to create opportunities for individuals and sees education as the great equalizer; An economic concern, with a focus on the economic vitality of the nation/state, to equip citizens with needed workplace competencies and skills; A civic concern, to ensure that citizens are prepared to participate in public life and to own the national identity or pride; A humanistic concern, focused on education as a fundamental human right, supporting the right of each individual to develop their highest potential.

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At face value, all of these purposes have merit, but a critical look at the implementation of educational systems that purport to fulfill these purposes highlights the actual outcomes of educational systems as being to track and sort, by focusing on the transmission of knowledge, the legitimation of knowledge, the socialization and acculturation of children, and selection and differentiation among children. It is also important to note that, when these purposes of schooling were being articulated and identified, despite the idealism inherent in some of them, schooling was never conceived as an aspiration for all citizens. Thus, in the United States, women, people of color, and individuals with disabilities were not included in the early conceptualization of schooling. This gap between stated purposes and actual outcomes underscores the same reality across the globe. It is our contention that, toward whatever purpose an educational system is designed, sociocultural, historical, and political notions and practices ensure that only some of a country’s population will be invited in and served well, while others are excluded and denied access, based on race/ethnicity, gender, religion, or class status, and that, in almost all cases, children with differing abilities are excluded. We will pay particular attention to assumptions and definitions about ability, and how those assumptions intersect with other variables (such as race, class, or gender) to create categories of marginalization. We argue that we have a global interest in creating equitable access to educational opportunity, but know that “by 2020, two‐thirds of the world’s population and three‐quarters of the global workforce will be comprised of disenfranchised and underprivileged populations” (Information Age Publishing, 2013) lending a sense of urgency to our work to develop clear frameworks for thinking about the purpose of schooling.

Analytical Framework Raymond Geuss (1981) described critical theories as designed to assist those who use them to determine what their true interests are by creating a reflective space in which to question dominant ideologies, by uncovering the roles those ideologies play in “supporting, stabilizing, or legitimizing certain kinds of social institutions or practices” (p. 15). Uncovering these ideologies allows us to uncover the issues of hegemony and social reproduction that contribute to ongoing oppression through the creation of self‐fulfilling prophesies. Within this theoretical framework, it is possible to uncover instances of domination and oppression, the role of power and privilege, and to understand how the hidden curriculum and reproductive nature of our school systems conspire to perpetuate inequities between members of dominant and marginalized groups. A central value of critical theory is a commitment to “penetrate the world of objective appearances and to expose the underlying social relationships they often conceal” (Giroux, 1983, p. 7). Historically, public schools have served the dual role of controlling and sorting children deemed problematic or undesirable by society—in the United States, the first public school was established in 1647 in the Massachusetts Bay Colony for the purpose of teaching students to read the Bible, so they would know the rules of their religion (Race Forward, 2013). In

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1779, Thomas Jefferson proposed a two‐track educational system with one track for the laborer and one for the learned. This system would allow a very small number to advance from lower to upper classes, by “raking a few geniuses from the rubbish” (Race Forward, 2013). In 1805, the New York Public School Society was founded who developed a model of schooling focused on obedience and discipline in response to what factory owners needed in workers. In 1851, the first compulsory education law was passed, with the goal of “ensuring that the children of poor immigrants get “civilized” and learn obedience and restraint, so they make good workers and don’t contribute to social upheaval” (Race Forward, 2013). Additionally, public schools have been used as an instrument of segregation and forced assimilation, beginning with laws that forbade slaves to learn to read, removed Native American students from their homes and placed them in boarding schools, outlawed the use of languages other than English in public school classrooms, and criminalized children who did not attend school (Gatto, 2005). The US public education system was developed with a set of purposes, explicitly stated in law and public policy, to control and sort students according to the needs of the state (Zion & Blanchett, 2011). Education systems in countries around the globe follow similar patterns, often originating in systems of colonization, extending through political and economic interests as nations work toward competition in global markets, and ensuring the creation and maintenance of existing hierarchies of oppression (Wickens & Sandlin, 2007). Bourdieu and Passeron (1990) explicated this idea within a framework of social reproduction, in which they named cultural and social capital as the means by which individuals in society contribute to their own ongoing marginalization or elite status, and situate the educational system as a primary institution that perpetuates the cycle of social reproduction of class and status difference. Cultural capital incorporates all of the individual advantages a person may have because of his/her education, knowledge or skills that enable him or her to achieve a higher status in our society, while social capital refers to those same types of advantages that are based on group membership (e.g., race, gender, class). Social institutions are set up by those in power, and thus are organized to support and value the types of cultural and social capital held by those in power. Ogbu (1987) uncovered examples of how voluntary and nonvoluntary minority groups assimilate or resist the dominant ideology presented in school, while Willis (1982) applied the analysis of resistance and reproduction to issues of social class. These theorists tended to view schools as the site of struggle, a place in which students must choose to engage with the dominant culture or choose to resist becoming a part of that value set. We argue that, in every educational ­system created, there are competing purposes; along a continuum, from state‐ sponsored economic and political goals, to those held by activists and reformers who advocate for education as an equalizer or fundamental human right. Too often, education reformers choose only one purpose of school as the framework for their argument for reform and, in doing so, fail to critically examine the ways in which the system was constructed, and toward what end. An example is clear in the current focus on preparing all children for college (a humanistic or egalitarian concern), without attention to the economic concern that our nation has

Defining Justice Defining Justice 73

an interest in ensuring that there are enough low‐wage workers to fill jobs in the service industry. This failure prevents efforts toward removing systemic barriers to inclusion and fully equitable participation by all in educational systems. In the next sections, we shall discuss a potential solution: social justice education. Adams, Bell, and Griffin (1997) defined social justice as both a process and a goal. The goal of social justice education is full and equal participation of all groups in a society that is mutually shaped to meet their needs. Social justice includes a vision of society that is equitable and all members are physically and psychologically safe and secure. (p. 14) Social justice education, as a theoretical framework, is emerging, building on fields of study including democratic schooling, multicultural education, and antiracist education among others. Promoters of social justice education are influenced by theories of hegemony, dominance, power and privilege, identity development, and the politics of recognition, and advocate for creating democratic schooling processes in which “we work together to negotiate an understanding of democracy and justice in relationship between teachers, students, and the broader society” (Henke, Lokon, Carlson, & Kreuzmann, 1998, p. 633). The frameworks that follow challenge the historical notions of schooling and create an opportunity for rethinking how schools might be structured to achieve the goal of equity for all students.

Defining Justice Philosophies of justice have been debated since 360 bc when Plato identified justice as being worth having not only for its outcomes, but for its own sake (Bloom, 1991) and have been rooted in issues of law, governance, economics, and religion. There has been much debate of the notion of justice as an issue of societal fairness that implies a moral value—the question has always been whose morals form the basis of the principles of society by which the social contract is entered (Hobbes, 1651; Locke, 1690; Rousseau, 1762)? Some question whether or not institutions can be just, or if justice is an individual moral principle, not applicable to institutions in our society. Others note that the determinants of a fair and just society include basic tests of the greatest good for the greatest number, and the well‐being of the least privileged minority groups (Rawls, 1971). Rawls (1993) proposed two principles of justice: ●●

●●

Each person has an equal claim to a fully adequate scheme of equal basic rights and liberties, which scheme is compatible with the same scheme for all; and in this scheme the equal political liberties, and only those liberties, are to be guaranteed their fair value. Social and economic inequalities are to satisfy two conditions: (a) they are to be attached to positions and offices open to all under conditions of fair equality of opportunity; and (b), they are to be to the greatest benefit of the least advantaged members of society (pp. 5–6).

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While these conceptions of justice create interesting space for conversation, a tension remains, because both of these are based on assumptions that some ­ruling class or majority decides what is just, what are the basic rights and liberties, who represents the interests of the least advantaged, and that all individuals will live up to some moral principle defined by the larger group. The changing natures of our diverse populations and questions about principles of democracy have led to a different conversation about social justice, rather than justice as defined by traditional and legal philosophers.

What is Social Justice? The trouble with “social justice” begins with the very meaning of the term. Friedrick Hayek, an influential critic of the idea, noted that many articles and books have been written about the topic of social justice, but that none offered a definition of it (Novak, 2000). It is allowed to float in the air as if everyone will recognize an instance of it when it appears. This vagueness seems indispensable. The minute one begins to define social justice, one runs into embarrassing intellectual difficulties. It becomes, most often, a term of art whose operational meaning is, “We need a law against that.” In other words, it becomes an instrument of ideological intimidation, for the purpose of gaining the power of legal coercion (Novak, 2000, p. 2). If we are to make progress in addressing the inequities that continue to be ­present in our educational systems by stepping outside of the historical purposes of school into new notions of public schools as an instrument for ensuring equity, we must define and make explicit our understanding of what social justice is, and develop concrete ideas about what it means to think and act in ways that are socially just so that practitioners and policy‐makers have a guide to their d ­ ecision making and action. The addition of the word “social” to the philosophical notion of justice allows us to discern between legal elements of justice, in which a society has set down a code of conduct that labels some behaviors as undesirable and allows the governing structures of the society to punish offenders, and broader notions of social justice as an effort to create communities which recognize and support the unique value of each individual within them. Kelso and Adler (1958) in the Capitalist Manifesto, focused on issues of economic justice, which fall under the broader umbrella of social justice, and identified three necessary components without which efforts at creating a just society would fail. They discussed the principle of participation, the principle of distribution, and the principle of harmony in terms of contributions to the economic system but argued that the principles are generalizable to efforts to create institutions that meet the needs of all participants. The principle of participation requires that there is true equality in opportunity to participate in the system; the principle of distribution requires that each person benefit from his/her input into the system; and the principle of harmony requires that there be a mechanism in place to ensure that inequity is not occurring in either the participation or distribution principles. In addition to understanding principles of social justice, we must look at ways of conceptualizing social justice.

Dominance, Power, and Privilege Dominance, Power, and Privilege 75

Howe (1997) identified three ways of conceptualizing social justice: formal, compensatory, and participatory. Formal interpretations focus on removing legal barriers to opportunity, by making discrimination based on gender, race, or ability illegal, while compensatory interpretations add the requirement of “leveling the playing field” by acknowledging that particular groups have been historically discriminated against and as such must be provided with additional assistance to have equal access to opportunity. Compensatory approaches include ideas such as affirmative action, preferential admissions processes, or laws such as IDEA. Neither of these two approaches addresses the question of whether equal opportunity to access the current system is what is desirable. A participatory interpretation of social justice does, in that it requires that not only do all persons have the right to equal educational opportunities, but that they also have a right to be part of the process of deciding what counts as an opportunity. Historically, notions of social justice have been primarily formal or compensatory, as laws are passed barring specific forms of discrimination based on race, ethnicity, gender, ability, sexuality, or other groupings. Much of the work of civil rights movements in various arenas focused on issues of compensatory social justice, including affirmative action, bussing, and equal opportunity employment policies. As a result, social justice has been defined as: Encompassing a variety of concerns about the lived experience of discrimination, oppression, and injustice and seeks to understand the complex intersections of a number of often overlapping categories of social identity and conflict, including cultural, ethnic, and racialized identities, gender, sexual orientation, class, and physical ability. (Lund, 2003, p. 4) These approaches have been pursued as an avenue for righting historic wrongs rather than opening up a new way of organizing our systems—they assume that access to the current system is desirable.

Dominance, Power, and Privilege Gramsci (1971) developed the notion of hegemony to explain the ways in which the norms and values of the dominant culture are imposed upon subordinate groups in a way that creates a socially constructed reality that all groups, in some way, subscribe to. The education system is key to the imposition of a hegemonic culture, as the values of the dominant class come to be seen as common sense or natural, and participation in the norms of dominant society are seen as the way out of oppression. It is important to examine the impact of oppression and hegemony in education (Tate, 1995) and to understand the role of power and privilege in perpetuating a system of racial borders and hierarchies (Ladson‐Billings & Tate, 1995; Lynn & Adams, 2002). Uncovering hegemony is complex, because it is based in ideas of common sense and as such is invisible to members of society, and requires that the “oppressed unknowingly participate in their own oppression” (McLaren, 1989, p. 173). This is evident in places where girls are valued less than

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boys, or students with disabilities are seen as needing vocational training rather than educational opportunity. Grant and Breese (1997) stated that “the person who is subjected to the conditions of marginality develops a reaction to these conditions, engendered by the various components of the conditions that can affect his/her performance in a given area” (p. 193). A social structure that supports dominate group values at the expense of minority group members creates an arena of marginality that causes inequalities of access to social resources and opportunities. Inequality of access constricts full participation in society and creates a psychological reaction to the marginalized status that then influences behavior. The development of positive self‐identity is then interrupted, as individuals in the minority group must struggle to create a sense of self in relation to the dominant group values. Often, this struggle to create a self‐identity that balances the individual’s need for cultural connection creates a form of conscious or unconscious resistance to the values of the dominant culture. Solomon (1992) identified the formation of oppositional group identity for minorities in that they create an opposing and dual‐cultural frame of reference: one proper way to behave for dominant group members and one that is only appropriate for minorities. This creates a situation in which those values held by the dominant group (such as valuing education), must be disdained. Brantlinger (1993) called this phenomena a “contradictory consciousness,” which she characterized as “sharing the dreams and values of affluent classes while resisting domination by such classes” (p. 7). Heath and McLaughlin (1993) suggested that this has a direct impact on the identity of minority group members, and in fact, causes them to retreat to the confines of their cultural group and distrust the possibility or desirability of becoming a part of the dominant society (Freire, 1985; Heath & McLauglin, 1993; Ogbu, 1987).

Identity and the Politics of Recognition The integration of excluded groups tends to follow a process of three steps: first via assimilation, in which “different” identities must be hidden from the public, then via group identity development, in which groups reclaim some sense of pride in their origins, and differences are seen as important qualities that can add something to our collective whole, and finally, multiculturalism, in which institutions must change to reflect the incorporation of diversity (Lara, 2002). This is the arena in which conversations about social justice become complex. Groups who have been marginalized have to, at some point, develop an awareness of the injustices that have been perpetrated against them, and develop an identity that allows not only for a renewal of pride in heritage, but a demand for equity. It is in this space that group identity becomes paramount, and claims for formal and compensatory social justice arise. This is an easy place to get “stuck,” as it creates a tension between the demands of the oppressed group and the status quo supported by the dominant group. In order for participatory social justice to happen, all participants must become aware of the hegemonic nature of society, and the ways that oppression is

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i­nstitutionalized, and create a third space where changes in participation, new conceptions of society, and true equity in access can occur. One of the biggest challenges in this arena is raising awareness of dominance in the majority ­culture, by creating ways to have conversations and create allies among the dominant group, by exploring concepts of privilege and power that exist simply by being a member of the dominant group. As Applebaum (2005) noted, the word ­dominance is difficult for members of the majority group to grapple with, as it conjures up ideas of overt, intentional efforts to control others. The majority of people may have a difficult time seeing themselves in that way, and thus have a difficulty owning this as an issue they need to address.

Social Justice Education The frameworks addressed in the previous sections all contribute to our overall understanding of the elements that must be addressed if we are to move toward developing a system of education that creates the opportunity for social justice to be realized. School reform, approached with these perspectives in mind, would include broad participation of all stakeholders, require honest assessments of the systems of power and privilege at play, and focus on both the process and ­purpose of schooling that: … includes both an interdisciplinary subject matter that analyzes multiple forms of oppression (such as racism and sexism), and a set of interactive, experiential pedagogical principles that help students understand the meaning of social difference and oppression in their personal lives and the social system … social justice education has the potential to prepare citizens who are sophisticated in their understanding of diversity and group interaction, able to critically evaluate social institutions, and committed to working democratically with diverse others. (Bell, 1997, p. xv) Our educational systems are not living up to the humanistic ideal of providing equitable educational opportunities for all students, and so we must find ways to reform the system to create equity. Systems change is a complex process, and must happen across all areas of a system to be sustainable, so efforts to implement social justice in education that only focus on a particular area of the system, such as personal beliefs, classroom strategies, or leadership are unlikely to create the level of sustainable change required to truly reform our educational system. The key to systemic reform is the coherence and alignment of activities across and within levels. As Miramontes, Nadeau, and Commins (1997) noted, “schools can make a positive and significant difference for students when educators account for the complex interaction of language, culture, and context, and decisions are made within a coherent theoretical framework” (p. 15). To engage in social justice, education requires a commitment to the construction of knowledge by sharing power and authority between students and teachers, challenging the hegemonic notions of what school is and should be, and giving up control of the curriculum and pedagogy of the classroom. Sharing power with students,

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and facilitating questioning of the political and social structures of school create a space in which students and adults broaden their understandings of themselves, the assumptions that society operates by, and the ways that the world works (Giroux, 1997; McLaren, 1989). Power is always an underlying issue in any relationship; it may not be something that we will ever eliminate, but we can try to understand it in ways that will prevent the silencing of voices and the elevation of a single point of view (Tierney, 1998). These theories provide a framework for understanding the social and institutional pressures at play that contribute to the continued marginalization of some students and offer avenues for our consideration as we move to thinking about ways to design educational systems that might break the cycle of inequity that plays out in our school systems. Additionally, they offer guidance as to what school could be, if we were to think about the roles of students as critical ­consumers of education and active participants in democratic society. As Banathy (1996) wrote: … even if people fully develop their potential, they cannot give direction to their lives, they cannot forge their destiny, they cannot take charge of their future—unless they also develop the competence to take part directly and authentically in the design of the systems in which they live and work, and reclaim their right to do so. This is what true empowerment is about. (p. vii)

Designing Social Systems “You see things and you say ‘Why?’ But I dream things that never were and I say ‘Why not?’ (Shaw, 1921, Act I sect. 1). Meaningful efforts at education reform should be grounded in an understanding of the nature of individual and systems change. Banathy (1996) developed a conceptual framework for learning and human development systems, meant to “enable designers to transcend the existing system, establish boundaries of design inquiry, and create some major design options of a desired future system” (p. 63). He named as problematic that our existing organizations were designed and developed in the nineteenth century and thus must undergo radical and fundamental changes to meet our needs in this twenty‐first century. Banathy (1996) has proposed that the fundamental purpose of systems design is to create new systems and that the most challenging aspect of designing social systems is in transcending the existing system. This is because people and systems are inherently resistant to change, particularly on massive scales. Banathy (1996) provided a framework for transcending existing social systems, by focusing on four dimensions: the focus of inquiry, the scope of inquiry, the interactions with other systems, and the type of system to be created, and expanding from a narrow focus on the existing system to a broad focus on the function and purpose of that system. By mapping the boundaries in this way, designers locate the areas in which they might focus and devise solutions. In this framework, Banathy (1996) presents an “option field,” with four possible options available in each dimension of the framework: the focus of inquiry option

The State of the Nations The State of the Nations 79

reveals the range of possible places to begin inquiry—most school reform efforts focus on the governance level, in terms of devising new policies, or at the administrative or instructional levels in terms of developing new practices to meet the constraints of the current system. Moving to the learning experience level allows the focus to switch to the purpose of the system, rather than assuming that the existing system should remain, and allows for the possibility that a new system be designed that is centered on the learner as the primary focus and purpose of the system, and to rethink the purpose of the system in response to learner‐ identified needs. The scope options indicate the context of the design inquiry—staying within the first two options (existing system and specific issue) limits the inquiry to changes within the system rather than opening the possibility for a redesign. Expanding the scope to either the community, or more broadly, all of society, extends the inquiry to include current context and sociocultural histories and allows for the possibility of a redefining of the purpose (social function) of education, development of new learning agendas, and new organization of the system (Banathy, 1996). The interactions options include the level of interaction between schools and other organizations such as social service, health, human development, and community agencies, and indicate a range of options from the minimal exchange of information to a complete integration of services. Again, the first two options might involve small adjustments in boundaries between organizations, but the last two allow for a redesign of the entire system, as we move from narrow definitions of systems and expand the possibilities for interactions with other social systems (Banathy, 1996). The system type option identifies the type of system in operation. Deterministic systems are closed, unitary, have clearly assigned goals, limit the freedom of individuals to select methods of work, and are mechanistic. Purposive systems are unitary, with the goals set by those in charge. They may be somewhat open and react to changes in their environment. People in these systems have some choice about methods and goals. Banathy (1996) placed our public education system in this level. Heuristic systems are those that are innovative, formulate goals guided by broad policies, are open to change, and are pluralistic and dynamic. Purpose seeking systems are those that are guided by their vision for the future, and as such are open and constantly evolving (Banathy, 1996).

The State of the Nations “Education is a mirror held against the face of a people. Nations may put on blustering shows of strength to conceal political weakness, erect grand facades to conceal shabby backyards, and profess peace while secretly arming for conquest, but how they take care of their children tells us unerringly who they are.” (Bereday, 1964, p. 5) Governments around the world have affirmed a commitment to equal opportunity in education, as 164 joined together in Dakar in April 2000 to adopt the

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4  On the Purpose of Schooling

Dakar Framework for Action, to achieve, by 2015, six “Education for All” goals: (a) expanding early childhood care and education; (b) providing universal ­primary education; (c) developing learning opportunities for youth and adults; (d) spreading literacy; (e) providing gender equality and parity; and (f ) improving education quality. To date, much progress has been made, but too many children and adults still fail to receive access to educational opportunity—in 2012, 58 million children aged 6–11 years were not enrolled in school, 63 million adolescents were not in enrolled in school, and 25% of all primary school children (or 34 million children) will leave school before completing primary school (United Nations Educational Scientific and Cultural Organization [UNESCO], 2014). Lest we assume that this is a problem only in developing countries, data on preprimary school enrollment (early childhood) shows that 35% of children in developing countries attend preprimary programs, 63% in transition countries, and 80% in developed countries. It is in looking at those who do not have access that we find the values of the country, who is in, and who is left out. Previously, 92 governments attended a convening hosted by UNESCO that resulted in the Salamanca Statement (1994), which explicitly addressed the need to provide public education for ALL children, regardless of disability status, in inclusive settings in “ordinary” schools. Similar work occurred in 1993, when 34 countries from the Americas participated in the development of a framework for supporting the rights of people with disabilities (the Declaration of Mangua). However, the United Nations estimates that less than 10% of students with disabilities attend school and only about 5% complete primary school (UNESCO, 2007). All of this shows that while governments across the world are consistent in their stated commitment to equal educational opportunities, failures to meet those commitments persist, even in our wealthiest countries—leaving many groups marginalized. It is difficult to measure the exact impact of these inequalities across nations, as intersecting influences of poverty, gender, race, ethnicity, location, ability, language, and other factors create and perpetuate cycles of disadvantage in education, but the following section explores various categories of exclusion, with examples from specific places.

Categories of Exclusion The marginalization that occurs in schools does not originate there, but reinforces other social systems and structures that create marginality, including social, economic, and political systems that limit the life chances of various groups of people. Schools, however, have the opportunity to serve as the place that can challenge these disadvantages, and create spaces for liberation and emancipation. This marginalization is not random—in some countries, the education of girls is less valued than the education of boys; racial, ethnic, or religious groups are systemically discriminated against in others, and in all education systems, families from the lower rungs of the class system have less access to education than those on the top. Globally, children with differing ability are excluded from education, as are those from rural areas or regions in conflict (UNESCO, 2007). The reasons for this exclusion vary, and are made more complex by the

Global Exclusion from Educational Opportunity Global Exclusion from Educational Opportunity 81

intersecting identity groups that any one child might belong to—but the nexus of the problem seems to sit at two points—the first is located in an issue of access created by income levels, and the second at the point at which we identify “ability,” as based on test scores or ideas of intelligence. This categorization of students as intelligent or not is the first sorting point, with other identities either compounding or mitigating “ability,” allowing, as Thomas Jefferson named it, the capacity to “rake a few geniuses from the rubbish” (Race Forward, 2013). Ability becomes code that allows the blame for failure in schools (and success in life) to be placed on those who do not succeed, and to credit, or “meritocrocize” those who do, masking the systems of privilege that confer status to some and bar it from others.

Global Exclusion from Educational Opportunity UNESCO Global Monitoring Reports (e.g., UNESCO, 2007) highlight the broad range of ways that nations across the globe exclude some students from education, as shown in the following examples from different parts of the globe. ●●

●●

●●

●●

●●

●●

In wealthy countries, school dropout rates show the impact of intersecting race, class, gender, and ability: in the United Kingdom and France, just over 10% of students aged 18–24 years leave school at the lower secondary level; this number is 20% in Italy and 30% in Spain. Indigenous students across the globe are far more likely to fall below the national average education level; in Peru, indigenous students average two fewer years of education than their nonindigenous peers. Girls from indigenous groups are doubly affected, with the likelihood of spending four fewer years in school. In Nigeria, over half of the educationally marginalized speak Hausa, but are only one‐fifth of the population; in Guatemala, Q’eqchi speakers have double the risk of being out of school. In Turkey, Kurdish speakers have a 30% risk of completing less than 4 years of schooling compared to 5% for Turkish speakers. The United States has 17% of low‐income students out of school, compared to 5% from other income levels. This is complicated by race, as double the numbers of African American and Hispanic youth are out of school. In Colombia, Mongolia, Nicaragua, the Philippines, and Viet Nam, the poorest 20% of the population are represented at twice their numbers in the bottom quintile of education access. In Malawi and Tanzania, children with disabilities are twice as likely to never attend school; in Bulgaria and Romania 90% of children aged 7–14 years attend school, but only 58% of children with disability attend. Income and gender also predict educational opportunity in Egypt, wealthy boys and girls average 10 years of school, poor boys eight, and poor girls five.

Thus, when it comes to deeply examining educational exclusion, it seems to matter less where children reside in our global society and more about what the intent and purpose of schooling really is and how as a global society we

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4  On the Purpose of Schooling

interrogate the societal, political, and economic systems and structures that continue to invite some children and their families in—while seemingly purposefully excluded others.

The Purpose of Schooling There will always be multiple and competing interests engaged in the endeavor of educating our world’s children—the education of a population impacts the economic and political structures in a society, informs national identity, and supports the success of the economic systems; but it is also, from an individual perspective, about meeting individual needs and providing equal opportunity. This creates a tension between what is espoused as ideal and what is real—the purpose of schools, as framed by the state, are often named in ways that are appealing—education for all, no child left behind; while reality incorporates both a need to meet societal outcomes and the fact that educational practices maintain the status quo (Kubow & Fossum, 2007). Education systems everywhere espouse a purpose of schooling as either egalitarian or humanistic, while enacting policies and curriculum that meet the economic and civic concerns of the nation. Using this framework to analyze education systems creates opportunities for reformers to be strategic in examining policy, and moving toward a desired state. Inclusion is most often used to describe efforts to educate students with disabilities in general education settings; however, if we are to create equitable access to education for all students, we must begin to explore a broader notion of inclusive education, focusing on the intersecting areas of marginalization and ending all forms of social exclusion. We argue that the purpose of education should be that of ensuring access for all students, and removing barriers to choice‐making. Our definition of inclusion should begin with a commitment to examining the purpose of schooling, and engaging a process of redesigning our education systems by applying a social justice lens to the work of education, by engaging conversations that allow us to examine the purpose of education, the design of our education systems, and the relationship between education and other social systems. Our current approach of relying on litigation to provide marginalized students access to a system that is fundamentally flawed will not result in lasting change to the system.

References Adams, M., Bell, L. A., & Griffin, P. (1997). Teaching for diversity and social justice: A sourcebook. New York, NY: Routledge. Applebaum, B. (2005). In the name of morality: Moral responsibility, whiteness, and social justice education. Journal of Moral Education, 34 (3), 277–290. Asante, S. (2010). What is inclusion? The Inclusion Network. Retrieved from http:// www.inclusion.com/inclusion.html Banathy, B. H. (1996). Designing social systems in a changing world. New York, NY: Plenum Press.

References References 83

Bell, L. A. (1997). Introduction. In M. Adams, L. A. Bell & P. Griffin (Eds.), Teaching for diversity and social justice: A sourcebook (p. xv). New York, NY: Routledge. Bereday, G. Z. F. (1964). Comparative methods in education. New York, NY: Holt, Rinehart and Winston. Blanchett, W. J. (2009). A retrospective examination of urban education: From Brown to the resegregation of African Americans in special education—it is time to “go for broke.” Urban Education, 44(4), 370–388. Blanchett, W. J. (2014). African American students and other students of color in special education. In H. R. Milner IV & K. Lomotey (Eds.), Handbook of urban education (pp. 271–283). New York, NY: Routledge. Bloom, A. (1991). The Republic of Plato (2nd ed.). New York, NY: Basic Books. Bourdieu, P., & Passeron, J.‐C. (1990). Reproduction in education, society and culture. London, England: Sage. Brantlinger, E. A. (1993). The politics of social class in secondary school: Views of affluent and impoverished youth. New York, NY: Teachers College Press. Bruce, S. M., & Venkatesh, K. (2014). Special education disproportionality in the United States, Germany, Kenya, and India. Disability and Society, 29, 908–921. deMarrais, K. B., & LeCompte, M. D. (1995). The way schools work: A sociological analysis of education (2nd ed.). White Plains, NY: Longman Publishers. Freire, P. (1985). The politics of education. Cambridge: Bergin & Garvey. Gabel, S. L., Curcic, S., Powell, J. J. W., Khader, K., & Albee, L. (2009). Migration and ethnic group disproportionality in special education: An exploratory study. Disability and Society, 24, 625–639. Gatto, J. T. (2005). Dumbing us down: The hidden curriculum of compulsory schooling. British Columbia, Canada: New Society Publishers. Geuss, R. (1981). The idea of a critical theory: Habermas and the Frankfurt school. Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press. Giroux, H. A. (1983). Theory & resistance in education: A pedagogy for the opposition. New York, NY: Bergin & Garvey. Giroux, H. A. (1997). Pedagogy and the politics of hope: Theory, culture, and schooling. Boulder, CO: Westview Press. Gramsci, A. (1971). Selections from the prison notebooks, in Q. Hoare & G. N. Smith (Eds.). New York, NY: International Publishers. Grant, G. K., & Breese, J. R. (1997). Marginality theory and the African American student. Sociology of Education, 7(3), 192–205. Heath, S. B., & McLaughlin, M. W. (1993). Identity and inner‐city youth: Beyond ethnicity and gender. New York, NY: Teachers College Press. Henke, S., Lokon, E., Carlson, D., & Kreuzmann, B. (1998). A conversation toward equity: A high school‐university partnership for democratic educational renewal. Urban Education, 32(5), 632–644. Hobbes, T. (1651). Leviathan. Retrieved from http://www.constitution.org/th/ leviatha.htm Howe, K. R. (1997). Understanding equal educational opportunity: Social justice, democracy, and schooling. New York, NY: Teachers College Press. Information Age Publishing. (2013). International advances in education: Global initiatives for equity and social justice. Retrieved from http://www.infoagepub. com/series/International‐Advances‐in‐Education

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Kelso, L. O., & Adler, M. J. (1958). The Capitalist manifesto. New York, NY: Random House. Kubow, P. K., & Fossum, P. R. (2007). Comparative education: Exploring issues in international context (2nd Ed.). Upper Saddle River, NJ: Pearson. Ladson‐Billings, G., & Tate, W. F. (1995). Toward a critical race theory of education. Teachers College Record, 97(1), 47–68. Lara, M. P. (2002). Democracy and cultural rights: Is there a new stage of citizenship? Constellations, 9(2), 207–220. Locke, J. (1690). Second treatise on civil government. Retrieved from http://www. constitution.org/jl/2ndtreat.htm Lund, D. E. (2003). Educating for social justice: Making sense of multicultural and antiracist theory and practice with Canadian teacher activists. Intercultural Education, 14(1), 3–16. Lynn, M., & Adams, M. (2002). Introductory overview to the special issue critical race theory and education: Recent developments in the field. Equity and Excellence in Education, 35(2), 87–92. McLaren, P. (1989). Life in schools: An introduction to critical pedagogy in the foundation of education. New York, NY: Longman. Miramontes, O. B., Nadeau, A., & Commins, N. L. (1997). Restructuring schools for linguistic diversity: Linking decision‐making to effective programs. New York, NY: Teachers College Press. Novak, M. (2000). Defining social justice. First Things, 108, 11–13. Retrieved from http://www.calculemus.org/lect/FilozGosp04‐05/novak.html Ogbu, J. (1987). Variability in minority school performance: A problem in search of an explanation. Anthropology and Education Quarterly, 18(4), 312–334. Race Forward. (2013). Historical timeline of education in the United States. Retrieved from https://www.raceforward.org/research/reports/historical‐ timeline‐public‐education‐us Rawls, J. (1971). A theory of justice. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Rawls, J. (1993). Political liberalism. New York, NY: Columbia University Press. Rousseau, J. J. (1762). The social contract or principles of the political right. Retrieved from http://www.constitution.org/jjr/socon.htm Shaw, G. B. (1921). Back to Methuselah. Retrieved from https://archive.org/stream/ backtomethuselah13084gut/13084.txt Solomon, R. P. (1992). Black resistance in high school: Forging a separatist culture. Albany, NY: State University of New York Press. Spring, J. (2013). American education. New York, NY: McGraw Hill. Tate, W. F. (1995). School mathematics and African American students: Thinking seriously about opportunity‐to‐learn standards. Educational Administration Quarterly, 31(3), 424–448. Tierney, W. G. (1998). Life history’s history: Subjects foretold. Qualitative Inquiry, 4(1), 49–71. UNESCO. (2007). EFA global monitoring report: EFA. Strong foundations: Early childhood care and education. Paris, France: UNESCO. UNESCO. (2014). Progress in getting all children to school stalls but some countries show the way forward. Retrieved from http://unesdoc.unesco.org/ images/0022/002281/228184E.pdf

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Wickens, C. M., & Sandlin, J. A. (2007). Literacy for what? Literacy for whom? The politics of literacy education and neocolonialism in UNESCO‐ and World Bank‐ sponsored literacy programs. Adult Education Quarterly, 57(4), 275–292. Willis, P. (1982). Learning to labor: How working class kids get working class jobs. New York, NY: Columbia University Press. Zion, S. D., & Blanchett, W. J. (2011). (Re)Conceptualizing inclusion: Can critical race theory and interest convergence be utilized to achieve inclusion and equity for African American students? Teachers College Record, 113(10), 2186–2205.

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5 The Cultural Understanding of Inclusion in Diverse Settings Support Services and Collaboration Vasilis Strogilos and Elias Avramidis

Over the last few decades, much research has been conducted on the ­development of educational, health and social services and their impact on the inclusion of students with disabilities in regular educational settings. One focus of this line of research has looked at the accessibility and overall quality of services provided to students with disabilities and their families and, in particular, how these can be maximized through the development of collaborative practices among service providers and between service providers and service users. As Lacey (2013) indi­ cates, children and adults with disabilities can have a multitude of different ­people working with and for them. These people come from a plethora of ­support ­services that usually constitute ­distinctive organizations, and could be school or community based. Support services could range from a local‐authority school, which employs class teachers, specialist teachers, and health professionals to Community Disability Teams or Child Development Centers that employ nurses, ­therapists, and social workers. In addition, support services may be run by one discipline, by cross‐discipline providers or run by one discipline but become the site for other disciplines to meet and work. This chapter reviews studies on the organizational development of support services and service providers’ collaboration with service users as a means to understand the process of inclusion for students with disabilities, including those from culturally and linguistically diverse (CLD) backgrounds, in cultur­ ally diverse settings. We consider “diversity” both locally and culturally in order to elicit the similarities and differences that exist among culturally diverse service providers and service users in different countries as well as within the same country. We contend that the way health, social, and school services are organized within and between countries is linked to the belief systems and deeply rooted practices on the education and care of students with disabilities, and largely reflect their organizational culture toward the inclusion movement. We use the term “organizational culture” to refer to ­culture in organizations (e.g., schools), which according to Ravasi and Schultz (2006) encompasses a set of shared assumptions, values, beliefs, and principles “that guide interpretation and action in organizations by defining appropriate behavior for various situations” (p. 437). The Wiley Handbook of Diversity in Special Education, First Edition. Edited by Marie Tejero Hughes and Elizabeth Talbott. © 2017 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Published 2017 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

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This literature review reported here pursued two main aims: (a) to under­ stand the development of support services internationally, and (b) to exam­ ine the nature of collaboration and the impact of support services operating in culturally diverse settings and involving culturally diverse service provid­ ers and service users. In particular, we sought to understand the ways in which the cultural and linguistic diversity of service providers, families, and ­students, as well as the diversity of organizational and professional views and dispositions on collaboration impact on the process and outcomes of support services. To this end, a review was conducted to present a recent overview of empirical studies examining the operation and outcomes of support services for students with disabilities. Databases, including ERIC and PsychINFO, were searched for relevant research conducted since 2000. Reference lists from all relevant articles found, as well as literature reviews (e.g., Dempsey & Keen, 2008; Harry, 2008; Sideridis, 2007; Sloper, 2004) were searched for additional references. For this review, studies were only included if they had a clear focus on the workings of support services for disabled students. Not included were (a) generic articles on  inclusion that only partly examined the development of support services, (b) studies with participants older than school age (e.g., exclusively on adolescents), or (c) studies conducted prior to 2000. To search for potential references the terms “support service(s),” “multidisciplinary collaboration,” “inter‐agency collabora­ tion,” “inter‐professional partnerships,” and “team working,” were ­combined with terms such as “disability,” “students with disabilities,” and “culturally and linguisti­ cally diverse families” were entered into the search engines. The c­ ombination of these key terms resulted in the identification of a huge amount of empirical stud­ ies and reports. Since the aim of this review was to examine the development of support ­services internationally, we decided not to include in the review all the empirical studies that we found in the literature search, but mainly indicative studies of different countries. In this respect, we also included international reports, since we felt that they provide important comparative information for the topics under investigation. Hence, this literature review is by no means exhaustive; rather, it provides a selective “snapshot” of the organizational development of support services in some countries. In Tables  5.1 and 5.2, we list all studies included in our analysis. Our analysis focuses on the characteristics of culturally sensitive collabo­ ration within and between service providers and on how this collaboration can improve access and participation for diverse service users. We believe that by examining research on the organizational culture of support services we can add to the cultural understanding of inclusion as a process related to structures and belief systems in different and diverse contexts. Understanding the develop­ment of support services as culturally oriented activities is critical in enhancing our knowledge toward the adoption of fruitful practices that could lead to the academic and social inclusion of children from a variety of different cultures and backgrounds. That is to say, the services provided to students with disabilities are culture‐bound, and their culture needs to be understood in order to interpret their effectiveness.

Interviews

Reports

Global Guideline Assessment

Questionnaires

Focus group

Review, survey and vignette study

England

European countries

Eight countries in the Americas and Asia

Pennsylvania, United States

Canada

10 countries

19 Pakistani and Bangladeshi families

Representatives from 25 European countries

Study I: 138 participants in five Latin American countries. Study II: 336 participants in four countries

1005 caregivers

90 service recipients, providers, advocates and decision‐makers

One administrator per country, three country visits

Bywaters, Ali, Fazil, Wallace, and Gurnam (2003)

EADSNE (2009)

Hardin and Hung (2011)

Mandell and Sazler (2007)

Matanga, Freeze, Duchesne, and Nyachoti (2008)

Rix, Sheehy, Fletcher‐ Campbell, Crisp, and Harper (2013)

Data sources

Country

Participants

Author/year

Table 5.1  Research Studies and Reports on the Diversity of and Access to Support Services

Lack of international coherence in the development of support services

Many different agencies with inconsistent, complex, confusing, and overlapping mandates

Provision to support students with disabilities with an immigrant background differs among European countries

Main results: Diversity of services

(Continued)

Problems for refugees and economic migrants to access services due to complex processes

White parents were more likely to join social support groups than African American parents

In most countries, quite inadequate information for access and equity to all groups through culturally relevant channels

Immigrant families do not use the support services as much as they could

Socially created barriers resulted in poor material circumstances and low access to appropriate services

Main results: Access to services

Document analysis

Multiple case studies

New Zealand

Greece

United States.

Case study, review

Teachers, health professionals and parents

Review

Strogilos, Lacey, Xanthakou, and Kaila (2011)

Welterlin and LaRue (2007)

Review

Data sources

Stangvik (2014)

Country

Eight countries

Participants

Sideridis (2007)

Author/year

Table 5.1  (Continued)

Some schools collaborate with outside services while in others services are located within the schools

Different organizations provide support with many overlapping and sometimes unclear responsibilities

Several differences exist among countries regarding the development of identification services for students with learning disabilities

Main results: Diversity of services

Immigrant families lack knowledge about how to identify appropriate social and health care services for their children

Main results: Access to services

Participants

Country

Five interagency teams

Five parents, nine students, and four teachers

Daniels et al. (2007)

Datta (2015)

Dempsey and Keen (2008)

20 professionals from education, health, and social care

Collins and McCray (2012)

Interviews

South Australia

Review

Observations and interviews

Interviews

Questionnaires

Data sources

United Kingdom

United Kingdom

Caton, Starling, Burton, 21 service providers North West England Azmi, and Chapman (2007)

Author/year

Issues of how expertise and specialist knowledge are claimed, owned and shared among services

Competing aims, issues of trust, information sharing and confidentiality among service providers

Main results: Collaboration among service providers

Strong relationship between services’ help‐giving practices and parent’s reported empowerment and control over important aspects of their lives

Parents, teachers, and students had different views on the influence of support services on students and families

Several issues of quality in the delivery of services (e.g., lack of resources and inconsistent application of assessment)

Main results: Collaboration between service providers and service users with disabilities

Table 5.2  Research Studies and Reports on Collaboration Among Service Providers and Between Service Providers and Service Users

(Continued)

Many services did not have special policies for diverse service users

Main results: Collaboration between service providers and culturally diverse service users

Participants

Representatives from 25 European countries

Two speech and language therapists and one teacher

10 educational psychologists

50 key workers Seven service managers 32 multi‐agency professionals

68 parents

Author/year

EADSNE (2009)

Forbes (2008)

Gaskell and Leadbetter (2009)

Greco, Sloper, Webb, and Beecham (2006)

Greco, Sloper, Webb, and Beecham (2007)

Table 5.2  (Continued)

England and Interviews Wales

Interviews

England Wales

Participants talk (spoken text)

Scotland

Interviews

Report

European countries

Midlands/ England

Data sources

Country

Positive outcomes by key workers and other interagency members concerning the organization and management of services

Professional identity of an educational psychologist was increased under interagency collaboration

Professionals keep holding their discrete disciplinary knowledge, while new context‐specific hybrid knowledge is also evident

Main results: Collaboration among service providers

Some parents had a vague understanding of the role of key worker and expressed confusion

Main results: Collaboration between service providers and service users with disabilities

Little emphasis is placed on educational provision for CLD students. In some countries, coordinators help families but more work and time is needed for collaboration

Main results: Collaboration between service providers and culturally diverse service users

115 teachers and school leaders

27 Parents in the United States and 47 in South Africa

Johnson (2003)

Kozleski et al. (2008)

Different priorities among each professional group

One of the main inhibiting factors was the sharing of different forms of professional knowledge and the different cultural work practices.

Questionnaires Professionals seemed to believe that collaboration increases the workload and the dominance of some staff over other

Focus groups

Interviews

Review

Global Guideline Assessment

Focus groups United States and South Africa

Australia

22 service providers Chile

Jenaro, Vega, Flores, and Cruz (2013)

United States

Eight countries in the Americas and Asia

10 health and social United professionals Kingdom

Early childhood professionals

Hymans (2008)

Harry (2008)

Hardin and Hung (2011)

Different understandings in the perceptions of service providers with potential negative implications to the delivery of services

Some professionals did not perceive collaboration with parents in their responsibilities

(Continued)

Inefficiencies on the interactions between CLD families and special education services

Positive practices but still issues of cultural misunderstandings and conflict beliefs in setting suitable goals

Service providers strive to provide equal access to young children regardless of their diverse background

Interviews, observations, document analysis

85 teachers

One administration 10 countries per country, three country visits

Nel, Engelbrech, Nel, and Tlale (2014)

Rix et al. (2013)

Review, survey and vignette study

Some evidence of positive outcomes for families with key workers.

Main results: Collaboration between service providers and service users with disabilities

Families continue to Barriers to collaborative services in primary English experience disjointed and inaccessible services schools

Main results: Collaboration among service providers

Professionals operating in a discordant system, often unaware that they are at odds with each other

South Africa Questionnaires Several challenges in the development of and focus collaboration among groups teachers and other professionals

England

Eight schools

Ethnography

Milbourne (2005)

United States, United Kingdom, Portugal

Data sources

Review

Three schools

Kugelmass (2006)

Country

Liabo, Newman, Stephens, and Lowe (2001)

Participants

Author/year

Table 5.2  (Continued)

Collaboration was a common feature across all cases with positive implications for students’ diversity.

Main results: Collaboration between service providers and culturally diverse service users

UNESCO (2010)

Sloper, Greco, Beecham, and Webb (2006)

Sloper (2004)

189 parents

England

England

Report

Questionnaire

Review

Interagency working is happening in a number of contexts but little evidence on its effectiveness. The extent to which key workers implemented the various aspects of key working was a strong predictor of family outcomes

Little evidence of interagency working in producing improved outcomes for service users

Limited resources, untrained professionals and insufficient instructional materials are easily evident. These universal issues appear to hinder the development of a meaningful collaboration between service providers and service users

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Inclusion and Support Services: Global and Local Understandings Inclusion presupposes a philosophy of acceptance, where all people are valued and treated on equal terms. It is seen as both a base for future school and child services development, and an unending process that fosters participation for all students. Inclusion represents educational and social improvement on many ­levels (Booth & Ainscow, 2011). Internationally, there are different understandings of inclusion and various ways in which it can be implemented in practice. These understandings could be grouped under two broad approaches: (a) the radical restructuring of the ­education and the related support services system (systemic approach); and (b) the implementation of additional special/inclusive service delivery programs within existing arrangements in general education and social/health care ­settings. In both cases, the developing role of support services and their impact on the education and care of all students, including those with disabilities, is important. Arnesen, Mietola, and Lahelma (2007, p. 46) state that “inclusion may be understood not just as adding on to existing structures, but as a process of ­transforming societies, communities and institutions such as schools to become diversity sensitive.” The proponents of radical restructuring of the education ­system believe that such a change would provide appropriate education for all students (Ferguson, 2008; Slee, 2010) and see specialized programs as a form of exclusion, even within a mainstream setting. On the contrary, those who support the continuation of special programs believe that special education is a service that needs to remain alive in m ­ ainstream settings, and that not all students’ needs are best served in mainstream schools. As Ainscow and César (2006) note, many teachers and disability‐focused ­organizations support the existence of specialist units in the mainstream schools, arguing that mainstream classrooms can never provide a full substitute. Zigmond and Kloo (2011) challenge the idea that special education is so “not‐special” that it can be delivered by mainstream teachers. They argue “that special education will not survive to serve the special needs of students with disabilities if it loses its identity, its special budget allocation, and its unique special requirements” (p. 170). The resurgence of special education imperatives has meant that inclusive ­education, despite its commitment to addressing the needs of all learners, is mainly implemented in the form of programmatic regularities, which fail to ­initiate broad school reforms. For example, Kugelmass (2006) notes that ­inclusive education in the United States is generally thought as an approach that serves children with disabilities in general education settings. Arnesen et  al. (2007) investigating the kinds of discourses that can be found in the Finnish and Norwegian curricula, also indicate that, even though equality and inclusiveness are strongly based on the human rights approach, there is also emphasis on ­individual students’ differences especially in their academic abilities. Deng and Poon‐McBrayer (2012), in their recent review on China’s policy on the ­development of inclusive education, concluded that: “Reforms of special ­education

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provision have been vigorous in China since the 1980s but … the main values of inclusion embraced in the West, such as equity and pluralism, have yet to be adopted in China” (p. 121). Smyth et al. (2014), in their cross‐national investiga­ tion on the development of inclusive education in four European countries (i.e., Spain, Austria, Ireland, and Czech Republic), identified a lack of reasonable accommodation for students with disabilities in all four countries, and concluded that “while there is apparently broad agreement at the international level about what inclusive learning environments should look like, there is considerably less agreement about how this can be achieved at national and local community level” (p. 10). Differences in the development of the support provided to students with disabilities were identified by Kozleski and her colleagues (Kozleski et al., 2008) in their cross‐cultural research between South Africa and the United States. The researchers reported that inclusive education in South Africa is based on a human rights agenda without a specific policy specifying the process by which this will occur, as is the case in the United States. Although the literature contains some studies that focused on the develop­ ment of inclusion through organizational changes in schools (Ainscow & César, 2006; Kugelmass, 2006) or looked at the development of support services as part of a broader systemic reform (Daniels et al., 2007; Leadbetter et al., 2007), most studies have considered inclusive initiatives and the development of support ­services as an “add on” approach to the existing structures. In these latter ­examples, inclusion is approached pragmatically in order to keep the traditional structures untouched (Stangvik, 2014; Strogilos, 2012). In conclusion, the implementation of international policies on inclusive ­education is closely related to the different understandings of disability and the meaning of inclusion in different societies. As such, plurality in the development of inclusive initiatives is justified and expected, since it appears that different countries interpret differently the international legislations that they have agreed to implement. In Stangvik’s words (2010, p. 353), “cultural interpretations of ­disability strongly affect opportunities for inclusion.”

Diversity of Support Service Support services based around schools and children’s centers are expected to provide education and care for students with disabilities and their families. Several examples exist in the international literature indicative of the diversity of these services and their variable effectiveness for students with disabilities. This discussion is a long‐standing one, with important implications for the construc­ tion of inclusion from a human rights perspective and, in particular, how the social participation and acceptance of children with disabilities is promoted and managed. Nowadays, it is very difficult to describe the diversity and levels of all support services that might exist between and within countries. Even in the same country, there is considerable variability in provision between authorities and differences between the same services in different authorities. McConachie (1999, p. 8), describing her experience of a meeting of service providers and

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­arents from 17 Western European countries, organized by the European p Academy of Childhood Disability, says that: In one country universal coverage of services for disabled children under 5 years old is a dream; in another every child expects a frequent home‐based therapy service. In one country the medical disability services are based in hospital outpatients and parents have an open choice of which specialist to consult … in many countries funding is split into separate budgets with the consequent difficulty of coordination between agencies… More recent reports on the development of services indicate a picture quite s­ imilar to the one McConachie (1999) described almost 20 years ago. Rix, Sheehy, Fletcher‐Campbell, Crisp, and Harper (2013), in their review on provision for ­children with disabilities in 10 countries, indicated that no two countries deal with the issue of provision, the nature of support, the mechanisms of assessment, resource distribution, in‐class support, or support services provision for children with disabilities in the same way. They identified an obvious lack of international coherence in the development of support services for pupils with disabilities. In a more in‐depth investigation of New Zealand’s support services for students with disabilities, Stangvik (2014) noted that there were a number of different organiza­ tions providing support to children and families with many overlapping and ­sometimes unclear responsibilities. Strogilos, Lacey, Xanthakou, and Kaila (2011) also identified different models in the integration of services in Greek special schools, since some special schools worked with outside services, while in others services were located within the schools, providing different ­opportunities to the integration of students with severe disabilities. The diversity of services both between and within countries becomes even more complicated for students with disabilities who have a CLD background. A report from the European Agency for Development in Special Needs Education (EADSNE, 2009) indicated that provision to support students with disabilities with an immi­ grant background differs among European countries and often addresses only one of the two characteristics of the target group. Even though in most European countries students with disabilities with an immigrant ­background are entitled to the same types of educational provision and services as with the students of the host country, attention in these services is paid either to their special needs or to their immigrant background. Similarly, Sideridis (2007) noted several differences in the development of identification services for students with learning disabilities across eight coun­ ­ ulticultural, political, linguistic, and economic factors tries. He concluded that m seem to influence the identification practice and remediation services, especially in countries that have to deal with the education of minority/immigrant groups.

Access to Support Services Even though the diverse development in the delivery of services is expected and justified, there are obvious difficulties in service users’ access and usage due to this diversity. As several international and country reports note, equal access and

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meaningful usage of health and social services for students with disabilities and their families remains a challenge. This challenge is more evident for students with disabilities from a culturally diverse background (CLD) when considering that the development of support services in a country is usually constructed through the societal values, experiences and meanings of the people of the domi­ nant culture. A cross‐cultural comparison of services in early childhood care and education for young children with disabilities across eight countries in the Americas and Asia by Hardin and Hung (2011) indicated that professionals strive toward providing equal access to young children regardless of ethnicity, religion, ­ ­language, gender, and socioeconomic status. In particular, insufficient resources and ineffective policies were identified as the main barriers to services, especially in rural communities. In addition, in most countries the professionals rated as “quite inadequate” the information provided to service users regarding the opportunities for access to equitable services made available to all groups through culturally relevant and effective media channels. In many European countries, as the EADSNE (2009) indicates, the families of children with disabilities with an immigrant background do not use the support services as much as they could. This inconsistency is attributed to language issues, difficulties in understanding how services operate in the host country, unfamiliarity in using support services in their country of origin, or even fear that they might be sent away from the host country if they make excessive demands. Research studies focusing on the issue of equity and accessibility in the delivery of health and social services within specific countries also indicate barriers in providing support for children with disabilities with a diverse background. Bywaters, Ali, Fazil, Wallace, and Gurnam (2003) found little evidence that ­religious beliefs and associated attitudes of Pakistani and Bangladeshi parents in England constitute the main factors in the low take‐up of social services offered to these families. On the contrary, they claimed that socially created barriers such as institutional and structural racism resulted in poor material c­ ircumstances and low access to appropriate services. In addition, none of the families in their sample had links with any organization of and for families with children with ­disabilities. According to these researchers, this provides further evidence of the predominantly white membership and orientation of the disability rights move­ ment in minority ethnic communities. Welterlin and LaRue (2007), in their literature review on practical and cul­ tural barriers to mental health access among immigrant populations also indi­ cated that there is an additional barrier in accessing appropriate services for immigrant families with children with autism in the United States. This diffi­ culty was attributed to differences in the perspectives held by immigrant fami­ lies served by Western practitioners, as well as to the families’ psychological, social, and ­economic difficulties. It seems that, in comparison to families belonging to the dominant culture, immigrant families lack knowledge about how to identify appropriate social and health care services for their children. Similarly, Mandell and Sazler (2007), investigating the participation of parents with children with autism in social support groups in Pennsylvania, United States, reported that  white parents were more likely to join these groups.

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In  addition, poor, less‐­ educated, urban and rural residents and African American parents believed that these groups would not address their specific needs. Their results highlight the importance of service providers making sup­ port groups available to these underserved families by facilitating this process as part of their effort to expand the continuum of care. Matanga, Freeze, Duchesne, and Nyachoti (2008), in an in‐depth investigation of the experiences of social service recipients with disabilities and parents of chil­ dren with disabilities who are also recent refugees or economic migrants, found several barriers associated both to service providers and the individuals seeking services. Even though they reported that many newcomers find it ­difficult to understand the Canadian social service system, they attributed this difficulty to service providers who adopt a gatekeeper rather than a helper role. They also noted many problems for refugees and economic migrants to access social ­services due to complex application processes, which often involved different agencies with inconsistent, complex, confusing, and overlapping mandates. Since research has constantly pointed to the issue of unequal access for ­students with disabilities from a culturally diverse background, understanding the charac­ teristics of services in conjunction to the characteristics of students who are using them is critical. The literature in this area mainly stresses the value of collaboration among different service providers (education, health, social ­ ­services) and users as a prerequisite in providing the best culturally sensitive service possible.

Culturally Sensitive Collaboration and Integrated Services In many countries, policymakers are now seeking to integrate support services to schools, thus cutting across their previously established disciplinary functioning through co‐location and collaboration. Nowadays, better collaboration among professionals from different services and between service providers and service users is a policy priority in many countries. This is based on the premise that collaboration has the potential to lead to effective integrated services, which, in turn, promotes inclusion and social justice. The term collaboration implies a style of interaction used to describe ­predefined mutually agreed shared processes among different participants in various ­contexts. In education, health, and social care, collaboration involves a shared ­process of interaction among different participants in the same or different ­context such as students, teachers, policymakers, health and social professionals, and students’ parents. Lawson (2004, p. 227) asserts that “Collaboration is in evidence when interdependent, autonomous stakeholders with their respective competency domains mobilize resources, and both harmonize and synchronize their operations to solve shared problems, meet common needs, capitalize on important opportunities, and obtain prized benefits.” Collaboration as the most sophisticated level of interagency relationship (Osher, 2002) is a complex ­intervention with both process and product innovation components.

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It seems that there is a consensus among researchers that inter‐professional and interagency collaboration can lead to appropriate practices with positive outcomes for schools, service providers, students with disabilities, and their ­families. Kugelmass (2006) in her ethnographic study of three inclusive schools in the United States, United Kingdom, and Portugal, found collaboration to be a common feature across all cases, with positive implications for students’ ­diversity. As she noted: “each school developed somewhat different means for supporting its inclusion philosophy. These structures were, however, characteristically ­collaborative … Collaboration, collegiality and compassionate care characterized these dimensions across three very different settings, and provided linkages for cohesiveness within and across contexts” (pp. 286–287). Despite the high level of consensus which exists for collaboration as a means to inclusion, concern con­ tinues regarding its implementation as a strategy that leads to integrated services due to the several barriers both among culturally diverse service providers and service providers and users. In our discussion, we apply the term “culturally sensitive collaboration” as a necessary requirement both among professionals from different disciplines, and between professionals and service users who do not belong to the dominant ­culture. We consider that it is important to understand not only the cultural diversity that exists among service users, but also to disentangle the cultural dif­ ferences that exist among professionals from different disciplinary domains and their influences on the services’ organizational development and collaboration.

Collaboration Among Culturally Diverse Professionals The differences between health, education, and social professionals are, ­according to Lacey (2013), an important barrier to collaboration, which could be attributed to the different forms of professional knowledge acquired from different training routes, and to the separate management arrangements that professionals have. According to Osher (2002, p. 96), “particular barriers to collaboration include the fact that collaboration must take place between and among culturally diverse stakeholders who often have a history of poor relations and are divided ­themselves by their current access to privilege, power, and resources.” Johnson’s (2003) study in four Australian schools is indicative of the difficulties professionals experi­ enced in their attempt to work collaboratively. Even though most teachers talked positively about collaboration, indicating that they learn from each other, a ­considerable number of them seemed to believe that collaboration increases the workload and the dominance of some staff over other. These teachers also believed that collaboration develops a divisive competition among team ­members in which some members lose their autonomy and conform to the decisions of the team. The author attributed these findings to the micropolitics of local school reform, and raised concerns about the attempt of some teams to silence dissent with ­negative implications to personal and professional lives of a minority of teachers. A review of the facilitators and barriers for coordinated interagency services, as part of evidence gathering for the Children’s National Service Framework in

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the United Kingdom by Sloper (2004) indicated that, even though interagency working is happening in a number of contexts, there is little evidence of its ­effectiveness, particularly in producing improved outcomes for service users. She noted that there is a paucity of outcome data, and considerably more e­ vidence on the process of interagency working, and concluded that “It is clear from the evidence that developing and implementing inter‐agency services require alloca­ tion of resources, including staff time and provision of administrative support. In addition, financial uncertainties, short‐term funding and lack of joint and ­equitable budgets between partners are barriers to joint working” (p. 578). Also, she highlighted that understanding, respecting, and valuing the roles of other professionals is important, since professional and agency cultures can facilitate joint working. Hymans (2008), in examining how professionals in an interagency family ­support team construe their role and the role of the team, found the sharing of different forms of professional knowledge and the different cultural work ­practices as one of the main inhibiting factors for interagency working. Barriers to interagency working were also identified by Collins and McCray (2012) in exploring the experiences of practitioners working in an interagency context— the common assessment framework—in a single geographical region in the United Kingdom. In particular, they described competing aims, objectives, and priorities among professionals, poor quality in the delivery of services due to lack of resources, and inconsistent application of assessment, professional differences in collective practice, issues of reciprocity, trust, information sharing and ­confidentiality among service providers. As they argued, interagency working in practice is not yet the inclusive process envisaged in policy documents and, thus, they questioned the quality of services offered to children and their families under the existing structures. Similar difficulties in inter‐professional collaboration, which highlight the diversity that exists among professionals from different disciplines, have been identified in school settings. As Rix et al. (2013) indicate, there is a mix of s­ upport provided to schools from health and social services, since these services could either be located within schools or support schools as visiting agents. In this respect, support from social and health services is provided either toward school staff or students and their families. In their cross‐national investigation on ­provision for students with disabilities in 10 countries, they identified that ­professionals are operating in a discordant system, often unaware of how much they are at odds with each other, and attributed this disjunction to the different models of thinking which different practitioners in different services utilize. Nel, Engelbrech, Nel, and Tlale (2014) identified several challenges in the development of collaboration among teachers and other professionals in South African schools. Among their findings, they indicated that poor support struc­ tures and educators’ belief that they are not adequately trained to play an equal role in collaboration partnership hindered the development of an interdiscipli­ nary approach in school settings. Milbourne (2005) also identified barriers to collaborative services in primary English schools in a deprived urban area for ­ rofessionals, children at risk of school exclusion. Even though she recognized that p by engaging in interagency work, were freed, to some extent, from the r­ estrictions

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of their delineated professional practices, her study indicated that families who are most in need continue to experience disjointed and inaccessible services. She argued for flexible developmental work among professionals, despite being costly in terms of time and depends heavily on their efforts, values, and expertise. Issues of how expertise and specialist knowledge are claimed, owned, and shared among education, health, and social professionals were also elicited in Daniels et al.’s (2007) study. They argued that the key to understanding the inter­ agency functioning is to examine the philosophies and beliefs about being a ­professional and about working with other professionals with different priorities (e.g., divergent targets), values, and systems. In their interventions across a series of workshops in United Kingdom Local Authorities, they observed that “partici­ pants have shown a concern to reconstruct readings of current practices and have repeatedly emphasized processes of coming to know the potential networks or ‘trails’ of colleagues” (p. 533). They consider this change as an important ­precursor to effective interagency working. As Forbes (2008) notes, professional demarcation is currently working against teamwork. In her small‐scale in‐depth analysis of working practices between teachers and a speech therapist in a Scottish school, she observed that ­professionals keep holding their discrete disciplinary knowledge, while new context‐specific hybrid knowledge to address practical problems was also ­ ­evident. She argued that “in their joined practical endeavor of planning and implementing IEPs in school sites, interdisciplinary support teams of this type need to continue to build their context specific hybridized knowledge” (p. 152). Gaskell and Leadbetter (2009), investigating the professional identity of 10 ­educational psychologists in Mindlands/United Kingdom, found that the profes­ sional ­identity of an educational psychologist was increased under interagency working arrangements. They argued that it is important to retain and enhance perceptions of professional identity (e.g., perceptions of value and distinctiveness of contribution to interagency working, time to appreciate unique role within the multiagency team, opportunities to develop an understanding of other ­professional roles and perspectives through working together) as a key factor underpinning positive professional attitudes and organizational culture. The findings of the preceding studies indicate obvious barriers to the ­development of integrated services due to the cultural diversity that exists among professionals from different disciplines. These barriers have negative implica­ tions to the process and outcomes of collaboration both for service providers and service users.

Culturally Sensitive Collaboration Between Service Providers and Service Users There is a vast body of research suggesting that the relationship between service providers and service users is complex, multifaceted, and still highly problematic (Collins & McCray, 2012; Dempsey & Keen, 2008; Harry, 2008; Jenaro, Vega, Flores, & Cruz, 2013; Lacey, 2013). Understanding the nature of this relationship has been under discussion for many years, but there are still many unanswered

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questions with regard to effective processes and outcomes for children with ­disabilities and their families. As Keen (2007) indicates, it is vital that decision‐ making and planning toward mutually agreed‐upon goals are shared among ­parents and professionals and that their relationship is underpinned by mutual respect, trust, open communication, and honesty.

Collaboration Between Service Providers and Service Users With Disabilities A review of processes and outcomes in family‐centered services for children with disabilities by Dempsey and Keen (2008) revealed a small research base from which to understand the relationship between service delivery processes and their outcomes to service users. As these researchers report, the relationship between processes within services and their outcomes to families is complex, and yet to be fully understood. Among their findings, they identified a strong relationship between services’ help‐giving practices, (e.g., needed resources, comfort, participation, autonomy) and parent’s reported empowerment and control over important aspects of their lives. This important finding was true for many cultural backgrounds and for families with a wide variety of demographic characteristics. The quality of services provided to students with disabilities and their parents was also investigated in Collins and McCray’s (2012) small‐scale study in England. In particular, they stressed that the new government practices have left partnerships with service users underdeveloped and “their needs and wishes secondary to practitioners’ and services’ targets” (p. 137). They observed several issues of quality in the delivery of services such as restricted funding opportunities, lack of resources, inconsistent application of assessment, discrep­ ancy between the high expectations of service users and practitioners, and exerted time bureaucratic pressures to practitioners, which were negatively ­perceived to impact on the quality of services they were able to deliver. Datta (2015) researched the effectiveness of support services to students with intellectual disabilities in South Australian secondary schools. In her study, ­students, parents, and teachers voiced their concerns about the influence of ­support services, which interestingly was found to be perceived differently among the three groups of participants. In particular, parents, teachers, and ­students with intellectual disability had different views on the influence of sup­ port services on the students’ problem‐solving ability and their social and family lives. Similarly, Jenaro et al. (2013), in their investigation on service providers’ perceptions regarding the quality of life of persons with intellectual disability and the quality of services they provide in Chile, identified different priorities among each professional group (i.e., psychologists, social workers, physiotherapists, care staff, managers, teachers, occupational therapists). In particular, each pro­ fessional group had its own agenda of priorities with regard to the support required, whereas different and potentially conflicting perceptions concerning what experiencing quality of life (e.g., social inclusion, self‐determination) for persons with intellectual disability coexisted. The preceding findings show

Collaboration Between Service Providers and CLD Families of Children With Disabilities Collaboration Between Service Providers and CLD Families of Children With Disabilities 105

different understandings in the perceptions of service providers with potential negative implications for the delivery of services.

Collaboration Between Service Providers and CLD Families of Children With Disabilities Research studies focusing on the collaboration of schools and support services with service users who do not belong to the dominant culture indicate quite ­similar problems, because professionals usually serve individuals from different cultures to their own. As Cartledge, Kea, and Simmons‐Reed (2002) noted almost 15 years ago, service providers do not provide services in a culturally sensitive way or by culturally competent practitioners. Even though this important issue is embedded in the literature that goes back to the early 1980s, we still have much to learn. Collaboration with CLD service users should include among other things the recognition of the different views that service users have in understanding the meaning of disability, respect of the cultural diversity of the service users, under­ standing of their experiences within their own sociocultural context, and their active involvement in decision‐making according to their cultural views. However, as Olivos, Gallagher, and Aguilar (2010, p. 31) argues: … in order to bring the family of a child identified with a disability into collaborative relationships with special education professionals, we must begin to develop a view of the family that extends beyond its CLD status or its socioeconomic status and consider the family in a holistic fashion— as an entity existing with a social context that is characterized by different levels of multifaceted and complex social support. Harry (2008), in her review on collaboration between school services and CLD families—which mainly included studies from the United States—concluded that, even though positive practices are evident, there are still issues of cultural misunderstandings and mistrust, deficit views of these families, and conflict beliefs in setting suitable goals for persons with disabilities from a culturally diverse background. Kozleski et  al. (2008) also identified inefficiencies on the interactions between CLD families and special education services in their cross‐ cultural research in the United States and South Africa. In particular, they argued that “although South Africa and the United States differ dramatically in their gross national products, many strains experienced in both settings result from inefficiencies in system capacities, such as information management, personnel preparation, and resource distribution” (p. 33). As a UNESCO (2010) report indicates, even in countries where services are available, issues of limited resources, untrained professionals and insufficient instructional materials are easily evident. These universal issues appear to hinder the development of a meaningful collaboration between service providers and service users. In European countries, there are many differences with regard to

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collaboration between schools, health and social services, and parents with ­students with disabilities from a minority background, even among schools in the same country. According to the EADSNE (2009), even though all European countries place emphasis on active interagency cooperation, in many countries the lack of sufficient collaboration between services seems to be the main obsta­ cle to the quality of the education provided to pupils with disabilities who are from an immigrant background. In addition, even though most countries place emphasis on disseminating information to immigrant parents (e.g., written materials in different languages, interpreters in schools, and home communica­ tion including parent–teacher meetings, organization of information days at local or school level to give information about the host country’s educational system), little emphasis is placed on their educational provision. However, Caton, Starling, Burton, Azmi, and Chapman (2007) argue that ­simple adaptations such as translated leaflets and interpreters who are not knowledgeable of the services’ organizational function and culture are not enough to respond effectively to the needs of diverse service users. In their ­survey on the responsiveness of learning disability services for people with learn­ ing disabilities from minority ethnic communities in the North West/United Kingdom, they indicated that organizational culture played an important part in the responsiveness of services, which was not governed by policy but was part of the culture of the organization. In particular, they referred to some services which sought to recruit from the local area in order for service providers to share similar background to service users. The close connection of service providers with the local community is considered important to the understanding of diverse families’ culture. Even though research in this area is limited, Wall, Davis, Crowley, and White (2005), in their research in an urban area in the United States, found that one of the strengths of paraeducators was their close connec­ tion to the community. The researchers concluded that paraeducators who share a common cultural or linguistic background with the students bring unique strengths to the service team. It is surprising that Hardin and Hung (2011) in their cross‐cultural compara­ tive study of early‐years services in eight countries identified some professionals who did not perceive collaboration between service providers and parents of children with disabilities as part of their responsibilities. They also noted that parents have a limited voice in decision‐making, and identified local government policies, cultural beliefs, and funding restrictions as additional problems to ­collaboration between service providers and service users. In addition, they indi­ cated that in most countries there was no identified person (key worker) for planning, coordinating, and monitoring the delivery of services even though Liabo, Newman, Stephens, and Lowe’s (2001) review provides some evidence of positive outcomes for families with key workers such as reduced level of stress, and quicker access to and better relationships with services. As Lacey (2013) notes, from the literature on services coordination, it can be concluded that parents have to deal with a badly coordinated bewildering of ­services. As she argues, parents would like one person to assist them by being good listeners, possessing counseling skills, being knowledgeable about child development, and the appropriate services available for families to access.

Concluding Remarks Concluding Remarks 107

Even though, in some European countries, coordinators specifically plan and develop the education of students with disabilities with an immigrant ­background, more work and time is needed to meaningfully improve the collaboration between parents and services (EADSNE, 2009). More specifically, in a research study in England and Wales on the characteristics of key workers schemes for children with disabilities, Sloper and her colleagues (Sloper, Greco, Beecham, & Webb, 2006) found that the extent to which key workers implemented the v­ arious aspects of key working (e.g., emotional support, advice, information about services, coordinating care) was a strong predictor of family outcomes. In ­ ­addition, when key workers had appropriate amounts of contact with families, regular training, peer support, focused supervision by dedicated service manag­ ers and a clear job description, families reported better outcomes. Similar views were reported in Greco, Sloper, Webb, and Beecham’s (2006) study by key workers and other interagency members concerning the organiza­ tion and management of services for students with disabilities in England and Wales. Furthermore, they identified conflicting views in the understanding of the key worker’s role as the latter expressed uncertainty about how families and other professionals understand their role. Interestingly, this finding was evident on the views of parents with a child with a disability who were users of the same key worker schemes in England and Wales (Greco, Sloper, Webb, & Beecham, 2007). Some parents had a vague understanding of the role of key worker and expressed confusion due to the limited amount of information they had received. Even though the preceding studies do not discuss the collaboration of key workers with service users with a diverse background, their results are indicative of the importance of the key worker’s role. It is vital that the collaboration between key workers and service users with a diverse background is imple­ mented in a culturally sensitive way in order to bring together culturally diverse professionals and parents. However, if we consider that we define practice as effective according to our own culture, values, attitudes, and individual profes­ sional style, it is easy to understand that there is currently a difficulty in assessing the effectiveness of collaboration and its outcomes between service providers and service users from diverse backgrounds. In this respect, the need for cultur­ ally competent practitioners is more demanding than ever, since few research studies that exist in this area have questioned the quality of services offered to children and their families under the existing structures. Thus, the goal of inte­ grated support services that are culturally sensitive and treat all families equally remains unfulfilled.

Concluding Remarks In this chapter, we synthesized research reports from different countries in order to understand the process and impact of support services within the interna­ tional inclusion movement. Since the trends of the inclusion movement cross cultural boundaries and geographic contexts, it is important to understand the interrelation between local and global practices. However, we recognize that we have provided a limited picture of the situation, since our discussion is mainly

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based on studies from developed countries in the European and the American continent. In addition, we acknowledge that the data provided in the mentioned countries are not necessarily representative of the national situations. Thus, we consider these data as indicative of the cultural understanding of inclusion through the development of educational, health, and social services in these countries. One striking conclusion from our attempt to look into the development of services and their impact to service users including those with a diverse ­ ­background is the substantial lack of research studies in this area. In particular, we located very few studies that discuss the organizational development of ­support services and access to these services for students with disabilities with a diverse background. On the contrary, most studies in this area either focus on issues of social and health equity for students with disabilities, or they examine access and equity issues solely for students with an LCD background. Hence, more research is needed in order to understand the cultural development of ­services in local contexts and the impact of the inclusion movement, as it has been conceptualized by international organizations. To this end, comparative and international research could reveal the shared challenges and opportunities in the implementation of the inclusion movement by understanding our system practices, the results of these practices, and thus adding knowledge to our system capacity. The apparent diversity in the delivery of support services both between and within countries is also an issue of consideration. This diversity shows that local cultures continue to influence the delivery of support services, and that their effective development requires attention to those social and cultural factors that influence the interpretation of the international movement toward further access and participation for students with disabilities. It appears that such diversity in the development of support services is the result of historical, political, and socio­economic factors in which these services were organized. However, it is worth noting that, even though the development of services is influenced by policy and social practices in particular contexts, the main challenges to their practices appear to be universal, with striking similarities across countries. These ­challenges seem to cross geographical and cultural boundaries, and include issues of (a) unequal access for service users with disabilities, especially those from a culturally diverse background, (b) lack of culturally sensitive collabora­ tion among professionals from different disciplines and between professionals and service users, and (c) limited resources and support. In our review, we considered cultural diversity both at the service providers’ and the service users’ levels. By understanding that cultural diversity should be considered and researched at both levels, we aspire to add to the understanding and development of services integration as the most important prerequisite for equal access, social participation, and thus more inclusion. Two important ­conclusions that cross geographical boarders could be drawn from our review: (a) there are different understandings in the perceptions held by service ­providers with regard to the process of their work and its achieved outcomes, with p ­ otential negative implications to the collaboration and integration of services, and (b) service users do not experience support in a culturally sensitive way by culturally

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competent practitioners. In both cases, researchers mainly referred to inefficien­ cies in system capacities, such as poor support structures and lack of culturally sensitive training to promote collaboration and effectiveness in the delivery of support services. It appears that the cultural differences among service providers and between service providers and service users affect teaming, and thus researchers should consider both variables in examining services’ integration and collaboration, and its impact on service users. According to the cross‐country and within‐county research studies reviewed in this chapter, access and meaningful usage of services by culturally diverse ­service users remains an issue. These studies identify several barriers in the accessibility of services by minority students and/or people with disabilities within the services themselves as a result of their organizational culture. Thus, changes in the organizational culture of support services are necessary to increase access and the quality of services provided to culturally diverse service users. Useful practices such as better interactions, effective networking, resource sharing, and constant dialogue among service providers are necessary (Mirza & Heinemann, 2012). In particular, it seems that dialogue among policymakers, service providers, and disability and ethnic organizations is required. This dia­ logue should focus on establishing a collaborative culture that requires policy­ makers and service providers to rethink their current practice and engage in new collaborative processes that result in new values, beliefs, norms, and preferred behaviors (Fullan, 2007; Waldron & McLeskey, 2010). Dialogue and effective networking could be initiated only through interagency training that brings different service providers together. Since policymakers do not always understand how to support services for students with disabilities (Hardin & Hung, 2011), policy support for interdisciplinary training seems to be the only logical answer. The aim of this in‐service and preservice training should be twofold: (a) to challenge the discrete disciplinary knowledge of professionals, and (b) to develop skills and knowledge in order for professionals to be more responsive to the needs of culturally diverse service users. Interdisciplinary training has the potential to bring together professionals from different disciplines in order to challenge their preconceived philoso­ phies and beliefs about working with professionals with different expertise, values, priorities, and targets. Since research has shown that professionals hold discrete disciplinary knowledge that hinders services’ integration, new knowledge toward the development of collaborative practices is necessary. Thus, professionals need to reexamine their individual philosophies and ­practices through the different practices of other professionals, in an attempt by them to learn and commonly contribute to the social and educational needs of a child with disabilities. This is not to say that disciplinary knowledge is not important, but rather that this knowledge should be incorporated into the new collaboratively oriented approach which, according to Leadbetter et al. (2007), asks professionals to rethink who does what, and when, and with whom. Future research should evaluate the impact of this training by ­identifying the factors that promote or hinder the development of culturally responsive collaboration within service delivery organizations in schools and child centers.

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Training is also needed to provide service providers with the necessary skills and knowledge to effectively collaborate with service users from diverse back­ grounds. Currently, the majority of services’ interventions are grounded in the cultural beliefs and practices of professionals who belong to the dominant ­culture. Our review provided evidence that there is a clear need to improve ­services on this population worldwide, and thus training could improve profes­ sionals’ understanding of the cultural backgrounds of individuals who do not belong to the dominant culture. Even though cultural diversity does not seem to be perceived in a negative way in any of the studies we reviewed, equality across service provision for all ethnic groups does not seem to have been acknowledged as a key principle worth achieving. Thus, Shah’s (1997) argument, almost 20 years ago, that equality in service provision across all ethnic groups should be a key principle worth achieving is still valid today. More studies are needed to understand the interrelation between service ­providers and service users with a diverse background in order to understand how professionals treat cultural groups’ views and beliefs, and how service pro­ viders can effectively engage service users’ perspectives in the decision‐making process. To this end, research should focus on the specific factors, practices, and programs that “make a difference” with particular students in a specific context. Sharing of local practices could provide valuable information about the process of inclusion movement internationally. We very much agree with Rix et  al.’s (2013) suggestion that well‐trained key workers can better serve the integration of services, rather than policies that try to unify bureaucratic processes, where different professionals try to produce individual plans. Again, more research is needed to evaluate this promising practice. Understanding the process of inclusion in local cultures through the collabora­ tive development of support services revealed several factors that enhance or hinder the inclusion movement internationally. However, it appears that the ­conceptual shift toward recognizing the cultural diversity of service providers and service users, even though slightly evident in some context, is generally missing. Despite the many problems that this review highlighted both locally and internationally, there should be optimism that well‐trained professionals and flexible policymakers will be able to provide integrated culturally sensitive ser­ vices that treat and respect diversity as a prerequisite for the enhancement of the inclusion movement.

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6 Inclusion and Practice The Perspective of Two Countries Marjatta Takala and George Head The origins of current initiatives in inclusive and special education in Europe can be traced back at least as far as the 1948 United Nations’ Declaration on Human Rights, through the American Civil Rights movement of the 1960s. The impetus for inclusion of pupils with special education needs within mainstream schools in Europe came largely through the United Nations, particularly their conference on the rights of the child and the subsequent Salamanca Statement in the 1990s. Since that time, inclusion has been pursued as a political ideal by those countries (and others) whose members have signed the United Nations declaration (UNESCO, 1994). In June 1994, the World Conference on Special Needs Education, organized by the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO) and the Spanish government met in Salamanca, Spain, to discuss the topic of education for all. The conference, attended by over 300 delegates from 92 ­governments and 25 international organizations, adopted the Salamanca statement and framework for action on special needs education (UNESCO, 1994). The statement is of particular significance in its heralding of the principle of inclusion, that “those with special educational needs must have access to regular schools which should accommodate them within a child‐centered pedagogy capable of meeting these needs” (UNESCO, 1994, p. viii). Furthermore, in the statement and accompanying framework, the United Nations states that governments, authorities, and schools should adapt their policies, finances, environments, curricula, and teaching methods to meet the needs of children and young people with special educational needs. The document establishes principles, guidelines, and advice on how inclusion might be achieved at local, national, and international levels and, consequently, has informed ­policies related to inclusion throughout the world (UNESCO, 1994). As part of an overarching agenda of social justice, education for all, with its implications of mainstream, adapted curricula, child‐centered pedagogies and provision of support, is indeed a core principle (UNESCO, 1994). While the political ideal as expressed in the Salamanca statement describes the right of all children to be educated alongside their peers, the ways in which this has manifested, in educational provision and practice, has differed across nations and education systems. The Wiley Handbook of Diversity in Special Education, First Edition. Edited by Marie Tejero Hughes and Elizabeth Talbott. © 2017 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Published 2017 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

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That is, most European countries still retain special, segregated education in some form. The European Agency for Development in Special Needs Education (2012) reports the number of school‐aged pupils in each country, and how many of them have special educational needs, and whether or not they are taught in inclusive or segregated settings. Many countries educate approximately 3–10% of the population of youth with special needs (e.g., Austria, France, Denmark, Germany, Czech Republic, England, Italy, Finland). Most, but not all, countries claim to have inclusive settings where these pupils may be taught. As an example, Italy and Scotland educate the majority of pupils with special educational needs in inclusive settings. Nevertheless, many countries, such as Finland and England, retain a measure of teaching in segregated settings (European Agency for Development in Special Needs Education, 2012). The enduring questions focus on the degree to which these settings can be considered to be inclusive and whether or not they represent a form of segregation within the mainstream context; that is, not inclusive education but an altered version of special education (see Kiuppis, 2014). For example, one might argue that if the same pupil has to attend a special resource room on a regular basis, perhaps twice a week, then that can be seen as a form of exclusion, and as such, the nature of inclusion would relate to the location. Similarly, if a special teacher visited the class and always worked with the same pupils (rather than, say, ­cooperatively teaching to support all pupils), then that may be considered as a compensatory form of support that serves to separate the supported pupils from their peers (Takala, Pirttimaa, & Törmänen, 2009). To illustrate these dilemmas in this chapter, we will review the educational policies in Finland and Scotland, including procedures to promote successful inclusion and special education, with a particular focus on teacher education and co‐teaching. That is, we explore how the rise of inclusion has affected policy, practice, and provision in Europe, using Finland and Scotland as core examples. In particular, in this chapter, we will discuss the changing landscape of special education in Europe, its impact on mainstream schools, and the implications for teacher education.

A Review of Educational Policy in Finland and Scotland Educational policy and legislation in the northern hemisphere and in the developed countries of the southern hemisphere, such as New Zealand and Australia, have been strongly influenced by the work of the Salamanca statement’s principle of inclusion. Illustrative examples from Finland and Scotland, countries where the authors of this chapter have worked for 30 years within the field of special education, first at the school level and then at the university level, indicate how national policy and legislation have been similarly influenced, but with a measure of variation. Thus, we take into account local educational, cultural, and legislative contexts. Finland is situated in the north, belonging to the five Nordic countries (Finland, Sweden, Norway, Denmark, and Iceland), and the Finnish population is 5.4 ­million people (in 2013). Scotland is part of United Kingdom, but retains its own

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education systems independent of the remainder of the United Kingdom. The United Kingdom has 63 million people; Scotland has 5.3 million inhabitants. Both countries have similar‐sized populations, although Scotland is geographically smaller. Nevertheless, educational policy in Scotland has been affected by England and Finnish policy by other Nordic countries.

Educational Policy in Finland Finnish education policy is based on the ideas of equity and equality. There are practically no private schools and absolutely no private universities in Finland (Sahlberg, 2012, 2014). According to the Finnish Ministry of Education and Culture (2016), all people must have access to high‐quality free basic education. It is a basic right in Finland, and it does not depend on the place one lives or on personal wealth. Education at primary and secondary schools as well at the ­vocational schools and universities is free of charge. This concerns all pupils, including those with disabilities. Primary and secondary schools offer also a free meal to all pupils. The Program for International Student Assessment (PISA) allows educators to evaluate their education systems worldwide by testing skills and knowledge of 15‐year‐old students; approximately 28 million 15‐year‐olds participate globally. Reading, mathematical, and scientific literacy are measured in PISA tests (Organization for Economic Co‐operation and Development [OECD], 2015a, 2015b). Finnish 15‐year‐olds have scored at the top several times, and that has raised considerable interest among education authorities worldwide (Kupiainen, Hautamäki, & Karjalainen, 2009). Of particular interest is the lack of variability in Finland’s PISA scores; its lowest‐performing students do not score significantly lower than do members of its general population of youth (Anastasiou & Keller, 2010). Finland has received several visitors asking the same questions: what do you do at schools, what is the school system like, and how do you ­educate your teachers? The answers to these questions are as follows. Finland provides free, public and equal education as well as a demanding 5‐year masters degree university program for all schoolteachers, including special education teachers; together, these form the basis of the success. When McKinsey and Company (2007) studied the top 10 educational systems in the world, they highlighted the importance of the quality of the teachers. This is an essential component in the Finnish education system. In Finland, school starts during the year in which the child will be 7 years old. The primary school lasts 6 years, and secondary school 3 years. The school ­system has responsibilities listed in the Basic Education Act (1998). The Finnish National Board of Education establishes national curriculum and schools can modify it to a local curriculum. Although schools can modify the curriculum, they need to follow the national guidelines (Finnish National Board of Education, 2015a; Vitikka, Salminen, & Annevirta, 2012). In the 1980s, there were separate curricula for various special groups, such as the hearing‐impaired, but now every school adheres to the national curriculum, and then modifies it to local as well as to individual needs. The equality principle

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was one basis of this curricular unification; the equality principle is embraced by the Nordic welfare state system, which includes education as a cornerstone (Arnesen & Lundahl, 2006). Indeed, all schools provide high‐quality education based on the same basic goals, and education at schools is quite homogeneous throughout Finland. Although Finnish pupils participate in some international testing, there are no national tests for pupils, no competition between schools or no pay‐per‐performance for teachers (see Kivirauma & Ruoho, 2007; Sahlberg, 2011). Inclusive and Special Education in Finland

In Finland, inclusive education has been underpinned by a philosophy outlined in The Strategy of Special Education (Finnish Ministry of Education and Culture, 2007). Based on inclusive ideas, the Basic Education Act (1998) was changed in 2010 (Amendments of the Finnish Basic Education Act, 2010) to stipulate that the support provided by schools is now arranged into three levels or stages: general, intensified, and special support. Prior to this, there was only general and special support. The main idea in dividing the support into three steps, a system which resembles the response to intervention (RTI) model (Brown‐Chidsey & Steege, 2010), was to decrease the amount of segregated special education and to increase inclusive education. In the Finnish system, the teachers and special ­education teachers together identify the pupils in need of support. The new three‐step support model is a major attempt for special education to be more inclusive. In practice, the system has provided forms of support to pupils as well as a documentation system (see Finnish National Board of Education, 2015b). The general support is given by the class teacher immediately when problems occur; for example, when the child does not learn to read during the first school term, at the age of 7 years. The forms of general support are individualization, support teaching, guidance of the pupil and, part‐time special education. If the general support is not enough to help the pupil, a pedagogical evaluation must be written and the school staff must provide intensified support. At this stage, teachers can write a learning plan if needed, but it is not compulsory. During intensified support, teachers do need to provide a learning plan, wherein teachers must document specific intervention plans for pupils. Usually this support is given in the pupil’s own class by the class teacher or by the special teacher. Sometimes it is given in the special teacher’s resource room. When a special teacher is involved, it is called part‐time special education. In the intensified support phase, co‐teaching and smaller groups can be used. The main idea is to provide new and more intensive interventions. If this intensified support has been given long enough without results, a pedagogical clarification has to be written and special support needs to be started. Special support can be given in a regular class, sometimes in a resource room, in a special class or in a special school. This form of support demands an individual educational plan (IEP). There are three different versions of the IEP: one for pupils who have no individualized subjects with individualized learning content, one for those who have them and one for pupils who do not study according

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to the ordinary curricula with specific subjects but who study according to five areas of skills: motoric, language and communication, cognitive, social, and daily skills. These areas of studies are for pupils with severe intellectual impairments. Pupils who are educated in segregated special education classes have often experienced their education positively, although their future perspectives seem to be more narrow in comparison to pupils in general education (Sinkkonen, 2007; Whitley, Lupart, & Beran, 2009) or to pupils who have received just part‐time special education. Pupils have found it easier to learn and focus in a small group. Special ­support can be given in a regular school, but it is more common to receive it in special classes and schools. The statistics (Statistics Finland, 2015) show that the numbers of students who receive special support have declined after the intensified support became available. Together, 7.3% of all pupils received special support, and 7.5% received intensified support in 2014. Together, 22.7% of all school‐aged pupils received part‐time special education (Statistics Finland, 2015). In addition to providing support to students at different levels, early intervention has proved to be efficient. The pupils who receive part‐time special education at primary school ­usually perform better at secondary school. They have received support; their self‐esteem has improved; and they have learned study and planning skills (Panula, 2013). Part‐time special education is a flexible form of support, which can be started immediately without any bureaucratic decision‐making. This form of support is used with pupils who experience minor difficulties in learning or in adjustment (Halinen & Järvinen, 2008). It can be seen as early intervention, as an important form of prevention (Takala et al., 2009). As a result, the number of students receiving special education has gradually decreased in Finland (Statistics Finland, 2013, 2015), as the schools are becoming more inclusive. Although Finland is aiming to be more and more inclusive, there are still ­special schools, owned by municipalities or by the state itself. The state is responsible for six large special schools around Finland, some of them residential. These schools are together called Valteri Centre for Learning and Consulting; in addition to serving as schools, they are also resource centers that produce material and education for teachers (Valteri, 2016). The Valteri Centre provides segregated education for those in need of really individual solutions or who have not responded well to previous interventions. Many children attending these schools have multiple disabilities. One school has more expertise in deaf‐ blindness, for example, and another on physical challenges. Nevertheless, in spite of some segregated schools and classes, Finland is aiming toward inclusive education. Having this as its aim, the part‐time special education, which is available in every school, is considered to be ordinary, not very special. It is a common procedure for students to receive it at some point of study, and it has a good reputation. Pupils often want to participate in it. It could be called inclusive special education. A common reason for receiving part‐time special education is that a young pupil does not start to read at the same age as others do. He or she can then practice reading in a smaller group or receive more specific reading instructions in the class. When he or she cracks the code, the special education will end. This resembles the RTI‐model used in the United States (Jahnukainen & Itkonen, 2015).

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The support system concerns not only pupils but also teachers. The three‐step support model involves all teachers: class, subject, and special teachers to be responsible for all pupils. The class and the subject teachers have to first consider themselves what they could change or do differently in order to help the pupils to learn better (Pesonen et al., 2015). Only after they have committed some changes can they consult the special teachers. Previously, the responsibility was given largely to the special teachers. The way of designing and thinking of needs of support has changed. Now the teachers have more common responsibility over all pupils to give support when needed as well as a responsibility to document what has been done. This has increased the amount of co‐teaching, as well as consultation and pedagogical discussions. However, also, hesitation exists; teachers need to negotiate their distribution of work (Thuneberg & Vainikainen, 2015). In Finland, as in many other countries, the special educators are required to both teach pupils and co‐operate with adults. This co‐operation or consultation includes negotiation with other teachers, with parents, medical staff, and other stakeholders. The amount of this co‐operative work seems to increase in many countries, as it does in Finland (Sundqvist, 2014). Teacher Education and Special Education

In Finland, the core content in the curricula for special education teacher preparation consists of theory and practice so that all teaching offered to students is research‐based (Jakku‐Sihvonen & Niemi, 2006). The core areas of special teacher education offered in universities are learning difficulties, mainly related to reading and writing difficulties; challenges in mathematics and communication; and behavioral and socio‐emotional challenges. In addition, teaching practice is considered an essential part of this education as well as research methodology (Hausstätter & Takala, 2008; Jakku‐Sihvonen & Niemi, 2006). What is considered beneficial according to the students is the compulsory and guided teaching practice. The students practice teaching under the supervision of a qualified special educator. They receive feedback and help from this experienced teacher as well as from the university lecturer who visits the schools.

Educational Policy in Scotland The response to the challenges of Salamanca and inclusion in Scotland has led to a reconceptualization of the learning of children, young people, and adults with special educational needs and those with none. Since the mid‐twentieth century, Scotland has had a comprehensive school system based on the idea that all young people are entitled to an equitable education. All children attend their local ­primary school for 7 years, beginning around 5 years of age, and then move on to their local secondary school; there is no junior high or middle school. The secondary school is comprehensive in that it accepts all pupils and teaches the entire range of subjects which it is possible for it to teach. There is no prescriptive curriculum in Scotland; in the first 2 years of secondary schooling, young people follow a broad, general curriculum before specializing in their third year (e.g.,

Educational Policy in Scotland Educational Policy in Scotland 121

choosing to study history but not geography). Compulsory education ends at the age of 16, which is at the end of a young person’s fourth year at secondary school. Thereafter, pupils can choose to leave either to go on to employment or college education or to remain at school for a further 2 years to gain further qualifications such as those necessary for entry to university. Throughout the twentieth century, for many children and young people with physical, cognitive, or emotional difficulties, the mainstream of education was considered unsuitable. Instead, and for the most charitable of reasons, it was thought that it would be a better experience for them to be in special schools alongside others with the same or similar difficulties, rather than have them struggle with the demands of the mainstream curriculum. Instead, in special schools they were offered a curriculum based on what we would now understand as life skills. Toward the end of the century, and as a direct result of Salamanca, this situation became increasingly challenged, first with respect to those young people in segregated special education settings and then with regard to all learners in Scotland. For example, while previously pupils with moderate learning ­disabilities tended to be educated in special schools, learning support departments were set up in mainstream schools with a view to supporting these young people (and other pupils who were experiencing learning difficulties) to remain in mainstream education as part of their right to be educated alongside their peers. Inclusive and Special Education in Scotland

In 2000, Scotland introduced the presumption of mainstreaming and inclusion for all children and young people (Scottish Executive, 2000). The movement of children and young people from special into mainstream education had already begun in the 1990s; but in 2000, the policy was enshrined into law. As more s­ tudents with special educational needs found themselves in inclusive settings, and schools and teachers encountered an increasingly diverse range of learners, the presumptions of teachers, academics, and policy‐makers turned to the learning of all young people. Increasingly, therefore, inclusion in Scotland became less a matter of moving learners from special to mainstream classes, the where of inclusion, to more one of addressing the learning of all learners, the how of inclusion. As a result of the subsequent Additional Support for Learning Act (Scottish Executive, 2004), the focus of learning and teaching shifted from compensating for what learners were unable to do as a consequence of their inability or disability, to identifying and building on what they could do. The use of the terms ­support for learning and additional support needs entailed in the act reflect the reconceptualization of “ special” and its connotations of individual deficit, to the sense that inclusion is about enhancing the support and provision that is available to all learners. Increasingly, therefore, provision in Scottish schools has centered in mainstream rather than segregated schools and has consisted of enhanced pedagogical approaches to support the learning of all learners, while affirming all young people’s capabilities, and disabilities as part of their learner identities. Schools throughout Scotland now regularly provide breakfast clubs and after‐school facilities for all pupils and a range of learning support, pupil support, behavior

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support and classroom assistants to enhance mainstream provision. Nevertheless, learning support, and behavior support in particular, are often catered for in dedicated classrooms where pupils experiencing difficulties can spend some or even most of their time within mainstream schools. Typically, the practice within all classes will include innovation in pedagogy and co‐teaching. Alongside these practices which complement and build on pupils’ abilities, however, one might also find measures such as staged intervention (the three‐stage process described for Finland and the RTI model in the United States), behavior modification and token economies based on reward and consequences which are designed to compensate for inability and disability. Thus, in both concept and practice, the model of inclusion which is current in Scotland can be criticized as replicating some features of segregation within a more inclusive mainstream. To do so, however, is to see inclusion as a one stage event. Rather, inclusion can be conceptualized as a journey, a journey on which Scotland has made considerable progress. Similar thinking has influenced the literature throughout the United Kingdom with its different education systems in each of its four countries. Thus, while policy in England, for example, retains usage of the term special educational needs, the literature reflects a similar search for pedagogy that is the essence of the Scottish approach. Rix, Hall, Nind, Sheehy, and Wearmouth (2009) conducted an extensive systematic literature review and concluded that the most successful pedagogical approaches for including children with special educational needs in mainstream classrooms are those in which the pupil is first and foremost seen as a learner, has active agency in his or her own learning and feels that he or she belongs within the school. Furthermore, recent research has addressed the enduring issues regarding various understandings of inclusion that exist in the United Kingdom and beyond (Allan, 2015; Rix, 2015). Teacher Education and Special Education

For teachers and teacher educators in Scotland, inclusion has become a matter of support, provision, and pedagogy (Florian & Black‐Hawkins, 2011; Head, 2011). As the approaches of schools started to shift toward what pupils could (rather than could not) do in academic classes, local authorities began to employ a range of paraprofessionals, such as learning support assistants, behavior support assistants, and classroom assistants to support teachers and pupils. Significantly, as part of teacher education, universities began to explore the pedagogical implications of teaching a diverse range of learners in classrooms. Within Scotland, the gradual inclusion of an increasing range of pupils in mainstream schools who would previously have been in segregated, special settings, has presented new challenges for teachers and teacher education. For instance, there is the enduring question of specialization in teaching: whether to focus on what is needed to teach children and young people with specific disabilities or whether the emphasis should be on developing more inclusive pedagogies that allow for the engagement and learning of all learners. As a result, the development of inclusive pedagogy has become a significant element of teacher education. Subsequent to the acts of 2000 and 2004, the Scottish government provided funds which allowed all of Scotland’s universities with a teacher education

Promoting Inclusive Education with Co‐teaching Promoting Inclusive Education with Co‐teaching 123

role to come together and create a national framework for inclusion (www. frameworkforinclusion.org). This framework sets out the values and beliefs that underpin inclusion, and poses a series of questions, reflection points, and activities that encourage teacher educators, students, and experienced teachers to explore what these mean for their practice. Teachers benefit from opportunities to practice teaching in diverse settings in order to receive tools to work in an inclusive school (Golder, Jones, & Quinn, 2009).

Promoting Inclusive Education with Co‐teaching Support of inclusion for students with special educational needs must take place at many levels. For example, supportive acts can be directed toward an individual pupil or an individual teacher as well as toward the whole school staff and toward the structures of the whole educational organization. One ­general way is co‐teaching, which is used more and more in various countries. From early on in the journey toward inclusion, co‐teaching has been as an effective way of dealing with the diversity of learning and related issues in classrooms (Head, Kane, & Cogan, 2003; Kane, Head, & Cogan, 2004). Co‐teaching has various definitions, from two teachers working in the same room with the same pupils to a common group of pupils taught together, sometimes also in different locations. These two teachers working together in Finland are most often a class teacher and a special education teacher; sometimes the configuration may include two class teachers or a subject teacher and a special education teacher (Saloviita & Takala, 2010). The biggest benefits from co‐teaching have been the possibility to share: share the problems as well as joys, share the evaluation, and share the discussions with parents. In addition, teachers’ professional skills develop when working with colleagues. More pupils receive individualized instruction and can choose between the teachers, when two teachers work together in one class. The most common problem in co‐teaching from teachers’ point of view seems to be that often the other teacher is teaching and the other receives the role of an assistant. Assistants are useful, but they play a different role in the class, than two qualified teachers (Takala, 2007). Another problem has been, especially where pupil behavior was a concern, that sometimes the other teacher was used as a police officer whose role was solely to keep disruptive pupils on task (Head et al., 2003). To make co‐teaching function, teachers need to plan the lessons together. The lack of planning time is often said to be the reason not to co‐teach. Nevertheless, amazingly little time is needed to do that, often just 15 minutes is enough for experienced teachers. Co‐teaching has the potential to raise the quality of teaching and can promote the well‐being of all partners (Saloviita & Takala, 2010; Takala & Uusitalo‐ Malmivaara, 2012). With the three‐step support system, co‐teaching has begun to be employed more frequently in Finland. Co‐teaching consists of several different models: alternative learning and supporting, station teaching, parallel teaching, flexible grouping, and team teaching (Ahtiainen, Beirad, Hautamäki, Hilasvuori, & Thuneberg, 2011; Thousand, Villa, & Nevin, 2006).

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In Denmark, three types of co‐teaching pairs were studied (Andersen, Beuchert‐Pedersen, Skyt Nielsen, & Kjærgaard Thomsen, 2014). One was a classical way, having two teachers planning and performing the lessons together. The other one was a teacher and a resource person, who had less planning time and no teaching degree, background in social services. The third type was a coach with a special competence on encouraging and coaching teachers. All three types of co‐teaching had positive effects on students’ performance. However, the resource person, without a pedagogical background had the strongest effect on pupils’ reading readiness. The coach had the strongest effect on pupils’ performance, especially if there were pupils with psychiatric diagnoses in the group. These results are interesting, because adults other than teachers contributed to the students’ success (Andersen et al., 2014).

Core of Inclusive Special Education In this section, we combine co‐teaching and inclusive education by presenting a case study in more detail. This case study of inclusive education in Sweden is an excellent example of how inclusion is made to function with co‐teaching, and how it is organized in practice (Nilholm & Alm, 2010). These researchers describe a class with diverse pupils and two teachers working with them. The researchers who followed this class found six strategies for making inclusion function in a regular class. They were (a) adapt instruction to individual needs of children; (b) provide clear frameworks, such as ground rules, clear planning of the school day; (c) utilize group activities; (d) create good relations with parents; (e) include thinking aloud into academic exercises; and (f ) show respect for the children. Not only do these strategies suit all children, but also they especially benefit ­children with special educational needs. Research identifies co‐teaching as a potentially effective strategy for inclusion (Nilholm & Ahl, 2010). In this section, we describe those skills teachers need to make co‐teaching successful. We summarize here the four core areas of special education and the core skills of a special educator. First and foremost, teachers must display excellent communication skills, including listening skills. Teachers meet several stakeholders and they have to communicate in a respectful and good manner with all. Second, school personnel need to implement design for all. Design for all does not just mean ramps for wheelchairs, but design for all includes positive attitudes toward diversity. All staff members, including the janitor and kitchen staff need to be involved. For example, sometimes will acoustics need adjustment, sometimes more contrast to the walls and floors are needed for youth with visual and hearing impairment. In addition, special educational knowledge is something all teachers can read and study, following the development of special educational research. This is an essential part of professional development. Teachers need to know their pupils, their background at least a little, their interest areas. The more the teachers can have a personal touch, the more the pupils enjoy being at school. Especially children in need of support may have individual needs in relation to light, noise, and environment. Knowing these makes it easy to teach and to study.

References References 125

Finally, the teacher has to know his/her strengths and weaknesses. It is good to raise personal standards as well as ask for help when needed. Today, children with special educational needs have access to regular schools in Finland and Scotland, as was the goal of the Salamanca statement (Barrett, 2011; UNESCO, 1994). However, segregated classes and schools still exist. We agree with Isaksson and Lindqvist (2015, p. 134) that: “inclusion can hardly be the responsibility of special education only.” Inclusion cannot only refer to children with special needs. The aim of inclusion should be, to make established systems change. Inclusion is here to stay, as part of human rights, and it must be made to function.

References Ahtiainen, R., Beirad, M., Hautamäki, J., Hilasvuori, T., & Thuneberg, H. (2011). Samanaikaisopetus on mahdollisuus. Tutkimus Helsingin pilottikoulujen uudistuvasta opetuksesta. [Co‐teaching is a possibility. A study about renewing teaching in Helsinki pilot schools]. Helsinki, Finland: University Press. Allan, J. (2015). Waiting for inclusive education? An exploration of conceptual confusions and political struggles. In F. Kuippis & R. S. Haustatter (Eds.), Inclusive education twenty years after Salamanca. New York, NY: Peter Lang. Amendments of the Finnish Basic Education Act. (642/2010). Perusopetuslain muutokset. [Changes in Basic Education Act]. Retrieved from http://www.finlex. fi/fi/laki/alkup/2010/20100642 Anastasiou, D., & Keller, K. (2010). Special education in Finland: A system beyond the uniformity of a globalized idea. Education Sciences, 155–167. Andersen, C. S., Beuchert‐Pedersen, L. V., Skyt Nielsen, H., & Kjærgaard Thomsen, M. (2014). Undersøgelse af effekten af tolærerordninger. [Research about the effects of coteaching]. Unpublished manuscript, Business and Social Sciences, Aarhus Universitet. Arnesen, A.‐L., & Lundahl, L. (2006). Still Social and democratic? Inclusive education policies in the Nordic welfare states. Scandinavian Journal of Educational Research, 50(3), 285–300. Barrett, A. M. (2011). An education millennium development goal for quality: Complexity and democracy. A Journal of Comparative and International Education, 41(1), 145–148. Basic Education Act. (1998). Perusopetuslaki 1998/628. Retrieved from http://www. finlex.fi/fi/laki/ajantasa/1998/19980628 Brown‐Chidsey, R., & Steege, M. W. (2010). Response to intervention. Principles and strategies for effective practice. New York, NY: Guilford Press. European Agency for Development in Special Needs Education. (2012). Special needs education. Country data 2012. Retrieved from https://www.european‐ agency.org/publications/ereports/sne‐country‐data‐2012/sne‐country‐data‐2012 Finnish Ministry of Education and Culture. (2007). Strategy of special education. Retrieved from http://www.minedu.fi/OPM/Julkaisut/2007/Erityisopetuksen_ strategia.html

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Finnish Ministry of Education and Culture. (2016). Education policy in Finland. Retrieved from http://www.minedu.fi/OPM/Koulutus/koulutuspolitiikka/ ?lang=en( Finnish National Board of Education. (2015a). Basic education. Basis of the curriculum. Retrieved from http://www.oph.fi/download/163777_ perusopetuksen_opetussuunnitelman_perusteet_2014.pdf Finnish National Board of Education. (2015b). Information about organizing support. Retrieved from http://www.oph.fi/saadokset_ja_ohjeet/ohjeita_ koulutuksen_jarjestamiseen/perusopetuksen_jarjestaminen/tietoa_tuen_ jarjestamisesta Florian, L., & Black‐Hawkins, K. (2011). Exploring inclusive pedagogy. British Educational Research Journal, 37(5), 813–828. Golder, G., Jones, N., & Quinn, E. E. (2009). Strengthening the special educational needs element of initial teacher training and education. British Journal of Special Education, 36(4), 183–190. Halinen, I., & Järvinen, R. (2008). Towards inclusive education: The case of Finland. Prospects, 38(1), 77–97. Hausstätter, S. R., & Takala, M. (2008). The core of special teacher education: A comparison of Finland and Norway. European Journal of Special Education, 23(2), 121–134. Head, G. (2011). Inclusion and pedagogy. In M. McMahon, C. Forde & M. Martin (Eds.), Contemporary issues in learning and teaching. London, England: Sage. Head, G., Kane, J., & Cogan, N. (2003). Behaviour support in secondary schools: What works for schools? Emotional and Behavioral Difficulties, 8(1), 33–42. Isaksson, J., & Lindqvist, R. (2015). What is the meaning of special education? Problem representations in Swedish policy document: late 1970s–2013. European Journal of Special Education, 30(1), 122–137. Jahnukainen, M., & Itkonen, T. (2015). Tiered intervention: History and trends in Finland and the United States. European Journal of Special Needs Education. Retrieved from http://10.1080/08856257.2015.1108042 Jakku‐Sihvonen, R., & Niemi, H. (2006). Research‐based teacher education in Finland—Reflections by Finnish teacher educators. Unpublished manuscript, Finnish Educational Research Association, Painosalama: Turku. Kane, J., Head, G., & Cogan, N. (2004). Towards inclusion? Models of behaviour support in secondary schools in one education authority in Scotland. British Journal of Special Education, 31(2), 68–74. Kiuppis, F. (2014). Why (not) associate the principle of inclusion with disability? Tracing connections from the start of the Salamanca Process. International Journal of Inclusive Education, 18(7), 746–761. Kivirauma, J., & Ruoho, K. (2007). Excellence through special education? Lessons from the Finnish school reform. Review of Education, 53(3), 283–302. Kupiainen, S., Hautamäki, J., & Karjalainen, T. (2009). The Finnish education system and PISA: The ministry of education. Retrieved from http://www.pisa2006. helsinki.fi/files/The_Finnish_education_system_and_PISA.pdf McKinsey & Company. (2007). How the world’s best performing school systems come out on top. Retrieved from http://mckinseyonsociety.com/downloads/reports/ Education/Worlds_School_Systems_Final.pdf

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Nilholm, C., & Alm, B. (2010). An inclusive classroom? A case study of inclusiveness, teacher strategies, and children’s experiences. European Journal of Special Needs Education, 25(3), 239–252. Organization for Economic Co‐operation and Development (OECD). (2015a). PISA. Retrieved from http://www.oecd.org/pisa/aboutpisa/ Organization for Economic Co‐operation and Development (OECD). (2015b). PISA FAQ. Retrieved from http://www.oecd.org/pisa/aboutpisa/pisafaq.htm Panula, A. M. (2013). Reading difficulties and part time special education—a follow up from preschool to the end of 9th grade. Unpublished dissertation, University of Helsinki, Finland. Pesonen, H., Itkonen, T., Jahnukainen, M. T., Kontu, E., Kokko, T., & Ojala, T. (2015). The implementation of new special education legislation in Finland. Educational Policy, 29(1), 162–178. Rix, J. (2015). Must inclusion be special? Rethinking educational support within a community of provision. London, England: Routledge. Rix, J., Hall, K., Nind, M., Sheehy, K., & Wearmouth, J. (2009). What pedagogical approaches can effectively include children with special educational needs in mainstream classrooms? Support for Learning, 24(2), 86–94. Sahlberg, P. (2011). The fourth way of Finland. Journal of Educational Change, 12(2), 173–185. Sahlberg, P. (2012). Quality and equity in Finnish schools. School Administrator, 69(8), 27–30. Sahlberg, P. (2014). Finnish lessons: What can the world learn from educational change in Finland (2nd ed.). New York, NY: Teachers College Press. Saloviita, T., & Takala, M. (2010). Frequency of co‐teaching in different teacher categories. European Journal of Special Needs Education, 25(4), 389–396. Scottish Executive. (2000). Standards in Scotland’s schools act. Edinburgh, Scotland: Author. Scottish Executive. (2004). Education: Additional support for learning. Edinburgh, Scotland: Author. Sinkkonen, H.‐M. (2007). Kadonneet pojat. Monitapaustutkimus ESY‐poikien kompleksisesta koulu‐urasta ja elämänkulusta. [Lost boys. A multiple case study of the complex school career and life‐course of male students who have attended special classes for the emotionally and behaviourally maladjusted]. Unpublished dissertation, Faculty of Behavioral Sciences, University of Helsinki, Finland. Statistics Finland. (2013). Special education. Retrieved from http://www.stat.fi/til/ erop/tau_en.html Statistics Finland. (2015). Special education. Retrieved from http://www.stat.fi/til/ erop/index_en.html Sundqvist, C. (2014). Den samarbetande läraren. Lärarhandledning och samundervisning i skolan. [The co‐operative teacher. Teachers consultation and co‐teaching at school]. Studentlitteratur AB:Lund. Takala, M. (2007). The work of classroom assistant in special and mainstream education in Finland. British Journal of Special Education, 34(1), 50–57. Takala, M., Pirttimaa, R., & Törmänen, M. (2009). Inclusive special education: The role of special education teachers in Finland. British Journal of Special Education, 36(3), 162–173.

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Takala, M., & Uusitalo‐Malmivaara, L. (2012). A one‐year study of the development of co‐teaching in four Finnish schools. European Journal of Special Needs Education, 27(3), 373–390. Thousand, J. S., Villa, R. A., & Nevin, A. I. (2006). The many faces of collaborative teaching. Theory into Practice, 45(3), 239–242. Thuneberg, H., & Vainikainen, M.‐P. (2015). Uuden lain toteutuminen pedagogisten dokumenttien perusteella. [How the new law is fulfilled according the pedagogical documents]. In M. Jahnukainen, E. Kontu, H. Thuneberg & M.‐P. Vainikainen (Eds.), Erityisopetuksesta oppimisen ja koulunkäynnin tukeen. [From Special Education to support at schools]. Research in Educational Sciences, 67, 135–162. UNESCO. (1994). The Salamanca statement and framework for action on special needs education. Retrieved from http://www.unesco.de/fileadmin/medien/ Dokumente/Bildung/Salamanca_Declaration.pdf Valteri. (2016). Support for learning and school attendance. Retrieved from https:// www.valteri.fi/EN/valteri.html Vitikka, E., Salminen, J., & Annevirta, T. (2012). Opetussuunnitelma opettajankoulutuksessa. [Curriculum in Teacher Education]. Retrieved from http://www.oph.fi/julkaisut/2012/opetussuunnitelma_opettajankoulutuksessa Whitley, J., Lupart, J. L., & Beran, T. (2009). The characteristics and experiences of Canadian students receiving special education services for emotional/behavioural difficulties. Exceptionality Education International, 19(1), 14–31.

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Part II Contemporary Issues in Educating Diverse Students

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7 Students in Special Education Issues, Theories, and Recommendations to Address Overrepresentation Donna Y. Ford, Gilman W. Whiting, Ramon B. Goings and Shawn A. Robinson There are few topics in education that are as politically and emotionally charged as the education of children with disabilities …. When the focus is on whether minority children are being disproportionately assigned to special and gifted education programs, opportunities for separating evidence from emotion become rare. (Donovan & Cross, 2002, p. v) The United States is one of the most racially, culturally, and economically ­ eterogeneous nations in the world. Reports and studies remind us of the ever‐ h changing demographics of the nation and its schools. With these changes come racial and cultural conflicts and inequities. Special education has been part of these discussions and debates; it has received a great deal of attention, scrutiny, and litigation regarding overrepresentation, particularly among African American/Black and Hispanic/Latino students, more so for African American males. The representation difficulties for these two culturally different groups have been a significant challenge for special education teachers and decision‐ makers (US Department of Education, 2007, 2014a, 2014b). This chapter presents an overview of the demographics of special education in schools, discusses overrepresentation in conceptual and theoretical contexts, and provides suggestions for much needed and overdue changes.

Overview of Demographics of Special Education in Schools In our work, we rely extensively on data from the US Department of Education. One is the Annual Report to Congress on the implementation of the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act (US Department of Education, Office of Special Education and Rehabilitative Services, Office of Special Education Programs, 2014a). The other is The Condition of Education (Aud, Fox, & KewalRamani, 2010; Aud et  al., 2011; Kena et  al., 2015), which relies on data from the US Census Bureau and the US Department of Education’s Office for Civil Rights The Wiley Handbook of Diversity in Special Education, First Edition. Edited by Marie Tejero Hughes and Elizabeth Talbott. © 2017 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Published 2017 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

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(OCR). Both reports share and present macro‐level and micro‐level data on student demographics. The OCR reports on how students are represented and categorized in high‐incidence disabilities (i.e., learning disabilities, emotional and behavior disorders, intellectual disability) in special education overall and by race and gender. The individual and combined findings result in five consistent trends: (a) US public schools are more racially, culturally, and linguistically diverse and different than ever before; (b) such diversity among students will increase; (c) the racial demographics of educators, who are mostly White and female, remain relatively unchanged; (d) too few educators receive training to be culturally competent (Artiles, 2009; Ford, 2011; Gay, 2002, 2010; Ladson‐Billings, 2000, 2009, 2012; Nieto, 2010; Whiting, 2010); and (e) Black students, mainly males, are considerably overrepresented in special education. Regarding the first two trends, Hispanic/Latino students represented 25% of students in 2011–2012, and Blacks represented 16% (US Department of Education, OCR, 2014b). We assert that any educator who lacks cultural competence contributes to special education overrepresentation in high‐incidence disabilities and, thus, is ill‐ equipped to fully assist Black and Hispanic students. The pervasive false‐positives of Black and Hispanic students in special education is a blight on the field and a serious issue that is regarded as racially discriminatory by some families, and educators (Harry, Arnaiz, Klingner, & Sturges, 2008; Harry & Klingner, 2007). A litany of legal battles, academic studies, national reports, theories, and folklore that span more than half a century continue to center on why too many Black and more recently Hispanic students, again mainly males, are referred to, screened, and placed in special education to an excessive degree (Ferri & Connor, 2005; US Department of Education, 2014a, 2014b; Whiting, 2010). The overrepresentation in high‐incidence disabilities of Black and Latino males is of grave concern. According to the US Department of Education’s OCR and aforementioned reports, overrepresentation exists in many districts, states, and the nation at large. The higher representation of racially and culturally different students occurs in the high‐incidence categories of mild mental retardation (MMR), emotional disturbance (ED), and, to a lesser extent, learning disabilities (LD) (Robinson, 2013; US Department of Education, 2014a, 2014b). These are categories in which the problem is often identified first in the school context and the disability diagnosis is typically given without confirmation of an organic cause (Donovan & Cross, 2002; Williams, 2015). Organic mental disorders may be caused by inherited physiology, injury, or disease affecting brain tissues, chemical or hormonal abnormalities, exposure to toxic materials, neurological impairment, or abnormal changes associated with aging (Logsdon, 2014). Special education is under constant legal scrutiny regarding the overrepresentation of Black and sometimes Latino students in high‐incidence categories (Dee & Jacob, 2011; Ford & Helms, 2012). According to the US Department of Education’s OCR (2006–2012), Black students represented about 17% of public school students, yet 28.9% were identified as having an intellectual disability (formerly termed mental retardation), 20.2% as being emotionally disturbed, 18.5% as having a specific LD, and 21.6% as being developmentally delayed. The

Overview of Demographics of Special Education in Schools Overview of Demographics of Special Education in Schools 133

greatest overrepresentation in each category was Black students. They are at least twice as likely as White students to be identified as having special education issues and needs (see Table 7.1; US Department of Education, 2014a, 2014b). Data from the US Department of Education (OCR, 2006–2012) indicate that Black students comprised 17% of the population in schools but 19% of special education students. Hispanic Americans overall comprised about 25% of the population of youth public schools; but they were not overrepresented in most of the aforementioned categories. On the contrary, except for LD, Hispanic Americans were underrepresented in special education nationally, and thus in most states and districts. More than any other topic or issue, the high and inequitable presence of Black students in special education is the albatross of the field. A very recent report has contributed to and, more accurately, fueled ongoing debates and diatribe. Despite decades of consistent data in districts, states, and nationally (just noted), a recent article contradicts and challenges such findings. Morgan et al. (2015) claim that Black children are underrepresented in special education classes when compared to White children with similar levels of academic

Table 7.1  National Extent of the Problem Race/Ethnicity Special Education Demographics (in Percentages)

Race/Ethnicity Disability— Objective/Subjective

American Indian/Alaska Native

*Autism (o/s)

0.8

Deaf‐blindness (o)

1.8

Hispanic White Asian/Pacific Black (not (not Islander (only) White) Hispanic)

4.7 11

25

9.5

64

16.8

16.3

65

Hearing impairments (o)

1.4

4.5

16.8

16.5

66

Orthopedic impairments (o)

0.9

3

14.6

15

66.5

Speech or language impairment (o) 1.2

2.4

16.5

12

67.5

Traumatic brain injury (o)

2.3

15.9

10.5

70

1.6

Visual impairments (o)

1.3

3

14.5

11.5

69

Other health impairments (o/s)

1

1.3

14.5

10

64

Specific learning disabilities (s)

1.4

1.4

18.5

16

62

Multiple disabilities (o)

1.4

2.3

20

11.2

65.6

Intellectual disabilities (o/s)

1.2

1.7

28.9

9

54

Emotional disturbance (s)

1.2

1

20.2

10

61

Developmental delay (o/s)

0.5

1.3

21.6

4

All disabilities

1.4

1.8

20.3

13.5

Percentage of student population

1

Percentage of resident population 1.7

60.5 63

4

19

25

51

5.6

13.2

17.1

62.6

Source: US Department of Education, 2014b; OCR, 2006–2012. Chart compiled by G. W. Whiting (2015).

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achievement, behavior, and family economic resources. As should be expected, there is backlash. Toldson and Ford (2015) and Welner and Skiba (2015) have both challenged the findings on many grounds, concluding that the study is seriously flawed in methodology, sampling, interpretations, and conclusions. They noted several areas of concern regarding the study including the areas of special education examined, the grade levels included, the lack of a focus on gender with race (e.g., Black males, Hispanic females), and the homogenization of “minority” students, which ignores the lived experiences and cultural differences between and among students of color (e.g., Hispanic vs. Black cultural differences). More concerns can be found in their combined and separate responses to Morgan et al. (2015). Numerous factors must be explored and interrogated by researchers, decision‐ makers, and educators to comprehensively and equitably examine representation via a cultural and equity lens (Krieg, 2011). Race, gender, and income need to be evaluated and critiqued by the special education categories, as well as understanding the following questions: (a) How does special education (over) representation vary for Black males and females, and who are considered low income and high income? (b) How does special education representation vary for Latino males and females by income levels? (c) What are the prevailing patterns and annual trends when evaluating demographic profiles (see Tornquist, Mastropieri, Scruggs, Berry, & Halloran, 2009)? Given the degree and prevalence of overrepresentation, it is noteworthy that even high‐income Black students are present in the percentages. In short, a ­failure to disaggregate data, and adopting color‐blind, gender‐blind, and class‐ blind approaches distort the actual magnitude of overrepresentation and limit strategies for change. Further, attitudes and beliefs situated in deficit thinking, low and negative expectations, and biased and unfair testing must be given considerable regard relative to fueling the overrepresentation pipeline (Blanchett, 2010; Ford, Grantham, & Whiting, 2008; Skiba, Michael, Nardo, & Peterson, 2002; Skiba et al., 2006; Trent, Kea, & Oh, 2008; Valencia, 2010).

Cultural Differences: Implications for Overrepresentation According to the National Center for Education Statistics (2016), “minority” ­students are projected to become the numerical majority of public schools nationally; little to no data counters these predictions. Racially and culturally different students comprised 45% in 2009 but more than half in more recent years. In spite of this, changes in the demographics of educators are not evident; the percentages are stagnant, with approximately 85% of teachers being White and 75% being female. White counselors, psychologists, social workers, and administrators dominate or predominate the education profession as well. Cultural differences among students and educators have been tendered as a chief explanation for special education over‐referrals and overrepresentation (Anastasious, Gardner, & Michail, 2011; Cartledge, Gardner, & Ford, 2008; Harry et al., 2008; Tatum, 2011; Trent et al., 2008; Whiting, 2010). Specifically,

Cultural Differences: Implications for Overrepresentation Cultural Differences: Implications for Overrepresentation 135

differences in values, beliefs, attitudes, customs, and traditions between White teachers/educators and their culturally different students contribute to and exacerbate low expectations and deficit thinking on the one hand (e.g., Valencia, 2010), and cultural misunderstandings and cultural clashes on the other (Hale‐ Benson, 1986; Hofstede, 2001; Hofstede, Hofstede, & Minkov, 2010; Oberg, 1960; Storti, 2007). These negative and biased attitudes and stereotypes result in unnecessary and inequitable referrals for special education evaluation, placement, and services. Teacher education institutions are being increasingly required to produce culturally competent professionals. This necessitates providing multicultural courses and degreed programs that prepare all educators (including special education) to work with culturally different students (and families). Given demographic data and trends as just noted, becoming culturally competent is not an option; it is a requirement (e.g., Anastasious et al., 2011; Banks, 2014, 2015; Ford, 2011; Ford & Kea, 2009; Gay, 2002, 2010; Ladson‐Billings, 2012; Whiting, 2014); cultural ­competence is now a survival skill for educators. The first step toward becoming culturally competent is knowing, understanding, analyzing, applying, and caring more about Black and Latino students, families, and communities. To become culturally competent, we believe teachers must reflect on the following questions: (a) What are the histories of culturally different students? (b) What are their cultural backgrounds and values? (c) How can culturally competent educators decrease misunderstandings and clashes with students, unnecessary referrals, and inappropriate special education identification and placement of students whose culture is different from that of the educators and decision‐makers? Too often, “minority” students are discussed and treated as if they are a homogenous group, as was done by Morgan et al. (2015). In a few instances, researchers have failed to treat each group as independent, which denies and discounts their special and unique lived experiences. In this and too many other bodies of work, the histories and experiences of the United States’ four non‐White groups (i.e., African American, Asian, Hispanic, and Native American) and various subgroups (e.g., Mexican, Puerto Rican, Cuban, Chinese, Japanese, Korean) are discussed in general and generic terms rather than in specific terms. This is where the scholarship of Ogbu (e.g., Ogbu, 1992; Ogbu & Davis, 2003) is pertinent. He and ­colleagues urged educators not to discount, negate, or minimize fundamental cultural differences between and among various racial and cultural groups. Each racial and cultural group has a different history, culture, and way of experiencing their life in and outside of school, and each brings a wealth of world experiences that need to be valued. To illustrate, although Asian Americans undeniably face prejudice, they are stereotyped as members of the “model‐ minority,” and expectations for them are often high and positive without many challenges to this stereotype (Chou & Feagin, 2008; Kristof, 2006; Lee, 2009). In the face of prejudice and discrimination, Asian Americans, specifically Chinese, Japanese, and Korean, may excel in academic settings, are underrepresented in special education, are extensively represented in gifted education and Advanced Placement (AP) classes, and are highly represented in colleges and universities. On average, Asian Americans have high incomes and are likely to be exposed to different forms of capital that are widely acknowledged by White America;

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Asian students often outperform White, Black, and Latino students on tests (intelligence, achievement, aptitude), academically (e.g., grades), and in college attendance and graduation (see Aud et al., 2010; Kena et al., 2015; US Department of Education, OCR, 2006–2012, 2014b; Snyder & Dillow, 2011). Thus, it should come as little surprise that Asian students have different outcomes in schools and special education than do Black students and Hispanic students, more of whom live in poverty and face lower expectations from educators. Ogbu (1992) and Ogbu and Davis (2003) described meaningful differences between voluntary minorities (i.e., immigrants) and involuntary minorities (i.e., nonimmigrants). Immigrants come to the United States seeking the proverbial American Dream. Even when faced with prejudice and discrimination (Allport, 1954; Merton, 1949), immigrants may believe that living in the United States is better (more just and profitable) than in their homelands; accordingly, they may not internalize prejudice and discrimination. This is not necessarily the case for involuntary minorities—such as enslaved people from Africa and their descendants—who have had different experiences than both immigrants and former immigrants such as European Americans—or, more simply, Whites. The American Dream was not the African’s dream, which contributes to different attitudes and values compared to immigrants.

African Americans/Blacks: Involuntary Minorities Blacks or African Americans represent about 17% of students in US schools (OCR, 2006–2012). In general education, gifted education, AP classes, and ­special education, African Americans continuously receive more attention than students from other culturally and linguistically diverse populations, perhaps because they are at risk for the most negative academic outcomes possible (e.g., test performance, suspension, dropout, and expulsion), as well as in society (e.g., unemployment, poverty, incarceration) (Alexander, 2011; Children’s Defense Fund, 2014; Pager, 2007; Wilson, 1996). African Americans are the only racially and culturally different group forcibly brought to the United States in shackles and chains (Ogbu, 1992; Ogbu & Davis, 2003). The experiences of those enslaved were not just physical; from a philosophical view, they did not come to the United States seeking the American Dream or seeking to escape from horrendous conditions in their homeland. It is no wonder that some (perhaps many) Blacks have qualified beliefs in the American Dream and, thus, reject the myth of meritocracy (McNamee & Miller, 2004; Mickelson, 1990). Ford (2011) contended that African Americans are also unique from other racial and cultural groups in that they are often considered acultural, and a color‐ blind philosophy is frequently and almost exclusively applied to them. Few ­educators deny that Asian, Latino, and Native Americans all have distinct cultures. In other words, far too many educators become uncomfortable, which can be expressed as defensive, when cultural differences are noted and discussed. This noted, we recognized that some educators do modify curriculum and instruction (C&I) to be responsive to those cultural differences (Banks, 2014, 2015;

African Americans/Blacks: Involuntary Minorities African Americans/Blacks: Involuntary Minorities 137

Ford, 2011; Gay, 2010; Ladson‐Billings, 2009, 2012). Modification of c­ urriculum and instruction may include a process of cultivating opportunities for Black students to make connections to historical, social, and cultural situations associated with their backgrounds, which provide them opportunities for higher‐level thinking and classroom participation. The classroom can also serve as a venue for educators to relate to the culture of students and acknowledge their lived experiences (Ford & Whiting, 2010; Paris & Ball, 2009). Understanding Black culture is crucial and fosters critical consciousness among students, as well as provides educators with information, support, and guidance to become more culturally responsive at meeting the culture‐based academic needs of Black students, which can impact teaching and classroom practices (Gavelek & Bresnahan, 2009; Whiting, 2009). Along these lines, Boykin (1983; Boykin, Tyler, & Miller, 2005) identified nine learning characteristics of African American students (also see Ford & Kea, 2009; Shade, Kelly, & Oberg, 1997; Williams, 2015) that, when misunderstood, have meaningful and direct implications for special education misplacement and overrepresentation. 1) Spirituality is a belief in and obedience to a higher power; it is an external philosophical orientation grounded in forgiveness, faith, and prayer. Spirituality helps African Americans respond to injustices and oppression (e.g., slavery, prejudice, discrimination). Students with a strong spiritual ­orientation attribute outcomes (positive and negative) to spiritual interventions and blessings. A common assertion is “God willing” and being “blessed” when the outcome is favorable. 2) Harmony pertains to the connection between humans and their environment; it is somewhat akin to being field dependent. Students with this orientation rely on the context or environment for feedback; they are perceptive and watchful; and relationships and a desire to belong are important. In classrooms, Black students want to be respected by teachers and classmates; they may be more sensitive to nonverbal cues (such as teachers giving a compliment but not looking sincere), and have a strong desire for consistency and fairness. Students may inform teachers of lack of fairness and inconsistencies, which can result in poor student–teacher relationships or tension, and referrals to the office. 3) Affect is an emotional orientation. Affective‐oriented Black students are sensitive and can be reactionary or impulsive in expressing their feelings regarding classmates, friends, teachers, administrators, tests, readings, and assignments. Teachers may get upset with students for not enjoying school assignments and then misinterpret disengagement as disrespect. This can and does contribute to poor student–teacher relationships, and a hyper focus on students’ “misbehavior.” 4) Communalism is a family and social orientation; it exists when students have a preference for working interdependently and cooperatively. Social learning, peer group assignments, and helping others are preferred. Students may even risk getting in trouble to support their family and friends. Teachers may ­misinterpret the interdependent orientation of African American students as immature, too social or extroverted, and lacking independence. This p ­ erceived immaturity can be misinterpreted as having social and emotional problems.

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5) Movement is a kinesthetic and tactile orientation with a preference for active learning experiences (e.g., physical and hands‐on activities, drama, field trips, simulations, etc.). This preference or desire to move can be misinterpreted as being hyperactive and lacking self‐ control. 6) Verve is the psychological aspect of movement. The terms excitable, demonstrative, and dramatic capture this orientation. Such Black students may be disengaged by sedentary, routine, repetition, and rote learning. Teachers and other educators may misinterpret verve as hyperactivity, or attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD). 7) Expressive individualism is used interchangeably with creativity and innovation; it is an appreciation of one’s unique style. Black students with this characteristic enjoy self‐expression (e.g., flair, bling, dramatic, demonstrative) and reject some types of conformity. Thinking is often nonlinear and circular, with storytelling, poems, and idioms to bring points home. Teachers may erroneously perceive these students as having weak logical and analytical skills; as being unfocused and inattentive or easily distracted (ADHD); and as less intelligent than others (having intellectual disability or delays). 8) Orality consists of a preference for verbal modes of communication, as well as verbal virtuosity and directness. Such students are often good with word plays, which can be seen in idioms, music, poetry, slang, and more. Call‐and‐ response is often evident, which may be considered rude by teachers. Call and response is a form of spontaneous verbal and nonverbal interaction between speaker and listener in which the call of the speaker is accompanied by a verbal response from the listener. These students do not hesitate to express their views even when others may be uncomfortable, and are often orators and debaters. Teachers may misperceive such students as disrespectful—too direct, blunt, argumentative, rude, and talkative. Referrals to the office for misperceived emotional or behavioral problems may occur. 9) Social time orientation is also referred to as polychromic;1 this sense of and use of time reflect a focus on events rather than the passage of time. Cultures, regarding time, can be monochromic (e.g., time is linear, people do one task at a time, and lateness and interruptions are not tolerated—punctuality is revered) or polychromic (e.g., time is viewed as cyclical, punctuality is unimportant, interruptions are not disrespectful, and multitasking is acceptable and even expected). Students might be frustrated by strict deadlines or assignments that do not resonate with them personally or culturally, so they may question and even challenge assignments and the curriculum. This may be misperceived as disorganized, disinterested, inattentive, and disrespectful. As Harry has noted (e.g., Harry, 2002, 2008; Harry et al., 2008; Harry & Klingner, 2007), views about behavior and what constitutes a disability, disorder, or special education need is culturally dependent and varies across cultural groups and subgroups (also see Anastasious et  al., 2011). Behavior is context‐specific and riddled with subjectivity—views that support one’s own interpretation and way of being. Behavior being viewed by one teacher, administrator, or authoritarian as disruptive, disrespectful, or aggressive may not be viewed as such by another educator, especially one who is culturally competent. What an educator views as rude (e.g., bluntness) may not be considered as such by a culturally different

Hispanic/Latino Americans: Voluntary Minorities Hispanic/Latino Americans: Voluntary Minorities 139

s­ tudent or family member. Hence, the resultant misinterpretations of behaviors (e.g., verve, affect, orality, communalism, social time perspective) contribute to classroom management problems, unjust suspensions, and unnecessary referrals to special education (Ford, 2011; Ford & Kea, 2009; Williams, 2015).

Hispanic/Latino Americans: Voluntary Minorities Hispanic Americans are the largest and fastest‐growing racially and culturally different group in the United States. Hispanics were predicted to comprise 25% of the nation’s school population by 2020; they met this prediction early—in 2012 (US Department of Education, OCR, 2012). This very heterogeneous group is mainly populated in California, Texas, New York, and Florida (Cartledge et al., 2008; Cartledge & Lo, 2006; Ford, 2011). The term/label Hispanic or Latino is broad and includes people from Central America, South America, and the Caribbean. Mexican Americans comprise the majority of Hispanics (62%). A strong, almost universal, value within the diverse Latino community is familismo—the prioritization of family considerations over individual or community needs. In Latino families, close family members usually go beyond the nuclear family; it is common for extended families to live in close proximity to one another, and there is often strong interdependence among family members for their daily needs (CultureGrams, 2011). The prevalence and significance of familismo in Latino cultures must be considered when addressing the needs of students with disabilities. Further, culturally competent teachers need to understand the impact that familial capital has on the Latino family. Family capital refers to “those cultural knowledges nurtured among familia (kin) that carry a sense of community history, memory and cultural intuition” (Yosso, 2005, p. 79). A second cultural characteristic among Latinos is machismo, which represents views about manhood, masculinity, and fatherhood. The oldest male in the household or family holds the greatest power and is often the primary decision‐ maker (CultureGrams, 2011). As the largest Latino group in US schools, a discussion of Mexican culture is justified. Relative to culture and associated styles or ways of living and being, Shade and colleagues (1997) noted that Mexican Americans hold their family and community in high regard. The needs of the family come before individual needs, and elders and those with authority are held in high esteem or regard. Children are also revered, which accounts for larger family sizes (e.g., Cartledge et al., 2008). Hispanic Americans, especially Mexican Americans, are likely to be social and cooperative rather than competitive and individualistic; thus, they prefer working with and helping others (see Rothstein‐Fisch & Trumbull, 2008; Trumbull & Rothstein‐Fisch, 2008). They are also likely to be affective or emotionally inclined, and are committed to people, families, ideas, and events (Shade et al., 1997, p. 30). People (family and children) are more important and valued than time, which refers to a polychromic orientation as with African Americans. Gender roles (i.e., male–female relationships and responsibilities) are distinct; patriarchy and machismo are prevalent and personify the ideal of a strong, assertive male provider, protector, and nurturer.

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In summary, for many Hispanic families, the family is at the center of the social structure; families are generally large, and the extended family is as important as the nuclear family; Latinos view it as their duty and responsibility to help family members. Discussions about the overrepresentation of Latino populations may need to be tempered or qualified for at least two reasons: (a) federal data by the OCR indicate that they are not overrepresented in special education, and (b)  individual studies on specific Latino subgroups in schools and states—not national studies—have presented the opposite finding. When there is litigation, the OCR or the Department of Justice will be the sources for complaints and resolution. With Mexican Americans accounting for at least 60% of the Latino population, homogenized studies are skewed and present a distorted picture. It is possible, for example, that Cubans or Puerto Ricans are not overrepresented in special education—or that they are overrepresented in different or certain disability categories. Overall, as with African Americans, Latinos may not hold the same views of disability as White teachers and families. Further, their culture‐ specific behaviors may have been misunderstood, leading to unnecessary special education referrals and labeling.

Recommendations “For a field built on the principle of fairness … and grounded in the rhetoric of the civil rights movement, ongoing disproportionality strongly indicates systemic problems of inequity, prejudice, and marginalization with the education system” (Sullivan, 2011, p. 318). Special education teachers and decision‐makers must be reflective and proactive to deal with overrepresentation and, thus, the miseducation of youth from African American and Latino/Hispanic populations. The overrepresentation of students from both groups in special education has been thoroughly dissected and debated. For example, most of the litigation has been with high‐incidence disabilities and the pipeline to special education—suspensions and expulsions— particularly for Black males. Several scholars (e.g., Artiles, 2009; Cartledge et al., 2008; Cartledge & Lo, 2006; Losen & Skiba, 2011; Neal, McCray, Webb‐Johnson, & Bridgest, 2003; Skiba et al., 2002; Webb‐Johnson, 2002) and organizations (e.g., Council for Exceptional Children—Division for Culturally and Linguistically Diverse Learners; National Association for Gifted Children—Special Populations Division, and Gifted—Racial Accountability and Cultural Equity special interest group) have advocated for educators and policymakers to be intentional about becoming culturally competent to: (a) recognize and honor cultural differences; (b) understand cultural differences; and (c) avoid penalizing and misdiagnosing non‐White students for their cultural differences. Cultural competence decreases unnecessary referrals, identification, placement, and services. Researchers and policymakers must use large sample sizes, disaggregated by race, gender, income, language, and grade levels in every special education category, with attention to high‐incidence categories in particular. This was not the approach taken by Morgan et al. (2015). Scholarship on income/class, race, and gender is essential (see Tornquist et al., 2009), but must not be treated with a

Recommendations Recommendations 141

deficit lens. Although not addressed in this chapter due to space limitations, testing issues must be continuously interrogated. Test bias and fairness cannot be discounted or trivialized relative to contributing to the overrepresentation (Ford, 2013; Ford et al., 2008; National Center for Fair and Open Testing at http://www. fairtest.org; Santelices & Wilson, 2010). The pipeline to special education, which is leaky to say the least, begins early and can be affected by the cultural understanding and competence gap. Unwarranted suspensions and expulsions based on subjective views and cultural clashes, primarily among Black and Hispanic males, prime the pipeline. The ­theories and work of Gordon Allport and Robert Merton resonate with us as they increase help professionals to understand and, then, reduce and eliminate prejudice and discrimination. Allport’s (1954) model delineates five degrees of prejudice ranging from the mildest form of antilocution (e.g., verbal attacks, racial jokes, hate speech) to avoidance (e.g., White flight) to discrimination (e.g., denying rights and access to programs via biased policies, practices, measures) to physical attacks (e.g., racially motivated violence, police brutality, sterilization) to the most severe form of extermination found throughout history of human existence (e.g., sterilization, medical experiments such as Tuskegee, murder and lynching post slavery, murders and genocide in Rwanda). Especially noteworthy about Merton’s (1949) model is beliefs versus actions/ behaviors. This pertains to how people can be prejudiced (e.g., philosophy, thoughts, beliefs) but not discriminate or act on their beliefs (timid bigot). One example would be prejudiced/racist educational leaders (such as principals, ­special education coordinators), with laws in mind, holding their staff accountable, and taking action to stop discrimination for fear of litigation. Another example is when educators are not prejudiced but still discriminate—which ­happens when educators succumb to social pressures, often the status quo (reluctant liberal). The Jim Crow era is a prime example of knowingly following discriminatory policies and procedures in special education, such as consciously adopting unfair tests, cut‐off scores, referral instruments, and referral policies and procedures (see more in Ford, 2013). In special education, there is a fire; it is inflamed and rising. Educators must focus on both prevention and intervention with the priority on preventing fires as opposed to dousing and putting them out. Prevention would help many Black and Hispanic students avoid the need for special education at such high rates; that is, to avoid miseducation. Accordingly, it is necessary to assist and collaborate with families, early childhood programs, policymakers, educational leaders, counselors, social workers, and medical professionals to support and nurture children (e.g., with developmental delays, mild behavioral and emotional disorders, mild cognitive delays), so that such issues do not become special education needs. Home–school–community collaboration is nonnegotiable; it must be a requirement for decreasing overrepresentation and unneeded educational classes, experiences, and medication or treatment. Collaboration is didactic, a two‐way experience of mutual communication with no individual or group “calling the shots.” In other words, families have capital, and those who do not must be educated and empowered to advocate for their children with special needs at home, school, and in the larger community.

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Special education must locate itself into the omnibus problem of the achievement gap between non‐White students and White students. When a large ­percentage of African American students (again, mainly males) are mislabeled as having behavioral and emotional disorders, intellectual disabilities, other health impairments, and developmental delays, the probability of their participating in college preparation classes and, thus, entering and graduating from college is diminished (e.g., Ford, 2010). Professionals in special educational settings must recognize that color‐ blindness in philosophy is idealistic and perhaps a seemingly noble idea; but a color‐blind philosophy only adverts and further delays much needed action and change. So too does a negative and deficit view of race and culture. To ignore, discount, or simply adopt the view that cultural differences do not exist and/or are inconsequential does a critical disservice to the millions of culturally and racially different students who fail to benefit from and who, thus, suffer from the structural inequities that exist in nearly every level of education in the United States and its schools. Every student and group has a culture; culture influences one’s work with others (Hofstede et  al., 2010; Storti, 2007). It is possible for acceptable and valued culturally based behavior to be mistaken for an emotional or behavioral disorder. Teachers and other school personnel often make unwarranted referrals when lacking culturally responsive teaching and management dispositions, skills, and behaviors. Given concerns about teacher misunderstanding of and insensitivity to c­ ultural differences, investigations of the effects of teacher training and school policy on special education referrals are important. More data are needed on referral rates by race and gender of school staff and decision‐makers. Strategies for increasing the representation of Black and Hispanic teachers and leaders in special education are long overdue (Irvine, 2003; Ladson‐Billings, 2009; Nieto, 2010). Reports and projects by the National Collaborative on Diversity in the Teaching Force (2004) and My Brothers’ Keeper (2014, at https://www.whitehouse.gov/my‐ brothers‐keeper) are two examples. It is incumbent upon all educators to become culturally competent. How can special education become more culturally responsive to those culturally and linguistically diverse students to avoid misrepresentation? And why is doing so essential? The Council for Exceptional Children’s has developed policies and professional standards on diversity (CEC, 2011a; CEC, 2011b) and the professional standards on diversity (CEC, 2011a) states: As part of its commitment to providing excellent educational services to diverse students, CEC developed a set of knowledge and skills addressing multicultural competence all special educators should know. These standards for multicultural competence are incorporated into all aspects and disciplines of special education teaching and learning. (p. 1) As with training to reduce prejudice and discrimination, special educators (teachers and administrators, along with evaluators) require formal preparation in culture and cultural similarities and differences. Such formal, ongoing, and systemic preparation—via conferences, professional development/in‐service

References References 143

workshops, courses, and degree programs—can significantly reduce unnecessary referrals and overrepresentation. Thousands of Black and Hispanic students have been misdiagnosed, misplaced, and miseducated for many decades. The time for change is now.

Note 1 http://www.worldwidewords.org/turnsofphrase/tp‐pol2.htm

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Storti, C. (2007). The art of crossing cultures (2nd ed.). Yarmouth, ME: Intercultural Press. Sullivan, A. L. (2011). Disproportionality in special education identification and placement of English Language Learners. Exceptional Children, 77, 317–334. Tatum, A. W. (2011). The legitimacy of culturally relevant pedagogy: Resolved or unresolved. In L. Scherff & K. Spector (Eds.), Culturally relevant pedagogy: Clashes and confrontations. Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield. Toldson, I., & Ford, D. Y. (2015). Study on black, Hispanic children in special ed wrong, regressive. Retrieved from http://diverseeducation.com/article/76088/ Tornquist, E. H., Mastropieri, M. A., Scruggs, T. E., Berry, H. G., & Halloran, W. D. (2009). The impact of poverty on special education students. In T. E. Scruggs & M. A. Mastropieri (Eds.), Policy and practice: Advances in learning and behavioral disabilities (Vol. 22, pp. 169–187). Bingley, England: Emerald. Trent, S. C., Kea, C. D., & Oh, K. (2008). Preparing preservice educators for cultural diversity: How far have we come? Exceptional Children, 74, 328–350. Trumbull, E., & Rothstein‐Fisch, C. (2008). Cultures in harmony. Educational Leadership, 66(1), 63–66. US Department of Education. (2007). Disproportionality. Retrieved from http:// idea.ed.gov/explore/view/p/%2Croot%2Cdynamic%2CTopicalBrief%2C7%2C US Department of Education, Office for Civil Rights [OCR] (2006–2012). Civil rights data collection. Retrieved from http://ocrdata.ed.gov/ US Department of Education, Office of Special Education and Rehabilitative Services, Office of Special Education Programs. (2014a). 36th Annual report to Congress on the implementation of the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act. Washington, DC: Author. US Department of Education, Office for Civil Rights. (2014b). Data snapshot: School discipline, Issue brief 1. Retrieved from http://ocrdata.ed.gov/Downloads/ CRDC‐School‐Discipline‐Snapshot.pdf Valencia, R. (2010). Dismantling contemporary deficit thinking: Educational thought and practice. London, England: Routledge. Webb‐Johnson, G. (2002). Are schools ready for Joshua? Dimensions of African American culture among students identified as having behavioral/emotional disorders. Qualitative Studies in Education, 15, 653–671. Welner, K., & Skiba, R. (2015). Big news or flawed research? The new special education controversy. Retrieved from http://www.huffingtonpost.com/kevin‐ welner/big‐news‐or‐flawed‐resear_b_7718746.html Whiting, G. W. (2009). The Scholar Identity Institute: Guiding Darnel and other black males. Gifted Child Today, 32(4), 53–56. Whiting, G. W. (2010). Overrepresentation of African American males in special education: A clarion call for action and change. In M. Zamani‐Gallaher & V. C. Polite (Eds.), The State of the African American Male (pp. 19–44). East Lansing, MI: Michigan State University Press. Whiting, G. W. (2014). The scholar identity model: Black male success in the K‐12 context. In F. A. Bonner (Ed.), Building on resilience: Models and frameworks of black males’ success across the P‐20 pipeline (pp. 88–108). Sterling, VA: Stylus Press.

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8 Family Diversity From the Margins to the Center Beth Harry and Patrice Fenton

This chapter describes the journey of advocacy that has brought the voices of parents of culturally and linguistically diverse (CLD) backgrounds from the margins of the special education system to the center. Still in progress, the journey echoes that of civil rights activists in its ethical focus and moral authority and intensity. While much of our focus is on native and immigrant CLD families in the United States, we do include some discussion of a study conducted outside of the United States, as well as some implications for the international context. To appreciate the journey, we will begin by placing it in the context of the driving role of parents in the disability movement. Our search for literature for this chapter began with a review by Harry (2008) and was followed by a search for updated studies following that review. The latter included an electronic search utilizing the keywords parent participation, parent involvement, special education, and diversity, as well as a hand search of references in key articles on the topic.

Speaking Through the Courts The Education for all Handicapped Children’s Act (EHA) came into being in 1975 as the result of decades of advocacy by parents of children with disabilities. From “special classes” in the basements and annexes of churches across the country in the first half of the twentieth century, to the formation of the Association for Retarded Citizens in 1950 (The ARC, 2014), to the nations’ courts in the 1960s and 1970s (Crawford v. Honig, 1994; Diana v. California State Board of Education, 1970; Hobson v. Hanson, 1967; Larry P. v. Riles, 1979, 1986), and finally to the halls of Congress in 1975, parents insisted that their voices be heard. The search for a turning point in this journey often leads to Philadelphia in 1969, where the Pennsylvania Association for Retarded Children (PARC v. Pennsylvania, 1971) won its argument that the State should be responsible to provide schooling to all children, regardless of disability. Coming on the heels of the Civil Rights movement of the 1960s, which focused on racial equality, the PARC case set the stage for national action and, in 1975, the nation responded with the enactment of the EHA. The outcome of that journey was the provision The Wiley Handbook of Diversity in Special Education, First Edition. Edited by Marie Tejero Hughes and Elizabeth Talbott. © 2017 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Published 2017 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

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of children’s right to an education. Because the children being represented were particularly vulnerable, a key principle of the law was a requirement that parents be invited to participate in the planning and execution of their children’s individualized special education services. This requirement included procedural safeguards that explicitly stated and protected parents’ rights. The entrenchment of this law in American schooling was reinforced by its 1990 reauthorization, which, in renaming the law as the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act (IDEA), underscored that the child is a child first, not a disability. That version of the law, and each subsequent reauthorization, through the current 2004 iteration, has intensified the requirement for parental participation, placing increasing responsibility on school personnel to create procedural and interpersonal communication mechanisms to achieve this goal. Equity issues based on race and language were woven into the process from the start. First, as Ferri and Connor (2006) and many others have argued, coming on the heels of the Civil Rights movement of the 1960s with Brown v Board of Education (1954) ending racial segregation in schools, advocates for disability rights “did draw heavily on the logic set forth in Brown” (Ferri & Connor, 2006, p. 24). This logic was grounded in reinforcing the notion that separate could not be equal, whether based on race or on ability. Second, the earliest court cases were related to inequities inherent in placing Navajo and Spanish‐speaking children in special education disability programs based on English language testing (Diana v. California State Board of Education, 1970; Guadalupe v. Tempe Elementary School, 1978). This was soon followed by the Larry P. v. Riles case (1979), which charged that children in California were being placed in classes for mental retardation on the basis of biased intelligence quotient (IQ) tests that discriminated against African American children. The decisions in favor of the plaintiffs in these cases underscored the importance of their parents’ astute appraisal of educational inequities and the strength of the advocacy groups and individuals that supported them.

In a Whisper: Coming to the Individualized Education Program (IEP) Table Despite this powerful history, the implementation of the parental requirements in the law has been and still is a challenge for the special education system. From the passage of the EHA in 1975 to its reauthorization as IDEA in 1990, a new role began to emerge for parents. Essentially, the advocacy required became a ­privately negotiated matter between individual parents and the school personnel who served their children. As noted by Mehan, Hartwick, and Meihls (1986), in a discussion of the power relations inherent in these negotiations, the balance was clearly in the hands of school personnel, who often engaged in what the authors referred to as “the discourse of power” (p. 109). While this power ­imbalance made participation challenging for all parents, it often proved overwhelming for those whose cultural beliefs, languages, and child‐rearing practices were so different from the mainstream as to be perceived as deficient by school personnel. Moreover, the simultaneous development of desegregated schools

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and special education meant that historical discriminatory attitudes to previously excluded minorities were still normative among white educators (Ferri & Connor, 2006).

African American Families By the 1980s, researchers were beginning to note the negative effects of school personnel’s deficit views of CLD families and the impact of historical racism on parental efforts at participation. Since the development of the IEP was the centerpiece of the law’s implementation (IDEA), early studies focused on parent’s ­ participation in this process. The first accounts came with regard to African American families. Marion (1979), in a study of parents’ perceptions of the IEP experience within a recently desegregated school system, reported that parents were minimally informed of their rights and received no recognition of the logistical supports needed for their participation, such as accommodation to their work schedules, child‐care, or transportation. Most important, Marion (1979) noted that African American parents were aware that their children were being placed in disability categories at disproportionately high rates, a fact that had been brought to national attention by Dunn (1968) and had been studied by the National Academy of Sciences (Heller, Holtzman, & Messick, 1982). This awareness exacerbated parents’ historical mistrust of predominantly white school systems. Between the late 1970s and late 1980s, several studies emerged that reiterated these patterns with African American families and proposed needed strategies for improvement (Cassidy, 1988; Gillis‐Olion, Olion, & Holmes, 1986; Patton & Braithwaite, 1984). Further, some studies specifically documented discriminatory practices, such as providers withholding information from parents, and contacting and offering less adequate services to African American parents than what is offered to other groups (Sullivan, 1980; Tomlinson, Acker, Canter, & Lindborg, 1977).

Hispanic, Native American, and Asian Families During this period, occasional studies of other minority groups began to emerge. Lynch and Stein (1987), in a study of parental participation in an area close to the Mexican border, found Hispanic/Latino and African American parents to be less participatory than Anglo‐American parents are, and highlighted the role of issues of culture and immigration status in this pattern. Bennett (1988) found that Hispanic/Latino students who were deaf experienced exclusionary patterns that echoed those of African Americans. Cultural conflicts were also highlighted as contributing to misunderstandings between school personnel and Asian and Native American parents (Chan, 1986; Connery, 1987; Sharp, 1983). Among the conflicts noted in these studies was a concern regarding the powerful stigmas resulting from beliefs about the spiritual etiology of disabilities, and the confusion that arose when parents holding such beliefs were told that their children had disabilities.

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Rising Voices Against this background, the period since the passage of the IDEA (1997) has produced a wealth of studies exploring the experiences of CLD parents, both from their own perspectives and those of service providers. These studies have used two main types of methodologies—surveys and face‐to‐face qualitative interviews and observations. While some clear trends have emerged from this literature, an important caveat has also been established—the importance of attending to within‐group variations as well as to the multifaceted identities typically developed by all groups and individuals as their experiences intersect with different aspects of mainstream society (Artiles, 2013). We will address the literature in two main sections: First, we will discuss the importance of research methodology regarding two key challenges—how to include a range of CLD and low‐income families, and how to utilize methods that go beyond surface information in order to investigate the processes that contribute to observed or reported patterns. Second, we will review the actual findings regarding CLD families’ experiences with school personnel, specifically, themes of cultural interpretations of disability, professionals’ deficit views of CLD and low‐income families, differential cultural visions in goal setting, and parents’ understandings of their roles in their children’s education. Throughout, we will note the contradictions within these patterns, as families’ identities intersect with socioeconomic status, race, language, and religion.

In Whose Voice? Challenges of Representation and Methodology The issue of voice is central to concerns about research on CLD families since minority groups have long complained that they are tired of being spoken for. However, decisions about methods have their strengths and weaknesses regarding the challenge of bringing minority voices to the table. The first concern is whether we want a large number of voices, typically sought through survey methods that allow us to make reasonable generalizations to larger populations. The main challenge in these methods is to gain adequate representation of ­various groups within the sample. The second concern with survey methods is that they can provide a broad view of an array of information, but relatively little understanding of the reasons why, and processes by which, the patterns occur. In contrast, rigorous qualitative studies can offer in‐depth views of the how’s and why’s of parents’ responses, but are limited in generalizability. In terms of parents’ perceptions, survey methods have been able to gain a view of overall preferences of parents, as well as establish parents’ perceptions of key criteria needed for their collaboration. However, mailed surveys are notorious for low response rates, with responses from CLD families being particularly low. For example, a survey by Dinnebeil, Hale, and Rule (1996) of the views of 1134 caregivers yielded 397 responses (35%), of whom 76% were Caucasian, a fact that was noted by the authors as a limitation of their conclusions. Similarly, Summers et al. (2005)

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reported a response rate between 15% and 18%, and only 19% of the respondents represented CLD groups. These authors reported that their efforts to diversify the sample by contacting agencies serving traditionally underserved populations yielded low success. Similarly, disproportionate response rates were reported by Epley, Summers, and Turnbull (2011), who examined the intersection between parents’ survey ratings of early intervention services and early childhood outcomes and family quality of life. The researchers determined that parents successfully having their needs met during early intervention services is a pathway to more favorable family outcomes (e.g., families knowing how to effectively advocate for their child, families understanding their child’s strengths and special needs, families gaining access to the services and activities in their community that they need, etc.) and a higher quality of life. However, the study included 77 participants, of whom 92% were reported as white, leaving African Americans and Hispanics/Latinos grossly underrepresented in the sample. The authors cited this as a limitation and a needed lens through which to conduct further research. Epley et al. (2010) presented a case study in which they investigated administrative structures as an important facet of how early intervention services are provided and consequently affect the quality of child and family outcomes. Here, they examined the supremely important effects of the vision and leadership of an organization, the organizational climate, and the resources of p ­ rovider practices and family supports. They chose two case study sites that fit three criteria: “(a) provided services for young children birth‐to‐three with disabilities and their families, (b) utilized a home visiting model of intervention, and (c) provided ­services to a diverse group of children and families (p. 21).” One program they ultimately chose provided services to a small community within a large city as part of the school district’s special education department, while the other was a community based organization servicing a rural community. The practitioners at each site were asked to recruit families that were “typical” or “challenged” families, but did not define these qualifiers for the practitioners. Of the 14 families who participated across two different sites, only one family was reported as African American, while three were Hispanic/Latino, and there were no families who fell into the “Other” category. Nevertheless, their data proved to be well rounded, as they made use of interviews with families, administrators, and practitioners, focus groups with administrators, and observations that included home visits. Studies that used more interactive, personalized methods have demonstrated more success in gaining a diverse sample. An excellent example of this was a study of parental views of effective collaboration by Blue‐Banning, Summers, Frankland, Nelson, and Beegle (2004), which included 34 focus groups and 18 face‐to‐face interviews across 137 families. The ethnicity composition was 41% African American, 17% Hispanic/Latino, 30% white, and 4% other. The parental recommendations emerging from this study formed the basis for the development of the Family Professional Partnership Scale (Summers et  al., 2005), whose purpose is to assess parents’ perceptions of services. Once more, however, the authors offer the caveat that the tool needed to be tested on a more diverse sample. The study cited in the preceding text by Blue‐Banning et al. (2004) also exemplifies the breadth‐versus‐depth dilemma in research methodology. In the study,

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the use of multiple methods not only increased diverse participation but also garnered in‐depth information through face‐to‐face interviews. Qualitative studies using ethnographic style interviewing and observation have also provided the field with exemplars of the advantage of personalized methods. Many of these studies will be cited in the following text, as we address the information they have provided on the cultural and social processes involved in parental participation in the education of children and youth with disabilities. Despite the best efforts of researchers, contextual issues sometimes thwart the best of intentions inherent in methodology. For example, Sauer and Kasa (2012) worked with preservice teachers with the goal of opening these budding practitioners’ eyes to the challenges families face. Their work focused on getting preservice teachers to take a disabilities studies stance in order to stave off the prevalent deficit model that is often associated with teaching those with disabilities. Over three semesters, 98 families took part in the project and students were able to conduct 125 interviews. As part of the preservice teachers’ coursework, they partnered with a center that used a “parents as faculty” framework where 10% of the families self‐identified as culturally or racially diverse. The center recruited families on a voluntary basis and provided an orientation workshop for those who agreed to take part. In understanding that it is important to “… teach students to respond with critical cultural competence in regard to disability in general” (Sauer & Kasa, 2012, p. 167), the researchers looked to increase the cultural–linguistic diversity of the families they worked with in their study, particularly when they saw that their participant pool was lacking in diversity. They employed snowball sampling in an effort to capitalize on their personal connections and they secured extra grant money to offer meals for the families’ children along with a small ­stipend. Nevertheless, this produced a minimal increase in diversity. The researchers noted that this challenge was due to institutional discrimination that made it hard for relationships to form between personnel and diverse families, as well as a “lack of perceived shared goals of social justice” (p. 167).

Key Themes: Cultural/Historical Conversations Key themes emerging from studies of CLD families have pointed to cultural and historical patterns as central ingredients in parent‐professional interactions. A review by Harry (2008) highlighted the following four themes: cross‐cultural ­differences in definitions of disability, professionals’ deficit views of CLD and low‐income families, differences in parental versus professional goals for children, and differences in parental versus professional understandings of parental roles. In this review, we explain these trends and note ways in which they have been reinforced or modified. Culturally Based Understandings of Disability

As mentioned earlier, qualitative studies utilizing ethnographic interviews and observations revealed much information about parents’ perceptions of their experiences with the special education system. One dominant trend has been that

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­ ifferential cultural interpretations of disability contributed to misunderstanding d and miscommunication regarding disability labels. This concern was first published in Harry’s (1992) reports of the views and experiences of a group of Puerto Rican parents who had been perceived by the school personnel as being “in denial” of their children’s disabilities. Parents’ explanations revealed what Harry referred to as “parameters of normalcy” that were much wider than those held by the school system. What school personnel saw as high‐incidence disabilities such as Learning Disability and Behavior Disorders were perceived by parents as representing a normal range of variation based on children’s temperaments and family traits. A replication of this study with African American ­parents, reported by Harry, Allen, and McLaughlin (1995) indicated the same pattern, with parents interpreting the school’s disability designations as discriminatory and incorrect. Similar findings with Hispanic/Latina mothers were reported by Zetlin, Padron, and Wilson (1996), and, more recently, by McLeod (2012) with English‐speaking West Indian parents, and by Mahotiere (2013) with Haitian parents. Larger‐scale studies have also highlighted the theme of cultural misunderstandings and lack of knowledge of the special education system. A line of research by Bailey, Skinner, Correa et al. (1999), Bailey, Skinner Rodriguez, Gut and Correa (1999), and McHatton and Correa (2005) investigated the views of 250 Mexican and Puerto Rican mothers and revealed cultural and religious interpretations of disabilities that created discontinuities between parents and the school system, along with perceptions of stigma and discrimination. Contrasting Goals for Young Adults

The cultural and social chasm that can develop between providers and parents is further evident in conflicts regarding the ultimate goals of special education services. A line of research with 16 Hispanic/Latina mothers of young adults with developmental disabilities (Rueda, Monzo, Shapiro, Gomez, & Blacher, 2005; Shapiro, Monzo, Rueda, Gomez, & Blacher, 2004) pointed to the importance of understanding different “cultural models” in planning for youth’s transition to adulthood. These studies emphasized the disconnect related to culturally based values of independence, autonomy, and individualization as the mothers made clear their vision of “home‐centered, sheltered adaptation” as a more appropriate goal for their adult children, than that of “independent productivity” (Rueda et  al. 2005, p. 406), so cherished by US professionals. Similar findings were reported by Kramer and Blacher (2008) regarding Hispanic/Latino families. These studies illustrated a key challenge presented by Kalyanpur and Harry (1999) regarding the power of these values to drive decision‐making for individuals with disabilities: the need to create a culturally reciprocal dialogue that can allow for a balance between collectivist values that may be held by parents from CLD backgrounds and the individualistic goals of the US cultural mainstream. Stereotyping and Deficit Views of CLD and Low‐SES Parents

The cross‐cultural difficulties noted in the preceding text have been compounded by school personnel’s deficit‐based stereotypes of CLD and low SES parents. While the facts regarding the negative impacts of key stressors such as poverty,

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low maternal age, limited formal education, and toxic physical environments are well known (Donovan & Cross, 2003; Sameroff, Seifer, Baldwin, & Baldwin, 1993; Scarborough et al., 2004), close‐up studies of families indicate that this knowledge can result in stereotyping that ignores the strengths of families (Harry, Klingner, & Hart, 2005; Harry & Klingner, 2006). The latter studies demonstrated how negative perceptions of parents spilled over onto decisions about children’s placements based on assumptions that families were “dysfunctional.” The unfortunate part of these findings was that, while the school personnel who made these decisions had never entered the homes of these families, researchers’ visits to the homes revealed powerful family and community strengths that provided resiliency for the families. Similarly, Knotek’s (2003) study of school‐based conferences demonstrated the impact of professionals’ knowledge of families’ socioeconomic situations and low formal educational levels on decisions that were made regarding children’s assessments and placements. An important aspect of this line of study is the evidence that parents are well aware of professional disrespect (McHatton & Correa, 2005; Rao, 2000; Zionts, Zionts, Harrison, & Bellinger, 2003), and may respond in a range of ways that may or may not be productive for them and their children. Zionts et al. (2003) noted that parents’ dissatisfaction with services was tied to their perceptions of being disrespected and that, consequently, their relationships with professionals were marked by distrust. Parents may express distrust in different ways. One method has been to ­withdraw from participation, as was evidenced by Puerto Rican and Dominican parents in studies by Harry (1992) and Harry, Kalyanpur, and Day (1999). In the latter study, the Dominican parents of a boy with Down Syndrome, choosing the path of deference despite their mistrust, simply acquiesced to professional ­placement recommendations with which they disagreed, saying that “they [professionals] are the ones in charge” (p. 199). In contrast, parents may simply decide to take matters into their own hands. For example, strong though covert defiance was poignantly presented in Lea’s (2006) ethnographic study of six adolescent mothers of children with disabilities who responded to service providers’ disrespect by simply doing their own thing. One African American mother, reporting that she had gone ahead and arranged private speech therapy for her child without informing her service provider, explained her decision by saying that the ­provider saw her as “just another young black girl who had a baby and not ­married … I know she look down on me but I just play the game … They don’t know me. They don’t know nothin’ about me” (p. 272). Cultural Expectations of Parental Roles

Themes of differential cultural interpretations of disability and mistrust engendered by perceptions of cultural/social deficit intertwine with culturally based understandings of parents’ roles in their children’s education. Within the United States itself, the concept of parent participation has changed dramatically over the years. While parents two generations ago might have envisioned their main role as ensuring children’s attendance at school and their completion of homework, Epstein (2001) has summarized an array of roles that might be expected of

Key Themes: Cultural/Historical Conversations Key Themes: Cultural/Historical Conversations 157

parents. Indeed, despite mixed results in the literature (Fan & Chen, 2001), the common wisdom of the day is that parental participation has a positive impact on children’s educational success. In special education, parental participation is even more intense and, as was pointed out at the start of this paper, is specifically codified in the law (IDEA, 1997). Research on CLD parents’ participation indicates a continuing disconnect between professional and parental expectations. In the case of recently immigrated families, cultural traditions of deference to professionals and separate roles for home and school are particularly well documented. While this tradition has long been noted among Hispanic/Latino families (Harry, 1992; Lynch & Hanson, 2011), numerous studies of Asian families have reinforced this pattern. Lai and Ishiyama (2004), studying Chinese–Canadian families, and Cho, Singer, and Brenner (2003) studying Korean and Korean–American families, pointed out that traditional deference to professionals was reinforced by parents’ appreciation of receiving services that were not available in their home countries. Further emphasizing the complex intersections that mark parental expectations, Lee, Turnbull, and Zan (2009) invoked the image of a prism to highlight the broad spectrum of perspectives that need to be taken into account when considering cultural effects on Asian parent participation. Highlighting some key lenses through which to view Asian cultures, specifically, those of Chinese and Korean immigrants, these authors noted both cultures’ preference for a son, the roles of mother and father in the household, their strong passion for education, and their deferential posture toward professionals. In the latter category, for example, they state the following, When working with parents who come from Asian cultures, remember that many parents will hesitate to express their opinion with teachers or other staff. It might be better to check parents’ real desires about their children’s education before an official meeting (i.e., IEP meeting) with other staff by encouraging parents to express their opinions and showing empathy with their opinions. (p. 102) The authors argued that this small action taken by school personnel involved in the IEP process could have huge effects on engendering true participation from Asian parents. Without such understanding, the expertise of the parents is eclipsed and many things could be missed on the part of the professionals that could optimize the way services are being provided to the student. Clearly, school personnel would need enhanced cultural sensitivity and awareness as well as a commitment to making the time amidst the scheduling challenges of daily school practice. Additionally, if there is no Asian professional on staff, how likely is it that a well‐meaning educator will know to take these kinds of steps when dealing with Asian parents? Placing these concerns in the light of Asian parents’ passion for education, the authors stated: “Considering the importance of education and the value of ­academic achievement in Asian cultures, it is important to understand parents’ frustration with children with disabilities who have difficulties, especially regarding academic achievement” (Lee et al., 2009, p. 102). How school personnel deal

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with this frustration is yet another crucial component of encouraging true parent collaboration. Dispelling myths around disabilities and taking an active role in blotting out misconceptions around disability becomes quite integral for special education professionals working with these groups. In a discussion of how these issues apply to teacher preparation, Sauer and Kasa (2012) advocate a disabilities studies stance in order to ease the concerns of parents in CLD groups as well as invite and sustain their continued involvement in the special education process. In view of the foregoing traditional discontinuities, studies have emphasized that parental deference should not be interpreted as satisfaction. Lo (2008) investigated the level of participation and experiences in IEP meetings of five Chinese parents of students with disabilities. The author found that in 12 out of 15 observed meetings, parents were not satisfied with the outcome. Moreover, in the 12 meetings where parents requested services, seven were denied. The data also revealed that parents were unlikely to ask questions and initiate comments. Even when one parent brought a friend to the meeting who encouraged her to ask questions, the mother never did. When asked about how they prepared for the meetings, only one parent reported taking time to outline what he wanted to discuss beforehand. The rest of the participants (all mothers) viewed the meeting as a space where professionals would report progress, any evaluation results, and any changes to services; therefore, they did not see how they would even go about any pre‐meeting preparation activities. Language also proved to be a barrier where interpreters were present in most meetings, but in one meeting, for example, the interpreter was a Chinese teacher on staff and always had to leave meetings early to return to teaching duties. The foregoing issues of parental deference and language differences were also noted by Rodriguez, Blatz, and Elbaum (2014) in a study of the involvement of Hispanic/Latino parents of students with disabilities. Their data included focus groups and interviews with 96 parents of students with disabilities. They also used surveys that captured white and Hispanic/Latino parents’ views on whether their involvement was facilitated at the level outlined by the State. The researchers emphasized that the deferential stance often taken by parents led to the appearance of passive or minimal involvement in educational decisions for their children while the language issue not only often prohibited parents from ­optimally participating, but also caused them to lack confidence in their communication skills (Rodriguez et al., 2014).

The Activation of Cultural Capital The concept of cultural capital (Bourdieu & Passeron, 1990) has been used to interpret both parental efforts at participation and school personnel’s response to these efforts. Harry et al. (2005), in a discussion of African American parents’ participation, argued that it was not just a matter of parents not possessing or attempting to activate their cultural capital, but that school personnel actually diminished and rebuffed these efforts and also challenged these efforts on the part of parents. Because of the deficit assumptions, they held about the families’

The Activation of Cultural Capital The Activation of Cultural Capital 159

life styles and parenting practices, school personnel gave little credence to ­parents’ input and priorities in terms of services desired for their children. While the literature shows that increased parent involvement often leads to positive student outcomes (Fan & Chen, 2001), Trainor (2010) pointed to the possibility of negative effects when parents’ involvement efforts are rebuffed by professionals. Trainor (2010) argued that this process can actually intensify inequity for CLD students with disabilities. She used interviews and focus groups among 27 families with 36 children who were receiving special education services. Her participants were African American, European–American, ­ Hispanic/Latino, and Native American and represented a range of socioeconomic groups. Similar to Rodriguez et al. (2014), Trainor (2010) acknowledged that cultural and social capital are necessary for parents; however, this capital is not equitably distributed, nor uniformly used across groups. As discussed by Lareau and Horvat (1999), capital and the efforts and skills used to activate that capital, must be analyzed in the context of institutions’ response to individuals’ activation of that capital. For example, Trainor (2010) found that European– American parents of low SES, upon finding out the disability label that described their child’s learning difficulties, felt a sense of relief that they could finally focus on remediating the problem. These parents would endeavor to become as knowledgeable as they could about the disability, finding this an essential component of interacting with the school around their child’s education. In contrast, African American, Hispanic/Latino, and Native American parents, who also belonged to lower SES groups, were less encouraged by the disability designations, believing that they would lead to professionals’ lower expectations for their children. Further, these parents valued their own intimate and intuitive knowledge of their children over anything they could learn in a book about their child’s label, but found that this type of knowledge was not respected at the school level and therefore suggestions they made for their child’s services, for example, often went unheeded. Trainor (2010) argued that these parents’ involvement actually resulted in detrimental effects on how their children were viewed and serviced by special education. This issue of cultural capital may explain one of the most striking findings in the research of Rodriguez et  al. (2014)—the role of parental initiative. When schools were not effective in involving parents, Hispanic/Latino parents were less likely than Caucasian parents to take initiative to contact school personnel or seek information. This indicated the importance of, and need for, school ­professionals’ usage of targeted practices in garnering Hispanic/Latino parent involvement. The researchers outlined four strategies for school professionals to help Hispanic/Latino families become more involved: (1) encouraging their ­participation in the decision‐making process; (2) empowering families through educating them about the special education process; (3) involving parents in their children’s transitions so as to better prepare the students; and (4) increasing the frequency and modalities of communication. It is important to note that the issue of devaluing parents’ ability to participate occurs not only in face‐to‐face interactions but can also be outlined in official school policy. In a powerful analysis of the nuances of policy discourse, Lai and Vadeboncoeur (2012) noted that “… the literature on parent involvement in regular

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and special education emphasizes the important role parents play, [and] the dominant discourse of parent involvement holds that good parents support their children’s education in ways that are recognized by school personnel” (p. 868). This results in a very narrowed and normalized view of parent involvement whereby, as noted by Harry (1992), qualities present in working class CLD homes are typically viewed as needing to be replaced by what the school designates as desirable. In light of these factors, in Vancouver, Canada, Lai and Vadeboncoeur (2012) conducted a critical discourse analysis (CDA) where they contrasted ­policy documents with data from 10 semi‐structured interviews with Chinese– Canadian mothers of children with disabilities. The authors noted that discourse is defined as “the language above the sentence, or how sentences are organized, relate to each other, and form patterns” (p. 873). For example, the British Columbia Ministry of Education says that an interpreter may be available for speakers of non‐native languages and further instructs parents that they must be on time if such a service is provided and that conversations must be kept short. The authors analyzed this to mean that though providing an interpreter is not an obligation on the school’s part, parents’ punctuality and brevity is, as per ­mandated policy, thereby positioning parents in a subordinate role to professionals. By comparing the official stance on parents’ roles with parents’ actual experiences, the study demonstrated the power dynamics by which the norms of a dominant group can devalue the norms and practices of other groups and, more specifically, how this plays out within the discourse of special education parent involvement. Through CDA, Lai and Vadeboncoeur (2012) identified two major themes: First, that partnership is a misnomer, in that, though parent involvement is legally required, in practice, requests are honored mostly when solicited by the school, not when initiated by parents. Second, that while parent knowledge and input is valuable on the one hand, parents often do not have expertise in the knowledge that is valued by the schools. However, the researchers also observed that certain barriers, like language, may prohibit parents from participating as true partners; even when participants in their studies were willing and able to contribute their knowledge and time, their efforts to take part were, in practice, seen as being “overinvolved.” This type of information regarding various types of capital that parents bring to their collaboration with schools underscores a serious need to reevaluate how schools and teachers are actualizing the parent participation ideals of IDEA. It also underscores the challenge of ensuring that school policies do not support negative practices by simply paying lip service to the ideal of parent participation. When considering the larger picture of the role of cultural differences in schooling, it is interesting to note that CLD parents are reporting a cultural ­dissonance very similar to that which occurs when teachers fail to take culturally responsive pedagogical stances when working with CLD students (Ladson‐ Billings, 2009). Just as students’ cultural knowledge often goes untapped and undervalued, so too does the knowledge and expertise parents bring to the table, specifically, intimate knowledge of their children. Moreover, the absence of parental perspectives intensifies the deficit views held by school personnel (Harry Klingner, & Hart, 2005).

Conclusion and Recommendations for Practice: Seeing Diversity as the Norm Conclusion and Recommendations for Practice: Seeing Diversity as the Norm 161

Conclusion and Recommendations for Practice: Seeing Diversity as the Norm In today’s multicultural America, there is no longer any doubt that diversity is the norm. According to the National Center for Education Statistics, between 2000 and 2008, the proportion of public school enrollment of white students decreased from 69.4% to 65.6% (Aud, Fox, & KewalRamani, 2010). In special education, approximately 54%1 of the population served under IDEA between ages 3 and 5 years is white (US Department of Education, 2014). All other racial/ethnic groups constitute the rest of the student population, with Hispanics/Latinos, at 22%, comprising the largest CLD group. When looking at the racial make‐up of ­special education students between the ages of 6 and 21 served under IDEA, the same report shows that whites just barely make up the majority, comprising approximately 52.6% of this population. Again, Hispanics/Latinos, at 22%, are the largest CLD group here as well. With these types of numbers and trends, it is evident that professionals cannot continue to assume that all parents of special education students will share the same assumptions and practices valued by the special education system. Scholars studying professionals’ communication with CLD families have ­proposed advocacy approaches such as that described by Burke (2013), while others have offered several variations on the theme of culturally responsive or culturally “competent” interactions (Barrera & Kramer, 2009; Lynch & Hanson, 2011). Kalyanpur and Harry (1999), however, have argued for the development of a process of cultural reciprocity. With this type of approach, service providers begin by acknowledging that they are not “culturally competent” and can only hope to be culturally reciprocal by asking families to explain their worldviews and, in return, providers explain the worldviews and assumptions of the special education system. Through explicit reciprocity in communication, families and professionals recognize that their differing beliefs and practices are based in culture and are therefore not “wrong” or “right.” Rather, they must be understood within the context of concern for the development of the individual child. The goal must be the collaborative development of goals that both parties can value as important for a child. Beyond beliefs and practices based in national and ethnic cultures, Kalyanpur, Harry, and Skrtic (2000) argued that there is also the challenge of professional culture—the set of beliefs and practices into which professionals in special ­education are inducted. Foremost in this process is the inculcation of the belief in professional knowledge, typically cast as different from “everyday knowledge,” which is seen as the purview of the parent or family member. These authors proposed that this professional training actually tends to function as a barrier to cultural reciprocity, because professionals have been trained to believe that their knowledge is superior and correct. Professionals, therefore, accept without question that their assessment practices, service recommendations, and approaches to working with students with disabilities are anchored in “truth,” not realizing that definitions and practices related to “disabilities” are culturally constructed. A simple example can be seen in the fact that, prior to 1973, the

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American Association on Mental Retardation (AAMR) identified an IQ score of 85 as the cut‐off point for a designation of mental retardation (Grossman, 1983). In 1973, the AAMR changed this criterion to a score of 70—one standard deviation lower than the previous definition. Individuals labeled as mentally retarded prior to this change were no longer eligible for this classification. One must ask, were they cured of the condition? Clearly, this change demonstrated that, within the culture of the United States, a shift had occurred in the way this disability was perceived. If we understand that a shift of such great importance could occur within the society, it should not be hard to understand that across cultures, such definitions could vary even more widely. Why should we be surprised then, when CLD families “disagree” with pronouncements about their children’s ­conditions? Why should it be so hard to listen to their views and collaborate across differences? Additionally, the critical discourse analysis conducted by Lai and Vadeboncoeur (2012) could have great implications both abroad and at home. As policy documents drive decision‐making, analyzing their language against the language used in schools as parents and school personnel interact, can go a long way in ensuring that cultural dissonance is minimized and cultural reciprocity (Kalyanpur & Harry, 1999) is maximized. This kind of approach can also help ward off the exportation of Western models and discourse around disability into countries outside of the United States, creating a cultural mismatch (Grech, 2009). Just as professionals in the United States need to take into account the cultural contexts of families who may not operate within mainstream notions of disability, when considering how to handle these concerns in other nations, actions must be grounded in cultural contexts and conceptions of disability in order to truly be effective. The central point on which we conclude is this: professionals need to base their communication with families on the essential assumption that family diversity is the norm, not the exception. Rather than expecting families to come to the table with a shared set of expectations regarding disability and disability services, ­professionals need to come prepared to thoroughly explain their recommendations while genuinely encouraging families to have their voices be heard, honored, and incorporated in the successful education of their children.

Note 1 This figure was calculated based on the total child count figure of 736195, as

opposed to the verified misprinted total of 6.7 million in the report.

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Sauer, J. S., & Kasa, C. (2012). Preservice teachers listen to families of students with disabilities and learn a disability studies stance. Issues in Teacher Education, 21, 165–183. Scarborough, A. A., Spiker, D., Malik, S., Hebbeler, K. M., Bailey, D. B., & Simeonsson, R. J. (2004). A national look at children and families entering early intervention. Exceptional Children, 70, 469–483. Shapiro, J., Monzo, L., Rueda, R., Gomez, J. A., & Blacher, J. (2004). Alienated advocacy: The perspective of Latina mothers of young adults with developmental disabilities on service systems. Mental Retardation, 42, 37–54. Sharp, E. Y. (1983). Analysis of determinants impacting on educational services of handicapped Papago students. (Doctoral Dissertation, University of Arizona.) Sullivan, O. (1980). Meeting the needs of low‐income families with handicapped children. Washington, DC: US Department of Health and Welfare, National Institute of Education. Summers, J. A., Hoffman, L., Marquis, J., Turnbull, A., Poston, D., & Nelson, L. L. (2005). Measuring the quality of family–professional partnerships in special education services. Exceptional Children, 72, 65–81. The ARC. (2014). History of The ARC. Retrieved from http://www.thearc.org/who‐ we‐are/history Tomlinson, J. R., Acker, N., Canter, A, & Lindborg, S. (1977). Minority status, sex, and school psychological services. Psychology in the Schools, 14, 456–460. Trainor, A. A. (2010). Reexamining the promise of parent participation in special education: An analysis of cultural and social capital. Anthropology & Education Quarterly, 41, 245–263. US Department of Education, Office of Special Education and Rehabilitative Services, Office of Special Education Programs. (2014). 36th Annual Report to Congress on the Implementation of Individuals with Disabilities Education Act. Washington DC: US Government Printing Office. Zetlin, A., Padron, M., & Wilson, S. (1996). The experience of five Latin American families with the special education system. Education and Training in Mental Retardation and Developmental Disabilities, 31, 22–28. Zionts, L. T., Zionts, P., Harrison, S., & Bellinger, O. (2003). Urban African American families’ perceptions of cultural sensitivity within the special education system. Focus on Autism & Other Developmental Disabilities, 18, 41–50.

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9 Education in Disability and Poverty Debates Research Insights from Southern Contexts Nidhi Singal Recent years have seen a growing focus on issues of education and disability in the South. This chapter provides a reflective engagement with some of the key themes by drawing on insights generated from a range of empirical studies. The chapter begins with a discussion of the relationship between disability and ­poverty, and how education has shown to help establish pathways for individuals out of poverty. It then examines the current research on education for children with disabilities in relation to issues of access and quality of schooling. This is followed by a critique of the current discourse shaping the development of education of children with disabilities in Southern countries. The chapter then concludes by reflecting on how research has an important role in addressing some of the more current challenges. However, before engaging with the key debates, it is important to state here that a central purpose of this chapter is to locate the discussions in countries of the South. When using the term South, I am not referring to the geographical divide across the hemispheres; rather, what I am drawing on is the vast and now well‐established body of literature which elucidates and engages with this distinction in terms of the significant socioeconomic and political divide between these two contexts. The South primarily refers to countries in Asia, Africa, and Latin America, which share characteristics such as being economically poor, high infant mortality rates, low levels of literacy, etc. But most importantly, these countries share a colonial past that continues to have an impact on their current structures and geopolitical positioning in an international context (Alasuutari & Andreotti, 2015). Indeed, these binaries are not homogenous in nature as poverty, hunger, and illiteracy also exist in pockets in the North, especially for some communities more than others, and indeed pockets of affluence exist in Southern countries, but the significant polarization between these two settings cannot be overemphasized and is best illustrated in the work of Sutcliffe (2001). Additionally, Parameswaran’s (2014) deeply personal and sociological analysis highlights the many privileges that are accorded to people ­living in the North which do not need to be earned but are given by virtue of where they live—these are in real contrast to the lives of the majority of those in the South.

The Wiley Handbook of Diversity in Special Education, First Edition. Edited by Marie Tejero Hughes and Elizabeth Talbott. © 2017 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Published 2017 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

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An important reason for using the terminology of North and South in this chapter is also to highlight how the dominance of models and perspectives of disability and education, developed and implemented in the North, continue to shape debates in the South. It is only in recent years that this northern hegemony is being critically examined and questioned, particularly in the field of disability studies, as highlighted in the works of Meekosha and Soldatic (2011), Meekosha (2011), and Grech (2008). However, such critical lens has not been adopted in relation to debates around disability and education (Singal & Muthukrishna, 2014), as will be highlighted in this chapter.

Examining the Relationship Between Disability and Poverty There is growing evidence to suggest that there is a close relationship between disability and poverty, Department for International Development (DFID, 2000) describes this relationship as cyclical in nature. It notes, “disability is both a cause and consequence of poverty” (p. 1). Being poor, it is argued, increases one’s ­probability of acquiring an impairment. This is not surprising as people living in poverty have limited access to basic health care, have low nutritional intake, poor sanitation facilities, and an increased risk and likelihood of living and working in hazardous conditions. Similarly, given that people with disabilities are most likely to be systematically excluded from basic health care services, political and legal processes, formal/informal education and employment; they are likely to have significantly reduced income‐generating opportunities, thus leading to poverty (Yeo & Moore, 2003). Consequently, people with disabilities are disproportionately found among the poorest of the poor, wherein DFID (2000) notes that 50% of impairments in many developing contexts are preventable. Elwan (1999) noted that people with disabilities may account for as many as one in five of the world’s poorest. Yeo (2005) provides an even more disturbing picture, ­stating that “50,000 people, including 10,000 disabled people, die every day as a result of extreme poverty” (p. 1). Thus, while poverty itself results in various forms of social exclusion, these intersect further with disability to form multiple layers of disadvantages. The scenario is further complicated when differing combinations of structural factors (such as caste, gender, religion, etc.), life cycle factors (being young or elderly, household composition), and other idiosyncratic factors (ill health, impairments) create and maintain the poverty of some while giving others the chance to avoid or escape it. While structural factors and various intersectionalities are important, there is evidence to also suggest that there are broad commonalities in the lives of people with disabilities which transcend divisions based on gender and class, and this commonality is illustrated in the significant deprivation that they are likely to face as a result of their status of being individuals with disabilities. There is evidence of this both in the Northern and Southern contexts. For example, in United Kingdom, poverty rate for adults with disabilities is twice that for peers without disabilities. Three in every 10 adults with disabilities are living below the poverty line, a proportion that is higher than 10 years ago (Palmer, Carr, & Kenway, 2005). More recent figures

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released by the government in response to a freedom for information request, noted that the number of people with disabilities in relative poverty in 2011–2012 to be 3.4 million, that is 19% of the total population of people with disabilities, while the numbers of those in absolute poverty was higher at 3.7 million, which is 20% of the population of people with disabilities. However, the scale and magnitude of deprivation faced by a majority of people with disabilities living in Southern countries is by far greater (Loeb, Eide, Jelsma, Toni, & Maart, 2008). Furthermore, there is evidence to suggest that, with development, there is an increase rather than a decrease in the proportion of the population with disabilities, due to factors such as increased survival rates from disabling accidents and disease, and increasing life expectancy. Therefore, even as national income grows, the total incidence of disability may rise, and in all societies at any stage of development, the poorest sections of the population are at greatest risk compared with the richer ones. Additionally, in recent years, there is growing acknowledgment that how disability is constructed (what it means) and how it is experienced varies in different contexts. Harriss‐White (2003) perceptively noted that “disability is a relative term because cultures define differently their norms of being and doing” (p. 3). For instance, in one context, an individual who controls diabetes with diet alone is considered to have a disability, while in others someone has a disability only if s/he has impairments that permanently and completely prevent the individual from working. Harriss‐White (2003) observes that “conditions such as asthma and tuberculosis, which are classified as ‘sickness’ are experienced as disabling in agrarian economies still based substantially on manual labour” (p. 3). Others have rightly argued that the linguistic construction of the word disability in some local languages is itself very different from that assumed in other cultural and contextual settings. For example, Lwanga‐Ntale (2003), when undertaking field research in Uganda using a range of qualitative methods, noted various difficulties faced in defining and identifying people with disability. He noted how in the local language the term commonly used to identify someone as “disabled” refers to someone with physical impairment, mostly of the upper and lower limbs. Thus, based on his research insights, Lwanga‐Ntale noted there was an increased likelihood of excluding individuals with learning difficulties, as well as those with visual and hearing impairments and epilepsy, simply because the local term being used emphasized certain impairments over others, thus making some groups even more invisible than others (Lwanga‐Ntale, 2003). More fundamentally, others such as Singal and Muthukrishna (2014) note that while Northern constructions of disability are primarily individualistic in nature, disability is understood differently in contexts where sociocultural arrangements are less individualized. For example, Goble (2013) elucidates how the disability discourse in countries like United Kingdom has become highly problematic. The significance of what occurred in the shift to industrialization was not the creation of dependence so much as the rise to dominance of an ideological context in which being dependent on others came to be seen as problematic in ways it had not been before. The rise of capitalism broke down pre‐existing systems of solidarity and inter‐dependence that had sustained many disabled people in society … (p. 32).

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Consequently, the focus is on the individual and his or her relationship with the state, wherein such an orientation is further strengthened by current neoliberal ideologies. In contrast, Das and Addlakha (2001) note how the notion of “connected body‐selves” is more relevant in contexts such as India where the physicality of the body is linked to an individual’s identity and experience, and also the meaning of personhood is fused to a network of other body‐selves (p. 527). Thus, it is important to acknowledge that in Southern contexts, individuals with disabilities cannot be simply disassociated from their families or other collective units. Rather, disability has a cascading impact on these units as a whole, to a greater or lesser extent (Singal, 2007). Thus, in order to understand a person with disability, we need to take into account his or her familial positioning, role, and so on. Reflecting on this connectedness in his research, Lwanga‐Ntale (2003) noted that there is a greater likelihood that the “currently disabled are more likely to pass their poverty on to their children” (p. 7). For example, evidence suggests that the average income is significantly lower for households affected by disability; they are thus more likely to have lower savings, higher debts, and lower levels of land and assets ownership. As noted by Eide and Ingstad (2011), many of the children working on the streets of Tamale, Ghana, supported adults with disabilities at home. Similarly, Hoogeveen (2005) noted a significant “education deficit” in Ugandan households headed by a disabled person, as children in these households received less education. While this deficit could be attributed to children being pushed into adult caregiver roles, it could also be due to the reduced ability of the household to afford school fees because of the direct costs of disability. Thus, to the extent that education drives the ability to earn an income in the future, there is a greater likelihood that these children will be faced with poor and limited opportunities. Furthermore, as Singal (2007) discusses, not only is there an increased likelihood of intergenerational transfer of economic deprivation but it is also likely to be the case that, in managing their day‐to‐day survival, poor families with a disabled member do not have as much time to build social networks (or have different, possibly truncated ones), and hence have fewer mechanisms of support and limited social capital. Furthermore, social perceptions of stigma and fear associated with disability, which is commonly regarded as the result of a curse, past sins, etc., may further exclude families and reduce the number of relationships and networks that they can actually establish. Thus, the impact of disability is felt at the levels of the individual and the family, with implications for communities. Finally, it is useful to remember that poverty, like disability, is itself not a ­singular concept. Braunholtz (2007) provides a useful and succinct analysis ­highlighting the dynamic nature of poverty. He notes that persons who fall under the category of the chronically poor are not just those who are always below the poverty line, rather it comprises of those who are “usually poor;” those who are on average poor, although they may temporarily escape from poverty for short periods; and the fluctuating poor, those who live around the poverty line and are vulnerable to chronic poverty. Braunholtz (2007) highlights that not all chronically poor people are born into long‐term deprivation; rather, many slide into chronic poverty after a shock or series of shocks that they cannot recover from; these shocks may include ill health and injury. This is well illustrated in the

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empirical evidence provided by Hulme’s (2004) life history analysis of a two‐ person household in Bangladesh, where one person was disabled. However, as noted earlier, Braunholtz highlights that education can play an important role in paving pathways out of poverty. The next section discusses the key reflections from the available literature in relation to this.

The Evidence Base on the Importance of Education in Poverty Reduction Over the last few decades, the relationship between years of education and ­earnings has been one of the most highly investigated relationships (Orazem, 2007). Colclough (2012) notes that across most parts of the world, those with more schooling have a wider choice of jobs and faster earnings growth. Recent empirical work has highlighted the strength of this relationship, and is powerfully captured in the Global Monitoring Report published by UNESCO (2014), which poignantly notes that “education transforms lives” (p. 6). Education is regarded as a key way of helping individuals escape poverty, and of preventing poverty from being passed down through the generations. The GMR estimates that, if all students in low‐income countries left school with basic reading skills, 171 million people could be lifted out of poverty, which would be equivalent to a 12% cut in world poverty (UNESCO, 2014). Globally, 1 year of school increases earnings by 10%, on average. Schooling for enabling better health prospects is also a significant factor, wherein evidence suggests that in sub‐Saharan Africa alone, if all women completed primary education, there would be 70% fewer maternal deaths, saving 113400 women’s lives. Infants in Peru whose mothers had reached lower secondary education were 60% less likely to be stunted than children whose mothers had no education (GMR, 2013). Schooling has also been shown to have significant impact in fostering individual agency and asserting citizenship (Arnot, Casely‐Hayford, & Chege, 2012). In his analysis on pathways for moving out of chronic poverty, Braunholtz (2007) notes that there are primarily two routes, namely high dependency by the chronically poor on their own labor (in the absence of financial and material assets), and formal education, which improves the quality of their labor. However, based on the available evidence, it seems that neither of these routes is viable for individuals with disabilities. Research suggests that people with disabilities are more likely to be prevented from becoming economically active, not because of the inherent quality of their condition, but more because of the discrimination and societal perceptions that they may encounter because of their impairment. For example, a national government survey conducted in India in 2002 found that 46% of people with disabilities were without work. Over half of them lost their jobs after the onset of disability (55.8% and 53.1% in rural and urban areas), and another 13.2% had to change jobs due to onset of a disability (Zutshi, 2004). A Ugandan study (Hoogeveen, 2005) noted that people with disabilities were less likely to be included in the labor market and were more likely to be self‐ employed: they tended to undertake subsistence farming (27%) and petty forms of trade (25%).

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While education is seen as centrally important in promoting economic, social, and human development, in the next section I present an analysis of the extent to which children with disabilities are able to access and engage in the education system, as reflected in recent research findings.

Research Examining the Interplay between Disability, Poverty, and Schooling Filmer (2005), based on an analysis of 11 household surveys from nine developing countries, noted that youth with disabilities did sometimes live in poorer households, but the extent of this concentration was typically neither large nor statistically significant. However, what was most striking is that youth with ­disabilities were almost always substantially less likely to start school, and in some countries had lower transition rates resulting in lower schooling attainment. Additionally, Filmer (2005) notes, “the order of magnitude of the school participation disability deficit was often larger than those associated with other characteristics such as gender, rural residence, or economic status differentials” (p. 1). A more recent analysis by Mitra, Posorac, and Vick (2012), drawing on internationally comparable data across 15 developing countries1 made powerful observations in relation to disability, poverty, and education. Their analysis highlights that in most countries, disability is found to be “significantly associated with higher multidimensional poverty as well as lower educational attainment, lower employment rates and higher medical expenditures” (p. 1). Similarly, a ­systemic review undertaken by (Groce et  al., 2011) concluded that, while the relationship between disability and poverty in the existing literature is best seen as tenuous, a common and consistent finding across a number of studies highlights that ­“education, routinely denied to disabled children, is a key factor in determining poverty during adulthood for people with disabilities” (p. 15). This continued marginalization of children with disabilities from the education system is reflected in the very low enrolment rates in many Southern countries. Based on country case analysis, the UNICEF Regional Office for South Asia (2003) estimated that 39.4 million children with disabilities in the region are denied access to education. However, given that (UIS, 2005) figures note that in 2000 a total of 37.8 million children were out of school in South and West Asia, the figure of 39.4 million out of school children with disabilities suggested by UNICEF ROSA does not really add up to provide a reliable picture. While reliable statistical data is very difficult to obtain due to a range of reasons (see Singal, 2014, for details), nonetheless, the pattern of low educational participation among children with disabilities is supported by information provided in the World Report on Disability (WHO, 2011) and other studies. GMR (2013), based on analysis of Multiple Indicator Cluster Surveys from four countries, notes that children at higher risk of disability are far more likely to be denied a chance to go to school. According to the World Health Survey, in 14 of 15 low and middle‐income countries, people of working age with disabilities were about one‐third less likely to have completed primary school (GMR, 2013). In India, the share of children with disabilities not enrolled in school is more than

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five times the rate of children with disabilities enrolled in school, even in the more prosperous states. Based on analysis of India’s 2002 National Sample Survey, the World Bank (2009) reported that children with disabilities are five and a half times more likely to be out of school. Similar trends are evident in other developing economies. In Bangladesh, 30% of people with disabilities had completed primary school, compared with 48% of those with no disabilities. The corresponding shares were 43% and 57% in Zambia, and 56% and 72% in Paraguay (GMR, 2013). Even in countries which had shown a significant increase in net enrolment ratios, ­children with disabilities were the ones who were most likely to be excluded, as is evident in the case of Bulgaria and Romania, where net enrolment ratios for ­children aged 7–15 years were over 90% in 2002 but only 58% for children with disabilities (GMR, 2010). Additionally, having a disability may also affect transition levels; for example, in Kenya, very few young people with disabilities study beyond primary level (Mugo, Oanga, & Singal, 2010). Within these figures, variations in terms of types of impairments and in relation to gender are clearly noticeable. In India, World Bank (2009) report noted that almost three‐quarters of children with severe impairments are out of school, compared with about 35–40% among children with mild or moderate impairments. The most likely to be excluded are children with mental illness (two‐ thirds of whom never enroll in school) or blindness (over half never enroll). These findings are corroborated by a recent analysis of the District Information System Education (DISE) data undertaken by Singal (2015), where it is clear that, across different Indian states, children with autism, cerebral palsy, and multiple impairments2 were least represented in the school‐going population. In Pakistan, findings of a household survey (Singal, Bhatti, & Malik, 2011) indicated the decreased likelihood of schooling for youth with disabilities as compared to their nondisabled counterparts. More than one‐third of the young people (15–30 years) in the sample were “never enrolled,” while this was 10 percentage points lower; that is, 26% among the youth without disabilities. Not only were those with disabilities more likely to be excluded, but findings suggested that there was double discrimination in the case for girls with disabilities. Girls with disabilities were less likely to obtain an education as compared to boys with disabilities, but the difference between females with and without disabilities was around 5 percentage points and insignificant. Thus, it is plausible that gender is more significant rather than the disability in the continued exclusion of girls from the education system. On the other hand, for males who were not receiving any education, it was possible to explain this in relation to their disability status. Here, the percentage of young men with disabilities who have received no education (29%) was significantly higher than that of males without disabilities (12%). Interestingly, the young men with disabilities who had made it into the schooling system had the same schooling levels as their male peers without disabilities. The lack of access to schooling opportunities has lifelong consequences, such as a lifetime of illiteracy and reduced opportunities. In the United Republic of Tanzania, a survey found that the literacy rate for people with a disability was 52%, compared with 75% for people without a disability (GMR, 2013). Interestingly, this relationship also holds true in more developed economies; for

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example, in the United States, an assessment found that those without basic ­literacy skills were more than twice as likely as an average adult to have multiple disabilities (GMR, 2012). Not only can disability and poverty influence a child’s access to schooling, but they are also likely to shape experiences in the classroom. Broadly, evidence from classroom‐based studies in India highlight the lack of teacher expertise and confidence in meeting the needs of children with disabilities. For example, in a study across 560 government school teachers in Ahmedabad, Shah, Das, Desai, and Tiwari (2014) noted that teachers lacked the confidence to engage with the learning needs of children with disabilities. In another study undertaken in rural and relatively poor communities in Karnataka, Singal (2014) noted that while government schoolteachers were accepting of the presence of children with disabilities, they did not see themselves as sufficiently confident or skilled to include them in the classroom processes. In the perceived absence of pedagogical skills and support, teachers were willing to let children be in the class, underpinned by the rationale that it was good for their social inclusion. However, they did not take responsibility for the child’s learning. Furthermore, a survey conducted by the National Council of Educational Research and Training in India of Class V students, covering a sample of 122,543 students and 10,851 teachers from 6,602 schools across 27 states and four union territories, noted that “physically challenged students do substantially worse than the rest of the population” (NCERT, 2012), even after controlling for background characteristics. Even though it is not clear how “physically challenged” was defined, nonetheless, this finding highlights the low learning outcomes for a group of children who continue to exist on the margins of classroom participation. Similar issues related to low quality of schooling and lack of learning in relation to children with disabilities have been raised by Engelbrecht, Oswald, Swart, and Eloff (2003) in a South African context. These are also discussed by Maudslay (2014) in a Nepalese context, and by Kalyanpur (2014) in the Cambodian context. Unarguably, the global learning crisis so powerfully captured by the GMR (2013) is highly pertinent for children with disabilities across the globe, particularly in Southern contexts. Additionally, in keeping with the collective impact of disability, the presence of a member with disabilities in a household can influence the opportunities available to others. For instance, while access to school for children with disabilities is an important concern, less emphasis is placed on examining how having a sibling or a parent with disabilities might compromise another child’s schooling and push him or her into adult caregiver roles. This is well illustrated in the research by Hoogeveen (2005), which was discussed earlier, wherein he noted how ­children in households headed by a person with a disability were less likely to receive education. Not surprisingly, in last few decades, there has been a growing focus on addressing the educational marginalization of children with disabilities. The next section provides an overview of some historical trends and then critically examines the current discourse in this field, drawing on more recent empirical insights from the field.

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Revisiting Current Discourse in Relation to Education of Children with Disabilities Brouillette (1993) provided a very useful commentary on how various social, political, and economic factors have impacted on the development of special education across the globe. However, his analysis is now over two decades old, and much has changed in the debates around education of children with disabilities. A significant development during this period has been the emergence of “inclusive education,” a term which was given international recognition and legitimacy by UNESCO’s Salamanca Statement and Framework for Action on Special Needs Education (UNESCO, 1994). The Salamanca statement was very influential in shaping the vision of inclusive education as “the hallmark of service provision for children with disabilities” internationally (Rao, 2014). Over the years, inclusive education has been accorded great legitimacy across the world, setting in motion decades of deliberations and passionate debates reflecting on its theoretical underpinnings, practicality and perceived effectiveness (see, e.g., Artiles, Kozleski, & Waitoller, 2011). The statement itself was very powerful in equating inclusive schooling with visions of an inclusive society and economic issues. For example, it noted: 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 efficiency and ultimately the cost effectiveness of the entire education system. (UNESCO, 1994, p. xii) While the concept of inclusive education has had global spread, and has been incorporated in various national and international policies, it has varied and often ambiguous understandings in different contexts (Rose, 2010). Slee (2001) has argued that, despite the impressive growth in interest and enthusiasm around inclusive education throughout the world, how it is defined and implemented, and for whose benefit, remains at best incompletely understood. It is interesting to note that the argument around inclusive education in Southern contexts is primarily constructed around three central premises. First, inclusive education is strongly linked with the vision of an inclusive society (UNESCO, 1994), and is regarded as a mechanism for achieving social justice. Second, inclusion is viewed as being financially desirable. For example, Lynch (1994) noted the following. If segregated special education is to be provided for all children with ­special educational needs, the cost will be enormous and prohibitive for all developing countries. If integrated in‐class provision with a support teacher system is envisaged for the vast majority of children with special educational needs, then the additional costs can be marginal, if not ­negligible (p. 29).

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Finally, inclusive education is regarded as a way of developing educational s­ ystems for the benefit of all children. For example, Sebba and Ainscow (1996), in making a case for inclusive education, argued that, when teachers develop a wider range of pedagogical responses to respond to the needs of pupils who experience difficulties in their learning, it enables the reformation of ordinary education, to make it more comprehensive. However, what remains conspicuously absent in all of these debates is how to operationalize inclusive education in practice in such a way that it responds to the realities and priorities of local settings (e.g., Donohue & Bornman, 2015). Interestingly, even though inclusive education has occupied a vast amount of research space in countries such as the United Kingdom, Florian and Linklater (2010) remind us that many classroom teachers remain uncertain about how to do inclusion in practice. While others such as Miles and Ahuja (2006) acknowledge that “northern countries clearly do not have all the answers” (p. 135). In particular, they note that, although England has made considerable efforts to promote inclusive education, school attendance and dropout rates are a matter of considerable concern, as is the variation in special education provision across local authorities in the country. More recently, commentators such as Farrell (2010) have begun to question the relevance and the practicality of inclusion for all children with disabilities. In some ways, the most powerful critique for reconsidering this all‐encompassing focus on inclusive education has come from Lady Mary Warnock, who was the chair of the commission which introduced the terminology of special education needs (SEN) and other related policies in England. Warnock (2005), writing with reference to children with special needs, noted: it is their right to learn that we must defend, not their right to learn in the same environment as everyone else … whatever may be the merits of deploying the rhetoric of human rights in the demand for inclusion for the disabled in society as a whole, it cannot be argued a priori that values within a school must be identical to values in the society of adults. (p. 36) It is important to explicitly state here that, in putting forward these arguments, I am not making a case for not supporting the education of children with disabilities; rather, by raising the preceding issues, I am highlighting the complexities inherent in the realization of inclusive education in everyday practice. While critical voices, such as Mary Warnock’s, are beginning to emerge in Northern settings, inclusive education in countries of the South remains an ideal which nations are being pushed to achieve through the “exhortations of first world aid agencies, and international donors” (Armstrong, Armstrong, & Spandagou, 2011). They also acknowledge that “the growth of “inclusive education” in the developing world … in part reflects the export of first‐world thinking to countries which reinforces dependency” (p. 12). Such transference is rather problematic in many ways, but also because it focuses attention on what is not happening in these settings, rather than engaging in a more nuanced exploration of educational priorities and realities of local contexts (as illustrated by Kalyanpur, 2014, in the case of Cambodia). By

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reproducing deficit discourses, the real opportunities that are afforded within local contexts to support learning of children with disabilities remain unacknowledged. This is not to disregard the real challenges that are present in many Southern contexts that are working with limited budgets, but to point to the fact that there is no effort to engage with enablers in the existing system. A research agenda for the future must envision the opening up of a third space for reconstructing and re‐visioning the education of children with disabilities in Southern contexts. Inclusivity, in community and education, is a cultural product that has unique and specific configurations depending on its spatial and temporal contexts. Mutua and Swadener (2011) note, for example, that in many cases Kenyan parents made an active decision not to send their child with a disability to school, not because of neglect or deep‐seated resentment but because of the uselessness of formal education even for their children without disabilities. Now is the time to critically question a rigid vision of what schooling should look like for children with disabilities. Inclusive education continues to be propagated as the solution, even though it is based on “a set of globally‐generated, validated and disseminated assumptions about the educational needs of students” (Le Fanu, 2013). It is worth noting that the issue is not simply about propagating the possibility of inclusive education in resource‐poor countries. Rather, there is a strong argument for questioning if the current (political and moral) association with inclusive education does prevent people from examining alternatives to a new reality and if it silences people from asking the central questions of inclusion into what and inclusion for what purposes. By posing the former question, there is greater likelihood of acknowledging the developing nature and real concerns faced by mainstream education systems in many Southern contexts (Singal, 2014). Here, it is important to recognize that these countries often have systems with low overall educational indicators, wherein concerns are about teacher attendance, and not qualification; the focus is on basic teaching skills, and not on developing innovative pedagogical approaches; and concerns are about the scarcity of accessible and clean lavatories, and not high‐tech laboratories. Additionally, these countries are burdened with the baggage of colonial legacy and pressures to respond to a globalized era (Maudslay, 2014). Unarguably, the approaches adopted to respond to concerns of children with disabilities must also acknowledge such disjunctures. Research undertaken with young people with disabilities who had grown up in communities with few resources and in families with minimum parental education, but had attended both special and mainstream schools, highlighted the significant value that these youth placed on the role of special schools and teachers in their lives (Singal et al., 2011). These young people narrated accounts of how in these settings they had learnt essential basic life skills (such as self‐care, etc.), developed their literacy and numeracy skills through appropriate equipment (such as Braille), had strong adult role models (such as blind teachers) who helped develop an awareness of their rights and how they grew confident in spaces that acted as safe zones of learning and friendships. Such insights highlighted how, for first‐generation learners, coming from families which struggled with daily living, schools had played a central role, which extended beyond delivery of the formal curriculum. However, these

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young people also stressed the need that there should be opportunities for transitions from special settings to mainstream schools in later years in order to broaden individual capabilities and opportunities. Being poor is a reality for many people with disabilities in the South (DFID, 2000), and lack of state interventions makes the situation even more complex—the school, special or mainstream, thus occupies an important space for inclusion. This raises issues not simply about fixed structures, but also around the fluidity of spaces, that is, can “value free” transition points be developed across educational settings which do not stigmatize learners. Also, it raises important questions about how to provide a space for expression of difference without compromising on the quality of education. Research in India over the past few years has highlighted the growing confusion and dissatisfaction among teachers, parents, and young people with disabilities in relation to the education system (e.g., Pachigar, Stansfield, & Goldbart, 2011; Parasuram, 2006; Singal et al., 2011). However, there are also some powerful enablers within the setting which must be recognized, as these have fostered the growth of the education system, and have enabled the framing of powerful legislations. It is only when we truly begin to develop a deeper appreciation of the context and make efforts to understand individual and collective stories that we can open up the moral and political space for effective educational reform efforts, rather than putting in place fragmented solutions. Additionally, the real absence of rigorous evidence that can be used to evaluate the impact of current policies and shape future programs remains one of the biggest challenges in the field. A systematic review (Bakshi, Kett, & Oliver, 2013) on identifying approaches that increase the accessibility to education for children with disabilities across “developed and developing countries” noted that, given the lack of rigorous research, “it is not possible to draw any formal conclusions about the most effective approaches (in terms of impact or indeed cost) to increase the accessibility of education for children with disabilities” (p. 34). During times of evidence‐based policy developments, this lacuna of rigorous research, drawing on both quantitative and qualitative research traditions, is most felt in the field of disability and education in Southern contexts. However, given that low priority has traditionally been accorded to disability in educational research funding, it is not surprising to see this lack of evidence. However, as we move forward, developing a more coherent agenda must be based on rigorous research findings. A report by the Policy Action Group on Learning (Policy Action Group on Learning, 2010) advocated the need for promoting effective education for all, which, among other things, should be focused on local solutions, with respect for context and recognition of solutions that come from within. Thus, central to this enterprise is a need to move away from merely focusing on deficits and gaps, to an identification of strengths and assets. More importantly, such evidence‐gathering must involve children and adults with disabilities living in Southern contexts, as it is ultimately by listening to these voices that we begin to respond to their lived realities. Thus, the challenge for future research on education of children with disabilities in Southern contexts is to avoid falling into a monolithic deficit discourse around what is not happening, but to identify enablers in the system, which can be built upon.

References References 179

Thus, there is a need for future research work to be truly participatory, ethical, and pluralist. There is a growing desire for recognizing the diversity of views, especially at a time when current debates have been primarily informed by Northern assumptions about disability and education. There is a need for plurality of discourses to acknowledge that there are a range of possible responses to the complex questions posed by the inclusive education agenda—foreclosing debate and making invisible diversity of practices does not always provide the most effective solutions.

Notes 1 Respondents were in the age group of 18–65 years, and it used the respondents’

self‐evaluation on functional and activity limitation as a measure of disability.

2 These are the terms used in the DISE data collection.

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Eide, A. H., & Ingstad, B. (2011). Disability and poverty: A global challenge. Bristol, England: The Policy Press. Elwan, A. (1999). Poverty and disability: A survey of the literature. Retrieved from http://www.handicap‐international.fr/bibliographiehandicap/4PolitiqueHandi cap/hand_pauvrete/HandPovSurvey.pdf Engelbrecht, P., Oswald, M., Swart, E., & Eloff, I. (2003). Including learners with intellectual disabilities: Stressful for teachers? International Journal of Disability, Development and Education, 50(3), 293–308. Farrell, M. (2010). Debating Special Education. New York, NY: Routledge. Filmer, D. (2005). Disability, poverty and schooling in developing countries: Results from 11 household surveys. Washington, DC: The World Bank. Florian, L., & Linklater, H. (2010). Preparing teachers for inclusive education: Using inclusive pedagogy to enhance teaching and learning for all. Cambridge Journal of Education, 40(4), 369–386. GMR. (2010). Marginalisation. Paris, France: UNESCO. GMR. (2012). Youth, skills and work. Paris, France: UNESCO. GMR. (2013). Teaching and learning. Paris, France: UNESCO. Goble, C. (2013). Dependence, independence and normality. In Disabling Barriers: Enabling Environments. London, England: Sage. Grech, S. (2008). Living with disability in rural Guatemala: Exploring connections and impacts on poverty. International Journal of Disability, Community and Rehabilitation, 7(2). Retrieved from http://www.ijdcr.ca/VOL07_02_CAN/ articles/grech.shtml Groce, N., Kembhavi, G., Wirz, S., Lang, R., Trani, J. F., & Kett, M. (2011). Poverty and disability: A critical review of the literature in low and middle‐income countries. In Working Paper Series No. 16. London: Leonard Cheshire Disability and Inclusive Development Centre. Harriss‐White, B. (2003). India working: Essays on society and economy. Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press. Hoogeveen, J. G. (2005). Measuring welfare for small but vulnerable groups: Poverty and disability in Uganda. Journal of African Economies, 14(4), 603–631. Hulme, D. (2004). Thinking “small” and the understanding of poverty: Maymana and Mofizul’s story. Journal of Human Development, 5(2), 161–176. Kalyanpur, M. (2014). Distortions and dichotomies in inclusive education for children with disabilities in Cambodia in the context of globalisation and international development. International Journal of Disability, Development and Education, 61(1), 80–94. Le Fanu, G. (2013). The inclusion of inclusive education in international development: Lessons from Papua New Guinea. International Journal of Educational Development, 33(2), 139–148. Loeb, M., Eide, A. H., Jelsma, J., Toni, M., & Maart, S. (2008). Poverty and disability in eastern and western Cape Provinces, South Africa. Disability & Society, 23(4), 311–321. Lwanga‐Ntale, C. (2003). Chronic poverty and disability in Uganda. Retrieved from http://digitalcommons.ilr.cornell.edu/gladnetcollect/320/?utm_ source=digitalcommons.ilr.cornell.edu%2Fgladnetcollect%2F320&utm_medium= PDF&utm_campaign=PDFCoverPages

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10 Supporting Language and Literacy Development for Additional Language Learners with Disabilities Diane Haager and Terese C. Aceves Today’s schools and classrooms in urban areas around the world are becoming increasingly diverse. Shifting demographics globally are bringing children to schools where the language of instruction does not match their home or native language. In South Africa, for example, a country with 11 official languages, many children are primarily instructed in English, although they may speak a combina­ tion of other languages and dialects within and between their home, school, and community (Tshotsho, 2013). Similarly, shifts in language policies are also chang­ ing the linguistic landscape of instruction in many countries. For instance, in Hong Kong, the postcolonial handover in 1997 from British rule caused a resur­ gence of native language use in schools in addition to English (Lo & Lin, 2015). The educational policies and practices of many countries, such as those devel­ oped in Europe, emphasize the importance of encouraging students to learn two and when possible, more languages during primary instruction through second­ ary education (Extra & Yağmur, 2012). This increasing linguistic and cultural diversity in our global educational systems directly impacts the language and lit­ eracy development of children and youth who speak one or more languages. For this chapter, it is important to clarify that research in this area varies greatly in the theoretical frameworks that drive this work and the use and definition of terms related to language and literacy development. In the United States, we often use the term English language learners (ELLs) to describe children who are learning English as an additional language while learning a curriculum that is delivered in that language. To offer an international focus, we use the term additional language learners (ALLs) to refer to children in any country where they are learning in a language other than their native language. Native language in this chapter includes one or more languages learned at home since birth. An increas­ ing segment of the population, these students must learn a new language while also facing a challenging academic curriculum, usually taught in that ­language. In this chapter, we focus on research describing these students while presenting effective instructional practices for children who experience significant chal­ lenges in learning to read in an additional language. The research in these areas is still emerging and often fragmented, based on their varying theoretical per­ spectives. Moreover, this work focuses on learners from different age groups The Wiley Handbook of Diversity in Special Education, First Edition. Edited by Marie Tejero Hughes and Elizabeth Talbott. © 2017 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Published 2017 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

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who are learning and developing in often drastically different contexts. Effective teachers in today’s schools must adopt culturally appropriate, evidence‐based practices that are known to work with a diverse range of students. Inclusive educational programs, in which students with disabilities spend most or all of the school day in the general education classroom alongside their same‐ age peers without disabilities, are also more and more prevalent. The 1994 Salamanca statement, developed as a result of the deliberations and dialogue at the World Conference on Special Needs Education, called upon the international community “to endorse the approach of inclusive schooling and to support the development of special needs education as an integral part of all education pro­ grams” (UNESCO, 1994; World Conference on Special Needs Education, 1994, p. 11). As schools adopt inclusive models, general education teachers must work closely with special educators to adapt lessons and activities to ensure that all students in the classroom will learn. Given the increasing numbers of ALLs and the prevalence of inclusive educational models, schools are increasingly encoun­ tering children whose primary language is different from that of the majority and who also experience learning difficulties or disabilities that impact their acquisi­ tion of essential skills in an additional language. Literacy development, in par­ ticular, is an important issue for these students because of the pervasive impact that reading and writing have on learning across academic areas. In this chapter, we review the limited but growing research base that provides important guid­ ance for teaching ALLs at risk for or who have disabilities, particularly in the area of reading instruction. Specifically, we address second‐language and literacy development, school contextual factors as well as the knowledge and skills teach­ ers need to meet the learning needs of students identified and at‐risk for disabil­ ity, with particular emphasis on research findings from urban, high‐poverty settings where the majority of ALLs are educated. We conclude the chapter with final recommendations for future research and practice.

Additional Language and Literacy Development in Children In this section, we address a number of questions related to second‐language and literacy development in young children. Specifically, who are ALLs? What external factors influence the language and literacy development of these students? What cognitive and linguistic factors influence development? What environmental fac­ tors distinguish the acquisition of an additional language from learning disabilities? And what essential contextual and instructional factors support general literacy development in ALL students? We review literature related to language and literacy development, presenting available empirical and international work in this area.

Who are ALLs? Across the world, speaking more than a single language early in life has become a growing and often typical practice in numerous countries and schools. In England, the percentage of students aged 5–16 years speaking English as an

Who are ALLs?  185

a­ dditional language has doubled, from 7.6% in 1997 to 16.2% in 2013, with over 1 million students classified in this population (Strand, Malmberg, & Hall, 2015). The city of London contains the largest number of schools in England reporting more than 50% of its students as speaking an additional language in the home. These children may live in bi/multilingual homes since birth, have relocated from a different country with distinct language practices from their new com­ munity, and/or live in a current society where bi/multilingualism is encouraged and considered typical practice. In the research, defining bi/multilingualism in young and adolescent learners in a strict sense becomes an extremely complex exercise and dependent on ­multiple factors. For example, the age of acquisition of a native (L1) or other addi­ tional language may vary in its identification, definition, and development. For children acquiring a second language “early” in life in one particular study may be considered “late” acquisition in another research study (Hohenstein, Eisenberg, & Naigles, 2006). How these factors are essentially defined by those investigating this development also plays a significant role in how they are understood. The development of an additional language and its accompanying literacy skills can vary greatly and depending on multiple factors. One such factor is the precise time when a child is exposed to and begins the process of developing proficiency in an additional language. This process can occur at the same time the child is developing his or her first or native language or after already estab­ lishing early language and literacy skills in a native language, a process known as simultaneous versus sequential bilingual development (Rojas & Iglesias, 2012). Simultaneous bilinguals are those children who learn a native language (L1) at the same time they learn to use an additional language (L2). In contrast to these children, sequential bilinguals may begin learning a native language since birth but are later introduced to a second language in early childhood, most commonly through formal instruction such as during preschool or kindergarten (Bhatia, 2006). For early sequential bilinguals, although the first language is more estab­ lished, it is still developing when they are introduced to the additional language. In many instances, once formal schooling begins, these children are learning to read in a weaker language although their understanding and proficiency in that language is largely underdeveloped. In addition to the time of exposure to an additional language, the process that follows is often described and based on Cummins’ (1979) foundational work in this area. Initially, a child may develop linguistic skills in the additional language with relative ease, known as basic interpersonal communication skills (BICS). This process can begin quickly (1–2 years), where the learner demonstrates rela­ tive ease with communicating informally with family members and peers, whereas more complex language use known as cognitive academic language proficiency or CALP, involves the use and comprehension of academic, decon­ textualized language often used in more formal settings like schools. This pro­ cess may take much longer to develop more fully (5–7 years) often requiring effective instruction and experience with comprehending academic discourse or text. The length of this acquisition may likely be extended for learners with ­disabilities (Barrera, 2006). Problems or significant delays in cognitive, social, sensory, and neurobiological systems, which are the means or internal resources necessary for basic language functioning and development, that may inhibit

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social interaction and language development and use, may hinder the natural language acquisition process in both a first and additional language (Kohnert, 2009; Westby & Hwa‐Froelich, 2010). This is not to say that students with ­learning or other disabilities are unable to learn and use an additional language effectively. However, this developmental process may take more time and s­ upport to reach a certain level of proficiency. This includes maintaining or further ­developing native language and literacy skills. Several publications describing the process of language acquisition with learn­ ers of additional languages, often describe this process as occurring through a series of stages of receptive and expressive language development (Díaz‐Rico, 2013; Esparza‐Brown & Sanford, 2011; Klingner & Eppolito, 2014). These include preproduction, early production, speech emergence, intermediate language ­proficiency, and advanced language proficiency (Krashen & Terrell, 1983). In the preproduction stage, students may express themselves minimally in the addi­ tional language, observing language use and practices, using body language and/ or gestures to communicate. Students may rely on referring to or using their primary language during this stage. In the early production stage, students may limit their use of the second language to single words and one or two‐word phrases, and answering simple questions. During speech emergence, learners are able to communicate with simple sentences and short phrases. In the intermedi­ ate language proficiency stage, students may use longer statements, expanding their word use and understanding to approximately 6000 words. Advanced ­academic language proficiency is reached when learners can use and understand language much like their monolingual‐speaking counterparts. This process in all may take 5–7 years for the additional language to be fully developed in compari­ son to native speakers (Hakuta, Butler, & Witt, 2000). However, in contrast to this perspective of stages of acquisition, other research­ ers argue that the paths to fluency in an additional language may move through varying routes and be influenced by multiple factors that remain unsubstantiated in a stage model of development (Roberts, 2014). Ultimately, learners’ ability in the additional language can be based on a multitude of factors influenced by the learner’s motivation, comfort with learning, home and community influences, as well as the delivery or restriction of supportive instructional practices, input, and resources that may foster or inhibit overall development. These factors affect language learning and use, resulting in a learner’s overall linguistic and literacy abilities in their native and additional languages falling somewhere along a con­ tinuum between monolingual and bi/multilingual status (Kohnert & Pham, 2010). We address examples of these and other environmental circumstances in the next section of the chapter.

What Environmental Factors Influence Language and Literacy Development? Internationally, English is considered a global language that students are expected to acquire as part of their early schooling, and, sometimes, it develops at the expense of other languages that could be learned in school. An essential element

What Environmental Factors Influence Language and Literacy Development?  187

that impacts native and additional language development includes having access to opportunities to use and experience language in a linguistically rich and engaging environment. Over time, these opportunities or lack of opportunities influence how well language is acquired. For students in schools, teachers who model and encourage using language for meaningful purposes throughout the day provide those necessary opportunities for furthering native and/or ­additional language use and development. National or local policies regarding the language of instruction and the acquisition of foreign languages creates or hinders oppor­ tunities for language use in native and other additional languages. For instance, in post‐apartheid South Africa, previously segregated whites‐only schools are now experiencing a more diverse learner population. Although there has been movement toward undoing the previously destructive educational practices under apartheid, the current reality for black learners who have moved into these schools from township schools with minimal resources, is a reluctance to embrace linguistic and cultural diversity; specifically, retaining English as the primary language of instruction at the expense of other languages and dialects for learning and teaching (Makoe, 2014). Although Language in Education Policy (1997) encourages native language use during early schooling, its practice is clearly questionable. School governing bodies continue to choose English as the language of instruction, even though it represents the native language of only 7% of the population in South Africa (Makoe, 2014). Finally, in this framework, it is the powerful interaction of multiple, significant resources, both internal and external, that motivates learners to further engage in or disengage from language use. Motivators that may influence how well a child or young learner develops a primary and second language include how they use both languages within the home with parents, caregivers, and siblings, at school with teachers and peers, and in the larger local and world communities. Language status also is a strong motivator with influences on first‐ and second‐ language development. Does a language carry perceived prestige or access or does it reflect an association with decreased opportunities? These and other critical motivators may have lasting positive or negative effects on L1 and L2 development. Therefore, the acquisition of L1 for an early sequential bilingual should be the same if not similar to that of a monolingual child from comparable background. Once the L2 is introduced, however, other factors may influence the quality and rate of both L1 and L2 acquisition. The L1, once L2 is introduced, may continue to develop, level off or plateau, or regress based on a number of factors, including the social status of the L1 and opportunities to learn and use the L1. When learn­ ers are immersed in a more dominant second language through school and their community, they may encounter less motivation, resources, or reinforcement of their first language across settings including the home environment. Development of oral and literacy skills in the additional language, therefore, has the potential to exceed that of the first language in instances where no instruction or formal reinforcement is provided in the native language. This often occurs after students begin formal schooling. In a study involving Turkish– Dutch immigrant children raised bilingually in the Netherlands who received reading instruction in their second language only, these students scored better

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on early reading and language tasks in Dutch than on Turkish tasks (Janssen, Bosman, & Leseman, 2013). Proficiency in their adopted additional language resulted in costs to first language development. However, stronger skills in the additional language may not mean that a student’s ability is comparable to mono­ lingual peers in that language. The differences between the experiences, resources, and opportunities provided to both monolingual speakers and ALLs, make it difficult to compare the performance of these students using mono­ lingual norms in either the native or additional language (Kohnert & Pham, 2010). The value or status of native and additional languages within the family, com­ munity, and society at large also further impacts the learner, their motivation to learn, access to, use of, and proficiency in each respective language. Learning L2 as a foreign language includes children learning a language only within the con­ text of schooling yet with limited exposure of the additional language outside of that environment. Whereas L2 is a majority language, exposure and potential use of the L2 outside in the community may be extensive (Dixon et al., 2012). Strong L2‐majority languages, such as English, may compete with the development of native language(s) creating dramatic consequences.

What Cognitive and Linguistic Skills Affect this Development? The research is consistent in indicating the importance of particular cognitive and linguistic skills in early reading development in a second language including phonological awareness, working memory, and syntactic awareness (Lesaux, Rupp, & Siegel, 2007; Manis, Lindsey, & Bailey, 2004; Swanson, Saez, & Gerber, 2006). Furthermore, for second‐language learners, the importance of general oral language proficiency has been found to play a significant role in later literacy development, specifically as it pertains to reading comprehension (Proctor, Carlo, August, & Snow, 2005). The influence of these skills in the primary and/or second language has been known to vary. Cross‐linguistic transfer may occur when certain skills, known to be universal, may transfer across languages, given their language‐independent status (Durgunoğlu, 2002). Other skills, however, may require explicit learning and/or direct experience in the specific language, given their language‐dependent status. The relevant research of each of these skills, and their relationship with second‐language literacy will be discussed. Phonological Awareness

Extant research has shown the critical importance of phonological awareness (PA) in early literacy development for both monolingual and additional language learners. This is true for both alphabetic and nonalphabetic languages (Bialystok, 2007; McBride‐Chang & Kail, 2002; So & Siegel, 1997; Wang & Geva, 2003). Phonemic awareness, a subset of phonological awareness, is based in children’s knowledge of language and the cognitive ability to manipulate specific linguistic representations (Bialystok & Peets, 2010). Examples of tasks include syllable deletion, onset deletion, rhyme production (Chung, McBride‐Chang, Cheung, &

What Cognitive and Linguistic Skills Affect this Development?  189

Wong, 2013), phoneme segmentation, and final phoneme deletion (Janssen et al., 2013). The role of PA in a first language on L2 reading development in ALLs was studied in a group of Cantonese‐speaking children in grades 2–4 (N = 133), learn­ ing to read in both Chinese (L1) and English (L2). In this study, the authors found phonological awareness predicted children’s English word reading after control­ ling for nonverbal intelligence and age, among other variables (Chung et  al., 2013). In this study, cross‐language transfer effects were evident from L1 to L2 (not the inverse) with students who came from a strong L1‐speaking environ­ ment in the home and community. In these contexts, for this study, the authors reasoned that students’ strong development of Chinese contributed to their development of literacy skills in their second language, English. Phonemic awareness develops as the result of explicit instruction, which has been shown to be true across a variety of languages (Janssen et al., 2013) (refer to examples—for Portuguese, Cardoso‐Martins, 1994; for Turkish, Durgunoğlu, & Oney, 1999; for Dutch, Patel, Snowling, & de Jong, 2004; and for German, Wimmer, Landerl, Linortner, & Hummer, 1991). Moreover, the development of PA in the second language may exceed ability in L1 when no formal, direct instruction in the L1 has been previously provided. This was found to be the case with a sub‐sample of Turkish–Dutch children in the Netherlands who received literacy instruction exclusively in their second language, Dutch (Janssen et al., 2013). In an early, notable US study investigating cross‐language transfer, Durgunoğlu, Nagy, and Hancin‐Bhatt (1993) found that the English word and pseudoword recognition skills of a small group (n = 31) of Spanish‐speaking grade 1 students were predicted by students’ Spanish phonological awareness and Spanish word recognition performance. Students had been receiving primary language instruction with English language development in their academic pro­ gram. The authors’ findings demonstrated cross-language transfer of PA and its importance in L2 word reading. Working Memory

Research has shown that learners of additional languages, in comparison to monolingual children, develop cognitive advantages in executive control, given their multiple experiences in more than one language (Barak & Bialystok, 2012). Children with more balanced proficiency between a primary and a second lan­ guage, however, demonstrate greater benefits (Bialystok & Peets, 2010). In a study involving 104 children aged 6 years, including English monolingual, Chinese–English, French–English and Spanish–English bilingual children, Barak and Bialystok (2012) demonstrated how children in the bilingual subgroups out­ performed monolingual English children on tasks measuring executive control. Executive control is the supervisory or management system of cognitive pro­ cesses. Working memory (WM), a main feature of executive control, involves the ability to sustain information in the mind while that information is being used or manipulated (Bialystok & Peets, 2010). Working memory, in turn, is incorpo­ rated at every stage of reading “constructing the word from the constituent sounds, integrating the words into sentences, and extracting the intended mean­ ing from all those processes” (Bialystok & Peets, 2010, p. 142). With monolingual

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readers, tasks measuring working memory have been found to serve as predic­ tors of word‐reading ability (Swanson & Howell, 2001), including sentence span, auditory digit sequencing, mapping, and visual matrices. With ALLs, research has found significant relationships between working memory and word reading and comprehension in the L2 (Swanson et al., 2006). Studies involving ELLs have found typical ELL readers having well‐developed working memory skills, in comparison to ELL readers categorized as having a reading disability demon­ strating poor working memory skill performance (Swanson, Orosco, & Lussier, 2012; Swanson et al., 2006). In a longitudinal US study involving 383 Spanish‐speaking children designated as ELLs, with or without risk for reading disabilities (RD) in grades 1–3, results indicated difficulties in verbal working memory for ELL children at risk for RD in comparison to ELLs without risk (Swanson et al., 2012). Risk status for reading disability was determined by children scoring in the average range on a measure of fluid intelligence, above the 25th percentile in math, and below the 25th ­percentile in word identification and/or comprehension. Both at‐risk and non‐at risk ELL groups demonstrated difficulties on English phonological processing, Spanish working memory, and English naming speed tasks. However, poor ­performance on English working memory with those at risk for RD, appeared to distinguish performance between both groups. In sum, the authors suggest that English language learners who are Spanish L1 speakers and at risk for RD, whether in their primary or second language, may experience difficulties with working memory overall, a language general factor. Syntactic Awareness

Research has demonstrated the significant role of syntactic awareness (SA) in successful early reading development in monolingual learners (Snow, Burns, & Griffin, 1998), and to a limited degree with ALLs (Farnia & Geva, 2013; Geva & Siegel, 2000; Lefrancois & Armand, 2003). SA requires conscious con­ trol and decision‐making regarding the application of grammatical rules and word order (Durgunoğlu, 2002). Measures of SA may include determining correct syntax and correcting errors in syntax in sentences administered orally by an assessor (Lefrancois & Armand, 2003). The importance of SA specifically for reading comprehension may be in that it “requires making pre­ dictions about the word that should come next in a sequence” (Lipka & Siegel, 2012, p. 15). In correlational research involving ALLs, the significance of SA and compre­ hension within and across languages is limited yet informative. In a study involv­ ing 38 native Spanish speakers and learners of French aged 9–11 years, Lefrancois and Armand (2003) found strong correlations between SA and sentence and text comprehension. Spanish‐speaking participants in the study represented 12 dif­ ferent Spanish‐speaking countries, and received at least 3 years of L1 literacy instruction in their home country, and at least 7 months of instruction in the second language, French. Although oral competence in French best explained students’ performance in sentence comprehension and strongly correlating to text comprehension in French, SA still demonstrated strong association with

What Cognitive and Linguistic Skills Affect this Development?  191

both types. Furthermore, in a study involving Spanish–English grade 4 students, Durgunoğlu, Mir, and Ariño‐Martí (2002) tested their SA skills in both languages and found they were correlated (r = 0.44). Their results indicated that if students were able to correctly identify the appropriate sentence structure in one l­ anguage, they were very likely able to do so in the second language. In a more recent study modeling the reading comprehension trajectories of EALs (n = 400) and monolingual English speakers (n = 153) from grades 4–6, Farnia and Geva (2013) found English syntactic knowledge to be a stable predic­ tor of the rate of growth in reading comprehension for both groups of learners. Baseline data was obtained in grade 1, measuring students’ cognitive, language, and word‐level reading skills, with reading comprehension measured in grade 2. These skills were treated as early predictors of growth in reading comprehension over time by grade 6. Students’ cognitive, language, and word‐level reading skills were assessed again in grade 4 as a later predictor of reading comprehension in grade 6. The measure of English syntax in this study required students to recog­ nize whether sentences were correct or incorrect by tapping a variety of English syntactic properties including identifying appropriate tense, word order, arti­ cles, and subject–predicate agreement. This limited yet significant research ­highlights the important role that SA plays in the reading development of sec­ ond‐language learners. Oral Expressive Language

Students with strong oral language skills acquire literacy with greater ease in early elementary school programs (National Literacy Panel, 2006). A noted disadvan­ tage to the process of second‐language development is the on‐average smaller vocabularies in L1 and L2 in comparison to monolingual peers in both languages (Droop & Verhoeven, 2003; Scheele, Leseman, & Mayo, 2010; Verhoeven, 2000). This has been reported in studies across a number of languages (Babayiğit, 2014; Janssen et  al., 2013; Trapman, Van Gelderen, Van Steensel, Van Schooten, & Hulstijn, 2014), while also taking into account differences in socioeconomic sta­ tus between groups (Droop & Verhoeven, 2003). As children progress in the upper elementary grades, and despite acquiring adequate word reading skills, oral expressive language appears to play a more significant role in the critical yet complex skill of reading comprehension (Proctor et al., 2005). A substantial body of evidence now suggests that, when provided adequate instruction in the additional language, ALLs quickly develop word rec­ ognition skills comparable to monolingual‐speaking peers (Lesaux, Geva, Koda, Siegel, & Shanahan, 2006). However, despite acquiring these early word‐reading skills, second‐language learners still perform at significantly lower levels in read­ ing comprehension (Babayiğit, 2014; Burgoyne, Kelly, Whiteley, & Spooner, 2009; Burgoyne, Whiteley, & Hutchinson, 2010; Verhoeven, 2000), with the gap increasing over time (Farnia & Geva, 2013). This is true for students with learn­ ing disabilities (Snowling & Hulme, 2011; Wanzek, Wexler, Vaughn, & Ciullo, 2010; Wanzek et  al., 2013). Therefore, limited oral language proficiency levels may place L2 learners at greater risk for deficits in reading comprehension (Genesee, Lindholm‐Leary, Saunders, & Christian, 2006). Differences in ­students’

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exposure to relevant cultural and background knowledge may also contribute to these differences in comprehension (Klingner, Artiles, & Barletta, 2006; Klingner, Hoover, & Baca, 2008). In a study involving monolingual (n = 56) and second‐language learners (n = 69), of the 9–10 years age category in the United Kingdom, students in both groups demonstrated comparable word‐reading accuracy and speed in English after receiving at least 4 years of formal instruction in English (Babayiğit, 2014). After taking into account individual differences in students’ verbal memory, non­ verbal reasoning skills, and time in school, students in the second‐language learner group demonstrated a significant disadvantage in their oral language, reading, and listening comprehension skills in comparison to monolingual English speakers. Similarly, in a Dutch study involving 60 low‐achieving grade 7 monolingual and L2 students, both groups of learners performed at comparable levels on measures of reading fluency (Trapman et al., 2014). Researchers found that fluency did not contribute significantly to the reading comprehension of the bilingual learners, as it did for struggling monolingual adolescents. Interestingly, in this study, vocabulary as well as grammar and meta‐cognitive knowledge strongly predicted L2 learners’ reading comprehension in comparison to mono­ lingual students.

What Factors Distinguish Second‐Language Acquisition from Learning Disabilities? In practice in schools, there is much confusion about what constitutes a true learning difficulty as opposed to naturally occurring interruptions in learning due to learning in a nonnative language. In reality, some children who are learn­ ing in an additional language also have a genuine inherent learning disability. The term learning disabilities in the United States refers to an inherent learning dis­ order experienced by students that is not attributable to another type of disability (such as intellectual disability or a sensory impairment) or external factors (such as lack of appropriate education or socioeconomic disadvantage). The US law, the Individuals with Disabilities Education Improvement Act, 2004, also speci­ fies that, for an individual child under consideration for special education ser­ vices, to determine eligibility, the decision‐making team must determine that the primary cause of the student’s learning difficulties is not primarily due to the situation of learning in a nonnative language, which would understandably cause some temporary learning difficulties. The process of identifying learning disabil­ ities in culturally and linguistically diverse (CLD) children is complex and involves ruling out alternative explanations for the student’s learning difficulties. In the United States, the process typically involves three basic steps: (a) deter­ mining that there is a significant impact on the child’s academic achievement; (b) examining the specific areas of learning difficulty; and (c) ruling out exclu­ sionary factors. However, integral to this exclusionary process for CLD children is sorting out whether the presenting factors are primarily attributable to an inherent learning disorder in how information is acquired and processed or to typical ­patterns of second‐language acquisition.

Improving Methods of Evaluation Improving Methods of Evaluation 193

In a US study looking at the identification rates of students in special education in a large national sample of kindergarten, grade 1, and grade 3 students, Samson and Lesaux (2009) found teachers’ rating of students’ performance to be a strong predictor of disability identification, with an over‐representation of language minority (L2) students by grade 3 in every disability category. Moreover, ­language minority students were identified for special services later in comparison to their English‐speaking peers. Klingner and Eppolito (2014) explain that it is easy to misinterpret observed behaviors during reading instruction. Features that are typically associated with learning disabilities may also occur in CLD students who are learning to read in a second language. The key to making an accurate eligibility decision is identify­ ing the underlying cause. Extensive research has documented that many students with LD experience phonological processing difficulties that manifest in the abil­ ity to distinguish and manipulate sounds of language and greatly impact students’ decoding and spelling skills (e.g., Catts, Adolf, Hogan, & Weismer, 2005; Schatschneider, Carlson, Francis, Foorman, & Fletcher, 2002; Wagner & Torgesen, 1987). However, CLD students may also exhibit some difficulty with classroom activities that involve phonological awareness, but it is more likely to occur with sound or language patterns that do not typically appear in their primary ­language. Other typical classroom tasks involved in learning to read, such as following ­verbal directions or retelling a story, may present apparent difficulties for these two groups of students but have very different underlying causes. In order to better differentiate between those students who may display any one of these characteristics, school personnel can take concrete steps to pur­ posefully modify methods that often contribute to this confusion, specifically improving general evaluation methods and students’ opportunities to learn. Research investigating instructional, placement, identification, and assessment factors involving second‐language learners primarily in the United States have recognized steps in the process of evaluation, learning, and instruction that may contribute to students’ possible misidentification for special education services.

Improving Methods of Evaluation In a review of empirical research on English language learners, Klingner et al. (2006) sought to identify concrete indicators to distinguish ELLs who struggle with reading from ELLs with learning disabilities. They identified six studies that provided data regarding assessment practices with ELLs who may have LD and who struggle with reading. This research found that many of these students were tested in English regardless of their native language (Maldonado‐Colon, 1986) and discounted native language information in placement decisions (Barrera Metz, 1988). Research involving surveys of US school psychologists having ­previously conducted bilingual psycho‐educational assessments found multiple factors overlooked by psychologists in their evaluations. These included consid­ ering the students’ native language, the time provided in English instruction at the time of testing, failure to determine whether a discrepancy existed between students’ cognitive performance and academic achievement in both the primary

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and second languages (Ochoa, Rivera, & Powell, 1997), and involving untrained interpreters for bilingual psycho‐evaluations if at all (Ochoa, Powell, & Robles‐ Piña, 1996). Additional informal procedures greatly influencing the assessment process included informal diagnosis by teachers and staff, exclusion of relevant contextual factors potentially contributing to students’ difficulties with the learning process, disregard for established criteria in eligibility decisions, an overreliance on find­ ings from English language testing over native language testing, and ignoring rel­ evant information related to language acquisition (Harry & Klingner, 2006; Harry, Klingner, Sturges, & Moore, 2002). From this review, Klingner and colleagues (2006) found that establishing the difference between second‐language learners who struggle with reading from those having a true learning disability may be ­better determined by improvements in the overall evaluation process. Evaluation procedures would be much improved if the process involved an analysis of ­primary‐ and second‐language development, diverse measures including curricu­ lum‐based measures, assessment in both languages, trained bilingual translators when necessary, and consideration of the classroom ecology.

Improving Opportunities to Learn Given the various inadequacies of current assessment tools and evaluation ­procedures to effectively assess ELLs, the literature recommends increasing the implementation and rigor of general education and intervention instruction as means to further differentiate these two groups of learners in addition to existing assessment procedures/protocols (Klingner & Eppolito, 2014). Providing improved opportunities to learn in the classroom can allow education profes­ sionals to better identify students who continue to struggle with learning even after receiving rigorous and appropriate instruction. In a notable longitudinal study conducted in Canada, Lesaux et al. (2007) com­ pared the reading development of monolingual English speakers (n = 689) to a group of second‐language learners (n = 135) from a variety of linguistic (n = 33) and socioeconomic backgrounds. Students in this district received a balanced reading program including explicit instruction in phonological awareness during the primary grades. The research team shared their initial kindergarten testing results with schools indicating which students were at risk for reading difficul­ ties. The district provided these students with small group instruction in phono­ logical awareness for 20 minutes three to four times per week until the end of kindergarten. Although initial differences were found in students’ early literacy skills in kindergarten, the authors found no differences between groups on almost all measures by grade 4. The authors concluded that it was possible that providing strategic intervention for students demonstrating risk early on and ensuring appropriate general reading instruction for all students through grade 4 provided students with the necessary opportunities to learn and develop these reading skills. In the study by Lipka and Siegel (2012) presented earlier, investigating the ­cognitive and linguistic influences on reading comprehension in first and

Contextual and Instructional Factors that Support Literacy Development Contextual and Instructional Factors that Support Literacy Development 195

s­econd‐language learners, the instructional programming received by both groups was quite strong. The district reading program for both L1 and L2 learners provided students with rigorous instruction and intervention for stu­ dents identified as being at risk for reading difficulties. In the study, the authors compared the performance of students with good decoding ability yet poor comprehension skills (poor comprehenders) in comparison to students with good decoding and good comprehension ability (good comprehenders) across both ELL and L1 subgroups. Results revealed a very similar distribution of both classification types across the ELL (85% classified as GC and 12.5% as PC) and L1 (80% classified as GC and 18% classified as PC) subgroups. Good instruction and targeted intervention to those requiring additional assistance provided students with increased opportunities to learn across time. These opportunities appeared to facilitate positive outcomes for ELL students similar to their English only counterparts. Moreover, most of the participants in this sample had experienced some form of early literacy development in their ­primary language, which may have facilitated their initial exposure to literacy in the second language. Commonalities across studies in early reading intervention involving second‐ language learners report instruction that taps into the primary language as a resource for instruction, encourages collaboration with peers, and provides explicit instruction in phonological awareness. Vocabulary and language devel­ opment are useful methods to potentially stave off possible referral for special education evaluation.

Contextual and Instructional Factors that Support Literacy Development Focusing on schools that have demonstrated success in boosting academic achievement for CLD students, several researchers have identified critical school‐level factors (e.g., Berman, Minicucci, McLaughlin, Nelson, & Woodworth, 1995; Lindholm‐Leary & Borsato, 2006; Miramontes, Nadeau, & Commins, 1997). Of the following list, the first three could be thought of as generally impor­ tant for all students, not specific to serving CLD students. However, items four through eight seem particularly important for achieving school‐wide academic success with CLD students. Following are the eight critical factors: 1) Cohesive school‐wide vision 2) Shared goals with expectations for achievement 3) Clear instructional focus on and commitment to achievement 4) Shared belief that all students can learn 5) School climate is orderly and safe 6) Warm, caring community 7) Academically challenging curriculum 8) Instructional program is informed by sound theory and research 9) School culture that embraces diversity and family engagement in the teach­ ing—learning process

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In addition to these contextual factors, the literature highlights specific instruc­ tional features of classroom practice that become essential to second‐language literacy development—these include providing appropriate access to print and meaningful engagement with print; providing culturally responsive instructional experiences; vocabulary and second‐language development and, in particular, academic vocabulary development; and extra support with phonological decod­ ing skills and comprehension as needed.

Access to and Meaningful Engagement with Print Cummins (2012) highlighted access to print and increased opportunities for engagement with text as essential in promoting ALLs’ reading comprehension. Having access to text does not necessarily imply engagement with text, which would include solitary as well as collaborative reading experiences with text and about text, through ongoing discourse or dialogue and writing as well as increased use cognitive strategies to enhance comprehension, while experiencing the joy of reading (Guthrie, 2004). Data from the Programme for International Student Achievement (PISA) in 2003 (OECD, 2004), which evaluated the reading achieve­ ment of 15‐year‐olds representing 27 countries, concluded that the level of ­students’ reading engagement is a strong predictor of students’ overall literacy performance regardless of socioeconomic background. A meta‐analysis investigating research regarding print access and students’ educational outcomes (Lindsay, 2010) found relationships between the two. Specifically, the author found that “increasing children’s access to print material appears to produce more positive attitudes toward reading, increases the amount of reading that children do, increases children’s emergent literacy skills, and improves children’s reading achievement” (p. 78), supporting a causal role of access to print in improving children’s behavior as well as psychological and edu­ cational outcomes.

Providing Culturally Responsive Instructional Experiences Culturally responsive teachers appreciate the resources, both cultural and ­linguistic, that students bring with them to the classroom. They build upon their students’ resources, rather than view these resources as potential deficits or obstacles to the learning process. These teachers use this capital (i.e., personal experiences and interests) as the basis for instructional connections to facilitate student learning and development. Teachers who use CRT apply interactive, ­collaborative teaching methods, strategies, and ways of interacting that support CLD students’ cultural, linguistic, and racial experiences and integrate the meth­ ods with evidence‐based practice (Aceves & Orosco, 2014, pp. 7–8). Evidence‐based practices showing “promise” as culturally responsive prac­ tices for children and youth with disabilities include collaborative teaching,

Ongoing and Extensive Vocabulary and Second‐Language Support Ongoing and Extensive Vocabulary and Second‐Language Support 197

providing responsive feedback, modeling, and scaffolded instruction (Aceves & Orosco, 2014). Collaborative teaching (e.g., cooperative teaching, reciprocal teaching, and peer teaching) involves structured opportunities for students to work together in a supportive manner that enhances their learning and skill development. Responsive feedback involves teachers providing individual­ ized supportive as well as critical comments regarding students’ participa­ tion, while recognizing specific cultural and linguistic preferences. ­modeling involves providing instructional examples based on students’ ­linguistic, cul­ tural, and daily experiences. Scaffolded instruction involves facilitating and deepening students’ understanding through the use of specific tools, question­ ing and prompting techniques, and using and/or extending students’ responses, all to provide students with culturally and linguistically appropriate models and supports. As indicated earlier, an essential aspect of CRT involves validating the linguis­ tic and cultural resources that students bring with them from their primary lan­ guage. Tapping into students’ primary language and home literacy resources supports overall literacy development, regardless of the second language (Bialystok & Peets, 2010). Early literacy experiences of second‐language learners support students’ future reading development whether implemented in the pri­ mary or second language (Reese, Garnier, Gallimore, & Goldenberg, 2000). Interventions involving primary language support or instruction have noted positive outcomes.

Ongoing and Extensive Vocabulary and Second‐Language Support Typical classroom instruction provides limited amounts of vocabulary instruc­ tion, and it occurs on an “as‐needed” basis, focusing mainly on the specific ­context of the lesson taught (Carlo et al., 2004; Scott, Jamieson‐Noel, & Asselin, 2003). Furthermore, teachers do not always discuss how to use newly learned words in a meaningful context beyond the current text. However, for students learning in a second language, explicit and extensive vocabulary support is ­beneficial (Francis, Rivera, Leseaux, Kieffer, & Rivera, 2006). There are several general strategies that teachers of CLD students can use to integrate vocabulary and second‐language support into daily instruction. These include preteaching key words, providing explicit modeling of the meaning and use of words, and providing extended opportunities for students to engage with newly learned words within and beyond the current text. As teachers plan their lessons, it is helpful to examine the written content to identify key words that are essential to conceptual understanding and are widely applicable to other settings. There are several academic word lists that feature key words that all students should know within academic disciplines. For e­ xample, Averil Coxhead’s Academic Word List is derived from a study of word frequency in academic texts (Coxhead, 2006) and is widely used in schools around the world (see http://www.victoria.ac.nz/lals/resources/academicwordlist).

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Extra Support for Early Reading Development Early detection of reading difficulties provides an opportunity to intervene before a reading difficulty develops into a reading deficit. Response to Intervention (RTI) is a school‐wide model of systematically screening for reading difficulties, providing extra instruction and support, and monitoring progress to guide instruction. RTI models are considered an improvement in how we identify learning disabilities, because they provide an opportunity to rule out other expla­ nations for the learning difficulty through observing a student’s response to the intervention (Tran, Sanchez, Arellano, & Swanson, 2011). Students receive focused supplemental instruction in foundational reading skills. Those who “respond” to the intervention, that is, show growth toward reading goals, most likely do not have a disability but for other reasons need the extra support. Those who do not respond are potential candidates for further assessment and possible consideration for special education. For CLD students, this process helps educa­ tors avoid confusion about whether learning difficulties are due to an inherent disability or other factors (Klingner & Eppolito, 2014). For CLD students, it is important for the RTI model to include culturally responsive approaches and to use methods determined to be effective for s­ econd‐ language learners (King Thorius, Maxcy, Macey, & Cox, 2014; Klingner & Eppolito, 2014). Though some have thought that the early identification and intervention included in RTI would lead to earlier identification of disabilities, a longitudinal study of ELLs participating in RTI showed that this was not neces­ sarily true (O’Connor, Bocian, Beach, Sanchez, & Flynn, 2013). Consideration of students’ native language and home literacy experiences are important factors in implementing RTI and exploring the possibility of an inherent disability (Kieffer & Vukovic, 2012).

Implications for Research and Practice The increasing global practice of providing students with disabilities instruction in inclusive, general education settings requires a better understanding of how to enhance students’ learning experiences in these settings. This is especially important for students who are ALLs, particularly those who also have a learning difficulty or disability. Teachers must know how to provide the appropriate struc­ ture and support necessary to not only assist these students to experience ­success in general education classrooms but to thrive in them. The field must focus on research to address fundamental questions related to improving instructional practices for these learners to successfully facilitate students’ learning and lan­ guage development. Moreover, this research must not ignore the need to identify those more strategic and intensive instructional practices that show success in extending students’ learning in critical and unique areas of need, like reading, while considering the intersection of linguistic, sociocultural, and cognitive ­factors that influence the process (Chen, Geva, & Schwartz, 2012). It is clear that research involving students with disabilities who are also ALLs must evolve and grow. There continues to be a general dearth of research specific

References References 199

to this population. Furthermore, the manner in which we engage in this research must purposefully consider research methods that may uncover additional infor­ mation about the complex intersection of language, culture, and learning (García & Ortiz, 2013). Studies reporting further information regarding instructional practices and the context of learning in schools where research is conducted, as well as providing additional data regarding participating students’ linguistic, ­cultural, and learning background would likely enhance our understanding of intervention implementation and student outcomes for the specific populations of students with disabilities involved (Aceves et al., 2015; García & Ortiz, 2013). We must begin to investigate and support the unique needs and strengths of second‐language learners with disabilities as the very heterogeneous learners they are rather than treat them as a single homogenous group. The manner in which we assess these learners, the tools and strategies we employ, and the stand­ ards against which we determine their identification and progress or lack of ­progress must responsibly consider their individual background and tremendous diversity. For second‐language learners with disabilities, we know that when and how their first and second language develops, their levels of proficiency in both languages, and how teachers and schools consider these and other variables can significantly influence students’ overall language and literacy development (Bialystok & Peets, 2010).

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Part III Instruction

209

11 Teaching Mathematics to Students with Disabilities from Diverse Backgrounds Delinda van Garderen, Apryl Poch, Christa Jackson and Sarah A. Roberts

According to the Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development (OECD), the literacy and numeracy skills that are distributed across a popula­ tion will have significant impact on economic and social outcomes. In particu­ lar, the “higher the levels of inequality in literacy and numeracy skills … the greater the inequality of distribution of income” (OECD, 2013, p. 26). However, although literacy skills are important, it has been suggested that poor mathe­ matical skills may be more of a handicap than poor literacy skills, especially in the workplace (Butterworth, 2005; McCloskey, 2007). As McCloskey (2007) notes, “… quantitative concepts and information are involved in many facets of home, work and community life …” (p. 421). Poor quantitative skills are likely to pose significant problems in everyday life, even into adulthood (Dougherty, 2003; McCloskey, 2007). The recognition of the importance of having adequate mathematical skills is gaining traction at local and national levels in many countries (see, e.g., OECD report, 2014, for a summary of improvements in mathematics scores by country) but, even more importantly, at the global level. For example, the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO), post‐2105 educa­ tion agenda in a target priority area, unlike the previous education agenda, spe­ cifically mentions the development of proficient numeracy skills as “necessary to fully participate in given society” (UNESCO, 2014, p. 26). This target is one of several targets all designed to meet the proposed overarching goal to “Ensure equitable and inclusive quality of education and lifelong learning for all [author’s emphasis] by 2030” (UNESCO, 2014, p. 26). In this chapter, we highlight that “all” also means providing access to and opportunity for learning in mathematics to an often‐overlooked group of individuals­—students with disabilities (SWDs) from diverse cultural, racial, linguistic, and economic backgrounds. Generally, students without a disability who are diverse learners, or students who have a disability only, tend to underperform in mathematics. For example, based on international data collected via the OECD Program for International Student Assessment (PISA), a less advantaged student is more likely to score The Wiley Handbook of Diversity in Special Education, First Edition. Edited by Marie Tejero Hughes and Elizabeth Talbott. © 2017 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Published 2017 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

11  Teaching Mathematics to Students with Disabilities from Diverse Backgrounds

lower on the assessment, up to the equivalent of nearly one year of schooling, c­ompared to a peer who is more socioeconomically advantaged (OECD, 2013). Data collected in the United States of America on diverse learners, such as SWDs, English language learners (ELLs) and students of color, clearly demonstrates that these groups of learners also tend to underperform in mathematics (e.g., National Center for Education Statistics [NCES], 2013; Provasnik et al., 2012). Of the extremely limited data available, it appears that the performance of diverse learners who also have a disability is even more concerning. Data col­ lected on the 2013 National Assessment of Educational Progress (NAEP) exami­ nation in mathematics (given only in the United States of America), found that SWDs who are diverse learners disproportionately performed at “basic” or “below basic” levels, with percentages ranging from 90% (for grade 4 SWDs who receive a free or reduced price lunch) to 100% (for grade 12 SWDs who are ELLs) of students scoring at these combined levels (see Table 11.1). Scores at the basic level indicate only partial mastery of prerequisite knowledge and skills that are fundamental for at least proficient knowledge of key content, whereas scores at the below basic level signify an incomplete and inadequate mastery of prerequi­ site knowledge and skills. Consequently, a significant proportion of SWDs from diverse backgrounds do not possess adequate mathematical skills.

Table 11.1  Cross‐tabulated Performance on the 2013 NAEP Exam in Mathematics for Students with Disabilities from Diverse Backgrounds Grade 4

% Below Basic

% At Basic

% Below Basic

% At Basic

% Below Basic

% At Basic

Not SD

% At Basic

SD

% Below Basic

Not SD

% At Basic

SD

% Below Basic

Not SD

Grade 12

% At Basic

SD

Grade 8

% Below Basic

210

68

27

29

50

84

14

43

41

94

5

58

34

65 60 35

29 32 42

26 23 6

47 49 37

77 78 57

17 18 32

35 33 12

41 44 39

— 87 71

— 11 22

38 47 21

47 41 44

SES   F/R Lunch   No F/R Lunch

57 31

33 41

23 5

49 33

76 55

20 32

34 11

44 37

87 71

11 23

48 22

40 42

Language  ELL   Not ELL

66 45

27 38

37 11

48 41

87 66

12 26

65 19

29 41

98 77

2 18

85 30

12 42

Variable

Ethnicity   African American  American Indian/ Alaskan Native  Hispanic  White

Note: SD = students with disabilities; SES = socio‐economic status; F/R = free and/or reduced; — = reporting standards not met.

Students with Disabilities Who are English Language Learners and Students of Color Students with Disabilities Who are English Language Learners and Students of Color 211

In a study that used data from the Special Education Elementary Longitudinal Study (SEELS) to explore mathematical growth trajectories by disability cate­ gory, gender, race, and SES within the United States of America, Wei, Lenz, and Blackorby (2012) found that, while achievement growth in mathematics acceler­ ates throughout elementary school, growth begins to plateau around age 13 years for all disability categories. Additionally, they found significant achievement gaps for white–black and white–Hispanic students with disabilities favoring white students. Interestingly, the white–black gap remained stable over time, while the gap between white and Hispanic students increased over time. Clearly, inequities exist, and many SWDs who are diverse learners are not developing adequate mathematical skills. Thus, the purpose of this chapter is to review the literature in order to identify existing evidence‐based instructional approaches that can be used to promote and support mathematics learning for SWDs from diverse back­ grounds. In doing so, we first discuss the research available on instructional practices for SWDs from diverse backgrounds. However, because this is an area that remains under‐researched, we also discuss research‐based instruc­ tional practices for specific groups of diverse learners, namely SWDs, ELLs, and students of color. Within these three latter sections, we highlight the key challenges in mathematics that these students experience followed by a dis­ cussion of key instructional approaches that have been demonstrated to be effective for this group of learners. To conclude the chapter, we discuss the commonalities in the instructional strategies and the implications for prac­ tice across these groups of students. We close with recommendations for future research.

Research‐based Instructional Practices for Students with Disabilities from Diverse Backgrounds Published studies specifically focused on identifying instructional practices in mathematics that work for SWDs from diverse backgrounds are extremely lim­ ited. Although studies might include SWDs who are diverse (e.g., African American, Hispanic, low SES, etc.), findings are typically reported for all stu­ dents in the study rather than disaggregated. At the time of writing this chapter, only six empirically based studies could be located. Five studies focused on SWDs who are ELLs and students of color, and one study focused on SWDs who are students from a different ethnic background. We discuss these next.

Students with Disabilities Who are English Language Learners and Students of Color Orosco and colleagues (Orosco, 2013, 2014; Orosco, Swanson, O’Connor, & Lussier, 2013) studied how grade 2 and 3 Latino ELLs at risk for a mathemat­ ics disability solved mathematics word problems. The intervention involved:

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11  Teaching Mathematics to Students with Disabilities from Diverse Backgrounds

(a) preteaching concepts and vocabulary via direct and explicit instruction (e.g., a vocabulary word with a definition and an example); (b) strategy instruction focused on five common problem‐solving strategies (know, find, set‐up, solve, and check for understanding); and (c) cooperative learning and/or student pair­ ing, where students, with teacher monitoring, worked together to practice the strategy while solving word problems. In all three studies, this intervention was found to facilitate problem‐solving performance for all participants. Barrera et al. (2006) examined the effectiveness of a math think aloud (MTA) strategy with four middle school students identified with learning disabilities (LD) and limited literacy proficiency in English. The MTA involved three main strategies: (a) problem‐solving instruction and task analysis strategies (explicit instruction to solve a math problem—understanding the question, identifying relevant and irrelevant information, choosing a plan to solve the problem, solv­ ing it, and checking the answer); (b) teacher “think alouds” (teacher demonstrates solving a problem using explicit explanations); and (c) student‐developed glos­ sary (student writes key content and concept words with a definition). Results demonstrated improved performance for converting improper/proper fractions or solving for an unknown for the four basic operations. When examining teacher implementation of the MTA, students’ progress in mastering the MTA was not gradual. Strategy mastery often did not happen until the later stages of instruc­ tion, and although improvements were made with the content, students only achieved instructional (support still needed) as opposed to independent levels of mastery. Shumate, Campbell‐Whately, and Lo (2012) examined the effectiveness of cul­ turally infused mathematics, specifically the use of the Sheltered Instruction Observation Protocol (SIOP) model, with grade 8 Latino students identified as having an LD to solve one‐step mathematical calculations. The culturally respon­ sive intervention (CRI) involved (a) a statement of the lesson objectives; (b) pro­ vision of typed guided notes; (c) use of examples that were culturally relevant to the students (e.g., students were real estate brokers selling the homes of Latino celebrities); and (d) use of instructional strategies and activities designed to pro­ mote learning (e.g., partner work, graphic organizers). A modification of the CRI was also implemented to include group activities in which manipulatives were provided to serve as visual cues for problem‐solving, and game activities were used to promote engagement. Overall, the CRI produced higher performance gains in mathematical performance than traditional instruction; however, a functional relationship with participants’ higher performance gains was found for the modified CRI condition.

Students with Disabilities who are also Students of Diverse Ethnicities While not strictly an intervention study, Hankes, Skoning, Fast, and Mason‐ Williams (2013) provided professional development to teachers in using cogni­ tively guided instruction (CGI) and CRI in an effort to become more instructionally

Students with Disabilities Students with Disabilities 213

responsive to the needs of Native American students with LD. CGI was used to plan instruction to solve mathematical story problems using a problem‐solving taxonomy (e.g., joining problems, separating problems) along with intuitive problem‐solving strategies while developing number sense. CRI practices spe­ cific to Native American culture were then provided and embedded in the CGI. These practices included: (a) more time to complete lessons, (b) an emphasis on solving real‐life problems, (c) use of manipulatives and construction of models through hands‐on problem‐solving, (d) cooperative learning, and (e) conversa­ tional classroom discussion with the teacher acting as facilitator. Increased achievement on the Wisconsin Knowledge and Concept State Exam for grade 4–8 students was found.

Summary Several instructional practices have been identified to improve performance in mathematics for SWDs from diverse backgrounds. These practices include vari­ ations of strategy instruction (e.g., think‐alouds, step‐by‐step strategies for solv­ ing word problems, CGI) and CRI practices. Although this research exists, it is extremely limited in number, and, as a result, these findings need to be inter­ preted with caution; more research needs to be conducted to verify these prac­ tices work with SWDs from diverse backgrounds. More research, not surprisingly, has been conducted specifically on each of the subgroups (e.g., SWDs, ELLs, and students of color). This literature can provide additional insights that may prove helpful for instructing SWDs from diverse backgrounds in mathematics. Therefore, given the desire to provide practical recommenda­ tions and insights for teachers working with these students, we provide a sum­ mary of this literature next.

Instructional Practices for Diverse Students: What the Research Suggests For this section of the chapter, we provide information about students in three subgroups (SWDs, ELLs, and students of color). First, we focus on key learning challenges in mathematics experienced by these students, and, second, we iden­ tify commonly recommended research‐based instructional practices to address these challenges that they may experience. Please note that this is not an exhaus­ tive review of the research literature, but rather an overview of significant ideas.

Students with Disabilities For the purposes of this chapter, we focus on students with “mild” or “high inci­ dence” disabilities, that is, students identified with an LD (including attention deficit hyperactivity disorder), mathematics disability, and/or at‐risk for an LD in

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mathematics. Students identified specifically with a mathematics disability r­epresent 5–8% of the K‐12 student population (Bryant, 2005). Although each student with a disability has a unique profile of challenges and strengths, a core number of key challenges have been identified in the research that may interfere with each student’s development of mathematical proficiency. Working memory/long‐term memory. Recent studies have demonstrated that working memory (WM; “… a processing resource of limited capacity, involved in the preservation of information, that simultaneously processes the same or other information” [Swanson & Zheng, 2013, p. 215]) plays a significant role in predicating academic performance in mathematics (e.g., Swanson & Jerman, 2006). Difficulties with WM impact mathematical word problem‐solving performance and arithmetic computation. In particular, students may have ­difficulty using WM to activate relevant knowledge from long‐term memory (e.g., knowledge of algorithms) to facilitate solution accuracy, as well as difficulty controlling and regulating cognitive activities (e.g., attending, monitoring, inhib­ iting irrelevant information) that are a part of the executive system central to WM (Geary, 2013; Swanson & Zheng, 2013). Processing speed. Several studies have found that SWDs often tend to be slower than their typically developing peers at problem‐solving (e.g., Swanson & Beebe‐Frankenberger, 2004). However, this does not mean that these students have a slower processing speed. Instead, these students may be slower at more basic processes such as his/her ability to encode into and retrieve numerical information from working memory (Geary, 2010, 2013; Geary, Brown, & Samaranayake, 1991). Translation difficulties. Many SWDs have considerable difficulty translating and transforming numerical and linguistic information from mathematical word problems (Montague, Applegate, & Marquard, 1993). Successful problem‐solving depends on the ability to create a representation of the problem in order to under­ stand and solve the word problem (Mayer & Hegarty, 1996). Several studies (e.g., van Garderen & Montague, 2003; van Garderen, Scheuermann, & Jackson, 2013) have demonstrated that SWDs often have difficulty creating a representation— such as a diagram—that is of sufficient quality (e.g., depicting relevant informa­ tion from the problem), which often results in poor problem‐solving. Metacognitive/strategic deficits. Substantial evidence suggests that SWDs have difficulty both selecting appropriate strategies to use and regulating their strategy use during mathematics tasks (Montague, 2007; Swanson & Jerman, 2006). Specifically, SWDs may have a limited repertoire of strategies, display immature metacognitive abilities, struggle to self‐initiate problem‐solving, lack enabling strategies, and struggle to self‐evaluate their work (Montague, 2007). Quantitative deficits. A substantial amount of research has focused on quantitative deficits that SWDs may experience. Particular difficulties have been noted in the areas of number knowledge, counting knowledge, and arithmetic. In number knowledge, it appears that SWDs have difficulty representing a quantity (e.g., *** = 3 = three), mapping symbols onto a representation (e.g., **3 = 5), and dealing with symbolic quantity discrimination (e.g., which is more, 18 vs. 28) (Geary, 2011, 2013; Rousselle & Noël, 2007). For counting

Students with Disabilities Students with Disabilities 215

knowledge, SWDs typically understand most basic counting principals (e.g., cardinality), but they may not detect errors when counting deviates from the standard l­eft‐to‐right counting of adjacent objects (e.g., double‐counting; Geary, 2013). In arithmetic, two notable difficulties have been observed: (a)  difficulty with procedural competence; specifically, they commit more errors for both simple and complex arithmetic and use more immature pro­ cedures (e.g., counting all vs. counting on; Geary, 2010, 2013); and (b) basic fact retrieval errors (Geary, 2013). Behavioral characteristics. In addition to cognitive and academic challenges that SWDs may experience, there are a number of behavioral characteristics that can impede mathematical development. Difficulties include: (a) poor organizational skills; (b) inattention resulting in problems such as carelessness, not finishing work, distractibility, and missing important information; (c) diffi­ culty controlling or regulating behavior; (d) hyperactive behaviors such as excessive talking, difficulty waiting or taking turns, and interrupting and intrud­ ing on others; and (e) learned helplessness resulting in either reticence to try something or overreliance on others (Allsopp, Kyger, & Lovin, 2007; Montague & van Garderen, 2008). For this section, we summarize a series of evidence‐based recommenda­ tions for improving the mathematical performance of students with LD (from Gersten et al., 2009; Griffin, van Garderen, & Ulrich, 2014). Explicit instruction. According to Gersten et al. (2009), explicit instruction is using a step‐by‐step instructional process when teaching students mathematical concepts and skills. Typically, these steps include: (a) identifying performance expectations via an advanced organizer, (b) using description and teacher mod­ eling, (c) engaging in guided practice, (d) independent practice, (e) monitoring performance, and (f ) providing constructive feedback and reinforcement (van Garderen, 2006). Use of heuristics. A heuristic “is a generic approach for solving a problem;” an example is the problem‐solving strategy: “Read the problem. Highlight the key words. Solve the problems. Check your work” (Gersten et  al., 2009, p. 1210). Heuristics assist students with organizing information to solve a problem, and involve discourse and reflective practice (Gersten et al., 2009). Montague (2007) developed a seven‐step problem‐solving heuristic that also included statements and questions that the student asks while solving a problem (e.g., Step 1: Read for understanding. Say: Read the problem …, Ask: Have I read and understood the problem? Check: For understanding…). Student verbalizations. Critical thinking often involves thinking aloud through one’s problem‐solving processes. Therefore, it is recommended that opportunities be provided for students to verbalize their thinking. This might include talking through steps taken to obtain the solution, self‐instructions, selection and evaluation of a representation, etc. For SWDs, verbalizing their thoughts can be challenging. Knowing this, Baxter, Woodward, and Olson (2005) had students respond weekly to a prompt in their math journals and then to share their thoughts orally. They found that journaling promoted stu­ dent verbalizations.

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Visual representation. The use of visual representation (e.g., diagrams and manipulatives) has been identified as a valuable tool for helping students solve mathematical word problems (e.g., Woodward et al., 2012). Visual representa­ tions serve as tools to: (a) aid communication with others about the pr­oblem‐ solving process, (b) solve a problem (e.g., to understand the problem situation), (c) record information both of the problem situation itself and of ideas as the problem is being solved, (d) facilitate exploration of critical concepts of the problem being solved, and (e) monitor and evaluate progress (Stylianou, 2010). Range and sequence of examples. Effective instruction focuses on the selec­ tion and use of a variety of examples in teaching new concepts to students. Such use may be via a specified sequence or pattern of examples (e.g., easy to difficult or concrete to abstract) or systematically varying the range of examples provided (e.g., initially teaching only proper or improper fractions before teaching them in combination). Delineating sequences of a particular problem type by teaching students to identify the problem type and structure, and using a schema‐based diagram is another example (see Xin, Jitendra, & Deatline‐Buchman, 2005). Feedback to teachers on students’ progress. Ongoing formative and sum­ mative assessment, along with evaluation of students’ mathematical progress and growth, can assist teachers in making data‐based decisions regarding stu­ dents’ strengths and weaknesses, allowing them to better individualize instruc­ tion to meet their students’ unique needs. When teachers are provided with feedback on student progress (e.g., via consultation) and options/instructional areas to target for addressing students’ needs (e.g., via skill analysis, miscue anal­ ysis, diagnostic assessment, etc.), student performance increases. For example, Allinder et  al. (2000) used curriculum‐based measurement (CBM) along with teacher self‐monitoring in mathematics computation. Each time a teaching change was required, teachers responded to four written questions: (a) On what skill(s) has the student done well in the preceding 2 weeks? (b) On what skill(s) has the student improved compared to the previous 2‐week period? (c) What skill(s) should be targeted for the coming 2‐week period? (d) How will the teacher attempt to improve student performance on the targeted skill(s)? (p. 222). Feedback to students about their performance. Providing SWDs explicit and timely feedback on their performance may positively impact student effort, motivation, and engagement. Such feedback can also provide students with a better understanding of where they were successful and where understanding broke down. This occurs when a teacher, peer, or computerized program pro­ vides feedback to students on their performance, effort, or progress, or feedback on performance or effort tied to a specific goal (e.g., Calhoon & Fuchs, 2003). Peer‐assisted math instruction. Oftentimes, SWDs require one‐on‐one assistance in mastering or reviewing a mathematical concept. In cross‐age peer tutoring, a student from a higher‐grade level tutors a student in a younger grade. However, a within‐class approach might also be appropriate where a student from the same class, typically a higher‐performing student, would be paired with a struggling student, where each takes turns playing the role of the tutor (e.g., Calhoon & Fuchs, 2003). Peer‐assisted math instruction usually occurs only after the classroom teacher has provided instruction on the concept or skill.

English Language Learners English Language Learners 217

English Language Learners ELLs are students who have not yet demonstrated proficiency in English and who require instructional support “in order to fully access academic content in their classes” (National Clearinghouse for English Language Acquisition, 2008, p. 6). A diverse ELL population is growing dramatically in schools in the United States. With over 11% of students in K‐12 settings identified as ELLs (Lee & Buxton, 2013), it is important to understand some of the challenges that ELLs face in their mathematics classrooms and some of the ways their teachers can address these challenges. Simultaneous content and language. ELLs must simultaneously learn con­ tent and academic language in a mathematics classroom, along with what it means to do mathematics and to be part of a mathematics classroom, what Gee (1996) and Moschkovich (2002) refer to as discourse practices. For e­xample, stu­ dents must learn what it means to frame conjectures, to make sense of others’ mathematical work, and to question the work that they and others do. Without learning mathematics discourse, ELLs have fewer tools to participate in a way that facilitates their learning of both mathematics and academic English. Lack of cognitively demanding work. Deficit perspectives often result in low expectations for students (Moschkovich, 2002; Razfar, Khisty, & Chval, 2011) and decreased cognitive demand of the work that ELLs do in their mathematics classrooms. Oftentimes, ELLs will work on mathematics that is stripped of all context and complexity (de Araujo, 2012) for fear that such work will be too com­ plicated and overwhelming. For example, de Araujo (2012) found that mathe­ matics teachers of ELLs modified mathematics tasks for students in ways that decreased the intended cognitive demand by reducing the number of words and lowering the mathematical rigor. Similarly, Roberts (2014) found that teachers modified tasks for ELLs by reducing tasks to rote procedural memorization activities. In this section, we summarize a series of evidence based recommendations for improving the mathematical performance of students who are ELLs. Providing cognitively demanding work. Addressing lowered expectations for ELLs requires providing access to grade‐level appropriate instruction (Understanding Language, 2013). ELLs must have access to and support in com­ pleting cognitively demanding mathematics (Moschkovich, 2012), tasks that are complex, less structured, and require students to “think about, develop, use and make sense of mathematics” (Stein, Grover, & Henningsen, 1996, p. 459). Creating a verbally rich environment. Learning content and language simul­ taneously means that ELLs must have the opportunity to develop those discourse practices associated with the discipline, such as learning how to frame conjec­ tures, ask questions, and present solutions. Teachers should work to create a learning environment where students have regular opportunities to practice and participate in verbally rich environments (Khisty, McLeod, & Bertilson, 1990), supporting students in sharing, discussing, reflecting, and refining their lan­ guage (Setati, 2005). ELLs need the opportunity to practice their discursive prac­ tices in a safe environment; this can be achieved when teachers provide students with opportunities to hear target language before attempting it, for example, by

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providing an example of a strong statement of support for students’ thinking, or explaining why they thought one fraction was larger than another (Khisty & Morales, 1999). Mathematics teachers of ELLs should also draw on and engage them in the complexity of mathematics instruction through the use of multiple modes of communication (e.g., verbal, written; Roberts, 2009), multiple mathematical rep­ resentations (e.g., graphs, manipulatives), different types of texts, and different types of talk (Hakuta, Santos, & Fang, 2013). Mathematics lends itself to the use of multiple representations (e.g., graphs, tables, number sentences, manipula­ tives) to understand, to make sense of, and to explain mathematical ideas. Additionally, students and teachers can draw on verbal and written communica­ tion that is enhanced with visuals, including pictorial representations, gestures, and real‐life objects to describe thinking, questions, and tasks (Lee & Buxton, 2013; Moschkovich, 2002, 2007). The more types of language and representa­ tions a teacher and student can use, the broader students’ repertoires will become and the more tools and resources students will have to draw on to make sense of their own and others’ mathematical thinking and language. Funds of knowledge and student resources. Engaging ELLs in cognitively demanding work in a discourse‐rich classroom is supported by drawing on the numerous resources and funds of knowledge that ELLs bring to mathematics classrooms (Moll, Amanti, Neff, & Gonzalez, 1992). Such resources include: home language (e.g., having a conversation with a peer—verbal or written—in the home language), prior knowledge and experiences, gestures, objects, experiences with natural phenomena, code‐switching, and everyday experiences and practices (Duff, 2010; Esquinca, 2013; Goldenberg, 2008; Moschkovich, 2002; Understanding Language, 2013). For example, students might be working on a problem about riding bicycles and planning a bike trip, such as in Connected Mathematics 2, Variables and Patterns (Lappan, Fey, Fitzgerald, Friel, & Phillips, 2006). In such a situation, a teacher can solicit what students know about riding bicycles and what experiences they have riding bicycles. In doing so, the teacher can make connec­ tions between students’ prior life experiences and the context of the problem(s). The teacher could then make connections between the mathematics and the real‐ life situation with which students are familiar. In a situation where students might not be familiar with an everyday experience (e.g., running at different rates), the teacher could get students to model the situation (Roberts, 2014). One of the most fruitful ways to draw on student resources and funds of knowl­ edge is to provide students with opportunities to discuss and interact socially (Duff, 2010; Goldenberg, 2008). In providing students with opportunities to dis­ cuss mathematics, teachers allow students to share their resources (with both classmates and the teacher) and to use each other as resources as they attack their mathematical work.

Students of Color Students of color, such as African American, Latino/a, and Native American students, represent approximately one out of every three students in elemen­ tary and secondary schools (Griner & Stewart, 2012). By 2050, students of

Students of Color Students of Color 219

color are predicted to represent approximately 62% of the school‐age popula­ tion (NCES, 2010). With the increase of racially diverse students in mathematics classrooms, it is important to understand the racialized challenges faced by students of color that may impede their learning of mathematics. Achievement gap discourse. Numerous studies show a substantial gap, in some cases over two grade levels, in mathematical achievement between stu­ dents of color and white students (Lubienski, 2002; Reyes & Stanic, 1988), where students of color perform more poorly than white students. An outcome of this achievement gap is discourse that perpetuates deficit thinking about students of color (Gutiérrez, 2008; Gutiérrez & Dixon‐Roman, 2011), promotes a sense of learned helplessness and hopelessness among students of color in the mathemat­ ics classroom (Lubienski, 2000), and positions students of color as intellectually inferior to white students (Gutiérrez & Dixon‐Roman, 2011). Unproductive beliefs and stereotypes. Barlow and Cates (2006) suggest, “beliefs affect how teachers see their students … thereby impacting [their] instructional practices” (p. 64). A student’s race is a determining factor of how a teacher will treat a student (Thompson, 2010). Unfortunately, many educators believe students of color are lazy, incapable, intellectually inferior to whites, members of gangs, and that they do not value education (Battey & Franke, 2013; Landsman, 2004; McGrady & Reynolds, 2013; Thompson, 2004, 2007). These negative beliefs affect teachers’ perceptions of students of color and ultimately their instruction, leading to low expectations and poor achievement among stu­ dents of color, particularly in the mathematics classroom (Milner, 2012). Colorblind ideology. Many educators claim, “I don’t see color,” and do not realize they have deficit views of students of color by upholding a colorblind ide­ ology (Battey & Franke, 2013). They refuse to acknowledge racial inequities stu­ dents of color face. They contend we live in a colorblind society and argue that if a teacher is a good teacher, he/she can be a good teacher to anybody by treating everyone the same, which dismisses the need to focus on inequities in the math­ ematics classroom (Gay, 2000; Martin, 2007; Ullucci & Battey, 2011). However, students are typically educated under a Eurocentric paradigm, in which teachers privilege white students and reprimand students of color, negatively affecting the educational experiences of students of color and their resulting achievement (Parsons, 2005). When teachers do not focus on the inequities faced by students of color (e.g., low expectations, unchallenging mathematics instruction, and teachers’ unproductive beliefs), they limit and do not challenge students of color to learn rigorous mathematics. Generally, students of color are largely placed in remedial mathematics classes and are not recommended to enroll in advanced mathematics courses. In essence, when educators assume a colorblind ideology, they are contributing to the disproportionate number of students of color who do not receive high‐quality mathematics instruction. Unqualified teachers. The National Commission on Teaching and America’s Future reported that new, uncertified teachers are usually assigned to teach in high‐poverty school districts containing high populations of students of color, whereas educated new teachers are hired to teach in wealthier school districts (Darling‐Hammond, 1998). According to the 2003–2004 Schools and Staffing Survey, mathematics teachers in predominantly black and/or Hispanic high

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schools are less likely to teach in their certified area and field of study than teach­ ers who teach in predominantly white schools. Students of color are often enrolled in schools that are underfunded, under resourced, and are staffed with unqualified teachers (Jackson & Wilson, 2012). Unchallenging mathematics instruction. Teachers make daily instructional decisions on what and how to teach and to whom they will teach (Reyes & Stanic, 1988). Lubienski (2002) asserts that schools with high populations of students of color spend less time emphasizing higher‐order thinking skills than schools with lower populations of students of color. Many teachers argue that a prerequisite to teaching higher‐order problem‐solving is a mastery of basic facts. Some teachers believe students of color are incapable of solving high‐ cognitive‐demand mathematical problems. Consequently, teachers spend an extended amount of mathematics instruction teaching low‐level skills to stu­ dents of color (Lubienski, 2002). This type of instruction for students of color relies on excessive repetition and drill, rote memorization, decontextualized problems, and disconnected concepts (Battey & Franke, 2013; Davis & Martin, 2008). Added to this, is a persuasive belief that students of color learn best from direct instruction approaches rather than inquiry. As a result, many stu­ dents of color are not given the opportunity to engage in critical thinking tasks (Milner, 2012). Not only do students of color tend to be given low‐level cognitive demand tasks, they are also often excluded from participating in rich, mathematical dis­ course (Milner, 2012). For example, Landsman (2004) found that white students were always asked challenging questions, whereas easy, less challenging ques­ tions were directed to students of color. Perez (2000) also found that mathemat­ ics teachers ask white students more challenging questions, interact more with white students, and provide white students with more analytical feedback, thus, privileging white students. In this section, we summarize a series of evidence based recommendations for improving the mathematical performance of students of color. Culturally relevant pedagogy. Culturally relevant pedagogy is designed to teach the “whole” child through acknowledging and addressing the child’s race, language, ethnicity, and class through teaching. In order to accomplish this goal, teachers must view students of color as visible players in the mathematics class­ room (Malloy, 2009) by ensuring they are fully involved in classroom tasks (e.g., participating in cooperative groups) and offering support and guidance as they grapple with challenging mathematical tasks. It is also important that mathematics teachers take the time to know the students of color in their classes, because students of color need to receive mathematics instruction that builds on their cultural knowledge and experi­ ences (Davis & Martin, 2008). This does not imply changing the names in mathematical word problems to align with students’ cultural background, but it does mean using students’ experiences to help them understand the mathe­ matics (e.g., utilizing word problems that are culturally familiar). Thus, the mathematics teacher uses students’ “identities” as contributors to the teaching and learning of mathematics. As teachers engage in culturally relevant pedagogy, they need to reflect on and respond honestly to the following questions: (a) “Who is learning math in my

General Implications and Recommendations for Instruction General Implications and Recommendations for Instruction 221

classroom, and who is not and why?”; (b) “Do I allow students to contextualize their thinking when practicing and solving mathematics problems?”; and (c) “Do I look to understand students’ strategies and logic when they engage in mathe­ matical problem‐solving?” (Ukopoku, 2011, p. 53). Learning preferences. Students of color, particularly African American stu­ dents, tend to be more field‐dependent learners and rely less on analytic reason­ ing (Malloy, 1997). Analytic learners place order and structure on the world to understand it and are focused on the importance of precision, directness, and conciseness when learning mathematics (Stiff, 1990). Competition in this type of atmosphere is both acceptable and desired. However, students of color often pre­ fer learning mathematics holistically in a cooperative, communal, collaborative learning environment (Slavin & Oickle, 1981; Stiff, 1990; Ukopoku, 2011). For example, Malloy (1997) gave middle‐school African American students a prob­ lem that involved three triangular arrangements of marbles of four rows. The students were to solve for the number of marbles in the fourth and 25th arrangement. The majority of students who successfully solved the problem used a holis­ tic approach. They examined all the arrangements and recognized the number of marbles in the first row of each arrangement was the same as the arrange­ ment number, and each subsequent row increased by one marble. To contrast, a student solving this problem using an analytic approach would count the total number of marbles in each arrangement and discover that the number in the succeeding arrangements increases by four, and use this knowledge to find the fourth and 25th arrangement. This suggests that teachers need to pro­ vide  opportunities for students of color to solve mathematics problems holistically. Doers and knowers of mathematics. In order for students of color to be suc­ cessful doers and knowers of mathematics, teachers must access and capitalize on students’ funds of knowledge and the resources they bring to the mathematics classroom (Moll et al., 1992), value students’ mathematical thinking, and realize there are multiple ways to solve mathematics problems. Teachers must use worthwhile mathematical tasks that are challenging, require higher‐order think­ ing, have multiple entry and exit points, and allow students of color to make connections (NCTM, 1991; van de Walle, Karp, & Bay‐Williams, 2016). Along with cognitively demanding tasks is the need to provide opportunities for stu­ dents of color to discuss and share their mathematical thinking with their peers (Ukopoku, 2011).

General Implications and Recommendations for Instruction A central target for all learners is to develop adequate mathematics skills. To meet this target, teachers need to implement practices demonstrated to work. The purpose of this chapter was to provide a summary of evidence‐based instruc­ tional practices designed to help improve mathematical understanding for SWDs from diverse backgrounds. Although limited in number, several practices were identified to work specifically with these students. Given the scarcity of research,

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Table 11.2  Summary of Practices Students with disabilities from diverse backgrounds ●●

●● ●●

●● ●●

●● ●●

●● ●● ●●

Pre‐teach concepts and vocabulary Strategy instruction Cooperative learning/student pairing Explicit instruction Think aloud/teacher demonstration Student glossary Culturally responsive intervention/ instruction Manipulatives Games Cognitively guided instruction

Students with “mild” disabilities ●●

●● ●●

●●

●●

●● ●● ●●

Explicit instruction Heuristics Student verbalization Visual representation Range and sequence of examples Teacher feedback Student feedback Peer‐assisted instruction

ELLs ●●

●●

●●

●●

Develop mathematics “Discourse” Provide cognitively demanding work Create a verbally rich environment Draw on funds of knowledge and student resources

Students of color ●●

●●

●●

●●

●●

●●

Ensure students are visible in the classroom Eliminate deficit views Use culturally relevant pedagogy Draw on students’ learning preferences Provide cognitively demanding work Draw on funds of knowledge and student resources

we expanded the discussion to provide an overview of practices designed to work with three subgroups. Table 11.2 provides an overview of the various practices identified. Several key recommendations for instructional practice from this review can be made. First, although the research is limited, there are practices that can be applied in the classroom for SWDs from diverse backgrounds. There is no need to start “from scratch.” Further, given the alarming gap in mathematics perfor­ mance that continues to increase rather than decrease over time for these stu­ dents (Wei et al., 2012), it is important that these practices be implemented as soon as possible and with some sense of urgency (Cartledge & Kourea, 2008). Second, several of the practices identified (e.g., verbalization, cognitively demanding work) have been demonstrated to work with various subgroups of students. This suggests that these practices may work with SWDs from diverse backgrounds. Given the gaps in research, it may be a good idea to use practices identified to work across the subgroups for those students (e.g., use CRI for SWDs from diverse backgrounds and students of color), or to implement them with all students within the classroom. However, caution is advised. Any instruc­ tional practice implemented should be connected to student need. Additionally, some practices may not work for all students. For example, the CRI practices used in the Hankes et al. (2013) study connect specifically to practices identified to work with Native American students. These may not be appropriate for stu­ dents from other cultures. Third, the recommendations provided in this chapter do not represent every recommendation available. For this chapter, we specifically highlighted practices

Key Considerations for Further Research Key Considerations for Further Research 223

connected to mathematics; however, there are other general classroom and re­ading‐based instructional suggestions and recommendations connected to the needs of these students that could be used to aid in mathematics instruction (see, e.g., Cartledge & Kourea, 2008; Ernst‐Slavit & Slavit, 2007; Liasidou, 2013; Shyyan, Thurlow, & Liu, 2008; Utley, Obiakor, & Bakken, 2011). We encourage teachers to look to these resources and others for ideas.

Key Considerations for Further Research As already noted, an important finding from this review of the research is the limited number of studies found. This is not a new finding. Many have ­commented on the general need and urgency for more research with this group of students (Cartledge & Kourea, 2008; McCardle, Mele‐McCarthy, Cutting, Leos, & D’Emilio, 2005; Shyyan et al., 2008). We suggest this is also the case specifically related to mathematics. Thus, we offer the following sug­ gestions for further research specific to SWDs from diverse backgrounds in mathematics. Understanding the mathematical needs of SWDs from diverse backgrounds. It  has been clearly established that, over time, SWDs from diverse backgrounds are not likely to perform well in mathematics (e.g., Wei et al., 2012). Less clear, however, are their specific challenges and strengths in mathematics. At the time of writing this chapter, no studies were located that explored this. With detailed information about these students, we may be able to target their instructional needs more effectively and efficiently. It is important to note that we are not saying that the intervention studies reviewed were not targeted to student need; however, the rationale for the inter­ ventions are often drawn from literature on one subgroup (e.g., ELL) and another (e.g., SWDs) and combined, suggesting a dual need (e.g., language instruction combined with math strategy instruction). A dual‐type of rationalizing may accurately identify students’ needs; however, we may be missing out on some unique need that, if addressed, could lead to a more powerful type of interven­ tion also eliminating the need for a dual‐type of rationalization. One further point needs to be noted here; Orosco, in his studies (Orosco, 2013, 2014; Orosco et al., 2013), built in a dynamic assessment process into his intervention. This assessment enabled him to identify the level of language where students were operating and to use word problems that were linguistically modified based on their level. The use of this or a similar type of assessment may be one way to address this recommendation. Identify more instructional practices that work. Clearly, the current research available needs to be both replicated and expanded, or new research practices need to be examined that focus on varying content areas (e.g., algebra, geometry) along with more complex levels of mathematics (e.g., multi‐step word problems), grade levels (e.g., high school), and diversity groups (e.g., SWDs who are African American). This may not necessarily involve developing completely new ideas, but rather drawing from the various studies for each subgroup and implementing them with SWDs from one or more of the identified sub‐groups.

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Although we provide the recommendation for more research, what may need to be addressed first is the priority placed on conducting this type of research specifically for this group of students in mathematics. Put another away, is this important enough to be part of a national agenda for both research and practice? Clearly, the academic performance of these students in mathematics is abysmal as compared to the varying subgroups, including SWDs (NCES, 2013). These students have the most significant needs of all the lowest performing students and are in need of significant support in order to learn, in many cases, even basic numeracy skills. For, as noted by OECD (2013), “If large proportions of adults have low … numeracy skills, the introduction and wider diffusion of productivity‐ improving technologies and work organization practices can be hampered and that, in turn, will stall improvements in living standards. In other words, today’s education is tomorrow’s economy” (p. 26).

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12 Research in Science Education for Students with Special Education Needs Jonte’ C. Taylor and Mary Grace Villanueva

Over the last 20 years, science education has had a global history of marginalized students not pursuing science subjects and careers in science (United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization [UNESCO], 1999). In the review of the “Science for All” movement, researchers suggested that the 1960s race for space exploration prompted greater attention to scientific advances and, correspondingly, improvements to science learning in the classroom (Fensham, 2008). It was also during this time that the science community underscored an abating public respect and understanding of science and, as a consequence, the popularization and accessibility of science became a major focus of curricular reform. The inclusion of socio‐scientific domains, such as the nature of science (NOS) and technology and society (STS), to the traditional content‐based curriculum (Miller, 2004) was seen as a way to portray a more holistic picture of science, thereby making the subject interesting and accessible to a greater scope of students. As science education witnessed a decrease in science careers and achievement scores, students diagnosed with learning disabilities (LD) and emotional and behavioral disorders (EBD) have been on the rise (National Center for Education Statistics [NCES], 2011). Researchers suggest that mental health problems affect 10–20% of children and adolescents worldwide (Kieling et al., 2011). As a result, there are growing numbers of students identified as having special education needs (SEN). In light of these issues in science and special education, schools are faced with the challenges of improving science learning, providing equitable access and opportunities, and fostering inclusive learning environments for all. While these challenges persist worldwide, a growing body of research suggests that these issues are not insurmountable. Internationally, certain countries appear to be working toward gaining a better understanding of improving science education for traditionally low‐achieving students (Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development [OECD], 2010). The report titled “Strong Performers and Successful Reformers in Education Reports: Lessons from Programme for International Student Assessment The Wiley Handbook of Diversity in Special Education, First Edition. Edited by Marie Tejero Hughes and Elizabeth Talbott. © 2017 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Published 2017 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

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(PISA)” suggests that top‐performing countries tend to share the belief that st­udents of all ranges of ability are capable of achieving high standards (OECD, 2014). This belief has resulted in the highest‐performing countries demonstrating a gradual move to eliminate the streaming of secondary students into different types of schools. This chapter is not meant to serve as a definitive representation of the diversity of research in science for students with special needs (SEN); rather, it should be viewed as a platform to engage in discussion and to share our experiences as science and special education researchers, as well as raise theoretical and pedagogical awareness of issues in science and special education in the United States and South Africa. In light of this, it would be beyond our scope and expertise to address the various designations for SEN. Our intent is to focus on students who make up a significant portion of the SEN population: students with mild to moderate cognitive and emotional/behavioral disorders (EBD), and, in doing so, “special needs” represents this demographic throughout this chapter. In cases where the literature uses special needs or disability to encompass all groups with some form of barrier to learning, we have attempted to address this and other semantic nuances. Critical to understanding how to improve science learning for students with special needs in developing countries such as South Africa and established economies such as the United States, the review of research, curricula, and policy documents is guided by the following questions: (a) What is currently understood by the science and special education research communities regarding inclusive education for students with special needs? (b) How do the current theoretical perspectives in science education and policies for inclusive education in the United States and South Africa lend to improving science instruction for students with special needs?

Science Education Equity for All Students: Global Initiatives The importance of science education for all students has been given increased attention around the world. International initiatives have advanced the idea that science education can lead to science‐literate citizens which in turn allows equal societal benefit for all countries. UNESCO (1999) wrote that promoting a science literate citizenry can be a means of achieving progress, peace, and knowledge, as well as making advances in society as whole. Echoing that sentiment in “Current Challenges in Basic Science Education,” UNESCO (2010) expands that principle by emphasizing the importance of exposing young students all over the world to science. Science learning should be functional, allowing students to be prepared for life as productive members of society (OECD, 2003; UNESCO, 1999; Villanueva & Hand, 2011; Yore, Pimm, & Tuan, 2007). The importance of science and the use of science as a worldwide societal equalizer have been supported by the Science for All movement for a number of years. In the United States, the notion of Science for All has been an active

Science and Special Education: Perspectives from the United States Science and Special Education: Perspectives from the United States 233

i­nitiative for over 30 years. While it has yet to reach the initial vision that would seek full equality and equity in science (Roberts, 2007; Villanueva & Hand, 2011), Science for All has become a movement that has exceeded the borders of the United States. The opportunity to become science‐literate citizens has been the focus of international discussion and progress. Unfortunately, as stated by UNESCO (1999), “there are barriers which have precluded the full participation of other groups, of both sexes, including disabled people, indigenous peoples and ethnic minorities” (Considering section, no. 25). In an effort to remove or eliminate barriers for students regardless of station, location, or characteristic, the countries of the United States and South Africa have advanced practices to increase scientific equity and equality for all students including those with disabilities.

Science and Special Education: Perspectives from the United States In the United States, the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act (US Department of Education, 2004) is the legislative mandate that lists and describes the categories of disabilities under which students may be eligible to receive educational services (US Department of Education, 2004). There are 13 disability categories including: autism, deaf‐blindness, deafness, emotional disturbance, hearing impairment, intellectual disability, multiple disabilities, orthopedic impairment, other health impairment, specific learning disability, speech or language impairment, traumatic brain injury, and visual impairment (US Department of Education, 2004). Prior to the legislation that mandated educational support and services for disabled students, students with disabilities (SwD) who were formally educated received their educations in institutions separate from their peers. Irrespective of whether the disability was physical, cognitive, or both, all students who fell under the umbrella of SwD attended institutions that were equipped with specialists and resources to assist and make provisions for learning. With 13 recognized disabilities categories that are required to be considered by law for inclusive educational services, reviewing science education research and practices for all would be exhaustive and beyond the scope of this chapter. In effort to synthesis a reasonable amount of information related to science education research for SwD, the authors will focus on students that make up a significant portion of disability categories and related areas. Specifically, the authors will review and discuss significant research for students in high‐incidence disability categories (learning disabilities, LD; emotional/behavioral disorders, EBD) and students considered English‐language learners (ELLs). Please note that we have attempted to synthesize and analyze science education research for students in the high incidence disability categories; however there are few reports that focus on results of standardized assessments that are disability specific. Therefore, reports regarding standardized assessments will include all disability types grouped together.

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Inclusive Education for Students with Disabilities The Individuals with Disabilities Education Act (IDEA, 2004) is the signature law that mandates the education of students with disabilities. The idea of educating students in their least restrictive environment propelled the notion of teaching SwD in inclusive classroom settings with their nondisabled peers as much as possible. Research into understanding the notion of least restricted environment has suggested that SwDs were constrained from being a part of and engaging in the educational community of their peers. Students with disabilities were being taught in the same school but not necessarily in the same classes. These ideas prompted school districts to engage in the practice of inclusion. The placement and instruction of SwD in general education settings is evaluated on a student‐ by‐student basis. As such, the practice of inclusion in general education classrooms allows SwD to participate in subjects throughout their schooling career considered the least restrictive environment (IDEA, 2004). In discussing inclusion, Neary and Halvorsen (1995, p. 9) stated that “the single most identifiable characteristic of inclusive education is membership. Students who happen to have disabilities are seen first as kids who are a natural part of the school site and the age‐appropriate general education classroom they attend.” The practice of inclusion has been met with a fair share of debate regarding its effectiveness and benefits for students both those with and without disabilities (Burstein, Sears, Wilcoxen, Cabello, & Spagna, 2004; Fuchs & Fuchs, 1994; Kavale & Forness, 2000; Spence, 2010; Zigmond, 2003). Fundamentally, the principles of inclusion relied less on research and more on the idea that SwD have civil rights related to where their education happens and who they are educated with (Hines, 2001). Researchers and advocates have supported this notion in both academic and social constructs for SwD and peers without disabilities (Kochhar, West, & Taymans, 2000; McDonnell, Mathot‐Bucker, Thorson, & Fister, 2001). While advances were being made in the United States for the inclusion of SwD in general education settings, these practices were not happening in isolation. Global organizations such as the UNESCO were also in support of the fair treatment of students with disabilities, ensuring they have equal access to education. The Centre for Studies on Inclusive Education (2016) commenting on the UNESCO Salamanca Statement, stressed the rights to an education for all students “regardless of their physical, intellectual, social, emotional, linguistic or other conditions” (The UNESCO Salamanca Statement section, para 2). The ideology and practice of inclusion, even with international support, is not a panacea for academic success and achievement for students with disabilities. Nevertheless, for SwD, inclusion practices applied within the context of need for each student individually, and not in isolation, can provide students with optimal educational outcomes that were previously unattainable.

Early Science Education for Students with Disabilities Parallel to parents of SwD striving to have their children with disabilities included in schools and classes, teachers were making efforts to keep the learning of science for these students as a priority as well (National Science Teachers

The Science for All Movement The Science for All Movement 235

Association, 2003). Special education teachers with interests and understanding in science education and science educators with sensibilities for SwD were making strides to ensure that science literacy was not overlooked. Thompson (1975) noted that, as far back as 1972, educators were organizing on a national scale for the purposes of advocating science for students with disabilities. Dating back to the 1960s and 1970s, researchers, teachers, and teacher educators in both science and special education provided instructional materials and wrote position pieces aimed directly at those tasked with teaching science to students with disabilities (Crowley, 1969; “Life Sciences,” 1970; Linn, 1972; Linn & Peterson, 1973; Quayle, 1970; Rudman, 1962; Thier & Hadary, 1973). While during the 1960s and 1970s there were individuals interested in keeping science instruction as an important part of the curriculum for SwD, unfortunately this was rare.

The Science for All Movement As SwD were moving into inclusive classrooms, and some SwD were moving to higher education and the workforce, the concept of Science for All began to grow. The American Association for the Advancement of Science (AAAS) had a number of seminal moments associated with making science available to those with disabilities. In 1975 and 1977, the AAAS held its first symposium that included scientists with disabilities and established the Resource Group of Handicapped Scientists to serve as mentors and encourage students to pursue science careers (Woods, Stern, Malcolm, & Kemp, 2014). The importance of access to science for all students and science understanding for students in the United States was highlighted by publications from both the AAAS and the National Resource Council (NRC). In these documents, professionals discuss the concept of Science for All and what elements of science literacy should look like for all students (AAAS, 1989; NRC, 1996). Overarching areas of focus suggested by both publications include: ●● ●● ●●

Unifying common concepts and processes Integrating science, mathematics, and technology Developing and understanding scientific ways of thinking

The skills associated with science literacy have become an imperative for all American students to possess to be successful in the global arenas of the future (Villanueva, Taylor, Therrien, & Hand, 2012). Accommodating for students’ needs, no matter the circumstance, is the challenge for science educators and other educational stakeholders who adopt child‐centered pedagogy (UNESCO, 1994). As the years have progressed, the tent that encompasses the Science for All movement has continued to grow and become more inclusive. Issues facing students from K‐12 and even postsecondary are now considered a part of the movement (AAAS, 1989). The concept of equity and what equity means have become focal points. As stated by the NRC (2012, p. 28), “equity in science education requires that all students are provided with equitable opportunities to learn science and become engaged in science and engineering practices.” Metz (2014, p. 6) listed a number of interests related to Science for All, including “diversity education, multicultural

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awareness, equity issues, and teaching ELLs.” Obviously, the issues listed by Metz (2014) are not exhaustive, but they do provide a glimpse into the areas that the Science for All movement can include and prospective research direction.

Assessing Science Performance for Students with Disabilities and ELLs Poor performance on standardized science assessments has made improving science achievement a priority for all students (White House, 2011). Internationally, due to inconsistent practices of including students with disabilities in classrooms around the world, there was no way to form a complete picture of science proficiencies for students with intellectual disabilities or ELLs (LeRoy, Samuel, Bahr, Evans, & Deluca, 2008; OECD, 2010). Nonetheless, based on the reports from various countries, there are strides being made to improve the science performance of traditionally low‐achieving students, and there is an increasing understanding of the importance of including all students in schools in order to improve the overall citizenry (OECD, 2010). At a national level, US SwD traditionally score lower than their peers without disabilities on science‐related standardized assessments (Grigg, Lauko, & Brockway, 2006; Steele, 2004). On the National Assessment of Educational Progress (NAEP), 31% of grade 8 students without disabilities scored below basic levels in science, while a total of 69% of students scored at or above the basic level (NCES, 2012). Students with disabilities in grade 8 scored significantly more poorly than their peers without disabilities. More than double the percentage of SwD (66%) scored below the basic level. On average, SwD achieved a scale score of 124 compared to students without disabilities’ average score of 155 (NCES, 2012). Even more troubling are the data for ELL students—83% of grade 8 ELL students scored below basic levels on the science portion of the NAEP (NCES, 2012). When comparing average scale scores of ELL students with non‐ELL students, the difference is startling. Students identified as ELL scored an average scale score of 106 while non‐ELL students scored a collective average of 154 (NCES, 2011). Clearly, there is room for growth and improvement for both SwD and ELL. As it relates to learning and understanding science, Villanueva et al. (2012, p. 5), commented that “in the era of high‐stakes testing, closing the achievement gaps using standardized performance‐based measures as the guide is one of the several challenges which impact the success of science learning.” Science education has been described as a valuable subject for students with disabilities to learn (Patton & Andre, 1989). Unfortunately, students with disabilities have long been academically below their peers in science (Steele, 2004). Students with high‐incidence disabilities (LD and EBD), autism, and who are ELL have both unique and overlapping struggles in science classrooms and with science achievement, for example. Therrien, Taylor, Watt, and Kaldenberg (2014) observed that science instruction receives scant attention for students with EBD. Therrien, Taylor, Hosp, Kaldenberg, and Gorsh (2011) highlighted a number of factors that may contribute to poor science performance for students with LD; we will discuss these later in this section. Students with ASD may have fewer

Identifying Barriers to Science Learning for Students with Disabilities and ELLs Identifying Barriers to Science Learning for Students with Disabilities and ELLs 237

opportunities to gain prior knowledge or science‐related vocabulary skills (Knight, Smith, Spooner, & Browder, 2012). For ELL, there need to be ways for students to interact and communicate in cross‐cultural settings (Lee & Avalos, 2002). Along with possible intellectual, behavioral, and communication deficits, there are other factors that may contribute to poor science performance of students with disabilities. In discussing additional considerations related to science achievement for students with disabilities, Villanueva et al. (2012, p. 189) stated, “In science, effective learning for students with special needs appears to be hindered partly because of issues related to teachers’ experience or ability to make appropriate modifications based upon the needs of the student, and also in part because of the instructional methodologies and resources used in most general education classrooms.”

Identifying Barriers to Science Learning for Students with Disabilities and ELLs The nation’s science classrooms are becoming increasingly diverse when it comes to students and their differences. As such, preparing teachers to work in diverse classrooms is paramount. Unfortunately, teachers may be unprepared to work in diverse classrooms in a variety of ways. In discussing science instruction for SwD, Scruggs and Mastropieri (2007) argued for the use of hands-on learning as opposed to the traditional lecture/textbook style instruction. Classroom instruction of science has long been delivered in the traditional lecture style. As posited by Villanueva et al. (2012), poor teacher preparation and poor professional development may help to explain why problems persist in providing science instruction or understanding the needs of ELL students and SwD. Preservice teaching programs tend to be structured in a manner that allows for specific teaching gaps to persist. Specifically, content area teachers in middle and high school may not be prepared to work with SwD or ELL; special education and ELL teachers are generally unprepared to teach science content; finally, elementary teachers may feel uncomfortable teaching SwD, ELL, and/or science content. Professional development opportunities for special education teachers tend to focus on content areas of math and language and not necessarily improving science instruction (Leko & Brownell, 2009). For elementary and content area middle and high school teachers, professional development rarely emphasizes teaching SwD and ELL. Kahn and Lewis (2014) argue that isolation and poor perceptions of the inclusion process (the addition of SwD in general education classrooms) cause professional collegiality, which enables collaboration between special education and general education teachers, to suffer. Poor collaboration can further cause poor science performance for SwD and ELL (Leko & Brownell, 2009). Science instruction for ELL has traditionally been quite limited or inappropriate for the needs of the students (Buxton & Lee, 2014). Additionally, previous educational practices emphasized that classroom instruction for ELL should focus on the basics including reading, writing, and math (Amaral, Garrison, & Klentschy, 2002). Current research and practice for teaching ELL advocates that science instruction share equal importance along with language literacy and

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math. As it relates to teaching SwD, elementary and secondary teachers have shared that having SwD in their classrooms can be a concern (Norman, Caseau, & Stefanich, 1998), and that they feel uncomfortable addressing the needs of those students (Scruggs & Mastropieri, 1994). Previous research has reported that general education teachers simply feel unprepared or untrained to teach SwD (Cawley, 1994). More recent research has not shown much of an improvement in that lack of feeling prepared to work with SwD from general education teachers. Kahn and Lewis (2014) found that one‐third of the over 800 science teachers they surveyed received no instruction on working with SwD and described their training as “on‐the‐job.” Even at the preservice teacher preparation level, differences regarding working with SwD become evident. McGinnis (2003) reported that general education preservice teachers were more likely to support SwD in inclusive settings while special education preservice teachers expressed more reservations. Examination of the practices of those preservice general education teachers may shed light on the differences in beliefs. Even though general education preservice teachers seemed to welcome the inclusion of SwD in science classrooms, their teaching practices reflected more of a focus on social aspects of inclusion (i.e., peer learning techniques or using teacher’s aides) and did not reflect practices that supported learning science content (McGinnis, 2003). Ultimately, to improve science outcomes for SwD, preservice teacher preparation programs and professional development opportunities for general and special educators need to prioritize science teaching and learning for students with disabilities. Instructional Practices that Hinder Science Learning.

Aside from potential deficits with teacher preparation and training in teaching science to SwD and ELL, there are some specific instructional practices that hinder science learning. How the teaching is done is just as important as who is doing the teaching. Villanueva et  al. (2012) highlighted two particular methods of science instruction that have shown limited success for ELL and SwD. Textbook‐based instruction and kit‐based, inquiry‐based instruction have been primary means of teaching science content to students. Science instruction that primarily relied on lectures and textbook readings had been the main means of delivering instruction to SwD (Scruggs & Mastropieri, 2007; Steele, 2004). As described in Scruggs, Mastropieri, Bakken, and Brigham (1991), textbook instruction is less effective in teaching science to SwD. Buxton and Lee (2014, p. 208) described traditional teaching of science to ELL as “dominated by teacher‐directed, expository instruction.” No matter the terminology, teacher‐directed, textbook‐based instruction appears to have limited effectiveness in teaching science to SwD and ELL.

Effective Science Instruction for Students with Disabilities and ELLs There have emerged some specific strategies that researchers have identified through empirical research that seem to work better than others. Researchers have identified the following effective interventions strategies: mnemonics

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(Mastropieri, Scruggs, & Levin, 1985, 1986; Scruggs & Mastropieri, 2000), inquiry‐based instruction (Maroney, Finson, Beaver, & Jensen, 2003; Scruggs & Mastropieri, 2007), and peer‐based methods (Bowman‐Perrott, Greenwood, & Tapia, 2007; Okilwa & Shelby, 2010). Therrien et al. (2011) and Therrien et al. (2014) conducted meta‐analyses to identify effective science instructional practices for LD and EBD students, respectively. For ELL, Lee (2005) performed a synthesis of the research literature for science education. All three studies provided support for a variety of instruction considerations and practices. In using effect size measures for their meta‐analysis of science instruction for students with LD, Therrien et  al. (2011) were able to identify the most effective instructional practices and strategies that had practical effects on student achievement. The researchers grouped the effective interventions into three categories: structured inquiry, supplemental mnemonic, and supplemental non‐mnemonic instruction. While acknowledging that there is no way to determine how structured the inquiry‐based instruction was in all of the studies examined, Therrien et al. (2011) did determine that the each of the studies used a more structured approach to inquiry than student‐directed discovery. Supplemental mnemonic studies were found to have the greatest success with LD students learning factual science knowledge using keyword or pegword mnemonics (Therrien et al., 2011). Supplemental non‐mnemonic interventions that were shown to be successful included peer‐assisted learning, supplemental explicit instruction, and providing or having students generate an explanation to increase the acquisition of science facts (Therrien et al., 2011). Effective science interventions for students with EBD were found to overlap with interventions that were successful for LD students. Therrien et al. (2014) categorized the effective interventions for EBD students as the same as those identified by Therrien et al. (2011). While the effectiveness of the inquiry intervention and the mnemonic interventions are quite similar, closer examination of their results reveal some differences in what was found in the non‐mnemonic category. As reported by Therrien et  al. (2014), non‐mnemonic interventions that were effective in science instruction for students with EBD were response card instruction, the use of peer tutoring, and the use of casual explanations. Similar to the research with students with LD, Therrien et al. (2014) found that supplemental mnemonic instruction provided the strongest evidence for supporting science learning for EBD students. Science instruction for ELL focuses heavily on literacy and language skills but still emphasizes the practices of science and learning science concepts (Stoddart, Solis, Tolbert, & Bravo, 2010). The practice of hands‐on and inquiry‐based instruction has been suggested for ELL as it not only improves science knowledge but also simultaneously improves language and literacy skills in general (Buxton & Lee, 2014; Stoddart et al., 2010). Current ELL instruction in science classrooms as highlighted by Buxton and Lee (2014) includes five key considerations for teachers: ●● ●●

Use explicit science and literacy goals Use language support strategies

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Use science discourse strategies Use home and community experiences to build science learning Incorporate home language to support science instruction

Evidence to support various strategies and interventions in science instruction for SwD and ELL is still being investigated by researchers interested in improving science‐related outcomes for that population. Effective science instruction for SwD and ELL does appear to have some overlapping elements, yet also some really distinct differences. Ultimately, more research is needed in the area of science instruction; however, there are strategies that have been proven to improve science performance and achievement for SwD and ELL. The potential benefits of gaining science knowledge for SwD and ELL cannot not be denied. Ever‐changing technology, the expanding global market, and the educational focus on critical thinking skills makes learning science content and concepts more important than ever. Furthermore, science has been identified by teachers as the content area that may be best for inclusive education of SwD (Atwood & Oldham, 1985; McDuffie, Mastropieri, & Scruggs, 2009). Science has been and will continue to be an integral part of life. Better understanding of what works in science instruction should be the goal of all who want to see successful outcomes for SwD and ELL.

Science and Learning for Students with Disabilities: Perspectives from South Africa As we mentioned in the previous section, there is a growing body of research dedicated to understanding how students with special education needs can benefit from engaging in the subject matter of science. Much of that research, however, has been focused on students from countries such as the United States, United Kingdom, and Canada. In this section, we address science and special education for children in developing countries, such as South Africa, where educational policies, practices, and integration of these specialized fields are emerging and, at times, uncertain. While promoting and investigating science learning for students with special education needs may seem like an indulgence or “first world issue,” developing countries have an opportunity to engage in research, think critically about what it means to provide science and educational access for all students, and shape the quality of life for all citizens. As such, in this section, we describe the educational context of South Africa, examine separate key issues raised in special education and science education research, and then suggest ways in which both fields could address similar and overlapping challenges. Over the past 20 years, access and participation in South African education has been a priority in the nation’s goals of transformation. In the new South African constitution, lawmakers worked to advance an equitable society whereby all citizens, irrespective of race, gender, or ability, were included in the public sphere and had equal access to education, employment, and resources (Department of Basic Education [DBE], 2015). Transformative

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efforts such as developing a unified education system, establishing a national qualifications framework, and monitoring the quality of teaching and learning at the local level were put in place to contribute to the nations’ economic and human development strategy (Department of Education [DOE], 2002). Despite these advancements, however, little progress has been made in science and special education. Poor performance in South African education, particularly in science and mathematics, has been documented in academic research (Christie, Butler, & Potterton, 2007; Fleisch, 2008; Taylor & Vinjevoldm, 1999) and government and NGO reports (Human Sciences Research Council [HSRC], 2005, 2006). Between 1999 and 2004, an average of 4.4% of grade 12 learners in the country had adequate scores in mathematics to study science at the university level (Kallaway, 2009). On international assessments such as the Trends in Mathematics and Science Study (TIMSS), South African grade 9 students have been ranked the poorest performing group out of their international peers in science. In 2011, the average scale score of grade 9 students increased by 60 points, from 267 in 2002 to a score of 327, still far below international benchmarks and the TIMSS scale center point of 500. Researchers from the Human Sciences Research Council in South Africa (2012, p. 11) stated that the 2011 TIMSS results showed the greatest improvement among the “most disadvantaged learners” (e.g., nonwhite learners from poor socioeconomic status) who had scored the lowest in the previous assessment. The report does not specify how many South African learners with LD and/or EBD participated in TIMSS. With respect to special education, the country of South Africa, along with the rest of the continent, has made little progress in providing quality education for students with disabilities. In March 2014, persons with disabilities from 14 African countries and representatives of national, subregional, and Pan‐African disabled persons’ organizations (DPOs) gathered in Nairobi, Kenya, at the Inclusive post‐2015 Development Agenda and United Nations (UN) Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities (CRPD) in Africa conference. Key areas of concern were outlined, and a call was made to mobilize human and financial resources in these African countries. In the establishment of the Nairobi Declaration, the group stated in the preamble that their countries and environments should be conducive to allowing persons with disabilities to make societal, economic, and community contributions (International Disability Alliance, 2014). The world’s population of individuals with disabilities experience significant inequalities in the areas of education, health services, and occupation opportunities along with subsequent quality‐ of‐life barriers that put them at‐risk for violence perpetrated against them (International Disability Alliance, 2014). The group also expressed concern related to the lack of inclusion and accessibility to the 2015 UN Millennium Development Goals (UNMDGs) programs, and suggested that these goals would not be realized for millions of African persons. Furthermore, the group conveyed their disappointment with the recently developed schools and health centers and noted that “all the non‐inclusive education, livelihood, water and sanitation, and health programs funded and implemented across Africa in the last decade have been, every time, wasted opportunities to

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advance inclusion of persons with disabilities.” (International Disability Alliance, 2014, para g.). With respect to education goals of the post‐2015 development agenda, the authors of the declaration suggest that it is estimated that 90% of children with disabilities (in Africa) do not have access to education. Similarly, in 2012, the Study on Education for Children with Disabilities in Southern Africa reported improvements since 1994 in the number of children with disabilities who attend special schools and later advance to graduating as matriculants (Secretariat of the African Decade of Persons with Disabilities, 2012). Yet, even with these advances, there is still a large disparity among children with special education needs enrolled in school compared to their nondisabled peers (The Secretariat of the African Decade of Persons with Disabilities [SADPD] 2012, p. 40). Donohue and Bornman (2014) report that up to 70% of children (grades R‐12) with disabilities do not attend school, and, of those who do attend schools, most are still in separate institutions or “special schools.”

Establishing Inclusive Education In 2001, the South African Ministry of Education published Building an Inclusive Education and Training System, a subsection of the comprehensive Education White Paper 6: Special Needs Education (Department of Education, South Africa [DOE], 2001). Inclusion predominantly focused on racial and gender inclusion, extending rights to all citizens. Education White Paper 6 outlined six strategies to establish an inclusive education system, specifically: (a) making improvements to existing special schools and converting special schools to resource centers; (b) mobilizing the population of children with disabilities (approximately 300,000) who are of school age but not currently enrolled in school; (c) converting some mainstream primary schools into inclusive, full‐service schools; (d) providing an orientation to the staff and administration in mainstream schools regarding the tenets and practices of inclusive education and identification of children who may have special education needs; (e) establishing provincial and local support teams to assist educators in implementing inclusive practices in their classrooms; and (f) implementing a national advocacy campaign to promote the awareness of inclusive education and participation of people with disabilities in society (DOE, 2001, pp. 20–23). In conjunction with the Education White Paper 6, the national curriculum reflects the ideals of inclusive education. According to the South African National Curriculum Assessment and Policy Statement (CAPS), inclusivity is central to the structural, administrative, and pedagogical functioning of each school. To support the realization of inclusive practices, the Department of Basic Education’s Guidelines for Inclusive Teaching and Learning (2010) was published to assist educators in addressing barriers in the classroom and implementing various curriculum differentiation strategies. Furthermore, the identification and support of students with SEN includes all members of the school community, such as teachers, district‐based support teams, institutional‐level support teams, parents, and special schools as resource centers. Despite national efforts to promote inclusive classrooms, much of the research related to inclusive education in South Africa has focused on the readiness and

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challenges to advancing educational inclusion in the country. Researchers such as Donohue and Bornman (2014) outline the challenges of realizing inclusive education. From a conceptual and policy level, researchers suggest that the biggest constraint to advancing inclusive education is due to the lack of clarity in the policies outlined in the Education White Paper 6—in particular, what defines disability in the educational context and what should be done to support the various designations of disability in South African classrooms. As was suggested in the CRPD’s Nairobi Declaration, financial resources and efforts have supported the development of mainstream classrooms, yet on both the local and district levels, neither mainstream nor special schools have received adequate funding to begin to establish inclusive classrooms (Stofile, 2008). In a study investigating the level of specialized support for learners with disabilities, South African principals in the Gauteng province reported that learners receive support either “seldom” or “never” due to the lack of resources and human capacity to extend the basic support available in general education classrooms (Nel, Muller, & Rheeders, 2011). From the school readiness perspective, Engelbrecht, Oswald, and Forlin (2006) reported on the pilot of the British Index for Inclusion. The researchers reported on the use of the instrument to the development of inclusion in three South African schools. The participants in the qualitative study were teachers, principals, and other school community members from three primary schools located in and nearby a rural town in the Western Cape. The school settings were reflective of communities throughout the country that struggle to address many of the issues related to the growing needs of their learner populations, including language and literacy proficiency; communicative abilities in either English, Afrikaans, and one of the African languages, isiXhosa; and overcrowded classrooms. Through consultation, questionnaires, and open‐ended questions, the researchers collected and analyzed data regarding the perceptions of key community school members about inclusive school practices present or lacking in their schools. The researchers gleaned information under five themes: an inclusive school philosophy; democratic leadership, structures, processes, and values; collaboration; addressing learner diversity; and resources. The analysis of the collective data suggested that the Education: White Paper 6 promoted awareness of what it means for schools to be genuinely inclusive; however, members of the school communities lacked a cohesive philosophical stance for inclusive education (Engelbrecht et  al., 2006). The researchers found that the principal was a central figure to realizing inclusive goals for the school. Without the principal’s skills and drive to promote a democratic leadership, whereby power is shared among all members of the school community, little progress would be made with furthering inclusive education practices.

Teacher Professional Development Common throughout the research in inclusive education is the lack of teacher preparedness to work with students with SEN and, furthermore, to create quality inclusive learning environments. Teacher training programs do not appear to be adequately addressing this need, resulting in stress for teachers

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and lack of p­rogress of learners with disabilities (Chataika, Mckenzie, Swart, & Ly­ner‐Cleophas, 2012; Engelbrecht, 2006; Engelbrecht, Swart, & Eloff, 2001). Some interventions, such as the universal design for learning (UDL) workshop at the University of Cape Town, appeared to be an effective introduction to ways in which educators and therapists of students with SEN could apply a conceptual and practical model to address a wide range of learning needs in the classroom. The researchers suggest that the participants were able to engage in UDL core principles, barriers to UDL implementation, and ways to implement UDL with and without technology (Dalton, Mckenzie, & Kahonde, 2012). While UDL is often associated with educating students with SEN, other researchers have promoted its use for learners with and without special needs in science classrooms (Villanueva et al., 2012).

South African Perspectives in Science Education The CAPS for Natural Science reflects a balance and interconnection between education about science, as well as education in science. The three aims of the Natural Science CAPS relate to conducting scientific investigations, deepening and applying conceptual knowledge, and engaging in science to promote the betterment of citizens and the environment. Although the CAPS highlights a framework and policy of human rights, inclusivity, environmental and social justice, as well as sensitivity regarding issues of diversity, such as poverty, inequality, race, gender, language, age, disability, and other factors, the statement provides little guidance on how the natural science aims can be realized with learners with special education needs (Department of Basic Education, South Africa, 2011). Since the release of Education White Paper 6 in 2001, a number of science education articles from South Africa have focused on inclusive education centered on gender (e.g., Chikunda, 2010) or indigenous perspectives (e.g., Higgs, Higgs, & Venter, 2003); however, we identified only two peer‐reviewed studies related to science education and learners with special education needs in South Table 12.1  Specific Aims of Curriculum Assessment and Policy Statement Sl.No.

Aim

Statement

1.

Doing science and technology

Learners should be able to complete investigations, analyze problems and use practical processes and skills in designing and evaluating solutions.

2.

Understanding and connecting ideas

Learners should have a grasp of scientific, technological, and environmental knowledge and be able to apply it in new contexts.

3.

Science, technology, and society

Learners should understand the practical uses of natural sciences and technology in society and the environment and have values that make them caring and creative citizens.

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Africa. In Fraser and Maguhve’s (2008) study on teaching and in­struction for blind and visually impaired learners, the researchers explored how teachers at special schools (i.e., the term used for schools specifically for students with special needs) facilitated their life sciences (biology) lessons. The researchers conducted semistructured interviews with nine teachers and 45 grade 9 learners from nine special schools throughout the country; however, the reporting of results leaned more toward the perspective of the teachers. Fraser and Maguhve (2008) categorized their responses into five themes related to: (a) teacher training; (b) teachers’ perceptions; (c) prejudices toward science learning; (d) unique needs of blind and visually impaired learners; and (e) observations and practical work. Overall, the results emphasized the conventional challenges related to educating learners with special education needs; for example, lack of instruction and experience in teacher education or professional development programs, lack of support from district or national department of education officials, and insufficient resources for learners. With respect to science teaching and learning, the researchers reported that the teachers held negative perceptions about the ability of all learners to succeed in science. The reasons that teachers expressed related to their own capacity to educate visually impaired learners effectively and, secondly, to the learners’ capability to fully engage in a discipline that relies heavily on the process skill of observation. The teachers did not report a lack of conceptual understanding or pedagogical content knowledge to teach life sciences, but more on how the curriculum could be adapted to accommodate visually impaired learners. As for learner capabilities, teachers cited lack of motivation on the learners’ part, as they (both the teachers and learners) believed that they could not fully engage in making observations of scientific phenomenon. When available, some of the teachers combined three‐dimensional models with embossed sketches labeled in Braille, but also expressed that learners were “… easily overwhelmed by the complexity of very ‘full’ or ‘busy’ diagrams and sketches” (Fraser & Maguvhe, 2008, p. 85). Due to insufficient teacher preparation, support, and educational resources for the learners, coupled with teachers’ perceptions of learners’ capabilities, the teachers discouraged learners from pursuing science‐related subjects in high school. In the second study, Pilkington and Gelderblom (2010) investigated the use of the Karplus learning cycle (KLC) a three‐phase cycle of exploration, concept introduction, and concept application to teach introductory computer programming to learners with attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD). The  researchers hypothesized that the model would be useful not only to capture, focus, and maintain learners’ attention, but also to manage behavior. The participants in the study included seven boys between the ages of 15 and 18 years who attended a school for learners with disabilities. The length of the research was not noted, but over the course of the study, the teacher–researcher used field notes or “diaries of observations, behaviors, and reactions in the classroom,” as well as semistructured interviews with the participants (Pilkington & Gelderblom, 2010, p. 78). The analysis of the data yielded four categories relating to: the use of the KLC, application of Socratic questioning, learning time, and planning and experimentation. In their findings, the researchers suggest that the KLC posed

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some limitations for classroom use, specifically challenges to the application of the concepts in the practical exercise. For example, the participants did not attain the understanding of code structure in the demonstrations or scaffolded discussions and, therefore, could not advance to completing tasks related to code syntax. The authors noted that the participants’ lack of understanding led to inattention and lack of participation. As no control group was used in the study, it is uncertain whether the noted issues were due to learners’ ADHD specifically, the difficulty of the concept, or the teacher’s explanations. The researchers recommend that the concept introduction, the second phase of the cycle, be broken into the two sub‐phases of teacher demonstration and direct instruction prior to the concept application, and further suggest that the approach allows for “varying lesson presentation strategies with alternating periods of sitting still and active participation needed by learners with ADHD” (Pilkington & Gelderblom, 2010, p. 82).

Moving Forward in Research in Diversity in Special and Science Education In this chapter, we have attempted to raise issues about establishing inclusive environments in the United States and South Africa, as well as draw attention to what inclusivity and equitable education means in the context of learning science. In the United States, a number of studies have shown promise in making a positive impact in science achievement levels for students with special education needs (Therrien et  al., 2014). In South Africa, strides have been made in the development of educational policies toward inclusive education and, as the country works on realizing these goals, the education of youth with special needs. While research in the fields of science and special education is scarce, there is great opportunity to establish programs of research with potential benefits of science education for students with disabilities, including: (a) expanding experiential background for students who have had limited experiences; (b) covering skills and knowledge important for adult functioning; (c) using concrete, hands‐on learning activities; and (d) developing, through science activities, problem‐solving and reasoning skills (Esler, Midgett, & Bird, 1977; Mathias & Johnson, 1981; Patton & Andre, 1989). Finally, science has been identified by teachers as the subject area most amenable for mainstreaming students of all disability categories (Atwood & Oldham, 1985; McDuffie et al., 2009). Science education also has been thought to be directly beneficial for improving functioning in specific disability areas. Science has been recommended for students with sensory and physical impairments, because it allows them to develop compensatory skills for observing, manipulating, and classifying phenomena (Hadary & Cohen, 1978; Linn & Their, 1975). It has been argued that students with emotional or behavioral problems can benefit from the careful study of systematic cause‐and‐effect relationships and the scientific method of finding order in the observed universe (Hadary & Cohen, 1978; Lamendola, 1976). Students with cognitive or intellectual impairments can potentially benefit from the increase in general world knowledge, as well as the development of scientific process skills

References References 247

(e.g., observing, classifying, predicting, inferring) and the application of these skills to their own experiences (Corrick, 1981). Ultimately, continued research is needed to further the identification and use of effective practices in science instruction for all students across the globe and for making “Science for All” more than just a slogan.

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Department of Basic Education, South Africa (DBE). (2010). Guidelines for inclusive teaching and learning. Pretoria, South Africa: Author. Department of Basic Education, South Africa (DBE). (2011). Curriculum assessment policy statement, grades 4–6, natural sciences and technology. Pretoria, South Africa: Author. Department of Basic Education, South Africa (DBE). (2015). Draft policy on screening, identification, assessment and support. Pretoria, South Africa: Author. Department of Education, South Africa (DOE). (2001). Education white paper 6: Special education. Building an inclusive education and training system. Pretoria, South Africa: Author. Department of Education, South Africa (DOE). (2002). National curriculum statement: Natural sciences learning area. Pretoria, South Africa: Author. Donohue, D., & Borman, J. (2014). The challenges of realizing inclusive education in South Africa. South African Journal of Education, 34(2), 1–14. Engelbrecht, P. (2006). The implementation of inclusive education in South Africa after ten years of democracy. European Journal of Psychology of Education, 21(3), 253–264. Engelbrecht, P., Oswald, M., & Forlin, C. (2006). Promoting the implementation of inclusive education in primary schools in South Africa. British Journal of Special Education, 33(3), 121–129. Engelbrecht, P., Swart, E., & Eloff, I. (2001). Stress and coping skills of teachers with a learner with Downs syndrome in inclusive education. South African Journal of Education, 21(4), 256–260. Esler, W. K., Midgett, J., & Bird, R. C. (1977). Elementary science materials and the exceptional child. Science Education, 61(2), 181–184. Fensham, P. (2008). Science education policy‐making: Eleven emerging issues. Section for Science, Technical and Vocational Education. Paris: UNESCO. Fleisch, B. (2008). Primary education in crisis: Why South African school children underachieve in reading and mathematics. Claremont, South Africa: Juta and Company. Fraser, W. J., & Maguvhe, M. O. (2008). Teaching life sciences to blind and visually impaired learners. Journal of Biological Education, 42(2), 84–89. Fuchs, D., & Fuchs, L. S. (1994). Inclusive schools movement and the radicalization of special education reform. Exceptional Children, 60(4), 294–309. Grigg, W. S., Lauko, M. A., & Brockway, D. M. (2006). The nation’s report card science 2005 (NCES 2006‐466). Washington, DC: United States Printing Office. Hadary, D. E., & Cohen, S. H. (1978). Laboratory science and art for blind, deaf, and emotionally disturbed children: A mainstreaming approach. Baltimore, MD: University Park Press. Higgs, P., Higgs, L. G., & Venter, E. (2003). Indigenous African knowledge systems and innovation in higher education in South Africa. South African Journal of Higher Education, 17(2), 40–45. Hines, R. A. (2001). Inclusion in middle schools. Resources in Education, 37(4), 1–7. Human Sciences Research Council (HSRC). (2005). Emerging voices: A report on education in South African rural communities. Johannesburg, South Africa: Author. Human Sciences Research Council (HSRC). (2006). Mathematics and science achieve­ ment at South African schools in TIMMS 2003. Cape Town, South Africa: Author.

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Stoddart, T., Solis, J., Tolbert, S., & Bravo, M. (2010). A framework for the effective science teaching of English Language Learners in elementary schools. In D. Sunal, C. Sunal & E. Wright (Eds.), Teaching science with Hispanic ELLs in K‐16 classrooms (pp. 151–181). Charlotte, NC: Information Age Publishing. Stofile, S. Y. (2008). Factors affecting the implementation of inclusive education policy: A case study in one province in South Africa. Retrieved from http://hdl. handle.net/11394/2827 Taylor, N., & Vinjevold, P. (1999). Getting learning right: Report of the president’s education initiative research project. Johannesburg: Joint Education Trust. Therrien, W. J., Taylor, J. C., Hosp, J. L., Kaldenberg, E. R., & Gorsh, J. (2011). Science instruction for students with learning disabilities: A meta‐analysis. Learning Disabilities Research & Practice, 26(4), 188–203. Therrien, W. J., Taylor, J. C., Watt, S., & Kaldenberg, E. R. (2014). Science instruction for students with emotional and behavioral disorders. Remedial and Special Education, 35(1), 15–27. Thier, H. D., & Hadary, D. E. (1973). We can do it too. Science and Children, 11(4), 7–9. Thompson, B. (1975). Newsletter 4. Good News Letter, 4(1), 1–7. United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO). (1994). The Salamanca statement and framework for action on special needs education. Paris, France: Author. United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO). (1999). Science and technology education: Philosophy of Project 2000. Paris, France: Author. United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO). (2010). Current challenges in basic science education. Paris, France: UNESCO. US Department of Education. (2004). Individual with Disabilities Education Act. Washington, DC: Author. Villanueva, M. G. & Hand, B. (2011). Science for all: Engaging students with special needs in and about science. Learning Disabilities Research and Practice, 26(4), 233–240. Villanueva, M. G., Taylor, J., Therrien, W., & Hand, B. (2012). Science education for students with special needs. Studies in Science Education, 48(2), 187–215. White House, Office of the Press Secretary. (2011, January 25). Remarks by the president in the state of union address. Retrieved from http://www.whitehouse. gov/the‐press‐office/2011/01/25/remarkspresident‐state‐union‐address Woods, M., Stern, V., Malcolm, S., & Kemp, J. (2014). Thirty years of changing lives: The AAAA project on science, technology and disability. Retrieved from http:// ehrweb01.aaas.org/entrypoint/30‐years/ Yore, L., Pimm, D., & Tuan, H.‐L. (2007). The literacy component of mathematical and scientific literacy. International Journal of Science and Mathematics Education, 5(4), 559–589. Zigmond, N. (2003). Where should students with disabilities receive special education services? Is one place better than another? The Journal of Special Education, 37(3), 193–199.

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Proficient reading is essential for all learning. As a result, understanding reading development and improving reading instruction for students with reading ­learning disabilities (RLDs) continues to be the focus of researchers. Some ­students who find learning to read challenging are students with specific l­ earning disabilities in reading. Some students with RLDs exhibit difficulty with the ­processing of speech sounds, accurate and fluent word recognition and decoding, or with orthographic sequencing (Fletcher et  al., 1998; Grigorenko, 2001; Lyon, 1995; Ziegler, Perry, Ma‐Wyatt, Ladner, & Schulte‐ Körne, 2003). These students rarely overcome this difficulty (Juel, 1988), and students who do not master basic ­reading skills are more likely to read less and to fail to develop adequate ­comprehension skills (Bravo‐Valdivieso, 1995; Ehri, 1991; Foorman, 1995). Other students develop adequate word‐level skills, but struggle with ­comprehension of text (Cain & Oakhill, 2006; Nation, 2001). These students exhibit weaknesses in semantics, syntax, inference making, self‐monitoring, and executive function (Cain, 2006; Cain & Oakhill, 2011; Cutting, Materek, Cole, Levine, & Mahone, 2009; Pimperton & Nation, 2010). As a result, they are less proficient in using context to determine word meanings and in using word‐learning strategies (Cain & Oakhill, 2011). Although the occurrence of developmental reading disabilities is global (Breznitz, 1997; Holopainen, Ahonen, & Lyytinen, 2001; Tressoldi, Stella, & Fagella, 2001; Wimmer, 1993), they are manifested in varied ways in different languages (Katzir, Shaul, Breznitz, & Wolf, 2004). For example, phonological deficits are less common in students learning to read in languages with regular orthographies than those learning to read in languages with less regular orthographies (Wimmer, 1993). However, deficits in reading rate and naming speed seem to be universal, since they are consistently found in students who learn to read in languages that represent different orthographies (Ho, Chan, Tsang, & Lee, 2002; Jimenez et  al., 2008; Wimmer, Mayringer, & Landerl, 2000; Yap & van der Leij, 1994). The number of students from culturally or linguistically diverse (CLD) backgrounds has increased in the United States and in many countries around the The Wiley Handbook of Diversity in Special Education, First Edition. Edited by Marie Tejero Hughes and Elizabeth Talbott. © 2017 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Published 2017 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

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world. In this chapter, we use Perez’s (2004, p. 6) definition of culturally diverse— “students who may be distinguished [from mainstream culture] by ethnicity, social class, and language”—when referring to CLD students. We will describe reading development across languages, identify reading practices that have proven effective with children from diverse backgrounds with learning disabilities, discuss current issues, and identify gaps in the research.

Reading Acquisition and Development In the last 20 years, reading research conducted worldwide has led to a greater understanding of how reading develops across languages. Goswami (2006) found that, despite differences in orthographic systems, reading acquisition follows a certain universal developmental trajectory, although the components that have the most impact on reading development may vary. Therefore, to determine if a model of reading development is universal or language specific, it must be tested across languages (Georgiou, Parilla, & Papadopoulos, 2008). The simple view of reading (Gough & Tunmer, 1986) posits that, to develop reading comprehension, students need decoding skills and linguistic comprehension. Research indicates that reading comprehension is determined by these two components in both transparent and deep alphabetic orthographies (Adlof, Catts, & Little, 2006; Chen & Vellutino, 1997; Megherbi, Seigneuric, & Ehrlich, 2006). However, the relationship between these two components varies across languages (De Jong & van der Leij, 1999; Florit & Cain, 2011; Kendeou, Van den Broek, White, & Lynch, 2009; Pazzaglia, Cornoldi, & Tressoldi, 1993). Other models, such as Scarborough’s (2001) reading rope and Seidenberg and McClelland’s (1989) connectionist model, unpack the two components found in the simple view of reading. Componential approaches to reading recognize that reading involves multiple psychological processes and skills such as phonemic awareness, letter knowledge, phonological coding, orthographic skills, automaticity in processing letter sequences, lexical access, and memory, all of which could lead to differences in reading acquisition across languages (Kornev, Rakhin, & Grigorenko, 2010; Seymour, 2006). Seymour (2006) proposes a framework for reading acquisition that addresses differences across orthographic systems. Similar to other models, the framework assumes that literacy acquisition involves a developmental interaction between orthographic and linguistic systems. The linguistic system is subdivided into a phonological and a morphological system. Phonological awareness is predictive of later reading ability in alphabetic l­ anguages (Bowey & Patel, 1988; De Jong & van der Leij, 1999; Ehri et al., 2001; Goswami & Bryant, 1990; Holopainen et al., 2001; Liberman, 1973; Wagner & Torgesen, 1987), consonantal (Arabic) (Abu‐Rabia & Taha, 2006), and morpho‐syllabic languages (Chinese) (Tolchinsky, Levin, Aram, & McBride‐Chang, 2012). Research on the relationship between the development of phonological awareness and the alphabetic principle has demonstrated that inefficient phonological processing skills such as phoneme segmentation and blending impede mastery of the alphabetic code (Bravo‐Valdivieso, 1995; Carillo, 1994; Gonzalez & Valle, 2000; Lyon, 2003).

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Moreover, the development of phonological awareness appears to follow a “language universal” sequence (e.g., Cho & McBride‐Chang, 2005; Cisero & Royer, 1995; De Jong & van der Leij, 1999; Durgunoğlu & Öney, 1999; Goswami, 2006; Holopainen et al., 2001; Tolchinsky et al., 2012), in which children develop an awareness of larger units of language before smaller units (Anthony, Lonigan, Driscoll, Phillips, & Burgess, 2003). Across a number of languages, normally developing children exhibit syllabic (Cossu, Shankweiler, Liberman, Katz, & Tola, 1988; Fox & Routh, 1975; Hoien, Lundberg, Stanovich, & Bjaalid, 1995; Liberman, Shankweiler, Fischer, & Carter, 1974) and onset‐rime awareness prior to school entry (Bradley & Bryant, 1983; Demont & Gombert, 1996; Durgunoğlu & Öney, 1999; Harris & Giannouli, 1999; Ho & Bryant, 1997; Siok & Fletcher, 2001; Wimmer & Goswami, 1994; Wimmer, Landerl, Linortner, & Hummer, 1991). Awareness of phonemes and the ability to cognitively manipulate ­phonological representations usually develops with the introduction of reading instruction (Alcock, Ngorosho, Deus, & Jukes, 2010; Ziegler & Goswami, 2005). The orthographic system refers to the representations of the visual symbols used in the writing system of a language and the mapping of these symbols onto speech and meaning. Seymour (2006) identifies four developmental phases. The first phase, Phase 0 Alphabet Knowledge, includes knowledge of the names and sounds of symbols of a writing system and their correspondence with sounds of the spoken language. To decode, children have to learn how their language is represented by the writing system (Ehri, 1991; Liberman & Liberman, 1990; Nag, Caravolas, & Snowling, 2011; Stanovich, 1986). This is true for morpho‐syllabic, consonantal scripts, and alphabetic scripts (Goswami, 2006; Nag et  al., 2011). However, children learning to read in transparent orthographies are likely to learn grapheme–phoneme correspondences more quickly than children learning to read in opaque orthographies, because they have to learn fewer correspondences, and they are consistent (Goswami, 2002; Seymour, Aro, & Erskine, 2003). There are three phases that most children go through as they learn to read. In Phase 1: Foundation Literacy—familiar word recognition and storage, and sequential decoding are established. Children have achieved automaticity when they no longer have to recode a word each time they see it. When words are known well, both the pronunciation and meaning are accessed automatically (LaBerge & Samuels, 1974). Phase 2: Orthographic Literacy—involves the construction of a schema of ­conventions and variation in the way in which syllable can be written, based on the stored words and letter–sound correspondences. As they become familiar with letter patterns that recur in different words, the grapheme–phoneme ­connections in the words become consolidated into larger units and chunking words becomes a more efficient way of reading new words. The final phase, Phase 3: Morphographic Literacy—emphasizes the representation of complex words in which syllables are combined, stress is assigned, and morphemes are identified. The importance of this phase will depend on the number of possible combinations and the length of the words that may be ­constructed. Morphological awareness is the recognition and understanding of the structure of words (Carlisle & Feldman, 1995). Among elementary aged ­children, it is a predictor of decoding ability (Mann & Singson, 2003), and among

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older students, it contributes to reading comprehension (Kieffer & Box, 2013; Kieffer & Lesaux, 2008; Pasquarella, Chen, Lam, Luo, & Ramirez, 2011; Tong, Deacon, Kirby, Cain, & Parrila, 2011).

Effective Instructional Strategies for CLD Students with Disabilities Students with disabilities from culturally or linguistically diverse backgrounds benefit from the same practices that are effective for other students with RLDs. This includes instruction that targets the five components of reading as needed (Adams, 1994; Snow, Burns, & Griffin, 1998), taught explicitly and systematically. The use of explicit and systematic instruction is recommended for ­students with reading difficulties, and for culturally and linguistically diverse students (Chiappe, Siegel, & Wade‐Woolley, 2002; Geva, Yaghoub‐Zadeh, & Schuster, 2000; Lesaux, Rupp, & Siegel, 2007; Meltzer & Hamann, 2005; Swanson, Hoskyn, & Lee, 1999; Vaughn, Gersten, & Chard, 2000). These ­recommendations are because the instructional focus is clearly stated, and clear and ordered demonstrations of concepts, skills, and tasks are provided to make the process visible (Blair, Rupley, & Nichols, 2007). The utility of strategies in learning vocabulary (Baumann, Kame’enui, & Ash, 2003; Bos & Anders, 1990), reading comprehension (Gajria & Salvia, 1992; Malone & Mastropieri, 1991), and writing (Graham & Perin, 2007) has been extensively studied. There is also strong evidence that strategy instruction supports the development of the higher‐order thinking skills needed to read content area texts, understand content, and to communicate that learning orally and in writing (Bulgren, Deschler, & Lenz, 2007; Mastropieri & Scruggs, 1997; Moll & Allen, 1982). Therefore, students with disabilities should be explicitly taught multiple research‐based reading strategies individually, along with ­criteria on when to use them. They should also be provided opportunities to apply ­strategies either individually or in combination. Research evidence has established the importance of providing students with RLD instruction in phonological awareness, decoding, vocabulary, and comprehension and practice to develop fluent reading. As noted previously, phonemic awareness, letter knowledge, and orthographic knowledge are necessary for reading comprehension, as are vocabulary and reading fluency. Fluent reading is essential to reading comprehension, because, the faster words are read and ­processed, the more likely that processing resources will be used to comprehend the text (Perfetti, 1985). It also indicates that the reader is processing the text efficiently (Cheeseman & De Pry, 2010). Studies have shown that students with learning disabilities struggle with a number of reading comprehension skills. They are less aware of passage organization and text structure, have more ­difficulty comprehending what they read, and do not understand the interrelationships of the text (Englert & Thomas, 1987; Taylor & Williams, 1983; Wong & Wilson, 1984). Students from CLD backgrounds with disabilities must also ­contend with the challenges presented by the use of nonstandard English, which may limit their understanding of text structures, particularly when confronted

Effective Instructional Strategies for CLD Students with Disabilities Effective Instructional Strategies for CLD Students with Disabilities 257

with the complexity of expository text (Englert & Thomas, 1987; Gersten, Fuchs, Williams, & Baker, 2001; Wilson & Rupley, 1997). Therefore, explicit, direct instruction in strategies to improve reading comprehension is crucial for CLD students with disabilities (Gersten et al., 2007). One way to tap into CLD students’ prior experiences in school and at home is to provide ample opportunities for students to share. In this way, students are made to feel as rightful members of the school community and classroom, and their prior experiences are valued (Ladson‐Billings, 1992, 1995; Rios‐ Aguilar, Kiyama, Gravitt, & Moll, 2011). An example of incorporating the ­culture of the student into the school is incorporating biography cards that feature information on students’ cultural and linguistic backgrounds into ­academic activities (Rodriguez, 2009). When academic content is familiar to CLD students, they are more motivated and engaged and can free up their cognitive resources to attend to the new skills being learned (Ebe, 2011; Shagoury, 2010). Further, reading instruction that taps into students’ prior knowledge and experiences, and ­promotes dialogue, is beneficial for CLD learners (Dantas & Manyak, 2010; Dutro, 2010; McIntyre & Hulan, 2013; Tharp, Estrada, Dalton, & Yamauchi, 2000). For students who are ­linguistically diverse, this provides opportunities for them to use language and incorporate academic language practice into their responses (August & Hakuta, 1998; August & Shanahan, 2006). If students do not have prior experience with the topic, activities to build ­student knowledge are required. Watching short video clips and conducting ­science experiments are activities that support students when learning about a new topic (Gersten, Baker, Smith‐Johnson, Dimino, & Peterson, 2006; Silverman & Hines, 2009; Vaughn et  al., 2009). The Internet can aid in building student knowledge of unfamiliar themes and concepts, and can make new content ­comprehensible for CLD students (Beechler & Williams, 2012; Clark, 2013; Jackson et al., 2006; Krashen, 2008; Lopez, 2010). Through visuals and audio, it can be used to convey what may be difficult to describe with text alone, increasing CLD students’ knowledge (Beechler & Williams, 2012; Clark, 2013; Jackson et al., 2006; Lopez, 2010). It can provide real‐life examples helping students make connections and improve reading (Clark, 2013; Jackson et al., 2006). A number of additional practices have been found effective for CLD students with RLDs. CLD students benefit from reading aloud from text and discussing the text they read, because it provides them with additional opportunities to use language (Coelho, 1994; Long & Porter, 1985; Saenz, Fuchs, & Fuchs, 2005; Silverman & Hines, 2009). Other effective practices for CLD students with ­disabilities include systematically reviewing the information read, sequencing, summarizing chunks of information, stating main ideas in as few words as ­possible, and predicting and proving outcomes (Mathes, Fuchs, Fuchs, & Henley, 1994; Saenz et al., 2005). Instruction in key reading components early in the development of reading with ongoing integration of word reading, fluency, vocabulary, and comprehension is associated with the development of reading success across a number of languages (Aro & Wimmer, 2003; Bravo‐Valdivieso, 1995; Gonzalez & Valle, 2000; Goswami, 2006; Seymour, 2006), as are strategy instruction, differentiated

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instruction for students at risk, and the regular implementation of screening and ongoing progress monitoring (Gersten et al., 2009).

Integration of Culturally and Linguistically Responsive Practices Learning occurs within a cultural context (Harris‐Murri, King, & Rostenberg, 2006). Effective teachers of CLD students with disabilities understand this, and engage in culturally responsive pedagogy that is characterized by high expectations, equity, value‐based views of language and culture, and collaboration between educators with coordination of programs and services (Garcia & Ortiz, 2008). They also acknowledge that CLD students bring to the classroom funds of knowledge, competence, and resources garnered from their home and community experiences (Moll, Amanti, Neff, & Gonzalez, 1992; Siegel, 2006; Whitney, 2005). They consider what, why, and how they teach (Cochran‐Smith, 1991), and include their students’ culture and cultural capital into their instruction as authorized knowledge that belongs in the classroom, even when not written about in the textbooks (Ladson‐Billings, 1992, 1995). Teachers who integrate these practices into their instruction are better prepared to facilitate students’ transition into the culture of the school (Orosco & Klingner, 2010; Orosco & O’Connor, 2013).

Relevant Materials The curriculum and materials used to teach CLD students with disabilities should include material that represents a number of different cultural and ethnic groups, as well as different lived experiences in order to engage the learner with materials to which they can relate. To comprehend text, readers incorporate new information into their current schemas of culturally acquired knowledge (Shagoury, 2010). Using a culturally relevant curriculum and materials helps CLD students tap into their prior background knowledge, or schema, to engage with the text, and make connections with their lives (Delpit & Dowdy, 2008; Ebe, 2011; Faggella‐Luby, Ware, & Capozzoli, 2009; Gay, 2002, 2010; Ladson‐Billings, 1992, 1995). Supplementing curricula with visuals and audios from the internet can enhance the learning of CLD students, and can infuse the existing curricula (Clark, 2013) with content that is of interest to CLD students that can result in  wider reading (Krashen, 2008) and improved reading scores (Clark, 2013; Jackson et al., 2006). Multicultural/multiethnic literature helps to affirm the identities of CLD ­students, and helps all students develop appreciation of other cultures (Au, 1993; Callins, 2006; Norton, 2013). Using relevant multicultural literature that focuses on a topic or the learning objectives increases CLD students’ motivation to learn, because they are able to draw on pre‐existing schemas and culturally acquired knowledge to comprehend the text (Ebe, 2011; Shagoury, 2010). It can also lead to greater comprehension of multiple literacy concepts if the context is

Flexible Grouping Formats Flexible Grouping Formats 259

­ onthreatening and the instruction includes culturally relevant literature, with n questioning and discussion (Blue, 2011). Relevant multicultural text that builds on students background knowledge and personal experiences for reading instruction can improve CLD students’ engagement in reading and reading achievement (Blue, 2011; Guthrie, Schafer, & Huang, 2001).

Interactive Teaching Interactive teaching approaches using multimodal strategies support the ­learning of CLD students (Cazden, 2001). Multimodal strategies such as using ­pictures, gesturing, acting, drawing, writing, as well as questioning reinforces understanding of new content for CLD students (Silverman & Hines, 2009; Silverman, Speece, Harring, & Ritchey, 2013). Using the Internet increases CLD students’ opportunities to learn information through multiple modalities (Beechler & Williams, 2012; Clark, 2013; Jackson et  al., 2006; Krashen, 2008; Lopez, 2010). Research shows improvements in sight word recognition (Beechler & Williams, 2012), vocabulary development (Clark, 2013), and reading achievement (Jackson et  al., 2006; Lopez, 2010) for CLD students through computer and Internet use.

Flexible Grouping Formats CLD students with disabilities have diverse learning needs; therefore, they ­benefit when teachers use flexible grouping formats. The use of flexible grouping formats and a variety of structured tasks throughout the lesson provide students additional opportunities to practice the skills they are learning (August, Branum‐ Martin, Cardenas‐Hagan, & Francis, 2009; Ballenger, 1997; Echevarria, Vogt, & Short, 2012; Fuchs, Fuchs, Mathes, & Simmons, 1997; Vaughn et  al., 2009). Additional practice can be provided through the use of partner activities. Partner reading activities in particular have been found effective for CLD students (Greenwood, Arreaga‐Mayer, Utley, Gavin, & Terry, 2001; Saenz et  al., 2005). However, homogeneous small group instruction in groups of three to five ­students is recommended when providing reading intervention to CLD students with disabilities (Graves, 1985; Linan‐Thompson, Vaughn, Hickman‐Davis, & Kouzekanani, 2003, Vaughn et  al., 2003; Vaughn, Cirino et  al., 2006; Vaughn, Linan‐Thompson et al., 2006; Vaughn, Mathes et al., 2006). Although, cooperative learning promotes the use of whole instruction for delivering the lesson content, completing assignments is done in small groups. CLD students with disabilities also benefit from structured independent work. Teachers can support student learning by providing the necessary individual scaffolds that the students may need, and progressing from teaching easier skills and concepts to more difficult ones (Gersten et al., 2007). To ensure that students are retaining the information they are learning, frequent review and practice should be provided with built‐in scaffolds for students who struggle (Baker et al., 2014).

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Collaborative activities such as cooperative learning or peer/partner reading allow students to engage with other students with different ability levels to accomplish tasks. These activities engage and motivate CLD students while ­helping them complete academic tasks and master learning objectives (Calhoon, Al Otaiba, Greenberg, King, & Avalos, 2006; Klingner & Vaughn, 1996; Klingner, Vaughn, & Schumm, 1998; Montgomery, 2001; Orosco & O’Connor, 2013; Saenz et al., 2005). Cooperative learning has been found to be beneficial in increasing reading comprehension (Slavin, Stevens, & Madden, 1988) and s­ tudent ­achievement (Johnson & Johnson, 1999). Cooperative learning is effective for CLD students because of the social context it provides, and the increased opportunities to practice oral language skills (Bui & Fagan, 2013). The act of learning cooperatively can resemble the home culture of CLD students increasing the likelihood of success (Putnam, 1998).

Contemporary Social Issues Instruction for students with disabilities has focused on reading. While it is undeniable that reading is critical for all other learning, CLD students benefit from comprehensive literacy instruction. Further, the new focus on college and career readiness requires competent writing, speaking, and reading skills, and we know much less about the other components. For example, there is a large ­database addressing multilingual writing (Fitzgerald, 2006), but research that includes CLD students with disabilities is scarce.

Language and Literacy Children from CLD backgrounds usually enter school with a smaller English vocabulary than their non‐CLD peers (Fernald, Marchman, & Weisleder, 2013; Hoff, 2013), and the gap tends to persist throughout their academic careers because of the impact it has on reading comprehension (Baumann & Kame’enui, 1991; Bos & Anders, 1990). Depth of vocabulary makes a significant contribution to reading comprehension (Cheeseman & De Pry, 2010; Nagy & Scott, 2000; Nation & Snowling, 2004; Ouellette, 2006), so it is not surprising that students who reach grade 4 with limited vocabulary are likely to have difficulty in understanding text in subsequent grades (Biancarosa & Snow, 2004). Because language development is an essential component of literacy learning, teachers of CLD students with disabilities should understand how language develops, and how children who speak different languages and dialects acquire standard English (Horton‐Ikard & Miller, 2004; Linan‐Thompson & Ortiz, 2009). Kintsch’s (1994, 1998) discourse‐processing theory posits that language knowledge of word meanings and grammar is required for sentence‐level ­ ­comprehension, and to link ideas at the intersentential and paragraph level. Therefore, students need explicit instruction on words, in addition to the use of word‐­learning strategies. Effective language instruction incorporates the following practices: (a) use of comprehensible language, (b) scaffolding, (c) visuals, (d) preteaching of and

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­ ultiple exposures to new vocabulary, (e) sheltered content instruction, (f ) com operative learning, (g) peer tutoring, and (h) multimodal and culturally relevant instruction (Artiles & Ortiz, 2002). Further, the language proficiency levels of CLD students should guide the differentiation of reading instruction (Ballantyne, Sanderman, & Levy, 2008; Esparza‐Brown & Sanford, 2011). For example, teachers should vary the amount of language and linguistic support they provide when explaining concepts.

Academic Language Academic language refers to the specialized, cognitively demanding language functions and structures that are needed to understand, conceptualize, ­symbolize, discuss, read, and write about topics in academic subjects (Scarcella & Rumberger, 2000). Academic language is necessary to understand academic concepts, which become increasingly more complex as students advance grades (Gersten et al., 2007). CLD students with learning disabilities may experience difficulty in understanding the academic vocabulary used to communicate concepts in the classroom (Gersten et al., 2001). Therefore, beginning in the first years of schooling, academic language should be taught systematically, and students should be provided structured opportunities to use academic language. Academic vocabulary words should be taught intensively and reviewed until they become part of a student’s productive vocabulary (Coyne, McCoach, Loftus, Zipoli, & Kapp, 2009), in order to increase the number of words they know and ensure they know them well. Six criteria for selecting academic vocabulary words have been advanced for teaching English‐language earners (ELLs): (a) words central to understanding the text; (b) high frequency academic words encountered in text; (c) cross‐curricular words; (d) multiple meaning words; and (e) words with affixes (Baker et al., 2014). The need to enrich students’ vocabularies, combined with the rate at which they learn, requires careful consideration when determining which words will be  taught explicitly. Including words central to understanding the text may include publisher‐bolded words and any words that will make the text comprehensible (August & Hakuta, 1998; Baker et al., 2014), as well as high‐frequency academic words that will be encountered more often, particularly in multiple content area texts (August et  al., 2009; Baker et  al., 2014; Carlo et  al., 2004; Lesaux, Kieffer, Faller, & Kelley, 2010). Encountering these words repeatedly provides CLD students multiple opportunities to use these words, making them a regular part of their linguistic register. It is also important to explicitly teach multiple‐meaning words to students who may overgeneralize a meaning, or who only know one meaning for the word. Knowing the various meanings of a word helps students understand the different functions and uses of a word in different contexts (Carlo et  al., 2004; Coyne et  al., 2009). Finally, developing students’ semantic awareness promote students’ deep understanding of words, as does morphology instruction. Semantic mapping and semantic feature analysis help students develop and understanding of the relationship among words (Bos & Anders, 1990). Morphology instruction builds students understanding of word

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parts and how affixes change the meanings of words (Carlo et al., 2004; Lesaux et al., 2007), and can help students distinguish the meaning or part of speech of unfamiliar words (Osburne & Mulling, 2001). Teaching academic language is facilitated through cross‐curricular vocabulary instruction using expository or informational text. Ideally, academic language instruction is provided across content areas daily from early grades.

Writing Instruction The ability to hear and record sounds in sequence and vocabulary are essential skills for writing (Mackenzie & Hemmings, 2014). Instruction for students with disabilities is effective when it includes explicit strategy instruction for teaching sentence, paragraph, and essay test writing. Students also benefit when they are taught to use self‐regulation strategies (Mason & Graham, 2008). Likewise, students from diverse backgrounds demonstrate improved writing when provided explicit instruction, extended writing opportunities, and integrated community issues (Ball, 2006). Taken together, the implication is that student from diverse backgrounds with learning disabilities benefit from explicit instruction that also takes into account their cultural background and language proficiency.

New Developments Reading and writing are both language‐based processes; therefore, students from CLD backgrounds who are not proficient English speakers, and students who do not use standard forms of English, are likely to experience difficulties in school. If they also have a language‐based disability, they are likely to experience even greater challenges in learning to read and write. There is consensus in the field regarding effective reading instruction for students with disabilities who are English monolingual (Swanson et  al., 1999; Vaughn et  al., 2000). A growing research base has examined the cross‐linguistic similarities and differences among students who have reading disabilities (Goswami, 2002; Wimmer, 1993; Wimmer et al., 2000; Yap & van der Leij, 1994). There is also research that identifies practices that have positive impact on the reading outcomes of CLD students (Gerber et al., 2004; Kamps et al., 2007; Linan‐Thompson et al., 2003; Santoro, Jitendra, Starosta, & Sacks, 2006; Vaughn, Cirino et  al., 2006; Vaughn, Linan‐ Thompson et  al., 2006; Vaughn, Mathes et  al., 2006). Despite these advances, research that specifically addresses the learning needs of students with disabilities from CLD backgrounds is lacking. Among questions that may lead to better understanding of this area are: ●●

●●

What is the relative impact of the four communicative processes on the ­language and literacy development of students from CLD backgrounds with disabilities? How does written and oral language reflect strengths and gaps in literacy development?

References References 263 ●●

What is the role of hybrid language (oral language) and language mixing ­(written language) in the development of biliteracy?

Due to the persistently low academic achievement of CLD students with and without disabilities, scholars have examined alternative explanations. Chief among them is the dissonance between students’ homes, and community and school norms. Teacher expectations contribute to the academic achievement gap between students of color and white students (McKown & Weinstein, 2008). In general, teachers will align their instruction to the expectations they have for their students. Correspondingly, students will perform congruent to the expectations held for them by their teachers (McKown & Weinstein, 2008). Teacher expectations tend to be the most biased in classrooms with higher cultural ­diversity, resulting in negative expectancy effects by the less‐favored ethnic minority students who are the recipients of the lowered expectations. (McKown & Weinstein, 2008). Culturally responsive instructional models for students from CLD backgrounds should acknowledge culture and language, and how they affect information processes and reciprocal communication in the classroom (Harris‐Murri et al., 2006). Using culturally relevant content and inquiry strategies that incorporate the students’ backgrounds to instruct CLD students can produce positive effects in reading comprehension for students who struggle (Houchen, 2013). For CLD students, there is some evidence that using a bilingual modality of instruction (i.e., native language and English) results in greater increases in vocabulary development than using only English (Farver, Lonigan, & Eppe, 2009; Kiernan & Swisher, 1990; Lugo‐Neris, Jackson, & Goldstein, 2010; Perozzi & Chavez Sanchez, 1992). Although theories of culturally responsive pedagogy (CRP) have been articulated by a number of scholars (see, e.g., Gay, 2002), there is little empirical ­evidence that the implementation of CRP impacts student outcomes. A recent review of the literature identified six studies that implemented CRP practices and included student outcomes. Results indicate that the use of CRP is promising, but findings were inconclusive (Martinez & Linan‐Thompson, 2015). The use of CRP seems to be intuitively sound; however, research is needed to determine which CRP practices are the most effective in improving student outcomes. The use of practices known to be effective with students with disabilities with CRP practices that are effective may provide the combination needed to improve student outcomes.

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14 A Road Less Traveled Writing Research for Diverse Students with Disabilities Megan Dunn Davison and Linda H. Mason

For students in the United States, results reported by the National Assessment of Educational Progress (NAEP) indicated an impasse in writing achievement, with less than 30% of assessed students performing above proficiency in writing skill levels (National Center for Education Statistics, 2003, 2012). Differences in this assessment were noted between school settings for both grade 4 and grade 8 students, with a larger percentage of students attending suburban schools (33%) scoring at or above the proficient level compared to students attending urban (23%) and rural settings (24%), respectively. Additionally, when considering racially and ethnically diverse students in grade 8, those of Asian descent were the most successful, with 89% performing at or above the proficient level, com­ pared to students identified as White (87%), Hispanic (69%), or Black (65%). When viewing performance based on family income level, only 68% of grade 8 students eligible for free or reduced‐price lunch performed at the basic level for writing. Writing performance of students that are linguistically diverse and have no disabilities is even more disheartening, as only 1% of students with limited English abilities are currently scoring at or above proficiency in writing on the grade 8 NAEP. However, when interpreting these findings, it should be noted that National Center for Education Statistics (2012) grade 4 NAEP data did not separate performance of students identified as having limited English proficien­ cies or students with an Individualized Education Plan. Somewhat replicating these findings through analyses of individual US state writing assessments for middle school students with disabilities, Thurlow, Rogers, and Christenson (2010) found that 50% or fewer scored at or above proficient levels in 21 of 22 states. Despite these dismal statistics, there is limited research on the writing ability of diverse students with disabilities in the United States. Information regarding writing achievement and research in international ­settings is also scarce, especially for developing countries, such as the Middle East/North Africa and sub‐Saharan Africa, where only 8.3–10.2% of the popula­ tion aged 15 years or higher complete primary education (Barro & Lee, 2001). UNESCO (2015) estimated that the global youth (those aged 15–24 years) The Wiley Handbook of Diversity in Special Education, First Edition. Edited by Marie Tejero Hughes and Elizabeth Talbott. © 2017 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Published 2017 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

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l­iteracy rate is near 89.4%; however, in 14 countries, nearly 50% of the population possesses no reading or writing skills (e.g., Afghanistan, Ethiopia, Central African Republic, Haiti). International assessment supports the UNESCO findings. In 2012, the Programme for International Student Assessment evaluated 15‐year‐ old students’ achievement in reading, mathematics, and problem solving in 65 countries. Although writing was not the sole focus, the reading assessment results provide a glimpse into the literacy performance from an international perspec­ tive. The reported findings revealed that only 8% of students were identified at top performers (based on scoring 5 or 6 on a 1–6 scale). The highest‐performing country was Shanghai‐China, with the greatest proportion of top‐performing students (25%); followed by Hong Kong‐China, Japan, and Singapore (15%); and Australia, Belgium, Canada, Finland, France, Ireland, Korea, Liechtenstein, New Zealand, Norway, Poland, and Chinese Taipei (10%). Similar findings were also noted in the Progress in 2011 International Reading Literacy Study (PIRLS), which assessed student achievement in reading among grade 4 students, with 24% of students reaching the advanced level in reading in Singapore, followed by the Russian Federation, Northern Ireland, Finland, England, and Hong Kong at 18–19% (Martin & Mullis, 2013). Students from higher socioeconomic back­ grounds, those that spoke the language of the PIRLS assessment as their native language, and students who entered school with early literacy skills were found to have overall higher achievement. More specific information regarding potential differences in urban and rural settings, discrepancies due to linguistic and cultural diversity, and achievements of individuals identified with disabilities within these international settings is sparse. In addition, many countries exclude scores of students with disabilities from their literacy statistics and results of national assessment efforts, with some  providing only a partial picture of their performance (Schuelka, 2012). Nevertheless, globally, across both nondiverse high‐performing settings and those with more diverse populations and settings, reports and commentary regarding student literacy outcomes note performance disadvantages for stu­ dents from immigrant backgrounds, and/or low‐wealth backgrounds. The US national and state assessment results are therefore particularly important, given the recent attention from administrators, educators, and education policy ­makers to the implementation of the Common Core State Standards (CCSS) (National Governors Association Center for Best Practices, 2010) for all stu­ dents, including diverse students with disabilities (Graham & Harris, 2013).

Standards for Written Language In the CCSS for English Language Arts in the United States, grade‐level stand­ ards for writing are included in an integrated model of literacy—a model that recognizes that effective communication requires skills across four modalities: reading, writing, speaking, and listening (National Governors Association Center for Best Practices, 2010). Language is the foundation of each of these four modalities. Students are expected to use written language as a way of offering and supporting opinions, demonstrating understanding of academic subjects,

Writing Difficulties Writing Difficulties 279

and conveying real and imagined experiences and events. Moreover, to meet the academic standards outlined by the CCSS, students are required to adapt the form and content of their written language to accomplish specific tasks, tasks that change depending on the audience and the purpose of the written outcome. Specifically, language is used to link opinions, ideas, and facts through the use of simple, compound, complex, and compound‐complex vocabulary and sentence structures to identify relationships among written text. Similar benchmarking is in place in other international settings based on the PISA and PIRLS data; however, country‐specific curriculum standards are highly variable. For higher‐performing countries, such as Finland, Japan, and New Zealand, the curriculum places greater emphasis on basic skills, relative to the United States, where the focus is on higher‐order thinking. By the end of grade 8 in New Zealand, for example, students should be able to write text that includes: (a)  content that is concise and relevant, (b) paragraphs with related ideas and links between paragraphs, (c) grammatically correct sentences, and (d) words and phrases that are appropriate to the topic (Ministry of Education, 2008). Regardless of current curricular benchmarks in place across the global landscape, it is clear that writing is a skill necessary for academic success of all students. Given the outcomes presented by current NAEP, as well as the PISA and PIRLS assessments, reported results across grade levels and assessments have remained relatively stable, with no statistically significant improvement in closing score gaps  for: (a) low‐ or middle‐performing students in either urban and rural ­settings; (b)  diverse students, including racially/ethnically diverse students or ­linguistically diverse students, and thus also English‐language learners (ELLs); (c) students of low‐economic status; or (d) students with disabilities. Unfortunately, disaggregating writing outcomes by each of these student populations—in particu­ lar by ethnicity, ELL status, disability status, or socioeconomic background—is dif­ ficult, given the limited research on these issues in the international context. Therefore, in this work, we will explore diverse students with disabilities, along with the pertinent writing intervention research and student outcomes within ­specific instructional settings: (a) urban and rural settings in the United States, and (b) international context. First, we will describe globally noted common writing difficulties and the instructional frameworks used to support writing development and performance of diverse students with disabilities.

Writing Difficulties Previous research has documented the written language difficulties of low‐ performing school‐age children, including those with high‐incidence disabilities related to learning disabilities (LD) in specific academic areas (e.g., dyslexia and  dysgraphia), language (e.g., speech and language impairment [LI] and ­developmental and intellectual disabilities), and attention and behavior, such as ADHD and EBD (emotional and behavior disorders). Students with disabilities, for example, can experience problems in any area of the writing process, such as  planning, composing, and revision, directly affecting a written product in terms of content and text structure productivity, lexical diversity, grammar,

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s­ entence type and complexity, and mechanics (i.e., spelling, capitalization, and punctuation) (Fayol, 1999; Gillam & Johnston, 1992; Windsor, Scott, & Street, 2000). Students with disabilities have been found to be less productive in both narrative and expository writing when compared to same‐age, typically develop­ ing peers, producing significantly fewer words and demonstrating less lexical diversity in writing samples compared to their peers (Fey, Catts, Proctor‐ Williams, Tomblin, & Zhang, 2004; Scott & Windsor, 2000). In other words, these students use a more restrictive range of vocabulary in their writing. Similarly, for students from linguistically diverse backgrounds or those that are nonnative speakers, constructing an effective written text can be especially prob­ lematic due to limited abilities in foundational oral language abilities, and in par­ ticular vocabulary, given that these students typically have reduced or limited vocabulary repertoire to access when writing (Brea‐Spahn & Dunn Davison, 2012; Dunn Davison & Brea‐Spahn, 2011). Additionally, students with disabilities produce significantly more grammati­ cal errors in their narrative and expository writing when compared to their peers (Scott & Windsor, 2000; Windsor et  al., 2000). Specifically, previous research revealed that students with disabilities wrote fewer correct complex sentences and deleted morphological inflections (i.e., word modifications for different grammatical and syntactic categories) at a higher rate when compared to their grade‐level peers (Fey et al., 2004; Gillam & Johnston, 1992). Because students with disabilities, and in particular students with disabilities from diverse backgrounds, experience difficulties in the writing process, it is important to understand the instructional frameworks that may support their success in writing.

Instructional Frameworks Contemporary theorists recognize writing as a cognitive, linguistic, affective, behavioral, and physical process set within a larger sociocultural context (Harris, Graham, MacArthur, Reid, & Mason, 2011). Here, we review three frameworks that support writing instruction—the Writing Process Model, Cognitive Apprenticeship, and Sheltered Instruction Observation Protocol (SIOP)—to provide the context for effective intervention for diverse students with disabilities.

The Writing Process Model Hayes and Flower’s (1980) foundational writing process model—a model imple­ mented across a number of instructional approaches for written expression— classifies the various activities that occur during writing. The authors identified four major writing processes, namely: (a) planning, (b) translating, (c) reviewing, and (d) monitoring. Planning requires the writer to create a conceptual plan to  complete the written task and includes generating ideas, organizing those ideas, and setting goals to achieve the desired written outcome. In translating, the writer produces the conceptual plan by encoding the ideas into meaningful

Cognitive Apprenticeship Cognitive Apprenticeship 281

words, phrases, clauses, and sentences. While reviewing, the writer reads the text produced and then makes revisions or modifications. Monitoring includes the writer’s metacognitive processes for linking and coordinating planning, translating, and reviewing. In their 1980 model, Hayes and Flower presented evi­ dence that these processes overlap in actual writing and concluded that writing involves complex problem solving, whereby information is processed by a system of function‐specific components. In revising the original model, Hayes (1996) adopted three basic cognitive processes: (a) text interpretation, (b) reflection, and (c) text production. In the revised model, Hayes sought to identify how ­various aspects of cognition interact with the three processes, distinguishing the roles of long‐term memory, short‐term memory, and motivation. The 1996 Hayes model specifies the context of long‐term memory in differentiating among task schemas, topic knowledge, audience knowledge, linguistic knowledge, and genre knowledge. In addition, this model identifies the way in which different aspects of working memory (e.g., phonological memory and visual‐spatial memory) are involved in the process of writing. Importantly, it postulates that relative strengths and weaknesses can differentially affect the writing process and, therefore, the written outcome. For example, a student may lack the ability to combine simple sentences into more complex forms during written text ­production, yet be skilled in using phonological knowledge for accurate spelling during the reviewing process. When considering students with disabilities, previous research has indicated that they typically have difficulty with all the aforementioned writing processes, which directly affects the productivity, complexity, and accuracy of the written outcome (Berninger, 1998). More specifically, according to the assumptions of this model, for students from diverse backgrounds who also have disabilities, weak underlying skills, such as language or working memory, significantly undermine the efficiency of the writing processes. Therefore, a potential implication in the application of this model to work with diverse students with disabilities is the importance of intervention and instructional strategies to include opportunities to use a variety of written language skills at the various stages of the writing process.

Cognitive Apprenticeship The term “cognitive apprenticeship” has been used to describe a range of instruc­ tional approaches for teaching writing. In cognitive apprenticeship, thinking is made visible (Collins, Brown, & Holum, 1991). Tenets of cognitive apprentice­ ship include the importance of (a) situating learning in real world application and contexts, (b) explanation and modeling in teaching, (c) scaffolding students’ per­ formance through coaching, and (d) providing students with the opportunity to reflect on their performance, to share their thought processes, and to explore strategies. Strategy instruction in writing includes the premises of cognitive apprenticeship by helping students learn “how” to think through the writing processes (Hayes & Flower, 1980). Self‐Regulated Strategy Development (SRSD), a well‐studied instructional approach for improving the written expression

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­ erformance of struggling writers, supports cognitive apprenticeship by provid­ p ing students with scaffolded, teacher‐supported explicit instruction for strategy acquisition and instructional procedures for supporting students’ self‐regulated learning (Hayes & Flower, 1996). We describe this approach next.

Self‐regulated Strategy Development (SRSD) SRSD draws upon multiple theories to address students’ deficits in planning and organizing, drafting, revising, and editing, namely (a) effective strategy instruc­ tion (Berninger, 1998); (b) meta‐cognition (Collins et al., 1991); (c) cognitive‐ behavior modification (Mason, Kubina, Kostewicz, Mong Cramer, & Datchuk, 2013); (d) self‐regulation (Graham & Harris, 2006); (e) motivation (Baker, Gersten, & Scanlon, 2002); (f ) Vygotsky’s (1986) social origin of self‐control and zone of proximal development (Harris, Graham, Brindle, & Sandmel, 2009); and (g) Flower and Hayes’s (1980) iterative writing process model (Meichenbaum, 1977). More specifically, the SRSD approach places an empha­ sis on teaching students to improve self‐control and awareness of the writing process by developing self‐regulation skills in conjunction with specific learn­ ing strategies for writing. Six steps for learning strategy acquisition are included in SRSD lessons— develop preskills, discuss the strategy, model the strategy, memorize the strategy, guided practice, and independent practice. Additional steps for self‐regulation— self‐instruction, goal setting, self‐monitoring, and self‐reinforcement—are also imbedded in SRSD instruction. Importantly, instruction is recursive rather than linear; instructional stages and self‐regulation are revisited as needed to support student mastery in strategy application, to reinforce maintenance, and/ or to scaffold students’ skills for generalization. SRSD is prominent in the research literature, with well‐established powerful effects for students with disabilities (Harris & Graham, 1985). In describing the stages for strategy ­ ­acquisition and self‐regulation, we illustrate instruction by a classroom teacher leading small groups of diverse learners with disabilities in learning to write opinions. Prior to instruction, the teacher should develop a list of potential writing prompts to be used throughout the instruction. Student choice is important; therefore, prompts should be grouped in pairs, so that students have a choice of two prompts in each writing session. Prompts should also be culturally and con­ textually sensitive. For example, asking students to give their opinion on restau­ rant choices may not be appropriate in a rural area with no student‐friendly restaurants, or for low‐wealth students who may not have the resources to go to a restaurant. We recommend collecting one opinion paper prior to instruction for establishing students’ baseline performance. When adopting this strategy, the teacher first develops pre‐skills and background knowledge. Instruction includes describing and discussing the impor­ tance of stating an opinion, as well as provides and solicits examples of when an opinion is useful in the students’ cultural context (e.g., explaining the reasons for  having a piñata at the school’s holiday party). The teacher also develops

Sheltered Instruction Observation Protocol (SIOP) Sheltered Instruction Observation Protocol (SIOP) 283

the  students’ knowledge and vocabulary, as needed, for understanding the ­specific elements that should be incorporated with writing an opinion. During the discuss it phase, the teacher introduces any strategy mnemonic, discusses each strategy step, and explains the benefits of the strategy for improving o ­ pinion writing. This helps the students establish goal setting, by setting a goal to learn the strategy. Then, students examine their previously written paper for compo­ nents. By graphing their previous performance, self‐monitoring is established. The teacher cognitively models it, modeling while thinking aloud, by writing an opinion while using the POW + TREE strategy and all self‐regulation procedures and appropriate instructional materials. The teacher corrects for potential nega­ tive self‐instruction (e.g., “I don’t have the words.”), and uses positive self‐instructions (e.g., “Using POW + TREE will help me write a better opinion.”), then graphs performance and verbally self‐reinforces for applying the strategy to write an effective opinion. After modeling, students develop their personalized self‐instructions to use before, during, and after the writing activity. Given that self‐instructions are statements said to oneself, these can be written in the student’s own language. Throughout instruction, students are participating in the memorize it aspect of this process. For students with memorization difficulties or challenges with the vocabulary to be learned, “rapid fire” cue cards, whiteboards or chalkboards, and oral group or peer practice for memorization can be used prior to or after a lesson. During the support it phase, the teacher works collaboratively with stu­ dents by scaffolding assistance, shifting responsibility for strategy use, and self‐ regulation from the teacher to the students. Peer support in groups and pairs can also be used to provide scaffolding for written vocabulary to be used and for  strategy use. In addition, the teacher monitors students’ performance in strategy application and self‐regulation procedures for writing an opinion. Collaborative teacher and student group or pair guided practice is repeated until students demonstrate that they can use the strategy to write an opinion. During independent practice, students work independently while the teacher monitors performance to ensure the maintenance of learning over time. At this time, the teacher fosters generalization of the strategies learned in other ­subjects, classrooms, and writing tasks. In summary, a potential implication of using cognitive apprenticeship as devel­ oped in SRSD instruction for diverse learners is that the model provides a viable ­ rocess and mechanism for accounting for individual differences in the writing p the final written product. Cognitive apprenticeship also allows for instruction to be tailored specifically to students’ individual needs. For students from diverse backgrounds, whose experience with the writing process can be varied, it is critical to allow for additional instruction time, as well as individual instruction.

Sheltered Instruction Observation Protocol (SIOP) SIOP is an instructional model that has been proven effective in addressing the  academic needs of students without disabilities who have limited English proficiency (Echevarria, Short, & Powers, 2006). The SIOP model consists of

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eight interrelated components: (a) lesson preparation, (b) building background, (c) comprehensible input, (d) strategies, (e) interaction, (f ) practice/application, (g) lesson delivery, and (h) review and assessment. Using instructional strategies connected to each of these components, educators are able to design and deliver lessons that specifically address the academic and linguistic needs of students with limited English skills. The model incorporates instructional features of cooperative learning, reading comprehension, the writing process, and differ­ entiated instruction. However, the model also addresses the unique needs for students from linguistically diverse backgrounds by accommodating for second language development and academic literacy. This is accomplished by having lessons that include language objectives focusing on oral language develop­ ment, acquisition of academic vocabulary and academic literacy, as well as opportunities for students to develop background knowledge in dual‐language classrooms. Language objectives are directly correlated to content objectives, thus aligning closely to the CCSS and English Language Proficiency Standards. Identification of the academic language embedded in the lesson’s content will  become the basis for each lesson’s language objectives and include the ­function of language, including key vocabulary, concept words, grammar, or language structures. Previous research indicates that varied oral language abilities, as well as lim­ ited literacy experiences, may leave students from linguistically diverse back­ grounds at a disadvantage. Thus, building vocabulary and background knowledge by incorporating active learning, or cognitive strategies, to the writ­ ing process is an essential part of the writing instruction for students who are ELLs (Rivera, Moughamian, Lesaux, & Francis, 2008). Additionally, Bedore, Peña, and Boerger (2010) suggested that students from linguistically diverse backgrounds are most likely to benefit from instruction that increases both vocabulary breadth and depth. Thus, they recommended: (a) providing repeated exposure to key vocabulary words in multiple contexts; (b) utilizing children’s knowledge of their first, or home, language to learn English words, particularly through the use of ­cognates; and (c) teaching children explicitly about words by directly teaching them vocabulary words and definitions and by discussing their parts of speech, roots, and morphological components (Bedore et al., 2010, p. 98). When considering ELL students with disabilities, it is expected that their limited oral language ability and learning difficulties will also significantly affect the writing process; therefore, instructional strate­ gies similar to those aimed at supporting oral l­anguage could be employed to ­support the learning process. Although SIOP has been established as effective for improving writing skills of students with linguistically diverse backgrounds, it has not been specifically tested with students with linguistically diverse backgrounds and disabilities. Rather, it focuses on all students with limited English proficiency in both dual‐ language and two‐way immersion classrooms. The instructional approaches in SIOP, however, do show promise in effectively enhancing written language abilities of students from linguistically diverse backgrounds with and without disabilities in the context of the writing process and cognitive apprenticeship models.

Diverse Urban Settings Diverse Urban Settings 285

Current Research: What Works Writing outcomes for students with disabilities indicate that writing instruction, particularly instruction that draws upon the SRSD framework, significantly improves students’ quality of writing (Gillespie & Graham, 2014; Graham, Kiuhara, McKeown, & Harris, 2012; Sandmel & Graham, 2011; Santangelo, Harris, & Graham, 2007; Zito, Adkins, Gavins, Harris, & Graham, 2007). SRSD, developed by Harris and Graham (1985), is supported by the largest evidence base as an effective writing intervention across grade levels (Harris et al., 2009; Harris, Graham, & Mason, 2006). SRSD for writing has been noted as an evi­ dence‐based practice: (a) in the Institute for Education Sciences Practice Guide: Teaching Elementary School Students to Be Effective Writers (Graham, Bollinger et  al., 2012) and (b) by a panel of independent researchers (Baker, Chard, Ketterlin‐Geller, Apichatabutra, & Doabler, 2009). However, information on the impact of SRSD writing instruction specifically for improving writing ability of students from diverse backgrounds is scarce, as disaggregated data for this stu­ dent population is limited. In our attempt to capture what works for improving writing instruction, we review research conducted with diverse students with disabilities, focusing on seminal studies in writing instruction that include students from diverse urban and rural settings, as well as international settings (our review is limited to articles published in English‐language journals). For the purpose of this assessment, study settings were classified as diverse urban ­settings when located in central cities of a metropolitan statistical area with a population of 50,000 or more, as defined in the US Bureau of the Census, and included students from linguistically, culturally, ethnically, and racially non­ mainstream backgrounds. Similarly, settings were classified as diverse rural ­settings when located outside of a metropolitan statistical area and included ­students from linguistically, culturally, ethnically, and racially nonmainstream backgrounds.

Diverse Urban Settings We will describe four studies (Foxworth & Mason, 2016; Graham, Harris, & Mason, 2005; Harris & Graham, 2009; Mason, Kubina et al., 2013) to illustrate the positive effects of SRSD writing instruction in diverse urban settings. Previous studies on effective intervention strategies have noted that SRSD has a strong positive impact on increasing the writing performance of late elementary and middle school students attending schools in urban settings (Gillespie & Graham, 2014; Graham, Kiuhara et  al., 2012; Sandmel & Graham, 2011). Two additional intervention studies focusing on students with limited English profi­ ciency in urban settings will be also described (Gomez, Parker, Lara‐Alecio, Ochoa, & Gomez, 1996; Prater & Bermudez, 1996). Foxworth and Mason (2016) used a multi‐probe, multiple baseline design to examine the effects of SRSD for a narrative writing strategy on essay‐writing skills of adolescents with disabilities. This recent study sought to incorporate new US standards for secondary‐level writing (e.g., CCSS) into narrative

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s­ trategy‐specific instruction. Six students (one Caucasian and one Asian student with EBD, one Hispanic student with LI, as well as two Hispanic students and one African American with LD) participated in one‐to‐one researcher‐delivered instruction. The reported findings indicated that participating students included a greater number of strategy‐specific elements and all demonstrated improve­ ments with respect to their baseline scores. All students also made significant gains in the number of story grammar elements, and all students, with the excep­ tion of the one Asian student who was expelled from school during the study, demonstrated limited improvements in narrative quality. Importantly, after instruction, all participants were able to transfer skills across a history or social studies setting and could more accurately differentiate narrative writing prompts from expository and persuasive writing prompts. The authors noted that word choice, imagination, appropriately sequenced events, sentence structure, and/or grammar may have influenced the weaker improvements noted in the partici­ pants’ writing quality. Thus, they posited that, for the group of diverse learners in this study, explicit instruction in these areas was likely needed. In two randomized control studies, SRSD instruction for young struggling writers (i.e., students who scored more than two‐thirds of a standard deviation below on a standardized writing measure) was evaluated with grade 2 and grade 3 elementary students in an urban setting (Graham et al., 2005; Harris & Graham, 2009). The study sample comprised of 66 students in grade 2 and 73 students in grade 3, of whom 13 and 20, respectively, were identified as having disabilities (LD, speech/language disability, attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, and behavior disability). The authors also assessed their socioeconomic status in terms of qualifying for free and reduced‐price lunch, whereby 57 of the partici­ pants in grade 2, and 67 in grade 3 were deemed as living in low‐wealth house­ holds. In terms of their racial background, 78% (grade 2) and 75% (grade 3) of the student participants were noted to be from African American backgrounds, whereas 8% (grade 2) and 10% (grade 3) were Hispanic. In both grades, English was the primary language of 87% of the participants, with the remainder ­speaking both English and Spanish. In both studies, the sample demographics mirrored the school district population. The authors reported that students who received student‐paired graduate‐ assistant‐delivered SRSD instruction spent significantly more time planning during the writing process. In addition, the overall written quality of student‐ written stories significantly increased (ES = 0.87–2.42) and included a greater number of narrative elements (ES = 1.52–1.79). Although the study data was not disaggregated for students with diverse backgrounds and disability, a lack of sig­ nificant differences across academic measures and demographics at pretest and the lack of significant writing growth for students assigned to the control group (e.g., narrative elements at pretest mean = 2.21; posttest mean = 2.83) highlight the positive effects of SRSD for all students receiving treatment. In a quasi‐experimental study with 33 urban middle‐school low‐achieving ­students with and without disabilities, Mason, Kubina, et al. (2013) investigated the effects one‐to‐one graduate assistant‐delivered SRSD instruction for quick writing (i.e., 10‐minute short constructed responses for summarizing or ­synthesizing information) instruction when compared to the control group

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(comprising of 51 students with the same pretest performance) and 195 students with average or above‐average writing abilities. The authors further indicated that 12 of the 33 participants had IEPs for high‐incidence disabilities, 28 had low socioeconomic status, and 27 were African American. Results yielded by ANOVA indicated no significant differences for students at pretest or posttest based on gender, race, or socioeconomic status. After instruction, whereby students received SRSD for quick writing, when compared to the control group, those in the intervention group were able to significantly increase the number of written elements (ES = 0.81), organizational quality (ES = 1.11), and persuasive elements (ES = 0.79). Importantly, students that received instruction were able to close the gap with the group of 195 average or above‐average writers in organization quality. Given the lack of differences for performance across demographics noted previously, SRSD for quick writing indicated great promise for improving ­students’ persuasive quick writing, and, in particular, for students from diverse, urban backgrounds. Two classroom‐implemented studies investigated written language outcomes in students identified as Spanish–English ELLs (Gomez et  al., 1996; Prater & Bermudez, 1996). Gomez et  al. (1996) compared the effects of free writing instruction and structured writing instruction on the sample comprising of 48 grade 6 Hispanic students identified as low achieving. The study was conducted in an urban school in southeast Texas using a pre/post group treatment design. Students were allowed to write in either English or Spanish, and those assigned to the free writing experimental group practiced writing 2–4 days a week. There were not time or topic constraints during the free writing time. While classroom teachers provided no error correction, communication regarding writing errors was encouraged and supported by the teacher. On the other hand, students assigned to the structured writing experimental group were required to write for 9 minutes (timed) every day based on a topic assigned by the classroom teacher. The teacher made error corrections, but there was no organized discussion of the errors or correction process. Results yielded by subsequent analyses of the data pertaining to the two treat­ ment groups indicated that both made positive gains in analytic rating scores (topic development, mechanics, organization of thoughts, meaning conveyed, and syntactic constructions), and no statistically significant differences were observed between the two groups. Additionally, no statistical significances were observed in the holistic scores (overall quality and clarity of communication), or in productivity (frequency count of words written), although students who received the structured writing instruction scored higher across all measures when compared those assigned to the free writing treatment. Students who received the structured writing instruction scored significantly higher on micro‐ indicators (ps < 0.05; percentage of correctly spelled words, percentage of correct word sequences). These results suggest that structured writing may be more effective in enhancing ELLs’ structural aspects of writing, spelling in particular. Lastly, a second pre/post group treatment study examined the effectiveness of peer‐response group intervention focusing on writing in English. The study participants were 46 grade 4 students identified as having limited English profi­ ciency (45 students were identified as Hispanic, and one student was identified

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as Asian American) attending a school in an urban city in Texas (Prater & Bermudez, 1996). All students attended regular education classrooms and, although they were identified as having limited English proficiency, the students were not enrolled in ESL or bilingual classrooms at the time of the study. While student participants were not identified as having disabilities, it is important to understand the differences in written language outcomes in students from lin­ guistically diverse backgrounds. Students were randomly assigned to individual sessions or small groups (including four and five students). Teacher‐provided instruction took place daily for 3 weeks. Students who were assigned to the small groups received instruction using five steps: (a) Step 1: students met in groups and jointly chose a writing topic; students then worked individually on writing, (b) Step 2: group shared first draft and gave group feedback (positive, elabora­ tion, and clarification), (c) Step 3: students individually revised writing based on group feedback in Step 2, (d) Step 4: group edited each other’s written response, and (e) Step 5: students individually rewrote final written response. For students assigned to the individual instruction treatment, the same five steps were fol­ lowed using only individual work. Measures included overall quality of written samples, number of words, number of sentences, and number of idea units. The study results indicated no significant group differences for overall quality (p = 0.35) and for number of sentences (p = 0.06). However, for students that were assigned to small groups, significant group differences were observed for number of words (p = 0.05) and number of idea units (p = 0.001), suggesting the potential positive impact of peer‐response groups on the written language of students with limited English proficiency. In summary, the studies reviewed here support the effectiveness of SRSD on writing performance of students struggling with writing that attend early ele­ mentary and middle schools in urban settings. Additionally, for students identi­ fied as ELLs who are educated in urban settings, there is promising research suggesting the utility of peer response and using explicit instruction on writing structure to improve students’ writing outcomes.

Diverse Rural Settings Students with disabilities attending rural schools typically attain lower academic success compared to their peers from metropolitan areas (Rojewski, 1999). Small, school‐based teams often result in teachers working in isolation, with limited opportunities to observe others’ model effective instructional methods for small groups of students (Farmer, Hall, Petrin, Hamm, & Dadisman, 2000). In addition, research on the oral and written narrative abilities of students aged 9−12 years in rural Wyoming indicated that their written narratives were significantly less developed when compared to students’ oral abilities with less complex and shorter written components (Gillam & Johnston, 1992). This finding suggests the critical need for interventions that focus on writing in narratives as well as other genres as required by the CCSS. Given the remote context of rural schools, developing interventions that target improving students’ academic skills in rural settings is critical. We next illustrate three studies conducted in diverse

Diverse Rural Settings Diverse Rural Settings 289

rural settings (Barry & Moore, 2004; Mason et  al., 2015; Therrien, Hughes, Kapelski, & Mokhtari, 2009). In a single group pre/post comparison study, Barry and Moore (2004) exam­ ined the impact of self‐directed organizational strategy instruction on a state competency exam on writing performance of 20 grade 8 students diagnosed with  specific learning disability (SLD). The study sample comprised of 90% Caucasian and 10% African American students. Self‐directed organization ­strategy instruction draws upon the work of De La Paz (1999) where, through modeling, students were taught to use their hand and five fingers as an iconic memory stimulus to prompt format and organization structure of a five‐paragraph expository and persuasive essay. Researcher‐delivered instruction was provided over 12 weeks, with the first 6 weeks focusing on teaching students the basic organizational structure of persuasive and expository essay, as indicated by the self‐directed organization strategy, where the thumb represents a restatement of the topic, the  index, middle, and ringer finger correspond to three reasons or arguments, and the pinky represents the concluding statement. The remaining 6 weeks of instruction focused on word choice, development of ideas, and elabo­ ration of the  body of the written essay. Essays were assessed using the state writing c­ ompetency rubric. The authors reported that students who received self‐directed organization strategy instruction improved the average of rubric scores of both expository and persuasive writing in a practice state competency exam from pre‐ to postassess­ ment (ES = 0.418). The average of the scores achieved by the students with SLD was not significantly different from that of the general education students (ES = 0.160). At the same time, however, Barry and Moore (2004) stated that, at preas­ sessment, only 10% of the participants with SLD were able to write an essay that met a passing score, while at postassessment 80% of the students with SLD received a passing score. In a two‐level treatment/control single‐factor pre/post experimental design study conducted with 42 grade 7 and grade 8 students with LD, Therrien et al. (2009) examined the effectiveness of the Strategy Instruction Model (SIM) as a means of improving essay test writing performance. The study sample comprised of 7% Hispanic students, and the authors noted that 22% of the school population was economically disadvantaged. Graduate‐assistant‐delivered SIM instruction included: (a) establishing the purpose of the strategy; (b) teaching how, when, and why to use the strategy; (c) different ways to remember the strategy; (d) developing goals for learning the strategy; (e) modeling the strategy; and (f ) guided practice. Students were taught a six‐step writing strategy, denoted as ANSWER, as an acronym of the individual steps—Analyze the action words in the question, Notice the requirements of the question, Set up an outline, Work in detail, Engineer your answer, and Review your answer (Hughes, Schumaker, & Deshler, 2005). The study results indicated that, compared to the treatment group, stu­ dents in the SIM instructional group had greater effect gains following instruc­ tion on posttest essays as measured by a strategy‐specific rubric (ES = 1.69), while also demonstrating medium gains as measured by a general analytic rubric (ES = 0.51–0.68). Although the authors noted that there was an observa­ ble difference within the treatment group (M = 2.729; SD = 1.62), student

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characteristics were not identified. Moreover, while additional support for some students was recommended by the authors, they failed to indicate if the partici­ pating Hispanic students with LD were within this category or were successful. In a large randomized control study, Mason and colleagues (2015) examined the effects of professional development for SRSD persuasive writing to improve rural grade 6 students’ writing. The study participants were 19 general education teachers and 564 grade 6 students in 16 schools across four US states located in the Southeast, Deep South, Far West, and North West. Eight matched‐paired schools were randomly assigned to SRSD instruction or business‐as‐usual con­ trol. In the participating schools, the percentage of students eligible for free and reduced‐price lunch ranged from 28% to 98%. Of the six schools in the sample, four had a predominately Hispanic student population (mean for the four schools = 70.8%). Across all the schools, 47% of student population performed below grade level in reading and 68.8% demonstrated performance below grade level in mathematics. Following professional development (comprising of a workshop and a consultation model), teachers implemented SRSD for persuasive writing as whole class instruction. Student support services were provided as documented on students’ Individual Education Plan (IEP). No significant differences between treatment groups or demographic groups were found at pretest. On the other hand, results of Multilevel Model (MLM) analyses, conducted to account for nesting at the school level, indicated that, when compared to the control group, the intervention group’s performance in the number of persuasive elements written after instruction improved significantly (ES = 0.90 pre‐ to postinstruction; ES = 1.75 preinstruction to maintenance). In  comparing the scores for total parts at maintenance for struggling and ­nonstruggling writers, including students with disabilities, in the intervention group, a large effect size (ES = 0.75) in favor of nonstruggling writers was detected. In summary, strategy instruction has great promise for improving writing ­performance of elementary, middle, and high school students with and without disabilities that are educated in diverse rural settings. Students receiving treat­ ment scored significantly higher than did those assigned to the control group on ratings related to number of written elements and overall quality.

International Settings In recent years, the number of international research studies focusing on ­students with disabilities has increased considerably. Two intervention studies, conducted in Turkey (Guzel‐Ozmen, 2006) and in Spain (García‐Sánchez & Fidalgo‐Redondo, 2006), are particularly pertinent to this investigation. Although participants in these studies have not reflected ethnically or linguistically diverse student populations within their respective countries, their findings provide further evidence on strategies that can be effective for populations with ­disabilities. In the aforementioned studies, the authors conducted intervention research using instructional strategies drawing upon the SRSD framework. Guzel‐Ozmen (2006) implemented a modified cognitive strategy instruction for writing (CSIW) for grade 4/grade 5 through grade 8 students with mild

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i­ ntellectual disabilities in Turkey using a multiple‐baseline design. The researcher delivered instruction to small groups through four phases—text structure instruction, modeling, guided practice, and independent practice. The instruc­ tion was delivered three times per week over the course of 6 months. Traditionally, CSIW instruction includes an emphasis on modeling aloud strategies and uses a series of visual supports that provide students with structural or procedural sup­ port (e.g., graphic organizers). The author of this study implemented a modified CSIW instructional model by using the aforementioned tenets with the SRSD instructional format in order to promote self‐regulation. Effects of instruction were measured by assessing the improvement in length, coherence, number of elements, and overall quality of students’ written samples. More specifically, baseline measures of number of words ranged from 29 to 100 words, increasing to 97–194 words at postinstruction. In addition, at baseline, students received scores between 1 and 4.3 on the element scale. Thus, their postinstruction scores of 8.7–13 signified a marked improvement. Additionally, coherence scores ranged from 1.4 to 3.1 at baseline, increasing to 12.3–22.6 at postinstruction. Lastly, quality scores increased from baseline (1−1.6) to post­ instruction (3−6). The results yielded by this preliminary study suggest that incorporating CSIW and SRSD instruction for Turkish students with mild intel­ lectual disabilities across different grades resulted in marked improvement in over­ all written length, number of elements, coherence, and quality of students’ writing. García‐Sánchez and Fidalgo‐Redondo (2006) conducted their study in Spain, aiming to examine writing outcomes of 121 grade 5 and grade 6 students with a specific learning disability (LD) in writing. Participating students were randomly assigned to SRSD instruction, cognitive self‐regulation instruction (i.e., a social cognitive model of sequential skill acquisition), or to a control group that received the standard curriculum instruction on handwriting, grammar, and spelling, with no process‐oriented or cognitive strategy instruction. The two instructional groups received supplemental educational psychologist‐delivered instruction in either SRSD or the social cognitive model three times weekly in small groups during one‐half of the academic year. The authors reported that both instruc­ tional groups achieved higher scores in productivity (ES = 1.989), in density of relational coherence (ES = 1.058), and in total structure (ES = 0.879). Similarly, for reader‐based measures, both instructional groups identified higher levels of self‐efficacy in structure (ES = 1.308), coherence (ES = 1.948), and quality (ES = 1.173). At the same time, no statistically significant differences were observed between the two instructional groups. Based on their findings, the authors noted the importance of modeling and the development of students’ self‐efficacy and self‐regulation, when teaching writing to students with LD. In summary, it is clear that much more research should be conducted in inter­ national settings to examine effective interventions for students who are identi­ fied as having disabilities. Although our review was constrained to research reported in journals published in English, the studies analyzed in this work sug­ gest that instruction using cognitive apprenticeship as a strategy to support the writing process has a positive potential for students’ success in writing, including increases in their ability to produce longer, more accurate, and more complex text in international educational settings. This research parallels the growing

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literature reporting on research focusing on rural and urban students with and without disabilities who are educated in the United States.

Implications for Practice and Future Research Becoming a proficient writer is challenging for most students. Writing is a complex process that requires the activation and coordination of advanced ­linguistic ability, including, but not limited to vocabulary, syntax, spelling, and writing conventions (Berninger, 1998). It is well documented that students with disabilities have less sophisticated writing skills when compared to same‐ age and grade level peers. Specifically, extant research has shown that students with disabilities consistently produce less grammatically complex sentences and use fewer words when writing (Scott & Windsor, 2000). Students who lack proficiency with general written language skills and strategies will be doubly challenged to successfully acquire academic‐specific skills and strategies nec­ essary for success in the classroom. The research studies conducted in this field that were reviewed in this work have established that students with disabilities from diverse backgrounds struggle with writing due to one or more of the fol­ lowing aspects: (a) lack of knowledge in regard to text structure; (b) limited English‐language proficiency or native language proficiency; (c) limited ability to self‐monitor; (d) lack of understanding of the writing process; and (e) lack of experience with academic literacy. Therefore, poor basic or general written language ability, especially when combined with absence of effective strategies, can result in limited options for academic success and opportunities after the completion of postsecondary schooling for diverse students with and without disabilities. One model of effective writing intervention strategies, cognitive apprentice­ ship, namely SRSD, has been implemented across both diverse urban and rural settings in the United States, as well as in international settings, and holds great promise for these populations. In fact, SRSD instruction for writing has been well established as an evidence‐based practice for elementary through high school students who are struggling with writing (including both students with and without disabilities) (Baker et  al., 2002). However, one seemingly missing piece in the current literature regarding instructional approaches for students from diverse backgrounds who are also identified as having disabilities is the attention to foundational language skills, including vocabulary and sentence structure within the context of written expression instruction. It is widely estab­ lished that students with disabilities exhibit overall weaker vocabulary, syntactic, and morphological abilities in their oral language, and that those weaknesses often impede the mastery of later literacy abilities, including written language (Nippold, 1998). Therefore, it is important to include additional language instruction as a part of the strategy instruction in writing, especially for diverse learners with disabilities. In an initial investigation, for example, Mason, Dunn Davison, et  al. (2013) sought to investigate the vocabulary and syntactic components of students’ ­written language production. A randomized control trial was conducted to

Implications for Practice and Future Research Implications for Practice and Future Research 293

e­ valuate the impact of two SRSD instructional programs (TWA: Think before reading, think while reading, and think after reading for reading comprehension; TWA + a writing strategy) in comparison to a control group that did not receive any treatment. The study participants were grade 4 students from diverse backgrounds (approximately 10% Asian American and 64% African American) with and without disabilities in rural and urban settings in the Midwest. The study results revealed that SRSD instruction had a positive effect on student vocabulary, as measured by number of total words written and number of differ­ ent words written (ES = 0.096–0.143, respectively) when compared to the ­control group. However, no effects were found for students’ syntactic abilities, as  measured by mean length of morphological units at the word level and a ­subordination index. The findings of this study support the importance of collaborative instruction that includes learning vocabulary through the use ­ of  cognitive strategies during reading and writing. Moreover, they warrant ­further investigation into instructional strategies that would strengthen syntactic complexity in writing to include more complex sentence structures, including conjunctions and clauses. Furthermore, Escamilla (2000) and Shanahan and Beck (2006) cautioned that, while teaching specific writing elements has its benefits, a one‐size‐fits‐all approach to writing instruction will not enhance academic performance for stu­ dents who struggle, especially students who are not learning to write in their native language. Instead, it is suggested that individualized and intensive instruc­ tion on foundational language abilities, while considering first language influ­ ence for struggling writers, is the most effective means of promoting written language skills (Bedore et al., 2010). In the review of literature for linguistically diverse students educated in US urban and rural settings, it was noted that building vocabulary and background knowledge through active learning or ­cognitive strategies might be necessary to reach grade level writing standards. In summary, based on the instructional models presented in this chapter, edu­ cators may improve students’ written language abilities when they instruct stu­ dents in the process and procedures that assist students in making sense of the written text, when modeling and explaining writing strategies, and when they provide active and independent participation opportunities for students. More specifically, research reviewed in this chapter suggests that the following recom­ mendations are particularly meaningful for diverse students with and without disabilities: (a) providing a variety of text at various levels; (b) modeling, through think aloud, content‐specific strategies; (c) ensuring that students understand the goal of the strategy as well as the process; and (d) directly and explicitly instructing students in the strategies for successful written language outcomes. Because language difficulties are the root of writing difficulties, we also posit that students also need explicit vocabulary and sentence structure instruction in order to complement the direct and explicit strategy instruction of written lan­ guage (Mason, Dunn Davison et al., 2013). In addition, students should be pro­ vided opportunities to use and experience language through extended discussion of written text meaning and interpretation as noted in SIOP. Together, this may provide better academic opportunities and understanding of the writing process expected in the academic setting.

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It is clear that more research is needed to identify the effectiveness of i­nstructional strategies in writing for students from diverse backgrounds with and without disabilities, including low‐incidence disabilities. Additional study with well‐represented minority populations (e.g., African American, Asian American, American Indian, and Hispanic/Latino populations) in the United States as well as other international settings is critical for a better understanding of how to best target writing within the academic curriculum and as best practice for students who are struggling or low‐achieving in their written language skills. Importantly, future research is needed to understand the factors specific to urban and rural settings that may support or impede the implementation of lin­ guistic and cognitive strategy instruction with students when compared to other settings. Extant research has provided evidence that not only older but also younger students (in elementary grades) can be successfully taught to employ their high‐level writing skills to write qualitatively better texts (Graham & Perin, 2007). Therefore, it is critical to conduct future research aimed at developing and providing educators with evidence‐based practices that they can use to support young writers’ development of planning and revising skills. Given that early language development supports written language development, it is equally important to investigate early writing as a part of emergent literacy development. Perhaps, most critical is the examination of embedded, explicit language instruc­ tion within current instructional models to support the underlying language skills that are necessary for successful written language production for students with disabilities, those who are low achieving, and for students from linguis­ tically diverse backgrounds, and/or low‐wealth backgrounds. Strengthening all students’ foundational written language abilities will likely have positive influ­ ence on their broader academic skills that are necessary for participating in the wider global community.

References Baker, S. K., Chard, D. J., Ketterlin‐Geller, L. R., Apichatabutra, C., & Doabler, C. (2009). Teaching writing to at‐risk students: The quality of evidence for self‐ regulated strategy development. Exceptional Children, 75(3), 303–318. Baker, S., Gersten, R., & Scanlon, D. (2002). Procedural facilitators and cognitive strategies: Tools for unraveling the mysteries of comprehension and the writing process, and for providing meaningful access to the general curriculum. Learning Disabilities Research and Practice, 17(1), 65–77. Barro, R. J., & Lee, J.‐W. (2001). International data on educational attainment: Updates and implications. Oxford Economic Papers, 3, 541–563. Barry, L. M., & Moore, W. E. (2004). Students with specific learning disabilities can pass state competency exams: Systematic strategy instruction makes a difference. Preventing School Failure, 48, 10–15. Bedore, L., Peña, E., & Boerger, K. (2010). Ways to words: Learning a second‐ language vocabulary. In M. Shatz & L. Wilkinson (Eds.), Preparing to educate English language learners (pp. 87–107). New York, NY: Guilford Press.

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Gillespie, A., & Graham, S. (2014). A meta‐analysis of writing interventions for students with learning disabilities. Exceptional Children, 80(4), 454–473. Gomez, L., Parker, R., Lara‐Alecio, R., Ochoa, S. H., & Gomez, R. Jr. (1996). Naturalistic language assessment of LEP students in classroom interactions. Bilingual Research Journal, 20(1), 69–92. Graham, S., Bollinger, A., Booth Olson, C., D’Aoust, C., MacArthur, C., McCutchen, D., & Olinghouse, N. (2012). Teaching elementary school students to be effective writers: A practice guide (NCEE 2012‐4058). Washington, DC: National Center for Education Evaluation and Regional Assistance, Institute of Education Sciences, US Department of Education. Graham, S., & Harris, K. R. (2006). Strategy instruction and the teaching of writing: A meta‐analysis. In C. MacArthur, S. Graham, & J. Fitzgerald (Eds.), Handbook of writing research (pp. 187–207). New York, NY: Guilford Press. Graham, S., & Harris, K. R. (2013). Common core state standards, writing, and students with LD: Recommendations. Learning Disabilities Research and Practice, 28(1), 28–37. Graham, S., Harris, K. R., & Mason, L. (2005). Improving the writing performance, knowledge, and self‐efficacy of struggling young writers: The effects of self‐ regulated strategy development. Contemporary Educational Psychology, 30(2), 207–241. Graham, S., Kiuhara, S., McKeown, D., & Harris, K. R. (2012). A meta‐analysis of writing instruction for students in the elementary grades. Journal of Educational Psychology, 104, 879–896. Graham, S., & Perin, D. (2007). A meta‐analysis of writing instruction for adolescent students. Journal of Educational Psychology, 99(3), 445–476. Guzel‐Ozmen, R. (2006). The effectiveness of modified cognitive strategy instruction in writing with mildly mentally retarded Turkish students. Exceptional Children, 72(3), 281–296. Harris, K. R., & Graham, S. (1985). Improving learning disabled students’ composition skills: Self‐control strategy training. Learning Disability Quarterly, 8(1), 27–36. Harris, K. R., & Graham, S. (2009). Self‐regulated strategy development in writing: Premises, evolution, and the future. British Journal of Educational Psychology, 6, 113–135. Harris, K. R., Graham, S., Brindle, M., & Sandmel, K. (2009). Metacognition and Children’s Writing. In D. J. Hacker, J. Dunlosky, & A. C. Graesser (Eds.), Handbook of metacognition in education (pp. 131–153). Mahwah, NJ: Erlbaum. Harris, K. R., Graham, S., MacArthur, C., Reid, R., & Mason L. H. (2011). Self‐ regulated learning processes and children’s writing. In B. Zimmerman & D. Schunk (Eds.), Handbook of self‐regulation of learning and performance (pp. 187–201). Danvers, MA: Routledge. Harris, K. R., Graham, S., & Mason, L. H. (2006). Self‐regulated strategy development for 2nd grade students who struggle with writing. American Educational Research Journal, 43(2), 295–340. Hayes, J. R. (1996). A new framework for understanding cognition and affect in writing. In C. M. Levy & S. Ransdell (Eds.), The science of writing: Theories, methods, individual differences, and applications (pp. 1–27). Hillsdale, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum.

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Rojewski, J. W. (1999). Occupational and educational aspirations and attainment of young adults with and without LD 2 years after high school completion. Journal of Learning Disabilities, 32(6), 533–552. Sandmel, K., & Graham, S. (2011). The process writing approach: A meta‐analysis. Journal of Educational Research, 104, 396–407. Santangelo, T., Harris, K. R., & Graham, S. (2007). Self‐regulated strategy development: A validated model to support students who struggle with writing. Learning Disabilities: A Contemporary Journal, 5(1), 1–20. Schuelka, M. (2012). International testing and educational policy discourse: How the TIMSS, PIRLS and PISA exclude students with disabilities from the culture of achievement. Paper presented at the annual meeting of the 56th Annual Conference of the Comparative and International Education Society, Caribe Hilton, San Juan, Puerto Rico. Scott, C. M., & Windsor, J. (2000). General language performance measures in spoken and written narrative and expository discourse of school‐age children with language learning disabilities. Journal of Speech, Language, and Hearing Research, 43(2), 324–339. Shanahan, T., & Beck, I. L. (2006). Effective literacy teaching for English‐language learners. In D. August & T. Shanahan (Eds.), Developing literacy in second‐ language learners (pp. 415–488). Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates. Therrien, W. J., Hughes, C., Kapelski, C., & Mokhtari, K. (2009). Effectiveness of a test‐taking strategy on achievement in essay tests for students with learning disabilities. Journal of Learning Disabilities, 42(1), 14–23. Thurlow, M., Rogers, C., & Christenson, L. (2010). Science assessment for students with disabilities in school year 2006–2007: What we know about participation, performance, and accommodations, Synthesis Report 77. Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota, National Center for Educational Outcomes. UNESCO Institute for Statistics. (2015). Adult and youth literacy. Retrieved June 15, 2015, from http://www.uis.unesco.org/datacentre/pages/default. aspx?SPSLanguage=EN Vygotsky, L. (1986). Thought and language. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Windsor, J., Scott, C. M., & Street, C. K. (2000). Verb and noun morphology in the spoken and written language of children with language learning disabilities. Journal of Speech, Language, and Hearing Research, 43(6), 1322–1336. Zito, J., Adkins, M., Gavins, M., Harris, K. R., & Graham, S. (2007). Self‐regulated strategy development: Relationship to the social‐cognitive perspective and the development of self‐regulation. Reading and Writing Quarterly, 23, 77–95.

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15 Empowering Academically Diverse Learners in History Classrooms Daniel R. Wissinger

History instruction in our modern society calls for a new standard driven by the development of the common cores state standards initiative (CCSSI), high‐stakes assessment, and curricular reform that aligns with the critical thinking, problem‐ solving, and analytic skills necessary for success in college, and career life in the twenty‐first century (Shanahan & Shanahan, 2008). The new standard will require teachers to provide instruction and build skills related to disciplinary literacy. This entails that students as early as grade 6 will be expected to cite s­ pecific textual evidence to support analysis of primary and secondary source documents (CCSS.ELA‐LITERACY.RST.6‐8.1.); identify aspects of a text that reveal an author’s point of view (CCSS.ELA‐LITERACY.RST.6‐8.4); distinguish among fact, opinion, and reasoned judgment (CCSS.ELA‐LITERACY.RST.6‐8.8.); and analyze the relationship between primary and secondary sources on the same topic (CCSS.ELA‐LITERACY.RST.6‐8.9). Consistent with the focus on developing discipline‐specific literacy skills, the CCSSI will also require students to learn to write in more historically valued ways, including crafting arguments (CCSS. ELA‐LITERACY.W.6.1) and narratives (CCSS.ELA‐LITERACY.W.6.3). While many view the CCSSI as a means to stimulate and improve adolescent literacy (National Center for Educational Statistics, 2007), setting higher, more rigorous standards in the disciplines does not guarantee that students will attain them. Indeed, the very focus on higher‐order thinking, reasoning, and the development of advanced literacy skills foundational to the CCSSI presents several daunting challenges to students with disabilities, and those who struggle with reading and writing (Bulgren, Graner, & Deshler, 2013). Despite these challenges, promising lines of research that allow all students to access and benefit from learning in inclusive history classrooms continue to emerge (Mastropieri & Scruggs, 2010). Nevertheless, while investigative studies in this area have received greater attention over the past two decades, work with students with disabilities, and among ethnically diverse populations of learners remains sparse, with the literature in international settings providing even less. As a result, my goal in this chapter is to provide an overview of programs of intervention research that have provided frameworks for effective instruction in The Wiley Handbook of Diversity in Special Education, First Edition. Edited by Marie Tejero Hughes and Elizabeth Talbott. © 2017 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Published 2017 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

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history followed by a review of studies that have made a particular impact on academically diverse learners including students with disabilities, and ethnically diverse learners. To start, I highlight select studies that focused on content enhancement strategies including graphic organizers, mnemonic tools, and text structure instruction. The second part of the chapter examines work in the area of historical discussion, peer tutoring, and extending opportunities for heterogeneous student‐to‐student and small group interaction. Third, I synthesize s­ everal studies that employ twenty‐first‐century learning tools such as the Virtual History Museum, project‐based learning, and innovative methods to engage a diverse population of learners. Fourth, select studies that have explored teaching discipline‐specific cognitive strategies through a cognitive apprenticeship model are reviewed. To conclude, I offer suggestions for how this work fits into the larger framework for historical learning and implications for the field.

History Education: A Global Perspective The specific aims outlined in the CCSSI for history education in the United States, however, are consistent with both national and international efforts to reform the history curriculum offered in schools (Bertram, 2012; Harris & Reynolds, 2014). The overarching purpose of more global calls for reform has tended to focus on the development of historical thinking and historical consciousness (Seixas, 2004). Definitions of the former and latter (Bertram, 2012) notwithstanding, pursuits to adopt more epistemically valued practices in the teaching of history are illustrative of shifts in scholarship in the field since the 1950s, which focused on the thoughts and practices of early historians who viewed history and historical writing as an objective pursuit made‐up of distinct facts, dates, and figures (Gaddis, 2002). Largely influenced by the work of Lee, Dickinson, Ashby, Shemilt, and their colleagues at the University of London in the 1970s (Stearns, Seixas, & Wineburg, 2000), research, along with pedagogical practice in history education has shifted to practices used in the study of historiography, or the methodology of historians and the development of history as a discipline. This disciplinary approach has a strong emphasis on understanding how the past is constructed, and how we come to make claims about the past (Monte‐Sano, 2008).

Working with Multiple Source Documents Along these lines, a primary goal of history instruction is to teach students to construct a well‐articulated mental model of history, understanding the interconnections between various events and actors (Stahl, Hynd, Britton, ­ McNish, & Bosquet, 1996). A key focus of research in this area has been the design of learning environments that attempt to incorporate and present historical information through multiple source documents (Barton, 2001). ­ Typical literacy tasks with multiple source documents (e.g., primary sources

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such as legislative bills or eyewitness accounts, secondary sources, such as ­editorials; or tertiary sources such as textbooks) require students to synthesize information, assess the relevance of different text, and make determinations among conflicting perspectives. Here, students must learn to read in a nonlinear fashion, corroborating information found in one text with that found in different sources, resolving any inconsistencies between various sources of information (Wiley & Voss, 1999). Unlike information from a single text, which can be retained and integrated on the basis of factual coherence, the acquisition of knowledge from multiple documents requires the learner to compare text and organize information using more global rhetorical structures (Sanchez & Wiley, 2006). Rather than relying on a textbook or teacher to make connections to the content, Spiro, Coulson, Feltovich, and Anderson (1988) found that the use of multiple documents prompted ­students to create their own links across the information presented. Disciplinary thinking. The use of multiple texts can also help increase students’ disciplinary knowledge. In his seminal work, Wineburg (1991a) compared how working historians and high school seniors approached questions of historical ­evidence when using primary and secondary source documentation (e.g., written and pictorial documents about the Battle of Lexington). Wineburg reported that historians applied three discipline‐specific ways of knowing or “epistemological stances” to their text reading (1991a). When reading from multiple documents, historians relied on sourcing or specific features of information sources such as the author of the text, date, and type of text to influence their interpretation of the document’s content. Historians also attempted to contextualize events in an ­accurate special‐temporal context and directly corroborated information across documents and systematically identified discrepancies between documents. Importantly, the ­distinctive practices used by historians were activated though opportunities to compare and contrast different primary and secondary source materials with d ­ ifferent and independent viewpoints (Rouet, Britt, Mason, & Perfetti, 1996). Constructing written arguments. How experts think about and read multiple source documents also guides their production of text. Consistent with the norms and expectations of their community, writing in history involves ­constructing written arguments (Green, 1994). In argumentative writing, the author must attempt to convince the reader to adopt their point of view. Successful argument writing involves clearly articulating a position, recognizing counterarguments, and responding to opposing points of view in an organized fashion (Nippold & Ward‐Lonergan, 2010). The advantages of using argumentative writing can be far reaching and, at times, surpasses those of other writing genres. For example, Wiley and Voss (1999) found that students who read multiple texts about the history of Ireland and assigned to write arguments gained deeper text comprehension, and produced more transformed and integrated essays than students assigned to write summaries, narratives, or explanations on the same topic. Overall, Wiley and Voss reported that the more effortful processing required by argument writing tasks led to better understanding of subject matter. This active interaction with text material also made it easier to formulate inferences and mental representations that are better linked (1999).

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Directions for the future. Despite the many benefits that accompany using ­rimary and secondary source documents and the construction of more p ­discipline‐specific writing in history, the translation from knowledge to practice can be difficult for students with disabilities (De La Paz, 2005) and ethnically diverse populations of learners (Reisman, 2012). Students must not only understand the concepts being communicated but also how evidence is used to arrive at and warrant those concepts. Furthermore, as students transition to the ­reading of source documents, and higher‐level textbooks, vocabulary becomes increasingly more specific and requires greater discipline‐specific knowledge. Fostering the development of historical reading, writing, and thinking skills, therefore, requires explicit instruction and the formation of the epistemic skills that are unique to historical enterprise (Wineburg, 1991b). Given the significance of this shift in instructional practice, as well as the challenges it presents to learners, I hope to shed light on several promising methods that have been used to ­effectively teach and make accessible these unique skills to academically diverse populations of learners.

Research on Academically Diverse Learners in History To identify research in this area, I started by searching major educational databases (e.g., EBSCO, ERIC, JSTOR, Primary Search [EBSCO], and the Social Sciences Citation Index) for studies published between 2000 and 2014 attempting to limit studies to the last 10–15 years to reflect the most current research on the topic. To ensure coverage of international work in the field of special education, a hand search of select international journals including, but not limited to, the International Journal of Special Education, Journal of International Special Needs Education, and Journal of Research in Special Educational Needs was completed. In this review, I grouped select studies into four categories that captured distinct approaches common in the literature. Rather than reporting on ­ ­procedural aspects of individual studies within each category, I attempted to ­synthesize the overarching findings; elaborating on exemplary work that best illustrated strategies or instructional techniques in that area. Despite efforts to identify work with students with disabilities in international settings, the ­majority of this review is comprised of studies completed with learners with high‐­incidence disabilities (i.e., students with learning disabilities, other health impairments such ADD or ADHD, and mild intellectual disabilities), and those identified as at‐risk for academic failure in middle and high school classrooms in the United States. Special attention was also given to the selection of studies that included participants from culturally and ethnically diverse backgrounds (i.e., African American, Hispanic, or Latino). To maintain consistency, I refer to ­students with disabilities, those identified as at‐risk, and culturally and e­ thnically diverse individuals as “academically diverse learners” throughout this chapter. Finally, given the focus of federal legislation (i.e., Individuals with Disabilities Education Improvement Act, 2004; No Child Left Behind Act) and the fact that general education classrooms are more inclusive of different types of learners, the majority of studies I discuss in this chapter were delivered in inclusive

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g­eneral  education settings that included students with disabilities and their nondisabled peers.

Content‐Enhancement Strategies Research continues to highlight the value of content‐enhancement strategies to promote learning in inclusive content classrooms (Lenz, Bulgren, & Hudson, 1990). Influenced largely by researchers Bulgren, Deshler, and Lenz (2007) at the University of Kansas, the purpose of content‐enhancements are to incorporate effective instructional design, and make use of graphic organizers including study guides, charts, diagrams, outlines, visual spatial displays, and mnemonics to facilitate learning and understanding (Mastropieri & Scruggs, 2010). Several content‐enhancement strategies (CESs) have been investigated with academically diverse learners in inclusive history classrooms. In this section, I highlight three commonly used CESs and review intervention studies that used CESs to enhance historical learning.

Graphic Organizers Graphic organizers (Gos) have been one of the most common and widely used CESs in the literature (Hughes, Maccini, & Gagnon, 2003). More recently, Swanson and her colleagues reported in their meta‐analysis of reading interventions using social studies content with students with disabilities that Gos, even after adjusting for other interventions in studies that use more than one ­treatment, have had moderate to large effect sizes (Swanson et al., 2014). Though presented in a variety of forms including compare—contrast charts, Venn ­diagrams, or sequential‐order chains, the underlying purpose of Gos is to p ­ rovide a visual or spatial display that makes the relationships between related facts and concepts more understandable to students. DiCecco and Gleason (2002), for example, examined the effects of Gos to ­convey and cue relational knowledge with 24 middle school students identified with LDs from schools located in a low‐SES area. Students were randomly assigned to conditions and received instruction for 4 weeks on two social studies chapters. Students in the GO condition were provided five separate graphic organizers that focused on major units of thought from the text. Although ­students in the NO GO condition used a traditional approach to examining the social studies content, both conditions were provided instruction on how to write summaries across six 20‐minute lessons. Examination of relational knowledge statements in students’ writing revealed that students with LD in the GO condition showed a better understanding of the relationships between concepts and whether those relationships were explicitly stated in text readings. However, students with LD in both conditions performed similarly on a multiple‐choice content knowledge test and quiz at the end of instruction. The number of words students produced in written essays was also comparable between the two conditions.

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Mnemonic Tools Another CER that has been investigated widely and linked with improved ­academic outcomes for academically diverse learners in the area of history is mnemonic strategy instruction. The literature has shown that mnemonic instruction can be valuable for supporting students with emotional and behavioral ­difficulties to construct persuasive essays about civic topics (Hauth, Mastropieri, Scruggs, & Regan, 2013), and those with LDs to learn and recall historical facts (Fontana, Scruggs, & Mastropieri, 2007). Perhaps to a larger degree, however, a growing number of studies in this area support the use of mnemonics to facilitate the learning of content‐area vocabulary (Berkeley & Riccomini, 2013). Berkeley and Riccomini (2013) investigated the effectiveness of a comprehension‐monitoring mnemonic with 323 middle school students in inclusive history classrooms. Fifty‐one percent were eligible for free and/or reduced‐cost lunch. Students in the experimental group were taught the QRAC‐the‐Code mnemonic, and provided strategy‐monitoring sheets. Strategy steps for the mnemonic ­consisted of: (a) Question [turn headings into questions], (b) Read [Read the section and STOP], (c) Answer [Ask yourself: Can I answer my question?], and (d) Check [Check to be sure your answer was correct OR summarize the section]. These strategies prompted students to look for definitions of bolded words, study maps and graphs, draw from prior knowledge, summarize the section, and/or reread the section and try again. Students in the comparison condition used a tradition approach for reading comprehension; reading the passages independently and recorded important points on notebook paper. Students who were taught the QRAC‐the‐Code mnemonic outperformed their peers in the independent reading condition on a content knowledge measure (ES = 0.48). This finding was consistent for the 21 students with disabilities (ES = 0.73) in the experimental condition. Students with and without disabilities in the experimental group also successfully identified more reading comprehension strategies, and reported that QRAC‐the‐Code supported them in remembering what they had read. A notable limitation, however, was that the intervention was taught by instructors (as opposed to classroom teachers) using scripted lessons over 3 days.

Text Structure A third content enhancement strategy common in the literature is teaching ­students how to identify the distinctive types of text structures common to social studies materials (e.g., textbooks and source documents). Several researchers have identified a number of common text structures found in expository text including main ideas, compare–contrast, cause–effect, chronological order, and enumeration (Mason & Hedin, 2011). Although text structure may vary between different textbooks and within chapters of a single‐text, developing a general understanding of structures and their purposes has been shown to help students who struggle with reading identify what is important to learn and remember as they read (Cook & Mayer, 1988). By extension, awareness of text structure

Discussion, Think–Pair–Share, and Opportunities for Peer Interaction Discussion, Think–Pair–Share, and Opportunities for Peer Interaction 305

­ rovides students with a strategic way to access information, make distinctions p between main ideas and supporting details, and systematically relocate information in the text when they are answering comprehension questions (Bakken, Mastropieri, & Scruggs, 1997). In one of the more notable examples in the literature, Reynolds and Perin (2009) assigned 121 grade 7 students from a suburban school in western Canada to three instructional conditions and taught them to compose essays. Students in the text structure instruction (TSI) condition learned to record main ideas and details, take notes, organize notes to plan for writing, and practice writing ­summaries from single and multiple sources. The text structure strategy was taught through the mnemonic STRUCTURING, which prompted students to Scan the passage; Think of structure and the big main idea; Read the paragraphs; Underline the important point of each paragraph; Choose one interesting detail; Take notes using frame; U‐Turn (repeat with second passage); Review organization of notes; Introduce with topic sentence; Next point; and Go back and edit. Students in the PLAN & WRITE for summarization (PWS) condition were taught a modified version of the mnemonics PLAN (Pick out the main ideas, List main ideas, Add supporting details, Number your ideas) and WRITE (Work from your plan to develop topic sentences, Remember your goals, Include transition words, Try to use different kinds of sentences, and Edit your work). Students in the NL condition (i.e., Neutral Literacy [NL]) engaged in reading and writing tasks but did not receive any instruction. Although TSI and PWS groups were comparable at identifying main ideas, both were significantly better than the NL group (ES = 0.57 and 0.77, ­respectively). TSI and PWS groups also produced significantly greater gains on the c­ ontent knowledge measures than the NL group (ES = 2.36 and 1.49, respectively) with TSI demonstrating greater content knowledge gains than PWS (ES = 0.72). Findings on writing quality measures showed that both TSI and PWS produced better essays than the NL group (ES = 0.96 and 0.26, respectively) with TSI ­demonstrating greater gains than PWS (ES = 0.52). It is important to note, ­however, that in follow‐up tests 5 days after instruction ended TSI and PWS main idea scores declined by 1–2% (control groups’ scores declined by 14%). In addition, TSI and PWS main idea scores declined by 4–6% (NL group’s scores declined by 15%) in tests administered 7 days after instruction ended. The two treatment groups’ writing quality scores also declined slightly, compared to more pronounced declines in the NL group’s scores.

Discussion, Think–Pair–Share, and Opportunities for Peer Interaction One of the most important components of inclusive classrooms is the ­opportunity for all students to work interactively and learn from one another. These benefits are especially rich when students of diverse cultural and ethnic backgrounds as well as those with disabilities engage with their peers in discussion (Reisman, 2012) and peer tutoring (Saenz, Fuchs, & Fuchs, 2005). Mastropieri and Scruggs have suggested that these interactions provide an important way to increase

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learning when students lack the discipline‐specific skills needed to learn ­independently in content classrooms (2010). In this section, I highlight select intervention studies that report on the extensive social and academic benefits of academically diverse learners interacting collaboratively in history classrooms.

Historical Discussion Work continues to abound demonstrating the importance of discussion as a tool to enhance students’ historical thinking and understanding (Okolo, Ferretti, & MacArthur, 2007). The theoretical underpinnings that explain these findings are based largely on sociocognitive and sociocultural theory, which asserts that learning is a socially mediated process whereby participants work together to create a more comprehensive, shared understanding (Vygotsky, 1978). For ­academically diverse learners, facilitating discussions among multiple participants and developing solutions collaboratively in history classrooms has been shown to increase student involvement (Okolo, Englert, Bouck, & Heutsche, 2010) produce greater historical reasoning and migration of concepts (Ferretti, MacArthur, & Okolo, 2001), and helps bridge the gap between spoken and ­written language (Gersten, Baker, Smith‐Johnson, Dimino, & Peterson, 2006). I report on my own work with Susan De La Paz in the area of discussion with 151 students from six inclusive middle school social studies classrooms (Wissinger & De La Paz, 2016). Nineteen were students with LDs and 20 were considered at‐risk for academic failure. Students were randomly assigned to two conditions and participated in a 4‐week investigation that featured: (a) examining a series of controversial topics in history, (b) reading from primary and secondary source documents, (c) 80 min, or two class periods of small group (4–6 students) each week, and (d) constructing argumentative essays. Students in both conditions participated in the same historical investigations, received the same materials for instruction, and were taught the DARE heuristic (De La Paz, 2005) to support them in constructing oral and written arguments. Teachers and students in the comparison condition used a traditional set of comprehension questions from the school’s English Language Arts textbook to engage in dialogue and analyze the two conflicting perspectives presented in the historical controversies each week. Conversely, students in the experimental condition learned two historically related argument schemes (e.g., Argument from Expert Opinion and Argument from Consequences) and five critical questions from Walton, Reed, and Macagno’s (2008) dialectical framework. Questions in both conditions were outlined in guided response packets that students used to record notes from group discussions. Analysis showed that students in the experimental group significantly outperformed their peers on measures of historical writing ( 2 0.45), and content understanding (( 2 ) 0.44 ). In particular, students who learned schemes and critical questions wrote historical essays that contained greater levels of substantiation (( 2 ) 0.24 ), and more sophisticated rebuttals (( 2 ) 0.41) after controlling for initial scores at pretest. Evaluation of transcribed discussions aligned with

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these findings demonstrating that students in the experimental group provided more instances of substantiation and rebuttals in small group dialogue. Delayed posttests administered 8 weeks after the study ended showed that students in the experimental group continued to write historical essays that contained more sophisticated historical writing (( 2 ) 0.34 ). Regression analysis on students identified with LDs and those at‐risk for academic failure showed that learning schemes, critical questions, and focused practice in discussions with their peers led to significant increases in historical writing (β = −2.80, t(31) = −3.681, p = 0.002).

Peer Tutoring In much the same way as discussion, the literature on peer tutoring highlights the expansive benefits that student‐to‐student interaction can have on academic outcomes in social studies classrooms. While the bulk of the work in the area of peer tutoring has centered on English Language Arts (Fuchs, Fuchs, & Burish, 2000) and the development of basic math skills (Fuchs, Fuchs, Yazdian, & Powell, 2002), several studies show the benefits of peer tutoring in history classrooms. For example, Mastropieri and colleagues (Mastropieri, Scruggs, Spencer, & Fontana, 2003) found that matching higher‐ and lower‐performing readers from a range of ethnic backgrounds (21% Asian/Pacific Islander, 12% Hispanic, and 9% African American) into dyads in a high school world history class, teaching a summarization strategy, and collaborative practice resulted in higher outcomes on content knowledge tests than their same‐aged peers who were exposed to a more traditional form of instruction. Students who participated in peer tutoring earned higher‐quality scores on written summaries, and elaborated the steps in the comprehension‐fostering strategy more effectively at the end of the investigation. Perhaps more importantly, students in the tutoring condition reported that they believed that tutoring was beneficial to their reading and learning of world history and recommended using tutoring in other subjects (Mastropieri et al., 2003). Although teachers were also encouraged by the benefits students obtained, they reported concern with the amount of time required to effectively learn strategies and apply them to peer interactions. Russell Gersten and his colleagues (2006) also examined peer tutoring combining content enhancement strategies and interactive instruction to teach 76 middle school learners (approximately 23% ethnic minority) about the Civil Rights Movement (CER). Thirty‐six students in the sample were identified with LDs. Students assigned to the treatment watched excerpts from the documentary Eyes on the Prize, read primary sources, and answered discussion questions using a compare/contrast plan organizer. The only difference between conditions was that students in the experimental condition worked in pairs (one student with LD and one average‐ability student) and watched 2–4‐min segments of the documentary with teachers stopping the video intermittently to engage in dialogue. By contrast, students in the comparison condition worked on questions independently and discussed the video in 6–12‐min segments in a whole‐class setting.

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Findings indicated that working with materials that were accessible, and incorporating multiple opportunities for students to interact with peers and the teacher (as opposed to whole‐class discussion), enhanced students’ content interviews and writing. Perhaps more striking, students’ scores in the control group on the pretest assessment explained 53% of the variance in posttest scores suggesting that students with strong background knowledge performed much better on posttest measures than students with moderate to low background knowledge. For students who participated in more interactive procedures, pretest scores explained only 1% of the variance in posttest scores indicating the strength of interactive procedures for leveling the playing field for a variety of learners.

Twenty‐First‐Century Learning Tools The burgeoning of social media and technology has dramatically changed the way that educators teach and how students learn in the classrooms. As a result, a major requirement of the CCSSI is for students to employ technology and digital media thoughtfully to enhance their reading, writing, speaking, listening, and language use (CCSS.ELA‐LITERACY.SL.11‐12.5). Research suggests that one of the most promising places to enhance traditional academic skills such as reading, writing, and critical thinking is by integrating twenty‐first‐century learning tools into history instruction (Bouck, Okolo, Englert, & Heutsche, 2008). In this part of the chapter, I review several of the more notable approaches for integrating technology into history instruction.

Virtual History Museum A growing area of interest in the field of social studies education has been on the Virtual History Museum (VHM) developed by researchers at Michigan State University. In addition to virtual tours, the VHM provides a web‐based learning environment designed to facilitate the learning of discipline‐specific strategies (e.g., contextualization and sourcing) along with built‐in cognitive supports that enable multiple‐types of learners to participate in the experience (Okolo et al., 2010). The purpose of the VHM is for participants to adopt the role of curators in a metaphorical museum working to create exhibits, which consist of artifacts and activities curators compile to describe historical figures, events, or topics. Digital information such as primary and secondary source documents, images, maps, video clips, and audio files can be uploaded and used as artifacts that are placed on display in the exhibit. Each exhibit is also accompanied by learning activities that can be used to build or evaluate students’ understanding. Built‐in activities also include content enhancement tools such as Venn diagrams, and organizers for comparing information and writing activities that allow students to craft historical letters, and interact with maps of territories in US History.

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Okolo and colleagues (Okolo, Englert, Bouck, Heutsche, & Wang, 2011) completed a pilot study with 51 students from inclusive grade 8 history classes. Approximately 60% of the sample was African American, 14% were Latino, and 14 learners were identified with disabilities. Students in the VHM spent six class periods (270 min) exploring a unit on President Andrew Jackson and interacted with exhibits that focused on his childhood, ascent to the Presidency, and the Cherokee Removal. Teachers spent the first several days building students’ background knowledge, then provided them an opportunity to explore Jackson’s life through newspaper accounts, images, and other source documents presented within the exhibit. Follow‐up activities included completing a compare‐and‐contrast chart, and making predictions about whether the Supreme Court would rule in favor, or against removing the Cherokee Indians supporting their opinions with evidence. Instruction in the VHM was concluded with whole class discussions, and the creation of a written position paper outlining their beliefs about Jackson as a man of the people, dictator, or both. Results indicated that students with disabilities, honors students, and their typical‐developing peers improved their knowledge about Andrew Jackson from pre‐to posttest. Students with disabilities increased scores an average of 2.79 points, while honors students and their typical‐developing peers recorded 3.14 and 4.48 point increases, respectively. Similarly, all three groups of students demonstrated increases from pre‐ to posttest on measures of reasoning in their position papers with students with disabilities recording the smallest gains (2.34–4). These findings suggested that the VHM can be beneficial to developing students with disabilities content knowledge in ways similar to average‐ and higher‐performing students, but may need to be combined with additional tools to better facilitate the writing process.

Project‐Based Learning and Inquiry Much of the work to date on the topic of project‐based learning (PBL) in history classrooms has been completed by Ferretti and his colleagues at the University of Delaware (MacArthur, Ferretti, & Okolo, 2002) and centers on the idea that learning environments must encourage active problem solving and the construction of knowledge. These underlying foundations derive from constructivist theory (Fosnot, 2005) and focus on alternatives to traditional approaches to instruction such as lecture, fact memorization and recitation, and heavy reliance on textbooks. Indeed, the problems outlined in the context of history are ill‐defined, often complex, and have ambiguous solutions (Wineburg, 1991b). Hernandez‐Ramos and De La Paz (2011) compared the effects of using a technology‐assisted project‐based learning experience to traditional instruction with academically diverse grade 8 learners. Twenty‐two of the 170 students involved in the study had disabilities and approximately 30% were African American, Latino, or Filipino. The content focused on the divergent paths of the

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American people from 1800 to the mid‐1800s and the challenges they faced in three regions (i.e., the Northeast, the South, and the West) during the time of westward expansion. Students who were assigned to the experimental condition worked in heterogeneous groups and used digital source documents and mPower software to create mini‐documentaries about one of the three aforementioned regions. Students in the experimental group presented their mini‐documentaries to ­students school‐wide and parents at an open house event. Students in the comparison condition, on the other hand, were taught the same unit on westward expansion and engaged in simulation and active whole class discussion over the same 6‐week period. Though comparable at pretest, students who participated in constructing multimedia projects demonstrated greater content knowledge on posttest measures than students in the traditional instruction condition. Further analysis showed that students in the multimedia condition developed projects that included information from textbooks (40%), and primary (40%) and secondary sources (20%), indicating that they were thinking beyond the scope of textbooks and considering multiple interpretations. In addition, students with and without disabilities in the experimental condition (29% and 7%, respectively) used quotes from source documents to support claims, and ­provided evidence that they understood the author’s perspective (21% and 14%, respectively). Kennedy and colleagues (2014) investigated the impact of multimedia‐based instructional modules referred to as CAPs (i.e., content acquisition podcasts) to teach 141 urban high school students text‐based vocabulary from social studies units (Kennedy, Newman, Meyer, Alves, & Lloyd, 2014). Sixty‐three percent of the sample were African American, 27% were Hispanic, and 32 students had disabilities. During the teacher’s lecture, students in the treatment condition watched 1–3 min CAPs, which featured visual images, on‐screen text, and audio narration describing key vocabulary terms, that were integrated into PowerPoint slides. Each CAP was shown twice to students without disabilities during class, and an additional two times to students with disabilities during their study skills period. Students in the non‐CAPs conditions were provided instruction on text‐ based vocabulary during each lesson on the overhead projector. Both CAPs and Non‐CAPs students were exposed to 81 vocabulary words across two concurrent units of world history. Consistent with their findings in pilot work, students with and without disabilities who were exposed to CAPs learned social studies vocabulary more quickly, and effectively than their peers who were taught using traditional methods. Perhaps more importantly, although students without disabilities outperformed classmates with disabilities in the CAPs condition on curriculum‐based measures (CBMs) and posttests, students with disabilities in the CAPs condition closed achievement gaps on students without disabilities in the traditional vocabulary condition. However, although statistically significant, a closer ­analysis of mean differences between students who were exposed to CAPs revealed that they answered an average of only three more questions correctly than students in the comparison condition.

Apprenticing Historical Reading, Writing, and Thinking Skills Apprenticing Historical Reading, Writing, and Thinking Skills 311

Apprenticing Historical Reading, Writing, and Thinking Skills Research over the past three decades highlights the value of providing s­ tudents with disabilities cognitive strategy instruction to facilitate academic learning in content area classrooms (Jitendra, Burgess, & Gajria, 2011). Although cognitive strategy instruction has ranged from teaching single strategies (e.g., identifying main ideas, paraphrasing, summarize and evaluate, cognitive mapping, comprehension) to multicomponent processes (e.g., survey, question, read, recite, review [SQ3R]), the underlying purpose is to provide a heuristic or guide that supports the learners as they develop the ability to perform higher‐level operations independently (Deshler & Schumaker, 1986). Consistent with this line of work, a growing body of research indicates that learning to coordinate several discipline‐specific practices (i.e., reading, writing, and thinking) may best be accomplished through using a cognitive apprenticeship (CA) framework (Panaoura, Gagatsis, Deliyianni, & Elia, 2010). This approach to instruction suggests that people learn best when they are placed in a natural context where they can work alongside an expert (Collins, Brown, & Newman, 1989). Four d ­ istinct characteristics serve to define a CA approach to learning: modeling, scaffolding, fading, and coaching. To conclude this chapter, I review three studies from the literature that have used an apprenticeship‐based approach to facilitate the learning of historical reading, writing, and thinking skills. In contrast to most of the work on self‐regulated strategy development (SRSD), which focused on writing (Harris & Graham, 1999), De La Paz examined the use of SRSD to teach grade 8 students of varying ethnicities, including Asian (43%), Filipino (18%), Hispanic (13%), African American (3%), and Pacific Islander (3%), a historical reasoning and argumentative writing strategy (De La Paz, 2005). Twelve of the 70 students were identified with LDs. The historical reasoning strategy taught students to read from source documents and record: (a) the author’s purpose, (b) supporting reasons and explanations, and (c) evidence of bias. To help students to construct argumentative essays, they were taught to organize ideas from source documents using a mnemonic “STOP” and to employ text structure via a second mnemonic, “DARE.” Consistent with the SRSD approach to teaching (see Harris & Graham, 1999), students were taught to gradually take ownership of the two strategies by moving from an instructional sequence that featured teacher modeling and instruction supported with procedural scaffolds to the independent execution of historical reasoning and argumentative writing over a 4‐week period. Students who learned the historical reasoning and argumentative writing strategies wrote essays that were greater in length (ES = 1.23), more persuasive (ES = 1.19), and more historically accurate (ES = 0.57) than students in the control groups. Furthermore, students with LDs wrote essays that were comparable to those written by average and talented writers on most measures. These findings suggested that using a cognitive apprenticeship model to

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teaching historical reading and argument writing strategies in the general education classrooms can lead to positive outcomes for students with and without disabilities. De La Paz and Felton (2010) replicated work with historical reasoning and argumentative writing strategies with a diverse population (29% Hispanic, 16% Asian, 15% Filipino, and 7.4% African American) of 160 grade 11 students considered to be poor to average writers. Students in the experimental group were taught a specific strategy for reconciling primary and secondary sources (e.g., consider the author, understand the source, critique the source, and create a more focused understanding) and how to plan and compose argumentative essays. In addition to earning stronger scores on measures of historical writing, students in the experimental condition wrote arguments that contained more elaborated rebuttals (ES = 0.79) and more consistently used documents and/or quotes from source documents (ES = 1.42) to support claims in their writing. De La Paz, Felton, Monte‐Sano and colleagues (2014) expanded their work to a series of year‐long professional development (PD) workshops for 13 grade 8 teachers that focused on using Collins and colleagues cognitive apprenticeship model to teach 1330 ethnically and culturally diverse students (74% African American, 17% Hispanic) to compose historical arguments. PD teachers were systematically trained to deliver instruction on a series of historical investigations across six, 3‐day lesson sequences. Instruction focused on learning to use heuristic strategies to teach: (1) historical reading—sourcing and contextualizing primary sources, (2) historical writing—identifying the components and structure of historical writing, (3) historical writing— planning an essay, (4) historical reading—discussing and evaluating evidence, and (5) historical writing—composing a full essay. In the first three historical investigations, teachers modeled the application of heuristics. For investigation four through six, the structure of lessons transitioned to a focus that was primarily on collaboration and independent practice. In the final two investigations, teachers provided instruction on setting goals to read, analyze, plan, and compose with greater independence, and integrate reading analysis, planning, and composing independently (see also De La Paz, Malkus, Monte‐ Sano, & Montanaro, 2011). Exposure to discipline‐specific strategies had a positive impact on students’ historical arguments and the length of essays, but not on holistic quality (i.e., the persuasiveness of their argument and its overall organization). Given that the curriculum was in its infancy, De La Paz and colleagues reported that it was possible that students who engaged in the curriculum intervention improved in their ability to write historical arguments, but needed more time to improve in their ability to use claims and evidence more effectively in their writing. Findings also revealed that students whose teachers received high fidelity ratings on the implementation of the intervention were more effective in constructing historical arguments (ES = 0.65) and wrote longer essays (ES = 0.60). Nonetheless, the overall results showed that all students whose teachers received PD demonstrated significant gains from pre‐ to posttest for essay length, historical argument, and holistic quality.

Limitations and Future Research Limitations and Future Research 313

Discussion and Recommendations Although disagreement exists over the fundamental goals and objectives of history and social studies education (see Stanley, 1985), the major aims of global reform have focused on teaching students about how history is constructed through source documents, investigation, and interpretation. As we progress into the second decade of the twenty‐first century, and the perspectives of women and traditionally underrepresented persons and groups in society continue to surface (Frazier & Tettey‐Fio, 2006), the development of these skills are proving to be invaluable in challenging, reconstructing, and questioning much of the mainstream knowledge we have come to accept about the past. More importantly, however, mastering the ability to question and think critically about history is a critical part of national (i.e., CCSSI) and international reform in history education. Despite many of the challenges that accompany learning the discipline‐specific practices used by experts in the field of history, access to these rich, subject‐area standards provides students with the necessary skills to actively evaluate ideas, and influence civic life in the political and social institutions of their communities. The preceding review of literature provides an overview of programs of intervention research and select studies in each area that have made a particular impact on the learning of discipline‐specific skills among academically diverse learners who share culturally, ethnically, and otherwise distinct learning challenges in the history curriculum. Although the literature continues to grow, thereby highlighting valuable methods for closing the gaps between the performance of academically diverse learners and their peers, much more will be required of educators, practitioners, and researchers in the field before we can rest—satisfied with our accomplishments.

Limitations and Future Research While this chapter was not intended to provide an exhaustive examination of the research available on academically diverse learners in history education, it is important to highlight several of the limitations that were consistent across the selected studies. To start, among the 14 studies reviewed in this chapter, the majority explored interventions such as content enhancement strategies, discussion, and peer tutoring in conjunction with other instructional methods (i.e., explicit instruction for how to write summaries, cognitive strategies, graphic organizers) that have been shown to improve academic achievement among students with disabilities and struggling readers and writers. Second, while all of the studies reviewed were implemented with academically diverse learners, several included nonrepresentative, ethnically homogenous populations of learners. Four of the studies also did not report outcomes for students with disabilities, and only two discussed students with disabilities from minority backgrounds. Finally, in terms of quality standards for research, although many of the studies in this review used randomized assignment,

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reported fidelity, and sufficiently outlined information on study characteristics, only two included measurements of generalizability, or discussed students’ retention of skills beyond the timeframe of the study. These limitations in the literature moderate the conclusions that can be drawn from this chapter and highlight the need for additional high‐quality research with academically diverse populations of learners in history education.

References Bakken, J. P., Mastropieri, M. A., & Scruggs, T. E. (1997). Reading comprehension of expository science material and students with learning disabilities: A comparison of strategies. The Journal of Special Education, 31, 300–324. Barton, K. C. (2001). A sociocultural perspective on children’s understanding change: Comparative findings from Northern Ireland and the United States. American Educational Research Journal, 38, 881–913. Berkeley, S., & Riccomini, P. J. (2013). QRAC‐the‐code: A comprehension monitoring strategy for middle school social studies textbooks. Journal of Learning Disabilities, 46(2), 154–165. Bertram, C. (2012). Exploring an historical gaze: A language of description for the practice of school history. Journal of Curriculum Studies, 44(3), 429–442. Bouck, E., Okolo, C. A., Englert, C. S., & Heutsche, A. (2008). Cognitive apprenticeship into the discipline: Helping students with disabilities think and act like historians. Learning Disabilities: A Contemporary Journal, 6(2), 21–40. Bulgren, J., Deshler, D. D., & Lenz, B. K. (2007). Engaging adolescents with LD in higher order thinking about history concepts using integrated content enhancement routines. Journal of Learning Disabilities, 40(2), 121–133. Bulgren, J. A., Graner, P. S., & Deshler, D. (2013). Literacy challenges and opportunities for students with learning disabilities in social studies and history. Learning Disabilities Research & Practice, 28, 17–27. Collins, A., Brown, J. S., & Newman, S. E. (1989). Cognitive apprenticeship: Teaching the crafts of reading, writing, and mathematics. In L. B. Resnick (Ed.), Knowing, learning, and instruction: Essays in honor of Robert Glaser (pp. 453–494). Hillsdale, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum. Cook, L. K., & Mayer, R. E. (1988). Teaching readers about the structure of scientific text. Journal of Educational Psychology, 80, 448–456. De La Paz, S. (2005). Effects of historical reasoning instruction and writing strategy mastery in culturally and academically diverse middle school classrooms. Journal of Educational Psychology, 97, 139–156. De La Paz, S., & Felton, M. (2010). Reading and writing from multiple source documents in history: Effects of strategy instruction with low to average high school writers. Journal of Contemporary Educational Psychology, 35, 174–192. De La Paz, S., Felton, M., Monte‐Sano, C., Croninger, R., Jackson, C., et al. (2014). Developing historical reading and writing with adolescent readers: Effects on student learning. Theory & Research in Social Education, 42, 228–274.

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Jitendra, A., Burgess, C., & Gajria, M. (2011). Cognitive strategy instruction for improving text comprehension of students with learning disabilities: The quality of evidence. Exceptional Children, 77, 135–159. Kennedy, M. J., Newman, C. N., Meyer, J. P., Alves, K. D., & Lloyd, J. W. (2014). Using evidence‐based multimedia to improve vocabulary performance of adolescents with LD: A UDL approach. Learning Disability Quarterly, 37(2), 71–86. Lenz, K. B., Bulgren, J. A., & Hudson, P. (1990). Content enhancement: A model for promoting the acquisition of content by individuals with learning disabilities. In T. E. Scruggs & B. L. Y. Wong (Eds.), Intervention research in learning disabilities (pp. 122–165). New York, NY: Springer‐Verlag. MacArthur, C. A., Ferretti, R., & Okolo, C. (2002). On defending controversial viewpoints: Debates of sixth graders about the desirability of early 20th century American immigration. Learning Disabilities Research and Practice, 17, 160–172. Mason, L. H., & Hedin, L. (2011). Reading science text: Challenges for students with learning disabilities and considerations for teachers. Learning Disabilities Research and Practice, 26, 214–222. Mastropieri, M., & Scruggs, T. (2010). The inclusive classroom: Strategies for effective instruction. Upper Saddle River, NJ: Prentice Hall. Mastropieri, M., Scruggs, T. E., Spencer, V., & Fontana, J. (2003). Promoting success in high school world history: Peer tutoring versus guided notes. Learning Disabilities Research & Practice, 18, 52–65. Monte‐Sano, C. (2008). Qualities of effective writing instruction in history classrooms: A cross‐case comparison of two teachers’ practices. American Educational Research Journal, 45(4), 1045–1079. National Center for Educational Statistics. (2007). The Nation’s Report Card: 12th Grade Reading and Mathematics. Retrieved from http://nces.ed.gov/ nationsreportcard/pdf/main2005/2007468.pdf Nippold, M. A., & Ward‐Lonergan, J (2010). Argumentative writing in preadolescents: The role of verbal reasoning. Child Language Teaching and Therapy, 26, 238–248. Okolo, C. M., Englert, C. S., Bouck, E. C., & Heutsche, A. (2010). Web‐based history learning environments: Helping all students learn and like history. Intervention in School and Clinic, 43, 3–11. Okolo, C. M., Englert, C. S., Bouck, E. C., Heutsche, A., & Wang, H. (2011). The virtual history museum: Learning American history in diverse eighth grade classrooms. Remedial and Special Education, 32, 417–428. Okolo, C. M., Ferretti, R. P., & MacArthur, C. A. (2007). Talking about history: Discussion in a middle‐school inclusive classroom. Journal of Learning Disabilities, 40, 154–166. Panaoura, A., Gagatsis, A., Deliyianni, E., & Elia, I. (2010). A model on the cognitive and affective factors for the use of representations at the learning of decimals. Educational Psychology: An International Journal of Experimental Educational Psychology, 30, 713–734. Reisman, A. (2012). Reading like a historian: A document‐based history curriculum intervention in urban high schools. Cognition & Instruction, 30, 86–112.

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Reynolds, G., & Perin, D. (2009). A comparison of text structure and self‐regulated writing strategies for composing from sources by middle school students. Reading Psychology, 30(3), 254–300. Rouet, J., Britt, M., Mason, R., & and Perfetti, C. (1996). Using multiple sources of evidence to reason about history. Journal of Educational Psychology, 88(3), 478. Saenz, L. M., Fuchs, L., & Fuchs, D. (2005). Peer‐assisted learning strategies for English language learners with learning disabilities. Exceptional Children, 71, 231–247. Sanchez, C. A., & Wiley, J. (2006). An examination of the seductive details effect in terms of working memory capacity. Memory and Cognition, 34(2), 344–355. Seixas, P. (2004). Theorizing historical consciousness. Toronto, Canada: University of Toronto Press. Shanahan, T., & Shanahan, C. (2008). Teaching disciplinary literacy to adolescents: Rethinking content area literacy. Harvard Educational Review, 78(1), 40–59. Spiro, R. J., Coulson, R. L., Feltovich, P. J., & Anderson, D. (1988). Cognitive flexibility theory: Advanced knowledge acquisition in ill‐structured domains. In V. Patel (Ed.), Proceedings of the 10th Annual Conference of the Cognitive Science Society. Hillsdale, NJ: Erlbaum. Stahl, S. A., Hynd, C. R., Britton, B. K., McNish, M. M., & Bosquet, D. (1996). What happens when students read multiple source documents in history? Reading Research Quarterly, 31, 430–456. Stanley, W. B. (1985). Review of research in social studies education: 1976–1983. Washington DC: National Council for the Social Studies. Stearns, P. N., Seixas, P., & Wineburg, S. (2000). Knowing, teaching, and earning history. National and international perspectives. New York and London, NY and UK: New York University Press. Swanson, E., Hairrell, A., Kent, S., Ciullo, S., Wanzek, J., & Vaughn, S. (2014). A synthesis and meta‐analysis of reading interventions using social studies content for students with learning disabilities. Journal of Learning Disabilities, 47(2), 178–195. Vygotsky, L. S. (1978). Mind in society (pp. 79–91). Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Walton, D., Reed, C., & Macagno, F. (2008). Argumentation schemes. New York, NY: Cambridge University Press. Wiley, J., & Voss, J. (1999). Constructing arguments from multiple sources: Tasks that promote understanding and not just memory for text. Journal of Educational Psychology, 91, 301–311. Wineburg, S. (1991a). Historical problem solving: A study of the cognitive processes used in the evaluation of documentary and pictorial evidence. Journal of Educational Psychology, 83, 73–87. Wineburg, S. (1991b). On the reading of historical texts: Notes on the breach between school and academy. American Educational Research Journal, 28, 495–519. Wissinger, D., & De La Paz, S. (2016). Effects of critical discussions on middle school students’ written historical arguments. Journal of Educational Psychology, 108(1), 43–59.

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Part IV Supporting and Assessing Diverse Learners

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16 A Systematic Review of Peer Tutoring Interventions for Students with Disabilities Elizabeth Talbott, Agata Trzaska and Jaime L. Zurheide

Special education in every country in the world is embedded within that country’s national education system (Anastasiou & Keller, 2010). In the United States, ­students with disabilities have been, for 40 years, entitled by law to a free appropriate public education, educated alongside their peers without disabilities to the maximum extent possible (Samuels, 2015; US Department of Education, 2010). Further, the provision of special education in the United States is embedded within multi-tiered systems of support to prevent academic and behavioral difficulties among all youth (Fuchs, Fuchs, & Stecker, 2010; US Department of Education, 2010). Thus, educators and school leaders in the United States work to ensure that all students, particularly students with disabilities, obtain access to the general ­education curriculum and implement evidence‐based practices (US Department of Education, 1997, 2010). Researchers have explored means of delivering assessment and intervention to achieve those goals (Harr‐Robins et al., 2012; McMaster, Fuchs, & Fuchs, 2006; President’s Commission on Excellence in Special Education, 2002; US Department of Education, 1997). Yet, providing evidence‐based assessment and intervention to all students in increasingly diverse classrooms is a lofty goal, and one that can be extraordinarily challenging to achieve (Fuchs, Fuchs, Mathes, & Simmons, 1997; McMaster et al., 2006; Vaughn, Gersten, & Chard, 2000). Peer tutoring interventions are an evidence‐based strategy designed to help teachers and school leaders meet the academic and behavioral needs of all students. Peer tutoring is designed to boost the academic achievement and social skills of students in diverse, inclusive, and self‐contained classrooms. Because of their flexibility and potential to be implemented in schools attended by students with a wide range of backgrounds and abilities, peer tutoring interventions are likely to be of great interest to school leaders, teachers, and policymakers around the world. Indeed, school leaders and teachers who implement peer tutoring may be able to do so using available resources within their schools and in the context of existing organizational structures. Thus, schools located in high‐poverty neighborhoods and in low‐income countries can become appropriate settings for peer tutoring (Capella, Frazier, Atkins, Schoenwald, & Glisson, 2008). Similarly, The Wiley Handbook of Diversity in Special Education, First Edition. Edited by Marie Tejero Hughes and Elizabeth Talbott. © 2017 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Published 2017 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

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school leaders and teachers around the globe may have the opportunity to boost student achievement through the implementation of peer tutoring. Social, economic, and legislative factors contribute to substantial variability in student achievement within schools around the world. In recent cases, researchers have examined the partitioning of variance in student academic achievement across countries, and discovered that there was consistently more variability within, rather than across schools, regardless of country (Zopluoglu, 2012). These results are similar to those found in earlier investigations using samples in the United States (e.g., Nye, Konstantopolous, & Hedges, 2004). That is, in the United States, a substantially greater proportion of student achievement can be attributed to differences between teachers within the same school, rather than across schools (Konstantopoulos, 2005). These findings open the door to policy changes. If peer tutoring proves to be effective in classrooms with students of varying ages, abilities, and demographic characteristics, and across diverse ­academic content areas, then these interventions can be scaled up to the school level through the intervention of principals and other school leaders. Yet, despite the rich potential for peer tutoring interventions for students with disabilities, questions remain regarding their effectiveness for youth with disabilities from diverse backgrounds, especially for youth with disabilities outside the United States. Over the past 40 years, peers have collaborated on a variety of academic activities and in a range of configurations in schools and classrooms, and the effectiveness of these interventions for academic outcomes has been tested in both group and single‐case experimental designs. In recent decades, academic interventions for students with disabilities involving peers have become established systems, including opportunities to boost fluency skills in a variety of subject areas and establish academic strategies for learning (Fuchs et al., 1997; Van Norman & Wood, 2007). Interventions involving peers to promote academic achievement include class‐wide peer tutoring (CWPT), peer‐assisted learning strategies (PALS), reciprocal peer tutoring (RPT), and nonreciprocal peer tutoring (NRPT). These interventions include students of the same and different ages, with and without disabilities.

History of Peer Tutoring in Special Education with Diverse Learners Lawmakers added amendments to the IDEA in 1997 requiring that all students have access to the general curriculum (US Department of Education, 1997). That is, one purpose of special education in the United States is “to ensure access of the child to the general curriculum, so that he or she can meet the educational standards within the jurisdiction of the public agency that apply to all children” [34 C.F.R. § 300.26(b)(3)(ii)]. Researchers have investigated peer tutoring as a potential means of providing access to the general curriculum for students with disabilities in a variety of educational settings, including general education classes, resource classes, and self‐ contained special education (McMaster et al., 2006). Previously, beginning in the late 1980s and early 1990s, Greenwood and colleagues established procedures

History of Peer Tutoring in Special Education with Diverse Learners History of Peer Tutoring in Special Education with Diverse Learners 323

for the effective delivery of CWPT for diverse learners in inner‐city schools (Delquadri, Greenwood, Stretton, & Hall, 1983; Greenwood & Delquadri, 1995; Greenwood, Delquadri, & Hall, 1989; Greenwood et  al., 1987; Greenwood, Terry, Arreaga‐Mayer, & Finney 1992; Kohler & Greenwood, 1990). Throughout the implementation of CWPT, investigators worked with teachers to structure learning activities so that peers could work together in dyads and small groups to tutor one another and practice academic skills (Delquadri, Greenwood, Whorton, Carta, & Hall, 1986; Fuchs et al., 1997; Gardner, Noble, Hessler, Yawn, & Herron, 2007). What was perhaps novel about CWPT was that researchers employed components of effective teacher‐delivered instruction to activities with peers (Greenwood, 1991). That is, students participated in CWPT activities designed to increase the time they spent engaged in academic activities, and help them complete those activities with a high rate of success (Greenwood, 1991). Students who participated in research studies of CWPT were from ethnically diverse backgrounds and urban schools; they included youth who were achieving at and above grade level, as well as students with disabilities, although outcomes for youth with disabilities were not reported in this early work. Greenwood (1991) did report that a large‐scale longitudinal evaluation of CWPT in 23 low‐income schools with 211 students in grades 1–4 revealed that, after 4 years, students from inner‐city schools who were disadvantaged by poverty made significantly greater gains than members of a control group. Furthermore, standardized test scores of students who participated in this study approached national norms and were not statistically different from those youth from a high socioeconomic group (Greenwood, 1991). Following the work of Greenwood and colleagues, Douglas and Lynn Fuchs and their colleagues (1997) developed PALS as a form of CWPT to help teachers address the broad range of students’ needs in their classes, including students with disabilities. In the following description of a hypothetical urban classroom in the United States, PALS researchers illustrate the challenges of teaching students in diverse classrooms. For example, in a classroom comprised of 34 students, with students’ ethnic backgrounds including African American, Latino, Korean, Russian, Haitian, and Chinese, and 30% of students living in poverty, 20% of s­ tudents in this hypothetical class are learning English as a second language; 30% of students are reading below grade level; and 16% of students have been identified with disabilities (Fuchs et al., 1997). Although the description of this class is a hypothetical one, the composition of such a class is not far from reality. In diverse classrooms around the world, teachers are faced with the challenge to teach all students well. To address the needs of diverse learners (including youth with disabilities) in diverse classrooms, researchers have implemented RPT (e.g., PALS) with children in grades 2–6, and then adapted and expanded it for kindergarten and high school students. Throughout the development and testing of RPT, researchers have collaborated with teachers so that the intervention was not only effective, but also practical for classroom use. In addition, over the course of 15 years, researchers have studied the effectiveness of PALS with diverse learners (McMaster et al., 2006).

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Researchers have subsequently adapted and expanded components of CWPT and RPT in their research with students who have disabilities. A central component of the intervention is the reciprocal method (wherein students alternate the role of tutor and tutee) and the inclusion of cognitive strategies and mnemonics as part of peer tutoring (see Mastropieri, Spencer, Scruggs, & Talbott, 2000). Researchers have added additional components to peer‐tutoring interventions, such as the addition of differentiated instruction (Mastropieri et al., 2006), and teacher‐ and parent‐interventions (Mastropieri, Scruggs, & Marshak, 2008). In addition, researchers have adapted and studied variations of peer tutoring, such as nonreciprocal methods, wherein students with disabilities serve as tutors and tutees, with peers of the same and different ages (Mastropieri et al., 2000). In this chapter, we will review studies in three broad categories of peer tutoring employed with students with disabilities and tested by researchers: CWPT, RPT (including PALS), and NRPT. We begin by reviewing meta‐analyses and systematic reviews of peer tutoring with students with disabilities, followed by a presentation of specific research questions for this chapter about the effectiveness of peer tutoring for youth with disabilities from diverse backgrounds.

Results from Systematic Reviews and Meta‐analyses of Peer Tutoring We identified the following meta‐analyses and systematic reviews of peer tutoring with academic outcomes for students with disabilities: Bowman‐Perrott et al. (2013); Elbaum, Vaughn, Hughes, and Moody (1999); Hott, Alresheed, and Henry (2014); Kunsch, Jitendra, and Sood (2007); Mastropieri et al. (2000); Mathes and Fuchs (1994); Okilwa and Shelby (2010); Ryan, Reid, and Epstein (2004); Spencer (2006); Stenhoff and Lignugaris/Kraft (2007); Wexler, Reed, Pyle, Mitchell, and Barton (2015). We examined these reviews for their findings of effective interventions for diverse students with disabilities, and list their key features in Table  16.1, including type of review, race of students included in the studies reviewed, type of peer tutoring, grade‐level and disability characteristics, academic content area, study search procedures employed, and effect sizes of the peer‐ tutoring interventions for students with disabilities. We identified a range of reviews across these 12 studies, with seven of them reporting the results of both single‐case and group design research. Five of the reviewers reported the race of students included in primary studies from their reviews, and for each of those studies, the samples of youth were diverse, including students who were Caucasian, African American, Latino, Asian, and multiracial. Only one of the reviews reported including students from countries outside the United States (Kunsch et al., 2007). Reviewers evaluated a range of peer‐tutoring interventions, including CWPT, PALS, RPT, and NRPT (both same‐ and cross‐age tutoring). Grade levels addressed in these reviews ranged from kindergarten through grade 12, and disability categories included students with EBD, LD, ASD, intellectual disabilities (ID, formerly mental retardation, MR), SPL impairments and other health impairment (OHI). Academic content addressed in the reviews included reading, math, social studies, spelling, and additional content areas such

Type of review

n = 20; reviewers did not report race of students from the 20 studies

n = 15; 2/15 studies addressed academic outcomes; reviewers did not report race of students from the 15 studies

Meta‐ analysis, group design studies

Systematic review, single‐case studies

Hott, Alresheed, and Henry (2014)

Grades 6–12 Students with LD and EBD.

CWPT (n = 2/15 with academic outcomes)

ES Students with LD = 0.75 Students with EBD = 0.76

ERIC, PsycInfo, Google Scholar with search terms

Next column details search procedure

Academic content area

Reading, math, social studies

Reading/ literacy

Hand searches of reference lists and journals; no gray literature

No ES reported

(Continued)

Average ES = 0.36 Hand search of reference lists and books, sent letters to authors who presented at national conferences, efforts to retrieve gray literature, sent letters to state departments of ed and school districts requesting manuscripts

Published literature only; high‐quality single‐case studies. Hand search of reference lists; no international; no gray literature

Method: hand searching, international Method: detailed studies, and gray Results (effect sizes) for search procedure literature students with disabilities

Social studies ERIC, PSYCInfo, Students with ProQuest, ASD; grade level Education not noted Research Complete, Wiley, Taylor & Francis, Sage, Science Direct, Springer Link

Grades 1–6 Dyads: Cross Students with age, LD and EBD cooperative partners (16/20 studies). Four studies of small group tutoring

n = 26; 12/26 studies CWPT, RPT reported race of student participants, and included white and AA students

No. of studies and Type of peer participant diversity tutoring

Elbaum, Vaughn, Hughes, and Moody (1999)

Meta‐ Bowman‐ Perrott et al. analysis, single‐case (2013) studies

Citation

Grade‐level and special education label

Table 16.1  Systematic Reviews and Meta‐analyses of Peer‐Tutoring Interventions for Students with Disabilities

Overall ES = 0.36 Compared to other treatment = 0.14 Compared to teacher‐led control = 0.40 ES for swds: As tutee = 0.30 As tutor = 0.42 RPT = 0.34 Hand search of special education journals and reference lists; contacted authors; no gray literature ERIC and Dissertation database with search terms

Grades 1–12 Students with mild disabilities

Reading

n = 11; reviewers did RPT not report race of students from the 11 studies

Average ES Reading = 0.48 Writing = 0.88 Math = 0.41 Hand searches of reference lists and recent issues of special education journals; some gray literature included = unpublished dissertations and conference presentations

“Major databases in education” searched, no search terms listed

Reading, writing, spelling, math, social studies

K–12 Students with LD, EBD, MR

Same and cross‐age; students with disabilities as tutors

n = 35; reviewers did not report race of students from the 35 studies

Systematic review of group and single‐case design studies

Mastropieri, Spencer, Scruggs, and Talbott (2000)

Mathes and Meta‐ analysis, Fuchs group design (1994) studies

Average ES = 0.23

Hand search of reference lists and special education journals; no gray literature; only studies in English

ERIC and PsycINFO with search terms

Math

K–12 Students with LD, MR, EBD; students at risk

Peer tutoring in math with and without CBM. Cross‐age, RPT

n = 17; 13/17 studies reported race of student participants, and included white, AA, Latino, and Asian, as well as minority students (broadly) and youth from Israel

Meta‐ analysis, group design studies

Academic content area

Kunsch, Jitendra, and Sood (2007)

No. of studies and Type of peer participant diversity tutoring

Method: hand searching, international Method: detailed studies, and gray Results (effect sizes) for search procedure literature students with disabilities

Type of review

Grade‐level and special education label

Citation

Table 16.1  (Continued)

Meta‐ analysis, group design studies

Spencer, Simpson, and Oatis (2009)

Spencer (2006)

n = 14. 1/14 studies reported race (53% Latino, 35% AA, 12% white)

Grades 6–12 Students with LD, EBD, MR

K–12 CWPT, Students with cross‐age tutoring, PALS EBD

n = 12; 11/12 studies CWPT, RPT, reported race; across cross‐age all studies, 47% of students were white, 35% AA, 14% Latino, 2% Asian, 2% multi‐racial

n = 9; reviewer did Systematic review, group not report race of students and single‐case design studies

Cross‐age, Elementary, same‐age, RPT middle, high school Students with EBD, LD, OHI, SPL, MR

Elementary, Meta‐analysis n = 38. Reviewer did Cross‐age, same‐age, RPT middle, high not report race of and school students systematic Students with review, group EBD and single‐case design studies

Ryan, Reid, Meta‐ and Epstein analysis, group and (2004) single‐case design studies

Okilwa and Shelby (2010)

ERIC, PsycINFO Reading, vocabulary/ phonics, social studies, biology

No ES reported

(Continued)

Average ES = 0.72 (n = 13/38 studies of elementary students) Hand searching of special education journals; no gray literature

Reading, spelling, language arts, social studies/ social science, language

Hand searching of special education journals; no gray literature

Average ES = 1.45 (n = 9/14 studies reporting ES)

Hand searching of special education journals and reference lists; no gray literature—peer‐ reviewed studies only

ERIC, PsycINFO Reading, and others with math, language arts, search terms spelling, history, science ERIC, PsycINFO, Dissertation Abstracts International

Hand search of ref lists Average ES = 0.54 (n = 6/12 studies reporting ES) and journals; no gray literature

ERIC, ASP, PsycINFO, with multiple search terms

Math, literacy, science, social studies

n = 20. Reviewer did Dyads: heterogeneous not report race of (higher skills), students homogeneous (same skills), reverse role (swds as tutors)

CWPT, PALS, CSR, other non‐formal approaches

Meta‐ analysis, group and single‐case design studies

Systematic, quantitative review of group and single‐case design studies

Stenhoff and Lignugaris/ Kraft (2007)

Wexler, Reed, Pyle, Mitchell, and Barton (2015)

ERIC, Proquest, Reading, math, science, and others with social studies, search terms spelling, driver’s education, social skills (16/20 studies of academic interventions) ERIC, Math, PsycINFO, reading, content areas Academic Search Complete

Grades 6–12 (ages 11–18) Students with LD, EBD, MR

Academic content area

Hand search of reference lists and 16 journals; no gray literature

CWPT (three studies with swds) ES ranged from 0.37–1.04; ES (pnd) ranged from moderately to highly effective for single‐case study with swds PALS (four studies) ES ranged from −.27–2.03 CSR (two studies) ES ranged from −0.10–1.14 with swds

Average ES = 0.73 Hand search of reference lists; no gray (n = 6/20 studies reporting ES) literature

Method: hand searching, international Method: detailed studies, and gray Results (effect sizes) for search procedure literature students with disabilities

Grade 7–12 Students with mild disabilities (LD, ED, ID)

Grade‐level and special education label

Note: C WPT = class‐wide peer tutoring; PALS = peer‐assisted learning strategies; RPT = reciprocal peer tutoring; CSR = collaborative strategic reading; LD = learning disabilities; EBD = emotional/behavioral disabilities; MR = mental retardation; ID = intellectual disabilities; OHI = other health impaired; SPL = speech and language; ASD = autism spectrum disorder; swds = students with disabilities; AA = African American

n = 13. 8/13 studies reported race (white, AA, Latino students)

No. of studies and Type of peer participant diversity tutoring

Citation

Type of review

Table 16.1  (Continued)

Method Method 329

as biology. We summarize results reported by the reviewers as effect sizes from meta‐analyses, where they were provided.

Purpose of the Present Study The primary objective of the current systematic review is to examine the extent to which peer tutoring interventions have resulted in increases in student academic achievement for diverse students with disabilities. Thus, we address the following research questions in this systematic review. How effective is peer tutoring for diverse learners with disabilities, ages 5–21 years (elementary through secondary school)? What are distinguishing features of effective peer interventions for diverse learners with disabilities? We review and discuss the following study features: (a) type of intervention (i.e., CWPT, PALS, RPT, and NRPT); (b) participants and diversity; (c) settings for intervention (i.e., general or special education classes); (d) academic subject areas; (e) research designs; and (f ) academic outcomes. We review findings from studies using both group and single‐case research design. Finally, we identify gaps and future directions for research on peer tutoring for students with ­disabilities from diverse backgrounds.

Method In Table 16.2, we summarize the procedures we used to search for and retrieve studies of peer tutoring with students who have disabilities. In this table, we summarize the process and outcome from the search and initial screening of studies, followed by study retrieval and continued screening of studies for full review. We obtained a pool of 341 studies from electronic and hand searches described in Table 16.2, and then added 92 studies through additional searches. After reviewing titles and abstracts, we determined that 123 studies were eligible for further review. Upon continued screening and further review, we found that 59 studies met the criteria for inclusion, with 21 studies of CWPT, 21 studies of RPT (10 of which were studies of PALS), and 17 studies of NRPT (eight of which were conducted with same‐age youth, and nine of which were with youth of different or cross‐ages). We used the following criteria for inclusion of studies in the present sample. To be included, studies had to be experimental or quasi‐experimental studies of the effects of peer tutoring on academic outcomes for students with disabilities. In addition, studies had to include students with high‐incidence disabilities: LD, emotional disturbance or EBD, ID or MR, attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD) and ASD. We excluded studies reporting outcomes only for students without disabilities, or at‐risk or struggling learners, or English‐language-learners, unless these students had also been identified with disabilities. Further, researchers had to report academic outcomes for students with disabilities in core subject areas (e.g., English, reading or language arts, mathematics, science, foreign languages, civics and government, economics, arts, history, and geography, etc.).

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16  A Systematic Review of Peer Tutoring Interventions for Students with Disabilities

Table 16.2  Summary of Study Search and Screening Process Search and initial Screening

Outcome

Time period in which the search was conducted

October 2014–March 2015

Hand searches

Searched reference lists of literature reviews, meta‐analyses, and book chapters; searched citation lists of included studies n = 341 studies identified

Databases searched

Academic Search Complete, Education Research Complete, Australian Education Index, ERIC n = 92 (these were new studies, not redundant with previous 341)

Search for unpublished studies

We did not explicitly search for unpublished studies

Keywords used

Peer tutoring, tutoring, cooperative learning, peer‐mediated instruction, cross‐age, disability/ disabilities/disabled (disab*), special education, elementary OR secondary OR high school

Studies written in languages other than English

Excluded, but effort was made to find studies from non‐US countries—we used large databases that included research from other countries (ERIC and Academic Search Complete), country‐specific databases (AEI), limited by “foreign countries” in ERIC search

Initial inclusion criteria

K–12 setting (not higher education or pre‐K), peer‐tutoring study (CWPT, PALS, reciprocal per tutoring, etc.), intervention study (experimental/quasi‐experimental or single subject), included academic outcomes

Initial screening: Reviewed titles and abstracts to determine whether studies were eligible

n = 341 from previous meta analyses n = 92 from database searching Total identified following initial screening: n = 123

Study retrieval and continued screening

Outcome

Refinement of our research questions led us to exclude studies of cooperative learning (n = 39 studies).

N = 123

Refined inclusion/exclusion criteria

Studies must include students with high‐ incidence disabilities (LD, EBD, ADHD, mild ID/MR, mild ASD) and specify outcomes of the intervention for them. Excluded studies of at‐ risk/struggling learners, unless students with disabilities (and their outcomes) were also specified. Study must report outcomes in core subject areas (e.g., language arts, math, science, etc.)—excluded studies of PE, vocational skills, etc. *see full inc/exc criteria in text

Results Results 331

Table 16.2  (Continued) Search and initial Screening

Outcome

From a pool of n = 84, studies removed that did not fit refined inclusion criteria (n = 25)

n = 59 studies in final pool

Final pool of studies—coded and in Table 16.3: Students with mild disabilities, K–12 Academic outcomes Experimental or quasi‐ experimental design

Total N = 59 CWPT n = 21 RPT n = 21 (PALS n = 10) NRPT n = 17 (eight same age, nine cross‐age)

Thus, we excluded studies of peer tutoring interventions in drivers’ education, physical education, vocational education, and arts education. Further, to be included, studies had to employ either group or single‐case designs evaluating the effects of an intervention; we excluded studies using qualitative methods (such as case studies) and nonexperimental designs or action research projects. We also excluded studies of cooperative learning, as we viewed this intervention method as distinctly different from peer tutoring, and had discovered in our original searches that students with disabilities were not often explicitly represented in these studies. Furthermore, McMaster and Fuchs (2002) identified problems with research designs in a body of cooperative learning studies with students with LD that precluded their drawing conclusions about the effectiveness of these interventions. Finally, we excluded studies focused on preschool or college‐age and adult learners or tutors. Each of the three study authors coded the following information from each of the 59 studies we retrieved: characteristics of participants (age, grade‐level, disability characteristics, and diversity), settings for intervention (country of origin, type of classroom), academic subjects for tutoring, research designs (group or single‐case design), and intervention outcomes (descriptive outcomes and/or effect sizes).

Results In this section, we provide a brief description of each type of tutoring, followed by a summary of the studies we identified and the distinguishing ­features of those studies (i.e., participants and diversity, settings, academic subjects, research designs, and outcomes). In Table 16.3, we have provided the details from our coding for each of the 59 studies included in the systematic review. We do so for the following types of peer‐tutoring interventions: CWPT, RPT (including PALS), and NRPT, for youth of the same and different (cross) ages.

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Table 16.3  Summary of the Results of the Systematic Review of Peer Tutoring Studies Class‐wide Peer Tutoring Participants and diversity

Academic subject

Single case

Seven students, six with EBD, one student with LD High school age Six males and one female

World history

CWPT consisted of tutoring with flashcards containing keywords; authors obtained individual variability in the effectiveness of CWPT, but did note that the intervention improved average test scores in WH

Bowman‐ Perrott (2009)

Single case

11 students, all with EBD Grade 9–12 students

Biology

CWPT appeared to work, with higher percent correct scores during intervention for both classes compared to baseline (ABA design across two classes)

Bowman‐ Perrott, Greenwood, and Tapia (2007)

Single case

19 students, all with disabilities (EBD and LD) Grade 5–12 students 12 white, six AA, one Latino

Biology and vocabulary

In study 1, just CWPT was used with moderate success; in study 2, CWPT was used with self‐monitoring, and results were more successful

DuPaul, Ervin, Hook, and McGoey (1998)

Single case

29 students, 66% with ADHD Grade 1–5 students 16 male and three female 14 white, three Latino, two AA

Math and spelling

Of the 14 participants for whom weekly testing data were available, 50% were considered treatment successes while only 30% of comparison students were classified as treatment successes

Franca and Kerr (1990)

Single case

Eight students, all with EBD 13–16 years old

Math

The peer‐tutoring intervention produced consistent and significant increases in students’ academic performance

Greenwood, Terry, Utley, and Montagna (1993)

Group

303 students, 90 with disabilities (LD, ID, SPL, EBD) Intervention in grades 1–4, follow up in grade 6 (the current study)

Math, spelling, reading

Students who had participated in CWPT over the course of 2–4 years were significantly less likely to be placed in special education and to be served in restrictive placements than were members of the control group

Citation

Design

Bell, Young, Blair, and Nelson (1990)

Results

Results Results 333

Table 16.3  (Continued) Class‐wide Peer Tutoring Participants and diversity

Academic subject

Single case

Seven students with mild disabilities (LD or ID) Grade 2 Six male and one female

Math

Students with disabilities improved math word problem scores across three/ four problem types, and showed generalization to a mixed set of problems using strategies learned; students with disabilities maintained improved math scores, if not the use of strategies, across all four problem types

Harper, Mallette, Maheady, Bentley, and Moore (1995)

Single case

Eight students, all with mild disabilities (LD, ID, EBD) 9–11 years old

Math

CWPT was an effective intervention to improve performance

Harper, Mallette, Maheady, Parkes, and Moore (1993)

Single case

Eight students, all with disabilities (LD and ID) 8–10 years old Two female and six male

Spelling

CWPT was an effective intervention to improve spelling performance of children with mild handicapping conditions; study demonstrated the generalization to writing tasks

Hughes and Fredrick (2006)

Single case

19 students, three with LD Grade 6 10 male and nine female 56% AA, 25% white, 13% Latino, 6% Eastern Indian

Vocabulary

For students with LD—two out of three students demonstrated mastery in a 7‐week period

Kamps, Barbetta, Leonard, and Delquadri (1994)

Single case

17 students, three students (18%) with autism 8–9 years old 12 males, five females

Reading

Study indicates that CWPT was an effective strategy for increasing academic achievement in reading of students with autism as well as their nondisabled peers

Kourea, Cartledge, and Musti‐ Rao (2007)

Single case

Six students, two with LD 7–8 years old Four female and two male 100% AA

Reading

All study participants learned more words and increased reading fluency and comprehension during peer tutoring than during teacher‐led classroom discussion. Maintenance assessments showed that all students but one retained high percentages of words

Citation

Design

Harper (1993)

Results

(Continued)

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16  A Systematic Review of Peer Tutoring Interventions for Students with Disabilities

Table 16.3  (Continued) Class‐wide Peer Tutoring Participants and diversity

Academic subject

Single case

70 students, seven with LD Grades 3–4 37 male and 33 female Equal percentages of AA/white and Latino

Spelling

Lower achieving students (including those with LD) showed increases in weekly spelling performance and a decrease in failing grades

Maheady, Sacca, and Harper (1987)

Single case

91 students, 31% with disabilities (LD and EBD) Grades 9–10 45 female and 45 male, 52% AA, 45% white, 3% Latino and Native American

Math

Results indicate that CWPT procedures resulted in immediate and systematic increases in weekly math test performance

Maheady, Sacca, and Harper (1988)

Single case

50 students, 28% with mild disabilities Grade 10 27 male and 23 female 52% white, 44% AA, 4% Native American

Social studies

The implementation of CWPT resulted in an immediate and dramatic increase in the weekly test scores of both mildly handicapped and nondisabled students. Mildly handicapped students’ gains were slightly higher

Marshak, Mastropieri, and Scruggs (2011)

Group

186 students, 23% with disabilities (LD, OHI, autism, SPL, EBD, orthopedic) Middle school 48% white, 12% AA, 16% Latino, 22% Asian, 2% multi‐racial

Social studies

Students with and without disabilities in the CWPT condition outperformed students in the traditional (control) condition on all items

Mastropieri, Scruggs, and Marshak (2008)

Group

55 students, 27% with disabilities (LD and EBD) Middle school 48% male, 52% female, 60% white, 16% Latino, 4% AA, 18% Asian American, 2% other

Social studies

Students in the experimental condition (involving teachers, parents, and CWPT) obtained higher scores on social studies measures; peer tutoring differentially facilitated learning by students with mild disabilities in inclusive classrooms

Citation

Design

Maheady and Harper (1987)

Results

Results Results 335

Table 16.3  (Continued) Class‐wide Peer Tutoring Participants and diversity

Academic subject

Group

213 students, 21% with disabilities (LD and EBD) Middle school 51% male, 49% female 44% white, 27% AA, 17.4% Latino, 4.4% Asian, 5.2% multiracial, middle school

Science

Students in the experimental (hands‐on science, peer tutoring) condition outperformed members of the control group (teacher‐ directed instruction) on unit tests and high‐stakes tests; effects of the intervention were found for students with and without disabilities

Mortweet, et al. (1999)

Single case

Eight students, four with ID Grades 2–3 Six females and two males Three white, five AA

Spelling

Seven out of eight targeted students spelled with more accuracy during CWPT when compared to teacher‐led instruction and all eight target students were engaged in higher rates of academic responding during CWPT when compared to rates during teacher‐led instruction

Scruggs, Mastropieri, and Marshak (2012)

Group

157 students, 15% with disabilities (LD and EBD) Middle‐school age 48% white, 7% AA, 13% Latino, 29% Asian, 3% multiracial

Social studies

Students with and without disabilities in the CWPT experimental condition (modified materials and parent training) outperformed students in the traditional instruction (control) condition on all items.

Sideridis, Utley, and Greenwood (1997)

Single case

Six students, 50% with disabilities (LD and ID) Grade 6 Two females and four males

Spelling

There was a more pronounced effect of CWPT on weekly pre‐post tests in spelling for SWD compared to peers without disabilities

Citation

Design

Mastropieri et al. (2006)

Results

Reciprocal Peer Tutoring Article

Design

Participants

Subject

Results

MacArthur, Schwartz, and Graham (1991)

Group

29 students, all with LD Grades 4–6 86% white males

Writing

Students who participated in peer editing made more revisions, decreased their spelling and punctuation errors, and significantly improved their quality of writing (Continued)

336

16  A Systematic Review of Peer Tutoring Interventions for Students with Disabilities

Table 16.3  (Continued) Reciprocal Peer Tutoring Article

Design

Participants

Subject

Results

Mackiewicz, Wood, Cooke, and Mazzotti (2011)

Single case

Eight students, 63% with disabilities (LD and ID) Grade 4 50% female and 50% male

Vocabulary

The mean performance for all participants was greater for peer tutoring with audio prompting than for incidental learning of vocabulary words through classroom reading instruction

Mastropieriet al. (2001)

Group

24 students, all with disabilities (LD and ID) Grade 7 71% male, 29% female 88% white, 8% Latino, 4% AA

Reading

Students in the peer‐ tutoring condition significantly outperformed more traditionally taught control students on reading comprehension performance

Mastropieri, Scruggs, Spencer, and Fontana (2003)

Group

16 students, all with disabilities (LD, EBD, ID) Grade 10 81% males and 19% females 38% white, 25% AA, 25% Latino, 12% Asian

Reading (as part of a history class)

Students who participated in peer tutoring significantly outperformed those who participated in the guided‐notes condition (control group) on content‐area tests (chapter tests, unit tests, end‐of‐ year final tests).

McDuffie, Mastropieri, and Scruggs (2009)

Group

203 students, 31% with disabilities (LD, OHI, autism, EBD, SLP) Mean age 12.9 52% male and 48% female 68% white, 11% Latino, 9% AA, 9% Asian, and 3% multiracial

Science

Students in the peer‐ tutoring condition performed better than students receiving traditional instruction on unit tests but not on the overall cumulative posttest

Oddo, Barnett, Hawkins, and Musti‐Rao (2010)

Single case

Four students, one with LD Grade 4 Class composition: 94% white and 6% Asian

Reading

Oral reading fluency (ORF) and reading maze comprehension scores increased for all four students when compared to the baseline level

Results Results 337

Table 16.3  (Continued) Reciprocal Peer Tutoring Article

Design

Participants

Subject

Results

Scruggs and Osguthorpe (1985)

Group

31 students, all with disabilities (LD and EBD) Grades 2–5

Reading

The experimental group made significant gains in words read correctly with no change for the control group; the experimental group had significantly greater gain on word attack skills

Spencer, Scruggs, and Mastropieri (2003)

Single case

30 students, all with EBD Grades 7–8

Social studies

Students in the peer tutoring with summarization strategies condition scored higher on weekly quizzes and multiple choice tests and on‐task behavior than students receiving traditional instruction; no notable gains noted on open‐ended tests

Staubitz, Cartledge, Yurick, and Lo (2005)

Single case

Six students, all with or at risk for EBD Grades 4–5 83% AA, 17% white

Reading

All students improved both reading fluency (i.e., speed and accuracy) and comprehension when participating in repeated reading; improvements were also observed on the unpracticed generalization passages

Sutherland and Snyder (2007)

Single case

Four students, all with EBD Grades 5–7 One female and four male 75% AA, 25% Latino

Reading

During the intervention phase all students made progress in their reading fluency; however, the follow‐up data indicated that the treatment effects were not maintained after the intervention ended

Wood, Mustian, and Cooke (2012)

Single case

Eight students, all with disabilities (LD, OHI, EBD) 12–15 years old 37% female and 63% male 63% white, 25% AA, 12% Latino

Reading (vocabulary)

Students participated in computer‐assisted peer tutoring to learn vocabulary; seven of eight students increased the number of words used correctly and generalization of vocabulary

(Continued)

338

16  A Systematic Review of Peer Tutoring Interventions for Students with Disabilities

Table 16.3  (Continued) Reciprocal Peer Tutoring—PALS Article

Design

Participants

Subject

Results

Calhoon (2005)

Group

38 students, all with LD Grade 6–8 66% male, 34% female 66% Latino, 29% white, 5% AA

Reading

Students receiving the combination of the peer‐ mediated phonological skill and PALS comprehension programs had significantly greater gains in letter–word identification, word attack, and comprehension skills compared to the control group but no differences were found between conditions for reading fluency

Calhoon and Fuchs (2003)

Group

92 students, all with disabilities (LD, EBD, ID, other) Grade 9–12 64% male and 36% female 64% AA, 36% white

Mathematics

Students in PALS/CBM condition improved their computation math skills significantly more than control students, but no significant difference was found on concepts/ application math skills

Falk and Wehby (2001)

Single case

Six students, all students with disabilities (EBD, SLP, ADHD) Age 5–6 years 100% male

Reading (early reading skills)

Students with problem behaviors and deficits in social functioning receiving K‐PALS increased scores on letter‐sound correspondence and blending probes but not on phonemic segmentation probes.

Fuchs, Fuchs, Mathes, and Simmons (1997)

Group

120 students, 33% with LD Grade 2–6

Reading

A significant increase in the posttreatment scores was noted for all students in the PALS condition: LD, low performing, and average performing. Posttreatment scores for students in the control condition were comparable to pretreatment

Results Results 339

Table 16.3  (Continued) Reciprocal Peer Tutoring—PALS Article

Design

Participants

Subject

Results

Fuchs, Fuchs, Phillips, Hamlett and Karns (1995)

Group

40 students, 33% with LD Grades 2–4

Math

PALS students outperformed control group students across those with three sets of characteristics: LD, low‐achieving, and average achieving; PALS students did significantly better in operations skills

Fuchs, Fuchs, and Kazdan (1999)

Group

52 students, all with disabilities (LD, ID, other) Grade 9 62% male and 38% female 54% AA, 42% white, 4% Asian

Reading

Students in the PALS group increased their reading comprehension in comparison with the treatment group; students’ reading fluency did not improve as a function of participating in PALS

Fuchs, Fuchs, Yazdian and Powell (2002)

Group

161 students 5% with disabilities (SLP, ADHD, LD) Grade 1 57% male and 43% female 43% AA, 34% white, 23% Latino

Mathematics

Students in the PALS group performed higher than the control group on the Stanford Achievement Test (SAT) aligned with PALS content; students with disabilities in the PALS group responded better and demonstrated more growth than students without disabilities

Sáenz, Fuchs, and Fuchs (2005)

Group

119 students, 8% with LD Grades 3–6 All native Spanish‐ speaking

Reading

Reading comprehension of ELL students with and without LD in transitional bilingual education classrooms increased as a result of PALS

Wehby, Falk, Barton‐ Arwood, Lane, and Cooley (2003)

Single case

Eight students, all with disabilities Grades KG‐1 100% male 75% AA, 25% white

Reading

While PALS helped students increase their phonological skills, the gains did not generalize to their general reading ability (Continued)

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16  A Systematic Review of Peer Tutoring Interventions for Students with Disabilities

Table 16.3  (Continued) Nonreciprocal Peer Tutoring—Same Age

Participants– tutors

Authors

Design

Bagley and Mallick (1996)

Group

Students without disabilities

Campbell, Brady, and Linehan (1991)

Single case

Carlton, Litton, and Zinkgraf (1985)

Kamps, Locke, Delquadri, and Hall (1989)

Participants– students being tutored

Subject

Results

27 students with mild disabilities (physical, ID) Age 13

Reading

Students with disabilities increased their reading ages beyond expected based on natural growth over time; there were greater increases for students with disabilities in tutoring than students without disabilities in the control group

Four students with LD Age 10–11 years Three male and one female Two white, one AA, one multiracial

Two students with LD, one with ID Age 9 Two male and one female Two white, one AA

Writing

All students being tutored acquired capitalization skills through use of peer teaching and additional letter writing activities

Group

Students with ID (higher functioning) Age 11–13 years Total of 74 students

Students with ID (lower functioning) Age 11–13 years

Reading (sight words)

Both tutors and students being tutored showed significant gains in sight word recognition when compared to control group

Single case

Two students without disabilities All female

Two students with autism All male

Math, language, reading

Students improved in all three academic areas included in tutoring: money skills, expressive language, and oral reading

Table 16.3  (Continued) Nonreciprocal Peer Tutoring—Same Age

Participants– tutors

Participants– students being tutored

Authors

Design

Subject

Results

Kane and Alley (1980)

Group

Incarcerated students with LD and behavior problems Age 15–17 years

Incarcerated students with LD and behavior problems (lower achieving that tutor group) Age 12–17 years

Math

There were no differences in math scores between students in classes using peer tutors versus those using teacher‐directed instruction

Peach and Moore (1990)

Single case

Four gifted students Grades 3–4

Eight students with mild ID Grades 3–4

Spelling

Students being tutored showed an increase in spelling scores from baseline to intervention

Simmons, Fuchs, Fuchs, Mathes, and Hodge (1995)

Group

Students without disabilities Grades 2–5

68 students with LD or low performing Grades 2–5

Reading

Students in the explicit teaching plus peer‐tutoring condition scored higher on reading fluency and comprehension than did explicit teaching alone or control students

Stowitschek, Hecimovic, Stowitschek, and Shores (1982)

Single case

12 students with EBD in a psychiatric hospital Ages 14–17 years Six male and six female

Spelling

Student performance on daily spelling tests increased considerably when intervention in the form of peer instruction occurred

Nonreciprocal Peer‐Tutoring Studies—Cross‐Age

Article

Design

Barbetta (1991)

Single case

Participants– tutors

Six high school students without disabilities

Participants– students being tutored

Subject

Results

Six elementary Reading Students being tutored improved in their students, three (sight words) mastery of sight words; with LD students attained Age 7–10 years mastery of new words Three male, in a few sessions and three female maintained words All white following the intervention (Continued)

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16  A Systematic Review of Peer Tutoring Interventions for Students with Disabilities

Table 16.3  (Continued) Nonreciprocal Peer‐Tutoring Studies—Cross‐Age

Participants– tutors

Article

Design

Beirne‐ Smith (1991)

Group

20 elementary students without disabilities Grades 3–6 (students paired with younger students for tutoring)

Cochran, Feng, Cartledge, and Hamilton (1993)

Single case

Kamps, Dugan, Potucek, and Collins (1999)

Lingo (2014)

Participants– students being tutored

Subject

Results

20 elementary students, all with LD Mean age 8.7 17 male, three female

Math

Students participating in tutoring scored significantly higher in math skills compared to control; no significant differences were found for tutors

Four grade 5 students with EBD All AA

Four grade 2 students with ED All AA

Reading Both tutors and students being tutored (sight words) had increase in sight word recognition, with greater gains than control students

Single case

Year 1: eight grade 4 students, two with autism (one male, one female) Year 2: four students with autism (two male, two female)

Six grade 1 students without disabilities each year

Reading Grade 1 students who participated in tutoring (sight words) had higher gains on sight word tests compared to baseline; students with autism were able to successfully implement the tutoring steps with the exception of one student

Single case

Four high school seniors without disabilities Three female, one male All white

Four students with disabilities (LD, OHI, ID) Grade 6 Four female, three males All white

Reading All participants made gains in fluency. Three out of four had minimal overlap between baseline and intervention

Scruggs and Group Osguthorpe (1985)

27 students with disabilities (LD and EBD) Grades 1–6 64% male, 36% female

Reading Tutors and students being tutored exhibited academic gains in reading with significant gains on word attack skills. For students being tutored, gains in words read correctly were double that of control tutors.

Class‐wide Peer Tutoring Class‐wide Peer Tutoring 343

Table 16.3  (Continued) Nonreciprocal Peer‐Tutoring Studies—Cross‐Age

Participants– tutors

Participants– students being tutored

Shisler, Top, Group and Osguthorpe (1986)

10 upper elementary students with EBD

12 grade 1 students without disabilities

Reading Both tutors and students being tutored had increases in reading achievement significantly higher than controls.

Group Top and Osguthorpe (1985)

39 upper elementary students with disabilities (LD and EBD)

37 kindergarten and grade 1 students without disabilities

Reading For tutors, there were significant differences in reading achievement between experimental and control groups with greater gains for students with LD; for students being tutored, both grade 1 and KG students showed gains compared to controls but KG had gains in more skill areas

Group Top and Osguthorpe (1987)

78 students with disabilities (LD and EBD) Grades 4–6

82 grade 1 students without disabilities

Reading Both tutors and students being tutored showed significant gains in reading scores on criterion‐based and standardized reading assessments

Article

Design

Subject

Results

Note: C WPT = class‐wide peer tutoring; PALS = peer‐assisted learning strategies; LD = learning disabilities; EBD = emotional/behavioral disabilities; ID = intellectual disabilities; OHI = other health impaired; SPL = speech and language; ASD = autism spectrum disorder; swd = students with disabilities, AA = African American.

Class‐wide Peer Tutoring Charles Greenwood and colleagues at the Juniper Gardens Children’s Project of the University of Kansas established the initial procedures for CWPT. In CWPT, teachers carefully select pairs of students to work together on the basis of similar academic levels, then design practice and assessment activities in reading, math, and/or spelling, as well as content areas (e.g., biology or spelling) for pairs of tutors to practice. Central to the effectiveness of CWPT is for peers to: (a) work together in a reciprocal fashion with their partners, each taking a turn as tutor or tutee; (b) master procedures in error correction; and (c) earn individual and team points for working together. Pairs of peers are rotated weekly. We identified 21 studies of CWPT.

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Participants and diversity. Across the 21 studies of CWPT, participants ranged in grade level from kindergarten through high school. In 12 of the 21 studies (57%), researchers reported the race of participants; researchers in those 12 studies reported that diverse students participated in CWPT, including youth identified as African American, Latino, Native American, Indian American, and students from multiracial backgrounds. Settings and academic subjects. Settings for the CWPT interventions ranged from general education classes to special education classes, and in one case, an alternative school (Bowman‐Perrott, Greenwood, & Tapia, 2007). Academic subjects in which researchers implemented CWPT included literacy classes, such as reading, spelling, and vocabulary—in addition to math classes, general science sciences and biology, and general social studies classes and world history. Research designs. Of the 21 studies of CWPT we identified, 16 (76%) employed single‐case research designs, and five employed experimental or quasi‐experimental group research designs. Outcomes. Across the 21 studies of CWPT, peer tutoring was effective at raising student achievement. CWPT was implemented by diverse researchers in a range of academic environments tackling a comparably broad range of academic subjects. Further, the implementation of CWPT arguably represents a successful approach to scientific investigation. That is, in the majority of studies (76%), researchers employed single‐case design, setting the stage for later experimental and quasi‐ experimental group research designs. For example, Mastropieri, Scruggs and colleagues conducted four studies in which they applied successful components of CWPT, along with additional intervention components differentiated for individual student need to boost learning in science and social studies classes. In one of the studies, Mastropieri et al. (2006) combined CWPT and differentiated instruction to support student learning of academic content in inclusive grade 8 science classes, and identified significant effects of the intervention for all, with more substantial effects of the intervention for all students with disabilities (ES = 1.15) than for those without disabilities (ES = 0.79). In another study, Mastropieri et al. (2008) integrated a teacher and parent intervention with peer tutoring in social studies and found that the peer‐tutoring procedure was beneficial to all students, but more beneficial to students with mild disabilities (ES = 1.15) compared to their peers without disabilities (ES = 0.15). Marshak, Mastropieri, and Scruggs (2011) compared the use of traditional teacher‐directed instruction with that of CWPT, using materials containing embedded mnemonic strategies in social studies classes. As was the case in the prior studies, Marshak et al. (2011) found significant effects of the CWPT intervention for all students, with greater benefits to students with disabilities (ES = 1.9) than to students without disabilities (ES = 1.09). Finally, Scruggs, Mastropieri, and Marshak (2012) examined CWPT with specialized materials and parent training in inclusive social studies classes, and found yet again that the intervention was beneficial to all students, but particularly to those with disabilities, for whom effect sizes associated with the intervention were three times as large (ES = 1.04) as effect sizes for students without disabilities (ES = 0.28).

Reciprocal Peer Tutoring (RPT) Reciprocal Peer Tutoring (RPT) 345

These are impressive results, and the substantial effects for students with ­ isabilities likely reflect the multiple components associated with the intervention: d CWPT plus strategies, along with additional teacher and parent training. Their effectiveness also likely reflects the length of each intervention; interventions were delivered for a substantial portion of the school year, ranging from 9 weeks (Mastropieri et al., 2008) to 18 weeks (Scruggs et al., 2012).

Reciprocal Peer Tutoring (RPT) The essential definition of RPT is that each member of a dyad has the opportunity to engage in the roles of both tutor and tutee. The rationale for both members of a pair having the opportunity to engage in both roles is associated with findings from cognitive psychology; that is, the objective is to provide students with opportunities to engage in both teaching and learning activities with peers. Such engagement is associated with cognitive as well as academic gains (Rohrbeck, Ginsburg‐Block, Fantuzzo, & Miller, 2003). Students who can explain and teach concepts may show gains that are equal to, if not greater than, those of the students whom they teach (Greenwood, 1991; Greenwood, Carta, & Hall, 1988). We categorized PALS as a specific case of RPT. As is the case for CWPT, in the PALS interventions, peers work together in a reciprocal fashion during an academic activity to do the following: (a) provide immediate feedback; (b) conduct frequent error correction; (c) practice correct responding; and (d) earn individual and team points for working together. As is the case with CWPT, pairs of peers are rotated frequently. We identified 11 studies of RPT without PALS, and nine studies of PALS. Participants and diversity. Across the 21 studies of RPT (including PALS), participants ranged in grade level from kindergarten through high school. ­ Students with LD comprised the largest disability group. Participants with disabilities had also been identified with EBD, ADHD, OHI, ID, and SPL impairments. White students represented the largest racial group in the RPT (non‐PALS) studies; in PALS studies, African American students represented the largest racial group, followed by Latino youth. Of the 21 studies of RPT (and PALS), researchers in 17 studies (80%) reported race/ethnicity of participants. Settings and academic content areas. RPT was implemented in a variety of classroom settings, ranging from self‐contained special education classes to special education resource rooms and general education settings. Researchers addressed a wide range of academic content areas in the studies we reviewed, ranging from reading and vocabulary skills to writing, science, social studies, and math. Research designs. Of the 21 studies of RPT (including PALS), researchers in 13 studies employed experimental or quasi‐experimental research designs (62%) and researchers in eight studies employed single‐case research designs (38%). Outcomes. Researchers in all studies reported positive outcomes for RPT. Clear benefits for students with disabilities emerged from our review of these studies. That is, RPT interventions foster mastery and generalization of literacy skills,  such as vocabulary, oral reading fluency, and reading comprehension

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(e.g., Mackiewicz, Wood, Cooke, & Mazzotti, 2011; Mastropieri et al., 2001; Oddo, Barnett, Hawkins, & Musti‐Rao, 2010; Scruggs & Osguthorpe, 1985; Staubitz, Cartledge, Yurick, & Lo, 2005; Sutherland & Snyder, 2007; Wood, Mustian, & Cooke, 2012). RPT interventions can lead to decreases in disruptive behavior and increases in on‐task behavior (Spencer, Scruggs, & Mastropieri, 2003; Sutherland & Snyder, 2007). Further, RPT interventions have a high degree of acceptance among students; ­students report that they enjoy participating in RPT (e.g., Mastropieri et al., 2000; Mastropieri, Scruggs, Spencer, & Fontana, 2003; Sutherland & Snyder, 2007). In an additional RPT study, researchers combined educational technology with peer tutoring. That is, they employed portable playback devices called VoicePods to facilitate vocabulary acquisition (Mackiewicz et al., 2011). For each vocabulary word, researchers prepared eight different cards that they then inserted into VoicePods, which contained brief audio recordings played to students. On the recordings, researchers instructed students to provide a definition or synonym of a given word and also included examples of sentences with the vocabulary word, along with definitions and synonyms. Overall, we found PALS to be a highly effective intervention across the 10 studies we reviewed. Although teachers can employ PALS as supplemental to the central reading curriculum, researchers employing experimental and quasi‐ experimental group design studies of PALS have noted that teachers using PALS provided comparable amounts of reading or mathematics instruction to that of teachers who did not use PALS. Not only was PALS effective for a majority of students in the class, but it also replaced components of the typical instructional program, rather than adding to it (Fuchs, Fuchs, & Kazdan, 1999; Fuchs, Fuchs, Philips, Hamlett, & Karns, 1995). Despite the overall effectiveness of RPT interventions, and PALS in particular, researchers have found that not all youth with disabilities respond to PALS. McMaster and colleagues (McMaster et  al., 2006; McMaster, Fuchs, Fuchs, & Compton, 2005) identified a subset of youth who did not respond to otherwise effective PALS interventions delivered with fidelity. Indeed, as many as 50% of youth with disabilities did not respond to otherwise effective PALS delivered within the context of general education classes (McMaster et al., 2006). Effective delivery of PALS in the general education classroom likely sets the stage for student success; special education professionals need to collect careful data describing ­student performance, so that they may provide additional, individualized interventions to students who do not respond to otherwise effective peer tutoring.

Nonreciprocal Peer Tutoring (NRPT) The definition of NRPT we employed was any case in which one member of a dyad acted as tutor and the second member as tutee; participants did not switch tutoring roles (e.g., Mastropieri et al., 2000). We identified 17 studies of peer tutoring with students who had disabilities that were nonreciprocal and met our criteria for inclusion. This body of work included nine studies of cross‐age tutoring and eight studies of same‐age tutoring. Key characteristics of these interventions are as follows. Across both same‐ and cross‐age, researchers examined nonreciprocal tutoring

Nonreciprocal Peer Tutoring (NRPT) Nonreciprocal Peer Tutoring (NRPT) 347

arrangements with students with disabilities in both the tutor and tutee role (see Table 16.3). Students with disabilities have served as tutors for younger students with and without disabilities, and for peers with disabilities of the same age. When students with disabilities tutor their peers without disabilities, researchers have referred to this as reverse‐role tutoring (Shisler, Top, & Osguthorpe, 1986; Top & Osguthorpe, 1985, 1987). When same‐age pairs of students with disabilities work in a nonreciprocal tutoring arrangement, those students who act has tutors typically have stronger academic skills than do their tutees (Carlton, Litton, & Zinkgraf, 1985; Kane & Alley, 1980). Participants and diversity. For students who participated in cross‐age tutoring, their grades ranged from kindergarten to high school, and their disabilities included EBD, LD, ID, and ASD. Among the cross‐age NRPT studies, researchers in just three studies noted the race of participating students. Two of the three studies engaged Caucasian students only (Barbetta, 1991; Lingo, 2014); the third study included African American students (Cochran, Feng, Cartledge, & Hamilton, 1993). For students in the eight studies who participated in same‐age peer tutoring, their grades ranged from elementary to high school, and their ­disabilities included EBD, LD, ID, and ASD. Only one study of same‐age tutoring reported the race of participating students: African American (Campbell, Brady, & Linehan, 1991). Thus, across all studies in which researchers employed NRPT, just 24% (n = 4) reported race of participants. Settings and academic content areas. Studies took place in a variety of settings, including general education classrooms, special education classrooms, a psychiatric hospital, and a juvenile detention center. Of the cross‐ and same‐age NRPT studies we identified, researchers focused largely on reading and literacy skills (i.e., reading, spelling writing, sight words), with a less frequent focus on math skills. Research designs. Of the 17 cross‐ and same‐age NRPT studies, researchers in eight studies employed quasi‐experimental group designs, and in nine studies, researchers employed single‐case research design. Outcomes. Researchers have examined the effectiveness of tutoring with peers who do and do not have disabilities serving as tutors for students with disabilities in both same‐ and cross‐age settings. In these studies, students with disabilities have been found to be effective tutors for both younger and same‐age peers, with both tutors and tutees showing increases in academic performance (Campbell et al., 1991; Carlton et al., 1985; Cochran et al., 1993; Scruggs & Osguthorpe, 1985; Shisler et al., 1986; Top & Osguthorpe, 1985, 1987). When students with disabilities receive tutoring from their peers or from older students without disabilities, researchers have identified improvements in academic skills for students being tutored, but have not consistently examined academic benefits for tutors (Bagley & Mallick, 1996; Barbetta, 1991; Beirne‐Smith, 1991; Lingo, 2014; Peach & Moore, 1990; Simmons, Fuchs, Fuchs, Mathes, & Hodge, 1995). The exception is Beirne‐ Smith (1991), who did not find academic benefits for tutors. Across all of these studies, researchers have emphasized the importance of training and support for students with disabilities who serve as tutors. In one study wherein researchers implemented peer tutoring for students in a juvenile detention center, researchers did not find a difference in academic

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achievement for students who engaged in peer tutoring compared to those who did not (Kane & Alley, 1980). It may be that students with EBD (including those who attend school in juvenile detention centers and alternative schools), are likely to benefit most from additional, self‐management components to peer tutoring, particularly in the context of single‐case design studies (e.g., Bowman‐ Perrott et al., 2007; Sutherland & Snyder, 2007). Clearly, NRPT represents a successful adaptation of peer tutoring for youth with disabilities, and may be particularly beneficial for youth with disabilities who perform significantly below their peers in academic skills. That is, they may find it motivating to engage as tutors with younger peers, especially if they can act as experts with the material. Regardless, NRPT provides terrific flexibility for teachers who work with students who have a range of abilities. Therefore, we found it surprising that so few studies of NRPT had been conducted in recent decades; nearly all of the NRPT studies we identified were conducted in the 1980s and 1990s.

Discussion Peer tutoring represents a promising set of interventions for students with disabilities. In this systematic review, we have explored the extent to which these interventions have lived up to their promise to serve students with disabilities from diverse backgrounds. In particular, we examined the effectiveness of different models of peer tutoring: CWPT, RPT, and NRPT. To do so, we conducted a comprehensive search for studies of peer tutoring using experimental and quasi‐experimental research designs with students with disabilities. Although we systematically searched for international studies, we found that all but one of the research studies we reviewed had been conducted in the United States. We also found that when authors reported race of participants, they were likely to include students from diverse backgrounds in their research. Furthermore, peer tutoring was apparently effective for students with a range of disabilities, including LD, EBD, ID, SLD, and ASD. And researchers have successfully adapted peer tutoring for the behavioral needs of youth with disabilities, adding self‐management tools to an existing reward system (e.g., Bowman‐Perrott et  al., 2007; Sutherland & Snyder, 2007). Finally, across the decades during which this research has been conducted, special education researchers have creatively adapted peer tutoring to meet the needs of students in different settings and with varying ability levels, testing the effectiveness of interventions in literacy, mathematics, science, and social studies. Peer tutoring is an effective strategy with which to engage students with a range of disabilities in a variety of academic activities across grade levels. Indeed, we may view peer tutoring as an effective universal, preventive intervention to help teachers and school leaders meet the needs of the diverse students in their classes (Fuchs et al., 1997). Under the Finnish system, for example, students who participate in part‐time special education may benefit from engagement in peer tutoring. In the part‐time model, students are not identified with disabilities, but participate in instruction delivered via a co‐teaching or resource room model (Anastasiou & Keller, 2010; Takala & Head, 2017). Peer

Future Research Future Research 349

tutoring is a relatively cost‐effective and low‐intensity intervention that supports the education of students with disabilities in inclusive environments. It has high levels of acceptance among both students and teachers. Thus (for example), school personnel from around the globe might engage their teachers and school leaders in PALS training with minimal costs (see http://kc.vanderbilt.edu/pals/ about.html). PALS was designed and tested to benefit diverse learners, and its developers maintain the goal of making it accessible to everyone. However, despite the overall effectiveness of PALS, it is not effective for all ­students with disabilities (McMaster et  al., 2006). Thus, approximately 50% of students with disabilities may benefit from additional and specialized intervention, which consists of carefully designed and complex instructional routines, wherein teachers employ principles of explicit instruction and ongoing progress monitoring (Fuchs et al., 2015; Fuchs, Fuchs, & Vaughn, 2014). We suspect, but do not know for certain the extent to which the 50% success rate for students with disabilities is true for all types of peer tutoring. Thus, it would be worthwhile for researchers to examine the results for individual students with disabilities who participated in the series of CWPT studies conducted by Mastropieri and Scugggs and colleagues, for example, wherein effect sizes for students with disabilities were higher than they were for students without disabilities (i.e., Marshak et al., 2011; Mastropieri et  al., 2006, 2008; Scruggs et  al., 2012). The goal of such an evaluation would be to determine whether individual students with disabilities did not respond to the intervention; and, if so, describe their characteristics to help guide future research in specialized, intensive intervention.

Limitations Our study had several limitations. Although we employed a systematic and comprehensive search procedure, we did not search explicitly for unpublished studies, which can bias the overall findings from a review. That is, including unpublished research is a critical component of reducing outcome‐reporting bias (Pigott, Valentine, Polanin, Williams, & Canada, 2013). That is, we know that when researchers obtain significant findings, their studies are more likely to be published than when they obtain nonsignificant findings (Pigott et al., 2013). Therefore, when we update this review in the future, we intend to include a systematic search for and retrieval of unpublished studies.

Future Research Although we included an explicit set of searches for international studies, we did not find any studies conducted outside the United States using experimental or quasi‐experimental research designs with students with disabilities. It is possible that we failed to identify potential studies because of the terminology we used in our searches that may be unique to the United States. It will be vital to examine the effectiveness of peer‐tutoring interventions across nations and cultures, particularly in the context of varying national education systems (see Anastasiou & Keller, 2010).

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For example, researchers might examine how effective strategies can be adapted and implemented in diverse countries with diverse educational systems, ranging from those in South Africa to England to Greece, Scotland, India, and Finland. In all of this research, and in studies that continue across the United States, we implore researchers to report race of participants. In our review, just a little more than half of researchers (56% of studies) reported race/ethnicity of participants. We recognize that this was especially the case for studies of NRPT. Granted, studies of NRPT were much older than studies of CWPT and RPT. That is, of the 17 studies of NRPT we identified, 16 had been conducted in the 1980s and 1990s, when reporting of race may have been less consistent. Regardless, in order for research with youth from diverse populations to move forward, researchers need to know the characteristics of youth for whom the interventions are effective. Furthermore, it is a worthy enterprise to study intervention procedures when peer tutoring does not work for individuals. Such a process is just as important to explore as when the intervention does work. In today’s context of multi-tiered systems of intervention and support in the United States and beyond, students with co‐occurring academic and behavioral disabilities (i.e., those with the most intense and persistent needs) may not make substantial progress toward meeting their Individualized Education Plan (IEP) goals without individual, specialized intervention. Thus, special education researchers and practitioners are challenged to provide appropriate individual and intensive interventions to students with disabilities, particularly those from diverse backgrounds, in the context of peer tutoring.

References *References included in the systematic review

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*Maheady, L., Sacca, M. K., & Harper, G. F. (1987). Classwide student tutoring teams: The effects of peer‐mediated instruction on the academic performance of secondary mainstreamed students. Journal of Special Education, 21(3), 107–121. *Maheady, L., Sacca, M. K., & Harper, G. F. (1988). Classwide peer tutoring with mildly handicapped high school students. Exceptional Children, 55(1), 52–59. *Marshak, L., Mastropieri, M. A., & Scruggs, T. E. (2011). Curriculum enhancements in inclusive secondary social studies classrooms. Exceptionality, 19(2), 61–74. *Mastropieri, M. A., Scruggs, T. E., & Marshak, L. (2008). Training teachers, parents, and peers to implement effective teaching strategies for content area learning. In T. E. Scruggs & M. A. Mastropieri (Eds.), Personnel preparation: Advances in learning and behavioral disabilities (Vol. 21, pp. 309–327). Bingley, UK: Emerald Group Publishing Limited. *Mastropieri, M. A., Scruggs, T., Mohler, L., Beranek, M., Spencer, V., Boon, R. T., & Talbott, E. (2001). Can middle school students with serious reading difficulties help each other and learn anything? Learning Disabilities Research & Practice, 16(1), 18–27. *Mastropieri, M. A., Scruggs, T. E., Norland, J. J., Berkeley, S., McDuffie, K., Tornquist, E. H., & Connors, N. (2006). Differentiated curriculum enhancement in inclusive middle school science: Effects on classroom and high‐stakes tests. Journal of Special Education, 40(3), 130–137. *Mastropieri, M. A., Scruggs, T. E., Spencer, V., & Fontana, J. (2003). Promoting success in high school world history: Peer tutoring versus guided notes. Learning Disabilities Research & Practice, 18(1), 52–65. *Mastropieri, M. A., Spencer, V., Scruggs, T. E., & Talbott, E. (2000). Students with disabilities as tutors: An updated research synthesis. Advances in Learning and Behavioral Disabilities, 14, 247–279. Mathes, P. G., & Fuchs, L. S. (1994). The efficacy of peer tutoring in reading for students with mild disabilities: A best‐evidence synthesis. School Psychology Review, 23(1), 59–80. *McDuffie, K. A., Mastropieri, M. A., & Scruggs, T. E. (2009). Differential effects of peer tutoring in co‐taught and non‐co‐taught classes: Results for content learning and student‐teacher interactions. Exceptional Children, 75(4), 493–510. McMaster, K. N., & Fuchs, D. (2002). Effects of cooperative learning on the academic achievement of students with learning disabilities: An update of Tateyama‐ Sniezek’s review. Learning Disabilities Research and Practice, 17, 107–117. McMaster, K. L., Fuchs, D., & Fuchs, L. S. (2006). Research on peer‐assisted learning strategies: The promise and limitations of peer‐mediated instruction. Reading and Writing Quarterly, 22, 5–25. McMaster, K. L., Fuchs, D., Fuchs, L. S., & Compton, D. L. (2005). Responding to nonresponders: An experimental field trial of identification and intervention methods. Exceptional Children, 71(4), 445–463. *Mortweet, S. L., Utley, C. A., Walker, D., Dawson, H. L., Delquadri, J. C., Reddy, S. S., … Ledford, D. (1999). Classwide peer tutoring: Teaching students with mild mental retardation in inclusive classrooms. Exceptional Children, 65(4), 524–536. Nye, B., Konstantopoulos, S., & Hedges, L. V. (2004). How large are teacher effects? Educational Evaluation and Policy Analysis, 26, 237–257. *Oddo, M., Barnett, D. W., Hawkins, R. O., & Musti‐Rao, S. (2010). Reciprocal peer tutoring and repeated reading: Increasing practicality using student groups. Psychology in the Schools, 47(8), 842–858.

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*Okilwa, N. S. A., & Shelby, L. (2010). The effects of peer tutoring on academic performance of students with disabilities in grades 6 through 12: A synthesis of the literature. Remedial and Special Education, 31(6), 450–463. *Peach, W. J., & Moore, L. (1990). Peer tutoring to increase spelling scores of the mildly mentally handicapped. Journal of Instructional Psychology, 17(1), 43–45. Pigott, T. D., Valentine, J. C., Polanin, J. R., Williams, R. T., & Canada, D. D. (2013). Outcome‐reporting bias in education research. Educational Researcher, 42(8), 424–432. President’s Commission on Excellence in Special Education. (2002, July 1). A new era: Revitalizing special education for children and their families. Retrieved from http://www.ed.gov/inits/commissionsboards/ whspecialeducation/index.html Rohrbeck, C. A., Ginsburg‐Block, M. D., Fantuzzo, J. W., & Miller, T. R. (2003). Peer‐assisted learning interventions with elementary school students: A meta‐ analytic review. Journal of Educational Psychology, 95(2), 240–257. *Ryan, J. B., Reid, R., & Epstein, M. H. (2004). Peer‐mediated intervention studies on academic achievement for students with EBD: A review. Remedial and Special Education, 25(6), 330–341. *Sáenz, L. M., Fuchs, L. S., & Fuchs, D. (2005). Peer‐assisted learning strategies for English language learners with learning disabilities. Exceptional Children, 71(3), 231–247. Samuels, C. A. (2015, November 10). Decades of progress, challenges under federal special education law. Education Week, 35(12), 1, 10–11. *Scruggs, T. E., Mastropieri, M. A., & Marshak, L. (2012). Peer‐mediated instruction in inclusive secondary social studies learning: Direct and indirect learning effects. Learning Disabilities Research & Practice, 27(1), 12–20. *Scruggs, T. E., & Osguthorpe, R. T. (1985). Tutoring interventions within special education settings: A comparison of cross‐age and peer tutoring. Paper presented at the annual convention of the Council for Exceptional Children, Anaheim, CA. *Shisler, L., Top, B. L., & Osguthorpe, R. T. (1986). Behaviorally disordered students as reverse‐role tutors: Increasing social acceptance and reading skills. BC Journal of Special Education, 10(2), 101–119. *Sideridis, G. D., Utley, C. A., & Greenwood, C. R. (1997). Classwide peer tutoring: Effects on the spelling performance and social interactions of students with mild disabilities and their typical peers in an integrated instructional setting. Journal of Behavioral Education, 7, 435–462. *Simmons, D. C., Fuchs, L. S., Fuchs, D., Mathes, P., & Hodge, J. P. (1995). Effects of explicit teaching and peer tutoring on the reading achievement of learning‐ disabled and low‐performing students in regular classrooms. The Elementary School Journal, 95, 387–408. *Spencer, V. G. (2006). Peer tutoring and students with emotional or behavioral disorders: A review of the literature. Behavioral Disorders, 31(2), 204–222. *Spencer, V. G., Scruggs, T. E., & Mastropieri, M. A. (2003). Content area learning in middle school social studies classrooms and students with emotional or behavioral disorders: A comparison of strategies. Behavioral Disorders, 28(2), 77–93. *Spencer, V. G, Simpson, C. G., & Oatis, T. L. (2009). An update on the use of peer tutoring and students with emotional and behavioural disorders. Exceptionality Education International, 19, 2–13.

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*Staubitz, J. E., Cartledge, G., Yurick, A. L., & Lo, Y. (2005). Repeated reading for students with emotional or behavioral disorders: Peer‐ and trainer‐mediated instruction. Behavioral Disorders, 31(1), 51–64. *Stenhoff, D. M., & Lingugaris/Krast, B. (2007). A review of the effects of peer tutoring on students with mild disabilities in secondary settings. Exceptional Children, 74, 8–30. *Stowitschek, C. E., Hecimovic, A., Stowitschek, J. J., & Shores, R. E. (1982). Behaviorally disordered adolescents as peer tutors: Immediate and generative effects on instructional performance and spelling achievement. Behavioral Disorders, 7(3), 136–148. *Sutherland, K. S., & Snyder, A. (2007). Effects of reciprocal peer tutoring and self‐ graphing on reading fluency and classroom behavior of middle school students with emotional or behavioral disorders. Journal of Emotional and Behavioral Disorders, 15(2), 103–118. Takala, M. J., & Head, G. (2017). Inclusion and practice: The perspective of two countries. In M. T. Hughes & E. Talbott (Eds.), The handbook of diversity in special education. Boston, MA: John Wiley Press. *Top, B. L., & Osguthorpe, R. T. (1985). The effects of reverse role tutoring on reading achievement and self‐concept. In R. T. Osguthorpe, W. Eiserman, L. Shisler, B. L. Top & T. E. Scruggs (Eds.), Handicapped children as tutors, final report (1984–85) (pp. 18–43). Retrieved from http://files.eric.ed.gov/fulltext/ED267545.pdf *Top, B. L., & Osguthorpe, R. T. (1987). Reverse‐role tutoring: The effects of handicapped students tutoring regular class students. The Elementary School Journal, 87(4), 413–423. US Department of Education. (1997). Nineteenth Annual Report to Congress on the Implementation of the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act. Washington, DC. US Department of Education. (2010). Thirty‐five years of progress in educating children with disabilities through IDEA. Retrieved from http://www2.ed.gov/ about/offices/list/osers/idea35/history/idea‐35‐history.pdf Van Norman, R. K., & Wood, C. L. (2007). Innovations in peer tutoring: Introduction to the special issue. Intervention in School and Clinic, 43, 69–70. Vaughn, S., Gersten, R., & Chard, D. J. (2000). The underlying message in LD intervention research: Findings from recent research syntheses. Exceptional Children, 67, 99–114. *Wehby, J. H., Falk, K. B., Barton‐Arwood, S., Lane, K. L., & Cooley, C. (2003). The impact of comprehensive reading instruction on the academic and social behavior of students with emotional and behavioral disorders. Journal of Emotional and Behavioral Disorders, 11(4), 225–238. *Wexler, J., Reed, D. K., Pyle, N., Mitchell, M., & Barton, E. E. (2015). A synthesis of peer‐mediated academic interventions for secondary struggling leaners. Journal of Learning Disabilities, 48, 451–470. *Wood, C. L., Mustian, A. L., & Cooke, N. L. (2012). Comparing whole‐word and morphograph instruction during computer‐assisted peer tutoring on students’ acquisition and generalization of vocabulary. Remedial & Special Education, 33(1), 39–47. Zopluoglu, C. (2012). A cross‐national comparison of intra‐class correlation coefficient in educational achievement outcomes. Eğitimde ve Psikolojide Ölçme ve Değerlendirme Dergisi, 3, 242–278.

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17 Technological Practices Supporting Diverse Students in Inclusive Settings Dave L. Edyburn, Kavita Rao and Prabha Hariharan

Educational systems around the world are being asked to be more accountable for the public resources they receive and the student outcomes they produce (Barber & Mourshed, 2007; Hanushek & Woessmann, 2015). Technology is often viewed as a promising intervention for diverse students to: (a) gain access to the curriculum, (b) foster engagement, and (c) improve educational outcomes. In this chapter, we examine two approaches commonly associated with school‐ based applications of technology targeted for diverse learners: assistive technology and universal design for learning (UDL). In the sections that follow, we briefly define each term, provide examples of technology interventions, and critique the quality of the science. We conclude by analyzing selected trends and issues that will impact future research, development, policy, and practice concerning the use of technology by diverse learners in inclusive educational settings.

Context Before we begin, it is necessary to bring two key issues to the reader’s attention. First, we perceive a need to operationalize our use of the term diverse learners. Second, we want to underscore the context of technology innovation research. The term diversity is often used to signal status as a minority group member (Purdie‐Vaughns, Steele, Davies, Ditlmann, & Crosby, 2008). However, in this chapter, we consider the term diverse student to include three groups of students whose academic achievement tends to reflect a pattern of chronic under‐ achievement: students with disabilities, culturally and linguistically diverse learners, and students living in poverty. Whereas membership in any one of these groups may be useful for educational administrators seeking increased funding, these labels provide little information for designing technology interventions that will increase the academic achievement of diverse learners. Therefore, for the purpose of this chapter, we will operationalize academic diversity as a continuum The Wiley Handbook of Diversity in Special Education, First Edition. Edited by Marie Tejero Hughes and Elizabeth Talbott. © 2017 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Published 2017 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

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of differences in which learners may have more or less of a given trait. We believe this approach is more in keeping with recent educational theory relative to thinking about, and responding to, learner differences. For example, Rose and Meyer (2002) argue that we should not think about students as being disabled but rather consider the curriculum disabled, as it poses barriers to access, engagement, and success. Tomlinson (2004) suggests that we think about learning differences as a Mobius Strip; a continuum of knowledge and skills with no clear demarcation on the journey from the starting point as novice and the end point as expert. McLeskey and Waldon (2007) argue that classrooms must be places where individual differences are ordinary, expected, and valued. At the outset, it is important to ensure that readers understand an inherent limitation of the research knowledge base concerning technology use in education. Whereas other areas of special education are characterized by systemic research agendas that connect research, policy, and practice in ways that advance the profession (Cook & Odom, 2013; Test et al., 2009), the field of special education technology is in a large part beholden to the allure of the marketplace that brings forth shiny new widgets on a regular basis (Edyburn, 2013). In many respects, the profession is fixated on innovation, always chasing after what is new, and thus losing out on the benefits that result from a sustained long‐term research agenda. The field can justifiably be accused of having too short an attention span to determine the efficacy of one intervention (i.e., 1–1 laptop computer initiatives) before moving onto the next big thing (i.e., tablet computers such as the iPad). Therefore, one limiting characteristic of the research base that will be presented is the relative time‐delimited focus on a particular technology application rather than a sustained body of work developed over the period of a decade or longer.

Assistive Technology The use of technology by individuals with disabilities has historically been known as “assistive technology.” Most citations of the definition of assistive technology in the United States can be traced back to the 1988 passage of The Technology‐ Related Assistance Act for Individuals with Disabilities (P.L. 100‐407). Commonly known as the Tech Act, the law defined two critical aspects of assistive technology: assistive technology devices and assistive technology services. §300.5 Assistive Technology Device

As used in this part, assistive technology device means any item, piece of equipment, or product system, whether acquired commercially off the shelf, modified, or customized, that is used to increase, maintain, or improve the functional capabilities of a child with a disability. §300.6 Assistive Technology Service

As used in this part, assistive technology service means any service that directly assists a child with a disability in the selection, acquisition, or use of an assistive technology device. The term includes: (a) the evaluation of the needs of a child

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with a disability, including a functional evaluation of the child in the child’s ­customary environment; (b) purchasing, leasing, or otherwise providing for the acquisition of assistive technology devices by children with disabilities; (c) selecting, designing, fitting, customizing, adapting, applying, maintaining, repairing, or replacing assistive technology devices; (d) coordinating and using other therapies, interventions, or services with assistive technology devices, such as those associated with existing education and rehabilitation plans and programs; (e) training or technical assistance for a child with a disability or, if appropriate, that child’s family; and (f ) training or technical assistance for professionals (including individuals providing education or rehabilitation services), employers, or other individuals who provide services to, employ, or are otherwise substantially involved in the major life functions of that child. Assistive technology is sometimes thought of as tools used by individuals with disabilities to provide alternative access, supporting their ability to complete tasks in the same manner as their peers with and without disabilities. Blackhurst (1965, 1997, 2005) has argued that the field of disability has a long‐standing interest in new and emerging technologies. He cites numerous examples (i.e., mobility aids, hearing aids) through the centuries that illustrate how people have experimented with new technologies to explore new possibilities for improving the quality of life for individuals with disabilities. If the modern era of technology in special education in the United States can be traced to the early 1980s when microcomputers began appearing in homes and schools, then it is clear that special educators have readily recognized the potential of technology for individuals with disabilities and have sought the capture its potential (Behrmann, 1988; Bowe, 1984; Hofmeister, 1982; Lewis, 1993; Male, 1988). Judith Heumann, assistant secretary, Office of Special Education Programs, US Department of Education, observed, “For most of us, technology makes things easier. For a person with a disability, it makes things possible” (Edyburn, Higgins, & Boone, 2005, p. xiii). Embedded in Heumann’s statement are the five essential variables associated with special education technology: the person, the task, the context/environment, the technology tool, and the outcome (Cook, Polgar, & Hussey, 2008; Lenker & Paquet, 2003). In order to determine the best solution for an individual, interventionists are challenged to optimize the complex interplay between the variables. When successful, the benefits of assistive technology are clearly visible in the form of an individual with a disability completing a task that they previously could not complete, completed slowly, or completed poorly. Thus, the entire work of the field of assistive technology can be summarized as searching, trialing, selecting, implementing, and evaluating technologies that augment, bypass, or compensate for a disability. Unfortunately, for many years, the field of assistive technology did not employ systemic research methods to ascertain the outcomes of assistive technology. Instead, the field relied on the proxy of measuring user satisfaction with their assistive technology (Scherer & Galvin, 1996). Assistive technology outcome (ATO) researchers are now starting to develop suitable theories and frameworks that would guide the measurement of ATO. In a strand of systemic work led by James Lenker, ATO researchers reviewed the

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status of existing assistive technology conceptual models (Lenker & Paquet, 2003), proposed a new comprehensive model for measuring ATO (Fuhrer, Jutai, Scherer, & DeRuyter, 2003; Lenker & Paquet, 2004), defined a taxonomy of assistive technology device outcomes (Jutai, Fuhrer, Demers, Scherer, & DeRuyter, 2005), evaluated the psychometric properties of existing ATO instruments (Lenker, Scherer, Fuhrer, Jutai, & DeRuyter, 2005), outlined benchmarks for improving the quality of ATO research methods concerning how to define the treatment theory, intervention, and treatment fidelity (Lenker et al., 2010), and began assessing the impact of ATO by consumers (Lenker, Harris, Taugher, & Smith, 2013). The quality and significance of this body of work forms the basis of a primer for any researcher interested in the measurement of assistive technology outcomes.

Assistive Technology Use in the United States National surveys to identify patterns of use of assistive technology devices across the lifespan, conducted in the United States, reported that mobility aids were the most commonly used type of assistive technology, followed by hearing aids and back braces in terms of frequency of use. These studies found that availability, cost, user‐friendliness, and awareness were the main barriers for use of assistive technology (Carlson & Ehrlich, 2006; Ehrlich, Carlson, & Bailey, 2003; Russell, Hendershot, LeClere, Howie, & Adler, 1997). A similar pattern was seen for assistive technology use among individuals with mental retardation in an earlier study (Wehmeyer, 1988). Phillips and Zhao (1993) studied the phenomenon of abandonment of assistive technology by the users and found that the performance of the device, user friendliness, effort required to use it, simplicity of instructions, and assistance for use are factors that lead to abandonment of use. Subsequently, Parette and Scherer (2004) found that, in addition to these factors, the stigma attached to assistive technology use also determined the use or disuse of assistive technology. In particular, factors such as device aesthetics, gender and age appropriateness, social acceptability, and attitudes toward disability were some of the important aspects related to stigmatized feelings associated with use of assistive technology for individuals with developmental disabilities. Finally, not surprisingly, poverty has been identified as a factor that prevents some individuals from gaining access to appropriate assistive technologies (LaPlante, Hendershot, & Moss, 1992). Little is known about the actual prevalence of assistive technology use in schools within the United States. Despite mandates in the United States to consider assistive technology when planning the Individual Education Plan (IEP) of each child with a disability, one source suggest that only 3–5% of students with disabilities have assistive technology written on their IEP (Quinn et al., 2009). To date, little assistive technology research has focused on issues of culture and assistive technology device use or culturally sensitive assistive technology service provision. Some notable exceptions include work by Guzman (2008; Guzman & Ostrander, 2009) and Parette (1999; Parette & Huer, 2002; Parette, Huer, &

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Brotherson, 2001; Parette, Huer, & Hourcade, 2003). Exceedingly rare are in­tervention studies with dual‐language learners such as Silió and Berbetta (2010), who examined the effects of word prediction and text‐to‐speech technologies on the narrative writing skills of Hispanic students with specific learning disabilities.

Assistive Technology Use Around the World The development and adoption of assistive technology is not limited to the United States. Over the past 25 years, significant advances have been made in educational systems around the world concerning the education of individuals with disabilities. These advances can be traced to efforts promoting inclusion (UNESCO, 2014; World Health Organization, 2011) and the expanded use of Information and Communication Technology (ICT) (Kozma, 2008; UNESCO, 2014), as well as international policy that has certified education as a basic human right (UNCRPD, 2006; UNESCO, 2012; UNICEF and UNESCO, 2007). Considerable international assistive technology work is now conducted under the moral principles outlined in three articles found in the United Nations Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities (UNCRPD, 2006): ●● ●● ●●

Article 9: Accessibility Article 21: Freedom of Expression and Opinion and Access to Information Article 24: Inclusive Education.

The literature also reveals a number of geo‐cultural studies that have expanded our understanding of specific assistive technology devices, services, and outcomes in various countries and cultures. In summary format, readers may wish to explore the following research studies and policy documents: ●●

●● ●● ●● ●●

●●

Africa (Foley & Masingila, 2014; Ndombo, Ojo, Osunmakinde, & Phasha, 2013), Australia (Friesen et al., 2014; Lovarini, McCluskey, & Curtin, 2006) Canada (Graham & Richardson, 2012; Jensen, 2014; Ripat & Booth, 2005) Developing countries (Borg, Lindström, & Larsson, 2011) Europe (Andrich, 2013; Craddock & McCormack, 2002; Gelderblom & de Witte, 2002; Hersh & Johnson, 2008; Stack et al., 2009; Steel & de Witte, 2011) India (Borg, Larsson, Östergren, Rahman, Bari, & Khan, 2012; Sampath, Sivaswamy, & Indurkhya, 2010; Sharma & Wasson, 2012)

Overall, two issues are problematic: (1) a lack of research, especially for assistive technologies relevant for individuals with intellectual and learning disabilities, and (2) inequitable access to information and services across populations in developing countries (Borg et al., 2011). Whereas UNESCO has also developed a series of policy guidelines for international use in advocating for accessible Information Computing Technologies (ICT, Lebois, 2013; UNESCO, 2014) that have important implications for expanding the use of assistive technology in inclusive education, more needs to be done to emphasize the rights of persons

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with disabilities to have access to ICTs, and encourage governments to develop policies, disseminate information and provide training to promote access to these technologies (Ratliffe, Rao, Skouge, & Peter, 2012).

Efficacy of Assistive Technology Interventions Researchers in the United States have applied a variety of literature search and analysis techniques to the research literature in order to understand the efficacy of assistive technology (Alper & Raharinirina, 2006; Edyburn, 2010a, 2013; Okolo & Bouck, 2007). However, small sample sizes and descriptive research designs have limited the ability to synthesize the effectiveness of assistive technology interventions in commonly reported metrics such as effect size. Beyond the United States, credible assistive technology literature reviews have been published in recent years that reflect measurable outcomes from the use of assistive technology by individuals with disabilities (Anttila, Samuelsson, Salminen, & Brandt, 2012; Cullen, McAnaney, Dolphin, Delaney, & Stapleton, 2012) and also identified the need for more research into measuring assistive technology outcomes especially for assistive technology serving needs beyond disabilities involving hearing and mobility.

Quality of the Science Edyburn’s (2004) comprehensive 1‐year review of the literature found that over half of the special education technology literature published each year is devoted to issues of practice. For example, many articles published following the release of new operating systems (OSs) serve to describe the accessibility features found within OSs (Atkinson, Neal, & Grechus, 2003; Cordwell, 2010; Niemeijer, 2005), as well as how to work around barriers in new products and do‐it‐yourself solutions (Carson & Ehrlich, 2006; Dark & Poftak, 2004; Fahlberg‐Stojanovska, Fahlberg, & King, 2008; Herlihy, 2011). While the body of special education technology research has grown over the past decade (Cook & Polgar, 2014; Edyburn et al., 2005), the profession has been slow to embrace the recent expectations for higher‐quality research concerning academic outcomes associated with assistive technology use (Gersten & Edyburn, 2007), and has yet to accumulate a research‐based body of interventions that have been demonstrated to be effective commensurate with the US What Works Clearinghouse standards (Cook & Odom, 2013; Cook, Tankersley, Cook, & Landrum, 2008; Klingner, Boardman, & McMaster, 2013). Perhaps the one notable exception that can serve as a model for future evidence‐based practice validation is the communication intervention known as PECS (Picture Exchange Communication System) (Hart & Banda, 2010; Tincani & Devis, 2011) that has been demonstrated to have a moderate–large effect size as a communication intervention for individuals with disabilities. In summary, much more needs to be done to build the evidence base to demonstrate the efficacy of assistive technology devices and services.

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Universal Design for Learning Universal design for learning (UDL) is a framework for designing curricula and instruction that incorporates the use of assistive and instructional technologies (Rose, Hasselbring, Stahl, & Zabala, 2005). While its origins are in special education, when UDL is implemented, the focus is on the general classroom as a means of providing all students with new opportunities for accessing and engaging in the general curriculum. In the 2004 reauthorization of the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act (IDEA) in the United States, the term universal design was officially defined within US federal law (20 U.S.C. § 1401) governing special education: “The term universal design has the meaning given the term in section 3 of the Assistive Technology Act of 1998” (U.S.C. § 3002). Following the backward chain of legal reference, the definition of universal design as it was included in the Assistive Technology Act of 1998 is as follows: The term “universal design” means a concept or philosophy for designing and delivering products and services that are usable by people with the widest possible range of functional capabilities, which include products and services that are directly usable (without requiring assistive technologies) and products and services that are made usable with assistive technologies. (U.S.C. § 3002) The concept of UDL was also written into the recent reauthorization of the US Higher Education Opportunity Act of 2008 (Public Law 110‐315, Section 103, a): (23) UNIVERSAL DESIGN—The term universal design as the meaning given the term in section 3 of the Assistive Technology Act of 1998. (29 U.S.C. 3002) (24) UNIVERSAL DESIGN FOR LEARNING—The term universal design for learning means a scientifically valid framework for guiding educational practice that: A) provides flexibility in the ways information is presented, in the ways students respond or demonstrate knowledge and skills, and in the ways students are engaged; and B) reduces barriers in instruction, provides appropriate accommodations, supports, and challenges, and maintains high achievement expectations for all students, including students with disabilities and students who are limited English proficient. UDL provides a framework for designing flexible instructional environments. UDL is based on the concept of universal design, which emerged from the field of architecture and sought to reduce barriers to access in the physical environment. UDL extends the concept to the learning environment, and provides a framework for instructional design that focuses on ways to make curriculum and instruction accessible to a range of learners (Hall, Meyer, & Rose, 2012). The UDL framework, made up of a set of principles and guidelines, provides ideas for

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increasing functional access (e.g., using assistive technology tools), increasing cognitive access (e.g., with the provision of scaffolds and supports during the learning process), and addressing learner variability (e.g., including options for varied learner preferences and needs). An essential premise of UDL is that instructional environments can be designed to be inclusive and accessible for a range of learners, including those students “on the margins” for whom traditional instruction may not be the best fit (Rose & Meyer, 2000). Instead of making modifications and accommodations for learners after the fact, UDL focuses on proactive design of curriculum and instruction. By including flexible options while designing lessons, barriers to learning can be removed from the outset, increasing the potential that a range of learners can access and engage with the curriculum. The UDL framework has three main principles—to provide multiple options for (1) representation, (2) action and expression, and (3) engagement. Each of these principles has three additional guidelines that describe ways in which flexible options can be applied while designing instruction. The guidelines can be applied to the development of the instructional goals, materials, methods, and assessments (Hall et al., 2012). The guidelines, along with 31 checkpoints that define the guidelines further, can be found at this website: www.udlcenter.org/ aboutudl/udlguidelines. There is no prescribed way to apply the UDL framework; instead, the guidelines and checkpoints provide a menu of options, that educators can refer to as they design lessons and consider how to address the diverse learner needs in their classrooms. A central premise of UDL is that curriculum and instruction should be designed with consideration of learner variability. Meyer, Rose, and Gordon (2013) define learner variability as the “dynamic and ever‐changing mix of strengths and challenges that makes up each learner” (p. 2). The concept of learner variability is rooted in neuroscience research that recognizes that individual differences in the brain are not innate or fixed and that individuals can have varied needs and preferences in different contexts. The UDL principles address three neural networks involved in cognition and learning—the recognition network (representation), the strategic network (expression and action) and the affective network (engagement)—and provide ideas for taking learner variability into consideration in these three realms. Recognizing that variability is the norm, Meyer et al. (2013) note that, “each learner is unique; but learners share common, predictable patterns of variability that are very useful to consider when designing learning environments” (p. 29). The UDL framework presents a set of flexible options that can be applied to the design and development of instruction, taking into account the predictable and systematic variability that is likely to exist among learners.

Student Diversity and Learner Variability Although UDL originated in the field of special education, the principles are relevant for addressing the needs of various categories of diverse students. As  defined earlier in this chapter, diverse learners include students who have

Student Diversity and Learner Variability Student Diversity and Learner Variability 365

varied cultural and linguistic backgrounds, socioeconomic status, and b­ackground experiences. It is important to recognize the variation that exists within diverse student groups—for example, culturally and linguistically diverse (CLD) students have different backgrounds and circumstances. CLD students include those who were born in the country and speak a language other than the primary language of the country at home, as well as students who have recently immigrated and who may have limited or interrupted formal education. Though various CLD students may speak the same home language, they arrive in school with different needs and backgrounds. By addressing learner variability, a lesson that incorporates UDL principles builds in supports that are relevant for the varied characteristics of diverse learners. UDL‐based supports can be relevant for CLD students with and without disabilities. The UDL guidelines are consistent and complementary to effective practices identified by frameworks for English‐language learners (ELLs) and CLD students. One widely used teacher professional development framework for ELLs is the Sheltered Instructional Observation Protocol (SIOP). The SIOP model is comprised of 30 items reflecting best practices for ELLs (Echevarria, Vogt, & Short, 2004) and grouped into eight components, essential for making instruction comprehensible to ELLs. Several of the best practices identified by the SIOP framework align with UDL checkpoints. For example, SIOP emphasizes explicit teaching of learning strategies so that students know how to access and retain information and scaffolding instruction, which align with UDL Checkpoints 5.3 (“Build fluencies with graduated levels of support for practice and performance”), 6.1 (“Guide appropriate goal‐setting”), and 6.2 (“Support planning and strategy development”). The Center for Research on Equity and Diversity in Education (CREDE) has published seven standards for effective pedagogy, grounded in research on best practices for culturally and linguistically diverse children. Various UDL Checkpoints correspond with and support each of the seven standards. For example, one of the CREDE standards is “Joint Productive Activities,” which includes teacher–student collaborations and responsive assistance toward the creation of a product. These processes are consistent with various UDL Checkpoints, such as 5.2 (“Use multiple tools for construction and composition”) and 8.3 (“Foster collaboration and community”). In a summary of key findings of the National Literacy Panel (NLP) and CREDE, Goldenberg (2008) describes the varying levels of scaffolds that ELLs need, giving examples such as the pictures, objects and movement to illustrate content and the need to build background. Those are consistent with the UDL principles of multiple means of representation, such as Checkpoint 3.1 (“Activate or supply background knowledge”). These are just a few examples of ways in which guidelines complement best practices for culturally and linguistically diverse students. Chita‐Tegmark and colleagues (2011) describe how UDL can address aspects of learner variability that are attributable to culture. Noting that culture influences all three dimensions associated with UDL (representation, action and expression and engagement), they posit that UDL can provide “cultural bridges” by offering multiple means of access to subject matter and to the processes of learning. Used in conjunction with frameworks such as SIOP and the CREDE

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Standards, UDL provides a menu of items that teachers can consider to address learner variability within and across diverse student groups. Rao (2015) provides examples of technology‐based projects that can be done in classrooms that support language learning for ELLs and address the unique and diverse cultural backgrounds of immigrant students.

The Role of Assistive and Instructional Technology in UDL Assistive and instructional technologies play an important role in creating universally designed learning environments. Edyburn (2010b) highlights the key role of technology in the provision of universally designed environments, as a tool that can increase accessibility and engagement. Many commonplace technologies that we use daily incorporate features that can be assistive when used purposefully to support student‐learning objectives. For example, the UDL principle of “Providing Multiple Options for Representation” can be addressed by using technology to provide students with digital text in a computer‐based environment. Digital text inherently incorporates options—text can be converted easily to audio; can be displayed in different fonts, colors, and layouts on the screen; can be simplified as needed; and can be translated into other languages. This inherent flexibility allows digital text to be accessible to students with vision impairments, students with learning disabilities, students learning the language of instruction, and others who would simply prefer to modify or access text to suit their preferences. Instructional technologies can provide flexible options for learning in a variety of ways—allowing students to view information represented in various ways, express themselves creatively, and to engage in authentic and meaningful forms. For example, online environments can be designed with varied options built into the technology, allowing users to choose from a variety of supports such as text‐to‐speech, online glossaries, hyperlinks to related information and tools for note‐taking and comprehension (e.g., highlighting tools). Technology can also provide means for students to express information in various creative formats, and consequently serve as nontraditional means of assessment. For example, instead of a written assessment to gauge a student’s knowledge, students can use multimodal tools available on computers and mobile devices to express information orally or visually (e.g., audio or video recordings). These options can be useful for learners who benefit from having alternatives to written expression of knowledge. The UDL checkpoints also address facets of learner motivation and development of self‐regulation skills. Students can create their own multimedia products, such as presentations, websites and multimedia projects that integrate visuals, audio and text and allow students to create and express information in creative, authentic, and engaging ways. The process of creating these projects can incorporate scaffolds for learning, such as teacher feedback, goal setting, planning and organization, and collaboration with others. CLD students can

UDL Efficacy UDL Efficacy 367

be invited to bring in knowledge and ideas they are familiar with, including first language and cultural knowledge into their creative multimedia productions (Boisvert & Rao, 2014).

Implications for Classroom Practice Teachers can apply UDL guidelines to their instructional practices while planning and designing lessons. Israel, Ribuffo, and Smith (2014) developed guidelines for integrating UDL into teacher preparation and professional development initiatives, highlighting the need for teachers to understand the UDL guidelines and to undertake a systematic process to identify potential barriers in curriculum and instruction, consider learner variability and design lessons that include supports and provide flexible options. A key tenet of UDL is to proactively design lessons that build in supports addressing a range of student needs, rather than to modify lessons after the fact to accommodate specific student needs. The UDL guidelines provide a “menu” of options and ideas that teachers can apply to instructional goals, methods, materials, and assessments. There is no single way to apply UDL; there are many choices a teacher can make while planning a lesson. UDL‐based instructional goals and assessments are flexible, recognizing that individuals can learn and express knowledge and skills in various ways. UDL‐ based instructional methods incorporate scaffolds for learning and foster ­student engagement. For example, if the goal of a lesson is to have students write a report, UDL‐based instructional methods can include strategies that give the student opportunities for practice, mastery‐oriented feedback, and self‐regulation during the learning process. These strategies can be operationalized in various ways. Students who struggle with writing can start by using images as visual prompts to generate sentences or by narrating and recording an audio clip that can be used to help them generate a written report. Using digital tools, students can organize information using presentation software, digital graphic organizers, and other mobile apps and multimedia applications (Bryant, Rao, & Ok, 2014). Teachers can also provide clear expectations, using rubrics and checklists that allow students to set and assess their progress toward their instructional goals. For culturally and linguistically diverse students, UDL‐based lessons can incorporate digital tools and instructional strategies that incorporate the use of first language, include culturally relevant materials, and make connections between school and home culture (Rao & Skouge, 2015).

UDL Efficacy US educational policies and initiatives, such as the Higher Education Opportunity Act (2008), the Race to the Top Assessment Program (US Department of Education, 2009), and the Common Core State Standards, specifically mention the importance of incorporating UDL to create more inclusive learning environments. While much has been written in the past decade about the benefits of

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using UDL, the empirical research base on UDL is nascent. The National Center on Universal Design for Learning (2011) website provides extensive research evidence compiled by CAST to support each of the 31 UDL checkpoints; however, research on how to apply the framework as a whole and what the outcomes are for students is still in an emergent phase. The US state of Maryland convened a task force to make recommendations on how to integrate UDL into the entire educational enterprise (Task Force, 2011) in an attempt to help all stakeholder groups capture the potential of this important initiative. A review of the research in the United States on the application of UDL to pre‐K–12 environments described eight studies examining the outcomes of applying UDL to curriculum, instructional strategies, and technology‐based instruction (Rao, Ok, & Bryant, 2014). UDL researchers noted gains in academic outcomes related to literacy, math, and science content knowledge (Browder, Mims, Spooner, Ahlgrim‐Delzell, & Lee, 2008; Lieber, Horn, Palmer, & Fleming, 2008; Marino, 2009). Two studies focused on CLD learners, examining the efficacy of UDL‐based technology environments for these students (Dalton, Proctor, Uccelli, Mo, & Snow, 2011; Rappolt‐Schlichtmann et  al., 2013). UDL‐based methods and materials were important in supporting the varied language and literacy levels of CLD students and in engaging student interest. Around the world, there has been great interest in UDL in several areas: cognitive access to information (Inclusion Europe, 2009), UDL to support inclusion in the European Union (www.udlnet‐project.eu), and access to information via the World Wide Web (W3C Web Accessibility, http://www.w3.org/standards/ webdesign/accessibility). There has also been attention devoted to the design of accessible textbooks (Kim & Jung, 2010). The International Baccalaureate Organization (2015) has also identified UDL as a means for providing inclusive educational services in International Baccalaureate schools worldwide.

Quality of the Science More research is needed on the ways that UDL can be applied to curriculum and instruction to support diverse students groups. Although individual studies on the efficacy of UDL demonstrate its promise of increasing achievement and engagement for learners, the construct of UDL and how it can be applied needs to be further defined in order to develop a body of empirical study on its efficacy. Future studies should report on the specific benefits of UDL‐based lessons on various student populations, including culturally and linguistically students with disabilities. Elaborating on and examining how UDL complements and supports frameworks for CLD students can also help educators design effective lessons that take into account systematic learner variability as well as specific considerations for CLD students. While the premise of increasing access through UDL makes intuitive sense, educators will benefit from a more nuanced understanding of how UDL guidelines can be applied to specific components of instruction and how these applications of UDL affect student outcomes.

Future Directions Future Directions 369

A challenge inherent to the examination of UDL is that the framework addresses an array of practices and instructional components. UDL can be applied to the specific components of instruction (e.g., goals, methods, materials, and assessments) in various permutations and combinations and can also be applied at various levels (e.g., lesson‐level or school‐wide initiatives). The wide‐ ranging ways in which UDL can be interpreted and operationalized creates challenges when establishing a research base of promising practices.

Future Directions We conclude by analyzing selected trends and issues that will impact future research, development, policy, and practice concerning the use of technology by diverse learners in inclusive educational settings. Our goal is to inspire future research that will improve classroom practice in order to enable diverse learners close the achievement gap. First, based on our review, it is clear that much more needs to be done to educate the research community about the need for culturally sensitive pedagogy, instructional design, assessments, and assistive technology services. There is little evidence that all students who need assistive technology have access to appropriate devices and services. With a few exceptions, issues related to culture and linguistic diversity are not routinely addressed in the assistive technology or UDL literature. As a result, researchers must be much more diligent about reaching underserved populations. Second, while issues of disability and poverty are well documented (Fujiura & Yamaki, 2000), we could not find any instance where poverty and assistive technology or UDL was the focus of research, development, or policy. This reinforces perceptions of a digital divide where at‐risk students are exposed to additional risk factors when technology is not available. Mullainathan and Shafir (2013) provide a compelling argument about why having too little undermines cognition in so many ways that interfere with learning, activities of daily life, employment, and more. Third, much more work is needed to identify the active ingredients within technology interventions (Clark & Saxberg, 2012; Lenker et al., 2010). That is, what specific instructional designs that are embedded in technologies make a difference? Can we simply assume, because learning materials have been converted from paper to digital format, that students will learn more as a result of using assistive technology and UDL products? Finally, there is much to do regarding the process and procedures associated with measuring the outcomes of assistive technology in both academic settings as well as other areas of functioning (Anttila et al., 2012). We must continue to monitor advances concerning the implementation of evidence‐ based practices (Klingner et al., 2013; Odom, Cox, & Brock, 2013) in order to understand the evidence standards that special education technology is expected to meet. To conclude, we note that some administrators are reluctant to implement emerging technologies, given the many unknowns about their cost and efficacy.

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To balance the demands for evidence‐based practices with the need to innovate using emerging technologies of unknown power, we believe Hattie (2009) offers a sound strategy: The key to many of the influences above the d = 0.40 h-point is that they are deliberate interventions aimed at enhancing teaching and learning. But the message is not to merely innovate—but for us to learn from what makes the difference when teachers innovate. When we innovate, we are more aware of what is working and what is not, we are looking for contrary evidence, we are keen to discover any intended and unintended consequences, and we have a heightened awareness of the effects of the innovations on outcomes. … It is critical that teachers learn about the success or otherwise of their interventions: Those teachers who are students of their own effects are the teachers who are the most influential in raising students’ achievements. Seeking positive effects on student learning (say d > 0.40) should be a constant theme and challenge for teachers. As this does not accrue by serendipity or accident, then the excellent teacher must be vigilant to what is working and what is not working in the classroom. (p. 24) Toward this end, we encourage researchers, administrators, and educators to embrace new technologies in a personal quest to determine what works, for whom, and under what conditions. As Coyne, Kame’enui, and Simmons (2004) argue, we will not achieve the goal of helping all students achieve high academic standards until we understand what works for each.

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K. L. Heider & M. R. Jalongo (Eds.), Young children and families in the information age (pp. 101–115). Dordrecht, Netherlands: Springer. Rappolt‐Schlichtmann, G., Daley, S. G., Lim, S., Lapinski, S., Robinson, K. H., & Johnson, M. (2013). Universal design for learning and elementary school science: Exploring the efficacy, use, and perceptions of a web‐based science notebook. Journal of Educational Psychology, 105, 1210–1225. Ratliffe, K. T., Rao, K., Skouge, J. R., & Peter, J. (2012). Navigating the currents of change: Technology, inclusion, and access for people with disabilities in the Pacific. Information Technology for Development, 18(3), 209–225. Ripat, J., & Booth, A. (2005). Characteristics of assistive technology service delivery models: Stakeholder perspectives and preferences. Disability and Rehabilitation, 27, 1461–1470. Rose, D., & Meyer, A. (2000). The future is in the margins: The role of technology and disability in educational reform. Wakefield, MA: Center for Applied Special Technology. Rose, D., & Meyer, A. (2002). Teaching every student in the digital age: Universal design for learning. Alexandria, VA: ASCD. Rose, D. H., Hasselbring, T. S., Stahl, S., & Zabala, J. (2005). Assistive technology and universal design for learning: Two sides of the same coin. In D. Edyburn, K. Higgins, & R. Boone (Eds.), Handbook of special education technology research and practice (pp. 507–518). Whitefish Bay, WI: Knowledge by Design. Russel, J. N., Hendershot, G. E., LeClerer, F., Howie, L. J., & Adler, M. (1997). Trends and differential use of assistive technology devices: United States: 1994: Advanced data. Atlanta, GA: The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention‐National Center for Health Statistics. Sampath, H., Sivaswamy, J., & Indurkhya, B. (2010). Assistive systems for children with dyslexia and autism. ACM Sigaccess Accessibility and Computing, 96, 32–36. Scherer, M. J., & Galvin, J. C. (1996). An outcomes perspective of quality pathways to most appropriate technology. In J. C. Galvin & M. J. Scherer (Eds.), Evaluating, selecting and using appropriate assistive technology (pp. 1–26). Gaithersburg, MD: Aspen Publishers, Inc. Sharma, F. R., & Wasson, S. G. (2012). Speech recognition and synthesis tool: Assistive technology for physically disabled persons. International Journal of Computer Science and Telecommunications, 3, 986–991. Silió, M. C., & Barbetta, P. M. (2010). The effects of word prediction and text‐to‐ speech technologies on the narrative writing skills of Hispanic students with specific learning disabilities. Journal of Special Education Technology, 25(4), 17–32. Stack, J., Zarate, L., Pastor, C., Mathiassen, N., Barberà, R., Knops, H., & Kornsten, H. (2009). Analysing and federating the European assistive technology ICT industry. Brussels, Belgium: European Commission Information Society and Media. Steel, E. J., & de Witte, L. P. (2011). Advances in European assistive technology service delivery and recommendations for further improvement. Technology and Disability, 23(3), 131–138.

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Task Force to Explore the Incorporation of the Principles of Universal Design for Learning into the Education Systems in Maryland. (2011). A route for every learner. Retrieved from http://files.eric.ed.gov/fulltext/ED519800.pdf Test, D. W., Fowler, C. H., Richter, S. M., White, J., Mazzotti, V., Walker, A. R., Kohler, P., & Kortering, L. (2009). Evidence‐based practices in secondary transition. Career Development for Exceptional Individuals, 32(2), 115–128. Tincani, M., & Devis, K. (2011). Quantitative synthesis and component analysis of single‐participant studies on the Picture Exchange Communication System. Remedial and Special Education, 32(6), 458–470. Tomlinson, C. A. (2004). The Möbius effect addressing learner variance in schools. Journal of Learning Disabilities, 37(6), 516–524. United Nations Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities (UNCRPD). (2006). United Nations convention on the rights of persons with disabilities, 2006. Retrieved from: http://www.un.org/disabilities/convention/conventionfull.shtml United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO). (2012). The right of children with disabilities to education: A rights‐based approach to inclusive education. Geneva, Switzerland: UNICEF Regional Office for Central and Eastern Europe and the Commonwealth of Independent States (CEECIS). Retrieved from http://www.unicef.org/ceecis/IEPositionPaper_ ENGLISH.pdf United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO). (2014). Model policy for inclusive ICTs in education for persons with disabilities. Paris, France: Author. The United Nations Children’s Fund (UNICEF) and United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO). (2007). A human rights based approach to education for all. Retrieved from http://www.unicef.org/ publications/index_42104.html US Department of Education. (2009). Race to the top assessment program, 2009. Retrieved from http://www2.ed.gov/programs/racetothetop‐assessment/index. html Wehmeyer, M. L. (1988). National survey of the use of assistive technology by adults with mental retardation. Mental Retardation, 36(1), 44–51. World Health Organization. (2011). The world report on disability, 2011. Geneva, Switzerland: Author.

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18 Mathematics Assessment for Students with Diverse Learning Needs Sarah R. Powell and Rebecca Zumeta Edmonds

In this chapter, we discuss mathematics assessment of students with disabilities. We provide an overview of summative, formative, and diagnostic assessments, and how and when these assessment types are appropriate for school‐age students with disabilities from prekindergarten through high school. Commonly, schools use summative and formative assessments to track mathematics learning, but because the focus of this handbook is students with disabilities, we discuss diagnostic assessments as well. We conclude the chapter with a case study, which utilizes all three types of mathematics assessment discussed in this chapter. Consistent with the focus of this handbook, we emphasize assessment research pertaining to students with disabilities from diverse backgrounds as much as possible. Our definition of “diverse backgrounds” includes race, ethnicity, and native language. To date, however, mathematics assessment of students with disabilities from diverse backgrounds has not been rigorously researched, so we identify gaps in the research and provide directions for future research throughout this chapter.

Summative Assessments Educators use summative assessments to “sum‐up” a child’s mathematics performance. Often, educators describe summative assessments as assessment of learning, whereas educators describe formative assessments (discussed in the next section of this chapter) as assessments for learning. Summative assessments can assess what a child learned from a textbook unit or curriculum unit or during a semester or year of school. Some summative assessments are specific to a mathematics curriculum (e.g., unit from a textbook) whereas others are based on state or organizational mathematics standards. Summative assessments can be created by the educator or provided by a school district, textbook company, or other outside organization (Frey & Schmitt, 2007). Because these assessments The Wiley Handbook of Diversity in Special Education, First Edition. Edited by Marie Tejero Hughes and Elizabeth Talbott. © 2017 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Published 2017 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

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18  Mathematics Assessment for Students with Diverse Learning Needs

are used to sum up what a child has learned, summative assessments are given infrequently (e.g., end of a unit, end of semester, end of school year). Summative assessments can be projects or papers where the child is assessed on a compendium of mathematics knowledge. Most commonly, however, summative assessments are standardized assessments that include test items requiring a constructed response or requiring the student to select from answer choices (e.g., multiple choice; Abida, Azeem, & Bashir, 2011). When educators administer summative assessments and send the assessments away for scoring, often educators do not receive student scores for weeks or months. Sometimes, summative scores do not arrive until the following school year. This delay in receiving scores prohibits many educators from using summative assessment data to make timely instructional decisions about individual students, which is why other types of assessment are necessary (e.g., formative). A summative assessment of mathematics often has a variety of items representative of what a child should be able to solve in mathematics at a specific grade level. For example, a grade 5 mathematics summative assessment may include items that survey applying computation (i.e., addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division) with whole and rational numbers, using algebra to understand functions, expressions, and equations, measuring length and volume, analyzing data, graphing points on a coordinate plane, and applying geometric formulas. A summative assessment may ask a child to perform calculations with numerals and symbols or answer a calculation within an embedded linguistically or graphically presented scenario (e.g., a word problem).

What are Examples of Summative Assessment? Examples of summative mathematics assessments include the Iowa Test of Basic Skills (now renamed the IOWA; Seton Testing Services, 2016b) or the California Achievement Test (CAT; Seton Testing Services, 2016a). Both of these assessments, which can be administered once during each school year, assess a student’s mathematics learning on grade‐specific mathematics skills. With the widespread adoption of the Common Core (National Governors Association Center for Best Practices & Council of Chief State School Officers, 2010), the new Partnership for Assessment of Readiness for College and Careers (PARCC, 2015) and Smarter Balanced Assessment Consortium (Smarter Balanced Assessment Consortium, 2015) summative assessments will assess the mathematics learning of students at the elementary and secondary levels. The National Assessment of Educational Progress (NAEP; National Center for Education Statistics, 2015) is another summative assessment, administered to grade 4 and 8 students, that helps show how students across the United States compare in terms of mathematics learning. All these summative assessments have been normed with a national representative sample of students, so the scores of an individual student can be compared to normative standards and percentile ranks. This allows educators to understand one student’s performance compared to other students across the country.

Considerations for Summative Assessment Considerations for Summative Assessment 381

What are High‐Stakes Assessments? Often, many summative assessments are known as high‐stakes assessments, because the scores gained from a summative assessment are used to determine accountability of the school, district, or state (Zimmerman & Dibenedetto, 2008). High‐stakes assessments may also be used to determine whether a child moves from one grade to the next and whether a child graduates high school (Conderman & Hedin, 2012). Additionally, high‐stakes assessments can be used to evaluate educator effectiveness (Papay, 2011). For all these reasons, the stakes are high for many stakeholders when students take such summative assessments. Even though high‐stakes assessments are often accompanied by controversy (Smith & Fey, 2000), many educators feel high‐stakes assessments help schools focus on improving general education and the performance of students with and without disabilities (Christenson, Decker, Triezenberg, Ysseldyke, & Reschly, 2007). With the passage of No Child Left Behind in 2001, all students, including students with disabilities, are expected to meet federal standards related to mathematics (Yell, Katsiyannas, & Shiner, 2006). Specifically, all schools must demonstrate that students score at proficient levels on mathematics items. Even though the levels of proficiency may differ from state‐to‐state, educators are pressed to adequately prepare all students to perform well on these summative assessments.

Considerations for Summative Assessment Typically, students with disabilities perform lower on high‐stakes summative assessments than peers without disabilities, and students from diverse racial or ethnic backgrounds (e.g., black, Hispanic) perform lower than peers who are white and Asian (National Center for Education Statistics, 2015). Additionally, students from homes where English is not the primary language demonstrate lower mathematics performance compared to students from native‐English‐ speaking homes (Reardon & Galindo, 2009). While little research exists for the subgroup of students with disabilities from diverse backgrounds in terms of summative assessments, there are several key considerations when administering summative assessments to students from diverse backgrounds. First, linguistically presented mathematics items may cause difficulty for students from diverse backgrounds, and, as the majority of high‐stakes mathematics items require students to read and/or write, linguistically based mathematics problems must be addressed by educators. For example, Martiniello (2009) learned that mathematics word problems with greater linguistic complexity and grammar caused more difficulty for English language learners (ELLs) than for non‐ELLs but that the effects of linguistic complexity could be lessened for ELLs when the problems were accompanied by schematic pictorial representation. Students from diverse backgrounds may require additional instruction on solving linguistically complex mathematics items or may require simplified text and provided mathematics definitions as an assessment accommodation

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(Beal, Adams, & Cohen, 2010). Some students from diverse backgrounds may benefit from a summative assessment administered in their native language. For example, Alt, Arizmendi, Beal, and Hurtado (2013) determined that Spanish‐ speaking ELLs performed better on a standardized assessment administered in Spanish than in English. We caution, however, that any translation of summative assessment material must be approved as a test accommodation by school or district personnel, and normative data, unless also administered in a native language, may not be appropriate for comparison purposes. Second, not all pictorial representations may be equally helpful to students from diverse backgrounds. With ELLs, Martiniello (2009) determined that schematic pictorial representations that represented mathematics relationships were more helpful than pictorial representations of concrete objects. As many summative assessment items related to fractions, place value, geometry, and measurement are accompanied by pictorial representations, students from diverse backgrounds may require additional instruction about interpreting such pictorial representations. Additionally, as some high‐stakes assessments ask students to draw pictorial representations to support mathematical thinking, students may require intervention and practice on using pictorial representations in such a way. Third, if educators familiar with the student are scoring summative assessments, they need to be mindful of their expectations of students when assessing summative work. Morgan and Watson (2002) learned that educators’ preconceived notions of whether a student was strong in mathematics contributed to whether mathematics work was graded equitably. Fourth, educators should be careful with interpretation of summative assessments scores for students from diverse backgrounds. Educators should understand the diversity of the normative sample and whether it is appropriate to compare a student from a diverse background to the normative sample. Interestingly, Malmgren, McLaughlin, and Nolet (2005) determined that schools with stronger general education mathematics programs prepared students with disabilities better for summative high‐stakes assessments. While the authors did not evaluate the data for the subgroup of students with disabilities form diverse backgrounds, their research stresses the importance of a strong general mathematics curriculum for high‐stakes assessment preparation. Sometimes, educators develop their own summative assessments, whereas high‐stakes assessments are often provided by the school district, state, or an outside organization. With this in mind, educators need to understand the mathematics content included on high‐stakes assessments and how to adequately prepare students with disabilities to work with this content on high‐ stakes assessments.

Assessment Accommodations Appropriate accommodations for students with disabilities from diverse backgrounds must be determined as necessary and beneficial for the student with a disability (Engelhard, Fincher, & Domaleski, 2011), and, if beneficial, written

Formative Assessments Formative Assessments 383

into the student’s Individualized Education Program (IEP; Salend, 2008). While many accommodations, such as calculator use, extended time, use of manipulatives, and reduced problems on assessment are fairly common for students with disabilities (Maccini & Gagnon, 2006), it is unknown, at this time, whether students from diverse backgrounds require theses accommodations or additional accommodations (Li & Suen, 2012). One common accommodation outside of mathematics is the administration of an assessment in the student’s native language (e.g., Rodríguez, Carrasquillo, & Lee, 2014). While the work of Alt et al. (2013) showed improved mathematics scores when an assessment was administered in a student’s native language, more research needs to be conducted in this area to determine if this is true for other mathematics assessments at other grade levels (i.e., beyond grade 2) and for other languages (i.e., beyond Spanish). One accommodation often used for students with disabilities, especially nonnative English speakers, is test items read aloud. While this accommodation seems logical, a recent meta‐analysis on accommodations for ELLs did not determine this accommodation provides ELLs with a differential benefit over non‐ ELLs (Kieffer, Lesaux, Rivera, & Francis, 2009). Interestingly, the accommodation for ELLs that was statistically significant was providing an English glossary or dictionary (e.g., Wolf, Kim, & Kao, 2012). Again, much of the research on ELLs has not exclusively focused on ELLs with disabilities, so future research is warranted. Summative mathematics assessments provide an indicator of a student’s mathematics performance across a curriculum unit, semester, or school year. Often, student scores can be compared to normative scores. Accommodations on summative assessments may be necessary for students with disabilities from diverse backgrounds, yet research is not conclusive about which accommodations provide a differential boost. Summative assessments are administered infrequently, and, therefore, cannot be used to demonstrate growth in mathematics learning within a school year. Assessments that can be used to show growth or response to instruction are formative assessments, and we discuss formative assessments in the next section.

Formative Assessments Formative assessment refers to assessment that occurs in the context of instruction and informs future planning and action. With formative assessment, educators collect data that allow them to evaluate whether students have learned the information covered, and determine if they need to reteach content, adjust pacing, or implement different instructional strategies moving forward. Robert Stake articulated the difference between formative and summative assessment well when he said, “When the cook tastes the soup, that’s formative; when the guests taste the soup, that’s summative” (cited in Scriven, 1991, p. 169). That is, when the cook tastes his/her soup, he/she can determine whether it needs more salt, spice, water, or other ingredients. Tasting the soup informs her future cooking decisions. When he/she serves the soup to her guests, however, it is their

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taste buds that test the final product. With formative assessment, the cook increases the likelihood that his/her guests’ summative assessment will be positive.

Why is Formative Assessment Important for At‐Risk Learners? Formative assessment is important for all students, but it is particularly critical for at‐risk learners, including students with disabilities. This is because when implemented systematically using validated measures, formative assessments allow educators to identify struggling students and make timely instructional changes, maximizing the time that students spend learning relevant material. That is, appropriate formative assessment data allow educators to make instructional adjustments to address students’ specific learning needs, which is critical for students who have low achievement. It does not require educators to wait for summative assessment results (e.g., high‐stakes end‐of‐year state assessments) to determine whether or not students mastered the curriculum. Furthermore, educators typically do not learn the results of summative assessments until months after testing occurs, often when students have moved to the next grade. This time lapse limits the extent to which summative assessment data help educators plan instruction. Formative assessments, on the other hand, occur during instruction to help educators make timely instructional decisions for students in their current classrooms. In addition, results from a number of studies have demonstrated that a common type of formative assessment known as progress monitoring,1 when combined with instructional decision‐making, has a positive impact on the achievement of students with academic difficulties, and on educators’ instructional decision‐making (Capizzi & Fuchs, 2005; Fuchs, Deno, & Mirkin, 1984; Fuchs, Fuchs, & Hamlett, 1989a; Vaughn, Wanzek, Murray, & Roberts, 2012). With respect to mathematics, Fuchs, Fuchs, Hamlett, and Stecker (1991) showed that implementing progress monitoring using a validated tool known as curriculum‐ based measurement (CBM) and providing support for data‐driven instructional changes could improve mathematics operations skills for students with disabilities in grades 2–8 with chronic low achievement. Fuchs, Fuchs, and Hamlett (1989b) also found that, when educators used data to increase students’ progress‐monitoring (CBM) goals, student mathematics achievement increased considerably more than that of control students (i.e., students with educators not using data to inform instruction). Formative assessment is a particularly critical element of special education, because it encompasses progress monitoring. In addition to the aforementioned research evidence about the impact of progress monitoring on student achievement, it is also part of the special education law. That is, the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act (IDEA) requires that students receiving special education have an IEP that guides their educational program (2004). IDEA also requires that the IEP include specific goals and monitoring of progress toward those

Screening and Progress Monitoring Screening and Progress Monitoring 385

goals. Thus, formative assessment lies at the heart of the IEP process and plays a critical role in the determination of whether or not a student’s instructional program meets his or her specific needs.

What are Examples of Formative Assessment? Formative assessment may take a number of forms. One way to differentiate various types of formative assessment is to distinguish between informal measures and formal assessments. While both types are potentially useful, they serve different purposes. Informal assessments may include activities such as pop quizzes, exit slips, homework, or even students’ responses to educator questioning during the course of a specific lesson (Fennell, Swartz, Kobett, & Wray, 2015). The advantage of these assessments is that they provide the educator with immediate information about whether students understand what was just taught, allowing the teacher to make adjustments in the moment. At the same time, the individual nature of these assessments means that they typically have not been evaluated for their ability to reliably predict later student outcomes, limiting their usefulness for timing and prioritizing instructional decisions. In addition, many of these measures are educator‐created, making it difficult to compare assessment results across classrooms. Formal formative assessment, on the other hand, includes measures that are standardized, and validated for the purpose of informing future instruction (e.g., Salaschek, Zeuch, & Souvignier, 2014). Standardized administration means that they have consistent administration and scoring procedures to ensure that students’ scores are comparable across settings, educators, and schools. Examples of standardized formative assessments include AIMSweb, easyCBM, mCLASS, or Monitoring Basic Skills Progress (National Center on Intensive Intervention [NCII], 2015a). In this context, validated refers to the fact that measures have been evaluated for their psychometric properties, including reliability, validity, classification accuracy, and sensitivity to change. A reliable measure is one that provides consistent scores across sittings and forms of the assessment. A valid assessment refers to the fact that the measure tests what it claims to measure (e.g., that a math assessment is a measure of math achievement, not reading comprehension; Hickendorff, 2013). Classification accuracy means that scores the assessment can accurately identify students who are at risk and not at risk. Finally, a measure that is sensitive to change is one where evidence shows that the assessment can detect changes in student learning over time. That is, with repeated measurement, increasing scores indicate the student is learning more.

Screening and Progress Monitoring Formal, standardized formative assessments are often used for two critical purposes, screening and progress monitoring. With screening, all students participate in the assessment at their chronological grade level to allow staff to determine how students are performing overall, and identify students who are at risk for

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Table 18.1  Common Mathematics Screening and Progress Monitoring Assessments Domain

Measures

Early numeracy

●● ●● ●● ●● ●●

Computation

●● ●●

Concepts and applications

●●

●●

Grades

Oral counting Next number Number identification Quantity discrimination Missing number

K–1

Math computation Number facts

1–8

Math concepts and applications Concepts/applications

2–8

Source: National Center on Intensive Intervention (2013).

poor academic outcomes (National Center on Response to Intervention [NCRTI], 2010). For this reason, classification accuracy is a necessary psychometric property of a useful screening tool. Assessments should be brief (e.g., 1–8 minutes), administered two to three times per year, and measure skills that are indicative of overall achievement in a particular domain. For example, kindergarteners may be asked to name numbers, count to 30, or identify the larger number of a pair of numbers to quickly estimate their overall math skills (see Table 18.1 for other examples). Students performing below an established score on these assessments may be at risk for poor learning outcomes without additional intervention. Screening data allow educators to identify these students early and get them the help they need. Progress monitoring is a “close cousin” of screening. The same measures and administration procedures are used (Table 18.1), but they are administered more often (e.g., weekly instead of once per term) so that educators can evaluate specific students’ response to instruction (NCRTI, 2010). Progress monitoring data should be collected for all students who have been identified as at‐risk for poor learning outcomes, including students with disabilities. With progress monitoring, educators collect data, set individual growth goals for students, and monitor progress toward these goals. When a student’s data indicate that he/she is on target to reach or exceed his/her goals, the educator knows his/her instruction is working. If a student does not reach his goal, the educator knows that changes to instruction are necessary to help the student progress.

Approaches to Progress Monitoring: Mastery versus General Outcome Measurement There are two common types of assessment used to evaluate students’ mathematics progress: mastery measurement and general outcome measurement (GOM). Mastery measures assess a student’s competence, or mastery, of skills

Approaches to Progress Monitoring: Mastery versus General Outcome Measurement Approaches to Progress Monitoring: Mastery versus General Outcome Measurement 387

that an educator already taught. In many cases, these measures assess mastery of a single or small group of target skills in a sequential order (e.g., addition without regrouping prior to addition with regrouping), but rarely include assessment of previously taught skills (maintenance), or skills that have not yet been introduced (generalization; Fuchs & Deno, 1991). For this reason, many mastery measures are not great predictors of overall performance.2 For example, mastery of addition without regrouping may not, on its own, be a particularly good predictor of overall math performance. At the same time, these assessments may be useful for helping to determine when a student has mastered a particular targeted skill. GOMs serve a different purpose, because these measures are intended to sa­mple the annual curriculum, allowing educators to assess maintenance, generalization, and student learning over time (Fuchs & Deno, 1991). They do not target a specific skill the way mastery measures do. Rather, they assess the annual curriculum in a specific domain (e.g., math calculation). Thus, students’ performance at the beginning of the year is typically low, but it increases over time as students learn more grade‐level material. In addition, the built‐in checks for maintenance and generalization allow educators to identify skills they may need to reteach, and the extent to which students can generalize skills they have learned to novel problems. This ability to evaluate generalization is useful, because it allows the educator to identify content that may require more or less instructional time, and determine students who do (or do not) require explicit instruction to learn new information. Selection of instruments. When selecting a tool, it will be necessary to consider whether or not there is evidence that it is a valid and reliable indicator of your outcome of interest (e.g., performance on the end of year test). In addition, it is important to consider whether the content aligns with your curriculum and validation information that is relevant for the population of students in your school.3 There are several unique considerations for educators to keep in mind when selecting appropriate tools for students from diverse ethnic and linguistic backgrounds. First, consider whether or not a selected tool has been validated for a specific population (e.g., ELLs). If so, are benchmarks and standards for improvement the same, or should educators expect a different growth trajectory when setting progress monitoring goals? Although research is limited in the area of mathematics, many assessment vendors have started reporting these data.4 Initial evidence suggests that, for measures where language demands are minimal (e.g., computation), measures of reliability, validity, and sensitivity to change are often consistent with the overall population. When the assessment has greater language demands, however, results are more variable. While this suggests that more research is needed to improve the quality of these measures for diverse learners, certain accommodations may help mitigate the language demands of these assessments. For students learning English, or for those with limited reading skills, this may mean using formative mathematics assessments that minimize text. When feasible, it may also be appropriate to provide accommodations such as having an adult to read the assessment aloud or having an adult who speaks the child’s first language

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ad­minister the assessment (while following other standardized administration and scoring procedures, discussed in the following text). Determining appropriate assessment level. When determining the appropriate level of any assessment, it is always important to first consider the purpose. For example, as noted in the preceding section, screening assessments are intended to help educators identify students who are at risk for not reaching grade‐level standards. Thus, screening assessments should be administered at the student’s chronological grade level. Progress monitoring assessments, on the other hand, should be administered at the child’s instructional level. The reason for this difference is that progress‐monitoring assessments must be sensitive to change in order to detect student learning over short time spans. If the assessment is too difficult given a student’s current skills, it will not show acquisition of new learning. Thus, for students who lag significantly behind their peers, assessments may need to be administered outside of the student’s chronological grade level. Standardized progress monitoring assessments available from vendors should provide guidance about how and when to monitor students outside of their chronological grade level. (For examples of standardized progress monitoring assessments, see NCII, 2015a.) In general, educators should monitor students using measures that represent their estimate of the grade level at which the student will be functioning at the end of the year (Fuchs, Fuchs, & Zumeta, 2008). For example, if an educator is working with a grade 5 student performing below grade level in mathematics, the educator should screen the student at the grade 5 level with the rest of the student’s classmates, but the educator should monitor the student’s progress off level. If the educator estimates the student will be working at grade 3 level by the end of the school year, the educator should assess the student using grade 3 level mathematics progress‐monitoring assessments. Administration and scoring. When administering and scoring formative assessments, it is critical for educators to use standardized, consistent procedures. In other words, it is important that the educator implement the assessment with fidelity. This means that the educator should follow protocols for administration and scoring, which involve following instructions and scripts for administering the assessment and following instructions for determining correct and incorrect responses. For valid comparisons to the norming group, testing conditions must be consistent with how the instrument was administered when it was developed and evaluated for reliability, validity, and other psychometric properties. Without this consistency, it is possible that the scores obtained would not align with those from the validation sample. In addition, lack of consistency makes it impossible to compare students’ scores over time and attribute changes in performance to student learning rather than changes in administration (e.g., providing more time or extra help) or scoring (e.g., providing partial credit for some answers, but not others, or educators making individual decisions about how to score items). This type of drift may invalidate the administrations of the assessment over time, yielding information that is not useful for instructional decision‐making.

Interpreting Data: How do I Know Students are Making Enough Progress?

To ensure that educators understand and adhere to standard scoring ­ rocedures, they should have access to training about the purpose of the p as­sessment, how to administer, score, and interpret data. (Most vendors ­provide this kind of training for their tools.) In addition, it is also important for schools to plan how they will check for administration and scoring fidelity to ensure that educators continue to follow the procedures after training, when drift over time is likely. Finally, it will be necessary for school leaders to plan how they will train new staff to appropriately use assessment tools when turnover occurs.

Interpreting Data: How do i Know Students are Making Enough Progress? Data use is perhaps the most important, and often overlooked, element of formative assessment. Without using data, there is little purpose in collecting it. At the same time, when interpreting data, educators should keep in mind the purpose for which the data were collected. In the case of formative assessment, data should help educators evaluate the effectiveness of their instruction and inform future planning, including acceleration, re‐teaching, instructional grouping, and individualization, among other instructional strategies and modifications. Formal formative assessment data such as validated progress monitoring tools may help educators determine whether or not a student is making adequate progress in a number of ways. Many tools include software for ease of scoring, graphing, and data interpretation. There are three common methods for setting goals to evaluate progress‐monitoring data: end‐of‐year benchmarking, rate of improvement norms, and the intra‐individual framework. With benchmarking, the educator uses the benchmark score for the assessment (typically provided by the vendor) for the end of the school year as the student’s instructional goal. The educator then creates a graph, with weeks of instruction between the initial data collection and the end of the year as the x‐axis, and assessment scores and the y‐axis (see NCII, 2015b, for examples of progress‐ monitoring graphs). The educator then plots the goal score on a graph, and connects it to the student’s initial (baseline) score. The resulting line is the student’s goal line. As the educator collects additional weekly progress monitoring data, the educator will determine whether the student’s performance is above or below his or her goal line. Similar graphing procedures may be used for the other goal‐setting options, but calculation of the goals varies. With rate of improvement norms, the educator sets the goal by multiplying the assessment vendor’s recommended weekly rate of improvement by the number of remaining instructional weeks to estimate the target amount of improvement. This goal‐setting procedure may work well for students for whom you hope to achieve average growth. However, it will not result in a closing of the gap between the student and his or her peers.

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Finally, with the intra‐individual framework, the educator collects 6–9 weeks of data, calculates the student’s individual rate of growth over that time period, and multiplies that value by 1.5. The educator then uses the product as the ­student’s target average weekly rate of growth. In this way, the educator uses his or her knowledge about the student’s prior performance to create an ambitious target that is specific to the individual student.5 Formative mathematics assessments provide a way to track a student’s learning or growth in mathematics. By analyzing formative data, educators can make decisions about whether a student is adequately responding to current instruction or whether an instructional change is required. Formative assessment data also help educators understand whether students are on track to meet or exceed IEP mathematics goals. Accommodations on formative assessments may be necessary for students with disabilities from diverse backgrounds, yet research is not conclusive about which accommodations provide a differential boost. Formative assessments are administered frequently (e.g., weekly, biweekly). If formative data demonstrate the need for an instructional change, educators could use diagnostic assessments to determine student strengths and weaknesses in mathematics. We discuss diagnostic assessments in the next section.

Diagnostic Assessments Educators can use diagnostic assessments to determine areas of mathematical strength and areas that require additional mathematics instruction. In this chapter, we conceptualize diagnostic assessments as tools that educators can use to determine the instructional areas in which students require remediation or extra time learning specific concepts. We do not conceptualize diagnostic assessments as a way to diagnose a student with a disability. Readers should refer to the most recent iteration of IDEA for the legally recognized methods for identification of a specific learning disability in mathematics. Diagnostic assessments are often administered individually, and the assessment includes a variety of mathematics items from a variety of mathematics domains. For example, a student may answer questions related to domain areas of number and operation, algebra, geometry, measurement, and data analysis. Often, diagnostic assessments are not designed to assess the mathematics skill at one grade level. Instead, diagnostic assessments encompass several grade levels worth of mathematics items with easier items presented before more difficult items. On many diagnostic assessments, students must demonstrate basal and ceiling levels. A basal is used when a student does not begin with the first item on a test. With a basal, the student demonstrates they can correctly answer several consecutive items, and then it is assumed the student would be able to answer all items prior to the basal. For example, a diagnostic assessment may encourage all grade 3 students to start on item 12. If a student answers four consecutive items correctly (i.e., items 12, 13, 14, and 15), then a basal is established for this assessment. (Please note, basal levels vary by assessment. We are only using a basal of four for illustrative purposes.) It is assumed the student could correctly answer

What are Examples of Diagnostic Assessment?

items 1–11, and the student is awarded points for those items, even if the items were not administered. A basal helps an educator save time by not administering items that would be too easy for the student. A ceiling is used to determine when it is appropriate to stop testing a student. With a ceiling, the student demonstrates they cannot correctly answer several consecutive items, and so it is assumed the student would not be able to answer any more test items. For example, a diagnostic assessment may include a ceiling level of “stop after five consecutive scores of zero.” If a student answers five consecutive items incorrectly, then a ceiling is established and the assessment is finished. A ceiling helps an educator save time by not administering items that would be too difficult for the student. Ceilings also alleviate student frustration and anxiety.

Why is Diagnostic Assessment Important for At‐Risk Learners? Diagnostic assessments are particularly helpful for educators of at‐risk students or students with disabilities, because the assessment provides a portfolio of mathematics strengths and weaknesses. For example, a diagnostic assessment may show an educator that a student excels with whole‐number computation involving addition, but computation involving subtraction is much more difficult for the student. The educator can then spend instructional time on subtraction instead of teaching content the student already knows. Most diagnostic assessments provide score summaries with a breakdown by mathematics domain or skill, so it is easy for educators to identify areas of weakness and deliver instruction based on these areas of weakness.

What are Examples of Diagnostic Assessment? Examples of standardized diagnostic assessments include the Test of Early Mathematics Ability (TEMA; Ginsburg & Baroody, 2003), the Early Math Diagnostic Assessment (EMDA; The Psychological Corporation, 2002), the KeyMath (Connolly, 2007), the Group Mathematics Assessment and Diagnostic Evaluation (G‐MADE; Williams, 2010), or the Brigance Comprehensive Inventory of Basic Skills II (Curriculum Associates, 2010). With each of these diagnostic assessments, students are administered mathematics items related to several grade levels of mathematics standards, and their scores demonstrate areas of strength and weakness. For example, the EMDA includes mathematics items for students in prekindergarten through grade 3. Students answer mathematics reasoning questions and numerical operations questions related to counting, numerals, calculations, time, money, measurement, shapes, and patterns. Problems answered correctly can be interpreted as representing mathematical areas of strength, whereas problems answered incorrectly or not attempted (i.e., a ceiling level was met before item was administered) could be considered mathematical areas of need.

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Considerations for Diagnostic Assessment In terms of using these diagnostic assessments with students with disabilities from diverse backgrounds, many of the assessment considerations are similar to those of summative and formative assessments. Students may require test accommodations, especially if test items are linguistically presented or linguistically complex. Students may require explanations about pictorial representations that accompany test items. It may be helpful for a native‐language‐speaking adult to administer the assessment. With any accommodation, especially an accommodation in which a translation of a test is utilized, we do caution that meaning of some test items may change (e.g., Bray & Kobakhidze, 2014). Educators need to be cautious about comparing assessment scores to normative scores if this is the case. Speaking of normative scores, many assessments do not provide normative scores for subgroups of students (e.g., African American students, ELLs), so educators should be cautious about conclusions based on a normative sample that is not representative of the individual student. Diagnostic mathematics assessments help educators learn about areas of strength and weakness for an individual student. Diagnostic assessments are often designed to sample mathematics items from many skill areas and across grade levels. In this way, diagnostic assessments are not limiting in terms of the students that can take a diagnostic assessment. Summative and formative assessments are often written with a specific grade level in mind (e.g., grade 3), and diagnostic assessments may be written with a focus on a grade span (e.g., grades 1–8). Diagnostic assessments help educators understand which skill areas require immediate instruction. As mathematics requires foundational skills that aid with acquisition of higher‐level mathematics concepts and procedures, a diagnostic assessment helps educators quickly identify foundational skills that require remediation before a student can move on to another mathematics skill. Similar to other assessment types, accommodations on diagnostic assessments may be necessary for students with disabilities from diverse backgrounds. More research must be conducted in this area.

Considerations Across Assessment Types Many students, including students with disabilities, experience anxiety when taking assessments (Whitaker Sena, Lowe, & Lee, 2007). Test anxiety may be especially heightened when students take mathematics assessments (Ashcraft & Moore, 2009). Salend (2008) provides strategies for helping students with disabilities in terms of text anxiety. Strategies for educators include teaching study skills, teaching test‐taking skills, offer attribution training, and identify and use appropriate test accommodations. Salend (2008) also suggests using technology for assessments. More research is necessary to understand the effect of mathematics anxiety on the assessment‐taking skills of students with disabilities from diverse backgrounds. Test bias is often mentioned in terms of students with diverse backgrounds (e.g., Skiba, Knesting, & Bush, 2002), but we had difficulty locating recent

Case Study in Mathematics Assessment Case Study in Mathematics Assessment 393

research related to mathematics assessments, test bias, and students from diverse backgrounds. We do, however, caution educators to be aware of mathematics assessment items that may contain some level of bias (e.g., a word problem about different types of seashells and a student who lives in the landlocked region). Again, research is necessary in this area of mathematics assessments related to students with disabilities from diverse backgrounds.

Case Study in Mathematics Assessment Alejandro is a grade 3 ELL with a learning disability in the area of math. He moved to El Paso, Texas, from Mexico when he was in kindergarten. Although he speaks conversational English, his reading skills and academic language in English continue to be a relative weakness for him. At the end of this grade, Alejandro was administered the IOWA summative assessment alongside his classmates. The IOWA assessment included three mathematics subtests: math concepts and estimation, math problem solving and data interpretation, and math computation. Alejandro answered test items related addition, subtraction, multiplication, division, fractions, decimals, statistics, estimation, geometry, measurement, algebra, and probability. Test accommodations in his IEP include having extra time to finish the IOWA. Alejandro’s summative assessment scores, which arrived at the school during the summer, showed that Alejandro performed at a national percentile rank below the 14th percentile on all three mathematics subtests. At the beginning of grade 4, Alejandro continues to struggle with basic number and computation concepts, making it difficult for him to participate in typical grade 3 instruction. His classroom and special education teachers decide that they need to keep track of his progress during the year to ensure that he is progressing. The teachers realize that relying on grade assessment tools alone is unlikely to provide them with sufficient information about Alejandro’s progress, because it will likely be too difficult, so they decide to monitor his progress at a lower level. They decide to monitor his progress in both mathematics computation and concepts and applications using the formative assessment of validated CBMs, which are designed to monitor progress throughout the year. Based on his most recent assessment data, Alejandro’s teachers estimate that he will be working at an end of grade 2 level at the end of the year, so decide to monitor his progress using grade 2 level measures. First, they collect baseline data to determine his initial performance in both computation and concepts and applications. His scores fall in the right range, suggesting that the grade 2 CBM tool is at the right level. Next, Alejandro’s teacher uses his baseline data to set a goal for the year. Given the limited language demands of the computation assessment, Alejandro’s teacher, Ms. Garza, is less concerned about his English skills impeding his ability to show what he knows during the assessment. For concepts and applications, she reviewed the tool to determine if there were any words he was unlikely to know. She also provided an accommodation of reading the items aloud to him when asked. Given his limited English skills, Alejandro’s teachers decided to monitor his ­progress in two ways, using typical rate of improvement norms, and the

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intra­‐individual framework. Ms. Garza decided that monitoring him in this way would give her the opportunity to determine whether his growth rate was similar to peers, and whether he was improving against himself. Throughout the year, Alejandro’s teacher had him complete these CBM assessments once per week. The assessments were short, about 6 minutes, so they did not take much time. She also made Alejandro aware of his weekly goal so that he would also focus on improving his score. After monitoring Alejandro’s progress for 8 weeks, his teachers noticed little growth on his computation assessment or the concepts and applications assessment. His teachers decide to administer the KeyMath, diagnostic assessment, to learn more about Alejandro’s mathematical strengths and weaknesses. On the KeyMath, Alejandro performs below grade level on the numeration, algebra, and data analysis and probability subtests. Alejandro performs at grade level on the geometry and measurement subtests. These findings echo those of Alejandro’s summative assessment administered at the end of grade 3. An analysis of scores related to written computation shows that Alejandro is much better at addition computation than subtraction computation. Alejandro has little skill with multiplication and division. Based on this diagnostic assessment, his teachers decide to focus instruction on the foundational skill of subtraction. They will review subtraction concepts and practice subtraction algorithms. His teachers will also reintroduce the concept of multiplication and start to work on building Alejandro’s multiplication fluency. They decide to work on multiplication before focusing on division. In terms of conceptual skill, Alejandro’s teachers will spend less instructional time on geometry and measurement, and more time on whole number and rational number application problems. After implementing these instructional changes for another 8–10 weeks alongside weekly progress monitoring, Alejandro’s teachers will determine whether these instructional changes enable Alejandro to demonstrate positive growth on his formative assessments. All these changes are put into place to improve Alejandro’s mathematical learning (as demonstrated on formative assessments) and his mathematical skill at the end of grade 4 (as demonstrated on a summative assessment).

Notes 1 We describe progress monitoring in more detail later in this section. 2 In some cases, mastery of specific target skills may be a useful predictor of some

outcomes (see http://www.intensiveintervention.org/chart/progress‐monitoring‐ mm), but, since this is not always the case, it is important to evaluate available validation data. 3 The National Center on Response to Intervention provides information about common commercial screening tools, and provides reviews of their psychometric properties (see http://www.rti4success.org/resources/tools‐charts/screening‐ tools‐chart). In addition, the National Center on Intensive Intervention provides similar reviews of GOM and mastery measures that may be used for progress monitoring (http://www.intensiveintervention.org/chart/progress‐monitoring).

References References 395

4 See “Disaggregated reliability and validity data” columns in the Progress

Monitoring and Screening Tools Charts.

5 To learn more about these goal‐setting procedures and find examples, visit http://

www.intensiveintervention.org/resource/using‐academic‐progress‐monitoring‐ individualized‐instructional‐planning‐dbi‐training.

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Fuchs, L. S., Deno, S. L., & Mirkin, P. K. (1984). The effects of curriculum‐based measurement evaluation on pedagogy, student achievement, and student awareness of learning. American Educational Research Journal, 21, 449−460. Fuchs, L. S., Fuchs, D., & Hamlett, C. L. (1989a). Effects of instrumental use of curriculum‐based measurement to enhance instructional programs. Remedial and Special Education, 10, 43−52. Fuchs, L. S., Fuchs, D., & Hamlett, C. L. (1989b). Effects of alternative goal structures within curriculum‐based measurement. Exceptional Children, 55, 429−438. Fuchs, L. S., Fuchs, D., Hamlett, C., & Stecker, P. (1991). Effects of curriculum‐based measurement and consultation on teacher planning and student achievement in mathematics operations. American Educational Research Journal, 28, 617−641. Fuchs, L. S., Fuchs, D., & Zumeta, R. O. (2008). A curricular sampling approach to progress monitoring: Mathematics concepts and applications. Assessment for Effective Intervention, 33, 225−233. Ginsburg, H. P., & Baroody, A. J. (2003). Test of Early Mathematics Ability (3rd ed.). Austin, TX: Pro‐Ed. Hickendorff, M. (2013). The language factor in elementary mathematics assessments: Computational skills and applied problem solving in a multidimensional IRT framework. Measurement in Education, 26, 253−278. Individuals with Disabilities Education Act (IDEA), 20 U.S.C. § 1400 (2004). Kieffer, M. J., Lesaux, N. K., Rivera, M., & Francis, D. J. (2009). Accommodations for English language learners taking large‐scale assessments: A meta‐analysis on effectiveness and validity. Review of Educational Research, 79, 1168−1201. Li, H., & Suen, H. K. (2012). The effects of test accommodations for English language learners: A meta‐analysis. Applied Measurement in Education, 25, 327−346. Maccini, P., & Gagnon, J. C. (2006). Mathematics instructional practices and assessment accommodations by secondary special and general educators. Exceptional Children, 72, 217−234. Malmgren, K. W., McLaughlin, M. J., & Nolet, V. (2005). Accounting for the performance of students with disabilities on statewide assessments. Journal of Special Education, 39, 86−96. Martiniello, M. (2009). Linguistic complexity, schematic representations, and differential item functioning for English language learners in math tests. Educational Assessment, 14, 160−179. Morgan, C., & Watson, A. (2002). The interpretative nature of teachers’ assessment of students’ mathematics: Issues for equity. Journal for Research in Mathematics Education, 33, 78−110. National Center for Education Statistics. (2015). National Assessment of Educational Progress. Washington, DC: US Department of Education. Retrieved from nces.ed.gov/nationsreportcard National Center on Intensive Intervention. (2013). Using academic progress monitoring for individualized instructional planning. Washington, DC: US Department of Education, Office of Special Education Programs, National Center on Intensive Intervention.

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Vaughn, S., Wanzek, J., Murray, C. S., & Roberts, G. (2012). Intensive interventions for students struggling in reading and mathematics: A practice guide. Portsmouth, NH: RMC Research, Center on Instruction. Whitaker Sena, J. D., Lowe, P. A., & Lee, S. W. (2007). Significant predictors of test anxiety among students with and without learning disabilities. Journal of Learning Disabilities, 40, 360−376. Williams, K. T. (2010). Group mathematics assessment and diagnostic evaluation. Bloomington, MN: Pearson. Wolf, M. K., Kim, J., & Kao, J. (2012). The effects of glossary and read‐aloud accommodations on English language learners’ performance on a mathematics assessment. Applied Measurement in Education, 25, 347−374. Yell, M. L., Katsiyannas, A., & Shiner, J. G. (2006). The No Child Left Behind act, adequate yearly progress, and students with disabilities. Teaching Exceptional Children, 38(4), 32−39. Zimmerman, B. J., & Dibenedetto, M. K. (2008). Mastery learning and assessment: Implications for students and teachers in an era of high‐stakes testing. Psychology in the Schools, 45, 206−216.

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19 Reading Assessment Practices for Linguistically Diverse Students at Risk of Developing Language and Literacy Difficulties Sabina R. Neugebauer and Amy Heineke

As globalization and immigration increase, so does the number of l a­ ­ n guage‐minority students in classrooms and schools internationally (European Commission, 2003; Suárez‐Orozco & Suárez‐Orozco, 2001). As a result, school‐ and classroom‐level practices across international settings require modifications and adaptations to respond to a range of student needs. As described in a policy report by United Nations Educational, Scientific, and Cultural Organization (UNESCO), “Schools need to be reformed and pedagogy needs to be improved in ways that will lead them to respond positively to pupil diversity—seeing individual differences not as problems to be fixed, but as opportunities for enriching learning” (UNESCO, 2005, p. 9). With the growing presence of English as an international language, many language‐minority students enter English‐dominant classrooms in the United States, the United Kingdom, and other English‐privileged nations, speaking a language other than the majority language (Wrigley, 2000). In the US context in particular, schools are more linguistically diverse today than ever before, with students from hundreds of language backgrounds taught in the same English‐medium classrooms (Shin & Kominski, 2010). With this growing diversity, an increasing number of students receive the label English learner (ELs; Gándara & Hopkins, 2010). These children and adolescents are still in the process of attaining the English language, as measured by standardized tests of language proficiency in speaking, listening, reading, and writing (Linquanti & Cook, 2013). In the past decade, the population of ELs enrolled in US public schools has nearly doubled, increasing from 3.5 million to 5.3 million (National Clearinghouse for English Language Acquisition, 2011). Thus, if this rate of growth continues, one in every three students will be an EL by 2043 (Crawford & Krashen, 2007).

The Wiley Handbook of Diversity in Special Education, First Edition. Edited by Marie Tejero Hughes and Elizabeth Talbott. © 2017 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Published 2017 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

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With this growing number of ELs, assessment guidelines are needed to better address their literacy needs, especially for those requiring more intensive a­cademic support that may be at risk for special education identification. In p­articular, ELs, on average, are at elevated risk of low reading levels, with 70% of ELs performing below basic levels of literacy on the 2013 National Assessment of Educational Progress (National Center for Education Statistics, 2013). Accurately capturing the population of students who are ELs and who are at risk of experiencing reading difficulties is a challenge due to issues associated with the assessment and data collection prior and during the special education referral process. According to Harry and Klingner (2006), distinguishing between language difference and a language‐based learning disability is often an area in which schools struggle, with a lack of accurate, valid, and comprehensive assessment practices being at the heart of this confusion. The challenges associated with identifying ELs who may be at risk for reading difficulties are even more complex because, despite sharing the common label of EL, students labeled by this homogenous term have a rich array of characteristics, backgrounds, strengths, and needs (Heineke, Coleman, Ferrell, & Kersemeier, 2012). To elaborate, ELs that enter classrooms possess a wide range of language proficiency levels (e.g., emergent, intermediate) across linguistic domains (i.e., listening, speaking, reading, and writing) in an array of native languages (e.g., Mandarin, Spanish). Additionally, students’ c­ ountry of origin and cultural background affect their approach to schooling and teaching, including prior experiences with schooling, circumstances of immigration, and cultural ways of making meaning and approaching education (Suárez‐Orozco, Suárez‐Orozco, & Torodiva, 2008). These differences place comprehensive assessments that provides a more in‐depth understanding of ELs’ language and literacy strengths and weaknesses at the core of serving EL students at risk of reading difficulties. In addition to these broad distinctions related to native language and country of origin, Herrera (2010) described more nuanced background knowledge and experiences that individual students bring to classrooms that inform their schooling experiences. These include: (a) funds of knowledge from homes and families, such as traditions, values, and home literacy and numeracy practices (Heath, 1983); (b) prior knowledge from communities, such as community support systems, family employment, and participation in bilingual speech communities (Orellana, 2001); and (c) academic knowledge acquired through previous education, such as school literacy practices and school‐based cooperation and collaboration skills (Suárez‐Orozco et  al., 2008). With both broad distinctions and specific nuances within the seemingly homogenous label of EL, capturing and identifying the specific language and literacy needs of this population through traditional forms of assessment can be challenging for educators in classrooms and schools (Heineke et al., 2012; Herrera, 2010). Minority students in general are referred for special education in greater numbers than is proportionate to their representation in the total population (Artiles, Rueda, Salazar, & Higareda, 2002). Exacerbating this problem is that both cultural and linguistic differences affect the validity and reliability of assessment results (Samson & Leseaux, 2009). The screening for special education services

Linguistic Characteristics of ELs: Advantages and Challenges for Assessing Reading Linguistic Characteristics of ELs: Advantages and Challenges for Assessing Reading 401

eligibility is typically in English, which is an EL student’s nonnative and nondominant language. Thus, the resulting data only taps into developmental ­literacy without accounting for second‐language acquisition (Harry & Klingner, 2006). The large majority of US educators lack knowledge and skills related to second‐language acquisition and EL teaching and learning (Gándara & Maxwell‐ Jolly, 2006; Heineke, 2014). As a result, teachers and other school‐based personnel often struggle to select, analyze, and discern the distinction between students still in the process of learning English and those with developmental needs related to language and literacy acquisition (Park, 2007). In this chapter, we discuss the linguistic and cultural demands that influence literacy assessments of linguistically diverse students who may be at risk for language and literacy difficulties. We begin by exploring literacy opportunities and challenges for ELs, describing linguistic characteristics of learners as they interact with literacy tasks and texts. We then examine the complexities of assessments used with ELs, in relation to teachers’ selection and interpretation of resulting assessment data. Lastly, we make recommendations for the adoption of a Response to Intervention (RtI) framework to support ELs and close with implications for educational practices to improve literacy assessment and instruction for linguistically diverse students internationally.

Linguistic Characteristics of ELs: Advantages and Challenges for Assessing Reading Accurate and valid interpretations of results yielded by the assessments administered to ELs at risk of language and literacy difficulties requires an understanding of the linguistic characteristics of this diverse population, along with the knowledge of how diverse linguistic skills may influence reading performance (Rhodes, Ochoa, & Ortiz, 2005). ELs’ repertoire of language skills provides both assets and challenges to literacy development (Harry & Klingner, 2006). Students’ linguistic strengths fall along a continuum, determined by their cognitive and linguistic resources in multiple languages. Reading is a multifaceted skill that includes the ability to sound out words, that is, to “crack the code” of reading words on the page, as well as the capacity to comprehend the meaning of a text’s content, the meaning‐making skills that serve students in extracting and constructing meaning from texts (Scarborough, 2001). Studies on reading development that attribute reading to the joint contribution of decoding and language comprehension skills (a model of reading referred to as the Simple View of Reading) included largely English speaking populations. However, many authors have used this same framework to understand the reading performance of speakers of other languages in countries beyond the United States (Aaron, Joshi, & Williams, 1999; Catts, Hogan, & Fey, 2003; Florit & Cain, 2011; Joshi, Tao, Aaron, & Quiroz, 2012). Here, we analyze these constituent parts to provide a comprehensive picture of the linguistic skills that contribute to the reading development of linguistically diverse students at risk of experiencing literacy difficulties.

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Code‐based Skills Code‐based skills are necessary for successful reading and are predictive of long‐ term reading outcomes (Snow, Burns, & Griffin, 1998). Of particular relevance for ELs at risk of special education identification is that children with learning difficulties often demonstrate vulnerabilities with code‐based skills (Gillon, 2004; Snowling, 2000), with this finding being robust across many different language groups and countries (Elbeheri & Everatt, 2007; Ho & Bryant, 1997). More broadly, the rate at which ELs acquire foundational reading skills in English as their second language (L2) is influenced by characteristics of their first language (L1). Students whose L1 is an alphabetic language will find transferring knowledge of code‐based skills to their second language easier (e.g., the phoneme/s/in Spanish, as in “salida,” makes the same/s/sound in English, as in the word “sand”). By contrast, a student who speaks a nonalphabetic language, such as Chinese—a language that uses characters instead of individual letters—may have more d­ifficulty understanding the connection between letters and letter sounds compared with Spanish‐speaking peers (Cummins, 2000). To elaborate, every language is comprised of a distinct set of phonemes, the smallest contrastive unit of sound. Students’ L1 phonemic awareness, that is, their ability to discriminate between phonemes, influences L2 literacy development (August & Hakuta, 1997). When examining student performance on assessments of code‐based skills, similarities and differences between L1 and L2 phonology will affect their reading and writing proficiency. For example, phonetic distinctions, such as the similar sound of/v/and/b/in Spanish (e.g., in words like “vaca”), or the multiple tonal vowel sounds in Chinese that have no equivalent in English, are likely to result in potential miscues when transferring L1 phonemic awareness to L2 literacy tasks. These code‐based skills influence the rate and ease with which students acquire this information based on linguistic similarities between their L1 and L2. Importantly, a wealth of research indicates that elementary students’ scores on code‐based skills are largely equivalent across students learning L1 and L2 (Lesaux & Geva, 2006). That is, these discrete skills—composed of a finite number of letters, phonemes, or spelling rules that students should acquire—are mastered by ELs, even if the initial rate of acquisition may vary. According to Snow and Kim (2007), this group ultimately attains comparable scores to those achieved by monolinguals.

Meaning‐making Skills It is noteworthy that, on average, ELs tend to lag behind their monolingual peers in comprehension, a central meaning‐making component of reading (Lesaux & Geva, 2006) and an area of weakness for students with general language deficits (Nation & Snowling, 1998). Theoretical models of reading emphasize the importance of a students’ background knowledge in facilitating their ability to extract and construct meaning from text. Students are more easily able to learn and retain new information if they can rely on an existing schema to

Meaning‐making Skills Meaning‐making Skills 403

organize unfamiliar information (Kintsch, 1998). As such, a student’s mental r­epresentation of a text is constructed as a combination of text information and background knowledge. The important role of background knowledge poses obstacles for ELs who may have less cultural knowledge to draw from the instructional context. For example, interpreting a text about the household chore of raking leaves or the bedtime ritual of counting sheep may be difficult for students who are unfamiliar with these middle‐class American customs. For these students, a text about either activity may be more difficult to integrate into their working understanding of the text’s structure and content. According to the Rand Reading Study Group (2002) report, the readers’ sociocultural context is central to their reading comprehension. More specifically, students’ previous literacy experiences inside and outside of school influence their ability to understand text and engage with specific reading tasks. The Rand Reading Study Group emphasized that “learning and literacy are viewed partly as cultural and historical activities, not just because they are acquired through social interactions but also because they represent how a specific cultural group or discourse community interprets the world and transmits information” (p. xvi). Differences in communicative practices across linguistic groups and topical knowledge influence the ease with which ELs extract and construct meaning from text. A text referring to an event that takes place on the Fourth of July requires culturally specific prior knowledge that, unlike their mainstream American peers, ELs may not possess (Lesaux, Lipka, & Siegel, 2006). While background knowledge in many cases may rely on culturally specific knowledge, ELs can draw from native language literacy skills to comprehend text meaning using cognitive strategies. Research indicates that reading strategies, such as summarizing, predicting, clarifying, visualizing, or making connections to existing background knowledge, can be used across languages (August & Shanahan, 2008). Strong bilingual readers see text comprehension as the same task requiring the same academic skills, irrespective of the language. This metacognitive insight provides them with efficacious reading strategies that support meaning making (Jiménez, García, & Pearson, 1996). Since comprehension strategies can be used across languages, providing students opportunities on assessments to demonstrate knowledge of such strategies in either language may serve to determine where comprehension breakdown has occurred. Giving opportunities for students to use their two languages on assessments would facilitate an understanding of whether it is the actual synthesizing of information from the text that needs improvement, or if it is the expression of what is comprehended that is poor as a result of the assessment format. Vocabulary knowledge is an area for which there are more limited opportunities for transfer, and which poses particular challenges for this group of learners. Vocabulary knowledge, another central meaning‐making skill, is a component of reading of particular interest for this group of students, because it is both cumulative and incremental (Stahl, 1991; Stahl & Nagy, 2006). It is cumulative in that knowing one word has a snowball effect, whereby students can interpret new words presented in relation to already familiar words (Anderson & Freebody, 1981). As such, ELs need intensive and explicit vocabulary instruction to be able to take advantage of new words through exposure to text and oral conversations

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(August & Shanahan, 2008). For students to be able to successfully comprehend a text, they must know the meanings of 90% to 95% of the words it contains (Freebody & Anderson, 1983). ELs have the dual task of learning the language while learning content, which in the absence of sufficient vocabulary knowledge may result in their failure to acquire either from a specific text (Short & Fitzsimmon, 2007). Knowledge of words is also incremental. Students’ understanding of a word may vary from shallow knowledge, for example, knowing a synonym for the word, to a more deep understanding, for example, knowing how to apply the target word in a variety of contexts, such as “the bug flew around the classroom,” “don’t bug me,” and “the computer has a bug” (Stahl & Nagy, 2006). ELs must have ample exposure to these words to be able to learn their meaning. Deep knowledge of words is important for all learners but is of particular importance for ELs’ knowledge of academic language (Short & Fitzsimmon, 2007). Academic language proficiency, also referred to as Cognitive Academic Language Proficiency (CALP), takes longer for ELs to attain, as compared with Basic Interpersonal Communication Skills (BICS), that is, language used in social contexts such as the playground (Cummins, 2000). Academic language requires more sophisticated language use, consistent with the dense and abstract language of the disciplines (Nagy & Townsend, 2012). Academic vocabulary, a central component of academic language, is composed of both all‐purpose academic words (i.e., function words that cut across disciplines and that students understand but do not have a label for), such as analyze, method, and argue, as well as content‐specific words, like photosynthesis or osmosis that capture discipline‐ specific concepts (Nagy & Townsend, 2012). In the context of appropriate assessment of these students’ language abilities, students who are proficient in BICS may be mistaken, in many cases, for students who are competent in academic language (Lucas, Villegas, & Freedson‐Gonzalez, 2008). However, the more complex nature of academic language with regard to syntax, discourse, and vocabulary will lead to students struggling to comprehend discipline‐specific text written in sophisticated language particular to academic register. Disaggregating and recognizing students’ abilities in these two linguistic domains is central to valid assessment of ELs who may need additional support in attaining adequate academic vocabulary. In addition to the discipline-specific and all-purpose academic words, ELs may also need support with more basic words that are commonly known by monolingual students (e.g., clock, flower, and dad)—words that they are likely to have labels for in their first language outside of school. In addition, anaphoric references (e.g., a word that refers back to an idea already reviewed in the text, for example, when a fairytale talks about Cinderella in the first few sentences, the author could refer to “her” slippers in a subsequent sentence), as well as idiomatic phrases (e.g., “Cat got your tongue”) may be areas of particular difficulty (Short & Fitsimmon, 2007). ELs also have linguistic assets that support learning academic vocabulary, with students who use these assets being stronger and more successful readers (Jiménez et al., 1996). Specifically, academic vocabulary tends to include words that have Latinate roots and those that are morphologically complex (Nagy & Townsend, 2012). ELs who speak romance languages have the advantage of

Meaning‐making Skills Meaning‐making Skills 405

being able to use metalinguistic skills to access this complex academic vocabulary, such as cognate awareness: the ability to recognize orthographically and semantically similar words across two languages (e.g., family and familia). This metalinguistic awareness has been characterized as a combination of language‐ specific word knowledge and a generative cross‐linguistic capacity, whereby students leverage word knowledge in their L1 to determine the meaning of words in their L2 (Ramirez, Chen, Geva, & Kiefer, 2010). Students can also use knowledge of roots shared between their first language and English to help understand morphologically complex words (e.g., investigar–investigadora/ investigate–investigator). While this chapter focuses on the interaction between learner characteristics and text‐based demands (i.e., reading text), it must be asserted that ELs’ linguistic resources may vary considerably across the domains of literacy, that is, reading, writing, speaking, and listening (Rhodes et al., 2005). One can imagine an EL who is very comfortable listening and speaking English in school and Spanish at home. However, this same child may have limited reading and writing skills in both languages. For example, kindergarten‐level ELs may have foundational reading skills in English, owing to being instructed in English reading in school, but may not have these same literacy skills in Spanish at home because of the absence of directed book‐reading outside of school. By contrast, a grade 6 student who has recently immigrated to the United States and has had some foreign language instruction in English outside the United States and who has strong reading and writing skills in his/her native language may be comfortable reading in English, but may be less competent in speaking or writing in English. Alternatively, this same student, as a function of the kinds of pedagogy used in his/her school abroad, or depending on the community from where he/she has emigrated, could easily be strong in reading, listening, and speaking, yet struggle with writing, due to the introduction of a new discourse style (Schierloh, 1991). As such, students’ proficiency and competence may vary enormously across these four domains as a function of schooling, age, and language exposure, among other factors. Understanding students’ proficiencies across domains is central to identifying areas for improvement, and is also useful for analyzing assessments in which some of these skills may be confounded. An example of conflating these skills might include testing students’ text comprehension by asking them to write an explanation of the story in English, as opposed to having them orally recount the story in their native language, or pictorially depict the chain of events in the story. The former, for example, could confound writing ability with text comprehension (Jiménez et al., 1996). Students’ linguistic strengths and weaknesses across these domains are distinct and yet clearly related, and may in practice complicate their designation as ELs. This is the case in the United States, given that state, district, and school practices for assessing students’ proficiency vary, with individual schools opting to use a language proficiency assessment, achievement test, criterion‐based assessment, home language questionnaire, teacher observations, portfolio, or a combination of assessments (Daly, Neugebauer, Chafoules, & Skinner, 2015). In this chapter, we explicitly focus on reading‐related assessments, while acknowledging that students with very different language profiles may be labeled as ELs,

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even though they are qualitatively divergent in their diverse language skills across domains. We also wish to emphasize that these differences in assessment practices have distinct implications for instruction and potential identification for special education services.

Characteristics of the Instrument: Obstacles to Valid Assessment of ELs Building on our discussion of the different linguistic characteristics of ELs and the myriad of demands imposed by literacy tasks, we now discuss complexities and considerations related to students’ culture, language, and affect that influence the appropriate selection and use of assessments.

Cultural and Linguistic Biases In the field of assessment, bias refers to test items or tasks that “offend or unfairly penalize students because of those students’ personal characteristics such as race, gender, socioeconomic status, or religion” (Popham, 2012, p. 6). Cultural bias specifically refers to unfairly penalizing students based on their cultural background, which includes the culturally specific background knowledge that they bring to the assessment task. Specific to literacy assessments, cultural bias exists when a test or task requires specific prior knowledge to comprehend the passage or question. Many traditional literacy assessments, such as standardized tests of reading, require culturally specific prior knowledge that places EL students at a disadvantage. For example, on a sample standardized reading test in Arizona, grade 3 students read a recipe entitled Ants on a Log to support responses to corresponding multiple‐choice questions. Originating in the Midwest United States in the 1950s, the recipe selection places children that lack the prior knowledge of this snack at a disadvantage, as they may not immediately realize that it does not actually involve literal ants on a wood log, but instead requires combining celery, peanut butter, and raisins. Further exacerbating the bias for ELs, the accompanying visual shows actual ants on a log, rather than the snack itself. In addition to cultural bias on literacy assessments, linguistic bias consistently affects the validity, accuracy, and reliability of EL assessment data. Linguistic bias refers to unfairly penalizing students based on their language backgrounds and proficiency levels (Popham, 2012). Linguistic bias exists when a test or task utilizes demanding language that may unnecessarily confuse students, thus resulting in inaccurate responses. Occurring frequently in multiple forms of assessment, linguistic bias is prevalent on traditional forms of assessment in literacy and content areas. With subject area teachers now responsible for students’ language and literacy development

Affective Factors Affective Factors 407

in the content areas, due to the Common Core (Moschkovich, 2010), linguistic bias has come to the fore. This is evident in mathematics test items, such as the sample word problem given next. The Fencing Task

Ms. Brown’s class will raise rabbits for their science fair. They have 24 feet of fencing with which to build a rectangular pen. If Ms. Brown’s students want their rabbits to have as much room as possible, how long should each of the sides of the pen be? Explain your thinking. By asking students to determine the perimeter of a “pen,” referring to a stable where animals are kept, the language places EL students at a disadvantage. Most ELs are likely to be familiar with the more common use of this polysemous word, that is, a writing instrument, but are less likely to be familiar with its less frequent meaning that requires knowledge of a farm. The unnecessary language demands in the test prompt, such as the use of words with multiple meaning (e.g., pen, raise, feet) and complex sentence structures, lead to linguistic bias that can skew results for ELs (Martiniello, 2008). When selecting, designing, and interpreting assessments, educators must critically analyze tools for assumptions of culturally based prior knowledge and unnecessary language demands that prevent accurate assessment of content knowledge. First, to minimize possible cultural biases, teachers can design and select assessment texts and tasks that are grounded in and connected to students’ interests and backgrounds (Herrera, 2010; Moll, Amanti, Neff, & Gonzalez, 1992). For example, rather than using the preceding assessment item looking for the perimeter of a “pen,” a task might draw from students’ background knowledge of soccer, requiring calculation of the perimeter of a soccer field. In this case, even though the relevance of the item to students’ lived experiences changed, the mathematical skill set assessed remained the same. Second, teachers can adjust the language utilized in assessment tools and tasks to ensure appropriate access to content for all students, particularly ELs at varying levels of language proficiency (Herrera, 2010). The problem arises when teachers are unable to use students’ background knowledge to minimize bias, such as that arising due to mandated use of a predetermined testing instrument. When interpreting data that emerges from standardized assessments, teachers should consider how cultural and linguistic bias might have played a role in students’ literacy performance before utilizing the results to guide instruction (Abedi, 2004).

Affective Factors Affect refers to students’ feelings, attitudes, values, and self‐esteem. Despite attempts to standardize literacy assessments to reduce variability in scores attributable to factors beyond those targeted by the assessment, child and adolescent affect, nonetheless, influences all assessments (Popham, 2006). Specifically as it

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relates to ELs, Krashen’s concept of the affective filter (Krashen, 1987) problematizes the role of affective variables for individuals acquiring a second language, looking specifically at the potential impact of students’ motivation, self‐confidence, and anxiety on their willingness to take risks with language during assessments. In the case of ELs, who are often also recent immigrants or refugees, the concerns related to affective variables increase. Indeed, socially and emotionally demanding experiences may skew assessment performance further due to trauma, hardship, or family separations (Suárez‐Orozco et al., 2008). Educators must consider the centrality of students’ affect when selecting assessment tools and interpreting resulting data. First, diagnostic and formative assessments that specifically target and measure students’ affect—such as attitudes, interests, and values—are widely available. However, appropriate understanding of ELs’ affect is made difficult by the fact that the majority of affective measures: (a) are monolingual, (b) are normed with native English speakers, and (c) do not attend to language as a salient aspect of the self (Neugebauer, 2011). Second, formalized affective assessments may not capture the unique nuances affecting individuals, such as a refugee student’s social and emotional trauma stemming from the recent escape from a war‐torn country (Suárez‐Orozco et al., 2008). Affective assessments are commonly in a survey format, where students must read and respond to a list of statements related broadly to school and learning, or specifically to a certain subject area or unit of instruction using a Likert scale. Stiggins and Popham (2007) shared an academic efficacy tool, entitled The Way I See School, requiring students to self‐report on their abilities by responding to eight prompts on a five‐point Likert scale anchored at 1 = “strongly agree” and 5 = “strongly disagree.” Survey items are strategically written for “positive‐and‐ negative phrasing,” whereby students should respond “yes” or “no” to certain prompts to demonstrate accurately their self‐perceptions (Stiggins & Popham, 2007, p. 4). Despite being described as an effective tool, the validity of survey results for ELs may be compromised by linguistic bias. Word‐level language demands (e.g., “I usually have a pretty good idea about what I am expected to learn in this class”) and sentence‐level language demands (e.g., “When I’m asked to learn something new in this class, even if it’s difficult, I know I can learn it.”) may undermine students’ ability to provide accurate responses. Furthermore, within the realm of cultural bias and culturally specific prior knowledge, ELs approaching this affective assessment may struggle with the concept itself—the notion of giving honest responses to a teacher on a survey tool with an acronym‐based Likert scale. Although mainstream US schools may regularly incorporate such assessments, students from other countries may be unfamiliar with this type of tool, and thus my struggle using it. Due to the inherent challenges in capturing affective data on survey‐based tools like the aforementioned one, particularly for newcomer ELs still developing basic English language proficiency and cultural knowledge of mainstream schooling (Suárez‐Orozco et al., 2008), teachers should provide more informal opportunities to assess students’ affect through dialog. Scholars recommend building rapport, discerning affective factors related to school‐based learning,

Characteristics of a Successful System of Support and Assessment  409

and getting to know ELs’ funds of knowledge and background experiences through one‐on‐one interviews with students, parents, and families in a nonthreatening environment (Moll et al., 1992).

Characteristics of a Successful System of Support and Assessment: Recommendations for Using Reading Assessments with ELs Research indicates that making the distinction between a language disability and language learning is a particularly difficult task for teachers, culminating in very different referral rates for ELs to special education (Harry & Klinger, 2006). In light of research that demonstrates variability and inconsistency in referrals, new policy shifts in the United States encourage focusing on preventative and responsive instructional models as opposed to special educational designations. The new Individuals with Disabilities Education Improvement Act of 2004—a law providing services for students with disabilities—has allowed states to use a Response to Intervention (RtI) criteria as a means of identifying students for services, as opposed to the commonly used IQ‐Achievement discrepancy determination process for identification. This amendment to the original legislation means that students are only referred for special education once they have received a variety of evidence‐ based research interventions based on their level of risk for potential learning difficulties. In the event that students do not respond to interventions of varying levels of instructional intensity, special education placement is considered. Within this preventative model, more responsibility is placed on instruction to address students’ learning needs and challenges and a systems‐level approach to intervention is required to support student growth. To elaborate, the school system, with its many stakeholders (e.g., teachers, administrators, interventionists, paraprofessionals), must work together to coordinate administrative and logistical aspects of providing varying degrees of intervention intensity. This paradigm shift emphasizes that student learning difficulties, in many cases, may result from instruction that is not tailored to student needs, as opposed to seeing difficulty as being a characteristic of the child. This approach has the potential to ameliorate the difficulty in distinguishing between language disabilities and language learning. An RtI framework, also referred to as multi‐tiered systems of support, provides an opportunity to avoid the potential misidentification of ELs and instead equips educators with rich and explicit instructional techniques in the context of a responsive pedagogical model (Individuals with Disabilities Education Improvement Act, 2004). This comprehensive instructional system of support provides students with effective core classroom instruction (Tier 1 instruction). For students who, based on benchmark assessments, are at risk for falling behind and who do not respond to the core classroom instruction, more intensive supplementary small‐group instruction should be provided (Tier 2 intervention). In the event that students to do make adequate progress in the Tier 2 instructional setting, they should receive individual services (Tier 3 intervention) with further increased

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i­nstructional intensity. In this model, students receive different degrees of instructional intensity based on the Tier, with those receiving interventions at Tier 2 and Tier 3 participating in more intensive instruction, with greater opportunities for feedback and practice in smaller (Tier 2) and individualized (Tier 3) groupings (Gersten et  al., 2009; Linan‐Thompson, Cirino, & Vaughn, 2007). Other countries use similar models successfully, with Australian researchers referring to a comparable framework as “three waves” of literacy instruction (Woolley, 2010).

Response to Intervention and English Learners at Risk of Reading Difficulties A growing body of research specifically related to ELs has focused on responsive evidence‐based approaches. Findings demonstrate that high‐quality instruction for English speakers is also effective for ELs, particularly in the context of a unified system of instruction that incorporates additional supports (Linan‐ Thompson et al., 2007). Here, we promote EL‐specific practices within a system support framework for prevention and improvement. A multi‐tiered system of support is particularly relevant for this group of learners, because their myriad of languages, divergent educational backgrounds, and diverse educational trajectories are less charted (August & Shanahan, 2008). With paucity of studies focusing on the linguistic and academic development of ELs, developing a system of responsive instruction for determining appropriate instruction and referral is crucial for academic success. A prerequisite of a successful RtI model is the use of assessments to determine early on student level of risk and need as it relates to language and literacy skills. Thus, embedded in an RtI framework is the requirement that educators make appropriate decisions about the types of assessments that are utilized with ELs. Formative assessment is fundamental to the success of a multitiered framework, which invariably includes screenings and progress monitoring measures. Such assessments are critical for all learners, but are particularly informative in the case of ELs, for whom the benchmarks for their reading trajectory are still under debate and who are at greater risk of underperforming academically because of their generally more limited English‐language vocabulary compared to that of their monolingual peers (Short & Fitzsimmons, 2007). Furthermore, ELs are more likely to attend high‐poverty, under‐resourced schools—educational situations under which their performance may be a function of inadequate instruction as opposed to a learning difficulty (Gándara, Rumberger, Maxwell‐Jolly, & Callahan, 2003).

Assessing English Learners’ Code‐based Skills Assessments should be used to inform instructional decision‐making and for monitoring progress. Screening and progress‐monitoring measures—instead of a “wait and see” approach—allow educators to determine if students are r­ esponding

Assessing English Learners’ Code‐based Skills Assessing English Learners’ Code‐based Skills 411

to classroom instruction or if they require more individualized and intensive intervention. Several code‐based assessments may be valid for use with ELs. According to the American Educational Research Association (1999), phonological awareness assessments, letter‐naming speed, and accuracy assessments, as well as oral reading fluency measures, are valid screening tools in the early grades for all students. Specifically as it relates to ELs, Vaughn, Linan‐Thompson, and Hickman (2003) determined that oral reading fluency measures could be used to provide responsive instruction for ELs. In particular, they argued that an increase in one word read orally per week is a good determinant of whether a student was responding to targeted instruction and serves as a benchmark for determining whether a student should exit a program (e.g., Tier 2 intervention). Importantly, as it relates more broadly to interpreting ELs’ progress, we have already identified that these students gain skills at different rates as a function of their various linguistic experiences and characteristics; thus, when determining whether a student is responding to instruction, he/she should be assessed at multiple time points. With this additional data, educational stakeholders have extensive information on a student’s performance before making academic decisions (Al Otaiba et al., 2009). These formative assessments should take into consideration the linguistic characteristics of ELs. As mentioned previously, students’ exposure or familiarity with English phonemes, as a function of its proximity to their native language, may differ and thus influence developing phonological processing skills. Therefore, students’ phonological processing skills should be measured in both their native and nonnative language when possible, as this would facilitate comparisons across languages. In an attempt to better understand students’ abilities to manipulate phonemes in their native language, the Test of Phonological Processing Spanish (TOPPS, August et al., 2001) and the Auditory Analysis Test (AAT; Quiroga, Lemos‐Britton, Mostafapour, Abbott, & Berninger, 2002) were developed. Cross‐linguistic comparisons can provide diagnostic information important for identifying whether student errors are a function of learning difficulty or a lack of exposure to English. More broadly, we advocate for using native language assessment to further tap into the abilities that a student brings to the classroom (Harry & Klinger, 2006). Recognizing the rich assets and abilities that ELs bring from homes, communities, and prior schooling (Herrera, 2010) can provide a more holistic and accurate picture of their skills and aptitudes, as well as their personal traits. Students who are literate in their native language can and should demonstrate knowledge and skills on native language assessments, or with the support of native language on bilingual assessments, so that instruction can serve to transfer the existing skills, when appropriate. Teachers will view errors differently if they can interpret such mistakes as being a result of transfer or a lack of mastery and will tailor their instruction differently as a result. One of the best ways to determine this distinction is through knowledge of student’s abilities on a native language assessment (Rhodes et al., 2005). In addition, when assessing all students for disabilities, and ELs in particular, looking across both languages for potential processing difficulties (e.g., auditory, visual, or memory‐based) that cut across the L1 and L2, is essential for differentiating between disability and language

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­ ifficulties. This is a requirement in the federal/state definitions of learning d ­disabilities and should thus be a requisite part of procedures for special education identification (Rinaldi & Samson, 2008).

Assessing English Learners’ Meaning‐making Skills The majority of the research on assessments used in context of a RtI framework has focused on code‐based skills—foundational reading skills that are necessary but not sufficient for later reading (Biemiller, 2001; Gersten et al., 2009). However, a growing body of academic work has explored how to assess meaning‐making skills, such as vocabulary (Coyne, Capozzoli, Ware, & Loftus, 2010). Vocabulary is a less studied literacy component that represents, as previously mentioned, an area of particular need for ELs (Snow & Kim, 2007). In response to the absence of research focused on vocabulary assessments suited to responsive instruction, the National Institute of Child Health and Human Development (2000) encouraged the development of more sensitive researcher‐ and teacher‐developed vocabulary assessments, as these instruments would better mirror classroom practice and would allow teachers to more accurately capture incremental growth in language development. For ELs, it is particularly important to explore vocabulary knowledge across languages for a more in‐depth understanding of available language resources. For cross‐linguistic comparisons, the Woodcock–Munoz Language Survey (Woodcock & Munoz‐Sandoval, 1993) provides information on students’ language proficiency in both Spanish and English. This measure draws from work conducted on BICS and CALP (Cummins, 2000). Unlike the majority of informal assessments used in classrooms that tend to assess BICS, the Woodcock– Munoz Language Survey specifically assesses students’ CALP development in both languages (Rhodes et  al., 2005). The Peabody Picture Vocabulary Test (PPVT) (PPVT‐IV, Dunn & Dunn, 2007) is a common screener for vocabulary knowledge. For students who speak Spanish, the PPVT can be used in conjunction with the Spanish version, the Test de Vocabulario en Imagenes Peabody (TVIP) (Dunn, Padilla, Hugo, & Dunn, 1986). While these standardized measures can provide a snapshot of students’ vocabulary knowledge or can serve as guidance for interpreting potential risks, at one time point, they do little to identify whether students will respond to instruction or at what rate they will improve in curriculum‐specific vocabulary necessary for content learning. Furthermore, these tests do not adequately capture incremental word knowledge, that is, they cannot ascertain whether a student’s understanding of a word is deep, shallow, or some gradation in between (Pearson, Hiebert, & Kamil, 2007). While we recommend assessing students in both their L1 and L2, there are also challenges to native language assessment at the item level, particularly as they relate to vocabulary. For example, assessments that are translated into the students’ native language may overestimate or underestimate the frequency of the translated word in the students’ native language (Graves, August, & Mancilla‐ Martinez, 2012). Furthermore, an instrument that is normed on the Spanish

Assessing English Learners’ Academic Language Proficiency and Content Knowledge Assessing English Learners’ Academic Language Proficiency and Content Knowledge 413

used in Spain may be less relevant for students who are from Peru or Chile or even US‐born Spanish speakers, as vocabulary and word frequency differs across regions. Many native language assessments are normed on monolingual samples and thus may underestimate the knowledge set of students who are not monolingual. Given that vocabulary is identified as one of the dominant predictors of reading comprehension for ELs (August & Shanahan, 2008), assessments intended to capture ELs’ reading comprehension should attempt to disaggregate this potential source of variability. The Diagnostic Assessment of Reading Comprehension (DARC) is an assessment created by scholars associated with the Center for Applied Linguistics. The DARC, with compatible versions in English and Spanish, was designed to measure comprehension processes while minimizing English oral language and decoding assessment demands (August, Francis, Hsu, & Snow, 2006).

Assessing English Learners’ Academic Language Proficiency and Content Knowledge Tools that have more recently been developed that are aimed specifically at assessing the content knowledge and proficiency of ELs are those created by the World‐Class Instructional Design and Assessment (WIDA, 2011), a consortium of 36 state agencies in the United States, that use language proficiency and content area performance standards and assessments. These tools include screening assessments to establish the proficiency of ELs on a language continuum, which extends across entering, beginning, developing, expanding, bridging, and reaching, and covers the four central language domains of listening, speaking, reading, and writing. These tools provide usable knowledge for educators about student placement and instructional support. In addition to screening tools, WIDA also includes instruments to assess academic English proficiency standards across the content areas in the four language domains. Indeed, WIDA states, define proficient as “the point at which students’ English language proficiency becomes less related to academic achievement” (Cook, Boals, & Lundberg, 2011, p. 67). In other words, the aim is to disaggregate language proficiency from content knowledge, with proficient students being those for whom language is not determining and circumscribing their ability to demonstrate what they know in a content area. WIDA’s standards and assessments extend from pre‐kindergarten through grade 12, are available in both English and Spanish, and provide EL‐specific assessments to support responsive instruction and progress monitoring. More importantly, their assessments acknowledge that academic language proficiency is central to school success (Cummins, 1991). It is worth highlighting that we have also encouraged in this chapter the use of informal assessments for ELs at risk for special education identification. Informal assessments (e.g., parent interviews, observations, error analysis records, and curriculum‐based measurements, among many others) are incredibly useful for understanding the language strengths and weaknesses of this population, given the potential bias of standardized measures (Rinaldi & Samson, 2008).

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These informal data should be used to contextualize the formal test results of measures described here to support appropriate identification of ELs with ­special needs.

Assessment Accommodations for ELs Scholars have also recommended assessment accommodations as a means of closing the gap in literacy assessment scores between ELs and their monolingual peers. These accommodations intend to reduce language barriers in order to disaggregate language proficiency issues from content knowledge. Studies on accommodations for ELs for standardized assessments have included English dictionaries or glossaries, simplified English, bilingual dictionaries or glossaries, Spanish versions of assessments, dual‐language booklets, dual‐language questions, reading aloud in Spanish, and extra time, among others. According to Kieffer, Lesaux, Rivera, and Francis (2009), while these accommodations do not hinder the validity of the assessment, many lack observable effects in boosting ELs’ performance, with the exception of English dictionaries and glossaries. By contrast, Pennock‐Roman and Rivera (2011) found that, in more circumscribed contexts, additional accommodations were effective for improving ELs’ assessment performance. In particular, the authors found computer‐administered glossaries (with time restrictions), simplified English accommodations (for students with higher levels of English proficiency), and native language tests (for Spanish‐speaking students with low English proficiency) useful, with evidence of positive impacts of extended time. These conflicting results indicate the need for further research to establish conclusive findings. As general guidelines for making accommodations for formative assessments, we recommend considering the following questions (adapted from Sireci, Han, & Wells, 2008): (1) Is the construct (i.e., target knowledge set) being measured altered by your changes? (2) Are resulting scores from your assessment with accommodations comparable with the original unaltered version? (3) Is your assessment with accommodations a more accurate assessment of ELs abilities in the construct of interest? Answers to these questions can help educational stakeholders maintain the validity of their assessments, as well as have greater confidence in the inferences that can be drawn from the results. Future research may reveal more conclusive results about assessment accommodations. However, we do not believe that they are the solution to reducing the literacy discrepancy between learners. The meager results regarding the impact of accommodations further support the importance and centrality of targeted and explicit instruction. While the focus of this chapter is on assessment, extending this last point, we want to highlight that assessment cannot be performed separately from instruction. Assessments should inform future instruction, and instruction should inform what assessments are relevant and useful for further learning. In a

Conclusions and Implications for Educational Practice Conclusions and Implications for Educational Practice 415

p­reventative model, instruction and assessment are used dynamically to serve students and help them meet their target literacy benchmarks.

Conclusions and Implications for Educational Practice Practitioners need to make difficult decisions that require ample knowledge of language, literacy, and learning. Based on the data gathered from varied assessments of literacy development across multiple time points, teachers can make modifications, adaptations, and further scaffold areas of difficulty to meet students’ needs, while attending to and infusing linguistically diverse students’ backgrounds and strengths into their instruction. As the population of linguistically diverse students in schools increases worldwide, educational stakeholders need to shift their thinking from viewing differences as a pedagogical problem to perceiving the diversity these learners bring as an opportunity for increased focus on developing tailored, responsive, and thoughtful instruction that ultimately serves all learners, ELs being one of many subgroups. To meet this goal, we encourage schools internationally, not solely in the United States, to use literacy assessments to inform instruction, and more specifically to determine the types of modifications, accommodations, and scaffolds necessary for targeted instruction and the level of intensity required. Such instruction should provide all students the opportunity to access curricular information, build on skills they already possess to gain greater knowledge, demonstrate what they know in multiple ways, and prevent the conflating of linguistic difference with the target skill set being taught. While the present chapter has provided illustrative examples focused on ELs educated in the US context, these practices are relevant and useful for educational settings internationally. Reading is a multicomponential process, with code‐based and meaning‐making challenges for a myriad of linguistically diverse students—whether speakers of English as a second language, or another language (Aaron et al., 1999; Joshi et al., 2012; Tunmer & Chapman, 2012). Central to the accurate and valid assessment of the language and literacy skills of linguistically diverse students at risk of developing literacy difficulties is a comprehensive picture of the abilities of these students—abilities that cut across these distinct aspects of reading. The cultural and linguistic bias described here in relation to ELs in the United States has also been critiqued when looking across cultures internationally, with regard to potential bias in the items, constructs measured, and methods of assessment from one culture to another (Geisinger, 1994; Van de Vijver & Tanzer, 2004). We argue that, while the mainstream group may vary, the potentially erroneous conclusions we may draw from assessments normed on the mainstream monolingual population remain an issue across settings. We focused the latter part of this chapter on the benefits of a multitiered system of support. While this term was coined in the United States, the practices are in other contexts as well. Indeed, many argue that Tier 2 instruction is, in many cases, akin to the commonly implemented instructional technique of

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­ ifferentiated instruction (Gersten et al., 2009). Furthermore, countless schools d function as a comprehensive system of support, without using the label of “Multi-tiered System of Support” or “Response to Intervention.” This comprehensive system of support is applicable internationally and allows considerable flexibility to permit culturally appropriate variation across different international environments. This model demands that educators alter instruction based on assessment data before referring students for special education services. We believe that this practice is at the core of explicit, quality instruction for linguistically diverse students at risk of experiencing reading difficulties. We provide several recommendations for selecting and evaluating literacy assessments for linguistically diverse students at risk of reading difficulties. In providing recommendations for moving the field forward, we encourage future work to focus on designing and validating instruments that are constructed to capture more dynamic language processes. Second‐language learners are not “two monolinguals in one mind” (Escamilla, 2000, p. 102). Indeed, having an additive approach to language learning (i.e., students’ language and literacy abilities can be determined by the sum of their native language score and their ­second‐language score) does not acknowledge the fluid and dynamic ways in which second‐language learners may use both languages in an integrated and instrumental manner (Grosjean, 1989). These students have multiple language resources at their disposal and thus use these languages for utilitarian purposes, depending on the target task and activity (Escamilla, 2000). Hence, the field must continue to explore measures that are more robust—more specifically, measures that more accurately capture the multifaceted nature of language use and learning, and that do not simply rely on an additive or contrastive model for determining linguistically diverse students’ language and literacy abilities. Such assessments will permit more accurate understanding of the linguistic strengths and weaknesses of these students, which will facilitate useful practices for identifying students that are at risk of experiencing language and literacy ­ difficulties.

References Aaron, P. G., Joshi, M., & Williams, K. A. (1999). Not all reading disabilities are alike. Journal of Learning Disabilities, 32(2), 120—137. Abedi, J. (2004). The no child left behind act and English language learners: Assessment and accountability issues. Educational Researcher, 33(1), 4–14. Al Otaiba, S., Petscher, Y., Pappamihiel, N. E., Williams, R. S., Dyrlund, A. K., & Connor, C. (2009). Modeling oral reading fluency development in Latino students: A longitudinal study across second and third grade. Journal of Educational Psychology, 101(2), 315–329. American Educational Research Association. (1999). The Standards for Educational and Psychological Testing. Washington, DC: Author. Anderson, R. C., & Freebody, P. (1981). Vocabulary knowledge. In J. T. Guthrie (Ed.), Comprehension and teaching: Research reviews (pp. 77–117). Newark, DE: International Reading Association.

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Part V Preparation of Educators for Inclusive Environments

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20 International Perspectives on Teacher Education for Inclusion Petra Engelbrecht and Alison Ekins

International awareness of the challenges that arise from differences of access to and variations in the outcomes of education has increased in the past 30 years. There are groups of students in every educational system who struggle to learn and who experience a disproportionate failure rate with a variety of inequitable historical legacies and systemic conditions that shape this state of affairs (Kozleski, Artiles, & Waitoller, 2011; Rouse & Florian, 2012; Singal, 2008). An important challenge for education leaders, as well as policymakers has therefore been how to address these educational inequities and how to ensure equitable educational outcomes for all. As a result, the past three decades have been characterized by substantive changes initiated in countries of the North and increasingly implemented in countries of the South, not only in the provision of education for students with disabilities but also for culturally, linguistically, and ethnically diverse students in general education classrooms. These changes have been accompanied by parallel theoretical debates about the focus and practices of separate versus inclusive education and the education of teachers for inclusive education (Kozleski & Siuty, 2014; Terzi, 2008; Winter, 2006). This chapter specifically focuses on a narrative review of literature on international perspectives on teacher education for inclusion, identifying models of initial teacher education programs, and discussing findings of research into the impact of teacher education in supporting teachers to effectively teach in inclusive classrooms. In order to do so, the following foci guided our review and outline of this chapter: (a) the development of an international focus on inclusive education and a resultant internationally accepted perspective of inclusive education; (b) historical and contemporary trajectories of teacher education for inclusive education; (c) prevailing models of initial teacher education for inclusion programs; and (d) a critical analysis of subsequent international research and practices based on these models. An innovative approach in which inclusive education is addressed at the heart of an initial teacher education program will be discussed in more detail in this chapter. It is important that the discussion on the international development of inclusive education in this section and the rest of the chapter should at the outset The Wiley Handbook of Diversity in Special Education, First Edition. Edited by Marie Tejero Hughes and Elizabeth Talbott. © 2017 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Published 2017 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

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begin with a brief note on which countries are referred to when the words global and international and the terms countries of the North/developed countries and countries of the South/developing countries are used. Global/international refers to all nations while developed/developing and the more neutral terms countries of the North and countries of the South refer to the broad global differences in economic and political powers between countries according to the Human Development Index of the United Nations Development Programme (Srivastava, De Boer, & Pijl, 2013; United Nations Development Programme, 2011). As several researchers point out (e.g., Singal, 2010; Singal & Muthukrishna, 2014; Srivastava et al., 2013), terminology such as developed, developing, North, South, as well as Western and non‐Western highlight the stark inequalities and cultural differences between these countries, and have become shorthand for highlighting the complex set of inequalities and dependencies between countries divided, not by geographical boundaries, but by fundamentally different sociopolitical histories and engagement with colonization, which resulted in various levels of economic inequality and cultural diversity and domination by countries of the North in international development. This includes the development of inclusive education, as will be discussed in a subsequent section that follows.

Method The overall method used in this chapter involved a three‐step linear process to review the literature on teacher education for inclusion internationally, based on the methodological approaches used in the European Agency for Development in Special Needs Education (2010); see also Kozleski and Siuty (2014); Loreman (2010b); Mertens (2005); and Waitoller and Artiles (2013). First, we used various resources and databases via EBSCOhost and Google to search for reports by international organizations including United Nations agencies, research reports, and peer‐reviewed research publications. Descriptive keywords and terms included the following: teacher education, teacher training, training (for) inclusion, inclusion, special needs, special needs education, disability, and initial teacher education for inclusion. In order to preserve relevance, the search was generally delimited to works published in the past 15 years. These general searches were followed up with a more refined mapping of some areas including the identification of models of teacher education for inclusion (where more than 10 salient sources demonstrated these areas as of importance, Loreman, 2010b) in which to examine the literature further using a qualitative content analysis approach. Finally, peer‐reviewed research on prevailing models of teacher education for inclusion was analyzed using a critical analysis framework. Criteria included relevant, well‐expressed and appropriately identified areas of research, clearly articulated theoretical frameworks which underpin the research, appropriate research designs and methodologies and relevant findings that are well substantiated by the data collected (Brantlinger, Jiminez, Klingner, Pugach, & Richardson, 2005; Gersten et  al., 2005; Horner et  al., 2005; Odom et  al., 2005; Thompson, Diamond, McWilliam, Snyder, & Snyder, 2005).

International Development of Inclusive Education International Development of Inclusive Education 427

International Development of Inclusive Education Historically, a deficit approach to children with disabilities and other learning difficulties was rooted in the belief that those differences were not only predictive of learning difficulties, but to be expected. The legacy of separate educational provision for children with disabilities based on a medical deficit model that originated in countries of the North and was gradually transferred to countries of the South that emphasized individual difficulties or special needs has gradually been challenged by different international developments that changed views on difficulties in learning. These developments include the start of the normalization movement in Scandinavian countries together with the development of the social model of disability and its emphasis on ways in which all forms of institutional and physical barriers to full participation in society should be removed in order to provide equal participation for all in education (Forlin, 2010; Terzi, 2008). Although the development of inclusive education initially focused on an evolution of segregated to inclusive school placements for students with disabilities, it increasingly encompassed a broader definition that all students, despite their diverse educational needs (including cultural and linguistic as well as ability differences) can be taught and supported in general education schools. Inclusive education is therefore regarded as an approach that is preferable to segregation based on a deficit approach to diverse educational differences. International conventions, declarations, and recommendations that emphasize that the implementation of inclusive education represents a strategy that, if implemented successfully, can contribute to achieving Education for All as advocated by the United Nations (UNESCO, 2009, 2013). This movement further promoted the development of inclusive education, especially in countries of the South. Despite a wider international acceptance of inclusive education, it is important to note that surrounding inclusive education are a variety of discourses, each with a different story to tell and a different way of representing it to the world (Oswald, 2007; Terzi, 2008). It is not possible within the scope of this chapter to do justice to these discourses or to the philosophical works on which they are based. It is, however, important to assert here that Dyson (1999) contends that inclusion is not a monolithic concept and that the different discourses in diverse international contexts informing the rationale for inclusive education can result in certain crucial aspects of inclusion being constructed differently across contexts and also within different levels of a single education system. This has given rise to a variety of “inclusions” that depend on the cultural‐historical context and developmental phase of a country. In different countries, diverse factors and actors play a role in the pace of implementing inclusive education (Engelbrecht, Savolainen, Nel, & Malinen, 2013; Srivastava et al., 2013). This can be illustrated by the following example. In South Africa, which is a relatively new democracy (since 1994), inclusive education is viewed within a wider equity agenda for all students, including students with disabilities. This agenda is based on a rights‐ based framework and access to education for all, compared with a more narrow focus in Finland (a country of the North), where a long history of inclusive e­ducation tends to be defined in terms of access to and effective implementation

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strategies in general education classrooms for students with disabilities (Engelbrecht, 2011; Waitoller & Artiles, 2013). Despite different constructions of inclusive education in diverse contexts, there is international consensus that it can be viewed as an ongoing dynamic process in which access to, acceptance of, and participation in general classrooms is expanded and supported by teachers for all students despite ability, gender, cultural, or ethnic differences (Kozleski, Artiles, & Lacy, 2012; Srivastava et  al., 2013; UNESCO, 2009). The key role that participation plays in creating inclusive classrooms for students with diverse educational needs is emphasized and involves going beyond access and acceptance, implying not only learning alongside others but also being recognized and accepted for oneself (Booth, 2002). This broader perspective will guide the discussion on international developments of teacher education for inclusion in the rest of this chapter. There is widespread international acknowledgement of the crucial role that teachers play in the implementation of inclusive education and how, based on the internationally accepted broader view of inclusive education (the inclusion of all students despite cultural, gender, ethnic and ability differences), they should respect as well as respond to human diversity in ways that can include all students (Florian & Black‐Hawkins, 2011; Kozleski et al., 2011; O’Neill, Bourke, & Kearney, 2009; Oswald & Swart, 2011). The importance of both initial and ongoing professional teacher education for the inclusion of students with diverse educational needs is therefore stressed in various international documents (e.g., European Agency for Development in Special Needs Education, 2012; UNESCO, 2009, 2013; WHO, 2011).

Contemporary International Contexts in Initial Teacher Education for Inclusion Teacher education for students with disabilities has historically been based on the medical deficit assumption, wherein students with disabilities and other learning difficulties were regarded as qualitatively different as learners and therefore in need of educational responses that were totally different and uniquely tailored to respond to those differences (Florian, 2009). The result has been that initial teacher education programs have been compartmentalized in the majority of countries in the world; thereby confirming the barriers between special and general education. This approach to teacher education that had its origins in countries of the North was copied in countries of the South. Internationally, teachers who chose to do so specialized in special education provision, qualifying to teach those who were seen as different from other children. They were therefore specially trained to help children with disabilities to “catch up” and “overcome their deficits,” frequently in separate schools, classrooms, or within defined ability groups in general education classrooms (e.g., Florian, 2009; Oswald, 2007; Terzi, 2008). The modules or courses on disabilities that formed part of general teacher education programs were general in nature and based on a deficit discourse. The result has been that deeply embedded beliefs and

Contemporary International Contexts in Initial Teacher Education for Inclusion Contemporary International Contexts in Initial Teacher Education for Inclusion 429

a­ ttitudes about human differences and who should be responsible for responding to them within society and education were developed (e.g., Savolainen, Engelbrecht, Nel, & Malinen, 2012; Rouse & Florian, 2012). The strong international move toward inclusive education with its broader definition of who should be included and supported in general education classrooms has led to a scrutiny of initial teacher preparation for inclusion and the way in which current initial teacher education programs have been influenced by traditional approaches, including the education of students with disabilities. A number of international policy documents and transnational guidelines have therefore sought to identify the essential skills, knowledge, and understanding as well as attitudes within a broader inclusive educational approach needed by those who enter the teaching profession (e.g., European Agency for Development in Special Needs Education, 2012; Forlin, 2010, 2012; Rouse, 2010; UNESCO, 2013). In a Teacher Education for Inclusion across Europe report (European Agency for Development in Special Needs Education, 2012), the conclusion is that the vision of a more equitable education system requires teachers to be equipped with the competencies, values, and beliefs needed to achieve the global goals of inclusive education systems. Furthermore, this needs to be integrated into initial teacher education as well as the ongoing professional development of teachers. In response, many countries globally have enacted policies to encourage the development of inclusive schools in which the learning and teaching of all students are valued (Loreman, 2010a; Rouse, 2010; Walton & Rusznyak, 2014). These include standards‐based agendas for initial teacher education in response to directives from government or accreditation and professional registration agencies that cite the UNESCO “education for all” agenda (Florian & Rouse, 2009; O’Neill et  al., 2009). Thus, for example, graduating standards in New Zealand and South Africa stress the fact that all teachers need to be able to teach students with a diverse range of learning needs in mainstream classrooms. However, these official standards are expressed in general terms such as “being able to work with all students,” thereby leading not necessarily to an integration of equitable inclusive education for initial teacher students. Instead, these standards may give teacher education institutions the opportunity to “window‐dress” by adding one or two additional courses that may be grounded in medical deficit terminology (Arthur‐Kelly, Sutherland, Lyons, Macfarlane, & Foreman, 2013; Engelbrecht, 2012; O’Neill et al., 2009; Walton & Rusznyak, 2014). Furthermore, it is important to point out that, in interrogating the meaning of idealistic policy, international statements, and guidelines on inclusion in practice in various countries, the argument can be made that the idealism of policy does not translate easily into the realities within teacher education institutions, schools, and communities in various countries (e.g., Engelbrecht, 2011, 2013). Teacher educators as well as teachers themselves do not necessarily apply the same meaning that policymakers intend to articulate through policy documents and international declarations. Rather, they may take in elements of policy and negotiate and reorganize it in an individual form that fits deeply held embedded attitudes and beliefs in their own contexts where deemed necessary (Khanal, 2012; Rouse, 2010; Grimes, 2009).

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Prevailing International Models of Initial Teacher Education Programs for Inclusion Using the method as described earlier in this chapter, an in‐depth literature review using an analysis of the inclusive education movement and teacher education indicate a fragmented approach clearly leading to uneven inequitable outcomes for students in inclusive classrooms. Two specific factors play a role in this regard. The first is that the literature on teacher education for inclusion is rife with differing definitions of inclusive education. In addition, this literature contains diverse descriptions of students’ educational needs and disparate interpretations of policies and practices in different countries. Second, the influence of teacher education in past decades that was based on the traditional “expert/specialist” model of meeting the needs of students with disabilities cannot be underestimated. Against this background, our literature review using our critical analysis framework for peer‐reviewed research on possible models for teacher education for inclusion indicated that, although there were some examples of innovative approaches, the following two models have been researched in depth. We identified two models of inclusive education: the additional model, where one or two courses addressing inclusive education are added to traditional initial teacher education programs (e.g., Forlin, 2010; Rouse, 2010; Stayton & McCollum, 2002); and (b) the general content‐infused model, which was described by Loreman (2010b) as a nontraditional way of preparing student teachers to work in inclusive classrooms (e.g., Florian, 2009; Pugach & Blanton, 2009; Rouse, 2010; Voltz, 2003). In conclusion to this section, the research on an innovative approach based on a nontraditional way to develop core themes in a professional graduate diploma in education will be discussed in more detail.

The Additional Model Our analysis of research on teacher education for inclusion indicates that prevailing models of initial teacher education in response to schools becoming more and more heterogeneous tend to focus on an additional model. For example, Lawson, Norwich, and Nash (2013) point out that the input regarding diverse educational needs in the United Kingdom usually takes the form of an additional discrete module or course on some areas of inclusive education as part of the overall initial teacher education program. They state that, in general, these university courses do not provide the necessary knowledge and introduction to practice needed to provide support for students with identified additional learning needs in general education classrooms. In the United States, there still is a strong tradition of having teachers earn an initial teaching license in either special or general education alone (Pugach & Blanton, 2009). Kozleski and Siuty (2014) point out that, despite the fact that more than 4 million of the 6 million students with disabilities in the United States are educated in general education classrooms, in most states, general education teachers are only required to take

The Additional Model The Additional Model 431

a single course in special education. As a result, student teachers have brief ­exposure to assessment and teaching strategies for students with diverse educational needs in schools characterized by demographic complexity. Although the way in which inclusive education is often defined in additional model programs is loosely based on the internationally broader definition of inclusive education, overall program outlines lack an explicit and clearly articulated theoretical framework or theoretical guidelines on inclusive participation, diversity, and equity in education for all students. If they include such a statement, it may be response to political and social pressure for inclusion (e.g., Arthur‐Kelly et al., 2013; Loreman, 2010a, 2010b). It is also important to point out that terminology regarding students who have been identified as experiencing learning difficulties or have diverse educational needs, may also differ in initial teacher education programs in various countries. Such terminology can reveal assumptions about why and how students are perceived as having difficulties in learning (Florian & Rouse, 2009). Examples include students with special educational needs in England, students with additional support needs in Scotland, and students who are experiencing barriers to learning and development in South Africa (Engelbrecht, 2011; Florian & Rouse, 2009). Using the additional model. An analysis of the contents of the additional courses on diverse educational needs in countries around the world, including the United States, the United Kingdom, Canada, Malawi, South Africa, and India, indicates that additional modules or courses, in most instances, are not extended to broaden the boundaries of inclusive education by integrating its contents into the broader curriculum and pedagogical practices of general classroom settings (Engelbrecht, 2012). Research indicates that the majority of teachers who graduated from these programs are likely to hold deeply held deficit beliefs about the abilities of students with diverse educational needs, including those with disabilities (e.g., Forlin, 2010; Jordan, Schwartz, & McGhie‐Richmond, 2009; Loreman, 2010b; O’Neill et al., 2009; Oswald, 2007; Oswald & Swart, 2011; Savolainen et al., 2012). With specific reference to initial teacher education programs that use this approach in countries of the South, teachers in Botswana, Guatemala, and Malawi (despite education policies that support inclusive education) are learning that certain students have specific special educational needs that can only be met through specially developed learning materials, specialized teacher skills, and learning support in segregated settings (Dart, 2007; Oswald, 2007; Refie, 2015). Furthermore, the majority of initial teacher education courses in countries of the North, such as Finland and the Netherlands, do not include any sustained interaction with students with disabilities (Engelbrecht, 2012). As a result, as Kozleski and Siuty (2014) point out, the ability of students prepared within this model to translate and enact what they have learned in inclusive classrooms is questionable. It is therefore not surprising that research results on teachers’ roles in inclusive education in a multitude of countries in the North and the South point out that the majority of general classroom teachers rarely take their own existing teaching skills and abilities into account when asked about teaching students with diverse educational needs (e.g., Florian, 2009; Florian & Black‐Hawkins, 2011; Kershner, 2009; Refie, 2015; Savolainen et al., 2012; Singal, 2010). The result is that teachers’ sense of self‐efficacy in working with diverse

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students remains low. Low self‐efficacy prevents teachers educated in these programs from realizing that all learners in their classrooms are knowledgeable and that all students, despite their diverse educational needs, bring a wealth of knowledge into learning contexts. Role of teacher educators in the additional model. Research on the additional model indicates that in faculties of education internationally there are likely to be clear demarcations between those who believe that only teachers with a specific body of knowledge and a set of skills for working with students with disabilities can support their needs, and those who advocate that teacher education is about improving teaching, learning, and participation for all students, including students with language, cultural, and ability differences in general education classrooms (e.g., Florian & Rouse, 2009; O’Neill et al., 2009). A limited number of courses on inclusion are likely to be taught by a small group of staff with specific interest and practitioner experience in this area. For the many teaching staff in faculties of education and teacher training colleges, inclusive education remains the “other course” (Kozleski, Gonzalez, Atkinson, Mruczek, & Lacy, 2013). Evaluation of the additional model. The majority of the research projects on different aspects of the additional model are large in number, but small and short term in scale. The additional model is likely to be placed within specific additional model programs in individual universities in countries of the North where there is a longer history of including students with disabilities in general education schools (e.g., Rouse & Florian, 2012). The majority of the peer‐reviewed research publications in which researchers discuss aspects of the additional model have concluded that traditional expert/ specialist models of meeting the needs of students with diverse educational needs continue to be deeply entrenched into current educational systems, both pedagogically and organizationally. This may lead to concerns about how teachers are taught and supported to recognize their role and responsibilities for meeting the needs of all students in their classrooms. In fact, in many schools in both countries of the South and the North, the education of students who are perceived as having difficulties in learning is still the sole responsibility of teachers especially trained to be experts (Florian & Rouse, 2009; Refie, 2015). With such a model of practice so firmly entrenched, experienced classroom and subject teachers are likely to continue to lack confidence in meeting the needs of students with additional learning needs and are instead reliant on additional expert support and resources to manage the needs of students with those additional needs. As a result, a large number of research projects focus on analyzing teachers’ attitudes toward disabilities (e.g., Savolainen et al., 2012) and the development of continuing professional development programs (e.g., Bacakova & Closs, 2013). Furthermore, as trainee teachers learn most about inclusive practice through their school‐based placements, the only model that many student teachers are able to observe is a perpetuation of the traditional expert/specialist model (Forlin, 2010; Jordan et al., 2009; Lawson et al., 2013; Oswald, 2007; Rouse & Florian, 2012). The prevailing ethos and values within schools and the attitudes of teachers could reinforce the concept that only some teachers need to be able to deal with teaching students with learning difficulties (e.g., Lawson et al., 2013). It is therefore important that research studies should now explore the

Innovative Approaches to a Content‐Infused Model Innovative Approaches to a Content‐Infused Model 433

wider and longer‐term impact of the additional model teacher education approach to special education within diverse cultural–historical milieus, and how local actions of teachers in general education classrooms are connected to larger historical processes within their own contexts.

Innovative Approaches to a Content‐Infused Model Nontraditional approaches are gaining in popularity, and examples of innovative approaches in which core themes are identified and embedded in programs or content on inclusion infused in general contents include the Inclusive Practice Project (IPP) in Scotland, as well as infusion programs in individual higher‐education institutions in Canada, Australia, and New Zealand (Arthur‐Kelly et al., 2013; Deppeler, 2010; Loreman, 2010a, 2010b; Rouse, 2010). The term content‐ infused indicates that the attitudes, skills, and knowledge traditionally included in the separate additional teacher education model are spread throughout a number of units in an initial teacher education program (Loreman, 2010a, 2010b). Inclusive education is defined in broader internationally accepted terms as a systemic process of overcoming barriers to learning and development caused by diverse educational needs within general education classrooms (Loreman, 2010a; Rouse, 2010; Waitoller & Artiles, 2013). As a result, educational inclusion and participation in general classrooms are addressed at the heart of these initial teacher education programs for all primary and secondary student teachers, not just as an elective or one or two compulsory courses as is the case in the additional mode (Florian & Rouse, 2009; O’Neill et al., 2009). Research on one example of an innovative approach on embedding issues of inclusion within an initial teacher education program. The IPP (Rouse & Florian, 2012) provides an example of a genuinely innovative initiative that has brought various areas of practice and theory together. Gallagher (2011) points out that this initiative can be regarded as an innovative or even a third emerging model of dealing with difference and diversity in initial teacher education programs. Due regard is given in this approach to the reality of difference while seeking to provide teachers with concepts and tools that will not allow difference to become reified and thence sets limits to the future of some children (Gallagher, 2011). Using the critical analysis framework, we analyzed the IPP and linked research studies in order to gain further understanding of the IPP findings from the study and its implications for the development of effective initial teacher education for inclusion. The IPP, funded by the Scottish government, was developed within the School of Education at the University of Aberdeen in 2006 to consider and question how “initial teacher education may be reformed to ensure that nationally qualified teachers are prepared to enter a profession that takes responsibility for the learning and achievement of all pupils, particularly when those pupils encounter difficulties in learning” (Rouse & Florian, 2012, p. 3). The IPP involved the reform of the existing professional graduate diploma in education (primary) and (secondary) into a single combined and enhanced university‐based program (Florian & Linklater, 2010). The reformed program was informed by both a long

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c­ onsultation process with key stakeholders (i.e., university staff, teachers, former graduates, representatives from local authorities, and teacher unions) and by the Scottish Standards for Initial Teacher Education. The new program was developed to enable teachers to emerge in the profession with a greater awareness and understanding of a broader understanding of inclusive education and the educational and social problems or issues that can affect “students learning and to develop strategies they can use to support and deal with these issues” (Rouse & Florian, 2012, p. 12). Contents of the program. Importantly, the program brought together primary and secondary students, with a focus throughout on the concept and practice of inclusive teaching pedagogy for all, rather than separate teaching approaches for different types of pupils, a feature of the traditional model of initial teacher education (Florian, Young, & Rouse, 2010). Discussions about inclusive pedagogy, social justice, and difference were therefore embedded throughout the whole program. By doing this in an integrated rather than separate manner, the program provided students with a “cognitive map” to enable them to engage with, understand, and then apply inclusive principles more effectively into their teaching, as the norm, rather than as something special and different: “inclusion is now addressed at the heart of the program from the outset; it is not just an optional course selected by some, or offered as a series of additional lectures” (Rouse & Florian, 2012, p. 20). From the outset, the program was developed upon a “framework of values and beliefs about social justice, educational rights and inclusion” (p. 15) within a broader definition of inclusive education, and emphasized the value and importance of an inclusive pedagogy and “optimistic views about learning” (p. 6). This focus on inclusive practice, inclusive values, and inclusive pedagogy was therefore the underpinning feature and principle of the reformed program, clearly articulated in the content of the program throughout, and in the module aims and outcomes. Defining the concept of inclusive pedagogy continues to be a challenge, with many different interpretations leading to a multifaceted international understanding of the concept in practice. The particular definition and understanding of inclusive pedagogy and practice is therefore carefully explored and articulated throughout not only in the project report (Rouse & Florian, 2012) but also in the range of research reports that support the project (e.g., Gallagher, 2011). Half of the reformed program (18 weeks) was spent in schools on placements. To “help students to make sense of their experiences in schools” (Rouse & Florian, 2012, p. 13) and ensure that they did simply fall into the traditional models of teaching that may be embedded within the school contexts, the reformed postgraduate diploma in education (PGDE) had a strong focus on critical reflection. Thus, “rather than offering a ‘how to’ guide to inclusion, the PGDE course provided students with a means of interrogating their practice within their own context, in order to develop an inclusive pedagogy that responds to the individuality of all the children in their classrooms” (Florian & Spratt, 2013, p. 133). Research on the IPP. Crucially, the IPP not only sought to implement a change in initial teacher education program, but was also founded on an understanding of the need to rigorously research the impact and implications of changes that

Innovative Approaches to a Content‐Infused Model Innovative Approaches to a Content‐Infused Model 435

were made over a sustained period of time: “the IPP research and development team endeavoured to design a research strategy that would capture how teacher educators engaged with a complex reform process that involved changes that were both practice (e.g., structural reforms to the course) and theoretical (embedding inclusive pedagogical approaches into course content)” (Rouse & Florian, 2012, p. 24). This focus on rigorous mechanisms for researching and evaluating the impact of the program and the discussions that took place to inform understanding of the changes taking place was therefore a central rather than subsidiary concern of the project. The IPP therefore involved a “complex process of elaborating, embedding, and simultaneously researching selected aspects of the project, while also continuing to study and learn from the practices of teachers committed to inclusive practice. This necessitated consideration of how a reciprocal process based on research‐based practice and practice‐based research might be advanced” (Rouse & Florian, 2012, p. 24). As a result, in addition to the final project report, a number of individual research projects were undertaken and focused on four areas of study which included: ●●

●● ●● ●●

Course reforms (Florian & Rouse, 2009; Florian & Linklater, 2010; Florian et al., 2010; Florian, Linklater, & Young, 2011; Graham, Bruce, & Munro, 2011; Young & Florian, 2013) Teacher educators’ professional development (Florian, 2012) Surveys of students’ attitudes toward inclusion (Beacham & Rouse, 2011) Follow‐up study of course graduates (Spratt, Florian, & Rouse, 2011)

Through all studies, different aspects of the research have been relevantly prioritized; for example, from research into the professional development requirements for the teacher educators themselves (Florian, 2012) to research into the students’ attitudes toward inclusion (Beacham & Rouse, 2011). For each, the conceptualization and design of the study (Gersten et  al., 2005, p. 153) is clearly stated and has relevance to the study discussed. Thus, across the project and research study as a whole, a range of questions, including what, how, effectiveness, and evaluation questions, have been designed and asked. These questions were “selected because they were thought to meet the criteria of ‘practical and theoretical significance’ [Borko, Liston, & Whitcomb, 2007, p. 9], as well as recommended research quality standards” (Florian et al., 2010, p. 713). What is key is that researchers have planned an effective approach to gathering data about a range of different related issues, and reporting those separately, with clearly expressed areas of study relevant to each set of identified research questions. Taken together, with the different research foci for each research paper, as well as the overview report of the IPP (Rouse & Florian, 2012), an extensive literature and evidence base has been built around a range of related yet individually complex concepts and concerns relating to the development of inclusive education, the experiences of students, the perceptions and professional development needs of teacher educators and the longitudinal impact of the reforms on teachers in schools.

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Studying the course reforms. A number of studies were specifically designed to study the process and impact of the course reforms in terms of curriculum reform, contradictions in the curriculum and areas of ongoing development (Florian & Rouse, 2009; Florian & Linklater, 2010; Florian et  al., 2010, 2011; Graham et al., 2011; Young & Florian, 2013). For these, the focus of the research approach, and importantly, what the focus was not about, was clearly defined, with Rouse and Florian (2012) identifying that the “purpose of the studies was not course evaluation, or an evaluation of student teachers, or teacher educators” (p. 25). Data collection techniques were specifically developed to capture data relevant to the scope of the specific research on course reform, and included recordings of the content of professional studies lectures and workshops/seminars, and field notes from rich qualitative data generated from formal and informal data‐­sharing sessions with course team. In a separate research study that instead focused on analyzing and interrogating the practice of newly qualified mainstream teachers recently graduated from the postgraduate diploma in education, the purpose of the research was very different, this time to “provide a robust and coherent framework for documenting inclusive pedagogy in action” (Florian & Spratt, 2013, p. 119). Florian and Spratt (2013) employed very different research methodologies, including the use of a mapping exercise to link the course themes, challenges, and outcomes to the principles and actions associated with inclusive pedagogy. This was then linked with qualitative data collection, using observation and semi‐structured interview to “provide an opportunity for the participant to support the researcher’s interpretation of the activities observed in the classroom” (p. 125). As a result of the detailed research into the impact and effects of the IPP, a wide range of findings relevant to concerns about the preparation of teachers for teaching in inclusive classrooms have emerged. These included the need to provide trainee, and potentially experienced teachers, through high‐quality CPD courses, the opportunity to critically consider and challenge: ●● ●● ●●

●●

Existing conceptions and practices around the impact of ability labeling Ways to respond meaningfully to individuals and offer choice in learning Different ways of thinking about teaching, including as teachers, taking risks, adapting the curriculum and welcoming opportunities to be surprised by learners Ways of working effectively with others

Within the program reform, this bridging of the university experience and the school‐based placements was practically achieved through the development of a professional portfolio (Florian & Rouse, 2009). In other ways, the IPP and associated research studies also address the issue of bringing the research theory into practice. Firstly, there was explicit acknowledgement of the need for the researchers to be able to make links between their own theoretical constructs and the reality of practice. Thus, a key issue for Florian and Spratt (2013) when exploring attitudes to inclusion and inclusive pedagogy was “how would we know inclusive pedagogy when we encountered it?” To address this, paired observations and interviews were used to “explore the

Reflections on the Way Ahead and Conclusion Reflections on the Way Ahead and Conclusion 437

pedagogical principles that underpinned the practical classroom activities and to triangulating the data from two sources. This methodology allowed us to link the knowledge and beliefs, which became evident in interviews, to the action that were observed during lessons” (p. 126). Secondly, research evidence gathered clearly demonstrated how the students, and also the course team and teacher educators, were making direct links between the theory that they had learnt on the course and the practical application of it: ●●

●●

●●

“With support from tutors, students developed sensitivity toward how these observations link with educational theory, in effect ‘bridging’ theory and practice” (Florian & Linklater, 2010, p. 377) “As students began to engage with alternative pedagogic thinking about teaching and learning, children were recognized as people as opposed to types of learners. In this way, the children themselves and their achievements in learning were prioritized over predictions about it” (Florian & Linklater, 2010, p. 381) “As the course progressed, students became increasingly confident using the key pedagogic principles as a framework for thinking about their experiences in school. They used the language associated with learning without limits (Hart et al., 2004) to justify how and why they made certain choices in their teaching” (Florian & Linklater, 2010, pp. 378–379)

Third, the research teams acknowledged the need to consider the application of the research for others. So, as Florian and Spratt (2013) note in their research, “the framework may be useful to other researchers in the field of inclusion, but could also be used by teacher educators to support students evaluating their own inclusive pedagogy” (p. 133).

Reflections on the Way Ahead and Conclusion The critical analysis of international approaches to teacher education for inclusion and research, as discussed in this chapter and illustrated in the models that have been researched extensively by a number of researchers, indicate a range of polarized and competing debates about how and whether initial teacher education should support teachers to enter the profession ready to teach in inclusive classrooms. These debates continue to focus either on how to improve teaching and learning, whether a model of teaching and learning that acknowledges and responds to diversity without labeling some students as “different” should be encouraged, or whether specialist teachers who can provide specialized support for students with diverse educational needs in separate settings should continue to be trained. As mentioned earlier, the common international denominator in inclusive education is the recognition and valuing of human diversity and difference within international education systems and the promise of quality education for all implies that teacher education for inclusion should be more than a set of strategies to merely place students in general education classrooms. The conceptual

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and philosophical challenges in developing teacher education for inclusion programs and their competencies to do so are therefore clearly a concern within and across national contexts. An innovative approach such as the IPP, backed by associated research of the knowledge of experienced teachers committed to inclusive practice in general education classrooms (Florian & Black‐Hawkins, 2011; Rouse & Florian, 2012), provides us with a rigorous evidence base of information and data to inform our evolving understandings of the concept and practice of inclusive education and appropriate pedagogy in inclusive classrooms. A further issue emerging from the discussions and the analysis of models of teacher education for inclusion is the lack of collaboration not only within many faculties of education but also between teacher education institutions nationally and transnationally regarding the restructuring of teacher education programs. As a result, efforts to transform teacher education programs within complex contexts characterized by ethnic, linguistic, and ability differences remain isolated and fragmented, and research in this regard usually focuses on individual efforts in individual teacher education institutions. Diverse abstract theories or ideologies of how teachers should be prepared to teach in inclusive classrooms therefore abound in various institutions, but now could be the time to focus, as an important step in transforming teacher education for inclusion. That is, researchers must examine the details and practicalities of implementation within a well‐developed conceptual framework of teacher education for inclusive education. That is, there is a need for national and international projects which replicate and adapt the structure and rigor of innovative approaches, bringing together the dual key functions of program reform and research. Researchers can investigate the practical ways in which teaching staff, who may hold opposing views on inclusion, can participate in university‐based collaborative teacher education programs. In these core teacher education programs, social and educational inclusion can be addressed collaboratively rather than separately by those with special disciplinary knowledge. Researchers can then monitor and evaluate the progress of these programs, through high‐quality innovative and responsive research approaches. Such work represents the way forward. Using Blanton and Pugach’s (2011) collaborative framework, as well as the lessons learned from the analysis of the additional as well as the content‐infused models, the focus for program review and reform may therefore usefully incorporate the following key principles for practice: ●●

●●

●●

Development of opportunities to produce exploratory dialogues among individuals and groups who may hold conflicting understandings of the nature of teacher education programs and why and how teacher education is designed and delivered; Development of collaborative research strategies so that faculty members within and across institutions engage and persist in learning from one another and in this way can locate their own work and that of other colleagues within this framework; Development of collaborative analyses of the challenges of teaching in complex, heterogeneous settings where mandated curricula abound, class sizes increase steadily and opportunities to learn are constrained (Kozleski, 2011);

Reflections on the Way Ahead and Conclusion Reflections on the Way Ahead and Conclusion 439 ●●

●●

Development of explicit conceptual and theoretical frameworks regarding inclusive education and programmatic outcomes that focus on building student teachers’ confidence and their repertoire of skill and strategies to support students in their classrooms (European Agency for Development in Special Needs Education, 2012; Kozleski, 2011; Rouse & Florian, 2012); Development of specific strategies to enhance practical implementation could include team teaching in the program of special needs and general educations specialists as well as joint supervision of teaching practicum in diverse school settings.

In addition to these key principles for the practical review and reform of initial teacher education programs, a framework for the development of high‐quality research approaches which are integrated into the program reform need to be considered. The critical analysis framework within a collaborative partnership approach could therefore provide some useful principles to support not only the evaluation of research, but also the reflective planning and implementation of new research. In this, the focus of research should be clearly articulated, moving away from simple course evaluation into a more complex examination of the impact of the changes on pedagogical practices, understanding, values, and beliefs. High‐quality research in this respect would value the complex nature of the phenomenon, recognizing that definitions of inclusive education and resultant understandings of diversity in theory and practice are not clearly defined and are instead made up of multiple perspectives and individual experiences. This proposed framework draws together the practical reform of teaching programs in universities and teacher training colleges with the development of relevant research studies to capture and examine the impact and implications of those reforms. It is also founded on the need to take time to develop international collaborative research projects that will enable the translation of the ideals of including students from diverse cultural, ethnic, linguistic, and economic backgrounds into reality in initial teacher education programs and the subsequent development of inclusive school communities. In conclusion, we fully acknowledge the complexity and dynamic interaction between general international guidelines, specific national education policies, and economic realities in both countries of the North and the South. Examples include higher education and regulatory contexts within which curricular reform of initial teacher education should be taking place, and challenges associated with sustainable research projects in which researchers continuously monitor and evaluate the impact of these programs on effective learning in classrooms characterized by its demographic complexity. The reality remains that general education schools and classrooms are facing increasingly diverse learning populations who are supported by national and international policies and guidelines to access schools in their neighborhoods and who have the right to quality education. The time has therefore arrived for action regarding the further development of a comprehensive systemic collaborative teacher education for inclusion framework based on equitable and participatory school communities for all and quality research in this regard. This will enable us, as teacher educators and teachers in general education classrooms, to respond to individual differences in

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ways that avoid the stigma of judging students as less able and ignoring their right to equitable participation in an inclusive school community.

References Arthur‐Kelly, M., Sutherland, D., Lyons, G., Macfarlane, S., & Foreman, P. (2013). Reflections on enhancing pre‐service teacher education programmes to support inclusion: Perspectives from New Zealand and Australia. European Journal of Special Needs Education, 28(2), 203–216. Bacakova, M., & Closs, A. (2013). Continuing professional development (CPD) as a means to reducing barriers to inclusive education: Research study of the education of refugee children in the Czech Republic. European Journal of Special Needs Education, 28(2), 203–216. Beacham, N., & Rouse, M. (2011). Student teachers’ attitudes and beliefs about inclusion and inclusive practice. Journal of Research in Special Educational Needs, 12(1), 3–11. Booth, T. (2002). Inclusion and exclusion in the city: Concepts and contexts. In P. Potts & T. Booth (Eds.), Inclusion in the city (pp. 1–14). London, England: Routledge. Borko, H., Liston, D., & Whitcomb, J. A. (2007). Genres of empirical research in teacher education. Journal of Teacher Education, 58(1), 3–11. Blanton, L. P., & Pugach, M. C. (2011). Using a classification system to probe the meaning of dual licensure in general and special education. Teacher Education and Special Education, 34, 219–446. Brantlinger, E., Jiminez, R., Klingner, J., Pugach, M., & Richardson, V. (2005). Qualitative studies in special education. Exceptional Children, 71(2), 195–207. Dart, G. (2007). Inclusive education in Botswana. In P. Engelbrecht & L. Green (Eds.), Responding to the challenges of inclusive education in southern Africa (pp. 10–23). Pretoria, South Africa: Van Schaik. Deppeler, J. (2010). Professional learning as collaborative inquiry: Working together for impact. In C. Forlin (Ed.), Teacher education for inclusion: Changing paradigms and innovative approaches (pp. 180–188). London, England: Routledge. Dyson, A. (1999). Inclusion and inclusions: Theories and discourses in inclusive education. In H. Daniels & P. Gardner (Eds.), World yearbook of education (pp. 36–53). New York, NY: Kogan Page. Engelbrecht, P. (2011). Equity in inclusive education in South Africa. In A. J. Artiles, E. B. Kozleski, & F. R. Waitoller (Eds.), Inclusive education: Examining equity on five continents (pp. 147–160). Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Engelbrecht, P. (2012). International perspectives on teacher education for inclusion: challenges and opportunities. Keynote paper presented at the National Council for Special Needs Education, November 21, Dublin, Ireland. Engelbrecht, P. (2013). Editorial: Teacher education for inclusion, international perspectives. European Journal of Special Needs Education, 28(2), 115–118.

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Grimes, P. (2009). A quality education for all. A history of the Lao PDR Inclusive Education Project 1993–2009. Retrieved from http://www.eenet.org.uk/ resources/docs/A_Quality_Education_For_All_LaoPDR.pdf Hart, S., Dixon, A., Drummond, M. J., McIntyre, D., Brach, N., Conway, C., & Yarker, P. (2004). Learning without limits. Maidenhead, England: Open University Press. Horner, R., Carr, E., Halle, J., McGee, G., Odom, S., & Wolery, M. (2005). The use of single‐subject research to identify evidence‐based practice in special education. Exceptional Children, 71(2), 165–179. Jordan, A., Schwartz, E., & McGhie‐Richmond, D. (2009). Preparing teachers for inclusive classrooms. Teaching and Teacher Education, 25, 535–542. Kershner, R. (2009). Learning in inclusive classrooms. In P. Hick, R. Kershner, & P. Farrell (Eds.), Psychology for inclusive education: New directions in theory and practice (pp. 52–65). London, England: Routledge Falmer. Khanal, P. (2012). An analysis of the policy to decentralize school education in Nepal. Unpublished doctoral dissertation. Canterbury Christ Church University, Canterbury, UK. Kozleski, E. B. (2011). Dialectical practices in education: Creating third spaces in the education of teachers. Teacher Education and Special Education: The Journal of the Teacher Education Division of the Council for Exceptional Children, 34, 250–260. Kozleski, E. B., Artiles, A. J., & Lacy, L. (2012). The dangerous politics of difference: How systems produce marginalization. In L. C. Burello, W. Sailor, & J. Kleinhammer‐Tramill (Eds.), Unifying educational systems: Policy and leadership (pp. 217–229). New York, NY: Routledge. Kozleski, E. B., Artiles, A. J., & Waitoller, F. R. (2011). Equity in inclusive education: Historical trajectories and theoretical commitments. In A. J. Artiles, E. B. Kozleski, & F. R. Waitoller (Eds.), Inclusive education: Examining equity on five continents (pp. 1–14). Cambridge, MA: Harvard Education Press. Kozleski, E. B., Gonzalez, T., Atkinson, L., Mruczek, C., & Lacy, L. (2013). Teacher education in practice: Reconciling practices and theories in the United States context. European Journal of Special Needs Education, 28(2), 156–172. Kozleski, E. B., & Siuty, M. B. (2014). From challenges to opportunities: Professional educator development systems that work for students with disabilities. Unpublished manuscript, University of Kansas, Lawrence, KS. Lawson, H., Norwich, B., & Nash, T. (2013). What trainees in England learn about teaching pupils with special educational needs/disabilities in their school‐based work: The contribution of planned activities in one‐year initial training courses. European Journal of Special Needs Education, 28(2), 136–155. Loreman, T. (2010a). Essential inclusive education‐related outcomes for Alberta preservice teachers. The Alberta Journal of Educational Research, 56(2), 124–142. Loreman, T. (2010b). A content‐infused approach to pre‐service teacher preparation for inclusive education. In C. Forlin (Ed.), Teacher education for inclusion: Changing paradigms and innovative approaches (pp. 56–64). London, England: Routledge. Mertens, D. M. (2005). Research and evaluation in education and psychology: Integrating diversity with quantitative, qualitative and mixed methods. London, England: Sage.

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O’Neill, J., Bourke, R., & Kearney, A. (2009). Discourses of inclusion in initial teacher education: Unravelling a New Zealand number eight wire knot. Teaching and Teacher Education, 25, 588–593. Odom, S., Brantlinger, E., Gersten, R., Horner, R., Thompson, B., & Harris, K. (2005). Research in special education: Scientific methods and evidence based practices. Exceptional Children, 71(2), 137–148. Oswald, M. M. (2007). Training teachers to become inclusive professionals. In P. Engelbrecht & L. Green (Eds.), Responding to the challenges of inclusive education in southern Africa (pp. 140–158). Pretoria, South Africa: Van Schaik. Oswald, M. M., & Swart, E. (2011). Addressing South African pre‐service teachers’ sentiments, attitudes and concerns regarding inclusive education. International Journal of Disability, Development and Education, 58(4), 389–403. Pugach, M., & Blanton, L. (2009). A framework for conducting research on collaborative teacher education. Teaching and Teacher Education, 25(4), 575–582. Refie. (2015). Research for inclusive education in international cooperation: Final Report. REFIE: Research for inclusive education in international cooperation. Retrieved from http://www.refie.org/resources/report/ Rouse, M. (2010). Reforming initial teacher education: A necessary but not sufficient condition for developing inclusive practice. In C. Forlin (Ed.), Teacher education for inclusion (pp. 47–55). London, England: Routledge. Rouse, M., & Florian, L. (2012). Inclusive practice project: Final report. Aberdeen, Scotland: University of Aberdeen. Savolainen, H., Engelbrecht, P., Nel, M., & Malinen, O. (2012). Understanding teachers’ attitudes and self‐efficacy in inclusive education: Implications for pre‐ service and in‐service teacher education. European Journal of Special Needs Education, 27(1), 51–68. Singal, N. (2008). Working towards inclusion: Reflections from the classroom. Teaching and Teacher Education, 24, 1516–1529. Singal, N. (2010). Doing disability research in a Southern context. Disability & Society, 25(4), 415–426. Singal, N., & Muthukrishna, N. (2014). Introduction: Education, childhood and disability in countries of the South—re‐positioning the debates. Childhood, May, 1–15. Spratt, J., Florian, L., & Rouse, M. (2011, February). Enacting inclusion: Beginning teachers creating spaces for inclusive pedagogy. Paper presented at the American Association of Colleges for Teacher Education Annual Meeting, San Diego, CA. Stayton, V. D., & McCollum, J. (2002). Unifying general and special education: What does the research tells us? Teacher Education and Special Education, 25(3), 211–218. Srivastava, M., De Boer, A., & Pijl, S. J. (2013). Inclusive education in developing countries: A closer look at its implementation in the last ten years. Educational Review, 67(2), 179–195. Terzi, L. (2008). Justice and equality in education: A capability perspective on disability and special educational needs. London, England: Continuum International Publishing Group. Thompson, B., Diamond, K., McWilliam, R., Snyder, P., & Snyder, S. (2005). Evaluating the quality of evidence from correlational research for evidence based practice. Exceptional Children, 71(2), 181–194.

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United Nations Development Programme. (2011). Retrieved from http://hdr.undp. org/en/content/human‐development‐index‐hdi UNESCO. (2009). Policy guidelines on inclusion in education. Paris, France: Author UNESCO. (2013). Promoting inclusive teacher education: Introduction. Bangkok, Thailand: Author. Voltz, D. L. (2003). Collaborative infusion: An emerging approach to teacher preparation for inclusive education. Teacher Education and Special Education, 25(1), 5–13. Waitoller, F. R., & Artiles, A. J. (2013). A decade of professional development research for inclusive education: A critical review and notes for a research program. Review of Educational Research, 83(3), 319–356. Walton, E., & Rusznyak, L. (2014). Affordances and limitations of a special school practicum as a means to prepare pre‐service teachers for inclusive education. International Journal of Inclusive Education, 18(9), 957–974. Winter, E. C. (2006). Preparing teachers for inclusive schools and classrooms. Support for Learning, 21(2), 85–91. World Health Organization. (2011). World report on disability. Geneva, Switzerland: Author. Young, K., & Florian, L. (2013). Researching teacher education for inclusion: Using a methodological memo. International Journal of Research and Method in Education, 36(4), 355–371.

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21 Teachers Developing Knowledge in Low‐ and Middle‐Income Countries Toward More Inclusive Pedagogy Alison Croft, Susie Miles, Rhona Brown, Jo Westbrook and Sarah Williams

We present this chapter in the context of renewed global efforts to promote ­equitable access to quality education for all children, with the main emphasis on low‐ and middle‐income countries (LMICs). Beginning in 2000, the number of out‐of‐school children has been reduced from an estimated 102 million to 57 million, and the enrolment gap between boys and girls has narrowed in many countries. However, it is estimated that 49% of out‐of‐school children will never enter school, 23% will drop out, and 28% will start school late (UNESCO, 2014). Of those children who do attend school, large numbers are not benefiting from the education they receive: “out of around 650 million children of primary school age, as many as 250 million either do not reach grade 4 or, if they do, fail to attain minimum learning standards” (UNESCO, 2012, p. 122). International debates have been focused on promoting greater equity in education for children from marginalized and disadvantaged groups as part of UNESCO’s sustainable development goals (2015). However, little attention is paid in these debates to the practical issues involved in preparing teachers to include children with disabilities in education in LMICs. Furthermore, there is limited reliable information about the proportion of “out‐of‐school” children who have a disability or difficulty in learning, or how many children have simply not been counted. “Beyond rough estimates, little is known about disability” in LMICs (Grech, 2009, p. 771). In many LMICs, formal educational programs for children with disabilities began with the establishment of special schools often by religious organizations from colonial or former colonial powers (Mpofu, Oakland, & Chimedza, 2007). Alongside this relatively small‐scale provision, many community‐based rehabilitation programs have been initiated since the 1980s, often involving organizations of parents and people with disabilities in the provision of informal education with donor support (Stubbs, 2008). International agreements, such as the United Nations Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities (UNCRPD, 2006)

The Wiley Handbook of Diversity in Special Education, First Edition. Edited by Marie Tejero Hughes and Elizabeth Talbott. © 2017 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Published 2017 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

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signed by 155 countries by June 2015, have raised awareness of the possibility of inclusive educational provision, but evidence of practical changes at classroom level is limited. In writing this chapter primarily for an audience in high‐income countries (HICs), we are conscious that “complexities related to context and poverty are too often unacknowledged in the quest to simplify, generalize and export disability discourse, models and strategies” (Grech, 2009, p. 771). We are also conscious of the dangers of using the language of special education as practiced in HICs to make sense of the challenges faced in developing contextually sensitive responses to the educational needs of children with disabilities in LMICs. Kozleski, Artiles, and Waitoller (2014, p. 240) have argued that the “legacies of colonialism, as reflected in marginalization processes linked to gender, caste, poverty, and geographical location, intersect with disability status in complex ways and constrain efforts to create inclusive education systems.” We concur with Kozleski et al. (2014), that a lack of emphasis on the intersectionality of these social identities and a narrow focus on disability can lead to missed opportunities for more nuanced understandings of inclusive practice and the development of equitable education policies. Therefore, in this chapter we propose to do the following: (a) illustrate the paucity of school‐based evidence about children’s learning experiences and academic outcomes, and about teachers’ knowledge and expertise; (b) identify some of the major challenges faced in educating children with disabilities and difficulties in learning in LMICs; (c) illustrate these challenges by examining three contrasting examples from Bangladesh, Jamaica, and Tanzania, where teachers are developing greater confidence and expertise, despite limited material resources; and (d) identify the benefits for teachers of being supported to develop their knowledge of inclusive learning strategies in sustainable and contextually relevant ways. It is beyond the scope of this chapter to review the related literature on special schools, community‐based rehabilitation programs, the role of the disability movement, parents’ organizations, and the increasing impact of conflict on access to education for children with disabilities. We have chosen to focus on teachers as pivotal actors in ensuring greater equity for children with disabilities in formal education, while bearing in mind the complex and inter‐related factors that deny many children an education in LMICs. Our decision to focus in some detail on examples of teachers’ practice in Bangladesh, Jamaica, and Tanzania is influenced by the growing acknowledgement of the neglect of classroom practice in research in LMICs. Singal (2014) has written extensively about the Indian context with its enabling disability policies, but has also drawn attention to the lack of classroom‐based research: “within the Indian context, there continues to be a significant lack of research examining teaching and learning processes in the classroom and debates continue to draw heavily on personal narratives, inferences drawn from Northern literature and oversimplified generalizations” (p. 203). As Singal (2014) has highlighted, the use of special education literature and terminology from HICs is problematic when studying practice across such diverse cultural and linguistic contexts. In this chapter, therefore, we refer to children who have a range of physical, sensory, and intellectual impairments

LMIC Contexts LMIC Contexts 447

c­ollectively as children with disabilities, while those who experience both te­mporary and long‐term difficulties that could cause them to drop out of school completely are described as having difficulties in learning. We have deliberately avoided the terms special educational needs and special needs because they often lack a clear definition and are used interchangeably with disability.

LMIC Contexts We have decided to use the term low‐ and middle‐income countries, in this ­chapter rather than developing or Southern countries, as these terms often fail to capture the scale of global inequality in monetary terms. Our aim here is to emphasize the inadequacy of material resources available in the majority of LMICs when responding to children identified as having disabilities or difficulties in learning—in contrast to the relative abundance of resources available in HICs. LMICs are defined through estimates of gross national income (GNI) per capita using the World Bank Atlas method: with low income being defined as having a GNI of US$1045 or less; and middle income as a GNI per capita of US$1045–US$1,746 (World Bank, 2014). However, the term middle income can be misleading, given that two‐thirds of the “bottom billion” of poorest people live in middle‐income countries (Sumner, 2010). The interconnections between disability and chronic poverty, ill health, poor nutrition, and inequitable access to basic education have been explored by Singal (this volume). However, it is worth restating here how difficult it is for many children with a disability to access formal education at all, especially girls, and those born in remote rural areas whose families have had little formal education. Making the journey to the nearest school can be challenging. Parents are understandably concerned for their children’s safety where there are few paved roads, little or no transport, and large distances between home and school (UNESCO, 2010). Even when children are able to travel to school, enrolment can be denied by national policy, or by head teachers who claim the school staff do not have the necessary skills. Although defining countries by the average national income may seem a narrow approach, it provides some helpful context when reading the following description of Emanuel from Uganda. Emanuel was born into a rural hilly community in Uganda in 1990. In the third year of primary school at age 8 years, he developed osteomyelitis in both legs. Unable to walk, he remained at home for 2 years and was often left alone while his siblings went to school. Determined to continue his education, he decided to crawl to a nearby tree plantation where he cut a young tree, shaped it to fit his height, and taught himself to walk again with the customized stick. Emmanuel’s situation is not unusual in a low‐income country. Boys and girls often “drop out” of school with no hope of resuming their education, because basic assistive devices such as walking sticks are not available. Emmanuel continued to use a series of homemade walking aids throughout his time as a university student and has only recently acquired crutches. He completed a bachelor’s degree in social work and now manages an inclusive education program for the

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National Union of Disabled People of Uganda, and has become an inspiring role model. Yet, he could so easily have remained at home, economically dependent upon his family. Many LMICs aim to improve their provision of assistive devices. For example, legislation in Tanzania requires the Ministry of Health to provide mobility and communication aids as necessary (United Republic of Tanzania, 2010). However, the limited availability and accessibility of devices and services remains a constraint in many countries. A lack of collaboration between relevant government departments, limited finance, social stigma, and the difficulties in employing professionals with appropriate skills to maintain assistive devices are some of the barriers faced (Lynch & Lund, 2011). A lack of financial investment in the special education system by the government of Papua, New Guinea, is highlighted by Le Fanu (2013) as the main reason why teachers based at the local special education center were unable to travel to schools to support children in their classrooms and provide training for teachers. Parents’ assumptions that their children would not be able to find employment and so contribute to the family income were also found to be a major barrier to the enrolment of children with disabilities. Conversations with community members also indicated that parents were unwilling to pay the school fees of their disabled children, because they believed these individuals would be unable to secure formal employment after graduation, however high their levels of academic attainment (Le Fanu, 2013, p. 145).

Children with Disabilities in LMICs Data about children with disabilities is notoriously difficult to collect in LMICs due to ethical, conceptual, and logistical difficulties (Croft, 2013). The World Report on Disability attempted to collate the limited data that is available, and this is effective in highlighting the fact that children with disabilities are less likely to attend school than their peers in all countries in the world, although the gaps are much wider in LMICs. For example, “the gap in primary school attendance rates between disabled and non‐disabled children ranges from 10% in India to 60% in Indonesia, and for secondary education, from 15% in Cambodia to 58% in Indonesia” (World Health Organization, 2011, p. 206). Similarly, it is reported that in 2011 in Uganda, “around 60% of young people with no identified impairment were literate. By contrast, only 47% of young people with physical or hearing impairments were literate” (UNESCO, 2014, p. 212). Unsurprisingly, therefore, gaps in attendance rates appear to translate into gaps in literacy rates between those with and without disabilities. Just as it is difficult to gain an accurate statistical picture of the education challenge, there are similar gaps in empirical research on special education. It is also difficult to make sense of the realities in LMICs when using literature from HICs as a reference point. For example, a systematic review of the literature on the accessibility of education for people with disabilities found that “… the research in the HICs may not have immediate or direct relevance [to LMICs], as the

Inclusive Pedagogy Inclusive Pedagogy 449

approaches used, resources and outcomes, may well not be applicable or useful” (Bakhshi, Kett, & Trani, 2013, p. 29). Bakhshi et al. (2013) note the lack of attention to sensory and motor impairments in the literature in HICs; yet, these impairments are of major concern in LMICs (Solarsh & Hofman, 2006). Just 15 out of a total of 157 documents (11  empirical studies and four reports) were identified by Srivastava, de Boer, and Pijl (2013) in their rigorous review of projects that supported the inclusion of students with disabilities at policy, school, teacher, parent, and community level in LMICs, 2002–2012. Only two of the 15 studies reported on the positive effects of increased attendance rates of students with disabilities in regular schools, in China (Deng & Holdsworth, 2007) and Vietnam (Villa et al., 2003). Both advocated for community‐based support for inclusive education to complement teachers’ efforts. One of the reasons cited for this lack of empirical research is that local or international nongovernmental organizations (NGOs) are leading on implementation, yet they rarely prioritize empirical research (Srivastava et al., 2013). It is worth noting that the research teams in China and Vietnam consisted of indigenous researchers working in collaboration with colleagues from HICs who had links with international NGOs. Howgego, Miles, and Myers (2014) faced many challenges in identifying good‐quality evidence for a literature review of teacher education and classroom practice in relation to inclusive learning in LMICs. These included the predominance of evidence focusing on HICs; limited examples of high‐quality evidence of implementation; and a lack of reliable data on school attendance and learning outcomes disaggregated by impairment. A considerable proportion of the available literature appears to consist of individual studies (often at master’s or doctoral level) involving small samples. Few large‐scale empirical studies of national significance have been conducted on classroom practice (Westbrook & Croft, 2015). In summary, the evidence base on disability and education in LMICs is scarce and scattered, and this is partly due to the strong advocacy focus of many international agencies on access to schooling and the neglect of classroom‐based research and learning outcomes (Croft, 2010). There has also been an overemphasis on teacher attitudes, which has had little impact on the way education systems are organized (Howgego et al., 2014). The significance of this chapter lies in making a contribution to this neglected area of research by identifying and reporting on examples of practice in three countries.

Inclusive Pedagogy The key role of teachers in achieving the quality education that would attract children and keep them in school is recognized by the 2014 Global Monitoring Report charting progress toward universal education. It is argued that teachers should be supported to develop a wide array of strategies in order to teach pupils from diverse backgrounds and thus end the learning crisis for children with disabilities and other marginalized learners (UNESCO, 2014). In other words, the

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development of skills in inclusive pedagogy would support teachers as they develop their practice in responding to diversity. Inclusive pedagogy considers and provides for the learning experience of all girls and boys in a classroom, creating opportunities for everyone to participate. This is in contrast to the situation in many classrooms where teaching and learning is aimed at the majority, with some activities being organized for one or more children perceived as “different.” The way teachers understand and conceptualize difference in broad terms (gender, disability, ethnicity, culture) is integral to inclusive pedagogy, as are the repertoires, or range of techniques, that teachers use to respond to these differences. The concepts of inclusive pedagogy and special pedagogies, and the extent to which learners with disabilities require a specific, adapted pedagogy, are debated in the literature generated in high‐income contexts. Much of the discourse focuses on two key categorizations: (a) inclusive pedagogy, which addresses the common characteristics of all learners and the unique characteristics of individual learners; and (b) specialist pedagogies that additionally respond to the characteristics of particular subgroups (Croft, 2013). Inclusive pedagogy can draw on the knowledge of support teachers, therapists, or rehabilitation workers where they are available, but always with the aim of moving toward greater inclusion socially and academically (Croft, 2010). Inclusive pedagogy requires teachers’ acceptance of responsibility to help all children learn, knowledge of strategies to achieve this, and a willingness to continue developing professionally. Knowing how to respond when children have difficulty learning is increasingly considered a part of every teacher’s job. For example, the Namibian government expects qualified teachers to have “appropriate competencies and attitudes to identify and meet the needs of vulnerable children within the context of the learning environment” and “have the appropriate competencies and attitudes to provide differentiated learning support” (Ministry of Education, 2008, section 3.7.3). Some limited group‐specific pedagogical knowledge can be useful, particularly when teaching children who are blind, deaf, or autistic (Lewis & Norwich, 2005). For example, fluency in alternative forms of communication is essential for teaching literacy to a minority of pupils, and, in Namibia, sign language and deaf cultural awareness are included in initial teacher education (University of Namibia, 2015). While it would seem desirable that all teachers should be aware of sign languages and Braille, it is improbable that all teachers will become fluent users of these forms of communication. There is, however, a need for ­teachers to have varying degrees of specialist knowledge, defined here as that which is unlikely to be either necessary or feasible for every teacher to have in a particular context. A continuum of specialist to general teacher knowledge can contribute to inclusive pedagogy. For example, following decades of training teachers as specialists in either visual, hearing, or intellectual impairments in Zambia, generic training of teachers in a range of specialist areas has been introduced in order to ensure that special educators have flexible ­knowledge (Serpell & Jere‐Folotiya, 2011). The extent to which specialist knowledge is needed to construct inclusive pedagogy varies by context and depends on: (a) what is commonly known by local

Bangladesh, Jamaica, and Tanzania: Three Illustrative Examples Bangladesh, Jamaica, and Tanzania: Three Illustrative Examples 451

mainstream teachers, and (b) the degree to which the local curriculum, including teaching and learning materials, support the achievement of children found in a particular class (Croft, 2013). Where children do at times need something “special,” the challenge of bringing them together with teachers who have the appropriate teaching knowledge is partly a challenge of geography. The minority of children with disabilities who attend special schools tend to travel long distances from home, especially those living in sparsely populated rural areas, and so many become boarders, often from a young age. The school commute can also be long in densely populated urban areas with slow‐moving traffic. The right to access “an inclusive, quality and free primary and secondary education on an equal basis with others in the communities in which they live” is clearly stated in Article 24 of the UNCRPD, and so government signatories to the Convention are under pressure to educate children as near to their homes as possible for pedagogic, social, and economic reasons. Solutions to dispersing specialist teacher knowledge to develop inclusive pedagogy therefore include: ●●

●●

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Resource rooms and units—children travel shorter distances; might not need to board and therefore remain in closer contact with their families and local communities; and can ideally be educated through a flexible program of mainstream classes and special support (sometimes after school); Itinerant teachers—teachers are the ones who travel; children attend their local school, live with their families, and grow up as part of communities learning to live together (Slee, 2001); Development of more inclusive pedagogy by mainstream class teachers— children attend their local schools, and their teachers develop their pedagogy through experience by drawing on the knowledge of advisors, itinerant teachers, and the children themselves.

While structures of specialist provision can either tend to support or constrain the development of contextually relevant inclusive pedagogy, defining features of inclusive pedagogy are not fundamentally tied to location, but rather concern issues of “power, participation and achievement in learning” (Stubbs, 2008, p. 46). In other words, the focus is on children with disabilities learning, rather than a dogmatic adherence to a particular form of provision.

Bangladesh, Jamaica, and Tanzania: Three Illustrative Examples In this section, we focus on recent studies of emerging practice in two low‐ income countries, Bangladesh and Tanzania, and one middle‐income country, Jamaica. Our rationale for selecting the three studies summarized in this chapter consisted of four main factors. The first was geographical; we identified studies that had taken place on three different continents. The second concerned the type and quality of detailed primary research that had taken place in classrooms and teacher training colleges—only one of which had been published at the time of writing. The third factor was the presentation of a variety of forms of ­provision.

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Finally, the lead author had some involvement in all the studies, and so, in this sense, the three examples represent a convenience sample. In making sense of the three illustrative examples, we draw upon Kershner’s (2014) four core aspects of knowledge and knowing that relate to how knowledge is created and used by teachers, and the importance of developing mutual understanding and dialogue within and beyond the teaching profession. Although Kershner’s research takes place in England, where classroom teachers have primary though not sole responsibility for teaching pupils categorized as having special educational needs (Kershner, 2014), the core aspects identified resonate with some of the emerging practice in our examples. These are: ●●

●●

●●

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The importance of understanding child development and learning in context as a basis for understanding constructions of SEN; Reflection and imagination: the value of knowing that you do not know everything and believing that change is possible; The need to communicate understanding and resolve differences between the people who have useful knowledge: a relational process; The need to recognize the school as a site for the development of teaching expertise and the creation of knowledge (Kershner, 2014, pp. 852–854).

The aim of our examples is to explore ways in which teachers are developing their practice both in relation to emerging models of specialist support, and in the absence of any form of specialist knowledge. Although there are many important differences between these examples, in all three contexts, material resources are limited and special education services fragmented. Each example considers the extent to which teachers have the capacity to respond to the diverse needs of learners in large classes using their existing knowledge and strategies, and the extent to which they are motivated to develop their expertise in teaching inclusively through reflection and imagination. In discussing teachers’ changing roles in Bangladesh, Jamaica, and Tanzania, there is an overarching concern with teacher education and development, together with the role of specialists and specialist knowledge. We look at: (a) the extent to which teachers have the capacity to teach in inclusive ways using their existing knowledge and strategies and the support they receive; (b) teachers’ motivation to meet students’ diverse needs; and, importantly, (c) the interrelation between capacity and motivation. These examples do not claim to be “best practice,” nor can they claim to be representative. However, they shed light on some of the practical challenges faced by teachers in LMICs.

Teachers for Resource Centers and Special Schools: The Development of Specialist Knowledge in Bangladesh The development of resource rooms or special units attached to mainstream schools is a strategy that was developed in the context of highly specialized and well‐resourced special education systems in HICs, and transposed with some

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success to less well‐resourced contexts, often with the support of external ­funding. For example, the Danish government provided funding for the establishment of resource rooms and early identification centers in Uganda, from 1984 to 2000, but it proved difficult to sustain these services when external funding ceased to be provided. More recently, in response to parent demand and with minimal support from a UK‐based NGO, a district‐level government commitment to build resource rooms enabled deaf children to attend school for the first time (Miles, Beart, & Wapling, 2011). Primary school teachers were given basic training to educate deaf children in units (resource rooms) attached to mainstream schools. The success of this initiative was dependent upon parent involvement and sign‐language training for parents and teachers. In an earlier study in Zambia, Miles et al. (2003) found that “it was possible for specialist teachers to adapt their knowledge and experience and to use their expertise in an advisory capacity in the school, rather than exclusively in the units” (p. 9). Although not always achieved, this is the aim of the resource room/resource teacher model. As is the case in many low‐income countries, teacher–pupil ratios in Bangladesh can be as high as 1:90 in mainstream schools. Teachers’ positive attitudes are not sufficient to prepare them to teach students with disabilities in such large classes—a responsibility for which many feel ill‐prepared (Ahsan, Sharma, & Deppeler, 2011). Part of the reason for this may be preservice teachers’ limited exposure to experiential training in government teacher training centers. The findings of this study indicate that special education training centers have potential to not only develop teachers’ skills but also foster positive attitudes and so strengthen current efforts to provide children with disabilities with adequate support in special and mainstream schools. The knowledge and expertise acquired by trainee teachers of learners with visual impairments were the focus of a 2‐week study commissioned by Sightsavers Bangladesh (Williams, 2012). Access to the research sites was made possible because of the involvement of Sightsavers; these included the only specialist government teacher education center (which offers a 1‐year diploma for pre‐ and in‐service teachers) and four primary schools—two special and two integrated. Bangladesh has a population of over 164 million, GNI per capita is US$150, and 31.5% of people live below the poverty line on US$1.25 per day (World Bank, 2013). It is a densely populated country where one‐third of people live in urban areas, and it is ranked 142/187 countries (United Nations Development Programme, 2014) in the Human Development Index. Significant progress has been made toward achieving gender parity among children attending government and government‐supported schools (World Bank, 2008), and the primary school gross enrolment rate (GER) is 96% (UNICEF, 2013). The government of Bangladesh is a signatory to all the major international agreements on disability and education, including the UNCRPD, and has enacted national policies to ensure the education of all students. Although the mandate for Education for All lies with the Ministry of Education and Ministry of Primary and Mass Education (Ahsan et al., 2011), overall responsibility for children with disabilities lies with the Ministry of Social Welfare. Legislation also protects the

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“equal rights of people with disabilities to have an independent and effective ­participation in the society” (Ministry of Social Welfare, 2013, p. 3), but there remains a lack of clarity about national provision of special education and major difficulties in resourcing the commendable national legislation (Government of the People’s Republic of Bangladesh, 2012). The coordination of specialist facilities is a major task in Bangladesh, where parallel services are provided by private, government, and nongovernmental organizations, and where ministerial responsibility for children with disabilities is divided. This division of responsibility between Education and Social Welfare is a common problem that “… tends to further segregate children with disabilities, and shifts the focus from education and achieving social and economic inclusion to [medical] treatment and social isolation” (World Health Organization, 2011, p. 214). Government efforts to include children with disabilities in education began in 2002 and involved making school buildings and campuses accessible, education materials available at no charge, and adapting the teacher training curriculum (Miles, Fefoame, Mulligan, & Haque, 2012). However, despite such enlightened policy initiatives, it is estimated that only 4% of the 1.6 million children with disabilities of school‐going age attend school in a range of special, integrated, nonformal, and mainstream settings, though predominantly in special schools (Disability Rights Watch Group, Bangladesh, 2009). Formal efforts are made to support the inclusion of children with moderate disabilities in mainstream schools, but on a limited scale (Sightsavers, 2010). The majority of children with disabilities is unable to access the 13 government‐managed special schools catering to children with visual impairment, hearing impairment, intellectual disability, and autism, and so remain at home without any formal education (Malak, 2014). Disability assessment centers have increased in the last decade, and multidisciplinary teams (including pediatricians, psychologists, physiotherapists, and social workers) conduct thorough assessments, while early intervention programs are being run by many NGOs (Malak, 2014). Despite this, the lack of clarity about definitions and degrees of impairment leads to misunderstandings, particularly during school enrolment when children with relatively minor difficulties are often refused admission. For those children with disabilities who do attend primary school, academic attainment and transition into lower secondary schooling remain low (Filmer, 2008). There is a resource teacher located in government‐funded integrated ­secondary schools for students with visual impairments in all of Bangladesh’s 64 districts. Limited material resources, primarily textbooks, are a major problem in these schools and resource centers. For example, although the Ministry of Education pledges to provide textbooks for all learners, it is not required to supply Braille books. This is one of the many practical challenges of the divided ministerial responsibility noted earlier. Although inclusive education is considered as a means of educating disabled students, “segregation is underpinned within the same policies” (Malak, 2014, p. 615). In this study, research participants were identified by Sightsavers staff in Bangladesh using their direct knowledge of special education for students

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with visual impairments. Participants included: curriculum developers, teacher educators, specialist teachers, parents, students with visual impairments, government officials, and NGOs (Williams, 2012). A teacher educator with a visual impairment was recruited as a translator as he had personal and professional experience of special schools. Interviews were also conducted with curriculum developers for the 4‐year bachelors of education degree (B.Ed) at the University of Dhaka, where special education teachers are trained. The curriculum for training specialist teachers for these facilities was developed in 1995, and has not been updated. Based on a Norwegian model, it has been adapted to the Bangladeshi context, with additional influences from India, Indonesia, Pakistan, Malaysia, United Kingdom, and United States. A school practicum is a mandatory requirement of the government’s National Centre of Special Education teacher training program and is undertaken in three different model special schools adjacent to the center. The B.Ed student teachers undertake their teaching practice in a range of educational settings. Trainees from the government training center might go on to be resource teachers in mainstream schools while those graduating with a B.Ed can go on to work in mainstream schools or as educational consultants specializing in disability work. Many practices were in place in the training institutes involving linking theory to practice, collaboration, and reflection that enabled teachers to acquire the knowledge skills and values to teach learners with visual impairments. However, the pedagogy used in lectures in the government training institutes was didactic, and little effort was made to accommodate trainee teachers who themselves had low vision. Despite this, the interviews with the trainee teachers and teacher educators revealed a social constructivist approach to learning not reflected in the curriculum documents, but evident in teachers’ discourse and practice. The definition and acquisition of knowledge was seen as a collaborative process involving teacher educators, teachers, and their pupils. High value was placed on the knowledge that is produced from the activity of teaching and by learning from more experienced teachers. The overall aim of teacher educators was to integrate theoretical knowledge with their student teachers’ prior experience. This was made possible through the informal use of experienced teachers as mentors. For example, those teacher trainers who lacked knowledge of teaching mathematics advised their trainees to learn on the job from experienced teachers, while some teachers reported that they learn from the pupils themselves. In this way, the teachers recognized the school as a site for the development of teacher knowledge (Kershner, 2014). Although, formally in the curriculum and in traditional lectures, specialist teacher knowledge is seen as fixed and something that can be transferred from the lecturers to the student teachers, in practice, those involved in this program have realized that the pedagogy needed to educate learners with visual impairments is best collaboratively constructed in practice. There is a focus on teachers ­ ierarchical, learning from experience, and although schooling systems are usually h children themselves are seen as having useful knowledge.

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Itinerant Teachers: Integrating Students with Visual Impairments in Secondary Schools in Jamaica The use of itinerant teachers is emerging in some LMICs as a way of providing specialist teaching to individuals and specialist knowledge to mainstream teachers. The itinerant teacher model is particularly relevant for learners with visual impairments given the relatively low prevalence of visual impairment among school‐age populations. The focus of our second example of developing practice in Jamaica is on the work of one itinerant teacher in an urban, middle‐income context. The itinerant teacher approach has been introduced with donor support in low‐ income countries largely based on practice developed in well‐resourced education systems in HICs. The rationale for the introduction of itinerant teachers is similar in LMICs and HICs, but the absence of comprehensive health, education, and social welfare provision in most LMICs tends to mean that education is often provided in isolation of associated services such as early identification and the provision of assistive devices (Lynch et al., 2011). Although there is evidence of some excellent practice, most notably in Kenya, Malawi, Tanzania, and Uganda, itinerant teachers face considerable challenges. Many continue to work as class teachers in addition to their specialist responsibilities. They tend to have unmanageable caseloads, and are expected to travel long distances on public transport to visit individual children, so coverage is often patchy (Lynch et al., 2011). This example is based on a study commissioned by Sightsavers of an integration program in two mainstream secondary schools in Kingston, the capital of Jamaica (Brown, 2012). Jamaica is an upper middle‐income island country in the Caribbean with a population of around 2.7 million. It ranks 96/187 on the Human Development Index, and has a GNI per capita of US$8170–US$6406 for females and US$9990 for males (UNDP, 2014). Inconsistent progress has been made toward universal primary education. In 2012, the gross enrolment ratio of 90% was lower than other upper middle‐income countries in Latin America and the Caribbean (110%) and those in other regions (117%) (World Bank, 2012). Girls outnumber boys at the secondary level, and on average are expected to complete an extra year of education, 12.4 years in total. However, female participation in the labor market is only 56%, compared to 71% for men. At the time of the study, 4,554 children and young people (2,853 boys and 1,701 girls) were enrolled in 29 schools offering special education at primary, secondary, and tertiary level, both government and government‐aided, including special education units and independent schools. The government acknowledges the difficulties with identification and assessment and recognizes that many more children with disabilities and difficulties in learning may be attending mainstream schools but are not known to government services and so are considered to be at risk. In recognition of this, some universities and training colleges offer courses on special educational needs and exceptionalities for preservice teachers. The Ministry of Education began to integrate small numbers of students with visual impairments in 1953 with technical and financial support from the Jamaican Society for the Blind and Sightsavers. Despite these efforts, the ­majority

Itinerant Teachers: Integrating Students with Visual Impairments in Secondary Schools in Jamaica Itinerant Teachers: Integrating Students with Visual Impairments in Secondary Schools in Jamaica 457

of students with visual impairments who attend school are educated in the g­overnment‐aided Salvation Army School for the Blind in Kingston, the only school of its kind in Jamaica catering to 145 students, 80% of whom are boarders. At the time of the study, 14 students with visual impairments were being educated in six high‐performing, relatively well‐resourced secondary schools in Kingston, but none were in mainstream primary schools. Interviews were conducted with the only itinerant teacher responsible for students with visual impairments in Jamaica, and with six teachers working in two secondary schools where there was a positive attitude to integration, strong leadership, and well‐ qualified teachers. Schools with less positive attitudes declined the invitation to participate. In this sense, this was a study of the most promising and most advanced specialist provision in mainstream secondary schools in Jamaica. The itinerant teacher is employed by the Ministry of Education and is responsible for raising awareness of visual impairment, liaising with and supporting students, parents, teachers, principals, and volunteers in the six schools, and for providing one‐to‐one support for teachers in their use of specialist methods. She is based in the Integration Department located in a small office at the School for the Blind, which makes collaboration with other school support systems difficult. The success of this role depends largely upon the goodwill and initiative of the individual employed. The itinerant teacher has only had training as a secondary school teacher. She attends an annual training course designed for teachers at the school for the blind, has completed an online Braille course at her own expense and has made good use of other online resources developed in the United States. There is no equivalent online resource suited to the particular context of small Caribbean island communities with their scattered specialist resources, although occasionally experts from the University of the West Indies deliver workshops. Each student is provided with a Perkins Brailler, but has to manage without this essential equipment if repairs are needed. It is the sole responsibility of the itinerant teacher to produce learning materials in Braille, which means that the students’ access to the curriculum is inconsistent. Students are therefore reliant on teachers, peers, and family members for support. The national exams are presented in Braille, and rest periods and extra time are provided, but the content is not modified to allow students to demonstrate their learning and understanding. Sometimes school examinations were invigilated and interpreted by the library assistant, which involved reading the examination paper more than once when a paper in Braille was not provided. All six mainstream teachers interviewed held either diploma‐ or degree‐level qualifications, but none of them had any formal training in teaching students with visual impairments. The teachers acknowledged that they had initially felt intimidated and ill prepared for this task, but had experienced a shift in their perceptions to a state of accommodation, and had developed their practices largely through their own initiative and through trial and error. They identified a number of effective pedagogic practices which were particularly helpful when teaching students with visual impairments, such as giving detailed and enhanced instructions and descriptions, constructing contour maps using glue and cord, group work, role play and other co‐operative learning techniques. They also felt

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that it was important to create a safe, trusting, and supportive environment in which all students felt able to ask questions. Although all the teachers demonstrated some willingness to experiment with new strategies and were committed to doing their best to teach in inclusive ways, several reported that it was difficult to balance this with their commitment to the planning and delivering of lessons to classes of around 40 students. Some teachers reported that they often forgot that there was a student with a visual impairment in the class, and this left them feeling that they had not been able to give them the required attention and support. This example raises a number of important issues in relation to broader debates about the limitations and appropriateness of importing special education approaches from high‐income contexts into LMICs. The knowledge, expertise, and resources underpinning the integration of students with visual impairments in Jamaica are fragile in many ways: there is a dependence on external funding and technical expertise from nongovernmental and international agencies; an over‐reliance upon one itinerant teacher who is working in parallel with the government education system; an inadequate quality, supply, and maintenance of assistive devices; students’ lack of independence due to inconsistent provision of specialist support for their learning needs and equipment; students’ difficulties in accessing examinations; and a reliance on helpers with insufficient subject knowledge. Perhaps most importantly, there are few opportunities to develop sustainable capacity and institutional knowledge due to lack of official documentation and research. This makes it difficult for practitioners to appreciate the significance of the process in which they are involved and the considerable learning that is taking place from these promising developments. In the Jamaican example, teachers were largely constructing their own knowledge of how to include young people with visual impairments but there appeared to be a missed opportunity to share and systematize locally relevant inclusive pedagogy. Perhaps professional development that involved teachers in action research could enable the group‐specific pedagogy for teaching learners with visual impairments in these schools to be developed and shared.

Developing Responsive Teaching: Exploring Mainstream Primary School Teachers’ Practice: Tanzania Given the limited reach of special schools and resource centers in many LMICs, most children have only one educational choice—to attend their local school, or to stay at home. Yet, the majority of children with disabilities have relatively moderate impairments (WHO, 2011) that could be accommodated in mainstream schools with minor changes to existing practices and facilities, and the inclusion of children with disabilities in their local school is therefore a viable option. There is therefore a clear case for supporting teachers and schools to respond to the diversity of children in their local area, drawing on specialist support as needed.

Developing Responsive Teaching: Exploring Mainstream Primary School Teachers’ Practice: Tanzania Developing Responsive Teaching: Exploring Mainstream Primary School Teachers’ Practice: Tanzania 459

One example of a national program that has apparently made considerable progress with inclusion is found in China, a middle‐income country with a population of over 1.3 billion people. Learning in a regular classroom (LRC) is the term used for ensuring that children with disabilities have access to special education services in mainstream schools. Rapid progress has been made since it began in the 1980s, with an estimated 60% of children with disabilities now being educated in this way (Yu, Su, & Liu, 2011). As is the case in many LMICs, LRC primarily caters to children with visual impairments, hearing impairments, and intellectual disability while “many children with severe or multiple disabilities and children with other types of disabilities have not yet entered general education schools and do not have opportunities for school education” (Yu et al., 2011, p. 357). LRC was developed as an approach to resolve specific challenges in China such as “low enrolment rates, uneven development between urban and rural areas, and a lack of qualified special education teachers” (Yu et al., 2011, p. 356). These are challenges that are found in other LMICs to varying degrees. There are a few studies that look in detail at how children are included or excluded in teaching and learning, which Benjamin et al. (Benjamin, Nind, Hall, Collins, & Sheehy, 2003) argue is a moment‐by‐moment process. In a study of curriculum adaptations for learners experiencing difficulties in primary schools in Botswana, teachers’ understanding of the adaptations seemed embedded within the concept of remedial education where those with difficulties in learning are assisted outside the scheduled time of the lesson (Otukile‐Mongwaketse, Mangope, & Kuyini, 2014). The results also showed that teachers’ focus on completing the set curriculum in preparation for examinations compromised curriculum access of pupils with learning difficulties in general education classrooms. In our final example, which is based on Westbrook and Croft (2015), we explore the reflections and practice of mainstream teachers in response to pupil diversity by focusing on newly qualified teachers (NQTs) in resource‐constrained Tanzanian lower primary classes, typical of many in LMICs. Tanzania is a low‐income country in East Africa, with a population approaching 50 million. It is ranked 159/187 on the Human Development Index, and has an average GNI per capita of around US$1702 (UNDP, 2014). Youth unemployment is 7.1%, and the majority of the population is employed in activities such as small businesses or farming. Enrolment in preprimary education is only 37%, while enrolment in primary education is 90%. Many learners are, however, older than their expected age due to starting school late or spending time out of school. Only two‐thirds of those enrolled complete the 7 years of primary school, largely due to difficulties in paying for school uniforms and books (UNESCO, 2014). Kiswahili is the language of instruction in education rather than English, and this is unusual in East Africa. Of the 13.4% who “drop out” at primary level, the majority are from economically poor families, girls from rural areas, and those who have disabilities. The literacy rate for people with disabilities is 52%, compared with 75% for people without a disability (UNESCO, 2014). Lehtomäki, Tuomi, and Matonya (2014) state that negative teacher and parental attitudes prevent many children from accessing education. Less than 50% of students continue to the 4 years of lower secondary. Employment prospects are, however,

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reasonable for well‐qualified secondary school graduates and those with ap­propriate technical qualifications (UNESCO, 2011). In the 1970s, Tanzania lead sub‐Saharan Africa in making remarkable progress toward achieving Universal Primary Education (UNESCO, 2011) and overtly including children with disabilities in reforms (Omari, Mbise, Mahenge, Malekela, & Besha, 1983). The 2008 Tanzanian Disability Survey (National Bureau of Statistics, 2010), however, found that only 38.4% of primary‐aged children with disabilities attended school in Tanzania, compared to 74% of children without disabilities, even though inclusive education at primary level is central to national education policy (Lehtomäki et al., 2014). Children with disabilities who have attended primary school progress to higher levels of education at approximately half the rate of their peers (UNICEF, 2013). In a study of the impact of teacher education on the teaching of reading and mathematics by 6000 primary school teachers in six countries in sub‐Saharan Africa in 2010–2011, Tanzanian teachers demonstrated the greatest awareness and use of inclusive teaching strategies (Akyeampong, Pryor, Lussier, & Westbrook, 2013). A follow‐up study was conducted to explore the reasons for the teachers’ use of inclusive strategies and this provides the basis of this illustrative example (Westbrook & Croft, 2015). Interviews were carried out in Kiswahili with 39 NQTs in Tanzanian schools following observations of reading and mathematics lessons. Teachers’ explanations of children’s difficulties with learning were analyzed, together with their responses to such difficulties and comments on learning to teach. The school factors that NQTs identified as causing difficulties with learning included: large classes (often over 100 children); lack of preschools; automatic promotion of children to the next grade even when they had little understanding of the previous year’s syllabus; a lack of teaching and learning materials; large groups of children sharing one book (as many as 20 children); the cost of making teaching aids; and the difficulty of circulating around a crowded room that led one of the teachers to only help those at the front of the class. Children’s difficulties with learning were also often attributed to their social circumstances—being needed by the family to work at home, or because they lived with grandparents following the death of their parents. While others used terms that located difficulties within the child: slow and fast learners, different ability, active, and naughty. Some NQTs talked about children who have difficulty at the moment, rather than seeing their difficulties as inherent and permanent. Only one teacher expressed her unwillingness to teach diverse classes by stating: “children with special needs … are mixed with other normal pupils— although I am not trained to teach them” (Westbrook & Croft, 2015, p. 44). The NQTs seemed to view teaching and learning as an interactive process between themselves and their pupils. Strategies developed included: using real objects as teaching and learning aids; asking questions during whole class teaching of high achievers as an example to others; asking those pupils who frequently made mistakes to work out an example on the chalk board, and expecting that all pupils could learn from seeing a typical mistake corrected. Questions were also directed to learners who often struggled, as well as to children who tended to misbehave, to those who were frequently absent and to “those who can’t read” to

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check if they have been following. Children who tended to disrupt the class were told to sit at the front, or in a corridor, for extra teacher attention where teachers could see them. It is possible that these children had unrecognized difficulties in learning associated with their disruptive behavior. In response to those pupils who could not read or write at all, one teacher reported setting up mixed groups of readers and nonreaders so that they could help each other, noting how fast learners encouraged the others. The disadvantages of mixed groups were also noted as when learners copied from others without understanding what they were writing. Involving pupils in some form of activity to motivate them and support their learning was frequently mentioned, not an easy task in large classes. Team‐teaching was mentioned as a strategy where one teacher led the lesson and the other circulated helping pupils fulfill required tasks. For children with difficulties in understanding, lessons were repeated, sometimes with a different textbook, and in informal after‐hours remedial classes. Revision at the beginning of lessons was also a common strategy. Coping with large classes and few materials, being innovative, experimenting based on reflection on previous practice, and teaching confidently, were some of the skills that teachers reported that they learnt on the job—rather than at college. In contrast to the situation described by Lehtomäki et al. (2014), the NQTs in this study focused on supporting pupils’ learning and did not express negative beliefs about pupils. They appeared to take responsibility for making teaching material meaningful and to work to improve their teaching strategies. Although there were some hints of presenting material in different ways when pupils find learning hard, there was, however, little differentiation of the curriculum other than by repetition. In the words of one NQT in Tanzania, “this is just my own invention and I find it working” (Westbrook & Croft, 2015, p. 44). Interestingly, the NQTs appeared to have an interactionist view of children’s difficulties with learning, as these were often explained as being related to learners’ social circumstances, the difficult teaching and learning conditions, and not often thought to be caused by problems within the learner. Teachers took responsibility for making teaching materials meaningful, although one of the few strategies at their disposal was repeating the lesson in various ways. By recognizing “the school as a site for the development of teaching expertise” (Kershner, 2014, p. 854), the NQTs’ emerging practice is reminiscent of Kershner’s analysis of teachers’ knowing and knowledge.

Conclusion In the three illustrative examples, teachers’ experience has shaped their capacity to support the education of children with disabilities and those with difficulties in learning. The examples have shed light on some of the practical challenges teachers face on a day‐to‐day basis as well as their determination to find solutions as they develop their capacity to educate children with disabilities in LMICs where many continue to be denied the education accessed by their nondisabled peers. They have learnt through successful experience and

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their attitudes have generally become more positive. Although there is little here of formal involvement of teachers in program design, there are hints of self‐efficacy and the motivation that comes from a sense of ownership of successful solutions. Legal and policy frameworks are increasingly supportive of the education of children with disabilities, and global commitment to promoting more equitable and inclusive education through the launch of the Sustainable Development Goals in 2015 is encouraging. However, the challenge of implementation remains; many LMICs face a shortage of essential resources such as teachers, textbooks, accessible classrooms, and assistive devices. Nevertheless, our examples highlight teachers’ progress in developing inclusive teaching strategies. The teachers in Bangladesh, Jamaica, and Tanzania were primarily learning from experience within a variety of educational structures, namely, demonstration special schools attached to a teacher education college, mainstream schools with an element of specialist provision, itinerant teaching, and mainstream classes without specialist support. Since situated teacher learning in classrooms is key to developing responsive pedagogy, it could be used more frequently as a formal part of structured teacher preparation and development (Korthagen, 2010). The rationale for teacher education is to support and accelerate comprehensive teacher learning in a way that would be unlikely to occur simply from the experience of teaching. The findings of these studies therefore point to the need to further develop structures that support the collaborative construction of contextually relevant pedagogy in initial teacher education and in continuing professional development. This can operate at many levels of education systems, from teachers in one school sharing their strategies, to teachers learning across international borders, as in the example of the Jamaican itinerant teacher’s online learning. While “one‐shot” workshops can be inspiring, multimode sustained programs of teacher development are more likely to be effective (Hettiarachchi & Das, 2014; Steadman, Eraut, Fielding, & Horton, 1995). Alongside reforms that help teachers develop the knowledge they need to teach inclusively, there is also a need to provide adequate teaching and learning resources to create more equitable learning opportunities and outcomes for all.

References Ahsan, M. T., Sharma, U., & Deppeler, J. (2011). Beliefs of pre‐service teacher education institutional heads about inclusive education. Bangladesh Education Journal, 10(1), 9–29. Akyeampong, K., Pryor, J., Lussier, K., & Westbook, J. (2013). Improving teaching and learning of basic maths and reading in Africa: Does teacher preparation count? International Journal of Educational Development, 33(3), 272–282. Bakhshi, P., Kett, M., & Trani, J.‐F. (2013). What are the impacts of approaches to increase the accessibility to education for people with a disability across developed and developing countries and what is known about the cost effectiveness of different approaches? University of London, England: EPPI Centre. Retrieved

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Lehtomäki, L., Tuomi, M., & Matonya, M. (2014). Educational research from Tanzania 1990–2008 concerning persons with disabilities: What can we learn? International Journal of Educational Research, 64, 32–39. Lewis, A., & Norwich, B. (2005). Special teaching for special children? Pedagogies for inclusion. Maidenhead, NY: Open University Press/McGraw‐ Hill. Lynch, P., & Lund, P. (2011). Education of children and young people with albinism in Malawi. London, England: The Commonwealth Secretariat. Lynch, P., McCall, S., Douglas, G., McLinden, M., Mogesa, B., Mwaura, M., Muga, J., & Njoroge, M. (2011). Inclusive educational practices in Kenya: Evidencing practice of itinerant teachers who work with children with visual impairment in local mainstream schools. International Journal of Educational Development, 31, 478–488. Malak, M. S. (2014). Special education today in Bangladesh. Special Education International Perspectives: Practices Across the Globe, 28, 615. Miles, S., Ainscow, M., Kangwa, P., Kisanji, J., Lewis, I., Mmbaga, D. R., & Mumba, P. (2003). Learning from difference: Understanding community initiatives to improve access to education. Final report to the Department for International Development. Manchester, England: Enabling Education Network. Miles, S., Beart, J., & Wapling, L. (2011). Including deaf children in primary schools in Bushenyi, Uganda: A community‐based initiative. Third World Quarterly, 32(8), 1467–1477. Miles, S., Fefoame, G. O., Mulligan, D., & Haque, Z. (2012). Education for diversity: The role of networking in resisting disabled people’s marginalization in Bangladesh. Compare: A Journal of Comparative and International Education, 42(2), 283–302. Ministry of Education. (2008). Education sector policy for orphans and vulnerable children. Windhoek, Namibia: Ministry of Education. Retrieved from www. unicef.org/namibia/MoE_2008_Policy_on_OVC_for_MoE_text.pdf Ministry of Social Welfare. (2013). Rights and protection of persons with disabilities act. Dhaka, Bangladesh: Ministry of Social Welfare. Mpofu, E., Oakland, T., & Chimedza, R. (2007). Africa, east and southern, special education. In C. R. Reynolds & E. Fletcher‐Janzen (Eds.), The encyclopedia of special education (Vol. 1, 3rd ed., pp. 70–77). New York, NY: Wiley. National Bureau of Statistics. (2010). Tanzania disability survey. Dar‐es‐Salaam, United Republic of Tanzania: National Bureau of Statistics. Retrieved from www. nbs.go.tz/tnada/index.php/catalog/5/download/24 Omari, I., Mbise, A., Mahenge, S. T., Malekela, G., & Besha, M. P. (1983). Universal primary education in Tanzania. Ottawa, Canada: International Development Research Centre. Otukile‐Mongwaketse, M., Mangope, B., & Kuyini A. B. (2014). Teachers’ understandings of curriculum adaptations for learners with learning difficulties in primary schools in Botswana: issues and challenges of inclusive education. Journal of Research in Special Educational Needs, 14(1), 33–42. Serpell, R., & Jere‐Folotiya, J. (2011). Basic education for children with special needs in Zambia: Progress and challenges in the translation of policy into practice. Psychology and Developing Societies, 23(2), 211–245.

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University of Namibia. (2015). Faculty of education: Prospectus 2015. Windhoek, Namibia: University of Namibia. Retrieved from http://www.unam.edu.na/wp‐ content/uploads/prospects‐2015/education‐prospectus‐2015.pdf Villa, R. A., Tac, L. V., Muc, P. M., Ryan, S., Thuy, N. T. M., Weill, C., & Thousand, J. S. (2003). Inclusion in Viet Nam: More than a decade of implementation. Research and Practice for Persons with Severe Disabilities, 28(1), 23–32. Westbrook, J., & Croft, A. (2015). Beginning to teach inclusively: An analysis of newly‐qualified teacher pedagogy in lower primary classes in Tanzania. Teaching and Teacher Education, 51, 38–56. Williams, S. (2012). Analysis of the teacher education curriculum for visually impaired learners in primary schools in Bangladesh. Unpublished Masters Thesis. Brighton, England: University of Sussex. World Bank. (2008). Education for all in Bangladesh. Where does Bangladesh stand in achieving the EFA goals by 2015? Bangladesh development series (paper no. 24). Dhaka, Bangladesh: Author. World Bank. (2012). Country data, Jamaica. Washington DC: Author. Retrieved from http://data.worldbank.org/country/jamaica World Bank. (2013). World bank data: Bangladesh. Washington DC: Author. Retrieved from http://data.worldbank.org/country/bangladesh World Bank. (2014). Updated income classifications. Washington: Author. Retrieved from http://data.worldbank.org/news/2015‐country‐classifications World Health Organization. (2011). World report on disability. Geneva, Switzerland: Author. Yu, L., Su, X., & Liu, C. (2011). Issues of teacher education and inclusion in China. Prospects, 41, 355–369.

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22 Preparing Educators to Teach Literacy Knowledge, Dilemmas, and Practices Michelle Parker‐Katz, Marie Tejero Hughes and Georgette Lee

In this chapter, we examine research and practices associated with preparing educators to teach literacy—a pivotal set of skills foundational to all learning—to students with disabilities who are diverse in their strengths, biographies, and experiences. Gaining an understanding of the complex nature of literacy, and how to interweave that with abilities to draw on students’ assets and change obstacles, can help educators learn ways to help students to access disciplinary knowledge and skills in school subject matters. We focus on three components core to teachers’ learning and development of skills about literacy instruction. First, we examine what constitutes school‐based literacy and the knowledge base that informs it. While empirical work has yielded a growing knowledge base about what interventions support varied outcomes related to a wide range of literacy learning, less clear is how teachers align their instructional choices with their knowledge of their students. However, other kinds of knowledge influence instruction as well, such as cultural knowledge about students’ families and background experiences in their home culture, and understandings about disability characteristics related to a particular disability population. Such knowledge that we are less able to identify and teach, since it is so context‐dependent, is still important to acknowledge, as it is integral to teachers’ instructional choices and formulation of practice over their careers. Next, we examine dilemmas of preparing educators across a career for the inherent uncertainties embedded in teaching literacy to diverse students in inclusive settings. Teaching practice is ever‐changing, given that students, contexts, and content are ever‐changing. As teachers develop expertise across their careers, they need also to learn ways to adapt to those dynamic conditions. Finally, we consider ways that educators craft practices across their careers to teach literacy to students with disabilities. Changing views of the profession along with changing policies and knowledge bases that can inform practice are dynamics that give rise to the importance of acknowledging teachers’ powerful decision‐making as they teach. We draw on research about ways to configure curricula for learning teaching. How educators frame challenges in students’ The Wiley Handbook of Diversity in Special Education, First Edition. Edited by Marie Tejero Hughes and Elizabeth Talbott. © 2017 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Published 2017 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

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learning of literacy, and how they shape their instructional actions to resolve problems, is fundamental to sound literacy instructional practices for students with disabilities.

Knowledge for Teaching Literacy Teaching literacy is a complex set of actions, given the multiple purposes and desired outcomes of learning literacy. Literacy grounds all learning in that it is an essential element of communication (Pearson, 2001). We use the skills of literacy, that is, reading, writing, listening, and speaking, to learn about our worlds. Since literacy skills are used in service of other learning, they are taught both in isolation and within other content learning. Defining the literacy knowledge base for teaching, then, is fraught with difficulties different from those in other school subject matters. Curricular topics in mathematics or science, for instance, are linked to clear disciplinary knowledge bases that have particular order and patterns implicit in them. From those, educators can study and be guided by how ideas build upon each other (Schwab, 1978). However, school‐based literacy does not have a similar order of ideas. While Snow, Griffin, and Burns (2005) argue that the disciplinary knowledge base of literacy emerges from studies related to linguistics (e.g., psycholinguistics and sociolinguistics), they nevertheless point out that it is declarative knowledge only and therefore not as usable for teachers. Thus, the elements of literacy for learning a teaching practice are simply not as clearly delineated as other school subject matters. Another complexity is that the outcomes of learning literacy are, in part, immeasurable. As students become literate, learning literacy does not stop. Instead, students acquire and create understandings specific to subject matter topics that might include unique vocabulary and comprehension requirements. As Schwab (1978, p. 109) explained, “… the end includes not only knowledge gained, but knowledge desired and knowledge sought.” Literacy teaching requires educators to prepare students for literacy demands they may never be able to anticipate. What to teach and how to teach for those future possibilities creates a serious uncertainty for educators. How do we codify and categorize knowledge for teaching literacy, and how do we align that with the fluid nature of knowledge necessary to teach it? For many decades, scholars of teaching and teacher education have echoed a similar question: What does a teacher need to know and to do, in order to practice well (Ball & Forzani, 2009; Shulman, 1986a)? Three decades ago, Shulman (1986a) argued that questions about knowledge in teaching—and especially subject matter knowledge—were often a “missing paradigm.” At the same time, he concluded, “mere content knowledge is likely to be as useless pedagogically as content‐free skill” (p. 8). He proposed three types of content knowledge needed for teaching: subject matter content knowledge, pedagogical content knowledge, and curricular content knowledge (Shulman, 1986b). Subject matter content knowledge resides in the elements and structures embedded in the disciplinary subject matter content, similar to how Schwab (1978) explained the structures of disciplinary knowledge. Pedagogical content knowledge refers

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to the variety of ways teachers present concepts to their students with ­disabilities to make the information comprehensible to them. In addition, it refers to the ability to understand what makes an idea easy or challenging to students, and ways that background experiences and age might influence understanding. Curricular knowledge for teachers refers to the plethora of materials available in order to help students gain the curricular content for that particular topic, and what students may have studied before, and may study after. Over a decade later, Cochran‐Smith and Lytle (1999) proposed another way to conceptualize knowledge and teaching. They proposed a multi‐faceted framework that draws on distinct perspectives of teacher knowledge, including how it is created and enacted. Two perspectives (knowledge of practice and knowledge in practice) position teachers as orchestrators and managers who draw on knowledge to shape and revise practice. Another perspective, knowledge for practice, positions teachers collaboratively creating knowledge and curriculum partially informed by their practices. The definition of practice is expanded to include responsibilities to students, families, related teacher personnel, and community organizations. In order to prepare educators to work with students with disabilities, Shulman’s domains of knowledge need to be integrated with knowledge about disability and particular characteristics, and ways that dynamics of the disability could influence students’ learning of literacy. Perspectives of knowledge posed by Cochran‐ Smith and Lytle align with the increasingly new ways educators working with students with disabilities actually perform in schools, working with multiple kinds of instructional models, and drawing on knowledge in varied ways. As students with disabilities spend larger amounts of times in general education (US Department of Education, 2015), teachers’ practices are increasingly enacted in inclusive settings. A rich research literature about literacy challenges faced by students with disabilities, and how teachers adapt research‐based ideas into their particular teaching contexts, has also emerged in the last two decades that could provide guidance.

Research about Literacy Knowledge for Teaching In the past two decades, we have seen unprecedented attention being paid to raising literacy achievement globally. In the United States, reading instruction became a national concern along with emphasis on teachers’ uses of evidence‐ based practices (e.g., Bryant, Goodwin, Bryant, & Higgins, 2003; Gersten, Fuchs, Williams, & Baker, 2001; Taft & Mason, 2011). Calls for increased test‐ based accountability, improved teacher preparation, and new ways to evaluate teachers related to literacy practices followed. The intense focus has resulted largely from students’ poor performance on national reading assessments, most notably the National Assessment of Educational Progress (NAEP). The NAEP reading framework is guided by scientifically based research, and highlights essential knowledge, skills, and mental processes (or cognitive targets) intrinsic to reading comprehension. These identified literary competencies

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involve skills such as locate and recall, integrate and interpret, and critique and evaluate. Such skills are geared toward preparing students for college and careers that follow high school, as well as to render them more globally competitive. While advances are happening, there remains much to be done to improve the literacy instruction and especially to close the achievement gap between students. Several research syntheses related to reading and writing have contributed to the knowledge base of effective literacy instruction. Scholars have examined individual components of the reading process (Berkeley, Scruggs, & Mastropieri, 2010; Berninger et  al., 2003; Gajria, Jitendra, Sood, & Sacks, 2007; Klingner, Urbach, Golos, Brownell, & Menon, 2010; Sencibaugh, 2007; Wexler, Reed, Mitchell, Doyle, & Clancy, 2015), and writing processes (Graham & Harris, 2003, 2009; Santangelo, Harris, & Graham, 2008). They have investigated the combinations of components and ways in which cognitive processes are affected by disability (Berninger, Nielson, Abbott, Wijsman, & Raskind, 2008). Some have looked at how literacy components interact with working memory (Carretti, Borella, Cornoldi, & De Beni, 2009; Swanson, Howard, & Sáez, 2006). Most studies are classroom‐specific, looking at instructional settings (resource rooms, inclusion) and groupings (whole group, small group) (e.g., Ko & Hughes, 2015). These studies focus on examination of essential literacy skills, instructional typologies (explicit and ­systematic), and general interventions. Generally, we find that reading and learning disabilities are some of the most common diagnoses for students with disabilities (Sze, 2010), with over 85% of students with disabilities requiring supports in reading (Moats et  al., 2010). They are grounded in a student’s difficulty to read words, either in isolation or in context, and/or to comprehend text (Swanson & Vaughn, 2010). Reading difficulties may be the direct result of processing or retention issues. Students may experience difficulties in mastering skills that help them accurately and fluently identify words (phonemic awareness, phonics, and fluency), or making meaning (vocabulary and comprehension). Students may also experience difficulties in acquiring cognitive strategies along with the basic literacy skills needed to comprehend what they are reading. Additionally, they may have problems adjusting their use of strategies to meet the demands of comprehending the range of content area texts they see (Brownell, Sindelar, Kiely, & Danielson, 2010). No matter what issues students may have, research findings converge to show the critical importance of literacy in both reading and writing in order for students to gain access to general education curriculum (Baker, Gersten, & Scanlon, 2002). Several other themes emerge that could provide a foundation for teachers to enact a practice of literacy for students with disabilities, and from which to make reasonable instructional decisions. Clearly, literacy is a confluence of multiple processes of the mind as we see how, for instance, comprehension and fluency are interconnected. Given the poor performances of students in writing, an especially promising possibility is noting how reading (including word study, vocabulary, fluency, and comprehension) is linked with the development of writing abilities (Graham & Harris, 2003), and with gender

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(Berninger et al., 2008). Related to that is how different disability c­ haracteristics can affect parts of literacy learning, and what could be affected. Research findings are less clear about that; that is, how different perceptual challenges affect phonics, for example. Two additional ideas are clearly supported by research findings. One is about the centrality of comprehension and ways that it affects writing, fluency, vocabulary study, phonics, and phonemic awareness. We are learning more about the complexity of comprehension, especially for middle and high school students from research findings indicating the need to teach about text features and structures, as students move into using more complicated text (Brownell et al., 2010; Gajria et al., 2007; Hughes & Parker‐Katz, 2013; Ko & Hughes, 2015). Moreover, since most students with disabilities tend to be inefficient readers who lack metacognitive skills necessary to understand text as they read, most research related to comprehension for students with disabilities has focused on strategy instruction. The findings indicate that teachers need to teach students to think carefully and systematically about the reading they do (Berkeley et al., 2010). In the acquisition of literacy, learners progress through a sequence of acquiring emergent concepts about print through more sophisticated skills related to reading and writing. In this developmental process, students use strategies for decoding words and to assist in comprehension (e.g., questioning, making connections, predicting, and inferring) (Pressley, 2000). As struggling learners progress and face increased academic demands of more complex tasks, abstract concepts and linguistic forms, content‐specific knowledge, and higher‐order semantic processing, the complexity of academic functioning requires more abstract thinking and executive functioning skills, which struggling readers often lack. Arguably, the most major research finding is the importance of explicit instruction and practice (Snow & Juel, 2005). The findings of Berkeley et  al. (2010) confirm that comprehension interventions for students with learning disabilities have a greater positive effect on student skill development than traditional instruction alone; but, the ideas need to be taught and reviewed. Similarly, Chard, Vaughn, and Tyler (2002) found that the most effective interventions for teaching fluency included explicit modeling of reading along with multiple chances to read text with feedback. Reviews of effective vocabulary interventions also show that providing students with explicit instruction and extended opportunities for practice vocabulary were important factors that mediated success (Bryant et  al., 2003; Butler et  al., 2010). Just as in reading instruction, effective writing instruction is based on teachers explicitly and systematically teaching writing strategies to students with disabilities. Graham and colleagues (Graham & Harris, 2003, 2009; Graham & Perin, 2007; Santangelo et al., 2008) have researched about the benefits of teaching self‐regulated strategy development (SRSD) for elementary, middle, and high school students. They show student improvement in writing when teachers explicitly model, teach, and have repeated practice of a six‐part cycle that includes performance, modeling, and feedback. While there is an excellent base of intervention research (Vaughn, Gersten, & Chard, 2003), neither classroom practice nor professional development

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reliably reflects the findings (see, for instance, Klingner et  al., 2010, about comprehension instruction). Furthermore, advances in literary research are not regularly incorporated into university teacher education programs (Binks‐Cantrell, Washburn, Joshi, & Hougen, 2012). In the actual research, questions about fidelity of implementation still arise and confound results. Additionally, limitations related to measurement and interpretation of the confluence of l­iteracy ­ components on students’ learning and connected instructions remain. The conditions and contexts of teaching, the resources available, and the expertise of the actual teacher remain difficult to measure. Transforming that into what to teach educators to prepare them to teach students with disabilities also remains challenging.

Conclusions Although increased attention to literacy instruction in the past two decades has prompted experts to better define effective instruction and prepare teachers to deliver it, a large amount of uncertainty remains. While literacy instruction has improved, its quality, intensity, and the amount of time teachers spend targeting the specific needs of students with disabilities remain inadequate (Brownell, Adams, Sindelar, Waldron, & Vanhover, 2006; Brownell & Leko, 2014; Brownell, Ross, Colon, & McCallum, 2005; Vaughn, Moody, & Schumm, 1998). We know that effective teachers of literacy have specialized knowledge of it (Carlisle, Correnti, Phelps, & Zeng, 2009). But, the pedagogical content knowledge related to literacy is not yet adequately defined (Ball, Thames, & Phelps, 2008; Phelps, 2009), which may partly help explain why novice educators struggle to carry out complex pedagogical practices such as guiding students to apply decoding strategies and use comprehension strategies (Brownell et  al., 2009). The practice of teaching literacy needs to be grounded in the nexus of a knowledge base about literacy, along with the skills of flexible use of that knowledge, since teaching literacy is situated in and inextricably linked to student strengths and challenges. Recommendations and standards from professional organizations provide some guidance. However, these are quite broad. For example, the International Reading Association’s Standards for Reading Professionals (2010) point to general reading practices and teacher preparation experiences. However, they lack attention and specific recommendations for educators working with students with disabilities, and who are often expected to teach students across multiple disability groups, grade levels, and content areas. Likewise, the Council for Exceptional Children’s Initial and Advance Preparation Standards (2012) document acknowledges the need for educators instructing students with disabilities to possess subject matter knowledge and skills, but does not include details about infusing literacy into teaching academic content or social/functional curriculum. Additionally, there remain wide gaps in identification of literacy knowledge linked to specific disability characteristics, and literacy struggles that could manifest in students. Thus, there continues to be a need to better understand what

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constitutes the knowledge for teaching literacy to students with disabilities, and how we can then translate that into quality teacher education and professional development.

Dilemmas Inherent in Preparing Educators to Teach Literacy Drawing on and using literacy knowledge flexibly to inform practices is interdependent with knowing students, understanding multiple dimensions of teachers’ conditions and contexts of work, and teachers’ development of expertise across their careers. While in reality those are dynamics of practice that comingle, in this section, we examine them separately to ascertain key aspects of each. By so doing, we aim to examine the inherent uncertainties of practice that place great demands on teachers’ literacy practices for work with diverse students with disabilities.

Knowing Students The wide range of student diversity with respect to disability characteristics and student identities greatly influences how educators will enact knowledge for teaching literacy. Diversity in the reading abilities of students with disabilities can be wide, with several studies showing that poor readers are not all alike, and that reading difficulties differ in their origins (Catts, Hogan, & Fey, 2003; Swanson et al., 2006). Some learners may experience challenges in essential areas of reading (e.g., comprehension, phonics) (NRP, 2000) at the early reading phase or those also identified for adolescent students when comprehension and motivation become even more essential (Roberts, Torgesen, Boardman, & Scammacca, 2008). Additionally, research has also noted the importance of students’ self‐ determination and that teaching them ways to self‐advocate have significant linkages with literacy. How students choose, express, plan for, and assess achievement, and then revise will determine, in part, the literacy processes that teachers will use and what students can gain (Algozzine, Browder, Karvonen, Test, & Wood, 2001; Roberts et al., 2008). Teachers, therefore, need to teach in ways that take into account how literacy‐ related challenges could result from or be associated with specific disability characteristics. In addition, teachers also need to be provided with supports to enable them to meet the diverse needs of students with disabilities, so all students can be successful (UNESCO, 2014). Some barriers to student learning, for example, are based in issues with receptive and/or expressive language, including phonological processing deficits (Stanovich, Siegel, & Gottardo, 1997), a limited vocabulary base (Catts & Kamhi, 2005; Gersten et al., 2001), difficulties with abstract language and higher‐order inferencing (Gersten, Baker, Haager, & Graves, 2005), inefficient reading and/or lack of strategic reading (Vaughn & Linan‐Thompson, 2003), and a lack of metacognitive

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awareness (Simmons, Kame’enui, & Darch, 1988). Metacognitive deficits may also affect students’ problem‐solving, self‐monitoring, and self‐regulatory skills (NJCLD, 2008), which could result in low motivation to read and poor self‐esteem (Nelson & Manset‐Williamson, 2006). Students with learning disabilities often have less foundational understandings about literacy and less exposure to expository versus narrative text in early school grades, which often leaves them unprepared for the vocabulary and text complexity they encounter (Alexander‐Shea, 2011; Mason, Meadon, Hedin, & Corso, 2006). Such challenges affect learning academic content and participating in socially appropriate ways. In addition to the range of strengths and challenges pertaining to disability, students also bring to school diverse experiences linked to their familial and cultural backgrounds and experiences. The heterogeneous array of those backgrounds and students’ abilities, in addition to how teacher and student biographies vary, could present an academic, linguistic, and cultural divide between teachers and their students (Nieto, 2009). Likewise, the greater the variance among students’ intellectual characteristics; cultural, racial, and linguistic backgrounds; and the expectations and standards of schools, the more likely that students’ school achievements could be influenced by low teacher expectations (Gay, 2002). Furthermore, Gay (2002) argues that school norms and linked teacher and societal beliefs about the purposes and effects of schooling often aim toward socializing students to mainstream cultural norms. Those students who are “different” in terms of intellectual abilities, socio‐behavioral characteristics, physical traits, and cultural linguistic backgrounds can be ostracized. More insidiously, students can be victimized without teachers even realizing how they view “different” students through a deficit lens. Additionally, at times, teachers can misconstrue school‐based teaching and learning, believing that it happens in a de‐contextualized way apart from unique qualities linked to different community values and practices (see also Delpit, 2006; Grant & Sleeter, 2010; Nieto, 2009). All these possible mismatches can add to the complexity of providing quality literacy instruction (Brock, Moore, & Parks, 2007). Recognizing diverse and unique characteristics of second‐language learners (SLLs) who are also students with disabilities is key for educators as well. First, the population of SLL is growing worldwide due to migration and immigration. For instance, in the United States, nearly one in five persons spoke a language other than English at home, with 62% of those languages being Spanish (Ryan, 2013). Given the rise in the SLLs’ population in schools, diverse ways to provide responsive instruction is present as well. One is the identification of SLL, which can be a multistep process. Students may enter schooling at varied ages and with varied proficiency in the language of instruction, as well as the social language dominant in the school. They may in fact have proficient use of the mainstream language for social purposes at home and in school, but lag further and further behind in school when they need to acquire academic and disciplinary‐ specific language. Mastering syntax, semantics, and vocabulary in both the native and new language can affect both reading and writing as well (Klingner, Artiles, & Barletta, 2006); and that can affect how learners of a second language

Knowing Students Knowing Students 475

become adept and facile at using learning strategies independently to enhance their performance. From a review of literature, Chamot (2004) argued that the influence of students’ culture and learning contexts, along with teacher knowledge of how to explicitly teach strategies, is pivotal in improving success of SLL students. Of the research findings we have, we know that SLLs learn to read and write in ways similar to that of monolingual peers. Good literacy instruction for SLLs draws on similar qualities as that for all students (Teale, 2009), but, at the same time, accommodations and explicit strategy instruction has been associated with student success (Gersten & Geva, 2003; Gersten et al., 2005). Findings from early elementary grades indicate the power of early screening of SLLs for possible reading difficulties, followed by explicit instruction, mainstream language instruction, a focus on phonics and decoding along with vocabulary, and the use of interactive teaching. Instruction in phonics and word analysis was also related to enhanced writing abilities as students used their knowledge to communicate about ideas (Gersten & Baker, 2003). Similarly, we recognize the importance of explicit vocabulary instruction for SLLs. For example, teachers’ choices of what words to teach, how to integrate those with the native language, and best ways to encourage review and practice are key to instruction (August, Carlo, Dressler, & Snow, 2005). Exactly how to do all that in limited instructional time is an ongoing conundrum. Another dilemma particular to SLLs with disabilities is the often disproportionate placement of those students in special education, and issues of a lack of equity in instructional services and resources. A set of thorny issues that continue to plague the field nearly 50 years after Dunn (1968) raised the issue of disproportionality is how to adapt curriculum and provide best supports and resources fairly for SLLs with disabilities (Klingner et al., 2005; Klingner et al., 2006). Even more recently, in a longitudinal study of 8 years observing both placements and services provided to SLLs in one US state, Sullivan (2011) concluded that SLLs were increasingly likely to be determined as having learning disabilities or intellectual disabilities, and were not placed in the least restrictive environments for instruction—even though that placement is recognized and mandated through legislation in the United States for over three decades. In addition to examining best school environments and resources to support SLL student learning, attention to cultural interactional styles and patterns from the home environment is paramount (Boykin, Tyler, & Miller, 2005). That could include reinforcement of text knowledge through student summaries and paraphrasing, selection of texts with content familiarity, and extended explanations with use of gestures, pictures, and other visual cues (England, Collins, & Algozzine, 2002; Goldenberg, 2008). Drawing on family histories and knowledge is also pivotal (González, Moll, & Amanti, 2004; Rodriguez, 2009). Learning about one’s own family or history of a group with whom the student identifies is, by its very nature, a set of experiences calling on varied kinds of receptive and expressive skills. Bringing what a student gleans into school learning could help teachers enhance students’ linkages between school literacy along with subject matter instruction with life outside school.

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Knowing Context The fluid and unpredictable nature of teaching literacy to students with ­disabilities emerges in part from the range of contextual circumstances in which educators work. Within different school and district structures, a range of resource availability exists in terms of curriculum, materials, and opportunities. The same is true for the families and communities in which students live. While the field recognizes the need to draw on community assets to shape curriculum and instruction, and how resource availability is often narrowed by economic inequities, best practices to circumvent such realities are hard to find. Approaches such as Universal Design for Learning (UDL) (CAST, 2014) and Understanding by Design (Wiggins & McTighe, 2005) offer promise, but we have few research findings about how educators who work with students with disabilities draw on knowledge of literacy and infuse it into those instructional and curricular ideas in linguistically, ethnically, and economically diverse communities. Research findings can provide guidance in a few key areas, however. One is about elements essential to a supportive learning environment to teach literacy. It should include authentic literature, explicit instruction for using multiple strategies to access literature and/or do the writing, opportunities for discussion, and tools for organizing thoughts and learning text structures (Almasi, Garas‐York, & Shanahan, 2006). Inside schools, teachers find a range of actual resources that will help dictate how literacy can be taught and learned. Choices and instructional decisions will, in part, rest on where those are located, how they can be accessed, and by whom. The ways in which the school, students’ families, and the community find common ground is another factor that will affect teachers. Gaining knowledge about curriculum programs a school or district have or may adopt, adapting it for students with disabilities with a critical eye, and finding opportunities to collaborate with other personnel, are a range of contextual factors that can affect instructional interventions. The ways teachers learn to manage the uncertainties endemic to their particular sorts of conditions will most surely influence learning—for both students and teachers. Yet another aspect of the educators’ working contexts is the opportunity and support to create robust and fluid collaborative relationships, particularly with other educators. Scholarship is beginning to show how collaboration can support enhanced practice. For example, research findings from the International Reading Association suggest that participation in robust collaborations during preservice teacher education programs had a direct result in program graduates being better able to teach reading than their peers (Brownell et  al., 2005). Collaborative work across content areas is paramount for educators, given the ways services are now rendered to students with disabilities. Teachers need to work collaboratively focusing on modification of instructional classroom routines and assessments in order to provide the intensive systematic instruction students with disabilities need (Leko & Brownell, 2009). Moreover, as the delivery of special education services continues to shift from secluded to included environments (Croft, 2013), the need to create spaces for teachers to plan, teach, and assess in a team environment is paramount (Kozleski, 2011).

Development of Teachers’ Knowledge throughout a Career Development of Teachers’ Knowledge throughout a Career 477

Development of Teachers’ Knowledge throughout a Career Adopting a life‐span view of teacher learning (Council for Exceptional Children, 2004; Cochran‐Smith & Lytle, 1999; Goe, 2006) enables a recognition that professional learning needs to prepare personnel for the changing contexts and student populations they will encounter. At major junctures of a career—preservice, early career, and professional development—we can ask what “central tasks” need to be learned in order to problem‐solve, choose interventions, and study students—in other words, to do the work of teaching. Additionally, we could ask what teachers need to shape a practice called for by contemporary thinking about good teaching; that is, “content‐rich, learner‐ centered teaching which emphasizes conceptual understanding and gives all students opportunities to think critically, solve problems, and learn things that matter to them and have meaning in the world outside of school?” (Feiman‐Nemser, 2001, p. 1015). Specific to the development of learning the teaching of reading, Snow et  al. (2005) propose a continuum of “progressive differentiation.” While all teachers need to engage in what they refer to as ongoing cycles of learning, enactment, assessment, and reflection, five kinds of knowledge will guide those cycles and inform practice at different phases of a career. Early on in one’s career (preservice and novice), declarative knowledge emerging from theories and text analyses, for example, is most dominant. As a teacher develops, he or she acquires and gains use of situated procedural knowledge that is contextualized, stable procedural knowledge that enables the beginning teacher to function under usual circumstances, and expert adaptive knowledge that supports the experienced teacher as he or she handles instructional challenges while taking on leadership and mentoring roles. The master teacher shows a flexible, highly adaptive reflective, organized, analyzed knowledge that he or she can share with others through professional development and research activities. The use of these different kinds of knowledge will change across a career. Identifying the kinds of disciplinary knowledge to learn the depth and breadth, and how to develop that across a career, however, remains challenging. For instance, Spear‐Swerling, Brucker, and Alfano (2005) found that teachers of young elementary students showed missing core knowledge about word study and language—knowledge essential to teaching students to read. Researchers examined teachers’ histories and found that teachers with limited literacy courses and experiences performed lower than others with greater backgrounds on knowledge measures related to teaching tasks. Generally, though, all teachers scored lower than ceiling on all knowledge measures. Investigating elementary teachers and their knowledge and self‐perceptions of it, Cunningham, Perry, Stanovich, and Stanovich (2004) showed similar findings, and concluded that teachers may not be aware of that which they may not understand. Understanding the implications of such findings for teacher learning at the onset of preparation and beyond, what goals and content should be put into a curriculum for it, and how to enact the professional learning remain unclear.

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Those findings have implications for what constitutes teacher education about literacy for educators teaching students with disabilities, and identifying core issues that can mitigate the content and structures of professional learning. What seems apparent, however, is that central to professional development is continuous study of literacy (Kucan & Palincsar, 2011). We turn now to explore those issues, with a focus on ways teacher educators can help teachers craft a practice that links knowledge about teaching literacy to students with disabilities, with the dilemmas emerging from the realities of teaching, and the developmental nature of learning teaching.

Crafting Practices to Learn Teaching Literacy to Students with Disabilities The ever‐changing nature of the knowledge base of literacy, the enduring dilemmas of teaching, the ongoing changes in student diversity, contextual circumstances, and teachers’ career growth, all combine to form an unclear roadmap for teaching literacy to students with disabilities that includes many turns into possibly unchartered landscapes. Greater numbers of educators globally teach students with disabilities a wide range of subject matters in multiple kinds of instructional models. We turn to the examination of what such realities could mean for teachers learning about literacy for teaching students with disabilities. We look at the intersection of two ideas: teacher quality and practice, and connecting literacy teacher learning to school organization, structures, and reform possibilities. By “teacher learning,” we refer to preparation of teachers early in their careers, and in professional development as they advance. We argue that identifying pivotal elements of teacher learning could provide for the development of new structures and outcomes in teacher education that link with school and educational reform.

Teacher Quality and Teacher Practice As Brownell and colleagues (2010, p. 358) argue, what constitutes teacher quality has changed in direct relationship to the “field’s history and by the trends in policy, service delivery, and research that have shaped special education and teacher education practice.” They further argue that, historically, teachers working with students with disabilities acted as clinicians who were trained in residential facilities to work one‐on‐one with a student. As special education evolved as a professional field, the delivery of services has changed, but with a lack of conceptual integrity. Many teachers working with students with disabilities guide their decisions related to literacy instruction, not necessarily on practices that are evidence‐based, but rather on their own context, beliefs, and expectations (Ruppar, Gaffney, & Dymond, 2015). As Urback and colleagues (2015) noted in their research of more and less accomplished teachers working with students with disabilities, less accomplished teachers focus more on protecting students and

Teacher Quality and Teacher Practice Teacher Quality and Teacher Practice 479

building relationships, rather than on determining practices that met the ­instructional needs of their students. Thus, given that the implementation of best literacy practices, including when and how to use them, remains less clear and at the discretion of teachers, we need to consider not only what knowledge of literacy practices teacher need, but also how to influence their beliefs of teaching students with disabilities. Preparation of educators’ knowledge of the needs of students with disabilities also remains a field fraught with dilemmas as to key features (e.g., Sayeski, Gromley Budin, & Bennett, 2015). For example, in the United States, the 1990s were years of movement from serving students with disabilities in separate settings to serving students with disabilities in general education settings with a mix of students with and without disabilities. As the field moves toward policies that require all students with and without disabilities to have access to general curriculum and to greater equity of possibilities for adulthood, questions arise about the programmatic focuses in teacher education (Kozleski & Siuty, 2015). Collaboration between general and special educators became an essential part of enacting that instruction in inclusive settings, and special education teacher preparation programs have increasingly paid more attention to the integration of methods to assist teachers in collaborating and working in inclusive programs. Unfortunately, general education preparation programs continue to prepare teachers primarily through a course or add‐on component focused on inclusion or students with disabilities (Lawson, Norwich, & Nash, 2013). Therefore, to what extent, and how, do we prepare educators to learn and teach subject matter while also attending to key features of their roles and work that include collaboration, student assessment, and implementation of interventions? Once teachers are in practice, their roles and work place them in positions that are what Lipsky (2010) has called “street‐level bureaucrats.” As with other public service workers, teachers interact directly with citizens. By doing so, they enact public policy through their often immediate kinds of decision‐making based on the interests, strengths, and challenges of their students, and the contexts in which they learn—that is, the school, services offered there, and resources available. Those demands are juxtaposed with other calls from many public stakeholders (e.g., government agencies, school administrators, funders) to be increasingly accountable for the responsibilities and effectiveness of services. Teachers’ actions are judged by their enactment of practices that either loosely or tightly align with a massive amount of public policy, written both in and out of bureaus of education. Within US education, teachers face increasingly louder calls to enact “evidence‐based practices,” which are those deemed most effective through randomized experimental trials carried out in multiple settings. While such practices are key, as they are associated with good outcomes, teachers still face the dilemmas of how to enact the practices in ways that can support their students in their setting(s), with their specific contextual conditions. Research designs and methodologies such as single case studies, performance interviews, and observation instruments have led to new ways to examine nuanced elements of teaching practice (Grossman et  al., 2009; Seo, Brownell, Bishop, & Dingle, 2008; Vescio, Ross, & Adams, 2008). Learning to teach reading comprehension provides a good example. Teachers need to learn ways to be

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innovative, reflective, and responsive because teaching comprehension, such as the act of comprehension itself, is complex (Duffy & Kear, 2007). Increasingly, both the amounts and quality of comprehension strategy instruction is documented as worthwhile in preservice programs (Lenski, Grisham, & Wold, 2006). In one analysis of reading teacher education, Risko et al. (2008) found that having novices examine student data, tutor students to apply what they learned, and teach students in culturally relevant ways, led to changes in knowledge and teaching practices. Furthermore, learning to teach reading was enhanced when specific feedback was given based on the instruction provided in the tutoring sessions, as well as when guided practice was provided in how to use assessment tools. Other research findings show a relationship between the literacy knowledge educators acquired through applied experiences and successful implementation of classroom practices (Bishop, Brownell, Klingner, Leko, & Galman, 2010). Leko and Brownell (2011) further found that the opportunities educators had to apply knowledge of teaching literacy, along with their beliefs about both teaching reading and their own competence for it, impacted the quality of literacy instruction for students with disabilities. As teachers develop domain expertise that encompasses varied kinds of knowledge, over the span of their careers, new aspects of teacher learning can be developed (Benner, Bell, & Broemmel, 2011; Brownell et al., 2009). In a study about developing teacher domain expertise in special education, Alexander, Buehl, Sperl, Fives, and Chiu (2004) identified four distinct clusters of knowledge at different phases of expertise: acclimation, early competence, mid‐competence, and proficiency. They conclude that interventions to support knowledge growth along that continuum, though, need to take into account how individuals’ interests and strategic processing may change. Individuals did not necessarily move unilaterally from one phase of expertise to another, in large part because of varying interests and processing. It is likely that contextual differences in their workplaces affected development as well. Scholarship by Ball and Forzani (2009), which builds on US teacher education reform from decades earlier (Zeichner, 2012), has added to understandings about domain expertise and teacher quality. Ball and Forzani (2009) propose a “practice‐ based curriculum” for teacher education in which we examine what teachers actually do. Teacher educators could infuse many types of knowledge that teachers need by looking at the tasks central to teaching practice. What is good practice in reading a book to a grade 3 student, for example? Mapping backward to ascertain what one needs to know about reading, literature, students, and making accommodations would then help teacher educators map a terrain, so to speak, for teachers to travel in order to craft a high‐quality practice of reading a book to students. By so doing, teacher educators could learn how skills and concomitant knowledge linked to a particular task of teaching practice actually develop over time. Taken together, doing close investigation and teasing apart the subtleties of high‐quality teaching practices could lead to the development of a curricular scope and sequence for teachers to learn literacy practices for students with disabilities. Further, a practice‐oriented curriculum for teaching educators to teach literacy to students with disabilities could indeed “… emphasize repeated

Teacher Quality and Teacher Practice Teacher Quality and Teacher Practice 481

­pportunities for novices to practice carrying out the interactive work of o ­teaching and not just to talk about it” (Ball & Forzani, 2009, p. 503). One technique for doing that is carefully phased in opportunities for teachers to rehearse a lesson while “practice” teaching it in a course or professional development. Individuals could receive on‐the‐spot coaching from peers and lead teachers (Lampert & Graziani, 2009). Another promising practice is for a teacher educator to demonstrate a lesson—how he or she would actually teach to school pupils—and then lead a critique of it afterward, in which he or she points out the nuances and possible consequences of his or her actions (Hatch & Grossman, 2009). Placing these so‐called practice‐based opportunities in the core of teacher education program activities could explicitly prepare new educators to carry out pivotal elements of literacy practice in ways that mirror what scholars recognize are key elements of good teaching—that is, explicit instruction and modeling. Identification of key practices, also, could help with differentiating professional development to accommodate for the variance in teachers’ preservice preparation coursework, the students and contextual circumstances in which they teach, and teachers’ self‐perceptions and beliefs (Cunningham et al., 2004; Spear‐Swerling et al., 2005). Forming teacher literacy “communities of practice” could also be a robust vehicle for teacher learning that links to school and systematic reform. Current researchers have touted the potential and results of teacher communities of practice to: (1) create new teaching knowledge (Cuddapah & Clayton, 2011; Cochran‐Smith & Lytle, 1999; Wenger, 2015); (2) partner early‐ and later‐career teachers to practice using new strategies or making accommodations (Parker‐ Katz & Hughes, 2008); (3) help teachers define a teaching “problem” and find ways to manage and solve it (Lampert, 2012); and (4) help teachers analyze and interpret information. “Instructional rounds” that draw on medical education structures also show promise for increasing opportunities for networking and system changes (City, Elmore, Fiarman, & Teitel, 2009). The Japanese “lesson study” approach also emphasizes the collaborative nature of teacher learning in small groups in which teachers plan (usually together), rehearse, and make peer observations. Teachers engage in critique of self and others, and that is done with consideration of students’ learning (Fernandez, 2002; Lewis, Perry, & Murata, 2006). Such learning communities could be a site to support the practice of gathering teacher and student work artifacts, an idea that started over a decade ago (Girod, Pardales, & Rhoads, 2003). With a system of structured inquiry and guiding questions, the “teacher work sample methodology” helps teachers connect practice directly to students’ learning through analyses of students’ work. Drawing on similar ideas, other researchers created a literacy‐based professional development approach for preservice, early career, and experienced teachers (Parker‐Katz & Hughes, 2008; Hughes et al., 2011). They define artifacts as samples of students’ and teachers’ work. Using guided discussions, teachers across the career continuum construct understandings and practices in which they learn how to infuse literacy instruction into all teaching and learning. By conjoining the literacy artifact with instructional resources, participants make visible the complexity of literacy instruction. They learn how colleagues

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see literacy demands in their students’ learning, and in the instructional approaches used to embed literacy in teaching content for students with disabilities. This kind of teacher learning could be part of a systematic design and approach to teacher learning in which resources such as teachers’ content studies, lesson plans, student work, and student assessments, over time, could be constructed. Called “Instructional Guidance Systems” (IGSs) (Lampert, 2012), and likened to “instructional regimes” (Raudenbush, 2008), such systems have been developed in a wide array of countries (Lampert, 2012). The core idea is to build a set of knowledge, skills, and norms for the dynamic interplay of “… repeatedly assessing student skill and then tailoring instructional activities in response to the assessment in order to achieve more or less explicit aims for student learning. This process of assessment and tailored instruction produces, over time, considerable experience about a child’s progress and the success of attempts to improve that student’s learning” (Raudenbush, 2008, p. 210). The development, study, and revision of such dynamic “packages of practice” could become a way for educators to study the teaching and learning of literacy for students with disabilities in university and other training, professional development, and school settings. Working with the materials in a teacher learning community could also fundamentally change teacher learning norms by inducting new and experienced teachers into a culture of teaching premised on beliefs about teaching and learning as reciprocal, collaborative, endemically uncertain, and, therefore, ever‐ changing, and interdependent.

Connecting Literacy Teacher Learning to School Practice We argue that creating teacher learning norms and expectations based on the interdependent nature of crafting literacy best practices for students with disabilities could provide a basis for development of new structures and outcomes in teacher learning that could link with school reform. If schools and school networks (e.g., districts, local education agencies) could adapt supportive structures to enable interdependent work among teachers that create learning opportunities to enhance student outcomes, then traditional silos in which teachers work (alone in a classroom, or the separation of general and special educators) could be altered. A new culture of teacher learning in which one is ushered into a collaborative network of change, in which student learning becomes a joint endeavor, and in which educators liaise with knowledgeable others in communities (e.g., families), could help build sustainable bridges between school and life outside and after school. Those bridges could support efforts, for instance, to implement research‐based findings in special education (e.g., response to invention, universal design for learning, use of digital technologies, assistive technologies) that call upon teachers to work in ways likely barely imagined during their own teacher training (Darling‐Hammond & Bransford, 2005). The UDL movement that emerged from architectural changes to making buildings accessible to all

Conclusions Conclusions 483

provides a good example. Realizing that one‐size‐fits‐all models for learning leave many persons disenfranchised and therefore some ideas and opportunities unobtainable, UDL provides a framework for all teachers to make adaptations through consideration of ways to represent ideas, use strategic processing and procedures to help all students, and consider student interest and motivation (Rose & Strangman, 2007). Infusing those ideas into literacy curriculum and instructional adaptations for all students—making the changes universal—could have great potential for every student and not just those with disabilities. Indeed, the practices and policies throughout this chapter could work for all students and move educators away from silos of difference; that is, drawing distinctions between teacher education for general or special educators, distinguishing good practices for students with or without disability, and working with struggling readers versus those identified with disabilities. Working in concert with colleagues to study curriculum and instruction could also provide ways for teachers to determine what practices to try, ways to implement them with fidelity to research findings, and yet make changes linked with student needs and based on learning assessments (Spencer, Detrich, & Slocum, 2011). The educator working with students with disabilities could be uniquely ready to do so, since diagnosis and data gathering and interpretation are core professional skills for them. Those skills could be used, as well, to prepare educators to conduct systematic rigorous teacher inquiry about their practices. Moreover, a stance that inquiry is essential could assist educators at any phase of their careers to participate in ongoing learning, since the very nature of teaching would be viewed as intellectual work that calls for continuous questioning and learning. “From the perspective of inquiry as stance,” Cochran‐Smith and Lytle (1999) write, “teacher learning is associated more with uncertainty than certainty, more with posing problems and dilemmas than with solving them, and also with the recognition that inquiry both stems from and generates questions” (p. 294). Indeed, learning the teaching of literacy would resemble learning literacy itself; that is, learning knowledge that in itself is not the end result, but, rather, a means toward ends yet not imagined.

Conclusions We examined research and practices to teach literacy to students with disabilities. Literacy lies at the core of learning all subject matter, since it is fundamentally a set of skills used to communicate ideas. Teachers need to frame problems in learning literacy, and shape their actions to resolve such problems. We contend that knowledge of literacy along with understanding of enduring uncertainties of practice emerging from students and contextual circumstances and career experiences combine when educators shape instructional actions to teach literacy to students with disabilities. Further, teachers working in interdependent ways to build knowledge, skills, and choices for practice could be a robust vehicle in providing guidance for teachers across many contexts to draw on the knowledge base flexibly, as they consider multiple choices and best practices.

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Perceiving ways to develop teaching practice for literacy is also central to p­reparing teachers for a changing profession. We argue that that could be a major shift in the content of educator preparation at all career phases. To base professional teacher learning (from preservice throughout a career) on high‐quality practice, education for educators could incorporate looking at rich corpuses of data derived from authentic settings (e.g., Lampert & Ball, 1998), investigating teaching through online modeling and virtual settings (e.g., Barab, King, & Gray, 2004; Grant & Dieker, 2011), and doing fieldwork in carefully selected settings, where novices are parts of teams with special and general educators who teach literacy in exemplary ways. Overall, preparing educators to support students with disabilities as they learn literacy is a dynamic endeavor. The ends may never be known since educators can never be certain what their students may encounter. However, as Dewey (1938) argues, teachers must seek to create educative experiences by identifying opportunities, in the present, which will live on in future experiences. In writing about this “continuity of experience,” Dewey perceived the developmental nature of learning and experience—with a warning. “Unless experience is so conceived that the result is a plan for deciding upon subject‐matter, upon methods of instruction and discipline, and upon material equipment and social organization of the school,” Dewey wrote, “it is wholly in the air” (p. 28). Connecting means and ends—experience, with learning outcomes—necessitates that educators create and draw upon a repertoire of practices about what has and has not worked with certain groups of students. Such flexible use of knowledge most certainly draws on theoretical propositions and incorporates necessary knowledge and skills deemed pivotal for the profession—for example, knowledge of students and development in varied contexts, knowledge of subject matter and curricular goals and standards, and knowledge for creating equitable practice (Darling‐Hammond & Bransford, 2005). The central task of teacher learning for educators working with students with disabilities could be seen, then, as the preparation of teachers to gain and create knowledge, draw on it differently in varied contexts, and make judgments about its worth and future use in the practice of teaching.

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23 Leveraging Systems Change to Address Diversity in Special Education Teacher Preparation Monika Williams Shealey and Loury Ollison Floyd

Administrators with “Insider” Knowledge of Special Education The unique experiences of the authors who were special educators and ­administrators in schools and colleges of education frame this chapter. Gitlin, Peck, Aposhian, Hadley, and Porter (2002) defined insider knowledge as knowledge that results from examining one’s practice and yields results that reflect the point of view of one who works and lives in the context, while also researching the context. We decided that it was time to share our experiences as African American women with a background in special education, who are responsible for leading teacher education improvement efforts in our organizations. We met as doctoral students at different institutions at a special education conference. I [Monika Williams Shealey] received my PhD in Education with a specialization in exceptional student education at the University of Central Florida, and my colleague Loury Floyd received a PhD in Educational Policy, Planning, and Leadership from the College of William and Mary. I started my academic career at the University of Wisconsin, Milwaukee, whereas Loury Floyd started her academic career at her undergraduate alma mater North Carolina Agricultural and Technical (NCA&T) University in Greensboro, North Carolina. We worked in very different contexts, as I was employed at a predominately white institution, whereas Loury’s workplace was a historically black university. We set out to utilize our insider knowledge to contribute to the dearth of research committed to ensuring positive outcomes for diverse learners in special education. In addition, we were committed to developing curriculum and experiences that contribute to effectively preparing teacher candidates to work with diverse learners and their families. After earning tenure and establishing a voice in our field through research and service, we were asked to serve as administrators in teacher education. Considered fairly young administrators, both in age and time in the field, our transition from faculty to administrator was wrought with challenges. Initially, we struggled with balancing family and professional responsibilities, broadening our perspective on teacher education, and attempting to create a shared vision for teacher The Wiley Handbook of Diversity in Special Education, First Edition. Edited by Marie Tejero Hughes and Elizabeth Talbott. © 2017 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Published 2017 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

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e­ ducation, inclusive of programs and departments that historically operated in isolation, and were comfortable with keeping it that way. Our work was also framed by the looming presence of expectations related to national accreditation review. Over the years, we have struggled with how to move the work of teacher education forward while playing an integral role in the transformation of special education teacher education. We remain deeply connected to our early commitment to special education and with our insider knowledge of the dichotomy of diversity and disability. Moreover, we feel strong responsibility to ensure that our special education programs reflect the knowledge we gained through research on preparing culturally responsive special educators. Leveraging our national accreditation review to make systemic changes in teacher education, including special education, provided an opportunity for us to make the impact we envisioned as doctoral students. In this chapter, we provide an overview of the literature on diversity in teacher education, which underscores the growing diversity of America’s public schools and the complexities of teaching and learning in such settings. Further, we interrogate the challenges inherent in systemic change through an examination of vignettes of teacher preparation programs engaged in self‐studies associated with national accreditation reviews.

The Intersection of Diversity and Social Justice in Teacher Education In a historical perspective on research and policy in teacher education, Grant and Gibson (2011) noted that, as early as 1933, scholars wondered about the ability of white teachers to successfully teach black children (Woodson, 1933). Further, the authors believed that it was important to the discourse on diversity and teacher education to define diversity as synonymous with race, ethnicity, and/or culture. This definition also frames the understanding of the authors on diversity in special education. Much of the current rhetoric about the current state of teacher education emphasizes the role of the teacher in student performance and linking the performance of teacher education programs to P–12 outcomes. Yet, the current discourse overlooks the need for a greater understanding of the complexities of teaching and learning, specifically for underserved learners. There must be an honest examination of the intersection of poverty and systemic racism and the implications for education research, the preparation of teachers, and teaching and learning in P–12 settings. Brownell, Ross, Colon, and McCallum (2005) conducted a review of special education program descriptions, revealing that student diversity is an important feature of most programs. Yet, few authors discussed the pedagogy used to help learners develop relevant skills. A number of scholars have argued that a central element in effectively ­addressing the needs of all learners, particularly those from ethnically diverse backgrounds, is the recruitment and retention of teachers from similar backgrounds (Bryan & Ford, 2014; Valle‐Riestra, Shealey, & Cramer, 2011). The value of ­teachers of color has been duly noted, and their contributions include serving

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as role models, bringing cultural knowledge, and implementing culturally ­responsive and relevant teaching practices (Villegas & Irvine, 2010). Yet, funds targeting the preparation of future teachers and educational scholars have drastically declined during the last 10 years and those that remain available, such as the Teach grants, are being used as a pawn in a political game that pits the US Department of Education against traditional teacher preparation programs (Sawchuk, 2008). Nieto (2000) asserted that, in order to place equity at the forefront of teacher education, teacher educators must take a stand on social justice and diversity, make social justice ubiquitous in teacher education, and promote teaching as a lifelong journey of transformation. It is through this perspective that we support a framework for the preparation of special educators that extends beyond emphasizing culturally responsive teaching to enacting policies, practices, and beliefs that result in the transformation of the field and positive outcomes for all learners, particularly those from ethnically diverse backgrounds. Addressing diversity in special education has a long history that can be traced to desegregation efforts. Yet, the field continues to grapple with how to ensure nonbiased assessment in placement decisions and effectively serve learners from ethnically diverse backgrounds in the least restrictive environment (Moore‐Brown, Huerta, Uranga‐Hernandez, & Peña, 2006). Tyler, Yzquierdo, Lopez‐Reyna, and Flippin (2004) discussed the need for special education teachers from culturally and linguistically diverse backgrounds. Further, in this work, the authors connected the diversity of teachers to student outcomes. Most importantly, they provided recommendations for teacher preparation programs in the recruitment and retention of candidates from diverse backgrounds, which include taking lessons from alternative certification programs (specifically their ability to recruit candidates vested in teaching in diverse communities) and developing multicultural teacher education programs.

The Diversity “Problem” in Special Education In 2014, we celebrated 60 years of the landmark Brown v. Board of Education decision. What is often referred to as Brown I (1954) established that racial segregation in public education is unconstitutional and a violation of the Fourteenth Amendment. The following year, in Brown II (1955), the Supreme Court declared that desegregation must begin “with all deliberate speed.” The promise of the Brown decision was rooted in the belief that, through equal access to equitable educational opportunities, society would come to grips with racism, social inequalities, and injustices (Blanchett, Brantlinger, & Shealey, 2005). The overrepresentation of ethnically diverse learners in certain special education programs and their underrepresentation in programs for the gifted and talented, along with the landmark court cases that have sought to redress this issue (e.g., Larry P. v. Riles, 1979), have defined the experiences of ethnically diverse learners in special education for over 40 years. In extant literature, the problem of disproportionality has been examined from a number of vantage points. Trends in disproportionality research can be categorized into studies

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focusing on dilemmas in defining and identifying disproportionality (Artiles & Bal, 2008; Harry & Klingner, 2006; Skiba, 2013); the role of assessment during pre‐referral interventions and instruction (Garcia & Ortiz, 2006; Klingner & Edwards, 2006); systems change (Ellsworth, 2000); access to the general education curriculum (De Valenzuela, Copeland, Qi, & Park, 2006); role of research (Klingner & Boardman, 2011); and the need for culturally responsive teaching (Blanchett et al., 2005; Green, 2007; Kea & Trent, 2013). However, recent efforts to overturn over 40 years of significant research related to the persistent problems with the identification and placement of ethnically diverse learners in special education fail to acknowledge the interconnected nature of context, the learners, and the content (Morgan et al., 2015). We teach our teacher candidates about the relationship of these variables in our introductory teacher education courses. The limited scope of these recent efforts, which typically rely on analyzing self‐reported data from children, teachers, and families, revealed the presence of a problem of under‐identification in special education, which has resulted in learners from ethnically diverse backgrounds not being referred for necessary special education services. What is most troubling about this work is the failure to deeply examine a body of research focused on addressing this problem within a broader sociopolitical context (Zhang, Katsiyannis, Song, & Roberts, 2014). Despite best efforts through legal protection measures, learners from ethnically diverse backgrounds continue to be subjected to inadequate policies and practices, which have resulted in a broken system that fails to acknowledge the complexities of effectively serving traditionally marginalized learners (Blanchett, 2006). This is the system in which we prepare predominately white female teachers from middle‐class backgrounds to provide all learners, particularly those who have a legacy of limited or no access, with equitable educational opportunities in this country. For this reason, we advocate for (1) a framework of preparing special educators that is grounded in an understanding of the historical context of the field; (2) the development of knowledge, skills, and dispositions in providing evidence‐based practices for all learners, particularly those from ethnically diverse backgrounds; (3) engagement with diverse families and communities; and (4) faculty who have a demonstrated record in engaging in research, teaching, and service grounded in an equity and social justice agenda.

Preparing Teachers in Special Education for Diversity With the legacy of disproportionate representation, the presence of teachers from diverse backgrounds represents a key element in transformation efforts. In addition, it is important to prepare all special educators to be culturally responsive (Robertson, Garcia, McFarland, & Reith, 2012). Recommendations provided in this area include critically examining the unintended consequences of ramping up entry and exit requirements for teacher candidates from ethnically diverse backgrounds. For those who have experience in inequitable educational opportunities in grades P–12 that prepare them for higher education, these requirements may present additional barriers. In addition, it

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is important to develop culturally responsive recruitment and retention strategies that address the unique needs of potential teacher candidates from ethnically diverse backgrounds. Another important contribution to the knowledge base in preparing teachers for diversity stems from the analysis of the perceptions, practices, and coherence of programs (Assaf, Garza, & Battle, 2010). In recent years, in the field of special education, considerable attention has been devoted to providing access to the general education curriculum for learners with exceptionalities. For learners who represent multiple layers of difference—such as race, ethnicity, socioeconomic status, and disability—the issue of access is of paramount concern. Rueda and Stillman (2012) examined the relationship between multiple diversities from the perspective of teacher preparation for English learners. The authors emphasized the importance of addressing cultural issues, rather than narrowly focusing on language differences. In examining research on the preparation of special educators for diversity, Trent, Kea, and Oh (2008) reviewed extant studies on the incorporation of multicultural education in preservice general and special education teacher preparation programs implemented from 1997 to 2006. The authors found only two studies that critiqued the lack of implementation of multicultural education in special education teacher education. Thus, their recommendations for teacher preparation pertained to modifying the coursework, conducting longitudinal studies of program efficacy, implementation of theoretical frameworks with a critical lens, and determining the impact of teacher preparation programs on student learning. Shealey, McHatton, and Wilson (2011) examined the implementation of culturally responsive teaching in special education. All studies included in the review were empirically based, conducted in 1999–2009, and addressed one of four tenets of culturally responsive pedagogy implemented in a K–12 classroom in special education. The authors found six studies that met the aforementioned criteria. Based on their findings, they made the following recommendations for teacher preparation programs: developing cultural knowledge, implementation of culturally responsive and relevant teaching strategies, and facilitating the examination of candidates’ attitudes and perceptions about diverse learners. It is clear that there is a dearth of research exploring the implementation of culturally responsive teaching in special education and its impact on teacher efficacy and P–12 outcomes (Chu, 2011). Cochran‐Smith and Dudley‐Marling (2012) recently examined the issues that segregate general teacher education from special education. The authors’ critique of special education was heavily framed by their experiences as scholars, classroom teachers in general education and special education, as well as their role as parents. Their shared understanding of the nature of general and special education led to a discussion of three issues that, in their view, continue to divide the two fields—disciplinary influences on the research and practice, meaning attached to disability, and curriculum content and access. On the surface, this work seems to echo complaints often lodged against traditional special education establishment from those “insiders” who have a long history of challenging the field to broaden its understanding of equity in research and practice. Yet, this work represents a missed opportunity to highlight the voices of scholars who

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have devoted their careers to addressing persistent issues in special education that result in inequitable educational experiences for learners in P–12 settings from diverse backgrounds (e.g., Artiles & Bal, 2008; Blanchett et al., 2005; Harry & Klingner, 2006; Kea & Trent, 2013). Similar to Cochran‐Smith and Dudley‐Marling (2012) who sought to identify the areas in which the field of special education has missed the mark in aligning its research and practices to its ideals. Irvine (2012) noted the “shared historical roots, philosophies, theories and pedagogies” (p. 268) of multicultural education and special education. Irvine further asserted that the emphasis in both areas is on providing educational opportunities for the underserved, commitment to ideals such as fairness and activism, and focusing instruction on the individual needs of learners. Yet, even with a shared commitment to the aforementioned goals, there remains a deep disconnect between the research and practice driving special education. Thus, Irvine identified disproportionate representation, cultural misunderstanding, tensions between home and school, and competition for limited resources as the main causes of conflict. As previously noted in this chapter, it is difficult to discuss diversity in special education without acknowledging the legacy of disproportionate representation. Further, the premise that educators from ethnically diverse backgrounds offer unique pedagogical contributions and positively affect the educational experiences of all learners, particularly those from similar backgrounds, holds true in special education. The problem is particularly acute in high‐needs schools where students from ethnically diverse backgrounds may be overrepresented in certain special education programs. The cultural misunderstanding noted by Irvine contributes to tensions between home and school. When teachers are not prepared to work effectively with diverse learners and their families and communities, the incompatibility of home environment with that students encounter in school is exacerbated. The knowledge and skills embedded in multicultural education provide a sound framework for addressing the systemic bias and inequity in schooling, which presents barriers to affirming diverse families and ensuring their full inclusion in the educational process. Yet, if this work is absent from special educator preparation programs, it is likely that only families with the cultural capital to navigate schools, particularly special education systems, will be able to advocate for the needs of their children.

Transforming Teacher Education through Systems Change Every year, schools and colleges of education from across the United States ready themselves for national accreditation or self‐study reviews. National accreditation is often perceived as a process wrought with frantic implementation of systems and policies that should have been implemented many years ago. However, it is unclear to what extent these institutions enter into this process with a commitment to demonstrating its efficacy in preparing educators for diversity. Still, for many, this is a rare opportunity to formally share their story of continuous improvement. For others, it may serve as a prompt to develop systems and

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­ rocesses that reflect best practices in the preparation of education ­professionals, p particularly in the area of diversity (Warren, Pacino, Foy, & Bond, 2011). The accrediting bodies, the National Council for Accreditation of Teacher Education (NCATE, 2008) and the Teacher Education Accreditation Council (TEAC), merged to create a new body for accreditation, the Council for the Accreditation of Educator Preparation (CAEP). Although, the new standards for educator preparation programs (EPPs) do not include a standard on diversity, this remains an area that EPPs continue to struggle with in light of the growing diversity of America’s public school students and increased demands for accountability. Diversity is now embedded in several CAEP standards, namely academic and pedagogical content knowledge and skills; clinical partnerships and practice; candidate quality, recruitment, and selectivity; program impact; and quality assurance. It is important to note that NCATE defines diversity as “differences among groups of people and individuals based on ethnicity, race, socioeconomic status, gender, exceptionalities, language, religion, sexual orientation, and geographical area” (p. 86). The key elements of diversity previously addressed through NCATE accreditation standards included: (1) design, implementation, and evaluation of curriculum and experiences; (2) experiences working with diverse faculty; (3) experiences with diverse candidates; and (4) experiences working with diverse students in P–12 schools. The supporting explanation for this standard begins by acknowledging the ethnic diversity of P–12 learners, along with the growing number of learners classified in special education, and the limited presence of teachers of color. Thus, the focus of meeting the diversity standard for national accreditation heavily emphasized racial and ethnic diversity. Understandably, many EPPs, particularly those located in geographic regions characterized by limited racial and ethnic diversity, struggled in meeting the diversity standard and some stretched what the field would consider good faith efforts. Yet, having a clear expectation identified by the profession sent a powerful message to EPPs and critics of traditional teacher preparation programs regarding our intentions to prepare educator candidates for diversity. In order to move beyond compliance with systemic change, teacher preparation programs must implement changes to address diversity with an emphasis on inclusive education. McHatton, Keller, Shircliffe, and Zalaquett (2009) described a college‐wide effort to infuse diversity content within programs of study. This work echoed the findings reported in other literature sources in this area, which revealed limited progress in infusing diversity through educator preparation programs. Based upon our review of pertinent literature, and our experience as faculty and administrators in teacher education, we purport that the following guiding principles are important to engaging in this kind of transformative work: a core group of faculty and leadership committed to diversity; a theoretical framework and philosophical stance in teacher education aligned to a commitment to diversity; and a coherent curriculum and experiences that affirm diversity and inclusion. In the following sections, we present vignettes from their collective experience leveraging national accreditation reviews in order to lead systems change in schools and colleges of education.

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Faculty and Administrators Committed to Diversity I [Monika William Shealey] arrived at the College of Education at Urban‐ Serving University during a time when the university had recently embraced its urban focus, and community engagement was at an all‐time high. The faculty in the College of Education had recently developed a new vision and mission, both emphasizing a commitment to urban education. A new dean was hired who had an extensive background in urban education. Yet, a review of the curriculum revealed that there was one course in all teacher education programs focusing on diversity. The course was taught predominately by adjuncts, and there were few courses addressing urban education. Further, the relevance and sustainability of the one field experience in an urban setting was under discussion, as candidates often complained about visiting neighborhoods that they perceived as dangerous. The faculty seemed divided on their commitment to urban education. Faculty recently hired by the institution reported that the urban focus was a contributing factor in their decision to join the institution. Conversely, faculty who were hired prior to the university’s renewed interest in engaging with the urban community seemed ambivalent about the urban focus. The special education program was small and, as the program coordinator who also had a new hire in urban special education, we were poised to advance an equity agenda in our program. In preparing for the accreditation review, I was able to work with faculty to develop a space for faculty discussions to occur, which challenged our thinking on the alignment of our college’s mission and vision with the practices embedded in our respective fields. We offered space in the teacher education governance structure for professional development. We also brought in national leaders for “brown bag” discussions and invited speakers at the annual Urban Education Community Forum. For the first time in my career, I engaged in a dialogue with special education colleagues about the knowledge, skills, and dispositions necessary for urban special educators. We identified competencies and an assessment plan. We also focused on developing strategies in the recruitment and retention of diverse special educators for urban settings. In our experience, the teacher education programs typically focus on program development, selectivity, and community engagement. At my workplace, faculty decided to pilot edTPA, a performance‐based assessment, subject‐specific assessment, and support system developed by Stanford University faculty and staff at the Stanford Center for Assessment, Learning, and Equity (SCALE), and endorsed by the American Association of Colleges of Teacher Education (AACTE). This work connected our programs with a national network of approximately 600 teacher preparation programs aimed at providing evidence of teacher quality through an instrument developed by the profession with the capacity to create a consistent message about the preparation of teachers. All of the programs at Urban‐Serving Institution participated in the pilot and engaged in program development, which led to key signature assessments embedded throughout the program, culminating in the summative edTPA assessment.

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Moreover, consensus was reached on selectivity serving as a critical variable in preparing urban educators. However, programs operationalized selectivity in different ways. Early childhood and elementary education programs adopted the Haberman Star Teacher Interview (Haberman, 1995). This instrument was developed to identify teachers most likely to succeed as star urban teachers. The  developers of the 50‐item questionnaire, each requiring a response by choosing one of three possible answers, boasted a 95% accuracy rate in identifying which teachers would succeed or fail in urban schools. Yet, not all program representatives were convinced that this measure addressed their unique needs in teacher selectivity. In contrast, when recruiting for secondary education position, faculty adopted group interviews. Prospective candidates participated in an interview with their colleagues in the areas of mathematics, science, social studies, and English. Faculty facilitated the interviews with three to four candidates and provided scenarios for discussion that were grounded in addressing issues of content and pedagogy, cultural and linguistic diversity, and advocacy. Special education faculty decided to implement individual interviews with prospective candidates that focused on areas similar to those addressed by secondary education group interviews. However, the prospective candidates were also prompted to discuss the meaning associated with disability, which was aligned to perceptions of learners with disabilities and their families, as well as the intersection of race, culture, and disability. In preparation for the national accreditation review, the teacher education programs were expected to create structures to engage P–12 community stakeholders in the preparation of education professionals. As expected, a number of advisory boards were developed or reactivated in all teacher education areas, including special education. However, as the administration responsible for oversight of all educator preparation programs, I developed a Teacher Education Advisory Committee, whose members included district and site‐based administrators, current students, alumni, and representatives from local nonprofit grassroots organizations. We ensured that the committee members were diverse in the broadest sense, but paid close attention to gender, race, sexual orientation, and geographical location. Members of this group began to participate in search committees for new faculty members, reviewed performance data, and made recommendations for program and college‐wide continuous improvement. They were also encouraged to disseminate the information on the work the college was undertaking, emphasizing their integral role in the transformation.

Theoretical Framework and Philosophical Stance Supportive of Diversity The national accreditation review process for NCATE required the alignment of the unit’s conceptual framework with the curriculum in educator preparation programs. This was an opportunity to revisit the conceptual framework developed several years ago and determine if the document reflected who we are as a college, what we envisioned for our future, and the theoretical grounding for our practice. During my early years as faculty

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in special education, I [Monika William Shealey] remember attending meetings where we were asked to map competencies embedded in the conceptual framework to course objectives. It was an exercise that offered us a rare opportunity to discuss the purpose of our program and how we assessed our effectiveness. Yet, what this exercise lacked was an examination of the theory that guided our practice and reaching consensus on our philosophical stance. I would like to believe that we were all deeply dedicated to the preparation of urban special educators through our shared values. However, in retrospect, it seems like a missed opportunity. Later in my academic career as an administrator leading accreditation efforts, I could create a space for faculty to engage in the discussions that would lead to building consensus. Our conceptual framework stated that our practice was guided by sociocultural theory and we valued democracy, social justice, and equity. I  couldn’t help wondering what our practice as teacher educators looked like and how we ensured our candidates left school prepared to implement practices that yielded high outcomes from learners, particularly those traditionally underserved. As a new administrator to the college, I set out to test our conceptual framework against the curriculum. I would have to tread lightly in bringing forward what I’d found. In the current conceptual framework, the philosophy of learning communities was strongly valued. This seemed like it would be an effective way to frame our discussions aimed at developing a more meaningful and relevant conceptual framework. I facilitated developing a relationship between our faculty and another college’s learning community, which had a long history of examining moral dispositions in teacher education. This group would serve as our critical friends during this process. The work began with developing a root metaphor for teaching and learning, which included three elements—how learning occurs (beliefs), the kind of person to be developed (intentions), and classroom actions and overall aim (actions). In addition, faculty were asked to complete a philosophical inventory. Monthly college‐wide meetings were devoted to re‐examining the college’s mission, vision, and values. Document review and web conferencing was used to facilitate the dialogue between the two colleges. The goal of the collaboration was to build a framework that may enhance like‐mindedness. As a result of a series of discussions taking place at the college level, in programs, and across programs through coordinators’ meetings, the college was able to reach consensus on our metaphor for teaching and learning. This provided us with the foundation to begin discussions about the theory guiding our work as teacher educators. Faculty engaged in conversations about constructivism and, more importantly, how constructivism is enacted in beliefs and practices. I facilitated visits to P–12 schools and teacher education programs that adhered to constructivist principles and were heavily influenced by John Dewey’s teachings (e.g., Bank Street Graduate School and the School for Children). Additionally, faculty explored the extent to which their current curriculum reflected a social justice philosophical stance through anchor readings and faculty professional development. As  a

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result of these facilitated experiences, faculty engaged in discussions with ­colleagues across programs about the assumptions that guided their work. It was particularly interesting to observe how special education faculty navigated these discussions. My review of the program confirmed that the curriculum reflected a traditional perspective on special education programming and the meaning of disability. Thus, it offered limited opportunities for the inclusion of diverse views on disability, culturally responsive practices, and community engagement. Trent, Artiles, and Englert (1998) outlined the emerging contributions of social constructivism to special education, particularly in the area of literacy. The authors posited that special educators must face four critical challenges: (1) the field must transcend views that present instruction in the form of best practices; (2) there needs to be clear definitions of constructs to facilitate communication; (3) the interplay of human development and learning is much more complex; and (4) there needs to be a transcendence of an overreliance on instructional practices that have characterized the field. The school visits and anchor readings began to disrupt long‐held beliefs of special education faculty about the nature of schooling, what constitutes learning, and the role of the teacher. As faculty reflected upon their recent activities that took place through the entire academic year, they began to realize why ­previously cross‐disciplinary collaboration had often stalled despite best intentions. Those discussions primarily addressed the symptoms of the problems of practice, rather than the theoretical underpinnings that drive our beliefs and instruction. This is evident in the following reflection. I [Loury Floyd] began my administrative journey during a time of great transition in both upper‐ and mid‐level leadership. Such changes in higher education leadership often leave faculty with a great degree of uncertainty, as was the case for our university. However, as a new leader within the ranks, my mission was to proceed with leading our teacher education program while employing an ethos of care. Our unit’s preparation of teachers and leaders was already firmly grounded in diversity, assessment, reflection, and technology (DART); however, there were still gaps concerning identification and full implementation. A review of the curriculum revealed that there was only one course focused on the topic of diversity offered as part of either the undergraduate and the graduate teacher education programs. The course was taught by full‐time faculty; however, there were no courses addressing urban education. A review of field experience and clinical data revealed that our candidates needed to be in the field earlier and more often. Serving our traditional undergraduate population of 90% African American students, it is an important part of our mission to prepare students to teach in diverse settings. However, some of our out‐of‐state students come to us with a greater need for these experiences, including students with special needs. In preparing our institution’s accreditation report, I worked with the Teacher Education Council, which is comprised of program coordinators and department chairpersons from 20 licensure areas. This body also included a

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v­ ice‐provost for academic affairs and a vice‐provost for graduate programs as ex‐officio members. Our meeting agendas and data retreats included opportunities for discussion, leading to the development of actions plans. The council was also reorganized to include working committees and an executive committee. Each committee worked within a specific area of responsibility, while the executive committee served as an administrative arm of the council. Sharing administrative duties began to build capacity from within the faculty ranks. With clarified program improvement outcomes and accreditation deadlines in sight, productivity within the council increased exponentially. For example, the Teacher Education Council was added as an integral review and signature authority as part of the university’s curriculum change process. Prior to this time period, amending programs of study without the involvement of this body was part of the preparation for licensure. Consequently, there was no mechanism in place to ensure uniformity of field and clinical placements, data collection points, and key pedagogical assignments. Through the leadership of the Teacher Education Council, those in charge of the teacher education programs decided to focus on specific areas in developing an urban education identity, namely program development, selectivity, and community engagement. Faculty decided to continue with our signature content and pedagogy assignments approved by the Department of Education. This work connected our programs with a statewide network of over 30 teacher preparation programs aimed at providing evidence of teacher quality through an instrument developed by Mid‐content Research for Education and Learning (McREL, 2009, 2015) in collaboration with the North Carolina State Board of Education. We now had the capacity to create a consistent message about the preparation of teachers in our state. Selectivity was also perceived as a critical variable in preparing urban educators. The executive committee collaborated with Eduventures (n.d.) to assist program coordinators and department chairs with making decisions. Eduventures is a research and advisory firm, which has an extensive library of research focused on issues in educator preparation. In addition, the firm conducts studies, which assist in recruitment, program development, and benchmarking. We worked to put a process in place to ensure that our selectivity instruments were reliable and valid measures that should be used prior to formal admission. Their format comprised of observation and interview rubrics, among others. This process assisted faculty members with ensuring inter‐rater reliability for these instruments. Ultimately, the full council was able to put a systematic process in place to ensure that these instruments met the required reliability and validity criteria, while also being efficient, effective, and not overly time intensive on the part of the faculty. To better inform the development of NCA&T’s envisioned process, Eduventures conducted interviews with directors of assessment at member schools/colleges of education. In preparation for the national accreditation review, the teacher education programs were expected to create structures to engage P–12 community stakeholders in the preparation of education professionals. As expected, advisory boards were continuously engaged in all aspects of teacher education, including

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special education. However, as the leader of our Teacher Education Council, I extended an invitation for P–12 partners to join us as a part of our governing body. We included principals, curriculum facilitators, current students (graduate and undergraduate), and alumni. Our partners joined us in monthly and committee meetings, data institutes, and conference calls, whereby virtually every aspect of planning and improvement included a public school partner. Their contribution was not limited to attendance, as they also presented about relevant topics during scheduled meetings.

Discussion As former P–12 special educators, faculty, and now college administrators, we began our journey in the academy with a commitment to contribute to the production of knowledge and program delivery in special education. Naively, we believed that we could easily make systemic changes in higher education that would result in more equitable educational opportunities for traditionally marginalized P–12 learners in special education. Yet, we quickly learned that, although faculty are well intentioned in their emphasis on change through knowledge production, the reality is that opportunities to engage in discussions about best practices in teaching for diversity—which result in the development of policies, practices, and programs grounded in a commitment to diversity and equity—are limited. By leveraging standards for national accreditation, which are framed by the benefits of continuous improvement through self‐study, colleges and schools of education are able to create spaces to engage in meaningful dialogue with internal and external stakeholders, which will result in the preparation of highly engaged and effective educators. For special education teacher educators, these conversations are especially important, as P–12 schools face tremendous scrutiny as they grapple with issues of access and quality for diverse learners with special needs. In this chapter, we attempted to interrogate the opportunities and challenges inherent in engaging in transformative work in teacher education, which results in sustainable changes. National accreditation is rarely presented to faculty as an opportunity to reconceptualize the preparation of education professionals through an emphasis on evidence‐based practices. In special education in particular, evidence‐based practices guide teaching and learning in P–12 settings. Yet, research on diversity in teacher education reveals that many programs continue to address diversity in isolation, rather than embedding issues of diversity and equity throughout the program. This problem is exacerbated in special education, due to the erroneous view that issues of diversity and disability are synonymous. Unfortunately, there is evidence to suggest that the persistent problem of disproportionate representation in special education has not resulted in the implementation of culturally responsive research methodologies and practices in teacher education. The promise of diversity in special education teacher education lies in the ability of faculty to develop meaningful partnerships in an effort to develop

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inclusive programming that acknowledges the interconnectedness of race, ­language, class, and disability, along with the influence of contextual variables on teaching and learning in P–12 settings. It is the responsibility of school and college of education administrators to facilitate systemic change by creating processes and structures to support multidisciplinary and community engagement. Previously, some institutions counted on the opportunity to engage in continuous improvement every 7 years in preparation for a national accreditation review. However, new national accreditation standards, as well as societal pressures calling for challenges to the status quo, have created the perfect storm for educator preparation programs to be able to live out their vision and mission statements, which are prominently featured on our websites and in our conceptual frameworks. We can pay more than lip service to addressing issues of diversity and equity in our preparation of the very individuals we are counting on to advocate for these issues in P–12 settings. Today, we can place diversity and equity at the center of teacher education and ensure that it remains firmly in this prominent position.

References Artiles, A. J., & Bal, A. (2008). The next generation of disproportionality research: Toward a comparative model in the study of equity in ability differences. Journal of Special Education, 42(1), 4–14. Assaf, L. C., Garza, R., & Battle, J. (2010). Multicultural teacher education: Examining the perceptions, practices, and coherence in one teacher preparation program. Teacher Education Quarterly, 37(2), 115–135. Blanchett, W. J. (2006). Disproportionate representation of African American students in special education: Acknowledging the role of White privilege and racism. Educational Researcher, 35(6), 24–28. Blanchett, W. J., Brantlinger, E. A., & Shealey, M. S. (2005). RASE special issue: Brown 50 years later: Exclusion, segregation, and inclusion. Guest Editors’ Introduction. Remedial and Special Education, 26(2), 66–69. Brown v. Board of Education of Topeka, Kansas, 347 U.S. 483 (1954). Brownell, M. T., Ross, D. D., Colon, E. P., & McCallum, C. L. (2005). Critical features of special education teacher preparation: A comparison with general teacher education. The Journal of Special Education, 38(4), 242–252. Bryan, N., & Ford, D. Y. (2014). Recruiting and retaining Black male teachers in gifted education. Gifted Child Today, 37(3), 155–161. Chu, S. (2011). Teacher efficacy beliefs toward serving culturally and linguistically diverse students in special education: Implications of a pilot study. Education and Urban Society, 45(3), 385–410. Cochran‐Smith, M., & Dudley‐Marling, C. (2012). Diversity in teacher education and special education: The issues that divide. Journal of Teacher Education, 63(4), 237–244. De Valenzuela, J. S., Copeland, S. R., Qi, C. H., & Park, M. (2006). Examining educational equity: Revisiting the disproportionate representation of minority students in special education. Exceptional Children, 72(4), 425–441.

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Eduventures. (n.d.). About Eduventures. Boston, MA. Retrieved from http://www. eduventures.com/about‐eduventures/ Ellsworth, J. B. (2000). Surviving change: A survey of educational change models. Syracuse, NY: ERIC Clearinghouse on Information and Technology. Garcia, S. B., & Ortiz, A. (2006). Preventing disproportionate representation: culturally and linguistically responsive prereferral interventions. Teaching Exceptional Children, 38(4), 64–68. Gitlin, A., Peck, M., Aposhian, N., Hadley, S., & Porter, A. (2002). Looking again at insider knowledge: A relational approach to knowledge production and assessment. Journal of Teacher Education, 53(4), 303–315. Grant, C., & Gibson, M. (2011). Diversity and teacher education: A historical perspective on research and policy. In A. F. Ball & C. A. Tyson (Eds.), Studying diversity in teacher education (pp. 19–61). New York, NY: Rowman & Littlefield. Green, S. (2007). Preparing special educators to work with diverse student populations: Culturally responsive teaching and its alignment with the teaching of social studies. Black History Bulletin, 70, 12–18. Haberman, M. (1995). Selecting “star” teachers for children and youth in urban poverty. Phi Delta Kappan, 76(10), 777–782. Harry, B., & Klingner, J. K. (2006). Why are so many minority students in special education? Understanding race and disability in schools. New York, NY: Teachers College Press. Irvine, J. J. (2012). Complex relationships between multicultural education and special education: An African American perspective. Journal of Teacher Education, 63(4), 268–274. Kea, C., & Trent, S. C. (2013). Providing culturally responsive teaching in a field‐ based and student teaching experiences: A case study. Interdisciplinary Journal of Teaching & Learning, 3(2), 82–101. Klingner, J. K., & Boardman, A. G. (2011). Addressing the “research gap” in special education through mixed methods. Learning Disability Quarterly, 34(3), 208–218. Klingner, J. K., & Edwards, P. A. (2006). Cultural considerations with response to intervention models. Reading Research Quarterly, 41(1), 108–117. McHatton, P. A., Keller, H., Shircliffe, B., & Zalaquett, C. (2009). Examining efforts to infuse diversity within one college of education. Journal of Diversity in Higher Education, 2(3), 127–135. Mid‐content Research for Education and Learning. (2009, 2015). McRELs teacher evaluation system. Retrieved from http://www.northbergen.k12.nj.us/cms/lib05/ NJ01000984/Centricity/Domain/30/McRELTeacher%20Evaluation%20Users%20 Guide.pdf Moore‐Brown, B., Huerta, M., Uranga‐Hernandez, Y., & Peña, E. D. (2006). Using dynamic assessment to evaluate children with suspected learning disabilities. Intervention in School & Clinic, 41(4), 209–217. Morgan, P. L., Farkas, G., Hillemeier, M. M., Mattison, R., Maczuga, S., Li, H., & Cook, M. (2015). Minorities are disproportionately underrepresented in special education: Longitudinal evidence in five disability conditions. Educational Researcher, 44(5), 1–15.

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National Council for Accreditation of Teacher Education (NCATE). (2008). Professional standards for the accreditation of teacher preparation institutions. Washington DC: NCATE. Nieto, S. (2000). Placing equity front and center: Some thoughts on transforming teacher education for a new century. Journal of Teacher Education, 51(3), 180–187. Robertson, P. M., Garcia, S. B., McFarland, L. A., & Reith, H. J. (2012). Preparing culturally and linguistically responsive special educators: It “does” take a village. Interdisciplinary Journal of Teaching and Learning, 2(3), 115–130. Rueda, R., & Stillman, J. (2012). The 21st century teacher: A cultural perspective. Journal of Teacher Education, 63(4), 245–253. Sawchuk, S. (2008). New TEACH grants may come at a price for many recipients. Education Week, 28(4), 18–19. Shealey, M. W., McHatton, P. A., & Wilson, V. (2011). Moving beyond disproportionality: The role of culturally responsive teaching in special education. Teaching Education, 22(4), 377–396. Skiba, R. (2013). CCBD’s position summary on federal policy on disproportionality in special education. Behavioral Disorders, 38(2), 108–120. Trent, S. C., Artiles, A. J., & Englert, C. S. (1998). From deficit thinking to social constructivism: A review of theory, research, and practice in special education. Review of Research in Education, 23, 277–307. Trent, S. C., Kea, C. D., & Oh, K. (2008). Preparing preservice educators for cultural diversity: How far have we come? Exceptional Children, 74(3), 328–350. Tyler, N. C., Yzquierdo, Z., Lopez‐Reyna, N., & Flippin, S. S. (2004). Cultural and linguistic diversity and the special education workforce: A critical overview. The Journal of Special Education, 38(1), 22–38. Valle‐Riestra, D. M., Shealey, M. W., & Cramer, E. D. (2011). Recruiting and retaining culturally diverse special educators. Interdisciplinary Journal of Teaching and Learning, 1(2), 68–87. Villegas, A. M., & Irvine, J. J. (2010). Diversifying the teaching force: An examination of major arguments. Urban Review, 42, 175–192. Warren, S. R., Pacino, M. A., Foy, T., & Bond, T. (2011). An NCATE‐approved school of education self‐study on diversity: Faculty and student perceptions. Educational Considerations, 38(2), 36–42. Woodson, C. G. (1933). The mis‐education of the Negro. Trenton, NJ: Africa World Press. Zhang, D., Katsiyannis, A., Song, J., & Roberts, E. (2014). Minority representation in special education: 5 year trends. Journal of Child & Family Studies, 23(1), 118–127.

509

Index AAAS see American Association for the Advancement of Science academically diverse learners, history instruction/education 302–303 academic language assessment, English language learners (ELLs) 413–414 Cognitive Academic Language Proficiency (CALP)  404 reading assessment  403–404, 413–414 reading instruction  261–262 accessing inclusive education  24–25 accessing support services  89–90, 98–100 additional language learners (ALLs) see also English language learners (ELLs) language and literacy development  183, 184–186, 190–191 syntactic awareness (SA)  190–191 Additional Support for Learning Act, Scotland 121 ADHD see attention deficit hyperactivity disorder administrators committed to diversity, special education teacher preparation 500–501 affect, learning characteristic  137

affective factors, reading assessment 407–409 Africa, writing achievement  277–278 African American students cultural characteristics  136–139 culturally diverse backgrounds (CLD) families 151 demographics  131–134, 136–139 involuntary minorities  136–139 learning characteristics  137–138 mathematics teaching  211–212, 218–221 special education recommendations 140–143 ALLs see additional language learners American Association for the Advancement of Science (AAAS), science education  235 Arab States (AS) inclusive education  52–53 MDGs (Millennium Development Goals) 52 special education  52 AS see Arab States Asian cultures, parental distrust 157–158 Asia‐Pacific culturally diverse backgrounds (CLD) families 151 inclusive education  53–56

The Wiley Handbook of Diversity in Special Education, First Edition. Edited by Marie Tejero Hughes and Elizabeth Talbott. © 2017 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Published 2017 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

510

Index

assessment see also Curriculum Assessment and Policy Statement; mathematics assessment; National Assessment of Educational Progress; PISA (Program for International Student Assessment); reading assessment academic language, English language learners (ELLs)  413–414 assessment accommodations  382–383, 414–415 considerations 392–393 diagnostic assessments  390–392, 394 formative assessments  383–390 general outcome measurement (GOM) 386–389 interpreting data  389–390 mastery 386–389 progress monitoring  385–389 science performance  236–237 special education teacher preparation 500 assistive technology  357–370 see also Universal Design for Learning (UDL) around the world  361–362 assistive technology outcome (ATO) 359–360 benefits 359 defining 358–359 efficacy 362 future directions  369–370 quality of the science  362 United Nations Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities (UNCRPD) 361–362 United States  360–361 Universal Design for Learning (UDL) 363–370 attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD), science education 245–246 attitudinal shifts, disability  16–17 attitudinal sustainability, EFA (Education for All)  14 Australia

inclusive education  55–56 special education  55 Austria, inclusive education  97 Bangladesh development of specialist knowledge 451–455 disability assessment centers  454 disability/poverty/schooling interplay 173 equipment lack  454 government policies  453–454 legislation 453–454 statistics 453 teacher education for inclusion  455 teacher–pupil ratios  453 teachers for resource centers and special schools  451–455 basic interpersonal communication skills (BICS), language and literacy development 185 black students see African American students Brazil, EFA (Education for All)  13 Bulgaria, exclusion from educational opportunity 81 CAEP see Council for the Accreditation of Educator Preparation CALP see Cognitive Academic Language Proficiency Canada inclusive education  60 special education  60 CAPS see Curriculum Assessment and Policy Statement CAPs see content acquisition podcasts Caribbean see Latin America and the Caribbean (LAC) countries case study, mathematics assessment 393–394 CBM see curriculum‐based measurement CCSS see Common Core State Standards CCSSI see common cores state standards initiative

Index

CDA see critical discourse analysis CEC see Council for Exceptional Children Center for Research on Equity and Diversity in Education (CREDE), Universal Design for Learning (UDL) 365 Chile inclusive education  51 special education  51 China Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities (CRPD) 11 EFA (Education for All)  14 inclusive education  53–54, 96–97 learning in a regular classroom (LRC) 459 special education  53–54, 96–97 training 54 writing achievement  278 class‐wide peer tutoring (CWPT)  323–324, 343–345 meta‐analyses results  324–329, 332–335 systematic reviews results  324–329, 332–335 CLD families see culturally diverse backgrounds families code‐based skills English language learners (ELLs)  402, 410–412 reading assessment  402, 410–412 Cognitive Academic Language Proficiency (CALP), vocabulary knowledge 404 Cognitive Apprenticeship, writing instruction 281–282 cognitive skills, language and literacy development 188–192 cognitive strategy instruction for writing (CSIW), writing instruction 290–291 collaboration, service providers/ users 87–110 culturally diverse backgrounds (CLD) families  105–107, 108–109

culturally diverse professionals  101–103 culturally sensitive  100–101, 103–104 literacy teaching  476, 479 Portugal 101 research studies/reports  91–95 South Africa  102–103 United Kingdom  101, 102, 103 United States  101 users with disabilities  104–105 Colombia, exclusion from educational opportunity 81 common cores state standards initiative (CCSSI), history instruction/ education  299–300, 308 Common Core State Standards (CCSS) Universal Design for Learning (UDL) 367 written language standards  278–279 communalism, learning characteristic 137 communication basic interpersonal communication skills (BICS), language and literacy development 185 culturally diverse backgrounds (CLD) families 161 types, inclusive pedagogy  450 communities of practice, literacy teaching 481–482 community attitudes, EFA (Education for All)  12–14 constructing written arguments, multiple source documents  301 contemporary social issues, reading instruction 260 content acquisition podcasts (CAPs), history instruction/education  310 content‐enhancement strategies, history instruction/education 303 content knowledge assessment academic language  413–414 English language learners (ELLs) 413–414 continuing professional development (CPD), teacher education for inclusion 436

511

512

Index

Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities (CRPD)  3–19 challenges 8–9 China 11 cultural realities  9–10 culture 4 developing nations  4 drafting and negotiation  6 EFA (Education for All)  11–12 inclusive education  6–7, 10, 11–12, 18–19 international education governance 7–8 legislative activity  10–11 Optional Protocol  3, 5 origin 3 overview 5 Pakistan 10–11 segregated schooling  14–16 social model of disability  3, 4, 9–10 structure 5 tensions 16 co‐teaching, inclusive education 123–125 Council for Exceptional Children (CEC), diversity policies  142 Council for the Accreditation of Educator Preparation (CAEP), special education teacher preparation 499 CPD see continuing professional development CREDE see Center for Research on Equity and Diversity in Education critical discourse analysis (CDA)  160 Critical Race Theory (CRT)  34 language and literacy development 196–197 cross‐cultural comparison, support services 99 CRP see culturally responsive pedagogy CRPD see Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities CRT see Critical Race Theory CSIW see cognitive strategy instruction for writing

cultural bias, reading assessment  406–407, 408, 415 cultural capital critical discourse analysis (CDA) 160 parental initiative  159 parental roles  158–160 cultural differences, overrepresentation 134–136 cultural expectations culturally diverse backgrounds (CLD) families 156–158 parental roles  156–158 culturally based understandings of disability 154–155 culturally competent teachers  135 culturally constructed view of disability 161–162 culturally diverse, defining  254 culturally diverse backgrounds (CLD) families 149–162 African American students  151 Asia‐Pacific 151 collaboration, service providers/ users  105–107, 108–109 communication 161 cultural expectations  156–158 cultural/historical conversations 154–158 culturally based understandings of disability 154–155 deficit views  155–156 goals for young adults  155 Hispanic/Latino students  151 IDEA (Individuals with Disabilities Education Act)  149–150 Individualized Education Plans/ Programs (IEP)  150–151 language and literacy development 195–196 methodology challenges  152–154 Native American students  151 parental distrust  156–158 parental roles  156–158 recommendations 161–162 representation challenges  152–154

Index

stereotyping 155–156 Universal Design for Learning (UDL) 365–366 culturally diverse professionals, collaboration 101–103 culturally responsive pedagogy (CRP)  137, 142, 160–161 language and literacy development 196–197 reading instruction  258, 263 special education teacher preparation 497 cultural realities, Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities (CRPD) 9–10 culture Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities (CRPD)  4 defining 4 Curriculum Assessment and Policy Statement (CAPS) inclusive education  242 South Africa  242, 244 curriculum‐based measurement (CBM), mathematics assessment  384 CWPT see class‐wide peer tutoring Czech Republic, inclusive education  97 Dakar Framework for Action  7, 47 ‘Education for All’ goals  79–80 deficit views, culturally diverse backgrounds (CLD) families 155–156 demographics African American students  131–134, 136–139 cultural differences, overrepresentation 134–136 Hispanic/Latino students  131–134, 139–140 immigrants vs. nonimmigrants  136 Office for Civil Rights (OCR) 131–134 special education in schools  131–134 developing nations see also LMICs (low‐ and middle‐ income countries)

Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities (CRPD)  4 segregated schooling  175 statistics 4 development agenda, EFA (Education for All)  17 diagnostic assessments, mathematics assessment  390–392, 394 disability attitudinal shifts  16–17 CRPD descriptions  6 defining/classifying 169–170 dynamic nature of  169–170 historic conceptions  6 poverty relationship  168–172 reconstructing views  16–17 as a social construction  6, 169–170 disciplinary knowledge, literacy teaching 477 disciplinary thinking, multiple source documents 301 DisCrit (Dis/ability Critical Race Theory), inclusive education 34–37 disproportionate representation, special education teacher preparation  498 diverse rural settings, writing instruction 288–290 diverse urban settings, writing instruction 285–288 diversity, defining  499 diversity, family see culturally diverse backgrounds (CLD) families diversity of delivery, support services  89–90, 97–99, 102, 104, 108–109 diversity policies, Council for Exceptional Children (CEC)  142 diversity ‘problem’, special education teacher preparation  495–496 diversity/social justice intersection, special education teacher preparation 494–495 early reading development, language and literacy development  198 early science education  234–235

513

514

Index

educational outcomes, inclusive education 25 educational policy Finland 116–120 Policy Action Group on Learning  178 Scotland  116–117, 120–123 Education for all Handicapped Children’s Act (EHA)  149–150 see also IDEA (Individuals with Disabilities Education Act) education importance in reducing poverty 171–172 educator preparation programs (EPPs), special education teacher preparation 499 EFA (Education for All)  7–8, 429 attitudes 12–14 attitudinal sustainability  14 Brazil 13 China 14 community attitudes  12–14 Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities (CRPD)  11–12 Dakar Framework for Action  79–80 development agenda  17 disability  11–12, 15 Ghana 13–14 goals 79–80 inclusive education  11–12, 18–19, 25–26 international education governance 17–18 Pakistan 13 Papua New Guinea  14 parental attitudes  13–14 school attitudes  12–14 segregated schooling  14–16 sub‐Saharan Africa (SSA)  13 West Africa  13 Egypt, exclusion from educational opportunity 81 EHA see Education for all Handicapped Children’s Act ELLs see English language learners empowerment, social justice education 78 English language learners (ELLs)

see also additional language learners (ALLs); language and literacy development; reading assessment academic language assessment  403–404, 413–414 assessment accommodations 414–415 code‐based skills  402, 410–412 content knowledge assessment 413–414 evaluation 193–194 language and literacy development  183, 189–190, 193–194 linguistic characteristics  401 mathematics assessment  381–382, 383 mathematics teaching  211–212, 217–218 meaning‐making skills  402–406, 412–413 multitiered support  410, 415–416 reading assessment  399–416 recommendations 416 science education  236–240 science performance, assessing 236–237 sociocultural context  403 Universal Design for Learning (UDL) 365 vocabulary knowledge  403–405 working memory (WM)  189–190 writing instruction  284, 287 environmental factors, language and literacy development  186–188 EPPs see educator preparation programs Europe inclusive education  56–59 support services  97–98 writing achievement  278 European Agency for Development in Special Needs Education, inclusive education 116 evidence‐based approaches, reading assessment 410 evidence‐based practices, literacy teaching 479

Index

evidence‐based strategy, peer tutoring 321 evidence‐base paucity, LMICs (low‐ and middle‐income countries)  446, 448–449 exclusion categories  80–81 exclusion from educational opportunity, global 81–82 expressive individualism, learning characteristic 138 family diversity see culturally diverse backgrounds (CLD) families Finland educational policy  116–120 inclusive education  117–120 PISA (Program for International Student Assessment)  117 Response to Intervention (RTI)  118 special education  117–120 support services  118–120 flexible grouping formats, reading instruction 259–260 formative assessments interpreting data  389–390 mathematics assessment  383–390 progress monitoring  385–389 screening 385–386 foundation literacy, reading acquisition and development  255 France, exclusion from educational opportunity 81 future directions assistive technology  369–370 history instruction/education  302 multiple source documents  302 teacher education for inclusion 437–440 future research, peer tutoring  349–350 general outcome measurement (GOM), progress monitoring  386–389 Germany inclusive education  58–59 special education  58–59 training 58–59

Ghana, EFA (Education for All)  13–14 global exclusion from educational opportunity 81–82 Global Monitoring Report (GMR), UNESCO (United Nations Education, Scientific, and Cultural Organization)  171, 172–174 global perspective history instruction/education  300 inclusive education  47–62 GMR see Global Monitoring Report GOM see general outcome measurement graphic organizers, history instruction/ education 303 Greece, support services  98 Haberman Star Teacher Interview, special education teacher preparation 501 Higher Education Opportunity Act, Universal Design for Learning (UDL) 363 high‐stakes assessments, mathematics assessment 381–382 Hispanic/Latino students see also Latin America and the Caribbean (LAC) countries cultural characteristics  139–140 culturally diverse backgrounds (CLD) families 151 demographics  131–134, 139–140 mathematics teaching  211–212, 218–221 parental distrust  158 special education recommendations 140–143 voluntary minorities  139–140 historic conceptions of disability  6 historic perspective, inclusive education 24–25 history instruction/education  299–314 academically diverse learners 302–303 apprenticing skills  311–312 common cores state standards initiative (CCSSI)  299–300, 308

515

516

Index

history instruction/education (cont’d ) constructing written arguments  301 content acquisition podcasts (CAPs) 310 content‐enhancement strategies  303 disciplinary thinking  301 discussion, historical  305–307 future directions  302 future research  313–314 global perspective  300 graphic organizers  303 limitations 313–314 mnemonic tools  304 multimedia projects  310 multiple source documents  300–302 peer interaction  305–306, 307–308 project‐based learning (PBL) 309–310 reading skills  311–312 recommendations 313 Self‐Regulated Strategy Development (SRSD) 311 text structure 304–305 thinking skills  311–312 think‐pair‐share 305–306 twenty‐first‐century learning tools 308 Virtual History Museum (VHM) 308–309 writing skills  311–312 IDEA (Individuals with Disabilities Education Act)  150 inclusive education  26, 234 science education  234 segregated schooling  69–70 United States  59, 69–70 IEP see Individualized Education Plans/ Programs IGSs see Instructional Guidance Systems inclusive education  23–40, 175–179 see also inclusive pedagogy; special education teacher preparation; teacher education for inclusion accessing 24–25 advancements 47–62

ambiguities 27–28 Arab States (AS)  52–53 Asia‐Pacific 53–56 Australia 55–56 Austria 97 boundary‐crossing consequences  27 Canada 60 challenges 47–62 Chile 51 China  53–54, 96–97 collaboration 87–110 conceptual ambiguities  27–28 conflicting perspectives  45 consequences 27–28 Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities (CRPD)  6–7, 10, 11–12, 18–19 co‐teaching 123–125 Curriculum Assessment and Policy Statement (CAPS)  242 Czech Republic  97 DisCrit (Dis/ability Critical Race Theory) 34–37 educational outcomes  25 EFA (Education for All)  11–12, 18–19, 25–26 Europe 56–59 European Agency for Development in Special Needs Education  116 evolving conceptualizations  23–24 Finland 117–120 geographical space consequences 27–28 Germany 58–59 global perspective  47–62 global understandings  96–97 historic perspective  24–25 IDEA (Individuals with Disabilities Education Act)  26, 234 Index for Inclusion 26–27 India  28, 54–55 international development  427–428 international initiatives  46–47 Ireland 97 Italy 57–58 justice dimensions  28–34

Index

Latin America and the Caribbean (LAC) countries  26, 49–51 LMICs (low‐ and middle‐income countries) 449–451 local understandings  96–97 Mexico 50–51 New Zealand  56 Nigeria 47–48 North America  59–60 origins 115 population subgroups consequences 27 recognition  30, 31–33 redistribution 29–31 Regular Education Initiative (REI) 24–25 representation  30, 33 research agenda  39–40 Salamanca Statement  46, 115, 175, 234 Saudi Arabia  52–53 science education  234 Scotland 121–122 SEN (special educational needs)  26, 46 South Africa  48–49, 242–243 Spain 97 spatial in/justice  37–39 sub‐Saharan Africa (SSA)  47–49 support services  87–110 teaching practices  25 UNESCO (United Nations Education, Scientific, and Cultural Organization) 115 United States  59–60 Universal Design for Learning (UDL) 32 values 96–97 inclusive pedagogy see also inclusive education communication types  450 developing 451 LMICs (low‐ and middle‐income countries) 449–451 Inclusive Practice Project (IPP), teacher education for inclusion 433–437

Index for Inclusion, inclusive education 26–27 India disability/poverty/schooling interplay 174 education system  175 inclusive education  28, 54–55 Right of Children to Free Compulsory Education Act (RTE)  54–55 Individualized Education Plans/ Programs (IEP)  33, 53, 118–119 culturally diverse backgrounds (CLD) families 150–151 Instructional Guidance Systems (IGSs), literacy teaching  482 instructional system of support, reading assessment 409–410 instructional technology, Universal Design for Learning (UDL) 366–367 intellectual disability see also mental retardation special education  132–133 interactive teaching, reading instruction 259 interdisciplinary training  109 international development, inclusive education 427–428 international education governance Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities (CRPD)  7–8 EFA (Education for All)  17–18 UNICEF (United Nations Children’s Fund) 18 international initiatives, inclusive education 46–47 international perspectives, teacher education for inclusion  425–440 international settings, writing instruction 290–292 IPP see Inclusive Practice Project Ireland, inclusive education  97 Italy inclusive education  57–58 special education  57–58 training 57

517

518

Index

Jamaica  451–452, 456–458 integrating students with visual impairments 456–458 itinerant teachers  457 justice defining 73–74 principles 73–74 social justice, defining  73, 74–75 social justice education  77–78 spatial in/justice, inclusive education 37–39 justice dimensions inclusive education  28–34 recognition  30, 31–33 redistribution 29–31 representation  30, 33 Karplus learning cycle (KLC), science education 245–246 LAC see Latin America and the Caribbean (LAC) countries language and literacy development 183–199 see also English language learners (ELLs); literacy teaching; reading acquisition and development; reading instruction; writing instruction access to print  196 additional language learners (ALLs)  183, 184–186, 190–191 basic interpersonal communication skills (BICS)  185 cognitive skills  188–192 contextual factors  195–196 Critical Race Theory (CRT)  196–197 culturally diverse backgrounds (CLD) families 195–196 culturally responsive instructional experiences 196–197 early reading development  198 English language learners (ELLs)  183, 189–190, 193–194 environmental factors  186–188 evaluation 193–194

implications for research and practice 198–199 instructional factors  195–196 language acquisition  186 linguistic skills  188–192 Netherlands 187–188 opportunities to learn  193–194 oral expressive language  191–192 phonological awareness  188–189 reading instruction  260–261 Response to Intervention (RTI) 198 Salamanca Statement  184 science education  239–240 second‐language acquisition vs. learning disabilities  192–193 second‐language learners (SLLs), literacy teaching  474–475 second‐language support  197 simultaneous vs. sequential bilingual development 185 South Africa  187 syntactic awareness (SA)  190–191 vocabulary support  197 working memory (WM)  189–190 Latin America and the Caribbean (LAC) countries see also Hispanic/Latino students exclusion from educational opportunity 81 inclusive education  26, 49–51 support services, cross‐cultural comparison 99 learner variability, Universal Design for Learning (UDL)  364–366 learning disabilities vs. second‐language acquisition 192–193 learning in a regular classroom (LRC), China 459 legislative activity, Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities (CRPD) 10–11 linguistically responsive practices, reading instruction  258 linguistic bias, reading assessment  406–407, 408, 415

Index

linguistic characteristics English language learners (ELLs) 401 reading assessment  401 linguistic skills see also reading acquisition and development; reading instruction language and literacy development 188–192 literacy teaching  467–484 see also language and literacy development collaboration, service providers/ users  476, 479 communities of practice  481–482 comprehension strategy instruction 479–480 development of teachers’ knowledge throughout a career  477–478 dilemmas 473 disciplinary knowledge  477 evidence‐based practices  479 explicit instruction and practice  471 Instructional Guidance Systems (IGSs) 482 knowing context  476 knowing students  473–475 knowledge for  468–469 metacognitive/strategic deficits 473–474 pedagogical content knowledge 468–469 practice‐based curriculum  480 practice‐based opportunities  481 practice of teaching  482–484 progressive differentiation  477 recommendations 472–473 research about literacy knowledge for teaching 469–472 school practice  482–484 second‐language learners (SLLs) 474–475 standards 472–473 teacher quality and teacher practice 478–482 Universal Design for Learning (UDL) 482–483

LMICs (low‐ and middle‐income countries) see also developing nations assistive devices provision  447–448 Bangladesh  451–455, 461–462 children with disabilities  448–449 constraints on inclusive education 445–446 defining 447 empirical research gaps  448–449 evidence‐base paucity  446, 448–449 inclusive pedagogy  449–451 investment lack  448 Jamaica  451–452, 456–458, 461–462 Tanzania  451–452, 458–462 teacher education for inclusion 445–462 LRC (learning in a regular classroom), China 459 Malawi, exclusion from educational opportunity 81 mastery vs. general outcome measurement (GOM), progress monitoring 386–389 mathematics assessment  379–395 assessment accommodations 382–383 case study  393–394 considerations 392–393 curriculum‐based measurement (CBM) 384 diagnostic assessments  390–392, 394 English language learners (ELLs)  381–382, 383 formative assessments  383–390 high‐stakes assessments  381–382 summative assessments  379–384 mathematics teaching  209–224 achievement gap discourse  219 African American students  211–212, 218–221 behavioral characteristics  215 colorblind ideology  219 culturally relevant pedagogy 220–221

519

520

Index

mathematics teaching (cont’d ) diverse ethnicities  212–213 English language learners (ELLs)  211–212, 217–218 explicit instruction  215 heuristics 215 Hispanic/Latino students  211–212, 218–221 implications 221–223 instructional practices  215 learning preferences  221 metacognitive/strategic deficits  214 National Assessment of Educational Progress (NAEP)  210 Native American students  211–212, 218–221 OECD (Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development) 209 peer‐assisted math instruction  216 PISA (Program for International Student Assessment)  209–210 quantitative deficits  214–215 recommendations 221–223 research‐based instructional practices 211 research considerations  223–224 Special Education Elementary Longitudinal Study (SEELS)  211 stereotyping 219 student verbalizations  215 translation difficulties  214 unchallenging mathematics instruction 220 UNESCO (United Nations Education, Scientific, and Cultural Organization) 209 unqualified teachers  219–220 visual representation  216 working memory/long‐term memory 214 MDGs (Millennium Development Goals) 7–8 Arab States (AS)  52 South Africa  241–242 UN Millennium Development Goals (UNMDGs) 241–242

meaning‐making skills English language learners (ELLs)  402–406, 412–413 reading assessment  402–406, 412–413 mental retardation see also intellectual disability defining  150, 161–162 metacognitive/strategic deficits literacy teaching  473–474 mathematics teaching  214 methodology challenges, culturally diverse backgrounds (CLD) families 152–154 Mexico inclusive education  50–51 special education  50–51 MLM see Multilevel Model analyses mnemonic tools, history instruction/ education 304 Mongolia, exclusion from educational opportunity 81 morphographic literacy, reading acquisition and development 255–256 movement, learning characteristic  138 Multilevel Model (MLM) analyses, writing instruction  290 multimedia projects, history instruction/education 310 multiple source documents constructing written arguments  301 disciplinary thinking  301 future directions  302 history instruction/ education 300–302 NAEP see National Assessment of Educational Progress national accreditation review, special education teacher preparation  501, 504–506 National Assessment of Educational Progress (NAEP) mathematics teaching  210 reading assessment  469–470 writing achievement  277, 279

Index

National Council for Accreditation of Teacher Education (NCATE), special education teacher preparation  499, 501–502 Native American students culturally diverse backgrounds (CLD) families 151 mathematics teaching  211–212, 218–221 NCATE see National Council for Accreditation of Teacher Education Netherlands, language and literacy development 187–188 networking, support services  103, 109 newly‐qualified teachers (NQTs), Tanzania 460–461 New Zealand inclusive education  56 special education  56 support services  98 NGOs (nongovernment organizations), segregated schooling  15 Nicaragua, exclusion from educational opportunity 81 Nigeria exclusion from educational opportunity 81 inclusive education  47–48 nongovernment organizations (NGOs), segregated schooling  15 nonreciprocal peer tutoring (NRPT) 346–348 meta‐analyses results  324–329, 340–343 systematic reviews results  324–329, 340–343 North America see also United States inclusive education  59–60 North vs. South, socioeconomic and political divide  167–168 NQTs (newly‐qualified teachers), Tanzania 460–461 NRPT see nonreciprocal peer tutoring

OCR see Office for Civil Rights OECD see Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development Office for Civil Rights (OCR), demographics reports  131–134 Optional Protocol, Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities (CRPD)  3, 5 oral expressive language, language and literacy development  191–192 Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development (OECD), mathematics teaching  209 orthographic system, reading acquisition and development  255 outcomes, educational see educational outcomes overrepresentation, cultural differences 134–136 Pakistan Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities (CRPD) 10–11 disability/poverty/schooling interplay 173 EFA (Education for All)  13 PALS see peer‐assisted learning strategies Papua New Guinea, EFA (Education for All) 14 parental attitudes, EFA (Education for All) 13–14 parental distrust Asian cultures  157–158 culturally diverse backgrounds (CLD) families 156 Hispanic/Latino cultures  158 support services  156–158 parental initiative, cultural capital 159 parental roles cultural capital  158–160 cultural expectations  156–158 culturally diverse backgrounds (CLD) families 156–158 PBL see project‐based learning

521

522

Index

peer‐assisted learning strategies (PALS) 323–324 meta‐analyses results  324–329, 335–339 systematic reviews results  324–329, 335–339 peer tutoring  321–350 class‐wide peer tutoring (CWPT)  323–324, 332–335, 343–345 discussion 348–349 evidence‐based strategy  321 future research  349–350 history 322–324 limitations 349 meta‐analyses results  324–329 nonreciprocal peer tutoring (NRPT)  324–329, 340–343, 346–348 peer‐assisted learning strategies (PALS)  323–324, 335–339 reciprocal peer tutoring (RPT)  324–329, 335–339, 345–346 systematic reviews results  324–329 Peru, exclusion from educational opportunity 81 Philippines, exclusion from educational opportunity 81 philosophical stance supportive of diversity, special education teacher preparation 501–505 phonological awareness language and literacy development 188–189 reading acquisition and development 254–255 PIRLS see Progress in 2011 International Reading Literacy Study PISA (Program for International Student Assessment) Finland 117 mathematics teaching  209–210 science education  231–232 writing achievement  278, 279 Policy Action Group on Learning, educational policy  178

Portugal, collaboration, service providers/users 101 poverty disability relationship  168–172 disability/schooling interplay 172–174 dynamic nature of  170–171 education importance in reducing 171–172 statistics 168–169 practice‐based curriculum, literacy teaching 480 practice‐based opportunities, literacy teaching 481 practice of teaching, literacy teaching 482–484 preparing teachers, special education teacher preparation  496–498 Program for International Student Assessment (PISA) Finland 117 mathematics teaching  209–210 Progress in 2011 International Reading Literacy Study (PIRLS), writing achievement  278, 279 progressive differentiation, literacy teaching 477 progress monitoring administration and scoring  388–389 determining appropriate assessment level 388 formative assessments  385–389 general outcome measurement (GOM) 386–389 mastery 386–389 selection of instruments  387–388 project‐based learning (PBL), history instruction/education 309–310 purposes of schooling  69–82 see also segregated schooling analytical framework  71–73 ‘contradictory consciousness’  76 dominance 75–77 hegemony 75–77 identities 76–77 justice 73–74 oppression 75–77

Index

power 75–77 privilege 75–77 social justice  73, 74–75 social justice education  77–78 social systems, designing  78–79 State of the Nations  79–80 United States  70–73 QRAC‐the‐Code mnemonic  304 Rand Reading Study Group, reading assessment 403 reading acquisition and development 254–256 see also language and literacy development foundation literacy  255 morphographic literacy  255–256 orthographic literacy  255 orthographic system  255 phases 255–256 phonological awareness  254–255 reading assessment  399–416, 469–470 see also English language learners (ELLs) academic language  403–404 affective factors  407–409 characteristics of successful support 409–410 code‐based skills  402, 410–412 cultural bias  406–407, 408, 415 English language learners (ELLs) 399–416 evidence‐based approaches  410 instructional system of support 409–410 linguistic bias  406–407, 408, 415 linguistic characteristics  401 meaning‐making skills  402–406 National Assessment of Educational Progress (NAEP)  469–470 obstacles 406–409 Rand Reading Study Group  403 recommendations 409–410 responsive evidence‐based approaches 410 sociocultural context  403

vocabulary knowledge  403–405 reading instruction  253–263 see also language and literacy development academic language  261–262 contemporary social issues  260 culturally responsive instructional experiences 258 culturally responsive pedagogy (CRP) 263 effective instructional strategies 256–258 flexible grouping formats  259–260 interactive teaching  259 language and literacy development 260–261 linguistically responsive practices 258 new developments  262–263 reading acquisition and development 254–256 relevant materials  258–259 writing instruction  262 reciprocal peer tutoring (RPT) 345–346 meta‐analyses results  324–329, 335–339 systematic reviews results  324–329, 335–339 recognition inclusive education  30, 31–33 justice dimension  30, 31–33 redistribution inclusive education  29–31 justice dimension  29–31 Regular Education Initiative (REI), United States  24–25 representation inclusive education  30, 33 justice dimension  30, 33 overrepresentation, cultural differences 134–136 representation challenges, culturally diverse backgrounds (CLD) families 152–154 research about literacy knowledge for teaching 469–472

523

524

Index

research agenda, inclusive education 39–40 research‐based instructional practices, mathematics teaching  211 research in diversity science education  246–247 special education  246–247 research studies/reports collaboration, service providers/ users 91–95 disability/poverty/schooling interplay 172–174 support services  89–90 Response to Intervention (RTI) Finland 118 language and literacy development 198 responsive evidence‐based approaches, reading assessment  410 Right of Children to Free Compulsory Education Act (RTE), India 54–55 Romania, exclusion from educational opportunity 81 RPT see reciprocal peer tutoring RTE see Right of Children to Free Compulsory Education Act RTI see Response to Intervention SA see syntactic awareness Salamanca Statement inclusive education  46, 115, 175, 234 language and literacy development 184 Saudi Arabia, inclusive education 52–53 schooling see also purposes of schooling; segregated schooling disability/poverty interplay  172–174 EFA (Education for All)  12–14 school practice literacy teaching  482–484 Universal Design for Learning (UDL) 482–483 science education  231–247

American Association for the Advancement of Science (AAAS) 235 assessing science performance 236–237 attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD)  245–246 barriers 237–238 early science education  234–235 effective science instruction  238–240 English language learners (ELLs) 236–240 global initiatives  232–233 IDEA (Individuals with Disabilities Education Act)  234 inclusive education  234 instructional practices that hinder science learning  238 Karplus learning cycle (KLC) 245–246 language and literacy development 239–240 negative perceptions of learners  245 perspectives, South Africa  244–246 PISA (Program for International Student Assessment)  231–232 research in diversity  246–247 Science for All movement  235–236 South Africa  240–246 teacher professional development 243–244 UNESCO (United Nations Education, Scientific, and Cultural Organization) 232–233 United States  233 Science for All movement  235–236 science performance assessment 236–237 Scotland Additional Support for Learning Act 121 educational policy  116–117, 120–123 inclusive education  121–122 special education  121–123 teacher education  122–123

Index

screening, formative assessments 385–386 second‐language acquisition vs. learning disabilities 192–193 second‐language learners (SLLs), literacy teaching  474–475 second‐language support see language and literacy development SEELS see Special Education Elementary Longitudinal Study segregated schooling see also purposes of schooling Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities (CRPD)  14–16 developing nations  175 EFA (Education for All)  14–16 NGOs (nongovernment organizations) 15 persistence and resurgence  14–16 United States  69–70, 72 Self‐Regulated Strategy Development (SRSD) history instruction/education  311 writing instruction  281–283, 285–288, 290, 292–293 SEN (special educational needs) defining 46 inclusive education  26, 46 services, support see support services Sheltered Instruction Observation Protocol (SIOP), writing instruction 283–284 SIM see Strategy Instruction Model SIOP see Sheltered Instruction Observation Protocol SLD see specific learning disability SLLs see second‐language learners social construction, disability as a  6 social constructivism, special education teacher preparation  503 social justice, defining  73, 74–75 social justice/diversity intersection, special education teacher preparation 494–495 social justice education  77–78 empowerment 78 social mobility  10

social model of disability, Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities (CRPD)  3, 4, 9–10 social systems, designing  78–79 social time orientation, learning characteristic 138 sociocultural context, English language learners (ELLs)  403 South Africa collaboration, service providers/ users 102–103 Curriculum Assessment and Policy Statement (CAPS)  242, 244 inclusive education  48–49, 242–243 language and literacy development 187 MDGs (Millennium Development Goals) 241–242 science education  240–246 special education  48–49 teacher professional development 243–244 training 48–49 UN Millennium Development Goals (UNMDGs) 241–242 South vs. North, socioeconomic and political divide  167–168 Spain, inclusive education  97 spatial in/justice, inclusive education 37–39 special education Arab States (AS)  52 Australia 55 Canada 60 Chile 51 China  53–54, 96–97 core 124–125 demographics in schools  131–134 Finland 117–120 Germany 58–59 intellectual disability  132–133 Italy 57–58 Mexico 50–51 New Zealand  56 recommendations 140–143 research in diversity  246–247 Scotland 121–123

525

526

Index

special education (cont’d ) South Africa  48–49 UNESCO (United Nations Education, Scientific, and Cultural Organization) 115 United States  24–25, 59–60, 70, 233 Special Education Elementary Longitudinal Study (SEELS), mathematics teaching  211 special education teacher preparation  54, 59, 120, 479, 493–506 see also teacher education for inclusion addressing diversity  493–506 administrators committed to diversity 500–501 Council for the Accreditation of Educator Preparation (CAEP) 499 culturally responsive pedagogy (CRP) 497 disproportionate representation  498 diversity ‘problem’  495–496 educator preparation programs (EPPs) 499 faculty committed to diversity 500–501 Haberman Star Teacher Interview 501 ‘insider knowledge’, administrators with 493–494 national accreditation review  501, 504–506 National Council for Accreditation of Teacher Education (NCATE)  499, 501–502 philosophical stance supportive of diversity 501–505 practice, problems of  503–504 preparing teachers for diversity 496–498 selectivity 504 social constructivism  503 social justice/diversity intersection 494–495

systems change  493–506 Teacher Education Accreditation Council (TEAC)  499 Teacher Education Advisory Committee 501 Teacher Education Council  503–505 theoretical framework supportive of diversity 501–505 specific learning disability (SLD), writing instruction  289 spirituality, learning characteristic  137 SRSD see Self‐Regulated Strategy Development SSA see sub‐Saharan Africa Standard Rules for the Equalization of Opportunities for Persons with Disabilities 5 standards common cores state standards initiative (CCSSI)  299–300, 308 Common Core State Standards (CCSS)  278–279, 367 history instruction/education  299–300, 308 literacy teaching  472–473 Universal Design for Learning (UDL) 367 written language standards  278–279 State of the Nations  79–80 stereotyping, culturally diverse backgrounds (CLD) families 155–156 Strategy Instruction Model (SIM), writing instruction  289 student diversity, Universal Design for Learning (UDL)  364–366 sub‐Saharan Africa (SSA) EFA (Education for All)  13 inclusive education  47–49 summative assessments high‐stakes assessments  381–382 mathematics assessment  379–384 support services  87–110 accessing  89–90, 98–100 cross‐cultural comparison  99

Index

culturally sensitive  100–101, 103–104 diversity of delivery  89–90, 97–99, 102, 104, 108 Europe 97–98 Finland 118–120 global understandings  96–97 Greece 98 integrated 100–101 Latin America and the Caribbean (LAC) countries  99 local understandings  96–97 networking  103, 109 New Zealand  98 parental distrust  156–158 research studies/reports  89–90 training 109–110 United States  99 syntactic awareness (SA) language and literacy development 190–191 systems change, special education teacher preparation  493–506 Tanzania 458–462 developing responsive teaching 458–461 disability/poverty/schooling interplay 173–174 exclusion from educational opportunity 81 exploring mainstream primary school teachers’ practice  458–461 newly‐qualified teachers (NQTs) 460–461 statistics 459 Teacher Education Accreditation Council (TEAC), special education teacher preparation 499 Teacher Education Advisory Committee, special education teacher preparation  501 Teacher Education Council, special education teacher preparation 503–505 teacher education for inclusion

see also inclusive education; special education teacher preparation additional model  430–433 Bangladesh 455 contemporary international contexts 428–429 content‐infused model  433–437 continuing professional development (CPD) 436 future directions  437–440 Inclusive Practice Project (IPP) 433–437 innovative approaches to a content‐ infused model  433–437 international development  427–428 international perspectives  425–440 key principles  438–439 literature review  425–426 LMICs (low‐ and middle‐income countries) 445–462 prevailing international models  430 Scotland 122–123 teacher education for inclusion 425–440 teacher professional development science education  243–244 South Africa  243–244 teaching practices, inclusive education 25 technology, assistive see assistive technology theoretical framework supportive of diversity, special education teacher preparation 501–505 training China 54 Germany 58–59 interdisciplinary training  109 Italy 57 need for  48–49, 54, 58–59, 62 South Africa  48–49 support services  109–110 UDL see Universal Design for Learning UNCRPD see United Nations Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities

527

528

Index

UNESCO (United Nations Education, Scientific, and Cultural Organization) 7–8 see also EFA (Education for All) global exclusion from educational opportunity 81–82 Global Monitoring Report (GMR)  171, 172–174 inclusive education  115 mathematics teaching  209 science education  232–233 special education  115 UNICEF (United Nations Children’s Fund) 7 international education governance 18 United Kingdom collaboration, service providers/ users  101, 102, 103 exclusion from educational opportunity 81 United Nations Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities (UNCRPD), assistive technology 361–362 United States see also North America assistive technology  360–361 collaboration, service providers/ users 101 exclusion from educational opportunity 81 IDEA (Individuals with Disabilities Education Act)  69–70 inclusive education  59–60 Individuals with Disabilities Education Act Improvement Act 59 purposes of schooling  70–73 Regular Education Initiative (REI) 24–25 science education  233 segregated schooling  69–70, 72 special education  24–25, 59–60, 70, 233 support services, cross‐cultural comparison 99

Universal Design for Learning (UDL) 363–370 see also assistive technology Center for Research on Equity and Diversity in Education (CREDE) 365 Common Core State Standards (CCSS) 367 culturally diverse backgrounds (CLD) families 365–366 efficacy 367–368 English language learners (ELLs)  365 implications for classroom practice 367 inclusive education  32 instructional technology  366–367 learner variability  364–366 literacy teaching  482–483 principles 364 quality of the science  368–369 school practice  482–483 student diversity  364–366 VHM see Virtual History Museum Vietnam, exclusion from educational opportunity 81 Virtual History Museum (VHM), history instruction/ education 308–309 visual impairment, integrating students with visual impairments in Jamaica 456–458 visual representation, mathematics teaching 216 vocabulary knowledge Cognitive Academic Language Proficiency (CALP)  404 English language learners (ELLs) 403–405 reading assessment  403–405 vocabulary support, language and literacy development  197 West Africa, EFA (Education for All)  13 WIDA see World‐Class Instructional Design and Assessment working memory (WM)

Index

English language learners (ELLs) 189–190 language and literacy development 189–190 World‐Class Instructional Design and Assessment (WIDA), academic language assessment  413–414 writing achievement Africa 277–278 China 278 Europe 278 National Assessment of Educational Progress (NAEP)  277, 279 PISA (Program for International Student Assessment)  278, 279 Progress in 2011 International Reading Literacy Study (PIRLS)  278, 279 writing difficulties  279–280 writing instruction see also English language learners (ELLs); language and literacy development

Cognitive Apprenticeship  281–282 cognitive strategy instruction for writing (CSIW)  290–291 diverse rural settings  288–290 diverse urban settings  285–288 English language learners (ELLs)  284, 287 implications for research and practice 292–294 international settings  290–292 Multilevel Model (MLM) analyses 290 Self‐Regulated Strategy Development (SRSD)  281–283, 285–288, 290, 292–293 Sheltered Instruction Observation Protocol (SIOP)  283–284 Strategy Instruction Model (SIM) 289 Writing Process Model  280–281 Writing Process Model, writing instruction 280–281 written language standards  278–279

529