Abstract
Inclusion has become a global buzzword relating to education policy and practice. Mostly, it is tied to discussions about access and opportunities in education spaces as well as school policies and the curriculum decisions and pedagogical actions of teachers. As part of this critique, we propose defining inclusion as intersubjective experiences associated with feelings of belonging, acceptance, and value that are dynamic, ephemeral, spatial, and in flux. Here, we advocate for centering the experiences and amplifying the voices of disabled children and young people in and about education spaces, while acknowledging the wider social forces that structure those spaces, as only disabled young people can explain how they feel in the educational spaces where they find themselves.
Keywords
Introduction
Since its introduction into the international educational vernacular, which is typically linked to the World Education Forums of Jomtien in Thailand in 1990 and Salamanca in Spain in 1994 (Slee, 2018), inclusion has become a global buzzword that now guides educational policy and practice. However, the meaning of the term inclusion is contentious and, according to Moore and Slee (2020), has been commandeered by special education scholars and teachers to now represent a form of “eduspeak” that is devoid of its political and educational intent. Because the meaning of the term inclusion is tied to different histories, cultures, and epistemological assumptions (Kozleski et al., 2011); is constantly changing (Imray & Colley, 2017); and often is tied to the spaces and circumstances in which it is used (Petrie et al., 2018), it is difficult to postulate what a general theory of inclusive education entails (Slee, 2018). The waters are further muddied by the fact that inclusion, as a concept, is not exclusive to the educational experiences of disabled students. 1 Indeed, conceptualizations of inclusion have been developed and are drawn upon to discuss other identity markers, such as race, sexuality, social class, gender, and nationality, individually and as intersecting forces of oppression (Messiou, 2017). As such, according to Nilholm and Goransson (2017), the ambiguous nature of inclusion and the variety of meanings the term can take on may stunt our ability to develop an understanding of how to embrace, enhance, and use this concept in scholarship and practice. Moreover, the lack of a clear understanding of inclusion’s definition makes it difficult to determine whether policies and practices are successful in facilitating or achieving inclusion for the persons they claim to serve (Cobigo et al., 2012).
Article 24 of the United Nations Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities compels parties to provide an inclusive education system for disabled students (United Nations, 2006). However, the development of inclusive policy and practice within schools has proven difficult, not least because interpretations of inclusion and how it should be enacted are inconsistent and change over time (Kozleski et al., 2011). In this article, we endeavor to provide some conceptual clarity while, at the same time, extending what we contend are often narrow, parochial, and reductive conceptualizations of inclusion vis-à-vis disability by centering disabled students, rather than government and school policies and practices, to discuss inclusion as something that disabled students intersubjectively experience in the spaces where they find themselves.
For us, education spaces are not fixed or absolute. Material spaces, such as schools, classrooms, playgrounds, and gymnasia, are not containers of human activity or blank canvases. Rather, they are socially constructed and (re)produced through human interactions (Armstrong, 2012)—teachers interacting with students, students with other students, students with paraeducators, and so on. Here, it is crucial to note that power permeates relationships and interactions—directly and indirectly—that work to structure and shape education and school spaces (Waitoller & Annamma, 2017). In this article, we consider power as a structural characteristic of all human relationships that is often, but not exclusively, skewed toward dominant groups, especially those with their hands on the levers of power in education, such as policymakers, government officials, and senior leaders and administrators in schools (Engelstad, 2009). Power, for us, relates to the ways and extent to which an individual or group can shape the ideologies and behaviors of other individuals or groups (Engelstad, 2009). Thus, the meanings that disabled students ascribe to inclusion, the school spaces where they find themselves, and the interactions they experience with those who are part of their relational networks are influenced—by degrees—by the ideologies and behaviors of others. In short, power relationships and interactions that involve negotiation, contestation, and compromise act to structure school spaces and thus the intersubjective experiences of disabled students within those spaces (Kitchen, 1998).
A key feature of our article is that it explores inclusion as intersubjective experiences that centralize the lived, embodied experiences of disabled students, as their lives and bodies connect to and interact with others in the spaces where they find themselves. We view this conceptualization as being aligned with calls to amplify the voices of disabled persons about their subjective experiences (Pellicano et al., 2014). Of course, we are not the first nor will we be the last to champion the embodied perspectives of disabled students when considering what inclusive education can and should be. For instance, Shah (2007) gathers data from physically disabled students about their experiences of integrated and segregated schooling.2 In this research, discussions about inclusion are tied to material space, emphasizing the importance of physically disabled students being able to choose whether they attend an integrated or segregated school. In a similar vein, disabled participants in research by Vlachou and Papananou (2015) emphasize choice of school as integral to discussions about inclusion, together with social interactions with peers and teachers and their experiences of school curriculum. Taylor (2018) is vocal in their criticism of excluding intellectually disabled students from knowledge-making, referring to it as a threat to democratic citizenship (Taylor, 2020). Similarly, Milton (2014) problematizes research “about” autism that ignores the embodied experiences of autistic people, calling into question the ethical and epistemological integrity of such research. Gibson’s (2006) work advocates for amplifying the voices of students with special educational needs and encourages dialogue between pupils, families, school, education authorities, and other related professions to break a “culture of silence” (p. 316) vis-à-vis the education experiences of pupils with special educational needs. Here, discussion about inclusion is anchored mainly to policy decisions and practices in schools, but it also touches on the social and relational aspects of inclusion (Gibson, 2006). More recently, Messiou (2017) and Ainscow and Messiou (2018) have implored scholars to gather evidence from disabled students, considering inclusion in relation to student presence, participation, and achievement.
Although an increasing body of knowledge endeavors to amplify the voices of disabled students about their views on inclusion and experiences within different material spaces in schools, none of it considers inclusion as intersubjective experiences of belonging, acceptance, and value in the spaces that disabled students find themselves in and construct meaning about. It is here that the novelty of our conceptualization of inclusion and, thus, this article lies. Our focus on education and school spaces responds to Roulstone et al.’s (2014) call for critical reviewing, conceptualizing, and exploring the ways in which spatial constructs (re)shape and (re)frame disabled people’s experience of the social world. We conclude this article by discussing implications of conceptualizations of inclusion that are relevant for scholars and practitioners. It is important to note that we are not presenting our conceptualization as all-encompassing or saying that all representations of inclusion must fit neatly into our depictions. Rather, we suggest ways in which scholars and practitioners should think about their use of the term inclusion and the implications that come with adopting such conceptualizations. Like Maher (2018), we encourage others to critically reflect on their ideological commitments to concepts of inclusion because how practitioners conceptualize inclusion influences how they endeavor to shape school spaces and, thus, the intersubjective experiences of disabled students.
Inclusion as Intersubjective Experiences
For us, inclusion is more than an individual’s quantifiable existence within the material space of a school. Nevertheless, this position is generally taken by scholars and practitioners, who celebrate the integration—referred to as technical inclusion by Connor and Berman (2019)—of disabled students within the same material space (i.e., an integrated school) as their nondisabled peers as successful inclusion (Cobigo et al., 2012; Haegele, 2019). This purview is understandable when considered against a backdrop of disability activism and academic literature relating to geographies and histories of exclusion among disabled young people that views segregated school spaces as perpetuating forms of discrimination, the reproduction of stereotypes and negative assumptions about the bodies and abilities of disabled students (e.g., Armstrong, 2012; D’Alessio, 2022).
Although we’re not ignoring or challenging these claims, we do contend that conceptualizing inclusion merely in terms of an autonomous, disconnected, and disembodied individual’s presence within a material space and proximity of their peers, what Imrie (2014) terms the “spatial logic,” ignores the meanings and satisfactions that students can and should derive from those experiences (Martin Ginis et al., 2017). As such, conceptualizations of inclusion must extend beyond materiality and the physical existence of an individual within a space to consider the person’s intersubjective experiences within that space (Richardson & Motl, 2019). With that, as education scholars, teacher educators, or teachers, it matters less if what we see or hear is indicative of our own perceptions of inclusion; what matters more is how a plurality of people feel and whether they feel, cognitively and affectively, included as active agents interacting with and connecting to others (Reich, 2010) in the school spaces where they find themselves.
Intersubjective experiences shape a person’s perceptions and beliefs of their interactions with the world—primarily its natural features, as well as biological, social, and material entities that inhabit the world, such as subjects and objects (Bottero, 2010). One’s intersubjectivity acts as a filter that influences how individuals and groups interpret the world through mental, sensory, and linguistic processes. Embodied experiences, and the meaning constructed about them, are shared and individual, which distinguishes the intersubjective from the subjective (Heshusius, 1994; Reich, 2010). Although subjectivity clearly distinguishes and arguably separates the self from others and, thus, constructs an alienated mode of consciousness, intersubjectivity relates to a participatory consciousness whereby it is acknowledged that self and others are interdependently linked (Heshusius, 1994). Hence, the meanings and feelings that are constructed and experienced by disabled students about inclusion are tied to the interactions they have with others that are part of their relational network inside (e.g., teachers, teaching assistants, other students) and outside (e.g., parents, family members, friends) school.
Because intersubjectivity relates to how individual and group mind-bodies experience and make sense of the world, researchers and practitioners must commit—as we (e.g., Haegele, 2019; Haegele & Maher, 2022) and others have done (e.g., Cefai & Cooper, 2010; Vlachou & Papananou, 2015)—to engaging with voices of disabled persons to enable them to make themselves heard and to have their perspectives available to others in the construction of their experiences of inclusion in education (Ashby, 2011). By doing so, academics will take up calls to amplify the voices of disabled persons in research about inclusion (e.g., Chown et al., 2017) and align their research with the “nothing about us without us” disability activist movement that emphasizes the importance of endeavoring to empower and emancipate disabled selves through centering their experiences and amplifying their voices (Charlton, 2000).
Considering inclusion as intersubjective experiences allows it to take on a fluid nature, where a disabled student’s perception and feelings of inclusion can change depending on what they are experiencing. In this respect, it is crucial to note that those experiences are shaped by the culture of education systems and schools—that is, the dominant ideologies, values, traditions, and behaviors (Engelstad, 2009)—as well as the power that permeates the interdependent relationships (Elias, 1978) with others who are part of the relational networks of disabled students. In our view, this mode of thinking moves beyond established concepts of inclusion, particularly those that tie it to only material spaces, such as integrated schools, which are often static and consider inclusion as a finite and fixed state of being. As such, inclusion takes on what Soja (2009) refers to as an ontological spatiality of being, where spatial, relational, and temporal dimensions are relevant and where individuals and groups may feel, or not feel, included throughout the course of a class session, depending on what they experience and how they make sense of and construct meaning about that experience as they interact with others. This point is crucial, given the social nature and interdependency of intersubjectivity (Reich, 2010).
Considering inclusion as lived, embodied, intersubjective experiences is not relegated to one material space (e.g., an integrated school). That is, with inclusion conceptualized as intersubjective experiences, persons may experience individual or shared feelings associated with inclusion in any host of material or social spaces. In educational contexts, for instance, intersubjective feelings of inclusion may be experienced in integrated and/or self-contained settings 3 as well as in other unique settings, such as those with small numbers of nondisabled students in classes with disabled students. Nonetheless, we acknowledge that our suggestion that self-contained settings should be considered as part of a nuanced and more sophisticated conceptualization of inclusion may seem radical and be contentious, given that many disability studies scholars and activists, in the United States especially, equate integrated settings to inclusive experiences (Heck & Block, 2019; Stainback & Stainback, 1996) and may find experiencing inclusion outside these settings to be idealistic or conceptually inconsistent. Here, it is important to note that other countries, such as those that form the United Kingdom (U.K.), have been more inclined to consider self-contained educational settings in broader discussions about what inclusion entails in terms of education policy and practice (see Maher & Fitzgerald, 2022). In this respect, it is important to note research that has identified that feelings associated with inclusion appear to be available in self-contained spaces (Pellerin et al., 2020), perhaps to a greater degree than in integrated settings (Holland & Haegele, 2021). We should acknowledge, though, that the work of Maher and Fitzgerald (2022) and Pellerin et al. (2020) may serve as evidence that those who are in positions of power in integrated schools are, intentionally or otherwise, constructing what Soldatic and Grech (2014) refer to as disabling spaces in integrated schools because they are not sensitized to the needs and abilities of disabled students and, thus, are unwelcoming.
To develop modes of thinking about inclusion, we advocate for a conceptualization of inclusion as intersubjective experiences associated with feelings of belonging, acceptance, and value that can occur in any space in any school. According to Spencer-Cavaliere and Watkinson (2010), this conceptualization, initially based on Stainback and Stainback’s (1996) understanding of inclusion, “is in line with the position that inclusion is a [inter]subjective experience and central to its understanding are the thoughts, feelings, and experiences of children with disabilities” (p. 276). However, the expressions feeling a sense of belonging, feeling accepted, and feeling valued in educational scholarship and practitioner research have typically been used as taken-for-granted phrases for which the meaning is neither explored nor defined. As such, in the following sections, we discuss each of these features of inclusive experiences and what they can mean to disabled students within education spaces.
Feeling a Sense of Belonging
A journal special issue by Slee (2019) reminds us that, like inclusion, the concept of belonging is not exclusive to the experiences and feelings of disabled people. Nonetheless, for our purposes, we center the intersubjective experiences of disabled people because fostering feelings of belonging is crucial to the construction of what Connor and Berman (2019) term the authentic inclusion of disabled students in school spaces. According to Mahar et al. (2013), a sense of belonging is an (inter)subjective perception that centers on feelings. Belonging is fluid and spatial, and feelings of being connected to and cared for by others are central features (D’Eloia & Price, 2018; Mahar et al., 2013)—hence, its intersubjective nature. Feeling needed, important, integral, respected, or in harmony with the group or system characterizes most definitions of belonging (Mahar et al., 2013). These conceptualizations align with our beliefs about inclusion as intersubjective experiences, which centers on how people feel and whether they feel a sense of belonging based on their embodied experiences of interacting with subjects and objects in the spaces where they find themselves. The intersubjectivity and spatiality of belonging are emphasized by Kitchen (1998), who suggests that disabled people are determined to belong in one space and not in another, depending on their relationship to nondisabled others. When disabled people are out of place, it is a cause for concern because of perceived threat to power relations and the status quo.
A sense of belonging is a natural, lifelong desire and basic human need, as people want to be socially connected to others (Baumeister & Leary, 1995; Maslow, 1962). That is, people want to be part of a community and believe that other members want them to be part of the same community. Experiencing a sense of belonging in school spaces has been identified as a critical need, including for marginalized students and those who experience discrimination (Crouch et al., 2014), as a strong sense of belonging has been linked to a variety of academic, physical, and psychological benefits (Crouch et al., 2014; D’Eloia & Price, 2018). However, according to Crouch and colleagues (2014), structured ableism, teasing, ostracism, and alienation are indicative of the unequal distribution of power between those who have the most and least influence over shaping school spaces, such as disabled and nondisabled people, and are threats to feelings of belonging experienced by disabled students in integrated school spaces. This purview aligns with the work of Soja (2010), who uses the concept of spatial injustice to discuss locational discrimination as fundamental in the production of spatial injustice and the creation of lasting spatial structures that privilege and disadvantage disabled people.
Negative peer interactions in such spaces can have deleterious effects, increasing depression while lowering self-esteem and school attendance among youth. This situation may be particularly true in educational spaces, where experiences with social isolation, teasing, incompetent or interfering help, and physical exclusion are commonly reported by disabled students (Bredahl, 2013; Tanure Alves et al., 2018). Hence, when we advocate for a focus on belonging, we differentiate it from normative or normalized belonging. For us, normative belonging from the perspective of disability is based on an unequal distribution of power between disabled and nondisabled students, given that it is the former who are expected to assimilate into the established, often ableist, social spaces of and in schools (Goodley, 2014). Instead, our consideration of belonging is about disabled students feeling needed, important, integral, respected, and in harmony with other students (Mahar et al., 2013) because of, not despite, who they are and what they can do as sentient, embodied beings. Here, we focus on understanding and celebrating difference, whether it be actual or perceptual.
Several points should be accounted for when considering threats to belonging. First and foremost, we continue to encourage scholars and practitioners to center understandings of belonging on the voices of disabled students to explore intersubjective, lived, and embodied experiences. That is, we must move away from considering the purveyor of service as expert (Goodwin & Rossow-Kimball, 2012) and, more importantly, consider feelings of belonging of disabled students and their peers as they interact in school spaces. Like Maher and Morley (2020), we are critical of the taken-for-granted assumption that nondisabled adult scholars, policymakers, and practitioners can and should cognitively and affectively imagine how disabled students experience schools to make judgments about how inclusive schools are, if at all. Second, the existence of reciprocal and intimate friendships is considered an important facilitator of, but also a source of tension for, a sense of belonging and connectedness for disabled youth (D’Eloia & Price, 2018). That is, although friendships are fundamental in establishing a sense of belonging, the reciprocity and intimacy necessary to build meaningful friendships may be lacking, perhaps because of the hierarchical nature of these relationships, whereby disabled youth are often subordinated by their peers (D’Eloia & Price, 2018). Further complicating friendship development between disabled and nondisabled youth is stigma, where the stigma around disability tends to act as a barrier. Interestingly, Salmon (2013) identifies that to negotiate stigma, disabled teens appear to choose to self-exclude from nondisabled peers, instead seeking out friendships with other disabled students whose experiences of stigma and disability are shared and, thus, arguably more likely to be intersubjective (Reich, 2010).
Feeling Accepted
Sometimes considered as part of conceptual discussions about belonging (Shirazipour et al., 2017), we view feelings of acceptance as a peer-related concept that entails an individual’s perception of how others involve them in the spaces they inhabit. The experience of community is a central component of feeling accepted, and one’s existence within a community is an intersubjective phenomenon where everyone can have shared and individual experiences of that group (Walker, 1999). The characteristic of community, and acceptance within it, is well-aligned with the (inter)subjective nature of experiences of inclusion (Stainback & Stainback, 1996). In addition, seldom do people, disabled or otherwise, experience universal acceptance (or rejection) always, in all spaces. Rather, people may feel accepted in some instances and within some spaces, whereas they feel unwelcomed or rejected in others (Walker, 1999), which is in keeping with the fluid nature of feeling included as part of our broader conceptualization of inclusion. Feeling accepted and included are not guaranteed over time or across education spaces.
Feeling accepted within a space has a bidirectional association with positive interactions with others who also inhabit and shape the ideologies, traditions, and behaviors that structure that space. That is, people are more likely to feel accepted within a space when they engage in positive interactions and develop positive relationships with others, such as disabled students and their teachers, support staff, and other students. In turn, feeling accepted also tends to encourage more interactions with others (Walker, 1999). As such, positive social interactions within a space clearly have a critical role to play in feeling accepted and, thus, feelings of inclusion. Unfortunately, the established ideologies, traditions, and behaviors in schools, which are often ableist and, thus, reinforce the unequal distribution of power between disabled and nondisabled students (Goodley, 2014), mean that it is not uncommon for disabled students to be marginalized and even ostracized in integrated schools generally and so-called inclusive education specifically (Maher, 2018). Thus, to help enhance feelings of acceptance, it is imperative that scholars, policymakers, school leaders, teachers, and other key stakeholders consider characteristics of those spaces that may enhance positive social interactions and relationship building (Pesonen, 2016).
According to Pesonen (2016), stakeholders whose professional values, beliefs, and behaviors are aligned with creating welcoming and accepting spaces are crucial to developing and fostering supportive climates. Here, the role of those who have their hands on the levers of power in education and schools, such as policymakers and school leaders, is crucial in shaping the ideologies, values, customs, and behaviors that structure spaces in schools (Engelstad, 2009). So, too, is the role of educators, who are charged with being responsible for understanding how to create and support environments that foster feelings of acceptance. Gaining access to a material space is, therefore, itself not enough for fostering feelings of acceptance; instead, other social and pedagogical considerations must be made (Wilhelmsen et al., 2019). Teachers are encouraged to focus on fostering environments that welcome disabled students into school spaces and assist in the development of nonjudgmental relationships with other students and staff. Some considerations for the development of nonjudgmental relationships from Shirazipour and colleagues (2017) can become central to the work of educators to foster welcoming spaces, such as activities wherein students learn about an individual’s capabilities, ask that person to demonstrate those skills, and recognize and appreciate those skills. There is perhaps also a need to disrupt dominant, ableist perceptions of ability, which elevate normative ways of doing and being, because they, too, act as barriers to disabled students experiencing feelings of acceptance and, as we discuss below, value (Maher et al., 2021).
Feeling Valued
To conceptualize feeling valued, we borrow from the work of White, who has explored and defined the concept in workplace leadership research. White and Mackenzie-Davey (2003) define feeling valued as “a positive affective response arising from a confirmation, within a congruent set of criteria, of an individual’s possession of the qualities on which worth or desirability depends” (p. 228). According to White (2005), feeling valued “arises from a moment-by-moment, real-time expression of value for some ability or quality which the recipient considers to be important, and resides in a sense of fairness or appropriateness of such expressions” (p. 2). The temporal—and, we would add, spatial—component described by White (2004) supports the fluid nature of inclusion that can vary on a moment-to-moment basis, depending on changes that the individual and group experience in different spaces. As such, feeling valued can be seen as a positive emotion centered on how others evaluate an individual in relation to some ability or characteristic that they consider to be important (White & Mackenzie-Davey, 2003).
We are interested in how disabled students experience feeling valued within educational spaces, and several important considerations are salient in White’s conceptualizations. First, there is a difference between knowing that one’s work or abilities are valued and feeling as though they are, and the latter rests largely on some form of praise or recognition from others about that work or ability (White, 2005). This consideration points toward the critical role that others, whether teachers, peers, or other stakeholders, play in the construction of perceptions of value for disabled persons in educational spaces. That is, feelings of one’s own value are contingent on others communicating the belief that disabled persons possess desirable qualities or abilities, through providing some form of praise or recognition. For us, this concept ties neatly to the capabilities approach, first applied to education by Terzi (2005), which compels educators to disrupt deficit understandings of disability, whereby emphasis is placed on what disabled students cannot do when compared to their nondisabled peers, by centering and celebrating the capabilities of disabled students. Although teachers can also show that they value students’ abilities or qualities by using a variety of different pedagogical methods, such as celebrating academic and other achievements or selecting students to act like an example in class, the absence of these behaviors can have determinantal effects.
White’s (2005) second salient consideration suggests that feeling valued is a relative concept that depends on our opinions of others, the salience to us of what is being valued, and our own view of our “deserving” those views. School spaces have a clear hierarchy, with teachers positioned as the authority figure who, if given the expressive freedom to do so, can significantly shape the traditions, rituals, and beliefs, including what is considered valuable or desirable, of their subject (Maher & Fitzgerald, 2022). For those interested in supporting the development of feelings of value as a component of intersubjective experiences of inclusion within school spaces, constructing pedagogical environments that confirm each student’s possession of qualities that are worthy and desirable is an important consideration that must be further developed in research and practice. Yet teachers can only do so much when cast against a backdrop of ableism that pervades all material and social spaces, including education, deeming the minds and bodies of disabled people as flawed, even broken, and thus less human (Campbell, 2009).
Implications for Scholarship and Practice
The reorientation of inclusion as intersubjective experiences has several implications for scholarship and practice. Chief among the implications for scholarship is the need for academics to amplify the voices of disabled students in research about inclusion (Pellicano et al., 2014). We use the term amplify here purposely, as we do not ascribe to a position that we are giving or allowing voice because that would symbolically reinforce the power disparities that cut across traditional binary relationships between disabled and nondisabled people, adults and young people, and teachers and students. It is these traditionally hierarchical power relationships that we are endeavoring to disrupt through our reconceptualization. Thus, we encourage scholars to amplify the voices of disabled participants to help liberate their perspectives as co-constructors of knowledge. In this respect, it is proper to acknowledge that disabled students have expert knowledge about disability because it is inscribed in their lived and living bodies (Maher et al., 2021). Similarly, because intersubjective experiences are encoded in the bodies of disabled students, we, like Spencer-Cavaliere and Watkinson (2010), advocate for the conceptualization of inclusion as requiring investigation of the inclusiveness of experiences from the perspectives of those being included. To do so, we believe in the need for participatory and/or emancipatory research, which involves a partnership between academic researchers and disabled persons who are affected by the matter under investigation (Chown et al., 2017). Although it is beyond the scope of this article to explore participatory and emancipatory research theory and practice, we suggest the work of Aldridge (2016), Keefe et al. (2006), Milton (2014), Wickenden and Kembhavi-Tam (2014), and Woolhouse (2019) as starting points.
When we amplify the voices of disabled persons about research, it allows research consumers and practitioners to gain an understanding of how disabled persons privately experience very public events. For instance, a litany of examples of direct psycho-emotional disablism within literature discuss experiences in integrated education with disabled persons, including experiences with marginalizing, othering, and bullying by peers and teachers (Holland & Haegele, 2021). This line of inquiry has exposed that ableism is likely embedded within the sociocultural fabric of integrated schools and that although disabled students exist in the same spaces as their nondisabled peers, their experiences are markedly different. We must be mindful as well that when the unit of analysis is the individual, different kinds of identities, wrapped around, for example, socialization, sexuality, agency, power, appearance, ethnicity, culture, and language, must be navigated. Each requires different kinds of support and exploration when engaging with intersubjective experiences. These findings have practical implications, whereby practitioners must not assume inclusivity of their instruction but rather engage in dialogue with disabled persons as the experiential experts to understand the impact of curriculum and pedagogical decisions. In this way, we suggest that practitioners embrace the role of nonexpert and value knowledge gained from students within their classes over knowledge they gained from textbooks (Goodwin & Rossow-Kimball, 2012).
Inclusion conceptualized as intersubjective experiences extends beyond materiality and past physical environments and learning materials (Richardson & Motl, 2019). As such, this orientation also calls for scholars and practitioners to critically (re)consider the use of “objective” observational methods that are used to determine whether pedagogical practices are inclusive. We would argue that observational methods, such as inclusion checklists or other “inclusive strategies,” deprioritize the voices of disabled students in favor of providing simple boxes for scholars and practitioners to check to create the illusion of inclusion. Moreover, according to Connor and Berman (2019), many disabled students defy categorizations relating to automated responses in the form of prescribed interventions and ready-made checklists. Problematically, disabled people themselves are seldom enlisted in the production of these inclusion checklists (Moore & Slee, 2020), and therefore the cognitive authority of determining what is inclusive is centered on the professional, rather than on the intersubjective, embodied experiences of disabled students. As such, it could be argued that the construction and usage of observational methods contribute more to creating an impression, even a fabrication, of inclusion rather than inclusion centering on the intersubjective experiences of those being included.
Although we advocate for exploring the intersubjective experiences of disabled students vis-à-vis feelings of belonging, acceptance, and value through amplifying their voices, it is crucial that we and others follow Artiles et al.’s (2010) lead and end by situating such experiences and feelings in relation to cultural forces that shape spaces in education. The mechanisms of cultural (re)production in schools (Engelstad, 2009), such as policy, resourcing, staff professional development, curriculum decisions, assessment arrangements, and pedagogical actions, influence intersubjective feelings. Therefore, there is a need for the voices of disabled students to influence these mechanisms of cultural (re)production. Involving disabled students—and, indeed, their parents—in the construction of school policies, decisions about resourcing, and discussions about staff professional development priorities is notable and feasible. So, too, is eliciting the views of disabled students about curriculum, pedagogy, and assessment as part of the teaching and learning processes. Disabled students and their families need to be part of a social movement toward deeper and more complex constructions of inclusive school policies and practices (Messiou, 2019; Tomlinson, 2017). For us, this enhancement of the agency of disabled students is crucial and aligns with Finkelstein’s (1993) call to counter the dominant narrative of school spaces, which considers them as passive categories rather than spaces of resistance, which the state and its agents use to subordinate disabled students as part of their broader structures of governmentality. What we suggest here is not radical; it is certainly doable in those schools truly committed to providing “inclusive” education spaces for disabled students.
Conclusion
We write this article to critique hegemonic, often-taken-for-granted, conceptualizations of inclusion that we believe are narrow, parochial, restrictive, and deterministic. As part of that critique, we encourage our readers to consider inclusion as intersubjective experiences associated with feelings of belonging, acceptance, and value that are dynamic, spatial, and in flux. The spaces within which feelings of belonging, acceptance, and value are experienced are not containers of life and human activity; they are highly active and significant in determining the nature of experience and the meanings that disabled students construct about them (Warren & Garthwaite, 2014). This mode of thinking, we believe, allows scholars and practitioners to move beyond what Connor and Berman (2019) term “technical considerations of inclusion,” which are tied to material space, policy, and even curriculum and pedagogical decisions.
For us, it is crucial that adults center the experiences and amplify the voices of disabled children and young people in education spaces. Although excellent work has been done in this respect (e.g., Ainscow & Messiou, 2018; Gibson, 2006; Milton, 2014; Shah, 2007; Taylor, 2018; Vlachou & Papananou, 2015), none of that research explores disabled students’ intersubjective experiences of belonging, acceptance, and value in the spaces where they find themselves. This notable gap in academic knowledge needs filling. At the same time, we appreciate the pervasiveness of neoliberalism, with its focus on education standards tied to validity, normativity, and actuality, and how it often works to subordinate activities informed by social justice, equity, and inclusion (Grimaldi, 2012). Nonetheless, the voices of disabled students are crucial because they have expert knowledge in that they have lived, embodied experience of disability and are the ones whose experience should inform the construction of inclusive spaces. We are not suggesting that this mode of thinking should be accepted and others discarded. Indeed, it is crucial to acknowledge and (continue to) actively challenge the wider—often ableist—structural, spatial, and attitudinal factors that shape the educational experiences of disabled students. Instead, we hope that this article encourages scholars and practitioners to think about inclusion in more diverse and nuanced ways and that they actively endeavor to construct learning spaces that foster feelings of belonging, acceptance, and value among disabled students and their peers. We call for scholars who share differing views on inclusion to join in an academic dialogue about the meaning of the term and to have a productive discourse that can benefit our field. If nothing else, we hope that this article encourages our readers to pause and think about disabled students and inclusion.
