The Broken Contract: Dyslexia, Literacy, and the Legal Obligation to Educate
How Many Schools Fail to Provide True Literacy and the Legal Precedents That Demand Better
Schools must provide meaningful educational progress, yet many students—especially those with disabilities—are left behind. Drawing from my experience graduating functionally illiterate, this article explores systemic failures, legal precedents, and the need for accountability.
Introduction
In William A. v. Clarksville-Montgomery County School System, the Sixth Circuit reaffirmed a fundamental truth that should never have been in question: education must be more than mere attendance and accommodation. The court found that the school had failed in its legal duty to provide meaningful educational benefits to a dyslexic student, ultimately mandating 888 hours of compensatory tutoring. This ruling builds on Endrew F. v. Douglas County School District, where the U.S. Supreme Court made clear that an Individualised Education Programme (IEP) must be designed to deliver substantive progress, not just minimal advancement. These cases set an important legal precedent—one that demands schools do more than shuffle students along a predetermined path while failing to equip them with the essential skills they need to function in the world.
For those of us who were failed by the system, these rulings are both vindicating and enraging. I left school functionally illiterate, pushed through the system with passing grades that meant nothing in practical terms. At the time, I could barely read or write beyond the most basic level, and that limitation shaped the course of my early adult life in ways that were difficult to overcome. It wasn’t until nearly twenty years later that I gained true literacy—an experience that was both liberating and infuriating, forcing me to confront how much had been stolen from me by a system that was supposed to ensure I had the tools to succeed. Schools are supposed to guarantee every child receives a proper education, but my experience—and that of so many others—proves otherwise.
If public education is designed to provide every student with the ability to read, write, and engage fully in society, why does it fail so many? Why are students with learning and processing differences, particularly those with dyslexia and gestalt language processors (GLPs), so often left to struggle on their own? And if the law is clear that schools have a duty to provide meaningful educational progress, why are so many districts still content to do the bare minimum, prioritising compliance over competence?
The ‘Contract’ of Public Education
Education is often framed as a right, but in practice, it functions more like a contract—one that students have little choice but to enter. Schools set the terms through syllabi, learning targets, and state-mandated standards, defining what students are expected to know and be able to do by the end of a given course or academic year. These expectations are not arbitrary; they are meant to form a coherent progression, ensuring that by the time a student completes their education, they are equipped with the skills necessary to navigate adulthood. At least, that is the theory. In reality, this so-called contract is often little more than a formality, with schools routinely failing to uphold their end of the bargain, particularly for students who need the most support.
Every course, from primary school to secondary, has explicit learning targets—statements that define the essential skills and knowledge students are supposed to master. In the U.S., the Common Core State Standards (CCSS) serve as a benchmark, outlining what students should achieve at each grade level in subjects such as English and maths. These standards are supposed to function as a guarantee, ensuring that students graduate with at least a baseline level of proficiency. But the reality is that these benchmarks are often treated as flexible guidelines rather than firm commitments. Schools routinely pass students forward regardless of whether they have actually mastered the required skills, with the assumption that they will ‘catch up’ later—a notion that rarely holds true.
For students with disabilities, the contract becomes even more explicit. Under the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act (IDEA), schools are legally required to provide a Free Appropriate Public Education (FAPE). This means they must develop IEPs that ensure students with disabilities make meaningful progress, not just token advancements. These IEPs set personalised learning goals, which schools are legally obligated to help students achieve. Yet, in practice, IEPs are frequently neglected, reduced to paperwork exercises that fail to translate into meaningful classroom support. Teachers are often overburdened, undertrained, or simply not held accountable for ensuring that students with IEPs actually receive the instruction and interventions they need.
All of these components—learning targets, CCSS benchmarks, IEP goals, and the legal protections of FAPE—are meant to work together to guarantee that students, particularly those with disabilities, receive a real education. They are meant to function as a safeguard against the very experience I had: being pushed through school while remaining functionally illiterate. Yet, time and time again, these safeguards fail. The ‘contract’ of public education is routinely broken, and the ones who suffer the most are those who can least afford to be left behind.
The Reality – A System That Fails Many
As you’ll know if you’ve been here a while, I was never truly taught to read. I was moved along, passed from one grade to the next, not because I had mastered the material, but because I fit neatly into the system’s priorities. I was an athlete, and in the school’s eyes, my potential on the field mattered far more than my ability to read or write. Holding me back, insisting that I develop foundational literacy skills, would have disrupted my trajectory in sports—and sports were seen as my ticket to the future. This is a common enough story that entire college programmes have ‘football classes’—courses that barely qualify as academic, designed to keep athletes eligible whilst demanding as little as possible in terms of literacy or critical thinking. I know this first-hand, because when I made it to college football, I took those classes. I didn't need literacy skills to pass them. And by that point, after years of being pushed along without any meaningful intervention, I had little reason to believe I would ever truly be literate.
The system’s failure wasn’t just neglect—it was a deliberate decision to prioritise compliance over competence. Teachers, for the most part, did not have the resources or training to provide substantive literacy instruction, particularly for students like me who didn’t fit the standard model. The growing emphasis on the so-called “science of reading” has only made this worse. Despite its many failings, this rigid framework has been upheld as the gold standard, leaving little room for alternative methods that might better serve dyslexic students or gestalt language processors like me. The reality is that many schools were never designed to teach all students to read; they were designed to process students through a system, and as long as that system functioned smoothly, individual literacy struggles were treated as unfortunate but acceptable losses.
For me, there were no real check-ins, no serious interventions, no moments where anyone asked, Can you actually read this? My grades were more of a courtesy than an assessment. There was no expectation that I demonstrate actual competency, just that I continue forward, another student successfully ‘progressing’ through the system. And this isn’t just something that happened to me—it’s still happening. In my own classroom, if I give a failing grade to a student for not turning in work or not meeting learning targets, I can expect administrative scrutiny. There will be meetings, paperwork, and an unspoken pressure to find a way to make that student pass. And I know I am not alone in this. Other teachers, wary of the administrative burden, find ways to quietly ensure students pass, whether or not they’ve learned anything.
This is why William A. v. Clarksville-Montgomery County School System matters. For perhaps the first time, courts are beginning to recognise that this system isn’t just ineffective—it’s actively harmful. The ruling demands that schools be held accountable for ensuring that students actually learn, not just that they are moved along. It’s a start, but for those of us who were failed by this system, it comes far too late.
The Legal Precedents – What the Law Requires
For decades, the legal framework surrounding education for students with disabilities has been more about compliance than actual learning. Schools have been able to get away with the bare minimum, providing accommodations rather than genuine instruction, and treating progress as a formality rather than a measurable outcome. But two landmark cases—Endrew F. v. Douglas County School District (2017) and William A. v. Clarksville-Montgomery County School System (2024)—have begun to shift that paradigm, setting legal precedents that demand more than just superficial support.
In Endrew F., the U.S. Supreme Court ruled that an IEP must be designed to ensure meaningful educational progress, not just minimal advancement. This was a major departure from the long-standing assumption that as long as a student was making some progress—no matter how trivial—the school had fulfilled its obligations under the IDEA. The ruling made it clear that schools must set appropriately ambitious goals for students with disabilities, ensuring they are given the opportunity to make real, measurable gains in their education. It was a shift towards holding schools accountable for outcomes rather than just effort.
The William A. case took Endrew F. one step further, applying its principles to the fundamental issue of literacy. The Sixth Circuit ruled that a school district had violated IDEA by failing to provide a dyslexic student with the foundational reading instruction he needed, despite having an IEP in place. The court found that simply accommodating his struggles was not enough—he needed direct, structured literacy intervention to make substantive progress. The ruling mandated 888 hours of compensatory tutoring, sending a clear message: schools cannot allow students with disabilities to graduate without the basic skills necessary for independence and participation in society.
Together, these cases establish a legal standard that should have been obvious from the beginning—schools must ensure that students are actually learning, not just passing through. The days of ‘compliance as education’ are no longer legally justifiable. If a student with an IEP is not making meaningful progress toward their goals, the school is in violation of federal law. This has major implications for school districts, particularly those that have long relied on empty promises rather than effective instruction. Schools that fail to meet these legal obligations could face lawsuits, court-mandated interventions, and financial penalties.
For students like me, who were failed by the system, these rulings are a long-overdue reckoning. But the question remains: will schools change their practices to meet these new legal standards, or will they continue to find ways to circumvent accountability, leaving another generation of students to struggle alone?
The Disconnect – Why Schools Still Fail to Teach Literacy
The failures of literacy instruction are not accidental—they are systemic, built into the very structure of modern education. Schools function as bureaucracies, where compliance takes precedence over outcomes, and where legal mandates are often treated as paperwork exercises rather than obligations to be meaningfully fulfilled. The system is designed to prioritise efficiency, not effectiveness. The result is that students, particularly those with dyslexia, GLPs, or other learning differences, are left behind whilst schools remain technically ‘in compliance.’ The emphasis is not on whether students have actually learned to read and write, but rather on whether schools have checked the right administrative boxes.
One of the biggest issues is the way schools rely on accommodations rather than direct instruction. In theory, accommodations are meant to support students by providing them with additional tools—extra time on tests, audiobooks, speech-to-text technology. But too often, accommodations become a substitute for actual literacy instruction. Rather than ensuring that students can read, schools provide workarounds that allow them to function without reading. This was my experience. No one intervened to teach me how to read in a way that made sense for my brain. Instead, I was allowed to skirt around the problem, given just enough support to stay afloat whilst never actually acquiring the skills I needed. This approach does nothing to address the underlying issue—it simply masks it until students age out of the system, still functionally illiterate but without the legal recourse to demand further support.
Another major failure lies in teacher training. Despite the wealth of research on different learning styles and the diverse ways in which students acquire language, most teachers are only trained in one approach: the so-called ‘science of reading.’ This heavily phonics-based method is treated as the gold standard, yet it ignores nearly half of all students—especially GLPs, who learn language in a different, more holistic way. The research has been there for decades, showing that not all students benefit from phonics-first instruction, yet the dominant literacy narrative refuses to acknowledge these differences. Instead, struggling students are labelled as deficient, as if the failure lies with them rather than with the rigid, one-size-fits-all system imposed on them.
Beyond these instructional failures, there is a deeper, more insidious problem: the gap between legal theory and classroom reality. Laws like Endrew F. and William A. establish clear expectations that schools must provide meaningful educational progress, but enforcement is another matter entirely. Administrators are incentivised to show that students are progressing, regardless of whether that progress is real. Teachers, meanwhile, are under constant pressure to push students forward, often facing scrutiny if too many students fail. In my own classroom, any time I give a failing grade—whether due to missing work or not meeting learning targets—I must prepare for administrative oversight, meetings, and paperwork. It is far easier for a teacher to find a way to pass a student than to fight the system. This is how so many students, like me, are allowed to graduate without ever mastering foundational literacy skills.
Despite the legal precedents set by cases like William A., these systemic failures persist. Schools may be required by law to provide real literacy instruction, but the incentives built into the system encourage them to do the opposite. The question is, how many more students will be sacrificed to bureaucratic inertia before the law becomes more than just words on paper?
What Needs to Change
If schools claim to be institutions of learning, then they must be held accountable for ensuring that learning actually happens. Right now, too many students—particularly those with dyslexia, gestalt processing, or other learning differences—are being pushed through the system without mastering fundamental literacy skills. This is not an accident; it is a structural failure, reinforced by a bureaucracy that prioritises efficiency and compliance over meaningful education. Schools set the terms of their own ‘contract’ with students through learning standards, syllabi, and legally binding IEPs, yet there are few real consequences when they fail to uphold their side of that contract. This must change.
At the heart of this shift must be a transformation in how IEPs are written and enforced. Too often, IEP goals are vague, general, and designed more for administrative convenience than for ensuring a student gains necessary skills. If a student is meant to be working towards literacy, their IEP should include explicit, enforceable goals related to reading comprehension, fluency, and structured language instruction—not just accommodations that allow them to get by without those skills. Schools must be held legally accountable not only for providing an IEP, but for actually delivering on the substantive progress it promises. This means no more rubber-stamping of vague, noncommittal goals that leave students with nothing but empty assurances.
Teacher training is another crucial piece of this puzzle. It is unacceptable that most general education teachers are not trained to support students with IEPs. Every educator should be equipped with at least a foundational understanding of how to teach literacy in a way that meets the needs of all students, not just those who fit a phonics-first, analytic processing model. Schools should be preparing their teachers to recognise and support diverse learning styles, including GLPs, rather than forcing students to adapt to rigid, one-size-fits-all methods that are failing large swaths of the population. This is especially critical given that many students with IEPs are placed in general education classrooms for most of their day. If all teachers are legally required to support IEP goals, they must be trained to do so.
Ultimately, without stronger enforcement mechanisms, these changes will remain theoretical. Legal precedents like Endrew F. and William A. establish that schools have an obligation to provide meaningful educational progress, but that obligation must come with real consequences. If schools fail to uphold their side of the contract, legal action should be an expected and necessary step. Parents, advocates, and students themselves need to understand their rights under these rulings and use them as leverage to demand better. That means challenging inadequate IEPs, pushing for appropriate interventions, and, if necessary, pursuing legal avenues to hold districts accountable.
For too long, schools have treated literacy as an aspirational goal rather than a fundamental right. It is time to change the equation: literacy must be non-negotiable, and schools must be held accountable for ensuring that every student—especially those with disabilities—graduates with the ability to fully participate in society. The legal groundwork has been laid; now it is up to all of us to ensure that these rights are enforced.
Final thoughts …
I should never have graduated high school functionally illiterate. The system that was supposed to prepare me for the world failed in its most basic duty: ensuring that I could read, write, and fully participate in society. Instead, I was pushed along, passed from one grade to the next, with my athletic ability used as justification for my advancement rather than any actual academic achievement. My future was treated as secondary to the school’s convenience, and by the time I reached adulthood, the damage was done. It took me nearly twenty years to gain true literacy—twenty years of lost opportunities, getting swindled by contracts I couldn’t read, struggles, and unnecessary barriers that could have been avoided if the school system had simply done what it was supposed to do.
The ruling in William A. v. Clarksville-Montgomery County School System makes it clear that what happened to me—and what continues to happen to so many students—is a violation of federal law. Schools are not allowed to simply move students along while failing to teach them the skills they need. They are required to provide real, substantive literacy instruction, and when they fail to do so, they can and should be held accountable. But despite this legal precedent, students are still being left behind, still graduating without the literacy skills they need to function in the world. If the law demands better, why is the system still content with failure?
The answer lies in accountability. Schools will not change unless they are forced to. That means parents must understand that an IEP is not just a document—it is a federally enforceable contract. It is a legal guarantee that schools must provide students with the education they need to make meaningful progress. If schools fail to meet those obligations, parents have the right, and the responsibility, to challenge them—whether through IEP meetings, state complaints, or legal action. This is not just about one student or one case; this is about an entire system that must be held accountable for the futures it shapes.
Students deserve nothing less than true literacy. They deserve an education that does more than just shuffle them along through a broken system. William A. proves that the law is on their side. The question now is whether we will use it to demand what has always been their right.