The Illusion of Inclusion: Systemic Failures Hidden Beneath Flawed Evidence
My first year teaching in my district marked a turning point in how it approached special education. That year, my class included students with “moderate” needs who had been part of the now-closed ‘Emotionally Disturbed’ special day class. These students were added to my class alongside those with specific learning disabilities, intellectual disabilities, and traumatic brain injuries—students considered “mild” cases. Despite the challenges, we worked tirelessly in our special day programme to provide a supportive learning environment for everyone. However, by the next year, everything had changed again. My 4th- and 5th-grade class was merged with all the other special day programme classes, creating a single classroom spanning transitional kindergarten through 5th grade. This was part of a district-wide response to so-called inclusion initiatives and budget cuts. With no choice in the matter, I was displaced and reassigned as a Resource Specialist Programme (RSP) teacher at a “full inclusion” school, where I currently work.
Recently, I came across an article in The Hechinger Report that struck a chord with me. It critiques the research supporting the “full inclusion” model, identifying it as fundamentally flawed due to methodological weaknesses, such as selection bias and the failure to account for prior academic performance or the varying “severity” of students’ disabilities. The article argues that the evidence base is insufficient to conclude that inclusion works for all students, particularly those with “moderate” or “severe” support needs. Whilst I appreciated its incisive analysis of the weaknesses in the research base, I found it lacking in one crucial respect. The article skirts the larger systemic and cultural issues that make “full inclusion” so challenging to implement effectively in the first place.
This avoidance leaves an important question unanswered: are we failing to study inclusion properly because we lack the resources, training, and cultural commitment to do it right? Whilst the article offers valuable insight into the limitations of inclusion research, it stops short of addressing the root causes of why inclusion so often falls short in practice. Today’s article will argue that the real problem lies not in the inclusion model itself, but in how we, as a society, have chosen to implement it—or, more accurately, how we have chosen to neglect the conditions required to make it successful.
Flawed Evidence or Flawed System?
The Hechinger Report article raises important questions about the quality of the evidence supporting the “full inclusion” model, focusing on methodological weaknesses such as selection bias, lack of randomisation, and the failure to account for varying levels of disability. However, it stops short of addressing why these weaknesses exist. The issue is not just flawed research but the conditions under which that research is conducted. In an era dominated by pay-to-play “open access” publishers and evidence mills, much of the so-called evidence for educational interventions is produced to meet corporate interests. These organisations, often hired by programme developers, prioritise favourable outcomes over rigorous analysis, creating a veneer of credibility for interventions that lack meaningful scrutiny.
Compounding this issue is the systemic underfunding of education, particularly special education. Schools operating on limited budgets are forced to adopt inclusion as a cost-saving measure rather than as a pedagogical choice. This often means inclusion is implemented without the necessary resources, such as classroom aides, specialised training, or smaller class sizes. Teacher preparation programmes exacerbate the issue by failing to include co-teaching as a standard part of their curriculum. Most single-subject teachers enter the profession with little to no formal education on how to collaborate with special education colleagues, leaving them unprepared to support inclusive classrooms.
These systemic failures create a self-perpetuating cycle. Poor implementation of inclusion—driven by underfunding, lack of training, and insufficient staffing—results in classroom experiences that fall short of expectations. Research on these poorly executed practices often takes the form of small-scale action studies, conducted by teachers themselves, and is rarely critical. This limited scope and lack of rigorous oversight lead to findings that are neither generalisable nor robust. Such research is then used to justify further budget cuts or policy shifts, perpetuating a cycle of inadequate practices and poor evidence.
Take, for example, the chronic shortage of special education teachers. Districts respond by merging classes or placing high-needs students in general education settings without the requisite support. Meanwhile, professional development opportunities for inclusion are often brief, superficial, and fail to address the complexity of co-teaching. These conditions ensure that inclusion is implemented in ways that are set up to fail, making it nearly impossible to generate reliable evidence about its true potential.
The Cultural Problem: Inclusion as “Babysitting”
One of the most insidious barriers to effective inclusion is the cultural stigma surrounding special education, both within the teaching profession and in society more broadly. Special education (SpEd) teachers are often viewed as “less than” their general education counterparts, relegated to roles that are poorly understood and undervalued. This attitude extends to students with disabilities, who are frequently seen as “disruptive” or as burdens rather than as learners with unique strengths and needs.
The stigma is glaring in co-teaching environments, where SpEd teachers are often treated as little more than behaviour monitors. In many cases, they are excluded from lesson planning or instructional delivery, sidelined as an unwanted “extra adult” in the room. I’ve experienced moments where my co-teacher refused to let me teach, explicitly stating that it would confuse the students. Instead, I was expected to patrol the room and manage behaviours, reinforcing the perception that I was there for crowd control rather than meaningful collaboration. These dynamics not only undermine the professional identity of SpEd teachers but also send a damaging message to students: the SpEd teacher is not a real teacher, just an assistant.
This hierarchical relationship between general education and SpEd teachers is a significant obstacle to true inclusion. Co-teaching is meant to foster equal partnerships, where both educators bring their expertise to create a richer learning environment. Instead, power dynamics often position the general education teacher as the primary authority, whilst the SpEd teacher is seen as subordinate. This perception trickles down to students, who often view their SpEd teacher as less qualified or less important. Without genuine collaboration and respect, the potential benefits of co-teaching are squandered, and inclusion becomes little more than a hollow gesture.
Adding to this cultural problem is the relentless focus on standardised test scores. Teachers are under immense pressure to meet performance targets, which often leads to resentment toward students with Individualised Education Programmes (IEPs). These students are frequently seen as dragging down class averages or as too much work due to the accommodations they require. The accommodations, meant to level the playing field, are perceived as inconveniences, further alienating these students and their teachers.
This toxic combination of stigma, hierarchical power dynamics, and an obsession with metrics devalues both SpEd teachers and students with disabilities. It reduces inclusion to a performative exercise, where the focus is on compliance rather than equity. To make inclusion meaningful, we must address these cultural issues head-on, fostering respect for SpEd teachers as equals and embracing the diverse potential of every student. Without this cultural shift, the promise of inclusion will remain unfulfilled, and the biases that perpetuate exclusion will persist.
Inclusion on a Budget: The Neoliberal Influence
Inclusion, as it is currently implemented, is often less about fostering equity and more about balancing budgets. Financial pressures push school districts to adopt inclusion as a cost-saving measure, a fact that is often disguised by rhetoric about its educational benefits. The Hechinger Report article critiques the weak evidence base for inclusion but doesn’t delve into the financial and systemic reasons why such flawed practices are so pervasive. Notably absent from the article is any exploration of how underfunding and austerity measures have led to the widespread adoption of inclusion without the necessary resources, staff, or training to make it successful.
This approach to inclusion aligns with broader neoliberal trends in education that prioritise efficiency and cost-cutting over equity and student well-being. Under this framework, special day classes and resource-intensive programmes are seen as expensive liabilities. Districts can save money by eliminating these programmes and integrating students with disabilities into general education classrooms, even when those classrooms lack the supports needed to meet their needs. What should be a carefully implemented pedagogical strategy becomes, instead, an economic one—one that often leaves both students and teachers struggling.
Teacher shortages, particularly in special education, further drive these policies. My own experience illustrates this dynamic. In my first placement, the special day class I taught was shut down as part of a district-wide shift toward inclusion. Along with my colleagues, I was displaced and reassigned as an RSP teacher at a “full inclusion” school. This wasn’t the result of a carefully considered strategy to improve student outcomes; it was a response to staffing shortages and budget constraints. Districts like mine were forced to spread their limited resources thin, masking the problem with the language of inclusion.
Compounding these issues is the role of evidence mills, which generate research designed to support these cost-saving measures. As I’ve explored previously, these organisations often produce glowing reports on the effectiveness of interventions that align with neoliberal priorities, regardless of their actual impact. By focusing on short-term, small-scale studies, they create the illusion of evidence-based practice while sidestepping the complexities of implementing inclusion in diverse, underfunded contexts. This drive for quick, positive results undermines meaningful progress, allowing flawed policies to persist unchecked.
The absence of these systemic critiques in the Hechinger Report article highlights a significant gap in the discourse around inclusion. By failing to address the neoliberal influences that prioritise cost-cutting over equity, we risk perpetuating a cycle where inclusion is set up to fail, leaving students with disabilities and their teachers to bear the brunt of the consequences.
What Inclusion Could Be: A Vision for Change
To reimagine inclusion as a meaningful practice, we must start by rejecting the narrow metrics that currently define success in education. Standardised test scores and compliance-based performance measures are inadequate tools for assessing the impact of inclusion. Instead, we should focus on metrics that prioritise student growth, collaboration, and equity. Success in an inclusive classroom isn’t about maintaining a rigid standard; it’s about fostering an environment where every student can achieve progress, no matter their starting point. This means valuing creative problem-solving, interpersonal skills, and self-advocacy as much as academic performance. A shift away from rigid metrics allows educators to centre students’ diverse strengths rather than reduce them to deficits.
Achieving this vision requires substantial investment in teacher training and resources. Co-teaching, for example, is essential for effective inclusion, yet it is often overlooked in teacher preparation programmes. Without proper training, general education teachers may struggle to collaborate with their special education counterparts, and students miss out on the benefits of an integrated instructional approach. Smaller class sizes and additional support staff are equally critical, ensuring that teachers have the capacity to address individual student needs. Professional development must go beyond surface-level workshops, equipping teachers with the tools to design and deliver inclusive lessons grounded in Universal Design for Learning (UDL) principles.
Inclusion also demands a cultural shift within education. Special education teachers and students with disabilities must be valued as integral members of the learning community. This begins with dismantling the biases that frame SpEd teachers as secondary or less skilled. Their expertise in differentiation and accommodations is not only vital but transferable, enhancing outcomes for all students. School leadership plays a key role in this transformation, modelling respect and collaboration across teaching teams. By fostering an environment where SpEd teachers are seen as equals, schools can set a powerful example for students and families.
The classroom itself must be reimagined as a dynamic, inclusive space. As I wrote in The Classroom as User Experience, designing instruction for the student with the most complex needs doesn’t lower standards; it raises the bar for accessibility and engagement. When scaffolding, pacing, and differentiation are built into every aspect of teaching, classrooms become places where all students can thrive. This approach requires intentionality, not extravagance. It’s about creating a culture where inclusion is the foundation, not an afterthought.
Ultimately, inclusion is not a product to be bought or a mandate to be complied with. It’s a practice rooted in equity, respect, and collaboration. To realise its full potential, we must move beyond token gestures and invest in the systems, training, and mindsets that allow every student to flourish. When we commit to this vision, inclusion can become a transformative force, not just for students with disabilities but for the entire educational community.
Final thoughts …
The debate about inclusion often centres on whether it “works,” as if it is a singular concept that can succeed or fail in isolation. But inclusion isn’t inherently flawed—it is the way we approach it that determines its success or failure. The real question isn’t whether inclusion is viable; it’s whether we are willing to create the conditions necessary for it to succeed. This requires more than superficial reforms or performative policies. It demands systemic change, rooted in equity and a commitment to meeting the needs of all students.
To move forward, we must reframe inclusion as an opportunity to transform education, not as a burden or cost-saving measure. This means asking hard questions about the structures that undermine its potential. Are we willing to invest in teacher training programmes that centre co-teaching and Universal Design for Learning? Can we reimagine success beyond standardised metrics to recognise the diverse strengths and growth of every student? Are we ready to address the cultural biases within the profession that devalue special education teachers and students with disabilities? Inclusion can work—but only if we have the courage to tackle these foundational issues.
This is a call to action for all stakeholders in education: educators, administrators, policymakers, and community members. Educators must advocate for professional development and resources that empower them to support inclusive classrooms. Administrators must prioritise equity, ensuring that inclusion is implemented with integrity and not as a cost-cutting measure. Policymakers must confront the systemic underfunding of education and commit to reforms that address inequities in staffing, training, and resource allocation. Families and community members must hold schools accountable, demanding transparency and collaboration in how inclusion is practised.
Ultimately, inclusion is about more than placement—it’s about creating classrooms where every student feels seen, supported, and valued. It’s about designing systems that centre equity, not efficiency. This is not an impossible task, but it requires collective action and a willingness to challenge the status quo. When we ask whether inclusion works, we are asking the wrong question. Instead, we must ask whether we are prepared to build the conditions for inclusion to thrive. If we are, we have the power to transform education for the better—not just for students with disabilities, but for everyone.