Happy Independence Day! I’ve been thinking a lot about inclusion the past couple of weeks and the main reason has to do with a photo, a photo that isn’t of me, or my daughter Katie, or even of a child I know. It’s this photo. Maybe you’ve seen it on the internet or facebook.
This is a standard class photo, the kind taken at the beginning of the year in every grade school across the United States. The fact that the photo includes a boy in a wheelchair isn’t what makes it controversial. What made the photograph go viral is that the boy is seated off to the side, in his wheelchair rather than on the bleachers with the other kids, leaning over to get closer to his classmates. His presence seems to say: I’m part of the class—sort of.
The other reason the photo went viral is because the parents spoke up. I’m not sure either the school or the photography company understood why the parents were upset. But I do.
Inclusion is about so much more than placing a child in the classroom or extending an invitation to a birthday party. It’s about creating a welcoming environment. The composition of this photograph does not do that. It shouts exclusion. No, it’s far more subtle than that. It whispers exclusion. It says we will include you in the photo, but you are not really part of the group.
They say that a picture is worth a thousand words, and never has that been more true than as I struggle to explain what bothers me about this photo. The boy is included, and yet he’s not.
We need to do more, so much more, for these exceptional kids.
I have no idea what happens in the classroom, what verbal cues the school staff are giving these children about the boy in the wheelchair. I hope the teacher is amazing and this photo merely the unfortunate result of a lack of imagination on the part of the photographer. Regardless, anyone looking at this photo receives the subtle, yet unavoidable message that there are twenty-two “normal” children and one who is not. One who is different. One who must be kept apart. One who is “the other.”
This is not the message I want my autistic daughter to receive. I want her to view her disability as a difference that makes her unique, not something to be feared or a reason to be excluded. We all need to work to erase these messages. Differences are not inherently bad. Wouldn’t it be a beautiful thing if everyone believed that?
What can you do to help eliminate these forms of subtle exclusion?
Until next time,
Cynthia Patton
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About Cynthia J. Patton
Writer, Editor, Advocate, Speaker, Special Needs Attorney, and Autism Mom. Also the Founder and Chairperson of Autism A to Z, a nonprofit providing resources and solutions for life on the spectrum.
A Picture Is Worth a Thousand Words
Happy Independence Day! I’ve been thinking a lot about inclusion the past couple of weeks and the main reason has to do with a photo, a photo that isn’t of me, or my daughter Katie, or even of a child I know. It’s this photo. Maybe you’ve seen it on the internet or facebook.
This is a standard class photo, the kind taken at the beginning of the year in every grade school across the United States. The fact that the photo includes a boy in a wheelchair isn’t what makes it controversial. What made the photograph go viral is that the boy is seated off to the side, in his wheelchair rather than on the bleachers with the other kids, leaning over to get closer to his classmates. His presence seems to say: I’m part of the class—sort of.
The other reason the photo went viral is because the parents spoke up. I’m not sure either the school or the photography company understood why the parents were upset. But I do.
Inclusion is about so much more than placing a child in the classroom or extending an invitation to a birthday party. It’s about creating a welcoming environment. The composition of this photograph does not do that. It shouts exclusion. No, it’s far more subtle than that. It whispers exclusion. It says we will include you in the photo, but you are not really part of the group.
They say that a picture is worth a thousand words, and never has that been more true than as I struggle to explain what bothers me about this photo. The boy is included, and yet he’s not.
We need to do more, so much more, for these exceptional kids.
I have no idea what happens in the classroom, what verbal cues the school staff are giving these children about the boy in the wheelchair. I hope the teacher is amazing and this photo merely the unfortunate result of a lack of imagination on the part of the photographer. Regardless, anyone looking at this photo receives the subtle, yet unavoidable message that there are twenty-two “normal” children and one who is not. One who is different. One who must be kept apart. One who is “the other.”
This is not the message I want my autistic daughter to receive. I want her to view her disability as a difference that makes her unique, not something to be feared or a reason to be excluded. We all need to work to erase these messages. Differences are not inherently bad. Wouldn’t it be a beautiful thing if everyone believed that?
What can you do to help eliminate these forms of subtle exclusion?
Until next time,
Cynthia Patton
Share this:
Like this:
About Cynthia J. Patton
Writer, Editor, Advocate, Speaker, Special Needs Attorney, and Autism Mom. Also the Founder and Chairperson of Autism A to Z, a nonprofit providing resources and solutions for life on the spectrum.