Attitudes of Youth Baseball
Coaches Toward Players with Mild Mental Retardation
Robert Szyman Named Secretary
General of IWBF
Contrasts: The 14th Deaf World
Winter Games
COVER FEATURE
By Martin E. Block
Did We Jump on
the Wrong Bandwagon?
Problems with Inclusion in
Physical Education (Part
I)
Inclusion, the philosophy of merging special
and general
education and placing all children with disabilities in general
education settings, has been around now for nearly ten years.
However, there seem to be more questions than ever regarding
the efficacy of inclusion. While there have been limited reports
that show inclusion in physical education can be successful (e.g.,
Block & Zeman, 1996; Block, Zeman, & Henning, 1997; Heikinaro-Johansson,
Sherrill, French, & Huuhka, H., 1995; Houston-Wilson, Dunn,
van der Mars, & McCubbin, 1997; Murata, 1995; St. Clair,
1995; Vogler, van der Mars, Cusimano, & Darst, 1990; 1992),
there are probably just as many unreported stories from practicing
physical educators that inclusion does not always work.
One of the problems many practicing physical educators face
is the fact that inclusion in their schools is not being carried
out properly. Like mainstreaming in the 1970s, many school districts
simply dump children with disabilities into general physical
education without providing any staff training or support (Chandler
& Greene, 1995; Karper, 1995; LaMaster, Gall, Kinchin, &
Siedentop, 1998). To complicate the issue further, there have
been several papers recently correctly pointing out that including
all students in general physical education, and thus abandoning
the continuum of placement options, is contrary to federal law
(Block, 1996; Sherrill, 1994; Stein, 1994).
Maybe inclusion is not the right thing to do for all children
with disabilities. Maybe the sceptics (e.g., Fuchs & Fuchs,
1991, 1994 Grosse, 1991; Hallahan & Kauffman; 1995; Kauffman,
1991; Stein, 1994; Sherrill; 1994) were right. Maybe we should
abandon the philosophy of inclusion and go back to more special
classrooms and special schools for children with disabilities.
This is already happening in many communities. For example, in
central Virginia there now exist a publicly funded school for
children with behavior problems, two private schools for children
with learning disabilities, a private school for children with
behavior problems, and a new private school for children with
autism. The Virginia School for the Deaf and Blind, which saw
decreasing enrollments in the 1980s, is starting to see a return
of students who have failed in local public schools. And in the
northern part of the state, there continue to be special schools
for children with severe disabilities and special schools for
children with orthopedic disabilities.
On the other hand, maybe this a good time to reflect on the philosophy
of inclusion and why inclusion was championed in the first place.
Perhaps these philosophies are still worthwhile today, and maybe
we should look at ways to make inclusion work rather than abandoning
the philosophy and practice altogether. Perhaps this is a good
time to carefully examine why inclusion seemed to work in some
schools, yet failed in so many others.
The purposes of this article are to (a) examine problems with
inclusion as it is being interpreted and implemented in many
school districts, and (b) review the definition and philosophy
of inclusion. Specific problems with inclusion as a movement,
and more specifically how inclusion in physical education is
being implemented, are discussed and analyzed.
Problems with the
Inclusion Movement Inclusion as a Cause
When the idea of including all students with disabilities into
general education was first broached, there was little effort
to justify the philosophy through research. It was argued that
inclusion was the right thing to do and children with disabilities
had a moral right to be included in the mainstream of education
(Bricker, 1995; Ferguson, 1995; Fuchs & Fuchs, 1994; Kauffman,
1995; Stainback & Stainback, 1990; 1991). In fact, some argued
it was unnecessary and even counterproductive to conduct research
on inclusion, and "...no amount of scientific research can
be conducted that will in the final analysis justify segregation
(Stainback & Stainback, 1991, p. 236). Inclusion became a
human rights issue, and for many, a moral imperative (Bricker,
1995; Karagainnis, Stainback, & Stainback, 1996; Kauffman,
1995). But as a moral imperative, we stopped looking at the how
of inclusion. It simply was enough to get children into general
classrooms. The problem was, no one was studying specific techniques,
staffing models, and training protocols needed to make inclusion
work more effectively. Not surprisingly, such efforts led to
poorly planned and poorly implemented inclusion programs (Ferguson,
1995; LaMaster, et al., 1998).
Program-Level Versus Child-Level Advocacy
In their zest to promote inclusion, many inclusionists forgot
about the child. That is, we were so busy promoting the philosophy,
we forgot to look at each child's needs. Focus of attention was
solely on placement (Bricker, 1995; Fuchs & Fuchs, 1994;
MacMillan, Semmel, & Gerber, 1994; Sherrill, 1994; Stein,
1994). Certainly, many children who were in more restrictive
settings benefitted from the inclusion movement, and many more
children who continued to be inappropriately placed in special
classes and schools would have benefitted from more integrated
opportunities. However, we must never forget that the child should
always remain the center of focus when discussing placement decisions
(Stein, 1994).
Inclusion Zealots
Related to all of the preceding was the way many inclusionists
promoted inclusion and attacked anyone with differing viewpoints.
The staunchest supporters showed complete unwillingness to accept
anything less than full inclusion of all children with disabilities,
regardless of the consequences (Fuchs & Fuchs, 1994). Again,
the moral rationale made anything less than full inclusion wrong
(Bricker, 1995; Kauffman, 1995). It seemed some inclusion advocates
wanted us to take medically fragile children out of hospitals
and seriously emotionally disturbed children out of treatment
centers simply to declare the continuum of placement options
was dead. It did not occur to these advocates that some children,
while a great minority, really needed alternative placements
to learn, maintain health, and grow (Kauffman, Lloyd, & Baker,
1995).
Disregard for Student/Parental Preferences
and Needs
Many children and their parents had legitimate reasons to request
placements other than regular education classrooms. For example,
some children with autism had been successfully placed in general
education classrooms, but others found such environments restrictive
and counterproductive for learning (McEachin, Smith, & Lovaas,
1993; Smith, 1996). Some children who were deaf did well in fully
included programs, while others failed in such programs yet flourished
at state supported schools for the deaf (Butterfield, 1991; Lane,
1995; Siegel, 1994). There are always circumstances in which
some children benefit from alternative placements, yet requests
by students and parents were summarily denied when full inclusion
was enforced. What was lost with the inclusion movement was what
may have truly been best for children (Bricker, 1995; Kauffman
et al., 1995; Stein, 1994).
Problems with Inclusion
Implementation
Quality of General Physical Education Programs
Inclusion supporters made four large assumptions about general
physical education that in many cases proved to be wrong. First,
there was the assumption that general physical education programs
were of high quality with individual instruction already in place.
What supporters found was that most physical educators still
taught to the middle. Children with disabilities were forced
to do what all the other children in the class were doing, regardless
of what was written in their IEPs. Furthermore, how the information
was presented was not individualized for children with disabilities.
For example, some general physical educators made no effort to
use more verbal cues or physical prompts with children who were
blind, or demonstrations for children who were deaf.
A second assumption made about general physical education was
that physical education class sizes mirrored the general education
classroom, and that most typically developing children were well
behaved and highly motivated. In reality, many schools double,
triple, and even quadruple general education classes into one
large, noisy, often chaotic general physical education class.
For example, it is not uncommon to see as many as 75 to 100 children
in general physical education classes in school districts in
Virginia and Texas (having such large class sizes is illegal
in some states such as Tennessee that recently passed legislation
stating that a physical education class cannot be any larger
than academic classes [Stein, July 18,1999, personal communication]).
And, as if large class sizes have not been enough of a problem,
it seems that more children who do not necessarily have special
education labels pose significant, chronic behavior problems
in general physical education (Boyce, 1997; Lavay, French, &
Henderson, 1997; Mehas et al., 1998). Class management was a
major problem for many general physical educators, and it was
all they could do to keep the peace, let alone try to teach.
Including a child with a disability into such an environment
sets the child up for failure from the very beginning.
Third, it was assumed that general physical educators were willing
to take on the challenge of working with children with disabilities
(Stanton & Colvin, 1996). While some general physical educators
were willing to take on such challenges, many were very reluctant.
Cries of "It is not my job," or "I was not trained
to do this," or "If I wanted to work with kids with
disabilities, I would have gone into adapted physical education,"
echoed through many gymnasiums. This was particularly true when
talking about children with more severe disabilities (Block &
Rizzo, 1995). Many physical educators simply chose not to take
ownership of children with disabilities placed in their classes.
Bricker (1995) called this an add-on approach to inclusion, in
that the child was simply added to the program. Ferguson (1995)
noted children with disabilities were "in but not of the
class" (p. 284). The child with disabilities was really
not a functional member of the class or an active participant
in many activities. For example, in physical education a child
with a disability might move around the perimeter of the gym,
but he/she would never really be part of an activity or game.
Even worse, some general physical educators did not even acknowledge
(e.g., look at or talk to) children with disabilities, let alone
try to accommodate their unique needs. Are children with disabilities
in such programs receiving appropriate physical education? Are
children without disabilities in such programs learning to be
more accepting of children with disabilities?
Even those who were willing to take children with disabilities
had very little training and really did not know where to begin
(Chandler & Greene, 1995; LaMaster, et al., 1998). As Bricker
(1995) noted, "Most professionals and paraprofessionals
prepared to work with nondisabled children know little about
disabilities, about how impairments may affect children, or what
strategies to use in addressing questions and problems in ways
that expand and enhance positive attitudes in young children"
(p. 188). The combination of poor attitudes and limited training
further resulted in inclusion failures in many physical education
programs.
Fourth, there was an assumption that general physical educators
would receive training, and that adapted physical education specialists,
who previously worked with children with disabilities in special
settings, would be able to provide this training (Block, 1994;
Murata & Little, 1995; Kelly, 1994a; Kelly & Gansneder,
1998). Previous research clearly showed general physical educators
did not feel adequately prepared to deal with unique issues presented
by children with disabilities (e.g., Bird & Gansneder, 1979;
Melograno & Loovis, 1991). Unfortunately, the reality was
that many general physical educators did not receive adequate
training, and many more received no training at all (Chandler
& Greene, 1995; LaMaster, et al., 1998). The sink or swim
philosophy of inclusion seemed to be the most popular approach,
and not surprisingly, many teachers came to resent having children
with disabilities in general physical education.
And what of the adapted physical education specialists? Not only
did they lose their cozy self-contained program, but they were
asked to go into another teacher's gymnasium and provide support
and assistance (Kelly, 1994b). Yet, no one was telling the adapted
physical education specialist exactly how to do this. Many adapted
physical education specialists lacked training or skills needed
to be effective consultants or collaborators (Block, in press-a;
Kelly, 1994b; Pankake & Palmer, 1996; Sparduti, 1996).
Lack of Support
Perhaps the greatest problem with inclusion in physical education
was lack of personnel support. Many children with disabilities
were being dumped into large physical education programs
without support of trained adapted physical education specialists
(Chandler & Greene, 1995; LeMaster et al., 1998). For example,
Karper (1995) noted many elementary schools in the United States
did not employ even general physical educators, thus leaving
classroom teachers to teach physical education. Karper noted
these teachers barely knew what to do with typically developing
children, let alone children with disabilities. In Virginia,
where the vast majority of schools have physical education specialists,
only a handful of larger school districts (e.g., Fairfax, Norfolk,
Virginia Beach) employ adapted physical education specialists.
General physical educators in these smaller school districts
are often left to their own devices to figure out ways to provide
appropriate physical education for children with disabilities.
Even in school districts in Virginia where there are trained
adapted physical educators, these specialists often are specifically
hired to work with self-contained classrooms for children with
severe disabilities. Again, general physical educators are left
on their own to deal with children with more mild disabilities.
It is no wonder that many general physical educators seem to
be so resentful of inclusion.
When support was available, it often was in the form of a teacher
assistant. While many children with disabilities needed a teacher
assistant to be successful in general physical education, these
teacher assistants were poorly trained. General physical educators
often were of little help to these assistants, taking no responsibility
for the child with a disability. What resulted were teacher assistants,
most with very little experience in adapted physical education,
trying to modify the general physical education curriculum. To
complicate matters further, teacher assistants tended to hover
around the child with disabilities so much that the child was
actually socially isolated from other
students in the class (Block, in press-b; Bricker, 1995; Ferguson,
1995). For example, when the physical education teacher asked
children to find a partner to do sit-ups or work on catching
skills, often the teacher assistant would serve as the partner
to the child with a disability. Is this what inclusion advocates
envisioned?
Elimination of Adapted
Physical Education Programs
Just as distressing was the fact that adapted physical education
services to children with disabilities who had previously received
them were dropped from children's IEPs because of the new inclusion
philosophy. One adapted physical education specialist told this
author she was informed by her supervisor that her services were
no longer needed because of the school district's move to inclusion
(Block, 1994). Another adapted physical education specialist
said he was not allowed to pull children out of general physical
education because of the school district's inclusion philosophy.
Again, the inclusion philosophy itself seemed to be of more importance
than the unique needs of the child with disabilities.
Did We Jump on the Wrong
Bandwagon?
Given all the problems with inclusion, as a movement,
as well as how inclusion has been implemented in many places,
perhaps it is time to realize that more children with disabilities
would be better served in self-contained adapted physical education
programs conducted by trained adapted physical education specialists.
Maybe we should face the fact that, while a good ideal, including
children with disabilities in general physical education was
really an ill-conceived concept from the beginning and one that
is virtually impossible to implement.
Yet, there are hints from some that including children with disabilities
in general physical education can work. For example, Murata (1995),
Lieberman (1996), and Houston-Wilson, et al. (1997) showed using
trained peer tutors could facilitate inclusion in physical education,
Heikinaro-Johansson and her colleagues (1995) showed a consultative
model could be an effective way to help general physical education
teachers include children with disabilities in general physical
education, Block & Zeman (1996) showed inclusion did not
have to have a negative impact on the learning and attitudes
of children without disabilities, and St. Clair (1995) showed
inclusive setting could actually be a more effective for development
of gross motor skills compared to a segregated setting. No doubt
many other stories from gymnasia around the United States show
inclusion in physical education can work. Perhaps before we completely
jump off this bandwagon we should examine why inclusion was so
highly regarded by so many educators, and why it seems to have
worked in some situations.
What is Inclusion?
While least restrictive environment is the legal term regarding
placement in PL 105-17, Individuals with Disabilities Education
Act (IDEA), (Bateman, 1996; Block, 1996; Sherrill, 1998), the
specific philosophy of inclusion has been advocated by some professionals
and parent groups for the past 10 years. These inclusionists
advocate for merging special and general education such that
all children, regardless of abilities or disabilities, are educated
within the same environment, an environment where each child's
individual needs are met (Downing, 1996; Karagiannis, Stainback,
& Stainback, 1996; Lipsky & Gartner, 1987; O'Brien, Forest,
Snow, & Hasburg, 1989, Stainback & Stainback, 1984; 1987;
1990; Stainback, Stainback, & Bunch, 1989a; 1989b; Taylor,
1988). The philosophy of inclusion is perhaps best summed up
by the following statement: "Although some children, especially
those with severe and multiple disabilities, may have unique
ways of learning, separating them from others who learn in a
different way is unnecessary and could prevent them from achieving
their full potential" (Downing, 1996, p. xii). It is also
important to note that an inclusion philosophy goes beyond simply
physically placing a child in a general education classroom (Block,
in press-b; Bricker, 1995; Brown et al., 1989; Downing, 1996;
Ferguson, 1995; Snell, 1991; Stainback & Stainback, 1990).
In theory, as noted by Stainback and Stainback (1990), "An
inclusive school is a place where everyone belongs, is accepted,
supports, and is supported by his/her peers and other members
of the school community in the course of having his/her educational
needs met (p. 3).
Embedded within this definition was the understanding that children
with disabilities would still receive an individually determined,
appropriate program with supplementary services and supports
to meet their unique needs (Block, 1994; Stainback & Stainback,
1990; 1991). However, these services would be brought to the
child with a disability within the general education environment
(Downing, 1996). In terms of physical education services, this
meant that individually determined goals and objectives and accommodations
would be provided within the general physical education setting
by staff trained to provide these services (i.e., adapted physical
education specialist, trained general physical education specialist,
trained teacher assistant, or trained peer tutor) rather than
taking the child to these special services and staff (Block,
1994). This notion of bringing services to the general education
setting theoretically provided continual opportunities for the
child with disabilities to interact with, learn from, and form
friendships with peers while still ensuring that the child received
an appropriate, individualized program (Downing, 1996; Stainback
& Stainback, 1990; 1991).
Another critical tenant of the inclusion philosophy was that
children with disabilities were the responsibility of both general
and special education staffs (Downing, 1996; Giangreco, 1997;
Givner & Haager, 1995; Sailor, Gee, & Karasoff, 1993;
Stainback & Stainback, 1990). Unlike traditional, self-contained
programs in which the special education teacher (with support
of related service personnel) was solely responsible for a child's
education, in inclusive programs it was the responsibility of
all the school staff to make sure each child's educational program
was carried out appropriately (Downing, 1996; Sailor, et al.,
1993; Stainback & Stainback, 1990; 1991). This notion of
he's not my responsibility has no place in properly implemented
inclusion. However, it was unreasonable to expect the resources,
knowledge base, and personnel available in general education
to serve needs of both children with and without disabilities
(Stainback & Stainback, 1991). Yet, it also was becoming
clear special education resources and personnel could not serve
all needs of children with disabilities. The inclusion philosophy
suggested that only through merger of resources, knowledge, and
talents of general and special education could both children
with and without disabilities receive comprehensive, appropriate
education services (Lipsky & Gartner, 1998; Sailor, et al.,
1993; Stainback & Stainback, 1991). Continual support and
training for general education teachers were certainly required
to make such a merged system work. In addition, use of various
co-teaching arrangements (general and special education teachers
dividing and sharing class instruction) might be an effective
way to facilitate inclusive programs (Lipsky & Gartner, 1998).
For example, Block & Zeman (1996) noted effectiveness of
having the adapted physical education specialist go into the
general physical education class, work with all students-both
with and without disabilities-and co-teach various aspects of
the general physical education lesson. Such co-teaching arrangements
had also been advocated by Sherrill (1998) and Lipsky and Gartner
(1998).
Note that providing services within general education did not
necessarily mean all services for a particular child would always
take place within the general education setting (Block, 1994;
Brown et al, 1991; Lipsky & Gartner, 1998; Sailor, et al.,
1993). For limited periods of time during the school day, a child
with a disability, as well as any other child in the class, could
receive specialized instruction using specialized equipment in
specialized environments outside the general education classroom.
For example, a high school student with severe mental retardation
may need extra time in the locker room with support of a teacher
assistant in getting dressed to go back to class. This student
may leave general physical education 10 minutes early to work
on these functional dressing skills. However, this student is
still theoretically perceived as a member of the general physical
education class just like other children without disabilities
are perceived as members of the class (Block, 1994; Lipsky &
Gartner, 1998).
1984
- 1999
Physical 
Education (Part
I)
(Article cont'd)
