Education is a right, not a policy decision

On what we can learn from our children

An article appeared in yesterday’s Observer concerning a deal made by the government that aims to see new education plans for pupils in England with special needs cut by 20%. Education Health and Care Plans (EHCPs) are legal documents that describe a young person’s needs and what provision will meet those needs. Over half a million children have EHCPs in England, with thousands more currently undergoing or seeking assessment. The government has just actively decided to deny children education, health and care.

The process of obtaining an EHCP can be notoriously difficult. Three years ago I finally managed to secure one for my oldest daughter. I had deregistered her from school at the age of 6 because she found it so stressful (I wrote about this in Twelve Moons), but always hoped that with time she might return to school. I needed to work after all, and educating your child at home is all-consuming. Going into year 7, she demonstrated obvious academic ability, though this became the thing that came back to haunt us again and again as she crumbled and became too unwell to even leave the house. I kept her on roll at her local high school, determined not to be fobbed off as having elected to educate her at home, wanting her education to be funded like other children’s. But in order to demonstrate the level of support she required, I was first required to show that she had been truly broken by the school system. I had to take her into the huge school building so that staff could see she was utterly traumatised by its environment. I had to sit with her in endless meetings, each one another example of her voice not being heard, her needs not been met.

Despite these efforts that I still regret, our request was turned down. Professionals couldn’t understand why a child who could achieve such high academic results could not learn. They didn’t see that being ‘clever’ is not enough for a child to thrive. Being ‘clever’ means almost nothing when you are so poorly you cannot function. Eventually, when her spirit flickered like the smallest candle on my windowsill, at risk of being completely extinguished, I attended the obligatory mediation that follows an EHCP rejection and managed to persuade the local authority that my daughter could only learn at home. We got the EHCP.

18 months later, my third daughter stopped attending school. She had become mute and tiny, years of trying to exist inside an environment that didn’t suit her had caught up on her and her mask had fallen to the floor. Once more I applied for an EHCP, knowing from experience that the only way to rediscover her spirit and confidence was to support her to learn at home until she felt more able to consider other options. I was fortunate that my child’s headteacher fully supported this approach, attending meetings with me and speaking about my child’s unique strengths with tears in her eyes. We were lucky to have her on our side. But again our application was rejected. I had expected this, I had heard that it had got harder in recent years to secure an EHCP. I’ll win it at mediation, I reassured myself. And I went in armed with responses to every reason they had given me for their refusal. But this time I was rejected again, on the same grounds that I had disproven. I was floored by this response - surely it was unlawful? I emailed the Head of SEND at my local council, desperate to check that he understood what had happened, but his response completely misunderstood the point I was making and I have now been forced to prepare for a tribunal next spring, by which time my child will have been without a funded education for 27 months.

It is difficult to fathom how disengaged from humanity our society is becoming when it is deemed acceptable policy to actively reduce support for children with additional needs. It is also utterly disingenuous to talk about early intervention reducing the need for EHCPs, when access to diagnoses of neurodevelopmental conditions such as autism and ADHD is so poor. The reality is that children who do not fit into our archaic school model are being left to fend for themselves.

It saddens me that we live in a society where uniformity and academic achievement are valued above individuality and health. The government officials responsible for pushing through this disgusting policy may think they are working to create an inclusive education system (though I don’t think inclusivity is at the heart of their decision making), but actually they are missing a golden opportunity to develop a kinder, more prosperous vision. They don’t see the value in embracing alternative forms of education. They are too rigid in their thinking to understand how much they can learn from those who think a little differently. They do not understand the damage that is being done to children who they label ‘school refusers’ - my children did not refuse to attend school, they simply could not attend and maintain their health. School does not work for everyone. School has never worked for everyone.

Today, after a frenetic couple of weeks when I have moved my family from one house to another, three of my daughters will start their new term. I don’t particularly subscribe to the concept of terms, our learning is more fluid than that, but my littlest one and my biggest one like to know where they stand, so today we will start our new term.

I am excited that the 11yo, the one who has been told she should be at school by our local authority, feels able to sit at the table with us and participate in some learning. This time last year it took me a long time to help her get out of bed. Sometimes I had to feed her. She could not speak to me. Today she will learn some Greek, because Ancient Greece is her passion. She will do some art, because she communicates best through creativity - not everyone can answer questions in a classroom. My littlest one, who I deregistered because I saw signs of the same horrendous anxiety creeping into her world, has been getting ready to learn all weekend. She wants to do some maths, learn French, start a local history project. And my oldest child, the one who started me off on this journey of discovery, is painting today, doing an online art qualification that three years ago would have been unimaginable. I dropped the 13yo at her school bus while the sky was still pink. We are all different, we can’t conform to one way of being.

People have often said to me, you’re a trained teacher, of course you can home educate, but that misses the point. I trained to teach in a school. In order to meet my children’s needs I have had to unschool myself, and shift my thinking on what constitutes achievement and success. Others read about my children learning Greek or doing singing lessons and scoff. It sounds so middle class. And it’s true that I am one of the lucky ones. I am able to work at home with my children, despite being a single full-time carer. I am able to rise early and write and earn a small income. I receive enough tax credits to help me pay my bills. I have my health and my education. I have a voice.

But all of that still doesn’t make it acceptable to deny children a funded education. I speak for all parents and carers whose children cannot attend school, or do not have the correct provision in place to ensure their family thrives. I know that my daughters will continue to contribute to society in ways that hold value: every day they demonstrate courage, creativity, kindness and strength. They show me what the future could be if only our politicians would listen to them. There are thousands of children like mine, unique and wonderful. One day I hope we will look back and see this policy as the end of an education system no longer fit for purpose, because we can do so much better.