Last week, The Mighty published a piece by autism mom Mandy Anderson lambasting her son’s school for tasking intellectually and developmentally disabled students with emptying recycling bins, delivering mail, washing lunch tables, taking out the trash, and other jobs. Anderson claims these activities “confer no measurable educational benefit” and “rarely do a good job of targeting actual employment skills.”

As I read the post, I thought of my 17-year-old son, Jonah, who at that very moment might have been engaged in similar work at his private school for students with moderate to severe autism. Jonah’s program is a community-based secondary school whose students spend part of each day at various work sites. In the past three years, Jonah has assembled pizza boxes, watered plants, rolled silverware, set tables, filled ice buckets, and stocked coolers. Each new job had to be broken down into countless steps by his teachers, the mastery of each component reflecting critical development in skills my son has struggled with all his life, including communication, auditory processing, compliance, frustration management, focus, and persistence.

But instead, Anderson thinks Jonah should be receiving “the same high-quality education as non-disabled peers” because “segregated” programs like his are “inappropriate, stigmatizing, and destructive.”

If Anderson’s son Jaden is capable of academic work, then he should of course receive whatever support is necessary for him to succeed in a typical class. No one supports the kind of exploitation that trapped thousands of very mildly—or not even at all—intellectually disabled people in institutions because of the cheap labor they provided. But it depressed me to read yet another blanket assertion that everyone with I/DD can thrive in a mainstream environment. Jonah’s impairments in language and cognition are simply too severe. Instead of reading Shakespeare like his peers, who are seniors in high school, he is struggling to understand the plot of the board books his four younger siblings abandoned years ago. He has no conception of abstract subjects like government, geography, astronomy, religion, and philosophy. Dropped into a typical twelfth grade class—even with an aide and worksheets that could never be simplified enough—he would bang on the desk, refuse to stay in his seat, and bounce up and down reciting lines from Sesame Street videos (in a best-case scenario). That placement would be “inappropriate, stigmatizing, and destructive.”

Anderson worries that vocational programs like Jonah’s “promote the attitude among the non-disabled students that kids who are different are inferior—that they do not deserve the same education and can only learn menial tasks.” This, plainly speaking, is the tragedy of severe cognitive disability:  it is extraordinarily limiting. Jonah will never drive, travel, attend college, get married or have children. And that is a reality faced by hundreds of thousands of individuals with significant intellectual and developmental disabilities that can’t be glossed over by blaming low expectations, bad parents, or lazy teachers.

Even if typical kids don’t see their peers with I/DD performing simple jobs around school, they’ll certainly see adults with Down Syndrome mopping the floor in McDonald’s, adults with autism bagging groceries in the supermarket, and adults with cerebral palsy taking tickets in a movie theater. It won’t take them long to notice there are no significantly intellectually and developmentally disabled doctors or lawyers. So perhaps instead of dismissing “menial” labor, we need to teach our children that all work is valuable and respectable, from trash collection to brain surgery. I’m proud of how much Jonah has learned, and I will never stop searching for ways he can contribute to his community—and if our choices aren’t the ones Anderson would make, that’s fine. But she shouldn’t turn her nose up at them, either. There is no Right Answer: just Jonah’s answer and Jaden’s answer, and hopefully one day an answer for each of the 6.5 million individuals with intellectual and developmental disabilities in this country. This is why we must fight to expand educational, housing, and employment options instead of imposing a one-size-fits all solution on such a diverse population. More options, less judgment: isn’t that the future we want for all our children?

About the Author

Amy S.F. Lutz

Amy S.F. Lutz is the author of Each Day I Like It Better: Autism, ECT, and the Treatment of Our Most Impaired Children, and is the president of the EASI Foundation.

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