The Trump administration’s weeks-long immigration enforcement campaign in Minneapolis, which has shuttered schools and terrified students and parents, has left one group particularly vulnerable: children with disabilities. 

Their families, who already fear their kids shutting down, running away, harming themselves or acting out when confronted under normal circumstances, have seen their anxiety skyrocket as they contemplate worst-case scenarios with federal agents. 

Tens of thousands of Minnesotans gathered in sub-zero temperatures last week to demonstrate against the federal government’s ongoing presence, including and .

Idil Ahmed, who lives near the epicenter of the daily raids and protests, worries about her 6-year-old autistic daughter having a meltdown during an encounter with Immigration and Customs Enforcement agents.

鈥淚f they stop us, all hell will break loose with my child,鈥� Ahmed said. 鈥淎nd there is no talking to these people.鈥�

Parents tell 蜜桃影视 they have no faith, after federal agents ripped a from her car and, according to school officials, used a this week to lure his mother from their home, that immigration officials would be patient with a child who can鈥檛 immediately respond to orders.

鈥淲hen I saw that image of this young boy with his backpack, I thought, 鈥楾hat could be my son,鈥欌�� said Najma Siyad, mother of a 5-year-old with autism. 

Both Ahmed and Siyad are members of Minneapolis’ Somali community, the largest in the United States and one that has for removal by President Donald Trump. 

They are among many Somali families whose children have autism; a neurodevelopmental condition that is .

They and other Somali-Americans say their children are doubly vulnerable by virtue of their race and disability: While the first is obvious, making them a potential mark for ICE and U.S. Customs and Border Protection, the second is not. 

They and other families with special needs kids have missed school, skipped doctor鈥檚 visits and, in many cases, are not getting the occupational, physical and speech therapy services that help their children manage their lives and progress academically.  

Ahmed said her daughter missed three consecutive weeks of occupational therapy because her therapist was too fearful to enter their neighborhood.

鈥淥T for us is so important,鈥� Ahmed said. 鈥淚t regulates her emotions, helps with fine motor skills, simple things like dressing, eating, body movements, the teaching of how to be physically independent.鈥�

And while multiple districts are offering remote learning to families afraid to leave their homes, online instruction isn鈥檛 a viable option for children who need a team of skilled school staff to access their education. 

鈥淚t鈥檚 not a solution for us,鈥� said Anisa Hagi-Mohamed, founder of an autism advocacy group called Maangaar Voices. 

Regression, both educationally and socially, is a constant concern, these parents say. But stronger still is their worry about their child coming face-to-face with a federal agent who doesn’t know 鈥� and perhaps doesn鈥檛 care 鈥� why they won鈥檛 interact. 

A spokesman for the Department of Homeland Security, which oversees ICE and CBP, said he was working on a response as to whether agents are trained to interact with autistic children and others with disabilities. Minnesota law for peace officers but this does not apply to ICE and CBP, Minneapolis advocates say.

Hagi-Mohamed has three kids, a 9-year-old son and two daughters, ages 5 and 8. All are 鈥渙n the autism spectrum,鈥� and each has their own unique vulnerability, she said.

Her middle child is nonverbal and frequently runs away to no particular destination. 

And her son looks far older than his age. He also has difficulty responding to anyone who commands him to act. 

鈥淗e would completely shut down, self harm and get hurt in the process,鈥� Hagi-Mohamed said, imagining him in an ICE encounter. 鈥淚 worry all the time.鈥�

She鈥檚 advised him not to talk to any adults outside of school or home. 

She鈥檚 frightened, too, for her 5-year-old, who treats all grownups with the same deference as her parents. 

鈥淭he stranger danger thing is not so strong in her,鈥� Hagi-Mohamed said. 鈥淪he is one of those kids who if you tell her to do something, she will do it.鈥�

These families say they have remained petrified ever since an ICE agent in Minneapolis killed unarmed motorist on Jan. 7 just after . Hours later, federal agents wreaked havoc at nearby Roosevelt High School. And on Jan. 24 in what may be a turning point to the strife in Minneapolis, federal agents shot and killed a 37-year-old nurse, Alex Pretti, setting off a fresh wave of terror and outrage.

Maren Christenson, executive director of the Multicultural Autism Action Network, said she lives so close to where Good was shot that she鈥檚 worried tear gas will seep through the family鈥檚 windows from the ongoing protests. 

Christenson鈥檚 14-year-old son, Simon Hofer, has autism and she can鈥檛 predict how he would respond to an ICE agent. 

The boy said he鈥檚 worried 鈥� not so much for himself, but for his friends. 

鈥淚 have been feeling angry, scared, sad,鈥� he told 蜜桃影视 on Thursday. 鈥淚t feels kind of hopeless sometimes and overwhelming. Friends of mine and classmates are afraid to go to school and so they attend online.鈥�

His mother has told the special education community that even if someone is Caucasian, is a citizen, has a disability and can articulate their challenges, they are not free from peril. 

Her advice? 鈥淐omply: do what they tell you to stay safe.鈥� 

But she鈥檚 unsure whether that strategy would work for people with autism who can become unmoored by such an encounter. Stress might hamper their ability to communicate, she said.

鈥淲e have held a number of community conversations and brainstormed, asking, 鈥榃hat could we do? What are people doing?鈥欌�� she said. 鈥淏ut the truth of the matter is we are in uncharted territory. There is no guidebook, no best practices for when your city is under siege.鈥�

A mother of two boys with autism who lives in the southern suburbs of Minneapolis and who asked not to be named to protect her family鈥檚 safety, said her children, ages 8 and 5, are just now learning about the concept of police. 

They cannot at all understand the complexity of immigration enforcement 鈥� or the harsh tactics that have come with it 鈥� so she鈥檚 keeping them mostly at home.

鈥淭here is only so much I can do when I am not with them,鈥� she said.

Hodan, the mother of an 18-year-old college student who has autism, said her son has always had high anxiety. But now, she said, it鈥檚 worse. She’s given him a list of a dozen phone numbers to call in an emergency that he keeps in his jeans and in his shoes. 

鈥淗e has his citizenship card in his pocket and when we drive, I make him put it on the center console,鈥� said his mom, who asked that her last name not to be used to protect her family.

Along with school and therapy sessions, also gone from families鈥� routines are winter afternoons at indoor play spaces, trips to the gym for their teenagers and other kid-friendly destinations. 

Siyad, a mother of three who lives 18 miles south of Minneapolis, close to St. Paul, said they recently took the 26-minute drive to the Minnesota Children’s Museum and had to turn around when they were three minutes away after witnessing an ICE encounter on the road. 

鈥淭hat fear is daily,鈥� she said. 鈥淚 am a naturalized citizen but I was not carrying my passport at the time. We had to turn around immediately.鈥�

The painful irony, she said, is that her children, like all of the others in this story, their parents said, are U.S. citizens. 

鈥淥ur kids are as American as apple pie,鈥� she said. 鈥淭his is their home.鈥�

CHINA, Maine 鈥� When Saige Bird moved to Maine, her first order of business was to get support for her then 3-year-old son, who is autistic and has a speech impediment that renders him unintelligible to most people.

Over the past year and a half, she has struggled to get him the speech or other support he needs and is legally entitled to.

While Child Development Services 鈥� a quasi-state agency responsible for providing disability services to Maine children under the age of 5 鈥� to a new model for serving 3- and 4-year-olds, a significant number of preschoolers who remain in the existing system are being left behind.

Get stories like this delivered straight to your inbox. Sign up for 蜜桃影视 Newsletter

Over the 2024-2025 fiscal year, 875 3- and 4-year-olds, or 15% of preschool-aged children served by Child Development Services, were on waitlists for 1,690 services including speech, occupational and physical therapy, according to data provided by the Maine Department of Education. Historically, Child Development Services has not kept track of waitlist data, but this is an increase from 2019, when a report requested by the Maine Legislature鈥檚 Education and Cultural Affairs Committee found that 10% of children requiring services were on waitlists.

When Bird鈥檚 son, whose name she asked be omitted for privacy reasons, was first referred to Child Development Services for evaluation, Bird was thrilled.

鈥淚 thought I was gonna get the help I need for my son,鈥� she said.

But that excitement soon turned to disappointment.

Four months after her initial appointment, she received an email from a speech therapist, only to discover she was based in Texas and the sessions would be remote, which she didn鈥檛 think was a good fit for her son, then 4 years old, who is hyperactive and has a low attention span.

Another four months later, Child Development Services offered a preschool placement for her son at Augusta Children鈥檚 Center. She ultimately declined it due to, among other reasons, trouble scheduling around her son鈥檚 outside occupational and speech therapy.

鈥淚 know some people love the Children鈥檚 Center,鈥� she said. 鈥淏ut it wasn鈥檛 right for my son and our family.鈥�

Under federal law, children are supposed to receive all services they鈥檙e found eligible for within 30 days of being evaluated.

But that deadline is not always met.

鈥淲e are frequently hearing about waitlists and hearing that these waitlists are persisting,鈥� said Jeanette Plourde, an attorney for Disability Rights Maine. 鈥淲e continue to see parents being told in (Individualized Education Plan, known as IEP) meetings that (Child Development Services) doesn鈥檛 have the staffing, that there are no placements, that it鈥檚 just not possible to fulfill their child鈥檚 IEP.鈥�

This, says Plourde, is simply not okay.

鈥淥ur state has an obligation to provide these services under federal and state law,鈥� she said. 鈥淔ull stop.鈥�

Bird is one of many parents who gave up completely and opted to find her child the services he needs in a different way. Three to five days a week, Bird drives an hour and a half round-trip to and from Belfast for in-person speech, which Child Development Services determined her son needed, and occupational therapy, which she sought separately. Since January, she has spent at least $550 on co-payments for both services.

The Maine Department of Education, which oversees Child Development Services, is well aware of the agency鈥檚 challenges, , and is working to turn the tide by of providing preschool special education from Child Development Services to the state鈥檚 public schools, a mammoth task it says will better serve preschoolers by utilizing the state鈥檚 resources more efficiently.

But while Child Development Services works to implement this systemic change, there鈥檚 not much that can be done for the children who aren鈥檛 getting their needs met, said Child Development Services State Director Dan Hemdal.

鈥淚t鈥檚 an unfortunate reality of early childhood special education in the state,鈥� said Hemdal of children ending up on waitlists.

Hemdal and others say that a lack of preschool placements and providers 鈥� including speech, occupational and physical therapists 鈥� can make it difficult, if not impossible, to match preschoolers with the resources they need.

But while the state works to create a system that better serves preschoolers with disabilities, children across the state lose valuable time.

The first five years of life are crucial for development and can shape the trajectory of a child鈥檚 life.

鈥淵ou only have a certain amount of time while the brain is this plastic,鈥� said Nancy Cronin, the executive director of the Maine Developmental Disabilities Council. 鈥淭his is a magic time for development that no child can afford to lose.鈥�

is part of States Newsroom, a nonprofit news network supported by grants and a coalition of donors as a 501c(3) public charity. Maine Morning Star maintains editorial independence. Contact Editor Lauren McCauley for questions: info@mainemorningstar.com.

This framework is now known as the medical model of disability 鈥� a phrase that conjures images of people institutionalized in childhood, their humanity and potential literally locked away from public view. 

In the half-century since the passage of laws ensuring them the right to education, housing, jobs and other public benefits, people with disabilities have made great headway on closing the door to that draconian past and replacing it with what鈥檚 called a social model of disability. 

The new framework holds that societal institutions 鈥� including schools, housing, transportation and public buildings 鈥� should remove barriers to their participation. In contrast to the past, the people requiring services should decide how they want to live their lives. Public funds should prioritize access.   

Now present when decisions are made, disabled adults 鈥� many under the banner of the Disability Justice Movement 鈥� have insisted that students鈥� medical and special education services enable them to learn in regular classrooms where, like their general education peers, they can work toward the future of their choosing. 

There are moral and social reasons for integrating students with and without disabilities, but there is also evidence that disabled children are much more likely to be offered appropriate academic challenges in general education classes 鈥� and are more likely to see themselves as capable of keeping up with their peers, graduating from college and enjoying a meaningful career.   

Yet in recent weeks, as President Donald Trump and Secretary of Health and Human Services Robert F. Kennedy Jr. have issued edicts that they fear mean a quick return to the medical model 鈥� and its inherent presumption that some children are incapable of learning. The new administration is systematically cutting agencies and programs that foster self-determination and ensure that students with disabilities are well served. 

To outsiders, the discussion can sound bafflingly abstract. Far from being a philosophical debate, however, the frameworks can dictate radically different life trajectories. What follows are portraits of three members of the disability community whose stories illustrate the promise and the peril. 

Alison and Ethan Chandra

When Alison Chandra鈥檚 family packed for their spring break trip to northern Arizona this year, they hit a milestone of sorts. Her son Ethan was born with multiple critical heart defects and other congenital abnormalities that have required numerous surgeries and frequent emergency room visits. For years, the Chandras kept a hospital 鈥済o bag鈥� at the ready. 

This year they emptied it and refilled it with supplies for camping and sandboarding, a sport that鈥檚 exactly what it sounds like. Nothing 鈥� not a surprise April snowfall or a windstorm 鈥� kept Ethan, now 10, from flying down the dunes, arms outstretched.

鈥淢y son wasn’t really supposed to make it to birth,鈥� says Chandra. 鈥淎nd then he wasn’t supposed to make it to 5 years old. And here he is, and we are talking about his future and it was something I never let myself hope for or plan for.鈥�

For the moment, Ethan is clearly flourishing. But he isn鈥檛 the only disabled child Chandra hopes and plans for. She is a pediatric home health nurse whose job is to attend school with a third grader with complex medical disabilities. The boy鈥檚 family gave her permission to talk about him in general terms but not to name him. Chandra鈥檚 family lives in Lehi, Utah. Her patient attends school in a different district. 

An advocate for children with complex medical needs with the group , Chandra has infinite belief in both kids鈥� potential but fears about the mounting possibility they will lose the services that keep them in school. They鈥檙e thriving in part because they learn alongside nondisabled students. The public services that make this possible are intertwined. Remove any one element, and the boys鈥� prospects for an independent future start to look like a very high-stakes game of Jenga. 

Children with disabilities are dependent on two laws: the Individuals with Disabilities in Education Act and Section 504 of the Americans with Disabilities Act. The former requires schools to develop legally binding individualized education programs, or IEPs, which guarantee them the right to learn, for all or as much of the school day as is possible, alongside nondisabled children. 

Chandra鈥檚 presence in the classroom is a requirement in her patient鈥檚 IEP. She is careful to guard the boy鈥檚 medical privacy, saying only that her job is to keep him healthy while his teachers keep him learning.

鈥淣o one’s putting him away in an institution or putting him away in a place where he can’t see what his potential could be,鈥� she says. 鈥淗e sees it every day and he pushes himself to keep up with his peers. It’s incredible.鈥�

Her work is paid for by Medicaid, which is administered by HHS and has been targeted for deep cuts by Trump. The president also announced that Kennedy would assume responsibility for special education, though his department has no infrastructure or expertise to do so.

Kennedy also has decried using medication to treat childhood depression and ADHD, suggesting children could instead be sent to 鈥渉ealing camps鈥� or “.” One of his first moves at HHS was to of the Administration for Community Living, the part of the department responsible for helping people with disabilities be as independent as possible.

If the dominoes that keep a child in school were to start falling, enforcement of their rights would in the past have been the purview of the U.S. Department of Education, where some 60% of complaints under recent review involve disability. The department’s staff has now been cut in half, and Trump has said he may move complaint investigations to the Justice Department.  

Ethan survived to school age because of Medicaid and the Affordable Care Act, says Chandra. Unlike her patient, he does not have an IEP because currently his medical needs are well managed.

But Ethan also is autistic. The accommodations he needs to succeed academically and socially are not profound enough to merit an IEP, so he has a 504 plan 鈥� a less stringent document that spells out how his needs will be met under a portion of the Americans with Disabilities Act. 

Last year, 17 Republican-led states sued the federal government seeking to have Section 504 declared unconstitutional. The ostensible motive was a Biden administration decision to recognize gender dysphoria as a potential disability. Yet the suit takes at 504, which it calls 鈥渃oercive, untethered to the federal interest in disability and unfairly retroactive.鈥� 

The ADA also requires schools and other public facilities to be physically accessible to the disabled. Though poorly enforced, it mandates elevators, curb cuts and other accommodations. Separately, Trump has announced new rules that seem intended to roll back other ADA protections. 

Research overwhelmingly shows that children with disabilities are more likely to be given rigorous instruction in regular classrooms than in special ed and to read and do math . Fewer than 3% of students with IEPs in traditional district schools take Advanced Placement classes or dual-enrollment college-level courses.     

Both Chandra鈥檚 son and her patient have a legal right to learn in regular classrooms. They鈥檙e getting good instruction, but she also sees other advantages. Their friends talk constantly about what they want to be when they grow up, for example. In a segregated classroom reserved for students with disabilities, there wouldn鈥檛 be so much excited chatter about the future.

Ethan鈥檚 aspirations include arachnologist, a Lego master builder and coder for Mojang Studios 鈥� the company that creates Minecraft games. Her patient, meanwhile, has a steady stream of new career goals. Recently, in his imagination he has tried on being a zookeeper, a sanitation worker and a car wash attendant.  

鈥淚 see firsthand the difference it makes, and I am one person with one patient,鈥� says Chandra. 鈥淚 think about it playing out across the country. All the kids who stand to do so much. That’s what scares me.鈥� 

Mia Ives-Rublee

Mia Ives-Rublee started school in 1990, the year the Americans with Disabilities Act was signed. Among other changes, the law was intended to make school buildings accessible to wheelchair users like her, so they could learn alongside their nondisabled classmates. But when Ives-Rublee showed up for the first day of school, it was not to a classroom in her neighborhood elementary school, which was inaccessible.

The family assumed that although it might not happen overnight, in the near future school buildings would be retrofitted to accommodate people with disabilities. Thirty years later, however, the U.S. Government Accountability Office would finding two-thirds of school systems had buildings that still were not safe or navigable. 

District leaders told the GAO鈥檚 investigators that they planned to make changes, but were cash-strapped and chose to prioritize projects that kept buildings operational, such as new roofs or updates to heating systems. 

Though disability has received less attention than race and gender, the anti-diversity, equity and inclusion edicts Trump has issued since his second inauguration have taken aim squarely at the ADA and other disability laws. Earlier this month, the administration attempted to governing how businesses must accommodate people with disabilities, which it deems burdensome.

It is unclear whether the federal government will continue to fight a lawsuit brought by 19 states that argue the education portion of the law is unconstitutional. Trump鈥檚 plan to move oversight of special education out of the U.S. Department of Education and into the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services has alarmed advocates, who charge that the change would spell an end to policies and programs that help disabled people live as independently as possible 鈥� and a return to the isolation that characterized the medical model of disability.

Thirty-five years ago, it seemed like students who use wheelchairs would soon be able to attend class with their peers. Ives-Rublee鈥檚 mother enrolled her in a magnet school, hoping that in a few years鈥� time more school buildings would be modified with elevators and other accommodations for students with physical disabilities. Five years later, when their local schools still hadn鈥檛 been remodeled, Ives-Rublee’s mother enrolled her in a middle school that fed into a high school that was already accessible.

In total, the family included three disabled kids. Ives-Rublee鈥檚 mother 鈥� a special education professional 鈥� 鈥渇ought tooth and nail for me and my siblings,鈥� she says. Even when a school building was able to accommodate a wheelchair user, there were battles for the kids to be able to participate in sports and after-school activities. 

In 1996, Ives-Rublee鈥檚 uncle, who was on the U.S. Paralympic soccer team, invited the whole family to the opening ceremony at the Paralympic Games in Atlanta, and to his matches. She was shocked, she later for the online magazine Girl Talk HQ, to see so many disabled people testing their supposed physical limitations. 

鈥淚t was the first time I got to see disability in a positive connotation,鈥� she said. 鈥淭he lighting of the Paralympic torch that year was a lighting of my soul. It lit a fire in me that has yet to go out. It pushes me to continue to push against the limitations people originally set and look for ways to continue to seek new goals.鈥� 

Ives-Rublee鈥檚 parents encouraged her to get involved in adaptive athletics. She eventually chose to enroll at the University of Illinois, which had a wheelchair track program, and went on to compete in track, swimming, basketball, fencing and adaptive crossfit, among other sports. 

After earning a master鈥檚 in social work, she worked helping people with disabilities find jobs. Her clients would often come back, however, saying they needed a new position because they weren鈥檛 being accommodated. She decided to switch gears and find a job where she could influence policy.

Ives-Rublee is now the senior director of the Center for American Progress鈥� disability justice initiative, and she credits the successes that prepared her for her career not to an educational system that presumed she was leadership material, but to her mother.

鈥淚 know from the policy work that I do that there’s a huge number of disabled children who don’t finish high school, who don’t go to college and who do go to college but don’t graduate,鈥� she says. 鈥淭here’s a high correlation of independence 鈥� the ability to get jobs and live in community 鈥� based on whether you have a college degree.鈥�

Beyond the possible rollback of the ADA, Ives-Rublee fears the path to adult self-determination is under assault on other fronts. In March, Kennedy the Administration for Community Living, the HHS division that oversees programs that keep people with disabilities and older Americans in their homes.

Ives-Rublee is particularly concerned the Education Department鈥檚 Rehabilitation Services Administration may be dissolved. This agency oversees job training and other services intended to allow people with disabilities to live independently as possible. 

Students with disabilities are legally entitled to a free and appropriate education until their 22nd birthday, with many staying in school for so-called transition services 鈥� a final phase of special education that is supposed to prepare young people for life after high school. If Trump succeeds in shuttering the agency, many advocates fear these programs could be transferred to the U.S. Department of Labor or another agency.

This, Ives-Rublee says, would take the emphasis off education: 鈥淩ehabilitation provides that bridge for students who are literally in free fall after receiving very structured [in-school] services. They鈥檙e told to figure it out; you鈥檙e on your own.鈥�    

Among other things, the rehabilitation office funds local agencies that help disabled individuals choose, train for and get jobs in their chosen careers. To get the grants, states have to add their own tax dollars. Rather than invest a share, states sometimes choose to forgo the federal support. 

鈥淭hat really, really concerns me 鈥� that we are already seeing this reluctance to put funding toward it,鈥� says Ives Rublee. 鈥淪tates are just deciding to leave it on the table.鈥�

The alternatives, she concludes, are terrifying to people with disabilities. Under the assumption that a student with an IEP will not achieve independence, schools to seek legal guardianship. This robs many young adults of the ability to make their own decisions. 

Some may end up in dangerous jobs typically filled by people perceived as lacking skills or in settings known as sheltered workshops, where they will be paid far less than minimum wage. Finally, in a push that could further endanger workers with disabilities and mark a return to an era of defaulting to institutionalized settings, some states are attempting to loosen labor protections for children and others.

Says Ives-Rublee: 鈥淲e鈥檙e really seeing a significant slide back to the 1930s and 鈥�40s, where kids were working in mills getting killed by machinery.鈥�

Stephen Toth 

As unbelievable as it sounds, a child who is blind 鈥� a condition that is often diagnosed at the start of life 鈥� may be denied in-school assistance. It happened when Stephen Toth started school a quarter-century ago, and it still happens today. And with the return of a system focused squarely on children鈥檚 medical deficits, and not their potential, advocates fear that the rate at which students with clearly established needs will be denied specialized assistance in school will increase. 

When Toth was of kindergarten age, his mother was told by school district leaders in New Orleans, where they lived, that there was no special education available. Period. 

So she registered him, using his grandmother鈥檚 address, in a district an hour鈥檚 drive away. There, he was given the crudest of accommodations: hard copies of braille reading materials and a mechanical device called a Perkins Brailler. 

Braille texts are made up of combinations of groups of six raised bumps, on thick raised paper, that represent different letters, numbers and symbols. Until the invention of the brailler in the late 1800s, each dot had to be punched by hand, using a stylus. 

Essentially that allow a person to tap out all the raised dots that make up a single character at once, the devices were a leap forward. Still, typing out even a single word was painfully slow, and Toth had a hard time writing fast enough to keep up with his classmates.

He was struggling through third grade when Hurricane Katrina forced his family to evacuate to Oregon for a few months. There, he was placed for the first time in a mainstream classroom and allowed to socialize with other kids. 

His special education case manager loaned him a special keyboard, with the characters arrayed in a traditional QWERTY configuration. It was a revelation for both Toth 鈥� who could suddenly work almost as efficiently as his sighted peers 鈥� and his mother. Having realized that good technology existed, she raised hell when the family returned to New Orleans.

When Toth was , she threatened to sue the Orleans Parish School Board unless he was given functional technology. District leaders gave him two versions of a 20-year-old Braille ‘n’ Speak notetaker. It was, he says, akin to a Palm Pilot 鈥� an electronic device the size of a VHS tape that could hold bits of information such as dates and short notes. 

There was no way for a user to get the device to make its contents available in braille. Toth could not see, using his fingers, what he was writing. Which really didn鈥檛 matter, since neither notetaker had a charger and he couldn鈥檛 even turn them on.

To young children with disabilities and their families, experiences like this can send a signal that school officials don鈥檛 really expect students to achieve, which easily becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. Sent that message about their perceived potential, children with disabilities struggle to learn to advocate for themselves 鈥� a crucial step toward achieving independence.   

In sixth grade, Toth got a laptop 鈥� a gift from an uncle that instantly made school easier. He was invited to be part of a National Federation of the Blind student delegation visiting Washington, D.C., to lobby Congress. He learned the power of telling his story, and set his sights on college. 

Toth was in his last semester at the University of New Orleans, working toward a marketing degree, when a former teacher of his reached out. The educator had a student who needed to learn braille in Spanish. Could Toth, who has Spanish-speaking relatives, help? 

As Toth worked with the student, he had an epiphany about his life鈥檚 work: He should use his marketing skills to teach children with disabilities how to market themselves. How to identify their aptitudes, present their vision for tapping those skills to others and ask for what they needed to make their goals reality.        

Currently, he is a contract educator for a New Orleans network, Einstein Charter Schools. He teaches braille, technology and life skills.   

鈥淚 primarily work with students on how to be more assured and more confident in their own skin, in their own body, in their own life, and understanding that how they live is not a detriment to them as a person,鈥� he says. 鈥淏ecause sometimes that’s rough, especially if a student has just entered the world of requiring some accessibility.鈥� 

The earlier children can assert their needs, the better, he says: 鈥淏y teaching these students when they’re young, when they’re fourth and fifth and sixth grade, it teaches them how to advocate for themselves when they might not have all the services that they need.鈥�

Recently, Toth worked with a student whose experience harkened back to a time disability advocates fear a return to: when they had to jump hoops to get an educational need met. One of his students needed to prove their vision was impaired in order to get services included in their IEP. 鈥淚 had to give testimony as an instructor who works with this particular student in order to get the IEP. It was literally a 2陆-month ordeal,鈥� Toth says. 

He was of a mixed mind. Two decades after his mother began fighting for assistive technology for him, his student was having to justify needing accommodations. On the other hand, it was gratifying to be able to use his own experiences to help someone else: 鈥淔ighting for a student’s needs and actually seeing results of that is emotionally satisfying. It鈥檚 gratifying to know that you, just as your predecessors, are having an effect on real people.鈥�

Now, Toth fears the changes on deck in Washington will mean returning to a day when a medical diagnosis is not necessarily followed by educational services: 鈥淭hat future looks like them being sheltered, not living life as full human beings.鈥�

鈥淏y marketing yourself and advocating for what you need, you are a stronger individual,鈥� he says 鈥� one who can have a positive impact on society. 鈥淥nly you live your existence and you know, based on your disability, what is best for you. If you鈥檙e crazy enough to change the world, you will.鈥�

In 2011, the Maryland Board of Physicians , who is not a physician and has only a bachelor鈥檚 degree, with illegally practicing medicine alongside his father, Mark Geier, a doctor who died last month. The two treated children with Lupron, a drug used to lower testosterone or estrogen levels in patients with prostate cancer, endometriosis and other diseases, along with chelation therapy, which leaches heavy metals from the body, as in lead poisoning.

Those treatments follow a widely discredited theory that blames autism on exposure to mercury in preservatives used in vaccines. Kennedy has promulgated that theory even though more than two dozen large, rigorous studies have discredited any link between vaccines and autism.

Autistic advocates decried Kennedy鈥檚 appointment, fearing his refusal to give up on efforts to establish one would refocus federal resources on finding a 鈥渃ure鈥� for what most scientists now believe is a naturally occurring human neurotype.  

鈥淎nyone who would fleece families with fake cures should not be trusted to interpret a scientific study, let alone conduct one,鈥� the Autistic Self Advocacy Network said in David Geier鈥檚 hiring. 鈥淭his move toward conspiracy theories and junk science puts all our lives at risk.鈥�

A request for comment from the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services was not immediately answered. The Geiers鈥� Institute of Chronic Illnesses, Inc., does not have a website.   

The network’s statement calls Kennedy鈥檚 selection of Geier 鈥渁 clear indication that the Trump administration plans to rig the upcoming study and claim that it proves vaccines cause autism. This will set public health back decades at a time when vaccine hesitancy and infectious disease are both spreading at alarming rates.鈥�

Among other claims, the Maryland board found that the Geiers diagnosed precocious puberty 鈥� a medical condition where children鈥檚 bodies mature too early 鈥� in an unusually large number of patients, did so without using the standard protocol for establishing whether the children in fact had the condition and failed to tell their families that the chelation drug prescribed was not authorized for use in the United States. 

Mark Geier鈥檚 medical licenses eventually were suspended by the seven states where he and his son operated autism treatment centers under a variety of names, including the Genetic Centers of America. The Geiers conducted several studies linking vaccines to autism, only to have them from publication by scientific journals. They in hundreds of lawsuits brought by people who claim to have been injured by immunizations. 

Lupron is a brand name for a GnRH analogue drug that pauses puberty without causing permanent physical changes. The drugs are for children who experience gender nonconformity or gender dysphoria at the onset of puberty. 

In January, a published in JAMA Pediatrics found the drugs were prescribed for fewer than 0.1% of youth in an insurance claims database covering more than 5 million patients ages 8 to 17. Only 926 youth with a gender-related diagnosis received puberty blockers from 2018 through 2022. No patient under the age of 12 was given the drugs.

Nonetheless, in recent years, 26 states have banned gender-affirming care for young people. The U.S. Supreme Court is expected to rule soon on challenges to the laws. In a January executive order, President Donald Trump to restrict such care.  

On the whole, charter schools do not outperform their district-run counterparts when it comes to providing high-quality special education services, the national nonprofit Center for Learner Equity concluded following a two-year deep dive. Because charter schools exist in part to serve historically underserved students and to develop effective ways of meeting their needs, this failing has a ripple effect on the education of all disabled children, the center鈥檚 leaders say. 

鈥淭he origin of the charter sector was to expand opportunities for kids from marginalized demographics,鈥� says Executive Director Lauren Morando Rhim. 鈥淲ith kids of color and low-income kids, the charter sector has done that. But for kids with disabilities, it has not.鈥� 

To her, the most disappointing aspect of the research is that it did not yield many examples of success that could illuminate promising practices. 鈥淲e thought we would turn over rocks and find positive outliers, but really there were very few,鈥� says Morando Rhim. 鈥淲e hoped to find more states taking action, more authorizers and nonprofits.鈥�

The center organized into sections containing recommendations for three distinct groups: states, charter school authorizers, and school improvement and other organizations. Standards for enrolling students with disabilities, serving them and measuring progress should be built in at every stage of a charter school鈥檚 life, the researchers say, from the decision to grant it permission to operate to revocation of its charter if it underperforms.

Muddying the picture, they note, is the lack of clear and widely accepted standards for defining success for students with disabilities. They attribute this in part to the requirement that special education services be highly individualized 鈥� making uniform academic and social-emotional goals tough to set 鈥� and to persistent low expectations regarding children鈥檚 potential.  

Education leaders should attend to the lagging outcomes for children with disabilities because it鈥檚 the right thing to do, says Morando Rhim. But a lack of urgency about improving special education also poses political problems for the charter sector. 

Charter schools have long been dogged by claims 鈥� often inaccurate 鈥� that they turn away children with disabilities. Now, the bipartisan support charters have enjoyed is softening. Instead of pressing for growth in the charter sector, conservatives are calling for the rapid expansion of vouchers and other private-school choice programs. Meanwhile, as they confront unprecedented enrollment declines, defenders of traditional district-run schools are quick to decry charters as a competitive threat. 

鈥淗ow do we create a sense of urgency?鈥� asks Morando Rhim. 鈥淭hat鈥檚 the $64 million question.鈥�

From 2008 to 2021, the report notes, the percentage of students enrolled in charter schools nationwide who receive special education services has risen from 8% to 11.5%, but has trailed district school enrollment by some 2.5% since 2012. While enrollment is an 鈥渋mperfect proxy鈥� for equity, the authors say, it does at least in part reflect families鈥� perceptions that charters are viable options for children with disabilities.

A small number of schools achieve outstanding results for disabled kids, but separate has found that while charter schools on the whole outperform their district counterparts, special education students lag by the equivalent of 13 days of learning in reading and 14 days in math.

In terms of providing children with disabilities with high-quality education, charter schools are under little pressure to do more than comply with special education laws, the center found. States and charter authorizers rarely monitor disabled students鈥� academic performance, pay little attention to whether charters encourage families of students in need of special education to enroll or engage in such as co-teaching 鈥� where a special educator and general ed teacher share an inclusive classroom.  

The few exceptions researchers found involved charter authorizers that explicitly hold schools accountable for good outcomes for children with disabilities, 鈥渕aking clear to schools that there are consequences for discriminating against students with disabilities and failing to meet their educational needs.鈥�  

A separate, 2023 survey by the National Association of Charter School Authorizers found that only half of authorizers take the basic step of asking charter applicants to detail their plans for enrolling disabled students. 

Authorizers at Indiana鈥檚 Ball State University, by contrast, told the center鈥檚 researchers that  special education students鈥� academic growth is a factor they consider when evaluating the schools they oversee. A lack of progress is seen as an 鈥渋ndicator of distress.鈥� 

This monitoring has resulted in numerous improvements, they said. Schools are now quicker to evaluate children for services, hire special educators and nursing professionals, provide instructional accommodations and better communicate with families about their rights. 

The new report also singled out Washington state, which has had charter schools for only 12 years. State law gives priority to prospective charter school founders who plan to enroll and educate children from traditionally underserved demographics, with a specific focus on special education. 

Washington charter schools, the center reported, enroll a higher percentage of students with disabilities than the state鈥檚 traditional district schools, place almost all of them in general education classrooms and, in instances where data is available, see bigger learning gains. However, the successes are not uniform, and huge gaps remain, the researchers caution. 

Few other states push for equity in special education in charter schools, the report noted. In a handful of places, including Washington, D.C., and Colorado, charter schools are allowed to give enrollment preferences to students with disabilities. 

Few state school funding systems were created with an eye toward paying for services for students with disabilities in independent charter schools, resulting in 鈥渁 patchwork of retrofitted policies and practices.鈥� Louisiana is one notable exception, giving different levels of funding to charter schools in New Orleans based on students鈥� disabilities. Tennessee recently overhauled its education funding formula to include 10 different 鈥渨eights鈥� for students with disabilities.

Overall, the center found no evidence that states鈥� 鈥渁nemic鈥� actions have yielded positive results for students with disabilities in charter schools. 

鈥淲hy are we comfortable failing children with disabilities?鈥� says Morando Rhim. 鈥淧art of the problem is an innate ableism 鈥� like it鈥檚 okay that they fail because we don鈥檛 really expect more of them.鈥�

Disclosure: The Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation provided funding to the Center for Learner Equity for the research and provides funding for 蜜桃影视. 

About a quarter of Washington鈥檚 students with disabilities don鈥檛 find employment or enroll in higher education within a year of leaving high school.

Outcomes are even worse for students with autism or intellectual disabilities: 54% of graduates with intellectual disabilities are not engaging in employment or higher education within a year, and 41% of those with autism fall into the same category.

The data comes from a from the state Office of the Superintendent of Public Instruction, which analyzes information collected in 2022 from students receiving special education services who left high school in the 2020-2021 school year.

Get stories like this delivered straight to your inbox. Sign up for 蜜桃影视 Newsletter

Joshua Taylor, a professor at Washington State University who studies transitions from school to employment for students with intellectual and developmental disabilities, said the reported outcomes for those students are 鈥渞eally troubling.鈥�

鈥淭hese rates of trying to improve employment outcomes for people with disabilities 鈥� and particularly for people with intellectual and developmental disabilities 鈥� have been stuck for 30 years or so,鈥� Taylor said. 鈥淲e just haven鈥檛 seen a lot of positive change.鈥�

That鈥檚 reflected in the report: In the past five years, the lowest rate of 鈥渘o engagement鈥� in higher education or employment was 25% for students who left during the 2017-2018 school year. The highest rate of 鈥渘o engagement鈥� was 30% for students who left in the 2019-2020 school year, which may also reflect the effects of COVID-19, Taylor said.

Washington students with intellectual disabilities also have lower rates of competitive employment, defined as a part-time or full-time job with similar wages as non-disabled workers.

At around 12% for students with intellectual disabilities and 15% for students with autism, rates of competitive employment in Washington are even lower than the national average, Taylor said 鈥� although he cautioned that it鈥檚 difficult to compare state and national datasets due to how the information is collected. found rates of competitive employment for students with intellectual and developmental disabilities nationwide was 20% in 2014.

The report also includes rates of 鈥渙ther employment,鈥� which includes employment of disabled workers at salaries below minimum wage. That鈥檚 still legal in 37 states, including Washington, from the National Partnership for Women and Families. Congressional lawmakers to end that practice in February.

Taylor said there鈥檚 a lot being done on both the federal and state levels to improve rates of employment and education among youth with disabilities transitioning to adulthood.

It鈥檚 been 10 years since the Workforce Innovation and Opportunity Act of 2014 was implemented, which requires state vocational rehabilitation agencies 鈥� which provide employment services to people with disabilities 鈥� to use at least 15% of their federal funds on making sure students with disabilities have access to services that help them find employment after school.

States are given a lot of leeway as to how they attempt to meet that goal, but Taylor said one of the most promising ways is through facilitating paid work experiences before students leave school. Research shows students are much more likely to pursue further employment or education if they鈥檝e already experienced what paid work is like, he said.

In Washington, Taylor鈥檚 own work with Washington State University, for example, includes developing the , which helps students determine what services are available to them.

鈥淭he idea is really to impact the numbers that we鈥檙e seeing here, and to bend these trajectories of students that have been stuck鈥ort of all across the country,鈥� Taylor said.

is part of States Newsroom, a nonprofit news network supported by grants and a coalition of donors as a 501c(3) public charity. Washington State Standard maintains editorial independence. Contact Editor Bill Lucia for questions: info@washingtonstatestandard.com. Follow Washington State Standard on and .

Marissa Sladek knew her son Christopher had fallen far behind when she bought him a copy of Jack London鈥檚 鈥淭he Call of the Wild.鈥� The movie had opened just before the pandemic, and survival-themed fiction was his favorite.

Lockdown cut him off from literacy support he鈥檇 been receiving as a special education student. During remote learning, his autism and learning disabilities left him unable to navigate email or Google Meets. By the following year, when he entered the seventh grade, Christopher was reading near a third grade level.  

鈥淗e could read the words,鈥� his mother said, 鈥渂ut he couldn鈥檛 comprehend them.鈥� 

Sladek asked the Hillsborough Township Public Schools in central New Jersey about compensatory education 鈥� the term for a 诲颈蝉迟谤颈肠迟鈥檚 duty to make up services when it fails to provide them to students with disabilities. By Sladek鈥檚 calculation, her son had lost about 8,000 minutes of instruction. The district initially offered a fraction of that amount 鈥� 300 minutes 鈥� and according to her complaint, an official said they weren鈥檛 going to 鈥渄well on the past.鈥� An attorney for the district emailed to say officials don鈥檛 鈥渂elieve that Christopher is entitled to any compensatory education.鈥�

Parents around the country are facing similar pushback as they try to recoup services lost to the pandemic. It is the latest battle in one of the most litigated arenas in education. In , just 20% of parents of students with disabilities said their children were receiving required services and a said the pandemic was exacerbating learning gaps for those students.

But district officials say they can鈥檛 be blamed for a public health disaster that was out of their control. They insist teachers did the best they could under extraordinary circumstances. 

鈥淭here is no humanly way possible to make up for 12 months, 13 months, 14 months of services if a school was shut down. It would take years,鈥� said Phyllis Wolfram, executive director of the Council of Administrators of Special Education. 鈥淲e have to think reasonably and logically.鈥�

Federal officials see things differently and launched civil rights investigations in three districts and one state. Last month, the U.S. Department of Education reached with the Fairfax County Public Schools in Virginia, requiring them to identify which students they failed to serve and begin to make up for it.

鈥淚 started shaking as I read the report, overwhelmed by happiness, sadness and anger,鈥� said Callie Oettinger, a parent advocate who runs focusing primarily on special education in Fairfax. 鈥淲e could have avoided the destruction done to kids and to the relationships between educators and parents.鈥�

But Wolfram said such requirements place undue burdens on school districts that are already spread thin. The debate is starting to play out in court. In , a federal judge ruled in March that the Beebe School District doesn鈥檛 have to pay a year of private school tuition for a student with dyslexia because teachers sent home packets of assignments and offered remote instruction.

A went in the opposite direction. A judge ruled in March that the district owes a child compensatory services because federal law 鈥渃ontains no exception that would allow suspending special education services because a global pandemic forced schools online.鈥�

Across the country, many parents didn鈥檛 hear from their children鈥檚 therapists or teachers for months after schools shut down. 

鈥淚 have seen so much neglect and carelessness and the absolute marginalization of these kids during and after the pandemic,鈥� said Georgianna Junco-Kelman, a special education attorney who represents families in Los Angeles. 鈥淭hese kids are not going to regain those skills. You don鈥檛 get that time back.鈥�

Multiple investigations 

The failure to maintain services for students caught the attention of former Education Secretary Betsy DeVos in the of the Trump administration, sparking an investigation by the department鈥檚 Office for Civil Rights. 

The probe found that staff members counted simple emails and phone calls to families as actual services to students, and didn鈥檛 consider kids鈥� individual needs.

Under an Superintendent Alberto Carvalho signed in April 鈥� similar to the one in Fairfax 鈥� the district must determine how many of its 66,000 students with disabilities are now eligible for services. 

Similar probes targeted the and the after federal officials received multiple complaints from parents in the state.

Some districts did scramble to find solutions. Just weeks after schools shut down in New Jersey鈥檚 Tinton Falls School District, about an hour southeast of Hillsborough, special education director Kerri Walsifer began reviewing the individualized education programs that guide the instruction of special education students to see what the district could realistically provide.

And when educators couldn鈥檛 come through, she tried to make it right.

Prior to the pandemic, Tinton Falls paid for Lina Esposito鈥檚 daughter Ella, who has ADHD and autism, to attend school in the nearby Long Branch district, which was better equipped to meet her needs. But when students returned from remote learning last fall, teachers complained about Ella鈥檚 behavior. They said she refused to go outside for a fire drill, was a 鈥渟afety risk鈥� and that Long Branch was no longer a good fit.

But Walsifer didn鈥檛 have a spot for her in Tinton Falls either. That left Ella home with no services until this past February, when the district found her a new school.

The special education director arranged for Ella to receive speech therapy and behavioral support to make up for some of the services she missed.

鈥楾hey tear you up鈥� 

But other families found districts unwilling to negotiate. For Los Angeles parents Lori and Stephen Saux, the request for compensatory education turned into a drawn-out struggle that ended with them pulling their son Liam out of the district. 

鈥淭hey tear you up, and they make you feel helpless,鈥� Lori said.

During remote learning, Liam, who has Down Syndrome, didn鈥檛 receive most of the services spelled out in his IEP, such as a modified physical education program and a 鈥渞esource鈥� teacher to help him practice challenging words before answering questions aloud in class. 

To fill that void, his mother or father sat with him during Zoom sessions. The teachers would 鈥渏oke and say, 鈥榊ou should get your teaching credential because you鈥檙e so good,鈥� 鈥� Lori said. She didn鈥檛 find it funny. 

Last fall, when COVID cases among students, Liam鈥檚 doctor put him at a higher risk of infection and strongly advised against him returning to school in person until he was fully vaccinated. But school was the only place Liam could get the education he needed. 

The Catch-22鈥檚 didn鈥檛 end there. The 诲颈蝉迟谤颈肠迟鈥檚 home hospital program turned Liam down because he wasn鈥檛 sick, and his IEP said placing him in the remote, independent study program would be inappropriate.

Home for four months with no education, he eventually enrolled in a charter school.

A spokesperson for the district said 鈥渟tudent matters are confidential鈥� and wouldn鈥檛 discuss the case. 

Now at Citizens of the World, Liam remains uncomfortable in social situations after nearly two years without classmates and behavioral support, Lori said. It took him a while to sit with others at lunch and join in games. And he still struggles to construct a paragraph and 鈥済et out what he鈥檚 trying to say.鈥�

His parents started to help others advocate for their children and go into negotiations with districts knowing what to.expect.

鈥淚 don鈥檛 think their goal is to correct things,鈥� she said. 鈥淚 think their goal is to create a system that looks like they鈥檙e doing what they鈥檙e supposed to do.鈥�

Virginia鈥檚 courts routinely rule against parents of students with disabilities who sue to ensure their children are receiving an appropriate education, according to a class action lawsuit filed in federal court this week.

The suit names the Fairfax County Public Schools in northern Virginia as well as the state department of education, which trains and certifies hearing officers to review parent complaints. The suit alleges the state maintains a list of 鈥渟chool-friendly hearing officers鈥� who are more likely to rule against families that challenge district decisions about services for their children.

Trevor and Vivian Chaplick, parents of a Fairfax student with autism, ADHD and other 鈥減rofound鈥� disabilities, along with they鈥檝e created, filed the suit on behalf of all students in the state who participated in due process proceedings since 2010. Virginia state Superintendent Jillian Balow and Fairfax schools Superintendent Michelle Reid 鈥� last year鈥檚 national superintendent of the year 鈥� are also named as defendants.聽

鈥淒ue process is a parent鈥檚 recourse if something goes wrong,鈥� said Callie Oettinger, a Fairfax parent who runs documenting special education complaints in the district. 鈥淲hat happens is they lawyer up and they鈥檒l spend millions fighting you.鈥�

The lawsuit comes as parents across the state are seeking compensatory 鈥� or make-up 鈥� services due to school closures during the pandemic. Under the Individuals with Disabilities Act, districts are required to evaluate and provide services to students if educators failed to follow a child鈥檚 individualized education program, or IEP. But the lawsuit claims Virginia鈥檚 system was rigged against parents long before the pandemic. 

According to the complaint, hearing officers ruled in favor of northern Virginia families only three out of 395 times between 2010 and 2021. Statewide, there were just 13 out of 847 cases in which hearing officers found districts at fault over that same 11-year period, according to documents the Chaplicks obtained through public records requests. 

Twenty-two of the hearing officers, who act as judges in such cases, have 鈥渂een virtually unchanged over the last two decades, which represents two generations of disabled children seeking a better education under the IDEA,鈥� the complaint said. 鈥淒espite (or because of) the incredibly one-sided outcomes from these hearing officers, the VDOE continued to recertify these same 22 hearing officers.鈥� 

Because of their son鈥檚 severe needs and aggressive behavior, the Chaplinks asked the district to place their son in a residential school. The district refused, and when the parents prepared to file for due process, a district social worker told them they would lose. They thought the staff member was exaggerating 鈥� that is, until they collected the data.

Charles Pyle, a spokesman for the Virginia Department of Education, said officials would not comment on pending litigation.

鈥淭he department is committed to ensuring that students with disabilities receive all services and supports that they are entitled to under federal and state law,鈥� he said.

Julie Moult, a spokeswoman for the Fairfax district, said officials had not been served with the lawsuit and were not able to comment.

Reid, who is new to Fairfax this year, previously served as superintendent of the Northshore School District near Seattle, the first in the nation to close a school because of COVID. The district, with about 23,000 students, is a fraction of the size of Fairfax, which has an enrollment of roughly 180,000. 

鈥楾hat鈥檚 how hard it is鈥�

The case is the latest probe into whether Fairfax  鈥� one of the nation鈥檚 largest districts 鈥� is denying the civil rights of students with disabilities. In January, 2021, in the final days of the Trump administration, the Office for Civil Rights into the 诲颈蝉迟谤颈肠迟鈥檚 handling of services for students with disabilities during school closures. 

Kimberly Richie, who led the civil rights division at the time, took action after seeing news reports of t schools opening for child care, at the parents鈥� cost 鈥� but not for students with IEPs. Now Richie is a deputy superintendent at the Virginia education department, whose includes special education. Oettinger sees that as a good sign.

鈥淭hese were people who were trying to actually do something before they left office,鈥� she said. 

Prior to the pandemic, parents sued the district for its use of physical restraint and seclusion of students with disabilities. In December 2021, it reached with the plaintiffs and disability rights organizations to ban the practice. 

The new lawsuit includes the names and decisions of hearing officers, in northern Virginia and statewide. One is Frank Aschmann, an Alexandria, Virginia, attorney who has ruled in favor of parents in one out of 62 cases over a 20-year period. 

Debra Tisler was one of those 61 parents he ruled against. With a severely dyslexic son, she began asking the Fairfax district to evaluate him in fourth grade, but she said they kept putting her off for a year 鈥� even though she had been a special education teacher in the district from 1997 to 2014.

鈥淭hat鈥檚 how hard it is,鈥� she said, referring to efforts to get her son the literacy instruction that experts recommended. She taught him herself, but had to hire private speech and language tutors. 鈥淏y 6th grade, he had hit a complete wall.鈥�

She filed for due process in 2019, arguing that the district would not give her access to her son鈥檚 educational records so she could prepare a case and that they had failed to provide him with an adequate literacy program. 

Aschmann ruled against the family on multiple points, including refusing to compel the district to turn over records and stating that the student鈥檚 struggles in his Spanish class did not constitute evidence of the 诲颈蝉迟谤颈肠迟鈥檚 failure to implement his IEP. 

Aschmann did not return a call seeking comment.

鈥淭hey are ruining children鈥檚 lives,鈥� said Tisler, who now volunteers as an advocate for other families and serves as an expert witness in due process hearings. 鈥淎ll they care about is how much money they get.鈥�

In January 2020, an invoice shows Fairfax paid Aschmann $12,400 for the 99 hours he spent on Tisler鈥檚 son鈥檚 case. Parents who lose to their district, she said, can file in state or federal court. States tend to transfer the cases to federal courts, but most families, she said, don鈥檛 have the financial means to pursue cases that far. 

鈥淵ou just get bounced around,鈥� she said.

Correction: While the Virginia Department of Education selects hearing officers to review due process cases in special education, it is the Virginia Supreme Court that ultimately decides the outcomes.

It鈥檚 the play part that motivates Gordon Hartman, founder of Morgan鈥檚 Wonderland in San Antonio, Texas. Named for his daughter, the first 鈥淯ltra-Accessible鈥� theme park in the world, and other fully inclusive ventures, offers experiences for everybody.

鈥淎t Morgan鈥檚 Wonderland Camp, an outgrowth of , you can go on a zipline that’s 11 stories high, even if you’re in a wheelchair or on a breathing tube or on a feeding tube,鈥� Hartman promises. 鈥淵ou can go on a challenge course 22 feet above the ground, even if you’re blind or have cognitive delay or if you鈥檙e in a wheelchair.鈥�

Morgan鈥檚 Wonderland and the next-door Morgan鈥檚 Inspiration Island splash park offer free admission to people with disabilities, but the adventure is for anyone and everyone ready for fun. 鈥淭hey鈥檙e not special-needs parks,鈥� insists Hartman. 鈥淭hey鈥檙e parks of inclusion, and that makes a big difference.鈥�

Hartman鈥檚 vision for ultra-accessibility is growing beyond the attractions of Morgan鈥檚 Wonderland. This fall, his Morgan鈥檚 Inclusion Initiative, which is the planning and coordinating organization for the entire Morgan鈥檚 Wonderland 鈥渇amily鈥� of endeavors, will cut the ribbon on a new kind of facility to bring a multitude of services under one roof for those with special needs. It鈥檚 called the Multi-Assistance Center at Morgan鈥檚 Wonderland, or The MAC. And he鈥檚 reaffirming a commitment to amplifying the voices of the community he鈥檚 dedicated to serving.

鈥淭hey’re not at the table enough,鈥� he says. 鈥淭hey don’t have enough of a voice and that’s what we’re working on very hard to change.鈥�

San Antonio Roots

鈥淭his has always been my town,鈥� Hartman says. Born in 1964, he grew up across the street from a Catholic church, becoming an altar boy and attending Catholic grade school and a high school seminary. A product of the , he developed a lifelong dedication to serving others. He also had a passion for business, and starting at 18, he worked as a builder and a land developer, later adding insurance, mortgages and titles to his portfolio.

About 12 months after he and his wife Maggie had their first child, Morgan, it became clear that Morgan wasn鈥檛 meeting cognitive and physical development milestones. And then one day while on vacation at a hotel swimming pool, Morgan approached two other children to play with them and their ball, but she was upset when the kids grabbed the ball and left her behind.

鈥淭hat鈥檚 when we started thinking, Where can we take Morgan that would be a place where she would feel acceptance, and could play and do other things like everybody else?,鈥� Hartman recalls. “What if we did something where those with and without special needs could join together and play?”

He sold his homebuilding business and poured the proceeds鈥攁s well as two decades of building experience鈥攊nto Morgan鈥檚 Wonderland, which has welcomed over 2 million guests in its 12 years of operation. The park鈥檚 success is constantly spurring new attractions, most recently the splash park, a sports complex and a camp that offers summer-camp-like experiences year-round. Morgan herself, now 28 years old, loves all of it. 鈥淚 get up early in the morning,鈥� Hartman declares. 鈥淚 work until late at night, and I love every moment of it. I have more desire and more energy now than I’ve ever had.鈥�

The Next Wonder

As Morgan鈥檚 Wonderland grows and welcomes more guests each year from all over the world, Hartman expresses appreciation for the way San Antonio has supported his vision. 鈥淭his community came together,鈥� he says. 鈥淚 didn鈥檛 do it by myself.鈥�

As the opening of The MAC approaches, he recognizes that the community鈥檚 engagement matters more than ever. Over 30 community-based organizations will be housed (rent-free) under one roof, all coordinating electronically and collaborating in real life to help children and adults with special needs.

As Hartman explains, The MAC will conduct intake interviews and then assign clients to a navigator, who will focus not only on therapeutic issues but also the social determinants of health. (Disabled people are disproportionately affected by food and housing insecurity, among other .) Using a specially developed electronic platform, the navigators will help MAC clients connect to the right services.

Hartman describes a hypothetical mother of three, including one autistic child. 鈥淪he needs help maneuvering through the insurance issues and Medicaid and so on. Well, if she has to tell her story over and over, if she has to take many days off of work and can’t do it all in one place, then the opportunity for her child to get the help they need is going to be very limited. And many times, she’s going to give up. So what we’re going to try to do is make that as efficient and seamless as possible.鈥�

Once The MAC is fully operational, it will serve thousands with physical and cognitive special needs.

鈥淔or too long,鈥� Hartman states, 鈥渄isabled people have been set to the side and denied the full opportunity to thrive. Given that opportunity, they can and will do so much more.鈥�

Special education experts say there鈥檚 wide variation in how school districts accommodate students鈥� needs in the classroom and that parents are often in the dark about their children鈥檚 rights under 504.

鈥淚t’s time to 鈥� make the regulations current and responsive to the experiences of students and families in schools,鈥� Assistant Secretary for Civil Rights Catherine Lhamon said Friday, after the update was announced. 鈥淲e have, over these 45 years of experience, seen ways that sometimes schools don’t understand or don’t follow the law.鈥�

The announcement follows the department鈥檚 with the Los Angeles Unified School District to make up for services that roughly 66,000 students with disabilities missed during remote learning. The district has to determine which students were denied services and make sure parents know their children are eligible for additional support. The update, according to the department, is also part of the Biden administration鈥檚 strategy to address among young people. 

Experts in the special education field said updating the law is long overdue.

鈥淚t鈥檚 about darned time,鈥� said Julie Weatherly, a special education attorney in Alabama who advises districts and works to resolve disputes with families over special education services. At a minimum, she said, she hopes some language in the regulation will be updated.

鈥淭he best thing that could happen would be that the word ‘handicapped’ would be removed,鈥� she said. 

It wasn鈥檛 until 2010, when President Barack Obama signed 鈥�,鈥� that the terms “mental retardation” and “mentally retarded individual” were replaced with “intellectual disability” and “individual with an intellectual disability” in federal law. 

Typical accommodations under 504 include letting students sit in the front of the classroom, break up assignments into shorter sections and gain exemption from physical activities. The department, Weatherly said, could update the regulations to provide more specific examples of how a disability interferes with learning or 鈥渕ajor life activities,鈥� as the law states.

But she said she doesn鈥檛 want to see the department add extensive documentation requirements. For students who require an individualized education program under IDEA, she said, the process is already 鈥減arent unfriendly.鈥�

But families and advocates want to see a more standardized process for ensuring that students receive services. 

Denise Stile Marshall, CEO of the Council of Parent Attorneys and Advocates, said Section 504 is 鈥渋ncredibly important in terms of protecting equity and student access,鈥� but districts sometimes 鈥渢reat it like a consolation prize鈥� if a student doesn鈥檛 qualify for special education 鈥� and might not even let the parent know accommodations are available. 

Lisa Mosko Barros, a Los Angeles parent and advocate, added that currently, districts aren鈥檛 required to involve parents in designing accommodations and that schools don鈥檛 receive additional funding for a child served under the program, as they do for special education.聽

鈥淭here does not seem to be as robust a framework for accountability鈥� as with special ed, she said, 鈥渘or does there seem to be adequate mandates around family partnership in the process.鈥�

Advocates for students with dyslexia said they welcome the opportunity to provide comments. 

鈥淔ar too often, individuals with dyslexia are denied access to the accommodations and educational services they are entitled to,鈥� said Megan Potente, co-state director of Decoding Dyslexia California. 鈥淪trengthening rights is absolutely critical to addressing barriers and accessing opportunities for those with dyslexia.鈥�

Lhamon said the length of the comment period has not yet been determined, but it could be 2023 before new regulations are released.

Alberto Carvalho, who took over as superintendent of the Los Angeles Unified School District just two weeks ago, wasted little time in setting ambitious goals for his new administration. In a unveiled last week, he said he would focus on academic recovery and consider shifting funds from the 诲颈蝉迟谤颈肠迟鈥檚 expensive COVID testing program to pay for it. 

He also wants to reduce class sizes, expand early learning and streamline hiring to address staff shortages. The agenda, which he discussed during a virtual welcome reception Thursday, came after an already jam-packed two weeks in which he attended his first school board meeting, met with each one of the 诲颈蝉迟谤颈肠迟鈥檚 union presidents and taught two biology classes. 

The nation is watching whether the success Carvalho had as the 14-year superintendent of the Miami-Dade County Public Schools will follow him to the nation鈥檚 second-largest school district. In December, the school board to hire the award-winning leader, with board Vice President Nick Melvoin calling him 鈥渢he right person to lead L.A. Unified students out of this pandemic into a better future.鈥�

On Friday, he spoke to 蜜桃影视 about his plan to live up to those high expectations. 鈥淚’m very optimistic about the possibility in Los Angeles,鈥� he told 蜜桃影视鈥檚 Linda Jacobson. 鈥淚f I wasn鈥檛, I wouldn’t be here. I chose L.A. as much as L.A. chose me. I have never failed. I’ve made mistakes. I’ve erred. I’ve tripped. I’ve fallen, but failure is not in my DNA.鈥� 

This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

蜜桃影视: Talk a little bit about declining enrollment, which fell by in Los Angeles this year. What鈥檚 on your agenda for getting families to come back and attracting new families?

Alberto Carvalho: That’s not unique to L.A., nor New York or Chicago 鈥� or most urban centers across America. Affordability has been significantly diminished and wages have not kept pace. That has forced families to move, and when the family moves, they don’t leave the kid behind. There has been significant internal mobility that has shifted membership in and out at the school system. 

Then there is this third arena that really concerns me 鈥� families and students that have completely disappeared. Calls have been met with disconnected phone lines and knocks at the door. The neighbor does not know. We are beginning to learn anecdotally that some of these families may have had a fragile immigration status. They made decisions as a result of prior immigration protocols and obviously have not returned. It’s a complex issue. Other parents have pulled students from the public school system and moved to their second home because they could afford a second home and pay for private tuition.

Now the solution: In L.A., if you want choice, you have magnets and you have charters. Then there are district-affiliated charters and independent schools. Whoever decided to restrict choice on the basis of those parameters? There are single-gender schools, career academies. Choice does not need to conform to magnet or charter. Where are the programs in L.A. where we see long waiting lists of parents? Why aren’t we expanding more of those programs to where the demand is?

You鈥檙e talking about more of those programs in neighborhood schools?

Correct. Have we done an analysis about the amount of time a child is on the bus to get to that one program that really motivates him or her 鈥� that great engineering program, fine arts, performing arts, cybersecurity, robotics, STEAM, STEM, dual language, dual enrollment, International Baccalaureate, Cambridge, whatever?

I can fill an entire wall with a repertoire of options for parents. Why aren’t we offering all of that? L.A. Unified is a much bigger district than Miami. L.A. Unified has about 300 magnet programs. Miami-Dade offers 1,100 choice options. We have work to do. If we don’t do that, we will continue to bleed out students because parents are living in a reality where they have an entitlement to choice. If we don’t do that, it is tantamount to burying our head in the sand as a tsunami of choice washes over us. I choose to ride the top of it. I think it’s better for kids, it鈥檚 better for communities, and that is one of the key elements of reenergizing interest in our public school system.

On Friday, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention updated its guidance on masking, saying schools can drop mandates when COVID-19 risk is medium or low. Any reaction?

We learned that the state of California and the CDC are relaxing protocols with one significant exception 鈥� . But conditions have improved significantly in our community as a function of good weather, but also because of the insistence on vaccination, on masking, on testing. We are waiting now on additional data from the county but also guidance from Sacramento specific to school protocols. One of the elements that we are carefully analyzing right now is the possibility of relaxing testing protocols particularly at the secondary level. It鈥檚 a very costly proposition. The frequency and cadence is churning through financial resources.

Do we need to continue to invest at this level? We have an opportunity to reinvest those dollars in educational programs, in tutorial, acceleration and social-emotional programs.

Is that something you think the union would oppose?

We will need to have an open dialogue with the bargaining units. I will not surprise our collective bargaining representatives. But if we are a science-driven district, we follow the science not only when things are getting bad; we also need to follow the science as conditions improve.

Many parents say that they want , especially small-group and one-on-one tutoring. Why was that not spelled out in your 100-day plan?

It was. When I speak about an augmentation of educational opportunities, before and afterschool programming, that is inclusive of tutorial services. When I speak about the concept of year-round schooling opportunities, I’m not singularly speaking about schools being open. I’m speaking about before- and afterschool tutorial services that can be provided by the school system, but also by private entities, not-for-profit entities. When I talk about maximizing these educational opportunities, that’s exactly what I’m describing. It was not ignored. It is actually very much part of the strategy moving forward.

I think when parents hear terms like expanded learning opportunities and afterschool, they just think of large groups. They don鈥檛 think that means the high-dosage models that have received a lot of attention.

It鈥檚 both and. 

I was struck by how David Turner [manager of ] challenged you on the issue of school police. He said he was disappointed to see the under your tenure in Miami. What is your position on that, considering the Los Angeles district took a last year on redirecting funding from school police officers to improving school climate and the achievement of Black students?

I have inherited a policy position that has reduced the budget and implemented a different methodology of protective actions around schools. Rather than the presence of a school resource officer on campus, it’s more of a mobile unit that provides someone support for safe passage to and from school and is able to rapidly respond to emergencies. That is a decision made by the board, supported by a significant sector of this community. 

Now that we’ve moved in that direction, have we stood up the appropriate personnel, with the appropriate training in schools from a prevention perspective? Have we identified restorative justice practices, been effective at avoiding, preventing and or resolving and managing a crisis that would have otherwise been addressed by a police officer? We鈥檙e not there yet.

My concern is that [police] have been removed, and the element that will in a more systemic and more preventive way benefit our kids has not fully been fleshed out. That, too, is part of the 100-day plan.

Alicia Montgomery, executive director of the , watched your presentation and reviewed the plan. She mentioned to me that the school system鈥檚 six local districts and all the smaller communities of schools each have their own goals and objectives. She said she has been struck in the past by the 鈥渟heer resistance to consistency across the district.鈥� You talked a lot about alignment in your plan. Where would you like to see a more universal approach and where should there be room for autonomy?

I’m a huge believer in the concept of earned autonomy, implementing a model that strikes the appropriate balance, that sweet spot. The board’s equity-driven agenda should be ubiquitous. That requires clear communication, continuous monitoring of student performance, attendance data, critical incidents of absenteeism and a universal guarantee of the appropriate resources. That cannot be left singularly in the hands of local leaders. That said, there is room on the other side of the balance for leadership that works best closer to the school. I do have some concerns where it’s working well versus where it’s not working well.

Can you give an example?

I would rather not. There are many different areas in Los Angeles where local leadership has navigated this balance fairly well. In other areas, it is not as clear to me that the coherence is where it needs to be. 

Your plan mentions creating a collective bargaining strategy, and I know some would like to see a lot more transparency in negotiations with the union. Should that be a more open process?

I’m a huge believer in transparency, so let’s begin there. There is no way that we’re going to maximize opportunities for students through the existing collaboration with labor partners. [We need to be] developing and executing a sound, reasonable strategy that’s based on compensation philosophies that support recruitment and retention of a highly qualified workforce. That’s huge for me. It’s needed for the school system right now. We’re having a difficult time recruiting teachers. Fifty percent of teachers across the country are leaving the profession before retirement. That is shocking and that’s the first time that has happened in the history of our country.

The typical negotiation process begins with management declaring that there is no money and labor providing a list of demands. Sometimes lost in that chasm is the answer to the simple question: What do the kids need and can we rally around a common set of goals? 

I’ve been here about a week now and I’ve had conversations with every single labor president, and I did that in advance of the 100-day plan because I don’t believe in surprises. This work is too complex, too difficult and too important, particularly as we continue to navigate the tail end of this pandemic. That’s going to be my approach to the labor negotiation process that we are rapidly going into.

The U.S. Department of Education recently that they are responsible for providing students with disabilities the services they did not receive during remote learning. Are you evaluating what the district is required to do and have a plan for providing those services?

During the pandemic, students with disabilities were among the most impacted, the most fragile communities of students, and have lost the most ground. We need to start from that perspective. By what means shall we accelerate and where have we fallen short in terms of providing the best educational environments? Where do we need to increase inclusion rates across the district? Where must we contemplate additional improvements for parents of students with disabilities who have maintained them in a virtual environment? Are there opportunities for us to speak with the parents and demonstrate that perhaps the option they selected is not adequately addressing the needs of their children?

This is an ongoing process with the federal government. I am aware of the issue and I’m currently engaged in discussions with federal entities regarding this topic. At the end of the day, this is a fragile community of students and I think we recognize two years into this pandemic some of the detrimental impacts that these students have suffered.

How often will you teach? Do you want to run your own school like you did in Miami?

I have now taught two high school biology classes since I’ve arrived. That’s as much fun as anybody in my position can ask for. I need to remain connected to what happens in schools, at a leadership level, in a supportive role. But if I am to remain real, I need to have access to students through meaningful instructional opportunities. That’s what sustains me. This can be a difficult role, and I don’t know how to do it from the comfort of the ivory tower, or the safety of backstage. I need to be on the edge of that stage, feeling the warmth and the social interaction from students and schools. I’m going to be very active and engaged with school principals, with teachers and in the classroom. It’s actually a topic of negotiation and conversation with my own team, how we make that feasible on a very regular basis.

Finally, when the news hit that you were coming to Los Angeles, I spoke to a long-time parent advocate who said even the most talented leaders have been driven away from this job. I know you said you’re here for the long haul, but what is your reaction to that statement?

Why would anybody want to do this? Because we cannot abandon two elements of America 鈥� the importance of public education and the viability of cities and urban education, where the needs are heightened. Are there easier ways of impacting children? You can go be a superintendent of a very affluent, small district where you don’t have that diversity, you don’t have kids who are children of immigrants. 

I think we need to paint a picture of hope. I’m very optimistic about the possibility in Los Angeles. If I wasn鈥檛, I wouldn’t be here. I chose L.A. as much as L.A. chose me. I have never failed. I’ve made mistakes. I’ve erred. I’ve tripped. I’ve fallen, but failure is not in my DNA. When we decide to accept failure for ourselves, we are condemning kids to the same fate, and that’s not me.

When it comes to providing play opportunities to children with disabilities, not all playgrounds are created equal. On most playgrounds in the United States, complex play structures with lots of stairs and uneven ground coverings like woodchips or gravel make play inaccessible to kids who depend on mobility aids like wheelchairs or walkers. Traditional swings or narrow slides are inaccessible to kids who need a caregiver鈥檚 support or the extra safety feature of a harness to use them.

While all new or renovated playgrounds stemming from the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA), ADA compliance is only a bare minimum standard. An ADA-compliant playground might have an accessible entrance and transfer stations 鈥� spaces where a child in a wheelchair can pull themselves onto a play structure. But even with those features, many kids will still find themselves relegated to only parts of the playground and unable to enjoy many of its play features. The result is that crucial play opportunities remain limited or even unavailable to the disabled kids in the United States.

Recognizing the limits of traditional playgrounds, some designers and city administrators have begun making efforts to go beyond basic access and ensure that more kids with various disabilities are included in playground design 鈥� through a philosophy of radical inclusion.

鈥淭here鈥檚 [always] a strong focus on ramps and stairs,鈥� says Nathan Schleicher, lead playground designer at , an organization that designs and builds custom playgrounds. 鈥淩amps, stairs, and surfacing ended up being what define [an accessible] play space. But none of those things are play elements. We can do better than ramps, stairs, and surfacing. We can do better to be inclusive.鈥�

A on St. Pete Pier in St. Petersburg, Florida, is an award-winning example of inclusive playground design. For the team behind the project, building an inclusive space meant making it 鈥渨heelchair accessible from bottom to top,鈥� explains David Hugglestone, Senior Capital Projects Coordinator at the City of St. Petersburg.

The playground at St. Pete Pier has a mythical ocean and beach theme, complete with wooden sea turtles, larger-than-life starfish, and a pink and yellow kraken. 鈥淭he design, from the beginning, included play opportunities both inside and underneath things like the kraken 鈥� its tentacles and its head,鈥� says Hugglestone. 鈥淵ou can crawl into and under it. If you鈥檙e able to climb, you can climb the exterior of it. But even kids who may be in a wheelchair can be pushed in underneath.鈥�

Jennifer Allen says that when her family visited the playground on vacation earlier this year, her 5-year-old son, who uses a wheelchair, navigated it easily. 鈥淚t was a safe place for him to play tag or other running sports,鈥� she says. Her two other kids, ages 4 and 9, loved the playground, too. For the Allens, 鈥渁n inclusive playground means family play, [giving] my kids the opportunity to play together like siblings should.鈥�

As cities focus on making playgrounds more inclusive, they鈥檙e also making them more inviting and more natural. The one-of-a-kind themed playground in St. Petersburg is also an excellent example of a welcoming community space. It has ample meeting places, complete with colorful oversized beach chairs for families to gather and lounge in, and was built using lots of natural materials, from its wood play structures to its rope climbing zones.

鈥淭he kids loved it and were wowed when they saw all the various spots to play on,鈥� says Tonya Whitten, a local mother of three, whose 9-year-old and 5-year-old fell in love with the St. Pete Pier playground when the family first visited. While the older kids played, Whitten rested in a seating area with her 5-month-old baby. She says she looks forward to coming back as her youngest grows to take advantage of the scaled play zones that make the playground suitable for children of all ages.

Across the country in San Francisco, access, inclusion, and the incorporation of natural elements have gone hand in hand. There, , a partnership between the San Francisco Recreation and Park Department and the San Francisco Parks Alliance, is hard at work transforming thirteen of the city鈥檚 most timeworn parks. Seven of the thirteen parks have been completed thus far, with the remaining six scheduled for completion by 2022. The renovated parks boast smooth surfaces for safety, accessible swings and sandboxes, double-wide slides, and abstract play structures built from natural materials.

The shift toward inclusive playgrounds has happened thanks in large part to collaborative and community-led design processes. 鈥淭he most successfully designed playgrounds, in my experience, that tackle challenging accessibility issues, tackled them very early on in the design,鈥� says Susanna Fraker, a project manager with the San Francisco Parks Alliance.

In San Francisco, tackling questions about accessibility meant partnering with an ADA coordinator and hosting a series of meetings where community members could give input on playground design throughout the process.

Similarly, in St. Petersburg, the city partnered with the local (CAPI), a group committed to ensuring the voices of the disability community are represented in city projects.

鈥淭he committee was asked to review the design of the playground and all equipment and features and provide input and ideas,鈥� with the goal of ensuring 鈥渆qual access, equal participation and equal enjoyment鈥� to all members of the St. Petersburg Community, explains Lendel Bright, ADA and Diversity Coordinator at the City of St. Petersburg and liaison to CAPI.

The challenges that both cities faced were what Fraker calls the 鈥減ush and pull鈥� of balancing the goal of radical inclusion with things like space and budget constraints. Wide pathways or transfer stations that make playgrounds maneuverable for wheelchair-users also take up a lot of space. Added accessible entrances and the one-of-a-kind equipment that make inclusive playgrounds so wonderful can also be expensive. 鈥淭he fun part,鈥� says Fraker, is when 鈥済iven the space and budget constraints, designers come up with creative and fully-integrated solutions. It鈥檚 not a burden to the project. If anything, it adds play value.鈥�

Schleicher says there鈥檚 also a growing understanding that playgrounds are important community gathering places and vital to childhood development. Investing in them just makes sense. 鈥淲e put that investment into our landscape architecture and architecture. But we don鈥檛 necessarily put that investment in our children鈥檚 architecture and our children鈥檚 spaces. But there is a growing awareness that we can do better.鈥�

At the playgrounds in both St. Petersburg and San Francisco, efforts to ensure radical inclusion have been more than worthwhile. 鈥淭he minute we opened up [the St. Pete Pier Playground] and saw kids playing on it, it was worth every penny,鈥� says Hugglestone.

鈥淚 think it is extraordinarily wonderful that there is a playground for every child [in St. Petersburg],鈥� says Whitten. 鈥淚t is a very rewarding feeling to see your child having the time of their lives playing on a playground and every child deserves that.鈥�

This article originally appeared at and is published in partnership with