Today I am thinking about the difference between equality and equity. As a Quaker I believe deeply in the equality of all people. But how does that translate into my work? Does equality of Spirit correlate to treating everyone the same?
As a white person I am aware of the way in which my tendency to "not see difference" or to say that "we are all the same" actually undermines efforts to truly achieve equality. And I have learned that these statements for me do not have integrity (another Quaker value I hold dear).
A glimpse into the classroom:
One of the children "Sandy" in my class of young toddlers has down's syndrome. She has low muscle tone in her legs and often sits alone on the playground. When we heard that Sandy needed a push toy as a way to build muscle tone my co-teacher and I had a discussion which revealed a lot about our differing understandings of what equality looks like, and about our fears regarding fairness. My co-teacher took the standpoint that we couldn't possibly introduce this toy into the classroom because it wouldn't be fair to the other children who would want to use it. She also didn't want to stigmatize Sandy by giving her special treatment and opening her up to the possibility of embarrassment, or ridicule.
I understood where she was coming from, and I too didn't want to create a difficult situation for this child, and I responded to my co-teacher: Of course other children will want to use that toy. My question is, do they need to use it? I believe that if we are honest with children about the difference between wanting something and needing something that they can understand this concept, and will actually be much more accepting than we fear they will be.
In fact I believe that children may have a greater capacity for this type of acceptance than many adults do, and that often in our "good intentions" of denying differences that are clearly there (i.e. skin color, physical conditions, visible deformities, behavioral outbursts etc.) by telling children not to notice, we are actually teaching them that difference is something that we can't talk about, that it is bad, and I believe we are teaching that it is to be feared.
So... after many conversations, we brought the push toy into the classroom. Several children were, as my co-teacher expected interested in using it. When they asked, we would answer, "Did you notice that Sandy is still learning how to walk? This toy helps her be able to walk better, and that's why she has it. You already know how to walk. So you don't really need that toy. If there is a time when Sandy isn't using it, and you want to try it out, you can, but if Sandy wants it back, you need to give it to her."
And the children understood. After about a week they started bringing the toy to Sandy, cheering for her when she took her first steps, and even running over to announce to the teachers what a great job she was doing at walking. From an adult perspective this might seem condescending, however for these children their excitement for Sandy was real. It was the same excitement they felt for themselves when they accomplished a new task (something they work hard to do every day) or completed something that made them feel like a "big kid". I believe they were celebrating Sandy's growth and accomplishment right alongside her, and as I watched I wished there could be more times like that in my adult life, when members of my community would be willing to support me in such a way.
So what...
An Early Childhood Educator from Reggio Emilia, Elena Giacopini writes:
Inclusion does not mean starndardization and it does not mean integration. Inclusion requires and demands differences in dialogue. It doesn't require that one adapts to the other but, rather, mutual adaptation, the invention of a new way of being together.
This is my hope not only for children in my classroom, but for our world as a whole. And I wonder, how often do I let my assumptions, my belief that my own experience is reality, and my fear of that which is unfamiliar shut down the possibilities for community, and for dialogue with those who's experiences are different than my own? What could be gained if I let go of my fear, and my desire to be right? What might I learn?
One of the children "Sandy" in my class of young toddlers has down's syndrome. She has low muscle tone in her legs and often sits alone on the playground. When we heard that Sandy needed a push toy as a way to build muscle tone my co-teacher and I had a discussion which revealed a lot about our differing understandings of what equality looks like, and about our fears regarding fairness. My co-teacher took the standpoint that we couldn't possibly introduce this toy into the classroom because it wouldn't be fair to the other children who would want to use it. She also didn't want to stigmatize Sandy by giving her special treatment and opening her up to the possibility of embarrassment, or ridicule.
I understood where she was coming from, and I too didn't want to create a difficult situation for this child, and I responded to my co-teacher: Of course other children will want to use that toy. My question is, do they need to use it? I believe that if we are honest with children about the difference between wanting something and needing something that they can understand this concept, and will actually be much more accepting than we fear they will be.
In fact I believe that children may have a greater capacity for this type of acceptance than many adults do, and that often in our "good intentions" of denying differences that are clearly there (i.e. skin color, physical conditions, visible deformities, behavioral outbursts etc.) by telling children not to notice, we are actually teaching them that difference is something that we can't talk about, that it is bad, and I believe we are teaching that it is to be feared.
So... after many conversations, we brought the push toy into the classroom. Several children were, as my co-teacher expected interested in using it. When they asked, we would answer, "Did you notice that Sandy is still learning how to walk? This toy helps her be able to walk better, and that's why she has it. You already know how to walk. So you don't really need that toy. If there is a time when Sandy isn't using it, and you want to try it out, you can, but if Sandy wants it back, you need to give it to her."
And the children understood. After about a week they started bringing the toy to Sandy, cheering for her when she took her first steps, and even running over to announce to the teachers what a great job she was doing at walking. From an adult perspective this might seem condescending, however for these children their excitement for Sandy was real. It was the same excitement they felt for themselves when they accomplished a new task (something they work hard to do every day) or completed something that made them feel like a "big kid". I believe they were celebrating Sandy's growth and accomplishment right alongside her, and as I watched I wished there could be more times like that in my adult life, when members of my community would be willing to support me in such a way.
So what...
An Early Childhood Educator from Reggio Emilia, Elena Giacopini writes:
Inclusion does not mean starndardization and it does not mean integration. Inclusion requires and demands differences in dialogue. It doesn't require that one adapts to the other but, rather, mutual adaptation, the invention of a new way of being together.
This is my hope not only for children in my classroom, but for our world as a whole. And I wonder, how often do I let my assumptions, my belief that my own experience is reality, and my fear of that which is unfamiliar shut down the possibilities for community, and for dialogue with those who's experiences are different than my own? What could be gained if I let go of my fear, and my desire to be right? What might I learn?
This is beautiful. Almost made me cry! Thank you for sharing it. :)
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