A Case Study: The Challenge of School Admission for a Child with a Disability

A child with mild intellectual disability and hearing impairment gets admitted to a local nursery school without an interview. She participates in class activities, follows along with non-verbal tasks, and seems to be settling in. Then one day, an accident happens – one connected to her disability – and within days, the school asks the parent to withdraw her. What changed? Not the child. The school’s attitude did. This case study is a window into a reality that thousands of families across India live through: a reality where the law says one thing and the school gate says another.

The initial promise – and why it felt different 🔗

The fact that this child was admitted without an interview was itself significant. Many schools routinely conduct screening processes that – intentionally or not – weed out children with disabilities before they’ve had a fair chance. This child entered without that filter, and she performed. She participated in activities she could access and showed the kind of engagement that any early childhood educator would want to see.

This beginning mattered. It showed that the child was capable of being part of a mainstream classroom. It also showed that when barriers are removed at the gate, children with disabilities can belong. The problem was never the child’s ability to be in that space – it was whether the school was truly prepared to keep her there.

When attitude becomes the barrier 🔗

After the accident, the school’s position changed rapidly. A withdrawal request followed. On the surface, it may have been framed as a safety concern or a practical limitation. But what it actually revealed was something more fundamental: attitudinal barriers – and these are among the most damaging obstacles children with disabilities face in education.

Research on inclusive education in India consistently identifies attitudinal barriers as one of the primary hindrances to effective inclusion for children with intellectual disabilities. These are not barriers of infrastructure or budget alone – they are barriers of belief. Many school staff and administrators hold the view, often unconsciously, that children with disabilities cannot fully participate in a mainstream environment, or that their presence creates problems for others.

The accident in this case study became a justification for a prejudice that was likely already there. The school did not ask how it could respond better to the child’s needs. It asked the child – and her family – to leave.

Fifteen days and a teacher who didn’t know 🔗

Perhaps the most quietly alarming detail in this case study is this: after fifteen days in class, the teacher did not know the child was non-verbal. Fifteen school days. And the teacher who was responsible for this child’s learning had not yet discovered one of the most fundamental facts about her communication needs.

This is not necessarily a story of a callous teacher. It is a story of a systemic failure in how inclusive classrooms are set up and supported. In India, only about 1.32% of teachers had received even two weeks of inclusive education training according to school education survey data. Teachers in mainstream settings are rarely equipped with the knowledge, tools, or support they need to genuinely engage with each child’s individual profile.

A study on mainstream teachers in rural Indian government schools found that while teachers broadly supported the idea of children with disabilities being in school, many held deficit-oriented views and often believed that mere physical presence in the classroom was enough for some children. For children with intellectual or sensory disabilities, teachers sometimes expected little – and so observed little. That kind of low expectation is its own form of exclusion.

In an inclusive classroom that is actually functioning, the teacher knows every child’s strengths and needs before the first week is over – not because they are required to, but because genuine inclusion demands it.

What the law guarantees – and what the ground reality looks like 🔗

India’s Rights of Persons with Disabilities (RPwD) Act, 2016 is unambiguous. Under Section 16, all educational institutions funded or recognised by the government are required to admit children with disabilities without discrimination and provide inclusive education. The Act defines inclusive education as a system where students with and without disability learn together, with teaching and learning adapted to meet diverse needs.

The RPwD Act marks a significant shift from a welfare-focused to a rights-oriented framework, clearly recognising inclusive education as a basic right – not a privilege, not a favour. The Delhi High Court has also affirmed this, noting that the duty cast by Sections 16 and 17 of the Act is binding on all recognised educational institutions to admit children with disabilities without discrimination and grant them equal opportunities.

And yet, the numbers tell a different story. While the national school enrolment average in India is over 90%, less than 5% of children with disabilities are enrolled in schools. Disability has been called one of the least visible yet most potent factors in educational marginalisation. The gap between what the law promises and what families experience at the school gate is not a small administrative gap – it is a chasm.

In this case study, the school’s request for withdrawal was not just an individual failure. It was a violation of a legal right. Parents who face this situation are not simply dealing with an unhelpful school – they are dealing with an institution acting against the law.

The parent as the first and most consistent advocate 🔗

When systems fail, the person left standing at the school gate – often alone – is the parent. And the evidence is clear: families are the frontline champions for children with disabilities, holding education systems accountable for meeting their children’s rights. But this advocacy does not happen automatically. It needs to be intentional, informed, and sustained.

Share information before problems arise 🔗

The teacher in this case study did not know the child was non-verbal for fifteen days. That gap could have been closed from day one. When a child with a disability is admitted to a new school, parents should not wait to be asked – they should proactively share a clear profile of the child: how she communicates, what she can do independently, what triggers distress, and what strategies have worked at home. Home-based strategies and schedules are powerful tools that parents can share to give teachers a head start. You know your child best. Use that knowledge.

Build a relationship with the teacher early 🔗

Research shows that when families engage closely with schools, children with disabilities have better social skills, attendance, and academic performance. That relationship does not begin in a meeting when something goes wrong. It begins with a friendly introduction, a check-in after the first week, a note that says “Here’s how she’s been doing at home – how does that compare with what you’re seeing?” When a teacher knows the parent is present and engaged, the child is less likely to become invisible.

Suggest practical classroom strategies 🔗

Parents should go beyond sharing information and actively suggest what works. Does the child respond better to visual instructions? Does she need to be seated in a particular spot? Are there non-verbal cues that signal she is confused or distressed? Collaboration between families and educators is essential for aligning goals and ensuring that the support being offered in the classroom actually matches the child’s needs. Parents who come to school staff with specific, practical suggestions – not demands, but informed proposals – are far more effective advocates than those who raise concerns after the fact.

Know the law and use it calmly 🔗

When a school asks for a withdrawal, a parent who knows that this violates Section 16 of the RPwD Act 2016 is in a fundamentally different position from a parent who does not. Advocates are problem solvers who seek win-win solutions, not confrontations. But that problem-solving must be anchored in knowledge. A parent who can say, clearly and without aggression, “I understand this has been difficult, and I want to work with you – but I also want you to know that our child has a legal right to be here,” is more likely to open a door than close one.

Change attitudes, not just outcomes 🔗

The goal of advocacy in a situation like this is not only to get the child reinstated. It is to change what the school believes is possible. Regular schools with inclusive education are the most effective way of combating discriminatory attitudes and creating welcoming communities. But that transformation does not happen automatically with enrolment. Parents who share their child’s story, who speak at parent meetings, who connect staff with resources and training – these parents are not just advocating for one child. They are making the school a better place for the next child who comes through that gate.

What needs to change at the school level 🔗

While parents carry a heavy load in this story, it is important to be direct: the burden of inclusion should not fall primarily on families. Schools need trained teachers. They need designated support staff. They need clear orientation processes when a child with a disability joins a class. Children with disabilities in India face barriers at every stage of their school journey – from enrolment to daily learning – and many of those barriers stem from a lack of teacher training and institutional readiness, not from the children’s limitations.

A teacher who knows a child cannot speak is not doing something extraordinary. That is the baseline. The fact that this baseline was not met in this case study is a call for structural change – in how schools receive and orient teachers about their students, in how principals set the tone for inclusion, and in how teacher training programmes in India address the realities of a diverse classroom.

What do you think? If you were this child’s parent on the day the school asked for withdrawal, what is the first step you would take – and what information or support would have made you better prepared for that moment? And for educators reading this: what would it take for your school to genuinely know every child’s needs within the first week of class?

References

1. https://www.researchgate.net/publication/325757581_Barriers_of_Inclusive_Education_for_Children_with_Intellectual_Disability
2. https://ilkogretim-online.org/index.php/pub/article/download/7823/7494/14903
3. https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/full/10.1080/1034912X.2021.1917525
4. https://www.indiacode.nic.in/bitstream/123456789/15939/1/the_rights_of_persons_with_disabilities_act,_2016.pdf
5. https://rhimrj.co.in/index.php/rhimrj/article/view/725
6. https://www.researchgate.net/publication/273457268_Attitudinal_Barriers_to_Inclusive_Education_in_India
7. https://www.brookings.edu/articles/what-we-can-learn-from-families-of-children-with-disabilities-about-inclusive-family-school-and-community-engagement/
8. https://specialeducation.dc.gov/page/advocacy-0
9. https://exceptionallives.org/blog/how-to-advocate-for-your-child/
10. https://www.winssolutions.org/integrating-children-with-disabilities/
11. https://www.parentingspecialneeds.org/article/advocating-for-your-child/
12. https://link.springer.com/10.1007/978-3-031-40858-8_489-1
13. https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC10431638/