Hi, I’m still here! I have made numerous attempts to get back on the blog, but felt stuck on the perceived need to finish documenting my travels. Lots of stuff happens when you are traveling, and it is bloody hard to keep up, especially if you start to expect it of yourself. Way to suck the fun out of things, bruh.
I’m sorry (but not that sorry) to say I did not keep up my travel blogging, but the rest of my time in the EU was fantastic. Much magic was experienced in snowy Switzerland and Germany in the latter leg. Particularly memorable was Frankfurt’s Dialogmuseum, designed to simulate the experience of being blind, and exploring a range of different spaces by feel, sound, smell, and with the help of a friendly guide. It was utterly fascinating and I’m now slowly working my way through all the scrapbooky bits I collected to collage my adventures.
All of that feels so far away now, though. Since then, my partner and I have amalgamated our stuff and finally moved in together. We’ve both started our new jobs – I’m a good chunk through Term 2 in my new teaching position working with special education students aged 15-21. It’s a very active programme, and I’ve gone from close to zero collaboration as a siloed te reo Māori teacher to one of five educators in one space. I have hugely benefited from their knowledge and expertise as I have settled into a very different context.
Assume Competence
At the library the other day when our class was out in the community, I witnessed disability discrimination in action. Standing alongside my very capable (19 y o) student purely for some moral support, we waited for a librarian to resolve a card issue we were having. The first one was amazing, doing all the right things – but she had to sort out another issue. The next one to assist us quickly turned to me, asking “Are you her support worker?” After clarifying I was her teacher, the librarian completely ignored my student and attempted to talk to me and glean the details needed that way. After a few (I thought) not-so-subtle attempts to redirect her: “Ask [student’s name], she can tell you” and “[student’s name], what’s your address?” etc – I just walked away, leaving them to it. I was quietly fuming – more so than I had expected to. I can only imagine that my rangatahi are quite used to being treated this way in society – like they are incompetent. In spite of the fact that many of them are over 18 and are legal adults, this seemingly small example is part of a bigger issue. In my short time in this role, I have seen the learned helplessness in action – it’s there in mainstream too, but special education is another thing all together.
My context is all about preparing our students to transition out of education into the real world as independently as humanly possible. Many of our ākonga will be capable workers, move out of home and have meaningful connections to their community. I have so much belief in them, oh my goodness, and it is incredibly important to me than their voices are heard, and that they get equitable access to the things they need and deserve to learn.
Many of my students are non-speaking and/or have speech impediments that make their voice difficult to understand. For them, their AAC devices, signs and gesture, are the key ways they communicate. I have been trying my best to learn heaps about best practice, to support them to increase their fluency in these forms, as much it is a learning curve, and at times I feel frustrated at the systems in place. It is a fundamental right to be able to connect, converse and be heard. Moreover, it is easy to see that these rangatahi are smart, capable, and desperately need more literacy instruction not just for them to connect with others but also for their own safety and protection. I have been discovering that for many of these learners, the bar has been set utterly and incredibly low.
Perception is everything. It is far too easy to make assumptions, and only through exposure over the years to young non-speaking autists like Carly Fleischmann, Murray (Inside Our Autistic Minds) and Patrick Saunders learning more about the nuances of disability (particularly autism and other neurodiversities) have I realised just how much goes on behind the scenes, and just how many like them go unheard. Because they are not the exception.
I know for me, language is one of the most precious and reassuring things I have. I love my words and day to day, it’s easy to forget how vitally important they are to pretty much everything I do. So, when I watched this video, and I saw students I recognised, it did a bloody good job of gaining my attention.
Perceive more. Expect more. Everyone deserves to have their voices, their options, protests and ideas heard. Don’t be a language stealer.
Some Autistic AAC Advocates:
- Naoki Higashida – Author of ‘The Reason I Jump’ and ‘Fall Down 7 Times, Get Up 8’:
- Mel Baggs
- Tito Mukhopadhyay
- Diego Pena (Author of ‘Anatomy of Autism’)
- Ido Kedar (Author of “Ido in Autismland: Climbing out of Autism’s Silent Prison”):
- Peyton Goddard
- Barb Rentenbach
- Benjamin McGann
- Amy Sequenzia
- Carly Fleischmann
- Growing Up Unique – Autism Through A Child’s Eyes
- Tim Chan – Author of ‘Back from the Brink’ and TEDx speaker
- Emma Zurcher-Long
- Cal Montgomery (Part time AAC user):
- Endever
- Autistic AAC Underground
bohemianhumanist.com 